With my post-season choice intact, Saturday was a fine day. I was happy to see the Dodgers advance and even happier to win a bet with the YCBF that made him responsible for paying for Sunday night's No Mercy PPV. The Brewers won, too, which was nice because I really didn't think that the Phillies were all that much better than them - a sweep would have been a surprising bust for those poor fans (I feel bad for Cubs fans too, but didn't care quite as much since, like I said, I've been sacrilegiously supporting the Dodgers... but hot damn, talk about not fulfilling expectations).

So what the hell happened on Sunday? My whole sports world was turned upside down. First, the Chargers lost to the freakin DOLPHINS, whose 2007 record was, I believe, approximately 1-964. That was supposed to be a sure win, and they could barely get into the double digits (or the end zone). Come on!

Then the Angels and Red Sox started their game, and I found myself rooting with all my might for the godforsaked ANGELS. The thought alone is enough to make me want to vomit. Over the past couple years I have found myself hating the Angels just about as much as the Red Sox and heartily more than the Dodgers, thanks, of course, to the Yankees utter lack of ability to beat them, EVER. Yesterday, though, I realized once and for all that when it comes down to it, my hatred for the Red Sox apparently supersedes any hard feelings I have for The The Angels Angels of Anaheim. I MAY have emitted a "YESSSSS!" or two during the game. In favor of the Angels. I felt very ashamed and their win was little consolation. Can't they just both lose and let the Rays and ChiSox keep battling it out for another 7 games?

The worst part of the day came towards the end of that aforementioned WWE PPV, and while simply admitting that I not only WATCH professional wrestling but enjoy it enough to shell out $40 to watch 12 PPVs a year is pretty damn embarrassing in and of itself, it's the truth so let's move on to the disappointment I felt when Triple Fucking H retained his title. With the way Vince & Co have been pumping the dear drug-addled boy Hardy over the past few months, I was 100% sure that the title was as good as his. First they essentially make a mockery of CM Punk by having him lose to just about everybody while he had the title, and now this?! Suuuuure, JH has had some "personal problems" that have precluded him from reaching his potential in the (recent) past, but come on dudes, he's had a nice long stretch of sobriety (sort of) and he's CLEARLY been taking acting lessons to improve his previously pathetic mic presence - not to mention the fact that everyone loves him - and methinks he deserves a gaudy pseudo-athletic award.

That pretty much sums up my bad day in sports! Luckily, today is already going MUCH better, thanks in large part to this picture of A-Rod that essentially defies explanation:

Let's examine: I see crumbs and a half-drunk glass of agua (vodka?), so I'm surmising that he is at some sort of dining establishment. In the left hand, he's fisting a wad of what we can assume to be hundos (that's how he rolls, yo), and in his right, a singular Benjamin, probably about to be used to pay the bill for his $7 eight-egg white and mushroom omelet. So far, a perfectly reasonable scenario for a mega-millionaire.

But then... he's rubbing it on his face. Right towards the camera that we KNOW he knows is there. With a look that says "Cynthia said WHAT about me?! Let's flash some dough and remind her what she missed out on by signing that pre-nup, HAHAHHAHAHHA!"

PS: A-Rod: Money is dirty. Watch out for pimples on that cheek.