It’s time to grow up and face some hard truths. We’re living in a moment in time where we need to be direct and up front with our friends, our family and our lovers. We can’t be nice for the sake of being nice, so it’s time to accept what’s right and wrong.
It’s time to grow up and accept the fact that Rookie of the Year is a piece of garbage. It’s nothing when compared with the cinematic masterpiece that is Little Big League.
Coronavirus this, coronavirus that…it’s all you see on social media and the news. It’s scary stuff and we’re literally ONLY ONE WEEK into this entire shit show. The NBA felt like it suspended its season 10 years ago.
Did we step into a time warp? What year is it?! Who’s president?!
But you know what’s going to get us out of this quagmire? Family? Friends? Religion? VOODOO?! No no, of course not, those are all dead ends!
What’s really going to get us out of this rut is to laugh heartily at the past misfortunes of others who for some reason felt it necessary to share their innermost sporting humiliations with a guy who blogs under a sled pseudonym.
We asked for your submissions for the induction ceremony into the Coggin Toboggan Hall of the Absurd, and boy did you guys throw some good ones my way. Hit the jump for the best ones (and a bonus one from yours truly).
I’m bored. You’re bored. We’re all fucking bored out of our minds….and what’s the best way to pass the time when you’re bored? When you can’t look at the same four walls again without wanting to scratch your way outside and eat fertilizer by the handfuls just so you can feel SOMETHING?!
Why, it’s laughing at the misfortunes of others and reveling in the misery of people who aren’t you!
There are no sports right now unless you’re going to pretend to give a shit about Turkish dirt clod throwing or whatever else is left to gamble on in the wasteland, so your dear old Uncle Coggin is opening up the doors to the Coggin Toboggan Hall of the Absurd.
I want to hear your weirdest, worst, most memorably terrible or depressingly hilarious sports stories from your collective lives. Nobody likes hearing about triumphs….the best stories are about the worst failures of your lives. Send any and all sports stories to me on Twitter (the DMs are always open) or email them to me at email@example.com and we’ll publish the best in an induction ceremony column in the future.
I’ll give you an idea of what I’m looking for after the jump.
Oh boy. Well….huh. Nothing pithy or witty to say I suppose. This sucks and is more than a little scary.
Take it away, Kent.
The great wail of despair you heard last night around 7:30 p.m. from the tri-county area? It was the collective cries of anguish from lazy Philadelphia sports media members who learned the locker rooms of the major sports franchises will no longer be open to them amidst the coronavirus scare.
Hopefully some of these reporters have started hoarding their nuts, because WINTER’S COMING and it’s going to be HARSH.
He’s still green. He’s still morbidly obese (less so now). He still hails from the Galapagos Islands and never saw a bald head he didn’t want to shine. But a funk now emanates from his green fur – more so than the normal mildew odors baking in the August humidity – an aura of negativity that creeps into your brain like cheap, money hungry tendrils overwhelming the synapses of your mind that control the last vestiges of pure positivity and happiness you can experience.
The once incorruptible has become sullied. By who? Well it depends on who you ask, but the big green guy isn’t the same anymore, in appearance or attitude.
The changes to the Phanatic are fine. The reasoning behind them SUCK.
Anyone that knows me knows that I live and breathe two things in this life….data and basketball. I love to crunch those numbers, find the connections in the etherial void of hard quantum factorials, and play game after game of Drug Wars on my TI-82 graphing calculator.
So when the 76ers recently advertised the need for a Data Scientist to help them correlate a path to the promised land with slide rules and line graphs, it was an absolute no brainer for me to apply.
Let’s check out the requirements for this position and see why I’m the perfect candidate for the job.
Congratulations on the Super Bowl victory, Andy Reid! Thank god the Eagles won one first or you’d be the most hated man in all of Philadelphia.
Shy of Andy actually winning a Super Bowl with the Eagles, this is by far the best circumstance for him to win one (from our perspective anyways). The Eagles got theirs first, enough time passed between Reid’s inglorious exit and his own championship, and we all get to revel in his success without wanting to slit our throats if he won one before we got to experience a parade.
This Sunday the WWE is hosting its best pay-per-view of the year. The organization’s ROYAL RUMBLE is BY FAR the best PPV the wrestling brand puts on every year, with pops and surprises that no other event can top.
So as always we decided to COMPLETELY rip it off with our own Royal Rumble.
For those unfamiliar with the concept, a “Royal Rumble” consists of 30 wrestlers entering the ring every two minutes in an all-out, every man or woman for themselves brawl. The entrants are eliminated when thrown over the top rope, and the final man (or woman) standing wins the event and gets to headline Wrestlemania.
What better way to honor the WWE’s best show by putting on our own knock-off event with far less athletic and far, FAR LESS famous contestants that are flimsily connected to Philadelphia in the thinnest ways possible? SOUNDS FUN TO ME!
Of course, as its done the past four years in a row, The Coggin Toboggan hosts its own annual All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble on the Friday before WWE’s event, completely overshadowing the real deal with its complete lack of morals, its utter depravity, and absolute disregard for human life and well being. As always we’ve invited 30 of the most ruthless and knuckle dragging Philadelphians to bash each others brains in for minimal glory, absolutely no prize money, and a dark spot on their careers they’ll never be able to erase.
Five years ago I decided to start a blog, a hacky Onion ripoff dedicated to nothing but Philadelphia sports and being an absolute piece of garbage on Twitter. It’s been five long years of this HORSESHIT at the Coggin Toboggan and frankly it feels like a prison sentence that just won’t end.
But lucky for you I’ve become accustomed to the inside and there’s no way I’d survive on the outside. I’m stuck in this hell of my own creation and will take it to the grave with me.