/ Sports /
I move older post material into a fictitious past so the fictional new post isn’t confused with a new post.
2016 06 21 OK, the Cavs and Lebron are something too. They were before the 2016 finals, and they are still. I thank the Golden State Warriors for the greatest couple of seasons I’ve seen since the Bulls of the ’90s, since the Lakers of the ’80s, since the Knicks of the early ’70s, since the Celtics of the ’60s …
Steph had me more sparked by a sense of divinity than I had been since … since the Bulls, since Oaxana, since Nadja, since Ali …
actually since Federer! that’s the watermark.
I knew Roger Federer was the greatest of all tennis players, even greater than Laver … (Never mind Borg: tales of his drugs and booze and teeny orgies kinds of scuttled that Viking fantasy.)
So finally McEnroe said Fed ws the greatest: and I could relax, it’s official, sanctioned by authority: McEnroe, an authority, what bullshit.
But right away Mac is asking: if Fed’s the greatest of all, who’s this Rafa? And Djoke?
Never mind: Fed’s the greatest; but not permanently, not eternally: we need mythic names for that fiction: JC …
The Warriors were the greatest: before the finals. They didn’t need to win the ’16 finals to be the greatest; they already were, and are, the greatest. Go home and pray, Mac.
Not permanently the greatest, no such thing.
Ali had to tout himself: he should have been touting Jack Johnson. Change from his slave name, and tout Jack Johnson.
2016 06 21 Yahoo said: if [the Warriors] ran off 73 wins a year after winning the championship, they could be even scarier after losing it.
2016 06 19 Happy Fathers Day!
Tonight’s the night!
I don’t think I’m the only one: we’ve all fallen a little out of love with Steph in this series; Lebron we’ve never really loved. Both are already immortal, either could grab even more immortality, maybe both will. Don’t know how.
No, wait: by playing basketball of course: at a level seldom seen in the case of Lebron; at a level never seen, never imagined, in the case of Steph. Maybe Steph will disembody and launch straight to heaven in the middle of the fourth quarter.
The rest of my piece I’ve already said: the Warriors were wasting breath a few weeks back when they were on the cusp of breaking the Bulls season games record: sure winning two titles in a row was important, but lots of teams have won two in a row; no team had won so many games, scored so many threes, spread triple double across the bench … like the Warriors. They are already the greatest team ever. Tonight matters but isn’t crucial.
Then again: who wants to root for dirty players. Draymond is wonderful, but he should have been suspended for a season. Forget whether it was an accident: don’t allow such accidents to pass without consequences.
It’s the NBA itself I’m really disappointed in. If they had any character they’d announce, Sorry, No Champ This Year!
2016 06 12 Draymond and Lebron go at each other, good: two of the leagues gorillas. Draymond calls Lebron a bitch, or says “I ain’t your bitch”, or whatever he said, Lebron knocks Draymond down, steps over him, Dramond flicks a fist at Lebron’s nuts, then flicks again … This is the guy who still in uniform after spending the semi-finals kicking and punching people below the belt. Can the refs oversee a clean game? Apparently not. Can the gorillas play fair? Apparently not.
How come Green hasn’t already been disciplined? How come Lebron is stepping over him and still on the floor, playing?
Lebron had been complaining that the refs were letting him get fouled: so he steps over Draymond?
Chas Barkley explains the “meaning” of stepping over somebody you’re knocked down. Good: but will the NBA get it? Is the NBA competent to supervise battle among different cultures? Is it fair to hire non-ghetto people to supervise ghetto people?
No, no one is competent; but I sure love basketball. And I sure love Draymond Green: except for all that dirty play. And I sure have been disgusted for a decade of Lebron thinking he should be talked about in the same breath with MJ. But, never mind any of that, I sure am elated that 12-year old cherub assassin Steph Curry is in this world: to partially eclipse MJ.
If Draymond Green is suspended for game five on Monday, Lebron should be suspended for game six and seven (if seven is necessary). And key players from past great teams should be suspended for the sake of What-If arguments: Wilt couldn’t play, nor Willis, nor Magic. Nor Russell.
Lebron has annoyed me since I first heard of him. However I became a fan when I saw Trainwreck, but on the basketball court I’m back to hating him, hating his damn tattoos, hating his eclipse-all-else ego. But: I find myself liking the Cavs: for the given names: Kyrie! Tristan!! Come to think of it, Draymond is pretty great too. Bless the odd balls. Bless all the unwed ghetto mothers.
Kyrie is blasphemy, isn’t it? That’s where it’s power comes from.
Lebron is ugly; Kyrie is gorgeous. And so is Kevin Love. And so was Russell Westbrook, and Kevin Durant … You love one team and then you wind up loving the opponents too.
Note though: the League decided to suspend Draymond. Do I believe the NBA (or any other kleptocratic league) is capable of informed judgment? Absolutely not: not on this or any other human nature stumble. But that’s why what-if arguments are infinite: there’s always more room at the top.
2016 06 08 I’ve liked Steve Kerr since his days with the Bulls as bench hero at the end of close games: as he quipped, his number is called, he shoots a three, the Bulls win the game, Kerr goes to the interview room: very easy.
If only, but there’s some truth to it. So when Kerr showed up as the world was falling in crazy over the Warriors, and the splash brothers, and Steph, and Draymond … I knew better than many a casual fan who and what we were dealing with: a funny guy, a true basketball player … an under-colleauge of MJ … Tonight is game 3 between the Warriors and the Cavs. Warriors are up 2-0. Jan picked Warriors in four! I picked Warriors in six. She could yet be right. Just marvelous, coming to a head, a climax, wowie.
2016 05 11 Game four last night, Wowie. Steph is back! Draymond up to his dirty tricks, getting away with them so far. Ugh.
More Kerr Fun: Steve said people commented on how come Steph wasn’t injured all the time, he does’t look like he could be that tough. Kerr answers, “That’s cause he looks like he’s twelve!”
Yes, the macroinformation is overwhelming; the cherub assassin.
Anyway, apropos of Kerr, I’m just reminiscing about coaches I’ve been aware of in the past: Casey Stengal! Red Auerback, Red Holzman … Vince Lombardi. John Wooden, Phil Jackson … Popp … Steve Kerr!
Then there are the embarrassing coaches. Bella Caroli: Yew can dew eet! entreating the girl while she’s on a broken leg!
|2016 06 04||
The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.
Material has been moved around, 2016 03 13 I hope I haven’t lost much, botched it.
Critical comments about spectator sport (spectator anything). I even specified a few leads, both to remind me and, I hoped, to entice you.
… to observe the difference between honorable sport (like golf, where the gentleman calls penalties against himself) and common sport (like baseball, basketball, football where the reigning epistemology/morality is “no call, no foul”)
… competitive sports as illusion (overplaying “will” in the play-by-play)
… the Olympics as an example of sport and discuss it in relation to the history and the purpose of sport. Sport is fairly recent in human history and what we perceive it to be changes from year to year
… to relate the Why of athletics to Jared Diamond’s Why with regard to the behavior of stotting common in ruminants
Specific occasions called me back since then: Tiger setting another record, Jeter hitting an extra-inning game-winning homer in the first minute that a World Series player could possibly be a candidate for Mr. “November” …
What brings me here, adding a new file today [2001 or 02], is a thought that just occurred to me. I can’t add it just as a reminder because it isn’t yet part of my standard repertoire: I might forget it. My thoughts are odd enough that it might be a while before someone else independently births its twin.
|Spectator Sports||Public Confidence||Confidence Game|
2016 04 06 The Warriors lost a game here, there. They failed to beat the Spurs in San Antonio, then they failed to beat the Timberwolves at the Warriors’ home in Oakland. Now there’s a journalist broadcasting doubt that the Warriors have been wise to concentrate on beating the Bulls wins-in-a-season record; they should be concentrating on winning the NBA title: again: for two in a row!
Except who is that designed to impress? Anyone who’s been following the Warriors this year knows that that’s exactly what coaches, staff, ownership, players have been saying all along: Don’t get distracted by secondary goals.
Back to back championships is the big goal: season win percentage, total wins, total losses: they’re big goals too, but not as big as failing to repeat as champs. Curry back-to-back MVPs, that’s big too, but still secondary.
Walton was saying that while Kerr was still out! Kerr’s been saying it: not just since he came back but all along!
So: this wisdom, from the stupid press, is pure theft.
I add: concentrating too much on season records doesn’t guarantee you’ll get the season record: the Warriors cou8ld fail to reach 70 wins, they could also fail to repeat as champs. I’m for more than one NBA team. This year I’ve worshipped the Warriors, the other year I worshipped the Spurs, Leonard … But:
I’ve never worshipped a team and a star the way I’ve worshipped Curry, the Warriors, Thompason, Green … this year. Yes, I want them to win everything, breat all records, and break them again next year!!!
Team passing 1,000 3s?! Draymond amassing 1,000 500 500 100 100 !!! in one season! Curry scoring 300 3s, now maybe 400 ?!!!
The Warriors have now failed to extend their home winning streak, but what a streak they had anyway. Curry still going with 3s made in games-in-a-row …
And it isn’t just Curry! Or, just related to Curry: there’s also his daughter! his father! his wife! his sister! and brother!
The records they might set in the future are unimaginable now: How many more than one championship will Kerr win as a head coach? The future could be unrecognizable. Hey, but what if they don’t? So What. !
Look at what they have done! the world has never seen anyting like it.
Failure? Running out of steam? out of luck? the world has seen plenty of that. And so have I.
2016 02 10 The bulk of my scrapbook posts string chronologies in reverse; here the original layout is up top, the rest follows as a tail. Please forgive any mixups.
Forever Team, Forever Season: Destiny’s Darling
The Warriors, Curry, did win everything, hurray. But now, 2016 05 25, they’re stumbling. Maybe God is punishing everyone’s greed!
Then again: the Thunder got a lot of gype a couople of years back: then they fizzled; now they’re burning a hole in the universe. This year I’m responding to more teams than ever before: all thanks to Curry: and Kerr: and the other Warriors.
We all OD’d on Draymond Green the night we kept finding Green foot in Adams’ crotch. Shame. On the whole NBA. The Warriors no longer deserve to be Destiny’s darling.
I’ll always be grateful to the 2016 Warriors: never before was I so absorbed by athletic excellence, by star power. Thanx, Steph. Thanx all the guys.
I tell you though, you ha en’t lived till you’ve had a girlfriend like Jan. Her father was a city-chamption basketball coach, she knows what she sees. Tennis too: her son a pro, Jan a veteran of Forest Hills, Roland Garros …
Curry That LeBron
2015 06 15 Awesome! Steph put on a clinic last night, his opponents gasping in admiration, LeBron looking somber, despite his own more than stellar performance. Steph said something that exposes the absurdity of taking professional league sports with anything but the tiniest grains of salt:
“It was a fun moment, but it only means something after we win the championship because signature moments only come for players who are holding the trophy,” Curry said.
Little things mean a lot, though in the long run, perhaps nothing means anything at all.
I was so wrapped up last night by the fourth period Jan thought I was going to hemorrhage. But come Tuesday we’ll begin to see what it all seems to mean, in this the short run.
Last evening pre-game Jan and I had a cute waiter at Ruby Tuesday’s: good looking, tallish black guy, flirting, hovering over Jan — he’s maybe twenty-three; she’s eighty-three-about-to-be-four.
I’ve got my lover’s grip on Jan’s thigh, this waiter is laying all over the table: knows he’s good-looking enough to likely get away with anything he wants to do. Jan asks for the bill, offers a coupon, says she hopes for her change in time to catch the basketball game. The guy volunteers that he’s a juior in college, plays basketball: adds that he doesn’t like LeBron, does like Curry. Exactamundo, we second.
And LeBron’s just made it worse for himself, even his fans are embarrassed for him: he announces that he’s the best basketball player in the world. No, no. Tell that to the girl, tell that to your mother, your buddies … hope it’s obvious, hope God will announce it for you; but if you have to announce it yourself (as I myself have always had to do), it’s not true, it’s the opposite of true, it’s pathetic.
French Open tennis
2015 06 03 Lord help us: a pic, of Federer, fallen, prone on the red clay! Then a day later: Nadal double faults, down to match point against! Age and mortality catches up even there.
2015 06 15 Ana Ivanovic is so beautiful! and so good!
of all the beauties / athletes (female) to show with her crotch splayed!
Isn’t that something? No matter the angle, head on is how the human herd will see it. Me too: thank you sports.
2015 05 24 French Open tennis began today, it’s reported that a fan ran down the grandstand, onto the field, put his arm around Federer’s shoulders, and tried to snap a selfie. The Fed was angry. Gee, what a different world, including sports worlds from just a dozen decades ago: Jack Johnson not only had to fight the world’s heavyweight champion: after he pulverized him, then Jack Johnson had to fight the crowd. JJ had to fight his way to the RR car, full of champagne and women, parked for him on a side rail. The rabid racist audience brandished rusty razor blades to castrate the uppity nigger. Jack figured if he punched enough Jack Londons on the schnooz, he’d made it to the train and the babes.
In his bar in Chicago, women waited patiently on a line that wound down the elaborate stairs for a turn in JJ’s big bed.
I like Jack, I also like Fed, and his quiet-seeming marriage. Yes, civilized tennis is nice, and that guy should have kept his seat.
2004 July Federer repeats as Wimbledon champ; Masha takes her crown at seventeen! God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world. It would have been dandy with Serena still reigning, but adding the threat of the new dynamo is ever better.
Serena is now beautiful as well as cute as well as nice, but Masha could model! Boy, do I look forward to more meetings between them. I don’t doubt that Serena will get her share of wins.
2013 09 13 Serena has just proved that she’s still at it, better than ever. When she was sixteen I saaid that I hoped so: she could win forever as far as I was concerned. Now though I’ve had near enough of her (and my darling Jan, bumped rudely by her father, back when, can’t stand the sight of her).
There: and now I’ve recreated as much of my old Sports / Games section as I’m going to. If would have been so much easier if the censors had just left me alone: there’s no need to protect from the revolutionary whom the public is already ignoring without interference from federal thugs.
Lots of commentaries on the human condition have suggested that sports are a substitute for war. I’ve never heard the corollary but I doubt that I’m the first person to think of it: war could be a substitute for sport.
Every kitten, every puppy, male or female, engages in physical play: it’s training for adult predation: the critter’s life depends on learning to play well.
The pups roll around on the ground, biting their brothers and sisters. A little blood sometimes may spill, but it’s not normally lethal. Once however that there’s far more predators than prey, something’s got to change. Once there were lots of bison and only a few Lakota hunters. Now there’s eight million humans on a hunk of rock with a few thousand pigeons and a few hundred squirrels: I guess a few rats as well. Now there must be blood: or there will be nothing for no body: lots of blood: Germans killing millions of others and eighteen million of their own, the US being such a benefactor, four or so million Vietnamese dead from the benediction, some still dying from left over mines and such.
Nonsense. That can’t be true. We’re Homo sapiens. Sentient. Intelligent. Aware. Christian: we have a conscience. Disregard the evidence; have faith in your theory.
It’s not the immediately preceding that I just thought of: it’s this. … Actually, excuse me while I prepare to come in from left field: I’ve got to review one technique used by con men.
Get out the phone book. Prepare a list of one hundred names and addresses. Address one hundred envelopes. Write one hundred times: “It will be sunny on Friday.” Mail them. If it rains on Friday, start over. If it’s sunny, address another hundred envelops, say: “The Yankees will win on Saturday” in fifty of them. Say “The Yankees will lose on Saturday” in the balance. Come Saturday, you have fifty names for whom you’ve been right twice in a row. Tell twenty-six than General Motors will go up. Tell the other twenty-four that General Motors will go down. Now you have at least twenty-four believers. Tell a dozen one thing. Tell the remaining dozen the opposite. And so on, till you’ve got one sucker who BELIEVES in you. Tell them to mortgage the farm and send you to the track with it.
Whether you go to the track or not, they never see you again. With half a brain you can live well for a couple of years. Then you have to start gathering addresses again.
I’m suggesting that Freud, however wrong he may have been about the details of this and that, was right about one thing: we don’t know what we’re talking about, don’t even know what we’re doing or why. Society is a group con, the group conning itself. And spectator sports provide a spectacular example of a series of types of self-deception.
If we watch enough athletics, some of it must rub off: right?
That is, eating buttered popcorn while Jim Brown bulls his way through other big people, must be very good both for our upper body strength and our legs: no?
If my high school wins, it must mean that my village is good. If my village wins, it must mean that I’m good.
If my city team wins … etc. If my country’s Olympic candidate wins, it must mean that our political system, our market economy, our industrial infrastructure … is superior.
All that can’t be right because it’s too obvious. I mean any twelve year old sees it. Therefore we can’t possibly be fooled.
Sorry. We’re fooled anyway. You can tell from across the room that the girl is wearing falsies. It doesn’t matter. When she waves them under your nose your dick gets hard anyway. Or you see that the blond is a whore from a block away. Hell, the blond hair has to be bleached: she’s black after all. It doesn’t matter, somewhere inside you, for a split second, you still think that blond means white, that white means good, that good means innocent … that if you wave a bill of denomination larger than one, you’ll swiftly be blown by a virgin.
Maybe I’ll find time to present this all better, more logically, more completely. Right now, I gotta go. So I’m just gonna shove this in:
What I love best about televised sports is that it makes every one of us hicks village mates of Michael Jordan, neighbors of Tiger Woods. Hell, didn’t we all watch him grow up? Doesn’t he now belong to us?
When I was a kid I though Joe DiMaggio was from New York: the way the local South Side football hero was from Rockville Centre. The Yankees were best because New York was best. The best kids were from New York: New Yorkers like Yogi Berra, Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle.
If the Dodgers were the Brooklyn Dodgers, didn’t they belong to Brooklyn? Then how did they ever even contemplate moving to Los Angeles? If the Dodgers went to Los Angeles, then all of Brooklyn should have had to go with them. You can’t explain team ownership to a kid: not after calling a team “Brooklyn” or “New York.” [And how dare the Bronx bombers call themselves the New York Yankees?]
These illusions take place with the connivance of the law: what other enterprise is allowed to use the polity to name it’s product: only government itself.
Don’t let me forget to comment on sports and language. Baseball jargon intrudes the article “the.” Golf ascribes ownership prior to the event: “This will be for his par”: as distinct from “a par.”
I did it again, used a duplicate title. Well, people get notified that there’s a new post, ugh: so I’ll merge in the old material here:
2005 07 23
Roddick thought the serve was wide. The NBC commentators said it was definitely out. I could see that it was close, maybe out. Roddick completed his self-destruction, and lost: aided by excellent play from his opponent. I mention it because Roddick argued and argued with the chair: before double-faulting, smacking balls deep into the stands in pique … falling apart.
Roddick may well have been right about the call. The chair umpire correctly refused to overrule: the line was on the far side from the chair.
I wish tennis — and all sports involving official calls — would improve their officiating. In the meantime, for all time, I wish tennis players would stop boring us all to tears with rude protests.
McEnroe should have been ejected from many a tournament. So should Connors have been: Nasty too.
Roddick wasn’t as obnoxious as Mac. But still.
At the same time I’d like to see some lawyers volunteer time to challenge questionable outcomes. We need some major players to refuse to continue following a bad call. Default the match: and call the lawyers.
Officiating would improve pronto. But instantly we wouldn’t have to watch tantrums as competition.
2013 09 08 I loved Roddick like never before last week at the US Open, interviewing the Fed, crediting Fed with being considerate of his, Andy’s, great five set loss at Wimbledon. Andy said Fed came into the locker room, celebrating, but quietly: respecting the loser’s extreme grief. Great. So my comment is really a Fed fan comment, not a Roddick fan comment. OK, still, let me say: Roddick was beautiful in telling the story. Handsome beyond belief, smiling, wonderful guy. Not tennis champion: retired tennis champion. Being gracious. Keep it up, buddy.
Meantime, didn’t StanW have a heroic loss to Djoke yesterday?
2006 01 29 What a weekend! Federer wins the Australian Open, Hingis wins the doubles, Mauresmo breaks through … Henin gives in?!?!? Tiger wins the Buick. I’m exhausted.
All this comes right in the wake of Kobe scoring eighty-one points, Lakers vs. Raptors. Eighty-one points! He says he’s a little embarrassed: and well he should be, the player too often criticized for self-over-team. Now he’s being asking if he’s thinking of going to Wilt’s one hundred mark.
Those decades ago Wilt put on a very odd show: score, score, score. It was planned. It was a team idea, the coach, the team, cooperated: keep giving Wilt the ball, support him in scoring. Usually it was the other way around: distribute the ball to Wilt, Wilt will redistribute the ball, sometimes scoring. Wilt rebounded, Wilt scored, Wilt assisted. But that night Wilt scored, reached one hundred.
It should be left alone: the way we leave Mt. Rushmore alone. Maybe we never should have defaced Mt. Rushmore in the first place; but having done so, let it alone. Maybe Wilt should never have gone for one hundred, he was already the greatest, the most complete player: a coordinated big man.
The Reuters release I just read didn’t mention one rather important thing. Phil Jackson was analyzing Kobe’s night and the possibilities of a one hundred point, modern game, and discussed how many guys could hit how many threes these days, like forty percent being current across the league for threes. But wait a minute: Wilt didn’t have any three point shots, did he? That was one hundred points of twos! twos and ones, occasionally two and one adding up to three; but no three point shot in the rules. No?
2006 02 16 Thus saith Bode Miller:
Sport is born clean and it would stay that way if it was the athletes who ran it for the pleasure of taking part, but then the fans and the media intervene and finish up by corrupting it with the pressure that they exercise, he said. Anyone who isn’t strong is left in a corner, no-one asks for their autograph, they are abandoned in the cold shadows. Those who win, however, become icons. From this inhuman pressure doping is born because the athlete feels the imperative of having to be number one. I believe instead that sport should be a private pressure, a challenge for yourself.
Bravo! Go, Bode.
As you see, I dated some but not all of these scribbles. The following would have been 2008 or since.
Pete Rose is still yammering to get back into baseball, after being banned “for life.” He said, “It’s a like a singer getting caught running a red light and not being able to sing again,” Rose said. “That’s not America. I’m a baseball player. I can go on every talk show and say I’m sorry and some people don’t want to hear you. That’s not fair.”
No, Pete it’s not like a singer running a light. Yes, it’s unfair. It was unfair that I had to watch you bully people on the bases for so many years, unfair that I heard your name a dozen times for any once that I heard John Coltrane’s.
Pete commented further that baseball was full for forgiveness for athletes who took drugs, who beat their women … Yes, yes: unfair, and disgusting. (What else should we expect from humans?) But where “Pete Rose” is different, Pete, is that you became the poster boy for allowing doubt on the integrity of commercial spectator sport, in particular baseball. The drunk pitcher harms only himself, and his team, and his fans … The junkie outfielder, the coke snorting shortstop … they only harm themselves, and their teams, and their fans … and only so so much the owner, the League … Ah, but the gambler, Pete … The gambler: the athlete who allows himself to show what it’s really about: gambling, money, irresponsible profit … he jeopardizes the whole game: and I don’t just mean baseball, Pete; I mean America. I mean business: sport as business, sport as fraud.
It’s like pretending that the young lords on the playing field at Eton are really just young sportsmen; not kleptocrats, imperialists, exploiters … in training. The Blacksox all but destroyed America’s trust in professional baseball: and we’re trained to blame the players who took bribes, not the owner who didn’t pay them much.
Dont ever forget, Pete: history is always the fault of the niggers, not of the slave owners: or the factory owners, and certainly not of the politician(s) for centralized imperial government.
Totemic Names, Nicknames, Mascot Names
Roar, lion, roar! I have no issue with my alma mater’s totems. I don’t try to correct anyone, force them not to take such trivia literally. Oh, but TV exposure of Notre Dame ruffles my feathers.
The Anglos and the Saxons pushed the Brits — Welch, Scots, Irish — into corners, made them second, third, tenth class … I’m used to it, I no longer quarrel.
And I’ve spent, perhaps wasted, my life combating racism: as I also combat existential confusions: like mistaking a flag, a medium, like canvas, with a design, like stars, or stripes, for a country.
Last night I watched NC State play Syracuse at basketball. My friend’s son came in, said, “Oh, do we have any white boys?” I no longer waste my time arguing with such people, I just watched the game.
Then the ESPN news showed footage from a Notre Dame game. Again, there was a a quorum of good “black” players: and the announcer refers to them as “the Irish”.
Uhh … what?
Perverse pk literalism.
I swallow the lions at Bakers Field, I swallow the Mustangs on the highway; what do I care what they mean by “Irish”?
2016 02 18 Manny Pacquiao has lost his Nike sponsorship, whatall else he might have lost and continues to lose is hard to calculate yet, maybe never. He came out against “gay” “marriage”. http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/boxing/nike-drops-manny-pacquiao-following-his-inflammatory-comments-210707740-boxing.html
Gee, not much new there. But he says, Look at other animvals, you don’t see males humping males, etc. Oh, but excuse me, you do, that’s exactly what you see. You see males humping males every day: the same male will hump a given female only twice a year. Isabella Roselinni Green Porno is marvelous on details.
Putt Concession, Match Play
2015 09 20 The woman, EUR vs. US, thought the putt had been conceded, picked the ball up, invoking a penalty. Coaches, etc. argue. Such problems could be avoided in future if golf got rid of putt concessions: no more gentleman’s rule, actually play every stroke. Or: limit concessions to strokes that affect outcome: you can conceded a losing putt, but not a winning putt.
Would something of value be lost? Something of value is lost no matter what we do.
I myself concede that I’m not that familiar with match play, never participated myself. I could have something wrong.
Then again I’m not a score-keeper: I’ve played in only one tournament in my life, was uncomfortable, never went back. Some people can’t play unless score is kept; I can’t play if score is kept.
I’m just watching Blue Crush, can’t take my eyes off Kate Bosworth (or Sanoe Lake!)
I’ve only been surfing myself once: bad surf, no waves. But jeez was there wet heinie to watch. I was in a double bind: I was the guest of a woman who wanted me to hire her for my new company. I think she also wanted a new boyfriend with a new company. She was blond, and buxom, but too big for me. Ah, but the girl who was paddling out just off my starboard: what a pair of dumplings were flexing in the middle of her board.
I’ve only only wind surfed a couple of times, but that’s a great sport, one I would have loved to do more of. There too was the same complexity, wet female tush sprouting off the board. One time on the Saint Lucie River, Stuart FL, I had a plush tush in my crosshairs: she had to know my mind was entirely inside her. Anyway, Blue Crush is surfing, and chix: Hawaii, and so forth. And I’m reminded of a profile I read decades ago of a California champion chick. She explained why she wore her hair long, very long, in a pony tail: she wanted everyone to see from a half-mile distance that she was female: otherwise they would would think that she wasn’t very good. This was from the gal introduced as the best female surfer in California! She was miles better than the other girls, most of the guys were miles better than her.
I repeat that story today with pleasure, five or more decades since it was current, 1960s probably. The world since then hasn’t lacked for great female jocks: tennis, golf, soccer … Mone Davis, Lexi Thompson … chix and proud of it, no apologies, but some biological truths are still fact: the females can’t give the same ride to the same wave: so this champion wore her hair visibly long. Information, at a distance.