I don’t know about you, but sheep-watching is why I watch sports.
Example Une: Ronda Rousey laid out Bethe Correia in 34 seconds, and people started talking about Miesha Tate as the only woman left on earth who could beat her because she only lost to Rousey by third round submission before losing in the first round. Fact is, Rousey did something no woman (or frankly, man) has ever done – she broke her sport.
Serena Williams had down/injury years. Inbee Park, currently kicking golf’s effete ass, didn’t own the sport from its beginning. In fact nobody has broken a sport, not even Arnold Rothstein. But Rousey has. There isn’t a single living soul you want to see her fight unless it’s someone in your family you really and truly hate. Or maybe a boss. There’s always good for an educational beating or 30.
Example Deux is the sudden love affair with the Mets after they backed out of the Carlos Gomez deal because Jeff and Fred Wilpon got the shakes. They sweep Washington and now every bumbleclot on Twitter declare them the biggest story in baseball? Please. They’re the Mets. They will always be the Mets.
And no, this is not an endorsement for the Yankees. Or the Nationals or Giants or Cubs or Stoke City or the Mean Machine or the team that Sylvester Stallone played on when he was soccer-playing prison camp inmate. The Mets are just so damned Mets-ty, as they always have. It's why they are who they are.
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Sadly, though, I must type more words so that my own boss doesn’t catch on to this realization that this skeevy bit of typing represents an actual honest day’s work. So there’s the mega-pissy Jose Mourinho-Arsene Wenger non-handshake/body-language/schoolyard/fifth-grade silent hissyfit after Arsenal won the Community Shield, 1-0, over Chelsea.
Put simply, I speak for the entire universe when I say that if you two aren’t going to throw hands like real adults, we will send Rousey to take care of the both of you while she sits in an easy chair in a smoking jacket enjoying a pipeful of the finest Latakia tobacco and sipping brandy out of a snifter the size of Wayne Rooney’s head.
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Love the benches emptying in Toronto and Cincinnati today. This, too, we can blame on Rousey, as she has made men brave beyond their physical means. And she can still kick all your asses with just her mind while putting her feet up on Mourinho and Wenger after she’s sewn them into a giant ottoman.
Probably Mesut Ozil.
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People have been way too judgmental about the Jets’ Sheldon Richardson and his car’s ability to make police cruisers cry while carrying enough marijuana for a Dave Chappelle movie. How else do you expect someone that high to achieve Plutonian orbit? Because science is cool again, remember?
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If it weren’t for the fact that he slags the man for merely inheriting rather than building programs, you’d think Vice’s Mike Piellucci actually likes Washington’s Chris Petersen. Fortunately the headline, “The Myth Of Chris Petersen,” squares us away.
But there’s still this:
“Petersen, the Huskies' second-year coach and purported program savior, who notably compiled an .876 winning percentage at Boise State mostly by having inherited a successful program from his predecessors. But he's interesting because he does earnestness so well that his players describe him by unwittingly invoking how rare basic decency is in big-time college athletics. In this often scummy world, Chris Petersen is only minimally scummy.”
How “minimally scummy” doesn’t make it to the media guide cover is an issue for which the university president will want an answer.
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And finally, Hue Jackson, the former Raiders coach who is now Cincinnati’s offensive coordinator, said this:
“We are going to open Pandora's box. Last year we just tickled it.”
Granted, this makes no sense because, well, he is a football coach, but I know neither Jack Del Rio, Tony Sparano nor Dennis Allen ever came up with anything remotely close. One more reason, ultimately, why the Raiders want to go to Los Angeles – because Mark Davis needs writers for his coaches.
Or Ronda Rousey, damn it.