It was a long weekend in Williamsville, New York. I don’t mean that we had a school holiday that made it a three-day weekend, I mean that there was a ton of stuff packed into a very short two days.
I had a BBQ with no booze whatsoever, I watched a guy get beat down in a way I’ve never seen before, I swung a golf club for the first time in 10 years and I watched a King and his court get bitch-slapped by a German and his posse. All in all, it was pretty awesome.
For a while now, Drama Queen (D.Q.) has been bugging me to let her have a party for her church youth group, nicknamed “The God Squad”, by The Muse. I’ve said many times on this blog that God and I are cool, but I have a real problem with a lot of churches and organized religion. When I say, “God and I are cool,” I mean that I’m cool with God and I hope that he’s cool with me. I push the envelope a bit from time to time, but I like to think I’m a decent dude. Fingers crossed.
Anyway…I agreed to let her have the party and said we would have a BBQ in the backyard. I told her that it was her friends, so she had to do the majority of the cleaning. I didn’t mind her having some friends over, but I was less than thrilled about hosting a fiesta where I couldn’t even have a cerveza or three. I mean, to grill burgers and hot dogs without having a few cold ones is plain un-American. Can I get an amen?
D.Q. mentioned it a few weeks ago and passed out flyers to the group two weeks ago. She indicated that there would be about 10 or 15 people showing up, and on Friday I shopped appropriately. I took Lucy to get groomed Saturday morning and picked her up shortly after 12. About two blocks from home I noticed drops of moisture on the car window.
“Jesus Christ! That’s all I need is rain,” I said to Lucy. My house is filled with boxes in preparation for the move and a houseful of people I don’t know, chilling amongst the clutter and crap was the last thing I wanted. Luckily we only had a few sprinkles and it ended up being a nice evening.
The “10-15″ turned into four plus us, so there was plenty of food for everyone. It was a raging fiesta with the highlight of the night being a game of Sorry in the backyard. They were having fun and I guess that’s what counted, right?
As soon as the last marshmallow was roasted and the remaining two kids were picked up, I grabbed a beer and headed next door to watch the UFC fight. My neighbors (twin brothers–one an IRS agent and the other a cop) are huge MMA fans and I generally go over a couple times a month to watch people kick the living shit out of each other. As you can see from the picture at the top, Saturday night was no exception.
As the early fights progressed, I looked at the IRS agent and asked, “Uh…is this dude coming out to Culture Club?” He turned up the TV and sure enough, someone was walking out to “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me”. His name is Dave “Pee Wee” Herman and as soon as I heard the nickname, I said, “Any guy named Pee Wee who walks out to Boy George has got to be a pussy. I’m taking the other guy.” For the record, I picked wrong. Apparently Pee Wee is one tough mo-fo. I never would have guessed it.
The main event was Junior dos Santos (a Brazilian) vs. American Shane Carwin. Carwin had Junior by about 30 pounds and a few inches reach, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. In the first round Carwin ended up with his face pressed against the cage while his opponent proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the back of the head. How hard and how repeated? Dude broke Carwin’s nose and those marks you see under Carwin’s swollen eyes are cuts from where the cage dug into his skin.
Carwin skipped the post fight press conference so he could visit the emergency room, but on Sunday he had this to say.
“After the second round I knew I was in trouble. My nose made it impossible to breathe, my eyes were full of blood and Junior was still coming at me. When the ref stopped the fight in the third, I thought it was over.”
“When the doctor came in the octagon I knew it was going to be up to me to sell them on letting me continue. I knew I was in deep trouble, but I also knew that all I needed was one clean shot. I wanted to keep myself in the fight. I wasn’t able to see, but I said I could and we continued.”
Yeah, I know it’s horrible and graphic, but it was part of my weekend.
Sunday afternoon my neighbor invited me to go to the driving range with him and for some reason I said, “Yes.” I hadn’t picked up a golf club in 10 years, but it sounded fun, so I grabbed my bag and we headed to the range.
When I lived in Canada I dated a woman who had a 14-year-old son who wanted to start golfing with his friend, so I let him use my clubs. That was a huge mistake. I found out yesterday that not only did he rip off my glove, balls, shoes, towel and anything else I had in the bag, but he also snapped the legs off the bag and bent two clubs. What a douchebag.
Considering I hadn’t played in years, I did OK. I was smacking my driver about 200 yards, when my neighbor handed me his new-fangled oversize driver to try. Holy crap this thing was rad. With little effort I was cranking it 250-300 yards a pop. I wasn’t like Happy Gilmore, but it was pretty cool.
The weekend ended with the NBA Finals. A friend suggested a small bar near my house that had $2 drafts and “cheap but decent food.” I decided to check it out and when I got there I found out that he was wrong. The pints were only $1.50 and they had wings for 35 cents each. The beer was cold, the wings were hot and were more than decent.
I wanted nothing more than to see Dirk feed King James his own cock and I was not disappointed. [For the record, the cock feeding was metaphorical and not literal. In case you were wondering.] When LeBron announced he was going to hold the NBA world hostage and would let his choice be known via an ESPN special, I said to myself I don’t know where he’s going, but I hope to God he doesn’t win a championship. Ever.
All season long I’ve been hoping the Heat would choke and as the playoffs wore on, I did something I never thought I would do and that is cheer for the Bulls. I wanted the Miami Three-way to not even make it to the Finals, but obviously that wish didn’t come true.
Last night, LeBron left the court immediately after the game, not even bothering to shake anyone’s hand. It was a bitch move by a guy who I think is a first class bitch and just goes to prove that having a lot of money and a ton of skill doesn’t make you a decent human being.
bet hope it sucks to be you today LeBron. Who are you going to try and get on your team next season? If he can wait another year, maybe they can add Derrick Rose and Dwight Howard.
As I close this out, I have one final reminder to LeBron. The great players of the past never would have assembled an all-star team. They wanted to do it on their own. Magic never would have called Larry and M.J. wasn’t calling Isaiah. I’m just saying.