A Pretty Special Day

Today is Sunday, May 9 and, unless you were hatched, a pretty important day. It's Mother's Day, and you should call your mother and express your disdain for her bringing into this horrible, terrible world. There's no unemployment in the womb, you know?

But today is also special for me, personally. Today, a man turns half a century. Fifty years old. This man was instrumental in making the greatest game on Earth fun for a little boy. He gave me my internet handle. And today, he makes me feel really, really old.

Most of you know Tony Gwynn as the - umm - very rotund baseball coach at San Diego State, and sometimes color analyst at TBS. Sure, he's a legend in San Diego, but to many he's a nasally voiced island of a man. That's too bad, because in actuality he was a lithe, 56-base-stealing point guard who still holds the SDSU all-time assist record. He was drafted by both the Padres and the San Diego Clippers (now in Los Angeles) on the same day.

When I met him and got his autograph at Coors Field a few days before his birthday in 1996, I wished him a happy birthday and told him I was going to bring him a card, but I forgot it. He stopped signing his name, looked up, and smiled.

Tony Gwynn didn't hit a lot of home runs. He never won a World Series. But he was my favorite baseball player, and he'll be that when he's 50, 80, or 500. He was - and is - a badass. And that's the truth.

Tebowned

Faith is a word that gets bandied around all the time in sports. You put your faith in an owner. They put their faith in a general manager. They put their faith in a coach or manager. They put their faith in the players. They put their faith in the fans to cheer them on, and the fans put their faith in the players to make the right decisions. The players put their faith in the coach or manager to put them in a position to make the right decisions. The coach or manager puts their faith in the general manager to let them handle the players the right way. The general manager puts their faith in the owner to allow them to build a team they think will win. The owner puts their faith in the fans to come out and watch.

It's the circle of sports life.

Rarely have sports faith and real faith intersected so publicly and controversially as they have with Tim Tebow, the Heisman-owning, God-fearing, championship-winning, circumcision-performing QB drafted 25th overall by the Broncos Thursday night.

I choose to keep my faith strictly within the sports realm, where I see results. That's how I see the world, how it's chosen to open itself up to me. I certainly don't begrudge anybody else their right to believe what they want to, so long as they don't force those beliefs on anybody else. Did Tebow do that at Florida? Only his teammates know for sure. He may or may not have with his personal faith, but there's no doubt that he did with his sports faith. He was a winner, and that is inarguable.

Do I believe he'll be a winner in the NFL? I don't. I don't think he'll ever be a viable quarterback in a pro system where he's required to consistently and accurately throw downfield. I think he should be more concerned with Mike 39 Razor than John 3:16. My "personal" faith in him is low; I don't think he's the "Mile High Messiah." (Or as BorL put it the other night during the Nuggets' loss to the Jazz, "You're the most negative fan I know.") But this isn't about my personal faith - it's about my sports faith. It's about believing that Josh McDaniels, Brian Xanders, and Pat Bowlen have watched hundreds of hours of tape, and presumably know what they're doing because they know their team, and they know what direction it should go. It's about believing.

I believe Tim Tebow will bust his ass. I believe he'll work as hard as he possibly can, while under the employ of the Broncos, to make the orange and blue winners, in whatever capacity is asked of him. That's about all you can ask for as a fan.

To borrow from something called ChaCha, I'm going to call Tim Tebow "Tim Tivo." In ten or fifteen years, I'll either want to rewind and watch all the highlights, or I'll want to fast-forward past all the misery and the horrors. Tim Tivo needs to pause, take a breath, and play. It's sink or swim time, now, for the Jesus fish of the NFL. There is no middle ground, no gray area. There never is when it comes to a leap of faith.

Way to go, TWWL

So, when ESPN isn't making grammatical gaffes, they're plain reporting the outcomes of games wrong.

True story. I was watching this game with my buddy, a Sharks fan. At the start of OT I said, "the only way this can really end is with the Avs losing on a fluke goal."

He countered, "or we just score on ourselves."

Five seconds later - BAM.

Crazy.

A Letter to the Denver Nuggets

Dear Denver Nuggets,

You are all a bunch of pussies. You have no heart. You have no balls. You have no guts. You have no spine.

Instead of rallying around your coach - who's gone because he's fighting FUCKING CANCER - and deciding to do the one thing he's tried to get you to do since he got there, the one thing that would take you from a very good team to a legitimate, scary, championship contender ... instead of doing that one thing that takes effort, and sweat, and blood - you choose the easy way out. You want the spoils of winning, but you don't want to put in the work.

Pussies.

On the second night of a road back-to-back, in a game against a good offensive team, in a place you haven't won at in almost six years, in a game you need to win to assure yourself the Number 3 seed and home-court advantage for the first round of the playoffs, you do the worst possible thing: you decide not to do the one thing that would give you a shot - play defense.

I could bemoan your unwillingness to pass the ball, which any idiot with at least one working eye could tell you is increasingly to your advantage. I could bemoan Adrian Dantley's inability to do anything resembling coaching. I could bemoan the fact that none of your top three players - MVP "candidate" Carmelo Anthony, proven "winner and quarterback" Chauncey Billups, and only legitimate "big man" Nene - show any willingness, desire, or ability to lead by example.

You are all lazy. You play horrible pick-and-roll defense. Your switches and close-outs are slow and pathetic. You allow far too many and-one layups, because you have no idea how to foul hard at the rim. Your two legitimate defenders are banged to shit (Kenyon Martin) and a two-guard (Aaron Afflalo) - neither of which will help much in the Western Conference playoffs.

You all have a chance to give the sports world one of the best stories in the last decade - rallying around a sick coach and his son (which the team just signed and who also has beaten cancer) by finally getting his message he's been preaching for years - but you're going to piss it away.

You bitch and moan at the refs far too frequently (even when, unfortunately, many of the calls seem to go the other way). You take horrible shots and are way too inconsistent (looking right at you, J.R. Smith). You cannot win unless you're shooting the lights out of the building.

And, once again, you play absolutely zero fucking defense. It's no coincidence that no "D" in Denver = enver = never, as in Never Win An NBA Championship.

You're all just a bunch of fucking pussies with a giant inflated ego where your heart should be and no fucking balls and tonight I'm ashamed to be your fan.

Sincerely,

Phony Gwynn

And Now, a Simple Link to Something Fantastic

The Pretzel Factory's own bearded man-child, Business or Leisure (AKA Jeff Laughlin), recently attended the final round of a riveting Masters down in Augusta, Georgia.

TheAwl.com was nice enough to let him write his thoughts and musings on what seemed to be an incredible fucking day.

Enjoy.

What an Honor

Wow. Seems Drew Magary is such a fan of our work here at the pretzel factory that he volunteered to write a column for us. He needs no intro, so here it is. Thanks, man.


TITS BALLS FOOTBALLS SHUT UP FAG TITS TONY ROMO

--Drew



Truly this was an honor beyond our means. I'll totes yell something at Tiger when I am at the Masters, bro.

In all seriousness, I will be at the Masters. I'm excited. Should be a lot of fun. Ruining a tourney experience because some knuckle-dragger STILL doesn't understand how old people don't get steroids doesn't sound as fun. I'll weigh my options.