The exact moment that Jason Whitlock stopped mattering

Of course they found each other:

 

How the fuck did it take this long?

 

Of course Whitlock has HOT TAKEZ about the WNBA ...

https://awfulannouncing.com/espn/stan-verrett-slams-jason-whitlock-angel-reese-takes.html

 

I don't know. Not to defend Whitlock in any way, shape or form, but his "take" was mild by his typical BS contrarian standard. Verrett is being just as self-aggrandizing in his opportunism as Whitlock almost always is by using the WNBA's increased spotlight to fuel a beef.

 

Stan Verrett (he could be sitting in my kitchen and I still wouldn't know who he is) seems to have a pretty inflated view of himself.

“He knows his level,” Verrett wrote in a reply. “And he knows mine. And he knows they are not the same. It could end his ‘career.'”

Get the fuck over yourself.

 

Yeah this is like the 1,456,567th most outlandish thing Whitlock has said. Does Stan get this upset when male athletes are called overrated, which is every single one of them at some point, dating back to, I don’t know, some scribe who said Hermes didn’t have the clutch gene?

 

Now that Whitlock is a full-on Trumpist, nothing can end his career except criticism of the Lord and Savior himself. Trumpists are almost never held accountable for anything.

 

Did Jason watch the game or lock himself in the closet and eat a block of cheese?

 

Whitlock's mea culpa on X, after Reese's 25-17 game:

"She's unskilled. But she also has a higher bball IQ than I gave her credit for. She knows how to play. She's a terrific competitor. Her game is to establish post position and she works hard to get it. That type of effort will make her highly effective."

So his first two words were "She's unskilled" and the rest of the post was how skilled she is.

 

How long until Whitlock decides Jeff George is the perfect fit for the WNBA?

 

I once won my high school golf team’s biggest match of the year with a curling 12-footer, I’ll have you know.

To which my coach drawled, “I really didn’t think you could make that” before getting in the driver’s seat of the short bus we took to matches.

 

1981 Little League game, playing shortstop, bases loaded, 2 outs in the 6th, we're up a run or two, I caught a screaming liner off the bat of a lefty.

My big fat coach hoisted me toward the sky. I asked if I could keep the ball. No.

I met my dad in the dugout hoping he'd hug me. Instead he extended his hand ... but hey, Jimmy Somerville didn't even get that courtesy.



But my dad did take me out for Pioneer.

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner ... or something.