That's Church

So, can we talk about Daniel Sepulveda (STEP OFF!) for a minute?

First, I’d like to pause for a moment so we can all think about how hot Daniel Sepulveda is.

[sigh]

Let’s give it another minute.

[smolder]

And another.

[swoon]

Remember this post from last year when Skippy Skeeve displayed how a gerbil PRETENDS to want to catch a puma when in fact the gerbil is AVOIDING the puma?

Here are the pictures of Jeff Reed (the gerbil) “tackling” the puma:

In that post, I said this:

So, reader carpetbagger has an idea and that is this, why doesn’t Daniel Sepulvedanomnom kick off?

Can you guys answer that for me?  Is a punter incapable/not allowed to handle kickoffs?

Anything would be better than this sexed-up gerbil, considering how dismal our special teams are at not letting the runner get as far as the kicker.

Well, wish granted, Burghers, because in case you haven’t noticed, Coach Tomlin has given Daniel Sepulveda a crack at being a kickoff kicker and not just a punter.

And here we have a cheetah taking down a puma.

Mmmrowr.

Did you guys see that tackle live? Did you see Daniel shake off that Giant like it was a fly on his shoulder? Did you lick your television screen?!

Dear Coach Tomlin, please put the sex-crazed gerbil in its little spinny wheel and unleash the cheetah.

Did I say “mmrowr” yet? Mmmrowr.

Too much?

It’s not. I assure you.

There’s not enough C-4 or TNT or Semtex or fertilizer on the planet.

Do you suppose that I just showed up on the FBI’s radar for that last sentence? Hiya, FBI!

Regardless, kaboom goes the bandwagon of ye olde Buccos of Suckitude AKA The Suckitude AKA The team that puts the uck in suck.

You guys, I really thought this was the year. I mean that. I felt it down in my toes, all the way up to that stubborn gray hair, which, son of a bitch, that thing is stubborn.

When this season started, you read how confident I was. It really seemed like our fortunes were going to change this year. We were hanging in there. Always just a few games from .500 ball. One little sweep away from .500 ball.

Like a train slowly leaving the station, the Buccos were running alongside it, trying their hearts out to jump on.

Then the train picked up speed and they were running just slightly behind it, but certainly it wasn’t out of the question that if someone just stood on the caboose and reached out a helping hand, they could grab hold and hop on.

Then the train was a dot on the horizon and the Pirates were left standing on the tracks, watching it disappear, leaving them in a cloud of suckitude. Familiar familiar suckitude.

Do you guys read Hyperbole and a Half? I wish I had her artistic ability to show you my emotional state as this season progressed from YES! to Maybe? to NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo.

This is the best I can do:

More later on this subject. For now, I’m just going to sit and watch the pretty fire, and drink what’s left of the margaritas until I’m too drunk to care about 18 years of losing.

Burn, baby, burn.

While I was toiling over my upcoming Buccos of Suckitude post, an email popped into my inbox from my oldest sister Ta-Ta the Grand Poobah. She was taking a moment to forward a picture from vacation that she thought was just awesome and a great representation of what my family is like.

This picture to be exact:

I know what you’re thinking: “What the hell is going on here?! Are they … racing babies in wagons?!”

You betcha.

You see, my family, it is large and weird and when one of us (me) has the good sense to plop one of the family babies into a plastic wagon, and then realize that there is another family baby and another wagon, well, THE BABY WAGON RACE IS ON!

It started innocently. I was helping my just-turned-1 nephew put sand in a wagon when I thought to myself, “I think this wagon could hold this baby.”

So I tried it and yep, the baby fit like a snug little pill bug holed up in its shell. Well, you know that when you put a baby in a conveyance with wheels, you then must push the baby around to see if you can get a giggle out of said baby.

It worked. Except after three minutes of bending over and pushing a now-giggling baby, one tends to get a toe cramp, in their ribs. I was crippled and turned baby-pushing duties over to my brother-in-law, who after a few minutes was also all, “CRAMP!”

The solution to this cramping problem was not to examine our poor state of physical fitness, nor was it to stop pushing the baby. Our solution was, “Hey! Let’s use a shirt to PULL THE BABY-STUFFED WAGON!

Brilliant!

So now we have one laughing baby zooming up and down the shoreline, being pulled by his father, while another family baby is all, “I could totally take that kid. He would eat my baby-wagon dust.”

Enter my sister Pens Fan, sporting her PittGirl shirt, and enter her baby, who also turned one recently, tucked snugly into a pink wagon, and enter someone to say, “We should totally have a race.”

There we were, my entire family lined up on the beach cheering on the Ocean Isle Baby Wagon Race of 2010. Tina Fey’s son being pulled by his father versus Pens Fan’s daughter being pulled by Pens Fan herself.

Look how serious Pens Fan is about this race. She wants to win this baby-wagon pulling race like there’s a kiss from Sidney Crosby on the line.

Look at the babies eyeing each other up all, “My mom is kicking your dad’s ass.”

“Whatever. My dad is pwning your mom. Also, who the hell is PittGirl?!”

I’m not going to lie; the words “Chariots of Fire” were uttered.  There may have been some humming of the tune.

There were witnesses to this race. Other beach goers watching the shenanigans, watching us cheering like we were witnessing our horse win the Triple Crown, probably thinking to themselves, “This poor white trash family has clearly never been to a beach before.”

I’m sure you want to know who won, and in this particular race, it was the boys.

That’s the victory lap, right there.

Next year, we’re going big. Radio Flyers.

Bring it, babies.

Here’s a bit of truth.  I have quite a lot of biblical knowledge. You can’t be a PK and easily avoid it.

So yeah, I’m studied up. I might even know what an exegesis is.

[thud]

And because I know the Bible pretty well, I am better than you.

HAH! The look on your face.

No, because I know it pretty well, I know it gives high regard to two specific groups … widows and orphans.

ORPHANS! Orphans deserve every good thing we can give them, and two people who recognized this happen to be Pittsburgh Penguins.

The chaplain for the Penguins operates an orphanage in Haiti and Mike Rupp and Max Talbot went for a visit last weekend to shower the orphans with gifts and perhaps more importantly, time.

“This is something that my family and I feel is very important – to give back to countries like this,” [Rupp] said. “Hopefully someday I’ll be able to take my wife and kids with me on a trip like this. We really want to get our kids involved.”

Haiti scares me.

Jamie and Ali McMutrie have been known to say to me, “When are you coming to visit?” and I am all, “EEEEEEEEEEK.” It’s still a heartbreaking place, and I’m not sure my heart can take it. This is why people who have hearts strong enough, have my unending respect.

You want to follow Mike Rupp on twitter as he’ll be posting pictures from his trip over the next few days.

Max Talbot is on twitter too, and this is his current avatar:

So this is a story all about how the Pittsburgh Penguins continue to personify grace, class, and selflessness off the ice. Ahem.

Also, yes, I lifted that picture straight from his twitter account without his permission because I am hoping he will email me all, “Hey, you used my picture!” and I will respond, “Hey, how you doin’?”

That is love.

Also, am I the only one who sees John Lennon in the one headlight? Anyone? Anyone? Zober?

(h/t Tina Fey)