Go Aaron Rogers Go II

Another edition of Go Aaron Rogers Go can only mean one thing: I’m sick of a sports story.

This particular story has been gaining steam for months, and it’s becoming a “whenever I turn on the tv, something alludes to this story” type of dealie – worse than the Brett Favreervverere thing. Brettski was only confined to sporting channels and the occasional snippet in the Free Press or Detroit News. This story dominates headlines. At the risk of sounding unpatriotic, I am awfully sick of hearing about Michael Phelps.

Yeah, I know, I’m a communist. I hate America, apple pie, and freedom. Amurrica? No thank you! Moar Monarchy laced with tyranny, plz! ZOMG!

No, seriously, this Phelps thing is getting out of hand. To start with, it’s the Olympics; we don’t give a crap about these people for roughly three and a half out of every four years. Secondly, these games are filled with asinine competitions (tandem diving? Really?) that only serve to make events like swimming appear to be far greater than they are.

Not to knock swimming, because Lord knows I couldn’t even fathom the depths to which these athletes push themselves (ROFLMAO DOUBLE PUN), and it’s just plain grueling, but all you’re doing is plowing through water to get from one side of the pool to another. That’s it, except sometimes you do it in a different way. Can you imagine if they incorporated styles of running into the Olympics? Like if there were 3 different types of 100M dashes? The goofy run, the backwards run, and the real run?

To laud someone for swimming better than anyone else in the world, why not give props to the person who can dance the longest? To the best knife-juggler? Tangent. Anyway. Phelps. Being the toast of the Olympics is like being the most interesting person in first grade: yeah, you’re the best, but everything about first grade sucks. Even you, secretly. Suxors. I don’t care that you dominate at swimming. I don’t care to hear about how Amurrica rules vicariously through your swimming. The Olympics are dumb, media saturation pertaining to Olympics are dumb, apparently Phelps is a douchebag in the real world, and this story makes me want to suck a bulldog’s ass.

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On an unrelated note, Ryan Braun better get his back in order soon. I (and the Brewers, I guess) need that chump to start smashing.

Olympics METAL! Wah-wah!

Starting up a big-boy grown-up job after working at a camp can certainly put a damper on a blogging schedule, that’s for dern sure.

First things first, though: Olympics, Josh Hamilton, Pudge Rodriguez, Kobe Bryant, Mike Beasley, Craig Jones, Erik Bedard, Marion Hossa, the Dark Knight (not sports, certainly, but my gosh, man!), Darren McFadden, Mike Martz, Brett Farvevrer, Anna Kournikova, Portland Trailblazers, and Cliff Lee. Movers? Yes. Shakers? Of course. Things that should be of interest? Naturally.

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Over this little hiatus (yes, another one) the Detroit Red Wings pilfered two rather helpful contributors to the Pittsburgh Penguins in Ty Conklin (backup extraordinaire) and Marian Hossa.

Conklin gained renown this season for coming in when MA Fleury went down in net and essentially set up a giant panda in front of the crease; no one could beat the guy for stretches it seemed. He was like a menacingly fat child guarding a box of Twinkies.

Hossa is, outside of ‘Rik Zetterberg and Pavel Datsyuk, the best two-way forward in the NHL. Dude’s a dynamo—watching him tear up the ice, forechecking, backchecking, going on the offensive, plotting in the neutral zone, and then scoring oodles of goals, it’s always been a pleasure, and now I get to watch the dude from my team’s perspective. Am I excited? Does a hobo ride the railways? (A Boxcar Hobo is being referenced, not the Hitchhiking Hobo or the Alleyway Hobo. Durr.) Can you even imagine him on a line with either of the aforementioned two-way Wings? OR BOTH?? Oop, just shat myself.

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Cliff Lee cannot stop pitching well. I realize that in the past he has shown himself to be a reliable pitcher, if not an up-and-comer, for the Indians; dude went 18-5 in Aught-Five for the Native Americans. His middle name is Phifer. But what he’s doing now? He’s not pitching out of his mind, he’s pitching out of FDR’s sealed and mummified anus right now (completely random and inexplicable. Get it? Good job). Plus, I thought starting the All-Star game would affect him negatively, but no, the Lee train keeps right on rolling.

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Also recent, Francisco Liriano was (FINALLY) called up to the Twins. After eating the lunch of pretty much everyone in the International League, Liriano and his agent AND the throng of Minnesotans sick of second place began to question out loud the validity of keeping Mr. Lightning-In-A-Bottle in the minors. After Livan Hernandez went his 14^th straight start of throwing marshmallows instead of baseballs, Twins GM Bill Smith takes the scales off his eyes and notices the destruction left in Liriano’s wake an calls him up. Good decision? FREAKING DUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (with an emphasis on the heavy-breathing “H.” Go on, try it. “Hhhhhhhhhhhhh.”).

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Oh, and the Olympics are starting soon. I’ve never been big on them ‘Lympics, but I’ll give it another go. Maybe USA basketball won’t suck a donkey choad this time. MAYBE.