Gonna Lay This Groove So You Can Move On The Funk

Christmas break 2007 is in the books, and Grand Forks is once again in my rear view mirror. GameDay 2007 was wonderful, as the Culligan Fab 5 was reunited for the first time in over a year. Big ups to Jon-Jon for hosting so we didn't have to do it at someone's parents' house, which would've been just awful. Taking the Fab 5 comparison a step further (which is most likely one step too far):

I would be Jalen Rose because I think I'm a lot more awesome than I probably am;

Horp is Chris Webber because he does the most things that are real-life equivalents of calling a time-out in the National Championship when you don't have any left;

Noles is Jimmy King because he shows flashes of brilliance and is quietly the heart and soul of the Fab 5;

Jon-Jon is Juwan Howard because I can't think of a single good thing to say about him, but not a bad thing either;

Fundy is Ray Jackson because no one has heard anything from either one of them since 1994.

Big D (the 6th man Eric Riley) was also in the mix, mostly just to start controversy by starting the typical Pac-10 vs. ACC argument, and to pour steak seasoning in Noles' punishment shot of Morgan after he knocked over the Jenga tower, then deny it for the better part of an hour.

Other highlights of break:

Watching Dunph throw the bowling ball on the Wii like he's Dontrielle Willis. Granted, it was like 4 am, but I still think I'm changing your name in my phone to D-Train.

Watching Seth decide that the dance floor scene at Gilly's wasn't to his liking anymore. Now, for a normal person, this decision would result in you quietly walking off of the dance floor, getting a beer, and finding your friends. For a drunken time bomb like Seth, it involves shattering your vodka sour on the floor, pushing your way outside, doing a snow angel outside the front door, and getting up and sprinting 12 blocks to your house, stopping at Subway on the way home to purchase a foot-long and steal 14 bags of potato chips. True story.

Finding my holy grail of the last 10 years: the original Sim City at my parents' house, which will end up being the best present I receive this year.

The "Ski Jumps" debacle at Bonzer's. That's gonna have to stay an inside joke to be enjoyed by those who were there. Don't even ask.

Taking the voice mail game to a whole new stratosphere. Starting Saturday night and stretching into the wee hours of Sunday morning, 8 of us left 62 messages on Horp's phone. Now this in itself is a very solid performance, but when we found out that his flight out of Phoenix left early that morning, and he couldn't shut his phone off because it was his alarm, and he had to sit there at 4 am and listen to his phone ring that many times....it extends the shelf life of voice mail game for another 5-7 years at least. By the way, at this point we need a new name for voice mail game, suggestions are welcome. Maybe we should just call it "Fuck You."

Putting a nice touch on the weekend was my fantasy team overcoming my arch-rival Jake and capturing my first ever championship. In the interest of full disclosure, I had the #1 coach ranking and the #1 strength of schedule in my league, so whether I won the title or not, I was gonna talk shit. Hey, if you're not in fantasy football to either cock off or whine incessantly (or both), then I don't know what you're in it for. So please give it up for team Boomshakalaka!

QB- Kurt Warner (after Jon Kitna started playing like a 7th grader)

RB- Brian Westbrook (my boy)

RB- Clinton Portis

WR- Joey Galloway

WR- T.J. Houshmandzadeh (my sleeper that paid off)

WR- Patrick Crayton (after Roy Williams got hurt)

TE- Ben Watson

K- Phil Dawson

DEF- Jacksonville

Looks pretty brutal on paper, doesn't it? These are the teams that win championships when mental toughness comes into play.....and when Tom Brady and Tony Romo both shit the bed during the semifinals. Should I send Jessica Simpson a hand-written thank you card, or do you think this will suffice?

Lastly, The Very Schneweis Christmas CD is once again outstanding. The year that Schneweis doesn't rock my face off with his music is the year of the Apocalypse. Keep on keepin' on.

The Mitchell Report

The Mitchell Report was released last week and rocked the baseball world, releasing the names of dozens of current and former players who used steroids or HGH to enhance their performance. Plenty of names you would expect (Clemens) and plenty you wouldn't (F.P. Santangelo? Fernando Vina?) and there are most likely dozens more who weren't named. Jose Canseco (the douchebag who got this whole thing started with his book a few years ago) was quoted the next day as being incredulous that Alex Rodriguez wasn't named in the report. Dear Jose: Shut the fuck up. No one cares about you anymore. You are a dipshit and have balls the size of a three year old. No homo.

However, he brings up a good point. I also have a few individuals in mind that I have a hard time believing weren't taking performance enhancing drugs at some point in their careers:

Chuck Norris. How can a guy who can provide electricity to the entire continent of Austrailia for 44 minutes with one roundhouse kick NOT be taking performance-enhancing drugs? And while we're here, America, can we be done with the Chuck Norris jokes yet? The first 9 emails I received containing 132 facts each were kind of funny, but now it's been like 3 years....are we done?

Teen Wolf. He was probably the poster boy for HGH until it was revealed that Michael J. Fox really HAD dribbled a basketball in his life before the filming of that dramatic final montage.

The Incredible Hulk. This one may not count because I'm pretty much positive that Jose Canseco and the Incredible Hulk are the same guy.

Subway Jared. Do I really need a caption for this one? Judges? No.

Bowser. I'm aware that he's a dragon/dinosaur, but he is still awful mean, and prone to violent mood swings. Plus, he fathered seven Koopa children with seven different mothers, was a repeat sex offender (just ask the Princess), and an Italian-hating racist. Just an all-around bad guy.

Billy Zabka (The bad guy from Karate Kid) A sure sign of drug use is making sure your entire existence revolves around ruining the life of a skinny new student from New Jersey whose only real friend is a weird old janitor/repairman. Sweep the leg!

"Psycho T" Tyler Hansbrough. Can't you just hear him roid-raging on his photographer? "Make sure you get the fucking basketball in this shot! I'm holding it up with one hand, bro! Can you do that? Probably not, you loser! I'm going to North Carolina! I'm gonna be a Division I athlete and it doesn't even matter that I got cut from the debate team and cried at Prom this year! Don't fuck this up, you only take senior pictures once! Make sure you get the black-and-white shot, my cheekbones look totally sweet in black-and-white!!!"

Falcor (The Never-Ending Story) Plain and simple, that's a big-ass dog. A little too big, to be perfectly honest. If they called this movie The Never Ending Nostrils nobody would've argued.

Fulton Reed (Mighty Ducks). Slapshots that knock goalies unconscious and/or blow holes in the back of the net aren't natural.

Darth Vader. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away....a dark lord of the Sith made the groundbreaking discovery that The Force flows within you a lot more powerfully when you're taking HGH.

Big Bird. Let's be real, canaries don't grow to be 7'4'' without a little outside help. I'm sure Oscar had access to a ton of that shit in his garbage can. Don't be fooled, few 'hoods kept it gangsta like Sesame Street did. Shit's real out there. To be fair, if I hung out primarily with a giant woolly mammoth named Mr. Snuffleupagus, I'd probably feel pressured to take steriods to get bigger too.

The creepy-ass girl from The Ring. I don't know about you, but I don't know any other 13 year old girls who can shoot a free-throw without grunting like Maria Sharapova, much less climb out of a goddamn well in under 4 seconds.

A.C. Slater. Look at him lift that fucking barstool like it's nothing! They don't just hand out wrestling scholarships to Iowa for free, son.

Optimus Prime. Megatron was quoted as saying that he injected Optimus with steroids in both exhaust pipes back in 2002, shortly before becoming a Decepticon. More than meets the eye, indeed.




Tecmo Bo Jackson. Have you ever had a 99-yard touchdown run, carrying 4 defenders on your back, spending the first 7 minutes running in circles and backwards, then deciding to score? Me neither.

In an unrelated story (unless you think he might have taken performance enhancers too, which I won't rule out) Deuce has now started a blog as well. Give him a look. The Deuce is loose.

You Down With OPB?

OPB how can I explain it,

I'll take it frame by frame it

O is for Other, P is for People

The last B, well, that's not that simple

It's kind of like another way to call a dude a sibling

There's seven little letters that I'm missing

That was a very convoluted, unnecessary reference to an early 90's rap song just to say that this weekend was spent with other people's brothers. Humor me.

Saturday night the eldest Schneweis brother, Kyle, invited Alex and I over for the KU game/dinner party. We met quite a few characters that night, and the topics of conversation ranged from Midieval wars between Japan and China, Stanley Kubrick and A Clockwork Orange, intricate details regarding KU's alternate red jerseys, and everything in between. Kyle taught me about the lyrics to Bob Dylan's song "Isis" and I convinced him that Roy Williams is not to be forgiven for leaving for North Carolina. A good time was had by all.

Sunday afternoon Lane's brother Brooks was in town for his Cyclocross race in Kansas City. I was excited to expand the horizons a little bit, and this experience certainly did not disappoint. Now, I'll admit, you give me some Miller Lite and a cowbell and I'll have a blast watching a couple of blind guys play Super MarioKart, but still, this exceeded my wildest expectations. Danny and I arrived an hour early after dropping Alex off at the KCI airport, so we got to the starting line just as the women's race began. Less than 15 seconds later, a nasty 4-bike pileup occurred directly in front of us, and we were hooked.

By the time Lane and Skye showed up 20 minutes later, our perma-smiles were already in place. Where's my cowbell? The snowy, muddy, general shittiness of the track made for brutal conditions, and we saw around a dozen crashes right in front of us, including a vicious head-on collision that eliminated the defending national champ Ryan Trebon. Brooks' wife gave us a crash course in the favorites and underdogs, and by the 3rd lap we had figured out who we were cheering for (besides Team Brown Bear, of course.) Cyclocross is awesome. For more quality photos of the race, visit the blog of DVJS. Later skaters.

The Top 5. Volume 4.

Professional Wrestling. We all loved it, at some point. It was AWESOME when we were little kids, became horrendously uncool as we entered middle school, had a brief resurgence for about a year when we were 15, and is now unwatchable, in my opinion. Here are my 5 favorite wrestlers of all time. We've all got 'em.

Honorable mention: Ravishing Rick Rude, Diamond Dallas Page, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, Jake the Snake Roberts, Big Boss Man (he looked just like my dad), the Million Dollar Man Ted Dibiase.

5. Irwin R. Schyster (I.R.S.)

Maybe I was destined to work in the tax industry with the love I had for I.R.S. as a youngster. He always carried a briefcase with him to the ring, and this briefcase got a lot of use as a way to cheap shot opponents. The Write Off is probably my favorite name for a finishing move ever. Also, remember when he and the Million Dollar Man used to pick random people out of the crowd and offer them money to do stupid things? The one time they grabbed some kid, offered him $100 if he could bounce a ball like 15 times or something, then after 14 bounces, kicked it away from him....awesome.

4. Razor Ramon

"The Bad Guy." That about sums him up. Always with the trademark toothpick (until he threw it in his opponents' face a couple minutes into the match) and always with "the machismo oozing off" of him. The Razor's Edge was one of the best finishing moves ever, and one of the few that we, as noodle-armed 10-year-olds, could do to each other. Also helped start nWo, which made wrestling cool again for a bit.

3. Shawn Michaels

The Heartbreak Kid. I don't know if anyone turned from bad guy to good guy more often than Shawn Micheals. Or better. He always had unreal matches, like the hour long match with Bret Hart, or the first ever ladder match, or being the first guy to win the Royal Rumble after being the first guy in the ring. I will even forgive him for kicking Marty Janetty through the window and breaking up The Rockers, which up to that point, was probably the most traumatic moment in my life besides my dog dying. Loved it when he would prep for Sweet Chin Music by stomping his leg repeatedly, as good ol' Jim Ross would exclaim, "He's tuning up the band!" Other cool moments: The Montreal Screwjob, when the WWF turned on Bret Hart, telling him he would win the match, then telling everyone besides Hart that really Micheals would win; and when Mike Tyson was the guest referee of the Michaels/Stone Cold match and knocked Michaels out afterwards, when Michaels performed the greatest "falling down like you got hit by a mack truck even though it was just a fake punch" of all time.

2. "The Macho Man" Randy Savage

Ohhhh yeeeeaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!! If you are between the ages of 21 and 35, there is only one tone of voice it is possible to hear that in. Macho Man was one of the craziest fuckers ever, epitomized by his elbow smash from the top rope. FYI: when checking into a hotel room with multiple beds, the first thing I do upon entering the room is a flying elbow smash from one bed to the other. At age 25. Too much information? Maybe. Continuing on. Macho Man was one of the greatest, if not the greatest, interviewer in wrestling, combining his craziness, voice, and unintelligibility into magic. Along with Hulk Hogan, Macho Man revolutionized wrestling in the 80's. The Mega Powers (Savage and Hogan) was probably the best tag team in wrestling history, until Hogan allegedly slept with Miss Elizabeth and her and Savage got divorced (in real life.) Speaking of Miss Elizabeth, how awesome was the storyline of Macho Man slapping her around after matches as the crowd freaked out? Only in professional wrestling could domestic abuse be cool.

1. Diesel

Started out as the seven-foot-tall bodyguard of Shawn Michaels and basically just went around fucking people up. You knew he was bound for bigger things, and when Michaels accidentally gave Diesel the Sweet Chin Music, you knew it was his time. He went to the Royal Rumble and destroyed everyone, won all his matches in 30 seconds, and became champ in no time. I thought the best stretch of his career was when he would just interfere on everyone's match. The beginning of his music, which was just a diesel truck honking its horn REALLY loud would start, JR would yell, "Good god! Th-that's Diesel's music!!" and he would come down and powerbomb someone and leave again. Soon after he went to WCW and started nWo with Razor Ramon and Hogan. Known as Kevin Nash now, he never really got his props for coming up with nWo, as Hogan got most of the credit. Either way, nWo was sweet. Then he interfered in Hogan's title fight, jackknifed Hogan, and started the nWo Wolfpac, and that was about it for me and wrestling.

See You In A Couple Yearz

Michael Vick received a 23-month jail sentence today, hopefully putting a much-needed end to the relentless stories about the whole subject.

A couple of disclaimers before this next section:

a) I am in no way saying that dogfighting is OK. Obviously it's terrible.

b) I enjoy eating the foods that people hunt: deer, pheasant, duck, etc. I also like other meats as much as the next guy. More, actually. Unless the next guy happens to be Kobayashi.

I would like to think that if I put my mind to it, I could also eat 53.75 hot dogs in 12 minutes. It's all mental toughness.

But seriously, every reporter who crucifies Vick, then goes home and enjoys a juicy bacon double cheeseburger; and Joe Everyman from Rugby, North Dakota, who talks shit about Vick, then grabs his shotgun or bow and goes and shoots animals every single weekend from September through November, can all just settle down a little bit. I say that besides the ridiculously inhumane way Vick and others kill the dogs who can't fight, (electrocutions, repeated beatings over the head) what's the difference between a dogfighter and the owner and operator of a slaughterhouse? Or a gun club? The bottom line is that they all grossly mistreat animals for profit and/or personal enjoyment. I think it's crazy that Vick has become public enemy #1. My point, if I have one, is that I know what Vick did is wrong, but he shouldn't have to hear about it from deer hunters and McDonald's lovers. That's like O.J. Simpson lecturing the Unabomber.

Now that I've climbed down from my high horse, I'd like to say that the funniest thing I've heard all day was that Vick's dogfighting organization was named "Bad Newz Kennels." Awesome. Just awesome. That reminds me of the Native American basketball team we always use to go up against, named the "Rez Ballaz." Anytime I see z's used in place of s's, well, it just....I guess it just puts a hop in my step for the rest of the day. It doesn't get much more street than that. Kudos to you, Michael.

In a completely unrelated story, I caught up with an old friend last weekend: the Phog Allen Fieldhouse. It was my first trip there in almost three years, Alex's first trip ever, and KU obliged by putting on an absolute dunk clinic while avenging last year's loss to DePaul. After a largely lackluster (although undefeated) start to the season, it looks as though the boys are starting to put things together offensively. Brandon Rush, overcoming legal trouble,continues to get closer to 100% every game, the clutch shooting is improving by leaps and bounds, and Darnell Jackson moved one step closer to becoming the next Jayhawk on my wall of fame. An induction ceremony is expected soon.

See You In A Couple Yearz

Michael Vick received a 23-month jail sentence today, hopefully putting a much-needed end to the relentless stories about the whole subject.

A couple of disclaimers before this next section:

a) I am in no way saying that dogfighting is OK. Obviously it's terrible.

b) I enjoy eating the foods that people hunt: deer, pheasant, duck, etc. I also like other meats as much as the next guy. More, actually. Unless the next guy happens to be Kobayashi.

I would like to think that if I put my mind to it, I could also eat 53.75 hot dogs in 12 minutes. It's all mental toughness.

But seriously, every reporter who crucifies Vick, then goes home and enjoys a juicy bacon double cheeseburger; and Joe Everyman from Rugby, North Dakota, who talks shit about Vick, then grabs his shotgun or bow and goes and shoots animals every single weekend from September through November, can all just settle down a little bit. I say that besides the ridiculously inhumane way Vick and others kill the dogs who can't fight, (electrocutions, repeated beatings over the head) what's the difference between a dogfighter and the owner and operator of a slaughterhouse? Or a gun club? The bottom line is that they all grossly mistreat animals for profit and/or personal enjoyment. I think it's crazy that Vick has become public enemy #1. My point, if I have one, is that I know what Vick did is wrong, but he shouldn't have to hear about it from deer hunters and McDonald's lovers. That's like O.J. Simpson lecturing the Unabomber.

Now that I've climbed down from my high horse, I'd like to say that the funniest thing I've heard all day was that Vick's dogfighting organization was named "Bad Newz Kennels." Awesome. Just awesome. That reminds me of the Native American basketball team we always use to go up against, named the "Rez Ballaz." Anytime I see z's used in place of s's, well, it just....I guess it just puts a hop in my step for the rest of the day. It doesn't get much more street than that. Kudos to you, Michael.

In a completely unrelated story, I caught up with an old friend last weekend: the Phog Allen Fieldhouse. It was my first trip there in almost three years, Alex's first trip ever, and KU obliged by putting on an absolute dunk clinic while avenging last year's loss to DePaul. After a largely lackluster (although undefeated) start to the season, it looks as though the boys are starting to put things together offensively. Brandon Rush, overcoming legal trouble,continues to get closer to 100% every game, the clutch shooting is improving by leaps and bounds, and Darnell Jackson moved one step closer to becoming the next Jayhawk on my wall of fame. An induction ceremony is expected soon.

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From The Archives

Good work by Ike recovering this after all these years. This was taken firmly in the middle of the "Tupac faked his own death and is coming back in 2003" era of my life. Although, to be honest, I still kinda think he faked his own death. Look at Haley up there. This picture is really, really old and he looks like it could've been taken yesterday. Kid's like Coach K, he hasn't aged a bit. This picture tells you all you would ever need to know about me. West siii-yeeeeed!!

And as long as we're putting up ridiculous pictures, did you ever have a friend who you thought would grow up and be a child abductor?

Yep, me too. I mean, someone get Chris Hansen on the phone. I've got his next episode of "To Catch a Predator" right here.

Just To Be The Next To Be With You

I'm the one who wants to be with you****

Deep inside I hope you feel it too

Waited on a line of greens and blues

Just to be the next to be with you

Build up your confidence

So you can be on top for once

Wake up who cares about

Little boys that talk too much (Hank Steinbrenner)

I've seen it all go down

Your game of love was all rained out

So come on baby, come on over

Let me be the one to hold you

I'm the one who wants to be with you

Deep inside I hope you feel it too

Waiting on a line of greens and blues

Just to be the next to be with you

Why be alone when we can be together baby

You can make my life worthwhile

And I can make you start to smile

When it's through, it's through

Fate will twist the both of you

So come on baby come on over

Let me be the one to show you...

****but not if we have to give up Jacoby Ellsbury. Then the Yankees can be the next to be with you. Sorry, Johan.

Burning Questions

On my mind....

Has anyone ever seen a tough-looking goth kid? I haven't. If a goth kid was big and strong and tough, then nobody would pick on him or bully him, and if they did decide to make fun of him, they would get their ass kicked, and then that goth kid wouldn't have to get into guns and shoot the school up.

When Dick Vitale is making his prediction for national champ, does he have a coin labeled "Duke" and "North Carolina" that he flips, or does he stop and think about every other team in the country before eventually settling on one of those two?

What is Kriss Kross doing now? Do you think their supervisor at KFC lets them wear their uniforms backward?

'Cuz inside out....is wiggida wiggida wiggida WACK!!!

This is for people with uni-sex names. I ask Alex this all the time, so I'll use her as an example: if she met a dude also named Alex, and they hit it off crazy right away, and he was hands-down the greatest guy she ever met, would she start dating him since they had the same name? Would it be an automatic deal-breaker? How life-alteringly awesome would this guy or girl have to be to want to date them, factoring in the name situation? Has anyone heard of any couple like this?

When Adam Sandler has all his buddies act in all his movies (for example, the guy who plays his caddy in Happy Gilmore, a gay guy in Big Daddy, the lame girl-chaser who dresses like Michael Jackson in Wedding Singer, etc. etc.) how much does that buddy get paid? Enough so that he doesn't have to have another job? Does he ever run low on money, start getting nervous, and call Sandler up and say "Hey, dude, you workin' on another flick yet? I only got about three weeks' worth of pot left, man."

Who comes up with names of carpet samples? Our office is in the process of getting new carpet, so I took the opportunity to flip through the sample book, and, frankly, it opened my eyes to a whole new world of douchebaggery. Here are some actual names of carpet patterns:

Handcuffs
Chain Letter
Blind Date
Sisterhood
E-Mail
Crazy Like a Fox
Darwin's Theory (my personal favorite)
Tremble With Fear
Wedding Vows
Crazy In Love

What?!? Let's get serious.

When (if) you were following the Maryland basketball team that won the 2002 National Championship, did you ever, EVER, think that the best pro on that team 5 years later would be Steve Blake?

What would happen if society changed the traffic rules so that cars always had the right-of-way instead of pedestrians? Walking in a busy downtown area would turn into an episode of American Gladiators.

The signs that people make at sporting events where they take the initials of the TV network and spell out something stupid....what is the shelf life on those things? I know they're not funny or clever now, and I doubt they were in 1972.

Lance Armstrong....are you serious? You, my friend, are currently dating a girl that was a star on a very popular TV show from the mid-90's that also featured the likes of Bob Saget and Dave Coulier. Not a real big deal, I guess, as long as that girl is Aunt Becky. The problem, however, lies with the fact that on this TV show, your girlfriend played a fucking TODDLER. Now I understand you have to have a cover so people will ignore the fact that you and McConaughey are always shirtless together, but still.....are you serious?




McConaughey: "Hey, bro, whaddya listening to right now?"

Armstrong: "Fuckin' Maroon 5, dude. Who else?"

McConaughey: "Me too! Damn, we have so much in common!"

Armstrong: "No doubts, no doubts. We're just a couple of regular dudes who love to go jogging while rocking out to Maroon 5. Wanna watch some Real World after our run, or what?"

McConaughey: "Sounds awesome, BroStrong! Hear that, I just called you BroStrong, kinda like LiveStrong, but I changed it up a little bit."

Armstrong: "Totally sweet, dude. Totally."


McConaughey: "Hey, did you ever get around to asking Ashley about what Mary Kate thinks about me? I mean, she would go for a regular dude like me, right?"




At the beginning of Michael Jackson's song Black Or White, and that kid is rocking out to some song and his dad is yelling at him to turn it down, is that a real song he's listening to? It sounds kinda sweet. I always wanna be like "No, Dad, this is the best part, I'm gonna listen to it, OK?" right along with him. And while we're here, I heard the rumor that it is Macaulay Culkin doing that part. No way, but it does sound a LOT like Smalls from The Sandlot. Anyone know?

Was Doug Funnie the biggest main character loser in TV history? I guess I stopped watching Doug when I started noticing members of the opposite sex, and discovering hair in places where there was no hair before, but as far as I know, I don't think he ever came close to ever getting a piece from Patty Mayonnaise. Just tell her you're obsessed with her!!! Girls love that. Plus, his fantasy superhero self wore his underwear outside his pants and a belt on his head. That's brutal.

Shimmy Shimmy Ya Shimmy Yam Shimmy Yay

Ladies and gentleman, your 2007 Tuesday Night League Champions, the Kansas Connection!

I don't have the league records in front of me or anything, but I believe we were the first team to ever win the title with a roster consisting of seven small forwards. For all you former GF Renegades of Funk members, notice Danny and I sporting the old unis. Additionally, Kirk Hinrich is not as good in real life as you would think.

Other random kibbles and bits:

Thanksgiving was awesome. Definitely a weird feeling to be a visitor in the Forks, but I got to enjoy fantastic home cooked meals, partake in celebratory World Series shots with T. Nels a month late, see basically every single person I wanted to, and only a couple of the people I could've done without. That's an interesting dynamic of the Thanksgiving and Christmas break bar scenes, isn't it? People you pretty much only talked to when you had to work on your Beowulf book report together, and now all of sudden they want to buy you a jag bomb and talk about what you've been up to for the last six years?

I am officially done with McDonald's. Forever. I hadn't enjoyed any plain dubby cheeseburgers and fries since I moved down here, and to be honest, I hadn't thought of it much. Alex and I picked some up in Sioux City on the drive home, and it was garbage. To the point that I wonder how I ate it so much before. So goodbye, Mickey D's. It was a good run. But don't get too excited, arteries. I'm not going to be eating healthier or anything. The longest I've gone without Sonic the last three and a half months is 9 days.

A disclaimer for the next paragraph: it will be filled with semi-obscure golf references and pointless discussion about a bar video game played by dudes like myself who aren't drunk enough to dance yet. Continue if you wish, ladies and non-golfers.

I may be hanging up the clubs for Golden Tee. My meltdown is almost complete. I am, at this moment, worse than I was the very first time I felt the smooth roll of the tracker ball under my left hand (no homo.) Back in the day, I was a bit streaky; always a threat to set a course record, but almost equally a threat to fall apart on the 17th hole. Call me Greg Norman. Then, when I moved down here, I initially struggled, as my new swing coach Jud and I retooled my putting style in hopes of being better in the long run. Call me Tiger Woods, circa 1998. Then for a few weeks, I was back and better than ever. Call me Tiger Woods, circa 2000. Now, inexplicably, it is gone. All of it. It's like I've never played before. Call me Ian Baker-Finch. Just send me to the announcer's tower overlooking the 18th. I'm gonna give it one last shot, and if it doesn't improve drastically, my career may be over.

I'll be the first to admit it's lame to pimp facebook here, but I can't put links in this space for whatever reason, so we're all gonna have to deal with it. Anyways, for those who can, go to my facebook page and watch the video that Annie put on my wall. It involves Barney the purple dinosaur and a prominent rap song. You won't be disappointed.

Thankful

A few things I give thanks for....

Using other cars as moving screens in order to go before my turn at two-lane, four-way stops.

Going from 1st to 3rd on a base hit to right field.

Home-made turkey, cheese, and pepperoni sandwiches.

NFL on dual TVs in Lane's ManLand.

Day-old unfinished keg, courtesy of Lane's neighbors Danny and Tina.

The "Waaasssuuupppp!!!" Budweiser commercials. It's been like 9 years, can we bring that back yet?

Par 5's reachable in 2.

75 degree days in mid-November.

Mike Lowell re-signing with the Sox. Gay-Rod re-signing with the Yankees.

HBO On Demand.

The scene from The Matador at the racetrack when they play "Heat of the Moment" by Asia.

Back door cuts.

Flicking channels and hearing "Where we're going, we don't need roads...."

The Hot Spots on NBA Jam.

Vinny Testaverde playing in the NFL again. Not because it's a feel-good story, but because, if I were a betting man, it would be nice to LOAD UP against the Carolina Panthers every week.

I hope Thanksgiving finds everyone well.

Pass The Turkey, Please

Here is an actual excerpt from an email from my mom:

"I picked up a 23-pound turkey from the store last night, so there should be enough dark meat for you AND other people."

This precaution stems from Thanksgiving 2001, during which my goal (which I accomplished, by the way, a-thank you) was to eat all the dark meat from the entire turkey by myself.

Thanks, Mom. Gotcha. Loud and clear. I'm fat.

Rock Chalk

It's time for the annual Jayhawk pre-season state of the union address, which consists mostly of pessimism mixed with a dash of bridled hope, terrified to come to the surface. Hey, if you want an optimistic view of KU's chances, go read Schneweis' blog.



I can't complain about another top 5 preseason ranking, though. Though they mean nothing (as KU loves to prove, reprove, and prove again) it's always better to at least be in the mix for a title. I mean, I could be a Northern Iowa fan, and boy would that suck. I think there is a big gap between the top 3 and KU though, at least until Brandon Rush comes back. Memphis, UCLA, and Carolina are absolutely LOADED, and in most other years, each would be the hands-down #1 team.

Losing Julian hurts, but a lot of that hurt was from the unexpectedness of him declaring. I think that Rush is much more important to KU's title chances, as we have Darrell Arthur ready to come in and get big minutes, provided he can stay out of foul trouble. Look out for freshman Cole Aldrich too, he'll be special. The backcourt of Russell Robinson, Mario Chalmers and Sherron Collins is the best defensive backcourt in America. If RussRob and Collins improved their outside shooting as much as the buzz indicates they did, look out. Through two games it looks like it.

Collins and my Facebook friend Brady Morningstar. What's that? Oh, yeah, I'm friends with a KU player on Facebook. No big deal. Maybe I'll drop him a line right now, see what's goin' on. Maybe he wants to go shoot around or something.

Rush's injury (and now Collins' too) helps the team depth quite a bit. Rodrick Stewart will get huge minutes now, and Jeremy Case will get some more too. This helps the "Please don't go in and shit your pants" feeling that I get sometimes when Case plays important minutes. So expect some bumps and bruises early on, but in the long run these injuries will pay off (provided Rush and Collins come back full strength.)

Darnell Jackson, who as a freshman looked woefully out of place on a basketball court, might be my favorite player on this year's team. I feel very comfortable when he is involved in things, and that might be the biggest compliment I can pay to a college basketball player. And lastly, Sasha Kaun. Oh, Sasha. One night he looks like a lottery pick, and the next night he looks like a seven-foot tall Jewish kid who came straight from his barmitzvah, and is dribbling a basketball for the first time in his 14 years on this earth. Although I should mention that his new Schne-fro automatically bumps my confidence in him up to about a 5.

And so now we see if I am able to hold it together this year. I have been living and dying with this team since I was 8 years old. In '91, after the championship game loss, I cried my eyes out. In '97, I tore up every magazine featuring KU that I been saving over the years. In '02, I skipped the next day of class and stayed in bed until 9 pm. In '03, I didn't talk or interact with a single person for 48 hours. In '05, I drank myself stupid and slept on a bridge in downtown Indianapolis. In '06 I walked back to my hotel and packed instead of enjoying my last few hours in Vegas. Vegas!!! And now I live here. Where was my life caddy to talk me out of that club selection?

Will this be the year they win it all? Will this be the year they lose in the Elite 8 and I go on a multi-state killing spree, change my name to Remus Kofax, sell all my possessions and go live downtown holding up Armageddon signs to passing cars? Stay tuned. I believe it was Screech Powers who said, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Or somebody.

This Is Just A Tribute

I suppose this is a bit overdue, considering how hard Chelsey pimped me in her first post a while back. She was also upset that none of her witty and insightful texties were referenced in this space during the Red Sox title run, so this should more than make up for it. In Jack Black voice: This is the greatest and best gal in the world......tribute.

Chelsey is the fortunate by-product of one of St. Aubyn's ill-fated romances from a few years ago. As annoying as that relationship was (which I made pretty clear to St. Aubyn on numerous occasions at the time) we definitely can't argue with the friendships that were made as a result. I actually met Chelsey during freshman year at the Wilkerson dining center, but it was one-time thing through other people, and she doesn't even remember it. I do cause I'm creepy like that.


Chelsey's tolerance-nay, encouragement of our shenanigans is what forever endeared her to us. Another necessary skill for being friends with us that she possesses is being able to take shit. When you're walking into the lion's den known as Culligan Manor, you've gotta be able to strap on the mental hard hat and be ready to get made fun of. A lot. Chels is able to handle such hardships with a perma-smile on her face. This probably isn't that difficult for her as she is among the happiest people I know. A day when she is crabby is a dark day indeed.


After she moved to Minneapolis, our friendship didn't suffer; instead, we just took our act on the road. There she introduced us to Rocko, which we don't hold against her. Kidding Rocko. Some of my proudest moments happened while visiting Chels in the Cities. Especially the night when we went dancing and tried to get everyone to jump on different floor tiles during Billie Jean, (a la the video when they light up when Michael Jackson steps on them) then I got booted out for repeatedly turning my hat backwards. My response was to projectile vomit all over the parking lot. Good stuff. While living there, she was also my token "I've got a 6 am flight leaving out of Minneapolis, can I crash on your couch and have you take me to the airport?" person. So, definite bonus points there.


Then she got married in the summer of 2006 (giving us the best wedding of the year in the process) and moved to Chicago. We visited her and Mike there last summer and had a wonderful time. We will be back, especially since Kos now resides there, and soon Katie Z will too.


Now she started a blog and that brings us to the present day. Ladies and gentleman, Chelsey Rambow-Headrick!!!

Sweeney, me, Deuce, Chelsey and St. Aubyn at Chelsey and Mike's wedding. The night the "Thumb-diddley" was born. Little inside, I know.

From 1 To 30

In lieu of an NBA preview, which I don't have the energy to make, here is my order of favorite teams. This started out as a lame cop-out of a post, but turned out to be pretty hard to do for an entire league. This list changes from year to year, besides the Knicks. Danny, I know you can do this if I can.

1. New York Knicks- 17 years and counting.

If only Jeff Graves would've done this to 'Melo during the 2003 National Championship.


2. New Orleans Hornets- Found myself strangely cheering for them last year, then they drafted my boy Julian.

3. Boston Celtics- Pierce, Jesus, KG, Big Baby.

4. Chicago Bulls- Hinrich. Would be higher, but they drafted Noah, plus there is residue from the mid-90's left over in my brain that makes it impossible to really love the Chicago Bulls.

5. Phoenix Suns- Love their style of play. Rivalry with Lakers gives them the nudge to top 5.

6. Golden State Warriors- " " " ". " " " Mavericks " " " " top 6.

7. Portland Trail Blazers- Next year: Oden, Roy, Aldridge, Fill in the blank top 5 pick. Holy shit.

8. Houston Rockets- Yeah, I'm surprised they're this high too.

9. Toronto Raptors- Fun to watch.

10. Seattle SuperSonics- Move to Oklahoma City already. Better yet, K.C.

11. Denver Nuggets- Time bomb of a team. Carmelo keeps them from being higher.

12. Milwaukee Bucks- We used to mercilessly rip on Charlie Villanueva. He was guaranteed captain of the All-Ugly Team every year. Then we found out he has a disease. Now I kind of like him. Is that bad?

In retrospect, we probably should've known that Charlie suffered from Alopecia areata.

13. Miami Heat- Shaq.

14. Orlando Magic- This ranking is sure to drop once Redick starts getting real minutes. Nice mohawk, J.J.

15. Washington Wizards- Once Arenas leaves, they will go down to bottom 5.

16. Atlanta Hawks- I officially have no feelings either way from here through #20.

17. Memphis Grizzlies

18. L.A. Clippers

19. Sacramento Kings

20. Philadelphia 76ers

21. Minnesota Timberwolves- Look at your roster. How do you cut Wayne Simien?

22. Cleveland Cavaliers- Booorrriinnggg. Wake me up if Lebron is doing something amazing.

23. Indiana Pacers- Pretty sure I can only name like 5 players on their whole team. O'Neal, Granger, Tinsely, Dunleavy, Murphy....yep. 5. Foster? Maybe 6.

24. Detroit Pistons- Let someone else make the Eastern Conference finals. Geez.

25. Utah Jazz- Carlos Boozer, plus they ended Golden State's run last year.

26. Dallas Mavericks- Babies. Only Jason Terry keeps them from being lower.

27. Charlotte Bobcats- Way too many Tar Heels on this team.

28. San Antonio Spurs- Manu Ginobli: You suck. Go play soccer.

Give him a yellow card or something.

29. New Jersey Nets- Any team that has Vince Carter is guaranteed bottom 5. As a bonus, when we were bullshitting with the Suns after a game in Fargo back in high school, the only player who big-leagued us was Jason Kidd.

30. L.A. Lakers- In the days of Van Exel and Shaq, they were my #2. Thanks, Kobe. Sorry, Danny.

You Never Blink, Do You?

I hope everyone enjoyed their free taco on Tuesday from the "Steal a Base Steal a Taco" World Series promotion that Taco Bell did. I actually scored four of them; I sweet-talked two other people in line into giving me theirs (resourceful), and then Taco Bell screwed up and gave me an extra one. Who says there's no such thing as a free lunch?

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:

Fundy....................2-1
Bergman................4-1
Z Unit.....................6.5-1
Haley......................10-1
Schultzy..................75-1

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.

Champs

For the second time in 4 years, the Red Sox have won it all. And for the second time in 4 years, my attempt to go to one of the games was foiled. Back in '04, Dunph and I were driving down to St. Louis with tickets to Game 5 in our pocket, listening to Game 4 on the radio. When it became apparent the Sox weren't going to lose the game, we pulled over in Sioux City, Iowa, to watch the end of the game and lose our asses on the craps table. This year, the Rockies' website suffered a crash bad enough that it is currently the subject of an FBI investigation, preventing me from getting tickets to Game 3. So at this point I should probably just stop trying to buy World Series tickets. This photo of the on-field celebration is courtesy of Dunph, who was at both Games 3 and 4:

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.

World Series Bound!

Wow. What a 3-game stretch. Have you ever seen a series turn like that? Every single thing about this series got dumped on its head these last couple games. Cleveland went from being loose and confident to playing like they just came from their favorite pet's funeral. Combine that with the fact that Boston got EVERY SINGLE break in Game 7 (Ramirez's bad-hop RBI in 1st, the blown call when Manny threw out Lofton, the 3rd base coach inexplicably holding Lofton at third, Casey Blake doing his best Roger Dorn impersonation) and before you know it, Papelbon is doing the Papelbon and Victor Martinez (revealed as a giant douchebag during this series) is crying in the dugout.

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.

All Sox'd Out Yet? Then Don't Read This

If you're sick of baseball yet (and watching preseason NBA instead of Game 5, like DVJS) then you can go ahead and skip this post.

Regarding a Sox comeback, Game 5 was the biggie. Getting it back to Boston is HUGE. I'm not trying to go all Chandler Bing on you or anything, but, seriously, can Josh Beckett be any better in the postseason? Sweet move by Cleveland, by the way, bringing in his ex-girlfriend to sing the national anthem. JB don't play that shit. That was comparable to when St. Aubyn cut out the famous picture of Hakim Warrick blocking Michael Lee's shot from the 2003 championship game, and hung it up on the fridge just before the 2004 elite 8.

Next up, Manny's comments from Wednesday. "If we lose, who cares? We have a good team. There's always next year." Yada Yada Yada. The media had a friggin' field day with these quotes. I listened to literally 7 straight hours of ESPN radio ripping into Manny yesterday. Personally, they don't bother me. At all. He's not saying that he's not trying. That's ridiculous. Ummmm he's hitting .429 with 4 ya-yas and 11 RBIs this postseason. If that's Manny not trying, then good lord. Also, has anyone noticed him screaming at himself after pitches that he just missed and fouled off? He's not trying? I know that Manny is an idiot (the pimping of his home run down 7-3 was indefensible, but really, is the move where Manny jumps into Ortiz's arms the best home run celebration in baseball, or is it just me?), which is also why I love him, but the media just pounces on any chance to tear into him. This is why he refuses to talk to them most of the time. All that being said, if J.D. Drew or Eric Gagne had made those comments, they would have to place them in some kind of protection program.

My next beef is with media, Cleveland players, Cleveland coaches, etc. saying that ''no one was giving them a chance to win this series.'' Um, what? Of all the postseason predictions I read, Cleveland was picked to win the AL just as often as the Yankees, and actually more than the Sox. And going back farther than that, last off-season, no team was picked to win the AL more than Cleveland (except the Yanks.) Here is an actual quote from Joe Girardi the other night: "I mean, this is a team that was 1/2 game down to Detroit in July!! 1/2 game DOWN!!" To which I replied: "Are you fucking kidding me?" Wow. A whole 1/2 game down, folks. How did they pull themselves out of that hole to find themselves here, one win away from the World Series? By no stretch of the imagination has this team been disrespected in the last 11 months. The only time people were down on them was after Game 1. And that's because they looked like shit. And now they don't. So quit playing the No Respect card, Cleveland. We know you're good.

It's amazing how a few months ago, the strength of this Boston team was its bullpen. Now, everyone out there besides Papelbon and Jon Lester gives me a mild heart attack when I see them start to warm up. Ick. On the bright side, Lester and Manny Delcarmen can play a mean water bottle percussion set on Doug Mirabelli's knees. That was pretty funny, as was Papelbon doing the YMCA arm motions while doing jogging in the bullpen during Game 5.

Now we have both Schilling and the home crowd going for us in Game 6. Both need to turn in a better performance than they did in Game 2. Unfortunately, we would have Dice-K for a potential Game 7. I have lost every shred of faith in him that I ever possessed. I think it would help me emotionally if he MADE A FACIAL EXPRESSION every once in a while. Whether he's pitching a one-hitter or getting shelled, his expression only ranges from "I can't believe I have to repeat the 4th grade" to "I just came home and found my wife humping the mailman."

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.

Arrowhead Section 135, Row 14, Seat 6

Jack Hammen, aka The Big Guy, aka Babaganoosh, aka Captain Jack made the trip down I-29 with my mom last weekend. He makes his debut in this blog, as we went to our first live NFL game on Sunday to see the Chiefs take on Cincinnati. The seats were awesome, and the noise level was shocking. Couldn't even hear my dad talking to me before big plays. Although I'm pretty sure he was just saying, "Holy shit, it's loud in here!!!"

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."

I have many thoughts on Game 4 tonight, but due to the fact that not many of them are positive, combined with the fact that I am too nervous to clearly express them, I will leave them unspoken at this juncture. All I will say is that Wakefield is either unhittable or terrible, with not much of an in-between. Here's hoping for the former. Go Sox.

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.)

Gettin' Housed At The Outhouse

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.

Manny Being Manny. Playoff Edition.

Ahhhhh......smell that? That's the smell of ALCS. Playoff baseball is in full swing, and with the Sox looking arguably as good as they have all season, excitement level is at Orange (Orange being the highest level in my Excitement Color Scale.) Beckett's game one and Schilling's game three were beautiful, and although Dice-K's struggles are a bit worrisome, having Wakefield back for the ALCS along with the October studs Beckett and Schilling makes me feel at ease. The lineup is hitting (even Drew a little bit!) and the bullpen has been great, except, of course for Gagne, who predictably ruined the shutout today.

However, the most encouraging sign for Red Sox Nation is undoubtedly the return of the Dynamic Duo, Ortiz and Manny. Oritz's low power numbers (by his standards) and nagging injuries combined with Manny's low power numbers (by his standards) and nagging injuries kept them from being what they have been the last 4 years or so: the best 3-4 combo in baseball. Even though Manny technically returned from his strained oblique two weeks ago, he finally is back to doing the Manny things that make him my favorite player. If J.D. Drew overruns that ball on Friday night, losing his hat, bumbling around, I'm probably throwing something at the TV. When Manny does it, I'm just chuckling and shaking my head.

Then he goes out in the 9th inning and hits a walk-off home run that still hasn't landed yet. I only got to see him round the bases however, due to a badly-timed phone call from someone (I don't want to give away the name and make her feel worse than I already have, but she currently resides in Oklahoma City and her name rhymes with "Katie Zidon".) And the answer to the next question is Yes, I berated her pretty good after I got done celebrating. We even got an interview from Manny after game 2 for the first time in who knows when, featuring the quote, "When you're not right and you still get hits, then you know you're a bad man."

Then, in game 3, he hits the bomb off of Weaver. In case some don't know the backstory, last time Weaver pitched against the Sox, Oritz went yardskis and Weaver felt he admired it too long. He proceeded to eye Ortiz down as he rounded the bases and proclaimed after the game, "I'll remember that the next time we face off." So Ortiz goes deep on Weaver again and pretty much just puts his head down and rounds the bases, defusing whatever situation could have arisen. So what does Manny do in the next at-bat? Crushes the ball, puts his arms out, alternates between eyeing the ball and glaring at Weaver, and walks about 1/3 of the way to first base before finally starting to trot. Basically, pimping a home run like only Manny can.

So now we await the Indians/Yankees. I know that a Yankee/Sox series is always more intense and exciting, but I am still terrified of their lineup. However it ends up, at least Gay-Rod is currently working on another shitty October.

Fuzzy Math

9 Coronas
+ 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

Drivers, Start Your Engines!!!

Sometimes in life you have opportunities to do things; things you might not necessarily list in your favorite things to do, but things that you feel like you should do anyway, just for the experience. So when Lane and Skye told us earlier this week that their neighbors Danny and Tina were going to the NASCAR race in Kansas City on Sunday and that we were welcome to sit and party at their Winnebago, I knew I was in for one of those situations.

So apparently here's how these things work: everyone who is either going to the race (roughly 95,000 people) or just tailgating (probably another few thousand) gets there by about 7 or 8 am. Then you booze until about noon, and if you are attending the race, you start making your way to the track. Pretty standard. The cast of characters:

Myself, Alex, Lane, Skye...

Danny and Tina- wonderful neighbors of the Leedahls and NASCAR enthusiasts...
Brenda and Bob the Cop- a friendly couple who like to talk shit; Bob the Cop bears a striking resemblance to Jeff Garcia...

And other various people wandering in and out of the campsite.

Here is a rough breakdown of our day:

5 am: Alarm clock goes off. Someone remind me why we are doing this again?

6:15 am: I make the first bad decision of the day when, trying to break up a chunk of ice, I puncture a can of pop and a beer and watch it spray all over the cooler. I'm climbing into the Bucket of Suck reaaaaalllll early.

7:05 am: We arrive at the campsite outside the track. Pleasantries and how-do-you-dos are exchanged.

7:08 am: First beer is cracked.

8:30 am: First call to Bergman is made. Bergman is the only person any of us know who would come remotely close to appreciating this, and we plan on capitalizing on this by calling him repeatedly to make him jealous.

9:45 am: Lane and I have each finished off six beers, and breakfast is made and eaten. I'm beginning to realize this is an awesome idea.

A common sight throughout the day: me with a beer can to my mouth, Lane clutching a rolled-up plate of chicken wings.

11 am: St. Aubyn calls, and apologizes, knowing that I like to sleep in til almost noon and then watch football on Sundays. I tell him it's ok, that I'm at the NASCAR race, and that I'm already 10 beers deep into my block heater (30 pack) of Miller Lite. To which he simply replies, "Jesus Christ." Not much else to say, really.

12:30 pm: We walk up to the track to buy shit and listen to the "Drivers, start your engines!!!!!" Which is, without a doubt, the biggest disappointment of the day. Due to the wind and the deep bowl that the track lies in, it really was not an impressive roar. Or a roar at all. However, it did lead to an encounter with one of the biggest dogs I've ever seen.

I don't care what stories those kids from the Sandlot tell, the Beast is OK with me.

2 pm: We return to the Winnebago to drink, eat, and watch the race/football/golf on TV. We're beginning to crash a little bit.

4 pm: A gigantic rainstorm hits, and we watch from inside the warm confines of the Winnebago while everyone sprints back to their respective campsites, completely drenched. This includes Danny, Tina, Brenda, and Bob the Cop.

Lane and I spend the next hour cooking hot dogs and brats, and making up fake announcements to all the stragglers returning from the track that "the dryers are on the track, clear skies are heading this way, the race is restarting in 40 minutes!" This is not going over so well with the diehards that want nothing more than that to be true. An hour later, however, as about 1/5th of the crowd is leaving the grounds, this joke becomes reality, and Lane and I soon begin peddling our hot dogs to people in exchange for their ticket stubs, so we could get in. We are only successful with two people. Two! Who wouldn't trade a shitty, wet, worthless ticket stub for a juicy, delicious hot dog?

6 pm: Everything dies down and the rain delay is over, and we decide to see if we can just get in for free. And lo and behold....

We end up sitting together, all 8 of us, in ridiculously good seats. If Future Jim would've sent me a message last week saying "At 6:30 pm next Sunday you will be in the 20th row at the Kansas City Speedway watching NASCAR" I would've told him he was crazy. Then I would've told him to find Biff Tannen and steal his book that holds the results of every sporting event for the next 50 years.

So the entire day was a great success. Beer was consumed, laughs were shared, engines were started, and horizons were expanded. I won't be actively following the chase for the Nextel Cup or anything, but I do have a newfound respect for the sport of auto racing. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go back to nursing this hangover like I'm Florence Nightingale.

Compare And Contrast

My boy.





Not my boy.