Well, I’ve been joking about it for years … but the joke’s on me (and you), because yesterday proved beyond the shadow of any and all doubt that I am, indeed, allergic to cold weather. That merely being in sub-60 temperatures makes me sick. So sick … that the unthinkable happens, and I sell off my ticket to the biggest game of the season (it’s do or die), and head back to crash on a couch, and sleep through the contest. Damn you, Old Man Winter!!!
There won’t be a recap for the Chiefs / Steelers “Sunday Night Football” showdown … because I don’t have one to offer you.
I left my brother’s house about 10am Saturday morning, after crashing there because we celebrated his birthday the night before, as only we can: at the classy, and man do I use that term loosely, classy Red Balloon. Let’s just say, I was in no shape to drive.*
(*: there also is a hilarious morning-after story involving my brother and his buddy Chris, a “case of mistaken identity” on one of their parts, but that’s for another time. Glad to see the old Chris back and in effect!)
By 5pm Saturday, I was in no shape to do anything. I laid down for a quick power nap before I had planned to head to Tyler’s birthday bash at McFadden’s Saturday night. I laid down at about 5:30pm. I didn’t move until 10:15 the next morning, and I felt worse than I had before a 17 hour “power nap”. I know the only reason I actually woke up was because I left the lights on before said “power nap”, and I need darkness to sleep. If it weren’t for that, I might still be snoring. Still, I’m a trooper, I can do this, I kept telling myself.
After forcing myself to clean up, I hopped in the shower and cranked that bastard up as hot as I could stand it … and it worked. For a little while. I deluded myself into thinking “ok, that did the trick”.* By the time I got to Russ and Mona’s to start loading up 30 minutes later, I could barely keep my eyes open. I literally slept the entire time we were at the gates, except to get up and puke. I emerged from Katie’s Jeep for only three reasons: to welcome “The Voice of Reason”, to welcome his dad, and you guessed it, to puke.** By 5:30 I was gonzo, snoring on the front seat. I gave my ticket to Anthony to try to get something for it (good job getting nearly face champ!), and Katie took me back to Russ and Mona’s, where my plan was to grab my keys, grab my overnight stuff (I’d planned on crashing there, figuring I’d be too hammered at 1am to try to drive home), and drive home to pass out.
(*: funniest moment: I sit down in Russ’ chair to try to watch the Jets game, and close my eyes. I wasn’t dozing, but I looked passed out apparently, because three different people at some point walked by and said “wow, Stevo started pregaming early today!” I hate to say this … but most of the time, in that situation, they’d have had a valid point. Maybe I need to quit drinking. (stevo thinking it over) Nah, my liver’s still got six, maybe seven more quality years in it. Besides, who else’s alcohol addiction would you have to make fun of if not for me? And for the record, and it is currently 7:22pm CT on Monday as I type this sentence, I have not had a drop of alcohol since about 1am Saturday morning. Maybe that’s why I’m so sick …)
(**: there was one tailgater there yesterday who kept hopping in the back seat of the Jeep as I was attempting to sleep it off and still make kickoff. Her reason for hopping in? To talk non-stop and smoke a joint or four. Look it, I love weed, but for f*ck’s sake, when I can’t even hold down a bottle of water (the only thing I attempted to have yesterday, and I failed within 30 seconds), I sure as all hell cannot tolerate you blowing smoke in my face. As she noted at my not coming unhinged at her: “you’re real laid back. You seem like a really cool dude.” Well, ok, she nailed both of those things, but come on chica, we’re a smoker friendly tailgate! Go outside and do your business. Especially when I’m shaking from the flu, despite having on 5 sweatshirts, 3 pairs of pants, a seat warmer, and the heat cranked to full blast.)
Did I mention I couldn’t stop puking? I did? Well, fine then. But I really couldn’t stop puking. It was so bad, I couldn’t even keep the Alka Seltzer cold and flu pills down, just a sniff of them and I was up-chucking. Figuring I had no intentions of roo-eening the inside of my car with the lovely smell of whatever the hell was wrong with me, I instead walked down the steps to the basement, grabbed every comforter out of the overnight closet, grabbed two pillows, and created a virtual bearcave down there. I had chills, I was so cold at tailgating from whatever the hell I’m suffering from (and it really wasn’t that bad out there yesterday, all things considered. Normally, I’d have joined in the raucous beer pong games going on at least once, instead of cranking up the heated seat and the heater as high as I could stand it half the time, and to a toasty comfortably level the other half). In their basement? Which I love to sleep in because it’s 60 freaking degrees down there at night? Under those comforters it felt like a sauna. I slept from about 6:30pm until 7am this morning, when amazingly my phone alarm went off. (I can’t believe I remembered to set it).
I trooped it out at work today, but was finally ordered to go home by my boss under the “I can’t afford to lose everyone for month end” theory that I was praying he’d invoke (saving me a PTO day).
So I apologize for no recap. I can’t recap what I haven’t seen, and have no motivation to screen. If someone who actually made it inside and stuck around wants to recap it, I’ll be happy to post your thoughts instead of mine.
But allow me to say this: if that’s how this season craps out? I’m ok with it. Nobody was higher (or perhaps just more high) than me on this team in August. Nobody was more euphoric walking out on Halloween night than me. And if that’s the high point of this season? I’m ok with it.
Because what I kept noting last year, applies even more so this year. This team, right now, in its current roster status? Is the WORST we are going to be for the next four, five, six years.
Our quarterback situation will only get better. Ditto our depth at running back, offensive line, the receiving corps, pick a spot on defense. (I think we’re set for a few years at specialists.)
Yeah, this season has crashed off the tracks, and it kills me, I mean, it hurts me more than my entire body is aching right now from the flu, it is killing me that the two teams I hate more than any other in sports*, one of them is winning the division, and the other one is probably screwing the Jets out of a wildcard via tiebreaker (they both beat the Jets). It sucks.
(*: this is a half-truth – I still hate the jordan era bulls pretty badly.)
But not half as much as this flu bug sucks. (stevo calling his local cvs to finally get over his irrational fear of needles and get a flu shot …)