My boy recently had a radio show throw-down with my other boy, Howard Eskin. The topic: Bernard's opinion of Donovan McNabb, his place in the quarterback hierarchy, and his "lack of heart". It was obvious during the verbal spat that both Eskin and Hopkins respect each other, and that much of the emotion and trash talking was in good nature, but it became pretty clear that Bernard really didn't have any proof or logic behind his arguments and was simply spewing biased rhetoric (he is a big T.O. supporter after all). The only real evidence he had to point to was the puking that happened during the Superbowl and again against Tampa Bay.Just for a second, let's ignore the fact that one was during a game where Donovan was running all day at a hot and humid Tampa field with pickle juice in his stomach, and that the other was during the biggest game on the biggest stage of football. Let's ignore the fact that legends like Bill Russell, Dale Earnhardt, and Pete Sampras all had a history of vomiting in their illustrious careers. Let's also ignore that many experts have said it could simply be related to abnormal adrenaline levels. The problem is that "heart" is too often confused with confidence. Bernard Hopkins can enter a boxing fight with all the confidence in the world, stick to his masterful gameplan and execute it to perfection, all the while knowing he is the best fighter. That, to me, isn't heart. In fact, showing heart is the exact opposite: it's when someone knows the odds are against them, that the moment is epic and that all the pressure is on, and that in spite of the fear of failure and nervousness you feel YOU GO OUT AND FIGHT ANYWAY. Anyone can have confidence or say they are fearless, and that's admirable. But somewhere along the line, being nervous or afraid to lose was looked at as a character weakness, when it's not. If you face that moment, if you don't walk off the court early just because your team is losing, if you puke and throw that touchdown pass anyway, if you are getting your head kicked in but refuse to give up, if you fight the whole fight from beginning to end so you're left with no excuses. . . . that is what showing heart really is. I love B-Hop and he's still my favorite fighter, but to say McNabb, with his winning playoff record, has no heart because of indigestion is just wrong. Step off the soapbox, please.
Now that I got that out of my system, it's time to look back at the week that was in a segment we like to call "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly".
"The Good" - Last Wednesday was the first day in two weeks that Jay and I were able to get to Ross Commons to shoot stick. We showed up with a small crowd already playing, including one or two guys we hadn't seen in awhile. Just a half hour into the night everyone left to go see some Will Farrell movie that's coming out (gee, where do I sign up for that), so we had the table to ourselves. Staying on the table, playing at our own pace, not having to deal with retards . . . I wasn't complaining, but at the same time I was thirsty for blood. Two weeks ago, I had played so bad and was so out of it that I had to force myself let a couple guys off the hook.
Just then, the clouds opened and light shone down on the table, and a voice boomed "Let there be Freshmen!" Wouldn't you know it, the same foursome of freshmen I had let out of my grasp, the same group that had huddled together near the table and watched like outclassed vultures from afar a few times earlier this year, walked up the stairs with cues in hand and asked to play us.Jay and I gave a smirk and a nod, and we started playing teams against their top two boys. Three games in and we're playing well, and had it not been for a tough game where I had to make circus shots to keep us in it until I had an unlucky scratch on the 8-ball, we'd be sporting a goose-egg in the loss column. With my back turned to Jay sinking a winning shot in the third, I hear the magic words "So, you guys wanna put some money on the next game, maybe $5 a game?" Now I have my policy (I refuse to play for money), so I immediately shot them down. And wouldn't you know it, they started playing a little better the very next game and we realized THESE LITTLE FUCKERS JUST TRIED TO HUSTLE US!!!! The thought of it still makes me piss my pants with laughter. Despite their efforts to mask what little game they had, we crushed all four of them for the rest of the night. By the time they left, they had eked out only one win against us, and on top of displaying our skills throughout, I got my first run in weeks at the perfect time which absolutely broke their spirits.
Mounting the heads of Freshmen on my wall after they try to hustle me in pool, now that's good.
"The Bad" - Immediately following the Freshmen thumping, we drove back to the house. Of course since it was late at night I expected the parking to be at a premium. Well as we're going up and down the blocks, its obvious that there are a bunch of spots around, but people are such idiots that they are taking up more that one spot. I swear, at least 6 times we saw a space from far away, drove up optimistic, only to find that some idiot in an SUV decided he needed six feet of space on both sides of his ride. It doesn't take me long to get frustrated. Finally, I find a spot down near 46th Street.
Or maybe not. In the middle of the spot were two trashcans, an attempt by someone to "hold" the spot for when they returned. At this point I start ranting and raving in a way that would make Dennis Leary cringe. Most people who aren't familiar with this dick tactic would say to just move the roadblocks and park, forgetting that by doing so you risk finding a brick through your windshield in the morning. It's the ultimate act of urban terrorism, making you too afraid of the possible consequences to exercise your right to park. After finally parking about three blocks further than I would have like to, I made the decision to get what little revenge I could: I walked right past that spot and took one of those fucking trashcans. Fuck that guy. You don't want me to park in your spot? Fine. But at least I can make sure to send you on a Lowe's trip to spend $20 to replace your trashcan you fucking asshole.
Committing an act of burglary to seek parking revenge, that's bad.
"The Ugly" - Saturday the house decided to let loose a little, have some people over, and unwind. And what better tools could a college student use to unwind than Natty Ice, Vodka and a little 151. Everyone in the house with the exception of Jay was there, plus Fred, Polish Dave and John's friend Kirk stopped by. Between the funnel, the circle of death, and pong, there was a good amount of laughter going around.
However, there were two major problems that ended the night early without fulfilling all its potential. First, half the people who came over barely drank at all. Fred came on a mission to not relive his past embarrassment and slowly sipped on two beers the entire night, and unfortunately for entertainment purposes, he achieved success. The lamers sat in the living room most of the night and just watched TV. The other problem was that everyone else who drank sprinted too fast out of the gate and collapsed before the finish line. Here's a tip to all you kids out there: pace yourselves.
One major positive though was that I remembered to bring my camera downstairs and captured some of the car wreck that ensued. Either way, it was a fun night. Who says you have to drink to have a good time?
Now that was ugly.
No comments:
Post a Comment