floatapalooza tres: where "hey, play that "winners like me" song!" happens ...

“Well it was Friday in the pm.
And just like every weekend,
I was ready to throw down.
Yeah I get a little tore up,
So I called my bros up,
To meet me out on the town.
Well Wild Man Willy
Said I’d like to really,
But “Idol” was on TV.
And Ray had a date
With his wife, and Nate
Quit drinkin’ but he didn’t tell me.

Am I the only one who wants to have fun tonight?
Is there anybody out there,
Wants to have a cold beer,
Kick it til the morning light?
If I have to raise hell all by myself
I will, but y’all that ain’t right.
Its time to get it on!
Am I the only one
Who wants to have fun tonight?”

-- Dierks Bentley, “Am I the Only One”. Its official: the summer of 2011 will forever be known as “The Summer Stevo Officially Admits He Likes Country Music”. Somewhere, my mom is turning over in her recliner at her finally winning one of life’s battles against me …


I am going to open this post by making a somewhat surprising admission.

I love vodka.

No, that is not the surprising admission – I think everyone who knows me has at one point or another, dropped the “why don’t you just get an IV with vodka in it already” blast at me.

And as you would expect someone who views his relationship with a handle of Smirnoff’s as a mutual love to say, I drink a lot. I have a very unhealthy tolerance level for alcohol*. I can definitely handle more booze than the average bear, and be no worse for wear. What can I say, it’s a family blessing.

(*: you laugh, but if you know me at all, you know that statement is absolute fact. Nobody can drink more than me and still be standing at the end of the day. On the other hand, my first hit on the dugout or the blunt, and I am guaranteed to puke. Not the last hit, not even the 50th hit, only the first. It makes absolutely no sense to me either – I can chug with the best of them with no ramifications, but the first inhale NEVER goes down right. Hell, it was a running gag on the couch at Stubbs – “pass the trash can, it’s Stevo’s turn!” I have no idea why I share these things with you, other than I think these are things you want to know. That, and I am one seriously f*cked up individual.)

Yesterday, when we hit our final beaching point on the river, and wound up picking up two really fun people that we closed down Shadow Lake* with, when we reached that point, that moment was without question the drunkest I have ever been in my life without passing out or puking (or both). I literally could not stand up, I was so hammered. I had to crawl back to the boat on the bottom of the river in order to get more booze.

(*: I am beginning to fall in love with that bar. And those of you who know me well, know that I hate bars that are basically dancing clubs. Mainly because I can’t dance worth a damn. Shadow Lake Surf Club? Rocks. Next summer, Shadow Lake, you and me will get acquainted again!)

How did I reach this state of intoxication? Read on to find out …

* For the record, I plowed through about half a case of Budweiser, a case of bottled water, two cases of Gatorade powder mixer … and a whole handle of vodka. By 4pm on Saturday. The vodka handle was full to the top when we left Saturday morning. It was gone with a mile and a half still to float. Yes, I drank a handle of vodka in barely six hours. And other than being unable to actually stand up, I was completely ambulatory!

* Left about 6pm Friday for the river. We had to wait for Melissa to get off of work and make the drive out to Raytown. I was not a happy camper – when I float, I prefer to get there by 5ish, get everything set up when there’s still daylight out, and then meet and greet with the neighbors and enjoy a couple hours sitting in the river, tossing back a couple cold ones, and hitting the dugout. It’s a float trip dammit! Good friends, good booze, good bud, good times!

* Katie had a craving for Jimmy John’s, so we stopped in Harrisonville to get a sandwich and some gas. It took us nearly 2 hours to get from the pool to the Ville. That is ridiculous. Now, granted, we stopped for food and booze, and the lake traffic getting off at the Clinton exit was insane, but it should never take two hours to get from Raytown to the Ville. It is at this point that I said “I’m driving”, and that was that. Barely two hours later, we were checking in at the Beach known as Shady. I may not be good for a lot, but I am fairly certain that other than DJ and possibly Brent, NOBODY will get you to your destination faster than me.

* Since we kind of planned this thing at the last minute*, we had to take what we could find. In this case, Shady Beach in the outskirts of beautiful Noel, Missouri. I cannot think of a more appropriately named joint than Shady Beach. First, because the biggest beach-out area on the float is their campsite (it’s about the halfway point on the 8 miler. If you’ve ever floated the Elk, you’ve beached there at some point.) So they have that going for them.

(*: last minute, as in the “float or no float” question was decided at 3pm Thursday. I should have known that if a joint on the Elk still has space available 24 hours out on the last floating weekend of the summer, and it’s a 100 degree day in the forecast, that it’s probably not the best place to stay. Oh well, the trip itself rocked. Oh, and speaking of rocked …)

What they did NOT have going for them was anyone with a clue of what a float trip should be. We checked in a little before 10pm. The nice security guy then took us to our campsite, which was basically a gigantic rock pile with a little patch of grass. Great. Just great. Like my lower back doesn’t have enough issues. We manage to get the tent up, get the air mattresses inflated, and sit down to have a couple beers. I fire up the iPod, at a sound level that the neighbors could not hear it. I intentionally kept it quiet, since it was pushing 11pm. Didn’t matter – that “nice” security guy came storming up and informed us that “quiet time begins at 11”. No music, period. (stevo sighing in disgust) REALLY?!?! This was a bigger outrage than the bars in Gering have a 12:30pm last call. There’s a word for an 11pm “quiet time” on a float trip – SHADY!

And did I mention that our camp site was a f*cking pile of rocks? Of course, the grassy site right next to us? Went completely unused all weekend. On behalf of my back, which is in traction this afternoon, thanks Shady Beach! You’re the best. No, really – the pleasure of sleeping on a f*cking quarry was all mine, all mine.

After realizing that there were zip, zero, nada party people staying at this place, and pounding a couple beers, I was done-zo. After all, it ain’t a float trip unless I’m the first one of the group passing out.

* The funniest moment from Friday night? It was one of two things. Either (a) all the awful, craptacular 80s music I had downloaded on the iPod*, and realizing that Melissa was not alive for that entire decade of music … but my vote goes to (b) I get to the port-a-potty after having a couple, it’s about midnight, and it’s pitch black in there. I kept trying to turn the handle to lock the damned thing, and kept failing. It was not turning. Thankfully, there was a line behind me, so nobody was walking in but still, you always want to lock the port-a-potty. I go the next morning when I wake up to use it again … and realize that the lock, is a slide handle, not a turn handle. I am a f*cking genius sometimes.

(*: included in the playlist was “Make Me Lose Control” by Eric Carman, “We Built This City” by Starship, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears (you’ll hear them in a video link in a couple more paragraphs. Stay tuned – it is without question my “finest hour” as a “responsible adult”) … and oh hell to the yes, “Soldier of Love” by Donny Osmond. “Like a thief in the night / Who can’t get enough / I am willing to fight / Cause I am a solider of love!” I mean, Jesus, WHO CAME UP WITH THESE LYRICS? And why do I love this song so damned much …)

*Saturday morning, I wake up (as usual) at 7ish, and head outside and fire up the laptop so that the iPod can recharge before the float. When I notice, holy moly, the Beach known as Shady has wifi! Sweet! So I click to log in, and am told I need the password. No big deal, I think, so I head up to the store / check-in place, and ask for the wifi password. Turns out, you have to rent a cabin to have wifi access. After staring at the moron behind the counter with a “really? You didn’t ever consider that folks in a tent might, I don’t know, BRING A EFFING LAPTOP WITH THEM!!!” look, I head back. Shady.

Thankfully, I have enough “Family Guy” and “NCIS” episodes downloaded on iTunes to entertain entire countries. Let alone me for 30 minutes while waiting for everyone to get up and going. My selection? “PTV”. It NEVER gets old. Never. And for the record, I absolutely would watch a Wednesday lineup composed of “You Cheeky Bastard”, “Dogs Humping”, “The Side Boob Hour”, and close the night down with a very special “I Dare You to Crap Off That” episode of “Douchebags”.

That, and calling fellatio a “trowser friendly kiss” is still laugh-out-loud funny six years later.

* OK, ok, fine, since I know at least two loyal readers are saying it after seeing that prime time lineup, here you go. “Check out that side boob! Look at that side boob! How about this side boob? That turn you on? Well it shouldn’t, because that’s my side boob. Good night everybody!”

* Everyone got up and moving, we had some breakfast, and after loading up the coolers, it was off for Floatapalooza Tres! And no, I do not give two sh*ts what a certain person named Dustin says, sticking “palooza” at the end of something is NOT stupid, is NOT gay*, is NOT retarded, and IS cool. So stuff that in your dugout and inhale it.

(*: I checked with Stevo’s Site Numero Dos’s resident gayologist, and he had no issues with saying something was “not gay”. Then again, I’ve never seen Donnie offended by anything, even blatant racists who resent him and/or his orientation, so take that blanket waiver for what it’s worth. And since I haven’t worked this story in yet, this is as good a time as any. I love Donnie because he’s so damned funny. So, at DJ and Kellie’s pool bash disguised as yet another reception, I think I can say, and everyone who was there that day and witnessed it will agree with me, THE funniest moment of 2011 so far was seeing Donnie’s reaction at meeting Damien for the first time. I thought we were gonna need a forklift to get his jaw off the patio. Nobody around him could stop laughing for a solid five minutes afterwards. I mean, it was a “slack jawed yokel” level of “OH MY GOD LOOK AT THAT!” expression.)

* They put us in north … or is it east? … whatever, we were put in before the bridge. Always a good thing – jumping off that bridge is tradition dammit! Except … the water was so low, not even I was willing to risk it. That will go down as one of, if not the, biggest failure of 2011 – not jumping off the bridge on the Elk.

* You want proof this was an epic “yup, Stevo is WASTED!” day? I give you proof, barely one mile into the float:


(check out that side boob! video: katie, via my snapp camera. And for the record ladies – I am single, and very much available …)

* And we definitely were out there for more than a mile at that point. Also, in my defense – it was 104 degrees out there yesterday. Apparently extreme heat + drinking heavily = a video 99.99% of America would destroy, but since I’m in the 0.01% that knows making fun of yourself beats the hell out of everybody else making fun of you, well, there you go, 30 seconds of my life that I amazingly remember. And yes, that was Tears for Fears playing on the iPod. I told you I had a ton of sh*tty 80s music on there!

* So it’s pushing 2:30, maybe 3pm, and to be honest, I’m getting hungry. I’ve been drinking patented Stevo cocktails since 8am. I need some food. I drop the “you know what sounds really good right now? A hot dog loaded up with mustard!” comment out of nowhere … and wouldn’t you know it? We round a corner, and Katie goes “does that sign say Free Food Stop Here!” I’m freaking blind without my glasses, but eventually I confirm it is! Free food! Oh hell yes we beached there!

And that hot dog (loaded with mustard) and Cool Ranch Doritos absolutely hit the spot. Now who, you ask, would just give random people floating by a dog and some chips and some liquid refreshment of a non-alcoholic variety? The key there is the last four words of the previous sentence. Yes, it was a church group.

Specifically, some kind of outreach of multiple churches. We find a table as far away as possible, and go figure, one of the dudes putting this on wanders up and asks us how we’re doing. I can only imagine the thoughts running through his head at seeing my drunk ass, barely able to walk at this point, with the “man whore” bracelet in full on display in front of him*. He then asks if he can tell us about Jesus, and why not, they’re feeding us after all.

(*: again, ladies – I am single. I know – I can’t possibly imagine why either.)

After the most uncomfortable ten minutes I have ever spent on the river, and I am fully aware I slept on a f*cking pile of rocks the last two nights, after the most uncomfortable ten minutes I have ever spent on the river, it was back onto said river. To the dude’s credit, he wasn’t pushy or preachy, and he appeared to have as little regard for organized religion as I do. (He flat out said “I am not religious, I am all about Jesus”. Good for him. Too bad 99.98% of your fellow parishioners are the EXACT opposite of you.) And the hot dogs hit the freaking spot. I hope the day went as well for them as they hoped it would.

* Well, after the downer portion, comes the fun portion. We beach at the last major stopping point before the final stopping point. When we meet dude number one who had lost his group. All he wanted was “a beer man. I just need another beer”. Hey, I recognize a dying alcoholic when I see one! (stevo looking in the mirror … yup, recognized another one!) I would be lying if I said I remembered the dude’s name. What I do remember, and again, at this point, I literally could not stand, I remember he had a TON of beads draped around his neck, and every raft, canoe, kayak, and or random “whoa, where’d my group go?!?!” straggler who past us, he kept asking every even semi-decent looking female “hey! Wanna earn some beads?” His group finally caught up with him, and go figure, they were the only chicks earning beads. I’m pretty sure when you basically reward yourself, you aren’t earning sh*t. (dusty voice) no kidding Stevo – they’re earning beads! (rimshot!) Wow, that might be the single worst one liner joke I’ve ever written. That was epically awful. Moving on.

* Not moving on? Me. I attempted to climb the tree and jump into the river. I was so inebriated that I literally slipped off not even halfway up. So wait, maybe I couldn’t walk after that because I was “injured” on the attempted tree jump? F*ck it, we’re going with that. I was “injured jumping from a tree”. Done and done.

* Then two more stragglers came along. These two were keepers. The one guy, shaved head, I have no effing clue what his name was, but he gets mention for three reasons. (a) He was pounding the beer faster than I was chugging the vodka, (b) he thankfully took over piloting the raft the rest of the way back, because I was freaking exhausted (oh, and unable to stand without assistance too, thank you “tree injury”!), and (c) he reminded me of Tyler, the shaved head dude who was forcibly evicted from Shadow Lake last time, and who did his damndest to roo-een my favorite t-shirt. Thankfully, he just reminded me of that guy because of the shaved head. This guy was fun. He met up with us at Shadow Lake later on.

The other guy? Awesome. His name was Bryan. He’s supposedly tailgating with us at the home opener now. And if Donnie or Joe Knows Football sees him, we definitely will need the forklift to get their jaws off the floor. This guy had no interest in going back to his group because “they don’t want to have fun”. Ooh! Good start. A second thing in his favor? He loved the playlist. Anyone who not only appreciates a playlist that (literally) in a row spits out “Regulate” by Warren G and Nate Dogg, “Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not” by Thompson Square, “Down With the Sickness” by Disturbed, and the capper … hang on, we’re saving the capper for the Shadow Lake Surf Club portion of this recap, because I gotta say, the song involved might have been the funnest 5 minutes of my life that didn’t involve penetration of some kind.

* So Bryan, even though he’s staying at River Ranch, decides “f*ck it”, and decides to kick it with us the rest of the night. After everyone takes turns knocking everyone off the raft into the river*, we finally reach the final beach out, and Bryan hops on our bus back to the Beach known as Shady. To Shady’s credit, they didn’t make you wait around for other floaters – they took off right away.

(*: I’d been waiting three weeks to pay Katie back for the “Bye Bye Bye” push. I NAILED IT! DJ, you’re next champ. I owe you a decade’s worth of dunkings. And you ain’t using the “sorry, I’m holding the iPod” excuse next year, that boat has sailed pal.)

* We spent the next three hours playing music, hanging out, having some hot dogs, having a great time. Even the dead-ass neighbors joined in with some music for the playlist*. At this point, it was still in the low 100s. How do I know this? Well, my drunk ass thought taking a shower would be a brilliant idea before we headed out to Shadow Lake. (In my defense: it was. I stunk. I believe Melissa’s description was “a healthy mix of vodka and beer” to describe my, uuh, smell come 6pm Saturday.) Not a brilliant idea? Taking a shower without a towel to dry off. I did the shake it off maneuver, threw on the “I Heart Beer” boxers and some shorts, and headed back to our site, maybe a 3 minute walk. Again, no towel, I’m dripping like a dog emerging from a lake.

By the time I got back to the campsite? I was completely dry, save for a little bit of my hair. That’s some heat folks, that’s some effing heat!

(*: unfunny moment from Saturday morning: said neighbors kid was infatuated with the dry ice they were using for some reason. I know, dry ice, “cracked”. Anyways, she loved the smoke coming off of it. She’s maybe 11, 12 years old? God knows I’m awful at guessing ages, but she isn’t voting in an election until at least 2020. (democrat operative) the hell she’s not! What’s her name? (rimshot!) Anyways, her dad and/or male authority figure absolutely comes unhinged at her using the dry ice, and not just me, but multiple people around them were looking at each other with a “are we really going to have to step in and keep him from beating up his kid?!?!” look. There is a time and a place to verbally berate and/or physically threaten your kid. In a public place, in front of multiple witnesses, is NOT one of those times. Especially over something as f*cking stupid as wasting the dry ice.)

* And yes, Bryan was a huge Eric Church fan. So huge ... that he kept asking us to play that "Winners Like Me" song. Winners ... sinners ... pretty much the same thing right? At least in my book.

* We set out for Shadow Lake once the sun sets. As I noted more than once, “the moon is in a really screwy location”, and I wasn’t nuts on this one – it’s 9pm and the moon was in the far western sky. How does that happen? Both the moon and the sun rise in the east and set in the west, right?

Anyways, after the debacle of the last float trip, we realized we’d have to stop at River Ranch so Bryan could grab a shirt. (Another reason to love the guy? He absolutely agreed with me that a freaking bar named “Surf Club” on a river should be shirts optional. Especially when it’s still 102 degrees outside at 9:12pm (the actual temp on the car gauge when we got there). Even inflated by a couple degrees, that’s damned hot.)

Next funny moment? The admissions bracelet last night has “VIP” stamped all over it. I don’t care what this says about me, but if a joint that runs a six week “Homemade Bikini Contest” every summer that advertises “Skin to Win!”, and they stamp me as a “VIP”? I’m doubling down.

I wasn’t in there even five minutes before some god awful rap / R&B song came on. I think it was by Flo Rida. Anyways, sign 1,038,487,639 I am hammered: I hit the dance floor. Bryan wound up hitting on this decent looking chick sitting next to us all night long. Hopefully he sealed the deal, she was cute. Anyways, between her group and our group, we dominated that dance floor. Dominated.

OK, so we’ve been there for about an hour, hour and a half, when Bryan’s buddy re-appears, and more hilarity ensues. More dancing ensues. I’ve volunteered* to be the DD again, so I’m not drinking, but everybody else is POUNDING the fish bowls like they’re going out of business. I counted seven fishbowls downed in a couple hours between us and the table next to us with the chick Bryan wanted to get with. I did have a couple sips of the blue one – it was strong. This might explain Sunday’s “response” to the fishbowls from at least one floater.

(*: by “volunteered”, I mean “I was told by everyone else that I was the DD”. DD duties are becoming like calling shotgun – you gotta say “NOT IT” before anyone has the chance to dump it on you apparently. And yes, five hours earlier, I literally could not stand without assistance. Now, I’m the DD. Floatapalooza everyone!!!)

Next great moment? “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey comes onto the bar’s playlist. And literally, nobody was dancing, nobody was ordering drinks, the entire god damned bar stopped and sang along as one. I was fist pumping. I was feeling it. It was epically awesome.

But ... it gets better.

Because the very next song? After bringing the house down with the most epic anthem of the 1980s? Bring it down again. Because after all, we’re at the Shadow Lake Surf Club on the last floating weekend of the summer. I think we ALL are “Friends in Low Places” at that point.

Sadly, it was not the version that had the “long lost” third verse, because I really wanted to shout that ending out.

“Hey I didn’t mean,
To cause a big scene,
Just wait til I finish this glass.
Then sweet little lady,
I’ll head back to the bar …
AND YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!!!!”

God I love that song.

Oh but wait! We ain’t done yet! Because as epically awesome as spending ten drunken minutes of your life singing to Journey and Garth Brooks with random strangers is, THE piece de resistance, THE moment of 2011, occurred two songs later.

Ladies and gentlemen, and not so lady-like chicas* and not-quite-gentlemenly dudes, I give you THE greatest random bar moment of a generation, if not a lifetime.

(*: again, I am single. Just in case you’re an attractive female of loose moral values who is feeling a little frisky.)

* Because after some crappy auto-tune enhanced dance song … (usher voice) OMG. As I noted as SOON as the first note hit, “goddammit, I forgot the camera! Of ALL the times to forget the camera!” Because a moment like this deserves to be recorded and posted for the world to witness.

If only because, if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own two (blurred) eyes, I would not believe a moment like this was possible.

Shadow Lake Surf Club, take a bow champ. You have TOTALLY redeemed yourself from the “T-Shirt Fiasco of 2011” dude*! Because there are moments in life that are fun. There are moments in life that are precious. There are moments in life you treasure.

And then there are moments in life that you will take with you, in the words of Herb Brooks, “to your f*cking grave!”

(*: also redeeming Shadow Lake? Oh hell to the yes, they have trough urinals! I love the trough urinals, because (a) you can’t miss, (b) you can’t miss, and (c) you can’t miss. Your aim could be off by five feet, and you’re still peeing in the “toilet”. They’re awesome. Even better? These things are wooden! A wooden pisser! I’m telling you, this place TOTALLY did a 180 from its first appearance this summer. A total 180. I cannot wait to go back. Preferably during the six week stretch of the 27th annual homemade bikini contest come next June and early July.)

Now, I admit that I love me some old-school country music. And when it comes to “old school country music”, it does not get any better than THE best country song ever written.

As soon as the opening note played, I instantly knew what the song was. It had already played on the river to massive compliments by Bryan. Hell, the artist of this song? THE greatest country song of all time? At least two people there last night were there, because their folks met at one of his concerts. And yes, that is a true story – this man is so epically awesome, this song is so epically awesome, that at least two lives exist solely and completely because of his awesomeness*!

(*: uuh, booze and/or other assorted party favors may have been involved too. Just like last night!)

The song? Oh, sweet Jesus yes.

“The only time I know
I’ll hear David Allan Coe
Is when Jesus has
His final judgment day!!!!

So I’ll hang around as long as you will let me!
And I never minded standing in the rain!
You don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’.
You never even called me by my name!”

When I heard the opening and starting shouting out loud to every word, I got a “you have GOT to be kidding me” look from at least one fellow floater. (OK, it was Katie.) By the time the first chorus hit, the ENTIRE bar was singing along to every word. I led a revolution, and damned if it didn’t feel good! If you have a better random bar moment than nearly 100 people shouting out in unison “You don’t have to call me Waylon Jennings! / And you don’t have to call me Charlie Pride! / And you don’t have to call me Merle Haggard anymore!”, then congratulations. Your life is even more blessed than mine is. But God bless it, THAT ROCKED!

* We made it until 1ish. I think the place was closing soon, because it was starting to clear out pretty quick. That, or Noel’s finest had a DUI checkpoint coming. Either way, we said our goodbyes to our new floatin’ buddy Bryan*, and it was “look out, Stevo’s behind the wheel!” off for the Beach known as Shady.

(*: the other amazing thing of this guy? That Katie can know a dude named Bryan and not immediately call him a … well, it rhymes with “masshole”. Actually, just drop the m from “masshole”, and toss a f bomb in front of it, and that’ll work. Miracles happen.)

* We somehow make it back. I’ll be honest – I was in no shape to drive. But I was in far better shape than anybody else, since I’d been dry for almost four hours at this point. If we were staying at River Ranch, we’d just walk back from the bar, no problems. If we were staying at Kozy Kamp, I know the way back, no problem. Plus the road is so windy that you have to go slow. But the Beach known as Shady? Not a damned clue what I’m doing. Somehow, I found the entrance, we make it in, and after realizing everyone was asleep, we joined them in the sweet sleep that only a highly intoxicated person can know.

* Sunday drive back? Absolutely it rained. God forbid one road trip ever go down without moisture from the sky dropping down. We left about 8am, made a couple stops, and by 11ish, I was home, ready to type up this recap and watch Andy Roddick at the Open (and not necessarily in that order. I know I get made fun of for a lot of things, but this should not be one of them. I watch exactly two weeks of tennis a year – I am addicted to the US Open. If you have a problem with that, I feel sorry for you – the US Open is THE most underrated sporting event on the calendar.)

So I guess this means summer is just about done. Next week right now, I’ll hopefully have the feet propped up in my beloved Rolling Rock chair, fresh off watching the Chiefs beat the Bills. Dear God, the NFL starts in four days! How did we ever get here!

When I look back at Summer of 2011, honestly? This has been the funnest summer of my life. Three epically awesome float trips, two epically awesome roadies to Nebraska, and seeing two of the best friends a guy could ever be lucky enough to have start their life together*. Awesome stuff.

(Sadly, only one floater was with the happy couple, and it wasn’t on the Elk. Next summer, it’s on like Donkey Kong hitting a bong! Or is that us hitting a bong on the couch? Either way, we’re getting DJ out on the dance floor at Shadow Lake, and I am definitely dunking his ass in the river. MULTIPLE TIMES. It’s coming champ. It’s effing coming.)

So if this is the end, what a run. I could not have had a better time than the last 12 some odd weeks have been. And now, the Season of our Lifetimes is about to begin come high noon on Sunday. I just ask one thing of you if you come out and join in breaking the NFL season in.

Please … you don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’ … but at least call me by my name. Deal? Deal. :)