Don't Be Lebron James

Back in April, Brownie taught us all how not to be Brett Favre. Short version? Don’t screw over your team in the offseason, just because you’re a little crazy and very selfish. The last line was the following:

And the next person out there who is thinking about acting like this? You don't be Brett Favre either.

Well, it would appear that a certain enormously famous basketball player has a short memory, as last week we found ourselves in the middle of what my Lebron-defending, Cavs-loving friend has called, “The worst thing in the history of professional sports.”

I’m not sure that’s quite true, but we’ve mentioned before that hyperbole and melodrama is part of the fun of being a sports fan, so we’ll let it slide. What I am sure about, however, is that it has been a complete disaster on so very many levels.

Lebronfires! Booing! One million words by Bill Simmons, even before The Decision!

And, of course, one of the most amazing Open Letters ever, complete with Comic Sans (the text is here - for the full effect, copy and paste it into Word and then change the font).

While all of this may be entertaining for those of us who are removed from it, it doesn't take away the bottom line: Lebron publically and elaborately screwed an organization that put seven years and countless millions of dollars behind him, not to mention his hometown, because he wanted something shiny and he wanted it now, and he did it in the ugliest way possible. What did he think that his actions were going to say to people? What kind of example does he think he's setting? And WHY did his advisors let him do this? Remember - Lebron is 25 years old and has been in the NBA since he was 18, so his view of reality is, shall we say, a bit skewed. But where were they? "They're all young, too!" is not an excuse - I am the same age as his oldest advisor, and I am well aware that this was a fuck-up of monumental proportions.

Believe me, the sports-trainwreck-lover in me is getting a huge kick out of this. I love the The Decision parody at the Espys (Steve Carell and Paul Rudd can basically do no wrong, and it redeemed ESPN a bit), and I love headlines like this. But Cavs fans are less amused, and with good reason.

My friend says this:

I was prepared for disappointment, but...just the way he handled it...if he had announced he was going to Chicago in a normal way, I would have understood. I would be sad, but not hateful. But going to Miami is so dumb, and a 1-hour special is the worst thing in the history of professional sports. Someone called it a cringefest, I can't remember who. Terribly accurate.

I think that's the point here. Even his staunchest defenders weren't really expecting him to stay in Cleveland. But they also weren't expecting to be dumped on national television, for Lebron to prove them all so very wrong so very loudly.

So hey, the next time you're thinking of fucking someone over - your boyfriend, your boss, your sports franchise - just stop. Think about a slightly less douchey way to do it, and don't be Lebron James.

Don't Take Trash Talk Personally. Take Two.

This was originally posted at the end of the Olympics, but it's been a crazy week over here at Don't Do That, so we're taking a look back to March. At that point, the three of us had spent two weeks immersing ourselves in sports that we totally did not understand - much like what we've done over the last month or so of the World Cup - and had also been doing some trash talk. If you're not a regular sports fan, this may come as a shock to you, and so we are here to tell you, if you're going to remain a sports fan outside of the feel-good-ness of global events like the Olympic Games and the World Cup, Don't Take Trash Personally

Back in March, we were - okay fine, I was - involved in a bit of an internet kerfuffle. To start with, emotions were already running high and there was some shit-talking going on (on both sides) about that USA - Canada gold medal hockey game. Some of the problem was that a few of the people involved in the conversations clearly weren't used to being on A Side in a sporting contest and were a bit taken aback by all the partisan noise. A hint for those folks? Cheering for your team and against their opponent is not bad sportsmanship. It's part of loving sports and, if you want to get all Olympic or World Cup about it, part of loving your country. And if you're going to love sports, you have to develop a thicker skin.

(Note: This is taking it a tad too far.)

Here's an example. I don't know where you're reading from, but if you're anywhere in the Midwest, you likely understand a little bit of the hatred between Wisconsin and Minnesota, specifically the University of Wisconsin Badgers and the University of Minnesota Gophers. I happened to go to my first Gopher hockey game at two months old, own a button that says "I Cheer For Minnesota And Anyone Playing Wisconsin," and my dad told my sister and I that we could attend college - which he would pay for - anywhere. Except Wisconsin, upon penalty of death and financial ruin. Even adding my name to the mailing list - jokingly - would have likely given my dear father heart failure. (As it was, he ended up with heart failure five years later, but I don't think it can be blamed on Wisconsin. If it could, it would be, trust me.) However! My grandparents, who I love fiercely, met while students at Wisconsin and my grandpa (who is almost 87) remains a Badger - and Packer, God forbid - fan. We talk shit to each other all the time - as much as you can talk shit with a grandparent, of course - but we don't take it seriously or personally. In fact, when I asked at Thanksgiving if my grandfather had a sweatshirt I could borrow, he gleefully told me he had "just the one!" and pulled out his red and grey Wisconsin hoodie.

But Roxy, you say. That is a family member! Of course you guys can tease each other with no hurt feelings! And that is true. But it's also true that, when Daisy told her Yankee-fan best friend that she was thinking of getting married at Fenway Park, her friend told her that was great, but that she was going to wear a pinstripe dress. And it's true that Brownie and a friend got into it when her team (Niners!) beat his in the playoffs, but that was many playoff seasons ago, and they're still pals. One of my best friends cheers for a different Big Ten school than I do, but since they suck at the sport I care about, and because my school sucks at the sports she cares about, it's generally not too big a deal. I have family members that are die-hard Cubs and Bears fans (I heart the Twins and the Vikings, but please don't ask me about Brett Favre), best friends who are Blackhawks fans, and a husband who lives and dies with the Broncos.

But when you're a fan of a team whose coach gets caught on camera making this gesture at the officials (if that's the coach, just imagine the players), a team whose linebacker gave his own tight end brain damage and crushed his eye socket (and that's just the beginning of that particular rap sheet), or even a team that is just obnoxious in all its "glory", you should probably be prepared to have some vitirol thrown at you. And really? Throw some back! I would be shocked and even disappointed if I was spouting my mouth off to Badger - or Sioux or Packer or Canadian hockey - fan and they didn't spout back with cracks about my team's goofy name, our inconsistency, the Mullet, or whatever other shit people are saying about Minnesota teams these days. (But hey, at least we can take some smack talk. Wisconsin.)

Just because we're not on the same side during the game doesn't mean that we hate each other as people. We can respect each other as fans, without loving - or even respecting - the team that the other person cheers for. That's part of the fun of loving sports! You can get overly emotional, hyperbolic and melodramatic about something that has nothing to do with you and that you have no control over. It's a wonderful respite from the real world, but only if you are able to tell yourself that at the end of the day, it's just a game - for you and for the fans on the other side of the field.

So if you've found a team that you've decided to follow (I recommend the Gophers, of course) but if in a week or a month or this weekend, depending on how the rest of the World Cup goes for you - you find yourself getting your feelings hurt by someone who's pointing out the cheap hits or crappy goaltending or nepotism of your team, just stop, think about what keeps you a fan of this team, and don't take it personally. (And talk some smack back!)

Don't Question My Love for Sports

As you can see from our recent posts, we here at Don't Do That have gotten very into the World Cup, even though our beloved USA team went down to defeat by the better defense and better acting abilities of the Ghana team. We love it for the constant action, the crazy athletic abilities involved in running around a field continuously for 90 minutes with one short break, for the amazing goals and often even more amazing saves, and the crazy personalities involved. Currently, a popular feminist blog is running a World Cup feature that's all about how hot the players are, which is pretty much their sole discussion about the World Cup. Do we think that the players are hot? Oh, yes we do. Do we like it when they take their shirts off at the end of a match? Oh, we like that too! Is that why we watch the World Cup, or any other soccer game? No.

I've been watching football (the American version) since I was a little kid. I distinctly remember The Catch, I lost my voice yelling at the TV during a number of tight games, and I stood up and made the touchdown sign as the sole 49er fan in a Washington D.C. sports bar during the amazing Young to Owens moment during the playoffs (and still have kind of fond feelings towards Terrell Owens because of that, despite all of his crazy). I love sports for the amazing moments like those, the breakaway runs, the insane interceptions run back for touchdowns, the unpredictability, and the crazy personalities.

Sports has brought us Chad OchoCinco and his delightful twitter feed, that crazy 10+ hour long tennis match at Wimbledon last week, and the hilarious live blog that went along with it, the Miracle on Ice, and that completely impossible and unbelievable comeback by the Red Sox in 2004.

At awkward family moments, instead of talking about the weather, we talk about sports. My uncles and cousins and I argue 49ers vs. Raiders, my mom gets outraged every time a field goal kicker misses a kick and insists that she could do it better, my best friend's husband (who has very different political views than I do) and I bond over the NFL draft, our fantasy football teams, and how much we despise Ben Roethlisberger. I have met so many strangers in the past few weeks as we crowd around TVs at lunchtime and during coffee breaks to watch the World Cup, I high fived people on the street after the US victory last week, and I've had long conversations with random people in bars that started with "What's the score?"

Sports is pure fun (when it's not pure misery), it's built from incredible athleticism, and bold and distinct personalities, and it has this way of bringing people together. If you question that? Just watch the video below. Sports, we love you, in all of your forms, and for so many reasons.

Tuesday Quickies: We Love Sports edition

Don't think this makes the Yankees any less lame. The Yankees had a mascot...for three seasons.

Don't leave your lipgloss at home when you go to a game, you never know what can happen. The Mariners bullpen catcher marries a woman he saw in the stands. Awwww!

Don't diss the vuvuzela. Classical music on a vuvuzela.

Don't forget that athletes can actually be amazing human beings. Great story about Didier Drogba.

Athletes as amazing human beings, part two: Mourning Manute Bol.

Don't hesitate to buy your phone at at thrift store, you never know what you might find: Man buys old phone filled with athletes numbers.

Don't love Benny? You will now: Mmmmmmm, Benny Feilhaber.

Don't pause this video if you don't want to crack up: Benny lip-syncs Jordan Sparks.

Don't forget that "nude" clothing comes in lots of colors: Venus Williams at the US Open.

Don't think that women can't do crazy stunts too: Seven women daredevils through history.

Don't Taunt Us

We're all a little sad here at Don't Do That headquarters after the USA loss to Ghana on Saturday. That said, we're all about our love of sports this week, so stay tuned for posts all week about how sports are awesome. And Ghana fans, don't even start with us right now.

Don't Question my Patriotism: USA USA USA

I really really really hate getting up in the morning, as anyone who has ever known me or been my roommate will be able to tell you. I live on the West Coast, where World Cup games start at 4:30 am. The USA game going on right now started at 7, which is 30 minutes before my alarm goes off, and 45 minutes before I actually ever get out of bed. Also, it will end at approximately the time I should be arriving at work, which is about 35 minutes away. And yet, I pulled myself out of bed when my alarm went off today at 6:55, and am now sitting anxious on the couch yelling at the ref for that BULLSHIT call just now. And I will likely be late to work, because this damn game is stressful. But that is because I love America, so suck it, Sarah Palin, those of us on the coasts are patriots too.

And I can tell that my neighbors are all watching too, since the buzz of the vuvuzela is coming from the house next door.

45 more minutes. USA USA USA!

ETA: Now with updated picture of the GOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL

Don't Miss Game Seven

By the time you read this, the NBA Champion will have been crowned. Maybe it was the team you were rooting for and maybe it wasn’t (but you were rooting for the team without the rapist, right? RIGHT?), but one thing is for sure - Game Sevens are a treat, no matter what the outcome.

I could not possibly care less about basketball. I have no use for it during the regular season, I barely pay attention to it through the playoffs, and March Madness mostly just annoys me because it gets in the way of the college playoffs that actually matter (hockey, for those of you who are new).

But all bets are off during Game Seven - I’ve been watching this game all night, banishing my husband to the basement, and the first elimination episode of So You Think You Can Dance (one of the highlights of my summer) to the Tivo. Has this game been a highlight of offensive power? No. (I maybe only know that because the commentators have told me so.) Is it SO TENSE and EXCITING here at the end? You bet.

So no matter what the sport, even if its something that you don’t give even a tiny rat’s ass about, if you’re a sports fan? Don’t miss Game 7.

I Don't Care That It's Photoshopped...

This is the awesomest picture I've seen this year:



(It didn't even occur to me that this was 'shopped, by the way. Even though I was sitting there going, "Why were they watching soccer around a conference table? On a Saturday afternoon? In suits?" I finally decided maybe they were in the middle of a meeting about whether or not we're allowed to nuke BP headquarters and the Beckham!face was part of the Powerpoint presentation.)

Don't be Brett Favre

You know, this topic was one of the ones that we discussed at the initiation of this blog, but we figured that just a plain "Don't be Brett Favre" was too obvious. But you know what? Given the news today that Brett Favre just now discovered that he has to have ankle surgery in order to play next season, I think that it's time. Don't be Brett Favre, and don't let your friends and family be him either.

I repeat, on the last day of April, three and a half months after Brett Favre last choked played a game, he has told his team that he has to have ankle surgery, on an ankle that he's had surgery on twice before, in order to play football next season.

Today, on the day that NFL minicamps begin, he announces this.

Today, a week and a half after the draft ended, the draft in which his team could have and did not select a quarterback in a high round.

Today, well after a free agent period ended, in which his team could have gotten a quarterback that is better than the collection of shitty quarterbacks that they have (both Donovan McNabb and Jason Campbell were dealt around, and either is significantly better than Tarvaris Jackson, Sage Rosenfels, and whoever the hell they picked in the 6th round).

Hell, he didn't even see a doctor about this ankle injury -- which, again, happened in JANUARY -- until recently.

And now all NFL fans (and really, all sports fans, given the way that ESPN covers this story) will be subjected to Brett Favre Brett Favre Brett Favre Brett Favre all damn summer long. Who wants to bet that his name will come up during the ESPN coverage of the World Cup? Soccer - football - Brett Favre plays football, done!

His team will be screwed over regardless, but Brett Favre doesn't care, because all he cares about is himself and how many times people say his name, how often poor Rachel Nichols has to be camped out on his front lawn, and how many more tearful press conferences he is able to have (my money is on at least three). Because he knows that when he goes away, no one will care about him anymore, and they will move both their affections and their hatred on to the next quarterback (I bet Brett Favre really hates Tim Tebow). Brett, football will go on without you, please just go away. And the next person out there who is thinking about acting like this? You don't be Brett Favre either.

Don't Use Your Dead Dad To Rebuild Your Brand

Of all the things I thought I would never have to tell people not to do, Don't Use Your Dead Dad To Sell Shit was, well, not even on the list, because honestly, what kind of creepy sociopath would you have to be to think that thirty seconds of you looking sad, coupled with the beyond-the-grave words of a deceased parent, would make us forget the epic slut parade to which you subjected America?

This kind of creepy sociopath, apparently:



Dear World,

He's sorry he banged all those skanks and his dead dad wants you to buy some Nike products. Thanks for your support!

Don't Shit on Erin Andrews

Erin Andrews, sideline reporter for ESPN for Major League Baseball, college football and basketball, and a variety of other sports, has had a tough year, to put it mildly. And now someone is suggesting that she's brought it all on herself and looks like a bimbo? Just STOP. Don't shit on Erin Andrews, and don't blame her for wanting to move on with her life.

In a scenario that would make just about any woman terrified, a creepy stalker was following her around the country, getting hotel rooms next to hers (apparently just by asking the hotel for a room near hers, which is so frightening), and then filming her changing in her hotel room through a peephole. And she found out about all of this because he put those videos on the internet. Thankfully, a while after the videos and the knowledge that it was her on the tapes became public, they caught the guy, and he is now in prison. But countless numbers of people saw that video, and now feel free to make nasty comments to her as she tries to do her job. And she won't be able to go into a hotel room for a really long time and feel at ease, and has nightmares about someone attacking her (and, of course, just him being sentenced caused people to start searching online for the video all over again).

In an attempt to move on, she joined the cast of Dancing with the Stars this season (as many journalists and athletes have done in the past). It seemed like a good fit for her to do something different, especially since she was on the dance team in college. And, quite frankly, she is rocking it this season, being smart and funny and getting good scores from the judges. Then, she just recently found out that she's been getting death threats from someone who has apparently been sending harassing emails since September. Despite that, she is still on the show, still smiling, and still saying entertaining things about the show, dancing, and OchoCinco on her Twitter feed. And yet, apparently, she's "made a fool out of herself and a sham of her profession."

How, exactly, did she do that? The reporter is sure to mention that she's a "comely blonde" and she was "flashing cleavage and thigh." And also that because she's a woman, she has to work twice as hard as men. Ah, so women journalists aren't allowed to relax and have fun, and definitely not allowed to wear pretty dresses. When Kenny Mayne -- also a reporter on ESPN, just like Andrews -- was on Dancing with the Stars a few seasons ago, did he make a sham of his profession? Oh, right, because he wasn't flashing cleavage! And he wasn't consorting with the likes of Pamela Anderson. The misogyny in that whole article is just insane, and it's coming from a woman. I'm not even going to link to some of the crazy comments on male dominated sports blogs about Andrews, but trust me, they're dripping with pure hatred of this attractive woman who dared to make a career out of sports journalism and then dares to enjoy it and enjoy herself. They loved her comeuppance, and are now angry that she's on national TV and isn't hiding out somewhere covering up every inch of skin and crying herself to sleep every night.

I hope that Erin Andrews stays on Dancing with the Stars as long as possible, as a big FUCK YOU to that guy in prison, all of those blog commenters, the people at those hotels who gave that guy in prison rooms next to hers, the woman who wrote that article, and everyone else who doubted her. Next time you want to shit on Erin Andrews for trying to move on with her life, just stop, think about everything that she's had to go through, and whether if you were her, you would be, as Daisy put it "in a cabin in Montana and with an extensive automatic weapon collection," and don't do it.

Update: Erin Andrews responds in an interview:
I'm just confused because I guess it's OK for an NFL player and a gold medalist to do the show and be taken seriously, but nobody else is allowed. People say, "How do you expect to be taken seriously?" Well, Evan Lysacek is taking this so seriously. The guy just won a gold medal, has tons of endorsements, celebrities around the world want to meet him. Chad Ochocinco takes this so serious. He and Cheryl Burke are in the studio seven to eight hours a day. So that's my biggest confusion with the few people who judge me and say this is the wrong thing to do. I don't know what damage I'm doing. I'm basically killing myself to not embarrass myself. I've been in the top three in scoring each week, behind an athlete and a professional dancer and singer. I'm not sure what damage I created for myself. What am I doing to be a bimbo? I don't understand what I'm doing wrong.

You're not doing anything wrong at all!

Don't Take Trash Talk Personally

And so, the Olympics closed last night - with help from Shatner! - bringing to an end two delicious weeks of Olympic Fever here at Don't Do That. The Olympics give the whole world a chance to try on the guise of a sports fan for a couple of weeks, and isn't it fun? The three of us here have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, throwing ourselves into learning the ins and outs of curling, biathlon, snowboard cross and all the other totally bonkers sports that show up during the Winter Olympics, not to be seen (by us) again for another four years. We have also been doing some trash talk - which you may have noticed - which is something that comes with the territory. If you're not a regular sports fan, this may come as a shock to you, and so we are here to tell you, if you're going to remain a sports fan outside of the feel-good-ness of the Olympic Games, Don't Take Trash Personally

We were (okay fine, mostly I was) involved in a bit of an internet kerfuffle this weekend. To start with, emotions were already running high and there was some shit-talking going on (on both sides) about the USA -Canada gold medal hockey game. (Sidebar: How awesome was that game?? So much fun, even though the ending wasn't what we were hoping for.) Some of the problem was that a few of the people involved in the conversations clearly weren't used to being on A Side in a sporting contest and were a bit taken aback by all the partisan noise. A hint for those folks? Cheering for your team and against their opponent is not bad sportsmanship. It's part of loving sports and, if you want to get all Olympic about it, part of loving your country. And if you're going to love sports, you have to develop a thicker skin.

(Note: This is taking it a tad too far.)

Here's an example. I don't know where you're reading from, but if you're anywhere in the Midwest, you likely understand a little bit of the hatred between Wisconsin and Minnesota, specifically the University of Wisconsin Badgers and the University of Minnesota Gophers. I happened to go to my first Gopher hockey game at two months old, own a button that says "I Cheer For Minnesota And Anyone Playing Wisconsin," and my dad told my sister and I that we could attend college - which he would pay for - anywhere. Except Wisconsin, upon penalty of death and financial ruin. Even adding my name to the mailing list - jokingly - would have likely given my dear father heart failure. (As it was, he ended up with heart failure five years later, but I don't think it can be blamed on Wisconsin. If it could, it would be, trust me.) However! My grandparents, who I love fiercely, met while students at Wisconsin and my grandpa (who is almost 87) remains a Badger - and Packer, God forbid - fan. We talk shit to each other all the time - as much as you can talk shit with a grandparent, of course - but we don't take it seriously or personally. In fact, when I asked at Thanksgiving if he had a sweatshirt I could borrow, he gleefully told me he had "just the one!" and pulled out his red and grey Wisconsin hoodie.

But Roxy, you say. That is a family member! Of course you guys can tease each other with no hurt feelings! And that is true. But it's also true that, when Daisy told her Yankee-fan best friend that she was thinking of getting married at Fenway Park, her friend told her that was great, but that she was going to wear a pinstripe dress. And it's true that Brownie and a friend got into it when her team (Niners!) beat his in the playoffs, but that was many playoff seasons ago, and they're still pals. One of my best friends cheers for a different Big Ten school than I do, but since they suck at the sport I care about, and because my school sucks at the sports she cares about, it's generally not too big a deal. I have family members that are die-hard Cubs and Bears fans (I heart the Twins and the Vikings, but please don't ask me about Brett Favre), best friends who are Blackhawks fans, and a husband who lives and dies with the Broncos.

But when you're a fan of a team whose coach gets caught on camera making this gesture at the officials (if that's the coach, just imagine the players), a team whose linebacker gave his own tight end brain damage and crushed his eye socket (and that's just the beginning of that particular rap sheet), or even a team that is just obnoxious in all its "glory", you should probably be prepared to have some vitirol thrown at you. And really? Throw some back! I would be shocked and even disappointed if I was spouting my mouth off to Badger - or Sioux or Packer or Canadian hockey - fan and they didn't spout back with cracks about my team's goofy name, our inconsistency, the Mullet, or whatever other shit people are saying about Minnesota teams these days. (But hey, at least we can take some smack talk. Wisconsin.)

Just because we're not on the same side during the game doesn't mean that we hate each other as people. We can respect each other as fans, without loving - or even respecting - the team that the other person cheers for. That's part of the fun of loving sports! You can get overly emotional, hyperbolic and melodramatic about something that has nothing to do with you and that you have no control over. It's a wonderful respite from the real world, but only if you are able to tell yourself that at the end of the day, it's just a game - for you and for the fans on the other side of the field.

So if you've found a team that you've decided to follow (I recommend the Gophers, of course, but also throw some love to Ryan Miller and the Sabres), but in a week or a month (or tomorrow, during the Red Wings/Avs game - talk about two teams that hate each other) you find yourself getting your feelings hurt by someone who's pointing out the cheap hits or crappy goaltending or nepotism of your team, just stop, think about what keeps you a fan of this team, and don't take it personally. (And talk some smack back!)

Don't Expect Me To Be Mature About the Olympics

I adore the Olympics: the drama, the grandeur, the petty squabbles, and the unexpected triumphs. I get sucked into everything from curling to cross-country skiing and spend two weeks pretending I can talk intelligently about Shaun White's halfpipe skills. But you know what I love the best about the Olympics? Mocking foreign countries.

Okay, disclaimer: I love the world, boom de yada, etc. I enjoy traveling, I have friends around the globe, and my favorite part of my last job as a copywriter at a vacation company was learning new and cool stuff about other cultures (none of which I could use, sadly, because tourists want to hear about New Zealand's snorkeling opportunities, not traditional tattoo designs or historical treaties).

But I also love me some broad humor, as does my husband, so it's been like the Catskills up in Daisy Razorville this past week. The jokes boil down to a pretty simple formula: Pick a country, then list the first three or four things that pop into your head about that great nation. No matter how much you know about the place, I guarantee your first few associations will be completely absurd. Like for New Zealand, I would not say Maori culture and world-class sailing. No, I would say hobbits, sheep, and Karl Urban. I just realized that I don't even know if New Zealand has a Winter Olympic team. Oh, they do! Somehow, I am surprised Karl Urban is not on it. Moving on.

Next, run with your ridiculousness! Roxy and I were discussing Sven Kramer from the Netherlands, who was disqualified for a lane violation from a race in which he'd not only won, but also set a world record. Tough break, especially for him, since apparently speed skating is SERIOUS BUSINESS for the Dutch. That their national sport involves athletes wearing body condoms is silly enough, but the rest of what Holland is known for, according to Roxy and me? Flowers, dikes, windmills, clogs, and hookers. Meaning it must be great to be a famous speed skater in the Netherlands, what with all the free tulips and clog-dancing whores you could ask for.

Sometimes the athletes make it easy. When the Israeli ice dancers came out for their traditional/folk dance, I started singing Hava Nagila, like the insensitive jackass I am. Then their program started and it wasn't a joke anymore--they really skated to Hava Nagila. Mr. Razor cracked that for their free dance they'd be kicking it to Fiddler on the Roof. I don't think even he would have tried a joke involving what turned out to be their actual, no kidding, free dance music: the soundtrack from Schindler's List.

Lest you think we're complete xenophobes, believe us, we mock the Americans too. But it's not as absurd since we're not on the outside looking in. Other countries don't have that problem. I still snicker about the time a guy in a London pub asked me where I'd left my gun and cowboy hat. Apparently the British think all U.S. citizens hail from Deadwood circa 1880. And you know what my friends in Ireland say when you ask them to list four things about the US? Paris Hilton, Cops, Brangelina, and deep fried twinkies. Those are our exports, people!

All right, I thought I'd get to the end here and have some sort of deep thoughts on celebrating our differences through humor and how laughter is the universal language or something, but really I just want to make another dumb joke. Ready? My baby daughter is French-Irish-German-Greek-Syrian. I can already tell you three things at which she'll excel: Drinking, fighting, and insulting people's mothers. Thank you and don't forget to tip your server!

Don't cheat at games at Chuck E. Cheese

People. This goes on the list of things that we never thought that we would have to say, but apparently we just have to spell everything out.

On a recent weekend day, I was with my family celebrating an 8 year old's birthday by playing some games at Chuck E. Cheese. Now, the goal for Chuck E. Cheese and all places of its ilk is 1) always to try to touch as few things as possible so as to not catch the plague from the children all around, 2) win as many tickets as possible so that the small children that you came with can get whatever cheap plastic thing that they want, and 3) get out of the place quickly (slathering on hand sanitizer on the way out). But look, when I say "win as many tickets as possible" I mean that you should do things like play the easy games, bring along your basketball star cousin to play the basketball game, or just come by yourself sometime so that you can master a game and impress your nephew. However. Don't cheat at Chuck E. Cheese.

There were two women there with their small children playing Skee Ball. Yay for SkeeBall, it's my favorite game of that type! Except for the way that these women played it. They put their little tokens into the machine, and then, as the nice blue balls rolled down, instead of grabbing one to roll it down the alley and up into one of the baskets, these women picked up the balls, jumped up so that they were standing on the alley, walked all the way down, and dropped the balls into the 10,000 hole up there on the top left (the hardest one to get). With their children sitting right there. I can't remember the last time I was so outraged.

This, mind you, was not an isolated incident for these women. We witnessed them do this at least three times while we were there and judging from the fat stack of tickets that I saw one of the women putting into the ticket machine as we were leaving, there is no question in my mind but that we only witnessed a small part of their Day of Cheating at Games.

The biggest question in my mind here was: FOR WHAT? Every single prize at Chuck E Cheese is cheap, plastic, and useless. With a thousand of those tickets, the best prize is a plastic airplane, or a water gun, both of which would probably break within a week. Five dollars at Target would get you much more than five hours playing games. It's not like you're going to come out of this with a new Barbie or game for the Wii.

So you let your children watch you cheat for something small and ridiculous, thereby teaching the other kids who see you that that is an okay thing to do, and out of it you get another cheap plastic toy for you? At least one little girl repeatedly copied their behavior, and I am telling myself that her mom was occupied with another kid, which is why she didn't immediately get taken out to the car by her ear. I need to tell myself that, okay?

When I relayed this story to Daisy and Roxy, they said that these were the kinds of parents who would do their kids' homework for them. But after thinking about it, I realized that no, it's worse than that: these are the kinds of parents who would take their kids to Vegas for the weekend so that they didn't do their homework, and then just tell them to copy someone else's homework at study hall. I have seen those parents, and I know that you all have too.

So (I still can't believe that I have to say this) the next time you're at Chuck E. Cheese, and you think that it might be a good idea to cheat on a game to win a crappy prize for your or someone else's kid, just stop, think about how that's just one step toward the downfall of society, and don't do it.

Don't Fuss About The Playoffs

Hello, non-sports fans! Tomorrow begins the second weekend of the NFL playoffs, and we know you're frustrated. We know you think that it's stupid that people spend entire days sitting on their couches watching men throwing a ball, or hitting a ball, or knocking each other down in search of a ball, or kicking a ball, or hitting a frozen, flattened rubber ball with a stick. And yes, wow, those people get paid way too much money to do that, and yes, research has shown all of the dangers of playing those games, from concussions, to early arthritis, to frostbite when you're one of these crazies. We know all of this, and you can bitch about it all you want during the regular season. But, for the love of God, don't make a fuss when your significant other wants to watch the playoffs.

Football fans have four precious weekends of playoffs a year, and we look forward to them all year long. The amount of joy that I had in looking forward to this past Sunday, when I had no plans, a full fridge, and six hours of football about to come on my TV, could not be measured. Granted, three of the four actual games in the first playoff weekend were awful, but there was that fourth magical 51-45 Arizona vs Green Bay overtime game that more than made up for those. There was nowhere that I would rather have been during that game than snug in front of the TV on my couch, drink and snacks in hand, to appreciate every moment. I turned down a fun outing with some great friends just for that experience, and it was worth every moment. And my team wasn't even playing!

And those are just the football playoffs that I'm talking about -- For me, four of the greatest days in the entire calendar are the first four days of March Madness (aka "the reason at least a quarter of the office calls in sick at the end of the third week in March and everyone else frantically clicks to a fake Excel spreadsheet when anyone walks by their computer on those days"). Daisy lives for the baseball playoffs, when she's sleep deprived, frantically calculating pitching match-ups, and going through a nightly prayer ritual that could put nuns to shame. And by the end of the NCAA hockey tournament, Roxy recognizes by sight every team member, coach, and equipment manager involved. Because we love our teams and our sports with a pure, if irrational, love. It's the kind of love that leaves us in withdrawal when the season ends, so we binge on as much of the sport as we can before it leaves us for six months.

So please, don't get pissed when your boyfriend would rather watch the playoffs than go for a hike. Don't start a fight when your girlfriend would rather watch the playoffs than go out to that great new place for brunch. Don't be all huffy when your husband would rather watch the playoffs than see that hot new band. And don't get mad when your wife would rather watch the playoffs than go see that Oscar-worthy movie. Before you start complaining, stop and think about the last thing that you really looked forward to and how much joy it brought you, then don't begrudge us our small pleasures.

Written by Brownie