Via Busted Coverage comes troubling news that the Philadelphia Eagle cheerleader auditions will only be open to those who have already graduated high school, most likely as a result of the Caitlin Davis saga that went down in New England last season. So now the Eagles will be forced to select this years cheerleaders from a crop of old dried up non-jailbait ass like this.

Oh Ea-Gals, I can’t stay mad at you. Continue after the jump for more from the ongoing pre-audition process. Man, that sounds exhaustive.

All images courtesy of PhiladelphiaEagles.com, check it out for more photos and some video.

I think we can all agree that football is 200% more awesome in the snow.  The NFL is better when it’s a cold-weather game.  Snow makes shitty games meaningful.  Being able to see linemen’s breath before the snap is, quite simply and for reasons I cannot possibly explain, totally fucking cool.

The drawback to cold-weather football is that it’s unfriendly to the friendliest of NFL employees, our beloved cheerleaders.  For whatever reason, as soon as it drops below 50 degrees, they feel the need to wear more than hot pants and halter tops, ignoring the simple truth that they’d stay warm if they just danced harder.  Alas, their union reps must have won them the rights to wear things like this:

A quick note for cheerleading squads facing less-than-ideal weather conditions: spandex body stockings: good; shitty windbreakers: shitty.

And so, in the interest of fairness, let us examine a specimen from the lower latitudes.

Like I was saying, football in the snow is total bullshit.

(Top photo from Project 119)

Brits may not like our version of football, but they are powerless to resist our objectification of women:

THEY’LL [sic] be a little bit of America at Wembley this Sunday when the New Orleans Saints face-off against the San Diego Chargers for only the second ever NFL game played outside of the US.

So to celebrate this and to make our cousins from across the pond feel at home we’ve decided to do a slideshow on that other great American invention, cheerleaders!

Said slideshow is available at the link above, but I prefer this one.  And while we’re talking about American inventions, how ’bout the power of flight?  Does that do anything for ya?

(via PCB)

I’d like to think of myself as possessing above-average intelligence and maintaining a healthy amount of common sense. I got through college and grad school well enough, and I pride myself at being able to spot a grifter from 50 paces– a handy skill around Derby time. But the events of earlier this week have shaken my confidence to the core and led me to question whether I might be more suited for work as a ditch digger, field-hand or, shudder, Governor of Alaska.

You would think I would know what to do when I get a heavily edited picture of raccoon appearing to playfully gnaw on an unidentifiable appendage belonging to a human of the male persuasion. The large yellow blocks prevented me from seeing exactly which appendage this was, but I had a very strong and uneasy suspicion. I also received a message from our own Monday Morning Punter saying ‘click on it, it’s not what you think.’

So what does my dumb ass do?
A) Consider the source and immediately hit the delete button several times as fast as I could; OR
B) “Derrrrr, if Punter says it’s not what I think it is, it MUST be something innocent and wholesome. Duhhh, clicky-click-click. Duhhhhhh.”

Yes, Dear Reader I chose the latter. There are some things than once you see them, you can never unsee. There are some things that once they are imprinted on your cortex, are indelible until death. Seeing a cute raccoon chawing on some sick bastard’s junk is one of them. I will never be able to look at this friendly woodland varmint the same way again. I immediately canceled my son’s subscription to Ranger Rick. “The Ballad of Rocky Raccoon” came of the radio yesterday and I was shaking so hard I had to pull over on the side of the road.

Punter’s knack for the highly offensive is well documented in these pages and elsewhere. Hell, he once infamously carpet-bombed Deadspin with links to graphic horse-on-man porn. So quite understandably, some of you may be asking, “Why on Earth would you ever click on something solely on Punter’s say-so?” The answer, Dear Reader, is because I am a fucking rube.

There, I said it—I. AM. A. RUBE. If I played baseball I would be Rube Waddell. If I was a Kenny Rogers song I would be “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.” If managed a fictional 1970’s television family band I would be Reuben Kincade. I’m a rube and now you all know of my shame.

Here’s your Sexy Friday cheerleader post….

Photo credits: The Professional Cheerleader Blog, Sports Illustrated, Flickr

This is Jenny, she’ll be handling things from here.

Dear Coach Zorn,

We know that it was just one game, but you just aren’t bringing the sexy. Do you see Jenny up there? She’s one of our amazing cheerleaders, and she’ll be running the offense from now on. Of course you’re still welcome to stick around and impart your wisdom on the quarterbacks, but right now we really need a sexier option at the helm. That game you called last night? That was about as sexy as a homeless guy bathing himself on the sidewalk. Do we know whether or not Jenny actually knows anything about football? Absolutely not, but for whatever reason we have an incredible amount of faith in her abilities, whatever those might be.

Just in case Jenny struggles to call plays for Jason Campbell we’ve set her up with the sexiest group of assistant coaches the league has ever seen (take that, mid-nineties Packers!). Meet Jenny’s support staff after the jump, and don’t forget to bring your support staff if you know what I mean. I mean your cock.

This is the team’s top standout, Michelle. She brings plenty of experience to the table…with her tits.

This is Eileen, and the players would sooner rip off their own testicles than let her down.

This is Cristina Kristin the chick with the nice ass. Her role is self-explanatory.

This is Nicole, and she is not to be allowed anywhere near Chris Cooley.

So we hope we can still be friends and everything.

Sincerely,
Reactionary Redskins Fans For Winning

P.S. It gets quite a bit colder here in the winter than it does in Seattle, so we got you a little present to keep you warm while you’re watching the ladies run your team.

I call it the Cock Cozy.

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Have a super Sexy Friday, everyone!

Melinda’s mother died giving birth to her first and only daughter. Melinda’s mom had been artificially inseminated and intended to raise the child alone. Mindy, as she came to be known by the people in Florida Child Protective Services, possessed an immediate affinity for those around her and her caretakers were quick to note how remarkable this quality was for someone who grew up never knowing their biological parents.

Mindy bounced around foster families for most of her childhood. Despite the volatile nature of her upbringing, she never went through a rebellious phase, always doing what was told of her, excelling in school and eschewing potentially troublesome friends. She would have been valedictorian of her high school outside St. Louis, had she not committed so much of her time to volunteer work, causing a few would-be As to slip to Bs.

Not having a family to support her, Mindy couldn’t get quite enough in scholarships to attend the colleges she wanted. She instead got a job as an administrative assistant and attended community college at night, in the hopes of one day becoming a teacher. Hers is a difficult life but she remains buoyant in her outlook and optimistic in nature.

In September, she will have a late evening of drinking with some classmates. After dropping them off, she will drive home drunk. Less than a mile from her home, her vehicle will strike and kill Rams defensive end Leonard Little.

For her crime, she will receive a mandatory 10 years in a federal prison.