Do not tell this woman that the Cavs just got embarrassed on national TV and lost to the Warriors 132-98. She’s gonna dance her ass off and do the robot no matter what the score is and that’s something you just have to respect… Which is what I’m going to do. Every hot take on Twitter and sports radio I see and hear this week I’m just going to start doing The Robot as a response. Trade Kevin Love? Robot. Fire David Blatt? Robot. LeBron will never win a title in Cleveland? Robot.
Just gonna Robot myself to death this week and that’s something I’m prepared to do.
This is the story of a man who spits in the face of adversity. A man who marches to the beat of his own drum. When the chips are down, you can depend on this man no matter what the situation is. A man that will fight for that inch, that will tear himself and everyone else around him to pieces for that inch. An Ohio man. A man that when hardship strikes, his true colors come out. And those colors are scarlet and gray.
UPDATE: Take the above paragraph and apply it to this guy too
Any time you have the chance to make the back of your jersey say “McFisterson” with 69 as the number, you’ve absolutely gotta do it.
There goes “Fisty McFisterson 69” the man who once ate 21 dollar dogs, drank 17 Bud Lights at The Corner, and prompted parents all over Cleveland to awkwardly explain to their children why the number 69 is so funny. He is a loathsome, offensive brute… Yet I can’t look away. Fisty McFisterson 69, a man we should all strive to be.
You just know when this dude got done ordering his custom jersey he gave himself a big pat on the back and whispered “Nailed it” under his breath… Nothing says “cool and edgy” like wearing the number 69.
Runner Up for best jersey at the ballpark last night: No New Friends
Almost as bad as this but not quite: