Hola. IKH is more or less on summer vacation. Sure, there’s great stuff to talk about year ’round, and there’s lots happening. But from May to August in the Northeastern American United States, hundreds of thousands of women emerge from a springtime of insecurity to weather their bodies with muscle tone and Coppertone. As the sun shines on abs and calves, it gets a little ridiculous to worry about Kobe Bryant’s legacy, Manny Ramirez’s shrinking nutsack, and the like.
Let’s get one thing straight. playing professional sports is about two things: making shitloads of money and tagging the honeys with the Oh face mural. It wasn’t always that way (because players used to be underpaid) but it is now. Adrenaline = testerone. We call our mothers and sisters on Mothers’ Day, and then we go out to get lost in skirts who traffic in margaritas and umbrella drinks.
Hernandez’s and Mex’s mileage may vary. Hernandez believes in a thing called hockey, but when Game 7 of the NHL playoffs takes place in June and hinges on an asshole named Crosby (didn’t he use to be in Ratt?), I’m not buying it. And Mex is a Red Sox fan which makes him part of a legendary group that I’d characterize as an eternal AA meeting without a 12-step program.
But I thought I’d stop by to gloat on my NBA Finals prediction that the Lakers would win the trophy this year, which is going to happen sometime next week. Which, admittedly, I didn’t make on this site. But Hernandez will vouch for me, or I’m lacing his celebratory Donovan’s burger. Continue reading