First of all, I'd like to present the consolation prize for "Best Entry That Never Showed Up In The Comments Because The Author Emailed It To Me, Instead." This goes to Erin, for her delightfully clever rendition of, "Relax, Yuri - he'll come around to our side. I'm gonna take him to Chuck E. Cheese..."
The grand prize, however, definitely goes to Ed for "Palestinian state?....Talk to hand, Beeaatchh!"
Thanks to everyone who submitted entries. They made for very entertaining reading during my brief banishment to Tulsa and Houston.
Improbable as it may seem, I believe that I've stumbled upon something that will enrage Red Sox fans and Yankees fans equally. Behold my ticket stub from Wednesday night's Astros-Cardinals yawner at Minute Maid Park (née Enron Field) in Houston.
When raising children, parents should encourage an appropriate sense of self-sufficiency. Children need to learn to manage their own affairs. Taking the extra time to allow your little tykes to take care of their own possessions instead of carrying them yourself teaches personal responsibility. However, exiting a completely full commercial jetliner from Row 5 after a long flight may not be the best occasion to teach this valuable lesson. Unless, of course, you also want to teach your children how to deal with dirty looks and muttered curses.
Your S.U.V. is in danger. Not from collisions with smaller, lighter vehicles, of course. This genius from the redneck Shangri La of Idaho has identified "radical environmentalists" as the greatest new threat to peace, justice and the American way. I, for one, was completely unaware of the 2004 presidential candidates' stands on the S.U.V. fuel economy issue. I was similarly unaware that C.A.F.E. standards are a liberal elitist plot to kill your children. I will never take the safety of my S.U.V. for granted again. I'm planning to install radar on the roof of my 4Runner to give me a heads up in case the Sierra Club tries to crash a hijacked passenger plane into my car.
What the hell was going through Ariel Sharon's mind at the moment this picture was taken?
"Hey, look, I'm walking with the President of the United States! Take that, Arafat!"
I'll buy a $20 Audible.com gift certificate for the person who posts the best caption for this picture in the comments.
"I would rather listen to the Spice Girls any day of the week than to some seattle band dressed like lumberjacks trying to convince me they're suicidal and depressed when they're young, healthy, rich, famous and getting all the pussy they want."
Maybe it's the brazen, unapologetic, meathead reductionist approach to valuing human happiness. But I also love the fact that nobody told Gene that the "Seattle sound" was so dead by October of 1998 that U.S. flannel prices were at their lowest levels in decades.
In the spirit of complete fairness to ESPN Page 2's Sports Guy, I feel honor-bound to point out that he followed up the column that I indicated was not among his better work on Wednesday with a completely devastating piece on Friday. Among the Sports Guy columns I've read over the past three years or so, this one is top 5 material. He writes about a recent trip to Vegas with a group of his college buddies.
At numerous points while reading the article, my friend Tim simply said, "That's us."
There's nothing I can add to that.
Naturally, this lead us to the conclusion that, "Dammit, this guy is getting rich. Why can't we get organized and write stories about the things we do when we're in Vegas. They're basically the same dumb, drunk, irresponsible things that Sports Guy and his buddies do. But somehow he's working for ESPN and ABC and we're all still dragging our asses off to work 5 days a week in the freezing New England winter.
We decided that what we're missing is a scribe. It occurred to us that we don't pay much attention to how we act and the things we do and say while we're gambling because we're too busy gambling. Sure, we remember most of the red-letter events from our years of occasional weekend gambling binges, but we can't remember the signature phrases or running jokes of the majority of our gambling trips. We need someone to hang out with us and record this comedy gold mine instead of gambling.
If anyone wants to talk book deal, we're looking for an advance somewhere in the low seven figures, plus a few points.
That was Mike's observation with regard to the Sports Guy's latest column. In it, he offers a 5 point assessment of the error the Detroit Pistons made by drafting 18-year-old Serbian project Darko Milicic over Syracuse's Carmelo Anthony.
It was definitely a low degree of difficulty piece. It's a column that's been written so often that some global media conglomerate has probably reduced it to a canned-content formula:
|Insert over-rated European "stand-out" or high school "phenom" into Box A, well-known college player into Box B, choose appropriate sports cliches from the menu.|
But, on the plus side, Mike is writing again! The long winter is drawing to an end on Mount Desert Island, and we find Mike full of vim and vigor and taking umbridge at how the rest of baseball fandom enjoyed the Red Sox's opening day stumble.
A conversation between myself and the UNH student who made my sandwich at lunch time, partially as it happened and partially conceptualized: