Bill's Sports Binge: USA out, two Rays shout, and Noles retire last boy scout

woman getting close to an um, well you know; and not quite getting there, over and over. And just about the time she's ready to give up and suggest we try again in an hour or so and get something to eat, it happens. The pent up  energy is suddenly and violently released in a primal rapturous scream that literally leaves the crowd breathless. Damn girl, I thought the neighbors were going to call and complain. What was I talking about?

Quicker Hits: Florida State football gets some good press for a change as they retire Derrick Brooks' jersey (sources cannot confirm whether said retirement was forced), the Tampa Bay Storm scored 78 (yes, 78) points to win their sixth game in a row against the most unnecessarily wordy-named Bossier-Shreveport Battlewings Friday night, and according to some lawyer, Michael Vick had no involvement in the shooting of one of his ex-dogfighting homies, that took place in front of a Virginia Beach nightclub where Vick had celebrated his birthday. Nope, no involvement whatsoever. I can't believe his name is even associated with the story at all. The shooting may as well have occurred on the moon. Lighten up, pigs. It's not a party until someone gets shot.

Rays drop another turd of a hitting display against the Diamondbacks Sunday as they lose the game, and the series, 2-1. But they did show some fight in the 5th inning. Unfortunately, it was with each other. Basically, BJ Upton got caught lolly-gagging after a ball, Evan Longoria later called him a lolly-gagger, then some heated words were exchanged in the dugout until they were separated. Yawn, sounds like one of my junior high "fights" as a kid when I resisted, but appreciated being pulled off by a buddy so my pretty face wouldn't get all bloody and gross but I would still receive partial credit for effort. If that's as frustrated as these boys get, it's going to get worse before it gets better. Rays are now 44-32, currently in third place, and sinking. It's time for Joe Maddon to put down his wine glass, blow a fuse, throw a stack of baseball bats into the team showers, and tear himself some brand-spanking-new assholes. Something's gotta give. Next up, Boston. Ugh...

USA done. And so is whatever interest most Americans have in the World Cup. I had finally relented and decided to watch a little of the USA/Ghana match from Ferg's before I headed to the Rays game Saturday afternoon. As I stood there with my beverage curiously studying both the game itself as well as the hooligans to whom the sport meant so much, one thought kept creeping back in to my brain.

"Jesus, it must be 120 degrees in here."

Also? I finally understand why the fans go absolutely bat-shit over a goal. The close calls, the missed shots, the blown opportunities. Every time the Americans got that damn ball in the same area code as the goal, the energy in the room matched the frustrating intensity of a

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