I'm pretty sure you did.
7/24/2006
Jesus God
I couldn't have been more wrong re: World Cup predictions. This is to be expected, however. You're reading words written by a guy who believed with all his heart that the Jets were going to the Superbowl last year before that shifty-eyed cocksucker known as God crippled 4 of their quarterbacks. If you'd told me back then that Vinny Testaverde was going to get called in to suit up as QB 3 weeks into the regular season, I'd have called you a whore and slapped you in the mouth.
But the bitter rage of seeing Italy cheat their way to a World Cup is abating, and my fruitless quest for sports-related distractions is at a high as it usually is this time of the season. Ye gods, can it really be so close to August? ESPN is still rife with talk about who's signed who and which quarterback's knee still resembles cold spaghetti. Their NCAA section did have an article which caught my eye, however:
Miami safety Cooper shot, teammate returns fire. Go 'Canes!
Like a heroin addict awaiting his dealer's delivery, my mouth goes dry and my gut twists up in anticipation of the imminent season kick-off. ACC football starts August 31, and sweet screaming Jesus the NFL preseason kicks off August 13. And I've just been struck with the realization like a cold knife in my chest: that's very soon. I need a job, and desperately. How else will I have money to throw away on ill-advised and ill-informed football bets?
I've been cranky lately, anybody who's talked football with me lately will tell you that. I ignore my girlfriend because the Sun Channel (a local TV channel in Florida) is playing repeats of Florida, Florida State, and Miami games in the evenings. Last night I was at a wedding reception where I got to talking football with a guy who could very well give me a job in the near future. When he mentioned he liked Notre Dame because of their "tough schedule," I called him "a mick-loving cocksucker and an IRA collaborator" because his team "makes up their own rules about how and when they win national championships." A precise recollection is impossible due to imbibing of strong drink.
On a personal note, and one related to the demon rum, a very close personal friend of mine is getting married next Saturday. As the best man, I'm to give a toast, it seems. It's been suggested that I tell an amusing anectdote from our shared past. The families of both bride and groom will be there, and they are people of sensitive constitutions. Best to avoid any and all stories starting with "Once, when the two of us were completely fucked up..." Hard to recall any and all stories not starting with same.
But the bitter rage of seeing Italy cheat their way to a World Cup is abating, and my fruitless quest for sports-related distractions is at a high as it usually is this time of the season. Ye gods, can it really be so close to August? ESPN is still rife with talk about who's signed who and which quarterback's knee still resembles cold spaghetti. Their NCAA section did have an article which caught my eye, however:
Miami safety Cooper shot, teammate returns fire. Go 'Canes!
Like a heroin addict awaiting his dealer's delivery, my mouth goes dry and my gut twists up in anticipation of the imminent season kick-off. ACC football starts August 31, and sweet screaming Jesus the NFL preseason kicks off August 13. And I've just been struck with the realization like a cold knife in my chest: that's very soon. I need a job, and desperately. How else will I have money to throw away on ill-advised and ill-informed football bets?
I've been cranky lately, anybody who's talked football with me lately will tell you that. I ignore my girlfriend because the Sun Channel (a local TV channel in Florida) is playing repeats of Florida, Florida State, and Miami games in the evenings. Last night I was at a wedding reception where I got to talking football with a guy who could very well give me a job in the near future. When he mentioned he liked Notre Dame because of their "tough schedule," I called him "a mick-loving cocksucker and an IRA collaborator" because his team "makes up their own rules about how and when they win national championships." A precise recollection is impossible due to imbibing of strong drink.
On a personal note, and one related to the demon rum, a very close personal friend of mine is getting married next Saturday. As the best man, I'm to give a toast, it seems. It's been suggested that I tell an amusing anectdote from our shared past. The families of both bride and groom will be there, and they are people of sensitive constitutions. Best to avoid any and all stories starting with "Once, when the two of us were completely fucked up..." Hard to recall any and all stories not starting with same.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
