Grab a Beer. It Don't Cost Nothin'.

NJ Beer Passport Stop 2: Harvest Moon Brewery/Cafe, New Brunswick

2007-12-09T21:04:00.000-05:00

Harvest Moon is a brew pub in New Brunswick. This was my second stop on the passport. Since it is not a brewery tour (where tastings have minimal, if any, cost), I came prepared to spend money.

The food was good. Really good nachos, I had a huge burrito, and my girlfriend enjoyed her entree as well. Since I'm more interested in the beer, though, we'll discuss that. They currently show nine beers on draft, and me and my girl each knocked back three pints of different varieties to sample their wares.

Hops2 Double IPA - Decent hop character, definitely the hoppiest beer they serve. It lacks balance though, there is not a start to the beer to offset the hops, so the finish is not as crisp as I like. 5.5/10.

British Nut Brown - My girlfriend's first beer, and one of the best of the bunch. Nice deep amber color, sweet start, smooth finish. 8.5/10

Jimmy D's Firehouse Red - My second beer, and my favorite of the day. I like balance to beer, and this one delivers a good balance of malt and hops to deliver a sweet start and a crisp finish. 9/10

Elmes' Mild Manor - Mild definitely describes this beer. Very little in terms of flavor. Amber color, but nothing unlike what you can buy in a six pack labeled "Yuengling Lager". Both my girlfriend and I noted that this beer reminded us a lot of Yuengling. Not necessarily a bad thing, since Yuengling is usually my beer of choice, but not what I expected from a craft brew. 6/10

Oatmeal Stout - Good head, very dark in color. Bitterness is definitely the hallmark of this brew, as the pub notes its coffee accents. Once again, this beer lacks in achieving the balance I enjoy, but it is a pretty good after dinner beer to help pack all the food into your stomach. 7.5/10

Full Moon Pale Ale - A reasonable pale ale offering, given mostly towards sweetness. Much lighter in character than most of the other beers we drank, and only the IPA came close in terms of color. Very good initial taste, but not enough hops for my liking. Definitely a beer I would recommend for people who have drank the Bud/Miller/Coors macros and wanted a microbrew that wouldn't overwhelm their taste buds. 7/10

New Jersey Beer Passport stop 1 - Flying Fish Brewery, Cherry Hill

2007-11-13T15:56:00.000-05:00

I got my New Jersey Beer Passport this past Saturday. The idea behind this passport is to visit each of the craft breweries/brewpubs in New Jersey, and get your "passport" stamped by each business. After receiving 12 stamps, you qualify for a prize. I'm shooting for all 16. For more information on the New Jersey Beer Passport, visit here. I'll use this space to give my own (rather unrefined yet strong) opinions and reviews of the brews I sample as I visit breweries and brewpubs around the Garden State.

My visit to Flying Fish was actually the second stop on my quest for a passport. I had gone to the River Horse Brewery in Lambertville in September to get my passport and a stamp, but they were out of passports. Oh darn, guess I'll have to go back and drink more beer!

But anyway, the Flying Fish Brewery puts on a fairly decent tour for being a small brewery. They only run tours on Saturday afternoons, but it's a pretty nice setup. You go in to the brewery, ask questions, get to see their operation, and then (best part) taste their beer! Well, we did the beer tasting part first, because we got there while they were running another tour, so we spent time in the gift shop sampling their brews.

They have about 4 or 5 brews available at any given time. The four I sampled were their flagship Extra Pale Ale, their ESB ale, their Grand Cru Winter Reserve, and a Belgian Style Dubbel. They also had HopFish, a very good IPA, available to sample, but I had a sixer of that in my fridge, so I was more interested in tasting what I didn't have.

Grand Cru Winter Reserve - Fairly light in color, which was somewhat of a surprise to me, as most of the "winter" styled beers I've come across are darker and heavier. Very smooth, nice blend of hops and malts. I picked up a fruity taste, which the Flying Fish website attributes to the temperature the beer ferments at, not any actual fruit in the beer. Still, I like my winter beers to be a bit heavier and have a little more body. 6.5/10.

Extra Pale Ale - Yellow in color, as was to be expected. Has a very good smell to it. The aromas of malt and hops are immediately distinctive, which is important to get the flavor right in any sort of light-colored beer. Very well balanced, with a light, sweet start but a good, bitter finish. This brew is probably the one most readily available in a bar setting, and is also available at Citizen's Bank Park and is one of my favorite beers to drink there. 9/10.

ESB Ale - A pretty good offering in the ESB category. Darker than the EPA, with a good blend of malts bringing the color to a copper hue. Fine smelling. The taste is a little on the light side. Neither the first Flying Fish I'd reach for (give me their IPA) nor the first ESB I'd go for (Red Hook, please), still a good beer to have every once in a while. 7/10.

Dubbel - Very, very good brew. Strong smell, very thick head when poured. It is very complex in its flavors, and leaves more of a sweet aftertaste than a bitter one. This is pretty interesting to me, because I don't get much of a sweet taste at the start of the beer. 9/10.

HopFish IPA - Excellent IPA. I am a huge IPA fan, and am always looking for different brewers' takes on this classic English style. This one brings a very strong hop character to the table. The malts used do a lot to bring a nice start to this beer, but the hops definitely take over to provide that strong, bitter kick that is a hallmark of this style of brew. Perhaps a bit too sweet for some IPA enthusiasts, I still like the range of flavors this brew provides, and at time of sampling, this is my favorite brew produced by this fine Cherry Hill brewery. 9.5/10

Labor Day Weekend '07

2007-11-08T15:20:00.000-05:00

So, I went down to North Carolina over Labor Day weekend, because there's not much else that's more fun than getting ripped with friends when no one has to work. Plus, it's a great weekend for boozing. College football is on, Octoberfest beer is available, and so on.

So I fly in to town on Friday afternoon. Kurt picks me up at the gigantic Piedmont Triad International airport, and we head out for dinner, then head to Carrboro to catch the Strugglers playing at Cat's Cradle. I met Kurt's girl du jour, Heather, who apparently thought I was a riot, which is a good thing. Normally when I'm in "drinking all weekend" mode, I'm offensive, and it upsets the easily offended. So, either I was tame, or Heather has a sense of humor. I'll need further research to determine which is the case.

After the show (which the Strugglers rocked), Kurt and I drove back to Greensboro to meet up at Jen and Andrew's (pretty much our base of operations for the weekend) to party. They were rocking some beer pong, and had some people over, so we jumped right in. Our friend Aaron (who is probably the funniest, foulest, coolest sketchy guy I know) stopped by after he got done work. I think he was there for about 30 minutes before he called his sort-of ex to come over. No sooner does she make it to the party than Aaron is getting into his car and telling her to follow him back to his house. Either he was really hard-up or he didn't want any of us to see this chick. Actually, if I remember correctly, Aaron didn't like somebody hanging out at the house, and used the girl as a reason to bail.

We finished our Friday night at some sort of private club bar thing that apparently they have a bunch of in Greensboro. Not like you have to be a member to get in, everybody who isn't a member just signs the "guest list" and goes in and drinks.

Saturday morning, Kurt and I run over to a diner for breakfast. Jen and Andrew want to grill out and watch football all day Saturday, which is my kind of Saturday. Kurt and I pick up burgers and chicken sausage (yes, Kurt is a pussy), as well as a bunch of beer, and head over to their place. They are still out shopping, which isn't a problem for us, because Kurt has a key. We make ourselves at home on the couch, and start on the beer. 2pm beers are wonderful.

After food (and a lot of beer), it's time to get the drinking into gear. We start beer pong back up, which will pretty much take up our night from about 7 until 11. At this point, Kurt leaves the party to go home with Tara. For some reason, me and Aaron take offense to this. I blame alcohol. At any rate, we decide that since Kurt left his car at Jen's house, the logical thing to do is fuck with his car. We took the air out of all four of his tires, Aaron stole Kurt's wiper blades and put them in his own car, and we pissed on his car. Juvenile? Absolutely. Funny? Depends on your point of view (me and Aaron were laughing hysterically). Oh, for the record, I would like to point out that one of the options (voiced by Aaron, voted down by me) was to take Kurt's antenna and use it to smash his windows. Fortunately, we decided that full-on vandalism was not a good idea.

After sabotaging Kurt's wheels, we all go out to the same bar we went to before. Jen brings strawberry daquiri mix (or something like that) that was frozen in her freezer in a red Solo cup. She was letting it melt in the car, then drinking it. We get to the bar, and Jen still has some frozen daquiri in her cup. She leaves the cup outside, and we head in to the bar. The bar sucks. We have a round of drinks, and decide it's time to take the party elsewhere. We walk back out, to find Jen's cup untouched (we think). Jen knocks back the contents, which fortunately weren't altered with anything else in our absence.

The next bar we go to is a lot better. We run into some other Guilford grads, and pretty much wind up closing the bar down with those guys. Lots of alcohol and stories swapped around the table. We get home, and I am stuck sleeping at Jen's, since Aaron is too drunk to drive, and Kurt isn't there to take me to his place (not like we would have gotten far riding on rims anyway). I spend a rather miserable, mostly sleepless, night on the couch. I am allergic as hell to cats, plus I have sleep apnea. I literally couldn't breathe. At one point during the night, Jen came stumbling downstairs to get water. She has no recollection of any of this happening. Apparently she gets the drunken somnambulatory stuff a lot, as Andrew would tell me later (supposedly he found her butt naked outside their place one morning). Anyway, after getting something to drink, she decides that she would rather sleep at the foot of the couch than in her bed. She wound up going back up to her own bed about half an hour later.

So, Sunday morning dawns to Kurt coming back and punching Aaron awake, because he figured we were the ones who fucked with his car. Thankfully, Andrew had a cigarette-lighter-adapter powered car tire inflater, so we could pump Kurt's tires most of the way up. Aaron gave Kurt back his wiper blades. I even magnanimously paid for a car wash, so Kurt's car wouldn't reek of urine (I'm not all bad).

Jen and Andrew beg out of drinking a third straight day (what do they teach these kids in college anymore?). Me, Kurt, and Aaron are gung-ho for it. We finish off whatever was left of the Sam Adams we had at Jen and Andrew's, and then head to a brew pub for dinner and then on to one of their favorite bars for drinking. Turns out the place we went to was having some sort of special on Yuengling pitchers, which got Kurt to change his mind. He was approaching the night as a take-it-easy night, Aaron and I were all about getting plowed. Kurt had one beer, and decided to join us on our foray into drunkenness.

It should be noted that we were there pretty early, and drank for quite a while. I would guess we got there at 9. We wound up closing the place down. During the course of the night, I learn about chugging in someone's face. Apparently Aaron enjoys grabbing someone by their shirt, pulling them in front of him, and then slamming his beer back in that person's face. I thought it would get old, but it turned into one of the funniest things I'd ever seen. Oddly enough, it was also karaoke night at this bar, and we didn't leave. Normally, I'm not a big karaoke person. That night, I actually went up and sang. Had a good time, too. I guess karaoke isn't bad when the people singing don't suck.

So anyway, we're at this bar, which is pretty hopping, since most people don't work on Labor Day. There are some pretty girls floating around, which we notice. Aaron at some point decided he was going home with a girl. Normally, I wouldn't be opposed to this. However, rather than actually work to talk to one of the cute girls there, Aaron starts macking on the girl sitting at the table next to us. Normally, I'd applaud him for saving the effort of getting up, but this girl was just ugly. I mean, she didn't have anything going for her. She was ugly. Really ugly. I know I sound terribly superficial, but it's the truth. Most people, I can find something attractive about. This girl had nothing going for her. Aaron decided that he was going home with this girl, for whatever reason. Me and Kurt do our best to talk him out of it. I send him all kinds of text messages ("way to mack on the ugliest chick at the bar", "I wouldn't touch her with your dick", and the like) to that effect, but to no avail. Aaron is determined to go home with her. He even asks me at one point to find out if that girl would fuck him. I refused to do it, on the grounds that I refuse to help friends sink to that level.

So Aaron goes home with this girl. And catches all kinds of shit from me and Kurt at Kurt's place on Monday morning. Aaron had to come back to Kurt's to get his car, so it sucked for him to have to face us, but at least the girl has no clue where Aaron actually lived, or what kind of car he drove. He says he didn't sleep with her, but Kurt also said that he didn't sleep with Tara on Saturday night, and none of us believed that for a second.

Random sporting thoughts of the week

2006-03-25T00:23:00.000-05:00

Good Riddance, Asshole, Part 1
Terrell Owens is writing a tell-all book about how the Eagles disrespected him. He got "$10 mil up front", which equates to about $3 million less than he had the potential to earn in Philadelphia in '06 ($5 million roster bonus, $770,000 salary, $6.5 million in bonuses; source), but good for him. Who needs to work for money when some moron is willing to give it to you just for the hell of it? I'd love to see the book in another year and a half when he gets disrespected by the Cowboys for not paying him as much as the Eagles would have.

The one thing that really excites me about this is that Dallas' front office is hardly the clandestine organization that the Eagles' is. You'd think Jeff Lurie was running some kind of illegal government wiretapping, instead of an NFL franchise. Jerry Jones won't be so quiet when TO flips his lid. And you know it's going to happen. Bill Parcells likes to run the ball first. Terry Glenn needs touches, and Jason Witten is one of the better tight ends in the NFL. Add in the fact that Dallas' offensive line wasn't that good last year and won't be any better, and Bledsoe isn't any less immobile than he was last season, and you'll be lucky (or fortunate, depending on whether or not you're a Cowboys fan)to see TO make it a full season before he's doing sit-ups in his driveway in Arlington.

Good Riddance, Asshole, Part 2
Billy Wagner signed with the Mets to be their closer this offseason. Apparently he had issues with how "knowledgeable" Phillies fans are (source). You'd think someone like this, who has played in Shea plenty the last couple seasons would have noticed the morons there. I can't wait until they jump on his back after his second stint on the disabled list this season.

I'm not sure what the context of this comment was, but one theory floating around message boards is the way some fans would act disappointed when Wagner would "only" hit 97-99 on the Citizens' Bank radar gun. After years of Jeff Brantley's smoke and mirros act, along with watching the likes of Heathcliff Slocumb, Jose Mesa, and Ricky Bottalico closing games, some fans got excited about having an elite closer with 100mph stuff, and liked to see it.

Wagner may have also had issues with how often "Eagles!" chants pepper Phillies games. Given the way the Phils have mismanaged their organization since the strike, and the success the Eagles have enjoyed (for the most part) since '01, this shouldn't be much of a surprise. The Eagles have made five playoff trips, along with four division titles, since the turn of the new century. The Phillies haven't been in the playoffs since '93. Fan frustration does not equate to knowledge.

Granted, there are tons of idiots on sports talk radio in Philadelphia, on both ends of the phone. If Wagner thinks that will change on the other end of the Turnpike, he's in for a not-so-pleasant surprise when he turns on the Fan. But whatever.

Basically, fuck both you assholes. I can't wait to show my lack of knowledge towards Wagner when I get to boo him at CBP this season, and I hope the Eagles re-sign Tim Hauck and re-install the Veterans' Stadium turf before Dallas comes to Philly this season.

We are completely insane

2005-12-28T22:56:00.000-05:00

Okay, is it normal for two totally sober (I'm going to assume sobriety on Kurt's part) mid-20s guys to have a debate on the outcome of a cage match between Bigfoot and a grizzly bear? This took up a good ten minutes of phone conversation tonight.

Kurt thinks that Bigfoot's size will play into its advantage. He says that some woman in Tennessee claims to have seen one that was 8'12" (that's nine feet everywhere outside of Tennessee).

I say that the mere fact that there are tons of bears all over the place, and maybe only a couple pussy little Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) hiding out in the woods from the bears, shows who the truly dominant species is. A grizzly would whup Bigfoot's ass, like the bears do on a regular basis.

Drinking Story: New Year's Eve '03-'04

2005-12-03T16:18:00.000-05:00

This New Year's was interesting, in that I was finally able to hang out with friends of legal age at bars. The '01-'02 New Year's, Aidan and I were dodging bouncers on South Street, and I was stuck on campus with the basketball team during the '02-'03 New Year's, and they were all underage. The '03-'04 New Year's Eve also started what has become a holiday tradition: drinking with Kurt and Dan.

Dan worked at the ABC (liquor) store that year, so he was in charge of the pre-party arrangements. We were going to use my house as our home base, because there were a bunch of bars and a club of sorts all within relative walking distance of my place. Kurt came by first, and naturally we started drinking. Dan came by with a bunch of airplane bottles of booze, so we also each did two shots before we left.

We hit up two of the bars by my place, which were both totally dead. We were walking to the next place when Kurt realized he lost his driver's license. So we had to walk all the way back to the parking lot, and start looking around. We found it pretty quickly, and then went to the clubbish spot, Lucky 32's. For some ungodly reason, Lucky's was treating New Year's Eve like a regular night, in that they were closing like it was a regular weekday. We were all incredulous. Biggest drinking night of the year, and this place can't be bothered to stay open.

Undaunted, we decided to make the 10-minute drive downtown to the other clubs. We got into one place just before midnight, and there were at least girls in this one. We got drinks, and went to work. I saw Kurt talking to a group of three girls, and then just walk away. Considering they were all at least reasonably attractive, I figured I'd see what the deal was. I went over, and started talking. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went, but I remember they said something about Kurt claiming to go to Duke (and not Guilford, like he really did), and so I just jumped right into the game, and said something about doing postgrad work (possibly law school) at Duke. Keep in mind, I was working some bullshit jub at the time. What really makes it funny was that these girls all went to Virginia Tech. That's not the funny part. What's funny is that when Kurt found out about this, according to the girls, he put his thumb down and walked away. I tried not to break out into hysterical laughter right there. I talked to the girls for a while, and was doing reasonably well for myself. Dan noticed, and walked over as I went to grab a drink. When I came back, Dan was there by himself. Given that Dan wasn't set up with an easy fastball like I was (the girls asked me if I went to Duke like Kurt said he did), he didn't know the bullshit Kurt had gotten us into. The girls asked Dan where he went to school, and he said Guilford. When asked how he knew us, he said that we all went to school together. So much for those girls.

The rest of the night can be pretty much summed up as the three of us all having varying degrees of success meeting girls. Kurt met up with some chick he used to go to High Point U. at the club, and they spent a good while dancing. I vaguely remember that. I got some girl's number. I think she had a kid, maybe two. That one didn't get much further than that.

Leaving the bar was an absolute nightmare. Kurt apparently left before both of us. He got in touch with Katy, his girlfriend of sorts, who came and picked him up. We still aren't sure why Kurt didn't come back with me and Dan, since he had to make it back to my house that night anyway. Dan left the bar a couple minutes before I did, and when I tried to call the number he gave me, it wound up being his apartment number, as opposed to his cell phone number, so that obviously was no help finding him outside the bar. I tried calling Kurt, and found out that he had taken Katy the complete wrong way to my house, and was in fact taking her by our old apartment on the other side of town. Apparently, some of Kurt's "directions" were "Fuck it, just go straight" and "Let me out here, I'll walk the rest of the way". I have no idea how he or Katy found my house that night.

I had a relative moment of clarity at this point, and decided to walk to where Dan had parked his car. I figured this way I'd at least run into him, or figure out if it was time to call a cab at that point. Dan's car was still in the lot, so I headed back to the bar, where I ran into Dan standing outside. We went back to his apartment to pick up booze, and then went to this girl's apartment so Dan could smoke weed. I think Kurt called me at like 3 in the morning to let me know he'd made it back to my house. In case you can't tell, a lot of that night is REALLY hazy for me.

I think Kurt had to work at like 8 the next morning. Sucked to be him.

Drinking Story: Binford Hall Crawl

2005-11-13T11:45:00.000-05:00

Guilford College changed its alcohol policies drastically during my four years on campus. When I graduated, you could only drink in public out of a sippy-style cup, and only if you were 21. My freshman year, entire dorms were involved in throwing parties for anyone who could stand up straight enough to drink. Those were good times.

Second semester of my freshman year, Binford Hall had a hall crawl. The "hall crawl" got its name from two things: one, the entire hall got involved; two, you were crawling to the next room by the end of the night.

The fact that this was during the second semester is important due to the fact that I was still on the baseball team at the time, and we had a doubleheader the next day. I somehow talked myself into believing that I could party there until about 12 or 12:30, and be fine to wake up at nine and be on time for batting practice. Nothing else really mattered, I was buried deep on the depth chart at catcher, so it wasn't like I was in danger of having to play.

The party started on the third floor of Binford. One of my friends had tequila shots and margaritas in her room, so of course I have a couple shots and a margarita. Another girl was serving Sex on the Beach. Me, my roommate Adam, and my friend John were all in her room when she ran out of mixers. She threw out all the empty mixer stuff, and headed out into the rest of the party, leaving Adam, John, and I staring at about half a bottle of vodka. The wheels started churning right away. Somebody mentioned that taking the rest of the bottle would be an asshole move, so we decided to compromise and only fill up a red Solo cup with vodka. The vodka went straight back to my room, where we started doing carbonated shots (half vodka, half orange or grape soda, shaken up).

I kept one eye on the clock all through this. It was now around 11pm, still plenty of time. We went back to Binford. The party had since moved down to the first floor. The room we wound up in was chock-full of alcohol. There were four handles of Cuervo on the table, and the bookshelf on the wall was lined with pre-mixed two-liter bottles of Captain Morgan and Coke. Me and my friends set gleefully into the tequila, chasing the shots with the traditional lime, and then with Captain and Coke. Needless to say, that hour flew by pretty quick.

The rest of the night is pretty much a blur. I remember leaving the party, going home, and passing the fuck out. There aren't any other details. Apparently there was a fire drill that night. The jury is still out on whether or not I made it out of the room for that, as Adam didn't make it back to the room that night. I woke up in what would have been plenty of time to make it to batting practice on time, but I had one major issue: I was still drunk. I damn near passed out in the shower trying to sober up a little before I went out there, and wound up being about 10 minutes late. As I said, though, I was in no danger of playing. I spent most of that doubleheader sitting by the water cooler, drinking as much water as my body could take in. Warming up pitchers was a bitch that day. My eyes had issues with trying to see out of the mask while it was on, but had no problem with "seeing" the mask in front of my face after I took it off.

I also had one of the best rounds of BP in my life that day. Go figue.

One humble fan's NFL predictions

2005-09-04T21:32:00.000-05:00

Just my $.02 on the NFL this season. As an Eagles fan, I'm just happy that football season is upon us, so I can finally stop hearing Redskins fans talk about the Redskins winning the division this season. It's actually happened. And I don't think it was the liquor talking, either.

AFC East
1) NY Jets (10-6): This is the toughest division in football, but I think the Jets are ready to dethrone the Pats. Chad Pennington absolutely has to stay healthy though, or the division champ could well be the...

2) Buffalo Bills (9-7): That's right. This team is that good. Great defense and a good ground game. JP Losman is the only real question on this team, but quarterback is also a fairly important position. Willis McGahee is obviously the key to this team's success.

3) New England Patriots (9-7): Too talented to fall completely out of the playoff hunt, but too many questions in the coaching department. Bill Parcells hasn't won a playoff game without Bill Belichek coordinating his defense. I don't see how Belichek is going to get over the loss of both of his coordinators that quickly. Quick, who were his coordinators in Cleveland?

4) Miami Dolphins (5-11): Gus Frerotte or AJ Feeley? Ricky's curveball only crowds the backfield, and doesn't help them at QB. They'll stink for another year or two.

AFC Central
1) Pittsburgh Steelers (13-3): The best in the conference last year, except for the "any given Sunday" at the end of January. Roethlisberger is the real deal. He should get this team back to another AFC Championship game.

2) Cincinnatti Bengals (9-7): People are writing off the Bengals because of the preseason. I'm not buying it completely. Cincy has too many weapons to not finish above .500. The Johnsons (Chad and Rudi) alone keep this team in any game.

3) Baltimore Ravens (8-8): Good defense, just don't know how quickly they'll take to the 46 defense. The biggest problem with this defense is that it can lead to big plays for the opposing offense. The Ravens' D better gamble right a lot, because their O won't keep them in many games.

4) Cleveland Browns (3-13): The Big Dawg lost a lot of weight. And the Browns are bad.

AFC South
1) Indianapolis (12-4): Hey, Peyton Manning, guess what? Bill Belichek won't beat you up and steal your playoff lunch money this season! Bill Cowher will instead. The Peyton Manning Face will be seen this January as he walks to the visitors' sideline at Heinz Field.

2) Houston Texans (9-7): Let the David Carr coming out party begin! This is Carr's make-or-break season. He's got the weapons on offense, and a reasonably competent defense. If the Texans aren't in the hunt at the end of the season, look for them to begin the hunt for a new franchise QB.

3) Jacksonville Jaguars (6-10): Some people think these guys are good. I don't.

4) Tennessee Titans (4-12): The Titans have been hit hard by cap woes, injuries, and free agency. Jeff Fisher will build this team back. If the front office lets him.

AFC West
1) Oakland Raiders (11-5): These guys are the outdoor version of the Colts and Rams. Lots of firepower, both on and off the field. Randy Moss admits to smoking pot. So he gets sent to California! What are the odds that Moss drives Kerry Collins back to the bottle?

2) Kansas City Chiefs (9-7): I wonder if Dick Vermiel is thanking the knee that it decided to get injured (That's a thinly-veiled jab at recently released WR Freddie Mitchell). Kansas City's defense still has a lot to prove before we pencil them into a playoff spot.

3) San Diego Chargers (8-8): The Chargers come back to earth a little this year. I just don't think Drew Brees is really as good as he played last year. He's not as bad as he was in '03, but I think last year was just a flash in the pan.

4) Denver Broncos (6-10): Jake Plummer sucks. And Ashley Lelie is the only weapon in the passing game, but he can't do anything other than run straight down the field. The Broncos will still be able to run the ball, however.

NFC East
1) Philadelphia Eagles (12-4): The most substantial loss this team has taken so far is the injury to WR Todd Pinkston, who was relatively unremarkable last year. The TO soap opera has died down some, but just wait until the first loss. Still, the only team in the NFC that's any real threat to the Eagles isn't on their regular season schedule.

2) Dallas Cowboys (9-7): Some people have anointed the Cowboys as Super Bowl contenders. I don't see this team as any better than the '03 team that got stomped by Carolina in the first round of the playoffs. The players and the coordinator are not used to the defense Parcells wants to run. Dallas will get off to a fast start, but fade down the stretch.

3) New York Giants (6-10): Dear Tom Coughlin, Thank you for choosing the wrong quarterback. Sincerely, Eagles fans.

4) Washington Redskins (5-11): Joe Gibbs should get back to NASCAR. Or get the hell away from the train wreck in Northern Virginia. Washington wasn't good last year, and they'll be worse this year.

NFC North
1) Minnesota Vikings (10-6): The defense is bad. The offense has to deal with the loss of two major weapons in Onterrio Smith and Randy Moss. The rest of the NFC North is abysmal, though, so Minnesota should be able to win the division.

2) Green Bay Packers (8-8): The best of the trash. Brett Favre better retire before his offensive line gets him killed.

3) Detroit Lions (7-9): Joey Harrington is on a much shorter leash than David Carr. If only the Lions hadn't drafted a WR in the first round, like they have the past 18 drafts, they might be able to really get some pressure on Joey.

4) Chicago Bears (4-12): Bringing in Chad Hutchinson as an insurance policy at QB backfired big-time on Chicago. Grossman is out for most of the season, and rookie Kyle Orton is now the starting QB, as Hutchinson got cut. In fairness to the Bears, though, there wasn't much else out there.

NFC South
1) Carolina Panthers (13-3): The most complete team in the NFC this season. Injuries robbed them of a chance to defend their division crown, and bad officiating robbed them of a chance to make the playoffs and defend their conference title. Carolina should roll through the division.

2) Atlanta Falcons (10-6): The Eagles and Panthers have shown teams the light: take away the run, and make Mike Vick throw. Vick can make plays with his arm. It's almost even money on whether the play will be good or bad, though.

3) Tampa Bay Buccaneers (7-9): Tampa is on the right road with rebuilding. They will begin to see payoffs this year, and they should be playoff contenders in '06.

4) New Orleans Saints (5-11): The Saints have nowhere to call home. That's going to loom big for these guys. One of their "home" dates has already been given to the visiting team. Gee, I wonder if there will be more Giants or Saints fans at the Saints' home opener in Giants Stadium?

NFC West
1) Seattle Seahawks (10-6): Mostly on the back of Shaun Alexander, who is playing for a big payday in '06. After watching teammate Walter Jones get the franchise tag for seemingly the last ten offseasons, Alexander got the 'Hawks to agree not to tag him next year as part of his signing the tender.

2) Arizona Cardinals (9-7): Laugh all you want. The Giants were in the playoff hunt until the Eli Manning Experiment started. Kurt Warner is now under the tutelage of a guy who resurrected old gunslingers like Jeff George and Randall Cunningham. Arizona has a slew of good young WRs too.

3) Saint Louis Rams (8-8): Could be higher. If their head coach wasn't Mike Martz. Some people think Tice is the worst coach in the league. I think Tice might be the dumbest, but he knows his limitations. Martz is worse in my book, simply because he doesn't realize quite how dumb he is.

4) San Francisco 49ers (2-14): Wow. These guys used to be good. I mean, really good. Now, they're horrendous.

PLAYOFFS
AFC
Wild Card
Oakland over Buffalo
Kansas City over NY Jets
Divisional
Pittsburgh over Kansas City
Indianapolis over Oakland
Conference Championship
Pittsburgh over Indianapolis

NFC
Wild Card
Atlanta over Minnesota
Seattle over Dallas
Divisional
Philadelphia over Seattle
Carolina over Atlanta
Conference Championship
Carolina over Philadelphia

SUPER BOWL XL
Carolina over Pittsburgh

Serendipity '00

2005-08-08T20:34:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been a while since I've put anything here, and since it's getting close to the best time of the year (pennant chases, football, and Oktoberfest), I figured I'd try to piece together a story from my freshman year of college. These stories are slightly harder to recollect, because most of the people I hung out with my freshman year left school before the end of first semester my sophomore year.

Serendipty, as explained here, is cool as shit. This being my first year, I wanted to find out exactly what the deal was. I took the first two nights easy, because I was playing baseball (well, I was on the team and I wore a uniform), but Saturday night was circled on my calendar, for the obvious reasons of music and drunkenness. Rain nearly threw a monkey wrench into my plans to get obliterated, as the end of the first game against Randolph-Macon and the entire second game were rained out. They had no contingency plans to stay until Sunday, though, and wound up coming back on Monday to finish up the games.

The rain also put a kibosh on the band, Cowboy Mouth. Guilford had a thing about bringing in shitty one-hit wonders to play Serendipity. The year before I got there, the music was Biz Markie. Granted, I'll bet more of you can sing words to "Just a Friend" than "Jenny Says". And the titles don't count, cheaters. So the music getting rained out was far from a total loss. It just meant more time sitting around drinking before going to the Apartments Party.

As another little aside, my ex-girlfriend had wanted to come over and "hang out" Saturday night. She came by because allegedly one of the guys on Randolph-Macon's baseball team had hooked up with one of her friends, and she used that as an excuse to come by campus. I talked to her after the games were cancelled, and told her that I was swamped with homework, and couldn't party that night. For the record, the first thing that I did when I got back to my room was grab a beer.

Milwaukee's Best Ice is a shitty beer. Jon, one of my friends, had a case of it, and decided that he didn't want it. I mean, it was only $10 a case, but $10 in college is a lot of money. That's like, two hours of work-study. So now, me and my roommate Adam have a gift case of beer to drink before the Apartments Party, instead of having to go raiding under the mattresses for loose change. We decided that the best way to drink the beer is via funnel, since we wouldn't taste it as much. So, after dinner, we go into Jon's room, pop in Billy Madison, and start funneling beer.

Me and Adam go pretty much beer for beer through the case. I think Jon and Dan Freeman each funneled a beer, and Adam passed the last beer to me. At some point, Jon left me and Adam in his room to go check out the party at the Apartments. He came back to tell us that things were going good out there, and that we should head over. We stumbled out of Milner and went to the party.

My friend Aaron was hanging out with a couple senior girls we both knew from orientation. I saunter over to talk to Aaron, and go upstairs to see what the girls have to drink in their apartment, since obviously I didn't drink enough before I went out. I also happened to notice that there was a rather cute looking girl hanging out with the senior girls (for the life of me, I can't remember their names). At some point, it comes out that the girl is the younger sister of one of the girls I knew. I decide that I am going to mack on this chick.

Just for reference, most of the people at the party were upperclassmen, who hadn't had to play in (or dress and sit in the bullpen for) a varsity collegiate sport that afternoon, so they had been through Serendipity before, and started drinking at around noon. I showed up to the party at around 11, and was quickly singled out as Drunk Guy. Yup, one of those nights. But I digress.

At any rate, me and this girl hit it off pretty good. Younger sister wss college age, so I figured that everything should be on the level. Me and her danced some, and hit on each other. At some point, I puked a little on myself. I tried to pass that off on my friend Jon, who held his liquor worse than I did. I don't know if anyone bought it. I really don't think they did.

So, at some indeterminate point later in the night, a bunch of my friends decided that they were leaving the party. I remember telling Aaron that I wasn't leaving, because I was going to hook up with the younger sister (don't hold me to this, but I think her name was Claire; at least, that name sticks out for some reason). Given my rather inebriated (shitfaced, if you will) state, Aaron was rightfully skeptical. I think he bet me $5 that it wouldn't happen. I accepted the bet, and stayed at the party.

So, probably a bunch of other stuff happened. At this point, it's really anyone's guess. My next "clear" memory is lying down on the couch in Older Sister (Heather?)'s apartment, and Older Sister coming up to me and saying that I could sleep on the couch if I had to, and inviting me to puke off the balcony if the need arose. I figured that if it looks like I'm cashed, I'm not going to get any action, so I decided to sit up. Fortuitous timing, it turned out, because Younger Sister came into the living room, and sat down beside me on the couch.

We soon start hooking up. And really going at it. I mean, full-on groping. Have you ever been to a party, and seen two people all but undressing each other on the couch? That was us. After I almost had my hand up the inside of Younger Sister's shirt, Older Sister comes by with her roommates, and says, "OK! We're going for a walk now." We wish them a great time, to which she replies, "No, we're going for a walk now", and indicated that me and Younger Sister were included in that "we". I tried to pull the "let's sneak back to my room" card, to which Younger Sister said that she had to sleep at the apartment. Me, being the gentleman that I am, offered to walk her back. She didn't buy. I figured that I had probably worn out my welcome with Older Sister, and decided to call it a night.

So, let's recap: I lied to the face of my ex-girlfriend, funneled about 12 beers, puked on myself, and still managed to hook up with a girl.

Aaron still owes me $5.

Sojourn to Bethesda - Jeff's version

2005-06-19T16:14:00.000-05:00

So, we spent this past weekend in Bethesda, MD, outside of Washington, DC. A couple things about Bethesda: it's expensive, and it sucks.

Why did we go to Bethesda? Because that's where our friend Clark lives. Clark had come up to Philly for the men's lacrosse championships at the end of May, and we wanted to come down and hang out at his place for a weekend. Kurt got the great idea to do a power hour (shot of beer every minute for 60 minutes) on Saturday, so I spent the week before getting a CD ready for the event: 60 one-minute song clips.

So, Friday rolls around. I finish the CD, pack, and then get the essentials: 60 Rolling Rocks, ice, and a cooler. Kurt gives me shit for buying beer in cans. Apparently, beer only comes in bottles and kegs. That many bottles would have possibly been disastrous. More on that to follow.

Clark bought 48 beers to get us started, and he had started drinking while we were on the road still. We get to Clark's house, and he had set up a closet door as a beer pong table. Clark started calling friends, and managed to get a couple girls to agree to come over. The girls didn't make it until about 10 or 11. We had been drinking since 8. I'm surprised that they actually wound up staying until the morning. We also pissed off the Domino's delivery guy. Two medium two-topping pizzas was "on special" for $19.99. What a crock of shit. The delivery guy wasn't thrilled with his $1 tip. Whatever, if you guys weren't price gouging as it was, you might have gotten a decent tip.

We played a lot of beer pong, and the girls were bad. I mean, really bad. It was a big deal when the balls actually started hitting the outside of the cup. One of them actually made a couple shots. Since the girls sucked at beer pong, they wanted to play Asshole. We didn't have any cards at the house, so me and Clark drove to Eckerd's to get cards. My dumb ass sees McDonald's is having a 2 for $2.22 special on quarter pounders. I should have just gone home and eaten more pizza. Fucking McDonald's.

We get back to the house, and start playing Asshole. We are all ridiculously wasted. Near the end of the game, I feel Ronald's Revenge coming back to get me. I am such an idiot. I try to make it outside before I puke, and am marginally successful, in that I make it just out the door before I start puking. I can hold back most of it, but yeah, definitely puked on the deck. I made it to the bushes to get the rest out. I really don't remember what else happened after that, but I woke up on the futon in the basement in the morning.

Saturday is Power Hour Day. We pull ourselves together, and decide to go to see Clark's parents to raid their kitchen for food. Clark's family is remodeling their kitchen, so the fridge doesn't have much on it. Disheartened, we go out to buy lunch. We get home, shoot a game of pool, and right as the clock hits noon, Clark decides that it's time for us to start drinking again. We play a few games of beer pong, and then everyone cashes out for a couple hours to nap. We wake back up, buy meat for burgers, and play more beer pong as we fire up the grill. We eat, and then realize that we don't have enough beer to do a power hour and have people hang out. We go to the beer store for 36 more beers, and get more meat and cups.

Power Hour time comes. We are obnoxiously drunk, singing loudly and drunkenly, and getting especially loud during whatever profanity was available in the songs. I'm sure that made the families around Clark's house real happy. After the power hour, we are obviously smashed. Somebody, maybe Clark, accidentally broke a beer bottle. This kind of stuff always starts small.

Suddenly, we start throwing beer bottles all over the concrete. We broke a good five or six bottles in Clark's yard. I KNEW cans were the way to go this weekend. And I was right. I decided I wanted to break a bottle off the fence separating Clark's house from his neighbors. The bottle sort of sailed, and bounced off their house, instead of the fence. I suppose that it doesn't help that we followed that by destroying a chair in Clark's backyard.

Clark has two friends coming by. They are not quite aware of the drama, and are just in time to deal with the cops. The cops were probably there just to fuck with us, and make sure we weren't about to blow up the neighborhood. I was taken next door to clean up the glass from the bottle and apologize to the neighbors. The husband didn't seem too upset. His wife was pissed. And probably had never heard a gunshot, because she said that she thought she heard a gunshot when the bottle broke. The cops told me to come back in the morning to clean up the rest of the glass. Since they didn't run my license, there was no chance of that happening.

Obviously, after that, we couldn't really stay out back and be loud and play beer pong, since the cops have already been called out, and know that we're drunk. We spend the rest of the night shooting pool in the basement. Clark and his friend Shannon apparently have a thing going where they write all over the other guy if he's passed out. Clark cashed out at around one. Shannon wrote "I love cock" on Clark's head, "DSLs" on Clark's cheeks, and "I got you!" on his leg.

Now, the crazy thing here is that the principal parties involved are all at least a year out of college, and gainfully employed, and yet, here we are, acting like 19 year old college kids. At some point, I'm sure we'll stop doing stuff like this, but I'm not sure when. Maybe after 45.

Serendipity '02

2005-05-10T22:43:00.000-05:00

This is probably one of my funnier stories, and it's probably as funny as it is because I actually remember very little of it. A lot of this is hazy recollections of things that happened to me, which were then augmented by people laughing and saying things to me along the lines of, "Man, you were wasted when I saw you last night! You were so drunk you were (insert funny/awkward/embarrassing act here)!"

A little background on Serendipity: it is Guilford College's big party weekend. Serendipity was so big that it got Guilford into Playboy's Top 10 Party Schools, pretty much just because of Serendipity. It is a weekend in which excess is exceeded. And exceeding excess is expected. Or something.

Anyway, I had gone pretty crazy during Serendipity my freshman year (I'll probably post that story at some point), but I missed out on Serendipity my sophomore year due to baseball. Freed from the shackles of competitive athletics my junior year, I intended to make up for the missed weekend the previous year.

The girl I was dating at the time, Jana, would regularly stop by my place on her way home from her college most weekends. Since I had been talking up Serendipity for about a month, she was obviously keen to see what I was excited about. I made it abundantly clear to her that this may not have been the best idea, given her attitudes toward my drinking (she didn't like it too much), and given how much drinking I had planned for Serendipity (about four solid days). Regardless, she came anyway.

Saturday of Serendipity is generally the craziest night, for obvious reasons. No one has classes, everyone can blow off homework for a day, and most of the professors know better than to assign anything over Serendipity weekend anyway. I decided I felt like drinking a case of beer that Saturday (in North Carolina, 24 beers is a case, as there are no 30-packs available for purchase). I had gotten inspired from a couple nights of putting back 14-16 beers a month ago, and I figured that an extra eight beers wouldn't do that much to me. None of my suitemates think I can do it. I call almost all of them assholes. One of my friends suggests that I won't make it past 18 beers. It's getting personal now.

I start drinking at around 2pm on Saturday. The only real break I take is when me and my girlfriend go out for an early dinner, at around 5. I've already had about 8 beers by this point, as I figured I'd try to get as much in me as possible before I ate, and then I'd have food to absorb alcohol and aid me in my quest. After dinner, I come back to the suite, and get right back in the saddle. After about 12 beers, I begin to tell everyone who cares to listen to me, as well as quite a few people who probably didn't, about my intentions on finishing a case of beer. After about 16 beers, my girlfriend went into my room, probably because she sensed the train wreck approaching. I obviously didn't.

The big finale of Serendipity is the Apartments Party. That is, everyone on campus goes to the apartments in the back of campus, and drinks to his or her heart's content (or stomach's discontent). I drag myself over there, 18 sheets to the wind, with the last six beer cans bouncing around in a book bag. When I get to the apartments, I run into a guy who I had played baseball with the year before, who no longer went to Guilford. He had also gone to high school with my girlfriend. I remember telling him that I would bring her out to see him. I went to a friend's apartment to use the phone to call my room. I call my room until my girlfriend answers. I figure she let the phone ring through four calls because it was my phone. I am probably partly right, the other part was she was actually asleep when I first started calling. I told her about seeing Kiel, and said that I would come back to my suite to walk her back to the party. I go back to the party, and either become the center of attention, or find something that seems more entertaining to me than walking all the way back to my suite and then back to the party. I'm not sure which it was, maybe Kurt remembers. I'll try to get him to post his memories of that night, because he was one of the people who filled in a lot of the blanks for me.

Speaking of blanks, my last conscious memory of the night is being at the apartments, playing around on one of my friends' computers. The next thing I knew, it was 12:30 in the afternoon on Sunday, and my girlfriend was apologizing to me. As if my head didn't hurt enough to begin with.

The events that have been told to me shook down something like this. By the time I'd gotten 23 beers down, Kurt and Dan began to wonder if I'll ever be able to leave the apartments. Kurt said he got me moving back to Bryan by saying that I had to drink the last beer in the case in our suite. I apparently thought this was the best idea since sliced bread. We headed back to Bryan, although I was barely ambulatory at that point. Kurt told me that him and Dan actually had to put their shoulders under my arms and help me walk most of the way, in the way you see trainers help injured football players off the field. Oh, and that they had to lift my feet up to get me to step over the curb in the parking lot, because I apparently couldn't negotiate the step on my own.

We made it back to Bryan without any major mishaps, even though I voiced my desire to pee on cars rather loudly as we walked past a couple campus security officers. When we got back to our suite, Jana was waiting for me outside my room, and she apparently was rather upset that I had called her, woke her up (in my defense, I didn't realize she was asleep), and then forgot to come get her. Kurt swears that I started walking towards her, saw that she was angry, and then immediately veered off to start talking to a bunch of my friends, including a girl who had a tendency to get drunk and try to get me to sleep with her. This obviously did little to calm down Jana, and when I actually tried to talk to her, after finishing beer #24, she was not pleased with me.

The following is the reason for Jana's apology, as she told it to me: when I decided to talk to her, she was angry, and wanted to know what happened to me coming back to get her to go see Kiel. When I told her I forgot, she said something along the lines of "I guess I'm easy to forget about when you've been drinking." Which, to me, is patently unfair. Granted, I did cheat on her once, and it was when I was drunk, but I drank on a regular basis in college, and one time in two years is doing a lot better than most people. Besides, she decided to stay with me after I told her about my cheating, and she also knew well in advance that I was going to be plastered that weekend. Enough of my rationalizations. I apparently flipped out, and we got into a huge argument. Jana told me it got to the point where I was ready to sleep out in the quad of Bryan, or something like that. She eventually calmed me down enough to get me to bed.

There are times that I wish I didn't get as drunk as I did. This is one of those times. I had a major, almost break-up worthy fight with a girl, and I have absolutely zero recollection of it. All I have is my friends telling me what they heard and saw before they went somewhere else where people were still having fun, and what Jana was willing to share with me from a rather emotional night for her. But, then again, if I didn't get that drunk, things probably wouldn't have shaken out the way they did, and then maybe I'm out a great story. C'est la vie.

Random Thought

2005-04-02T11:08:00.000-05:00

I was at the bar last night, and sort of watching the Sixers game between Jager bombs, SoCo and lime, and pitchers of Yuengling, when I saw the new Hit-a-Way commercials. Something seemed missing, and I realized it before the end of the commercial: Fred McGriff.

That's right, Fred McGriff. Specifically, McGriff in that ridiculous blue mesh hat he wore in that Tom Emanski baseball commercial. I think I am only going to buy products that Fred McGriff pitches while wearing that blue hat.

Maybe not, though. I think that excessively limits my options. A much better idea would be for more advertisers to get McGriff and the blue hat to sell their products. Seriously, who wouldn't buy something endorsed by this man?
The next big thing in advertising.

It's time-tested. The commercial has been airing for like 14 years. Come on, people. No more B-list pitchmen, like Carrot Top or the Jeopardy Guy. Just give me McGriff and the blue hat.

Fourth of July '04: Wildwood

2005-03-27T00:22:00.000-05:00

Just for the hell of it, me and Josh, one of my coworkers at the time decide that it would be a good idea to get a hotel room in Wildwood for the Fourth of July. Of course, deciding this on July 3rd kind of limits our options, but whatever. We both had the 4th off from work, so after he got off at 7 in the morning, we drove down, and started hotel hunting.

We found a room that was $100, which, for the Jersey shore, on a last minute lark, during the holiday, wasn't terrible. Especially considering the first few places we checked out wanted close to $200. Also, neither of us planned to be in the room long, other than to take a nap before going out, and obviously for a place to crash after the bars.

The afternoon was rather uneventful, just a quick trip out to the boardwalk for lunch, before passing out for a nap. We wake up at around 6, and head to McDonald's for dinner. I will be regretting that one tomorrow.

Me and Josh go bar-hunting. We find a place that is advertising "beat the clock" night. Intrigued, we go inside. The special is that beer starts at $.25 a bottle at 8. It goes up a quarter every hour. This is right up our alley. The bar, however, is totally dead. Undaunted, we go back to the hotel room, and do a power hour. We make it back to the bar at about 9:30, and proceed to get positively shitfaced. We're just walking around, pounding back a beer every 10 minutes or so. With the added effect of the power hour, I am barely functional, and Josh is even worse. For some reason, the ladies weren't feeling us that night. I have a sneaky suspicion that us barely being able to communicate with other people played a major role in that. Josh left before me. Josh doesn't remember leaving the bar, or going back to the hotel room. I don't remember the walk back from the bar.

I get back to the hotel room, and Josh is passed out. I decide to go for a walk down to the beach. I just like to get out and do stuff like that when I'm at the shore, regardless of time or state of consciousness. Obviously, there are very few people (read: no one) out on the section of beach I am at at 3:30 in the morning. I just kind of zone out for a while, before remembering that I have to get some sleep before we drive back, because I have to work the next day at 2. On my way back to the hotel, some random guy on the boardwalk asks me to go out on the beach to smoke weed with him. I don't smoke weed, so I'm not interested. And if I did smoke weed, I wouldn't trust some person I don't know to supply me with weed. I had enough pot head friends to know the "always know your dealer" credo.

Anyway, fast forward to next morning. I wake up, take a shower, and start to pack. All of a sudden, Ronald's Revenge hits me. Those double cheeseburgers I ate don't mix with Coors Light, apparently. A full 45 minutes after waking up, I am puking in the hotel room toilet. This sucks. We check out, and start driving back. We get maybe five miles inland before I make Josh pull over. It is 10am, and I am puking into the bushes on the side of the highway in broad daylight. I am very unhappy with McDonald's right now.

The moral of this story is: Jeff shouldn't eat McDonald's before a night of drinking. Jeff forgets these sorts of things, though.

Terri Schiavo and my hatred of politicians

2005-03-22T21:45:00.000-05:00

This is an issue over something that shouldn't be an issue: a person's basic rights.

All these self-important, pompous asshole conservatives who want the government out of their business have decided to put the government in someone else's business. The irony would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

As soon as these jerkoffs get the chance, they will go back to being smaller-government budget hawks. But right now, there's morals to uphold!

I hate politics.

Drinking Story: My First Legal New Year's Eve

2005-03-10T23:17:00.000-05:00

Dateline: Philadelphia, PA, December 31, 2001. I am now finally able to celebrate New Year's Eve the way it was meant to be spent: drunk in public singing "Auld Lang Syne" with a bunch of other drunks at a bar. I ran into a little problem, however: I didn't have any other friends around me who are also 21. One of my friends from college lived in Philly, and he said he knew some places that he could get into. He also lived about a block and a half off South Street, which is one of the more famous drinking areas of the city. I decided to take him up on the offer, since he was also giving me a place to crash. This is the recap of the night (as best I can recall):

I get to Aidan's house at about 8pm. We shoot some pool, and drink a couple beers, just kinda killing time. We venture out onto South Street at about 9. Most of the bars are carding already. I try to talk my friend in, but we're getting nowhere. We finally find a restaurant that isn't carding, and we start drinking. After two beers and a Jack and Coke each, we venture back out into the Philadelphia night.

We kind of wander around aimlessly for a while, down to Columbus Avenue. I'm not entirely sure when we turned back towards the city, but I'm pretty certain we walked past the Ben Franklin Bridge. As we're coming back towards South Street, we find a sketchy looking bar. Perfect. We go in for drinks. And are the only white males in the establishment. We have a couple drinks, get a couple funny looks, and then continue on our way.

On our way back, we run into a bunch of people who went to my high school. I am fairly drunk, and am rather chatty. The girls do not seem thrilled to see me. I am perplexed by this, and continue to talk, until it hits me: these girls are friends of my psycho ex from high school. I cut myself off mid-sentence, and go searching for another bar.

We get back to Aidan's house before we can find another bar that will let Aidan in. We decide that our best bet is to hit up the restaurants. Aidan and I both have not had anything to drink in a good while, and he suggests shots of Jim Beam before we head back out. I can only handle one, as all he had for a chaser was red wine, which I detest. Aidan knocks back a second shot, and we head back to South Street.

We find another restaurant that will serve us. Two beers and a tequila sunrise later, it is approaching midnight. We head down to the Penn's Landing footbridge, and watch the fireworks. Aidan, being the stoner that he is, manages to find the group of people smoking weed in that mass of humanity, and takes a toke. I sense bad things coming. We walk back, and run into some girls who tell us to meet them at Fat Tuesday's. Maybe my sense was off.

Fat Tuesday's is carding. Time to find another bar. We try going back to the restaurant we started the night out at. Aidan tells a bunch of junior high kids to come with us, because he'll buy them drinks. I realize that my first instinct was right. And, of course, the place we started at is now carding and charging a cover. Bloody hell.

The next stop is rather amusing. Me and Aidan find ourselves in a fairly classy establishment. And we are both rather smashed. We start talking to some guys in their mid-30s. Aidan is in full-on drunk bullshit mode. He tells these guys that he's a 29-year 0ld stockbroker. I am too drunk to care, and just go along with it, as long as the bartender keeps the beer coming.

We make one final stop for the night. The really funny thing is, I'm about 99% sure there was a bouncer there, but me and Aidan just walked right by him while he was checking other people's IDs. We sit down at the bar, and continue to pound back beers. After two beers, Aidan says, "Watch my beer, I'll be right back." Aidan does not, in fact, come right back. I decide that I shouldn't let his beer go to waste, and start to polish it off. Last call comes, and Aidan still hasn't come back. I wander through the bar, checking out the upstairs and the bathrooms, looking for a passed-out Aussie. No such luck. So, I am at a bar in Philadelphia. I am far too drunk to drive down the block, let alone all the way back to New Jersey. And now, the guy who knows the door code to his house is no longer with me.

I go home, and Aidan's brother is still up. I ask him if Aidan came home. He tells me no. I should have just said "Fuck it" and passed out at this point, but instead, I intrepidly venture back out into the night to find Aidan. I cover about 10 blocks on South Street, but do not find the Aussie.

When I knock on the door of Aidan's house this time, no one answers, and the lights are off. Seeing as how it is about 3am, and I am in no mood to piss off my friend's parents by ringing the doorbell, I sit down on the porch to mull my options over, and also hope that Aidan stumbles by. Philadelphia's finest show up first, though. Apparently, one of the neighbors called the cops, and told them I was trying to break into the house. Yeah, like any thief knocks first, and then sits down on the porch, facing the street. Whatever. I try to explain my situation to them, hoping to mask how obviously drunk I am. My one thought is that I am spending the night in the drunk tank.

Luckily for me, the cops are women, and in a fairly good mood. They merely inform me that I either can go inside, or go somewhere else. I decide to walk to my car. The cops decide to follow me. I unlock the door, and make a big show of tossing the keys onto the passenger seat. I am not about to get tossed in the slammer for an attempted DWI. The cops go on their merry way. I go back to the house to make one last knock, and if no one answers, I am sleeping in my car. Aidan's brother answers the door this time. I tell him I couldn't find Aidan, and promptly go upstairs and pass out.

I wake up somewhere in the neighborhood of 7:30 in the morning. The bedroom I slept in had big windows that faced east, and I didn't think to pull the shades before I passed out. The sun is beating on my eyes. I open them. Big mistake. Instant headache. I feel like total shit. I sit up, and see Aidan walk past my room. I get up, and try to figure out what the hell happened to him at the bar and afterwards.

Aidan is worse off than I am. He doesn't know what happened, only that he came to walking around Philadelphia a good 40 blocks from his house at about 6am. And he only remembers walking into a diner or a police station, he wasn't sure which, and then walking back out and getting a cab back to his house. He is exhausted, and passes out. His room doesn't have the sun. I can't fall back asleep in the room I'm in. I wind up giving up on falling back asleep, and just drink water in hopes of sobering up.

I leave at around 11am, and I feel like I'm trying to beat the clock, before I pass out from lack of sleep. I make the horrible mistake of deciding to catch 676 back to 95, because that takes me right across the route of the Mummers parade, which I had completely forgotten about. Sitting in traffic watching string bands strut by absolutely sucks. Doing it with a pounding headache and an impending sense of doom is even worse. I am beginning to get worried that I will just pass out asleep in my car before I can get back to Jersey. I finally cross the parade route, and drive as fast as I can home. I make it to my bed, and instantly fall asleep.

The lesson learned here: never party with an Aussie on New Year's Eve.

Drinking Story: Half a Handle night

2005-03-06T21:15:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about college is the fact that binge drinking rarely leads to interventions. It's almost expected that, as a residential student, you will get ridiculously drunk about five times a semester. This is about one of those five times, and I went above and beyond ridiculously drunk into the realm of completely shitfaced.

It's the end of my first semester, sophomore year. Most of my friends are living in suites in Bryan Hall. I am still living in a regular room over in Milner. The weekend before finals started, I had left about six beers in one suite, figuring that my friends wouldn't drink them because I always hang out over there. I finish my finals, and go to their suite, and find out that they drank my beer. I am less than thrilled, as I needed what little money I had left for the trip back to NJ.

Since those guys were on my shit list for the night, I decide to amble over to another suite. My friends there were much more hospitable that night. In fact, someone had left about half a handle of Aristocrat rum (I only drink the good stuff) in their suite, and everyone there had more than enough booze. I jump around giddily, and run downstairs to the vending machines to stock up on Coke.

We had just been given 44oz water bottles at a finals study break, and I felt it was the perfect receptacle. I just start dumping in rum and Coke. The night seems to be going fairly quietly, as some people still had finals to take and such. I just keep pouring myself drinks, and hitting up the occasional shot.

I finish off another drink, and go to pour myself another. Problem: the bottle is empty. Big problem: It had close to a liter in it when I started. I begin to ask around frantically, to see if anyone else has been drinking the rum, like I hope. No such luck. One guy admits to doing two shots with me, but two shots isn't going to save me at this point. I stumble out into the common room of my friends' suite. My last conscious memory is sitting on the couch in their suite, telling my friend Don that "I am fucking wrecked."

Fast forward to the next morning. I say that, because that's pretty much the way I recall things happening. One moment, I'm sitting on a couch in Bryan, the next moment I'm lying in my bed in Milner. I have no clue how I made it home. My head is absolutely pounding, and my stomach is still doing cartwheels. My roommate is gone, taking a final, so I have no clue what happened to me from about midnight until 11am. Time for my own damage assessment.

The trash can is next to my bed. There is a big pile of paper towels next to the sink. Not a comforting sign. There was a box of Oreos on my desk that was definitely not there when I went out. I am beginning to worry that I went grocery shopping last night. There is a delivery container filled with chicken wing bones at the trash can by the desks. I get pissed at my roommate for ordering wings when I left.

After looking around the room for about 15 minutes, I muster the strength to sit up. That doesn't make my head happy, so I lie back down for another 20 minutes. I sit back up, and check my messages. I have a voice mail from my (then) girlfriend, wanting to know what had happened to me last night. I do not miss the irony of the situation. I make it to my desk, and try to see if she's online. She's taking a final, too. I still have no clue what happened to me last night.

I go to the bathroom to take a shower. As I walk in to the bathroom, I notice that the stall directly opposite the door to the bathroom, which is right across the hallway from my room, is covered in TP. To this day, I am not sure if I am responsible for that or not. When I get out of the shower, my girl is back online. She informs me that I spent a good thirty minutes attempting to hold a conversation with her on instant messenger, and then abruptly signed off. Hence the phone call. One small piece of the puzzle solved. She can't explain the Oreos, though.

My roommate Dan comes back, and proceeds to bust out laughing. He is happy that I cleaned up my puke, and tells me exactly what happened. Well, the part after I made it back to Milner. We spent a good deal of the night running up and down the hallway acting like retards. I got hungry (when I get drunk I get the munch like a stoner), and Dan told me that there was leftovers from the "welcome the new RA" party that our floor had. We stole the chicken wings and Oreos from there. So that allayed my worry that I had wound up off-campus somehow.

I'm not really sure if there's a point to this story, or if it's even that funny. Whatever.

I like beer

2005-03-04T23:51:00.000-05:00

I like beer. I remember growing up, in high school, my friends drank and I did not. They got hammered and I drove them around in my 1987 Dodge Lancer, taped-up back window and all. I could not believe they liked that stuff, it smelled awful and made them puke. How could that be fun?

Well, my first trip to Canada changed that. I was 17, had an ID from a friend who was 6'4 and had curly hair. I was 5'8 and had short hair. But shit, anything works for an ID in Windsor, Ontario.

I had a beer, a Labatt, because that is what you have in Canada. I had another, and felt like a god. One more, I thought, and I would be having sex with ten girls IN the bar. This did not happen.

What happened, you ask? I woke up in Ann Arbor, back in the states, on the couch of a friend who went to Univ of Michigan. He was still passed out in his room when I wokeup, feeling like crap. My "ID" was on the table, and my wallet had $5 in Canadian money in it. I was broke, hungover, and felt ok, all things considered.

Fast forward time to now. I like beer. Let me restate that. I like GOOD beer. I like beer that has a color to it, a nice amber flow. I like beers that are not made in bulk in St. Louis, rather each beer handcrafted in places like Asheville, North Carolina and Fort Collins, Colorado. I love that happy feeling I get when I have three to ten beers, and that feeling when I share a quality pint with friends. Man I love that shit, nothing on earth better, not even fake boobs in Los Angeles.

I don't drink as much as I used to, and it sucks drinking alone in hotel rooms in shit towns like St. Peters, Arkansas, and Fremont, California, but I still enjoy sharing the occassional beer over the phone with a friend 3000 miles away, usually via drunk dialing. Get me a beer asshole! And make sure it has some color to it, unless it's a Rolling Rock or a Heineken, which I like to drink to get wasted because they don't make me feel like cock in the morning.

First bowling night

2005-03-04T23:22:00.000-05:00

Let's hit the way back machine. Like way back, like my towering shots I used to hit during fall ball with a wood bat that would make it almost to the outfield grass. I am talking way back to fall of my junior year, or what I call the best year ever. My boys and I had a dumpy on-campus apartment, which with four dudes is never a good idea for the liver or adipose tissue.

It gets to be the first bowling night of the year, and our impromptu team gets ready. Before this, we needed to find a driver who would be sober. This was always the hard part, and it was rare we found an actual S-O-B-E-R driver, usually instead some douche who claimed to be sober enough to drive my piece of shit back to campus.

To get back on track here, I had been talking with a friend from another school who was going to be in Greensboro for the night, which just happened to be Friday night, the first bowling night! SWEET!, I thought, and my friend Sarah, who happens to be a cute blonde, would be our driver.

So Jeff gets it in his head to ask Sarah to stop by the store on her way to our apartment to get sugar for his morning tea (usually afternoon, when he wokeup). She obliges, and shows us rather confused by Jeff's request, but nonetheless with a 5-lb bag of sugar in hand. Jeff, being the total class act that he is, grabs the sugar and gives her a cave-man like grunt for a thanks, without ever really meeting her. It was quite funny seeing the train wreck from like 10 feet away, I was in the hall doorway waiting for her to come in.

Her and I go to dinner, before coming back to the Apartment for prebowling, 713 style. We down some beers as Sarah stays sober to drive us in her new Honda Accord. Sweet ride for the night, even though if you ask Anchower he would say it is not a cruising mobile.

Just before we take off, we don our Team Hockey Fight hockey jerseys, and for "team unity," Cam makes us all do a shot of Maker's Mark. To this day Kurt and shots don't get along, but I will do them if they are already on the bar and paid for. I hate my friends when they buy me shots.

We take off to the alley, all half-cocked. I already feel quite bad for Sarah, having to put up with drunk indie rock kids all night. We bowl, drink, and drink some more. By the time two hours are gone, we are all quite wasted, except Sarah, being the best person of us all, she doesn't have a drop. Good for her, she is a good person, honestly.

On the way back to campus Cam tells Sarah to "Tap her bumper, she likes it." Cam is referring to Sherman, who is the car ahead of us at the red light. Sarah does not tap her car against Sherman's, much to the dismay of the cheap (back) seats.

We get back to campus and Sarah finally has a beer, then more than one. I don't remember if she was drunk, I doubt it, but I was shitfaced as hell. I mean blitzed off my ass, Kurt drunk as shit. Get the point?

At one point during the 731 party (Eben's apt), I start laughing uncontrollably because a girl walked in whom I'd hooked up with sober (what the hell was I thinking???), and her name was Sarah too. It seemed funny at the time so I call my boy Jeff over, and ask him, "Jeff, what do two blonde Sarah's have in common?"

We laughed uncontrollably for about ten minutes, drinking beer and peeing in 731 bathroom (not at the same time, I don't think). It is now an inside joke, one I should feel bad about, but do not. Like I said before, Sarah was and is by far the best person of that night.

Funny thing is, being as wasted as I was, the next morning my friend Sarah, not nasty Sarah, actually talked to me, and said, and I am directly quoting, "Kurt, you weren't that drunk, even though you drank a lot."

Guess I hold my beer well, not really though.

Drinking Story: Cover Band Night

2005-03-04T18:30:00.000-05:00

We'll crank the Way Back Machine to September, 2003. I am about four months removed from my college degree, and have been living life wildly irresponsibly. At this stage in life, I'm crashing with five friends while looking for a place of my own.

My alma mater's radio station was sponsoring a cover band show. I had friends playing in about four different bands at this concert, so I'm naturally excited. I'm not sure at what point I decided I was out to get royally shitfaced, but these sorts of things tend to sneak up on me.

So I get off work at about 8pm, and head to the closest bar to wait for my friends to pick me up. They're going to be about half an hour, so I slam back a couple pints of Rolling Rock during the wait. We get back to the house, I throw on some clothes, and we head out to the show. Matt grabs two bottles of beer for the five minute ride. Phil, Matt, and I pass these bottles back and forth pretty quickly. I turn up the rest of the second bottle as we pull into the parking lot.

I had just gotten paid the night before. Me at a bar with money in my bank account is always a bad sign for my account balance and my liver. Me and Phil "warm up" with a Screaming Nazi shot and a beer. And I decide, rather than visiting the ATM, I would prefer to start a tab. To wit, I've just gotten to my destination, the night has barely begun, and I've already knocked back four beers and a shot. I think you can see where this one's headed.

I walk around, talking to my friends there, listening to the bands. The opening act is an acoustic Janet Jackson band, which is amusing because Tim and Eric are funny guys. I continue to drink Rolling Rock like I'm getting paid to do it. Which, folks at Latrobe, would work out great for both of us. Between sets, I find Phil, and we find another round of Screaming Nazis. The next act is a Tom Petty cover band, featuring some of my best friends. I am having an absolute blast, dancing and drinking. The guys were good. Someone threw a pair of panties at Eben. I merely point this out because things are beginning to get hazy, and I start having problems keeping memories from this point on in sequence.

I'm not sure what I did during the next break. A guy I was kind of friends with swears I bought him a beer at this point. Yup, it's one of those nights. The next band is a Bruce Springsteen cover band. And they're really good. And I'm really drunk. I sang myself hoarse, and soothed my throat with more beer. I don't remember if another band came on after that or not. Actually, I don't remember anything else that happened that night. The rest has all been pieced together from various sources.

I wake up the next morning, and my stomach isn't agreeing with me. I bolt downstairs and yuke, marking the first time in my life I have puked the morning after drinking. I make it back to my bed, and realize that I have no recollection of settling my tab. Fortunately, I find my check card in my wallet. Not that there's anything wrong with blacking out at a bar, I'd just hate to be that guy that has to come back to settle up the next day because I was too drunk to remember to do it before I left. I go back to sleep, and wake up close to noon, not knowing what happened to me. Phil is more than willing to bring me up to speed.

Phil says he came up to me, and said that the guy we came with was leaving. I said something to the effect of, "Fuck it, I'm going to Wendy's." Phil naturally assumed that I had found someone to drive me to Wendy's. When they left about 10 minutes later, they find me stumbling through a parking lot, walking to Wendy's. At about 1am. Oh yeah. Aidan stopped to help me in the car, and he says I fell down twice walking to the car. I still think he's bullshitting on that one. I never fall walking on concrete. Whatever. We get home, and Phil says he makes some kind of sausage that I eat ravenously. I'm not sure how to take that. Phil then said he passed out, and I was still watching a movie. I had passed out by the time the rest of my friends got home. So they all said I was rather funny at the bar, but didn't say anything else about what I'd done after I left.

For some reason, I had the nagging urge to call my ex-girlfriend that afternoon. I was rather surprised when she called me. We make small talk, I ask her about her night last night, and am rather surprised to find out that part of her night's activities included talking to me on the phone. I am kind of embarrassed about it at first, and apologize profusely to her. She said it wasn't a big deal. I asked her what we talked about, and she told me she couldn't remember. I tell her that she's got a major step on me, because I don't even remember talking to her in the first place. She tells me I need to stop by her place that afternoon.

My one regret about that night is that I wasn't sober enough to remember what kind of game I ran at my ex, because I need to find that game now.

Emusic used to be so much cooler

2005-03-03T20:16:00.000-05:00

I'm going to make a departure from the last two posts, which were pretty much about things that I hate. This time, I'm going to extoll the virtues of the music service to which I subscribe, emusic.com.

How I found out about emusic is fairly amusing (to me, at any rate). I was taking a jazz class the summer betweeen my junior and senior year of college, and I was supposed to listen to two Dizzy Gillespie CDs and write a reflection on them. I am a legendary procrastinator, and the fact that I got to actually searching for these CDs on Sunday evening (the work was due Monday night) was almost a record for me getting something done in advance. So yeah, with less than 24 hours until this fairly significant project is due, I have absolutely nothing done.

Me being the resourceful college student that I am, I immediately start hitting up web searches for track listings of Dizzy Gillespie CDs so that I can download them off Kazaa. One of the hits directed me to a page that not only had a bunch of Dizzy Gillespie CDs, but I could download them directly from the website! It was a paying service, but my first 40 downloads from the site were free, or so they claimed. Anyway, at this stage in the game, I was willing to try anything, so I used my bank card and got the free trial. Two Dizzy Gillespie CDs later, I was coasting my way to an A in jazz class.

So, I had about 25-30 downloads left on my free trial. Time to poke my nose around the site. I find all kinds of stuff that I'd sort of heard of before, but hadn't listened to much. The Get Up Kids, Alkaline Trio, Saves the Day, Yo La Tengo, Hot Water Music, and so on. I am very intrigued. Entire CDs, and unlimited downloads, for $9.99 a month. Chump change, when you think about it. My collection quicky grew. By the end of my senior year, I had probably 80 CDs downloaded.

After a while of no internet access, I went back to emusic. I was saddened to find that they have since changed their subscription plans, with $9.99 getting you 40 downloads a month, $14.99 netting 65 downloads, and 90 downloads coming in at $19.99. One thing I am extremely happy about is that my collection remained intact from my unlimited downloads time, because the computer I had in college had crapped out.

It's pretty funny though, I look forward to the refreshing of my downloads at the beginning of the month with close to the anticipation that I look forward to payday. Anyone with an appreciation of hard-to-find music, who doesn't want to run the risk of getting the Feds chasing you, I recommend emusic.com. It's got some great bands that often slip under the radar of popular radio, and has definitely expanded my musical tastes.

I still yearn for the days when I could download upwards of 20 CDs in a month, if I had the time and inclination, but I enjoy the music that I do download. I could get more adventuresome in the old days, because if the CD sucked, so what? Now, I have to choose the CDs I download slightly more judiciously, as I would be upset to find out that I wasted 10-15 downloads on a CD that sucks. It's still a good system, however, and is probably the only paying download site that I see myself subscribing to.

Why mock drafts suck

2005-03-03T00:37:00.000-05:00

It's still over a month and a half until the NFL Draft starts. Some NFL fans will spend the upcoming weeks reading over the biggest waste of time this side of feeding a pet rock: Mock drafts.

I suppose I could put a whole laundry list of complaints here, and cite various sources around the sportswriting world, but that's much more effort than I feel like going into for the people who are (or, based on the feedback this blog is getting, aren't) reading what gets posted. So, I leave the research up to you, my lazy reader, to do. Suffice it to say, if you came here expecting to read about mock drafts, you will see much of the former, and little of the latter.

Let me first begin by saying that mock drafts are almost always done with the order of the draft remaining intact, which is completely crazy, since teams trade up and down in the draft all the time. Mock drafts simply cannot know which teams will do what, so they forge ahead with the idea that no team will do anything. Allow that logic to sink in: since we don't know what will change, we'll assume that nothing changes.

From there, it seems like any asshole who happens to follow the NFL even a little bit will decide to post his or her mock draft. Never mind that most people don't even know what an NFL draft board looks like, and have never been inside one of the "war rooms" that coaches, personnel directors, and scouts fill during the draft. So these people have no clue as to: a) what players teams value, and b) what positions teams need to address. These people merely make "educated" (this is going to be used in a rather loose sense here) guesses (much more accurate) as to who they think a team will select, if the team even keeps their draft position.

That's right, folks. These people don't know what a team is looking for, and who a team is really looking at, or even if the team will even be picking then, but they are intent on determining who all 32 teams are going to draft.

I could go on, and I probably will. I mean, I still have a good six and a half weeks worth of mock drafts to pore over.

Why bandwagon fans suck

2005-02-28T19:10:00.000-05:00

I live about half an hour outside of Philadelphia. That alone should be enough reason to be a rabid Cowboys hater. And it is. But why is Dallas the team I despise the most out of every other team in professional sports?

It's pretty simple: bandwagon fans. The people who were dusting off the Troy Aikman jerseys and Starter jackets they had purchased the last time the Cowboys won a playoff game the moment they heard Bill Parcells was their coach. The people who came out of the woodwork to proclaim that the 'Boys were back at the midway point of the '03 season, who wound up scurrying off as soon as the Cowboys finished their meltdown with a loss to the Panthers in the playoffs, and were pretty much nowhere to be found this season. Those people sicken me. Why?

Because they're New Jersey or Pennsylvania residents, with no ties to the Dallas area whatsoever, who jumped on the Dallas bandwagon, either in the 70s for the older people, or in the 90s for people my age. The old "Root, root root for the home team" adage makes no sense to these people. And they wonder why I don't take them seriously. These people will never see a Cowboys game at home, they don't know what the Cowboys' local radio broadcast team sounds like, but they're "die-hard fans"? I'm not buying it.

The worst part about these bandwagoners is that they are nowhere to be found when Dallas is in the shitter. I didn't see too many Keyshawn Johnson or Julius Jones jerseys around here this season, but those old Aikman, Emmitt Smith, and Michael Irvin jerseys sure got a lot of mileage last season. Now, look at, in this case, Eagles fans. If anyone plays well on the team, his jerseys will get sold, and will get worn, regardless of how shitty the team is (see: Hoying, Bobby).

This is obviously not an indictment of the Dallas Cowboys fanbase that is actually centered in Texas, or the fans who lived in Texas and then moved on to other cities, and still cheer for their "home" team. This is my opinion on the weasels who live in the Northeast, and whose families have lived in the Northeast for generations, who have decided to hop on the bandwagon. Even though there are eight football teams in the area: the Eagles, Bills, Patriots, Giants, Jets, Steelers, Redskins, and now the Ravens should at least give people in the Northeast enough choices for a team to follow. The people who have a home team to follow, yet choose to cheer for some team that they have no sort of affiliation with whatsoever.

I think that's the best part of being a fan. Sure, it's nice to see the team you root for win, but what good is it when everyone around you is rooting for the real home team, not some team that happened to be good when you decided to start watching the sport? Who can you call up to celebrate the victory with? Who are you going to high-five when your team scores late in the game? Who is going to pat you on the back in sympathy when your team falls short? Rooting for a team should be about all that, sharing the ups and downs. Winning is nice, but there isn't much to it if there's no one else to share the wins with.

This last realization is what has prompted me to switch my rooting interests in baseball. I was a lifelong Braves fan. My parents have pictures of me wearing Braves batting helmets when I was two. I knew the entire Braves roster before we left Georgia when I was four years old. My childhood hero was Dale Murphy, and thanks to TBS, I was able to follow the Braves through the lean years, of the Kent Oberkfells, Dion Jameses, Andres Thomases, Bill Pecodas, Bill Pressleys, Zane Smiths, and Pascual Perezes to the Braves of the 1990s. It was almost a validation of everything I'd ever rooted for when the Braves finally went to the World Series. I went all through grade school being asked why I rooted for the Braves when they weren't any good, and I was damn sure going to enjoy being a Braves fan while they were good. I enjoyed watching the Braves win on a regular basis, but something didn't seem right.

When it came to football, I hadn't developed a rabid following of the Falcons as a child, and I don't remember when I first started actually following the NFL. It was well after my parents had moved us back north, and since I'm pretty much in Philadelphia's back yard, I rooted for the Eagles. They were a playoff team when I first started watching them, back in the Buddy Ryan/Randall Cunningham days, but due to horrible ownership, they didn't get anywhere in the postseason.

When the Eagles finally started putting together some serious playoff runs, I was of course isolated from that as well, being in college in North Carolina. At the same time, I could call my buddies and family back in Jersey, and keep up with what was going on, and celebrate the wins and such with them. I was beginning to realize what was missing, as a fan.

This past football season iced it for me. Sundays were an event, and the three bye weeks the Eagles had this season took forever. Going out was crazy: everyone sang the fight song during games, people would high-five you if you were wearing any kind of Eagles gear. It was something I realized I'd missed by following the Braves in the Phillies' backyard: I had no one to really share the joys of a win, except for faceless people I posted with on message boards. I'm probably going to wind up committing myself into a mental institute later in life because of this, but I'm now switching affiliations, and rooting for the Fightin' Phils from here on out. As much as I enjoyed rooting for a team that won, it wasn't the same as being able to share the experience of a season with other fans of the same team.

This is something that those irritating little bandwagon fans will never understand, and it's the main reason why I don't take them seriously.

About this blog

2005-02-28T12:07:00.000-05:00

What you'll probably see:

- Stories from our college days, as well as some of our ventures into drinking in the real world.
- Two guys busting each other's balls on a regular basis.
- Opinionated rants on anything.
- Occasional baseball stat-geek posting.
- More frequent beer geek posting.

What you probably won't see:
- Smilies, LOL, and such.
- Posts that reaffirm your faith in the good of humanity.

So, that's the general format. We'll probably scrap it and go with something totally different within a month. Anyone with questions, please refer them to my secretary.

My foray into blogging

2005-02-28T11:26:00.000-05:00

First things first. This is my first attempt at a blog. If it sucks horribly, don't be offended to tell me. I can take criticism. Kurt will also be blogging with me. Be gentle with him, he's got a great heart.

Secondly, I feel like I'm still in North Carolina. It's 11:30 here, it has barely begun snowing, nothing is sticking on the roads, and schools all over the area are already closed. What the fuck is this? I used to make fun of the people in North Carolina when they got all panicky and closed schools when the snow started sticking on the grass. I mean, seriously. It almost took an act of God to get us out of school once we got there, and now people are cancelling just because a blizzard is on its way, and probably won't be into full gear by 3pm anyway? Jesus Christ. What is this world coming to, and why didn't it come to this when I was still in school?

That's all for now. And hey, check it out! My first post in my new blog has absolutely nothing to do with the title of the blog! Fantastic start. Oh well, gotta get ready for work. It sure would be nice if they had already cancelled work for the evening, but I guess I'm not so fortunate. Lucky little bastards. Maybe I'll post again tonight, with something a little more in line with the title of my blog. Or maybe Kurt can get something going.