Chris Cooley‘s blog remains an endless source of entertainment, especially for those who enjoy accidental junk shots and stories about impromptu cow-burnings.
The latest merriment to come from Cooley’s blog adds a touch of something a lot of sports fanatics really appreciate: sexy ESPN reporter. No, not that one.
Yeah, the other one – Rachel Nichols. The red-head took some time off from covering Brett Favre‘s every non-move in Mississippi to hang out with Cooley, do some fishing, and ride around on his ATV. All for an edition of ESPN’s E:60. Cooley writes on his blog about the experience:
…a few weeks ago I got a call from the producer saying they wanted to come to Wyoming and I could take Rachel fishing and we could do some more stuff. We met in Cody Wyoming and I had a great plan to take them up to the spot where I caught all the fish the other day. They said they didn’t have enough time so we had to arrange going back to my property and fishing on the river there. I guaranteed no fish, but they said it would still look cool and no one would care, whatever.
What didn’t get explained to them was that it was a hell of a hike to get from the spot where you drop off the four wheelers. They had to drag their asses and the camera shit about a half a mile over the rocky hillside to get down to the river. So much for not enough time! I then proceeded to untangle Rachel’s line for the next 30 minutes while we pretended to be fishing. Sorry Rachel, I know you did get better at it, but you casted like a seven year old girl with an arm full of barbies.
Cooley’s post also features a hilarious story about the time he and his buddy prank called Andrea Kremer claiming Rachel had gotten drunk and talked stuff about her, calling her “the manliest reporter she’s ever seen.” Exactly the kind of humor you’d expect from a guy who would leave his meat out on purpose, post a pic of it on the internet, then claim it was an accident.
It’s been five years since the Boston Red Sox shipped Nomar Garciaparra out of town, a move that, if you believe the superstitious nitwits of the world, catapulted the team to their first World Series championship since before the invention of oxygen.
I’m guessing that most Red Sox fans have moved on from the whole Nomar thing – two titles helps – but I’m also guessing that there are more than a few who still harbor a soft spot in their hearts for the man who was once the toast of Boston. Those sentimental few will be able to pay their respects to Nomar in person on Monday night as, for the first time since the trade, Garciaparra returns to Fenway Park.
Quick quiz: Which uniform will Nomar be wearing when he takes the field at Fenway for the first time since the trade? That’s right Tim Kurkjian: the uniform of the Oakland A’s. Only a wonk like Mr. Kurkjian would know something like that. Most of the rest of us thought Nomar was either on the DL for the Dodgers, playing in Japan or living in Jimmy Fallon’s basement, much to the delight of Jimmy Fallon‘s hot nympho sister Kate Hudson.
Red Sox fans will give Nomar a warm welcome I’m sure. There’s no reason for them not to. They got their championships. Any bitterness now would just be silly and self-indulgent. If they can show magnanimity toward Bill Buckner, they certainly can toward Nomar.
Elderly linebacker Junior Seau says that, though he is retired as of now, he will be ready to suit up again come October or November should some team (called the Patriots) need his services.
Seau was then asked why it’s so hard for people like him and Brett Favre to just admit that it’s over and move on. “Because you still can play the game,” Seau replied. “That’s the only reason. I mean, to allow other decision makers besides your faith when there’s an opportunity, I think we’re always going to hold on to that opportunity as long as we can. And it’s not like we’re hurting anyone.”
No Junior, you’re not hurting anyone. Except the younger guy whose roster spot you’re taking, but who cares about him anyway? If he were any good he’d be able to beat you out.
Fact is, people like Junior simply have nothing else in their lives but football. If they had other interests, besides possibly opening a used car dealership with their cousin, they would more easily be able to walk away. But when football ends they see nothing but the void…the money-lined void with its endless card shows and personal appearances at casinos. God, no wonder they don’t want to retire. How depressing.
Russell Crowe is well-known for being, well, a bit of a dickhead. BBC producers and hotel concierges can personally attest to Crowe’s abrasiveness, and now, Wimbledon officials can as well.
“The Australian star looked a little restless at the world famous tennis tournament yesterday and tried to change his seat midway through the Federer v Roddick match,” reports the Daily Mail. “Unfortunately, he hadn’t reckoned on coming up against a Wimbledon official – one of the tournament’s Royal Navy security guards – who are clearly used to handling difficult situations.
“Crowe could be seen pointing to where he wanted to move for a better view of the thrilling five-setter which saw Federer triumph over Roddick in the final set, but it seems the officer was clearly having none of it.
The Australian could be seen debating the matter, but soon after meekly returned to his original seat having conceded defeat.”
Obviously Russell didn’t have a phone handy, or that Wimbledon official would’ve gotten it right in the kisser. Or maybe Russell is just so fat now that he can’t muster the energy to get angry. Lay off the kangaroo burgers dude.
Anthony Kim went into the last round of the AT&T National tied at 10 under with Tiger Woods. If form held, Kim would wilt under the pressure of going head-to-head with Tiger, who of course never wilts himself or becomes even remotely soft and chewy.
Well, form held. Kim started spraying the ball all over the track, landing on the wrong fairway, terrifying wildlife and even striking a fan. It got so bad for young Anthony that, on a lot of swings, he couldn’t even hold onto the club (Dave Winfield can relate).
Tiger, meanwhile, kept eating up the course, despite the wacked-out pin placements five inches from the edge of water hazards. By day’s end, Tiger’s greatest challenge would actually come from Hunter Mahan, who went on a sick run, dropping a 62 on the Congressional, and posting a 12-under for Tiger to look at as he came down the back 9.
Tiger looked at it all right – and shot 13 under, the put-away shot coming in the form of a 20 foot birdie putt on 16.
Cue the “Tiger’s out of his slump” talk, and also the “Tiger is the favorite to win the British Open” chatter. And for Anthony Kim…maybe this experience will help him better deal with the pressure of facing Tiger next time. But I doubt it.
All Andy Roddick had to do to claim his first ever Wimbledon championship was defeat Roger Federer, a man who had beaten him 18 out of their previous 20 matches, and who was himself looking to make history by winning his record 15th grand slam title.
Roddick, despite dire predictions, was up to the task. At one point it even looked like Roddick might actually get the Federer-sized monkey off his back: The match was all even after two sets. The third went to a tiebreak, and Roddick had four straight set points to go up 2 sets to 1. So what does Federer do? Rattle of six straight points to take a one set lead.
That’s how it is when you’re Andy Roddick and he’s Roger Federer – just when you think you’ve got a chance to pull it out, he snatches it away from you like a mean kid dangling a toy in front of a toddler.
Then again, a toddler seldom gives the mean kid the kind of battle Roddick gave Federer on Sunday. It would take five sets – and a stunning 30 games in the final set – for Federer to at last wear Roddick down, don the Elvis-like gold-trimmed track suit and hoist his sixth Wimbledon trophy.
The final set was an epic nearly as grueling and dramatic as what went down last year between Federer and Rafael Nadal. The key was Roddick’s serve, which Federer absolutely could not break. Until finally, on something like the 400th try, he did.
The entire match, actually, was dominated by huge serves. Federer scored about a thousand aces on Roddick, right in front of Rod Laver and Bjorn Borg, who kept grumbling to each other that they could’ve served like that too had the rackets in their day not been carved from mammoth tusk.
Also present to witness the spectacle was Pete Sampras, who has officially joined the Hair Club for Men. Sampras brought his wife Bridgette Wilson, who was the #1 hot tennis WAG 10 years ago. Now #1 is Brooklyn Decker, the swimsuit model wife of Andy Roddick. The standard joke is, “Roddick may have lost, but at least he gets to go home to Brooklyn Decker.” I’m guessing Roddick would’ve prefered to go home to Brooklyn carrying a first place trophy instead of that dopey tray they give you for finishing second. It signifies that you were the runner-up at Wimbledon…and you can serve drinks on it!
Roddick will need plenty of drinks to get through the night, with or without Brooklyn at his side. He has to know that this was his last best shot at finally winning Wimbledon. If he’s in the final again next year, I’ll eat John McEnroe’s toejam. On toast.
Former Oilers/Titans quarterback Steve McNair is dead of a gunshot wound according to Nashville police. Authorities are calling the incident a murder-suicide but have not released the identity of the other victim.
McNair led the Titans to their one-and-only Super Bowl appearance after the 1999 season, nearly guiding them to victory over the St. Louis Rams. He last played in the NFL with the Baltimore Ravens in 2007.
Update: Police initially reported the incident as an apparent murder-suicide, but now that has been changed to double homicide. The other victim was an unnamed female.
Update: Police say Steve McNair was shot to death by his wife who then took her own life, confirming the original murder-suicide report.
Update: The TV station responsible for the report that McNair had been shot by his wife has gone back on that detail. It is again, for now, a double homicide with an unidentified killer.