Battle for supremacy: Offseason moves bolster NFC West
The best thing to happen to the 49ers -- had nothing to do with them. (AP)
When Lance Armstrong speaks, most of America volunteers for a migraine. And not just one of those sissymarycandyass headaches, but the kind where you can feel the veins in the back of your eyes imitating Levon Helm’s cymbal work in “Look Out Cleveland.”
Now he’s trying to frontload his redemption by channeling Bill Clinton, one of America’s pre-eminent redemptive figures. In an interview with Texas Monthly, he did the one thing that all truly great comeback artists know not to do.
He keeps talking. And explaining. And extemporizing. And rationalizing. And talking some more. He doesn’t even have to inhale any more. I think he grew gills so that breathing wouldn’t interfere with the ceaseless staccato of his own voice.
In short, he is in such a hurry to not be hated any more that he forgets that the trick is to let people stop hating you in their own good time. Even Richard Nixon figured that one out, for God’s sake.
Thus, our advice to Old What’sHisSyringe: Shut up. Just shut up for awhile. America will stop being revolted by the very notion of you in its own good time. Or not. We talk forgiveness a lot better than we actually forgive. We suck as a culture that way.
But that’s the price of being a regal jackass to everyone you ever met; they get to decide when you get to get past your regal jackassery.
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The next time someone wants to bore you stupid by telling you how smart BaalkBaugh (Trent’n’Jimmy to their friends) are in retooling the 49ers, consider that the best thing to happen to them had nothing to do with them. The New England Patriots signed St. Louis wide receiver Danny Amendola to a fat new deal, thus ridding the 49ers of their most turbulent priest (it’s from King Henry II; look it up), and thus reducing the field of teams that keep the 49ers up at night to one. Seattle.
In short, don’t just make this about Percy Harvin v. Anquan Boldin. Never forget the benefits of the Amendola Non-Factor when you’re yammering on about who did better this week.
Oh, and get a hobby.
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I get a lot of spambot tweets after every Warrior game, which saddens me. I’m actually hoping they’re actually real people so I can add them to the two or three people
I’m sure I’m better than.
And if by some thin chance you all are real, take this as a gentle prod to . . . how can I put this politely . . . date other people.
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As penance for its Easter M&Ms candy shell uniforms, Notre Dame should be forced to go skins through the rest of the Big East Tournament. And that includes head coach Mike Brey for not strangling the Adidas rep who pitched the idea of the team’s dominant color scheme as “tubercular phlegm.” “Seriously, the kids love this stupphhglkmpfgaqfblican’tbreathecoachican’tbreathe.”
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Stephen Curry’s latest act of heroism for the Warriors was to send his ankle to Kobe Bryant for an extended stay. And of course Bryant, who landed on the foot of
Atlanta’s Dahntay Jones, blamed Jones for having the effrontery to be beneath him.
“As defensive players, you can contest shots, but you can't walk underneath players," Bryant said. "That's dangerous for the shooter.” He later added that he was sad that the Lakers and Hawks don’t play again this year (and no, don’t start in about the NBA Finals), because “I can't get my mind past the fact that I got to wait a year to get revenge.”
Kobe Bryant, wanting to avenge himself on Dahntay Jones and the Atlanta Hawks, and willing to wait a year to stoke his anger. Yeah, that’s what the great ones do – right after their wives Tweet an Instagram of the tennis-ball-sized swelling in their feet.
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DeMarcus Cousins gets the night off in Sacramento, ostensibly because of a thigh bruise, and the Kings beat Chicago by 42. Sounds like a fun day of conspiratorial-connect-the-dots on Capital Radio.
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Rafael Nadal faces Roger Federer in Indian Wells Thursday, which can only mean one thing: If this isn’t a better match than the other 788 times they’ve played, the people in Indian Wells are gonna be pissed.
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And finally, here’s that picture of Bryant’s foot, in case you were harboring foolish hopes of enjoying your breakfast in relative peace.