Are You Ready For Some Football?!?

Thought I was rabid about World Cup Soccer?  Honeys, you ain’t seen NUTTIN’ yet!


Black Dog will return to regularly scheduled blogging after she finishes screaming at inanimate electronic media devices, pulling the limbs off NY Giants frustration dolls, and cursing enough to be mistaken for a rap star.  Trust me, it’s not pretty.


Enjoy the ride.

Could you be considered a rabid sports fan? For which team(s)?  Do you curse enough during major sporting events to make a sailor blush?  What’s your most creative curse?  No censoring here – let’s have it!

It’s Only Weird If It Doesn’t Work

Okay, show of hands.  Who’s seen this one?


Yes. Yes it is.

Admit it.  We all have weird crap we do in a cosmic, karmic effort to help our teams win.  In this house we have a multitude of practices, including, but limited to:

-chewing on pendants

-turning visors backwards and upside down

-clutching pillows

-throwing away said pillow if it doesn’t work

-rubbing challenge coins

-chewing on said challenge coins

-hugging legs to chest

-shaking the crap out of favorite team’s doll with removable limbs

-tossing said doll at television if team throws an interception

-holding hands so tight digital damage is incurred (may or may not result in trip to ER. AFTER game is over.)

-rubbing nose 3 times, pulling twice on right earlobe, grasping left ankle and hopping 5 times in a counter-clockwise circle while chanting in Swahili


“Mama-ko, mama-sa, ma-ka-ma-ko-ssa.”

What is it about our love for sports that turns us into rabid, hot-tempered, no-holds-barred, I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass-all-the-way-back-Philly maniacs?  I place complete blame for my sports insanity on older brothers and a husband who’s just as much of a sports freak as I am.  Even if part of his loyalty is COMPLETELY misplaced.

To each his own.  Even if his own is, well, you know.  THAT.

To each his own. Even if his own is, well, you know. THEM.

Growing up in a properly sports educated environment-

Wicked awesome!

Wicked awesome!


Bad. Ass.

Bad. Ass.

I was taught at an early age to respect people’s team choices. (Except, of course, when it comes to baseball and football).  However, I also learned the fine art of a properly timed zinger, how to properly deliver said properly timed zinger, and when, in the spirit of sportsmanship, to walk away from what could end up being an inconveniently timed trip to above mentioned emergency department, (i.e., NEVER before halfway through the fourth quarter, the bottom of the ninth, the last 2 minutes of the third period, or if it’s the Heat, and it’s the playoffs, before the last second of the last overtime).

Jesus Shuttlesworth in the clutch.

Jesus Shuttlesworth in the clutch.

That’s not to say I’m very good at the timing, but once in a while – okay a REALLY great while – I am SPOT ON with my digs.  And I ROCK IT.

I love good-natured ribbing, and as a faithful Red Sox fan since the time Mom popped me out into the world, I’ve been on the receiving end of it PLENTY of times.  And it’s all good, especially when it’s all done in fun.  But we’ve probably all seen when schmucks – usually drunk schmucks – take it too far.

Putz times two.

Putz. Times two.

It’s all well and good to be a rabid supporter of your favorite team(s).  Just remember – in the end, it’s all just a game.  The outcome won’t affect the world on its axis, won’t change where the sun rises and sets, and probably will be forgotten a year later.  Unless it’s the Red Sox breaking that goddamn curse and winning the World Series.  That will NEVER be forgotten.

Restrain yourself Kellie.

Restrain yourself Kellie.

Enjoy the ride.

Would you consider yourself to be a rabid sports fan?  Have you ever gotten into a pissing contest with a rival fan?  Who won?  Did it include a trip to the emergency room?

It’s All About…



I had planned on going in a somewhat different direction with this particular brain vomit, but events from this past weekend were just screaming for me to pounce on them.

If you have any interest in sports, then you know the annual NFL draft took place last week, culminating on Saturday.  It went like most typical drafts of the past, with bets being made on who would go first, what player each team might pick, who would give up picks for the chance of a better one in future drafts.  Then, with the 249th pick in the final round, the St. Louis Rams picked Michael Sams.  An openly gay player from Missouri, Sams was understandably overcome with emotion when his name was announced by Roger Goodell.  And like so many players whose names had been called 248 times before his, he hugged and kissed his significant other.  And unless you’ve been living under a rock the past few days, the ruckus started because the significant other just happened to be a man.  Oh, the horror.  (And yes, that was said with complete and utter sarcasm).

hate is easy

All this kid wants is to have the chance of fulfilling his dream of playing professional football, and to share that joy with someone he loves.  And once again, people found it necessary to voice their opinions about what should have been a celebration for a kid who has put in just as much blood, sweat, and tears, as any other player.  All just because they don’t agree with his sexual orientation.  What does it tell you when a 13 year-old girl says, “what’s the big deal?”  Perhaps that attitudes are changing?  We can only hope.

Now I know there may be some of you out there who were completely outraged by what you saw on TV.  Some of you may even be outraged at the very idea of homosexuality.  And you have that right.  Just as others have the right to live their lives AS THEY SO CHOOSE.  That’s why I find it so ironic that all of this occurred during a sports related event.  Aha!  Sports…once again, the great equalizer.

How Sams and his boyfriend choose to live their lives is their business.  I’m sure all they want is to be treated the same as any other couple, no better, no worse.  Isn’t that what you would want if you were in their position?  As athletes, I think we owe it to our ourselves, and our chosen sport, to keep hate out of it.  It seems every time you turn on ESPN, you’re hearing about kids, including athletes, committing suicide because of bullying.  Or African-Americans being denied access to play at snooty golf courses simply because of the color of their skin.  How about women being denied the simple right to play sports thus bringing about Title IX?  The mere fact that legislation had to be passed in the first place is nothing short of pathetic.

I could stay on my soapbox for a long time when it comes to this particular subject, but I will curb my yakkety-yakking for now.  Suffice it to say, and as I have said before, there’s no place for hate in sports.  Or anywhere.  Except maybe in baseball.

Bad Yankees!  Bad, bad Yankees!

Bad Yankees! Bad, bad Yankees!

It’s long past time for everybody to just keep things in perspective – what’s important – really, truly important – and what isn’t.  There’s a whole lot more important things to get our backs up about than who’s kissing who.

Enjoy the ride.

What do you think about the whole draft drama?