Cowboys, Mark McGwire and Milton Bradley: Cry Babies

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Cowboys, Mark McGwire and Milton Bradley: Cry Babies
Win McNamee/Getty Images

One of the things I’ve always liked about rugby as a sport is that it is full out.  No pretense, no excuses.  Rugby players go from whistle to whistle, no holds barred.  This includes games that are “out of hand."   It’s not unusual to see a rugby team up by a large amount with only a minute or two left on the clock and still pound away to get another score.

That’s just the way it is; play full out during the time you are on the field. Shake hands after.

Unfortunately, that ethos does not seem to be in vogue in other sports, especially at the professional levels.  NBA basketball teams and NHL hockey teams routinely sleep walk through the last couple of minutes of a blow out.  And, apparently in the NFL, some people consider it poor form to score upon the downtrodden.

Dallas linebacker Keith Brooking said it was “classless" for the Vikings to score the last touchdown in the 34-3 can of whup ass that they opened up on the Cowboys.

“I thought it was classless,” Brooking said. “I thought it was B.S. Granted, we get paid to stop them, but we had zero timeouts left. I didn't think there was any call for that.”

Well, he’s right about one thing.  They do get paid to stop them. And failed. Badly.

Coming from Brooking, the classless comment did exhibit a bit of, shall we say, chutzpa.  After all, the Cowboys similarly demolished a Philadelphia team just the week before…so there is a bit of the pot calling the kettle black. 

And this is the Cowboys. The "classy" organization that brought us cheerleaders dressed like pole dancers, who are coached by Wade “gimme another donut” Phillips, and led by America’s leading purveyor of cosmetic surgery that ain’t working, Jerry “chicken neck” Jones (see Jones, Jerry; Wikipedia, prince of darkness, beezelebulbs acolyte).

Give him some Gerber smooshed carrots and get him outta here.

Speaking of outta here, another whiney baby last week admitted (gasp) that he used steroids during his career. 

Mark McGwire was crying like a wittle, little ol’ bitty baby when he admitted his roid use. 

Well, OK, a big, overgrown muscle bound baby with a huge ass head.  Awww…poor thing.  Don’t ya feel so sorry for him?

I feel so sorry that I think we should acknowledge his pain, and negate the so-called season record he holds, along with those of all his fellow human bobblehead juicers. 

Amend the record books to reflect 61 home runs as the season record, set by Roger Maris of the New York Yankees in 1961.  This will help to ease the great sadness and stress that these boys are experiencing, by acknowledging their feelings of guilt, shame, and remorse and giving them a way to make amends for such.

Hall of Fame?  More like Hall of Shame.

A big, shiny gold teething ring also goes to Milton Bradley.  Uncle Milty, who has obviously never read How to Make Friends and Influence People, has burned more bridges than Napoleon’s army did during their retreat from Russia.  Bradley, another exhibit in the “big market teams can fail…just look at Chicago” argument, has apparently skipped out on his lease agreement for the Chicago apartment he rented.

Yep.  A guy who made over $40,000 per game in 2009 stiffed his landlord for about $44,000 in his lease payments after moving out in October.  He is being sued by his former landlord and realtor for the money.  This bright cherub must think that spending time on the disabled list makes him invisible to creditors. It sure seemed that way for fans of the Cubbies last year when they needed run production...poof, no Milton.

Wonder if he’ll be sleepless in Seattle from colic?

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