STFU Awards: Cowboys Edition

Sometimes when rich guys forget just how rich they are and how non-rich the rest of the world is, they say very callous things.

First part of this STFU Award goes to Roger Staubach. I am pretty sure that Staubach is a good guy. I don’t know that he and I would have much to talk about if we ever sat down over a cup of coffee. Maybe other than liking the Cowboys. But still, I respect him as a football player and admire his work ethic. So when I hear him crack a joke about being “pained” to write the check for his seat license at the new Cowboys stadium (Title TK Field), I think about the amused chuckles that probably went up in the room after he said it. Lots of rich people laughing about how much the price of premium season tickets for the richest franchise in the NFL sure have gone up. I wonder I could get the same chuckles if, say, I went up next and did a couple of bits about how the price of gas, food and medical treatment for someone living paycheck to paycheck sure has gone up! My guess: half awkward chuckles, half exasperated shifting in seats. First thing, I am pretty sure the last thing Jerry wants highlighted (again) is that YOU CANNOT AFFORD TO SEE A GAME AT THE NEW STADIUM. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe he wanted to chase away the riff raff. Maybe the whole point of this new stadium is “If you have to ask how much a game is, you can’t afford it.” More about Jerry later though.

But Roger, you seem like a pretty down-home, salt-of-the-earth sort of guy. At the very least, you seem smart enough to know how to say things diplomatically. I know you know about the economy and how bad a turn it has taken even if you are rich. I know this because every day when I drive up or down McKinney Ave. to or from work, I see storefront upon storefront which one year ago sported Staubach signs in the window as construction was coming to a close. Then I saw every single retail unit filled within a month or two. And now it’s like déjà vu. I see those same storefronts all with Staubach signs in the windows again as each high-end, upscale retail store sags and eventually collapses. I can’t imagine you being anything but a hands on guy when it comes to your real estate business. So you probably have noticed how many of your retail and corporate properties have defaulted on loans and closed up shop. So you have got to know that if those people are hurting, it’s safe to assume that lots of other people are financially hurting as well.

Maybe it was being in the welcoming, safe and warm confines of the fellow rich that lead to this insensitive exchange. But I also happen to know that you were born in 1942 and the microphone is commonly acknowledged to have been invented in 1878. A better indication that there is press or recording devices around is the mere presence of Jerry Jones. A good rule of thumb is that, even if they are not immediately visible or detectible, if Jerry Jones is in a room then that means that there are cameras rolling or microphones recording and the press is there.

Now we must move on the co-recipient of the STFU Award today. Jerry Jones, I am rarely surprised by you but this one did surprise me. Mostly because you just handed out your own round of STFU Awards to your entire coaching staff. Also, two things make me think that you would be the last person to stomp on the outreached hands of the fiscally unenlightened Cowboys fan. First off, you are from Arkansas. You can’t blame your insensitivity on the fact that you grew up in Central Park West and never went below Midtown. Growing up in Arkansas, you had to have seen poor people. A second fact that makes me not believe you would let this exchange happen is that you are a media whore. You can’t get enough camera time for yourself. You can’t get enough of your own voice.

So surely you are intelligent enough to realize that when the President of the United States has just gone on national TV during prime time only a few nights before to address an economic crisis that has cost millions of people to lose their jobs, their homes, their cars, the health insurance and their sanity, you would never want to let the press hear you and your rich cronies joking about how much seats at the new stadium are, right? Because everyone was talking about it before the economy took a bad turn. So you would want to do damage control on that, right? You would want to assure Cowboys fans who are struggling to make ends meet that they will be able to afford a ticket to see their team at the new stadium. You would use this as a chance to announce new ticket pricing for the pre-season that will make sure every Cowboys fan has a chance to see a game in the new stadium. Come on, it’s not that hard to put on a good show that you care about making Cowboys game affordable for the next year or two until the economy turns around. Then jack the prices up and tell everyone that you’re raising prices to make sure the new stadium has 70% less rat sightings and health and safety code violations than Texas Stadium had. People might even pay for that.

I sometimes think that Jerry Jones would get a kick out of this scene from Blackadder the Third:

Sir Talbot Buxomly: Well, Your Highness. I dined hugely off of servants before I come into town.
Prince George: Um, you eat your servants?
Sir Talbot Buxomly: No, sir -- I eat *off* them. Why should I spend good money on tables when I have men standing idle?

That being said, I would love to go to a Cowboys game since I have never been able to afford tickets so let me be the first in the Volunteer Human Table line.

Blogging About Hope

I have a tough decision tonight. Mavs v. Spurs v. Obama. I am obviously torn. I need a whole lot of hope about both the Mavericks and the United States. I have started the night out with the Mavericks, who need as much good news and lucky breaks as they can get. They are, unfortunately, not getting those lucky breaks as Tony Longoria Parker is on fire. Two minutes until the State of the Union address. The Mavericks first half of the season was full of bitterness and despair. It was an atrocious start to the season with some lingering resentment about the Kidd trade and Josh Howard’s YouTube oopsies that happened in the off-season. But now, despite technically being almost dead last in the Southwest division, there seems to be some hope that the Mavs can turn this season around. Maybe they got some sort of stimulus from the Diop trade? Maybe JJ Barea’s marked improvement and increased playing time is giving them a boost? Bob Ortegel did just point out that, despite San Antonio’s 11 point lead right now, that San Antonio will probably not be able to continue to shoot at 75% for the entire game. Yikes. And that’s without Ginobli and Duncan.

Now to the State of the Union pregame show. Apparently, what Obama brings into this speech tonight is at least a 65% favorable public opinion. Charlie Gibson thinks that he has to ensure the general public that his plan and his stimulus package is not just intended to bail out Wall Street and the banks and their overpaid executives. Ruth Bader Ginsburg makes her first appearance since going on IR for cancer treatment. She’s getting high fives. At least she’s doing better than Michael Finley does with his home crowd. Donna Brazille lays it out that Obama will have to “keep it real” with the American people on what he’s going to do to help them out. Here comes the cabinet. If only Bill Bradley had gotten a Cabinet appointment, I really could milk this basketball analogy. I hope I am not the only person who, when someone announces that Director of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano is entering the room, thinks “Why is the lady from Concrete Blonde at the State of the Union address? I hope she closes the show out with “Joey.”

Finally! State of the Union Tip: 8:11pm CST. The Senate would look much more convincingly enthusiastic about their plan for economic reform if they had noisemakers. Maybe even some Acme bricks to wave when the Bush Administration is mentioned.

Mavs have pulled back to within 5 points which I learn while Obama is still trying to make his way to the podium 16 minutes after the State of the Union was supposed to begin. Obama tries to start his speech before Pelosi introduces him. Obama is the Flozell Adams of the Executive branch. I actually admire Obama’s persistence to power through the applause and keep the speech’s flow going. Also, I really want to be able to see the second half of the game. Joe Biden looks like he’s repeatedly checking his iPhone under the desk. I hope he and Joe the Plumber are iChatting. Sorry, iMeant that iHope he and Joe the Plumber are iChatting.

Beginning on April 1st, (I really hope this isn’t a joke) I am going to be seeing a Federal tax cut in my paycheck. Good news considering I have been stealing apples from the break room fruit basket to take home. He’s going to hold the people responsible for faulty banks and force the prosecution of those who abuse their power. Hear that Mavs defense? Hold Parker to taking bad outside shots then push down the court when you get the rebound on his missed shots. There’s a guy in the second row who keeps thumbing through the printed version of the speech that was handed out and checking his Blackberry. I imagine he’s the kind of guy who starts doing a jerky white guy dance when he appears on the Jumbotron. While I am totally into this speech, I can’t help but wonder how much better it would be if they superimposed Obama, Pelosi, Biden and Clinton’s head on the bodies of the Beatles to really get the crowd going.

Standing ovation for the GI Bill. I have no snark for that. That is pretty awesome. I guess it’s only after 8 solid years of Bush State of the Union addresses that I am finally realizing that we did it! We elected a guy who talks seriously about environmental reform, alternative sources of energy and really tightening the screws on the unchecked power of the superrich minority. Wow, it’s like I’m eating a prime cut of beef after eating clearance Banquet dinners for 8 years. Also, I ate two apples for dinner tonight which may account for the abuse of food analogies in this entry. I can’t tell you how happy I am that I am hearing things like stem cell research for cancer treatment, renewable energy sources, health care reform and tax cuts for the middle and lower class instead of WAR ON TERROR…..TOUGH ON TERRORISM…..US OR THEM….NATIONAL DEFENSE…..GIT R DUN.

And now education. To cut off the boo-hissers before they can boo hiss, I do understand that every president puts on his best face and puts his best foot forward in the State of the Union speech. And no, I don’t think that free health care for all and free college for most is just around the corner. But the fact that these are the key points in his speech is amazing to me. I have yet to hear about how people are coming to kill us and how we are going to crack down on extremists. He just challenged every American to further their education by some degree in the next four years. High School Dropout Amanda just slinked into her couch a little. Man, now I gotta deal with my Mom AND Obama on my ass about giving college a try. Great!

Iraq and Afghanistan make their first appearance in his speech. 45 minutes into the speech is the first mention of the word “extremism” which makes me feel much better about the direction of our country. And when speaking about the military, his focus is not on initiating or escalating conflict but making sure that veterans are taken care of. And closing Gitmo. “The United States of America does not torture.” Got a little choked up on that one. Alright, the story about the little girl asking the Senate for help for her “hopeless” school….I’m toast. I hope I can switch back to the Mavs game soon because I am like a teenager watching The Notebook right now.

Speech over and back to the Mavs game. Mavs down by 11 and shooting 36%. I am afraid all my hope and optimism went towards one event tonight and it wasn’t the Mavs game. Sorry guys. I will be at the game tomorrow night and will be at 100% hopeful again.

my second ever attempt at blogging from my blackberry

Mavs take a 27 point lead into the fourth quarter. Please don't blow this, Mavs. It is virtually un-blowable. That is all.

my first post from my blackberry

Mavs score 70 in the first half against the Kings! That is all.

Baseball, the Weather and Other Things Old Timers Love to Talk About

Are we done freaking out about A-Rod using steroids yet? Can we put away the nickname generator machine that cranked out A-Fraud and A-Roid? That thing has got more celebrity couple name mashing to do. If you didn’t believe that the baseball players of the past twenty years had found some sort of performance enhancing something to bulk up and improve their level of play, I think it’s sweet that you are such a dedicated baseball fan despite clearly being legally blind. Are the records tainted? Well, yes. But you knew that. You knew Barry Bonds hadn’t just found a new set of reps to do which miraculously caused him to double his muscle mass and enable him to hurl cars with his bare hands at reporters who dared ask him how he bulked up so quickly. Maybe you had suspicions but wanted to believe the best about a game you loved, and perhaps even played, as a child.

But as of February 2005, you had no reason to hold onto your hopes and illusions. Mind you, Jose Canseco can’t really write his way out of a paper bag as much as just ‘roid rage himself out of it. But there it was. He was taking steroids. The whole time. He was injecting them into teammates. No, they didn’t just work out really hard to gain, as Canseco did, 25 pounds of muscle mass over one off-season. Sure, you could think that Canseco is a no-good backstabber who sold his friends and teammates out for 15 more minutes of fame, a few more paychecks and a shot at a second date with Madonna. But you knew he was telling the truth. So why, four years later, is the A-Rod story even, well, a story at all? That’s what I don’t understand. There’s players being indicted. It’s clear that, prior to MLB’s testing and disciplining players for those banned substances, this was not just a few rogue guys who decided to cheat their way into the books. I’m willing to bet that the mentality amongst those players was that the substances were just part of the natural (albeit, completely synthetic hormone and chemical compound-based) evolution of the game. The stats for basketball sure have improved since they cut the bottom out of the peach basket and stopped bouncing soccer balls, right?

So that brings baseball fans to a crossroad. Do you accept that this sport which you see as being somehow more noble than others, is a professional sport in which athletes and the league have more at stake and more to gain than they did forty years ago? I’m actually asking that not as a rhetorical question but as a genuine curiosity. It’s obvious that the NBA, while putting up a good front, love them some poorly behaved, dunking and showboating superstars. I remember hearing that the year that Dirk won the MVP, his jersey was only something like the 16th best selling jersey in the league. The NFL makes no apologies. They want a show, they want explosions, they want drag queen cheerleaders, they want big lineman, they want to hear bones snap on tackles, they want a product tie-in with everything that will stand still (or in the case of Reebok-logo-sporting cameramen, be forced onto) long enough to slap a company’s name on it.

Which brings me to the baseball fans I know. A lot of them are purists. The older guys that I know who have loved baseball for over half a century are adamant that this taints the record books and the sport altogether. I can imagine watching genuinely hard working (and sometimes amphetamine-taking) players as a kid and thinking that they were superheroes only to see knuckleheads like Canseco inject themselves into those record books alongside your childhood heroes. Discounting, of course, that it’s widely assumed that far few players are actually drunk when they take the field these days too. But I guess I have never understood this pure, Pollyanna view of the sport of baseball. Maybe it’s the whole “Great American Pastime” thing. Maybe it’s an East Coast thing. I know I rag on baseball a lot and I actually do like the sport. If the Rangers show some promise this season, I will watch the games. I will be called a fair-weather fan and for good reason. I think I just don’t get the nobility that is inexplicably tied to baseball which seems to always come back to bite it in its needlemarked ass.

Now for a sharp right turn onto other topics my grandmother and I like to discuss….

The weather.

I’m officially a 70 year old Jewish widow from Brooklyn when it comes to weather. I used to love nothing more than a grey, rainy overcast day. Fog and cool air were my friends. But now, at the ripe old age of 28, I want sun and some warm weather constantly. Now, two important caveats to add to that: a) I don’t mean “August in Texas”/bake a chicken inside my car warm weather and b) I still like the occasional nice rainy, stormy day. In fact, I love storms. The more violent and potentially destructive, the better. But what I can’t stand is just soupy weather. Just low hanging clouds with no sun but no actual rain. I know, I am blogging about weather which means that I have officially become the online version of the conversation you try to excuse your way out of in the break room. But ever since the first vaguely cold day we had this winter (a mild winter, I might add), I have been ready for winter to be over. I want sun. I’ve been dying to lay out and go swimming for two months now. I want to go to the beach and let the sun take care of touching up my highlights, thereby also saving me money. I am sick of living in the meteorological kissing cousin of Belarus. Come on Mother Nature, you bitch! This is Texas. I am supposed to be sheltering myself from hail, tornadic activity and cloud to bathtub lightning one day then snowboarding the next day then floating on my pool raft later that same day. What’s this consistently cloudy and cool stuff? I didn’t ask to go back to London. Don’t bring that limey weather over here.

Why Losing to the Celtics Feels So Good-ish

Ok, maybe not “good” but promising. The fact that last year’s NBA champs only gained their first lead in the game well into the 4th quarter is intriguing. The fact that Barea and Carroll held their own and earned their minutes against the Celtics is highly auspicious. The fact that all of this happened without the assistance of Jason Terry is encouraging. Let’s be honest: who, other than hardcore Dallas Mavs fans, thought that Dallas had much of a shot against the Celtics? And I’m always a big fan of coaches getting ejected from games so last night was like an orgy of basketball treats for me. Except for those last four minutes where Dallas blew a once-15 point lead and lost the game. What makes me nervous? Their inability to hold onto ANY lead. I’m wearing my optimistic Mavs fan hat right now so I’m going to chalk the loss down to fatigue, no Terry and having players who are still trying to get comfortable. That’s right, when it comes to weak excuses, a dedicated Mavs fan is a like an Olive Garden Endless Soup, Salad and Breadsticks of biased and baseless pretext. MFFL.

But that brings me to the Western Conference. Can we leave the Southwestern division yet? Anyone bored and/or fed up with this like I am? Seriously. As of today, the grandmother-raping Spurs are at the top with Houston being #2 and Dallas and New Orleans pretty much locked up in a tie for #3 at four and a half games behind San Antonio. Did I mention that Houston is four games behind San Antonio? So there’s nearly a three way tie for that #2 slot. (I am not mature enough to type the phrase “#2 slot” and not laugh, as I have just discovered.) The only other #2 in their division team in the Western conference who has a better record than Dallas is Portland and it’s by one game. On paper, the Mavs look to be only one step from bottom of their division but the awful Memphis Grizzlies are kind enough to pad that fall. But that’s so misleading. Did I mention that Dallas has a better record than EVERY #2 team in the Eastern Conference? Oh yeah, there’s that too. I’m telling you, this Optimistic Mavs Fan hat (not available in the fan shop) is awesome. It matches everything including but not limited to the rose colored glasses I refuse to take off. Well, I will take them off but I’m probably going to do it David Caruso-style.

And with that, I leave you with an image from my work’s break room today. There’s so much right with this picture of a love-spewing bear made out of cupcakes that I cannot let today end without sharing it. Just remember: I love you and I have your wallet.

PART ONE: Subtitled - Bringing It All Back Home

Long ago (2005-ish), I started this blog because I watched all the Mavs games and felt the need to vent my excitement, frustration, rare witticisms and general fangirldom on the interWebs. I didn’t really think anyone would be interested in reading it and am still surprised when people I know and people I don’t know come up to me to tell me that they read my blog. It kind of feels like people coming up to compliment you on your child’s academic progress which they noticed you had mentioned on that bumper sticker you have on your car.

I blogged about the Mavs playing well and unfortunately, more often, I blogged about the Mavs blowing it when it mattered. But I love them even when they are cellar dwellars. But then came this Cowboys season. The Mavs could have decided to forgo the draft by instead creating their own Island of Dr. Moreau wherein they genetically modified and bred super-creatures capable of leaping over defenders and not choking in the fourth quarter like Josh Howard does a lot but it still couldn’t break the hypnotic hold that writing about the Cowboys had on me. So while I watched the Mavs games, all my fan disappointment, fan hopes, fan anger, fan outrage and finally fan disbelief were funneled straight into the big sad dumb Cowboys. But now that the 2008-2009 Cowboys season has left it’s indelible smear stain on time, I’m back to my first love. Watching the Mavs and loving the Mavs even when they are not that good. In fact, the basketball gods smiled down on me and have blessed me with tickets to four games recently at which my track record as a good luck charm is 3-1. Sorry about that Hornets game. I tried.

There’s something that I have noticed while attending recent games. Now you can look at this in a glass half full or a glass half empty way. I look at in a positive way. In previous seasons (particularly around the Mavs run to the Finals), there was a certain feeling that Mavs games were a place to be seen. Like a hot franchise made it a hot place to be. Put it this way: what was the last paparazzi picture of a celebrity at a Clippers game that you remember seeing? Now don’t get me wrong. The AAC still has its pockets of douche. I had never been into the Old No. 7 club before a few nights ago mostly because, well, let’s just say I had a feeling I knew what it would be like in there. I was correct. But here’s where I get extremely Pollyanna: we went into the Old No. 7 at halftime and were trying to leave as the third quarter started. We were having a hard time because no one was leaving. Now here’s two things that you need to know about me: a) I like drinks and b) I like socializing. But do you really have no better way to blow a couple hundred dollars than to go schmooze inside the bar at a Mavs game? My friend said that it’s the best place to pick up, ummmm, girls. He didn’t say “girls”, by the way. Now I get that it’s more about the social scene and being seen than the game that’s happening. But to blow all that money and waste those tickets to drink at a glorified airport Chili’s II bar? Blows my mind.

But there’s something pretty rad going on at Mavs games right now. You still get the cheers for Dirk and Josh Howard and the other “marquee” players. But now you’ve got people coming to games with #11 painted on their face. Full disclosure: I have gone from somewhat ironically and in a Lucas sort of way rooting for JJ Barea to full-on admiration and fandom for the guy. At the Bulls game when Barea hit a three from WAY behind the arc, I nearly leaped an entire row of seats. It’s not even some sort of Spud Webb/Earl Boykins small guy thing anymore. I just think the guy is quick and is showing real improvement. And I am not alone. The applause that goes up when Barea goes in a game is not too different from the applause that your Josh Howards or your Eric Dampiers get. Then there is what we will call the “Matt Carroll Syndrome” for now. My friend that goes to games with me mocked my enthusiasm for Barea at some point (I MAY have once claimed that one game this season, Barea will score 50 points) which I took offense to. Especially considering that this same friend applauds when Matt Carroll is sent into the game. Nothing against Carroll but he hasn’t exactly set the court alight. But now it’s a running joke with me growing ever more cocky and obnoxious with each shot Barea hits. You really wouldn’t have wanted to deal with me after last Saturday’s win over the Bulls in which Barea scored 20 points which is almost halfway to my 50 point game I’ve got planned for him sometime this season.

So back to Matt Carroll Syndrome (MCS), my friend is sticking to his guns on Matt Caroll. Still making noise when he enters the game even if it is to run out junk time on the clock. But then on Tuesday night against the Kings, something truly bizarre happened. When Carroll went in, my friend clapped but was immediately drowned out by the guy sitting behind him who screamed, “Alright Matt Carroll! Go Carroll! Good rebound, Caroll! Look at Matt Carroll go!” This person was not related to Matt Carroll. As far as we know, this person is not employed by Matt Carroll. What I’m saying is that in Section 101 on Tuesday night, there were 2 or more Matt Carroll fans.

Now you can either look at that as a sign that Mavs fans are desperate for fresh blood and tired of the core of veterans on this team who they feel have let them down again and again. But I don’t look at it that way. The way I see it, they are instead tired of throwing money and crazy contracts at hotshots that, at best, take a while to get used to the system. Or who at worst end up just being a ball of suck. I think the fans are glad to see some development in the guys that have been lurking in the shadows for a while. I even think that Jason Terry’s broken hand could be a blessing in disguise. Follow me on this one: they think it could be 3-6 weeks before he returns. That gives time for Gerald Green, Matt “Two Fans” Caroll, Ryan Hollis and JJ “50 Points” Barea all time to play more minutes and get worked into the system faster. Then Terry comes back before the playoffs, if all goes well.

All I am saying is that the see and be seen people seem to know their place (presumably near something with the Ed Hardy logo on it) and I have had more fun at Mavs games this season than any season before. All this enthusiasm building up must mean that I’m pumped to see tonight’s game against Boston right? Right?

PART TWO: DirectTV installers, near porn situations and why my desire to watch the Mavs will conquer all

Time Warner Cable and I got into a fight. We broke up. So I ordered DirectTV. Everything was gonna be great. The series of comedic twists and turns that have become involved in the process of getting (and now losing) DirectTV tell me that I am never meant to have DirectTV. The Saturday that the installers were scheduled to show up happened to be a sunny and 75 degrees sort of day. So I threw on my swimsuit and went out by the pool to lay out. I was out by the pool for a mere 30 minutes when they called to tell me they are on their way. That’s when I asked the question (not the installers, obviously, but to myself), “Is it too porny to say, ‘Hello cable installers, feel free to make yourself at home and get to work. I’ll just be over by the pool sunbathing.’?” I solicit some advice via text. Advice ranges from, “Just don’t make them a drink then take a shower with the door open” to “YES WE CAN!” (ummm, thanks?) Add to this the fact that I assumed the dish would go on the roof of my apartment which is about fifty feet above and to the left of the pool, thereby upping the awkwardness. I decided to forgo any further sunbathing to save the dignity of everyone involved. The installers showed up and I told them that I would just take my laptop to the pool and if they needed me or had any questions, feel free to come get me. A mere 40 minutes later, they came over to tell me that they are done. I wondered why I never noticed them on the roof but I figured I was reading one of the two trillion “25 Things” I got tagged on. I walked back to my apartment to discover that they had INSTALLED MY SATELLITE DISH ON THE HANDRAIL OF MY FRONT STEPS! Short of just propping it against a cinderblock or just leaving it hanging from the first floor window, they found the shoddiest way to install the dish.

Fast forward to a week later. I am excited to watch the Mavs vs. Jazz game that night. But it was not to be. My satellite was not receiving a signal. I tried resetting it. I tried unplugging it. Finally, I went outside and found that an extremely obese cat was sleeping in my satellite dish. He’s a local stray and I call him Acid Test due to some truly bizarre behavior he has exhibited. At the risk of losing a finger or two, I rouse Ol’ Acid Test from his opium haze and shift him from the dish. But, as I later found out, the weight of one neighborhood cat caused a thin cable to break. Which probably is not as big of a risk for people whose satellite dishes are not easily accessible to cats who just have to be able to get up on their hind legs. So no, I didn’t see the Mavs embarrassing loss to the Jazz. In fact, I didn’t see any TV until they came out to fix my dish on Saturday. Notice I said “fix” and not “move” there, right? Well, I got that taken care of too. Just not how I had planned.

I got home from work yesterday to be greeted by the sight of my satellite dish sitting on my back steps. Could a cat summon the strength needed to drag a satellite dish from the front steps of my apartment to the back door? Is this like when cats bring you dead mice and birds as gifts? There was a note on my door. The note was written by the property manager of my apartment complex which shall remain nameless. Let’s just call it the Bourtyards at Bnox at the corner of Knox and McKinney. I think what the letter was trying to tell me was that no one is allowed to have satellite dishes. And let’s be honest, this was a satellite dish that was attached to a handrail so I will take her side on this one. I say I think I know what the letter was saying because the letters from our complex manager usually read like a transcript of an episode of Cops if you took out all the officer’s dialog. So now I have a dish with wires hanging from it. And no TV and no way to get TV because Time Warner is the only cable company that serves the area.

So tonight I will go to Vickery Park where The Riverboat Gamblers are playing and pretend that I am there to see them and catch up with my old buddies in the Gamblers. But I will actually just be there to watch the game. Sorry guys.

Super Bowel I.V.

I can't believe this football season is over. Mostly because it's been such a horrible season that I thought for sure they would somehow extend it or make up a new rule that the Cowboys must now replay the Eagles game but only after each Cowboys player has eaten raw and improperly stored shellfish and drank a pot of black coffee each. Surely there's some other kind of humiliation that the NFL has in store for fans of football. Ben 'effing Roethlisberger's giant head won the Super Bowl and now the Steelers are the winningest team in pro football. Do you know what that feels like? Kind of like what I imagine Bruce Springsteen's nether regions felt like after their collision with a camera at halftime last night.

I will miss my footballball friends though. I mean, I know we'll see each other around this summer. But there's something special about drinking blue margaritas and gathering (and perhaps even stealing) firewood. I've got a solid 6 months of no high fiving to look forward to. I mean I *COULD* high five for other things but there's nothing like the "Suck it!" and high five of a blocked field goal or a Cowboys touchdown.

In keeping with the ridiculousness that was this year's football season, yesterday played host to the fourth annual Super Bowel. The carnage of which can be viewed here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/amandacobra/SuperBowelIV#

There were ankle sprains and a blackened and slightly bloodied eye. Toby's shirt got ripped too. It was a triumph of apathy over.....something.

Goodbye Football Season 2008-2009. You were a doozy!