Since June, we at HHR have asked the best of the sports blogosphere to compete in our very own Kitsch-en Stadium. We took the winners into a playoff, and from there two finalists emerged. We now present the 2008 winner of HHR's Iron Ref:
Evan from Stanley Cup of Chowder. His final posting on Winner Take All clinched the trophy and extended his unbeaten streak. As you can see, he is already suffering the agony of fame and victory.
We have a special prize for Evan, which consists of a monthly column here at HHR on a subject of his own choosing, and a mystery prize that, unbeknownst to Evan (until now), we are still trying to work out. This is the kind of honor that gives and keeps giving. Like the lottery. Or scabies.
Our many thanks to the multitude of contestants this year: Chris Mottram, Lady Andrea, Dewey Hammond, Coley Ward, Chris from Blog of Hilarity, Rob Iracane, Isaac, DmtShooter, HartBrachen, Eric Gargiulo, Ethan Jaynes, Grimey, ECB, Jeff Pyatt, Joe Student, Scott Sargent, Andrew Rosin, Brian Bassett, Jarrett Carter, Jon Pyle, Michael Rand, Spencer Kyte, Ruper, Sean Leahy, Mike Hayes, The Russianator, Dr. C, Brian Powell, Evan, and Ryan Hudson. Also to our esteemed judges - AJ Daulerio, Jeff Pearlman, Matt Ufford, Dan Steinberg, and Dewey Hammond.
You think you got what it takes in 2009? Email us!
After months of Colosseum-quality gladiator battles, HHR is happy to provide you with the final Iron Ref of 2008. The winner here claims a title of course, but so much more when you think about it. They can say they won something on the internet! That's not easy to do. We've got a special something in store for the winner, so we're excited to see who pulls out a victory here.
No judges this time - you were the people who got them this far, so we will leave it to you to either bestow them the greatest title this internet website has to offer, or denying them this 'honor' and in a sense, preserving their dignity. So there are no losers here, save those of us who post on this site.
The Secret Ingredient for this Final Round is WINNER TAKE ALL
Roughly 72,000 thoroughbreds will see the inside of a starting gate each year. Less than 1% of those will ever win a stakes race. The rest will toil in low grade maiden, allowance, and claiming races in front of sparse crowds filled with degenerates and creepy old men who reek like mothballs and stale cigar smoke.
The lucky ones might end up being a toy for some rich brat whose daddy is trying to make up for years of not being there for his little girl.
Some will end up as a part of your kid’s arts and crafts project.
Others might end up helping to end hunger in third world countries…
…or at an elementary school cafeteria.
The horses that end up in the winner’s circle of the sport of kings’ premier races are the ones that truly get to live like kings. These horses will race for a few years before enjoying the greatest retirement this side of Del Boca Vista. These proven winners will go out to stud and be rewarded with a never-ending supply of the finest fillies around. That’s right, these lucky bastards get to spend the rest of their days just hanging out, nailing some Grade A horse tail. That sounds like a pretty sweet life to me… you know, if I were a horse.
(A Word of Warning: If you type “horse mating” into Google images, make sure SafeSearch is on)
I assume that the Ultimate Iron Ref is rewarded with the human equivalent of going out to stud. When The Chief mentioned a “special surprise for the winner” that was what he was talking about, right? ------------------------------------------------------ Lady Andrea
I love competition. Not just being a fan of sports, but actually competing in things myself. I get a little bloodthirsty. I have this new boyfriend Robert and last night we were at a bar. He challenged me to a game of pool and told me that he wasn't going to let me win. I told him that if he DID let me win, I'd be forced to kick his ass.
We played and I won the first game. Because he accidentally sunk the 8 ball. So I called that game a draw. That's not a legitimate way to win. Nobody is satisfied. There's no payoff. So I challenged Robert to another game. And I really wanted to win. I like to win. I did beat him, though the game was close. He also commented that getting beaten by me was pretty hot.
What I like is that we have decided we need to join forces. We need to put our shared competitive streak to good use and crush unwitting opponents. We already have a plan to embarrass two men we work with at pool. And that's what Winner Take All is all about. Crushing your opponent's heart, mind and spirit until he is a huddling mass on the floor.
So there you have it everyone. The final outcome rests in your hands and your hands alone. Your vote in the comments will determine which of these two is named the Ultimate Iron Ref of 2008. So who's it gonna be?
Congratulations go to Evan at Stanley Cup of Chowder, who according to the commenters served up the best take on Playing Dirty, and according to our judges, sucked slightly less than his opponent. He will compete in the Finals against Lady Andrea next week for the title of HHR's Ultimate Iron Ref 2008.
Each is out of a possible 10. Dear Lord. If I may echo Judge Ufford's comment
Evan and Jeff both committed a common sports blogger error: they focused on other sports bloggers instead of sports, and were marked down accordingly. Let's try to minimize the circle jerks, fellas.
Let's keep that in mind for the finals, shall we?
Evan Overall Comments or Remarks: He talked about hockey, and I wasn't bored. Pretty impressive. -- The Hon. Judge Ufford
Equally uninteresting but refreshingly less arrogant. -- The Hon. Judge Hammond
Jeff Pyatt Jeff's entry was shorter than Evan's but felt longer. "USA #1, Canada lame, hockey irrelevant" -- all true, but all very tired points. -- The Hon. Judge Ufford
Yawn. -- The Hon. Judge Hammond
---------------------- That's it. The regular season is done. The Playoffs are over. The Semi's are wrapped up. We have our finalists - Evan and Lady Andrea. Who will it be? What will the secret ingredient be?
If you have ideas for the secret ingredient to our final round, leave them in the comments!
Here it is. The last Semi-final round of Iron Ref. Whoever wins heads to the finals. Whoever loses is cast aside, relegated to the blogosphere status of a leper with clubfoot and cat-aids. So basically not much changes. In fact, clubfoot is kind of an improvement, no?
This week's secret ingredient is: PLAYING DIRTY
Who used the ingredient best? Vote in the comments. Voting closes Wednesday at 6pm
See what our panel of judges has to say on Wednesday.
Reggie Dunlop was known for doing whatever possible to gain an advantage on the ice. He once placed a bounty on an opponent’s head (“I am personally placing a hundred-dollar bounty on the head of Tim McCracken.”), advised his teammates to commit assault and battery with a hockey stick (“Get that lumber in his teeth. Let 'em know you're there!”) and even questioned the sexually of an opponent’s wife (“Hey Hanrahan, she's a dyke!”), but the late Reg Dunlop would roll over in his grave if he knew what transpired last week.
I am of course speaking of the post written by Lady Andrea that appeared in this very space. Lady Andrea wrote about how she employs her not-so-secret weapons to get what she wants from journeymen pitchers and low-level casino employees. Scott Sargent didn’t have a chance once she ordered the “sweater kittens” to pounce.
There was nothing poor Scotty could do. Sure, he could have pulled a Jeff Reed, but nobody wants to see that (Search “Jeff Reed” on Deadspin. I don’t even feel comfortable linking to it.) One judge thought the move was so dirty that he described her unleashing of the “bologna bags upon an unsuspecting HHR nation” as a “cheap ploy”.
Lady Andrea now joins Sean Avery in the select society of people who have had a rule named after them. While Sean Avery waved a hockey glove in the face of the opposition, Andrea opted to use her amble bosom to distract. Much like NHL disciplinarian Colin Campbell during the 2008 Stanley Cup Playoffs, The Chief has instituted what many are calling the “Lady Andrea Rule”. [The Chief notes: I didn't call it that, but considering the two contestants, thought I would spare our readers]
“Please keep your sweater kittens to yourself.” – The Chief
I guess Andrea did what she thought she had to do to win by pandering to the young male demographic of sports blogs. Who needs writing skills when you have breasts? Being respected as a writer and a woman is overrated anyways.
Some will argue that writing this post is a dirtier play than Andrea pulling out the big guns in the first place. I say it is just part of the game if you want to play with the big boys. Unlike Marty Brodeur, I will congratulate Lady Andrea on a valiant effort after I beat her next round to claim the 2008 Iron Ref crown while she goes home with a sloppy second.
---------------------------------------------- Jeff Pyatt On behalf of RealClearSports and the Iron Ref community, I would like to express my profound disappointment in my opponent this week, Stanley Cup of Chowder blogger Evan50. He is a snake... a dirty, dirty turd snake and needs to be stopped.
Prior to the announcement of the semi-final ingredients -- which now seem especially fitting for such a vile, hissing and disgusting creature -- Evan started an underhanded smear campaign meant to spread hate and despair throughout Iron Ref and the broader sports blogging community. In summarizing the post that led to my first round victory -- a heroic tale of leading Team USA's Beer Pong team in comeback over Team Canada -- the venomous, Un-American serpent wrote:
Jeff tried desperately to appeal to the college crowd by writing a long-winded, uninspired story about beer pong and pissed off an entire nation in the process. (Ed. Note: I have no beef with you, Canada. You have brought us the great game of ice hockey and some potent yet delicious beers. I am encouraging all my readers from north of the border to come out and vote on Tuesday.)
The problem, Evan, isn't that your dirty play was poorly executed; the problem is that, as a hockey blogger, you're entirely and comically irrelevant. Unless you're talking about your "ex-girlfriend's sloppy seconds," the simple fact is no one cares.
And so, let's stop this shitty play in its slithering tracks. Because beer pong rocks. The USA is the best damn country in the world, and Canada still does -- and always will -- suck. (Ed. Note: Canada, I do have beef with you. No doot aboot it. You are indeed evil. Labatt has nothing on Sam Adams. And I don't want -- nor do I need -- your worthless vote.)
--------------------------------------------
Well, there we have it. The most self-referential Iron Ref to date. Players talking trash to each other is great, but the lack of mud-wrestling videos is disturbing.
Here's the last match-up of Iron Ref before the long awaited final. Whoever wins this one will go up against Lady Andrea for the right to become HHR's Ultimate Iron Ref (of 2008). I know what you're thinking and you are right - it's kind of a big deal, and it makes all those people who get knighted by royalty look like little bitches in comparison.
Once again we have a panel of judges for the Semi Finals who are gracious enough to let us tell people they've gotten themselves mixed up in this slow motion car accident.
Evan is the founder/writer of Stanley Cup of Chowder and is one of 3 Bruins fans left in the Boston area. Having recently earned a Master’s degree, Evan is over-educated and unemployed. He currently resides with his parents, making him a self-parody of the stereotypical sports blogger… and yes ladies, he is single. When he isn’t compiling lists of Olympians with names that sound like genitalia or live blogging about racewalking at 2 in the morning, Evan can be found terrorizing goalies in his beginner’s hockey league.
Jeff Pyatt, managing editor of RealClearSports, is a former biochemist turned political flak turned sports blogger. As a college pitcher, he holds a claim for worst player in NCAA history, bringing his ERA down from infinity to a more respectable 27.00. Pyatt currently resides in Arlington, Virginia, where he spends most of his idle time at the batting cage in hopes of becoming the Baltimore Orioles next third basemen.
Monday, the gloves come off. Or on. To be honest, I don't even have a pair of gloves yet. So forget about the whole gloves thing. Serious. Let it go.
Congrats to Lady Andrea, who moves on to the Final Round of Iron Ref. Her submission was the choice of both our esteemed panel of Judges as well as our commenters, who no doubt would like to wish her luck with hearty pats on the back and front. We at HHR cheer with a rousing chorus of motorboat sounds.
JUDGE VOTING BREAKDOWN
Category
Andrea
Scott
Presentation
9
7
Pic/Vid Selection
9
6
Originality
6
9
Judge's were asked to rank each entry on a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the breast best in the categories above. So each number above is out of a possible 15. Ouchies. We have very well qualified judges, though none with such... umm huge... tracks of land.
Our judges for the Semi Finals are
AJ Daulerio - Editor of that Deadspin thing we've heard so much about and are meaning to check out at some point.
Dan Steinberg - He of the Washington Post's DC Sports Bog
For Andrea: It may have been a cheap ploy by Lady Andrea to unleash the bologna bags upon an unsuspecting HHR nation, but it was a smart, tactical move by a woman who knows her audience and who's willing to do anything to score a victory. Original? Not so much, but I'm giving her 3 points in that category for moxie. -- The Hon. AJ Daulerio
Maybe it's just because I'm a 36-year-old married suburban dad with two kids, but the whole I've-got-breasts-and-you'll-be-mesmerized-because-you're-a-dolt-who-likes-sports thing fell off with Pam Anderson about eight years ago. Congrats, you have breasts, and they're sorta large. But who really cares? -- The Hon. Jeff Pearlman
You know, there was probably a time in my life when I'd have been in the can for Lady Andrea. I'm racking my brain over this. It's ddriving me crazy. Get it, two Ds? Anyhow, even if some evil remnant of objectification remains deep in the soul of men, I think we should all aspire to something grander than that, especially when we delve into the creative enterprises. And, no offense, but it's not like any of us have never seen the human chest before. -- The Hon. Dan Steinberg
For Scott: Eh -- I appreciate the effort and Colbert impersonation, but what does this have to do with the theme? Scott seemed content on doing this Colbert bit regardless of what the topic was. It didn't quite work for me. He'll score one point higher in the "originality" category, but the overall execution was a little flaccid. -- The Hon. AJ Daulerio
Wasn't funny, didn't get it, never laughed. But I guess it's more original than a photo of some woman's juggs. -- The Hon. Jeff Pearlman
Always been a Jon Stewart guy, actually. But that's beside the point. Also, "be marry?" Did I miss the joke? If not, the father-is-an-English-professor part of me wanted to give this one an F and move on. But in general, I like Cleveland and I like consumables, I think, even if I don't quite understand why they're a secret. Also, Shin-Soo Choo was, to me, the one legitimate lol moment of this contest. -- The Hon. Dan Steinberg
So there you have it. Lady Andrea in the Finals vs. Either Jeff Pyatt or Evan. Next Monday you decide which one goes against the Lady(ies).
This is it. Welcome back to Kitsch-en Stadium for the first of two Semi-Final contests. It turns out they were the two wild cards we brought back for the playoffs, which ensures that purists everywhere will be enraged by the presence of a wild card in the finals. Naturally as a Red Sox fan, that does not bother me in the slightest.
The Secret Ingredient is: SECRET WEAPON
Just because we have judges this round, doesn't mean you don't have a say in who wins. So make sure to vote for who best used the ingredient in the comment section.
VOTING ENDS WED 6 pm
--------------------------------------------- LadyAndrea In the sport called "life," there is a secret weapon out there. This secret weapon helped me sneak into courtside seats of a Chicago Bulls game. This secret weapon let me get a prime spot in the Las Vegas Hilton sportsbook during the first weekend of March Madness. This secret weapon got Ted Lilly to stop on Michigan Avenue and chat with me about baseball, and ultimately the Cubs-Cardinals rivalry. And this secret weapon got Matt Morris to toss me his warm-up ball from the St. Louis Cardinals bullpen. With his number written on it.
What is this secret weapon? Breasts. Sweater kittens. The girls. My Wit and my Charm.
Sorry. I know it's grossly unfair to my opponent to pull out the big guns. But as a female sports fan, I've noticed that attention from guys goes boobs first, sports knowledge second. Sure, some guys are immediately dazzled by my analysis of the Bears defense or my knowledge of Albert Pujols' slugging percentage. But more often than not, the first impression is from an eyeful (or several) of my treasure chest. So I thought turnabout is fair play. These are my secret weapons. And either the judges will be swayed by my actual upper deck, or they'll find the humor delightfully ironic.
Welcome to The Report. So good to have you. Please, sit down. Thank you…
Dropping. The stock market. The national surplus of yesteryear. Your 401K. Everything is dropping. But while all of those things can likely rebound to provide some sort of benefit in the near future, the folks in Cleveland will have to wait a lot longer than that for a turnaround in their dropping. And by that, I mean Braylon Edwards.
You see, while most professional athletes build off of success, others choose not too. Sure, shooting yourself in the leg is pretty embarrassing as it is. But at least Cheddar Burress didn’t commit said act in front of 73,000 fans. Every week.
But while these drops have lead to a disappointing football season for the Cleveland Browns, those paying fans can take pride in one thing: Consumables. Which brings us to tonight’s “Word.”
Sure, Cleveland fans may not exactly get to watch a respectable franchise take the field every week. But the earlier you show up in the morning, the more you get for your money. And while you may not “get” good football, you can get some warm food that you get to share with countless strangers. Chili, hot dogs, even the occasional “tofu burger” for those remaining hippies… You get to eat, drink and be marry. At least until you enter the stadium. Or…
After about an hour wait in a line full of barking, puking, mask-wearing “friends,” you get to partake in the wonderful pigskin pastime of the firearm search. Guys in one line to be searched by males, and the females stand in line with the line backing lesbians at the finish line. Once you successfully prove that you are not packing “heat,” you get to proceed to the escalator.
Yum. I know. But fear not. Once you survive what I like to call the “Ass-Face Express,” your $100 ice cube dressed in orange plastic awaits. There, you can partake in even more perishable items, only at about nine times the price of those that you ingested only hours ago. Here is where you are “helping your economy.”
Not long thereafter, you survive the first half of your town’s favorite game. Barely, thanks to the hope that your team can actually maintain their double-digit lead against a team that they manhandled only a year prior. Based on last year, this should be a no-brainer.
But once that lead starts to dissipate, the only thing between yourself and freedom is last call. With the fourth quarter drawing near, you must load up on the frothy investment that never lets you down, unlike those pesky things like “PSLs” or “Season Tickets.” And when in doubt, you can use that degree from Kent State or wherehaveyou and turn that investment into a secondary use.
Whether it be in response to another Braylon drop, botched clock management or simply a referee making the correct call though not one that you approve of, you can retaliate by throwing any and everything you get your hands on. A shoe. Both shoes. Shin-soo Choo. Throw it. Make those guys run off of the field in fear. At least the game will end early, thus shortening your despair. And fear not. If you must loft your consumables towards the field, I have your back, Browns fans. Woof. Woof.
---------------------------------------------
So there you have it! Make sure to vote in the comments!
The end of this year's Iron Ref is in sight. There are only three more battles left in HHR's Kitsch-en Stadium for 2008, and we think they are going to be the best ones yet. For the Semi-finals and the finals, we will have head to head competition, and we are happy to announce that we've even procured a few celebrity judges to take part.
Our judges for the Semi Finals are
AJ Daulerio - Editor of that Deadspin thing we've heard so much about and are meaning to check out at some point.
Dan Steinberg - He of the Washington Post's DC Sports Bog
Lady Andrea is a recent law school grad who has decided not to practice law so as to hold on to the remaining pieces of her soul. She can be found on Ladies..., Bugs & Cranks and Zap 2 It. She enjoys all things Iowa Hawkeyes and St. Louis Cardinals, her mom's cooking, bad reality TV and winning at Trivial Pursuit. She does not enjoy whiners, the Cubs, Those Guys, and people who start ignoring their fantasy teams thus allowing their opponents to walk all over them and snatch victory from Andrea's hands. See her previous two winning entries HERE and HERE.
Scott Sargent is a co-founder/editor of Waiting For Next Year, a Cleveland-centric abode furnished with plenty of non-championship colloquium. Born and raised just outside the mid-market metropolis, Scott spends the majority of his days plugging his ears (la la la..) during LeBron James 2010 talk and counting down the days until the Browns are mathematically eliminated from the postseason. Sure, other cities may have rings and banners, but Cleveland will always have Carl Monday. Scoreboard.See Scott's previous winning entries HERE and HERE.
Who will be the the last finalist for HHR's Iron Ref? Only one will survive, while the other two will just fade into Bolivia. Might as well give it up after that. Hey, that sort of feel's like a segway! Sweet! No more witty banter in an attempt to introduce the subject!
----------------------------------------------- Sean Leahy Sometimes, when your back is too far up against the wall, it’s okay to quit. Why waste the extra effort to right the ship? Jump off and go for a swim. Everyone quits. Bill Parcells has quit numerous times. Bill Belichick quit the New York Jets as soon as he realized what he signed up for. The New York Mets have quit playing baseball the last two summers.
See? It’s easy!
In hockey, sometimes there’s fights that should never occur, but only do because a player is either delusional or feels to need to stand up for their pride, even though a short time later, they’re on their ass. Often, some players fail to realize the point in which they should throw their hands up and throw in the towel.
Here’s rookie Colton Gillies making a terrible decision to fight Derek Boogaard, who’s 6’7 and known as “The Boogey Man”. Maybe Gillies had too much adrenaline going, as this was his first game in the National Hockey League? Either way, he would have been better off throwing a few punches to save face and then getting the hell out of there.
Jesse Boulerice should have stopped trying to play patty-cake with Aaron Downey after his second attempt. As you will see, Downey was all business for this fight, from the start to the end.
Finally, this isn’t a failed attempt at a fight, but when you miss a body check this bad, it might be time to hang up the skates and throw in the towel for good.
----------------------------------------------- Jeff Pyatt Don't be a p***y. Throw something else. If you throw in the towel, you might as well turn in your man card, take your wife's maiden name, disown football, break your commitment to the team, pop in the Kate & Leopold DVD and unscrew a Zima. But you're a man. Sack up. Grin and bear it. Don't throw in the towel. Throw out something else. Here are five suggestions:
5.) Your wife/girlfriend. She got fatter and less attractive. You got older and more attractive. It's the law of nature. Throw her out.
4.) A chair. If it makes Bobby Knight feel better, it will work for you too.
3.) Your boss. He's an asshole and an idiot. Defenestrate him.
2.) Money. Make it rain bee-yatch. (Warning: We are not responsible for the consequences of "Making it Rain" -- especially if you make it rain $80,000 and it ends in a riot.)
1.) A grenade. Because it's awesome. No further explanation needed.
----------------------------------------------- Rob Iracane
Here it comes ladies (who are we kidding) and germs, the last Iron Ref competition to determine who the last of the four finalists is. Voting will begin early tomorrow and throughout Wednesday, and some lucky duck will get to be extra thankful on Thanksgiving and get all the glory, while the others will curse a God that they believe has abandoned them. Just like the Pilgrims and the Indians!
Here's who's up this week:
Sean Leahy is a hockey fan (yes, he's the one) and not shy about professing his love for the game. He enjoys donuts from Stan Mikita's and when he's not blogging over at Going Five Hole or Puck Daddy, he's scouring to the Internet for fashion tips from Don Cherry.
Rob Iracane is the pedantic co-writer of the witty baseball blog Walkoff Walk with the inimitable web personality Camp Tiger Claw. When not leading the Wednesday Afternoon Liveglog Club, Rob approves and rejects pending commenters as the deadtern at Deadspin, and contributes a biweekly column on commenting in his role as the combudsman. His jobs are so unique, words had to be invented to describe them. Rob's favorite athlete is Derek Jeter and his favorite pastime is the New York Times crossword puzzle. See his previous winning post here.
Jeff Pyatt, managing editor of RealClearSports, is a former biochemist turned political flak turned sports blogger. As a college pitcher, he holds a claim for worst player in NCAA history, bringing his ERA down from infinity to a more respectable 27.00. Pyatt currently resides in Arlington, Virginia, where he spends most of his idle time at the batting cage in hopes of becoming the Baltimore Orioles next third basemen. See his previous winning post here.
In a runaway, Scott Sargent of Waiting for Next Year took last week's Iron Ref playoff round with an in-depth look at the Rookie Mistake that is/was Maurice Clarett. Those wild-card entries are pesky SOB's aren't they? Next week will bring us the final three, and then the FINAL ROUND(s?)!!!
Iron Ref forges ahead with three new tasty treats for you. And since it's veteran's day, let's celebrate by mocking the those who seek to displace our prized sports veterans. The secret ingredient for this week is:
ROOKIE MISTAKE
Hey Rook, how my ass taste? ------------------------------------------
When it comes to the cash, it is widely known that NFL contracts are not guaranteed. Heck, it has been a commonplace excuse for diva wide receivers and the occasional overrated tight end. After all, every down could be your last; so pony up with that multi-million dollar signing bonus, son!
After toting the rock 222 times for over 1,200 yards and 16 touchdowns, Maurice Clarett had the future of a rock star. National Championship, boys with LeBron James and a potential record contract. The world by the balls, if you will. That is, until he showed up at an NFL Combine looking more like an actual rock, getting toasted in the 40-yard dash by defensive lineman and long snappers alike. That’s where we are able to hear the poetic words of Mr. Clarett:
"It's a humbling thing being humble."
It sure is, Mo.
Shakespeare he was not, Clarett shocked the world when he was selected by Captain Running back himself, Mike Shanahan. And what was the first move made by the washed up former Buckeye during his rookie campaign? Of course, it was turning down nearly half of a million dollars in guaranteed money. Clarett instead opted for a deal that would pay him “first-round money” after he rushed for over 1,000 yards…multiple times.
Since turning down the bonus, and ultimately being released to never be heard from again, Clarett has tried his hardest to earn/get that money back.
January 1, 2006: Clarett robbed two individuals, with a .45 caliber gun, and ended up with a cell phone worth a whopping $150. Start keeping a running total…
February 10, 2006: Aggravated robbery with a gun, again,
And then the home run…
August 9, 2006: Clarett was found with a loaded AK-47, a katana, two other hand guns and the secret weapon: Grey Goose Vodka. Oh, and a lint roller. Of course, this was all after an illegal U-Turn and driving over tire spikes. The Taser was ineffective thanks to the Kevlar suit, but the police would ultimately win the battle.
And the best part of the whole arrest? Clarett, at the time, only had one shoe on when he was arrested. Odds are, he would have been able to afford a whole pair had he just taken that damned signing bonus.
------------------------------------------
Dewey Hammond This video made exclusively for Iron Ref on behalf of Blogimore Ravens, which is both the worst Ravens blog on the Internet and also the best I have to offer.
Sometimes even veterans are susceptible to rookie mistakes, but not all rookies fall prey to the banana peels of life in the crosshairs.
When looking for last-minute inspiration, I naturally thought of Monday Night Football, then thought of a man with his pants down, and suddenly I was there.
Er, um.
Yes. Mike Singletary. The very coaching definition of rookie mistake. Two of them in one game. His first game as a head coach. You cannot, as they say, make it up.
THEN THIS San Francisco 49ers interim coach Mike Singletary dropped his pants in the locker room during halftime of last Sunday's game against the Seahawks, a team spokesperson confirmed Friday.
Apparently, Singletary - who was wearing boxers - pulled down his pants in an effort to motivate his team, which was losing 20-3 at the half.
"I used my pants to illustrate that we were getting our tails whipped . . . and how humiliating that should feel for all of us," Singletary said in a statement.
The 49ers went on to lose, 34-13. It was his first game as head coach since taking over for the fired Mike Nolan on Oct. 20.
Rule No. 1: Do not berate your players publicly. While it makes for titilating hours of blogging and SportsCenter-watching, it does not grant you any locker room authority. It just separates players and makes them wonder if they can trust you. Go ahead and yell in the locker room. Pull together private meetings. Tell Vernon Davis to go stand in the corner at a barbeque. But never lose it for everyone to see.
Rule No. 2: Do not pull your pants down if you are associated with the NFL. That simple. Did we learn nothing from Mark Chmura and/or Santonio Holmes? Also, specifically: do not use one-third of your allotted halftime to point at your buttocks while your coachpants hang by your ankles. That's just poor clock management. Even Denny Green can see that.
Singletary strikes me as a man who couldn't wait to take charge but didn't quite think through what he was going to do when he got there. That, folks, defines a rookie mistake.
The next round of playoffs for Iron Ref is underway. See the latest round of previous victors below. Remember, only one will survive while the others will... uhhh continue to... ummm blog I guess. Isn't that what the winner is going to do as well? Our lives suck. Scott Sargent is a co-founder/editor of Waiting For Next Year, a Cleveland-centric abode furnished with plenty of non-championship colloquium. Born and raised just outside the mid-market metropolis, Scott spends the majority of his days plugging his ears (la la la..) during LeBron James 2010 talk and counting down the days until the Indians are mathematically eliminated from the postseason. Sure, other cities may have rings and banners, but Cleveland will always have Carl Monday. Scoreboard.
Dewey Hammond is the managing editor of Yardbarker. Before his work with the Yard, Dewey's writing appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, a handful of magazines he'd rather not remember, and also Playboy. It was mostly ho-hum except for his interview with Terrell Owens, who during the Q&A proceeded to "out" Jeff Garcia. Dewey's proudest professional accomplishment is beating Joey Chestnut in a beer chug. His favorite writer is Dennis Coles. See his previous winning post HERE.
Michael Rand started RandBall in December 2006 with hopes of changing the world and saving the puppies. So far, however, he's only succeeded in using the word "redacted" a lot. See his previous winning post HERE.
Once more, the gifted scribe of Stanley Cup of Chowder prevailed in Kitsch-en Stadium. With a trio of dishes, he served up some fine examples and lessons on Playing Through the Pain. He moves on to the next round, which according to my math, will have less people in it.
Maybe the general election is over, but that doesn't mean you still don't have some important voting to do. Maybe you want to have a vote that actually matters, or maybe you'd like to vote for a winner this time, or maybe you're feeling like piling on and voting for another winner. I know I've got that 'piling on' feeling - but that is mostly a result of a few scotches, some champagne and a really nice cigar at 2am. I feel like I could pile on all over my desk if you get my drift.
Now you have the opportunity to keep making history - by voting for one of the submissions for this week's Iron Ref. Cast your vote in the comments for who best used the secret ingredient:
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN
Polls close Thursday at 5pm!
---------------------------------------------------- Evan from Stanley Cup of Chowder We have all seen the NFL Films about the bloody and bruised gladiators of the gridiron or the clips of World Series heroes limping to the plate, but for every Kirk Gibson there are a thousand athletes that will never get to be in a commercial with Spanish from Old School or have their DNA-soaked sock enshrined in Cooperstown.
She was walking so fast, she was almost jogging. Then disaster struck. You could see it in her eyes. She was going to lose it. She pulled over to the side of the track and stuck two fingers down her throat. All she could muster was a dry heave. Undaunted, she continued walking. Moments later she accomplished what she set out to achieve. No, she didn’t win the race but she did finally pull the trigger. She would go on finish 11th, destroying her dreams of pseudo sport glory.
Adam
D-3 College Baseball Player
There was a long-standing tradition that the freshman initiation party for the baseball team was on the eve of their first early Saturday morning practice (don’t worry, there was no elephant walk involved). Adam woke up feeling like he had swallowed a boxing kangaroo and reeking like a Mexican brewery. As he finished up his light pre-practice jog, Adam proceeded to unload a nasty concoction of red Gatorade, cheap beer, tequila, and bile, much to the chagrin of his coach whose new sneakers were no longer so shiny and new. Adam’s perseverance proved to be all for not, but you have to respect his desire to play through the pain.
Sarah “Barracuda” Heath
1982 Alaska State Girl’s Basketball Champion Wasilla Warriors
Young Sarah was a fearless defender and by all accounts a pain in the ass on the hardwood. Some even described her as a pit bull with lipstick. Sarah and a scrappy bunch of underdogs from her tiny little town in Northwestern Canada Alaska were ready to take on a team from the big city when Sarah hurt her ankle. Sarah played anyways (She’s a maverick, dontcha know?). She gutted it out and was able to score a meaningless free throw at the end of a game they had already won. 26 years later that little girl is providing the world with comedic gold and cursing every hockey team that dares to step in her path.
Jack Youngblood once played an entire Super Bowl on a broken leg. Ronnie Lott had part of a finger cut off so he could get back on the field. Tiger Woods won this year's U.S. Open with a torn ACL. And I happened to be in the Vet when Donovan McNabb threw four touchdowns after breaking a leg in 2002. I've seen people play through pain and it's NOTHING compared to the pain Syracuse football fans have endured over the last four years.
We've suffered through 34 losses in the last 43 games and a 3-22 record in the Big East -- yet each home game we venture out into increasingly empty parking lots in crappy weather and we play on.
We attempt to numb our pain by eating massive amounts of Fritos, hot dogs and chili and we fight through the heartburn that accompanies it. We guzzle Mad Dog 20/20 so the impending Greg Robinson lead beating won't feel so bad. Knowing SU is going to lose, we end up debating important issues like who would have a better overall record - Robinson or coach Klein from the Waterboy?
Once inside the Dome, we chase our cheap liquor with warm beer, soggy hot dogs and get hit right in the face with truly horrendous football. The pain doesn't end when the game is over, as we get to suffer through Greg's increasingly insane press conferences.
So to you athletes who may have been injured on the field and played through the pain, I quote Artie Lange and say Waaaaaaaaaaah. Physical pain goes away -- the pain Greg Robinson inflicts lives forever. Don't believe me? We were all gearing up for a "Greg gets fired" press conference on Sunday, but the bastard went out and beat Louisville Saturday night. The pain will not end - pass the Mad Dog....or a Schlitz.
DMtShooter This Iron Chef event comes at a terrible time for me. See, I had to put my dog down. Here’s a picture of him the night before he died.
But I’m writing anyway, because I’m just that freaking tough. I play through the pain. Funny thing about pain. It’s entirely dependent on context. If the picture is from last night, you feel bad for me. I mean, I had that dog for 15 years. My kids, especially the youngest, just keep asking about him. It’s terrible.
If the photo is from five years ago, you feel a little uneasy. Turn the page, dude. And if it’s not my dog at all, it means nothing, and you feel really screwed over. Pain is a story. Whether the story is true or false, it’s still… just a story.
So the dog isn’t doing it for you -- well, how about a dying parent? After all, we all felt sorry for Barry Bonds for nearly a full weekend when we heard his dad was terminal. Bonds, of course, kept playing, because that's what Real Men do. Even Jerk Men.
OK, fine, let’s talk Real Pain. Nah, not that phony childbirth thing the Shooter Wife did. I was there, and she wimped out and took the meds, killing any of their chances to be go to an Ivy League school. I'm sorry, Shooter Kids, for your future failures in life. Mom just didn't want it enough.
No, I'm talking about Real Pain. Ath-Ah-Leet Pain. Playing through pain only happens for them, you see. Everyone else either takes the comp time or just, you know, does their freaking job without expecting words like "courage", "gritty" or “role model” to be attached to it. Some, like Five Tool Tool Obsession Allen Iverson, clearly get off on it, because it adds to that Tupacian "Me Against The World" vibe.
Ya see, Playing Through Pain goes both ways. Unless you, the audience, know about it, there's no drama. Without drama, Brett Favre would melt like the Wicked Witch of the West engaging in water sports (Either kind, but for the record, I mean the kind that gets me more sports blog votes. You sick, sick bastards.).So, here's the quick and easy answer for all of the media mouth jobs you will hear for the rest of your life as a consumer of sports-like products.
Unless someone knows about your pain, you can't play through it.
If you are truly tough, no one ever knows you are hurt, because you don’t want to cop to some crappy excuse if you lose. Real men win or lose and get over it.
Besides, if the pain is really so bad, you can always go take a pill or needle for it.
You big girl.
I'd say more about this, but since we've just established that Pain Is Bullshit, Brett Favre (allegedly) enjoys getting peed on, Barry Bonds' dad died for our sins and my wife is waiting for me with a claw hammer, let's wrap this up with the coup de grace for my opponents in this sausage fest.
JUDGE VOTING BREAKDOWN
Rob Iracane
Jeff Pyatt
