Today’s bucket of hateful bilge is dedicated to Peter Edwards, a proud Welsh grandfather who put down 50 pounds 15 years ago with a bookie that his grandson would someday play for the national side, according to the BBC. Tuesday, Harry Wilson, said grandson, did in fact do so, playing the last few minutes in Wales’ 1-1 World Cup qualifier (which Wales didn’t qualify for, of course) with Belgium, netting Gramps a cool 2500 percent payday, and he will blow the 125,000 pounds he collected on Inland Revenue, retirement, and lager.
Or we don’t know our tax structure, what grandfathers do, or beer.
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The Wall Street Journal reported that the NFL is looking into Thursday night doubleheaders on the Goodell Network to spruce up the ratings. The NFL says it is not. Who to believe?
One foolproof guide would be, “Where’s the most money to be found?” The other is, “Yeah, Rule 1 is what you should go by here.” And if you, the discerning consumer, should ask why a second mediocre game should be stuffed into midweek just to counterprogram against whatever uninteresting ACC game ESPN is trotting out, please refer to Clauses 1 and 2.
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Jeff Long, the athletic director at Arkansas and the head of college football playoff committee, guaranteed Wednesday that in producing the work there would be people upset.
You know what this means, right? Yup. Notre Dame.
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Kris Humphries, a.k.a. No Longer Mr. Kim Kardashian, sold the engagement ring he gave to the former Alimony Bait for $749,000 at auction. Nice score, until you realize he took a $1,251,000 loss on the deal. That was one expensive month.
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Josh Robbins of the Orlando Sentinel spent some time getting Dwight Howard’s side of whatever the hell it is the topic was, and learned at least two things:
1. "But I think with the situation I had to do what was best for Dwight.” This, in response to his trade from Orlando to the Los Angeles Lakers, his second ex-team. Of course he did, because otherwise he would have been stuck doing what was right for Howard, and:
2. He was disappointed with the Magic’s decision last February to grant his old No. 12 jersey to the just-acquired Tobias Harris in a trade, the team granted Harris' request to wear No. 12, Howard's old number. “I just think that despite whatever happened, there was a lot of things that I did and that we did as a team, and that number was special down there, and I was a little bit upset about that.” Now he may not have known in essentially asking for his number to be retired that Harris asked for the number as a tribute to a close friend who had died of leukemia at 17. But barring a very quick restatement of his intentions there, he will just be complaining about the jersey as part of “doing what was best for Dwight.” Or was it Howard?
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If Craig Sager is explaining the intricacies of a double kidney transplant rather than just how to hold a fastball, as he did Wednesday, and if he’s doing so while wearing reflective blue shades and a tie that looks like it was coated in cat sick by an art student, I’m telling the doctor to just stick me in the garbage with a hat on and I’ll die there.
And you know I’m serious because I dress like a colorblind railyard hobo. On purpose.
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Texas Motor Speedway is introducing a bacon-infused beer milkshake. In news that beats repeating, Texas Motor Speedway is introducing a bacon-infused beer milkshake. In addition, Texas Motor Speedway is introducing a bacon-infused beer milkshake. And in case you can’t decide to be lactose-intolerant or a recovering alcoholic, Texas Motor Speedway is introducing a bacon-infused beer milkshake.
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And finally, today’s fun soccer note comes from those happy Serbians, many of whom have grown mildly disenchanted with their most iconic team, Red Star Belgrade. The team, which is millions of Serbian coin-thingys in debt, is paying its players late, has let its practice facility fall into disrepair, is losing often to inferior sides and just endured an open letter from its players saying as much, and adding that the team no longer supplies shampoo in the showers any more.
Now guess what happened next, thanks to the lovely children at Who Ate All The Pies:
I knew you would. A group of hardcore Red Star ultras took to organizing a protest, on the heels of the one in which they demanded the players remove their shirts after a dismal loss and then threw chairs and other bric a brac at them. This one involved among other things the smashing the windows of nine cars in the players’ carpark and chucking bottles of shampoo into the front seats. It’s always good, after all, to have a smooth, silky, manageable dashboard.
