And He's Apparently Got an Armadillo in His Trousers

Me and Becks, we're just alike.

Okay, I've never cheesed 2 maybe 3 massive PKs for my country. Shit I don't even sit courtside for Laker games (that is a Laker game isn't it?).

But, if I did, I would totally stare at the Miller Lite girl's ass with the exact same "I want to bend you over and screw you six ways to Saturday and twice on Sunday... oh, and I want your friend over by the baseline to join us" look in my eyes.

Because that's pretty much what his look says.

Although hers kind of says, "Maybe if I stand a little more to the left and bend just a little more... Shit, I probably shouldn't have had the cheesecake for dessert last night after all."

Anyway, take notes Señor Belichick. That is how you ogle.

Use a subtle glance. Taking pictures might work for scouting the opponent's red zone during Super Bowl week, but when you try to do it of college coeds with your camera phone, you look like a creepy old man.


Not even forsaking the Unibomber hoodie for the hat is helping you much.

[Update: Okay, it's not really an update but an 'Oops.' That really is a cell phone in his hand, but that pic is de-TMZ'ed. For a better version click here.]

[Second update: As my friend just asked me, "Since when did David Paymer become an NBA photographer?"]

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Turkey Has Nothing To Do With This Post But I Suddenly Want To Travel There

If there is anything naked people like, it's pulling riding a train.

Austria's national railway announced last week that it will offer free rides to the first 2,008 men and women who sign up to get in the buck for a photo by Spencer Tunick.

Tunick is the guy who takes pictures of naked people. Really, that's it. That's his schtick. Naked people at the UN, naked people in a field before a Phish concert, naked people at a theater in Bruges. Yep if there is a place, then Tunick will photograph people naked at or in it.

That's the kind of genius that's only rivaled by pissing on a crucifix. But hell, it's nudity. And at least a couple of those chicks are likely to be cute.

The shoot is to take place May 11 at Ernst Happel Stadium, where the Euro 2008 final is scheduled to be held. Unfortunately UEFA screwed the only good joke—"Hey, it's the only way any Austrians will see the pitch at that stadium"—by scheduling every one of the home side's matches at the Vienna venue.

That's a pretty sweet travel schedule, although it probably won't help a team so bad that its own countrymen wanted them kicked out of the tournament.

But thanks to the merciful folks at UEFA 2,008 Austrians will get their chance to be part of art or soccer history. If nothing else it gives people a nice cocktail conversation piece. "Dude, I so hooked up with these two chicks last week."

"Big deal, I was part of a train with 2,007 other nekkid people."

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An Open Letter to the Italian Serie A

Dear Serie A:

Look, we've never been close. In fact, we barely see each other. It'd be hard to call our relationship even platonic. And I'm going to blame you. I know it's shallow and selfish of me, but admit it, you haven't always been the prettiest thing to look at.

Is Elvis Costello a Serie A watcher? I'm not sure how else he came up with a title like "All This Useless Beauty."

Because I go way back with Italian soccer. The Azzurri are my people. Okay, they are my dad's people. But that still makes you half my people.

One of my first memories of me and you is Paulo Rossi in the 1982 World Cup. A hat trick to knock out favorites Brazil almost single handedly. Then his second half strike against West Deutschland in the final opened up a deluge at the Bernabeu from which the Alles could never Uber come.

I even died a little inside in 1994, even though I thought Roberto Baggio was a complete douche with that rat tail and deserved to sky that PK alone for sporting one of those.

And Holy Shit if you knew the spoils I had won from making wholly inappropriate bets for the 2006 Final with the two French girls I know back home in Texas.

In fact I almost feel like I owe you for the semi-final match from that Cup. You were so good to me that day. When I really needed it, you were there for me. Man, that was awesome. Just as taut as 120 minutes of football can be. You more or less played attacking football, or at least you played to win. You didn't just pay Lippi service to that idea. You had actually changed. And I felt like you changed for me.

Then to top it off with Fabio Grosso's strike, that was a thing of beauty. If I were a wuss of a man, I might have cried. Instead I got super, super drunk.

It's a little late in coming, but you know what they say about late and never. Yes, there is a large difference between International and Club soccer, but I'm willing to give the Serie A—and, yep, I'm going to use the c-word—a chance.

The only problem is that I need to be wooed. I know you've been wanting me for a while, so somebody step up and win my affection. I can't do it myself.

If I chase after Inter am I not just front-running after the prettiest girl in the class? And Milan, who looked so good last year, might have been rode too hard and put away a little wet. Plus, I'm not a Jesus freak. That just seems like a problem waiting to happen. I could maybe even see myself with Torino, Siena, or Parma. For me, your going down isn't a problem at all. You could come back up and go right back down again. I'd like that.

What I'm saying is that I'm open, but I can't be the aggressor. The ball is on your half of the pitch.

Flowers and candy will get you nowhere. A good solid blow job? That will go far. And if you're Roma, I suggest starting with Totti's wife. Ilary Blasi makes Jessica Alba look like Ann Richards.

Soon to be someone's truly,
Precious Roy

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