No. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. You stay away from him, Joel. STAY AWAY FROM HIM ::gets out spray bottle and sprays water on him when he walks over to Lavar Ball::
Embiid, god damnit, you can not become all chummy with anyone in the Ball family. Everyone enjoyed it much, much more when you were lobbing horrendously funny tweets at that melonhead’s futile efforts to keep his sons relevant and in the public eye.
This Instagram post…
I’m back baby! Dandy Don Tollefson is a free man, just like that. They just opened the doors of the prison for me, said I was free to go and pushed me through. Didn’t even give me a psych evaluation before turning me loose….huh, seems like something that should be standard procedure, right? How about that?! You learn something new everyday in this wackadoo life!
I really feel like they should have given me my medications, though, before putting me back on the streets of Philadelphia. I’ve been off of them for a few weeks now, but I don’t feel too bad. I have been hearing high pitched screaming every night while I sleep, causing me to wake up in a freezing cold sweat…and I’ll be honest, I am starting to hear that screaming while I’m awake as well…even when nobody is around.
It tortures me…it would make a lesser man go crazy.
But the midnight fox that is set adrift on the Winter winds stays a hop and a leap ahead of insanity, that’s what I always say.
Did you see me on NBC 10 the other day? I thought I came off quite well, I really did. Take a look for yourself:
(I wrote this last week after Trump took part in the turkey pardon…never got around to posting it. Enjoy!)
Every year, while thousands of turkeys are killed for Thanksgiving, the president pardons a turkey of his own to be spared the ax during the holiday season. It’s a delightful piece of pomp and circumstance where children are taught a valuable lesson that the most gorgeous and appealing of us are rewarded, while the rest of us slobs are doomed to live out the rest of our days wallowing in our filth, with only the reprieve of death to look forward to.
President Trump continued the tradition yesterday and pardoned Wishbone and Drumstick, two lovely turkeys who will no doubt levy sexual harassment charges against the president in the near future.
It’s an interesting tradition…wiping a turkey’s slate clean and sparing them from any harm. But other than being delightful to look at, did any of these turkeys actually DO anything worthwhile to be pardoned? Who is ever worthy of a pardon?
Is anyone worthy of a pardon that Philadelphia and its fans have sentenced to death? This city has sentenced so many of its own athletes, coaches and media members to the gas chamber over the years…but are any of them worthy of a call from the governor before midnight strikes?
I’ve just started this column at 2:15 p.m. My 19-month old kid typically naps from noon to 2 p.m., and he has decided to grant me with an EXTRA-LONG nap on this glorious Friday after Thanksgiving, so why not scramble and write a very slapdash, loosey goosey column on the fly to tell our Coggin readers what we’re thankful for this Thanksgiving season.
DID YOU HEAR THAT?! OH GOD IS HE WAKING UP……no, no thank goodness. It was just the cat licking his own asshole and hatefully glaring at me as he does so. Fuck you cat. You will NOT be on this list.
Here is an all to inconclusive list of things we’re thankful for at The Coggin:
Four likes! That is an en fuego tweet, ladies and gentlemen.
Oh Howard…you couldn’t figure out how to crop out the massive Ringer logo from the meme? You are the heel we deserve, King.
Fuck, FUCK….2:26 p.m. and he’s up. That’s an 11 minute column, people. THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT.
Did you not make the cut for what we’re thankful for? Well, then just let me say that I’m very disappointed in you. You’re bad and you should continue to feel bad throughout the holiday season.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Hello, I’m Sarah McLachlan. Right now, the Lakers need you more than ever after what happened last night against 76ers. Your call says, I’m here to help. Please call, right now.
Ben Simmons and Joel Embiid should be locked up after the severe beatings they doled out over 48 minutes. It was so cruel, so brutal, the duo had to flee the state and the premises of their crime before local law enforcement officials could apprehend them.
Please call to put a stop to the violence you can see after the jump.
I’m not a huge fan of looking back at old predictions or player analyses and mocking them for how incorrect they turned out to be (unless they come from @OldTakesExposed, then they’re just hilarious).
Everyone is wrong once in a while, and when it’s your job to be in the prediction business you’re going to vomit out a clunker every now and again.
Fuck, the other day I looked back at some old Facebook memories where I was VEHEMENTLY defending Evan Turner to a friend, claiming that his “world class defense” made up for his “struggling, but growing offensive capabilities.”
OH, and also claiming that Evan Turner would have a “much, much more accomplished career” than Demarcus Cousins.
The moral of the story is, and always will be, that I am a complete moron.
But I found one analysis written about Ben Simmons after the 76ers selected him as the #1 pick in the 2016 draft. It’s so horrendously wrong that it boggles the mind. Did the author get the numbers of the jerseys incorrect? Did he think he was watching Simmons the entire season, when he was really watching Tim Quarterman or Keith Hornsby?
Here’s what David Gardner, a Staff Writer for Bleacher Report, said of Ben Simmons:
Confession. I didn’t see a second of the game yesterday. I had to watch the ESPN.com gamecast app on my phone as I half paid attention to a delightful Sunday wedding (mazel tov, Barry and Carol).
I didn’t see a second of the action, but even by intermittently reading the results of each play on my phone I could tell the Eagles had unhooked the Broncos off their ventilator in the first quarter and silently watched them pass away for the rest of the game like an unwanted relative.
It was a mercy killing. Brock, sorry, but you shouldn’t have signed that DNR.
Watching highlights of the game reaffirmed what I saw on Gamecast. It was a smashing, through and through, against one of the best defenses in the NFL.
Big dick Nick Foles even got to slang it around for a while. I’m sure you’ll hear a few people call into WIP and wonder if Foles should start for the rest of the year to keep Wentz “fresh.”
The Eagles are 8-1. Tops in the NFC East. Tops in the NFC. Tops in the NFL.
So why are we all still waiting for the other shoe to drop? Why is it so hard for us to come to grips that this team is actually this fucking good?
They’re all out of shoes. Nothing left to drop.
The Phillies reportedly hired themselves some Grade-A American beef over the weekend, tabbing former Los Angeles exec and muscled adonis Gabe Kapler as the franchise’s next manager.
Kapler is expected to bring cutting-edge sports science techniques to the clubhouse, a willingness to take risks, and an unfettered beauty that will force thousands of straight men in the area to take a long, uncomfortable look at their own sexual identities.
Good god, just look at him. LOOK AT THAT PUNIM! That is a face you can bring home to momma.
You could grate cheese on those abs, cheese that Gabe wouldn’t eat because you can’t get abs like that if you’re constantly eating the cheese that you’ve grated off your own abs. Lets get serious.
He has a face that looks like it has been sculpted from a pure block of marble, crafted by the finest old-world Italian craftsmen that have ever walked upon this earth.
Wives and girlfriends will be wondering while their husbands and boyfriends are staying up late AGAIN to watch the Phillies this summer.
“You were up REALLY late last night…were you watching the Phillies again? They lost 10-2…what the hell were you doing?”
“Nothing, ok? Just shut up. Oh, don’t clear out the DVR, I taped the game.”
Chris, may I call you Chris? Mr. Thompson, is that better? Can we settle on Chris? Chrissy? C-Thompson? Cris? Ok, Chris it is. Good, glad we got that settled.
I’d like to take a moment to address your unfounded claims that you won’t let your family attend this Monday’s game against the Eagles because you’re worried for their safety. You shared your fears with the Washington Post, explaining that Philadelphia fans were “the meanest” in football and you just didn’t feel comfortable having them in attendance.
Well, Chris, I’d like to assuage your fears. Nothing could be farther from the truth! Your family will be absolutely fine if they come to Philadelphia. Do you know why?
It’s because you’re just not worth it.
Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. In a press conference today Brett Brown noted that he believes Joel Ebmiid’s minutes in the first game of the season on Wednesday against the Washington Wizards will likely only be “in the teens” … and the panic button has been pressed.
It was surprising news for Embiid, who told reporters he was “bummed” and could likely play upwards of 30 minutes in the opener, but would have to abide by the minutes restriction.
Did anybody really expect him to have no minutes restrictions in the opener? He’s played less than 25 minutes all preseason, but somehow he’d be cleared to play 35-plus in the opener? Uhh…no. No he would not.
But that didn’t stop pretzels from raining down on poor Brett Brown.
And the fans do not like this one bit! AND HERE COME THE PRETZELS! Head Coach Brett Brown now on the field, pleading with the fans for some kind of sanity.
And a barrage of pretzels now knocking Brown unconscious. Wow. This…this is a black day for basketball.
I am here and now declaring “AND HERE COME THE PRETZELS!” to be the official statement for any time Philadelphia fans overreact on Twitter.
AND HERE COME THE PRETZELS:
The Coggin Toboggan 