Big news everyone! Billionaire baseball owners don’t want to pay their athletes previously agreed upon prorated salaries and want to cut salaries even further for the absolute privilege of playing an abbreviated season amidst a global pandemic!
And guess what?! Boy oh boy, I bet you can’t guess….but the players don’t want to take a pay cut and be paid based on revenues earned in the truncated season. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT?!
It’s billionaires arguing with millionaires about how many millions they’ll all be paid, while the rest of us have been sitting in our filthy hovels for the last three months wondering when we’ll ever be allowed into Target again without face masks.
Fuck baseball. Fuck the owners for being greedy pigs. Fuck everyone involved squabbling for money.
There’s nothing like the horrific sight of a 300-plus pound man covered in tattoos scraping a cheese grater across the forehead of an agonized Italian-wrestling stereotype named “Little Guido” to truly bring out the finest of South Philadelphia.
ECW was quite it’s own little adventure back in the mid-90s for wrestling fans who wanted a little less athleticism in their wrestlers and a WHOLE lot more blood and profanity in a show. Hosting shows at the infamous 2300 Arena on South Swanson Street where very little wasn’t allowed, ECW crowds did not give a flying fuck about much of anything as long as they could binge drink, watch wrestlers bleed profusely and yell at scantily clad managers to show their tits.
I watched a few PPVs recently (CyberSlam 96 and ECW Barely Legal) on the WWE network and was THRILLED to be able to step into a time portal and people watch when the action spilled over into the crowds.
So many mullets, so many polaroid cameras, very few teeth…let’s take a look at some of the finest fans in attendance at the two PPVs shall we?
The perfect ad doesn’t exist, you say. No simple advertisement could so truly encompass the spirit of a business or a product so perfectly, so succinctly, so ELEGANTLY that it immediately takes your breath away and makes you drop down to your knees to thank GOD that such beauty exists in this world.
Nothing like this could ever exist, you say. Nothing could bring the world together in such harmony and love, to unify the breaks that divide us so deeply at times, to be so utterly sublime that it quite literally stops you in your tracks and demands your attention.
You wouldn’t think an advertisement, let alone a local advertisement for a Philadelphia bar, could make you YEARN for better things.
That is until Locus Rendezvous Bar & Grille, located conveniently on 15th and Locust in the heart of Philadelphia, decided to air this beauty to bring us all together and make us believe in hope again.
::ESPN JINGLE MUSIC:: The 2020 Social Distancing Pastime Draft! Sponsored by Budweiser, the king of beers, and Netflix. The first round is concluding as we join our broadcast team, Trey Wingo, Suzy Kolber, Booger McFarland and many others throughout the exciting draft.
Trey Wingo: “Welcome back to the 2020 Social Distancing Pastime Draft on ESPN, your home for sports, your home for the pandemics that really matter. It’s been an exciting day so far, a day to really shape the millions around the country itching to look for ways to kill precious, precious time during these unprecedented times in our history. The draft has held to form so far, hasn’t it Mel? Not a lot of surprises with watching hours upon hours of Netflix going first, followed up with binge-eating and sleeping to round out the top three.”
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 firstname.lastname@example.org 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.