The Packers signed Simone Biles on Friday, or so it appeared from media coverage, the lamestream doing that classic thing they do where they only refer to a man in the context of whom he married. Despicable!
So, let’s talk about Jonathan Owens, Simone Biles’s husband.
Jonathan Owens is a Packer now, and he used to be a Texan, and before that he was a Cardinal, and before that he was an undrafted safety out of Missouri Western (the Griffons—a D-II school in St. Joseph, Missouri, the town where Eminem was born and Jesse James died). We knew the Packers needed a safety (I didn’t know that, I’d forgotten that, PFF turned its Mock Draft to subscription-only and my familiarity with the Packers’ draft needs dropped precipitously, though I did remember that they weren’t re-signing Adrian Amos). Owens is that safety.
Owens constitutes a moneyball signing, which is to say that he’s affordable (being a trophy husband and whatnot) but probably the best athlete in the league. (Because Simone Biles is a great athlete herself, and those things go together, right?) What this means is:
The Packers might not win a Super Bowl with Owens.
But that doesn’t mean this signing isn’t gold medal-worthy.
*pause for raucous listicle applause*
NASCAR Has Its Antihero
We’re going with the broad definition of antihero, which is basically a character in the hero role who doesn’t check all the hero boxes. It’s a little confusing because Big Lit (that’s big literature, not a Gen Z synonym for meth) sets up more guardrails around antiheroes than, say, pop music does, but film goes with pop music, and who am I to argue with videos of people waving guns (that’s spaghetti westerns, not Ja Morant’s friends narcing on him by broadcasting his actions live to The Internet).
Ross Chastain is the new Dale Earnhardt.
NASCAR’s throwback race ran this weekend at Darlington, and with it being NASCAR’s 75th birthday this year (imagine being old enough that your birthday lasts a whole year), a lot of old drivers were in town. Before the race, Geoff Bodine was asked by Toby Christie about Chastain’s controversial on-track aggression, and Bodine said, “Get over it! Those guys never raced with Earnhardt, I guess.”
Hell yeah, Geoff.
The thing Ross Chastain is doing, for those who don’t follow NASCAR, is racing really freaking hard. Sometimes, recklessly. Many of the things he’s done have been strategic, but sometimes he’s just messing up out there and taking others down with him. The thing is, it’s working. He finished second in points last year and made the Championship Four. He’s leading the standings so far this year, though he’s yet to win a race. He’s also bringing more attention to NASCAR outside of NASCAR circles than anyone has since the sport’s brief star turn during Covid when it managed to sometimes be the only live sport on television. I don’t have numbers on this, but it’s hard to remember two bigger events for NASCAR online than Chastain sending his car around the boards at Martinsville and Chastain punching Noah Gragson in the face after Gragson grabbed him in rage last weekend.
NASCAR has a big issue a lot of moneyed sports have, which is that all its drivers all have the same personality. They’re all variants on a theme. Chastain isn’t all that different, but he’s different on the track, and that difference is enough of a catfish in the barrel to keep the operation fresh. Chase Elliott, Kyle Larson, William Byron, and Ryan Blaney are never going to create a convincing rivalry between themselves. Denny Hamlin and Kevin Harvick have had their chances for a couple decades now, and neither has elevated the sport. Even Kyle Busch and Joey Logano and Brad Keselowski have all calmed into amicable drivers around the circuit. Chastain is perfect for the role he fills, a non-malicious wildcard title contender who manages to piss everyone off and stay competitive nonetheless. Purists can and should disagree, but speaking to NASCAR from closer to the sports culture median: Ross Chastain is the best thing currently happening to stock car racing in America.
The NHL Has Gone Too Far (South)
Did we tell you Ryan Reynolds won’t be buying the Sens? That was the word last week. I haven’t independently verified (I haven’t googled to see if he’s jumped to a different billionaire, which seems like the straightforward move since he basically said all billionaires are interchangeable if they just let him be the face of the ownership group).
In other unhappy news, the three NHL teams into the conference finals so far play in Miami, Raleigh, and Las Vegas. This is bad. If Dallas beats Seattle tonight, it’ll be even worse.
It’s great, of course, for the NHL to find a foothold in the Southeast and Southwest. It’d be like NASCAR finding a foothold in Canada and the Southwest. Hurricanes fans are passionate, Panthers fans got freaky one time in the luxury boxes, Knights fans are excited to be there. There’s no actual problem with the growth of hockey in the South.
What is a problem is the death of hockey in the North.
With Edmonton losing last night, the only Northern team left in the Stanley Cup Playoffs is the Seattle Kraken. On the one hand, Seattle is very far north. It’s further north than both Toronto and Montreal. On the other, though, the team is the Kraken, and while it certainly plays for Seattle, it doesn’t exactly call to mind ‘old school hockey.’ Seattle is very Canadian, full of comfortable white folks and placed somewhere most of America never has to pay it attention, and so if Seattle has to carry the torch, Seattle can carry the torch. But Seattle is not all that ‘hockey.’ Not yet. And what hockey needs right now is more ‘hockey.’
Joe Kelly Is on Fire
Another great outing for Joe Kelly on Saturday, letting an inherited runner score on a chopper between himself and first but then slamming the door on the Houston Ass Throws (I’m picturing a small blanket for your buttocks) and securing the win. Our guy struck out another two batters, bringing his total to 14 on the year in just over nine innings of work. His ERA’s down to where we can say it out loud, at 3.86. He’s still only walked the one man—Michael Conforto—and he’s only allowed the one home run—to Luke Raley (that’ll be even better trivia than Conforto one day). The man is electric, and with the White Sox off today, he should be fully recharged tomorrow when Cleveland comes to town. Say what you will about Jerry Reinsdorf, but the man has managed to produce a must-watch baseball team even as it eliminates itself from World Series contention in May. That’s more impressive than being good.
