Well the blog made it through its first full year, and in fine fashion I might add. January of '07 was, in my opinion, the finest month the blog has ever had, beginning with a few great songs, and replete with the Sabres war, a couple of hilarious birthday shouts out to jookoon and Sis, the Arizona trip (which was a great trip until the game of which I shan't e'er spake), a drop-in from Seth at the Super Bowl, and a good one from Hoodie. McGregor and I, who carry this thing, let's face it, were just really funny that month, and the blog would see some sporadic, yet occasionally brilliant posts from the likes of the Godfather.
We've had cold wars, temper tantrums, weekend recaps, international posts, lots of sports smack, the greatest day ever, mild drama, a ton of angst, and lots of mockery. Just about what you'd expect from a bunch of drunks.
Happy new year, GVM. Many happy returns.
- ghost
Monday, December 31, 2007
I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest that the most impressive accomplishment in sports right now is not the undefeated Patriots.
I know that might sound kind of stupid, since completing a 16-0 regular season, the Pats became the first team ever to reach that rarefied air. And don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm not in awe of them for what they've done. I mean, there have been a lot of really good NFL teams, all of whom have lost one time or another over the course of a 16-game regular season. Everybody hiccups once or twice. . . except for them. And in winning games at Indy and Dallas, all 6 of their prime time games, and hammering the Steelers and Chargers at home, there is no conceivable argument for them having a weak schedule.
But what the Celtics are doing right now is at least equally as impressive to me. First of all, they are 26-3, having completed the 2007 portion of their schedule. They assembled an almost entirely new roster from a team that didn't even win 26 games all of last season, and have clicked beautifully. Throwing a bunch of free agents together en masse isn't always a recipe for success (just ask the Yankees), but the Celtics realistically could not expect to be any better than they have been, especially after tanking in the draft lottery again.
They are a basket, missed free throw, and bizarre whistle away from being 29-0, which would be simply mind-boggling. After starting out 8-0, which included a buzzer-beater against the Raptors, the C's lost at then-red hot Orlando by 2 points. They ripped off 9 more wins before falling in overtime at Cleveland in a game that only saw the extra period because Ray Allen missed two free throws down the stretch. Then, they lost at home against a very good Detroit team on a foul called with one-tenth of a second left.
The knock on them so far has been that their schedule has been soft. Well, sorry folks, 26-3 is 26-3. They've played 29 NBA teams and none of them has bested them by more than a bucket. The vast majority of the teams they've faced have gotten trounced, including a 50 point win against the Knicks AT NEW YORK. They've also been knocked for not having had to go out west yet, but last night they completed a 4-game west coast sweep with a 19-point drubbing of their arch-rival Lakers (against whom they went 2-0 this year). The trip included wins at Sacramento, where the C's hadn't won in 15 years, at Seattle where they saw what might have been in ripping Kevin Durant and the Sonics one last time, and a win at defending Western Conference runner-up Utah, a very good team and a very tough place to play. So forget about the soft schedule talk. Sure they've yet to play the Spurs, but so have lots of teams that aren't on pace to have the best record in NBA history, which the Celtics currently are.
They've also been knocked because they "won't stay healthy" and can't win without all 3 aging stars staying fresh to the end. To be sure, this is true, but is a completely dismissible posit as you could literally say that about any team. Duncan goes down and the Spurs are done. Nash gets hurt and bye-bye Suns. Brady breaks his arm, and the Pats Super Bowl run ends. And we've already seen what a joke the Cavs are without LeBron, the leading candidate for MVP. So factoring in an uncontrollable variable is just plain dumb, even if the age of the key guys belies the belief that they can keep it up over the course of the 82-game grind and subsequent playoff run. Injuries are a part of every sport and a reality for every team to deal with. Some years everybody beats the odds and stays healthy (the '04 Red Sox starting rotation did not miss a single start all season, and guess what?) You just have to wait and see.
Admittedly, I don't follow the league and have only watched the Celtics play twice this year (Cavs, Kings). I have no desire to go to any game they play, and will likely not even watch the playoffs until the later rounds. But I have to admire what they've done so far and put it in its proper perspective. They have slowly but surely answered all the nay-sayers this season and are tearing through the league like no one since the Jordan Bulls has even come close to doing. There's a long way to go, but they could end up being the best story of the year. I guess I wish I cared a little more.
- ghost
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Saturday, December 29, 2007
I admit it. Even I am sick of hearing about the Patriots.
After lodging a downright Mcgregoresque 40 hours of television watching at home in the Biggest Little over Christmas (which incidentally included a solid 48 hour period in which I did not once venture outside at all) I can't stand it anymore.
I spent most of those hours tuned into ESPN and they just don't stop talking about the Patriots and the perfect season. Segments of FirstTake, the Budweiser Hot Seat, the stupid thing they did with Super Bowl thrower Bill Parcells where he dissected the "matchups" between the 78 Steelers and the Patriots (as I've stated before, not one player on the '78 Steleers could play their same position in today's NFL. Guys are just too big bow. Jack Lambert was Tom Brady's size) and even one point where the crawl at the bottom of the screen - you know the one that gives the scores of all the hockey and NBA games that don't make the highlight reel while the heads are talking about Spygate and post-game handshakes - had an entire section titled "Patriots" which gave the latest news on the decisions to play their starters and potential records the Pats could break tonight.
The game was then put on broadcast TV, as you've undoubtedly heard, to be aired on BOTH NBC and CBS tonight, an unprecedented move since the first SuperGame, causing more titillation among the sports scribes.
This is exactly why I wish the Patriots had just lost to the Ravens and gone on to the playoffs (playoffs?) 15-1 or 14-2. In what now is an incredibly meaningless game, the Pats are left to shoulder the load of history instead of doing what they've earned the right to do for the next 3 weeks, rest starters and give guys who are a little banged-up some time to heal. Instead of working in a few middling players and letting Troy Brown catch the last pass of his career (Hall of Fame?) from Matt Cassel, Brady and Moss will be in there to the end, not resting, and more important, risking injury.
If they win, all the hoopla will continue on into the playoffs, and instead of just focusing on the actual goal - wining a title - they'll be plagued with stories about a meaningless undefeated season and stupid records that won't mean shit if they don't beat the Colts again. Such is the woe associated with being a Pats fan these days. Poor us.
I can't honestly say that I'll be rooting against them when they play tonight because I just can't do that, but if they do somehow lose, I'll be relieved. What's more is that the best chance they have of losing is if they tank it and rest guys with nagging injuries (Seymour's knees, etc.) and keep Brady out of harm's way, so in that case, I'll actually be happy. I really just want all the incessant yammer to end. I mean, when I can't stand it anymore, you know it's gotten bad.
Either way, I might have a little surprise in store for everyone at the Sober tonight whilst we watch history unfold. See you there.
- ghost
It's never too early for me to start thinking about college basketball. What with the upcoming football national championship and all, why not put up my first (of what promises to be many) college hoops post of the season as a bit of a distraction? Yeah the Buckeye cagers suck and all, but look at Rhody, ranked in the top 25 in both polls for the first time since their unlikely run to(and unthinkable collapse against Stanford in) the elite eight in 1998. North Carolina looks to be every bit the beast they have been billed and we've already watched at least one amazing game (Pitt over Duke in triple OT) and seen the Matta's best Florida for the first time since . . . well, ever. Hell, in just the last 24 hours there have been two great buzzer beaters (Butler last night and Wiscy today) So far, so decent, I guess.
In years past, I have been the one to call fans' attention to the likes of George Mason well before anyone else was noticing. I'm sort of that way, you know? Really ahead of everyone else in the world. And modest. Brother McGinley (who covers a major college program for a living) and I were talking the other day about how odd it is that college basketball is a lot like a cult sport for several months, before football ends and people start to really pay attention. Almost an entire third of the season is completely ignored by most, and tons of fans don't pay any attention at all to the sport until the NCAA tournament dishes out its guaranteed yearly dose of drama and intensity, much less update their brackets every two or three days come February.
No, now is not the time to post my first bracket, if that was what you were thinking. For one thing, the Buckeyes would not even be close to being in it, and there's just too much ambiguity among teams playing weak-ass non-conference schedules before league play starts to really get a good sense. But one thing does warrant mention, even in this early stage of the football portion of the basketball season. If there is a feel-good story in college basketball this year, it would have to be the Baylor Bears.
Baylor has one of the strangest histories of any college sports program in the country. First, they play in Waco, Texas, home of the Branch Davidians. Well, former home, that is, until Bubba had the whole damn thing burned to the ground, killing everyone inside, while getting his bologna smoked in the Oval Office by his not wife, because he was a GREAT president. The Bears, though, have seemingly always been the weak sister of their conference, whether it be the defunct SWC or the Big 12, and they've endured some incredible tragedy. 45 years before the Marshall football team, along with just about all the coaches, died in a plane crash that has been immortalized in two movies (We are Marshall and Beetlejuice - remember the football players in the waiting room? Yeah, that was the Herd) ten members of the Baylor basketball team were killed in a head-on train accident.
Even stranger, the men's team endured one of the most bizarre chapters in American sports history when one of their players murdered a teammate and then went on the run in 2003. The killer was eventually found a few thousand miles away, driving the deceased's car with no license plates, and after being declared mentally incapable to stand trial, inexplicably pleaded guilty to murder and went to prison for 99 years.
The murder plot and subsequent investigation threatened to unearth the fact that their coach was involved in a rampant cheating scandal that alone could bring down the entire program. In order to cover up the fact that coaches were illegally paying player's tuition and ignoring positive drug tests, then-coach Dave Bliss was caught by an FBI surveillance tape urging players to suborn perjury and smear the names of the two players involved in the shooting by telling investigators that the dead player sold drugs to pay for his education.
When word got out, the Baylor season was canceled and harsh NCAA penalties were levied on the program, including allowing all players to transfer unabated by typical Division 1 restrictions as several players, most famously John Lucas III, who guided Oklahome State to the Final Four the following season, did.
An entirely new squad of Baylor players had to be brought in and, as is the case with most NCAA sanctions, it was they who were forced to endure the punishment doled out to the program. They've not been allowed to play in the post season (not that they would have qualified) for the past 5 years. In 2004 they were forced to cancel all non-conference games and weren't even allowed to play in their own conference tournament. Although the team technically remains on probation through the 2010 season, this year they may make some noise.
At 9-1 and ranked 38th in the RPI, they are a tournament possibility. They won something called the Paradise Jam in the Virgin Islands earlier this year, beating a couple of '07 tourney teams along the way, and then came home and gave 4th ranked Washington State everything they could handle before falling 67-64. They have a few more non-conference tune-ups before beginning the Big 12 schedule in earnest with the real possibility of being a factor in a tough league.
There's even a chance that former Baylor and Chicago Bear great Mike Singletary could land an NFL head coaching job, once the axes fall in places like Miami, Atlanta, Baltimore and elsewhere, helping to restore a modicum of pride to a town that seems to have seen it all over the past few years.
So when the Bears make a splash and upset Kansas or some shit like that later this year, and the big boys pick it up and run with it like it's news, just remember the really important aspect of the story: That you heard it here first.
- ghost
In years past, I have been the one to call fans' attention to the likes of George Mason well before anyone else was noticing. I'm sort of that way, you know? Really ahead of everyone else in the world. And modest. Brother McGinley (who covers a major college program for a living) and I were talking the other day about how odd it is that college basketball is a lot like a cult sport for several months, before football ends and people start to really pay attention. Almost an entire third of the season is completely ignored by most, and tons of fans don't pay any attention at all to the sport until the NCAA tournament dishes out its guaranteed yearly dose of drama and intensity, much less update their brackets every two or three days come February.
No, now is not the time to post my first bracket, if that was what you were thinking. For one thing, the Buckeyes would not even be close to being in it, and there's just too much ambiguity among teams playing weak-ass non-conference schedules before league play starts to really get a good sense. But one thing does warrant mention, even in this early stage of the football portion of the basketball season. If there is a feel-good story in college basketball this year, it would have to be the Baylor Bears.
Baylor has one of the strangest histories of any college sports program in the country. First, they play in Waco, Texas, home of the Branch Davidians. Well, former home, that is, until Bubba had the whole damn thing burned to the ground, killing everyone inside, while getting his bologna smoked in the Oval Office by his not wife, because he was a GREAT president. The Bears, though, have seemingly always been the weak sister of their conference, whether it be the defunct SWC or the Big 12, and they've endured some incredible tragedy. 45 years before the Marshall football team, along with just about all the coaches, died in a plane crash that has been immortalized in two movies (We are Marshall and Beetlejuice - remember the football players in the waiting room? Yeah, that was the Herd) ten members of the Baylor basketball team were killed in a head-on train accident.
Even stranger, the men's team endured one of the most bizarre chapters in American sports history when one of their players murdered a teammate and then went on the run in 2003. The killer was eventually found a few thousand miles away, driving the deceased's car with no license plates, and after being declared mentally incapable to stand trial, inexplicably pleaded guilty to murder and went to prison for 99 years.
The murder plot and subsequent investigation threatened to unearth the fact that their coach was involved in a rampant cheating scandal that alone could bring down the entire program. In order to cover up the fact that coaches were illegally paying player's tuition and ignoring positive drug tests, then-coach Dave Bliss was caught by an FBI surveillance tape urging players to suborn perjury and smear the names of the two players involved in the shooting by telling investigators that the dead player sold drugs to pay for his education.
When word got out, the Baylor season was canceled and harsh NCAA penalties were levied on the program, including allowing all players to transfer unabated by typical Division 1 restrictions as several players, most famously John Lucas III, who guided Oklahome State to the Final Four the following season, did.
An entirely new squad of Baylor players had to be brought in and, as is the case with most NCAA sanctions, it was they who were forced to endure the punishment doled out to the program. They've not been allowed to play in the post season (not that they would have qualified) for the past 5 years. In 2004 they were forced to cancel all non-conference games and weren't even allowed to play in their own conference tournament. Although the team technically remains on probation through the 2010 season, this year they may make some noise.
At 9-1 and ranked 38th in the RPI, they are a tournament possibility. They won something called the Paradise Jam in the Virgin Islands earlier this year, beating a couple of '07 tourney teams along the way, and then came home and gave 4th ranked Washington State everything they could handle before falling 67-64. They have a few more non-conference tune-ups before beginning the Big 12 schedule in earnest with the real possibility of being a factor in a tough league.
There's even a chance that former Baylor and Chicago Bear great Mike Singletary could land an NFL head coaching job, once the axes fall in places like Miami, Atlanta, Baltimore and elsewhere, helping to restore a modicum of pride to a town that seems to have seen it all over the past few years.
So when the Bears make a splash and upset Kansas or some shit like that later this year, and the big boys pick it up and run with it like it's news, just remember the really important aspect of the story: That you heard it here first.
- ghost
The Long Remains of Pain/The Make it Rain Song
I had a dream
Oh, yeah
Crazy dream, uh-huh.
Flew down to the Nawlins Bayou
To watch the Buckeyes play LSU
In my dream
Yeah, people won't you listen now
We all screamed
Todd Boeckman wasn't missin' yeah
In the place the Tigers call home
We would rule the damn Superdome
And the endzones!
Push, push yeah.
Looziana moonlight, sweet Katrina rain
Mayor book your airflight--and Les Miles is insane
Here we go!
ooh yeah.
keep on.
i wanna hear you now. wanna hear you now.
Pat O'Brien's now...
Sing out hare hare, oooh dance to Bourbon Street
City lights are oh so bright, as we go gliding
gliding, gliding, gliding, gliding
Gliding. Sweet.
Oh!
It is the springtime and I'm moaning- the shitty season I am to know
There is some sunlight while I'm throwin' - so little hope I've felt before.
It isn't hard to hear me groanin' - I watched us lose to Tim Tebow
It is the Autumn of my smiles - flee from me Keeper of the Gloom.
Speak to my damn McGinley eyes, oh. It was so wrong to see our doom.
It wasn't hard to recognize - He makes things clear to all from
time to time.
Talk, talk talk, talk - I've felt the coldness of the winter
I never thought we would ever go. I cursed Mizzou and Rich Rodriguez-riguez-riguez
But I know that I love it so.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH yeah.
But I know that I love it so.
These is the season of emotion. And once again, we stand so tall.
It's a small test of my devotion - I seek the title for Tress to hold.
There is no misery in this quotient - Upon us all a little reign this Fall.
- Page/Plant
I had a dream
Oh, yeah
Crazy dream, uh-huh.
Flew down to the Nawlins Bayou
To watch the Buckeyes play LSU
In my dream
Yeah, people won't you listen now
We all screamed
Todd Boeckman wasn't missin' yeah
In the place the Tigers call home
We would rule the damn Superdome
And the endzones!
Push, push yeah.
Looziana moonlight, sweet Katrina rain
Mayor book your airflight--and Les Miles is insane
Here we go!
ooh yeah.
keep on.
i wanna hear you now. wanna hear you now.
Pat O'Brien's now...
Sing out hare hare, oooh dance to Bourbon Street
City lights are oh so bright, as we go gliding
gliding, gliding, gliding, gliding
Gliding. Sweet.
Oh!
It is the springtime and I'm moaning- the shitty season I am to know
There is some sunlight while I'm throwin' - so little hope I've felt before.
It isn't hard to hear me groanin' - I watched us lose to Tim Tebow
It is the Autumn of my smiles - flee from me Keeper of the Gloom.
Speak to my damn McGinley eyes, oh. It was so wrong to see our doom.
It wasn't hard to recognize - He makes things clear to all from
time to time.
Talk, talk talk, talk - I've felt the coldness of the winter
I never thought we would ever go. I cursed Mizzou and Rich Rodriguez-riguez-riguez
But I know that I love it so.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH yeah.
But I know that I love it so.
These is the season of emotion. And once again, we stand so tall.
It's a small test of my devotion - I seek the title for Tress to hold.
There is no misery in this quotient - Upon us all a little reign this Fall.
- Page/Plant
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
I kind of wanted The Godfather's post to stand on itself for the next couple days, but had to update.
Went to The Slo-Pitch last night (late) with Lunch Waitress. That didn't suck.
So, I guess Big Ugly (we might need a new nickname for him) got ahold of The Mayor yesterday because The Mayor's iPod and speakers were back at the Slo, saving Christmas for the 20-25 people boozing into the wee hours on Christmas hour.
- Art McGregor
Sunday, December 23, 2007
The Mayor who saved Christmas
'Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through the Slo
No music would play on their damned stereo;
The staff had no answers, the patrons no clue,
Some dopes had thought fighting the smart thing to do;
McGinley was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Sugar Bowls danced in his head;
The Truth and his boy Whit, while on their way there,
Had smoked just enough for a pretty high pair,
When in the men’s room there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from the bar to see what was the matter.
Away to the side door they flew like a flash,
Broke up the melee, threw out the white trash.
The tall guy they’d tossed out just would not go,
Though he closed out his tab with a tip of zero,
When, what did I hear the distressed MayOR say,
But, “we’re witnessing 185’s darkest day.”
When Hoodie arrived, with Peaches in tow,
McGregor shouted out, “A Hotel War show!”
But despite Arty’s plea, no music-men came,
So we sat there and listed the old barkeeps names;
"Now, Fanny! now, Andy! now, Rachel, you vixen!
On, Monique! on Ryan! on, Red, fryin’ chicken!
From the top bar in town, with softball on your wall,
To a place with no music and a brawl in the stall!
As Brad Canterbury and Hurricane slipped out,
And it seemed that the Hi-Beck would win, in a rout,
We turned to the one man who could rescue the night,
Am I talking about the Village’s Mayor? Damn right.
And then, in a twinkling, he went out the door,
Sped right down Mohawk, probably hit 84.
He returned to the Ocho, and the staff did astound,
As his iPod and sounddock brought the silent bar sound.
He was dressed all in J-Crew, as he sat on a stool,
Except for his jeans, which were purchased at Reuhl;
As the Killers were playing, the patrons came back,
Some chicks started dancing, one had a great rack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His Budweisers! How many?
Truth and Whit talked to chicks like Squiggy and Lenny!
The Mayor’s smile was brighter than light from above,
As some drunk chick from Germantown was giving him much love;
What was that device he held close in his coat?,
For skipping slow songs, an iPod remote!
Amazingly, Arty Mac’s farts were quite smelly,
It’s hard to imagine from such a small belly.
When some girl requested, I cranked Soulja boy,
Since the crowd was old white folk, it brought them much joy;
A few bombs of Jaeger and a couple more beers,
It felt like the club one-eight-five of past years;
Soon enough the barkeeps declared it last call,
And they said, “drink ‘em up, or we’ll take ‘em from y’all”,
And asking the Mayor to play one last tune,
And closing the blinds, and clearing the room;
He sprang to his Audi, in all of his glory,
And away to an after-hours, a whole ‘nother story.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he sped out of sight,
“You’re welcome, Shockey, I saved your bar tonight."
-The Godfather
'Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through the Slo
No music would play on their damned stereo;
The staff had no answers, the patrons no clue,
Some dopes had thought fighting the smart thing to do;
McGinley was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Sugar Bowls danced in his head;
The Truth and his boy Whit, while on their way there,
Had smoked just enough for a pretty high pair,
When in the men’s room there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from the bar to see what was the matter.
Away to the side door they flew like a flash,
Broke up the melee, threw out the white trash.
The tall guy they’d tossed out just would not go,
Though he closed out his tab with a tip of zero,
When, what did I hear the distressed MayOR say,
But, “we’re witnessing 185’s darkest day.”
When Hoodie arrived, with Peaches in tow,
McGregor shouted out, “A Hotel War show!”
But despite Arty’s plea, no music-men came,
So we sat there and listed the old barkeeps names;
"Now, Fanny! now, Andy! now, Rachel, you vixen!
On, Monique! on Ryan! on, Red, fryin’ chicken!
From the top bar in town, with softball on your wall,
To a place with no music and a brawl in the stall!
As Brad Canterbury and Hurricane slipped out,
And it seemed that the Hi-Beck would win, in a rout,
We turned to the one man who could rescue the night,
Am I talking about the Village’s Mayor? Damn right.
And then, in a twinkling, he went out the door,
Sped right down Mohawk, probably hit 84.
He returned to the Ocho, and the staff did astound,
As his iPod and sounddock brought the silent bar sound.
He was dressed all in J-Crew, as he sat on a stool,
Except for his jeans, which were purchased at Reuhl;
As the Killers were playing, the patrons came back,
Some chicks started dancing, one had a great rack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His Budweisers! How many?
Truth and Whit talked to chicks like Squiggy and Lenny!
The Mayor’s smile was brighter than light from above,
As some drunk chick from Germantown was giving him much love;
What was that device he held close in his coat?,
For skipping slow songs, an iPod remote!
Amazingly, Arty Mac’s farts were quite smelly,
It’s hard to imagine from such a small belly.
When some girl requested, I cranked Soulja boy,
Since the crowd was old white folk, it brought them much joy;
A few bombs of Jaeger and a couple more beers,
It felt like the club one-eight-five of past years;
Soon enough the barkeeps declared it last call,
And they said, “drink ‘em up, or we’ll take ‘em from y’all”,
And asking the Mayor to play one last tune,
And closing the blinds, and clearing the room;
He sprang to his Audi, in all of his glory,
And away to an after-hours, a whole ‘nother story.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he sped out of sight,
“You’re welcome, Shockey, I saved your bar tonight."
-The Godfather
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
Champagne and beer are a dangerous combination.
What's weird about drinking champagne is that my mental skills aren't really affected, but my motor skills are heavily impaired.
So, like, I would think to say, "Navy needs to go for two if they score here." But what I would actually say was, "Nammve bees fer go ta thwo."
Also, the combination results in a somewhat massive hangover. As an indication, I was getting really pissed off at the Truth, Hoodie, McGinley and Lady McGinley for sending me text messages at the freaking crack of dawn this morning.
Upon further review, the "early morning" text messages came in between 9:51AM and 11:26AM. You know, the time of day when normal people are awake and doing stuff.
So, what are we doing tonight?
-The Godfather
What's weird about drinking champagne is that my mental skills aren't really affected, but my motor skills are heavily impaired.
So, like, I would think to say, "Navy needs to go for two if they score here." But what I would actually say was, "Nammve bees fer go ta thwo."
Also, the combination results in a somewhat massive hangover. As an indication, I was getting really pissed off at the Truth, Hoodie, McGinley and Lady McGinley for sending me text messages at the freaking crack of dawn this morning.
Upon further review, the "early morning" text messages came in between 9:51AM and 11:26AM. You know, the time of day when normal people are awake and doing stuff.
So, what are we doing tonight?
-The Godfather
Ten best moments of last night:
10. Standing around with a bunch of 50-something women, including the queen of Delaware County, watching Pitt drop Duke in triple overtime on a last second three ball. As we erupted in joy, MayOR's voice could clearly be heard above the din, shouting "Fuck you, Duke! Fuck you Duke! Fuck you Duke! Fuck Yooooooooouuuuuu Duuuuuuuuuuke!"
9. Godfather's ill-fated attempt to hoist Hoodrow up, Tecmo-celebration style, results in Hoodie's head damaging the wall at the Ocho, and him bleeding.
8. Godfather pussing out of his opportunity to play the fifth major.
7. My and MayOR's combined $500 tab at Mayle's, thanks in large part to 5 bottles of Veuve, then losing ten bucks to McGoBlue in the San Diego Country Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl . . . wait, maybe that was the worst thing from last night.
6. Despite repeated insistence that I did not want to do a jaegerbomb because "I'll have to leave 20 minutes later" the Truth goes and gets one for me anyway. 20 minutes later, I left.
5. A very drunk MayOR insisting that a friend's wife's name was Kristy, even though her name is Lori and she was standing right there telling him that.
4. Taking a wizz in Mayle's when a guy comes in with a suit and starts barfing. As I relay the story some seconds later to the gathered throng, Truth asks me at least twelve times "In the toilet?"
3. 22 beers, five glasses of champagne, one jaeger bomb. Very drunk McGinley.
2. "Gets it to Lewis, he's been awesome. DRAINS IT OH! He ties it at 62. Lavender, three-quarter court. And we're goin' to overtime . . . in LEXINGTON. Haha! College basketball . . . CBS sports . . . this is March MADNESS!"
1. The Jewy pooping the bed/blaming it on the dog/not cleaning it up/vapid sleeps in it and gets a urinary tract infection story. AKA, the greatest story ever.
- ghost
10. Standing around with a bunch of 50-something women, including the queen of Delaware County, watching Pitt drop Duke in triple overtime on a last second three ball. As we erupted in joy, MayOR's voice could clearly be heard above the din, shouting "Fuck you, Duke! Fuck you Duke! Fuck you Duke! Fuck Yooooooooouuuuuu Duuuuuuuuuuke!"
9. Godfather's ill-fated attempt to hoist Hoodrow up, Tecmo-celebration style, results in Hoodie's head damaging the wall at the Ocho, and him bleeding.
8. Godfather pussing out of his opportunity to play the fifth major.
7. My and MayOR's combined $500 tab at Mayle's, thanks in large part to 5 bottles of Veuve, then losing ten bucks to McGoBlue in the San Diego Country Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl . . . wait, maybe that was the worst thing from last night.
6. Despite repeated insistence that I did not want to do a jaegerbomb because "I'll have to leave 20 minutes later" the Truth goes and gets one for me anyway. 20 minutes later, I left.
5. A very drunk MayOR insisting that a friend's wife's name was Kristy, even though her name is Lori and she was standing right there telling him that.
4. Taking a wizz in Mayle's when a guy comes in with a suit and starts barfing. As I relay the story some seconds later to the gathered throng, Truth asks me at least twelve times "In the toilet?"
3. 22 beers, five glasses of champagne, one jaeger bomb. Very drunk McGinley.
2. "Gets it to Lewis, he's been awesome. DRAINS IT OH! He ties it at 62. Lavender, three-quarter court. And we're goin' to overtime . . . in LEXINGTON. Haha! College basketball . . . CBS sports . . . this is March MADNESS!"
1. The Jewy pooping the bed/blaming it on the dog/not cleaning it up/vapid sleeps in it and gets a urinary tract infection story. AKA, the greatest story ever.
- ghost
An open letter to Tuesday
Dear Tuesday,
Good to see you last night. Thanks for taking some time to catch up for a bit, and for asking about the dog. Appreciate the compliments on my appearance, etc. Sorry I didn't return them, but in I just couldn't muster the platitudes. Not when you look like that.
Seriously, the whole mullet holocaust needs to end immediatement. What the fizz? Your hair was perfectly fine back in the day. There was nothing wrong with it whatsoever. I mean, you've never seemed to be the harbinger of style or some sort of fashionista, but that it just terrible. When I saw it over the summer I thought it was some kind of joke, or just terrible hair experiment gone whoreibly wrong. It happens, so I figured you'd just grow it out and go back to looking less like a resident of the isle of Lesbos.
But no, you seem to actually want it that way and have obviously gone back to get it re-cut more than once. Don't ever do it again, please. Those times you looked over and saw us laughing and wondered if we were talking about you, we were. Sorry. A bit puerile I know, but we're a tough crowd to be around when you look downright disgusting.
Also, on the subject of appearance, can we try to find you some shoes that aren't so noisty? I mean, brown suede clogs? I've never even seen anything so awful before. Birkenstocks would have been a marked improvement over your wildly inappropriate choice of footwear. And everybody noticed. (mostly because ExqueezeMe pointed them out to me, and then I pointed them out to everyone else in the place). Come to find out that the cattys in the corner had also come up with the monicker "tweed teal corduroy" for that awful top you were wearing last night. Listen, I know you have lots of homosexual friends, I've met them. No respectable gay man would EVER allow you to walk out of the house looking like that, so in the future, when you're doing "girl's night" please call one of them and ask them to stop by and check your closet before you venture into public. If necessary, have them set your entire wardrobe on fire and just start over.
As for said girl's night, let's start hanging out with some cuter friends, okay? I mean, I barely knew your crowd back in the day, but suffice it to say that you were a pretty miserable lot. If you don't think hanging out with a bunch of angry uglies is going to make matters worser, you happen to be wrong. Good-looking guys will not find you interesting or attractive if you insist on hanging out with so many ogres. Sure, you're allowed to have one or two friends/beasts, but you hasta try to find some hotties to kick it with. In the entire existence of our friendship, I've only seen you with one, and she was Frenchy's wife, who you seem to hate for some reason. (probably jealousy) I mean, look at the Sis/Gahannastan crew. They're just about all hot as balls. Not a single pan face in the crowd. Well, maybe one. But the point is that THEY always look better because they're damn near always surrounded by ass. Trust me, it works. We're a simple bunch, easily duped. Try it.
It was nice of you to hang out with my friends a little last night, too. Probably talked longer to the Mayor and the Truth longer in one evening than in the entirety of the car crash of a relationship we embarked on a year and a half ago, so that was cool. It truly stunned one of them as you were always such a dank, foul, see you next Tuesday to them back in the day. So at least there's been a little improvement on that front.
Sorry to be so blunt with you, you need it. The look, the 'tude, the whole package just isn't working for you right now. At all. I was looking right past you last night, unable to recall what had me so smitten back then. I know there's a lot of potential in there, but you're just not even coming close to maximizing it. While it may seem a little harsh, it's the best advice I could possibly give and the best you're likely to ever get, so listen up.
Anyway, like I said, good seeing you last night.
- ghost
Thursday, December 20, 2007
So, I just got a haircut and now I'm listening to Stevie Nicks trying to figure out something to wear for tonight.
I will not be hanging with the Vapids at Mayle's. Probably rolling solo at the Sober Shrek for the Steelers game (maybe the EGG).
Last night at the Lodge Bar should have been called "If You Have a Penis and Like Vagina You Should Be Here." The place was fleetwood stacked!! I made a new friend (X's on the hands!) and then headed home around 2:30a. Had the cabbie stop at Fifth Third.
Beforehand at the Slo-Pitch was pretty fun. That Park Street place? So much, Not.
I'll be doing a year-end recap tomorrow with a Top 50 list.
- Art McGregor
I will not be hanging with the Vapids at Mayle's. Probably rolling solo at the Sober Shrek for the Steelers game (maybe the EGG).
Last night at the Lodge Bar should have been called "If You Have a Penis and Like Vagina You Should Be Here." The place was fleetwood stacked!! I made a new friend (X's on the hands!) and then headed home around 2:30a. Had the cabbie stop at Fifth Third.
Beforehand at the Slo-Pitch was pretty fun. That Park Street place? So much, Not.
I'll be doing a year-end recap tomorrow with a Top 50 list.
- Art McGregor
The final major of the year was played last night. Who won? Well, I sure as shit wouldn't be writing about it if it were the Godfather.
After racing out to a big lead, I proceeded to "miss" 5 straight putts from within 3 feet. Hmmmmm. Golden Tee machine trying to even things out?
Well, all of humanity and the robot world may have been against me, but even taking a one stroke lead into the final two holes, Godfather could not hold off greatness. With a birdie-birdie finish, the final match of the year came to an end with me the winner.
Since we will not likely be in the same bar (that has a Tee) for the rest of the calendar year, I finish the 2007 season as ruler, champion, and supreme being of electronic golf. Believe I won at real golf, too (I did). Had to snap an extremely rare 2-game losing streak to do it, too.
Better luck next year, universe.
- ghost
Just call me Baginley. As in Bilbo Baginley (or Frodo as he would come to be known in the revision of The Hobbit known as the Lord of the Rings).
My Quixotic journey through sports life appears to have taken another happy turn with the news of a ticket to the national championship game. This will mark my 7th trip to watch the Buckeyes play an SEC school in a bowl game. So far, I'm 0 for 6. It will also mark my 12th OSU bowl game, having skipped an Alamo here, and a Holiday there.
It will also be my third OSU game in Nawlins, my third title game, and my 1 billionth sporting event attended over the years. Shit, this year alone I went to one National Championship game, two World Series games, several playoff games, Opening Day, The US Open, three NFL games, and a bunch of others, cementing my place as the fucking Forrest Gump of sports (mildly retarded, always just happen to be standing next to history).
Remember the Super Bowl that Adam Vinatieri won on the final play? Yep, that was me (and my brother) in the picture in Sports Illustrated the next week. Sox win the World Series for the first time in 86 years? Mine eyes have seen the glory. Buckeyes upset the world and win the title? Yep. Michigan games, Buckeye basketball, conference tourneys (Big East, Big 11), Blue Jackets? Yep. Ryder Cups? Not so much.
Once again, I will be there. As is per usual with OSU roadies, the MayOR will be by my side. So will Trombone a la Notre Dame Fiesta and the game of which I do not speak.
So it's settled. Flight booked, hotel secured, tickets in hand. One more time.
- ghost
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
For a moment I felt a pang of remorse for the modern-day athlete. I listened to obvious steroid-user Roger Clemens deny ever having used a banned substance to sustain his Peter Pan-like career. The sad part is, he probably believes that, like everything else he's done in his life, he'll get away with this one, too.
The Steroids talk is completely sickening. Everyone wants an opportunity to chime in on what become the modern day plague on the sports world. Former players decry the records they set while playing in all-white leagues against guys who smoked cigarettes on the field, reporters and the like refuse to shut the fuck up about everything and anything performance-enhancing despite a true lack of knowledge on the subject, and even commissioners are forced to take awkward public stances. But perhaps the worst is the way in which the athletes themselves try to handle the criticism.
From Clemensesque denials, to lying to Congress, claims that they didn't "knowingly" use drugs, and lies about only having done it once or twice, it's getting to the point where we've just about heard everything. Everything but the truth, that is. Why do pro athletes think they can say whatever they want and have it believed by the masses? Why do I suddenly feel sorry for them? Because professional athletes, as a rule, are remarkably stupid people.
Everyone knows the tales of the uber-stupid like Rickey Henderson, who famously framed his first paycheck, or Manny Ramirez, who took a piss in the Green Monster in the middle of a game, or just about any college football player this side of Reggie Germany or Che Bryant who managed the Blutarski and had legitimate 0.0 GPA's. But it's not just they who are dumbfoundingly, well . . . dumb.
First, listen to just about any pro athlete give an interview. They can't say anything that isn't coached, coaxed, rehearsed, or regurgitated. If they ever actually do speak their minds, all Hell breaks loose. Why do all black athletes feel compelled to say "at the same time" at least 5 or 6 times in a 30 second sound bite? Why does Curt Schilling, one of the alleged "smart" athletes, have a blog? Why do these people think we'll buy their bullshit answers to life's tough questions?
Well, for starters most athletes who have achieved the ultimate or penultimate level of their profession have been pampered by yes men all their lives. Almost everything they say or do has been excused so they're truly not used to close scrutiny or just being able to talk their way out of anything they want. They see OJ get away with murder, Kobe get away with rape, and think "shit, I can shoot whoever I want - at the same time - in this strib bar!" And for the most part they're right.
There are very few exceptions to the rule of stupidity. I think Tiger is very smart and well-spoken, but fellow Stanford attendee Mike Mussina, who is regarded as one of the cerebral baseball players (college educated, well-spoken, a complete asshole) once bragged about being able to finish the crossword puzzle in less than an hour. And I shit you not he was talking about the USA Today crossword puzzle.
So guys like Clemens and Pettitte may have sought out the advice of the smartest guy in the room when they gave their outstandingly ill-advised responses to being caught red handed. I guess having the biggest head does not automatically give you the biggest brain, as Clemens would soon find out. In a way, it almost isn't fair, that a class of people not expected to perform in the classroom or be well-read, is suddenly expected to give answers that satisfy the intelligentsia. I mean, no one ever asks doctors or astrophysicists to make a fade away three with a hand in their face in front of 16,000 people to prove they should be allowed to have an opinion on sports. It almost makes you feel bad to see these fish so badly out of water - until you remember how much money they make, how everyone in their lives has always fawned all over them, and how much free shtank is constantly imbued on their hanglows, and then you decide to just say fuck them.
- ghost
The hotties that count calories have been replaced with Asians and ugly people of different dominations.
Campus Panera sucks this time of year.
Gazing out along High Street, I'm sitting near a kid with a throughly ugly girl. The kid is wearing a Yankees cap, talking about how he's Jewish and not really religious.
Sorry, dude. We're in the best two-week stretch of the year.
Originally had planned on Grandview Panera, but couldn't find a parking spot. I knew Campus 'Nera would suck, but came here anyways. I know these types of things.
Parking is a fucking bitch this time of the year. Everywhere. Good thing I'm a shitty driver so other people always want to drive me other places.
Tonight should be fun ... The Godfather and The 1 already have said they're going out. That means there's a 11 percent chance that one of them will come out.
Also have a brand new episode of Gossip Girl at 9 p.m., then likely to the Arena District following the program.
Don't have much on the docket the rest of the afternoon. A couple laps around Schiller Park, maybe a movie, some popcorn and some good ol' fashioned downtime.
I'm not very religious, but I love Christmas.
- Art McGregor
Campus Panera sucks this time of year.
Gazing out along High Street, I'm sitting near a kid with a throughly ugly girl. The kid is wearing a Yankees cap, talking about how he's Jewish and not really religious.
Sorry, dude. We're in the best two-week stretch of the year.
Originally had planned on Grandview Panera, but couldn't find a parking spot. I knew Campus 'Nera would suck, but came here anyways. I know these types of things.
Parking is a fucking bitch this time of the year. Everywhere. Good thing I'm a shitty driver so other people always want to drive me other places.
Tonight should be fun ... The Godfather and The 1 already have said they're going out. That means there's a 11 percent chance that one of them will come out.
Also have a brand new episode of Gossip Girl at 9 p.m., then likely to the Arena District following the program.
Don't have much on the docket the rest of the afternoon. A couple laps around Schiller Park, maybe a movie, some popcorn and some good ol' fashioned downtime.
I'm not very religious, but I love Christmas.
- Art McGregor
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Part of the reason the Browns have sucked so bad since coming back into the league is they've drafted like shit. Until today, they had one player make the Pro Bowl. Jamir Miller in 2001 and they didn't draft him. He, of course, got hurt in the first preseason game the next year and never played again.
Today two home-grown Brownies (Braylon Edwards and Josh Cribbs) were selected to the Pro Bowl team. Shocked Kellen Winslow Jr. didn't make it. Odd considering he's the best tight end in football. It's like, if they asked all 32 GMs to pick a tight end for their team, 30 would pick KII. But since Tony Gonzalez is 600 years old, they'd figure they'd put him on the team. Other than that, not too much to complain about other than Ray Lewis making the squad. Again, has he made a play for the past four years? Guy belongs up there with Cal Ripken Jr. and Scottie Pippen as the most overrated athletes of our generation.
Glad to see Albert Haynesworth make the list as he's one of the most dominant defensive players I've ever seen. Tennessee doesn't get a lot of pub, but homeboy makes a tackle on like every fucking play.
- Art McGregor
Today two home-grown Brownies (Braylon Edwards and Josh Cribbs) were selected to the Pro Bowl team. Shocked Kellen Winslow Jr. didn't make it. Odd considering he's the best tight end in football. It's like, if they asked all 32 GMs to pick a tight end for their team, 30 would pick KII. But since Tony Gonzalez is 600 years old, they'd figure they'd put him on the team. Other than that, not too much to complain about other than Ray Lewis making the squad. Again, has he made a play for the past four years? Guy belongs up there with Cal Ripken Jr. and Scottie Pippen as the most overrated athletes of our generation.
Glad to see Albert Haynesworth make the list as he's one of the most dominant defensive players I've ever seen. Tennessee doesn't get a lot of pub, but homeboy makes a tackle on like every fucking play.
- Art McGregor
- In case you didn't know, Art McGregor signs his blog posts "Art McGregor." The Godfather goes with "The Godfather." mistertrendy will tune in with a "mistertrendy" every now and then. McGinley/Ghost/the other guy on this blog will go from anything from "the critters" to "anything else."
- Had a nice visit out to Easton with The Godfather. He picked up some Christmas gifts. I mostly watched him shop. And that girl in the "Granville Cheerleading" sweatshirt. Those two chicks from DeSales in the uniforms in line in front of us also did not suck.
- Sad day on Sunday. One of my favorite singers, Dan Fogelberg, died of prostate cancer. He was 56. I had NO idea he was so young. Whether or not you like the mellow music he put out, the guy could write a song. Even at a young age. Dude reached the height of popularity before he was 30 years old and fuckin' wrote some amazing lyrics/songs. "Leader of the Band" is a tearjerker, and "Part of the Plan" is another great one. Can't go wrong with "Rhythm of the Rain" or "Hard to Say." To write with that depth and experience before turning 29 or 30 is amazing. I'm very sad I never had a chance to see him in concert.
- The ride back from Youngstown to Columbus yesterday was filled with three great albums. I brought along four CDs and the only one we didn't listen to is "Prince Greatest Hits Vol. 2." That's where The Godfather and I differ. He listens to country music and I don't. I listen to rap/hip hop. He doesn't.
We went with "Whatever and Ever Amen" (Ben Folds Five), "Rubber Soul" (The Beatles) and "Greatest Hits" (Elton John). My favorite Elton John song is "Daniel." I think I've covered this on the blog before.
Also, we change a lot of the lyrics in the songs to make fun of the people that read this blog.
Silver Bells, siiiiiilver bellllls.
- Art McGregor
- Had a nice visit out to Easton with The Godfather. He picked up some Christmas gifts. I mostly watched him shop. And that girl in the "Granville Cheerleading" sweatshirt. Those two chicks from DeSales in the uniforms in line in front of us also did not suck.
- Sad day on Sunday. One of my favorite singers, Dan Fogelberg, died of prostate cancer. He was 56. I had NO idea he was so young. Whether or not you like the mellow music he put out, the guy could write a song. Even at a young age. Dude reached the height of popularity before he was 30 years old and fuckin' wrote some amazing lyrics/songs. "Leader of the Band" is a tearjerker, and "Part of the Plan" is another great one. Can't go wrong with "Rhythm of the Rain" or "Hard to Say." To write with that depth and experience before turning 29 or 30 is amazing. I'm very sad I never had a chance to see him in concert.
- The ride back from Youngstown to Columbus yesterday was filled with three great albums. I brought along four CDs and the only one we didn't listen to is "Prince Greatest Hits Vol. 2." That's where The Godfather and I differ. He listens to country music and I don't. I listen to rap/hip hop. He doesn't.
We went with "Whatever and Ever Amen" (Ben Folds Five), "Rubber Soul" (The Beatles) and "Greatest Hits" (Elton John). My favorite Elton John song is "Daniel." I think I've covered this on the blog before.
Also, we change a lot of the lyrics in the songs to make fun of the people that read this blog.
Silver Bells, siiiiiilver bellllls.
- Art McGregor
With a week to go before Christmas I thought it would be an appropriate time to write about the person I hate more than anyone else on Earth. This vile, scumbag, piece of cunt is called Bill Mason, who went to the Cavs game with the MayOR last night.
Well, not really, I mean he is a cunt and all, but the MayOR didn't exactly go "with" Mr. Evil Incarnate, they just sat in the same loge together. And to his great credit, MayOR offered to turn down the invite, but ended up going anyway, as I insisted would be wise. I also insisted he root against the Cavs the entire night and laugh and point in Mason's demonic face every time the whoever-was-playing-the-Cavs scored. Seeing that it was the Cavs and all, I figured this should happen about 100 times last night.
Cuntface, you see, is the guy who put a few folks through a pretty brutal ordeal of his own making simply for sport and political gain a few years back. He had a few henchman, all-to-willing to conspire out of hatred or fear, but Mason was driving the Lucifer train.
To the minimal extent I'd offer him the benefit of any doubt, things started out looking pretty rosy for him. A Cleveland-based broker, who had done business with the State Treasurer, disappeared with millions of dollars of his client's moolah. When he turned up a few months later, some odd quirks were uncovered in his belongings. Apparently, aside from being an arch crook, he had lied to his bosses about expenses he claimed to incur when needing the company jet for personal purposes. He just lied to the suits and said he was using it for business, like when he flew the Treasurer (along with George W.Bush) to an fundraiser in Chicago. Wrong. Or when he flew me to the 1999 Ryder Cup in Boston. Wrong again.
To the lowly Parma Law Director turned County Prosecutor, this looked like a goldmine. For a really good guy who had a few months earlier gone out of his way to let his wife-beating buddy (who also happened to be a fellow Democrat County Officeholder!) out of jail and begin harassing the abused woman with false arrests and threatened criminal charges, the opportunity to take down a Statewide elected official seemed like a winner. Only problem was, he was willing to take the word of an admitted crook who was trying to avoid further jail time. Turned out none of the things he said were true. Mason's own employees even admitted they knew as much to Chicken, who nobly quit in disgust over hearing the news.
But Mason refused to drop it, eventually coaxing a deal out of three beleaguered whipping boys after an 18 month ordeal that cost one of them over $60,000 in legal fees personally. Why? Well he was getting some good headlines out of it by committing multiple felonies when he'd have his office leak sealed testimony to the local rag, and might have even believed that some of the stuff was true, even though it had all been proved false. He clung to a deal he'd made with a complete coward scumfuck who would literally have sold his own mother out to stay out of the papers and hung on for dear life. The real reason he didn't just drop it is because he is proof of the existence of Satan on Earth. Pure evil. And a complete dunderhead. Turned out the only criminal was him. Irony. It's so ironic.
Part of the reason to never root for Cleveland sports teams is because if they win, somewhere it is making Bill Mason happy. As soon as he dies of cancer (which pray to God happens soon) it can be time to don the Dawg apparel and Wahoo hats. Well, probably not. For the time being God's plan is to let us take solace in Cleveland completely being Boston's sports bitch in absolutely everything.
Sweet baseball team this yea. . .choke. Thanks for the second world series in 4 years, losers! Wow what a great run your having in football, except for getting squashed by the Patriots. Have fun grasping for a 6 seed in the playoffs! Please excuse the oncoming freight train on it's way to 19-0 and a fourth Super Bowl, you no-defense fucks! Oh, but they have the edge in basketball though. Wait . . . who's 20-2? What? 11-14? I guess not so much. Must have forgot to include that one in his deal with the Devil.
Oh and the goal to put the Treasurer out of business? That didn't work out so well either. As I was relaying to MayOR and Chugger earlier, the only Statewide left in public office from the Republican sweep of 2002 is that very erstwhile Treasurer. Boob Tax? Apparently teaching at Sis/Esq./Gahannastan/Jewy U. and setting kitchens ablaze. Betty? Lost to one of the biggest nimrods in the history of the universe for AG. Kenny? Nice run for Governor. Way to set the Republican Party back 30 years. Steel Hips? His cigarette smoking ass actually got beat by Blackwell - badly. What the fuck is up with that?
But Deter? Like Solozzo said to Tom Hagen, in the most non-overrated movie of all time, "He's still alive. They hit him with 5 shots and he's still alive."
So I guess it didn't turn out as planned for old fuckface. I hope one day he tries to step out of his stinkhole of an office and go for something bigger. Until then continue hoping he gets paralyzed and dies a very slow, painful death. The world would be a better place.
Merry Christmas!
- the critters
Faced with the stark realization that she might have to go 16 hours without seeing mistertrendy, missestrendy pleaded with her family and mistertrendy to go to my aunt's Christmas Show on Saturday night. The weather was kind of bad and we had decided to just stay at home and watch some television and chill as a nuclear family. mistertrendy caved to my sister's continued pleas for "come on, let's go(s)" and we piled into the mistertrendy Family Truckster and headed to downtown Youngstown for my aunt's Christmas Show in Powers Auditorium.
The weather was awful.
... ... ...
The Godfather picked me up on Saturday afternoon at 12:30 p.m. to head to Youngstown for the abbreviated weekend. My sister, who through hell or high water was heck bent on getting me back to Youngstown proclaimed the weather "fine north of Columbus." It then took us about six hours to go 187 miles northeast.
Mile Marker 152 on 71 North proved the most fun as we almost slid off the road and proceeded to do a 360 as oncoming traffic whizzed past us. About three to four inches covered the roadways. Come on. You can't expect snowplows to work on the weekends. We kept moving. I said an assortment of dirty words and names as we were spinning on 71. It was all over, I thought. After about two seconds of silence, The Godfather said, "that's how you steer." Surely wasn't queer, but wanted to hug him for saving the day. OK, maybe lick him too.
It didn't stop snowing. But we plodded along in Right Lane State for the remainder of the trip where we failed to ever see 10 feet in front of us. It was very fun almost skidding off the road or into oncoming traffic every two miles. Not stressful at all.
The Godfather and I, to pass time, started talking about the prospect of putting an NHL hockey team near Mansfield, Ohio. We said they'd play in this old sports complex for sale near the Burger King over on exit 165. We then said they'd play outdoors at the Mid-Ohio Speedway. I then proceeded to interview The Godfather about it for the next two hours and he responded to every question in perfect Canadian accent. He told tales of Saskatoon and Whitefish Bay.
"Oh, it's not uncommon around these parts on a wintry day like today to see 13 or 14 kids out on each pond having a skate," he'd say.
Finally got home around 6:30 p.m., ate some dinner and then went to the Christmas Show.
Should have left earlier.
... ... ...
Couldn't wake up on Saturday. Friday night's who-ha at the Hey Hey left me somewhat sleep deprived. Had to beat McCampus' ass in darts. Oh, there's so many places I can go there. Whipped him 69-30 in my first game of darts since about 1996. He of course complained about the scoring but whatever. Winners win. Losers don't respond to text messages.
Followed that up to a trip to his house.
... ... ...
Lacking enough drama on the roadway on the weekend, The Godfather and I drove up to Cleveland for the Browns-Bills game on Sunday. Awful conditions. Great fucking game. I can't really explain what it was like except I used The Godfather as a blocking back from the snow/wind/blowing snow heading into the stadium. The ride home took four hours. It's usually a 1 hour and five minute trip.
Nothing like knowing if you skid in the slightest way, a truck will kill you. Again, ODOT should be embarrassed about the state of 77 south and 480. I almost was hoping I'd die so I could sue their asses. Then again, I'd lack standing in that case.
... ... ...
It's a nice week here in the German Village. Didn't quite get to the Lodge Bar last Wednesday or the Arena District on my birthday or El Vaquero on Friday like I wanted, but did have a pretty decent extended weekend. After today, we're into the best stretch of the year.
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Football, Christmas Eve, Christmas, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Football, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day.
Tonight will be the fourth straight night I don't booze. Won't say that again for awhile.
- Art McGregor
The weather was awful.
... ... ...
The Godfather picked me up on Saturday afternoon at 12:30 p.m. to head to Youngstown for the abbreviated weekend. My sister, who through hell or high water was heck bent on getting me back to Youngstown proclaimed the weather "fine north of Columbus." It then took us about six hours to go 187 miles northeast.
Mile Marker 152 on 71 North proved the most fun as we almost slid off the road and proceeded to do a 360 as oncoming traffic whizzed past us. About three to four inches covered the roadways. Come on. You can't expect snowplows to work on the weekends. We kept moving. I said an assortment of dirty words and names as we were spinning on 71. It was all over, I thought. After about two seconds of silence, The Godfather said, "that's how you steer." Surely wasn't queer, but wanted to hug him for saving the day. OK, maybe lick him too.
It didn't stop snowing. But we plodded along in Right Lane State for the remainder of the trip where we failed to ever see 10 feet in front of us. It was very fun almost skidding off the road or into oncoming traffic every two miles. Not stressful at all.
The Godfather and I, to pass time, started talking about the prospect of putting an NHL hockey team near Mansfield, Ohio. We said they'd play in this old sports complex for sale near the Burger King over on exit 165. We then said they'd play outdoors at the Mid-Ohio Speedway. I then proceeded to interview The Godfather about it for the next two hours and he responded to every question in perfect Canadian accent. He told tales of Saskatoon and Whitefish Bay.
"Oh, it's not uncommon around these parts on a wintry day like today to see 13 or 14 kids out on each pond having a skate," he'd say.
Finally got home around 6:30 p.m., ate some dinner and then went to the Christmas Show.
Should have left earlier.
... ... ...
Couldn't wake up on Saturday. Friday night's who-ha at the Hey Hey left me somewhat sleep deprived. Had to beat McCampus' ass in darts. Oh, there's so many places I can go there. Whipped him 69-30 in my first game of darts since about 1996. He of course complained about the scoring but whatever. Winners win. Losers don't respond to text messages.
Followed that up to a trip to his house.
... ... ...
Lacking enough drama on the roadway on the weekend, The Godfather and I drove up to Cleveland for the Browns-Bills game on Sunday. Awful conditions. Great fucking game. I can't really explain what it was like except I used The Godfather as a blocking back from the snow/wind/blowing snow heading into the stadium. The ride home took four hours. It's usually a 1 hour and five minute trip.
Nothing like knowing if you skid in the slightest way, a truck will kill you. Again, ODOT should be embarrassed about the state of 77 south and 480. I almost was hoping I'd die so I could sue their asses. Then again, I'd lack standing in that case.
... ... ...
It's a nice week here in the German Village. Didn't quite get to the Lodge Bar last Wednesday or the Arena District on my birthday or El Vaquero on Friday like I wanted, but did have a pretty decent extended weekend. After today, we're into the best stretch of the year.
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Football, Christmas Eve, Christmas, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Football, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day.
Tonight will be the fourth straight night I don't booze. Won't say that again for awhile.
- Art McGregor
Monday, December 17, 2007
When your weekend was so jam-packed that you're too tired to blog on Monday, you know it was a good one. When said weekend started on Wednesday night and included drinking a can of Boo Light in the White House, two hundred sauerkraut balls, three afterhours (in one night), a mechanized rapping snowman, 80 beers, another Blue Jackets win at GVM hockey night, a 5 for 5 performance, and lost car keys/wallet, you're talking about quite the show. When the Buckeyes beat a team called the Blue Hose by 40 points, which would normally warrant its very own post, and it merely merits a passing mention, it was clearly retar-tar. When I could roll a simple review of the Bonanza, which would normally be enough to fill a few hundred words, yet it was simply a flash in an otherwise degronkulous weekend, well, you get the point . . .
Hey, Hey. It begins Wednesday: Pre-game for hockey night at Nationwide starts with a few after a 5pm meeting is scotched at the last minute. I told a few jokes, we discussed decorations for the upcoming Bonanza, and listened to Get Off My Cloud on the juke. Ah, the juke. MayOR was attempting to ask the mustachioed proto-hippie tending bar at a place where Sleepy La Beef was the headliner for their Sunday festivities if he could plug his ipod into the sound system, like we do at the Ocho. It was like watching someone ask a dog to explain photosynthesis. The guy stuck in the world of 8-tracks had seemingly never heard of an ipod at all (or a razor, for that matter) much less understand how the electronics of his establishment worked. To make it all worse, he loved my McCloud joke.
A summary of what MayOR said: "Doooooooood, can i like plug in my Ipoooood into your system or like, no, dude, dude, dude, can I like plug it in and play my sooooooongs, or do I need to bring my bose speakers?"
The guy was so lost, he might as well have asked "How do you assess the potential damaging effects of drug therapy versus the benefits of sinamite blocking dopa receptors in nerve synapses to help control symptoms for patients exhibiting early signs of Parkinson's?"
Anyway, the guy had no fucking clue whatsoever.
Went to the game. Hung out in the Under Ice Lounge for most of the time. The Jackets won, naturally. Slugged a few hundred beers and jumped out of the way of a major spillage situation. G-fath, me and McCampus went to Park Street for a few, and I departed their company before McGregor could arrive. Missed the whole McCampus head-butting incident, but encouraged him to take Brio out in the bathroom. He later texted me that he took care of it right at the bar.
Ended up at a place in Grandview. Neighbor State. Went OK until one of the more uncomfy moments of 2007.
Either way, had to get mine arse to the airport to catch my flight to DC. Didn't pack an overnight bag. Just walked on with a toothbrush and toothpaste in my pocket. Figured I'd just go straight to the party sans bag and rock out, sleep at Trombone's, and get up the next day, fly home in the same suit. I mean, who'd know? (unless, of course, i informed the world wide web of this) Of course, if I did something stoopid like miss my flight home, lock my car keys and wallet in Trombone's house I'd be stuck in the same threads for yet another day AND miss the Bonanza. Never gonna happen, right?
Know that the plan went perfectly at first. Made my C-bus flight, got on the train, hit the OEOB as the party began. Had one beer, went to meet Trombone, Car Bomb got out of work early and we had the happy confluence of all of us together at Ebbitt before PBH3 came and gave me a ride to Darth Vader's house. Had a good time drinking for free and having people tell stories about how awesome I am. Even went and hung out with Sleepy for a few late night. It was all going so well, until we hit DC Cafe. Got hit on by a black gay guy, which is where I think I lost my credit card, based on some of the unauthorized purchases that would later appear. He asked me and Trombone if we were brothers, to which I replied, "No. Are you?"
Every time I do something like that it, of course, gets ugly. And this one did too. Finally crashed on T-Bone's couch at about 3a. Had plenty of time to make my 1:40pm flight out of BWI, I thought, but woke up at 11a, so I was rushing from the get-go. Made it to Union Station where I realized I had no credit card, car keys, or battery power left in my cell. When the 12:00 train to BWI was cancelled, panic set in. Had to go get a refund for my train ticket and try to jump a cab. Flight left at 1:40, so I had to be there by about 1:20 to make it through security (no luggage!). Had there been any traffic I wouldn't have made it. I had a hundred dollars cash in my pocket, had taken my last Xanax, and was able to squeeze out one last call to Godfather to ask him to meet me at the airport with a spare key to my car, which he did. Had any of that not worked I would have been completely screwed. Next time I'm packing a bag for sure.
Nary a moment to spare, I Made my flight. Met G-fath back at home base and took a nap. It was the last time I'd sleep for the next few days. The Bonanza awaited, but first a beer with the co-hosts at Mayle's. The Bonanza was a gas. I was wizzasted. The party started with a near meltdown by the MayOR over the whole keg situation, and ended with me sitting in the back seat of some car with a snowman wearing grilz. In between we sang and danced to the greatest Christmas mix ever made, drank a lot, watched the Old Man get really wasted, remarked how people like Sis and The One didn't show up, gambled, and had a really good time. Hit after hours at McLimited's, made a cameo at McCampus State, and finished it at CHA's. Home at 5a. Special thanks to The lady for making it all work. Who loves ya, baby? Just kidding, Icey pitched in, too.
Didn't do much on Saturday until about 8p, when I got off the couch and took a shower. Met MayOR at the Ocho and swore I wasn't going to stay out late. Finally ended it around 3a with a major pass out, after making it officially 5 for 5. More of the same on Sunday. Day drank with Solo at King Avenue Five, and got surprisingly loaded. Headed to a Christmas Party and drank wine. Had an AWWWWKWARD moment when a certain 300lb. ORP Chariman showed up at said soiree with a woman who isn't his wife, and then finally shut it down. How did it all go? Well, for some guidance, go back and read the first letter of each paragraph of the preceding.
- ghost
Feeling a little under the weather today. Not sure if I'm up to the full weekend recap. Thanks to all who came and enjoyed the Bonanza. I'd say it pretty much rocked balls. I'd also say that I went to 3 different afterhourses, if that gives you any kind of clue as to what sort of weekend it was. I am a rock star.
Too bad the Buckeyes weren't able to win the McCampus national championship yesterday, though had they won it still would not have changed the fact that soccer is not a sport.
- ghost
Too bad the Buckeyes weren't able to win the McCampus national championship yesterday, though had they won it still would not have changed the fact that soccer is not a sport.
- ghost
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
GVM reacts to the Mitchell Report on Steroids use in baseball:
First, let me be the first to commend the Commissioner for his selection of former Democratic Majority Leader George Mitchell to lead the charge and put together the report. After watching the Senate Committee hearings on steroids use last March, and the major solutions they came up with, who could possibly argue that a US Senator would be the best possible person to conduct the probe.
The news out of his subsequent report, after apparently speaking with one MLB clubhouse attendant, is that steroid and HGH use among babeball players has been "rampant", which of course, comes as a complete surprise. I never would have guessed, what with across-the-board power numbers going up exponentially since the early '90s. Riveting.
I just could not believe, though, that Roger Clemens name was on the list. I mean Roger Clemens? Seriously? A guy who has put about 60 lbs, of muscle and 3 hat sizes on in the last 10 years or so is on steroids? The guy who defied conventional wisdom and began improving his career stats after it appeared his skills were diminishing, oh say around 1995, only to come back and win 3 more Cy Young awards? That guy? He was on 'roids? He always seemed like such a good guy and a straight-shooter to me. I'm stunned.
I was similarly shocked to learn about Marvin Benard, Tim Laker, and Randy Velarde. I mean, how do parents across the country go home tonight and explain to the millions of kids who idolized Marvin Benard that their heroes were really just frauds. How many Larry Bigbie and Ricky Bones posters had to be taken off kids' walls after the stunning revelations? What a sad way for starry-eyed kids who loved Ricky Stone, Steven Randoplh, and Adam Riggs to have to grow up. I may never look at Jack Cust the same way again. I think all of his records should be stricken from the official annals of the game.
Hoe dare you Marvin Benard. After all the love and faith we put in you all these years. Wait . . .who the fuck is Marvin Benard?
And I'm glad that the report was as complete and thorough as it was, understandably absolving guys like Brady Anderson and Nomar Garciaparra, and letting everyone know that their careers were as honest as the day is long. Thank you for that Senator Douchebag.
And great job "revealing" that guys like Jose Guillen, Gary Sheffield, Rafael Palmeiro and Jason Grimsley were users too. Mitchell did some dandy police work in uncovering these frauds using crack investigative work of interviewing that one clubhouse guy and reviewing their already well-publicized failed steroids tests.
Next they'll probably tell us that Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds were juicing.
One thing I did find interesting was learning that Eric Gagne was on 'roids. I mean, seriously? Maybe steroid use doesn't ensure you can pitch better than a retard. Seeing his name on the list has made me stop and consider whether they should truly ban the shit at all. I find it very hard to believe GaGne was taking anything that could be considered "performance-enhancing" while he was walking guys around the bases like the Gashouse Gorillas conga line in Boston.
Anyway, I'm just glad the Mitchell report is out, steroid use has been completely eradicated, and this whole sordid affair is now behind us. All of our questions have been answered and we can begin to move on knowing all that could be done in an 18-month investigation has been done. Kudos Baseball!
- ghost
Strange things were afoot last night at The Slo-Pitch 1961.
First, a SUPER HUGE thanks from The Godfather and Art McGregor to mistertrendy for dinner last night at Marcella's. trendy was last night's MVP. I might even let him marry my sister now.
Anyway, Skully's was OK. The Mayor didn't seem like himself.
Ended up at The Slo-Pitch. I saw about 10 people get up on tables and start dancing. Tables were tipping, people were almost falling.
I wonder what would happen there if The Mayor or McGinley or the Truth got up on a table and started dancing. It'd probably be about a six-month ban from that place.
- Art McGregor
First, a SUPER HUGE thanks from The Godfather and Art McGregor to mistertrendy for dinner last night at Marcella's. trendy was last night's MVP. I might even let him marry my sister now.
Anyway, Skully's was OK. The Mayor didn't seem like himself.
Ended up at The Slo-Pitch. I saw about 10 people get up on tables and start dancing. Tables were tipping, people were almost falling.
I wonder what would happen there if The Mayor or McGinley or the Truth got up on a table and started dancing. It'd probably be about a six-month ban from that place.
- Art McGregor
1756, Salzburg, January 27, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is born
1761, at the age of five Amadeus begins composing
1773, he writes his first piano concerto
1782, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart marries Constance Weber
1784, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart becomes a free mason
1791, Mozart composes "The Magic Flute"
On December 5th of that same year, Mozart dies
1985, Austrian rock singer Falco records
Rock Me Amadeus!
- Skully's
1761, at the age of five Amadeus begins composing
1773, he writes his first piano concerto
1782, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart marries Constance Weber
1784, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart becomes a free mason
1791, Mozart composes "The Magic Flute"
On December 5th of that same year, Mozart dies
1985, Austrian rock singer Falco records
Rock Me Amadeus!
- Skully's
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Went to the Blue Jackets game last night. There was a nice recap today in the Denver Post.
Headed out after to the Park St. Tavern. McCampus/McRoidRage was in rare form.
"I think when I wear that hoodie, I get pissed," McCampus said today. "I want to fight."
Many, many thanks for all the birthday wishes/text messages. Surprisingly, The Mayor has not yet contacted me.
Lunch Waitress came into the Park St. around 12:30 a.m., McCampus and The Godfather left shortly thereafter and me and her stayed until about 2:30 a.m.
The snow turned into rain as we left the bar.
Didn't get out of bed today until about 1:15 p.m.
Happy Birthday to me. See ya tonight.
- Art McGregor
On the heels of the "worst weekend ever," it was nice to start what could be the "best weekend ever" on a Wednesday.
At 4:30.
At the Hey Hey.
Joined up with the Mayor and the Lady to scout out the location for Friday night's festivities. (Couple of notes on that, there will be sauerkraut balls and there will be poinsettias.) We were soon joined by McGinley and I downed three Millers Lite.
Got off of their cloud, so to speak, around 6:30 to pick up McCampus and head to the A-Rain-A District for Jackets Time. Downed a couple at R Bar before sitting in our seats for about eight minutes of the first period.
Met up with McGinley and Lady McGinley in the ice level bar (a mere 40 feet away from the ice where the hockey game we weren't watching was being played) for a few Millers Lite and some delicious snack mix.
With about eleven minutes remaining, and the outcome still in doubt, McCampus and I wandered out of the bar into some empty seats in the sixth row, next to the visitors penalty box, to enjoy the Jackets final two goals up close. We did the Chili chant after the third goal and made plans to go to Wendy's for lunch today to collect. (Author's note: We did not follow through on said plans.)
Sauntered over to the Park Street Tavern post-game where Brio and her buddy Buffalo Bills were hanging out. Buffalo Bills, sporting a short-sleeve t-shirt on a 30 degree night, wanted to make sure everyone knew that Cleveland has no chance at beating the Buffalo Bills this Sunday.
Godfather- "You going to the game Sunday?"
Buffalo Bills- "Hell yeah I'll be there. And it won't be a blowout like you think."
GF- "I don't think it'll be a blowout. It's a big game with major playoff implications. I'm glad it's a home game."
BB- "It's not going to be a blowout like everybody keeps saying."
GF- "Who's saying that?"
BB- "Everyone."
I recall hearing somewhere in conversation that Buffalo Bills installs aluminum siding for a living. Frankly, I think he's working above his God-given abilities.
After AMG joined the party, which at midnight became his [22] birthday party, and said birthday was celebrated with a shots, McRoidrage, er, uh, I mean McCampus, decided it was time to scuffle.
So, after a brief conversation between McRoidrage and a Cougar (very brief, as in Cougar: "Hey." McCampus: "Hey Mom."), some meathead decided to defend the motherly cougar's honor.
A few minutes of chest bumping and verbal confrontation gave way to the Meathead leaving Park St. realizing that McCampus was probably just crazy enough to start swinging on a Wednesday night. (p.s. He was probably right.)
And so, with that, the weekend is under way.
Tonight, the ladies and the 80's. (Hopefully they are not ladies in their 80's, who knows what McCampus would say to them!)
Tomorrow night: Sauerkraut balls and poinsettias.
Saturday: Off to Y-town
Sunday: Browns v. Bills (Browns in a blowout)
Monday: Back to C-Bus to wrap up the weekend.
-The Godfather
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
After reading the first two acts of Hamlet while waiting at Panera, I enjoyed a tasty lunch with NJAG and The Godfather. I had seen NJAG twice since August. We discussed her hair and the fact she's not 22 anymore.
Have been doing some research on the Colorado Avalanche ever since. I knew like one guy on their team. Didn't know him personally or anything, just his name. Joe Sakic. He's not even playing tonight. He might have skated this morning.
We also talked about ice skating at the lunch today.
... ... ...
Got a new license today. The picture looks like it was taken from 400 feet away. As is customary, The Godfather immediately began criticizing me upon his arrival at Panera and made fun of my face in the picture.
The license bureau across from The Godfather's old compound is awesome. There are no lines. I've heard that "two white horses in a line" is a reference to cocaine.
... ... ...
The "cover flow view" on iTunes is the coolest thing ever. When you maximize the screen, most of your desktop is just the album cover of the song being played. I actually like it better than watching the videos.
Unless it's porn videos.
... ... ...
I'll be in the press box for tonight's Jackets-Avs game. I think this is my fifth game this year.
I've got to go to Easton for a little bit beforehand, then come back and check myself in the mirror, fix my hair, etc. I'll be heading over to the Nationwide Arena at about 5:15 p.m. I think I'm meeting McGinley and The Godfather over at the Lodge Bar after the game.
It's happy birthday time at midnight. Can't wait to faux 21 tonight.
- Art McGregor
Dr. JewKoon's comment from yesterday reminded me of one of the all-time great arguments in GVM history. Of course, it was between me and trendy, two people who can't be in the same room without disagreeing vehemently about something. It was last year for sure, possibly football season. We were at the Out-R-Inn and a Zeppelin song came on. I believe it was "Tangerine". I quickly pointed out that it was LZs best song, and I got the immediate "What the fuck are you talking about?" look from trendy. The argument basically centered around the merits of Led Zeppelin III, which I said was the band's best album and trendy contended was perhaps their worst.
It's not like we were all that far apart. I mean, we both stipulated that Zeppelin rocked balls and is one of the greatest bands of all time, both listed Led Zeppelin II as one of our favorite Zeppelin efforts (his #1, my #3), and that the Out-R was much better when the back patio was uncovered (what is that adage about someone who agrees with you 80% of the time?) Yet this argument devolved into us yelling at each other, making fun of each other's musical tastes and me texting my Zeppelin fan friends, asking them to rank their top 5 Zeppelin albums. Ridiculous. (Mine were III, I, II, Physical Graffiti, and Houses of the Holy, fyi.)
We railed on, eventually turning the conversation to other topics of mutual disdain (LeBron James, the merits of Rhode Island as a state) and made life completely miserable for the people we were with that could not have cared less about the topic we were making a federal case out of. Anyway, I still stand by III, though upon retrospect Nobody's Fault But Mine might be their best song.
Thrilled to see it on their set list. A little sad that Tangerine wasn't on there. And much as I'd love to see them live if they come to the US(&C)A, I can't do it. Sorry Jook, but as if Plant's deteriorating voice wasn't bad enough, Page's picture on the cover of Rolling Stone (with completely white hair!) is reason enough to leave it alone. After 20 years, the song does not remain the same.
- ghost
p.s. Completely unrelated. Thanks OSU for moving the Michigan game to Thanksgiving weekend. It was a fun 18 year run for McGinley while it lasted!
300 words on the Boston Red Sox/Boston Patriots.
200 words making fun of The Godfather.
150 words making a subtle point about Art McGregor.
600 words referencing something no one else who reads the blog has any clue about.
125 words on how I'm right about everything.
100 words on power bars/Vapids/Jewy/Cavebear.
250 words on going for a run in the German Village.
400 words on that time the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.
1,245 words on the Rolling Stones.
- ghostginley
Snap, comma, oh yeah!That was one of the best nights of an otherwise terrible 2007. Reminded me of a night back in Key West when my buddy Snakes and his brother Allenwrench were tossing a football around during Hurricane Ivan. I swooped in, made a one handed interception, and then proceeded to make 300 straight three-pointers on the basketball court. Pretty soon, I was making out in Sloppy Joe's with a chick who's mom lived in my buddy Tennisballcan's apartment complex.
Started out at Starbux in the O-rain-a dist. Ate lattes. The place was just stacked with ladies. I really don't know why I don't hang out there more often with Canterbury and Ozzie Canseco. Started talking to this chick - let's call her Frosted Flakes - who said she was a Junior at Columbus State. I asked her a few questions about the CSU Men's basketball team and quickly learned she was talking total bullshit. My kind of gal. Me and Flakes kicked it for a little while and then I asked her if she wants to went to the concert.
The performance was amazing. Reminded me a lot of the movie The Savages, which I saw over the weekend starring Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney in sure fire Oscar performances. The film is about a brother and sister who are already struggling with their own complicated lives are forced to deal with the care of their aging father. As I looked around, it reminded me that none of these people would give a flying fuck about what I was thinking.
Ended up late night at the Ocho, though no one replied to my pleas to come meet for a beer. Probably shouldn't fill in the details here about what happened in between with Frosted, but as Hannah herself said in "Best of Both Worlds":
"You get the limo out front
Hottest styles, every shoe, every color
Yeah when you're famous it can be kinda fun
It's really you but no one ever discovers
In some ways, you're just like all your friends
But on stage you're a star"
What a night. . .What a night.
- Nart McGregor
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
We all have been known to slob on Coach Jim Tressel's knob every once in awhile, but I was just thinking of something. In the past 17 seasons, he's coached his team to the national title game NINE times. That's nine for 17. Wow.
Anyway, I know six of those were at the Div. I-AA level, but that actually might be more incredible considering you've got to advance through a 16-team playoff.
TITLE GAME WINS - 1991, 1993, 1994, 1997, 2002
TITLE GAME LOSES - 1992, 1999, 2006
Nice.
- Art McGregor
A POST SOLELY ABOUT MY OWN LIFE THAT YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ
One thing that CANNOT be said about me is that I have a bad memory. It's probably my best quality. I remember everything.
Except this one Friday after Thanksgiving senior year of high school. There were also vile things said about me on that day.
... ... ...
This is another Art McGregor tells a story from the past. But this is a good one.
My cousin Erin married a kid I went to high school with that's a year younger than me. I wasn't really friends with him in high school, but we get along fine right now. He likes Notre Dame.
He was over my parent's house on Thanksgiving and we were bullshitting about high school and he began to bitch to me about the "Turkey Bowl" of 1996.
I had forgotten all about it.
... ... ...
There were like 10 teams entered in this "flag" football tournament at the high school on the day after Thanksgiving. It was pretty much standard procedure. There were 10 teams. It was a double elimination tournament. It wasn't really flag football. People were getting their heads knocked off. I did not as I don't like to be hit and just played quarterback.
The ten team were like the freshman football players and then the sophomores and juniors and seniors ... a team of burnouts ... a team of alumni ... a team of teachers ... my group of friends and like one or two other squads. If there was a preseason poll, we would have been selected to finish ninth.
Something happened on the way to heaven.
Somehow, we won a few games. Each game was 30 minutes long, running clock. We scored on like deflected passes and fumble recoveries. Rod Munch (who now has won FOUR Emmy's in television production) was our best player. Always should have played in high school but was a little too small. Perfect flag player. mistertrendy also was on the team. He excelled at making six-yard catches.
We made it to the final four ... in the losers bracket we somehow beat The Teachers/Football Coaches. One of those teachers recently was suspended for having a relationship with a student.
Next, we played the team that lost in the winner's bracket title game. The Juniors. They should have kicked our asses. They were bigger, faster, better. We were more like the pig in the cage on antibiotics.
... ... ...
So my cousin's husband brought this up at Thanksgiving. He's still bitter about the way that game ended. Again, somehow we were ahead like 14-7. We got the ball back with like two minutes to go. Now, no one else thought to do this ... but we weren't giving the ball back to them. On first down, I took the snap and ran backwards about five yards and fell down. No one had any clue what I was doing. Not even my own teammates. In the huddle, I admitted I was running out the clock. No one thought to do something this bastardly. Since no one had set the ground rules for "timeouts" the other team was flabbergasted. Obviously we couldn't just not run a play so they made up a 30-second clock. Everyone else in the tournament was watching. I still kept taking the snap and laying on the ground. On fourth down, instead of punting it back, I ran around for a few seconds and took a violent shove to the ground. Time had run out. We had won the game.
We then lost in the title game like 30-0. But that was a fun day. Went home afterward and ate three hamburgers from Dairy Queen and watched "Toy Story" on VHS.
- Art McGregor
This is pretty much my last day in ordinary time. I remember back in like first grade when everyone's birthday was tacked up on some board with a yellow cupcake made from construction paper and I was the last of the three December birthdays. Erin Smith on Dec. 11, Brandy Kelly on Dec. 12 and [Arthur McGregor] on Dec. 13.
But the thing is, after tonight we're in full "Christmas" mode. There's no hiding it. It's the 12 days of Christmas. And it begins on a Wednesday, which is nice.
Honestly, when I was a kid, nothing was better than when Christmas fell on a Sunday. It meant I could get out of church because Saturday mass (after 2 p.m.) counted for Sunday. The fuckin' worst was Christmas on a Saturday. We'd go on Friday night and then again to St. Christine's for Sunday mass on Dec. 26. Fuck that!
A Christmas on Saturday would suck this year. It would totally eliminate a weekend.
I'm very happy about the Tuesday Christmas this year. Monday and Tuesday nights usually suck anyway. A Monday Christmas also would be cool.
But we've got a really nice stretch of time coming up. I am headed home on Saturday for a couple days and to go to the Browns game with The Godfather. Back to C-bus on Monday night. Collect my bearings and then start on a nice Dec. 19 through Dec. 22 streak of debauchery. Work on Sunday, Dec. 23 at the newspaper and then head home for two days and Christmastime celebrations.
And back on a Wednesday. The cusp of the weekend.
- Art McGregor
That was good.
Needed the extra time off from the blog. Actually talked to The Godfather on the phone last night for 47 minutes. We discussed various girls on our MySpace pages, going to the Browns game this Sunday and what we'd be doing Wednesday, Thursday and Friday night.
But yeah, McGinley's post on my Hannah Montana day was good.
... ... ...
Had a Lodge Bar-Brothers Saturday night. Had this birthday party thing for my buddy Chris that started at 9 p.m. I showed up around 11 p.m. after failed attempts at finding out if anything better was going on. Resigned to heading to the Lodge Bar, I failed at an attempt for The Godfather to give me a ride down there. I even offered him five bucks. He was, you know, doing nothing, so he had to say no to the 50-mile trip from the German Village to the Lodge Bar.
Lodge Bar Saturday Night sucks compared to Lodge Bar Wednesday Night. Left there after about 20 minutes when Ozzy Canseco texted me from Brothers. Had a good time there. For some reason we stayed outside. It was a diverse crowd. One of Ozzy's friends went to Akron St. Vincent-St. Mary with LeBron James so of course I discussed his high school basketball playing days and in-depth stats about various state semifinals games. He was pretty amazed.
Lunch Waitress gave me a call from NYC and asked if I had ever heard of IMDB.com. That was the extent of the conversation. She might have enjoyed a gin and tonic or two before placing said call.
Sunday, I displayed terrible personship. Personship. Yes, not a word.
Pretty much figured I'd be heading to the EGG alone. The Godfather had other committments and The 1 treated the 41 degree temperature as if it was -23 degrees out. I sat at a seat in a bar for almost seven hours alone. Pathetic. Like I said, terrible personship. I got into an argument with Loud Black Guy Michigan Fan. Not smart. I bonded with Bear. I watched some really great football and ate a ton of chili. It was odd not being there with The 1. No one was complaining about the food to me.
Monday brought a case of the Mondays. My room is ridiculously clean now. I think the highest compliment I could give it is that it looks like a place I wouldn't be living in.
I celebrate my birthday in two days. I'm down for Ladies80's, but as I told The Godfather last night, if it begins to suck and more than 87 percent people in there have B.O. (as usual), we will go elsewhere. And by we, I mean me.
- Art McGregor
Art McGregor's plan for gameday:11:00 a.m. - noon - Lunch at Panera's.
12:30 - 3:30 p.m. - Facebook time, baby.
3:30 - 5:00 - "Catch up'" on recent Hannah Montana episodes. (As if he hadn't already memorized every scene!)
5:00 - Shower, put on early-20's looking outfit.
5:30 - Head to Nationwide Arena, extra tickets in hand.
6:00 - Pre-game at Starbucks. Give tickets away to best-looking girls.
7:00 - The Show.
9:00 - Post-gaming at Dave & Buster's.
10:00 - Make new friend, have her home by curfew.
10:30 - Ocho.
- ghost
Monday, December 10, 2007
No doubt this is Bowie's best song. I'd never seen this clip until tonight.
Not sure what is the most fucking outstanding thing about it, other than Ziggy's fabulous outfit. Maybe it's all the spaced-out, sky-high kids dancing stonedily in the background. How amazing would it have been to actually be one of those kids? I often think about that when I listen to "Live at Leeds", "Ya Ya's" or another incredible live performance of that era. Could you imagine actually being there when that shit was recorded? Would you have had any appreciation at that moment for what you just saw? How could the audience clap at the end and not just stand there in stunned silence? Oh yeah, drugs.
As far as "Starman" goes, Love Jay Leno playing the drums and the bassist's bizarre hair feather ensemble. Also love that I found it in the "related links" to a clip of Bowie singing "Little Drummer Boy" with Bing Crosby about 3 weeks before der Bingle kicked the bucket.
Either way, this rocks tits.
- ghost
I love being a Buckeye.
Love walking across the Oval in the spring when girls in bikinis show off their spring break tans the first day it gets over seventy degrees.
Love walking past Weigel Hall and hearing musicians mastering their craft.
Love reading all of the chalk ads on the sidewalks for the various campus clubs. (Ski Club is meeting at 227 E. 11th on Wednesday to plan their upcoming trip, btw.)
And, perhaps more than anything else, love walking into the 'Shoe on a crisp fall Saturday afternoon.
The funny thing is, I probably don't like the majority of the 105,000 others walking in with me.
I once had a disgruntled Buckeye fan, after Ohio St. had beaten Bowling Green of all challenging squads, ask me,"why can't this Tressel win games in the first quarter?" I simply replied that he usually wins them in the fourth quarter, and, not too long ago, won a game you probably watched on T.V. in a couple overtimes.
After the Holy Buckeye game, a disgruntled (and really old) Buckeye fan at our hotel blasted McGinley, the Mayor, TJT and I for enjoying the thrilling victory because, as he put it, "that shit won't win a championship." (Author's note: It did.)
The list goes on and on and on. The guy who wants everyone else behind him to stand up when he waves his arms. The guy who wants everyone to sit down when he gripes with his arms crossed. The guy in the student section who wants to check people's tickets to make sure we're all in our right seats. The drunk girl who can't stand up and pukes in the aisle. The guy who takes a girl to the game and explains each play to her. The guy in Zubaz pants. (Bear excepted.)
But the worst Buckeye fans of all are the guys who call and e-mail ESPN to complain about the lack of respect Ohio State gets.
Guess what? You know that make believe national championship playoff you're bitching about? Yeah, it doesn't exist.
"Ohio State plays in a week conference." Ok. "Ohio State's speed can't keep up with _______." Great. "Ohio State would lose to ________." Cool.
So, talking heads and fans who care what they say, remember this: Ohio State and LSU are the only teams playing for the national championship. The ficticious SportsCenter playoffs don't mean anything!
Get off the "we're disrespected" and, "did you hear what Mark May said?," bullshit Buckeye Nation.
Three appearances in the National Championship in six years. Back-to-back outright Big11Ten titles. Four straight wins against Michigan.
As for those Saturdays in the 'Shoe, the Sweater Vest's 44-5 record at home has made them pretty enjoyable.
No word on how many of those were won in the first quarter.
-The Godfather
Love walking across the Oval in the spring when girls in bikinis show off their spring break tans the first day it gets over seventy degrees.
Love walking past Weigel Hall and hearing musicians mastering their craft.
Love reading all of the chalk ads on the sidewalks for the various campus clubs. (Ski Club is meeting at 227 E. 11th on Wednesday to plan their upcoming trip, btw.)
And, perhaps more than anything else, love walking into the 'Shoe on a crisp fall Saturday afternoon.
The funny thing is, I probably don't like the majority of the 105,000 others walking in with me.
I once had a disgruntled Buckeye fan, after Ohio St. had beaten Bowling Green of all challenging squads, ask me,"why can't this Tressel win games in the first quarter?" I simply replied that he usually wins them in the fourth quarter, and, not too long ago, won a game you probably watched on T.V. in a couple overtimes.
After the Holy Buckeye game, a disgruntled (and really old) Buckeye fan at our hotel blasted McGinley, the Mayor, TJT and I for enjoying the thrilling victory because, as he put it, "that shit won't win a championship." (Author's note: It did.)
The list goes on and on and on. The guy who wants everyone else behind him to stand up when he waves his arms. The guy who wants everyone to sit down when he gripes with his arms crossed. The guy in the student section who wants to check people's tickets to make sure we're all in our right seats. The drunk girl who can't stand up and pukes in the aisle. The guy who takes a girl to the game and explains each play to her. The guy in Zubaz pants. (Bear excepted.)
But the worst Buckeye fans of all are the guys who call and e-mail ESPN to complain about the lack of respect Ohio State gets.
Guess what? You know that make believe national championship playoff you're bitching about? Yeah, it doesn't exist.
"Ohio State plays in a week conference." Ok. "Ohio State's speed can't keep up with _______." Great. "Ohio State would lose to ________." Cool.
So, talking heads and fans who care what they say, remember this: Ohio State and LSU are the only teams playing for the national championship. The ficticious SportsCenter playoffs don't mean anything!
Get off the "we're disrespected" and, "did you hear what Mark May said?," bullshit Buckeye Nation.
Three appearances in the National Championship in six years. Back-to-back outright Big11Ten titles. Four straight wins against Michigan.
As for those Saturdays in the 'Shoe, the Sweater Vest's 44-5 record at home has made them pretty enjoyable.
No word on how many of those were won in the first quarter.
-The Godfather
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