There are some sports out there that I will never understand how to play. Football, definitely one of them. Curling? I have a higher comprehension of rocket science than I do curling. Biiathlon? Why should anyone on skis have a gun? And that’s why I love baseball. America’s pastime is so easy for all (except my Belgian mother) to understand. You hit a ball, run around some bases, people cheer, and tah-dah! That’s America for you.
Growing up in our nation’s capital, we always went to Baltimore to watch baseball, as they were the closest thing to a hometown team. Until the Nats came in 2005 and all my loyalties shifted. Finally, a DC team! And who cares if we aren’t the greatest. Rome wasn’t built in a day! That was my mentality for a while anyway, until we acquired the Stras-burger-nator. Now I want to win every game.
I went to a game yesterday for Father’s Day, and one today with my amazing colleagues and Strasburg didn’t pitch at either. I feel robbed!
Now if my team isn’t winning the game, I can always find something to keep me entertained, like binoculars and a nice uninterrupted view of the starting team’s butts. When I was in high school and my softball team would go to games together, we brought enough binoculars to put the best birders to shame. Our seats were nosebleed and our hormones were raging. So out came the binoculars and those Orioles posteriors in the mid-90s did we ever appreciate.
So Strasburg, please do some squats to keep us happy. And then win a few games and make us even happier. Go Nats!
All our hope lies in the hands of this young man with the prominent ears and the golden arm. Yeah, Strasburg! Here's to the man who inspired a thousand and one sandwiches named after him. Even I plan on chowing down a Strasburger.
T-minus 22 days until Season 4 of Friday Night Lights begins! Craig and I spent a good part of last weekend watching Season 3 to get us ready for the Texas-sized drama that returns in May and I am over the moon with excitement. Frankly, I never thought I would like a show about football, but one day I was sitting pathetically alone on a Friday night and started watching Season 1. Seven episodes and six hours later, I was ready to pack my bags, head to Dillon, Texas and sign up to be a Panther rally girl.
The show has amazing writers, fantastic producers, a wonderful cast, good old fashioned morals, the debauchery that comes before the morals, and some really hunky football players. In a funny way, I think Friday Night Lights even made me more interested in Craig when I met him. Before I began watching, I didn’t care at all if someone played football or not. But then I became obsessed and was kind of impressed when I met Craig and he told me he had played at the University of Nebraska. It was like the show come to life!
I made him start watching too, which was a touch annoying at first because he critiqued everyone’s technique and declared the QB a pansy, but after I threatened his life, he closed his trap and became obsessed with the show too. We’re waiting with baited breath until May. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose…go Panthers!
I may not understand how to play football but I do understand that really tight pants look good on hot man bods.
My favorite character is Tim Riggins. He has a wonderful...personality.
Despite dating a football obsessed man, I still have no idea how to play the game. This is actually starting to get embarrassing. I watch the show “Friday Night Lights” religiously, now attempt to watch college football with Craig, and cheer like I know what’s happening in sports bars. I like to shout things like, “first and ten do it again” to bartenders because it makes me sound like I know what that means.
Tonight I really had to try hard to pretend to understand the sport because it was this mysterious day called the Super Bowl. Craig just happens to loooove Peyton Manning and likes to tell me what a stand up guy he is and how good he is at “reading the defense.” I just nod and check Perez Hilton or the Sartorialist on my iphone and cheer when everyone else starts hootin’ and hollerin.’
But tonight I really did learn a few things. Like did you know that the quarterback doesn’t play when their team is on defense? Who knew! I figured they just kind of stayed off to the side and tried not to get hurt. I also learned that Craig played against Peyton in the NCAA National Championship and beat him. Why he doesn’t tattoo “I crushed Peyton Manning” on his arm, I do not know.
So you could say tonight was a learning experience. Along with those aforementioned lessons, I discovered that $7 Riesling is drinkable when you’ve had several glasses, that cowboy boots have no traction when walking home in the snow, and that Craig gets sad when Peyton Manning is sad. But hell, the government is closed tomorrow, we’re still rather buzzed from that horrible wine, and I have 364 days to enjoy before I have to pretend to like the Super Bowl again. Colts 2011!
I also appreciate his skill! of course. But you know, when the game is slow and the booze are gone, I'm very thankful for these tight pants.
I never grew up watching sports, and when I was a cheerleader, it was for basketball. So consequently, I know pretty much nothing about football. And I mean NOTHING. I like rooting for my alma mater, Penn State, because it’s fun to drink beer during the day and I look good in navy blue. I like the Baltimore Ravens because they are my husband’s favorite team; whenever they play we eat chicken wings and he’s always in a great mood.
Grey’s favorite player happens to be Ray Lewis (who, until I looked him up on Wikipedia just now, I thought was quarterback, but Grey says he’s what they call a “linebacker.”). In fact, the first time I ever met my future husband-to-be, he was wearing a grungy purple #52 Ravens football jersey. And since the Ravens are playing in a big game against the Colts, I thought I’d write today’s post in Ray’s honor.
If you do the math, little Ollie could have been conceived during Monday night football — a night when, coincidentally, the Ravens were playing. Call me superstitious, but ever since then, I’ve always felt like I owed Ray Lewis some sort of reproductive thank you. If not for this blog, I might never have voiced my gratitude, but hey, the phrase “too much information” seems to work right about now!
GO RAVENS!
The product of "Purple Passion"
Oysters, chocolate or Viagra? Who needs 'em with Ray?!
Today was like waking up in the North Pole. There was so much snow on the ground that the only thing to do was stay indoors day drink and play doctor. I naturally did this for many hours, but when I finally made it outside, I was sure to put on four pairs of pants and some good waterproof boots.
Being completely unprepared for a real winter, my snow boots are J. Crew galoshes with perky dogs printed all over them. In complete disclosure, I originally bought them because I thought I would look good wearing them completely naked. I think I saw something along those lines in a…film once and thought I would try it out too. Turns out galoshes are divine to wear with nothing else, but they also come in extremely handy during rainstorms (who knew!) and blizzards.
Today I watched Craig shovel my front walk while sipping some mulled wine. This was of course very trying and I was really glad that I had some waterproof boots to stand in while doing nothing. I made up for my laziness though when we reenacted the Big 12’s greatest hits in my front yard. Boy if I could always play in 15+ inches of snow, I think I would make a really good left tackle. I was flying through the air, catching passes that defied the laws of gravity, and ignoring Craig’s taunts of “Butterfingers! Butterfingers!” It’s amazing what snow can do!
I’ll probably have to wear my boots again tomorrow as it’s still snowing so hard I’m tempted to try my hand at igloo living. But that’s fine by me. Perhaps I’ll find another use for the sensational things.
In my backyard about to make the world's most deformed snow angel. You can't see my boots because they are stuck in a foot of snow, but they're there, protecting my questionable looking feet from the elements!
The miraculous boots! They amazingly complement my birthday suit, bikini, and winter wear.
On game days at Penn State, the name on every one’s lips is “JoePa,” our 83-year-old coach and father figure to the school. I swear, not since Jesus has a man had so many loyal followers. Plus, Grey had never been to a PSU game before, and this also happens to be the last semester for my 23-year-old brother before he graduates college, we figured we’d watch some ball and give Ollie quality time with his Uncle all in one fell swoop.
Bringing the baby proved to be a giant mistake. While we were at the game, I think Ollie’s poor babysitter (a cute girl I found on Facebook) seemed to be run ragged by my wild son. We think he even sampled the fine vintage of toilet water in our hotel. When we came home he was soaking wet, missing his pants, and with a bruise on his head from God knows what. As my brother put it, “At least he’s still alive.” Yes, survival rate percentage is very important when booking a sitter.
All things considered, it was a great day, and worth the hassle to hang out at my alma mater with my hubby, son, little bro, and 110,000 shirtless screaming frat boys.
Joe Paterno is one of the few names in sports I actually know. So I like to talk about him
I’m seriously considering a Baywatch theme for Ollie’s second birthday party. At the ripe age of 15 months, my son is a little Lothario; he loves women! He’s been flirting and batting his eyes at the fairer sex since he was two months old. He actually seems to have a thing for redheads, but will turn on the charm for pretty much anyone with breasts. He’s like a dirty old man trapped in the body of a midget.
The Navy football game was no exception when we sat front row to the Naval Academy cheerleaders strutting their stuff. He was enthralled! Literally — drooling! The funny thing was that the camera crew kept putting him on the big screen because he looked so intent on the game, but really, it was the cheerleaders he was watching.
I think I need to start cultivating dorky habits now. Maybe I’ll get him a rock tumbler or a science kit for Christmas. It seems like it’d be way easier to raise a nerd than some little playboy!
He was doing this the entire game. I swear he thought they were cheering for him!
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