I have always liked to think of myself of a manly man. I’m big, tall, strong, and physical. I play hockey on a regular basis and my facial hair grows out so much that if I shave at 8am, I have a beard by noon. I’ve been slapped by more women than I can remember (although whether that’s from sheer numbers or from the fact that I’m usually into my eighth glass of whiskey by then, I’m not entirely sure), yet I still know how to butter a lady up when she deserves it. I may lack any kind of metropolitan fashion sense, but I still look damn good in a suit or tux, if I do say so myself.
So why am I telling you all this? Well, I just want you to remember who I am and what I stand for. Because what I have to say here may just change your opinion of me, although I hope it doesn’t. I tell you all of this because this past weekend I journeyed to my local gaming store and bought a brand new game for my Nintendo DS on its release day. If you already know the game I’m talking about, then you, my friend, are a total nerd (then what does this say about me?). I am, of course, talking about the brand spanking new Pokemon Diamond.
Ok, feel free to laugh at me, get it all out of your system right now. I’m a 23 year old Pokemon fan, though I’m not exactly proud of it. I bought the original Pokemon Blue for the original Gameboy way back in high school after a friend recommended it for me. I had read reviews that said it was a dumbed down role-playing style game designed mainly for kids, yet more mature fans would enjoy it as well. And enjoy it I did. What can I say? I’m a sucker for RPGs.
Although I’m enjoying the new game immensely, I’ve logged almost 15 hours in since Sunday afternoon, there are a few parts of the game that I’m not entirely happy with. This is the first Pokemon game I’ve played since the first iteration in Red and Blue form. I’d just like to say for the record that I never owned Pokemon Snap for my N64. And yes, I feel it’s important to note that.
The game has changed somewhat since the original. Back in the Blue, I had it mastered. Out of a possible six active Pokemon, I carried a core of four that could handle almost anything my adversaries could throw at me. I especially coveted my “psychic” Pokemon since there were no moves in the game that were effective against it. That has changed, however. The chart of bonuses and penalties to attacks was changed to level the playing field for most Pokemon. And if there’s one thing I hate in battle, it’s a level playing field. I didn’t figure this out until after spending a large quantity of time trying to obtain a psychic Pokemon to bend to my whims in the new game. Now that I realize they aren’t as useful as they once were, I feel like I’ve wasted my time.
I’ve wasted my time playing a video game, what a surprise. And here I thought I was actually accomplishing something by playing a game based on the popular kids TV show. Next thing you’ll know I’ll end up feeling broke for the silly reason that I lost all my money gambling in Vegas (don’t worry about that though, I have no plans to go to Sin City any time soon). If you can’t tell that I was using sarcasm, then well… I was being sarcastic.
Truth be told, though, I would sorely love to have my own real live Pokemon. Who wouldn’t want a cute little fuzzy critter to love and play with? For me personally though, I’d want something that was as adorable as a puppy yet could still call down the fury of Zeus from the heavens and strike my enemies with a giant bolt of lightning. Hey, a guy like me has enemies, I have needs to be careful. Oh, and my Pokemon should also be small enough to fit into most briefcases or overhead storage bins for easy travel. Cute, deadly and convenient. Is that too much to ask for?
As it turns out, I won’t be getting a real death dealing Poke-creature any time soon. Nor will I be gaining any mutant superpowers either. The world is a cruel place sometimes. The universe rarely makes room to fulfill my desires, be they miniscule or grand. Heck, I can’t even get my hands and the ever elusive Cadbury Crème Egg these days. I guess asking for my own personal harem for Christmas might be a bit much this year. I wouldn’t need that many girls, just one for every day of the week… and possibly another one for the holidays, just to keep it interesting.
Putting my personal fantasies aside for a minute (I still haven’t given up hope on the harem just yet) I think it’s important to note how powerful the Pokemon franchise has become. With video games on the Gameboy, Gameboy Advance, Nintendo DS, Nintendo 64, and the Gamecube, innumerable television series, and a full ten movies. It is literally a multi-million dollar global franchise. And if there’s one thing I respect in this world, it’s money. It doesn’t matter to me if it comes from kiddy toys, illegal money laundering, or good old-fashioned, hard work (pronounced: “suckers”). But with fame and fortune comes a price.
Apparently the Christian faith has had some problems with the world of Pokemon. Some religious groups believe the cute creatures to be Satanic in origin. They think that Pokemon are similar to demons that are summoned to perform specific tasks. Also, the fact that Pokemon evolve into more powerful forms seems to negate the bible’s view on creationism. The biggest problem yet seems to come from the fact that some of the little critters use special powers, be they elemental or psychic or whatever, and that these powers are not derived from God. If that’s the case, then every superhero ever created is a blasphemy as well. Not that Nintendo cares. The religious groups can bitch all they want, but Pokemon are still bringing in millions of dollars every year. And as I said before, I respect that far more than I respect anything else.
It’s ok though, I think I’ve got Christianity covered on this one. Some of the devout may have nothing better to do with their time than to attack popular children’s franchises (let’s not forget Harry Potter), but I do believe that most are intelligent people. All Nintendo has to do is create a new Pokemon type and label it a “priest type.” The way I see it, the priest type would kick the crap out of the ghost and dark types. And as an added bonus, they could get a special power on Sundays called “Preach” that would make all the other Pokemon trainers feel guilty about their shortcomings and want to empty their wallets for the righteous Pokemon. You know, I think that would placate the Christians just fine. Well, so long as they don’t put an “alter boy” Pokemon in the game alongside the priest types. That just wouldn’t be cool.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a video game to get back to. I have a lot of work ahead of me before my Grotle morphs into a Torterra. Then I need to go beat up the nasty Team Galactic. And I should probably try to get another Gym Badge so my Kadabra doesn’t get all unruly with me when he levels up again. I don’t know why people think this whole Pokemon thing is so far out there. I mean, you understood everything I just said, right? Hell, I don’t even know what I just said and I’m the one playing the damn game. But you still think I’m a manly man right? …right?
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Apparently I’m a Wuss
Why does my stomach hurt? It feels as if my abdominal muscles are clenched tightly in fear of some fantastical monster whose sole purpose is to rend the flesh of my midsection. You’ve probably had the same sort of sensation after completing 327 sit-ups in a row. So this feeling isn’t uniquely foreign. The problem is that I haven’t even come close to doing one sit-up let alone the extremely large prerequisite that normal people need to feel the burn on their muscles. Heck, I haven’t even done anything that is remotely similar to an abdominal workout. So why am I in pain?
Well, I did participate in a hockey tournament this past weekend. I played three games in two days, which is a lot of hockey in a 36 hour period. But I’m pretty sure ice skating uses your leg muscles, not the ones in my stomach. I could be wrong about that though. I know it’s hard to believe, but I have been wrong before, even though it was just that one time.
I’m beginning to think that maybe this is some sort of just punishment. To be honest, I deserve some kind of punishment. Let me explain: it was our second game of the weekend and regulation time had expired with our team in a dead 3-3 lock with our opponents. There was no overtime, just a three v. three shootout. And I was the lucky man chosen to shoot first. So there I was, puck in the center of the ice, staring down the goalie in his net. And, well, I can sum up my one on one attempt at the goalie with one word: vagina.
Say it with me now, “VAH-GINE-AH.” Needless to say, I mucked up real bad. Then a few minutes later, we lost, 1-0 in the shootout. Had I put my one shot in (which in all honesty, I should have been able to do) we very well may have won. And, that one loss (our only loss of the weekend) kept us out of the championship game. So yeah, I suck, and I deserve to be punished.
This appears to be a reoccurring theme for me. For the season I am two for twelve on breakaways. Seriously, the easiest way to score a goal is on a breakaway and I’m, for all intents and purposes, incapable of doing so. I have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong with me. I mean, any idiot can score on a breakaway. And let’s be honest here, I’m a perfectly acceptable idiot. Apparently I’m more of a failure at being an idiot than most people are.
As you might already be able to tell, I don’t think I’m going to be joining the NHL any time soon. This is unfortunate since I had planned on spending the rest of my career playing professional hockey. Now that it seems I won’t be capable enough to go down this road, I’m going to have to come up with a back-up plan. Well, my back up plan was to win the lottery and that hasn’t happened yet either. So I need a back-up for the back-up plan.
I may have everything under control. Bowling. That’s right, I said bowling. People actually get paid to be professional bowlers. So I figure, why not me? It has to be the least demanding professional sport there is. I mean, golfers have to at least walk from hole to hole in the PGA. In the Professional Bowlers Association there’s no running, or lifting weights, or even specialty drills needed. All you have to do is throw a ball down a lane. Sounds simple enough.
Now I may not be the world’s best bowler, far from it actually, but I think this is one sport where I can persevere through the training. I mean, it’s the only sport I know of where you can drink beer and eat corn dogs while playing in a tournament. And honestly, I have to respect a sport like that. Bowling is the only activity I know of that actually encourages you to drink while you play. By now I really do hope you know how much I enjoy drinking a good beer.
There is one downside to the PBA though. It may be great for the sedentary lifestyle, but the money isn’t all that fantastic. Sure if you win two or three major events a year (which is very highly unlikely) you can pull down $200,000. But as I said, that’s not an easy task to accomplish. If you remember, the whole point of me becoming a professional bowler was to make easy cash and have a laid back lifestyle. In the end, bowling may just not have the capital I need to be a rich lazy bum. So then, what other options are available?
The perfect solution: I could become a punter in the NFL. Now I know punters don’t make near as much money as a real football player like a quarterback or running back or even an offensive lineman. That’s ok; I don’t think I need to make a million dollars every year. However, I do need to make at least $100,000 each year. And a punter easily makes that much.
Oh sure, place kickers make more money than punters do. I mean, just look at Adam Vinatieri and his near $3 million a year contract. It must be nice to be him. But then again, he’s the guy who always comes through in the clutch. Place kickers sit on the bench all game long and then are forced to come out at the end of the game and take one kick that will either win the game or lose it. That’s a lot of pressure. And to be honest, that sort of pressure is something I don’t need. Vinatieri can have it.
On the other hand, punters have no pressure. They don’t score any points and are never counted on to win games, ever. All they do is go out on the field, kick the ball (between 30 to 40 yards), and then return to the bench. Heck, they’re not even expected to make a tackle when they’re on the field. And why not? Punters are all skinny little white guys, how can you expect them to tackle a punt return specialist? Well, Devin Hester may only be 5’11” and 189lbs. but something tells me he’s not going to get tackled by a punter.
Punters don’t have to run or hit the weight room as much as the rest of the football team. They’re not even considered real football players. You know what, that’s perfectly fine with me. I’m not in it for the glory, I’m in it for the roughly $200,000 NFL minimum salary. Yes, even punters get paid big money in the National Football League. And in all honesty, punters do jack squat.
So that’s my ambition, to do jack squat and get paid ridiculously well for it. So far I’ve got the first part down. The second part is the laboriously tricky. Hopefully I’ll figure that out eventually. Oh, and in the mean time, if you know of any NFL teams that are looking for a new punter, I’m more than up to the task.
Well, I did participate in a hockey tournament this past weekend. I played three games in two days, which is a lot of hockey in a 36 hour period. But I’m pretty sure ice skating uses your leg muscles, not the ones in my stomach. I could be wrong about that though. I know it’s hard to believe, but I have been wrong before, even though it was just that one time.
I’m beginning to think that maybe this is some sort of just punishment. To be honest, I deserve some kind of punishment. Let me explain: it was our second game of the weekend and regulation time had expired with our team in a dead 3-3 lock with our opponents. There was no overtime, just a three v. three shootout. And I was the lucky man chosen to shoot first. So there I was, puck in the center of the ice, staring down the goalie in his net. And, well, I can sum up my one on one attempt at the goalie with one word: vagina.
Say it with me now, “VAH-GINE-AH.” Needless to say, I mucked up real bad. Then a few minutes later, we lost, 1-0 in the shootout. Had I put my one shot in (which in all honesty, I should have been able to do) we very well may have won. And, that one loss (our only loss of the weekend) kept us out of the championship game. So yeah, I suck, and I deserve to be punished.
This appears to be a reoccurring theme for me. For the season I am two for twelve on breakaways. Seriously, the easiest way to score a goal is on a breakaway and I’m, for all intents and purposes, incapable of doing so. I have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong with me. I mean, any idiot can score on a breakaway. And let’s be honest here, I’m a perfectly acceptable idiot. Apparently I’m more of a failure at being an idiot than most people are.
As you might already be able to tell, I don’t think I’m going to be joining the NHL any time soon. This is unfortunate since I had planned on spending the rest of my career playing professional hockey. Now that it seems I won’t be capable enough to go down this road, I’m going to have to come up with a back-up plan. Well, my back up plan was to win the lottery and that hasn’t happened yet either. So I need a back-up for the back-up plan.
I may have everything under control. Bowling. That’s right, I said bowling. People actually get paid to be professional bowlers. So I figure, why not me? It has to be the least demanding professional sport there is. I mean, golfers have to at least walk from hole to hole in the PGA. In the Professional Bowlers Association there’s no running, or lifting weights, or even specialty drills needed. All you have to do is throw a ball down a lane. Sounds simple enough.
Now I may not be the world’s best bowler, far from it actually, but I think this is one sport where I can persevere through the training. I mean, it’s the only sport I know of where you can drink beer and eat corn dogs while playing in a tournament. And honestly, I have to respect a sport like that. Bowling is the only activity I know of that actually encourages you to drink while you play. By now I really do hope you know how much I enjoy drinking a good beer.
There is one downside to the PBA though. It may be great for the sedentary lifestyle, but the money isn’t all that fantastic. Sure if you win two or three major events a year (which is very highly unlikely) you can pull down $200,000. But as I said, that’s not an easy task to accomplish. If you remember, the whole point of me becoming a professional bowler was to make easy cash and have a laid back lifestyle. In the end, bowling may just not have the capital I need to be a rich lazy bum. So then, what other options are available?
The perfect solution: I could become a punter in the NFL. Now I know punters don’t make near as much money as a real football player like a quarterback or running back or even an offensive lineman. That’s ok; I don’t think I need to make a million dollars every year. However, I do need to make at least $100,000 each year. And a punter easily makes that much.
Oh sure, place kickers make more money than punters do. I mean, just look at Adam Vinatieri and his near $3 million a year contract. It must be nice to be him. But then again, he’s the guy who always comes through in the clutch. Place kickers sit on the bench all game long and then are forced to come out at the end of the game and take one kick that will either win the game or lose it. That’s a lot of pressure. And to be honest, that sort of pressure is something I don’t need. Vinatieri can have it.
On the other hand, punters have no pressure. They don’t score any points and are never counted on to win games, ever. All they do is go out on the field, kick the ball (between 30 to 40 yards), and then return to the bench. Heck, they’re not even expected to make a tackle when they’re on the field. And why not? Punters are all skinny little white guys, how can you expect them to tackle a punt return specialist? Well, Devin Hester may only be 5’11” and 189lbs. but something tells me he’s not going to get tackled by a punter.
Punters don’t have to run or hit the weight room as much as the rest of the football team. They’re not even considered real football players. You know what, that’s perfectly fine with me. I’m not in it for the glory, I’m in it for the roughly $200,000 NFL minimum salary. Yes, even punters get paid big money in the National Football League. And in all honesty, punters do jack squat.
So that’s my ambition, to do jack squat and get paid ridiculously well for it. So far I’ve got the first part down. The second part is the laboriously tricky. Hopefully I’ll figure that out eventually. Oh, and in the mean time, if you know of any NFL teams that are looking for a new punter, I’m more than up to the task.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
The Cadbury Creme Crisis
Yesterday I slipped off into dusky darkness of night for a secretly planned covert mission. The date was April 10th, two days past Easter Sunday. The mission: seek out and acquire discounted Easter candy still sitting on store shelves. Mission status: unconfirmed.
I’m sure you are all aware of the wondrous joys of the varying Easter Day candies out there. There’s everything from sugary peeps to sweet flavored jellybeans to milk chocolate bunnies. But I wasn’t there for any of that. This particular assignment had me looting for the very best in Easter candies. The royalty of the chocolate realm. That’s right, the Cadbury Egg.
There is something regal about the thick chocolate coating and the smooth creamy inside goodness of a Cadbury Crème Egg. It’s chocolate and sugar and… and well that’s pretty much all there is. But what more could you want? As far as I’m concerned Cadbury Eggs are by and large the top of the line not only when it comes to Easter candies, but any kind of confectionary at all. It’s just that damn good.
So now you see why I was lurking around local grocery store yesterday. I need me some sugar-happy awesomeness. And unfortunately, I wasn’t able to feed my sugar addiction. I don’t know if you can tell, but my hands are shaking at the keyboard even now when I type this. The store was out of Cadbury Eggs. The bastards didn’t have any left. Oh sure, they had all sorts of other sugar related sweets, but I didn’t want any of those second rate Easter goodies.
I need to get one thing off my chest right here and now, while I’m still frustrated and unsatisfied enough to think it’s actually important. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not all that partial to peeps. I mean, seriously, what the hell is up with peeps? I swear the things taste like chalk. They’re supposedly sugar covered marshmallows in interesting shapes, but I always found them to be more of an insult to my digestive system. If I ruled the world, I’d put peeps on a banned list of foods that could never be served. It would be right up there on the list right next to refried beans. Hey, if you grew up with my brother, you wouldn’t want to see refried beans on the table ever again.
Oh, there were plenty of those peeps there at the grocery store, that’s for sure. They were there in assorted colors, shapes, and flavors. Apparently chalk has differently flavors now. There’s regular sugar flavored chalk, chocolate flavored chalk, and some sort of mint flavored chalk as well. Have you noted my complete and utter disdain for what I consider the redheaded step child of Easter candies? Good. Let’s move on then. (I still think they taste like chalk, damn it!)
I realize that Easter is a holy holiday of sorts and all I have so far only talked about candy. That may have something to do with my thriving need for chocolate coated sugar goo, or it may be that I don’t have a whole grasp on this “Easter” thing. Now, I’ve never been a religious person and I don’t go to church. I’m fairly certain this means I’m going to burn in hell for my sins, or whatever equivalent afterlife awaits me. But that’s ok, I’ve more than come to terms with that. Keeping all that in mind, I have come up with my own interpretation of what the true meaning of this Sunday holiday is all about.
So Jesus died on a Friday and they now call that Good Friday. Why someone would deem it necessary to name the day Good Friday to celebrate the torture and death of their lord and savior, I will never know. Easter is supposed to take place on the third day of the death of Jesus whenhe mysteriously rose from the dead, exited his tomb without moving the giant stone covering the door, and began to pass out chocolates and painted eggs to all of the little boys and girls.
Ok, so I know this isn’t 100% correct. Back in 33AD they hadn’t quite discovered chocolate yet. Chances are, the reborn Christ was passing out shoots of sugarcane instead. I think it might be important to note right here that I have never actually read the Bible. I hear it’s a very popular book and has been translated into more languages than any other literate work, but in my defense: it's a really really big book. Can you actually expect me to read that whole thing? Though, I have heard good things about the parts with the smiting and the hailing bits of fire and brimstone and whatnot. Now that does sound like an exciting read.
Maybe Jesus didn’t pass out sugar and colored eggs. Maybe he truely did rise into heaven to join his Father. Or maybe some grave robbers came and stole his body in the intervening time. Honestly, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. And neither were you, so don’t go trying to correct me. What I do know is that about 2000 years ago a man died. His hands were staked into a wooden cross and he was hung up and left to perish. Now, two millennia later, I get to eat Cadbury Crème Eggs in his memory. And for that, I am eternally thankful. That Jesus guy is ok with me.
Of course, right now I am noticeably without my Cadbury Egg in all its gooey goodness and sweet, sugary splendor. That’s ok though. Today is another day. I will reactivate my mission and go on my convert prowl once again for my coveted prize. It’s nearly the same as your kids looking around the yard and the house for hidden eggs on Easter morning. The only perceptible difference is that I’m willing to stab someone in order to get my egg. Nothing matters except the egg. Not sleep, not work, not money nor health. I will get my egg.
As you can see, I’m going slightly mad with the mere thought of it. So I’d best be on my way. Although, it just occurred to me that as of this minute, I crave that damn egg more than I crave sex. And let’s be honest here, as a 23 year old male, sex is an absolute necessity. I guess it’s best not to dwell on that fact. The sooner I get a Cadbury Egg in my mouth, the sooner my desire is satiated.
If you happen to know of a place in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area that one might be able to procure said delectable chocolate coated egg, please, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will do anything it takes to get my hands on one, and I do mean anything. (Note: the word “anything” in this context does not actually encompass all forms of conduct. The author reserves the right to define the word “anything” in this context as “sex with a beautiful woman” or “sex with two beautiful women” or “lounging in a large hot tub, drinking extravagant wines, eating only the finest of foods, and smoking a Cuban cigar, while having sex with two beautiful women” whenever he deems fit. The author is also not responsible for any loss of limbs to any bystanders while he is in hunt for the currently elusive Cadbury Crème Egg. Void where prohibited. All rights reserved.)
I’m sure you are all aware of the wondrous joys of the varying Easter Day candies out there. There’s everything from sugary peeps to sweet flavored jellybeans to milk chocolate bunnies. But I wasn’t there for any of that. This particular assignment had me looting for the very best in Easter candies. The royalty of the chocolate realm. That’s right, the Cadbury Egg.
There is something regal about the thick chocolate coating and the smooth creamy inside goodness of a Cadbury Crème Egg. It’s chocolate and sugar and… and well that’s pretty much all there is. But what more could you want? As far as I’m concerned Cadbury Eggs are by and large the top of the line not only when it comes to Easter candies, but any kind of confectionary at all. It’s just that damn good.
So now you see why I was lurking around local grocery store yesterday. I need me some sugar-happy awesomeness. And unfortunately, I wasn’t able to feed my sugar addiction. I don’t know if you can tell, but my hands are shaking at the keyboard even now when I type this. The store was out of Cadbury Eggs. The bastards didn’t have any left. Oh sure, they had all sorts of other sugar related sweets, but I didn’t want any of those second rate Easter goodies.
I need to get one thing off my chest right here and now, while I’m still frustrated and unsatisfied enough to think it’s actually important. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not all that partial to peeps. I mean, seriously, what the hell is up with peeps? I swear the things taste like chalk. They’re supposedly sugar covered marshmallows in interesting shapes, but I always found them to be more of an insult to my digestive system. If I ruled the world, I’d put peeps on a banned list of foods that could never be served. It would be right up there on the list right next to refried beans. Hey, if you grew up with my brother, you wouldn’t want to see refried beans on the table ever again.
Oh, there were plenty of those peeps there at the grocery store, that’s for sure. They were there in assorted colors, shapes, and flavors. Apparently chalk has differently flavors now. There’s regular sugar flavored chalk, chocolate flavored chalk, and some sort of mint flavored chalk as well. Have you noted my complete and utter disdain for what I consider the redheaded step child of Easter candies? Good. Let’s move on then. (I still think they taste like chalk, damn it!)
I realize that Easter is a holy holiday of sorts and all I have so far only talked about candy. That may have something to do with my thriving need for chocolate coated sugar goo, or it may be that I don’t have a whole grasp on this “Easter” thing. Now, I’ve never been a religious person and I don’t go to church. I’m fairly certain this means I’m going to burn in hell for my sins, or whatever equivalent afterlife awaits me. But that’s ok, I’ve more than come to terms with that. Keeping all that in mind, I have come up with my own interpretation of what the true meaning of this Sunday holiday is all about.
So Jesus died on a Friday and they now call that Good Friday. Why someone would deem it necessary to name the day Good Friday to celebrate the torture and death of their lord and savior, I will never know. Easter is supposed to take place on the third day of the death of Jesus whenhe mysteriously rose from the dead, exited his tomb without moving the giant stone covering the door, and began to pass out chocolates and painted eggs to all of the little boys and girls.
Ok, so I know this isn’t 100% correct. Back in 33AD they hadn’t quite discovered chocolate yet. Chances are, the reborn Christ was passing out shoots of sugarcane instead. I think it might be important to note right here that I have never actually read the Bible. I hear it’s a very popular book and has been translated into more languages than any other literate work, but in my defense: it's a really really big book. Can you actually expect me to read that whole thing? Though, I have heard good things about the parts with the smiting and the hailing bits of fire and brimstone and whatnot. Now that does sound like an exciting read.
Maybe Jesus didn’t pass out sugar and colored eggs. Maybe he truely did rise into heaven to join his Father. Or maybe some grave robbers came and stole his body in the intervening time. Honestly, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. And neither were you, so don’t go trying to correct me. What I do know is that about 2000 years ago a man died. His hands were staked into a wooden cross and he was hung up and left to perish. Now, two millennia later, I get to eat Cadbury Crème Eggs in his memory. And for that, I am eternally thankful. That Jesus guy is ok with me.
Of course, right now I am noticeably without my Cadbury Egg in all its gooey goodness and sweet, sugary splendor. That’s ok though. Today is another day. I will reactivate my mission and go on my convert prowl once again for my coveted prize. It’s nearly the same as your kids looking around the yard and the house for hidden eggs on Easter morning. The only perceptible difference is that I’m willing to stab someone in order to get my egg. Nothing matters except the egg. Not sleep, not work, not money nor health. I will get my egg.
As you can see, I’m going slightly mad with the mere thought of it. So I’d best be on my way. Although, it just occurred to me that as of this minute, I crave that damn egg more than I crave sex. And let’s be honest here, as a 23 year old male, sex is an absolute necessity. I guess it’s best not to dwell on that fact. The sooner I get a Cadbury Egg in my mouth, the sooner my desire is satiated.
If you happen to know of a place in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area that one might be able to procure said delectable chocolate coated egg, please, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will do anything it takes to get my hands on one, and I do mean anything. (Note: the word “anything” in this context does not actually encompass all forms of conduct. The author reserves the right to define the word “anything” in this context as “sex with a beautiful woman” or “sex with two beautiful women” or “lounging in a large hot tub, drinking extravagant wines, eating only the finest of foods, and smoking a Cuban cigar, while having sex with two beautiful women” whenever he deems fit. The author is also not responsible for any loss of limbs to any bystanders while he is in hunt for the currently elusive Cadbury Crème Egg. Void where prohibited. All rights reserved.)
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
It’s Madness and It’s Not Fair
Well, the month of March has come and gone. Normally an overlooked month, the third full turn of the moon is ripe with plenty of reasons to get excited. St. Patrick’s Day and Steak and Blow-job Day are just two of the many reasons to love the month. But there is one event that engulfs men’s lives and turns them into crazed school children for far longer than their wives would appreciate. They call it the March Madness; the NCAA Basketball Tournament.
Sixty-five teams in four regions competed to get to Atlanta this year for the revered Final Four. For some, its more than a game, it’s almost a religion. This is especially true here in North Carolina, the college basketball capital of the world (hey if I say it’s the college b-ball capital, then it must be true). Not that any ACC teams actually made it to the Final Four this year. Which is honestly is a huge disappointment. Boasting more teams than any other conference in the nation at the big Dance, at a regal seven, the Atlantic Coast Conference was only able to get one team into the Sweet Sixteen.
First of all, what the hell? As good as the ACC is, how is it that only one team can win more than a single game in the Tournament? Duke, Virginia, Boston College, Maryland and Virginia Tech had good records coming into the postseason, but for some reason they all decided to suck it up at the one point of the year when winning actually means something. Oh, and while I have your attention, repeat after me: VER-GIN-YA Tech. That’s right, you’re supposed to say the whole thing (well, the whole name of the state at least). It’s not Vah Tech or V-Tech, it’s Virginia Tech. If you’re one of those douche bags who says Vah Tech, then you’re a loser and a dork… and a douche. And yes, I really did need to put the word “douche” in there twice. I’m just that emphatic about it.
Highlight of this year’s Tournament: watching Duke get knocked out in the first round by Virginia Commonwealth University. As an added bonus, I actually picked VCU to win that game. I’m so glad they didn’t disappoint. There are very few things in the world that delight me more than watching Duke lose. If I had to pick, would I rather have sex with a super model or watch UNC beat Duke in person at the Dean Smith Center? Well, you know, I’ve always said super models are overrated. And besides, this is basketball we’re talking about. Hey, there’s a reason Carolina’s Alma Mater includes shouting the words “GO TO HELL DUKE.”
For the record, I’m an alumnus of the University of North Carolina. I had the good fortune of spending my senior year watching the likes of Sean May, Rashad McCants, Raymond Felton, Jackie Manuel, and Jawad Williams win the National Championship. There are three things I can actually remember from my senior year in college, beating Illinois in the NCAA Final, my graduation ceremony, and beer, lot’s and lot’s of beer. There may have been some whiskey involved in there too somewhere. Honestly, I can’t remember. It’s all pretty hazy.
This year, however, UNC made it all the way to the top eight teams in the country before losing to Georgetown in overtime. Honestly, I wasn’t all that upset. I probably should have been, but I didn’t really expect our team to bring home the championship this year. I’ve been of the mind all year long that next season is when the boys in blue will win it all. Give those young kids another year to mature and they’re going to be phenomenal. Seriously, I’m going to be extremely upset with anything less than a National Championship next year.
Hopefully those talented youngsters won’t make a break for the NBA after only one year of college. I can’t understand why they’d want to do it. I mean, wouldn’t you prefer to stay in school and work on your game instead of going pro? Really, why would anyone jump into the professional league merely for a multi-million dollar contract? There are more important things in life than money. …wait, did I really just say that? I take that back, there is nothing more important than money. Money can buy you everything, including happiness. Or at the very least a happy ending.
I’m going to quit undercutting my own argument here and move on to something much more important. And that’s Florida and Ohio State. These schools met twice this year in National Championship games, once for football and once again for basketball. I would like to take the time right here to tell you just how incredibly unfair that is. Those schools are traditional football schools, and that’s all well and good. But you’re not allowed to be that good in basketball as well. It has to be one or the other, not both.
Now the reason I say it’s unfair is because my school, being a basketball school as you all well know, only managed to win three games this school year on the football field. So I think we can all agree that Florida cannot be number one in both sports. We can also agree that Ohio State cannot be number two in both as well. Actually, that’s kind of demeaning when you think about it. I mean, it is a real tour de force to be that good at both major college sports, but who really wants second place? Congratulations Ohio State, you’re the first loser in both football and basketball. No longer will you be known as the Buckeyes. Today I dub you, the Runner Ups. Your mascot can be Dan Marino, the NFL quarterback who broke almost every offensive passing record but never even made it to the Super Bowl. Yes you’re good, but at the end of the day, no one really cares.
Ok, aside from making fun of Ohio State (and I actually like the Buckeyes, seriously), there are far more pressing matters I must attend to. Namely, how am I going to stop Florida from their NCAA sports domination? And let’s not kid ourselves here, the University of Florida does have a stranglehold on collegiate sports. No one has ever won both championships in a single year, until this past Monday. So apparently, it’s up to me to break that hold. I mean, who else is going to stop them? Ohio State?
I have a plan, but it involves dark voodoo magics so sinister and twisted that most men would have their souls bleed out their eyes just from the mere mention of it. Not that I mind getting into such horrible atrocities, I’m very familiar with dark dealings of the soul. The downside is, and there’s always a downside, I’m going to need some help finding all the necessary ingredients. I have the need to sacrifice a goat, two llamas, a pig fetus, four chickens, and a Republican. It’s going to be hard to get a hold of all that. Have you seen the price on sacrificial llamas lately?
Hopefully, by this time next year I will have single handedly taken down the Florida Gators from their lofty perch. Though I can’t be certain. The gods of sport are often fickle creatures and are known to ignore the pleas and sacrifices of even the most stalwart fans. Truth be told, I’ll probably end up drinking too much beer, and in my oft alcohol induced haze forget all about my dark offerings, and end up throwing the llama meat on the grill. I hear it tastes good with barbeque sauce. And in the end, isn’t beer and barbeque what college sports is all about?
Sixty-five teams in four regions competed to get to Atlanta this year for the revered Final Four. For some, its more than a game, it’s almost a religion. This is especially true here in North Carolina, the college basketball capital of the world (hey if I say it’s the college b-ball capital, then it must be true). Not that any ACC teams actually made it to the Final Four this year. Which is honestly is a huge disappointment. Boasting more teams than any other conference in the nation at the big Dance, at a regal seven, the Atlantic Coast Conference was only able to get one team into the Sweet Sixteen.
First of all, what the hell? As good as the ACC is, how is it that only one team can win more than a single game in the Tournament? Duke, Virginia, Boston College, Maryland and Virginia Tech had good records coming into the postseason, but for some reason they all decided to suck it up at the one point of the year when winning actually means something. Oh, and while I have your attention, repeat after me: VER-GIN-YA Tech. That’s right, you’re supposed to say the whole thing (well, the whole name of the state at least). It’s not Vah Tech or V-Tech, it’s Virginia Tech. If you’re one of those douche bags who says Vah Tech, then you’re a loser and a dork… and a douche. And yes, I really did need to put the word “douche” in there twice. I’m just that emphatic about it.
Highlight of this year’s Tournament: watching Duke get knocked out in the first round by Virginia Commonwealth University. As an added bonus, I actually picked VCU to win that game. I’m so glad they didn’t disappoint. There are very few things in the world that delight me more than watching Duke lose. If I had to pick, would I rather have sex with a super model or watch UNC beat Duke in person at the Dean Smith Center? Well, you know, I’ve always said super models are overrated. And besides, this is basketball we’re talking about. Hey, there’s a reason Carolina’s Alma Mater includes shouting the words “GO TO HELL DUKE.”
For the record, I’m an alumnus of the University of North Carolina. I had the good fortune of spending my senior year watching the likes of Sean May, Rashad McCants, Raymond Felton, Jackie Manuel, and Jawad Williams win the National Championship. There are three things I can actually remember from my senior year in college, beating Illinois in the NCAA Final, my graduation ceremony, and beer, lot’s and lot’s of beer. There may have been some whiskey involved in there too somewhere. Honestly, I can’t remember. It’s all pretty hazy.
This year, however, UNC made it all the way to the top eight teams in the country before losing to Georgetown in overtime. Honestly, I wasn’t all that upset. I probably should have been, but I didn’t really expect our team to bring home the championship this year. I’ve been of the mind all year long that next season is when the boys in blue will win it all. Give those young kids another year to mature and they’re going to be phenomenal. Seriously, I’m going to be extremely upset with anything less than a National Championship next year.
Hopefully those talented youngsters won’t make a break for the NBA after only one year of college. I can’t understand why they’d want to do it. I mean, wouldn’t you prefer to stay in school and work on your game instead of going pro? Really, why would anyone jump into the professional league merely for a multi-million dollar contract? There are more important things in life than money. …wait, did I really just say that? I take that back, there is nothing more important than money. Money can buy you everything, including happiness. Or at the very least a happy ending.
I’m going to quit undercutting my own argument here and move on to something much more important. And that’s Florida and Ohio State. These schools met twice this year in National Championship games, once for football and once again for basketball. I would like to take the time right here to tell you just how incredibly unfair that is. Those schools are traditional football schools, and that’s all well and good. But you’re not allowed to be that good in basketball as well. It has to be one or the other, not both.
Now the reason I say it’s unfair is because my school, being a basketball school as you all well know, only managed to win three games this school year on the football field. So I think we can all agree that Florida cannot be number one in both sports. We can also agree that Ohio State cannot be number two in both as well. Actually, that’s kind of demeaning when you think about it. I mean, it is a real tour de force to be that good at both major college sports, but who really wants second place? Congratulations Ohio State, you’re the first loser in both football and basketball. No longer will you be known as the Buckeyes. Today I dub you, the Runner Ups. Your mascot can be Dan Marino, the NFL quarterback who broke almost every offensive passing record but never even made it to the Super Bowl. Yes you’re good, but at the end of the day, no one really cares.
Ok, aside from making fun of Ohio State (and I actually like the Buckeyes, seriously), there are far more pressing matters I must attend to. Namely, how am I going to stop Florida from their NCAA sports domination? And let’s not kid ourselves here, the University of Florida does have a stranglehold on collegiate sports. No one has ever won both championships in a single year, until this past Monday. So apparently, it’s up to me to break that hold. I mean, who else is going to stop them? Ohio State?
I have a plan, but it involves dark voodoo magics so sinister and twisted that most men would have their souls bleed out their eyes just from the mere mention of it. Not that I mind getting into such horrible atrocities, I’m very familiar with dark dealings of the soul. The downside is, and there’s always a downside, I’m going to need some help finding all the necessary ingredients. I have the need to sacrifice a goat, two llamas, a pig fetus, four chickens, and a Republican. It’s going to be hard to get a hold of all that. Have you seen the price on sacrificial llamas lately?
Hopefully, by this time next year I will have single handedly taken down the Florida Gators from their lofty perch. Though I can’t be certain. The gods of sport are often fickle creatures and are known to ignore the pleas and sacrifices of even the most stalwart fans. Truth be told, I’ll probably end up drinking too much beer, and in my oft alcohol induced haze forget all about my dark offerings, and end up throwing the llama meat on the grill. I hear it tastes good with barbeque sauce. And in the end, isn’t beer and barbeque what college sports is all about?
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