A part of me died in Indianapolis this weekend, thus I will be known only as 'Frenc' from now on. I'll keep you posted on my quest to retrieve the 'H'.
I'm not going to comment too much on the obvious; it's far too painful to conjure up memories of what sadly was probably one of the greatest games ever played between two goal posts. Perhaps my 'H' lies in some of the sweat that I shed over the course of that game...I sincerely hope Richie posts a picture he took on his way back from the pisser, as you see me in a red throwback Ty Law jersey amongst an absolute ocean of Colt blue. It's pretty awesome. But we all sweat it out in that Dome, surrounded by loathing Manningettes and Harrison's Sons. Some were friendly, others were worthy of having paper cuts over every square inch of their body, followed by a bath in rubbing alcohol.
I really enjoyed it when two girls in front of us asked that we stop using the word 'fuck' in our cheering. You can imagine her dismay when I gave her our patented shoulder shrug and a chorus of 'Schmeh', followed by Richie asking her if she 'was fucking serious'. Well played. I also enjoyed watching Ellis Hobbs return kicks in this game. Finally, I think we all agreed that Asante is now worth in the vicinity of $38 million a year now. It's good to be under the cap.
Lines of the weekend are brought to you by a newcomer to this blog: a Mr. Kyle Chepla. I thought me and my boys were a little weird before this weekend. Now I'm assured that if we're a little weird, Chepla is weird x infinity.
"Taking a dump under a heatlamp was not on my list of things to do today."
-and-
"Before I leave, I have to find my hat. And my dignity."
Finally, my favorite part of the trip was when we stopped in at White Castle at 230am on Saturday for a nightcap of burgers and fries (still fried in animal fat...glorious). After much deliberation in front of the menu board, Chep stepped in and stole the show. "We'll take a crave case of 30 burgers and a french fry." (Uncle from aside joins in with "you better make it three fries, gee") "Ok, three fries. And three diet cokes."
Somewhere over the course of our meal, we got into it with some dudes sitting in the booth next to us. I was right next to them and Carl was on the other side of our table. I don't know exactly what caused this, but here's the ensuing dialogue:
Stranger: "Shut up, you fat fuck."
Me: "What did you say? Did you call him a fat fuck?"
Carl: "WHAT? You c*nt? What did you call me? I'll fucking kill you."
Stranger: "You're a fat fuck."
Me: "Did you really just call him a fat fuck, motherfucker? We'll kill you."
Stranger's brother: "He didn't say anything. Dude, shut up. (to brother)"
Me: "No, fuck that. He called him a fat fuck. (turn towards name-caller) You called him a fat fuck, you piece of shit."
Carl: "I will fucking KILL YOU (and he calls him a c*nt about 40 more times)."
This continues for a bit until Carl chimes in with "That's the difference between Pat fans and Colt fans. You sit there and just yap-yap-yap all day while I come over there and pop you in the mouth." It ends there, and when we walk outside, Richie gets chased by a dog in the parking lot and proceeds to throw his diet coke at it. That was easily the funniest part of the trip.
6 comments:
you forgot the part where carl told the kid to "go fuck his mother" about 15 times in a 2 minute span
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/070122&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab2pos2
Best article written on the loss yet.
Sounds like you had fun despite the gut-wrenching loss. I've decided to fast until they decide that they should re-play the last four minutes of the game because it didn't end the way it should have . . . I'm very hungry.
I think we lost because you went. I'm just saying, all logic has gone out the window here so I might as well blame you.
-Gil . . .BERT
if you guys were at the whitecastle that is just a few blocks from the RCA Dome, down the street from the big irish bar, then we might have to rename that place Shenanigans or something. while at that whitecastle at 3 am during the aforementioned spring break a couple years ago (like you guys, because it was the only place to eat at that time), we almost witnessed a gang war between a group of black guys that had just previously turned karaoke into battle-rapping each other, and then the drunkest guy i have ever seen came and plopped himself down at our table. after a couple of minutes of us asking him (without receiving a coherent answer) where his friends were and if he was ok, he passed out, followed by a couple of minutes of us deliberating on whether or not we steal his wallet, followed by us leaving him there with a note saying "please don't steal my wallet" attached to him. maybe something crazy happens at this whitecastle every night.
Gilbert, great article by Simmons. As for blaming me...that hurts man, that hurts. Hammen, Rich and i were talking about it and when we think about it, no one tried to stop us from fighting...no one from white castle, that is. So they must get it all the time. What a great fucking place though. We also agreed that you should have taken his wallet and left a sign that said "someone stole my wallet".
Let the record show that it was, in fact, the contents of a fountain soda from White Castle that I used to fend off the rabid creature (also let the record show that said rabid beast was the property of a homeless man who was yelling at him to sick me). I don't want to give off the impression that I fired a can of soda at an innocent puppy.
the trip sounds glorious. sorry i could not have been the fourth. you guys probably would have lynched me at some point for being a giants though and not caring about the pats. my favorite part was "you better make it 3 fries, gee". i'm proud to be a part of such a storied lineage of lingo.
-ponch
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