Forget about cricket and baseball. Those sports are but the opiate of the lesser races, as everyone that counts knows that real men with hair on their chests play Brännboll. Tomorrow (later today if you want to be technical about it) is the official world cup, and as tradition would have it, I'll be there on the field with my still somewhat injured knees and hopefully find glory, though history has clearly demonstrated that humiliation is rather more likely. Kåta Hunsade Hemmamän (Horny Tyrannized Stay-at-home-men in your heathen language) is the name of our team. True to our name, we'll play wearing aprons, in pink where available. I pray to the powers that be that tomorrow will be a day full of home runs. But now I must catch some sleep. Destiny awaits.
Forget any sport with "ball" in it for the next two weeks. Tomorrow kicks off the Stanley Cup Finals. This is the year of the Penguins. Hockey is back in the 'burgh.
You did not just malign the noble sport that is cricket. :-x Cricket is the ultimate of sports! (Note: Xiao does not actually believe that shit, but she's an Aussie and felt compelled to defend her homeland's most popular sport that doesn't involved failed boxers running around in the mud in the middle of winter.)
Cricket is only a secret defensive technique, origin from the druids, so that we can defend us against the Men from Krikkit.
Unsurprisingly, the enterprise to win fame and fortune untold ended in utter fail. Absolutely nothing went our way. Well, to be honest we performed quite alright as the outer team, but when we played as the inner team it almost seemed as if all of us had forgotten how to fucking swing a bat. We practically caught ourselves out by not being able to get that bloody ball flying anywhere worth a damn, a sad fact which resulted in three straight losses and us being barred from the finals. Well, here are some pictures anyway. I'm not in any of them, because they were taken during yesterday's tournaments when those who only play for shits and giggles dress up in their Sunday's best and take the field.
Looking old and rugged has its advantages. Well, perhaps not now that I am 24, but at least when I was young no one checked for ID. One of the guys had a camera with him and took some pictures, if I can get ahold of them I promise I'll upload some. My apron was red though.
I don't like girly guys. Rugged, bearded fellows in ruffles tickle my fancy for some unexplained reason.
Damn, what was that song about kilts? FUCK! I can't remember! And it was a good filk song too! Mmmmm, Scotsmen in kilts. Yummeh.
Wow. I always assumed I was the only Irish Rovers fan here. I believe the song you're referring to is 'Donald, where's your trousers?'
