The National Football League turned all blue and purple when The New York Times said it was taking its CTE-denial plan from the tobacco industry.
Then Jim Irsay spoke and, with his long history as someone in the pharmaceutical supply business, he decided to apply his full medical training to say that no link has been found between ramming your head into another head and potential cerebral trauma.
To which we say, “Being an owner makes you suited to be the son of the previous owner and nothing else. You know nothing in this area, and speaking on it merely reminds us all how unqualified you are to speculate either way on it. Oh, and tell your friends at the Gasbag Plutocrats’ Lodge that America is on to the fact that they know just as little as you on the subject.”
In other words, there is some science, there will be more, but there is no indication that Irsay’s postulation is rooted in anything but his (and his fellows’) desperate need not to be held financially liable even in part for the medical needs of the players who were once in their employ.
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In other words, Jimmy m’lad, the next time you feel the urge to speak on something you have no comprehension of, fight it with all your strength.
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And in other other words, Jed and Mark, make doubly sure to keep your thoughts to yourselves. You already had few enough friends as it is.
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Robert Silverman of Vocativ.com just discovered what might be the first evidence that there might be a bit of clay in Stephen Curry’s UnderArmours.
Or maybe not, if Curry is not of the same mind as his pastor. All we know is this – for his sake and that of his pristine image, the NBA needs to win this North Carolina thing quickly so that he doesn’t become a fresh lightning rod for something that wasn’t his fight.
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Is your child rubbish at math? Does he stare at his multiplication tables like they were the hind end of a baboon? Is Calculus 1 making him wish he hadn’t slept through Trigonometry?
Simple solution: Rent the Romanian national soccer team and have them play in the yard until your kid’s jaw stops slackening like a trout. Won’t your heart quicken when you hear your freshly nerdified offspring yell, “Hey Π * r * r, get off the field. You are a Venn Diagram of the intersection of the sets for brains and turnips!”
He’ll almost surely get away with only a couple of hundred grand in therapy as an adult, and by then you’ll be living in retired bliss in Manitoba.
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San Jose’s clinching of a Western Conference playoff berth while losing more than half its home games is not all that unusual, though it is that miserable. In fact, the plucky Sharks actually pulled off this laughable achievement back in 1998 by going 17-19-5 and then barfing up the first round to Dallas.
That’s a banner I’d like to see raised to rafters next year at Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here Pavilion.
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And finally, this kid needed to meet Carmelo Anthony badly enough to run onto the floor at Smoothie King Arena to do it, but the best part is that the child will have a lifetime memory of the Pelicans’ broadcast team saying dismissively that Anthony has 22 points on 20 shots. I can only imagine the Christmas holiday gathering:
“Here you go, son, your big moment. You meet your idol and while you’re hugging him and fulfilling a dream, the announcer is telling the world that he jacks up shots at a metrically offensive pace. Nice choice, that. You should be appalled. We know we are. ”