A message to runners everywhere: shutttttt uppppppp

487690960_e9e2584417_z.jpg

A message to runners everywhere: shutttttt uppppppp

Oh, you're running a 10-miler this weekend? That's sooooooooo interesting. Can't wait to see you bing-bonging down Broad Street with your rock-hard jawline, pressing the buttons on your digital watch: beep beep boop boop beep beep beep! Tell us again what kind of yogurt you eat. Tell us again how we’re all going to die from congestive heart failure. Oh holy runner who art thou, oh ye who wears lightweight Brooks™ running sneaks, please, please, please tell us more about your breathable mesh socks. Because it’s hard to hear you over the sound of all these Grandma Utzs crunching in my mouth.  

I’m not sure when it happened exactly, but runners have recently cemented their place as the fourth most nauseating people on the planet, right behind ISIS, The Money Team and any person who ever attended the University of Maryland. It wasn't always this way. Running used to be called “jogging," and jogging was just a thing that bozos did when they were training to fight Apollo Creed. But now, running is a #WAY #OF #LYFE. And is singlehandedly responsible for keeping Saucony sneaks in business. And Saucony sneaks suck shit. 

I recently went to the New Balance store on Walnut Street expecting to find some dope neon-colored sneaks that would make the ladies I work with swoooooooon. Instead, the store was filled with wall-to-wall running gear, like actual running gear, including shin sleeves. An employee tried to talk to me about arch support. I don’t care about arch support. I care about lunch. 

Everything about running is stupid. The running. The running part. The running! And then there’s the whole part with the running. I don’t even like having to do that slow fake jog when someone’s holding the door for me. Just let the door close! It’s not that nice of a gesture anyway. And marathons. Geez Louize, what is the point of that? To accomplish some sort of goal? Shut up. There’s way too much emphasis on goals these days. That’s the problem with humans. We have too much ambition. Just be happy that you have feet. 

There is literally nothing impressive about running a marathon. It's just running. There's no skill. You're not dribbling a ball. Or playing an oboe. You're just slamming your feet against the hard pavement for five straight hours. There’s a crazy guy who lives outside the 7-11 at 12th and Chestnut who slams his head against the pavement all day every day. You don’t see anyone giving him a medal. You know that dude who who runs marathons while juggling? I used to think that guy was an idiot, but now, I get it. Of course he juggles! Because running is boring. Remember folks, the whole marathon thing started because some Yes Man was forced to run 26.2 miles from Marathon to Athens to deliver a message. Probably a good time to remind you that the jerk, Prometheus, dropped dead the second he arrived. So yeah, maybe it is a good thing to have goals. Mine’s to not die like an asshole. 

I know, I know, running helps you stay fit. And live longer. And not have a double chin that you’re forced to cover up by growing a beard. But fast forward to 2053 when you’ll be forced to attend your grandson’s high school graduation. I’ll be dead. And that sounds way better than sitting through some lame-o valedictorian’s speech about “the journey.”   

Don't get it twisted, people. Runners will tell you they work out for physical wellness. But we all know it’s just to tighten up their bods so people will want to have sex with them. Sure, being in good shape makes sense, and it’s nice when people want to have sex with you, but there’s plenty of other ways to stay fit: like, play basketball, or play soccer, or, well, that’s pretty much it. There’s two ways. I guess Zumba seems pretty cool too. So three ways. But those are three much better ways! 

The worst part about runners is that they’re constantly reminding us that they’re runners. Ordering salad. Wearing fitbits. JOGGING IN PLACE at every red light. Ohhhhhhhhh, I can’t possibly stop my knees from bouncing up and down! They're so bouncy! How’s my heartrate?!? Beep beep boop boop beep beep beep! 

Some of my co-workers have spent the last few months getting ready for this Sunday’s Broad Street Run. They’ve trained together after work. They’ve raised money for charity (ugh). They’ve taken over our shared refrigerator with so much lite salad dressing. 

There’s literally only one lite dressing in there.

WHAT KIND OF WAY IS THAT TO LIVE?!

But runners be runnin’. And on Sunday, 40,000 weirdos will take over Broad Street with their ear-to-ear smiles and beaming zest for life. It’s disgusting. Not to mention the band-aids covering their nips. This weekend could be the greatest sports weekend ever -- the NFL Draft, NBA and NHL Playoffs, the Kentucky Derb, #MayPac! -- and yet 40,000 people have decided to run a race?!?! I'm 38 years old, have no children and no responsibilities, and I’m going to spend my entire weekend wallowing in my own filth. I plan on spending all day Sunday recovering from watching sports all day Saturday. Unless my wife is ovulating, then I might have to spend four (or five?) minutes trying to shoot a human life form inside of her. But other than that, I'm golden.

Look, the bottom line is, I don't care what you do in this world. Shave your pits. Have sex in a dungeon. Run ‘til your precious heart explodes. But do me a favor. Shut up about your stupid shin splints for once and for all.

Unless you got ‘em by having dungeon sex. 

Then I’d love to hear more about it. 

Thank you. 

The Game of Zones-Joel Embiid mashup you didn't know you needed

The Game of Zones-Joel Embiid mashup you didn't know you needed

There are times in all of our Internet lives when we come across a piece of content that we don't quite understand, that we didn't really know we needed, yet fills our black Philadelphia sports fan hearts with joy anyway.

Today is one of those days.

And that piece of content is this Game of Zones x Embiid mashup.

If you're unfamiliar, this is the latest in Bleacher Report's fun take on a Game of Thrones / NBA mashup.

There's the mountain of a man that is Joel Embiid laid up with a presumably bum knee. There's the Temple of Shirley potion to give him life. There's the maester Sam Hinkie shouting off his analytics spells. There's Hinkie talking about growing the seeds and reaping the harvest. There's a terrifying looking Dario. There is a raising of the cat. 

Perhaps the best part is Jahlil Okafor attempting to hold the door.

What does it all mean? I don't know. But I trust it.

Jim Harbaugh takes blame for Jim Schwartz handshake feud

Jim Harbaugh takes blame for Jim Schwartz handshake feud

With one season in Philadelphia under Jim Schwartz’s belt, Eagles fans are well aware of the intensity the defensive coordinator brings to the sidelines. But before joining Doug Pederson's staff, Schwartz attracted plenty of attention during a five-year stint as head coach of the Detroit Lions from 2009-2013. A highlight of his tenure in the Motor City developed a new wrinkle this week.

Maybe the most memorable moment during his time in Detroit was the unnecessarily ugly midfield feud in 2011’s Week 6 with then-49ers head coach Jim Harbaugh. Schwartz marched to midfield for the postgame handshake after his Lions took their first loss of the season. Harbaugh, a usually-excited guy with cause for a little extra enthusiasm after a fourth straight win, came in too strong for Schwartz’s liking. Schwartz chased down Harbaugh as he ran for the tunnel and the two exchanged some choice words. Coaches and players flocked to the tussle. What started as standard postgame procedure became the national talking-point nobody needed for the ensuing week.

The six-year-old incident returned to the conversation this week with Harbaugh, now the head coach at the University of Michigan, admitting on Barstool Sports’ Pardon My Take podcast (and as transcribed by ESPN) that he was to blame for things getting out of hand. 

"I went in too hard on that, too aggressive on the handshake," Harbaugh said on the podcast. "We've talked, and we're good. We're back to friends. ... There is a protocol in a postgame handshake. I've been there as the winner. I've been there as a loser. You just, 'Nice game,' then go celebrate. Premature celebration there, in the wrong."

On top of discussing his gifting Pope Francis a pair of Jordan sneakers and his theory that bringing a glove to catch a foul ball is acceptable for fans, Harbaugh went on to explain the last time he got in a real fight, as opposed to the silly scrum that went down at Ford Field that fateful day. He was 39, at the end of his days as a player, and got into it with two men at a restaurant.

"I did not win," he said. "I cannot say I won. I didn't get crushed, either. I got some blows in."

Harbaugh has a reputation for his passion, and the handshake debacle with Schwartz was no exception. It’s just that his passion often translates to doing things in a non-traditional way. He’s the khakis guy, always sporting his trademark dad-pants on the sidelines — he even tucked an Allen Iverson jersey into them once. He’ll do anything to get a leg up in recruiting, for example, sleeping over at a recruit's house for some “Netflix and Chill.”

Schwartz, similarly, is frequently fired up, and that aggression bleeds into his defensive scheme. 

Harbaugh is in the college game now, so the development in this nearly forgotten exchange isn’t life-changing. But if he ever returns to the pros, it’s good to know a postgame handshake with Schwartz wouldn't revive any bad blood.