Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Derek Jeter Derek Jeter Derek Jeter Derek Jeter Derek Jeter

FireJay is going to be a Jeter-only blog until further notice.  I've got all kinds of material backed up, from the guy who wants the HOF waiting period changed for him, to a guy who says he's not a HOFer at all (not enough batting titles--no I'm serious).  It's all Jeter, all the time for the next couple of weeks.  Since most of these don't require much of an in-depth post, I should be able to get through them pretty quickly.  For tonight's post, I'm just going to take some pot shots at his personality, because you know what?  Fuck Derek Jeter and fuck anyone who says he's a "classy guy" for no apparent reason.  Fuck 'em all.

You know what's a classy way to retire if you're a superstar?  You play out your last season, then when the season is over, you announce your retirement.  You know what else is an acceptable way to retire?  You announce near the end of your last season that you will retire when it's over, so your hometown fans have a chance to cheer extra loudly for you a few last times.  This is particularly acceptable if you've played your whole career with one team.

You know what's a really fucking obnoxious way to retire?  Announce before the season starts that it will be your last, turning said season into one long farewell tour so everyone can suck your dick for 162 games straight.  Examples: Chipper Jones, and you-know-who.  YEAH JEETS.  It becomes especially motherfucking obnoxious when the player who does this--and they always ostensibly do it in part so that "it doesn't become a distraction" during the season--then takes every single goddamn opportunity to turn the whole thing into as much of a distraction as possible.

A couple of quick caveats: First, Chipper was and is an asshole, but he obviously wasn't as horrible about this as Jeter is going to be, even though they both announced during spring training.  I really don't think Chipper gives a shit about attention, which is what separates him from Jeter.  Second, while I despised the Mariano Rivera 2013 Goodbye Tour that took over last season, I'll cut him a bit of a break given that he was coming back from that nasty knee injury he sustained in 2012.  It was a legitimate question whether he would pitch again--then he decided to, and also announced his retirement, since he was old as shit and somehow coming back from a torn ACL.  I can live with that.

Anyways, back to the most important person who has ever played baseball, or breathed air on this planet, Derek "My Playoff Triple Slash Is Virtually Identical To My Regular Season Triple Slash" Jeter, and the press conference he conducted earlier this week.  Good thing no one was distracted by it!  Now, I am not so much of a dipshit to think "distractions" like retirement announcements and whether a player is straight or gay have a significant effect on a team's performance.  I just hate disingenuous people, and if ever there was a disingenuous thing to do, it's be Derek Jeter, announce your retirement in February, then pretend to be surprised and/or nonplussed about how everyone wants to talk about it and shower you with gifts and questions and love.

And while most of the conversation was about his retirement, it wasn’t like most retirement announcements we normally see. Jeter had no prepared statement. He said he said everything in the Facebook message last week. The reason? He didn’t want to be a distraction and didn’t want his teammates to have to show up for a formal announcement ceremony. 

That's Jeter.  Always thinking of the team first.  Even when he was a below average defensive shortstop and his team traded for an elite defensive shortstop and then Jeter pouted, refused to move to third base, and forced the team to force new guy to move to third base, that was all about the team.  By which I mean Team Jeets.

He just asked for it to be a normal. ”I still have a season to play,” Jeter said.

How dare you forget, sportswriters?  How fucking damn dare you?  He's still got a season to spend missing every ground ball not hit directly at him, legging out a handful of infield singles while risking a humiliating career-ending hamstring explosion, and getting a fucking standing ovation everywhere he goes.  (Aren't you just so excited for his last game at Fenway, when TAWM BRADY NATION will applaud for him?  You don't suppose that'll be publicized and analyzed for weeks and weeks afterwards, do you?  Nahhh, I didn't think it would either.)

When pressed for reasons for his retirement he half-jokingly, but somewhat seriously, asked the reporters if they didn’t really read his Facebook announcement. 

Talking down to reporters who are just doing their job is the ultimate classy move.   

Because that was it. Everything he had to say about it was in there.

I'm disappointed in HardBallTalk's Craig Calcaterra for the non-editorial nature of this writeup.  He's a smart guy who usually injects a little snark into his posts when it's needed.  And boy was it needed here.  Instead, we're getting just the facts about Flip Play McGee

Still, the questions came. 

Those ignorant assholes!  They should have just asked him how his swing felt.  That's what their readers wanted to hear about.

And to some degree Jeter did open up. He said that a lot of his career had become a job in the past year. 

Most pathetic and trite athlete appeal for sympathy ever.  "It's not fun anymore."  Fuck yourself with a wrench.  

Not the playing — he said he still likes coming to the ballpark and playing — 

Whew!  I was worried!

but meeting with the media. 

DIE.  As much as I despise the sports media, you'd better believe that if it meant I could play professional sports for a living, I would be happy to deal with their shit for an hour or two a day during the season and zero hours a day during the offseason.

Answering the increasing questions about how long he can go on. 

He's 40.  He hasn't been healthy and effective in 16 months.  What kinds of questions does the guy expect?

He also referred to the rehab from injuries like he endured last year.

From 1996 through 2012, he averaged 151 GP per year.  Lucky bastard.  

A couple of reporters asked Jeter if he was emotional about it. He sparred with them — “what, are you trying to get me to cry?” he joked. And there were no tears. 


Jeter referenced the fact that he has always hidden his emotions to some extent, but yes, he has them. He’s not going to be emotional about it now, however, as he still has a season in front of him. 

What a successful attention-seeking strategy.  Tell everyone that your career is ending soon.  Then remind them at every possible turn that it is not ending yet.  If anyone forgets to ask you about your reasons for retiring, remind them again that you're retiring soon.

”It’s not the end yet,” Jeter said.

Christ.  Fucking kill me now.  Seven more months of this shit.  I'd rather go through the Brett Favre saga again than watch MLB Network or Baseball Tonight at any point between now and October.

PS-Remember that one time Jeter dove into the stands after he caught a foul ball?  Greatest moment in American history.

PPS-Fuck Derek Jeter.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Maybe I need to turn this blog into a Twitter feed

It sucks.  I mean to post more often than I do.  But often, when I'm about to, I start to think "Well that's not really enough for a post.  I need something better if I'm going to put in all the effort it takes to log into Blogger and stuff."  Which is so dumb.  There is no rule about the appropriate length for a post, and in fact, some of the best posts in the history of this blog have been very short.  But somehow I hit a strange mental block when I want to do a short post.  So, maybe I should switch to @FireJayMariotti and throw in the towel on this blogging game.  Probably not going to happen though.  Sounds like a lot of work to get that whole deal set up and stuff.  (Also, a quick search shows that @FireJayMariotti is available.  If any of you sign up for it after reading this and then try to sell it to me, I will send you a strongly worded email informing you that that was not a nice thing to do.)

Anyways, here are some of the half-baked ideas and quick thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head recently.


Earlier tonight I was watching Heat-Thunder on TNT.  Reggie Miller is pretty decent in his role as Kenny Albert's broadcast partner, although he certainly talks himself into a corner from time to time.  Tonight he ended up here:

The league has a huge group of very talented small forwards right now.  Of course you've got LeBron and Durant.  And then Paul George belongs in that group, I think. (Pause) And then there's DeMar DeRozan... (trails off)

Easy there, Reggie.  Next time get all the way through your thought before you start speaking it.  George is a fantastic player, but like everyone else in the NBA, he's two steps below LeBron and one below Durant.  And then maybe end your list there, because while DeRozan is having a nice breakout year and is a perfectly decent player, he's significantly worse than George at 1) defense, 2) rebounding, 3) distributing and 4) shooting 3s.


Pierre McGuire is a useless sideline reporter/sometimes color commentator/penis with a microphone who takes much more away from a hockey broadcast than he adds to it.  But I have to tip my hat to him for his performance during today's Canada/U.S. women's gold medal game.  The number of times he made sure to interrupt Doc Emrick's skillful play-by-play call to inform us that a trip or cross check administered by an American girl to a now-crumpled Canadian girl was completely clean warmed my patriotic little heart.  If there's ever a time to be an obnoxious homer, it's when a gold medal is on the line and your country's team is playing a country whose fans are raging cunts at all times.  The eventual result of the game made my stomach churn and ruined my day, but hats off to Pierre (non-sarcastically) for contributing to broadcast for once in his career.  May the U.S. men beat Canada by 15 tomorrow.


Spotted earlier today among the front page headlines on ESPN, now relegated to the NFL page:

Older, wiser T.O. says he can still play at 40

Hopefully older, wiser sports fans will soon realize ESPN is a bottomless abyss full of nightmares and cat shit and decide to get their news and analysis elsewhere.  I know that I contribute to their pageviews by going there to find shit to blog about, but I swear, I don't pass through for any other purpose anymore.  If I'm not looking for a Simmons/Easterbrook/Reilly/Keri article to dump on, I'm not going there.  I encourage you to do/not do the same.  Fuck ESPN with a rake.


Finally, earlier this week, Simmons (fresh off of winning yet another Nobel Prize in economics) put out his annual article about the worst contracts in the NBA.  I'd like to do a full breakdown later, but for now, two brief highlights.  Here's the opening paragraph:

In December, I gave my kids $20 for a toy store trip and they picked out $90 worth of stuff. They had no concept of money. They didn’t know if our house cost $2,000 or $2 billion. So I started making them pay for small things — Starbucks, Jamba Juice, pizza, whatever — hoping they’d slowly understand the concept of worth. I think it’s working. When we attended Monday-night Raw in L.A. last week, I gave them a $100 salary cap on whatever they wanted. They spent

RIVETING. If you want to engage a group of strangers, be sure to start with a story about your kids. Instant entertainment. Good job, Bill. Also, fuck you for giving your grade school-aged kids a $100 allowance for one night.  A night they're already spending at an awesome event.  I'm not going to attack the guy's kids because the irreverence expressed on this blog does have SOME boundaries, but let's just say I question whether that is a good parenting decision.

Finally, the dunk contest has gotten extremely stale.  Bill, use your wondrous powers of genius to save it, please.

My quick fix for 2015: Remodel it into a “Dunk of the Year” contest. Twelve contestants, 12 dunks, America votes on the winner. Your 12 contestants: nine NBA players, two D-leaguers, one street baller. Name it the “Bud Light 12-Pack Contest.” Oh, and if they want to raise the rim to 12 feet or higher for their one dunk, they can do that, too. Anything goes. I’d like to meet the one person who wouldn’t watch this.

So before, it was a dunk contest, but now it'll be a dunk contest.  Brilliant.  WHO SAYS NO?????

Bill Simmons is a horse's ass.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Rick Reilly tries to whimsically convince us that golf is different and special; plagiarizes self for the umpteenth time; is still an asshole

Apologies for the hiatus.  I decided to do this post mid-last week, but didn't get around to it until now, because who cares I don't have to answer to anyone for my laziness I do this for free and who are you to judge?  Anyways, in the meantime, Deadspin pointed out that not only does this Reilly column suck taint, it's also plagiarized from a column he wrote just five years ago.  Rick does this all the time so it shouldn't be a surprise at this point; I'm mildly annoyed that I did not think to look into this possibility myself.  Anyways, read the Deadspin post as a warmup activity, maybe check out this little reminder of how much of a dickweed Rick is (especially when it comes to golf), then come back here and really get yourself good and worked up at what a shithead this guy is.  I know I'm worked up just getting ready to write this.  Roll the tape.

Two Down 

No clue who this is, no desire to find out; context suggests it's a nickname for one of Rick's golf buddies.  I'd sure pay a few dollars to see them in a cage match fight to the death against Simmons, J-Hench, Cousin Bug, and the rest of the Sports Guy Sycophants.

was watching the Golf Channel on the ancient Magnavox in the clubhouse at Ponky Municipal Golf Links and Deli, known near and far as America's worst golf course.

I feel like I'm there!  Just a quick reminder that not only does Rick suck at thinking, he's a bad writer too.

Kevin Stadler had just won the Waste Management Phoenix Open, thanks to a missed 5-foot putt by Bubba Watson on the 72nd hole. It was the first PGA Tour win of his life -- a 13-year wait -- and it seemed to be annoying the eyebrows off of Two Down.

LOL, eyebrows.  Those usually stay on your head.

"My God, look at this guy!" he was snarling in our bomb-shelter-motif clubhouse, where our homely golf group, The Chops, hangs out.

You can't tell because of the format of this and other article-pick-apart blogs, but he's using the time-tested Bill Plaschke "every sentence is its own paragraph" method here, and it's making the article slightly less bad, only because there's more empty space around the awfulness.

"I mean look how boring and polite he is! Here the guy does something he's been trying to do ONCE his whole life, and all he does is take off his hat and shake Watson's hand!"

"And your point is?" I asked.

Yeah, what WAS Two Down's point?  Let's step back and take a trip back in time to the same year Rick wrote the article he used as a template for this one--check out Rick's thoughts from 2009 as to how winners are supposed to act.  Here are some choice excerpts, before we return to 2014 and listen to all the high-larious antics this set of (likely) fat, emasculated 50-something cumbuckets would engage in if they won a PGA tournament.

There is a hideous new trend in sports that we need to stomp out like milkweed before it spreads. Scientists are calling it the Hey, look what I did, everybody! syndrome. There have been three dreadful examples of it lately, all from people who should know better.

Now before we get too deep, I will briefly help Rick out by making an argument for him that is definitely more substantial than your average straw man.  It's got some validity.  I will then tear down this somewhat valid argument, because Rick is a worthless dillweed.

The argument is that in this 2009 column, he's about to dump on a bunch of guys who are all time legends and have won something significant many many times in their careers, where as Kevin Stadler just won his first ever PGA tournament.  I think that's a somewhat fair distinction to make.  Repeat champions probably should be held to a higher standard of "We/I just won!" sportsmanship than first timers.  However, here are all the problems with that line of thinking, just in case Rick were to decide to show up in the comments and somehow come up with the idea of defending himself on those grounds.

1) Generally speaking, only cuntballs complain about athlete celebrations.
2) Even if you are OK with the general idea that showing up one's opponent is inappropriate, none of the three examples he's about to give are really showings-up of the opponents in question.  They're just apparel-based celebrations of accomplishment, which, who the fuck care.
3) In each of these cases, the losers who were allegedly being shown up are also pro athletes who make plenty of money and in the cases of examples 2 and 3, have multiple titles of their own.  This is not Ohio State hot dogging it after beating Eastern Central Ohio A&M 70-0.  These are stars that beat other stars.
4) Rick Reilly is a fucking moron, you really think he would ever make a point about sportsmanship that was worth a handful of shit?

OK, here we go.

Start with Phil Jackson. When he and his Lakers fricasseed the Magic to win another title, it was Jackson's 10th NBA coaching championship, a new record. Jackson had become the king of coaches. Everyone knew he was going for 10 -- it's not like it was a secret -- and there was the appropriate applause, huzzahs and standing on chairs.

But that wasn't good enough for him. He decided to paint a mustache on his Mona Lisa by quickly grabbing a hat with a big X on it -- for 10 -- and plunking it on his head.

Hey, look what I did, everybody!

MY GOD.  HE WORE A HAT.  THE HUMANITY.  I'M SURPRISED DWIGHT HOWARD DIDN'T BREAK DOWN IN TEARS.  Actually, I generally am surprised anytime that doesn't happen because Dwight Howard has the mental capacity of a 10 year old, but the point remains.  HOLY FUCKING DOGSHIT A HAT.  WHAT'S NEXT, A CRAZY DANCE?  THIS IS ALL VERY UNBECOMING, PHIL.

How were the Magic supposed to react to his new look? 

By not caring?  By going to the locker room and talking about trying to win it all the following year?  (They didn't in 2010, but they did make it to the Eastern Conference Finals where they were bounced by the Celtics.  FACK YOU!)

It was as if Jackson were saying, "Sorry to wear this in front of you so soon, but, c'mon, we knew where this was going, right?"

It was as if Jackson were saying, "Wow, I'm happy that I won ten championships because that's a cool round number!  Here's a really non-aggressive way of celebrating that."

Tacky. Shrill. Brash. 

Remember these words.

For a Zenmaster, it was very un-Zen. Here was the all-time preacher of team hoops, with his team all around him -- still sweaty from all that teamwork -- and Jackson suddenly went 100 percent "me." That hat said, Aren't I amazing! Doesn't this hat prove it? Don't you wish you had one?

That's one of the stupidest things I've ever read.  And I hate Phil Jackson and the Lakers.

I hated that hat for the same reason I hate those hideous championship T-shirts and caps that teams don the instant the final buzzer sounds. Why cover up the glory of the jerseys you bled in together all season -- the ones that have your city or team name emblazoned on the front -- with some ugly shirts nobody can read? 

That also have your city or team name emblazoned on the front.  Also, gee Rick, you think wearing that championship clothing just might be mandated by the leagues, who are in the business of making money by selling clothing to fans that are happy about their teams?

And why top it off with an ugly hat that just dangles a tag in your face?


Anyway, at least Jackson and his agents decided to donate the proceeds from X hat sales to charity. 

I like the comparative wording here that indicates that if Jackson instead kept the proceeds and burned them, it would only be marginally worse that the horrible, unspeakable act of wearing a hat with an X on it.

Of course, that just makes what Roger Federer did look so much worse.


Not two minutes after he had defeated Andy Roddick in a 77-game Wimble-never-done 


final, he went back to his bench, pulled out a tracksuit top with a 15 plastered on the side, put it on and spun around for the TV cameras. It was his way of congratulating himself on his 15th major, the one that bested Pete Sampras' old mark.

Federer did the same thing Jackson did!  It was so much worse than what Jackson did!

Hey, look what I did, everybody!

And remember this.

Now you tell me: How was poor Roddick supposed to have taken that? 

By shrugging, collecting his runner up check, and going back to fucking Brooklyn Decker (note: I am not sure if they were dating in 2009 and I'm not going to look it up but you get the point)?

It's like Rog was bragging: I knew I was going to roast you, A-Rod. That's why my people have been working on this all week!

Yeah!  The better thing to do would have been to wait until after the 15th title was secured, then have the tracksuit made, then go back to Wimbledon a few days later, and call a press conference!  Better yet, wear the track suit to your next tournament!  Crusty old balltonguers like Rick wouldn't be bothered by that at all!

Talk about cheeky. 

You don't mean cheeky.  It's a dumb point either way, but that's not the right word.

I mean, it's not as if some little seamstress ran out to iron the patch onto his jacket after the fact. The thing was in his bag the whole time! It's not just the sweater that was manufactured. The gesture was too.


I hated that sweater for the same reason I hate when a player preens for the camera in the "I'm going to Disney World" commercials. Here's his pinnacle moment, the one he's worked toward his whole life. He should be going absolutely Lindsay Lohan nuts, but instead he's looking into the sea of people for a director, a cameraman and a boom mike.

Once more, Mr. Montana -- only this time, can you cry?

Yeah, those moments are not at all mandated by NFL contractual obligations with Disney.  Not at all.  Every athlete who does it (do they still do this?) seeks out the camera crew and says "I can't wait to voluntarily endorse you guys.  Let's do more than one take!"

Federer's sweater was a rare show of classlessness from a normally classy guy. One dipped in gold, no less. A gold sweater with a gold 15 pulled out of a gold man-bag. What, they couldn't gold-plate the man himself?


The day before Federer's flub, Serena Williams drubbed sis Venus in a straight-set finale. Then, not 30 minutes later, she showed up at the press conference in a T-shirt that read, "Are you looking at my titles?" Okay, it's funny. And a little dirty. But it's immodest.

Yeah!  Poor Venus!  She only had seven career Grand Slam wins at that point, just five of them at Wimbledon, including a win over Serena in the final the previous year!  Think about her feelings for once, Serena!

And all three -- Jackson, Federer, Williams -- are better than that. They almost always rise above the schlock. When they don't, it's unbecoming.

I like how I used that word earlier in this post to mock Rick, and then he uses it down here.  I promise I didn't realize that was going to happen until just now.

I don't remember seeing pictures of FDR rolling up to his fourth election-night victory speech wearing a "Four-ever!" tuxedo jacket. Neil Armstrong didn't splash down with a "MoonMan" tat on his biceps. 

Absolutely ironclad logic here.  There is no possible counterargument to "Athletes shouldn't celebrate in certain ways, because politicians and astronauts don't celebrate in those same ways."

And I sure as hell don't remember John Wooden slapping on an X hat after his 10th NCAA title.


Athletes, coaches ... these are your moments; don't sell their purity. You will get your due, in due time.

Just let it come from us.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.  You.  Sportswriters are the worst fucking people on the planet.

And now we return to present day.  If you read the Deadspin post you've already seen most of these "jokes," so I won't go too in depth, but Jesus H. Christ on a Rocking Chair, let's keep in mind that this man gets paid seven figures a year for this kind of thing.

"My point is?" Two Down said. "My point is, if I'd just won $1.1 million zops in a PGA Goddang Tour event, forget about my first win in 239 tries, I'd go absolutely electro-shock, three-alarm, bat-guano nuts! I'd pull up my shirt, grab my big ol' stomach and go, 'Manage this waist, chumps!"

"Excuse me?"

"That sounds like something a loser like Roger Federer might do!"

"I'd throw the old lady scorekeeper into the lake and dive in after her! I'd do the Dougie 

Timely!  Even when he plagiarizes himself, Rick struggles to keep up with those dang kids and their music.  "If I won a tournament event, I'd find the prettiest girl in the gallery and ask her to 'Call Me Maybe!'"

with the sign boy! I'd take my 3-iron and knight my caddy like I was the queen!"

He gestured back disgustedly at Stadler, who was now making his trophy speech.

"He's all, 'I certainly want to thank the greens committee. The bunkers were beautifully and thoughtfully raked all week."

I could tell it was upsetting him, so, naturally, I tried to make it worse.


"Golf decorum vexes you?"

"Hell, yes!!!" Two Down yelled. "Why can't golfers act like they do in other sports? If this was the NFL, he'd be twerking 

Much more timely than the Dougie.  Well done, Rick.  F-plus.

in front of the other team's bench! You think Richard Sherman acted like this after he won the Super Bowl Sunday night? You think he just took off his helmet and shook the Broncos' hands and said, 'Well played, sir'? No! He probably went up to Peyton Manning and yelled, 'Bro, was that some kinda JOKE?'"

Actually, that was such an ass kicking that he probably did just go up to Manning and say "Good game."  Leave it to Rick to screw up an attempt to paint Richard Sherman as brash.

The other Chops put their gin hands down.

"You're right!" The Human Stain chimed in. "In tennis, Rafa Nadal wins and practically falls dead where he stands, like he just took an arrow in the chest! But golfers act all sheepish, like they just sat in somebody's soup."

Partially because golf is a game for people who like puckering their assholes at all times, and partially because twats like Rick berate golfers the second the golfers show any emotion.

"Totally!" Thud 

Jesus, these nicknames are worse than Simmons's.

announced. "If I'd just won my first ever ticket to the Masters, and it meant I was going to finally play in a Masters with my dad (1982 Masters winner Craig Stadler), I'd pick up the flagstick and fire it like a Tommy gun at the crowd. 

That's actually... that's not really OK.  Please don't do that.

I'd make my caddy give me a piggy back ride and whip him like a jockey on a horse."

Stolen from a movie that was made in 1996.

The subject was taking my mind off the $40 I'd just lost trying to chip into the deep fryer, so I jumped in with both cleats.

Because golf isn't like those OTHER sports, like tennis!  Golf is special!

What's that you say?  I'm putting words in Rick's mouth?  You really think he feels differently?  The guy loves golf more than he loves air.  He talks about it like it's a nonstop thrill ride while also talking about how boring baseball is.  He sucks.

"You're right," I said. "If I just beat 144 guys over four days, and I'd never done it in my whole life? I'd wallow in it. I'd extend my hand to Bubba, yank it back and yell, 'Psyche!' When the guy in the bad plaid jacket came out with the winner's check, I'd snatch his toupee off and fling it like a Frisbee."


"I know!" said The Little Ball of Hate. 

Hoooly shit.

"And at my speech, I'd start out with, 'I'd really just like to thank ... my sweet BUTT 

Lol butts!  Butts and poops!

for being so good! Nobody's hittin' these shots but me, you fools!' I can make these Pings play Beethoven, bitches!"

Now everybody was up, outraged at Stadler's fine manners.

[Two paragraphs of terrible jokes, including one with a painfully bad Twitter reference, deleted.  Long story short: these guys, fictional though they may be, are zilcheroos.]

And that's about when we realized Dannie, our curvaceous head pro, 


had been listening the whole time from behind the dryer.

The dryer?  Or the fryer, which you mentioned a few sentences ago?  Someone please edit this man's work, and if possible, prevent it from being published.

"Right," she said, arms folded. "And then nobody on Tour would ever talk to you again. And you'd lose all your endorsements. And your wife would divorce you. And you'd start dating some sleazy stripper, and you'd end up broke. And you'd end up hanging around this dump with a bunch of no-job-having big-talking deadbeats like you guys."

Oh Dannie, you are just too much!  You pecking hen!  Always trying to ruin the guys' fun!

We all sat there in silent shame until Two Down finally raised half an eyebrow.

"Wait. We could date strippers?"

And that's the end of the article.  You are free to draw your own conclusions, but if they end up anywhere besides "Rick Reilly is an asshole," you may need to revisit them.