As difficult as it is, I genuinely try to lay off NBA players for their mode of dress. For one, I feel like they have enough professional image issues to deal with that are out of their hands ( a racially motivated dress code; a despotic, union-busting commissioner who thinks he's a mobster and says stuff like this; Ron Artest*) that there's no need to pile on admonishment about personal taste. But, just as often, I'm simply at a loss for words when confronted with the utter lack of sartorial consciousness on display by some of the world's best athletes. Fortunately, the dude behind the completely hilarious and endearingly nsfw blog Victory Light has both the vocabulary and lack of tact required to speak my mind for me.
Below are a few choice snaps from his take on some of Mr. Kardashian's and Mr. Pierce's less flattering moments. And, shout out to ALL CAPS. 2011 IS ALL ABOUT ALL CAPS.
*I love/respect Ron Artest.
THIS NIGGAS BLAZER LOOKS LIKE HE DUG UP A DEAD BARBERSHOP QUARTET GUY AND WAS LIKE "THIS IS HOT...I THINK THE HAT IS TOO MUCH THOUGH"
WHAT IS THIS OUTFIT B? ARE YOU GOING TO A JOB INTERVIEW AT A BASEBALL GAME WHERE YOU HAVE TO PLAY BASKETBALL AND RAP? YOU LOOK LIKE A MANAGER AT APPLEBEES THAT JUST GOT OFF WORK AND HALFWAY CHANGED.
HOOOOOOOBOY. HOOOOBOY. HOW YOU LIKE IT, HOW YOU LIKE IT, HOW YOU LIKE IT?
Looks like everyone not named Zack got lined up and rolled out on a STRETCHER this year in the GRH NCAA Brackakke. I emerged victorious, vanquishing my foes with wit, wisdom, and mental dexterity hitherto UNSEEN in modern bracketology. The near misses...the upsets...the close calls. Describes some games in the tournament, but couldn't be further from describing the GRH brackets against me. It was me in a landslide.
Hold up, Harvard called. They need someone to speak at the commencement ceremony for their renowned Comm. V. Schmidlapp School of Bracketology. Hope I can make it when I'm not using my knowledge to teach computers how to moonwalk in VEGAS.
I don't think anybody is surprised. I'm full of nothing but basketball prowess. I didn't even have to watch any basketball games this year, I JUST KNEW. I knew where to pick my spots and how I needed to proceed in my quest to become the most vaunted bracketoleger, perhaps methinks, OF ALL TIME.
How many correct Final Four picks? One. Kentucky. How much in the field? Zero. I WIN!!!
Teams don't matter as much though. You've GOTTA find the hot hand in the deck. Who's coming into the tournament looking good? Jimmer Fredette? A pale, mormony excuse of a basketball player. What about Butler's Matt Howard? He's tall, isn't he? But no, everybody, YOURS TRULY, knew Kemba Walker was about to run a train on this tournament. His shots were the ones you had to SEE TO BELIEVE. In him, I put my faith, believing he'd drag his team, kicking and scream, to at least the championship game. And he did.
Of course, I thought Kemba Walker played for Pitt, and had them in the championship game. But again, no matter. I WIN!!!
I'd like to take a moment and thank all of the people I so savagely destroyed in the process of getting mine. Lattimer: Wasn't expecting a lot out of you, but you brought out the vigor I knew you'd have. You losing was a constant source of inspiration for me, both on and off the court. No really, I was laughing to myself about it later, helped me sleep. Icehouse, Icehouse, Icehouse. You have, by far, the most basketball expertise of anyone I know, outside, of course, of myself. You came in dead last. The writing is on the wall, the stars are aligned in the western skies; you will be a great bracketeer one day. NOT TODAY, GRASSHOPPER. NOT. TO. DAY. And the rest of you unimportant flunkies whose name either escaped me or never dwelled in my august brain region: Enjoy the smell. Waft in my vapors. Take in my aura as it glides past you, seemingly effortless, but with purpose and power. You will all fall before me one day anyway. Enjoy your bipedal, upright view for the time being.
And let's score more than 60 points next year. Our brackets all sucked.
The best part is that they really did troll us all. We were all suckered into watching... whatever that was. Some people will claim that superior defensive play was on display last night. Those people are horrendously wrong. True, both teams are better defensively than other teams, but holy shit was that just an exhibition in bricklaying.
Butler sucks. I was all about them last year because of Duke haterade, but this year was the same shit, just a year older and minus Gordon Hayward. So no, I don't give a shit about Butler or the underdog or any of that nonsense. You tiptoed and bumblefucked your way through the weakest possible bracket lineup to another championship game, then shot 12 for fucking 64 from the field. Butler might as well have their bulldog mascot (who is actually pretty cool) come out and take a shit on midcourt.
12 shots made. Out of 64 attempts. That's 18%. Here are some other things that are 18%: -18% of Americans think the sun revolves around the Earth -18% of Kentucky nursing homes abuse their residents -18% of Americans think Congress is doing a good job -18% of Florida homes are vacant Source
Moving on, I'd like to point out that UConn women lost to Notre Dame in the final four. So after all the hoopla about how this is the greatest chick team ever or something, they lose and all the glory goes to the men's team. So sad. And Hilarious. Hilariously sad.
Finally, UConn is facing NCAA punishments for recruiting improprieties. Jim Calhoun himself has to sit out the first three Big East games next year. He'll probably still collect that salary, though.
So yeah. The bad guys won. I'm happy about it. You should be too.
Anyway, the clip does bring out an interesting question. How would comic book characters fare in athletic competition?
The answer is that they would obviously be badass and set all sorts of records, but which sport would really fit their outrageous abilities. Obviously there are some natural fits such as Aquaman (Yo Vinny that shit is dope) and The Flash. But I honestly have no clue where I would put the X-Men. They would just kill everyone, right? I know what your thinking, and yes, there is no wrong answer to this shit storm. Spiderman playing golf? I mean...sure, that makes sense.
But yeah, any comic book hero or villan, and if you pick a team sport please give a position.
My Selection; THE HULK at Noseguard for football.
Perfect attitude and size. He can not only soak up, but also defeat double teams to allow my superhero linebackers to roam freely and kill the ball carrier. Literally.
"Oh but Lattimer how will you make him THE HULK and not Bruce Banner?"
Icehouse is at the office. Lame. All I know is Julio Borbon, you are a fuckstick. Way to get an error on the first play of the season.
ANYWAY. Let's have some fun.
First up, style tips from Zaza Pachulia.
Also, this happened.
I know next to nothing about cricket, but this movie looks awesome.
The first couple of minutes of this is sad and I didn't like when they show Shane's helmet cam about to take off, because I knew what happened next and I didn't want to see it. But, the latter half of the video is an amazing tribute, hilarious and all around totally badass.
Bossaball? Bossaball.
I am just plain happy that Ochocinco tried out for Sporting KC.
That's what I got for you today. For me, it's back to business.
As difficult as it is, I genuinely try to lay off NBA players for their mode of dress. For one, I feel like they have enough professional image issues to deal with that are out of their hands ( a racially motivated dress code; a despotic, union-busting commissioner who thinks he's a mobster and says stuff like this; Ron Artest*) that there's no need to pile on admonishment about personal taste. But, just as often, I'm simply at a loss for words when confronted with the utter lack of sartorial consciousness on display by some of the world's best athletes. Fortunately, the dude behind the completely hilarious and endearingly nsfw blog Victory Light has both the vocabulary and lack of tact required to speak my mind for me. 
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