Well...I had planned a lot of structured postings following the Patriots game last week but I'm pretty sure that unless you have been shooting Heroin in a Vietnamese slum that you are also sick of the talk surrounding this game. Sure there were things that excited me, angered me, left me feeling numb to the world as a whole but over the past week I have listened to so much about the referees, the piped in crowd noise, and Don Shula, that I have really lost interest. I have several rough drafts of bulleted points...well structured paragraphs with strong openers, solid support and kick in the nuts concluding statements. Well, fuck that. It seems to me that the beauty of this medium, much like motor oil and milk, is in its fluid nature. So I will attempt to "flow", as the rappers say, and touch upon as many of the things that happened to me, interested me, and occured to me over the past week in an effort to bring you deeper into my mind and life. Its not that I think its important, but its just what I think.
First, I will say two things about the Pats game and then move on. One, the one handed catch by Randy Moss over the middle was probably one of the sickest plays I have ever seen. I made my mom cut the picture out of the Boston Globe for me and I taped it to my wall (my parents frown upon thumbtacks since they repainted my room: a futile attempt to erase all memory of my habitation in the room above them). I tap it with my fist as I leave for work every morning. So far work seems the same, but hey its 530am and it brings a little enjoyment to the start of my day.
Second, there may be no better example of the rancid hypocrisy of the media and total handjobbery of NFL color commentators and analysts as the current portrayal of the New England Patriots as "Evil". I can clearly remember watching the celebration following the Super Bowl victory over the Rams. At the time, Belicheck was a genius, the Organization was run by equally intelligent and crafty men, and they were everything that was "good" about America (A Nation still reeling in the aftermath of 9/11) The Patriots represented all the "little people" in the world; the nerdy guy who never got a date; the poor Guatemalan toddler with a hair-lip; the fat chick with the disproportiantely hotter younger sister. Now they have become that hotter sister, and Shannon Sharpe has become that older, fatter sister who has to give blowjobs to guys who don't respect her just so that she feels wanted, if only for a night. Steve Young too for that matter. I saw him claim Peyton Manning as the best player in the NFL...tonight...after he threw an NFL record tying 6 interceptions in yesterdays LOSS to the San Diego chargers who are approximately one loss away from stoning Norv Turner to death on the practice field. I admit I have become more of a Peyton Manning fan over the last year or so...and that just means I wouldn't mind if he was hit by a bus, as opposed to praying for it to happen each night before bed. (Note: I am not a religious man) But come on, how could you look at the season so far and say that anybody BUT Tom Brady was the best player in the league? Crazy talk.
Unfortunately the best thing about a bye-week for your favorite team also turns into the worst thing ever. That is to say that although there is no pressure filled moments on sunday while you watch your team scrap out a win but not cover the spread for the first time all season (-$110), you have to listen to jackass after jacakss analyze every possible analalyzeable thing from the game/season/future for hours a day on talk radio, and television programs. I admit, I listen to probably 6 hours of WEEI per day in the recent past simply because of the nature of the project I am working on and because my $8 radio from KMART doesnt pick up a lot of stations. So, I am kind of asking for it. But Jesus Christ, I just want them to play the Bills allready, I am sick of all the bullshit as I am sure they are too. And yet its only monday evening and as I lie here in bed my first and most pressing thoughts happens to be about the Celtics game from Friday night.
I have been looking forward to last Friday night for quite a while. I had my calendar marked, my plans confirmed. It was the night that Larocque and I would head to the Garden to see the reincarnation of Celtic greatness: Garnett, Pierce, Allen, Perkins (just kidding). I was pumped. I should have been suspicious. An easy friday turned into a scrambling afternoon. Again I won't bore you with the minutiae of hydrogeology, but lets just say that I really, really wanted to get the fuck out of work on friday. When I did I headed straight to Larocque's place, I found a parking spot directly in front of his aparment building and within a matter of moments we had exchanged salutations, CDs, and I had changed into jeans...all in the comfort of his living room under the sorrowful but heartbreakingly optimistic gaze of his young Columbian child-that-he-sponsors. (Is there a word for that? Whatever.) It should be noted that the columbian boy was not "in the room", but there was a picture. Surely he is a better role model than me, but I can probably drink more beers. Also it should be noted that I have great respect for LaRocque for doing such a philanthropic thing. Once, I moved some turtles out of the road but that is not the point.
We began our journey out into the city, hopping aboard the T. Now, I enjoy riding public transportation because of all the strange and interesting things that you see. You are not required to talk to strangers (unlike when bartering with a prostitute), and you can generally just sit back and relax, take in the wonderful variety of characters that roam the city and be happy that you are who you are and not the 370lb woman without a bra who is standing by the door resting one enormous sagging boob on the shoulder of a young hispanic boy wearing a bomber jacket. I really enjoy moments like that. LaRocque and I talked sports, people read newspapers, people came and went. Soon, we were there.
We ran into The Fours (where I would later be asked to leave for "stealing" Nachos off some girls plate, fascists) We started off with Beers, met up with a few people, turned to whiskey (in hindsight, not a good call) and scurried across the street to the Garden full of anticipation and Jalepeno Poppers. Up the escalators to the very very very back row against the wall just seconds into the first quarter. The place was rocking in a way I have never experienced in all my years as a Celtics fan. ( I never went to the real Garden) I couldn't buy beers because I have an out of state license and I am under 25, for now, as I have been putting off a trip to the DMV for the past two months. I will probably regret this at some point and have to pay an obscene fine. For now, it makes me feel like a rebel. I know its not much, but hey I do live at home these days.
The game was awesome, I am amazed that I get to root for Garnett. Surely there must be a good and gracious god to give me Randy Moss and Kevin Garnett in the same year. Although...I have still not awoken to find a sick Camaro parked in the place of my pickup truck when I trudge downstairs in the freezing cold of predawn. We had some interesting debates with the guys next to us at the game where, as I remember, LaRocque and I schooled them in several arguments. At one point I think I talked some shit to a bald guy a few rows ahead of us who was giving us funny looks for enjoying the game. Then, when the game was over and the Cs victorious we headed back to the streets from whence we came, and why and where I do not really know.
The details of the night post-game are hazy, even the aforementioned Nacho incident. I do know for a fact that in the morning after I had gathered myself as much as I could under the circumstances, that I made a phone call to a coworker explaining that my truck had been towed, that I had recovered it finally, was very distressed, and would be there shortly. I popped one of the CDs larocque had given me the night before...it was Baroness "The Red Album". Wow. It shook me to the core in a way that only sick metal early in the morning when you wish that you were a homeless guy under a parked car because then you could just sleep for a few more hours can. It was an aural enima (before I forget, if I ever start a metal band, I will call it AURAL ENIMA, and we will be awesome). I arrived at work, somewhat ready for my 12 hour shift monitoring some drilling at a train station in the city.
My twelve hours that saturday can only be described as "horrible". I forced down some McDonalds and tried to sleep sitting on top of a cooler next to a piece of heavy machinery, not awesome. I went to the bathroom, it was at least 136 degrees inside and there were homeless guys showering in the sink, not awesome. I took a nasty, day after drinking whiskey and eating Jalepeno Poppers shit in a stall with no latch mechanism (NONE of them had one), forcing me to lean forwardand stretch my arm as far as it could, just barely holding the door closed with the tip of my index finger. That is no way to take a shit my friends. By the time 8pm rolled around however, I felt the lead-heavy despair of the abuse I had issued to my poor body begin to lift ever so slightly. I made my way to my truck and put on Baroness, once more for good measure. It was saturday night and I was alive. I vowed to take it easy for a few days, and for the most part I have kept my word. I did, afterall, just this past week learn that I have high Cholesterol.
Just a one more thing before I retire to my bed...I got the new Ween CD yesterday and it isn't too bad. Not in my top three Ween Albums but I have to admit that I am smitten with their new track "With My Own Bare Hands" which includes the line..."She's gonna be my cock-professor studying my dick/ Shes getting her Masters Degree in fucking me", personally I put that up there with "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die" in terms of all time great lines in music history. I am going to see these guys live Nov. 28 in Boston with Stratton. (If you're wondering, Stratton is the hairlipped guatemalan boy I mentioned at the beginning of this piece)
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