Things Canada constantly lords over the US:

Reporter: “Is your medical staff aware of what tendon attaches the calf to the foot?”

The bulk of the replies here are focused on running up the score, which is not what the commentators are discussing. They’re talking about international stars sliding in front of the bench and doing a bizarre scissor-kick celebration after the twelfth goal in a 12-0 game.

USA Today identified the man as William Ewell, 47

Crab meat vs. crabby Klaw: learning to laugh (it off). 

Is this dog good or bad?

It definitely is not all that needs to be said. Following the rules is not the same as there being no advantage. The rules were created so as best to mitigate against an uneven playing field. The rules were developed on the theory that serum testosterone levels are the be-all, end-all of athletic equality between…

I am curious whether it is possible to have a good faith debate about this or, if it is so charged and everyone is so entrenched in their positions, if it isn’t.

Not to blame the dude to who got cooked, but what the hell is he doing starfish-flailing flat to the boards like that? The trailing player is engaged as he would be 100 times out of 100, and followed through exactly as he normally would. There’s no way to predict whatever the hell it is Grzelcyk ended up doing. 

A person demonstrably knows nothing about Toronto if they believe the Toronto John Candys was a joke.

The deaths of my heroes allow me to focus on what is truly important: me.

What’s worse: sexually abusing someone for years, or saying “that guy killed himself because he didn’t want to face the consequences of having sexually abused me, and others, for years”?

As long as you ignore the context, sure.

Translation: “Man, I’m telling you, I’m just sick and tired of all these athletes who aren’t white and English-speaking.”

No. Yes, they are good refs. But, also yes, they fucked up royally.

At least they died doing what they loved: trying not to die.

Picket Fencing.

You can be 100% sure now.

When I die, I want my obituary to read about how I had all the time in the world to extort people of money that I then used to insulate my shitty children from the harsh realities of hard work, instead of having any time to teach my kids about the value of hard work.

Welp, I guess all those multi-millionaire dilettante children will have to go back to struggling to decide between brands of caviar at their country club debutante balls and getting contracts to promote Armand de Brignac instead of spending four years earning Ds at Princeton before returning to the exact same fucking…