Welp, hangover be damned, I’m back to work on Sunday, the first of a six-day workweek coming out of the holiday.
“What, sure, I can take the Sunday shift. The Steelers don’t play until Monday night. I’ll be rested up from three days of solid drinking and gluttony. If anything, I can use the extra headache.”
Goddamn, I’m stupid.
Sure, familytime is a pain but mine is resigned to the fact that we don’t really enjoy each others’ company, and depart not long after dinner and dessert are topped off. Therefore, the rest of the weekend is spent catching drinks with old friends who now live out of town that you see twice a year. Those two times are usually Thanksgiving and Christmas, so the Thanksgiving meeting lacks any sense of urgency because you know you’re likely seeing the asshole again in a month. That still doesn’t save you from 15 of these bar conversations:
“Fuck, it’s been awhile. What, seven months? Let’s see: last time was…what, Easter?…so…yeah, seven. Yeah, I did hear Charlene is getting married. No, I haven’t heard from Jason in a long time. I don’t know what’s up with him. Who? No, never met him. Oh yeah, that LSU-Arkansas game was fucking amazing. Family’s good. Job’s a job. What? Oh yeah, been meaning to see that. No, I wasn’t at that party, remember? That was that weekend I got stuck helping Ralston move. Ooooh, shit, The Great Muppet Caper. Yeah, we must’ve got high and watched that like 15 times in three days. Gonzo’s such a crackhead in that movie. Remember when he talks about sleeping in bus terminals and that he’s doing a photographic essay on kneecaps? Hahahaha…eeeeeeehhhhhh. Anyway, good seeing you, man. I’m gonna go grab another drink.”
The one o’clock slate blows, and the 35-year-old 13-inch Sorny above my desk will be unfortunately tuned to the Redskins-Buccaneers game. I eagerly aniticipate the 17-14 goodness and cursing myself for ever starting Santana Moss on my fantasy team. Last week was a tease, I know it.
Feel free to relate any other early game excitement you may observe. That Saints-Panthers game should allow you to evacuate your bowels sufficiently to prepare you for the coming week.
Four minutes into the game and Santana Moss has already managed to lose a fumble on his first catch. Oh, how I hate the Redskins.
Forgot to mention that, through sheer retardery, I also have Clinton Portis on said team. Yep, he’s fumbled too. The two Redskins in my lineup have produced -4 points through the first quarter. Somebody needs to bomb Raljon.
The commenters mentioned Redskins defensive end Andre Carter just had a kid named Quincy. Hilarity does not ensue. So many jokes not seized upon.
Jeff Garcia is hampered with a pulled clitoris. Can Dr. James Andrews recommend a good OB-GYN?
Hey, Jason Campbell just fumbled. At least Redskins not on my fantasy team are getting in on the act.
Isaac Bruce, whom I started Moss in favor of, has just scored to put the Rams up 16-7 on the C-Hox. And, what’s that? Portis just fumbled again? It’s Black Sunday. All footballs must go!
Pittsburgh native Bruce Gradkowski has entered the game for the Bucs. Probably not destined to make the pantheon of great quarterbacks from western Pennsylvania, but he’d have made an interesting choice as another Bob Dylan in I’m Not There. Anything to keep Richard Gere out of that movie.
The Redskins have been perhaps the worst second half team in the league this season and they now go into intermission trailing 19-3 on the road. I’m guessing this one is pretty much over. But I’m a captive, time-wasting audience, so I must slog on.
If Jacksonville hangs on to beat Buffalo, the Patriots officially clinch the AFC East crown. If the Pats win tonight, I think they clinch the division for next year as well.
I know I’ve been doing a lot of bitching about my fantasy team, but in one of the two leagues I’m in, I started 7-2 and now I’m poised to lose my third straight. I’m the Detroit Lions of fantasy football.
A reader e-mailed us to say that, coming back from a commercial break,
a CBS announcer Steve Beuerlein referred to Titans running back Lendale White as a “USC Thug.” I’m pretty sure he meant MSG Thug. Lendale likes his egg rolls.
Just when the Redskins look like they might make a game of it, fantasy hero Clinton Portis gets stuffed on 4th and 1 inside the Tampa Bay 5. I need lots of rum.
Elisha Manning is presently 11-35 for 178 yards, no TDs and three picks, one for a TD, against the Vikings abysmal secondary. But Jeff Garcia is spotted warming up on the sidelines, so the gay quarterbacks might just ride again.
Scratch that, four picks for Elisha. HE’S GOING FOR THE MANNING FAMILY RECORD!
Seriously, two pick-six throws in 42 seconds of football? Eli’s squash partner is never gonna let him hear the end of this.
At work, I’m trying to knock out a brief about a Green Bay meat company recalling 95,000 lbs. of E. coli-tainted ground beef. So, while I’m stuck miserable at work, at least I can count on all the assholes with the day off eating greasy E.coliburgers.
Just as the Redskins are driving to take the lead, Jason Campbell adds to the Redskins turnover tizzy with a terrible out pattern toss that’s jumped by Ronde Barber in front of, guess who, Santana Moss. At least Unsilent is more depressed than I am.
And Tampa Bay responds with a three and out with three minutes left. Perhaps some third party would like to come in and win this game, as neither of these teams seem very interested in doing so.
Aaaaaannnnndddd Jason Campbell throws another pick in the endzone in front of Santana Moss. Satan toasts Hitler in Hell and pinches his ass.
Huzzah! Bonus coverage of the Rams-Seahawks game. I got to see Joe Gibbs execute poor clock management. Your move, Holmgren.
Oop. The C-Hox hang courtesy to some good old St. Louis red zone ineptitude. Shine on, Scott Linehan.