Now I know what a French person must have felt like watching Vince Carter teabag Frederic Weis.

Doing some “Collateral” damage... (jumps onto couch, out of building)

The Block was the signature play I’ve kind of waited for in my gut. And all the “Kyrie took the last shot!” snivelers need to slow their roll and Google “John Paxson.” There will always be the Skip Baylesses, who would have voted Lutz Lange MVP of the Berlin Olympics, but they no longer even have a place in the…

Jon Snow beating up Ramsay was satisfying, but the best move by a bastard last night was The Block.

At least one hulking, mush-faced giant deserved to survive a battle last night.

It’s like a “Love is...” kid crossed with The Revenant.

We will never see his like again.

Apart from the mechanical problems with the nuclear physics analogy—unstable isotopes don’t blow up on their own...

Check out the crested penguin flare-up at 1:15.

Do not let this news surprise you.

And don’t forget the famous wit Lion Hearted displayed in naming his son Hoof Hearted.

“IN A WORLD where yoga is queen, one instructor...teaches the deathward-facing dog.”

He looks like the son of Diego Maradona and Garry Shandling.

The demonic wraith on the fan’s right shoulder probably commanded him to do it.

To be fair, he also basically cried over the Reese’s peanut butter cup after 27:00 or so.

This Negroid at no time proved capable of delivering apian venom through the puncture of an opponent’s skin, nor did he, upon the resumption of fighting after the sixth round, transport the opponent to a supernatural realm of bliss.

I was thinking the courtroom version of the Bobby Orr leap.

The person who should have to defend that jumper for eternity is whoever came up with the phrase “score the basketball.”

Starr: “All I’m going to say is I honestly have no recollection of that.”