Friday, October 15, 2004

Sweet pain 



Bits and pieces are starting to come back to me. Drinking for several hours. Somewhere in there the work pager went off and I called back even though I'm not oncall. Eggs and pancakes at 2am. Alarm clock went off exactly 3.4 seconds after my head hit the pillow. At least that's my perception.

At least my entire office was there and they are in much worse shape than myself.

Greatest. CD. Ever.

Now I just have to trade in my pimp daddy hat for the 10 gallon variety, change from Soco to Shiner, and start cheering for the Dallas Cowboys. That ain't ever going to happen.


There are so many talented writers in this little community. Every once in awhile someone throws a perfect game, bowls a 300, flops a Royal Flush.

Otis my man hit it out of the park with his latest post. Drop everything and go read it.


I can't believe that I actually enjoyed an article written about the latest oral arguments in the Supreme Court. Specifically the case concerning the execution of minors.

Here are some entertaining parts of the article.

Breyer asks, "Do you have any indication of whether Madison or Jefferson would have thought it was totally irrelevant what happened elsewhere in the world?" Layton says Jefferson believed the United States was leading the world but doing so through legislation, not the courts.

Scalia adds, "And what did John Adams think of the French?" Layton replies that he didn't think very highly of them. A reminder that blaming all of life's ills on the French predates Fox News.


Waxman soon makes an odd word choice, saying the "world consensus" represents "the better view in Europe." Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist, previewing the part of George W. Bush tonight, shoots back, "What suggests it's a 'better view in Europe'?"

That's it for this short post. This weekend I'm writing a nice email to our favorite whipping boy, Jay Lovinger. I'll post it later.

Thanks for stopping by.


Thursday, October 14, 2004

Bloggers, bounties, and booze (or lack there of) 

"Any time you aggressively play seven deuce off suit, the universe will bend
the laws of short term probability in order to re-balance the long term
probability abuses by those trashy players who only play premium hands."

-Celeryman, 2004
I got that from a pretty amusing website talking about the joys of playing The Hammer.

God bless those who play The Hammer!

Last night we had another impromptu blogger table. Myself, the blogfather, Maudie, and Sean. (don't think I'm missing anyone).

Iggy made a comment not long after we began, asking when Dr. Pauly was going to make an appearance. I thought maybe we were being to boring for him (me being sober and all). Iggy response was that he was looking for our favorite Loose Agressive Maniac to help build some big pots. But we all know Pauly was watching the Evil Empire when another game.

15 minutes into the game, AlCantHang = Tiltboy

4 times. 4 !&@#%* times I got rivered. Nasty rivers too. My KK loses to AK when the guy to my right calls bets and raises all the way to the river. KK (with a K on the flop) loses to QQ when a fourth club hits the board on the river and, of course, he had Qc .

Every big hand except my AKd got crushed like a used up roach under Dr. Pauly's boot.


A big thanks to the BoyGenius for the "email" post for the last couple of days. That was fun to have a topic thrown at you and just start writing from the hip. Also, I haven't seen the inside of a bar since sunday. No good drunk stories.

I'll have to do another one those in the future. Maybe while I'm on vacation in St. Martin I'll just set up a Guest user account and let others post while I'm gone. I might be afraid to look when I get back.


Did anyone else notice that yesterday was supposed to be the start of the NHL season? Yeah, neither. The Flyers were supposed to open up in Tampa last night and watch them raise their banner. Too bad for them.


Why the hell haven't you signed up for the next blogger/reader tourney? You know who you are.

Poker Stars (if you don't have an account, use that link or I'm sending Iggy to your house to kick you in the kneecap)
October 21st, 9pm EST $20/$2
The tournament is password protected. Go to Iggy's site for the password.

Come on out and whoop my ass. Everyone else has been.

Maybe some bounties will encourage you. I'll put the similar ones up from last time.

For Grubby, if you knock him out with the The Hammer, I'll send you a hammer. A real, honest to god hammer if you can believe that shit.

For BoyGenius, if you knock him out The Lewey (62o), I'll send you a BG recommended bottle of win. Just ask, BadBlood, I'm good for it. d'oh.

For Dr. Pauly McGrupp, easy one. Knock him out with the Hilton Sister and I'll send you the Paris Hilton DVD signed by Pauly himself. Blatant ripoff of Pauly's Hilton sister challenge. I never ever said I have any originality.

For Scott, as always, bust out the cowboy with a pair of Cowboys and I'll send you a Gourd's CD. If I could find some Shiner nearby, I ship that too. Oh, well.

Iggy has hinted that we might have a celebrity player join us for this tourney. I'll have to come up with a good bounty.

I don't know if I'm going to put a bounty on my head. I don't think it will matter because I'M GOING TO WIN THE WHOLE DAMNED THING!

Alright. I think the lack of booze and too much work has finally, completely sent me for a loop. Where's my bottle at?


Wednesday, October 13, 2004


Here we go with another email string. It's become contagious. The BoyGenius responds to my question about filling a hypothetical poker table and comments about my choice if I won the Powerball.

Is anyone out there digging this? If not, have a nice day :)


751AM Wednesday, 71 inches above sea level, 93 million miles above these devils…


Nothing like a black power/five percenter quote from a white kid to kick off the morning, right? I’ve got Ladybug’s verse from “9th Wonder” off of “Blowout Comb” in my head. It was actually one of those rare times on the XM radio where the DJs on the classic hip-hop station can pry themselves away from their Kraftwerk, Cold Crush Crew, and Roxanne Shante records to play three records in a row I give a crap about. “T.R.O.Y,” followed by a Redman record I didn’t know well, then “9th Wonder.” Good stuff.

By the way, I think you missed someone on your poker dream team. If you’re really looking to bust up a few cash games, you need Lewey. You heard me, Lewey. He just needs to be schooled in what he can and can’t chase from the flop (minimizing the really bad plays, and just playing bad cards into better spots), and then he’d be an uber-dangerous tilt machine for all the unsuspecting players at the table. Let Hank and Otis clean up the mess on the back end. I’m telling you, let that dude suck out with 95 off a few times, and he’ll have everyone drooling over his chip stack, and unable to focus on the sharks swimming around them.

Make sure he can do a few Irish Car Bombs before he sits down though.

So with a big lotto win, you’d become “The Benefactor?” I think I’d become more like this chick than anything. I can’t imagine how many relatives would crawl out of the woodwork, and how many agenda pushing assholes I’d have to fend off if everyone suddenly knew I won $200M. They won’t let you pick up checks of that magnitude anonymously. I think I’d greet the lotto guy with a ski mask on and answer every question from the press by using the “F word” repeatedly. “Eff you, eff off, leave me the eff alone, don’t ask for any effing money, and I’m not effing telling you what the eff I intend to do with my new-effing-found effing wealth. Effers.”

That’ll show Katie Couric. Insolent bitch.

I’m dancing around your question though. I know this is a call-and-response email thread, and that I absolutely must come up with something for you here. Who would be the nine players I’d invite over for poker night? Well, if I wanted to win money I’d just invite the cast of “The West Wing” over. If you saw their play on the celebrity poker show, you’d know what I’m talking about.

That being said, I’d rather have an entertaining game than one where I make a marginal profit.

So, here goes.

Seat One - Yours truly. I’m spreading NLHE, $200 on the table, $1/$2 blinds.

Seat Two - Charles Barkley. I want someone on my left who’s smart enough to play well, but enough of a gambler to play some bad cards all the way down. Barkley is definitely that kind of gambler. Plus, he’s the type of guy who’ll make sure there’s no lulls in the conversation.

Seat Three - Richard Nixon. He’d be the butt of everyone’s jokes, and was a poker addict back in his day. The first of my two ex-presidents at the table, he’d be one of the uber-competitive guys that every poker table needs. I can just see rivering him for a flush on his made two pair and watching him slam the table with steam pouring out his ears. He’s dead though.

Seat Four - Bill Hicks. He’s from Texas, he’s abrasively funny, and I think he and Barkley would get along famously. Plus, putting him immediately to the left of Nixon for check-raise/re-raise purposes would be it’s own brand of comedy. Also dead.

Seat Five - Bill Clinton. I think if you were to get this guy a couple of beers, he would tell the best stories. I purposely put politicians on either side of Hicks, by the way. That’d be good for a couple of meltdowns.

Seat Six - Carl Reiner. I was trying to think of a guy who’s both “old Hollywood,” as well as funny, and Carl Reiner’s the guy. I have a great deal of admiration for him as a performer, writer, and creator, and he just seems like the type of guy that’d be entertaining as hell around the poker table.

Seat Seven - Sinatra.

Seat Eight - Ann-Margret. The “height of her powers” Ann-Margret, so we’re reaching back to the early 60s for this one. You need to put a sex kitten next to Sinatra, so here you go. I was racking my brain trying to decide on a present-day woman to take this seat, but couldn’t. They just built chicks differently back in those days. The sexuality wasn’t so overt, it just bubbled up and smoldered. Plus, those bras they wore under sweaters just kill me.

Seat Nine - Michael Jordan. If for no other reason than to have another uber-competitive player at the table. Basically, you know Barkley would be in his ear all night and he’d make a ton of bad decisions and chase good money with bad. Plus, he’s Michael Freaking Jordan. Ahmad Rashad stays home for this one though.

Seat Ten - How about my best friend Nate? He’s not quite as good as I am, which is important for someone on your right. Plus, who’s going to believe me when I tell them who I had over for poker?

That was agony. You were encouraging me to pick a “real” poker player for seat ten, but I just couldn’t do it. I mean, why would I want to get anywhere near a shark while swimming? Plus, these pros aren’t exactly the most gregarious bunch. Yes, I’d love to river Hellmuth just once, and I think it’d be terrific to flop the nuts against an aggressive Matusow, but forget it. I’d rather just have fun.

In other news, I’ve rediscovered the pencil. Yes, you heard me. I have moved from felt-tipped marker pens back to the writing instruments of my youth. My only regret is that the sharpener here in the office is electric, and not a manual crank. I like the tactile feeling I get grinding my own pencil.

(Wait for it… wait for it…)

Good god, nearly 1,100 words and I still haven’t asked you anything back in return. Well, if that’s how the formula goes, that’s how the formula goes. Besides telling me who’d be on your dead or alive poker table, riddle me this Aloysius… If your wife was gracious enough to grant you the ability to put two names on a list of “freebies,” women you could sleep with without consequence, would there be any non-celebrities that would cross your mind for consideration? I’m talking about people you know or have known in your past. And I’m not looking for names.

By the way, Huggy Bear called. He’s looking for his zebra striped cowboy hat. Seen it around?


145pm and I'm this close to quiting my job


Crazy day at work. Let's roll right along.

My ultimate poker game setup?

1 Doyle Brunson - would love to see him in action, up close.
2 Dr. Pauly - for the good kind buds
3 Stephen King - Pauly could give him tips
4 Ghandi - must have one hell of a poker face
5 Elvis - Viva Las Vegas!
6 Dubya - Somebodies gotta play every hand, any two cards
7 and 8 Paris and Nicky - come on, that's an easy one. Ya gotta have the Hilton Sisters
9 Evelyn Ng - if I have to explain this one......
10 That idiot from Dead Money = AlCantHang
Dealer Katie Holmes

What a damned loaded ass question you ask back. And you know Mrs. CantHang reads this. That being the case, there wouldn't be anyone, celebrity or not, that I would sleep with under those circumstances.


Love you honey!

Celebrity wise, how about Jenna Bush and one of the Kerry dogsgirls. Then I could make a proper comparison and decide on my vote for November 2nd.

Did you happen to catch the Hip Hop Honors on VH1 last night? No? Everyone, including myself, was probably watching that crappy Yankees/Red Sox game (sorry Pauly, just can't pull for the Yankees under any circumstance. Even if they were playing the Braves, I'd have a problem). I dig Public Enemy and I love the version of 'Bring the Noise' they recorded with Anthrax. But what an abortion of a performance they put on together last night. Horrible.

I'll load up another question for you. As far as I know, among the poker bloggers, you've met myself, Carter, Pauly, Derek, and HDub. Who's at the top of your list to meet next?


Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Now for Something Different 

On Monday, The Boy Genius and myself decided to post a series of emails for shits and giggles to challenge ourselves with different topics. As he says, let's try something different.

Check back throughout the day. They will append to the bottom of the post.

BG starts off first.


254PM, Monday – I’ll set, you spike

In what is going to either be an entertaining look inside the minds of two of your favorite bloggers, or a blatant rip-off of the Chuck Klosterman/Bill Simmons gambit from earlier this summer, welcome to the first link in a probable chain of emailed conversation between Al Can’t Hang and BG from GamblingBlues.

So, down to business.


I don’t know if I found the fact that we were married on the same day (thankfully, to different women) in 2000 ironic, coincidental, or just plain ridicul-riffic. Let’s lean towards the latter. Anyhow, I’ll give you one good story from my wedding, if you give me one good story from yours.

I’ve got a friend who happens to be black. Happens to have grown up in Detroit, and spent his whole life around black people. Terribly quiet, but thoughtful guy. He and I became friends in college, and saw each other periodically over the next few years.

Now Jay (this friend in question) didn’t grow up around white people. He went to Cass Tech High School, which is as downtown as you can get in Detroit. He shopped at the black malls, went to movies at the black theatres, and was always obviously far more comfortable around black people than he was around groups of white folks.

Which made me all the more surprised to arrive at my wedding reception and see him sitting there with his girl. I never in a million years thought he’d accept the invite, but there he was.

Now, another friend of ours from college, Mike, came out from New Jersey for the wedding too. Mike was one of my ushers, and as a guy who worked at a high level in food service had spent most of the past two days helping get our reception set up. So, coming off the bus/limo at the reception, he was already three sheets to the wind.

I saw Jay and made sure he was one of the first people I went up to greet, as there was no telling how long he was bound to stay. He was his usual quiet self, and I knew him well enough to know he felt just a little conspicuous in this crowd.

Unfortunately, Jay and his date decided to stay for dinner. I say “unfortunately,” as this was about the time Mike – drunk and stoned off his gourd – grabbed the mic to give a toast. I wish I had the transcript, but it went a little something like this:

My name is Michael, and I’m sure most of you saw me today helping you to your seats at the church. I think only a few of you saw me here, at the house, in this tent for the past two days making sure all of these appetizers, all of the liquor at the bar, all of the cups, plates, forks and knives were taken care of and all set up. But I’m done with that now, so if you have a problem with any of this, I think you can just kiss my ass.
Now, Mike’s not a real funny guy by nature, so there’s more than a few people all wide-eyed once he hit that part. After talking about me and the woman for a bit, he launches into a few “thank yous:”

I’d like to thank the bride’s parents for hosting tonight, they have a beautiful home, and it’s been a beautiful day. And also to the parents of the groom, who have always treated this Jew like one of their own. I even spent Christmas with these guys one year, and they bought me presents and everything. And I’d like to have someone who came out tonight who I haven’t seen in a long time…
I know where he’s going with this, and I look over at Jay, who has already got a terrified look on his face.

Jay, my brother, could I get you to stand up?
Jay’s mortified, I’m mortified, and Mike is obliviously wasted. He stands up and starts trying to burn a hole in the middle of Mike’s forehead with his eyes.

Everyone, this is our friend Jay, who was with us all through college. Can I get Jay a round of applause?
Everyone starts clapping, knowing the sooner they sit Jay down, the sooner the drunk guy gives up the mic. Thankfully, Mike didn’t have a whole lot left, but after getting a couple of “why did Mike single the black guy out again?” comments from around the room, I made sure to give Jay a hearty apology. Unbelievable.

I only wish my marriage would have been half as entertaining as certain parts of the wedding were.

Can you top that without telling me Lewey threw up on a bridesmaid?


405PM Monday

Nice start. Bonus points for bringing Lewey up.

It's tough to say whether I can top that one.

I can offer up two stories. I'm not sure which will qualify. One is entertaining, one is of the 'cringe' variety of your story.

The Cringe Story involved me and my mother. Me and the missus planned two receptions following the wedding. One calm, traditional, family style reception. Appetizers, nice dinner, etc. But the second one was designed to be a hardcore, rock 'n roll, booze-fest of a reception. For those keeping score, this is the First Bash at the Boathouse. Quick background on my parents. Church threes times a week. Don't drink. Don't smoke. Rock 'n Roll is a tool of "The Debil". About an hour into the reception, yours truly is feeling no pain, the band is playing loud and proud, and my parents have pretty much seen enough.

So what does a good drunk son do? I grabbed my mother's hand and dragger her up on stage. In front of 400 drunkards, with bowel-shaking sounds coming from the band, I decide to dance it up with her and introduce her to the crowd. Never in my entire life I have ever seen her incredibly uncomfortable in a situation. I have spent the last 4 years apologizing for that.

The entertaining story is short but sweet. One of my best men Brad (yes, I had two), has worked many fine benders with me through the years, and the wedding reception was no different. I don't know when he went 'around the bend', but in the middle of the party, someone let's me know that Brad has lost the ability to sit on a barstool unattended (and thanks to his future wife, he never actually fell). After he was hosed down with an old-fashioned water pressure fire extinguisher by the band, he was shipped off the hotel shuttle and his night was over.

The entertaining part was the story the next morning. Apparently he completely passed out once he landed in the shuttle's front seat and would not budge once they got to the hotel. The very savvy shuttle driver said she could handle this.

She ran into the hotel and grabbed one of the big luggage carts. They roughly loaded him into the luggage cart, through the nice fancy lobby, up the elevator, and unceremoniously dumped him on his hotel room floor.

When I saw him the next morning, he was having trouble figuring out why he was sore and bruised up.

Simple question back at ya.

It's your last day on earth and you can have anything you want for dinner. What's you choice?

Mine? Sushi appetizer with nothing but Toro and White tuna. Meal would be an extra large, plain pizza from local pizzeria TD Alfredo's (best. pie. ever.). Followed up with a extra large, extra thick vanilla milkshake.

See, nice and simple. Fire away.


545PM, Monday - You buckin' me I'm buckin' right back at you


I actually had two best men as well, and chances are about even money that you'll get to meet them both in Vegas. One of them has been my best friend since eighth grade, when we both did Jr. High theatre under a guy whose claim to fame was a short stint on "The Young and the Restless." He also wore sweatpants and adjusted his junk constantly. And was gay with a lesbian beard (also a theatre teacher) as a wife. One of the funniest things I ever saw was when this teacher in question came up to hug my friend from behind at an awards ceremony, and he couldn't move his ass out of the way fast enough.


Nice and simple? Jesuschrist Al, there's never a nice and simple answer when you ask me a food question. Never. Ever. I could actually do an NCAA Tournament style bracket of 64 unique and individual meals, seed them, and play them out to find a winner, but I think no one but me would be remotely entertained by that concept.

Anyway, there have been a few things in my life I've eaten where I could have cried the food was so good. Actually, there was one time I was so stoned that I did cry over a Hungry Howie's pizza, and my roommate and I tearfully called the pizza joint offering our undying affection for the pizza they had just enabled us to devour.

See, I'm dancing around the fucking question. I can't even take a hypothetical question like this and settle on something in my mind. I can't even decide if I want a buffet style smorgasboard of goodness, or if I'd rather have the most brilliant expertly prepared meal of my life.


OK, there's a couple of things that are going to have to be a part of this, starting with Clover Bar pizza. I grew up running around this joint, and to this day one of the best Xmas presents I ever received were three "take-n-bake" pizzas from Clover when I was living across the state. Best. Pizza. Ever. I'd also have a bottle of 1997 Nardi Brunello Manachiara, which is the most expensive and best red wine I've ever had the opportunity to drink. To this day, I thank god that Pauly wasn't a wine guy when I cracked that on the occasion of my 30th birthday. Plus, I'd make some cannolis. I love cannolis, and I'd definitely have some baklava to go with it for dessert. I'd accompany the dessert with a Turkish or Greek coffee. You know, that stuff that's basically mud in a mug.

But, that doesn't even come close to answering the question. Let's at least narrow this down. Baby animals taste gooooooood... It's gotta be lamb or veal. Probably lamb. Let's say just grilled lamb chops drizzled in olive oil. I would eat the pizza instead of a potato, but I do love asparagus, so toss some broiled asparagus tossed with garlic butter into the mix.

And then allow me a cigarette and a joint or three while I await death's cold hands on my shoulder.

Dammit Al, now I'm hungry.

You know, I watch way too much TV. Always have, always will. At least until the glaucoma kicks in and I have to move to Amsterdam and affix my mouth to a hookah full time to "ease the pain." Anyway, growing up I was a fan of "Silver Spoons," but wanted to be Derek (Jason Bateman's smug and snarky sidekick) and not "The Ricker." Yeah, he was desirable, he was rich, he had a fucking train to ride around the property, but he wasn't funny. Not like Derek. And then Bateman parlayed that role into his own show "It's Your Move," where all he did was bust on the older dude that might have been his dad or uncle or something. I wanted to be Bateman - or at least his characters - so freaking bad.

That really wasn't me though. I didn't refine this rapier wit for quite a few years after childhood, and until I got past the bitterness of my teen years. So who was I? I was Sean Astin in "The Goonies." I had a diverse group of friends, I held them all together, and basically, I sucked. Then, as a teen, I became Brian Krakow from "My So Called Life." From seventh grade and on, all I did was fixate on some chick who was never going to give it up, and pine for her to the point of writing terrible poetry and basically living in the fetal position.

So, either I have self-image problems, or I really did suck for quite a number of years. I'm thinking the latter.

I believe the archtype for all of our childhoods can be found in bad sitcoms somewhere. Which one's you?


800pm Monday


Now you’ve got be kidding me. So we were married on the exact same day. We both had two best men. If you tell me you had Mardi Gras beads and half naked women flashing at your reception, then I think I finally found my twin in the world.

Food wise. That was my choice for a final meal. My best meal ever was at Emeril’s in New Orleans. Exotic mushrooms in a Tasso sauce over angel hair pasta, medium-rare Rack of Lamb, chocolate grand marnier soufflé for the whole table. Topped off with a bottle of Cristal Brute. Heaven. Of course, there was my friend Tony who chased the glass of Cristal with his amaretto sour.

Bad sitcom characters. That’s an easy one for me and it only takes one actor to sum it all up.

Robbie Rist.

Anyone remember him? Early on I remember watching re-runs of The Brady Bunch. He played the shy geeky Cousin Oliver. You know how shows, when they’re starting to lose the plot, start brining it other characters in an effort to give the show a boost. Anyway, not only was I shy and clumsy like Cousin Oliver, I was always compared to him appearance-wise. Great way to grow up. Feeling geeky and odd with everyone saying I look like a geeky and odd character on TV.

Later in the 80’s, our boy Robbie went on to star in a Saturday morning show/cartoon called Kidd Video playing a character named Whiz. At this point in my life, I’m starting to explore and define my musical tastes and opinions. I also use my brain to begin my career in the death spiral of a career called Information Technology.

Just to make it even funnier, he went on to play Michaelangelo in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie, which I saw when it opened in the theaters completely loaded out of my gourd.

Not that exciting but that’s as good as it gets.

Here’s a nice softball for you.

Which happens first? Your beloved Detroit Lions win the Super Bowl or someone from our blogger community makes a WSoP final? Now I’m not talking about Paul Phillips, Richard Brodie, etc.

No offense to your mighty Lions, but I have a feeling sometime soon, Felicia, Iggy, or someone is going to break out and make it. Imagine Felicia’s horror at having to sit at the Razz final table and be seen on TV. Or our favorite wee-person sitting on his booster seat trying to bitch slap Hellmuth and having to ask Doyle to do it for him.


912PM, and it's still Monday


Cousin Oliver? Oh man. Sadly, I see the resemblance. About forty pounds ago, they used to say I looked like Anthony Edwards from “ER.” Did I mention I used to shave my head at the time? I'm NOT bald, nor am I seriously balding.

Thank god. I looked better all skinny and bald than I did all chubby and bald.

I've actually given the whole idea of a blogger making it big (or, going from half to full pint) in a major poker event some thought. Well, no I haven't, but for the purposes of this discussion we'll have to suspend disbelief a little bit. While I would love to see a blogger hit big, my gut feeling tells me that it's going to be difficult, as most of us aren't exactly playing above nickels and dimes here. And yes, I think Felicia dodging the cameras at an ESPN Razz final table, and acting sketchy in the close-up interview would be fantastically entertaining.

I think it'd be amazing if it were to happen, and I can't imagine how “legitimate” our little community would become with a well placed plug of just one of the key sites in our ring.

Frankly though, I think both situations fall into the “cold day in hell” scenario. I've been a Lions fan long enough to know that if I never get my hopes up high enough, I'll never be disappointed. Yeah, it's a cop-out, but I'm still choosing “C” for that question (aka “none of the above”). I'm racking my brains here for a minute... what was the last Philly major sports championship? And no, Arena Football doesn't count.

By the way, have you seen the Circuit City commercial that features either the guy who played Parker Lewis' best friend, or the guy who played the horny brother in “Just One of the Guys?” Well, which guy is it? Also, we're five minutes into the Monday Night game, and Chris Brown (my Chris Brown) has just rushed for 78 yards and two touchdowns. God bless America.

I actually played football briefly as a kid. It was fifth grade rec league, and I was absolutely tiny. To this day, my dad believes I faked my way out of the first half of a game when I claimed a neck injury in a pregame collision. But that fucker hit me hard. No, not my dad. Some other kid. It's alright though, I was worthless out there. But I wasn't really that bad at sports all things considered.

Not to bite too much off of ESPN's Sports Guy, but what if they were to make a “SportsCentury” episode of your life? Or, if you're uncoordinated and just played with dolls or something, use the “E! True Hollywood Story” as your benchmark. Either way, is there a centerpiece highlight of your life that you wish you had on tape that you'd build your episode around?

If we're talking sports, I'm going with a game of “21,” the three-man basketball game where one dude shoots a free throw, the other two rebound, and try to score one-on-two. It was one random summer Saturday, and a friend and I met some random dude shooting baskets and invited him to play. I was automatic. I had a wicked pull-up jumper with a high release, and actually had some rudimentary post moves that were working for me too. Swish, bank shot, layup and all of a sudden it's game point for me. I get the ball at the top of the key, and these guys are just up on me making sure I don't get anything easy. So they force me back a couple of steps, and back a few more. I'm at half court before they give me a step. I take a quick dribble and pull up, uttering “GAME” as the ball is leaving my hand.

Swish. Game over.

I rule sometimes, I swear.


1109pm Monday. Barely


Shit, I had no idea my alter ego, Robbie Rist had a website. (You'd think I would've done my research). That's great. Drudging up old memories.

You're question is the easiest one so far.

All through school I played baseball starting with Little League and moving up to high school. I was the oddity of a left handed catcher. Made that throw to third base pretty tough. But I learned the snap throw pretty quickly by study how the professional catchers made the snap throw to first trying to pick off a runner. Eventually they just moved to me firstbase once the regular started moved on.

After highschool I started playing softball and just recently quit after playing some form of the game since I was 6 years old. Imagine that. An out of shape, long-haired, chain-smoking, alcoholic who could actually handle a bat rather well considering his stature. Sound like anyone I might also look like with the same qualities?

"I ain't an athlete, lady. I'm a ball player."

John Kruk. I used that line so many times in the last couple of years, it was getting silly.

True story. I'd walk back to the bench after the defensive half inning and light up a quick smoke if I wasn't due up anytime soon. Of course, as soon as I'd do that, we go down 1-2-3 real quick. Well who the hell wants to waste a good cowboy killer? I'd take it out to the field for warmups. But I'm a professional, I always threw it away before the first batter :)

Speaking of John Kruk, he is by far one of my favorite Philly athletes. Always seemed like a down to earth guy. He used to hang out in some of the local bars around here with Dystra and Daulton. The stories coming back after those nights are still part of local tradition.

So to you, who's your favorite Detroit athlete?


637AM, welcome to Tuesday



Man, I'm tired this morning. I get up too goddamn early nowadays. Somewhere in the 5AM hour on the daily (yes, including weekends), my eyes pop open and I have to figure out if the struggle to try to fall back asleep until 6AM (no, not including weekends) is worth it.

Usually, it's not. And I get up, and have the first sixteen of my thirty two ounces of my coffee and read the web.

No, not the whole web. But I did see that a another blogger has referred to you as “America's Wingman.” I really do think that this is the first time I've bestowed a nickname on someone else, so it's a proud moment every time another blogger jumps on the bandwagon.

So you caught too? I was all glove, no stick (and the ladies loved it...) coming up in rec league baseball, and volunteered to go behind the plate for my last three years I played. I caught for a tall lefty whose release happened to be right in the lights, and dude made me look regularly inept back there. Pissed me off. Actually, worst thing that ever happened to me back there was a game where we were pitching our star pitcher, the other team couldn't hit, and so the coach told them to swing into my catcher's mitt to get their free base. Fucking dick. I took punishment on my wrist from about four swinging bats before I got mad. Then my dad got mad and went over, grabbed their coach, and helped him see the light.

Gotta love that Italian anger.

So anyway, you're asking me another of those questions that I could go any number of ways on. If Barry Sanders had shown heart, fire, and leadership for the Lions, he'd be an easy pick. He was far and away the most talented guy ever to wear a Detroit uniform. I have a lot of love for some of those mid 1980s Detroit Tigers too. Kirk Gibson, in particular, was a Michigan State Spartan, and there has never been a guy in a Detroit uniform whose competitive fires burned more vividly.

But I'm going with Zeke. Isiah Thomas, the little general, was my absolute favorite. He was a leader, a scorer, a passer, whatever the team needed him to be at the time. I think one of the greatest individual performances of all time was Isiah scoring 20 some-odd points against the Lakers in one quarter on a badly sprained ankle. This guy was amazing.

I loved Laimbeer, Dumars, Mahorn, pre-nutjob Rodman. I loved Whitaker, Trammell, Chet Lemon, Enos Cabell (for the name and the afro), and Jack Morris. I loved Herman Moore, Chris Spielman, Bennie Blades, Ray Crockett, and even get a little misty thinking about Erik Kramer.

Speaking of Kramer, let me ask you... What one game stands out for you as your favorite Philly victory in any sport?

1991 playoffs (1/5/92, to be exact), my Lions hosted the Dallas Cowboys in a playoff matchup on their trek to the NFC Championship (where they got spanked by the Redskins). 38-6 was the score, and Kramer went 29-38 for 341 and three Tds, and Barry had an awesome 47 yard TD run.

And we killed the Cowboys. I hate the goddamn Cowboys.

Am I going to get any work done at all today? Wait, I think that's a rhetorical question...


912am - sssshhhhh supposed to be working.


I can't believe reading through that list of Detroit greats that not a single hockey player was named. Isn't Detroit called HockeyTown?

Isaiah Thomas? Really? You can have the Pistons. I like that you included Trammel, Sweet Lou, and Morris. Good guys. But you have one glaring exclusion from your list.

Billy Sims!

Early 80's. The man practically invented the term "Turf Toe"

You finally hit me with a really tough question. I'm a 4 sport Philly fan. I remember the Broadstreet Bullies winning the cup in the mid 70's. But there are two games that really stand out for me personally and were big for Philly.

The last game of when the Sixers swept the Lakers in '83. The one with wee lil Mo Cheeks dunking at the end. Doc with the dunk in LA. To this day, I can still name the starting 5 for that team. It's an old trivia question to test Sixer fans that gets tougher for people to answer as the years move on. Moses Malone, Julius Erving, Mo Cheeks, Andrew Toney, and the always popular, never forgotten, Mark Iavaroni. With Bobby Jones sitting on the bench. They finally got Doc his championship.

I hate pro basketball now. But I remember those games. Also, the last major sports championship the city has seen.

But I'll never forget the final game of the 1980 World Series. Phillies beat the Royals. Willie Wilson and that damned toothpick. He could keep chewing it for all I cared as long he continued to make outs at a stunning pace. George Brett and the hemorrhoids. Schmidt, Boone, Rose, Charlton, the Bull.

I remember the final game. Sitting on the couch with my mom. Diehard Phillies fan that one. (and always had the hots for Bob Boone). The tension of the game was killing my 13 year old heart. When Tug McGraw threw the last strikeout, the whole city and suburbs erupted after years of making the NLCS and never getting through.

And what do you know, 24 years later and I'm still waiting for that feeling again.

Coming back at ya. What was the best game you ever attended?

Mine is easy. August 15th, 1990. Terry Mulholland threw a no-hitter against the Giants for a very crappy Phillies team. Charlie Hayes made a horrible throwing error to kill the perfect game, and then made a great diving grab to seal the no-hitter. The most amazing part? Watching people come INTO the stadium in the later innings instead of making a mad dash for the parking lot.




You had the hots for Bob Boone?

Oh, your mom carried that torch. Well then. I knew you were a catcher, I just was confused and thought you were a receiver too.

I loved Marc Iavaroni. He was one of the multitude of white guys the Jazz (I lived in Utah in the mid 80s) would bring in instead of more talented players of color. I’m thinking of Stockton, Bobby Hansen, Billy Donovan, Pace Mannion (my neighbor, by the way), Mark Eaton, and the whitest of all the white guys, Jeff Hornacek. I swear to god, if you were one of the two guys choosing up sides at the “Y,” and you didn’t see Hornacek shoot beforehand, you’d probably have picked him near the bottom. That dude was all Adam’s Apple.

By the way, I’m missing about four dozen white guys from the Jazz teams of that era, but only because I have a special spot in my heart for some of the other dorky white guys scattered around the league. I’m talking Sikma, Gminski, Rambis, Mokeski, Kite, and the patron saint of worthless tall guys everywhere, Chuck Nevitt. Who was the genius that signed carnival freaks just to stand under the goal with their arms up? Did this defensive strategy ever work? I swear to god, give me five Rodmans over one Nevitt and four Rodmans any day of the week.

So long as I get my penicillin shot before you give me five Rodmans.

Anyway, you asked about the greatest game I’ve ever seen live.

When I lived in the Detroit metro area, I had a guy. He was the guy you went to if you needed anything. At the tail end of the 1997 season, Barry Sanders was threatening the 2,000 yard barrier. So with the Jets visiting the Lions in week 17, I called my guy and asked him to keep a lookout for tickets.

Sunday, 1230PM, 30 minutes to kickoff and I get the call. “Hey, I got two from a season ticket holder, face value – want em?” Hell yeah I do. I grabbed my boy Stinky, who was “on call” in case I landed the tix, and we hustled over to my guy’s house to pick them up.

We didn’t get to the stadium until about 130PM, and we didn’t get seated until close to 2. No matter, it was something like 6-3 at the half, and we didn’t miss much. But oh my god were our seats amazing! 45 yard line, 38 rows up. Perfect. Not too close, not too far.

Four major events happened in the second half. One, a guy in our section (about 20 rows down) had a heart attack and had to be attended to by paramedics. Two, Reggie Brown suffered his near-paralysis neck injury, which ended his career. I’ve never heard 70,000 people hold their breath at the same time before this day. Three, Bryant Westbrook intercepted a ball in the endzone while blatantly laying on his back with his helmet and shoulders fully out of bounds. This was one year before replay. And four, Barry broke 2,000.

He broke it in the fourth quarter on a one yard dive with a generous spot. As if putting an exclamation mark on the season, he broke the very next play for 60 some yards and was caught inside the five yard line.

Barry was caught from behind more than most backs his size. Great east/west speed, but wasn’t a north/south burner.

Greatest game I ever saw live. And I maintain to this day that Barry Sanders is actually marginally underrated in the history of the game. I think football, more so than any other sport, is so much a team game that it’s nearly impossible for one player (short of Ray Lewis) to take a team on his shoulders and win a championship all by himself. And that’s the knock on Barry – no championships. Well, that and the negative yardage, which is a nitpicking load of crap.

Anyway, I’m thinking about what it means to be underrated, and put together a little list for you here - The Top Five Underrated TV Characters of All Time

(in no order)

1) Artie, played by Rip Torn, on “The Larry Sanders Show” – actually, I’m going to say that Rip Torn’s portrayal here is the most underrated character in TV history. He held that show together, brought it dignity, and was funny as hell along the way.

2) Jimmy James, played by Stephen Root, on “NewsRadio” – Stephen Root is terrific in everything he does. His “Milton” from “Office Space” is so wildly in the other direction from Jimmy James that it makes this egomaniac all that much more remarkable.

3) Dr. Johnny Fever, played by Howard Hessman, on “WKRP” – you can’t mess with the Good Doctor on this one. Whether as the maniacally drunk and/or sleepy Johnny Fever, or as the teacher on “Head of the Class,” Hessman deserved better than simple TV stardom. He was classic.

4) Actor Troy McClure, voiced by Phil Hartman, from “The Simpsons” – I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I miss Troy McClure (and Lionel Hutz, for that matter) as much if not more than I miss Phil Hartman. I only wish I could introduce myself with a line like, “You may remember me from such dates as, ‘Last Friday out for Mexican,’ and ‘The Seemingly Accidental Breast Brush.’”

5) Toby Ziegler, played by Richard Schiff, on “The West Wing” – Martin Sheen, John Spencer, and Allison Janney get all the awards talk, but Schiff’s humorless speechwriter is probably my favorite character. Outside of Mary Louise Parker’s character on that show. Man, is she hot.

Who am I missing here?



"When I lived in the Detroit metro area, I had a guy." Just making it way too easy.

BadBlood has already commented about a mistake I made. It was U.L. Washington with the toothpick. But it was still George Brett with the ass-donut in the dugout.

And I definitely remember the Boston crowd chanting "Beat L.A.". The east coast teams certainly 'hated' each other but that was nothing compared to the burning desire to take down Kareem and Magic.

About your question. I don't really watch that much TV (too busy boozing) but I can think of two characters off the top of my head that are underrated and under appreciated. Both cartoons.

1. Stewie from "Family Guy". Classic character. I'm glad to see the shows are airing again.

2. Ralph Wiggum from "The Simpson's". I wish I could find a collection of all the classic Ralph Wiggum episodes. Is there any question why on the www.thesimpsonquotes.com, only Homer is listed above Ralph?

Going back to your Barry Sanders game. I remember that game well including the Reggie Brown injury. Also, Barry Sanders was on my fantasy football team and I won the title with that game.

I got thinking about the "Golden Days" of fantasy football. I've been playing since '89 and that's a long time. Who would you induct into the Fantasy Football Hall of Fame? They must be retired.

1. Thurman Thomas - one of the first to be a multiple threat at RB with rushing and receiving yards. The early 90's Bills with the no-huddle offense. He put up massive FFL numbers.

2. Warren Moon - he was the first QB to put monster passing number in the FFL era. Thanks to the Run and Gun offense (or the Chuck and Duck offense as Buddy Ryan later named it)

3. Barry Sander - monster yards. A ton of fun to watch. But like you said, very frustrating watching him rip off monster runs just to get caught inside the 10 yard line.

4. Jerry Rice - he was THE receiver for fantasy teams. Many years getting drafted #1 overrall.

5. Steve Young - the west coast offense, a ton of rushing yards, and Jerry Rice made him a monster FFL player. Also, I pretty sure he's the only FFL QB to throw himself a touchdown pass. (pass batted down, he caught it and ran 2 yards into the endzone. Points for the passing AND receiving TD)

Who do you have?


1253PM, and sitting off a Wendy’s Double


I’m chatting online with my cousin, a student at a major university, and we’re talking politics. She made a comment about Bush and the economy, to which I responded, “Becoming a new President and gaining ‘control’ of the economy is like adopting a child who was abused by his parents. You hope you can have a positive influence, but if he’s already killing small animals and wetting the bed, you just have to point him in the right direction and hope he follows.”

Kinda like this conversation.

Emailing back and forth about everything and nothing is kinda like the abused child in this scenario. We’re both lobbing softballs, and hoping the other doesn’t either drunkenly rant on the other, or turn it into some excuse to whine about some girl from the eleventh grade. By the way, I still miss you Kristin.

That being said, BadBlood is just nitpicking. I don’t remember either of those guys for their toothpicks. I remember Willie Wilson because he had that alliteratively cool name going on, and I remember U.L. Washington because in a World B. Free-esque maneuver, he somehow got the good people at non-profit Underwriter’s Laboratories to sponsor his career.

Actually, I remember a lot of guys more from their baseball card than from their on-field performance. And because I was a little Alex P. Keaton in training in my younger days (…I used to sport a shag/when I went to school I carried lunch in a bag… sorry), I remember them more for investment potential than I do for their abilities to hit curve balls.

Take Gregg Jeffries, for instance. Gregg Jeffries was the Pets.com of the baseball card boom. His rookie card was, to put it mildly, coveted, and this rookie who had never taken a big league cut in his life was somehow worth over $10 per card.

I wasn’t the savviest of investors, just to let you know. Kind of like my ability to pick horses lately, my efforts to spot a winning baseball card investment was usually thwarted by taking some schmuck no one knew about. To wit: Teddy Higuera. Man, I loved my Teddy Higuera collection, all thirty some odd rookie cards deep. He was this slightly chubby (presumably) Mexican Brewers pitcher, and right there someone should have put the kibosh on my “investment.” Name me one other pitcher from the late 80s Milwaukee squad. Dan Plesac you say? I had a bunch of his too. Nothing like a relief pitcher on a bad team. And I remember reading an article about Boston outfielder Ellis Burks that said, “It’s not a matter of when he wins an MVP, it’s how many he’ll win.”

I think, somewhere, I’ve got a few dozen Ellis Burks cards in a box.

This is a lot like my relationship with Fantasy Football. I’ve always been the guy who ends up taking fliers with his last six picks, and has to scramble somewhere along the line to find a capable #3 WR to fill in on a bye week because Darius Watts isn’t panning out.

Now, I haven’t been playing Fantasy Football long enough to have a ton of guys to choose from if you’re limiting me to only retired players. Not to mention that you put Jerry Rice on your team, a legitimate oversight considering his inability to beat out North Carolina’s former point guard for a receiver slot. So I’m going to tweak this around, and build you a team of underrated retired non-superstars (at least the skill position guys on offense) that I’d go to war with any Sunday of the season.

We’re going to start in the offensive backfield, and my RB tandem is going to be my favorite set of backs from one of the more rugged and fun teams to watch in recent times, the 1986 Cleveland Browns. That’s right, Kevin Mack and Earnest Byner. I loved watching those two work, as it was like a great college team with two quality backs just rolling over the other team’s defense. Mack was the bowling ball, Byner was tough and just a little shiftier.

At wideout, I thought it was downright criminal that James Lofton had to wait as long as he did for induction into the Hall of Fame. That being said, I can’t put him on here in good faith, as he has finally earned his due. Let me put Sterling Sharpe on one side, as he’s a guy who would have been HOF worthy with three or four more seasons under his belt. And opposite Sharpe I want one of those fast guys, a deep threat playmaker. Give me the one or two good seasons of Louis Lipps from Pittsburgh. Then, for good measure, put Brett Perriman in the slot for me. Yep, I’m a homer, but that guy ran great routes and was able to catch tough balls in traffic.

At tight end I would go with Bavaro, Jones, or Novacek, but all three of those guys are hardly underrated. Especially Bavaro. He was a monster. Give me Fantasy Football Stud Ben Coates from New England. He was a default #1 TE pick for any number of years, and was absolutely terrific.

And then we need a QB. I’d want Randall Cunningham, but again, he’s not underrated. A guy who always impressed me though was Jim Harbaugh. He was pedestrian, sure, but the kid played gutty football and was a fiery leader. Suit him up in the #4 jersey for my guys, and let’s rock.

Oh, and to answer your question fully, I suppose I should go Ben Coates, Cris Carter, Sterling Sharpe, agree with you on Thurman Thomas, and toss in the wildcard Terry Allen (two TD machine seasons) for good measure.


Over 90 minutes into this email… I think I need an office with a door and some sort of contract that states I only have to respond to issues between 9AM and 1130AM daily. Everything else can wait.

So, I’m curious. We chat over the IM at work, I’ve come out to your neck of the woods for about 18 hours, and we’ve got our blogs and this email thread to learn about each other on. If someone were to ask me what Pauly, Dinklage, or Grubs would do with $200 million, I think I could come up with an answer. You though? Aside from “have a bottle of SoCo handy at all times,” I don’t know that I have any clue as to what you’d do if money were no object.

Just curious, that’s all. And buy me a Powerball ticket on your way home from work tonight. Karma, doncha know…



OK, so Jerry Rice technically isn’t retired, but close enough.

If I won the Powerball……

Let’s see, first I’d come to work like nothing happened. Contact a lawyer and financial planner to set up a solid investment package so that I can properly support my future generations. I may even continue to work.


In reality, I quit my job, hire my besieged co-workers to drink with me (except for that weird guy in the corner), and change every phone number I have.

Then I’d start making good fun investments. Pauly gets the first phone call to start casting Baby and Winky just as long as I get a cameo appearance. I’ve seen some of the movies at these independent festivals. I would expect a decent return on my investment or at least have a smoking good time doing it.

I would form that Poker Dream Team I wrote about. Of course, I’d have to add BigMike to the team so no one has to dirty their hands from smacking around The Crew. It would be a solid investment. Iggy, Felicia, Hank, Pauly, OTIS MY MAN (I didn’t forget you this time!), etc.

Other than that fun stuff. I would do my favorite thing in the world. Travel, travel, travel. And when I was done with that. I’d travel some more.

Did I mention that I’d change all my phone numbers? I supposed we’d have to ‘buy off’ our relatives so they’d leave us alone.

Do you think Iggy will remember us when he’s the world’s most famousist poker player all the whole entire world? We’ll walk by the table with our hands out begging for a quarter or looking for someone to show us the poker way and he’ll just look up from his wee chair and have his bouncer, Mike Matusow, kick us out of the casino. He’ll look over to Brunson and say, “Damn, I thought T.J. was bad”.

Here’s a tough one for you. I presented this question to Pauly a couple of months ago. 10 handed table, you can pick any 9 people, past or present, to sit and play some poker. Who do you pick? (No fair looking up all the fishies you’ve tagged on PartyPoker. BONUS CODE IGGY)


Monday, October 11, 2004

Weekend report 

Friday I revisited a long lost bar from my past. Joclyn's is small bar in the middle of a nice small town.

The wifey and I hit the bar early hoping to meet up with Helixx for a couple of beers. Unfortunately, he got caught up and wasn't able to make it. So I picked up the mantle and drank for our missing blogger. We immediately checked behind the bar for how well they were stocked. Mrs. CantHang counted 10 bottles of Soco and there were at least 7 bottles of Jager in the cooler.

The bar was fully prepared for a night of Al, Petey, and Forty Ounces. And the missus seemed to be in a party mood also.

We spent a couple hours catching up on stories from the party with the guys from Forty Ounces. It seems they are missing huge chunks of memory from that night also. They have some great pics from the Bash that I'm waiting to get my hands on.

While Petey went on for their first set, Pauly and BoyGenius' favorite lead singer showed up to hang and party. That was just the start of the evening.

Rule #12724 of My Marriage. When the wifey wants to get drinking and dancing, just let her go. I fully intended this trip to be short and sweet. Meet up with Helixx, watch the first set of Petey, and call it a night. By the first set, all I could see of the missus was a flash of long blonde hair running hither and yon with occasional pitstops at the bar for a beer "fill up". She even met a 'friend' who neglected to notice the big honkin' rock on her finger and the fact the I was the one keeping her up-to-date with the booze.

So I just sat back and watched this chuckle-head. He was shorter than the wifey and kept looking up at her in awe (hhhmm, maybe intimidated is the word). Eventually she wandered to a different part of the bar and lost him.

This Main Line, college-puke, inbred, mouth-breather actually walked over to me and asked "Dude, you know where that hot blonde chick went? I think she wants me".

Now then. There are two ways to go with this one. Actually, there are more options, but I was only thinking of two. One, someone's going to the hospital and it's most likely going to be him. Two, shine him on and watch the fun. This guy was only an hour away from passing out on the sidewalk. Tops.

Option one would be a problem. The owners are a little 'touchy' about fights in the bar. Especially with this crew. Some of the guys from both bands and the crowd have been involved in some classic bar brawls that turned into street fights that turned into front page news in the county paper. They were on alert. Plus, it was early and who wants to ruin the possibility of a good buzz.

Option number two would have to be it. Mrs. CantHang is a very friendly person. Not flirty, but she'll talk to anyone. Hey, if someone else is going to start picking up her drinks, who am I to complain. This poor schleb was out of his league and she just rolled along with the punches.

The guy ended up being harmless and was long gone by the second set. No foul, no police, no hospital.

Around 2:30am, the night was finally closing down. Jake from Petey finished the last song and thanked everyone. Apparently, one of their fans decided he wanted to hear one more song, even going as far as trying to grab the mic from him. Now Jake is not a wee man. I figured this skinny little guy had about 3 more minutes remaining in his current life. Death or a dribble cup awaited.
I quickly hopped the monitors (me, fatass Al, hopped quickly. Please note that line) and told him the night was over and time to move on. After moaning and groaning, he gave up and left the stage.

Jake thanked me and I asked the guy was. I'm pretty sure Jake said that it was his cousin.


The recently sobered up wifey poured me back into the truck, grabbed a couple of soft pretzels for the ride home, and another fine night of booze and bands was complete.


Since I'm writing about booze, bands, and parties.....

And since Carter has already posted this.....

Carter at the Bash! Nice picture.

Carter was a trooper and partied like a rockstar. Going from casino to party with only a short nap on the Expressway in between. Here's his explanation about hiding under a car after the Bash.
At some unknown point towards the end of the Bash at the Boathouse, I'm finding myself stumbling past this bus. No clue why I'm no longer in in the bar. Don't think I said goodbye to anyone. I look a little closer, and it looks like a *school* bus. WTF? Anyway, someone from inside the bus pokes his head out of the window and starts talking to me. I have no idea what he says, or what I retort, but next thing I know he's trying to wriggle out through the window to kick my ass!

Stunning, right? I mean, he could have just walked out of the bus the normal way, no? Anyway, a few people in the bus are trying to pull him back in, and a few people outside suggest that I keep walking. I nervously walk away, thinking this guy is insane and to take "evasive action". This involves throwing myself to the ground and rolling under a random car.

I sit there for maybe 3-4 minutes before feeling really dumb. I roll out from under and drive back to the hotel.
Great story! and those guys were complete a-holes.


Saturday. Easy to write about.

AlCantHang + reunion with my couch + playoff baseball = very very happy Al.


DirecTV NFL Sunday Ticket. oh baby.

No Eagles game to worry about, we set out for the Boathouse and arrived by noon. All setup of 8 hours of football, food, booze, and beer.

I started off with a huge rack of ribs too big for even this fat-ass to finish. Even more impressive when you realize it had been 18 hours since my last meal.

Phil shows up about halfway through the early games and we prepare for the San Diego game. Since I started hanging out with Phil, I've adopted the San Diego SuperChargers as my second team. It's gets really hard to wake up Monday morning, when on Sunday you do a shot every time San Diego does something good OR bad.


I got home in enough time (and somewhat sober) to watch Dr. Pauly fold his way out of the Aussie tourney. Wanna know why he did that? Check out his latest post for the list of the 69 hands he was dealt. Horrendous.

I already had my bags packed to travel with the good doctor as he made his trek to the land of Oz. My job in the entourage? Make sure he had an amble supply of herbal remedies to keep his mind focused on the trip. He was going to have to balance the need for playing solid poker with making sure he properly 'explores' the land down under.

Alas, I'll just have to wait for another chance to witness that kind of carnage.


18 days 'til I'm poolside.

Does no one have any info on St. Martin poker?

60 days 'til Vegas.