Tuesday, May 15, 2012

ManCave Daily guide to the NBA Playoffs

The NBA playoffs are awesome. The best basketball in the world combined with some of the biggest floppers in sports history (looking at you, LeBron) and some of the best individual performances, the NBA playoffs are definitely a worthwhile investment of your time. What do you need to know? Great question. Thankfully, I already broke it down for CBS' ManCave Daily.


Why is there a picture of an attractive woman dressed like a ref? Because it is a men's website, after all. And because it's better than a picture of one of the officials I talked about.

The refs are the worst:
What do you do when you have the greatest athletes in a particular sport gathered on one court? You hire officials for that game the same ways malls hire Santas. Find some old guy who doesn’t have anything else going on and put him in charge of everything. Every old man that doesn’t enjoy fishing or golf is currently an NBA referee. When it comes to officiating NBA games, things like consistency and accuracy are inconsequential compared to overdramatic foul signals and a Napoleonic complex.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Worst Dick (Clark) Jokes on Twitter

I was very sad to hear about the passing of Dick Clark. Admittedly, I was confused when my wife broke the news, because I thought he wasn't a real person. Then I figured out I was thinking about Dick Tracy, famous detective. That being said, it took all of about five minutes before EVERYONE ON TWITTER assumed they were a comedian and started making awful jokes.

"Guess the ball dropped on Dick Clark" BA-ZING!

"I wonder if Dick Clark will be a hologram on this year's New Year's Eve show!" WOWZA!

"I guess the Mayans were right, the world IS ending in 2012!" Bore-town.

I compiled the worst Dick Clark jokes on Twitter, so you can catch them HERE.

Friday, April 13, 2012

National Puppy Day

I wrote about National Puppy Day and the great dogs in history for CBS's ManCave Daily. I'll give you my favorite, if you click the link to go read about the rest.

Sgt. Stubby
A war dog from World War I, Stubby was the dog version of G.I. Joe. He was a badass in every sense of the word. He was in 17 battles, single-handedly captured a German spy, warned his unit of poison gas attacks (thanks to his acute sense of smell after getting gassed) and incoming shell. He became the only dog in U.S. military history to earn the rank of Sergeant in battle. After the war, he met several Presidents and was Georgetown’s mascot. After passing away, he was honored with a brick at the World War I memorial and his remains were sent to the Smithsonian. 
This dog had bigger stones than Clifford the Big Red Dog and was cooler than 95 percent of Americans. I’m sure he caused many of America’s young dames to consider moving to a state with no bestiality laws. God even allows pets (cats need not apply) into heaven just because He wanted to hang out with Stubby.


Wednesday, April 11, 2012

How Not to Propose

In honor of National Proposal Day, I was asked to write about how I proposed for my wife. You don't get asked if you did it in a classy or smart fashion. Mine involved throwing the ring, an engagement knife and a two-word proposal that may be the most embarrassing thing I've ever done in my life.

Read more about my awful proposal here.

Why you should watch Game of Thrones (from someone who has never seen it)

I've never seen Game of Thrones, but I wrote about what it's probably like for CBS. Go check it out!

You want an excerpt? Fine.

What is it? All I knew about this show before I sat down to write was that it was about murder and incest and that my dad likes it. On that alone, I have to assume this is a show about the Old Testament of the Bible. With a cursory amount of research, I learned it’s actually a medieval fantasy show. That means it’s like what everyone who goes to a Renaissance Fair thinks they look like at a Renaissance Fair. Everyone is ripped and when they aren’t chopping someone’s head off or sparring with dragons, they are bedding absurdly hot chicks.


Thursday, July 14, 2011

The Day I Almost Killed Shooter McGavin

There's an anonymous fat man who became marginally famous when he caught Derek Jeter's 3000th hit and decided to give the ball back. This spurred all sorts of discussion, including the important questions of "how did a fat man catch a ball?" and "how did that fat man get a girlfriend?" but I think the most important one is "what would you do with the ball?"

I almost had to answer that question during Ken Griffey Jr.'s pursuit of his 500th homer. When he was one away, I made the decision to skip out on my summer job as a courier downtown and head down to the park to witness the spectacle. I hopped a ride to GABP with two salesmen from the company I worked out, who also had decided to take in this potentially momentous occasion. One of the salesmen whined the whole time about how the game was sold out and I wouldn't get a ticket. He was a dick. Just for the record.

I managed to snag an upper deck seat and stood under the smokestacks (in whatever that little area is called) to take in the game. The area was packed with fans too cheap to buy good seats but who desperately wanted a chance to snag No. 500.

I was there for the spectacle, like I said, and it lived up to the hype. The section had a general revelry about it, until a Shooter McGavin look-alike showed up. Not only did he look like the villain from Happy Gilmore, but he was also a giant douche, which is why I adorned him with the McGavin moniker. He was accompanied by a noble-hearted and much more tolerable Larry The Cable Guy look-alike.

Shooter immediately began to interrogate his redneck friend about how he managed to get his current girlfriend, because she was wildly out of his league and is someone he might actually consider thinking about while pleasuring himself later that evening (his words not mine). He then suggested he should get a night with this girl first just so she knew some tricks for when Larry could finally seal the deal. Larry's only defense to this not-so-good-natured ribbing was to ask Shooter how his wife felt about his pornographic habits. Shooter simply responded that he hoped his wife would catch him watching adult movies on his computer. His rationale is that her jaw would drop and he could somehow force her head, with mouth agape, on top of his manhood so she could finish the job (he said all of this, but in much dirtier words this time).

Keep in mind there are plenty of kids around and he's not trying to be quiet at all. He's loud, rambunctious, wildly inappropriate and was making everyone uncomfortable. There was a dad who pushed his young daughter and her glove to the rail so she could actually see anything at all and her grin was a mile-wide when she took in the view from there. Shooter would have none of it though, and nudged her out of the way, blocking her view. "She didn't pay anymore than I did to stand here, so no reason she should get to waltz up front," Shooter said to his friend but more to everyone in the area.

The dad, trying to give his young daughter a fond memory they could share forever, looked perturbed but said nothing as he simply put the girl on his shoulders. A lanky boy, no older than 15, was a little further down the rail, and boasted about how he was going to catch Griffey's home-run if he was hit to him. He was smiling and basically just vocalizing the same thought that everyone shared. But it was a warm shared feeling, as if the group would just be happy to see it happen and even happier if it went to their section. There was no aggression in the statement. There was no malice. Only Shooter decided to take it that way. "

Ha, listen kid," he started. "There's no way you'll even sniff that ball, because if it's hit out here I'm knocking anyone out my way to get it. It's all fair game till someone comes up with the ball," Shooter said, feeling fairly confident in his chances because he was the biggest person in the section. It was at that point that I was no longer there for the spectacle.

The odds of Griffey hitting 500 that day weren't great and the odds that it would come to us were even smaller. But let the kids have their hope. Let the fans enjoy the frenzy and the shared hope that it would be an afternoon no one would forget. Above all, sports are for kids. They mean the most to kids and you should never do anything to take away from a kid's enjoyment of the game. That $2 t-shirt some fat kid shoots out of a cannon means a hell of a lot more to a kid than it will to a grown man, who will probably use it as a rag in the garage. Shooter McGavin had no right to rain on everyone's parade. And at that point, I wasn't there for spectacle. I had a purpose to stay in that section. I had an objective.

When Griffey hit 500, I wasn't going to make a play to catch it, like the other 30,000 people in the park. My only goal was to take Shooter McGavin down. He was so confident he could muscle his way into being a part of that historical moment. Little did he know that as soon as the bat cracked and the fans began to roar, as soon as the kids in our section stood to their absolute tallness, as soon as fans began to crowd towards the ball's destination, that there would be only one person in the park who wasn't looking at the field. And little did he know that person would be looking squarely at him. And little did he know that one person would already be beyond the point of no return in a tackle so hellacious and so violent that Roger Goodell would have been forced to fine it.

Shooter McGavin wouldn't have seen it coming. He would barely be able to process what happened as the fans continued to roar as Griffey circled the bases. Fans would be hugging pure strangers as they jumped up and down celebrating the homer. And Shooter McGavin would be left staring listlessly into the afternoon sun from his back, under the smokestacks, where America's greatest hero had left him to contemplate what it means to be a sports fan. To be a person.