SB Nation Trading Cards: Series II Has Hit The Market!

At Strikeforce: Houston, King Mo took a devastating knee to the chin from Feijão. While the rest of us watched him desperately cling to Feijão's leg, in truth, his consciousness retreated to his personal kingdom, one in which "King Mo" is more than a nickname. He sat at his throne in front of a chess board; he moved to capture his opponent's Bishop, but then paused, hand suspended over the board. The window offered a spectacular view of his kingdom. It was his domain, everything out until the clouds aborted the horizon; for that matter, the clouds were his property as well... clouds? There weren't supposed to be clouds! Lightning struck, and the next thing he saw was Feijão's shoulder blade swimming through the skin of his back as his arm was raised by the referee. He was no longer in his kingdom. It was evening in America, and King Mo had missed dinner.

On August 23, 2010, Rich was 6.2 innings into a no-hitter when manager Ron Washington made the tough decision to send him to the showers. Had the Rangers’ bullpen been able to preserve his no-no, it would have set a modern-day record for most pitchers involved. Relieving Harden, each with 0.1 innings pitched, were Darren O’Day, Nolan Ryan, the last person Nolan Ryan shook hands with, the huge guy who wanted to kill Pee-Wee in Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, Mike Tomczak, the kid in The Wonder Years  who was Kevin’s best friend for, like, one episode (not Paul), and Neftali Feliz. Feliz surrendered the first and only hit of the game, and as punishment, his locker has been re-purposed as Nolan Ryan’s personal spittoon. Meanwhile, Rich went to the clubhouse, opened the May 24 issue of Sports Illustrated to this article, and ground his teeth into chalk dust.

When we find ourselves unable to sleep in the middle of the night, we respond in different ways. Perhaps we watch The West Wing, or reflect on the consequences of napping, or tweet to our constituents that we can't sleep.

When Chad Ochocinco could not sleep, he concocted a prank against the Eagles, arrived at their hotel dressed in black, eluded security by gaining access to a window cleaning platform, and reached the outside of what he estimated to be the 26th floor with intentions of knocking on the windows and performing a pop-and-lock dance. It was then that he reconsidered, lowered himself to the ground, and retreated to a nearby Waffle House. This man is a national treasure, and anyone who says otherwise has forgotten how to love, or worse, never learned how.

After a particularly poor night of broadcasting , Rob parked his car in his driveway and sat there for a few minutes, staring at nothing. Once inside, he Googled "how to make people not not like you." After a few minutes’ worth of irrelevant links and empty promises of free iPods, he turned to his dog, Entourage: The Television Show, and said, "I wish I could be better. I’m not bad at my job on purpose. I love baseball." He then crawled into bed, lying awake for an hour, dwelling on all the people who wish he were unemployed, then of whatever became of his childhood teddy bear companion. Robdger [sic] was still out there somewhere, he figured, perhaps in the clutches of a child in a third-world nation, and he smiled and fell asleep. Next time you speak ill of him, remember this.