18-1

So the Patriots lost the Superbowl. Supersad.

I’m not a huge sports guy. I enjoy attending the occasional baseball or basketball [Syracuse only. Go Orange!] game, and can be persuaded to watch some games on TV, but that’s about it. I don’t have that tie to certain sports that other people do. So when there is a big game during whatever season it is and we lose, my response is normally ‘Oh. That sucks.’ and then I continue with my day.

The issue is my addictive personality and hometown pride coupled with my competitive nature and stubborn streak. Roll these up together and you have someone who will immediately latch onto a game if his home team is there and tensions are running high. Bad words come out of my mouth aimed right at friends, friends who are really nice to me and I enjoy being around but who are right now cheering for the wrong team and this makes them HIDEOUS MONSTERS NOT TO BE TOLERATED. Yelling at the TV and the coaches is something that I feel is worthwhile and helpful and making an impact upon future decisions made by the team.

So tonight was one of those nights. I found myself yelling ’shut up’ to friends, totally fueling the controversy that Eli Manning looks like a gangly doofus, only to be outdone by Peyton, who looks like Mr. Peanut. Internet, I screamed at football players and told them to run faster and pick up the pace because LOOK, there is someone who wants to GET YOU so you had better hasten your step.

This came out as ‘GogogogogoGO!GO!GO!GO!GO!FUCK!’.

Two things come to mind when I look back at this advice I’m handing out to the TV. One, why do I do this when I know the likelihood of anyone in Arizona hearing me is slim to none. And two, many would wonder why would they take my advice at all, even if they could hear it.

I’d like to point out that while my athletic experience is limited, it is varied. I have played hockey, basketball, baseball, soccer and gymnastics. And figure skating. The show I remember best is to the song ‘Nothing Like A Dame’. Which is all at once highly entertaining AND disturbing when you are in third grade. Because the hand motions we made while skating around, forming the hour glass shape of a woman, is probably what drove me away from females entirely. I don’t think any of the kids in that show walked away with their sexualities in tact.

This being said, my input is invaluable to the Pats. They need me. They need me to let them know that running faster would be a desirable action at this very moment in time. And they need me to think that crossing all my fingers on each hand, then folder the crossed fingers will somehow enable victory. It is pure logic.

And besides. If Troy Aikman can stand in his little commentator booth and say something so in your face idiotic like;

What they NEED to do is drive the ball down the field, but all the while keeping the other team from pushing the ball back…

Then I could be their football messiah.

I’m over the loss now, but at the time there were only three things that were making me smile.

Etrade Ads

Doritos Ad

This conversation heard on the N train between 34th and 42nd street

Drunk Man: EVERYONE! No, EVERYONE! We’re all going to Times Square! Yah, Everyone! So get your scarves and let’s go! It’s time to party!

Drunk Friend: We’re riding in Eli’s truck, come ON!!!

And then half the train actually left with them, screaming onto the Times Square platform. God willing with their scarves on.

Self Restraint Is An Immoral Practice

A few months ago a few co-workers and I went out to dinner with one of our reps. First let me say that if it weren’t for this job, I would be eating street meat and .99 cent cans of soup all day, every day. I have been to some pretty incredible restaurants in this city, ones I could never afford myself. So thanks, Job, for the experience and the expanded waistline. High five.

This particular night we headed to The Striphouse, where I had some of the best steak of my life. Not only that, but if I recall, the goose fat mashed potatoes were made by Jesus himself BECAUSE THEY WERE THAT HOLY AND DELICIOUS AND TOTALLY DESERVE TO HAVE THEIR OWN CHURCH SONG. Jesus also looks great in a chef’s hat.

When out to dinner with friends, work not involved, I find the idea of dessert repulsive. Why subject myself to the pain and torture or a brownie sundae after pounding through a bloomin’ onion and chicken fajitas? I know, I know…because it is a brownie sundae. But sometimes I sin and just can’t go on.

Work dinners, though, are a different thing entirely. Seafood platter for an appetizer? Yes please. Huge ass steak made from cow gods? Two, thanks. Alcoholic grown up drinks? You’re wasting valuable time asking that question when you could be pouring my vodka tonic, sir.

Once dessert time comes around, my contractions are now 8 minutes apart and I decide that this is it, this baby is coming now, that somehow yes I am pregnant and it has decided to come now, in front of all these people and all their steak, because what else could be causing this interior shifting of organs? Certainly not the 4.5 pounds of food I just inhaled. Don’t be silly. So yes, we will get some chocolate cake. And some cheesecake, too, because why not. Two pieces of cake for the table would be great and totally not gluttonous in the least and is the best idea any of us have had ever. And more wine, please.

Lisa loves cake.

John loves cake.

Ryan, Lisa and John all love cake. And wine.

That is a 14 layer chocolate cake accompanied by a cheesecake slice cut from a cake approximately 5 feet in diameter. Do you see how each piece is as BIG AS MY HEAD? My head is very big, don’t be fooled, it dwarfs most other objects. But when put in context to these SLICES of INDULGENCE, it seems normal.

I don’t care where you are from or what you know or what you have done in your life. All that matters is that this exists, and maybe you should not eat for 2 weeks and attend. And consider yourself LUCKY, internet. Because I’m warning you about this. The waiter? Not so much with the warning of the mutant cakes. More so much with the placing of the cakes and the enjoyment of our initial reaction to the horror of it all.

That cake was never finished. And I think I killed my baby with sugar and meat. So it was a disappointing night, to say the least.