I’ll tell you what it means for me: Endless phone calls from sales representatives trying to get me to sign back up for the dribble. I NEVER USED THE DRIBBLE, AND I DON’T WANT IT BACK!

thanks bud

I ain’t afraid to put the butter on the moccasin.

I like your style

can you read?

No I prefer tuna.

There’s no way Nenê got any MVP votes.

Perhaps it’s 3-1 lead poisoning.

That stock is pretty stable, so his purchase of all those puts made him a pretty obvious suspect.

I want to get inside Ellie from Brooklyn’s head. She’s got some hot existential takes - “the basis of our lives is our beliefs” and “People don’t live their lives on an ideological wavelength” - and decides, on September 12th, to call into Mike and the Mad Dog to share them.

Russell Westbrook: “I don’t give a fuck about the line.”

What’s up with the Derek Zoolander attire?

Get McNutty on it ASAP!

Bucknor: As you stare into the strike zone, the strike zone stares into you.

Bucknor should know that umpiring while in the middle of an existential crisis is never a good thing. “I mean, really. Strike, ball...who fucking cares, man? None of this means anything, anyway. See? Right while Werth was at-bat, a thousand stars died, and another thousand were born. I dunno, man....sometimes you just…

It’s a soap opera for men.

No different than anything else on TV....any sitcom, any ‘reality’ show....it’s all the same written stuff, just different format.

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