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Every fall, as of late, college football pundits worship the teams of the south while emphatically explaining how the Eskimo teams of the north continue to screw the prophetic pooch. It’s not that they’re wrong; Tebow, LSU, Alabama, Colt McCoy, we get it. Yet come springtime it always seems that local sports writers are chomping at the bit to weigh in on how their favorite team will be joining the Big Ten.
There’s no fault in going after an easy talking point – the Big Ten has been yapping about expansion for years. After a few rock-bottom seasons for more than one Big Ten team, there’s no time like the present to “further explore opportunities for growth.” However, just because this historical powerhouse of a conference has had a rough season (or six) doesn’t mean the doors are now open to any riff-raff team that comes around. A Splog analysis of a just a few rumored favorites:
Rutgers – Not a chance. A few years of mediocre accomplishment does not a champion make. Leave college football to the heartland, New Jersey, and stick to what you do best. Lacrosse, beach walking, political corruption, those kinds of activities.
For some, the Super Bowl is two weeks away. For most, the season is finally over and it’s time to start spending the millions. How do the great men of the NFL choose to unwind?
Brett Favre: Returns home to cheers, honors and rampant celebration despite the mind-blowingly bad pass call and subsequent loss. Quickly forgets about the five wide-open yards that could have been easily covered for prime field-goal setup. Kisses babies, signs breasts, resumes regular float-riding in Minneapolis’s bi-weekly “We Love Brett Favre” parade. Retires. Discovers cure for cancer. Brokers multi-national peace agreement in the Middle East. Appears at meetings of the Favropalian Knights, a long-established secret society that values only cheese production, indecision and endless worship of Brett Favre. Decides he’s just not ready to leave the field and starts for the Cowboys in the fall.
Eli Manning: Tries to re-establish himself as King-Pimp of Hoboken. Spends five hours a day walking up and down Washington Street while saying loudly, “Yeah, dat’s how I roll. Dat’s how I roll cause dat’s how I gotta roll.” Asks hot wife to dress like a hooker and accompany him on strolls. Is bitch-smacked by hot wife. Gets laughed off the sidewalk and back into his automated condo. Cries, calls Peyton.
Nate Kaeding: Retreats to an Indian ashram for soul-searching, chakra-centering and media-avoiding. Encounters Taoist Apothecary Guru who also happens to be a Chargers fan. Is never heard from again.
One of these days, Europeans will finally catch on to the glory that is football (or “American Football,” as they like to call it). But given their current methods of promoting our divine recreational pastime, I’m not surprised that it has not caught on thus far.
Behold, the new ad for the Dusseldorf Panther (no S), one of Germany’s premiere American Football teams. The Europeans must thing we’re idiots, swallowing oddly-shaped soccer balls and losing them in hollow arms. If Americans still didn’t start buying soccer tickets after seeing giant ads featuring David & Victoria Beckham in their skivvies, I doubt Germans are going to buy up Panther tickets because of a cringe-inducing ad implying a massive surgical mishap.
A storm is gathering in the fairytale land of Michigan Football.
In the mythical village of Ann Arbor, strange happenings are afoot. Seasoned players are jumping ship left and right, but Captain RichRod is not concerned – he’s got a new recruit.
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Despite his all-star status and multiple MVPs, wrinkle-lover and New York Yankee Alex Rodriguez was seen sharing an intimate dinner with Please Lookatme Frankel, one of the “Real Housewives of New York,” in Miami on Friday.
A-Rod, your vision may be hazy through your recent tears of woe, but did you SEE the monstrosity that was your dinner date? Sure, she looked good for 39, if leathery skin and the boniest jowls since Mick Jagger are your definition of “good.”
We understand your perception of age is a bit skewed after your tumultuous “affair of the heart” with The Material Girl herself. But since an affair of the heart implies no physical contact, we feel it’s only fair to warn you that if you put the moves on Ms. Stretchy-Skin Frankel, you should keep an eye out for straying facial pieces and collagen leakage.
Hooker history and juiced-up past be damned, A-Rod, you’re still one of the hottest players in baseball with more money than several small countries. YOU CAN DO BETTER, we promise. She’s a so-called “celebrity chef” with a new cookbook coming out, aptly titled something along the lines of “Cigarettes and Surgery: Everyone Can Be Skinny Like Me.” And to top it off, she’s not even married, which in my book would be an immediate disqualifier from a show about “Real HOUSEWIVES.”
Get well soon, A-Rod, and by “well” we mean “interested in saving your spiraling career instead of chasing older women.”
College football coaches bask in a fan-filled limelight for a full five months out of the year. But when the husky lads leave the field and the alcohol-laden student section finally clears out, what’s a college football coach to do? How do spotlight-loving coaches with multi-million dollar salaries pass the time?
Recruiting, plotting, team-building and training are the first activities that come to mind. This season, however, coaches are devoting their time to a much more strategic and high-tech offseason maneuver: twittering.
Known for their unparalleled elocution and prose, college coaches have thrived in the uncensored 140-character-or-less social-networking arena.
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SWISS NUDE HIKING. Yes, really. We were hesitant to categorize hiking as a sport to begin with, but it’s amazing how tiring walking can be when you do it for a really long time on an uneven surface. But naked, and in the snow? Shoot me now. This one’s right up there with Hurling and Speed Walking.
Christoph Bangert for The New York Times
With the bear economy and difficult job market, I watch my finances like a hawk. I live in fear of losing my job as I see more and more co-workers packing their bags each week. So when it’s time for a major purchase, I buckle down, trim the fat and evaluate the situation. Times are tough, but I found a way… to afford a pair of tickets to the May 6th Mets/Phillies game at the new Citi Field.
Single-game tickets go on sale this Sunday, but fortunately my season-ticket-holder pal (aka “Really Rich Friend”) had early access. I am now the proud owner of two nosebleed-section tickets currently worth more than my 401k.
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Who do pick for your after-work social sports post-game flip-cup team – the new guy who impressively pounded 20 beers at last Thursday’s happy hour or the slightly older raging alcoholic who has been playing (and winning) in a Wednesday night flip-cup league for seven years? Exactly. While Rosolio scrambled to fill his roster with Ravens and The Ball Coach quietly fumed over Jets’ fall from grace, I had the pleasure of drafting without any emotion-sucking loyalties clouding my judgment. Pilates notwithstanding, I have by far the most solid core here (and it’s about time, considering how quickly my fantasy team tanked in the regular season).
Keeping in line with the recent “less-is-more” economic trend, the Mets recently unveiled a commemorative uniform patch for the inaugural 2009 season at Citi Field.
