I believe it was Lenin who said, “Here, take this shit and you’ll be, like, wicked strong and able to run really fucking fast.”

This is a disgrace. A bunch of sweaty, jacked-up men running around Vegas, rippling muscles barely contained by their tight uniforms?

Honestly, it’s simple: I think we’re looking at a Saul-and-David situation here. Paul Finebaum had Eli Gold killed and took over as Jewish King of SEC Football.

John Lackey looks like a stretched-out Gary Busey.

It’s pretty obvious that he walked in on Stuff the Magic Dragon having sex with his wife.

Marty Conlon existed.

Red Sox lore has it that Rico Brogna is buried deep underneath first base. Supposedly, you can still hear his screams on a crisp fall night at Fenway.

Hitchcock is known for his long takes, so expect this controversy to be resolved at the beginning of the 2017 season.

It’s an all-timer.

As a Boston scumbag, I look forward to smoking a pack of Parliaments and drunkenly pissing myself on that bench.

I would eradicate my entire bloodline to get Piana on the Chapo Trap House podcast.

As bad as this seems, the dancers did appreciate that Appling was only half-cocked.

I so relate to this.

Don’t worry, the two later made up and had weird ponytail sex.

I hate their youth.

They should call it “Space Jams” and have the plot center around Chris Herren trying to score alien opiates.

In Miami’s defense, it’s really tough to find a herpetologist on such short notice.

“I’m sorry, sir, but your unemployment benefits have run out.”