EDSBS blogs me in celebratory mood

EDSBS: "Welcome back! Now that you've hopefully scrubbed that image from your brain with some steel wool or a couple of brimming glasses of Windex, the question from reader Miguel asks:
can you post and let us try to explain how this (non-football) title feels like?
i'm very confused.
like my daughter turning out gay but marrying Angelina Jolie?
Miguel's on the right track here with the Jolie metaphor. We don't know if we can put it better, really, since our interest level in basketball compares favorably to our interest in the ESPN Outdoor Games. (Except for the hot saw competition, which matches up log versus man holding chainsaw powered by a snowmobile engine. That's still completely badass. The dogs jumping off the dock for distance aren't bad, either, though one of these days we'd love to see a mastiff just try to compete. It?d be a big step forward for?um?mastiffs.)

Someone clearly needs to break the mastiff barrier in competitive dog jumping.

As a non-brander and a football fan who attended one b-ball game in their entire term as an undergraduate at the University of Florida this feels…not bad. (That game featured Dimitri Hill, who capped the evening by eating Lon Kruger’s left arm. This qualified as “restraint” for the man known as “The Meat Hook.”) Like when your wife insists on doing something girly for you, like buying you a manicure or insisting that you use soap when you bathe. It’s pleasant enough. But as far as satisfying the bunker-dwelling beast of football lust in your soul, it’s like any of the following.
–a hand job when you need sex.
–Cheez-puffs when you need Chee-tos (Hi Phil!)
–Rutgers versus West Virginia in local coverage when Texas/Oklahoma is on. (Actually happened in 2005 on ABC in the 404. May God damn you all.)
–Miller Lite when you could use a martini
–Allowing your niece or nephew to pick a song on the radio, landing on “S.O.S.” by Rhianna, and finding yourself singing along with a three year-old and a toss-off British pop star."