Looking Back, Looking Forward

So the Red Sox hung another banner, capping off an unbelievable year. And KU basketball is underway, with the best recruit in arguably a decade, about to embark on an unbelievable year. It's a lot easier to flip the switch when your favorite baseball team is eliminated from the race in early September. I feel like I've barely had a chance to get properly fired up for this upcoming basketball season. I'll admit, it's a pretty awesome problem to have.

Let's bridge the gap between my two favorite teams in sports:


Things I'll miss the most about the baseball season ending:

5. Complaining about the Red Sox in general. Maybe "complaining" isn't the best choice of words, but all I know is that the Sox have now won three titles in ten years. The collapse of 2011 has now been erased. Basically, even if they never win another World Series for the rest of my life, I've still been spoiled. So whatever happens from here on out, my life as a baseball fan has already been a success.

4. Tim McCarver. TIM MCCARVER MADE THIS LIST! I'm as surprised as you. I've spent years hating him; basically once I was old enough to understand the game, I realized he was mostly an idiot. You could argue that no announcer in any sport is just flat-out wrong more often than he is. And yet....watching the montage at the end of the telecast, realizing I'll never hear him again...I felt a little bummed. I mean, I've never watched a World Series in my life that wasn't announced by that old bastard. And I'm nothing if not nostalgic.

3. The daily grind of scoreboard watching; obsessing over standings ("Well, we play our next nine on the road, and Tampa has an easy stretch, if we can still be up at least 1.5 games by the end of July, I'll take that in a second"); and fretting over statistics, both basic and sabermetric ("Yeah, Salty is hot lately, but his BABIP is sky-high, he's due for some serious regression soon.") It's weird when you obsess over little things all year long, and then the playoffs come around, and then the World Series, and all of a sudden everything else goes out the window and it boils down to "If we just win this game tonight, right here in front of us, we win the whole damn thing." It's bizarre.

I suppose I'll take a couple weeks off, then start obsessing over free agents and whatnot ("We'll offer Ellsbury something like 6 years, $90 million, they'll turn it down, we'll maybe go a little higher, but then Seattle will swoop in and offer him like $120 million, and that will be that.") Speaking of.....

2. The guys who probably won't be back next year. Ellsbury and Stephen Drew are the two main guys I don't expect to see in a Red Sox uniform ever again, which is unfortunate for Teens, since those are her two main crushes. So I suppose I'll grow to miss her inappropriate comments too. Stuff like "Jacoby should've tried to stretch that into a double right there! Maybe if he slides into second base his pants will accidentally fall off."

1. The beards, attitudes, and character of this team. Nothing will ever touch 2004, but I did definitely enjoy this championship more than 2007. Despite not having a "boy" on this team, this was just a really fun, really enjoyable group of dudes to cheer for (I suppose my favorite player is Dustin Pedroia or Jonny Gomes, but I liked Manny, Johnny Damon, and even Kevin Millar in 2004 more than I currently like anyone on this team.) Like I said before the playoffs started, even if they flamed out in the playoffs early, I'd always remember the 2013 season fondly.

(This should really be its own entry, but I'll say that Jonny Gomes' celebrations fall under "attitudes and character." Besides the beer punting, there is also this little beauty, which makes me giggle and drives Teens crazy. So naturally I throw it her way every chance I get, like after she makes a dynamite batch of spaghetti, or scores us a coupon for six free tacos from T.Bell, or goes upstairs and gets my spitter for me when I'm too lazy.)

Things I'm looking forward to the most about college basketball starting:

5. New seats, son. Previously, KU only gave season ticket deals to faculty, not regular old accountants like me. But now the game done changed, staff are included, and Kyle, Lanny and I just jumped up about 20 rows (for the same price that we were already paying.) Give me a few more years, and I'm gonna be Spike Lee up in this piece.

4. Andrew White III, rotation player. I had a soft spot for 'Drew last year, even though he played sparingly. He's a phenomenal three-point shooter, he had some fun moments last year, I got to yell "Drewwwwwwwwwww!" every time he did something good last year (I hope that catches on this year), and he has a terrific mini-flat top-- not quite NBA Live '95 quality, but definitely old-school Starting Lineup figurine quality. He had the makings of somebody who could eventually find his jersey on my Wall of Fame in my basement someday. Then KU got Wiggins, not to mention Brannen Greene and Wayne Selden, and I was pretty worried that 'Drew would be asked to redshirt, or even worse, he would transfer to get more playing time. Instead, he worked harder than anybody else did this offseason (Coach Self's words) and looks like he played his way into the 6th man position. Here's hoping that sticks.

3. The spectacle of Andrew Wiggins. KU's teams are usually made up of guys who go through growing pains, and steadily improve year after year in Self's system. We don't usually have the Carmelos, or the Wades, or the Durants....or even the Harrison Barneses, the Anthony Davises, the Greg Odens, the guys who have huge names coming out of high school already. We get lots of good recruits, but not THE top recruit. But now we've got Wiggins, and everything that goes along with it. To be honest, I don't expect him to be as unbelievable as everyone says. I'd be (pleasantly) surprised if he put up much better stats than Ben McLemore did last year. I'm just enjoying all the excitement and hoopla that comes with having the best high school prospect since LeBron James.

2. The incoming freshman class, besides Wiggins. I was already thrilled with KU's incoming guys before they landed Wiggins. I loved everything I was reading about Wayne Selden and Brannen Greene; Joel Embiid looked like a classic Bill Self big man project in the footsteps of Aldrich, T-Rob, Withey, etc.; and Connor Frankamp was a little white kid from Wichita who can shoot the lights out-- so obviously I was in on him. I figured we'd struggle this year, and then in 2014-15, when Naadir Tharpe was a senior point guard, Perry Ellis was ready to shoulder a big load, and all the freshmen were a year older, we'd be awesome. Then the reports on Selden kept growing and growing, and Embiid absolutely exploded (From an unranked prospect to, if you believe Rick Pitino, the possible 2nd pick in the draft? Are you kidding?) Now they're both both potential one-and-dones, and maybe we'll only be enjoying them for one year. But damn, if they somehow both come back next year, even without Wiggins...I predict we'll be even better.

1. The rivalry with Oklahoma St. heating up. The Big 12 was pretty crappy last year, and figured to be even worse this year. Texas sucks now, K-State and Iowa St. both got worse, and Baylor is supposed to be decent every year.....and every year they come to the Fieldhouse and lose by 30. But then Marcus Smart improbably returned for his sophomore year, and he started chirping a little bit, then their coach made some sarcastic comments about Wiggins, and now it's on. Tickets on Stubhub are already in the $250 range. Now we have another conference game to be super fired up for, and when they come to town this year, it should be the best atmosphere since the last Mizzou game a couple years ago. I love that Okie St. is talking a little trash, it's good for the game, but now they have KU's full attention. To steal a line from Omar from The Wire: "You come at the king, you best not miss."

(And just in case anyone forgot, the last time the Sox won the World Series....KU followed suit and won the title. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.)

(ALSO, this is completely unrelated to everything, but this just happened last night, and if I don't use this space to complain about it, then I don't know why I have a blog in the first place: Wanna know how my NFL gambling season is going? I can sum it up in one example. The over/under in last night's Miami/Cincinnati was 42.5. I had the over. Miami won 22-20. In overtime. ON A SAFETY. You guys wanna kick my dog while you're here?)

Game 4, By The Numbers

- Number of times I startled a random Red Sox fan by throwing up a high-five/punching them on the arm/yelling "Let's go SOX!!" as we walked past each other: 4.

- Number of times somebody startled me by flipping the script and doing the same thing to me: 2.

- Number of people who laughed at BroMo in the men's room, after he saw a guy wearing a Curt Schilling jersey and said, "Ahh, the ol' knuckleball, eh?": 5, including me, but not including the guy wearing the jersey, who didn't think it was a funny mix-up for some reason. Don't worry, BroMo, it's a common mistake. The 'Wakefield' is silent.

- Number of prayers I sent to Baby Jesus, thanking him that I wasn't in attendance for the Game 3 walk-off obstruction shenanigans: Roughly 56. Seriously, security would've had to remove me from the stadium after that one. Forcibly. Make it 57 times now.

- Number of fellow Red Sox fans I had in my section: ZERO. Nobody within 15 rows. I knew I'd be completely out-numbered; this was St. Louis, a true baseball town. This wouldn't be like going to Tampa or some shit. But still, I figured there would be a lot more Sox fans in attendance, especially in the upper deck, where a lot of us second-hand ticket purchasers were residing.

I was mistaken. I looked around in dismay as the first pitch approached; I didn't even have anybody I could air-five with. During the first inning, two Sox fans showed up, directly across the aisle from me, and I quickly established fist bumpsies and told them I was coming to them for every celebration. However, they disappeared in the second inning, never to be seen again, and so I had to celebrate Han-style (Solo) the rest the game.

- Number of Cardinals fans in our section who were pretty cool to me: All of them. We struck up a friendship right away with the people in our immediate area, and rather than an antagonistic relationship, they used me as a resource for knowledge that would help them better understand the game. They took to calling me 'Boston Guy', so throughout the game, there was a lot of "Hey Boston Guy, who is that in the on-deck circle right now? Are they pinch-hitting for Buchholz?" or "Hey Boston Guy, why is John Lackey warming up in the bullpen right now?" or even "Hey Boston Guy, is it pronounced Big Pappy or Big Poppy?"

- Number of times I felt like a dick, due to said relationship with Cardinals fans: 1; after the three-run homer by Gomes. The Cardinals pitched around Ortiz, putting men on first and second, and leading to some general grumbling among the fans. "Don't worry," I assured them, visions of another Gomes strikeout clouding my vision, "Gomes has absolutely sucked this postseason, he's hitting like .120. You made the right decision here." Then, of course, Gomes went yammies, and I felt a little sheepish, especially after I heard one of the guys behind us mutter juuuuust loud enough for me to hear, "Nice fucking call, Boston Guy."

- Number of beers I drank: A couple too many.

- Number of beers I drank at the all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-drink banquet afterwards: 1. Our Craigslist guy surprised us by giving us a couple of passes to this post-game social club in Busch Stadium, but by that point, I was pretty hammered, pretty drained from the intensity of the game, and I sensed that there weren't a lot of people happy to see me in that room. Maybe if it would've been pre-game, I'd be more welcome, but after their boys just got done losing to my boys....there was a lot of mean-mugging going on. Usually my policy is "If it's free, it's me, and I'll take three", but BroMo and I only had one plate of food and one beer each, and got the hell out of there. There was a pretty sweet ice sculpture though.

- Number of times I had a perfect view of a pickoff play at first base with two outs in the ninth inning, and got to yell "YUP! SMELL YA!!!!" before the umpire could even make his call: 1. Just once was all it took.

YOLO Once

Back in 2004, Dunph had a connection with Major League Baseball, and scored a couple of tickets to the (potential) Game 5 of the World Series between the Red Sox and Cardinals. On short notice, we jumped in the car for the 13-hour drive from Grand Forks to St. Louis.

Game 4 was being played that evening, and the Sox were up 3-0 in the series, so we knew there was a chance that our free tickets to Game 5 would be worth nothing more than the story you're hearing now. I was roughly 70% cheering against the Red Sox that night. Yeah, I wanted to go to a game in person, and yeah, I'd LOVE to see them clinch the World Series in person....but there was 30% of me that wanted them to just wrap it up and win it now. I mean, we just watched the Sox come back from 3-0 down against the Yankees less than a week ago. Let's not tempt fate here.

The drive was mostly uneventful. There were lots of moments where I couldn't suppress my gut reaction before realizing that what just happened actually hurt our chances for seeing a game. Johnny Damon leads off the game with a homer: "YEAHHHHH!!! Wait, FUCK!" Repeat, repeat, repeat. Also, Dunph ran over a cat on the interstate (you could actually feel the skull crunch against the bumper) and after about 30 seconds of horrified silence, he looked over at me and said "Welp, some little kid's best friend isn't coming home tonight!", I named the cat Crunch, and we laughed for about 45 miles.

We made it as far as Sioux City, Iowa, before we decided to pull in and find somewhere to watch the remainder of the game. Boston was up three runs in the 7th, and was solidly in control. I needed to at least watch the clinch on TV, I couldn't deal with having just the radio for such a moment. What is this, 1938? Is this one of FDR's Fireside Chats? No way. We're pulling over and watching somewhere.

We chose the Argosy Riverboat Casino, right off the interstate. We watched the end of the game, I had some of the best-tasting and most rewarding beers of my life, and then we looked at each other and said "What next?"

What's next ended up being:

- Getting an extended tutorial from the dealers on how to play craps (the casino was mostly empty that night, and they were just happy for something to do);

- Cautiously putting a few bucks on the table and dipping our toes in the water;

- Winning everything in sight and going up a few hundred each in a matter of 20 minutes-- celebrating, boozing, shit-talking, and high-fiving like we owned the place;

- Watching a dude who looked exactly like JR Ewing from Dallas stroll up to the table and casually buy in for $50K in chips;

- Slowly having our excitement eroded away, since it's tough to celebrate a $40 win when Yosemite Sam next to you just lost 8 grand;

- Eventually losing all the money we were up for the night, plus all the money we brought with us for the trip, plus all the money from our respective ATM withdrawals.

All in all, an awesome night, and also the reason that every time I drive through Sioux City on my way back to North Dakota and pass the Argosy, I re-enact the anguished arm extension of Lloyd Christmas reaching for Mary Swanson.





For the last few days, I've been going back and forth on whether or not I want to make an impromptu road trip and try and catch Game 4 in person. On one hand, it's not a 13-hour drive to St. Louis anymore. BroMo (BROther of a different MOther) lives there, so I have a place to stay. On the other hand, ticket prices are outrageous. Also, I haven't exactly been a model employee the last month or so, what with trips to Minnesota, Montana, and a golf outing for a wedding-- not to mention multiple trips to the dentist (FYI dudes, periotherapy sucks.)

After some hemming and hawing, the memory of this story from 2004 is what finally swayed me. Even though I don't have free tickets this time, and even though the absolute shittiest tickets in the ballpark still cost enough to pay for a night at the craps table at the Argosy in Sioux City....I mean, what was I gonna do, NOT go?

In the end, it kept coming back to one sentence ringing over and over in my head. A sentence that 90% of the time, I'm on the other side of, using it to get people to do things when they're straddling the fence:

Old Jum would do it.

Oh, and in the event of a Red Sox loss, if anyone knows of any good bridges to sleep on in the greater St. Louis area, please let me know. I know there's obviously a bunch of highways crossing the Mississippi River, but I'd prefer to keep it smaller. Pedestrian bridges are more my steez. I know, I know, beggars can't be choosers, but please keep it in mind when making your recommendations. Thank you.

October Bliss

I've made my thoughts on October weddings known before. The chance for conflicts with hugely important playoff baseball games trumps the usually glorious weather, at least for me.

When JonJon and Amanda got married in October 2011, the Red Sox had just finished the biggest collapse in Major League history, so no worries there. When ADawg married Bobbi in 2008, the Sox didn't play during the wedding reception, although I did have to listen to a game on the radio during our nightmarish, hungover drive back home. In October 2007, nobody got married, but I did miss Manny's walk-off in Game 2 of the ALDS. That was my own fault, since I answered a phone call from Katie Z when I probably should've flushed it and called her back after the inning (but I haven't let her hear the end of it for over six years now, and will probably never stop blaming her.)

We have to go all the way back to October of 2004 to find the last time I was at a wedding reception during a Red Sox playoff game. And strangely, it ended up being an awesome memory, rather than an excuse to make passive-aggressive comments to the happy couple for the rest of their lives.

It was during the ALDS vs. the Angels and Brekka's wedding in Minneapolis. There was an open bar, and I would alternate between dancing, giving Jennifer and/or Buckley some excuse why I had to disappear for a bit, then grabbing three beers from the bar, running up to our hotel room, chugging the beers and watching an inning, then running back down and dancing some more. I made it up to the room in time to see David Ortiz hit the series-ending walkoff, and Wojo came into the room in time to see me shotgunning a beer...by myself. All-around great night.

This time around, with the Red Sox playing in Game 6 of the ALCS with a trip to the World Series on the line, there were no TVs available, and no hotel room to retreat to. I did, however, have phone technology that I didn't have in 2004. I was constantly checking for updates, and any time I got too wrapped up in the dance and neglected to check my phone for awhile, well-timed texties from Myshawn, Alfonso, and others served as reminders. After Victorino hit the grand slam and the Sox closed out the win, I calmly walked out of the reception area into the bridal party dressing room (an adjacent room that was more like a warehouse with furniture, a bathroom, and a kitchen in it), closed the door behind me, and let loose with a triumphant one-man celebration, complete with dancing and beer-spraying. At least I thought it was a one-man celebration. Turns out there was a second participant: a previously unnoticed employee of the building. And he wasn't so much "celebrating" as he was "telling me to go ahead and get started cleaning up the beer all over the floor." Whoops. Sorry for partying.

Other shenanigans from what was otherwise a very classy evening:

- In an unfortunate turn of events, hair-smelling came up in conversation earlier in the day. That basically guaranteed that we'd be smelling hair during the reception, and sure enough, that's exactly what came to pass. I had a pretty successful night by the numbers, going 7 for 8 (I got busted by my walking-down-the-aisle partner Dani) but I'd be lying if I said I was content with it. My white whale for the evening was the wedding planner Ashley (see below.) After spending the day planning and scheming my execution and getaway like I was in Ocean's 11 or something, Ashley unexpectedly bounced early, and I was left with nothing but my imagination on what her hair must smell like. Cue up Ron Burgundy:





- Ashley the Wedding Planner was kinda hot. Her hotness started a running joke amongst the Groomsmen all weekend, where every time she would ask us to do something, we would hit on her under our breath and/or after she walked away. So there was a lot of this:

"Hey, I need you guys to go over to that table and get your boutonnieres pinned on before people start getting here."

"Yeah, no problem!.....(quietly)....I love you."

Or:

"Jum, can you do me a favor? Grab this ladder and string these lights up in the front window?"

"Of course, I'd do everything to you!"

"What?"

"I'd do anything for you."


- We've talked about Rock & Roll Part 2 before. I've made the case that not many people love that song more than I do. But when Munch decided he wanted it played during the wedding, I tried to stop him. Warned him it wouldn't go over well. Cautioned him that it could be a dance floor murderer. Begged him not to do it. But he requested it anyway....and it went over like gangbusters. A total crowd pleaser, with almost everyone joining in for a Kansas City Chiefs chant on top of it.

I am man enough to admit when I am completely and totally wrong. (Maybe because it doesn't happen very often, ah-thank you.)


- I am not what you would call a jealous guy. In fact, I'm so far on the other end of the jealous spectrum that it probably could get me in trouble someday....

Teens was asked to dance by one of the guests, a tall, handsome guy named Adam. She didn't really want to, and I wasn't around, but if I was, I would've absolutely encouraged it. She finally agreed to dance ONE song, but then Adam tried to grab her ass while two-stepping, so she bolted off the floor and left him hanging, mid-song. Later on, after I had re-joined our crew and been briefed on the situation, Adam wandered into our conversation, and asked what Teens' story was, and why she was now avoiding him. Teens had continually tried to flash him her wedding ring, but like most clueless guys, he hadn't picked up on it. Technically JDub started the douchebaggery when he introduced himself as Jim, but I followed suit by sliding my wedding ring off and introducing myself as Adam Banks-- this is where we found out that the guy's name was Adam as well.

Now here's where you might think that I, the drunk husband, full of Morgan Diets and testosterone, would throw a punch at Adam for trying to molest my wife; or at the very least, tell him to get the hell out of our circle. Instead, my first reaction was to say "You seem like a good dude, Adam, I don't know what her deal is right now. You just gotta keep trying!" From there, we proceeded to give him possible topics of conversation, and common interests that might help him win her heart.

This continued on for the rest of the dance, to everyone's enjoyment (except Teens.) Finally, at the end of the night, we came clean with Adam on everything, and he was devastated by our betrayal. Before we parted ways, however, he left us with one last laugh: After I put my wedding ring back on and told him that his potential conquest was actually my wife, he processed the information, shook his head, then slowly looked back up at me, his eyes filled with hurt even as he made this realization: "You know something? I'm beginning to think that your name isn't really Adam, either!"

Just classic Adam right there.


- While we were downtown taking the bridal party photos before the reception, Mazzy was lamenting the fact that he didn't have a date for the evening. Just then, a provacatively dressed, gorgeous woman walked by. I told Mazzy to ask her "Hey, are you a flash card? Because you have +1 written alllll over you!"

He declined to ask her. I continue to think that line has promise, though.


- Two factors led to maybe my most questionable decision of the night (which, if you've been reading so far, is saying something.)

1) Our buddy Wags was the videographer, and he commented early on in the day that it was a boring job after the fact, going through hours and hours of footage trying to make cuts for the final wedding video. We told him we'd try to help with that, and from time to time, while he was just panning the camera over the reception area, we'd walk up and say things like "Wags, wanna hear a story? OK, so I'm balls deep in this homeless chick...." Just anything that might crack him up while he was re-watching and making edits later on.

2) I've always wanted to sing 'I Want You Back' by the Jackson 5 during a karaoke night, but I've never had the balls. I feel like I could knock it out of the park, but I don't have any frame of reference, as I'm only really belting it out by myself in the car, in the shower, outside ex-girlfriends' houses while masturbating, etc. Ipso facto, I've never sung it in front of a crowd before.

So, when that song came on during the dance, and I noticed Wags recording the dance floor, I split the difference, and 1) plus 2) equaled me walking up to about six inches away from the camera and laying down my best 12-year-old Michael Jackson impression. YIKES.

Last night Wags sent me this picture with the caption "Definitely going to make the cut...." So whoever watches that wedding video is about to find out if I can sing that song as well as I think I can. I will provide video evidence later on if it becomes available.


- Have you guys heard of the 'Nudify' app? Hours of fun. Schne turned me on to it, I told my Kansas friends, one thing led to another, and now we find ourselves here, with pictures of Double D like this:

Congratulations Steph and Jared. All in all, it was lovely, classy affair (except for our group of friends, who were neither lovely nor classy) that was enjoyed by everybody (well, except for maybe Adam.)

Also, a tip of the hat to one of the best collection of Groomsman I've been a part of: Double D, Womack, Munch and Mazzy. We had so much fun and were having such bridal party withdrawals that a bunch of us had to have dinner together last night, soley to rehash all the shenanigans from the last three days.

***************

OK, now I know I say this a lot, especially after a rough weekend, but this time I totally mean it...I'M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN.

Wait, what's that? The Sox are in the World Series? Well don't just stand there dude, go grab me a beer!

Hashtag Get Beard

So if we're naming beards now, alongside such beauties as "The Sick Flow" or "The Ironsides" or "The Freshwater", I'd like to call mine "The Honest Effort", if it's OK with you guys.

Or, alternatively, "The Playoff Beard I Wish I Could Keep, Except I Have To Look Presentable For Groomsman Duties Tomorrow, And This Is Pretty Much Why People Shouldn't Get Married In October-- But Seriously Steph And Jared, Long Life, Best Wishes, All The Happiness In The World."

As a form of protest, I will be spending much of the reception running in between dancing couples, punting beers like Jonny Gomes. I'd like to say that's a joke, but now, just by talking about it, that seed is officially planted in my subconscious, and alcohol's a hell of a drug. All bets are off.

(Editor's update: LOTS OF COMPLIMENTS ON THE BEARD! THE BEARD PLAYS! OCTOBER WEDDINGS FOR EVERYONE!!!)

Montegna

Random notes from our trip to Bozeman, Montana, set up by Manada and I to surprise Paul on his 31st birthday. (Or 32nd, if you believe the mistaken birthday card from his own mother. Good ol' Suddenly Susan, she never disappoints.)

- I was hoping to drop a couple pounds or so before a wedding next weekend, since I got my measurements a few months ago and I need to fit into this suit, but instead I gorged myself like it was....well, actually it was kind of a standard weekend for me. However, it was noteworthy because every meal I ate during the weekend was outstanding. Report card:

Quesadilla at Mesa Verde in Denver airport: A, borderline A+

Buffalo wings at Chico Hot Springs Poolside Grill: A

Lobster sliders at Copper Whiskey: A+++

Pizza & wings at Tarantino's: A for pizza, A+ for wings

Paul's homemade tuna casserole: A++

I can always leave my pants unbuttoned at the wedding anyway; I'm pretty sure that's why they invented belts.


- Paul and I had a stalking session on Facebook that would've made any online predator proud. What started as an innocent "Whatever happened to _____?" quickly spiraled into creeping HARD on every random schoolmate we could think of from first grade and up. It started while Teens and Manada were taking a nap, but it continued well into the evening, long after they had woken up, and what had started as shameful morphed into shameless. Soon we were all enjoying the conversation that included sentences like "What was the name of that girl in middle school who had ringworm?" and "I would've bet a lot of money that chick Randi from Kuz's 5th grade class would've turned out hot....got that one wrong."


- If I dare say so, the Red Sox Hate Pendulum might be swinging back to the positive juuuuust a little bit. Back when they won it all in 2004, there were a TON of people that were happy for me. They were the lovable underdogs, and they took down the universally-hated Yankees on their way to winning their first championship in 86 years. For various reasons (a large payroll, media overkill, bandwagon fans, a second championship, Ben Affleck, and just good old-fashioned hatred of a team stemming from continued success) the Red Sox became about as hated nationally as the Yankees. The last few years, anytime I was wearing any Red Sox gear in public, I could guarantee at least one dirty look from a stranger.





After the crazy Red Sox rally in Game 2 Sunday night, I was wearing my Red Sox hat during our flights back to Kansas the next day. Although I did receive a mean-mugging or two (Yeah, brosef in the flat-brim Cardinals hat, I see you too, guy) what stood out was that I had four different congratulatory conversations with strangers, all initiated by the other person. It felt like 2004 all over again. Maybe a couple down-and-out years have lessened the Red Sox hate a little bit.

(Side note: One new experience I had this weekend was celebrating a crazy comeback and walk-off playoff win with a toddler sleeping upstairs. During Big Papi's homer, I involuntarily lept out of my seat and jumped around a bit, but I was able to keep the volume at an acceptable level....whereas if I was at home, I would've sprinted around the house, yelling and spraying beer....and if I was back in college at Culligan Manor, I would've punched all my roommates in the balls, inadvertently torched a few cars in the Chucky B's parking lot while trying to set off fireworks from the roof, and broke up with whoever I was dating via text so I could "concentrate more on the rest of the ALCS." Progress. Making progress.)


- While Paul and I were digging through old photo albums and searching for yearbooks (I told you, this was a Hall-of-Fame creeping sesh) we came across this gem, from one of Paul's birthday parties, one of my favorite pictures of all time.

Me, RJ, ADawg (obscuring Aubol), Fundy, Paul, Marto, and Scott (who is dangerously close to getting defriended on Facebook-- no, I don't want to play Lucky Slots, SCOTT.)

How 'bout my giant glasses? How 'bout my shirt with the huge Lynx/Panther/Cougar/Mystery animal? How 'bout our Bambino Baseball All-Star hats? Every single person who owned that hat wore it down to absolute shreds, since there was no better way at the time to impress girls (besides baller-ass rollerblading skills) than to show you were a little league all-star. If anyone still has their hat buried in their old bedroom at their parent's house or something, I'll give them $100 for it, right now.


- I finally got to meet Leah, and she is adorable, not to mention hilarious. One could make the argument that she already has better comedic timing and fresher material than her father. In fact, I think Manada already makes that argument.

Social Media At Its Finest

Disclaimer for this post: I've haven't been using first + last names in the blog since 2007; we'll call it the Katie Z Rule. Even though I'm pretty sure we'd be OK for this post, since the information is public domain which is already being disseminated over the interwebs, we won't take any chances since we're talking about jobs here, and I won't even be referencing my friend by their blog name. Friends of mine should be able to guess who I'm talking about. Random readers will survive without knowing who we're talking about. End legal disclaimer.

***************

A couple months ago, a writer from New York that I follow on Twitter tweeted something that gave me a chuckle. It was a retweet from a town's police department that simply described what occurred in the police report-- the matter-of-fact tone is probably what made it funny. It simply said "Two men were seen putting four glass mugs in the middle of Tracy Avenue at 1 a.m. Officers removed the mugs from the road."

I chuckled, thought it could be mildly entertaining to follow a police department on Twitter, glanced at the original tweet, and realized OMG I HAVE A FRIEND WHO IS A POLICE OFFICER IN THIS TOWN ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHAT ARE THE ODDS.

So naturally, it was on. I get probably 5-7 tweets a day from their police report, and it's awesome knowing that there's a good chance my buddy is working on at least some of these "cases." And of course, I've started blowing him up with texts such as these:

"Hey, I really hope you catch the guys who threw rocks at Hyalite Elementary School."

"So an officer had to give a woman advice on how to handle her son, who she thinks is doing dangerous drugs-- Pleeeeeeeease tell me you were the one giving the advice!"

"An officer checked on a man who was sitting in a vehicle drinking beer and throwing up out of the door....so were you the officer, or the man in the car? Was it like a Back to the Future situation, like two of you running around at the same time, and you had to arrest yourself?"


Here are some of the other gems from the Twitter feed that I have not texted him about (because, quite honestly, while I want to give him shit, I don't want to text him every two hours when something funny comes up):

- A person reported finding what appeared to be a crack pipe on the floor. It turned out to be a light bulb.

- An officer checked on a woman who fell off her bike. She was fine.

- A woman reported that some juvenile neighbors dug up her dead tortoise that she had buried in her yard, took pictures of it and posted them on the internet. (Editor's note: this one is probably my favorite. That's some shit right there.)

- A man reported that he found his front door open the last two days. Officers said it was possible the wind was opening the door.

- A young man on a bike was chasing geese.

- A person who reported that a mountain lion was outside their cabin at 6:45am called back to say it was actually a black bear.


This Twitter feed is just the gift that keeps on giving. Now, I am aware that I'm picking and choosing the funny ones here, but still...these are pretty awesome. Forget Baltimore, they should've filmed The Wire in this city. All in the game, yo.

Do You See What Happens, Larry?

I pretty much never get cocky whilst watching my teams play sports. I'm rarely even confident. Despite the rash of championships my teams have won over the last decade, I still have trouble forgetting the first part of my rooting career, when my teams lost everything in heartbreaking fashion. I'm still pretty much always waiting for the guillotine to drop. My friends mostly make fun of me for this, which is pretty understandable, especially when I'm standing on a barstool in a packed bar with 100% KU fans, trying to single-handedly calm the pandemonium of a 40-12 lead in a Final Four game. (In my defense, North Carolina DID make a run, and eventually cut it to four before KU blew it open again. Let's just say we were both right.)

There have been two notable exceptions to this gloom-and-doom policy of mine:

The 2003 Final Four, when KU beat Dwyane Wade and Marquette by like 160 points. We happened to have a kegger at Culligan Manor that night, and when I wasn't taking pictures of the passed out Minneapolis girls that Paul, Fundy, and Russell had met in Cancun a few weeks earlier, I was telling anyone who would listen that they could come over and watch the game Monday night if they "felt like watching a banner get hung." We all know how that ended: a barrage of Gerry McNamara threes, a barrage of KU missed free throws, and a barrage of missed homework assignments from me, since I skipped all my classes and didn't talk to anybody for like three days.

The 2011 Sweet 16, when KU steamrolled Richmond by like 135 points, my boy Brady Morningstar was player of the game, and VCU upset everyone in the bottom half of the bracket, to set up what I thought was a favorable Elite 8 matchup. Gangel was in town that weekend, and I told him to stick around if he wanted to see what a Final Four parade was all about, cause we were "gonna hang a banner that weekend." (I LOVE using the phrase "hang a banner" when I'm housed.) Once again, we know how that ended.

And last night was exception #3. Early in the game, it was typical pessimistic Jum, "I feel like every time Longoria steps in the box he's going yard. Don't know why, I just get that feel- oh, yup, three-run homer. AWESOME." But after the Sox tied it up in the 9th, I started feeling emboldened (and also a lil' drunk from all the Mich Golden pounders.) I started chirping, knowing that Koji was coming in for the bottom half of the inning, and he just had one of the best seasons for a relief pitcher OF ALL TIME.

I was explaining to Teens how unhittable Koji is (read: she asked one simple question, and I went into a rant that lasted the entire commercial break and first two outs of the inning-- I hope Teens realizes how lucky she is to be able to watch games with a know-it-all), when, mid-sentence, Jose Lobaton went yammies. Just absolutely crushed it. Walk-off. Game over. Talk about shutting me up.

So once again, I got cocky during a sporting event, and Walter Sobchak came over and smashed up the neighbor's car. I'd like to say I learned my lesson fo' reals this time....but give it a couple of years, and I'm sure I'll be drunk texting my buddies during the ALCS, stuff like "Get ready for the BoSox to hang a banner, you homos! Hey, remember those broads from Cancun that drove up and partied with us at Culligan? Were they sluts, or what!"





Just a heads up if you're watching this at work, this is not the TV version, so good ol' Walter will NOT be saying "This is what happens, Larry, when you find a stranger in the Alps!"

Back In The High Life Again

I get to fully enjoy playoff baseball for the first time since 2009**. I was only 26 years old back then, just a kid, much too young to understand that a string of 95-win seasons and ALCS appearances could all disappear, poof, just like that. I have to admit, even in the shark-infested waters of the AL East, I started taking playoff appearances for granted just a tiny bit. (P.S. I really hate Tampa Bay. The AL East was already a nightmare, what with all the monster payrolls, and then the Rays had to go and turn themselves into pretty much the best organization in the Major Leagues, just to add to the mix. Real cool, Tampa.)

**I apologize to all my Royals friends; I'm not trying to invite sympathy or make that sound like a crazy long time, when you haven't made the playoffs since '85. I was just trying to underscore the point I was making, that after the stretch the Sox had from 2002 to 2008, it's easy to get spoiled enough to where three postseason-less years feels a long time. You know I root for you guys too. But hey, at least you got your first pennant rance this year! Plus they dominated their over/under season win total of 78.5, so really, we're all winners here.**

This year's Red Sox team has been extremely enjoyable (not even CLOSE to the 2003-2005 'Idiots' though, so respectfully disregard any writer who makes that comparison.) When you're following a 162-game season, you need wacky, fun things to break up the monotony of the everyday grind. Everything from all the kids coming up from the minors and contributing (Middlebrooks, Xander, JBJ, etc.)....to the Koji High-Five Routine (HEADS UP VICTORINO!).....





...to the #GetBeard movement, and all the homoerotic beard-touching that goes along with that.

It's just been a lot of fun to follow this team. Even if they wouldn't have made the playoffs this season, I would've welcomed the change from last year, when the team turned on Valentine before the season even started; Youk, Beckett, Gonzo, and Crawford were run out of town; and they couldn't even get to 70 wins. Obviously the goal is to win it all this year, but even if the Sox get swept out of the first round, I'm just happy to be here-- as opposed to the last few postseasons, when I would watch my DVDs of the 2004 playoffs and crush enough beers that I eventually thought the games were actually happening live.

Teens even climbed aboard the bandwagon, to the dismay, and eventually outright disgust, of her family. She had a Godfather Part II "I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart" moment with her mom when she wore Red Sox gear to the Red Sox/Royals games back in August. Teens justified it as "Well, I watch the Sox every time they're on TV now, I can name basically the entire team, and I barely know any Royals anymore, so I guess Boston is my favorite team now."

Also, she recently had a sex dream where a bunch of girls climbed in separate boats to paddle across a river to bang whichever Red Sox player they chose. There was a huge race to get to Jacoby Ellsbury first (obviously; his eyes are like brown diamonds) so she chose Stephen Drew and told him he was her first choice anyway. So she's got that going for her, which is nice.

(In the interest of full disclosure: I'm going with Will Middlebrooks in that scenario. He's definitely never calling you again, but he's at least going to cook you a nice breakfast in the morning, and pay for your cab home.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to return to what I've been doing for the last few days: going over pitching matchups and lefty/righty splits, building my weeknight drinking tolerance back up to playoff baseball standards again, and listening to a four-song playlist on repeat:












(I know that fourth song doesn't really fit into the Boston playlist theme, but it's just a really good tune that I'm digging right now. Don't be a dick.)

I'm Sorry Charlie Murphy, I Was Having Too Much Fun

Well, if the goal for last Saturday was to get aggressively drunk, like I stated in Friday's post....Mission Effing Accomplished. The drinking display that Fundy, Morley, T.Nels, Easy E and I put on was rivaled only by our poor decision-making. We drank on Friday night, slept for about four hours, and were cracking beers by about 10am on Saturday. Towards the end of Saturday night, when our group added a couple of gals, the seven of us decided to eschew traditional bar-hopping and instead just pulled Irish Exits on each other. I still don't know why this happened. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess.

At one point (after ditching Morley, T.Nels and the girls-- but before I caught up with Fundy and Easy, who had in turn ditched all of us an hour earlier) I ended up solo for about 45 minutes, walking around downtown Minneapolis, eventually going into an unknown bar by myself for a beer, since I was just straight-up lost and clearly needed more alcohol in my bloodstream. Initially I blamed myself, because I was browned out at that point (not quite blacked out, but pretty close) and assumed I was struggling with their directions. However, last night I was going through my drunk texts (Easy and I call them 'Drexlers' or just 'Clydes'), assessing the damage, when I saw this string of texties from Fundy starting just after midnight.

So, maybe it wasn't all my fault. Or maybe cowbOy hoxftM just wasn't a good scene that night. Either way, I hope Fundy's meeting that night was productive.

(Also, the top line is cut off, but it reads that Wiggins tore his ACL in practice, obviously not true. Fundy sends me some variation of this texty pretty much bi-weekly. Clearly I wasn't in the mood for it on Saturday morning.)

Annnnnyway, long story short-ish, I eventually found Easy and Fundy-- although we never did meet back up with Morley and T.Nels, thus never gave them their keys, thus they had to crash downtown, and Fundy had to come back with us to the 'burbs and stay there. By the time 2am rolled around, I was so crushed that when we walked out of the bar and saw the police on horseback keeping the peace, I told the two random dudes that I had just met 15 minutes earlier "Get a look at Secretariat over there, just mad-dogging me right now. He really looks like the kind of horse that can take a punch, doesn't he? For 20 bucks, I'll punch him right in the face." Luckily they didn't accept my offer. Seriously, it was a weird night. Five dudes in their thirties, making decisions and carrying on like a bunch of 16-year-olds with fake IDs, out on the town for the first time ever.

On the plus side, it will fit in nicely with my other favorite ridiculous Minneapolis nights, in no particular order:

- September 2005. T.Nels and I are about to embark on our first Boston trip to see Fenway Park. We're flying out of Minneapolis early the next morning, so the plan is to stay at our buddy Brett's place, "just have a couple of beers", and he'll take us to the airport in the morning so we don't have to pay for parking. We end up having a bunch of beers at his apartment, going to a nearby bar for "just a couple more", then eventually going Uptown, meeting up with a ton of friends from high school, and closing down the bar. We didn't trust ourselves to wake up on time from Brett's apartment, so we just got dropped off at the airport at like 3am and slept in the lobby with the homeless people.

- December 2004. Paul and I went to visit Chelsey back when she lived in the Cities. We met up with some friends of hers and Paul's from the camp they worked at, and they brought a friend along who was both smoking hot and smoking cigarettes at a pretty consistent rate. At some point during dinner, as SportsCenter was playing on an overhead TV, the friend made a comment along the lines of "Yeah, Ben Roethlisberger has a better record right now, but he's just in a better situation than Eli Manning, he has a much better supporting cast. So we can't say who the best rookie QB is yet."

I overlooked her frankly alarming smoking habit, fell in love on the spot, and the evening ended with us making out in the bar, on the ride home, and in Chelsey's building's hallway for like an hour, until her ride was leaving and we had to be physically separated. I came back into the apartment with a sheepish smile, got a high-five from Paul, and a "That was absolutely disgusting" from Chelsey. To this day, any time I see a good-looking gal smoking cigs and talking knowledgeably about sports, I get wistful and think to myself "Damn, what a woman. Wait, what was her name again? Marne? Marty? It definitely started with an M."

- July 2005. Another trip to visit Chels, although this time we added Fundy and Buckley to the mix. We went to a bar that was in a halfway-sketchy location-- sketchy enough that they didn't allow hats to be worn backwards due to possible gang affiliations. This....turned into a problem for me. This was a period in my life where you would rarely find me without a backwards Red Sox hat on. For awhile, life was good at this bar. Billie Jean was played, and I successfully led the entire dancefloor in jumping around to different tiles, pretending to light them up like the music video. It was glorious. Good-looking girls, hipsters, thugs wearing head-to-toe FuBu, douchebags in polo shirts and backwards Red Sox hats thinking they're cooler than they really are....all united in lighting up imaginary tiles. I was the Belle of the Ball.

However, I could NOT keep my hat turned forwards. I wasn't being drunk and belligerent at all, I was just being suuuuper drunk and suuuuper forgetful. The bouncer would come tell me to turn it forwards, I would comply and say "Oh yeah, my bad!", keep dancing, then 30 seconds later my inner monologue would be like "Why is your hat forwards right now? That's weird, we never wear it forwards. Also, let's get some White Castle on the way home, sliders sound fucking amazing right now" and I'd turn it backwards again. Repeat this about six times and I was finally thrown out (at which point I DID become drunk and belligerent.) I went and sat in the parking lot by myself until Buckley finally came looking for me. Right as she found me and started walking over, I projectile vomited across three or four parking spaces. I looked her, smiled, and said "I think I puked a lil' bit."

It's nice to have one more night to add to that list; it'd be a shame if it ended in 2005. We said going into this that we wanted a good old-fashioned shitshow, and we got one. Now I'm never going back to Minneapolis again.

***************

A couple more notes from the weekend of having too much fun:

- Referencing Friday's post and the lies I was going to tell strangers: All of them were fun, but most of them were failures. However, one of them worked, and worked spectacularly. Morley and I gambled at Canterbury for a couple hours while everyone else went to a bar down the road. Morley went down a couple hundred bucks real quick, borrowed a hundy from me (I was having some success) and lost that too. He shuffled off to the ATM, and some of our fellow blackjack players expressed their sympathy, telling me it's too bad my buddy lost that much money so fast. I had my reply unsheathed before they could even finish their sentence- "Oh, him? Don't worry about that guy. He used to intern at Facebook, got in on the ground floor. He actually helped come up with the 'Like' button. So he's doing juuuuust fine, he can handle a losing streak."

All the players bought it immediately, hook, line, and sinker, and were super excited about it. The dealer, however, has probably seen countless d-bags like myself come through his table, and held his suspicions. He raised an unfriendly eyebrow at me, "That a true story?" And once again, I was prepared, "Yup. He's a lawyer now- he kinda had to become one, what with all the litigation that stupid 'Like' button caused. Lawsuits for years, people trying to claim the idea as their own. He's still in court over it."

Morley, who by this time was playing a different game and making a huge comeback at a table about 30 yards away, was playing his part to perfection without even knowing it. Wearing a garish blaze orange golf jacket and backwards hat, stacks and stacks and stacks of chips in front of him, throwing around money on booze, walking away from his table every once in a while to walk into my line of vision and throw up a gang sign, occasionally coming over with a beer for me and saying things like "As your attorney, I advise you to drink this." The dealer had no choice but to believe me, and pretty soon he was referencing Morley as 'Social Network', and the other players at the table and I were cheers'ing to Facebook after every dealer bust. That blackjack table was a blast-- probably the most fun I've ever had without a single friend at the table with me (after Morley left, of course.) Who says it's wrong to tell little white lies?


- I'm well aware of the fact that my hair is long and shitty right now. I'm in Jared and Steph's wedding in a couple weeks, so I'm trying to wait to cut it so that's it at optimal length for pictures and whatnot. If I had cut it last week, it just would've been long and crappy again by the time the wedding rolled around. Make sense? OK cool.

So I'm fresh off the interstate after a long drive, excited to see my friends, happy to be alive. As I'm walking my bags up to Easy and LZE's apartment, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and have the thought "I bet these guys are gonna rip on my hair HARD this weekend. Ehh, maybe it's not that bad." 30 seconds later I walk in the door to this greeting:

LZE: James is here!
Morley: Whaaaaat is your hair doing right now?!?!
Easy E: Who do you think you are, fucking Jason Sudeikis???

I hate my friends.


- Easy E and I came back from the bar on Friday night and watched the James Franco Roast, each for the second time. Then we watched most of it again the next morning, and if Easy had his way, we would've watched it AGAIN at 3am on Saturday night. As a result, we spent most the weekend yelling out the line from the clip below whenever we had the chance. If I had a buck for every time I yelled this completely out of context last weekend.....well, then, I guess I'd have a lot more money, and I wouldn't have to try and sell my police horse face-punching services on the streets like a friggin' vagrant. SUCH PHENOMENAL RAAAANGE!

Cities, Of The Twin Variety

I'm about to hit the road for a weekend in Minneapolis with these fools:

As well as this fool. Don't ask me why Schne texted me us TNels' Senior Yearbook photo and why I still have it in my phone; it's a long, sexually confusing story:

I haven't been aggressively drunk in quite a while now, so I'mma see what I can do about that, starting at approximately 7:30 CST tonight. To clarify, I'm talking, like, "Texting the Zidon sisters Journey lyrics without context at 3:45am, asking a blackjack dealer if she'll take my last name when we get married or if she'd rather hyphenate, telling strippers that I used to intern at Facebook and I came up with the idea for the 'Like' button, punting burritos in the Taco Bell parking lot because they forgot to leave off the sour cream" drunk.

Four out of the five of us are engaged/married, so the wingmanning for Morley should be top notch. Last time I was on wingman duty was for Hendo at a wedding a couple months back, and I failed (I got us settled in pretty solidly with a fun group of people, but my middle relievers let us down, then we brought Teens in from the bullpen but she couldn't close anything for Hendo either.) So I've got some motivation. Here are some lines I'm hoping to use at some point over the course of the weekend:

- "See my buddy over there? His dad used to work at Paramount, and they were short on extras one day, so he actually got to be in Forrest Gump. Yeah, he was the kid on the bus who says "Can't sit here." Go ahead, ask him to say the line, he'll only break it out if it's for a girl."

- "I know, you can't even see the scar from where they re-attached his ear, can you? Don't worry, he'll be back and running the marathon again next year. You can't let the terrorists win, you know? Go ahead, say hi. Just make sure to speak into his left ear, the other one is just for show now."

- "Well, he was in L.A. for a couple weeks, working on some development deals, and ended up at some rager in the Hollywood Hills. Long story short....he got Lindsay Lohan's phone number. Wanna text her? It's a ton of fun." (For this one, you need to change the name of one of your phone contacts to 'LiLo' or whatever sketchy celeb is being applied to your situation, and you need a friend willing to participate and cooperate. Don't think we haven't tried this one before. My friend Kelsy played a dynamite Olsen Twin for me a couple years ago.)

Fathers, lock up your daughters.

Casinos, unlock your reserve stash of chips.


***************

The worst part about this trip (keeping in line with the whole "Every time I leave town something else is going on" theme that is my life) is that I'll miss the Breaking Bad finale on Sunday night, only the most anticipated hour of TV since The Sopranos over six years ago.

I'll be driving home Monday, so it shouldn't be too difficult to avoid internet spoilers until I get to watch the DVR that evening....but if any of my "friends" try and ruin it for me, I will destroy you. I am a petty, spiteful man, and I will come down on you with the force of a hundred Walter Whites. I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.

Friend Zone

I found out recently that KU basketball assistant coach Kurtis Townsend (recently named the #1 recruiter in the country, according to a poll of his fellow NCAA coaches) must live in my neighborhood or something. This was completely new information to me. (As opposed to Bill Self, whose house I knew the location of before they laid the first brick. Sometimes I wake up super early in the morning, drive over and park my car in front of his house, and just watch the sun rise. I've also started leaving things on his front porch. I hope he likes the present I left him the other day-- it's macaroni noodles glued on a paper plate, in the form of he and I holding hands, and a message on the bottom in crayon saying 'Best Budz 4 Life.')

Every morning for the past few weeks, I've seen Townsend on a morning stroll as I drive to work-- me driving East, him walking West, so we're facing each other as I pass. Right off the bat, as I was just processing the fact that it was Townsend, he looked right at me and waved. I was taken aback and looked around for another car near me, as I knew of no reason why Townsend would be throwing me a what-up. Nobody else around. OK, fair enough. The next day, same thing, only this time I was cool, calm, and collected, and waved back. Next day, same thing. Next day, same thing, and every day since then.

So there are two possibilities here: either Townsend thinks I'm somebody else, or he's just being friendly. I can accept that he's just being friendly; not every semi-famous person is required to be an asshole. But then the question becomes: why isn't he waving at anybody else? There have been days since the first one where there have been other cars in the vicinity, and he doesn't wave at any of them, just me. Perhaps he's had the same thought that I've had, and acknowledging it's pretty bizarre that we cross each other within the same 30-yard diameter EVERY single day. I know people have routines in the morning, but this is getting absurd. If I'm three minutes late, then he is. If I'm six minutes early, so is he. Staying within the same 10-second window like this has been freaky.

In any event, why he is waving at me matters not. It's the as a result that matters. And as a result, I'm not going to hesitate to be super comfortable with Townsend next time I see him in public (when one of us isn't driving 40mph in the opposite direction.) If he wants to be boys, we're gonna be BOYS. I've seen him quite a few times at Henry T's, and noticed that we both almost exclusively order the buffalo chicken strips. Next time, I'm envisioning me plopping down at his table, grabbing one of his strips and nonchalantly taking a bite. "Yo, Townsy, how's the family?" I'll say, as he and his friends look startled and try to alert the manager. "Well, see ya bright and early tomorrow morning, my man. Mondays, am I right? Don't forget about those tickets you promised!" Soon after, the harassing phone calls, mutilated family pets, and doorstep macaroni presents will start.

And poor Kurtis Townsend will never go out of his way to be friendly again.

iQuit

I've been balls-deep in ebay auctions for an iPod for like two weeks now, and if I lose one more auction because someone outbids me with like four seconds left, I am going to lose my fucking mind.

I mean, I don't even want to buy a new iPod. My current edition has been faithful to me for almost seven years, and we all know how I hate to let things go. I'm only in the market for a different one for two reasons:

1. My current iPod can't hold a charge for longer than 15 minutes. 95% of the time, this isn't a problem. I have a docking station in my bathroom, at my office desk, and there's a charger inside of Voltron (I neglected to mention that I got a new car a while back, the Element has been retired. The new ride is an Acura MDX, I named it Voltron. I'll let Bill Hader explain why.)





However, when I'm on the treadmill, the iPod isn't charging, and I HAVE to have music rocking, since I'm not even close to mentally tough enough to exercise without music. So when my iPod cuts out without warning after only 10-15 minutes, this is a problem, because I'm gonna shut the treadmill off right behind it. It's not like I'm running marathons or anything, I'm only running 21 miles per month-- the exact amount of running that lets me eat whatever I want, whenever I want, without getting any fatter. Here's the problem: after I tore my meniscus, I had zero physical activity for three months, and I put on 15 pounds quicker than you can say "Well, no, Teens, I'm getting a 'Six-Pack and a Pound' for just myself, what do YOU want from Taco John's?" True story: starting Wednesday afternoon, I have had pizza for 6 of my last 8 meals (not counting breakfast, I don't play that shit. Breakfasts are for rich people.) So anyway, now I need to get back down to my ideal fighting weight of 190 again. The point is, while I'm not Prefontaine or anything, I do have to be running for longer than 15 minutes at a time. Ipso facto, I need a new iPod, post haste.

2. I got called out by a Mom the other day for how crappy my iPod looked. I can deal with all the jokes I get from friends for how damaged the screen is ("That must have been a bummer when that stampede of elephants ran over your iPod-- what's Jumanji like in real life, anyway?"......"I hope they caught the guy who stole your iPod, backed over it with his car a few times, then returned it to your docking station", etc. etc.) But when a MOM is calling me out for having such a broke-ass iPod, now we have problems.


So all I need is a used, old school iPod, 30GB, nothing fancy, whatever. I don't want a new one, or even a newER one than what I already own. Just one in better shape. I'm not being picky here. We're not talking about Tony Stark technology for a new Iron Man suit or something.

But yet, these things still get all kinds of action on ebay. I swear, if I get outbid one more time, that's it. I will go on a multi-state killing spree, strangling every victim with the USB cord. I'll leave a set of headphones on each victim, then paint each body completely black from head to toe. The media will dub me the iKiller. The evidence will finally start to point in my direction, so I'll take to the road. Paul will be my driver, and we'll slowly cruise down I-435 with a swarm of police on our tail while I threaten suicide. This will take place during Game 5 of the NBA Finals. I'll finally give myself up, hire a bunch of high-priced attorneys and go to trial, and I'll be acquitted amidst a controversy that rocks the nation and encapsulates race relations from coast to coast. I'll spend the rest of my life playing golf and trying to find the "real" killer, until I eventually go to prison for an armed robbery gone bad.

Or hopefully I'll just win the next used iPod ebay auction I participate in.

35

On my iPod, I have a bunch of playlists that are grouped together and sorted simply by play count. I love these kind of playlists, since it can lead to sequences like Smokey Robinson > A Tribe Called Quest > Aladdin Soundtrack > Black Sabbath > KC & the Sunshine Band > Cypress Hill > The song from the pennant race montage in Major League.




These are lists for another day, but this song would rank in the top 5 of both "Greatest Movie Montages" and "I'm Hungover As Shit, And I Know It's Only 11am....But You Wanna Crack A Beer Anyway?"


I name these playlists by jersey numbers, so that I can identify which playlist is which. A playlist of songs that have all been played 9 times is named 'Nick Van Exel'. Songs that have been played 19 times, 'Josh Beckett.' And so on and so on. Yeah, I suppose I could just name the playlist 'Nineteens' or something, but what fun is that? Get a fucking imagination.

(This is sorta unrelated, but it always cracked me up when Lane, another big believer in using jersey numbers as identifiers, had to give out his phone number in college. His number was XXX-1413, and he would tell people "XXX, Kent Hrbek, Kent Hrbek minus one." If they couldn't figure it out, they didn't get his digits.)

ANYWAY, sometimes the playlist is named after one of my favorite athletes (as per the above two examples) but sometimes it's just the first athlete that pops into my head when I think of that jersey number. The other day, I created a list of songs that had been played 35 times. I cleared my head, and the first name that flew in there was....Marion Butts. Marion Butts?

I know I spend an inordinate amount of time wishing it was 1994, but this was still pretty weird. I hadn't even thought about him in probably 15 years. It's like having a sex dream about a girl you haven't been friends with since 7th grade- what up, Amanda.

I thought this whole Butts thing was really bizarre (we're talking about Marion again now, not Amanda) so I polled a cross-section of my friends, asking who was the first athlete they thought of when they thought of #35. Here's a breakdown of their answers:


The Obvious Answer: Kevin Durant

- DVJS
- Horp
- Steph
- Hendo
- Myshawn
- Landry
- Matty P
- Chelsey
- Kyle
- JDub- With a secondary answer of Reggie Bullock from North Carolina
- Addy- Secondary answer: the legendary Mark Madsen
- CJ- Secondary answer ALSO Mark Madsen (is this a Minneapolis thing?) Also, discussing the Mad Dog led to this little factoid from CJ which is too good not to share: "He tried to meet up with two different female friends of mine on match.com, surprisingly both turned him down."

The Second Obvious Answer, That Somehow Never Even Crossed My Mind: Frank Thomas

- Easy E
- Dunph
- Bird
- Mangus
- Aly B
- Razor Ramon aka Tom- Secondary answers of Dontrielle Willis and Mike Tolbert- Hey, I'm not the only one to reference a fat San Diego Chargers running back!
- Jonye- Secondary answer of Reggie Lewis
- Gangel- Secondary answer Mike Richter (I love this one for some reason, maybe since it was the only hockey entry. What, no Toby Kvalevog? Sioux Yeah Yeahhhhhhhhhh!)


The Lane Answer

"Reggie Lewis, his fucking number is retired, and he's dead"

Clearly Associated With A Favorite Team, And That's OK Too

I thought there would be a bunch more of these, to be honest. At first I was surprised there were no Minnesota Twins, but after further research, it makes sense. I didn't recognize a single player on that list....but hey, Gardy sports the big 3-5! When he's not wearing sleeveless camo, drinking Old Milwaukee, and shooting animals from his back porch, that is.

- Double D, Schneweis- Jerod Haase (I love this one, obviously)

- Fundy- Reggie Bullock (I would've bet my entire checking account that Bullock would be Fundy's answer, so I would've doubled up...but then I would've given it all back when I let the same bet ride on JDub's answer.)

The Man-Card Revoking

Alfonso: "Nobody, but I'm terrible with sports numbers" (Editor's note: Rule #76, no excuses, play like a champion.)


In closing, I thought this was a strangely fascinating game. If I ever go to grad school, this topic might be my thesis. While the question served a purpose this time (if you count a shitty blog post as a "purpose"), next time I do this it will be for no reason at all. My friends should expect a similar question in the future every time I'm bored. My new drunk texts will be stuff like "heydude,,, #4fourty-7, GO! but firsst lets get an apartment 2gether.. what does it all mean? BeeR."

Hey, maybe a question like this would be a good icebreaker. Let's open up the lines of communication with Amanda after all these years.

A Conversation Between Eminem And His Agent

Eminem: So what's on the agenda today?

Agent: Well, there's this guy, Jum Hammonds, who used to like your music quite a bit a decade ago. But there's a problem: he's barely listened to you since. Quite simply, we've lost him.

Eminem: So we're gonna try and win him back now? After all these years?

Agent: Precisely. We need to come up with some ideas here today. Fire away.

Eminem: Hmmm...how about I dye my hair blonde again? That was what I looked like when he loved my music, right?

Agent: I suppose that's a start.

Eminem: I could play up that whole serial killer angle I was going for a few years ago...

Agent: Eh.

Eminem: Jokes about the Bush Administration? That's topical!

Agent: Nah, when Jum is listening to rap music, he doesn't really want to hear a bunch of bullshit about politics.

Eminem: Are you sure? What about 'By the Time I Get to Arizona'...he loves that song.

Agent: Well, yeah, but there was a good reason for that song. Arizona had banned Martin Luther King Day, for crying out loud. You were just taking potshots at the current administration for pretty uninspiring reasons.

Eminem: OK, I gotcha. Changing gears slightly: how do we feel about burping and farting sound effects during the songs?

Agent: That's basically what lost him in the first place.

Eminem: Yelling like Pee Wee Herman during the chorus? Making fun of Michael Jackson?

Agent: If I can be frank here, I think the further we stay away from anything we did in 'Just Lose It', the better.

Eminem: Oh! How 'bout this? I rap an entire song while doing my impression of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog! Really, I'll be taking jabs at the character, only IN HIS OWN VOICE. Did I just blow your mind or what?

Agent: We already did that, remember? I thought it was genius, but Jum...well, let's just say he didn't go for it. It's weird, usually Jum loves a good diss track. I guess he just prefers that they're directed towards an actual human being and not a hand puppet.

Eminem: Oh yeah, I forgot we already did that. I fucking hate that puppet. I mean, the nerve, to try and mess with me at the MTV awards! ME! Marshall Mathers! I'M the only one who gets to make fun of people! If I could just-

Agent: Stay on track, Marshall....

Eminem: I know, I know. Sorry. We could always bring in Fitty for a song or two.

Agent: You're on the right track....

Eminem: On the right track? C'mon, that's it right there! Bring back somebody from Jum's rap music heyday that he enjoys. He's a sucker for that shit.

Agent: Very true. It's not a bad idea at all. Bringing in 50 Cent is good, much better than featuring Drake or Lil' Wayne or someone like that. It's just not quite what we need; it doesn't change anything about YOU. What can we do to improve YOU in Jum's mind?

~silence~

Eminem: I got it! I'll just straight-up turn myself into a Beastie Boy!

Agent: AND BINGO WAS HIS NAME-O!!!!

Eminem: Quick, somebody get Rick Rubin on the phone!





Jum Hammonds: Good work, fellas. This song is pretty sweet.

Grand Theft Vanessa, Manny Being Manny, & The Nostalgia Therein

Remember this video? With the driving piano and whatnot? I certainly do, because I had a thing for Vanessa Carlton, and this song was playing the first time I ever got laid** so it will always have a special place deep down in my soul. (Then again, we also listened to John Mayer during that magical session when two hearts beat as one for the first time, and that guy fucking sucks. So whatever, I guess.)

Anyway, now that your memory is refreshed, watch this:




There are things in life that get me giggling, and then my laughter snowballs until I can't control it any longer and it gets embarrassing. Sometimes these things aren't really that funny. In high school, Haley and Lane liked to call me Phil, as in Phil from The Tom Green Show, as in the guy who just sat in the background and laughed at everything.

Sometimes it's pretty easy to make me laugh. Sometimes I'm like the quiet sophomore with an enormous crush on the quarterback of the football team, and I bat my eyes and laugh at all his jokes because I desperately want him to notice me, and eventually fingerblast me in the back of his pickup truck. I kinda have the feeling that this video might be one of those things that maybe isn't as funny as I thought it was.

All that said, I giggled for the entire three minutes and fifty-five seconds of this video, so you should at least get a solid 30-45 seconds of enjoyment.

**Fun story: a couple years ago, this song came on the jukebox while we were out playing trivia in a bar. I made a comment about my first serious girlfriend, and how it was "our song." Then, for some reason (hint: beer) I did some weird Sammy Sosa-after-a-home-run-thing with my hands, and pointed to the sky. Of course, none of my Kansas friends know Molly, so an awkward silence fell over the table, and lasted for a few minutes. Finally I asked why everyone was being so quiet and weird, and they said something to the effect of "Well, you just brought up your dead ex-girlfriend, whom you've never mentioned before, out of nowhere, so we didn't know how to respond." I assured them I was just being dumb, Molly was alive and well, and I meant my hand gesture as a tribute to our past love, and we all had a good laugh. Now we'll play that song on the jukebox all the time, raise our glasses in a toast, and yell things like "R.I.P. Molly!" and "I'll never stop loving you!"

***************



While searching for an appropriate video of Sammy Sosa doing his hand-kissing and pointing routine, I stumbled into this video of Manny Ramirez doing all the ridiculous things that he does. After my initial excitement at the video (when I wrote this post back in the day, I searched forever for video evidence of one of my favorite Manny Moments ever and couldn't find anything. Finally, at the :46 mark of this video, paydirt!) when it ended I realized how much I missed Manny and got kinda bummed out. It's been five full years now since the Red Sox traded Manny, and there's still a hole in my heart.

Bottom line, I don't know what made me more nostalgic: the first girl I ever loved, or some Dominican guy who always fucked up running the bases and once pissed in the Green Monster during a pitching change. It's a toss-up, really.

Thug Life

Listening to hip-hop for most of my life (as well spending much of my childhood wishing I was black) has resulted in a couple of small side effects.  Due to my penchant for turning the 'th' sound into an 'f' sound, there are a few words I struggle to say normally anymore.  'Teeth' becomes 'teef', 'both' becomes 'bof', 'truth' becomes 'truf'...you get it. 

For the most part, I can keep this speech pattern in check during professional conversations (similar to the minor task of remembering not to ridiculously quote movies during inappropriate situations.) But the other day, during a seminar with about 25 other people in the room, when the answer the speaker was looking for was "Word of mouth", I blurted out "Word of mouf!" without turning on my white-accountant-in-his-thirties-filter.  It wasn't the most awkward thing in the world or anything; it's not like I stood up and shouted "Word of mouf babayyyyyyyy! I got ho's in different area codes!"

I caught a few stray glances and half-cocked eyebrows, but most people probably just thought I had a speech impediment, or had food in my mouf or something. It wasn't quite a "When keepin' it real goes wrong" situation or anything. That being said, it won't go down as a high point in my life, either.

It's tough being from the streets. How we ever gonna come up, if this is how we get down?