Pink Football Jerseys and Bad Beats

I know, I know, this post was supposed to be dedicated to the Kent Lounge. It was supposed to be the second part of my 100th post, but I decided to go with something else. Part II of my Kent memories will come later. Today, I was browsing through some old files and found a few pieces I wrote in October of 2007. I found them to be somewhat interesting and amusing so here they are.

“Dude, I had pocket Aces and this donkey calls me with Jack-Nine of Diamonds…”

Thanks to ESPN and the popularity of the World Series of Poker, we have all been introduced to one of the most horrific things on earth. While a certain level of skill is needed to succeed in poker, it is still a game of luck. However, there is only one certainty in the game of poker, wherever the game is being played, someone is telling a bad beat story.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to listen to friends, strangers, opposing players, give me their own bad beat story. While the stories continue to change, one thing doesn’t. I don’t give a damn. Neither does the dealer, neither does the guy sitting next to you, neither does anyone anywhere. Push comes to shove in the game of poker, your gambling. Every time someone’s pocket Ace’s get “cracked” by Jack-Nine of Diamonds, someone is outraged and has a bad beat story to tell for days. Seriously, you gambled, you lost, it’s going to happen again, sit down, shut the hell up, and get over it. Have you ever gotten a phone call and had to listen to your buddy say, “dude I was watching the mega-millions lottery drawing, I so had the first two numbers right and than out of nowhere comes a 12 ball. Its complete bull-shit, how does my luck run this bad? It happens every time.” No, you haven’t because lottery players have accepted that their gambling, poker players not so much. Bad beat stories are like that mosquito bite on the middle of your back that you just can’t scratch. You know it’s there, you feel it itching, but no matter how many times a day you try and scratch it you just cant reach it. All day it sits there nagging you, bothering you. You’ve tried the left hand over the right shoulder and than taking the right hand and going around the left side of your back, but you just can’t reach it and now you’ve reached a point where you’ve become so frustrated you just accept it for what it is. That’s what bad beat stories have become, when you go to play poker, you know your going to hear them, you know theirs nothing you can do about them and you just accept. While the story is told are you really are thinking is “I don’t care, I don’t care,” but yet the words out of your mouth are “Dude, that’s horrible,” or “Are you serious? What I joke, what’s he doing calling with that hand?”

Bad beat stories have become so annoying, that I think the Devil has installed a new torture chamber in hell, where hell’s inhabitants must sit in a room and hear bad beat stories for days straight. By the time these inhabitants are released from the room, returning to the bottomless fiery pit and gnashing teeth must seem like you’re getting a Swedish massage from a gorgeous blonde compared to the bad beat poker room. Seriously, if you give me the option of having to listen to a string of bad beat stories or listening to Roseanne Barr sing the National Anthem, while performing a striptease, well I’m facing a dilemma and may God bless my soul, with whichever choice I choose.

A Football Paradox

Bone-crushing tackles. 6”6 300 pound men. Aggression. Testosterone. Fearless competitors. Freakish athleticism. These are just some of the words or phrases you might hear when someone is asked to describe the National Football League. However, whenever I attend a game in this day and age, these things are rarely one of the first things I notice. As I am sitting at a pre-game tailgate or walking into a stadium one of the first things my eyes tend to catch, is a pink uniform.

Every team in the NFL, now sells pink uniforms for their star players. Can you imagine Ray Lewis busting through the defensive line and delivering a jaw-dropping hit against LaDainian Tomlinson, all of this while donning a pink jersey? Something in that situation, just doesn’t fit. Football is supposed to be the pinnacle of masculinity, yet these pink jerseys are selling off the charts. I just wonder what former legends such as Lawrence Taylor, Dick Butkus, Jack Lambert, and “Mean” Joe Greene, all players who were known for their ferocious defense and devastating mean streak, would have thought if they looked up in the stands and saw someone wearing a pink jersey. Now, I personally do not have a problem with the color pink, I just never thought it find its way into a football stadium. A place where the masculinity is soaring, where fans can yell at the top of their lounges, drink beers, curse, and for their actions they are given high-fives and compliments.

However, the strange part about this pink jersey is its appeal. For some reason, the appeal of a woman wearing a pink jersey is off the wall. It’s a combination of two of the greatest things God has put on this earth. Women and football, what more could a man ask for. Seriously, the NFL marketers have found a way to make a football uniform sexy. They have found a method to keep football as that manly event, a place where a man can go out and have a few beers with his boys and cheer for his favorite team, and now he also gets to have the feeling of seeing women dressed up and supporting his favorite team, while still being able to keep that girly attire that is so attractive.

Pink and the NFL, it may sound like a paradox, but it has worked. Throughout time we have seen pioneers in the world of mixing two great items. These pioneers have given us beer and buffalo wings, peanut butter and jelly, and now pink uniforms and football, America owes them all a thank you. Now I’m not proposing that an NFL team designs a pink uniform for its players to wear, because Jared Allen staring down an opposing quarterback while wearing pink may not work, but, if your watching the game from your seat and happen to stare two aisles down, you may see a couple of petite blondes sporting a pink Ray-Ray jersey and at that time, you will see the paradox working.

A Memoir to all that was the Kent Lounge-Part I

This is my 100th post and for some reason 100 is a significant number, so I've decided to make this a somewhat significant post. With this in mind, I decided to focus on the one place that pops up the most on this blog, the Kent Lounge. Unfortunately, the Kent Lounge has taken a turn for the worse and I no longer know a single bartender there unless you count George, but no decent human being would ever count him. However, there was a time where I knew every bartender there and I enjoyed having a beer or two there from time to time, and it is those times that I will focus on. So here is a list of a few of the more memorable moments at the Get Bent Lounge.

Townsend slugs an unsuspecting overweight minor in the face

There are moments in everyone's life that they are not proud of and this moment is certainly one of Townsend's. Several years ago, I headed up to the Get Bent Lounge with Townsend, Mike Major, and Bill Mosner. It was a cold night and the weather was keeping many people inside, forcing the four of us to provide our own entertainment. We did this the only way we knew possible: drink beer and play titty touchers. Eventually, we grow weary of touching tits on a screen and started debating our next move. The Rec Room, Souris, and other bars in the immediate area were thrown out as possible ideas, but than Townsend came up with one of his own. He proclaimed he was going to slug someone in the bar for no apparent reason whatsoever. The man was quite adamant on his proclamation so we decided to let him carry on with it and he began to debate, who to slug. His first thought was to slug Paulie for the sole reason that Paulie was an overweight old guy wearing an Eagles jersey, but Bill and I informed him that Paulie was friends with Pat and was probably not the best option. We scouted the room and eventually decided that the only reasonable option was the fat kid in the corner. This poor soul was minding his own business in the corner of the bar and appeared to be on a date with an overweight individual that resembled a female. After a few shots of liquid confidence, Townsend confidently strolled up to the couple, tapped the guy on the shoulder and sucker punched him in the face. Defenseless, the little chubster fell off his stool and onto the ground and Townsend was quickly headed out of the bar. As one could expect, the guy came storming out of the ball and confronted Townsend violently. His violent confrontation caught the attention of the local law enforcement and they were soon interacting. At this point, Townsend looked at the police officers and said, "I swear officers, the kids on drugs, I've never seen him before in my life." The cops than separated the two, and demanded to see legal identification. Townsend obliged but the pudgy kid with a black eye failed to do so and was taken away in a police car. Several years have now passed and Townsend has accepted the stupidity of the night. He is rightfully embarrassed by his actions and typically acts a bit more appropriate now, but there is one moral to this story. If your going to take a girl on a date, stay far, far, away from the Kent Lounge, for it is nothing but a den of inequity.

Ross and Damon go out-by themselves.

Typically, whenever one sees Ross and Damon at the same bar, they are accompanied by Andy and this is a good thing. You see, Andy is the voice of reason for the two of them and the only one amongst the trio with a sense of decency. Take Andy out of the picture and trouble is bound to happen and it certainly did one night at the Get Bent Lounge. I don't know why Andy didn't make it out and at this point I was still recovering from my brain blowing up, so that left Ross and Damon by themselves. I don't know how the night really went along, but I know it involved lots of shots. After the shots started to take the toll, the conversation probably started to dwindle and a change of scenery was probably needed and it's at this point that the presence of Andy was certainly missed. With Stilling around, Damon would have most likely just disappeared and Ross would have just ventured out to the parking lot and thrown up, but that wasn't the case. Instead, the two decided to head to a place worse than the Get Bent Lounge, they went to the Ramada. After about thirty minutes at the Ramada, because no one can survive more than a half hour there, they decided to head to the only place worse than the Ramada, Kaos. Fully tanked and swearing like sailors, the two of them entered Kaos and began mocking every lifeless soul that spends his pennies on third-rate strippers with pasties. By two, Ross was being carried into Damon's car and they were on their back to the Colony to pass out. Upon arrival, Damon had a rather difficult time getting Ross inside so he did the only reasonable thing, leave Ross in the car to sleep it off. At some point the images of Kaos must have woken Ross up and caused him to move around a bit, because he managed to pull down the emergency brake. Several minutes later, Ross was waking up as he realized he crashed Damon's car into some girls apartment at the Colony. Thankfully for Ross though, Creech was there and the two of them were able to push the car out of the living room and escape from the fat girl Creech had just nailed before she could ask for his number.

Vaeth speaks his mind to a member of the Dream Team

This is another moment that I failed to be present for, but yet I heard the story so many times, I had to mention the night. Rumor has it that one night Vaeth, Andy, Damon and Ross were drinking beers at the Kent. Shocking, I know. Eventually, a few members of the Dream Team strolled in and one of them was with her overprotective boyfriend. My personal beliefs are that anyone who would ever court a member of the Dream Team has to be despicable themselves, but to each their own and if this kid finds it in his heart to date a member of the Dream Team than so be it. I just don't want to hear him whine and cry when she cheats on him again and again and again. Anyways, alcohol eventually took its course that night as it usually does and Vaeth began to that thing where one coughs than says a derogatory word about someone in close vicinity and than coughs again. He proceeded to do this until the particular member of the Dream Team he was referring to noticed and took offense. Once she spoke up and expressed her feelings of Vaeth that overprotective boyfriend was forced to speak up as well. Here, the emotions began to escalate and Vaeth was forced to put the nail in the coffin. As the girl was trying in vain to defend herself, Vaeth simply said " You slept with Geilfuss." Even though the statement was not true, it was delivered effectively and the point was clearly made. From what I can gather it was similar to when the fat kid in the Sandlot tells the rich kid he throws like a girl. Either way, the emotions started to escalate and that over protective boyfriend attempted to start a physical confrontation with Vaeth. It got to the point where Andy had to get involved and play the role of mediator. Things eventually boiled down and Vaeth, Ross, and Damon went back to doing what they do best, drinking beer. The overprotective boyfriend went back to crying to any helpless soul willing to listen and as for the member of the Dream Team, well she took advantage of all the commotion and sneaked off with George to his office.

Plenty of Snow and College Basketball

The snow continues to fall here in Charm City and at this rate it seems that we may not see dry land until 2014 and that would certainly be interesting. Personally, I'm tired of the white stuff and I would like to return to my normal routine of school and work instead of blogging at 9 pm, but there are certain things in life I can't control. I guess the only thing left to do is to drink beer. Hopefully, Pat is working at the Rec Room. I'm thinking that tomorrow might be the day that I finally take advantage off the time off and read some books by dead white guys, but maybe I'll just shovel snow and continue to watch young black guys play with an orange ball. It's more interesting.

Well, the football season has come to an end and every time I turned on the radio today, all I heard was members of the media making a big fuss over the fact that Peyton Manning didn't shake Drew Brees hand. Granted, the man probably should have and it would have been the right thing to do, but there are lots of times in life where we don't do the right thing and if I just screwed up one of the biggest moments of my young life, I doubt I'd be willing to go and shake the hand of the competition that beat me, especially if there were 3,729 people nagging me with pointless questions. But maybe thats why I'm a horrible person? Who knows?

College basketball is heating up though and that's a good thing. March may very well be the best month of the year for the sole reason of conference tournaments and March Madness. One is basically guaranteed a chance to take off work and start drinking beer and watching sports at 3 p.m. Or once again maybe that's just me and one of the reasons I'm nearing 25 and still living in my mother's basement. Who knows?

One good aspect of college basketball this season is that the team coached by the devil from Westpoint is not performing all that well. I know their ranked in the top ten, but they've lost some crucial games and watching them lose crucial games is very enjoyable. Is it just me or does anyone else think the guy might be a racist? Seriously, every year he finds some of the best white players around and makes for a pretty competitive team at least until the Sweet 16. The more I think about it, he has recruited some blacks in recent history and pretty effective black guys, but as you may know, once I write something in this blog, I seldom change it. Even if it is inaccurate or incoherent. Plus, two of the better black guys he recruited were from Alaska and that doesn't really count.

Speaking of white guys in college basketball, I wonder what happened to Trevor Huffman. That man could ball and with help from that power forward who now plays for the Chargers, the Golden Flashes made one impressive run in the tournament not too long ago. Trevor Fucking Hoffman.

Post number 99 is now in the books, next up number 100.

Fuckin Google images. I tried to get a good picture of Huffman and all I could find was pictures of him playing for some team overseas, it was disappointing. So I decided to put up another picture of a mid-major kid who could flat out ball.

"I Slept with Tiger too!"

The Super Bowl is just a few days away and personally I can't wait for the damn game to get started. The past two weeks, those in sports media have had way too much to talk about when it comes to one football game. I've heard about all I can hear on Dwight Freeny's ankle. The man is going to play, it's that simple. Yesterday, I also heard those so-called experts that work for some company based in Bristol, Connecticut debating the comfort levels of both the Colts and Saints with the field at Miami. Supposedly, the Colts and Saints are both comfortable with the field because they both defeated the Dolphins in Miami during the regular season. One could say that or they could just simply realize that the Colts and Saints are both far superior teams the Dolphins. I highly doubt at any point in practice, Peyton Manning or Drew Brees suggested that their teams take a time out from running drills or watching tape so that they could become more comfortable with the playing field. Maybe I'm alone with this one.

Well, the old timer in Shakespearian tragedy is still hanging in there. Two weeks down the drain and the old fella is still plugging along. Although today he did one of the more interesting things I have ever seen in a collegiate course. Midway through the professor's lecture on Richard the Thirds seduction of Lady Anne, the old man received a telephone call. Rather than quickly try and turn off the ring tone, the old man answered the phone call and proceeded to have a short conversation. He was respectful enough to keep it moderately quiet and express the fact that he was in class, but he continued on with his conversation for several minutes. Unfortunately, I could not hear what he was rambling on about but I'll assume it had something to do with getting his diapers changed, he seemed rather cranky.

Speaking of old people, I work with an elderly lady named Trish. Trish is probably pushing 65 and despite her age she has apparently been frisky with a younger man. A younger man who goes by the name of Tiger. Trish is so proud of her recent sexual accomplishments that she has bought a tee-shirt that states, "I slept with Tiger too!" However, Trish is not the only one in her immediate family who wants to make their claims public. Trish's husband, Jack, also proudly wears the shirt. As for Tiger, well, I'm not really surprised. From his recent transgressions, he hasn't seemed too picky and as for the whole homosexual encounter, well, he does know how to handle a shaft.

Pre-Gaming at the Ronald McDonald House

Well, this utterly pointless little blog has served a purpose once again. Saturday, I received a check for nearly 78 bucks from Google Incorporated as a result of my prestigious work. Actually, it has more to do with those silly little ads on the side of my blog than prestigious work, but thats all irrelevant. I was actually quite surprised when I received the check because I didn't think I'd ever receive any monetary benefits from google, I just got a kick out of the random advertisements they displayed on the site. Judging from the past history of ads posted on my blog, one might come to believe I have a strange devotion to gambling and football and a history of legal troubles. Google included a letter explaining how the whole thing works and how I could increase my rate of pay but that seemed rather boring and I just threw the letter in the trash. Perhaps I'll use the 78 bucks to help feed the hungry.


I've been helping Corey and his uncle out quite a bit lately and last Friday that led me to the state department of assessments and taxations. Due to school and a few other things, I got down there rather late. In case you don't know, the state department of assessments and taxations is located downtown close to Martin Luther King Boulevard. Anyway, on my way home I was stuck in traffic, which is typical for a Friday evening in Baltimore city and I decided to try an alternate route home. Basically, I was just going to take a bunch of random turns and just hope and pray that I was going in the right direction. Somehow this idea seemed to actually work, but along my travels I passed the Ronald McDonald House and it brought up some old memories. Now, I haven't been to the Ronald McDonald House in quite a while and that's probably a good thing, but I did spend a few nights there at one point in my life. It's never good to take advantage of charity groups but several years ago I did just that. The Ronald McDonald house was generous enough to donate one of their rooms to the Major family when Ryan was recovering from his injuries. His mother was usually working in Silver Spring so that left Michael in charge. Basically, Mike had been given a free apartment in downtown Baltimore whenever he decided to come home from Salisbury. At this time, none of our friends had places in downtown Baltimore and getting to and from the city was always a major problem. That is until the Ronald McDonald House came along. With the friendly fast food eating clown, offering us a couple of beds, the two of us were set. There were several nights, when we would begin pre-gaming for the nights activities at this house and those nights always got interesting. First of all, alcohol was banned from the premises, so we had to sneak it in via a back pack. Secondly, noise was supposed to be kept to a bare minimum and for those of you who know Mike Major, well that can be a problem. Finally, getting back into the place post 2 a.m. was even more interesting. But, somehow we always managed. Looking back on it, it probably wasn't the smartest idea, but I haven't always done the smartest things in life. The Ronald McDonald House is not meant too encourage alcoholism or late night shenanigans but we ignored those ideas and instead made it quite the party place. Plus, they had free food and video games so they were basically begging us to stay. Now, only had the Hamburgular or Grimace been around, I bet you those two are party animals. I can just gee Grimace getting wild with some girls on the Dance Floor.