Because sportswriters are never going to give bad metaphors the red card (see!?), one NY writer/serial philanthropist/over-satisfier-of-women is celebrating America's most self-indulgent scribes with a Tumblr that captures their deft analogies, similes, and other -ies: Sports Is Like. Because further explaining something you could easily read for yourself would be ridiculous, sit back and enjoy a smattering of the satire:

“Oh, there were some morsels Tuesday at media day. Scraps, if you will.”:

I will, as long as I know there aren’t any morsels. I would much rather have morsels than scraps, but if scraps are all there are, then I guess I’ll have to do without morsels. I don’t know. You tell me?

"But [Tayshaun] Prince doesn’t sound angry at his teammates or coach, or bitter about any of it. He is like a math prodigy who is waiting for the rest of the class to catch up.":

Don’t math prodigies spend most of their time waiting for the rest of the class to stop beating the sh*t out of them for being math prodigies?

"Rice is a 5-foot-8, 212-pound missile in the fog. Once he locates daylight, Rice is like tackling a bowl of soup, without the bowl.":

He seems to seep into the ground, where his rich broth nourishes such an abundance of plants that their leaves obscure the offensive backfield, much like a fog, from which his chunky bits (mostly steak, sausage, chicken, and chickarina meatballs) emerge like missiles, except it’s just one missile, because Ray Rice can only be in one place at a time, unless he’s soup, in which case there’s no bowl that can possibly hope to contain him.