I go out to watch a championship game, and a Mel Gibson Jesus movie broke out. So, my college football smarts is as extensive as my Tyler Perry movie collection. I had a bad feeling during introductions when I mistook the Crimson Tide linemen for iceberg stunt doubles.
In boxing, when someone gets punched in the mouth like that, they stay lip locked to the canvas; after which you go have scotch and steaks and say a prayer for the poor bastard. In football, you’re locked into three more hours worth of commercials, countless shots of Nick Saban’s hair, and Brent Musburger’s best Hemingway impersonation.
Cayman’s Day Late Confessional
I lost five bucks in a pool. I don’t wager, so this pissed me off, since I could have gotten two iced coffees with that dough. The last time I wagered? I lost twenty bucks on the Lions in the ’92 Fiesta Bowl, even though they won. The moral of the story is, never help out a friend whose start-up business is bookmaking.
As a Dolphins fan, it was strange watching Saban win a title in Miami. I found myself squinting in a pathetic attempt to transform the moment into aqua marine. It was no use. The Dolphins haven’t run the ball like that since Mercury Morris retired to his annual champagne toasts.
I knew it was Fait accompli when I called my daughter up to ask about dinner plans for the week . . in the first quarter. Then I tried consoling my son who was pulling for the Irish, poor kid. He doesn’t quite grasp the infinite joy of suffering. Maybe he thought I was joking when I explained Catholicism as a parking ticket you receive when you’re born and pay for until you die. Personally, thanks to vodka, nicotine and the Three Stooges, I was able to navigate those life lessons until I found a therapist who didn’t advertise on a matchbook.
Christopher Walken’s take on the BCS title game: This was a massacaaa! Why did the Irish even show up? . . Were they under the impression there was gonna be a Sainthood induction at halftime? . . It reminded me of the time I showed up to accept a Razzie Award! . . And who goes into Miami after dark? The last time I tried that, a Filipino midget sold me a bad batch of Viagra and airport security detained me . . . . for thirty six howaaas! It made the gold watch story look like a dental cleaning!
As for that lost cause bookmaker, I’ve a mind to look him up and settle a score on a college game that I got right. If I were to tack on the interest to that ’92 wager, I could score tickets to next year’s title game. But really, I would settle for coffee money.