“I found out a long time ago,
That it’s a long way down the holiday road.
-- “Holiday Road” by Lindsey Buckingham.
Why, you ask, did I choose a throw-away movie theme song as the intro to today’s post?
Because like the “National Lampoon” movies, being that they are a throw-away farce that, when you’re done watching them, meaning absolutely NOTHING to the grand scheme of things?
THAT’S what last night’s game was. It was NOTHING. I mean, to read Sam Mellinger or Kent Babb this morning, you’d think the damned ship had hit the iceberg, and the water was spilling over the E deck, past the bulkheads, and from this point, no matter what happens, the ship will founder.
What part of “PRESEASON” is it that people fail to grasp? It’s MEANINGLESS. It’s POINTLESS, other than to determine the last 5-6 slots on your roster. NOTHING that happened last night matters one damned bit in the grand scheme of things for the Chiefs. (For the Seahawks? Uum, yeah, I think y’all have found your starting quarterback. And what a surprise – he’s a guy the Chiefs passed on one pick before he was taken, for yet another in an endless string of “day two offensive linemen we draft who’ll never amount to a hill of beans in this league”, a string that’s been playing on Draft Day for 25 f*cking years and counting. Really, Chiefs front office, you all are the best – why take a chance on greatness at the 74th pick in the draft, when you can pick a sh*tty at best backup offensive tackle. I swear, an untrained chimpanzee could make better day two decisions than the Chiefs front office.)
Here’s how meaningful last night was: “The Crush” and I literally spent a solid three minutes of the second quarter arguing over how long a guy should stay down there when he’s, uum, down there with a girl. (Yes, this conversation actually occurred … although it wasn’t so much an argument, as an agreement that “you stay until she lets you up”. Also, I got an answer to a LONG held question about something “The Champ” noted four years ago on a lake weekend … and wow man, I gotta admit -- I KNEW I called you “The Champ” for a reason!)
Last night’s result was utterly pointless. No sane person is going to remember it twelve months from now. (Well, that’s not entirely fair – I’ll probably remember we lost, if only to note that “there’s $78 I’ll never get back”. But in sanity’s defense – I’m not sane.)
In the words of The All American Rejects off Mixology 2012: “move along!” There’s nothing to see here … and really, not much to recap. Tailgating for the better part of three hours in an overcast, at times raining, weather condition? Go figure, not a whole lot of people showed up. The “Core Four” rode out yesterday (that would be me, Russ, Mona, and Susan). “The Voice of Reason”, “bts”, and some dude who I gave my extra ticket to arrived about an hour before kickoff and had a beer or two. Roger and his crew were down from us, Sal* and his crew were up from us, and Castro and his crew were across from us. Lather, rinse, repeat.
(*: I swear to Christ, Sal is the SPITTING IMAGE of Rahm Emanuel. Right down to the “fake tan with grayish/white hair” look. He is the SPITTING IMAGE of “The Godfather”. I think it’s kinda neat, as (possibly) the only person on earth who wouldn’t mind Rahm Emanuel as the leader of the free world.)
“The Crush” made it down for the first half, and I will probably never type this next phrase again in my life, but I’m glad she left when she did. Because not even 90 seconds after she made her exit, “The Champ” and his far better half wandered over to spend halftime in some pleasant conversation. Look it, I’m mad as hell at “The Champ” right now – he knows why, he knows he f*cked up (at least I assume he does, and if he doesn’t, he’s more clueless than even I am on an average day), and we’ll deal with this like we deal with every “Champ” / “tito” throwdown – we’ll ignore it like nothing happened, refuse to apologize to each other, and move on. That, or install new locks on the door to keep the other out. Either way, it's all good: lather, rinse, repeat. But still, I meant what I texted you two last night: whatever I may think at this point, it's not worth tossing away what we have because of my inability to deal with what occurred. Or something like that.
Also, the dude I gave my 2nd ticket to tried to shout something at me as I was headed up the aisle to get a Pale Ale* and hit the whizzer, but I would be lying if I said WHAT he shouted. He was (ok fine, “appeared to be”) in worse shape than me, and again, as soon as I walked in the door last night, my head hit the pillow and I was down for the count. (Preseason Football: Where Being Too Damned Drunk To Care Happens!!! Also, big shoutout to Susan for the ride home. I was in NO CONDITION to be driving last night. (cue the Dusty / Gregg / random stranger voice: “last night?!?!?!?!”)
(*: if I remember anything about last night twelve months from now, it is this. To the lady who “took” my order at the vending station in 133 / 134: a Pale Ale is NOT the bottle with a yellow top, with a label on the front / side / back that says “WHEAT”, and is NOT a yellowish substance that looks like pee accumulating in a urinal as you pour it into a glass. It IS the black bottle top, with a black label, whose contents appear dark as you pour it into a glass, and whose container says “PALE ALE” on the printed lettering that adorns the bottle. If you EVER again … and I’m guessing I will be seeing you at least eight more times this year … if you EVER again ATTEMPT to pass off a Wheat as a Pale Ale? I will get violent. I’m in the very small minority, but I HATE Boulevard Wheat. I LOVE Boulevard Pale Ale, and WORSHIP at the alter of Bully Porter (which sadly, Arrowhead doesn’t carry). If you attempt to sell me a Wheat as a Pale Ale again? I’ll get visibly upset. But – but! – if you EVER again attempt to charge me for BOTH a Wheat and a Pale Ale, because you’re too damned stupid to differentiate the bottles, as you did last night, when you mistakenly poured the wrong one initially? You ever try that again? Three words for you, beer vendor lady: “Nicole. Brown. Simpson.” Hell, I’ll toss in two more for free: “Ron. Goldman.” Might wanna Google! search those words, because THAT’S what awaits you if you EVER again attempt to charge me $16.50 for a Pale Ale. I may be stupid, I might be high, and God knows I’m usually drunk, but even I am smart enough to see a scam as it unfolds, when it comes to booze. In the words of Dan Dierdorf, “nice try”. And in the words of Nate Dogg, “Regulators! Mount up!”)
This is what to take from last night’s game. And hang on, I’m gonna need to block a couple paragraphs to state exactly what to take from last night’s game:
What to take from last night’s game? Is what was stated in the blank copy above.
Hey look it, I had a blast yesterday. Anytime you can spend an afternoon drinking yourself into stupidity, spend a solid 45 minutes talking with “The Crush” about various fun activities that excite you, and can have a football game going on in front of you? You HAVE to do it. Especially that second part – I’m telling you, it’s not only the weirdest, most “what the f*ck is going on here?” conversation I’ve ever had in my life? It SO totally let me know I might, in 2/1000ths of a way, have a chance with “The Crush”.
But anytime you can pay full price to watch a game that no sane person will remember a few months from now, anytime you can bail on a potential weekend at the lake and/or a float trip, anytime you can say “no thanks” to a getaway to Vegas, anytime you can say “nah, I’ll catch it next year” to a trip to Bristol for tonight’s Cup race (ONLY my FAVORITE NASCAR race of the year), anytime you can pass on working, to instead of doing all those things, you get the chance to watch a preseason game?
You HAVE to pass on it. Which is why I have, for five years and counting, until this season. And why, barring something ENTIRELY unforeseen, I envision at least one float trip, and one concert weekend, in my social calendar for August 2013. And wouldn’t you know it – those two events just HAPPEN to fall on a weekend when the Chiefs host a preseason game …