It's sort of like being single, then being in a relationship.  When you're single, it's got this air of unpredictability that sucks when it goes wrong, but is like Adriana Lima naked in your hot tub fantastic when it's right.  There's something unreplaceable about bringing a loaded flask with you everywhere you go, Friday nights with joints rolled as thick as Fat Albert's thumbs, $250 deep at a bar turned making out with some nameless, hot enough for the moment floozie on a dance floor before capping the night off either with entirely meaningless sex or better yet...Steak n Shake.  You figure that's utopia, until maybe the night you get tossed into the joint ... Read More »

There’s a middle aged man at the end of a dimly lit bar on a lonely Sunday night. The juke box plays something faint in the background. Nothing he likes, but one of those tunes that sticks and forces you to annoyingly hum it the rest of the night because you can’t get it out of your head. Fifteen minutes pass like they’re 30 seconds. They always do when you’re staring down the business end of a 7 am alarm wake up and a week you’re desperate to not begin. One more shot ... Read More »

The Man, Myth, Legend of Belichick is more Myth than anything else

I slept on the anger from last evening that had me wanting to find some animal, small, large, whatever, and skin it alive thinking that the ole knee jerk reaction thing rarely goes over very well. But when I woke up, the facts were still dancing in my head like broke nursing students on “amateur night” at Brad’s Show Club.

We’ve gotten to the point as a sports media culture that if Bill Belichick dug up Elenaor Roosevelt and told a reporter that “she was the highest player ranked on the board” it would immediately be dubbed as “evil genius.” In the lexicon of sports history, the legacy of the greats is normally tied to other greats, of sorts. MJ had Phil. Magic had Riley. Montana had Rice. Shaq had D-Wade and Kobe. Phil had Kobe (okay, maybe this Phil-Kobe thing has some legs to it). ... Read More »

I got this question a few times this past month…

“Since you basically called Lebron James everything but a Nazi fetus eater, when are you gonna be consistent and speak up on Carmelo?”

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Wrecks Ryan and His Rubes

I can only explain it with a scene that plays out along white trash corridor, anytown USA every day.

Assume this conversation is happening in a Dollar Tree a stone's throw from the town trailer park. Two buddies run into each other sometime in the AM.

"Man, you look rough? You and Darlene fighting again?"

"Dude, I got no sleep. She come at me with a kit ... Read More »

"What would I do?"

It's iconic message board nomenclature, a social staple of our lives now that is almost universally popular because people can answer said question on any number of topics. What would I do is why fantasy football is big business. Hell, it's why porn is big business. Everyone wants to tell you what they'd do if given the opportunity. Everyone wants to give their two cents on coming home from a long day of work with a latin maid dusting their end table in a skirt that shows her ass cheeks, watching the clock and aching for your piece.

Our lives ... Read More »

Hoosier (straight from www.indiana.edu): The best evidence, however, suggests that "Hoosier" was a term of contempt and opprobrium common in the upland South and used to denote an ignorant rustic, a bumpkin, a countryman, a roughneck, a hick or an awkward, uncouth or unskilled fellow.

There is hatred, and then there is this.  It’s the di ... Read More »

Take me back to your childhood for a moment.  To the 1,314 times we were asked “what do you wanna be when you grow up” or “who do you wanna be like.”  Most all of us neglected to say “my parents,” and of this I’m sure.  Most of us watched them trudge home at any hour from a thankless job complaining of bad knees and extreme exhaustion before 8 pm.  No.  We all wanted to be football players, entertainers, cowboys, or rock stars.

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Feeling a little less Randy this Morning

This morning was a Taylor Swift ditty.  Only the object of my abstract desire wasn’t some horny kid in pre-calc who may or may not have a pickup truck.  It was for a man named Randy.  Last name Moss.  Before we get into this though, how slutty is Swift?  In 3 compact discs she’s managed to give the impression that if she’s truly from a rural town ... Read More »