Skirt of the Week #7

This is Kayla from the Kansas City Chiefs Cheerleaders. I think what initially sucked me in was her uncanny resemblance to my ex-girlfriend. My therapist said I need to stop treating inanimate objects as real people. But if you only knew. That girl was the world to me. Until the damned cat got ahold of her.

A-Rod's Happy Ending

After 12 All-Star Game appearances, signing the largest contract in the history of baseball on two different occasions, and dating Kate Hudson before Madonna could even get her goddamned clothes back on, Alex Rodriguez finally has something to smile about.

A World Series championship.

The man portrayed as a victim by some fucking morons, made everyone in the Bronx quickly forget his past playoff failures, bum hip and steroid admission by finally coming up big with his bat. He finished the postseason with 18 RBIs, the most in Yankees' history for a single playoff year, and six home runs. Pretty outstanding numbers for one man. Pretty tame for a freak of nature pumped full of rhinoceros hormones.

But the Series wasn't just about that dick. There was so much more to enjoy. Even though I didn't give a rat's ass about either of this year's teams, nothing beats the sights and sounds of the Fall Classic. I especially like how Fox shows everyone's individual reaction to the final, Series-clinching out. Here's a look back.

Alex Rodriguez

Derek Jeter

Mark Teixeira

The Phillie Phanatic

Soak it up while you can, Nimrod. Because should you falter, the New York "faithful" will turn on you quicker than a 40-MPH pitch down the middle.

Obligatory Kanye Post

"Yo Joe, I'm really happy for you. I'm gonna let you finish, but the 2009 Colorado Rockies had one of the best baseball teams of all time. One of the best baseball teams of all time."

Not sure if the cognac or the aliens who gave him that haircut and are controlling his mind made him say that. Either way, I fuckin' love Kanye's style.

The Breakfast of Sub-.500 Teams

Everyone knows Terrell Owens is hungry for a championship. But the way this season's going, I'm afraid the lame-o's gonna have to settle for his contribution to grocery store shelves. TO's.

That's right. The man who eats defensive backs for lunch has brought the world a delicious new breakfast cereal. Actually, I have no clue if it's delicious and never will unless I suddenly find myself homeless and they're serving them at the soup kitchen. Given the way the man carries himself, I have zero interest in ever giving him money and putting his honey nut O's in my mouth.

Have to say though, I really hope these toasted oats get good reviews. Because if they don't, I don't know if I'll be able to fuckin' handle the countless SportsCenter replays of the aftermath.

"It's really unfair. That's my product. That's my breakfast cereal."

If you hate TO and/or his cereal, the company that produced it (PBL Sports) has many tasty athletic offerings. Like Big Ben's Beef Jerky or Ed McCaffrey's Rocky Mountain Horseradish Sauce. But at least one person who sampled Ben's beef treat wasn't a satisfied customer.

Don't let that stop you though. Go ahead and check out the PBL site. No matter what shitty team or has-been player you cheer for, it looks like there's a little something on there for everyone.

Skirt of the Week #6

Ok, this one's more like "Shirt of the Week." Or quite possibly, "Shirt of the Millennium."

While searching for pictures for the last post, I stumbled across this beauty. Now Lindsay only has a loose affiliation with the sports world. She appeared in the movie Herbie Fully Loaded. But I doubt any of my readers will mind.

Excuse me Miss Herbie, but you have a headlight out, hahahahahaha!!

Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Football Owner

Not.

I'm not sayin' Rush isn't fat. Because let's face it, the only thing bigger than that man's ass is his mouth. What I'm really sayin' is Mr. Limbaugh has no chance of ever owning an NFL team.

Sorry Rush, but your ass got sacked.

The original Cock Jock's recent bid to buy the St. Louis Rams was destroyed by an all-out blitz from Al Sharpton, Jessie Jackson, Jim Irsay and ultimately the warden himself, Roger Goodell. Sharpton and Jackson put pressure on the league to reject Limbaugh due to his derogatory comments about Donovan McNabb back when someone made the mistake of letting Limbaugh squeeze into the Monday Night Football booth. Indianapolis Colts owner Jim Irsay echoed Sharpton's and Jackson's concerns and vowed to vote against any ownership group Limbaugh was ever a part of. And Roger Goodell? He wants no part of the heavy burden Limbaugh would put on the league. Goodell has enough thugs to deal with. Or so says Rush.

"The NFL all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons. There, I said it." Limbaugh once stated.

Not to be a Dittohead, but Rush's radio show all too often sounds like a conversation between a racist right-winger and a clan of people without any fuckin' fashion sense. There, I said it.

Limbaugh, one of these days you need to learn to bite your tongue. Just try not to eat it.

Skirt of the Week #5

As you can see, this week's winner (ESPN reporter Erin Andrews) happens to be wearing pants in this picture. I just figured I'd leave a little up to the imagination. Unlike the freakazoid who filmed her in the nude through the peephole in a hotel room door and posted the video all over the Internet. Boy, some guys are such fuckin' pigs.

Oldies, but Not Goodies

The Miami Heat Golden Oldies are part of a not-so-hot new trend sweeping the NBA. Geriatric dance teams. Apparently some of the league's front office gurus feel that instead of seeing a group of nice firm young blondes shaking their pom-poms during a break in the action, fans would rather feast their eyes on a bevy of blue-hairs swingin' around their saggy racks.

Currently, there are eight such teams terrorizing the league. Aside from the Golden Oldies, there are the:

New Jersey Nets NETSational Seniors

Detroit Pistons Motown Classics

Milwaukee Bucks Seniorgee! Dance Team

New Orleans Hornets Used to Bees

Chicago Bulls Swingin' Seniors

Orlando Magic Silver Stars

Denver Nuggets Silver Hotties

Unfortunately, the NBA is a copycat league. So if they don't already have one, get ready for your favorite team to introduce one of these sorry-ass troupes soon. Let us explore some possible names for these expansion dance teams no one's looking forward to:

Indiana Pacemakers

San Antonio Bone Spurs

Boston Cialis

Philadelphia 1476ers

Sacramento Kings and Queens of Incontinence

Los Angeles Leaker Girls

Washington Bed Whizzers

Phoenix Sons and Daughters of Revolutionary War Heroes

Toronto Raptors' Fossils

Los Angeles Now Where Did I Put My Clippers?

The big question behind any of these teams is "Why?" Why take any of the spotlight away from any of the lovely young ladies everyone wants to see? MILFs and cougars are one thing. But GILFs and sabertooth tigers are quite another. I mean, you have to be pretty sick and twisted to drool over grandmothers and/or extinct beasts, let alone during a basketball game. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be sitting in the seat in front of anyone like that. What's that old joke? "Who are the two most famous people to get shot in the back of the head at a theater? Abraham Lincoln and the guy sitting in front of Pee-Wee." Yeah, well, I don't exactly feel like being the first person to get shot in the back of the head at a basketball arena. I have enough hair gel, thank you.

Another question is, "How?" How are teams gonna afford all the emergency medical care for all these old folks? The cost of tickets these days is staggering and who the fuck wants to pay more just in case some old fart falls down and breaks a hip on the court? Or worse yet, has a heart attack. Can't be cheap to fire up those electric shock paddles. But I guess it could possibly be expensed as part of the pre-game pyrotechnics display. It just better not come out of my pocket in the form of more expensive tickets or $40 hotdogs at the concession stand.

If your shriveled up self really has nothing better to do in your retirement and thinks you can cut the mustard, Oldies tryouts are only a couple weeks away. See for yourself if you have what it takes to become someone everyone points at and laughs about.

Prune juice. Is it in you?

Skirt of the Week #4

This week's winner is Brandon Marshall. Or shall we say, Sarah Marshall?

What's your problem man? Does your vah jayjay still hurt from the Cutler fiasco? It sucks, but there's nothing you can do about it. Now get some balls, go back out there and make some catches. And try not to slap anymore bitches on the way.

Obama Salutes a Bunch of Guys Who Didn't Vote for Him

Recently, President Obama honored NASCAR's top drivers at the White House. If the sound of crickets chirping after every one of his jokes wasn't an indication this just wasn't his crowd, I don't know what was.

Can you really imagine any of these good ol' boys voting for this guy? I sure as hell did, but then again, I don't live in a trailer park or have any cousins in my immediate family. I keed, I keed. (Fans of Triumph and Obama may also enjoy this.)

Unfortunately, all I know about NASCAR is stuff I learned from watching Talladega Nights. So I'll refrain from commenting further since all I have to offer are ignorant jabs. That's what happens when you're raised west of the Mississippi on a steady diet of Denver Broncos football. But let's not talk about them now. It gives me a fuckin' headache.

Skirt of the Week #3

Forget the chance to win another Super Bowl or get revenge on the Packers. I think Megan's the reason Brett Favre came out of retirement to play for the Minnesota Vikings. She's very horny.

Economic Crisis Hits My World

Well, I was let go from yet another cheerleading squad last week. I was told the move was made for financial reasons. More specifically, a class-action lawsuit filed against me by every member of the Colorado 14ers' Cheerleaders. The girls claim I made unwanted sexual advances, held onto them "a little too long" during team drills, and was always staring at them "all creepy-like."

I don't want to get into all the he-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, right now. I'm still completely shocked and devastated by the accusations. But I want to make it clear that I'm 100% innocent and look forward to my day in court. In the meantime, I just need to find a job so I can get the fuck out of my mom's basement.

Skirt of the Week #2

Normally, "Skirt of the Week" will be reserved for sirens from the cheerleading world. But this week, I turned to the police blotter. For none other than Sahel Kazemi. This is a shot from Kazemi's DUI arrest, just two days before she decided to try out her new Glock on 9.

Damn girl, that skirt's about as short as your temper. Why is it that the crazy ones are always so fucking hot?

Death of a Big-Time Player

First off, I'd like to apologize for my hiatus. I've been wrestling some inner demons. Namely, Nybbas, Zagan and The Lord Dorkus Maximus.

Speaking of creatures who belong in the depths of hell, how 'bout this Sahel Kazemi bitch? You all know the story by now. Upon hearing the news of Steve McNair's death, I was in total disbelief.

"This can't be!" I thought.

"Is it really true?!" I said.

"How will this affect the value of his rookie card?" I wondered.

Through it all, I was hopin' the demise of one of my favorite footballers was just a bad dream. I was prayin' for another Music City Miracle. But sadly, it was all for naught. Air McNair's ship had really set sail for the pearly gates.

After the cold, hard truth finally sunk in, I wondered what was going through the minds of other pro athletes. Many of whom probably enjoy the company of more women in a month than I have in a fuckin' lifetime.

Take Roger Clemens, for example. You'd think the thought of McNair getting pumped full of lead would be enough to make "The Rocket" stop injecting himself into women outside his marriage. Though he'll never get into The Hall for strikeouts, he could very well be inducted for knockouts. She, she and she are just a few of the stunners allegedly in the hurler's trophy case. But Roger might want to stop adding to his collection before his wife kisses him goodnight with some high heat.

Matt Leinart should also consider chilling out with the hotties. That guy's played the field more than he's actually been on it the last couple years. He should now know more than ever that it's never good to participate in a game of "Musical Women." Especially when it involves a bald one with an umbrella.

Then there's Little Bitch Bryant. As you can see, I'm a big fan. Dude's probably wiping away more fake tears and buying a bigger diamond as we speak. He's probably thinking the bigger the rock, the more it'll weigh down The Misses's hand and the more difficult it'll be for her to get a shot off. Let's just say I'm hoping she has very strong arms.

Okay, that was uncalled for. I apologize. It just angers me that someone can be so good at scoring on and off the court. The Black Mamba probably still has more women than a pyramid of cheerleaders. But as recent events have shown, it only takes one imbalanced bundle of estrogen to make everything come tumbling down.

Dinger Needs to Get Knocked the Fuck Out

Dinger-bashing is as common in Denver these days as home runs were pre-humidor. But I'm gonna take it further.

Dinger needs to sustain a career-ending injury.

That may sound brutal, but blame it on the team spirit blazing inside me. Dinger wouldn't know what spirit was if the ghost of Harry Caray came up and bit him on the tail with his dentures. For as long as I can remember, that Barney wannabe would rather lounge around the bullpen pickin' his belly button lint than run around the stadium rallying the Rockies. I'm sure he's harvested enough by now to sit in the Rockpile during the next homestand and knit dozens of sweaters for area homeless. Bottom line, when it comes to super fuzzy sports fans, this guy can't even begin to carry Rocky's jock.

So Dinger needs to take a shot to the dongers. Or something else that will put him out of commission for good. Maybe there needs to be a little "fireworks mishap" at the upcoming 4th of July game. Maybe the concession stands could just cut him off and he'd slowly die from Dippin' Dots-starvation. Or to get it over with nice and quick, maybe Helton could fungo a ball at the AT-AT-like softspot on Dinger's neck.

The possibilities are as endless as the amount of time this foo' spends staring at boobs. Not that I can really blame him for that.

Skirt of the Week #1

Without further ado (not to be confused with Freddy Adu), I introduce the first installment of “Skirt of the Week.” This feature will highlight the highest quality tail runnin’ around the sports world.

Our first little wild one is Brooke from TopCats, the Carolina Panthers' cheerleading squad.

Grrr, baby. I bet Rae Carruth would just love to stuff himself inside your trunk.

Hello

I'm Charlie. I like women and sports a lot. Probably a little too much. Or so my therapist says. Oh well, fuck her.

I chose to write about both of my passions anyway. Hopefully you like them as much as I do.