Filed under: hot, in praise of athletic beauty, starfucking | Tags: detroit red wings, henrik zetterberg, hockey, starfucking
Though I would be lying if I told you I had more than the most superficial interest in hockey, that’s not to say that I’m completely ignorant of its charms. It’s pretty much the only sport I like to watch in person, for one, and NHL games make a lot more sense to me now that half the games don’t end up with a tie. I still don’t understand why the season drags into June when it should be over by, I don’t know, early April, but really who am I to say.
Anyway, the Stanley Cup might be decided tomorrow. Detroit’s up 3-2 over Pittsburgh in the finals, and if the Red Wings win tomorrow they’ll keep the trophy for the second consecutive year.
One of Detroit’s superstar players–and the reason I’m writing this post–is Henrik Zetterberg, the Swedish left wing. Last year he won the Conn Smythe trophy, which goes to the most valuable player in the post-season, and this year he’s scored 24 points during the playoffs. More importantly, he’s a total hunk. After the jump, Exhibits A-I, showing why this man does things to me. He’s a little bit Jared Leto-y, as many have noted, but clean-shaven he also looks a lot like Bobby Briggs. Obviously I prefer him with his beard, though.
(nb: That’s his girlfriend, Emma Andersson, in the next picture. Holy botox!)
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty
The Harry E. Winkler Collection of boxing photographs at Notre Dame contains over 7500 images of boxers both in and out of the ring, mainly from the thirties through the fifties. Their online archive has some pieces of the collection, and it’s a nice enough way to spend the afternoon when you’re looking for excuses not to have to re-examine your resume or clean your filthy, filthy apartment (as I just did.)
photo: Carmen Barth on rowing machine.]
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty
For those of you that like to watch sweaty men grope one another while wearing the most form-fitting things imaginable in a way that’s SERIOUSLY TOTALLY NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT GAY AT ALL I MEAN COME ON NOW, some photos have surfaced from the US National Wrestling Championships ,which ended yeterday in Las Vegas. The top seven guys in each weight class move on to the next round of finals, which take place in Council Bluffs, Iowa next month. The Iowa round decides who’s going to qualify for the 2010 Summer Olympic team. And no, I’m not sure why Iowa is more exciting than Vegas, although I’m hardly an expert in the world of amateur wrestling.
More photos after the jump:
Filed under: Italians, gay, heterosexuals, in praise of athletic beauty, movies, music, starfucking, tv
So, everybody’s talking about Bromance, and Momma’s Boys, and that show where former teen idols all live in a house together–or, you know, blogs are talking about them, anyway–and I was thinking that maybe I wouldn’t have spent the last decade hating reality TV so much if every reality show were a) this gay and b) this focused on dudes with their shirts off all the time. Also, Michael on Momma’s Boys is wicked hot in an “I’m-drunk-and-wish-Elimidate-still-existed” sort of way. Because I saw a little bit of that (ridiculous, ridiculous) program the other night.
Anyway, I came up with my own concept for a reality show. Let’s see what yo think:
Ten celebrity types on different rungs of the fame ladder all live in a house together. Every day they get up to go to work, but here’s the catch: They don’t know what their job is going to be until they open their closet doors and find a uniform, placed there in the middle of the night by the show’s producers and/or the wacky female host (What’s Downtown Julie Brown doing these days?)
There will be gratuitous clothes-changing sequences as the guys put on their uniforms and wonder aloud how anyone could ever expect them to be a UPS driver/mechanic/fireman/priest/marine/flight attendant/basketball player/boy scout/crewman on the Enterprise/telephone repairman. Then they will go off, separarely, to perform whatever package delivery/auto repair/firefighting/marriage ceremony/acts of unnecessary violence/demonstration of oxygen masks/athletic feats/knot-tying/sci-fi shenanigans/hanging out in a cherrypicker needs to be done. At the end of the day, they will return back to the house to change out of their uniforms, allowing for more opportunities for unneccessary underwear footage. This will be called “changing for dinner,” and the dudes will all switch into tuxes, just because. Downtown Julie Brown will serve them a dinner that she will pretend to have made herself, and the guys will talk about their days. Then, afterwards, they’ll all retire to the sauna (you see where this is going) and through some elaborate and completely unnecessarily formalities one of them will be “eliminated” and forced to leave the house. Then there will be a confessional type sequence where, dressed only in towels, the men will tell the camera how completely unfair their elimination was.
Here are my picks for the first cast:
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty | Tags: douchebags, jimmy johnson, michael phelps, sports illustrated
Forgive my tardiness with this one, but last week was just a giant swirl of holiday parties, bookbinding, cars not starting, album reviewing, etc. So forgive me if I’m a little bit passé, but I think now is a good time to say something to the world.
Dear World,
Oh My God would you please get over Michael Phelps already?!?!?!?! My poor eyes can’t stand to see his hideous face on the cover of another magazine!! Can we have a fresh, Phelps-free start to 2009 please? Thanks!
Yours Truly,
Me
It’s been about a year since I did my big feature here on the history of Sports Illustrated covers, and I sort of assumed I’d never think about SI again because I don’t really follow sports and I’m not really a fan of their writing. But I was shocked–nay, appalled–to see their Sportsman of the Year cover.
I mean, obviously it was going to Michael Phelps, and obviously Michael Phelps is about as attractive as wet toilet paper, but HOLY SHIT was this really the best they could have done. Behold:
Is he witnessing a small cute animal being murdered? Who makes that face unless they’re witnessing a small cute animal being murdered? And, really, who looks that unattractive wearing a wet shirt and tie? Wet shirts and ties are hot. This is not. If hotornot.com was still a craze, this cover would be a not and pretty much anything else, in comparison, would be hot.
Their other covers this year haven’t been so hot, either, although it doesn’t help that Phelps was on four of them. Still, seeing him with all his stupid gold medals in August made him look really lame, but not like he was actually horrified by whatever bloody carcass the photographer was apparently waving in front of his face.
Before the Olympics, he made the cover and, while it’s kind of funny that the stylists tried to make him look sexy, though oddly they didn’t completely fail. But at least they didn’t try to do anything like the first time they featured him.
If I had to pick a highlight from this year’s SI covers, I’d say Jimmie Johnson’s November cover might have been the hottest, if I had to pick one, although somebody went a little overboard with the eyebrow tweezers. And, you know, when I think ‘hot’ I don’t notmally think ‘product placement for a chain of hardware stores right below the Adam’s apple.’ And describing him as ‘Tom Brady in a firesuit’ on the cover was, um… Well, actually, I”m not sure what that description is, but it seems worth remarking on.
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty, starfucking | Tags: michael phelps, milorad cavic, the olympics
Seriously, if this man were coming to a civic center near you in an event sponsored by Discover, that event would be the Douche Capades. Or maybe the Ass Capades. (Although I always thought Ass Capades would be a good name for porn–I wonder if it’s been taken already? I can’t look, since I’m on a public computer right now….) Perhaps it would be the Boring Capades.
However, watching Phelps come in second in the qualifier today, I couldn’t help noticing how boring he was in comparison to the guy who actually won: Milorad Cavic, the Serbian (by way of Anaheim) swimmer who set an Olympic record in the 100m Butterfly.
For an Olympic swimmer, Cavic is pretty hot. (Although honestly, I can’t fully get behind any event where winning is contingent on shaving all your body hair. I just can’t.)
Of course, while the American commentators this morning were all voicing their wet dreams about Phelps, they didn’t mention that Kavic was suspended from swimming earlier this year for showing up in a t-shirt that said “Kosovo Is Serbia,” or even that he now lives in Florida. In fact, they didn’t really mention him at all, even though he was leading for pretty much the whole race.
Cavic is one of those athletes–like a lot of Olympians, really–who look really dumb in still photos but who are kinda smokin’ on film, even in boring interviews. (With Cavic, I think it’s the eyebrows and the general sense of size–he looks like a big guy.
It kinda bugs me that sports photography is so commercial, because there are some really amazing-looking people competing in these events. And I don’t just mean I want to get in their pants, but, you know, that too. Bit it seems like the only still photos that exist–at least of athletes who don’t make magazine covers–are silly video stills where their mouths are open or they look like they’re about to die. I liked what Ryan McGinley did with the 2004 US Swim Team, and I wish more stuff like that was allowed to happen, especially because there’s so much potential.
Filed under: gay, heterosexuals, in praise of athletic beauty, music, not hot, starfucking | Tags: hulk hogan, the gays, the ultimate warrior, truckasauras
Of all the celebrities in the world that I could rip the spandex briefs off and give a blowjob to with thousands of people watching, Hulk Hogan wouldn’t be anywhere near the top of my list, despite the fact that he’s mostly famous for standing around in spandex briefs with thousands of people watching.
“But,” you might be saying, “it would make a good story to tell the grandkids, performing fellatio on the man with the moderately awesome moustache and the trampy daughter that sang that terrible song one time.” And you’d be right about that; her song was awful! And I’m sure your children’s children would love to hear that story. But at the same time, ewww! For one thing, do you know how sweaty and stinky that junk must be? And if the hair on his head is that stringy and gross, God only knows what he’s done with his pubic region.
Ditto the Ultimate Warrior, despite his fun sense of color.
Anyhoo, here’s the new Truckasauras video, which mysteriously disappears when I try to embed it. It’s for their song Fak!!
The song is nice and blippy, sort of dark without being overly cheesy about it; I like it.
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty, starfucking | Tags: germany, konstantin buga, olympics
So, I’m vaguely conflicted about how to attend to Olympics coverage. On the one hand, I’d feel totally remiss if I didn’t spend the next two weeks objectifying the bodies of a bunch of men who spend their whole lives training to put on skimpy outfits and sweat a lot in front of billions of people.
On the other hand, everybody else is doing the same thing, and usually they are either a) sports fans, b) getting paid for it, or c) cable subscribers. So by no means will I attempt to be thorough with my Olympics coverage.
That said, right now I’m totally crushing on Konstantin Buga, the German boxer who is currently showing his manly dominance all over Ecuadorian Carlos Gongora. Wikipedia tells me that he’s from Kazakhstan, originally.
Scratch that, they’re tied. I don’t really understand anything about boxing scoring, and I’m watching this on Univision while I do my laundry. I don’t speak Spanish, but I’d rather watch boxing than women’s volleyball, which is what’s on NBC right now.
Oh hell, now the German’s losing. Oh, now he lost. 14-7, whatever that means. That’s a picture of him up there. He looks a little bit like a simpleton in that picture, but he’s got nice arms and looks pretty hot in motion.
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty, starfucking | Tags: ali salem, archery, luiz trainini, the olympics, viktor ruban
So, I planned on today being an Olympic extravaganza, where I’d do my best to objectify athletes who work their whole lives to compete on a world stage in events that make no actual sense to me.
But instead, I putzed around the house because the internet kept going out and watched Roman arrest Bo on Days Of Our Lives while Marlene lay on the floor for an entire hour and Stefano basically told EJ and Tony that they’re dead meat.
Anyway, I thought I’d just find the hot athletes by google image searching, because I know nothing about any of these people don’t particularly feel like sitting through the opening ceremony tonight. I decided to start with archery, because it’s first alphabetically. It was a mistake, I think, because a) archers aren’t a very attractive people and b) most pictures of them show them facing away from the camera. Nevertheless, here’s some really unexciting eye candy.
Here’s Luiz Trainini from Brazil. He could be hot. So could Ukrainian Viktor Ruban, were he not wearing such a dumb hat in the picture below:
And here’s Qatar’s Ali Salem.
The internet’s gone out twice since I started writing this post, so I’m going to stop now. But woo, Olympics.
Filed under: in praise of athletic beauty, starfucking | Tags: Peyton Manning
Jeez. So I went, um, 0-4 with my NFL predictions last week. But on the upside the Seahawks won, and I did watch my first full football game in about twelve years. But I guess that means I was wrong, and that a cute QB may actually work as a detriment to a team. So, the quick breakdown for this week’s match-ups:
Brett Favre, old thing that he is, is hotter than Matt Hasselbeck. The Seahawks will win.
Tom Brady is seriously overrated in terms of hotness. David Garrard isn’t. The Patriots will win.
Eli Manning, though he’s kind of twinky, is cuter than cheeky Jessica Simpson-dating Tony Romo. The Cowboys will win.
Philip Rivers is cute enough, but Peyton Manning is a banana split of sex with chocolate chips and sprinkles on top. So maybe the Chargers, against all odds, will win.
