I Am The Top Wingman In The NBA

On Monday evening I noticed that my friend Bob had just left a voice mail message on my iPhone, the iPhone6.  I hadn’t talked to Bob in months and it was too early in the evening to just chat, so I knew it had to be important.  I stared at the phone, wondering why he called and then it hit me.  The Cleveland Cavaliers had a home playoff game on Tuesday.  Bob probably had an extra ticket and wanted to invite me to the game!

And this would not be just any ticket.  Bob knows Le Bron James personally; there is even something regarding him in Le Bron’s book (Really!).  So these are probably Le Bron’s seats, right behind the bench, next to Le Bron’s friend Jay V.  I imagined myself at the game sitting in that seat. Upon arriving I would say, “What up Jay-V, what up” and then engage him with one of those complicated handshakes.  I could then help our idiot coach by yelling out important instructions such as “Rebound” and “Get back on defense”.  I also would fist-bump Le Bron on national television after he makes the winning shot.

Later, we would be invited to the post-game party where I’m sure there would be plenty of free appetizers.  I would engage in pleasant conversation with the Cavalier cheerleaders, get some selfies with them and possibly get them to friend me on Facebook.  This was going to be so great.

The anticipation of acquiring this ticket was so intense that my hands were shaking as I hit the redial button.  Bob and I then spent what seemed like an eternity catching up on the events of the last nine months, but all I could think about was:

“Bob, the ticket!  What about the ticket? Where will we be sitting at the game?

But the small talk continued, including a story about a death in Bob’s family. I know I should have been more sympathetic, but inside my head:

The invitation, THE INVITATION, for crying out loud, give me the invitation! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!

And then after we had discussed everything else, the much awaited invitation to the game was finally delivered.  Only it wasn’t to go to the actual game, a group of chums from high school was getting together at a bar to watch the game and I was invited to join them.My hopes had been crushed.  I tried to sound excited about this offer, but I couldn’t.  Besides that, this bar was not one of those great sports bars, with the huge-screen TV’s and the busty waitresses with their buns seductively peeking out at you from their tight shorts. 

 

No, this was a dive bar, literally on the edge of town.  The type of bar with the sticky floors that you hope got that way from cheap detergent.  The kind of place where you feel the need to wash your hands – right after you have already washed your hands.  Flirt enough with the waitresses at the fancy bars and you can get an exotic smile, flirt too much at this place and you can end up with an exotic disease.

Regardless of these potential pitfalls, I decide to go anyway.  These classmates are a great bunch of guys and Bob had taken the trouble to call me, so I sort of felt obligated.  However, an hour before game time I get a text from Bob saying he can’t make it, some lame excuse about needing to finish a report for work. Like you can’t tell your boss the report is late because the Cavs had a playoff game?  No, I’m sure Bob cancelled because a friend of his called him up with an actual extra ticket to the actual game. So while I’m at the dive bar Bob is settling in to his prime seat at the arena. Bob you stupid sonavabitch, you.

The good news is the bar was much better than expected.  It was clean, there were many TV’s, and the waitress was reasonably cute.  She actually began flirting with me, which of course at my age means she’s getting triple the tip.  The screens weren’t huge and there was no imported beer, but it was acceptable.

But by far the best part of the evening was when my friend Chris ordered the appetizers for our table.  He ordered tacos, pretzel bites, cheese sticks and lots of wings.  And of course these qualify as “free” appetizers since I didn’t pay for them.  Sure I’m expected to contribute when the bill arrives, but while I have my debit card to pay for my drinks, I conveniently left my cash in my car.

The game started and the high school reminiscing and appetizer consumption began.  For some reason the three large plates of wings eventually ended up right in front of me.   Of course I ate a few, but at halftime I realized something very important: When I was eating a wing, the Cavs played great, but when I wasn’t, they were horrible.

Of course I knew what I had to do in the second half. The outcome of this game depended on my consumption of wings so I had to shove a steady stream into my pie hole in this very close game.  I don’t believe it is any coincidence that I had just finished a Hot-Medium-

LeBron extolling me to eat more wings

Barbecue trio when Le Bron hit that critical 3-pointer. 

We won, but then it was a little embarrassing.  When you scarf down too many appetizers, you consume all the evidence, however with wings the plate full of bones in front of you rats you out.  We won the game, so I hoped nobody would notice.

The key to victory!

I told Chris we brought the Cavs good luck, so we had to meet again in the next playoff round.  I suggested we sit at the same table and order the same food.  Chris agreed, but suggested next time I remember to bring some cash.  I said my goodbyes and even exchanged devious stares with the waitress.

Then Chuck, who doesn’t usually say much, pointed to last wing on the table and said “Don, you ate the rest of the wings, you may as well have that one.  While it was embarrassing to get “called out”, he was technically offering it to me, so “Hell yes I want the last wing”. I grabbed it up and quickly left.

The only thing left to say is if my fellow Akron homie Lebron reads this post, as I’m sure he will: Lebron if you have an extra ticket to a future playoff game, please let me know and send it to me directly, because everyone knows Bob is an unreliable sonavabitch.

Bad Team Names That Will Turn Your Skin Red

People seem to be getting all upset about the names of some professional sports teams. Now remember what sports really are: A group of people (called a team), throw, kick, strike or carry, an object (ball or puck) to a designated location (goal, zone, base) in a restricted space (field, court, rink).  Another team tries to prevent the first team from placing the object there.  If the team is successful in placing the object in the desired location, it is awarded points.  These  points, which cannot even be used for free gasoline, have magically been transformed into something that is now deemed worthy of billions of dollars by our culture.

This is not a criticism as much as it is an observation.  Please, I have season tickets for two college sports at my alma mater. However, regardless of how you view the sports world, you do have to admit some teams have terrible, really terrible names.  Here is my list of the worst team names in the professional sports:

MLB Baseball

3^rd Runner Up – (Tie) Chicago White Sox, Boston Red Sox.  It is not very manly when your team is identified by their attire.

2^nd Runner Up – San Diego Padres. Padres spend all their time studying scriptures and performing religious duties.  They have no time for recreation and thus make lousy baseball players.  Plus they are always tripping over their robes.

Trying hard to avoid being hit by the ball!

Winner – Los Angeles Dodgers. This is a great name for a dodgeball team. But a baseball player is supposed to catch the ball, not run away from it.  I picture some “girly-man” running across the field, arms flailing, screaming “Please don’t hit me with the ball, please don’t hit me!” 

NHL Hockey

Dishonorable Mention – New Jersey Devils. Sure, name your team after Satan.  If God does really care about who wins, your team is toast in the close games.

3^rd Runner Up – (Tie) Carolina Hurricanes, Colorado Avalanche. Let’s name our team after something bad that kills people.  You wouldn’t name your team the Denver Diabetes now, would you?

The new Columbus mascot?

2^nd Runner Up – Columbus Blue Jackets.  Who names their team after formal dinner attire? Why isn’t the mascot a preppy wearing a blazer?

Winner – Nashville Predators.  The use of this word is now almost exclusively to describe sexual criminals.  I don’t even want to think about what an appropriate mascot would look like, but I sure as hell am not taking my kids to any games!

NBA Basketball

3^rd Runner Up (Tie) Detroit Pistons, San Antonio Spurs. You name your team after a car part or a boot part?  At least spurs is slang for the whole boots.

2^nd Runner Up – (Tie) Miami Heat, Oklahoma City Thunder. Let’s name our team after something negative associated with our city!

Winner – Cleveland Cavaliers. Don’t name your team after an attitude, especially a bad, irritating, attitude.  This is the equivalent of naming a women’s sports team the Boston Bitches.

NFL Football

3^rd Runner Up – New Orleans Saints. The team is named after a song.  But there are extremely few saints in the NFL and any news report that starts out: “The Saint was arrested for possession of” is just plain wrong.

2^nd Runner Up – Cleveland Browns. The team was named after an old coach.  Good thing the guy’s name wasn’t Rebinowitz! But now you are associated with the color of something that describes how the team has played for the last 50 years.

Winner – Well you know where this is going. Yes, the worst team name in the NFL is Redskins.

But I don’t think the name is racist, I think that it is just plain stupid, really stupid.  You named the team after a skin color. Would anyone name a team the Blackskins? Try the Yellowskins, the Whiteskins or the Brownskins. No you wouldn’t, that would be stupid, just as stupid as Redskins.  It was a dumb name at the beginning and it is still a dumb name.

However, the team has had the name for 81 years.  It is part of team history and is ingrained in the team’s culture and tradition. Because sports are so esteemed in our culture, the earnest sports fans treat it like a religion.  Changing the name of the team would be akin to telling Christians that the name of the savior will be now changing to “Frank”.

A few Indians say they find the name Redskins “disparaging” which means to belittle or bring reproach on.  But I can think of no better way to bring reproach on yourself than to bitch and moan about something this trivial.  If you have survived this “atrocity” for 81 years, guess what, it ain’t going to kill you!  You are belittling yourself, Chief Whinyass.

But I’m a uniter, not a divider. So I propose a 25 cent “stupidity” tax be placed on every Redskin ticket sold and every piece of Redskin merchandise.  The money would go to provide counseling services for people who need guidance about how not to be “disparaged” by this dreadful team name.