OMGSports!

Bob Knight tied Adolph Rupp for the 2nd-most wins in Division 1 Basketball history last night as Texas Tech beat Lousiana Tech, 66-59. Bobby's now won 876 games in his coaching career, which leaves just a few shy of Dean Smith's all-time record.

After the game, Knight refused to over-celebrate his milestone achievement. Instead, Knight, ever the tireless teacher of the joys of the game, instructed his team on the intricacies of the 2-3 zone by mercilessly slamming their faces down on a bed of burning hot coals, one by one.

Labels: Bob Knight, college basketball

Almost-competent pitchers across the Major Leagues got fuckin' paiiiiiiiiid yesterday, dude. It's official, Jason Schmidt and Ted Lilly can both go ahead and start construction on their solid-gold palaces and get those grillz they've been hoping for. The two of them - who were a combined 26-22 last year, just in case anyone's actually wondering - signed deals worth a combined $87 million yesterday.

I realize I shouldn't criticize free-spending, as my favorite team just threw a combined $106 million at two guys who had trouble fitting in on the fucking Dodgers last year. That aside, I can't help but wonder if anyone reminded the Cubs of Lilly's history of, oh, I don't know, GETTING INTO FISTFIGHTS WITH HIS MANAGER:

"In August, Lilly exchanged words on the mound with Toronto manager John Gibbons during a pitching change and it turned physical a few minutes later in a tunnel leading from the dugout. While both men said no punches were thrown, Gibbons wound up with a bloody nose after the scuffle during the third inning of a 12-10 loss to the Oakland Athletics."

Bet that won't come up when he's playing for obvious crazy person Lou Piniella. By the way, in case you were doubting the validity of that claim, well, just check how much of a fan favorite he already is in Cubs-town: fireloupiniella.net. Honestly, the downfall of the Cubs gets more and more entertaining every year. The only way this could possibly get better is if someone just hung a machete from the ceiling of the Cubs' dugout before every home game. Once August comes around and the Cubbies are 45 games below .500, go ahead and try to tell me that no one's eyeing that blade.

Gooooooo Cubs!

Labels: Cubs, Pitchers

Saints' defensive tackle Hollis Thomas - featured above searching the horizon for steak sandwiches and ice cream - has been suspended by the NFL for four games for violating the steroid abuse policy. But wait, it's not that simple:

"During his appeal, John Amoss, who is the Saints' team doctor and an assistant professor at the LSU Health Science Center, sent a letter to the league in support of Thomas. Amoss said Thomas has severe asthma problems and requires a high dose of inhaled steroids to breathe. According to the doctor, Thomas needs a long acting beta agonist and a short acting beta agonist to control his asthma.

During his August drug test, the defensive tackle was taking an asthma product called Advair twice a day while also using an inhaler four times a day."

Turns out that Big Hollis needs asthma medication, you know, TO FUCKING LIVE. Let's go ahead and give the NFL a big round of applause for punishing a man for gaining an unfair competitive advantage through the use of steroids; that is, a 355-pound defensive tackle who will die instantly if he doesn't take his medication. You're telling me that this guy, who has struggled with remaining at his playing weight for his entire career, is secretly cheating through the use of Advair?!? IT'S A MOTHERFUCKING INHALER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

Tell me this doesn't have something to do with the complaints that the NFL doesn't do enough about steroid enforcement. I dare you. Tell me Shawne Merriman has nothing to do with this. Tell me that you still think that the Saints' luck is finally looking up. Tell me you don't get pissed off when you imagine Hollis Thomas, sobbing into a motherfucking sack of cheese fries because his season has been ended in the middle of a playoff race because he was born with fucking asthma.

I hate sports.

Labels: NFL, Steroids

The Red Sox committed roughly the combined gross national product of the entire European Union to free agents JD Drew and Julio Lugo, says Boston Globe reporting monkey Gordon Edes.

"Agent Scott Boras confirmed yesterday that the Sox had completed a five-year, $70 million deal for outfielder J.D. Drew, who almost certainly will bat fifth and play right field. Then, late last night, the Sox struck a four-year, $36 million deal for their No. 1 target at shortstop, Julio Lugo, the onetime Tampa Bay Devil Ray whose glove is vastly inferior to that of departing shortstop Alex Gonzalez but who gives Francona a dynamic, speedy offensive player who projects to bat leadoff or second."

There are several things I like to avoid seeing when I'm reading an article about my favorite baseball team. Firstly, the phrase "all perished in a horrific, fiery plane crash that, ironically, ended directly in the center of Fenway Park." The second phrase is "Scott Boras." I'm not a priest or a holy man of any sort, but I can tell you with 100% certainty that Scott Boras is a qualified deputy of the Lord of Darkness, and has been known to celebrate the signing of lucrative contracts by his clientele by drinking the preserved blood of the baby Jesus.

It's where he gets his power.

In all seriousness, I'm a fan of JD Drew (pictured above, saying the following: "MEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"). 20+ homers, 100+ rbis, another athelete in the outfield seems a pretty significant upgrade from Mr. Trot "Always Seemingly Just Arrived From A Barfight" Nixon. I'd love to see Trot kick someone in the teeth, granted, but he played approximately 1 1/2 games last year, while spenidng the rest of his time refining his ability to strike-out and kill momentum and his tobacco-chewing prowess.

Julio Lugo, on the other hand, is, my research staff tells me, "an old guy." He may or may not still use a walker and, some scouts report, actually requires full-time dialysis in order to, you know, not die. He is in reality 31, but $36 mill still seems like an awful lot to pay a guy who flounded with the Dodgers over the last two months of the season. You're hitting .255 with a team in a relatively big market in the middle of a penant race? And you want to come to Boston? Really?

Labels: JD Drew, Julio Lugo, Red Sox

You know what they say about God. He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good or are Kobe Bryant and probably got away with raping a girl in Colorado a few years ago. Whatever the case may be, God said "FUCK YOU!" to Kobe Bryant last night, snapping his ankle in two during a game against the Pacers.

Okay, so maybe Kobe didn't rape anybody, and presumably, his ankle - described as "...a moderate sprain," - wasn't actually brutally snapped in half by the wrath of God himself, but who can be sure? Kobe did just score 52 a few nights ago, and any NBA fan knows that that's only 750,000 points away from God's single-game NBA scoring mark.

Maybe the big guy got worried.

Labels: God, Kobe Bryant, NBA

At a recent press conference, Joe Paterno confirmed the fears of Penn State's athletics department and said that he planned to continue coaching for many years, and would maintain his white-knuckle grip on the football program from beyond the grave. Okay, I made that last part up, but he did say that he's not going anywhere:

"'I don't want to walk away from it because of this little bit of a setback,' Paterno said in a teleconference. 'I had not intended to walk away from it in the next couple years because I didn't have any plans, and I still don't have any plans to walk away.'"

And really, that's good news. Joe's a good coach; the Lions went a semi-respectable 8-4 this year. Besides, players need a coach to relate to, and who better for them to talk to about pressing college kid issues like bowel control, mashing your food up into paste so you can gum it, and the debate between walkers vs. wheelchairs. Come to Penn State, kids!

Labels: College Football, Joe Paterno, Penn State

Celticsblog has links up to a few Globe stories on Celtics superstar Brian Scalabrine, and not surprisingly, they're all very much supportive of the great things that he does for the basketball teamwaitasecond WHAT?

Brian Scalabrine is many things. The anchor of the All-Awkward Whiteboy All-Stars? Sure, he's co-captain with Mark Eaton and Danny Ferry. An inspirational story for anyone completely lacking in athletic ability and/or skill? Absolutely. If it wasn't for Brian, I wouldn't be declaring myself eligible for the NBA, MLB, and NFL Drafts without fail every year despite being born with no arms or legs - I know what you're thinking, and I type with my mind.

One thing Brian is not is a good basketball player. And I don't think that Celticsblog or the Globe's NBA beat writers would say as much if they truly fathomed the consequences of their outlandish statements. You see, every time you say "I don't think Brian Scalabrine is that bad," an NBA legend somewhere bursts into flames. So the next time you feel like trying to be nice to a guy making $15 million dollars for averaging 12 minutes a game and just under 2 points, please take a second to imagine what Bill Walton looks like on fire.

Okay, bad example.

Labels: Brian Scalabrine, Celtics

As a Patriots fan, there is nothing that makes me happier than the idea of Peyton Manning's suffering. I have to actually store up chunks of Peyton Manning's suffering for my body to subsist on during the NFL offseason. Vince Young played another good game, and some dude you've never heard of named Rob Bironas kicked a 60 yard field goal with 7 seconds left to seal it for the Titans. Titans over Colts, 20-17.

Speaking of the Patriots, sometimes I wonder what I would do if I ran into Bill Belichick on the street. I'd like to think that I'd stop and thank him for being the flat-out smartest coach of his generation, but part of me realizes that I'd probably just say, "Jesus christ, smelly, here's a quarter. Buy yourself a new sweatshirt and get a job." Despite an NFL-record 1,500 turnovers (no exaggeration), the Patriots squeek by the Lions, 28-21.

The Bears went ahead and clinched against the Vikings. Congratulations, Chicago, you've made the NFC even more pointless to pay attention to unless you're like me and actively rooting for a career-ending injury to Tony Romo so everyone will shut the fuck UP about him for a second. If he starts dating Lindsay Lohan, I'm going to go hole up in an underground bunker until this guy comes hurtling back down to mediocrity and anonymity next season.

LaDanian Tomlinson scored his 880th touchdown of the season as the Chargers beat the Bills, 24-21. Seriously, people are going to start putting land mines in the field, LT. Slow the fuck down, you're making Shaun Alexander cry.