Archive for June, 2011

Dogfish Head Brewery: A Must Visit Destination For The Beer Enthusiast Or Casual Drinker

// June 15th, 2011 // 4 Comments » // Uncategorized

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Bachelor Party…goodnight sweet prince

For those of you not keeping score at home (or reading super SEO’d blog titles…above) FWG took a group trip to The Dogfish Head Brewery in wonderful Milton, Delaware.  And this wasn’t just any tour, this was part of a three day bachelor party-beach-extravaganza with former players representing the Big East, MAC, and NFL…and Pennsylvania AAA High School Football. This many meatheads in a confined space has  bro-tastic disaster written all over it, add in the fact that three years removed from college/pro football and they’ve all managed to put a little coin in their respective cargo shorts  and I’m lucky we (I) made it out alive.  Me and my co-pilot Mike left Thursday night after work and managed to get lost only once (fuck you George Washington Bridge Upper Level Barricade) before arriving at 3:07am Friday morning.
Having full expected to see a bunch of passed out party animals who’d arrived 12-16 hours prior, Mike and I steeled ourselves as we tore gravel to our beach front destination. “Let’s get in…find the nearest couch-mattress-plot of soft grass…and crash for the night.  We’ll wake up everyone, cook breakfast and show these clowns what UConn does…”
Welp, Gee….imagine our surprise when we were greeted at the end of said driveway by what appeared to be a human Weeble-Wobble or just someone who’d enjoyed precisely 12-16 hours of partying prior to our grand arrival.  In a very Belushi-esque moment the party in question managed to utter “Grab a beer…it don’t cost nothin’”
And so we did.  Several dozen.  Over three days.

Needless to say when the celebrating the death of a fellow man’s bachelor-hood starts on Thursday, by Saturday you’ve eaten all the processed meat, nachos, fried chicken and snickers bars (not in that order) in the Tri-State area.
It also means that come Saturday morning, say, 10:15am you’re fighting any notion of being active for the day, let-alone a contributing member of society.  It also just so happens that Saturday was when we schedule our tour for Dogfish Head.  I will say that if you had to pick one thing to do on a hung over Saturday in Delaware, when rounds of alcoholic consumption combined with pasta dinners have  bloated you to John Candy-esque proportions thus negating any idea of going to the beach, the one thing you can and should do is go to a brewery.  We were lucky one of the Country’s best was only 20 minutes away.

Hair Of The Dog
(see what I did there?)

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I’d like to say I’m some sort of beer expert, with a palate that would make even the finest sommelier blush with inadequacy.  Unfortunately, I’m not.  But I do know and love good beer, and this is entirely on accident.  Raised on Labatt, drank Keystone through college, my taste for hops and barley was more about price point then quality “Ah-ha! Good sir! I see Schlitz is on special….”  I accidentally tried Dogfish Head while trying to buy bait for a fishing trip (saw a fish in the window…got tricked…blah blah blah).  I’ve been a devoted Fish-head ever since.
I’ve written (love) letters to the owner, Sam Calagione who’s reply was not only warm-hearted but also where this whole adventure began.
Sam put me in touch with Connie, who set up the tour, and so on and so fourth.
Like their beer, Dogfish Head Brewery’s employees were of the highest quality: knowledgeable, friendly, and understanding of a hordes of hungover  former footballers.  I loved everything about being there.  We were shown the bottling line, the different brew (and special) brew tanks, and our favorite part of the trip: sampling their different brews.  Absolutely tremendous.

Our tour guide, Kristen was not intimidated (or didn’t let on) by giving 15 men reeking of fried food and hooker sweat a private tour of the inner workings of the operation.   In fact, always a good sport she even jibbed our taller friends (6′7 and 6′8 respectively) “Hey Sasquatch…”
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Thanks Kristen, seriously.

Dogfish Head is still a small brewery, even though they’ve expanded considerably since their kitchen-sink-brew-pub beginnings.  The demand for their liquid gold far exceeds the supply, which drives their growth (about 30% every year…or so I was told).  It’s not hard to see why:  their beer ranges from Dark-as-motor-oil to light and hoppy (I suggest the 60 minute IPA) and yet all delicious.

I encourage you to poke through the gallery below.  I wish I had more photos to share, but the rest were…lost. “Yes, sweety….Golf, Dinner…and then we all turned in for the night…boring, really.”

Anyway, a big thank you to Sam Calagione, Connie Park, Mark Carter, and Kristen Coughlan for their help.  Cheers!

The Timeless Tale of Two Goalies

// June 15th, 2011 // 5 Comments » // Uncategorized

Stanley Cup Finals Bruins Canucks HockeyOn Monday night, it was the best of times for Tim Thomas. Roberto Luongo on the other hand? Not so much.

 

As he has done all series long, The Boston Bruins net minder kept his mouth shut and answered his doubters with another spectacular performance, leading his team to a 5-2 Game 6 victory over Luongo and his beaten down Canucks. In the wake of Roberto’s idiotic attempt to get in the head of the Bruins goalie, Thomas could be seen doing backflips on his water skis.

 

After insulting Thomas by attacking his style of play, Luongo proceeded to give up three savable goals in the middle of the first period before getting yanked for Boston College alumn Corey Schneider. Now Luongo has to take his greasy, Jheri-curled mullet back to Vancouver where the fans and media are waiting to strap truckloads of pressure onto his shoulders. Just like the source of Roberto’s new nickname learned earlier this week, “Lebron”go discovered it’s not what you say, it’s how you play.

 

Stanley Cup Canucks Bruins HockeyAnd contrary to how it has been scripted so often in past wins on enemy soil, the Vancouver fans won’t be upset at the Boston players if they end up hoisting Sir Stanley’s Cup on their home ice Wednesday night. They’ll be calling for the heads of the Sedin twins and Luongo will be put in a pod and promptly launched into space (they have one built specifically for this reason). Vancouver might be known for having the nicest people on the planet, but when it comes to hockey, all bets are off. British Columbia has a version of the Meadowlands and their own shady burials, with 90% of the shallow graves dug following hockey disputes (see Journal of Canadian Science – Fall Issue 2002).

 

If this were a movie, Luongo would be comparable to the dumb-witted Rocky Balboa always sticking his foot in his mouth. The atypical hero who shows flashes of brilliance but for the most part, no one has the least bit of confidence in. Thomas would of course play the part of the stone-faced Soviet Ivan Drago, an impenetrable, machine-like force ready to pummel a clearly outmatched opponent. If Game 7 was taking place on the set of a Hollywood Studio, Luongo would finally draw blood from the stoic Thomas, which would bring Roberto and his Vancouver teammates the much needed confidence to overtake their enemy during the climaxing scene of the film. But this isn’t a movie, and Tim Thomas doesn’t bleed. He’s an unflinching, oddly flexible zombie whose favorite pastimes are stopping pucks and eating brains.

 

If Tim Thomas can bring a victorious performance with him on the plane to Vancouver, Roberto Luongo will become the Canuck version of Bill Buckner, and every Canadian citizen will get a chance to personally tar and/or feather him. If that happens, Luongo could only pray for a trade (preferably to a team within US borders) and could never return to the beautiful province of British Columbia without acquiring a really convincing fake mustache.

 

Unlike his flappy-mouthed counterpart, Tim Thomas isn’t feeling the least amount of pressure. Right now, Thomas’s pondering thoughts are closely mirroring the lasting words of Dickens; It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known…if I can take the Cup back to Boston.

 

Prediction - Bruins overcome the crowd noise and Luongo’s psyche ends up cracking like that stupid egg you were supposed to protect in high school to prove you could raise a kid.

 

Final - Bruins 3 – Canucks 1 

—–Seth Newton

 

 

I’m On To The Next One Lebron

// June 14th, 2011 // 8 Comments » // Uncategorized

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Lebron James is definitely the next something. But it’s not the next Michael Jordan, and it’s not the next Wilt Chamberlain, or Julius Erving. He’s not even the next Scottie Pippen.

The King is in line however, for the self imposed crown of a former pound for pound champion.

Lebron James is the next Floyd “Money” Mayweather.

floyd_mayweatherLike Mayweather, Lebron likes to talk about himself as if he were an enterprise of one. Look at Lebron’s reaction to just how much people enjoyed him shrinking away from the spotlight again;

All the people that was rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today. They have the same personal problems they had today. I’m going to continue to live the way I want to live and continue to do the things that I want to do with me and my family and be happy with that. They can get a few days or a few months or whatever the case may be on being happy about not only myself, but the Miami Heat not accomplishing their goal. But they have to get back to the real world at some point.”

It took him an awful long time to mention that it was a whole team that had lost didn’t it? We have all heard Lebron refer to himself in the first person, and claim that he wants to be a global icon, just as we have with Mayweather.

Both men seem more concerned with being successful businessmen than they do with actually winning.

Lebron claimed he wanted to win a title with the Cavs, even talking the talk by telling ownership to get him the players needed to make it happen. Then he quit on his team against the Celtics, a team that couldn’t stop him when he wanted to get to the rim, and couldn’t defend him in the low post if he decided he wanted to go there. Instead of using the loss, and attacks on his corazon as motivation, he bailed on Cleveland. Instead of heading to New York, where he could have truly become a global icon, and a basketball god, by bringing an NBA team back to Madison Square Garden, he joined up with one of his chief rivals. He didn’t want to fight Wade, so he joined his team. All the while he has said that he WILL win, and that he IS the greatest.

When Muhammed Ali said “I must be the greatest”, it was after he had shook up the world by beating Sonny Liston. Lebron said it after beating up on his own team, when they weren’t looking.

Mayweather was on pace to join the conversation, with Ali, Tyson, and Frazier, for the best fighter of all time. He had never lost and seemed to fight on a different level than his opponents (Think about what Lebron did his first few years in the league. This is what it was like watching Mayweather. Love him or hate him, the man was born to box.)

Mayweather took out an over the hill Oscar De La Hoya, then dismantled an outclassed Ricky Hatton. As excited as we were about his ability, we were thrilled to death about the possibility of a worthy adversary. Unlike many fighters, who are judged by the fact that they destroyed weaker competition and never had a defining fight, Mayweather actually had his nemesis. His worthy adversary was lurking a few pounds away in the form of hammer fisted southpaw Manny Pacquiao. The hype surrounding a potential fight between Pacquiao and Mayweather was huge. It was the same excitement we felt when we thought that Lebron and Kobe were on a collision course to meet in the NBA Finals.

84737838MW027_Manny_PacquiaJust like Lebron, Mayweather wanted no part of that fight. The entire world knows that it was Mayweather, and not Pacquaio, who derailed the mega fight.

It’s the difference between men like Jordan, Pacquiao, even Kobe Bryant, and men like James and Mayweather. The former did whatever it took to be great. They wanted it more than anything in the world and only faded once they had killed themselves trying to prove it. For the latter, being called the greatest, even if it is only by your self, is more important than actually putting in the work to earn that legacy.

Boxing isn’t a team sport so Mayweather couldn’t join Pacquiao’s team the way that Lebron did with Wade. But what he did, retiring and then returning to fight more over the hill, outclassed opponents, was ducking his main competition in the same way. He knew he couldn’t win the big fight, couldn’t take the weight on his shoulders and deliver so he bitched about blood testing and beat up Juan Manuel Marquez.

Lebron took his talents to South Beach.

Mayweather fought Shane Mosley and is now saying he wants to fight someone named Victor Ortiz. Pacquiao, by the way, has been fighting everyone that Mayweather beat, and beating them worse. It’s like he is goading him to fight, wagging a silent finger in Mayweather’s face with each knockout.

Can you imagine this ever being allowed to fly with Ali? Or Jordan? The sight of someone else one upping them would have flipped a switch and they would have been forced to act.

Lebron watched his teammate take control of games, while he shrunk away. Lebron let himself get bitched out by his teammate, and shrunk even further away.

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Mayweather and Lebron don’t care what we think. They have all the money in the world, all the fame that goes along with it, and at the end of the day they won’t lose any sleep over their wasted talent.

Any kid that grew up playing basketball heard how Michael Jordan never slept, and would stay up for hours practicing. That’s why he was better than all of us.

It’s too bad for anyone that loves sports, that like Mayweather, Lebron wasn’t born with that same competitive spirit to accompany his immense talent. If he was, he would be compelled to prove his greatness on the court, instead of just boasting about it in the offseason.

Until he figures it out, I’m done talking about Lebron.  I’m on to the next one,  on to the next.

——Corey

The Weekend Recap: Dumb and Dumber Edition

// June 13th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Uncategorized

mma_e_carwinblood_576Shane Carwin lying to doctors about his ability to see, during the third round of his fight with Junior Dos Santos at UFC 131, was dumb.

But it was a chair in the shower after a tough game level of dumb. It was the lobster of dumb.

Knowing that the man couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, and still wouldn’t allow himself to give up as a giant Brazilian punching machine was bearing down on him, proves that Carwin, much like many other UFC fighters, has the heart of lion.

It also proves that they have yet to make the trek to the Wizard to inquire about some of the brains he dropped in the tin man.

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Aaron Rome saying he didn’t do anything wrong by blind siding Bruins F Nathan Horton is dumb.

The video speaks for itself. Horton had gotten rid of the puck, had his head turned, and Rome lined him up. Playoff hockey, according to the person writing this, is like a celebrity death match on ice. Rome’s hit was grabbing a folding chair and hitting a man when he had his back turned.

Yes it exemplifies the hardnosed attitude that makes playoff hockey so great. But it was very late. Even Rome’s coach called it a late hit. Rome defended the hit, saying he needed to play on the edge. Playing on the edge means you are right there on top of things, ready to spring into action.

It does not mean measuring up a defenseless player, who you weren’t fast enough to get to when he actually had the puck.

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Mark Cuban trying to play a good guy, who is not a glory hound, is dumb.

The guy made a savvy PR move by inviting Jed Clampett up onto the podium to accept the Mavericks championship trophy last night. The old man was the team’s first owner and it showed an unselfish streak that we don’t expect from Cuban. The only problem was that he didn’t even let the man get one arthritic finger on the thing before he snatched it away and hoisted it over his head.

Mark, you are one of the most entertaining owners in all of professional sports. Please don’t ruin it by pretending to be an unselfish guy who isn’t dying to run around shouting, “Kiss the ring bitch!”.

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The Miami Heat, by the way, are dumber than Carwin, Rome, and Cuban combined. And so, for that matter, is Scottie Pippen.

Congrats to Dirk, Jason Terry, Jason Kidd, and the rest of the Dallas Mavericks. As a Red Sox fan who knows how it feels to exact revenge on the team responsible for torturing you the most, I couldn’t be happier that you avenged the 2006 meltdown against the Heat.

Even after the Mavericks went up 3-2 I still thought that Miami would win. They had spent so much time telling me how good they were, how special their team was, and how they were going to win ring after ring after ring. The media played along. Even the announcers calling the game for ABC were talking like it was a foregone conclusion that the Heat would win, because they had the two best players on the court.

The only problem is that they didn’t have the two best players.

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The Miami Heat look dumber, because they ignored the warning signs. Lebron James is like the smoking hot girl at the bar that every guy is staring at, but no one is trying to take home. From far away she is almost too good looking to approach. She has dimensions that boggle your mind, to the point where you drive yourself, and your friends, crazy hypothesizing about them.

The problem? She knows she’s the hottest girl in the room. After years of being fawned all over, she has come to rely solely on those good looks, never taking the time to develop a personality, or any sort of sexual proficiency. After all, most guys would just be happy to be in the same room when she took her clothes off, right?

Next time you see someone that looks like Marisa Miller with a guy, look into his eyes. There will be something there that you never expected to find; a sadness that only great disappointment can provide.

He thought that he had hit the jackpot. But after years of monotonous sex, listening to her bitch about her fingernails and the fact that they forgot to take the croutons off of her salad, and only having her open her mouth to do anything other than complain, once a year, he is defeated.

The Miami Heat are defeated. They thought they knew what they were getting. The greatest of all time. The next Michael Jordan. A juggernaut of epic proportions, that couldn’t lose.

Dwayne Wade won a title with Shaquille O’Neal, when O’Neal was slightly past his prime.

What does it say about Lebron that he couldn’t give Wade a second title, in the prime of his career, and with the help of another all star?

It says that sometimes going after the hottest girl in the room is dumb.

It says that running your mouth, taunting the other team’s best player when you don’t have the heart to back it up, and guaranteeing victory before the season starts is dumb.

It says that thinking you can win by bringing in a guy who quit on a city, and a team, is dumb.

It says that no one will ever be better than Jordan, and anyone who thinks otherwise is dumb.

Maybe next year the Heat should start the season by driving a third of the way across the country, in the wrong direction. That way we won’t think they could get any dumber, and then they can completely redeem themselves.

——-Corey

Dirk and the Mavs Win 2011 NBA Finals

// June 13th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

In the words of Randy Edsall, “Stop reading your press clippings, gentlemen…”  Well, I’m not saying that Miami got caught up in the heat of the moment (see what I did there…heat). But, somewhere between the decision, the Big Three ESPN Promo’s, and Chris Bosh’s ostrich neck, we forgot that champions are born out of marketing campaigns and media coverage.  Nope, not even a little bit.  Unfortunately, they still have to play the game.
Otherwise we’d be all still be talking about the Gyro Ball in baseball, or just how good Adam Morrison’s NBA career was.  One thing the media machine can’t change is the outcome of games, whether players will show up at the show down, or be fourth quarter floozie.  Sorry, it’s a fact.

I couldn’t be happier with Dirk Nowitzski’s performance or happier for him as a person; he’s living the age old American dream.  Immigrant from the old world, show’s up on Lady Liberty’s shores with no more than a couple hundred thousand in his pocket, rises through the ranks of day laborer with an outside jump shot and big-man type size, grinding it out day after day, punching his clock and coming out at the end of it all on top of the world.  Well done, Dirk.  Well done.

The Belmont is Gonna Get Stranger…So Lets Get On With The Show

// June 11th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

Disclaimer: I’m writing this on my iPhone on the way to the Belmont, after going to a Phish show last night in the beautiful city of Camden, New Jersey.

I have my hat on, ready for the festivities despite the rain and 3 hours of sleep.  I thrive on no sleep. If the world had a competition on who got the least amount of sleep, my neurosurgeon brother and I would be winning like Charlie Sheen (that’s the first and last time I’ll ever say that phrase.. It was funny for what like 2 weeks?).

My dad is nervous about getting to the seats by 10:35 (1 hour before the first post time) and you don’t want to upset my dad on race day. Just ask my brother in law who lost him thousands of dollars because he dutifully did some last minute chores around the house, while my dad waited impatiently in the car. (sorry Tommy you had to find out somehow)

Anyway, now to the task at hand.

The beauty about Phish shows is that there are various moments of clarity you receive.  The hard thing is remembering them. Well it hit me like a ton of bricks during the set break. Master of Hounds. I walk around whistling like a bird at dogs on the street and their ears always perk up. It all makes sense..

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This guy can close, third time off a layoff and these Euros love the slop.

I like Nehro to come in second like he always does. Mucho Macho Man for third and because the fourth place finisher always speaks the loudest,  Animal kingdom.  Would love to back Santiva like I did in the derby but he’d do me like ice box last year.

Now we are in our seats. Its 10:50, and my dad is already complaining.

I can’t wait for the lights to go down.  What will the opener be?  I gotta handicap..

—–Jonathan Crowley

No Need to Get Defensive..Unless You Want to Win

// June 10th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Uncategorized

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Let’s pretend, just for a minute, just to see how it feels, that it’s the fourth quarter of an important NBA playoff game. That way we don’t have to talk about Lebron James, at all.

The Mavericks took down a wildly entertaining Game 5 last night because they made shots. Dallas shot 56.5% from the field and over 68% from downtown, against the vaunted Miami defense. Dwayne Wade said, after the Heat took Game 3 in Dallas, that they wanted to win a game with their defense. And they did just that.

Now he can say that they lost one because of it.

Wade continued to erase any lingering doubt over whose team it is with a gritty performance. He led his team in scoring with 23 points, despite being limited to 34 minutes.

The Heat got a few solid contributions from the Wade’s supporting cast, most notably Mario Chalmers, but in the end, the story of Game 5 isn’t just the offensive explosion.

For much of the game it seemed like the Mavs were blowing Miami out. Every time they touched the ball they scored. Whether they were open, which they were for much of the night, or throwing up contested shots, it didn’t matter. Everything dropped.

The problem is, that even with this lights out performance, and Dwayne Wade out of the game for extended periods of time, the Heat hung around.

The reason?

Dallas doesn’t play great defense.

They allowed Miami to shoot almost 53% from the field, and stay in a game that they had no business being in. As fun as it was to watch, Game 5 proved that Miami is a better team.

115544826_crop_650x440The play of Wade has rubbed off on Bosh, Chalmers, Mike Miller, and Udonis Haslem and they have become better players by osmosis. Perhaps they are filled with confidence knowing they have a superstar to pick them up, and are free to just go out and play basketball. I saw the same thing happen with the Celtics in 2008 with Eddie House, Glen Davis, James Posey, Leon Powe, and PJ Brown.

We all saw it happen with Jordan’s Bulls.

Whether that greatness can actually rub off, like wet paint on a stairwell, leaving its mark on anyone who brushes against it, or it is fear of letting down a superstar teammate who isn’t afraid to get in your face pushing them to excel, the result is the same.

The Heat are now a good team with solid role players, two very good players, and one player who wants to be great.

What seems more likely to happen again; Jason Kidd, Jason Terry, and JJ Barea going 10-15 on three balls, or Miami’s defense holding the Mavs to 40% from the field and 38% from downtown, as they did in Game 3?

This was the only game of the series where either team went over a hundred points, and since only one team needs that kind of output to win, that is the team that I think is in trouble.

I don’t like the Heat, and I hope Dallas can pull out a victory in Miami. In fact, I don’t think I have ever rooted harder for a team that I wasn’t a fan of unless there was money involved.

But it took everything in their arsenal to win Game 5. They had the same kind of output against the Lakers in Game 3, then had the benefit of playing a team that had, as a whole, Roberto Duran-ed before Game 4 even tipped off.

I don’t see Dwayne Wade allowing his team to rollover, and let the Mavericks scratch their belly’s the way that Kobe did with the Lakers.

Just as I managed to do in this post, the Heat will succeed without a major contribution from Lebron James, and will win Games 6 and 7 the same way they won Game 3, with their defense.

NOTE: I haven’t placed a bet in a long time, but as anyone who knows my gambling track record can attest, there’s an excellent chance that I just gift wrapped a ring for Dirk and Co. by picking the Heat.

Let’s hope I’m a big enough mush, and that I just jinxed all over the Moheatos title hopes.

Just in case that’s not enough, here’s a video of Wade, and some guy who has repeatedly disappeared from the court during playoff games, a minor miracle given his size and skill, mocking Dirk Nowitzki to provide some more fuel to the Mavericks fire.

——Corey

The Rook Presents: my email inbox reads “apparently red rover does bend over”…and I’m intrigued.

// June 9th, 2011 // 3 Comments » // Uncategorized

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Wednesday, June 8 - Tracy Chandler, a 40-year-old mother of three, had spent several years as voluntary mascot of the Doncaster Rovers, wearing the Donny Dog costume at matches and while representing the club at charitable functions.

But Rover officials relieved Chandler of her duties, according to the reports, after the recent racy photo shoot with the national publication Sunday Sport.

Chandler, who is from Armthorpe, Doncaster, said she agreed to the photo shoot to raise money for the children’s charity NSPCC, which the team has supported with recent fundraisers.

“I can’t believe what has happened. I am livid that they have done this,” Chandler was quoted as saying. “I have worked hard as the mascot and I didn’t even get paid for it. I loved the job and I was more than happy to do it.

“The club has sacked me and I am devastated because I only did the pictures in the first place to help raise money for a really worthwhile charity.” [Yorkshire Post

Is there no justice to be had??  This honest, hard-working woman is just trying to bring a little life back into Europe’s fairy-tale *gulp* sport.  I’ve heard of ‘paper bagging it’ before…but ‘big red dogging it’?  For shame, England.  For shame.  Firstly, Every-girl-ever knows that if it’s for charity, then it’s okay.  And 2) I’m really starting to wonder how any of our overseas sistas are making ends meet when all the dudes want to do is buy calendars of naked soccer studs.  Seriously.  I’d be out of a job like yesterday (and they only let me handle the white hots and peanuts.)

woofA message from my 18-year old brother, a red-blooded Am’rrrcan male, “She deserves the Congressional Medal of Honor.  And an honorary spot on the Buffalo Jills.  It’s the least we could do.”

Yeah.  That’s it!  Come to the USofA where you can shake your pom-poms and drop it like it’s hot for 8 games a season.  Too soon?donnydog3

 

 

 

 

check out the goods on YardBarker

xoxo - The Rook

Shout out to Jul for the heads-up (down?), holla!

FWG Exclusive Photos of Tornado Damage

// June 8th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

My friend Seth, who many of you may know from his posts, well here, lives in one of the neighborhoods that was hit by the Tornado a few weeks ago.

Thankfully him and his family were okay, and he was able to capture some of the devastation.  Here are some of the pictures from Brimfield, Mass.

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All photographs by Seth Newton

Bruins Take Game Three 8-1: Horton Hears A Head Injury

// June 7th, 2011 // 8 Comments » // Uncategorized

[Yahoo] He lay on his back on the logo, his body aligned with the “t” in the words “Stanley Cup Final.” His stick lay at his feet. His right hand stayed stuck in the air for a moment, grotesquely, before falling slowly to his side.
“I skated by once, and his eyes were rolled back,” teammate Dennis Seidenberg said. “It didn’t look good.”…..

The Boston Bruins watched Horton carted off on a stretcher in a hushed TD Garden. They heard that he went to the hospital moving his extremities. Then they poured their emotion into an 8-1 victory over the Vancouver Canucks in Game 3 on Monday night, fighting back from a 2-0 series deficit, fighting for their fallen teammate.

Hits like these, whether its hockey, lacrosse or football are an unfortunate part of the game.  It’s one player’s poor judgement acting on

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another player’s lack of awareness; straddling the line between blatant I-don’t-care-cheap-shot and the maybe-I-can-get-away-with-it. I’m had my fair share of blasting referees for throwing the roughing the QB flag, and while yes, my standard argument that all quarterbacks are softer than Downy and need to let their respective sacks drop, I also know that on the other side of that debate is someone who says,

“Hey there 300lb-er, I don’t want you burying your face mask in my back and snapping my head back like a Pez dispenser.”
The difference last night, at the TD Garden in Boston was that Horton wasn’t looking, wasn’t aware, and didn’t have the puck.  Taking a vicious hit like that is a game changer (and, God forbid, a career changer as well).  I get the whole “passion of the game/heat of the moment”–but be a professional, bro, exercise a little self control.  I guess I’m saying I expect a little more out of Canada as a whole.  But don’t worry,

Vancouver will get theirs:  Anyone else think this looks a little bit like the Blackhawks in the first round, only this time it’s a far more talented Bruins team.  Stay tuned.

P.S.

FWG was at a bachelor party all weekend with former teammates, we’ll be doing a full write up coming later today/tomorrow.  Still trying to grasp just exactly how the night progressed.  I mean, I guess they were strippers…but I don’t remember paying.