We all love FootyScran but come on, my man

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If you aren’t familiar with @FootyScran on Twitter, and judging by their follower count you probably are, you should correct that. It’s a Twitter feed that documents some of the horrors, and the rare joys, that pass as food at various soccer stadiums around the globe. If you think you know what the English define as cuisine, believe me, you don’t. For instance, here’s this intestinal rupture in waiting you can have at the Etihad in Manchester:

Well, college basketball had its own bastardized version last night, as some desperate and wayward soul decided he (I think it’s feminism by suggesting that no woman could sink to these depths, but I definitely know a few who probably could) just had to have a quarter pounder while taking in the Loyola-Duquesne matchup in Pittsburgh last night:

Plenty were asking how the delivery schlub could even get into the arena, but clearly, they’re underestimating security’s sense of humor. Also, remember Jesse Winker got a pizza in the Angels clubhouse once. Everyone wants a story to tell, after all. Yes, it does say something about America that you could sneak anything into an arena or stadium as long as you’re posing it as an artery-clogger being delivered, but we’ve known who we are.

I’m lovin’ it

Look, there have been times when we all just needed McDonald’s. Not a cheeseburger, but McDonald’s. It’s a different thing, and nothing else will do. Almost certainly, it’s when you’ve been so hungover that your teeth are sweating and sore. And maybe this person, late on a Wednesday night, was that hungover. Though college students are supposed to shake those off by 11 a.m. at the latest, and if this was a 40-year-old in the death grip of an all-day hangover (it’ll happen to you, kids!) and just couldn’t take it anymore, I can’t decide if I want to salute or have them euthanized for their own, and likely society’s, good.

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My spidey sense is signaling that this is some internet stunt/ploy for a Super Bowl ad, and hey, DoorDash was trending last night. Or maybe it was Uber Eats. Whatever, they’re all evil and kill local businesses. And though it’s fine if they want to rip off McDonald’s (they’re not), if you’re in a place where you gotta get Mickey D’s delivered to you, you should have taken that left at Albuquerque, friendo.

I’m just relieved there’s a conversation about Loyola that doesn’t involve Sister Jean. Tired of her shit.

I’m an adult crying at wrestling again

There are obviously a lot of layers to the death of Jay Briscoe last week, which we’ve covered. And I don’t have the history or the familiarity with ROH and the Briscoes before this year to really do the impact justice. What I do know is that AEW CEO Tony Khan fought very hard with Turner-Discovery to get a tribute match onto “Dynamite” last night, given the company’s aversion to ever having the Briscoes on TV.

It was obvious why, as Jay’s brother, Mark, and Jay Lethal provided the kind of grieving and catharsis that only wrestling can dabble into. To wit:

Though maybe I’ll put it in my will that my ashes have to be elbow-dropped through a table, except that’s probably in the will of every member of Bills Mafia.

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