“And With The Second Pick In The First Round, The New York Jets Take…”
If good looks was a minute/ You know that you could've been an hour- Smokey Robinson, 'The Way You Do The Things You Do'
Ken O’Brien!”
Absolute hilarious collection of clips if you’re a fan of watching Jersey trash with Ditka moustaches groan. Seriously, seriously funny.
Yes, I’m watching this again. 
MJ- Kenny Rogers Roasted
Before he was defaced, Kenny Rogers faces St, Michael. This clip is so close to Mr. Furious’ childhood fantasies, it’s uncanny. All it’s missing is Michael Jackson moonwalking down the court.
“Mr. Peepers…?!”
[Completely random Seinfeld reference + 5]
You Spin Me Right Round, Baby, Right Round
I do the same thing. Except with my remote.
It is appropriate that our Chicago White Sox face ageless knuckleballer Tim Wakefield this evening in Boston. Like Wakefield’s clueless pitches, my hopes for and frustrations with our home nine have darted this way and that over the course of the last 126 games. If you asked at the beginning of the season where I thought we’d be at this point, I’d say .500. And here we are.
So why am I disappointed?
Sphere: Related ContentYou Are About to Enter…The Halftime Tunnel!
Bolivian soccer. Two man enter. One man leave.
The Purple Penis Eater
Thank you sir, for making two of my least favorite teams so miserable.
We don’t usually go blue here at Shambollocks!, but…Today, I may be the happiest man in the world.
Well, next to my wedding day. Actually, strike that. I married a Packer fan.
No doubt about it. Today I am the happiest man in the world.
Rickey Henderson’s HOF Speech
Rickey today is the greatest Rickey of all time!
Rickey would first like to thank Rickey’s God for putting me here on my earth. Also, Rickey would like to thank the Rickey Writers of America for honoring the Baseball Hall of Fame with Rickey. Rickey also wants to thank all these greats behind him who finally get to be immortalized with Rickey. What an honor!
Rickey never retired. So Rickey doesn’t know why people keep asking Rickey how he’s doing. Rickey’s better than ever. Rickey is the stolen base leader in the Vietnamese Baseball League. Rickey won a game for the Laos Landmines by stealing home. Rickey really stole home. Rickey went home with home plate.
Sphere: Related ContentHow We Get The Yellow Line
America’s national holiday of over-consumption, the Super Bowl, is this Sunday. I know, it snuck up on you. What has made watching televised football so much more entertaining over the last few years is the yellow first-down ‘line’ we see. The NFL may have ended the ‘You Make The Call’ ads I loved, but the yellow line brings back that spirited debate of on-the-field calls which coaches’ challenges only ruin. Before the yellow line, my father and I would often yell “Terrible spot!” at the television when Walter Payton or Neil Anderson came up short for our beloved Bears. We had no idea, all we knew was the Bears should have got a first down. Now, thanks to the yellow line, we know how bad that spot was. And let me tell you, there aren’t too many bad spots. The line judge and referees do a darn good job.
The yellow-line brings goal-line excitement to every fourth down play. I had no idea all the technology that went on behind the scenes to make that ‘line’ visible. Chalk it up to that analogy of graceful swans on a pond. Lots of action going on behind the scenes.
New favorite useless job not on my resume- Yellow ‘line’ yellower. Keep up the good work!
Surf and Sydney
A quick wet before the day begins.
For all of us suffering from extreme cases of cabin fever in the chilly Midwest, More Intelligent Life has an essay on the joys of surfing in Sydney. I’ve always been fascinated by surfing. As a teen, my friends and I watched Point Break repeatedly not because of the award-winning filmmaking, but because of the surfing. To Midwesterners, surfers might as well be Marvel Comic intergalactic visitors. The grace and skill displayed on the edge of pure natural violence takes your breath away. No wonder Malcolm Knox loves it.
Sphere: Related ContentInside myself the layers of history behind a wave are even more important, because whenever I start paddling in front of that green wall of water, hoping I have timed my line so that I will arrive at the exact point and angle to maximise my speed and stability on take-off, I hold within me the years of having admired surfers before I did it myself; the defiance of doubt that such a complex act, balancing on a moving fibreglass board upon a moving, shifting shape of a liquid substance is possible at all; the years of practice and frustration; the aches and injuries; the disappointment of so many crap or crowded days; the clashes and intimidation from tougher surfers–all of this lies behind me as I paddle for this wave.
The ecstasy can be distilled to a moment: when you rise from your chest onto your feet and you see before you the face of the wave, slanting cleanly across you, reaching out ahead; it’s when you know that you are on a good one, forming a wall for you to draw your lines across. Surfing can present the thrill of survival–when the waves are big, and you hold on to escape the churn of the wave breaking behind you, heading for an escape hatch of clean green water–or it can be a thrill of artistry–in smaller waves, you can scribble a graffiti of foam, literally writing on water. The great surfers can write this script even on the big, heavy, frightening ones.
O'Hare Arpt., IL
