Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Recently, ADawg became the latest man to come to the belief that it is a solid idea to ask for a woman's hand in marriage. We now have an unprecedented 5 dudes in our immediate friend group who all got engaged in the last 5 months: ADawg, St. Aubyn, Ike, Noles, and T. Nels. Ridiculous. This means that A) Vegas is going to be a complete shit show next May, and B) I better win a bunch of money on said Vegas trip, cause I'm gonna be buying an assload of toasters, knife sets, and Belgian waffle makers. Now I'm not a betting man, but if you happen to be scoring at home, here is the updated odds sheet for Next To Get Engaged:
And as soon as Fundy fulfills his destiny as The Next (I say by January), I will be collecting the $150 Never Get Engaged Fund that St. Aubyn, Fundy, and I put together in 2003. I've earned it.
If you haven't heard the news yet, Robert Goulet passed away. Now I would be lying if I said that I was a fan of Goulet himself, but I do believe that this is one of the 5 or 10 best SNL skits of my lifetime.
Enjoy it. Dah dah deeee dahhh dah doo doooo. Goulet.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Since most everyone else is comparing this year's run to 2004, I suppose I can throw in my two cents' worth. The best comparison I can make between the two championships, from a fan's perspective, is that it's like having sex. It's less stressful the second time around, and you can appreciate the ride a lot more, but there's just something about your first time. It's magical, just like the 2004 championship was. I'll never forget how awesome that couple week stretch was. Ducking out of a wedding dance about 42 different times to watch the end of Game 3 of the Angel series, having to be convinced by my buddies not to shut off the TV during the 9th inning of Game 4 of the Yankee series, living and dying with every single pitch during Games 5-7, and then feeling a sense of calm while they were dismantling the Cardinals. All these memories added together to make October 2004 one of the best of my life.
This championship was different. I was still on edge, obviously more so when the Sox were down 3-1 to Cleveland, but I have never felt such confidence in one of my teams as I did with this one. I haven't seen a baseball team put together a better seven-game stretch than the Sox just did. There wasn't as much of a fear of failure as much as there was an anticipation of success. This is a new and pleasant feeling for me while watching sports, as I am about as pessimistic as they come. As I was after the 2004 season, I am a little depressed that the year is over, and I don't get to watch these guys play for 5 months. With the exception of Eric Gagne, I enjoy every player on this roster.
In a related story, last New Years' Eve in Vegas I wandered into the sports book at 9 am after 12 hours of drinking and a 2 hour nap and put down $10 on the Sox to win this year's title. Now I'm no mathmetician or anything, but at 8-1 odds, that should put me somewhere in the $600-700 range. Word up.
Monday, October 22, 2007
I set a new personal record Saturday night when I received 67 Game 6-related texties. People were coming out of the woodwork to either talk shit or congratulate me (did anyone else know that Mike Haley was a Cleveland fan? Me neither) and as a result, I had to be Johnny Hot Buttons all night. So thanks to everyone who participated. At the risk of tooting my own horn, I texted T. Nels at 7:26 p.m. CST:
''My prediction for Schilling: 7 innings 6 hits 2 runs''
Schilling's actual line: 7 innings 6 hits 2 runs. Toot toot.
Now I know that the 2004 run was pretty much the greatest event in my life since the Rebel Alliance blew up the second Death Star, but this year is a very close second. Just a really enjoyable group of guys. If the Indians were a 9 on the "How scared am I of this team?" scale, and the Angles were a -4, then the Rockies are a 6. Which is also how many games I think it will take for the Sox to wrap up another title.
Friday, October 19, 2007
This picture was taken after he just got done striking out the side.
But anything can happen in a Game 7. Just gotta get there. Go Sox.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Afterwards we immediately headed over to the Outhouse for some Sunday afternoon action. Just kidding. In addition to the game being exciting, the Chiefs covered the spread ($$$) yet T.J. Houshmanzadeh managed to put up a big game for me (fantasy points.) All in all, a great sports weekend. Except, of course, for Eric Gagne's Game 2 shenanigans. He continues to lead the league for 2007 in Most Times Ruining Jim's Night. He now owns a commanding 5-2 lead over "Combining allergy medicine with drinking to excess."
This was supposed to be a picture of Chad Johnson screaming at the coaching staff for not getting the ball. (Not pictured: Chad Johnson screaming at the coaching staff for not getting the ball.)
Friday, October 12, 2007
Cast of characters, from left: Russell, St. Aubyn, Danny, Katie "let's call Jim in the 9th inning of a Sox playoff game" Zidon, Alex, myself, and Bergman. Last weekend some of the boys from back in G.F. came down for a couple days; probably the last time we'll be reunited until May, unfortunately. But we made the most of it.
Friday night we started at Johnny's Tavern, where we watched the Yankees lose, Dice-K get knocked around, and some toolshed play SexyBack on the jukebox, then dance in front of the big-screen TV until Bergman shouted, "Hey, J.T., sit the fuck down, we're watching the game!" This guy was sitting at a table with a dude sporting both a Red Sox shirt and an Angel hat. Just to give you an idea about these guys.
We went to Louise's West next, where I was doing a magnificent job of shooting double digits under par in Golden Tee while still watching the Sox come back and tie the game up. My highwire act was a success until the aforementioned call from Katie in OKC, announcing she was coming up the next day. I turn back around to see Danny and Alex jumping around trying to get my attention and pointing at the screen, and then see Manny circling the bases. Fuck.
Now we're all pretty well in the bag, and there's really only place Bergman, Russell, St. Aubyn, and I can go from here: a BYOB strip club called the Outhouse. Until Lane (heavily) recommended this place, I had no idea these things even existed. We grab a 30 pack of Miller Lite at a gas station and head out. Thoughts, quotes, and mini-stories from the club that will severely decrease whatever respect you might have had for me and my friends:
1. If there's a better feeling than strolling into a strip club with a block heater of Miller Lite on your shoulder, plopping it down on a table, tearing it open, leaning back and drinking like you're at a picnic, well, then...I haven't felt it.
2. Any guy who has been to a club knows that a girl will sit on your lap, looking for some dolla dolla bills, but once it is evident you will not be purchasing a dance from her this evening, bam. She's gone. But somehow, this one girl, "Ginger," has been sitting on St. Aubyn's lap for over an hour, with 0 dollars coming out of his pocket. When she finally leaves, we ask St. Aubyn what the hell he told her to stay, and he pulls out this little beauty: "I told her that my girlfriend just died 3 weeks ago, and what I was really looking for was just a little company, and I couldn't imagine a more beautiful girl to talk to than her." Clutch. The kicker: He managed to steal a $20 dollar bill from her G-string while she sat there. Are you kidding? He punched his ticket to Hell that night.
3. Bergman comes to the table talking to a stripper, and this exchange takes place:
Bergman, pointing to me: This is my friend Jim.
Me: What are you doing? Don't tell her my real name, you dipshit.
Bergman: Oh! Uhhh, this is my friend Charlie Conway.
Me: Jesus, man. I told you, never use Charlie Conway. Girls know that one. (to the girl): You know who Charlie Conway is, don't you? Fuckin' Dawson's Creek and shit.
Bergman: Don't worry about it. Strippers don't watch the Mighty Ducks.
Stripper, listening the whole time with a blank look on her face: Are you guys gonna buy a dance, or what's the deal?
And so on and so forth. I almost got the heave-ho because my phone had been blowing up since the Sox game, and I kept on forgetting that I wasn't allowed to answer it or read texties. Apparently my justification to the bouncer of "But Manny hit a walkoff!! It's the ALDS!" was juuust good enough to keep me in the ballgame.
Our gas station trip was also an adventure, but the only really retellable story is where some high school girls were bugging St. Aubyn to buy them beer. At first he played along with it, but once it became evident that they wanted him to not only buy it, but PAY for it too, he then told them that he was a cop. They left tracks leaving the parking lot.
To be honest, it's now almost a week later and some of the other stories from last weekend are either hazy or really, really inappropriate, so I'm gonna leave it at that. If this was a PowerPoint presentation, the main bullet that you should make a note of is: If there is happens to be a BYOB strip club within a 100 mile radius of your place of residence, you should go to it.
It's a good thing we went to strip club later that night to re-establish our heterosexuality, because this picture is almost painfully gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
+ 5 Skinny Pirates
+ 3 mystery shots from a guy with a hairlip
+ 12 games of video Beanbags
+ 1 near bench-clearing brawl between Dunph and the hairlip guy
+ 1 contest "Throwing Christina's phone around the bar trying to shatter it"
+ 33 mile drive back to Lawrence from K.C.
= 1 Hungover Jim Hammen
+ 1 Sonic chili cheese wrap
+ 44 ounces of Strawberry Limeade
= 0 Hungover Jim Hammens