Showing posts with label college football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college football. Show all posts

Friday, January 9, 2009

You going to the Club?


Watched the game with McGinley, McGinley's brother, McCampus, the Truth ("you going to the Club?") and The Godfather in The Little Bar. Eastern side of bar.

"Drinking water, Truth?," I asked the Truth ("you going to the Club?").

"Big day at work, tomorrow," he said, "I got to get up early."

the Truth ("you going to the Club?") then asked me if I was "going to Club 185" three times in a 20-minute span near the end of the game. Each time I answered no in a more forceful manner. Perhaps the "Club" had more accessible H2O.

McGinley and The Godfather both joined the Truth ("you going to the Club?") on the DWB (drink water brigade) but neither of them asked me if I was "going to the Club?"

Saw two new old-faces bartending. They didn't have old-looking faces. I've just seen them working in there before (but not for awhile). The Butt (girl with the nice butt) and Skinny Exotic (S.E. for short). Skinny Exotic is the bartender that is skinny and looks exotic, in case you didn't know.

I hate Florida so obviously they won the BCS title. Ohio State finished No. 9 in The AP Rankings.

Before they spilled the Gatorade on Florida coach Urban Meyer, the Truth ("you going to the Club?") informed us all that he was taking off to go to the "Club."

- From the desk of Art McGregor

Monday, December 22, 2008

Belton out a bender


By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

Had quite the bender this weekend. Put on a rather nice drinking display. If we were to liken my weekend to an NBA (basketball) game, we'd say (because we are going to liken, if not lichen, this shit) I shot the ball 36 times, made 17 of them, made a handful of free throws, had one rebound (rim shot!) and no assists. I scored 51 points in a losing effort. Will get into the weekend shortly. Seriously. It's a two-day work week for me. Well, three but whatever. Again. We'll get into tha. I promise. I'll even find that missing t from the last word two sentences ago.

If you know anything about me, it's two things: God hates me and I'm the most unlucky sports fan/gambler/fantasy football player of all-time. I'm the most influential sports fan in the history of the world. That's not a joke. Teams I root for FLAT-OUT don't win. I know people enjoy hearing stories about fantasy football almost as much as they like picture-only-posts over at German Village Media that make sense to only one person, but I'm going to give you an example.

I played in the Final Four of my Yahoo! fantasy league the weekend of Dec. 12. I had the No. 1 seed and rolled through the regular season. Then Andre Johnson single-handily beat me with a FRANCHISE RECORD 200-some-odd-yards receiving day. So keep this in mind, the Texans have been around for five or six years and ... and ... this dude had the BIGGEST DAY in the history of the team ... just to beat me. This past week (yesterday) when Andre Johnson wasn't playing against me? He had FUCKING ZERO CATCHES. NONE.

Everything fell apart on Saturday night. This continued into Sunday. This doesn't include when I randomly left Art School Dropout's apartment without saying a word but in full view of everyone. I picked five bowl games this weekend. I won't count the one I won because ESPN pointed out that 94 percent of the country made that pick as well, so no big deal on that one. So I lost the other four. This is almost impossible to do. I picked two favorites and two underdogs. Had I picked any other combination, I'd have won more games. It's pathetic.

I'm an all-or-nothing-type guy. When fucking Belton (Wake Forest player) scored on a god damn meaningless touchdown run when Wake coulda just KNEELED on the ball, I threw myself to the ground and knew it was all over. I really threw myself on the ground. The Godfather witnessed this action. Despite there being 35 other bowl games to go, I knew my goose was cooked. I look forward to Bowl Season probably more than anyone and as of right now, in our 35-man poll, I am in FUCKING LAST PLACE. It's all over. I look forward to looking forward to the Motor City Bowl and the Independence Bowl and even the International Bowl. It's all over now.



God hates me.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Ohio State 45, Northwestern 10


By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

Usually I try to throw out an anecdote from the weekend when recapping the previous four nights. Sometimes it ties together with the rest of the piece, other times it has no bearing or meaning on anything whatsoever.

Too many such examples happened from Thursday, Nov. 6, 2008 through last night.

If I had to pick one, I'd have to pick when The Godfather got lost in the moment singing "Sweet Child of Mine" or My Cousin Kevin (MCK) and his ill-fated plan to get home to Youngstown or The Dr.'s telling his girlfriend (she's a girlfriend) that she's "getting an up-close and personal look on what makes us awesome" or our singing on the train headed back to Wrigleyville on Saturday night or when The Dr.'s girlfriend called him "baby" and we heard her call him "baby" or how every girl in The Only Bar in Evanston went by the name of Emily.

Still, I'm going with two. OK, three.

1. The "Live Your Life" moment at Merkle's.
2. The Godfather's insistence that we check out The Only Bar in Evanston, despite other intel reports.
3. The "I love college football (me too!)" moment.

We got to Cleveland on Thursday night after much consternation. The Godfather and I must have said "nothing is ever easy with him" about 400 times. We got to Mathlete's house (The Godfather's brother) and then walked over to Panini's on West Sixth. Had a few beers and The Godfather and Mathlete went to the game. I stayed behind to drink. Dorothy from Halloween met me and we proceeded to have beers for the next three hours watching the game. I watched far more of the game than her. (Me - All the plays, Her - None of the plays.) Obviously the Browns lost a huge lead and the game and not-so-obviously, MCK decided to meet us in Cleveland. He's another member of the "nothing is ever easy" crowd. He was supposed to meet us in Cleveland at noon on Friday. Instead, he meets us at the bar with his luggage (at the bar) and is looking for his buddy (he was to stay the night with him). Said friend then informs MCK that he's headed back to Youngstown. MCK has no place to stay and ends up at Mathlete's with us. I'd join later.

After the game, The Godfather walked into Panini's with the pissed-off-the-Browns-just-loss face and seemed ready to go home fuck that. He had a beer and spirits (while being drank) improved. He then met Dorothy from Halloween (who went to the same high school as The Godfather). She didn't recognize him. This brought much delight to Mathlete who said, "she's the first person who doesn't know him!" The Godfather claimed she was lying and that she did know him. He then hated on her the rest of the night (behind her back, when she wasn't around). We all had a fun time and some chick in a William Green jersey (with perhaps fake tits perhaps) hung out with us and joined Mathlete and the rest back at his apartment. This girl was someone's cousin. Glad she wasn't mine because you're not supposed to want to bang your own cousin. That's like the 14th amendment so says Moses and Exodus and the prophet Ezekial (What's up religion class!). Due process like what.

I am the biggest Browns, Cavs and Indians fan in the world but I fucking hate Cleveland. I almost made it the entire year of 2008 without going to that Obama-forsaken town. I know a couple attractive girls from Cleveland but ... it's just ... what is the deal? Even when they're wearing jerseys, the girls still look hit. I shouldn't call out the beer tub girl at Panini's because she's an actual human being with feelings and it's mean.

I walked Dorothy back to Kansas and joined the crew at Mathlete's house at about 3:30 a.m. They were eating pizza and playing rap music. I think some mildly unattractive (but not ugly) chick in a Brady Quinn jersey made out with MCK for 11 seconds. I went to bed. Mathlete offered me his bed. I accepted. His brother slept on the floor or couch.

"He did it to spite him," I said.

"Fact," Mathlete said the next morning.

We then drove to South Bend, Ind. for a hamburger at CJ's. The guy working the bar (tough looking Midwestern) brought three packs of smokes with him to work. Three. Cigarettes in Chicago are like $8 a pack. Hamburger was tasty.

Made it to Chicago after I played a great mix on The Godfather's iPod. We were fucking rocking during "Sweet Child of Mine." The Godfather was entirely lost in the moment and for a second I think he thought he was Axl Rose. It was hilarious. I let him have that moment.

Went out with The Dr. to Mickey's. Had 11 beers for the $25 all-you-can-drink 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. price. Saw many a fine bitches including this super hot Italian girl who I see out in Columbus from time to time. Chicago brings it. We basically just drank, watched basketball highlights and talked to friends of McCampus. Got home around 1:30 a.m., watched "The Office" and went to sleep.

It began.

I forgot to wear my jacket to the Ohio State game. I froze. It took forever to get there. The trains were packed. I had a hot chocolate and popcorn that blew all over the place. I also had some sausage before leaving. We sat near a New Yorker who rooted for Northwestern.

We began telling everyone Terrelle Pryor's nickname is "King Black."

It began again.

We walked over to The Only Bar in Evanston following the game. The Hammer told us that the bar was "packed" with "wall to wall" people and that we'd never get in. We seemed resigned to a boring afternoon of pizza, naps and maybe a lame attempt at going out. I was real pleased. The Godfather saved the day saying, "I want to see it with my own eyes. I don't want to make the same mistake President Bush made in 2002 by approving intel he didn't see with his own two eyes." We then went to the bar and did exactly what you expect. Yelled things. The Godfather made friends with strangers. I talked to random hotties (all named Emily) and The Dr.'s girlfriend called him "baby." Penn State lost. Obviously we were the last Ohio State people there come 8 p.m. (ET) and normal people started coming into the "restaurant." We boarded a train and sang songs for about 20 minutes to the delight of all passengers except an old black couple who probably dismissed us as "honkeys." The Godfather took requests and I'm sure his rendition of "Living on a Prayer" is on YouTube somewhere.

We all were pretty wasted at 8:30 p.m. after 6.5 hours of heaving drinking but we went to Wrigleyville and some random bar where a cougar (with husband) attacked Smiles. Smiles let me wear his jacket which was awesome. We then went to Merkles (an Iowa bar!).

Just saw so many random hotties wearing T-shirts from Big Ten schools and a drunk McCampus and crew. I talked to a girl with a Michigan State T-shirt. Pretty much blinders for two hours.

Then it happened.

They played T.I./Rihanna "Live Your Life" about three times and it got awesomer every time. That officially is the song of 2008 taking over "Whatever You Like."

I didn't do this recap justice.

The Dr.'s girlfriend got an up-close and personal look on what makes us awesome.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

They play music at grocery stores


By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

I've eaten lunch at the Giant Eagle Hot Food Bar on Steltzer Road about 14 or 15 times in September. Just noticed something today.

They play music in grocery stores. I hadn't really noticed this since I worked at a Big Eagle in the summer of 1995.

I dig the tunes! In our Columbus market, the music they play is a combination of Sunny 95 (94.7 FM) and Mix 97 (97.1 FM). A more pumped-up version of adult contemporary. I approve. Today they had Annie Lennox's "Sweet Dreams."

The lyric "everybody's looking for something" really means something in a grocery store. Everybody in there is looking for something.

Except me in the summer of 1995. I was looking for nothing.

I worked about 18 hours a week and they were the worst 18 hours of the week. I made something like $65 a week. I got paid every two weeks. I was forced to be in a union. That was awesome. Thanks unions. I really got my money's worth.

I usually worked three or four days a week. My least favorite shift was the 5 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. shift. I'd have to miss the Tribe games! This was before cell phones. Sometimes my mom would come in and tell me the scores. I also always had to work the shitastic Sunday noon to 8:30 p.m. shift and Saturday's from like 2:30 p.m. to 8 p.m. I hated it. I lived about .8 miles from the store. I'd walk there (drive if raining).

I led the league in "giving up shifts." If you wanted to pick up extra hours, I was the guy to see. I would dress in my work outfit, knowing full well I wasn't working and stay away from the house for five hours. Hopefully my mom wouldn't be shopping that night. I took chances.

I'd go see movies or play softball and what not. I finally quit in early September of 1995. I called off sick on my last day. (Of course I did.)

Longest three months of my fucking life.

If you remember college football, it was the time Michigan scored 18-unanswered points in the fourth quarter and beat Virginia 18-17 on the game's final play. I had to be at work at 4 p.m. and there was no way in hell I was missing the end of the game.

The song they played on the grocery store station that summer at least 30 times a day was Rusted Root's "Send me on My Way." They never had a DJ. Just songs 24/7. I don't know how they came up with song orders. I was too busy bagging groceries.

Then again, who am I to disagree?