Clareified

Okay, I am laughing so hard right now. But I will gather my self together long enough to write this post. Some background: the Gay Train was in town for an impromptu visit to NYC. He and Ugarles were meeting up for an afternoon of boy bonding football watching and I decided to crash. Oddly enough, even though I was crashing their plans, I ended up picking the bar — a self-described Patriots bar in Brooklyn that I wanted to try out. They got there first, as I was suffering the after effects of self-made sex on the beaches at Pi’s wedding. (Tangent #1: G-train: You can’t expect a bartender at a wedding to know any drinks beyond rum and coke. Ugarles: That’s not true. G-train: I’m not talking about your wedding, I mean in general. Me: Actually, the bar at the Bash didn’t know what the Sex on teh beach was either. G-train: Well, you’re in rural Pennsylvania somewhere. Ugarles: Yeah, they’ve never heard of the Beach.) Actually I woke up at 5 a.m. feeling so much like death that I started to worry about the fact that just six hours earlier I had driven myself home in a Porsche. (Tangent #2: Those DWI laws really need to factor in that people who may or may not be drunk really don’t have decision making abilities that rise to the level of legal volition.) I was supposed to meet the boys at 4:30, but at 4:00 I was still in my bed and thinking about canceling. Besides, my Riots will be on actual network TV, so I don’t need to go to a bar to watch them. Oh, right, The Original Assface is visiting…okay, fine. I jumped in the shower, put on my new Patriots T-shirt and some jeans and drove out to meet them. I found them sitting together at a small bar table in the middle of the room. The place was packed. But not as horribly packed as the first Patriots bar I went to in Manhattan. There was, however, a baby in the bar. Leading me to exclaim: Dude! Is that a baby in the bar?

Yes. Yes it is.
Anyway, G-train gave me his seat and stood up beside the table. There was a basket of six hot wings sitting on the table and as it had been twenty hours since my last meal, I picked one up. G-train screamed “NO!” grabbed my wrist and pried the chicken out of my hand. “That’s my lunch.”
“Dude, I’ll order another one for the table…jeez.”
“Whoa, somebody’s dating a Jew,” Ugarles said. That’s right, not me, Ugarles. I said that first thing, he said the second thing. Ugarles. Not me. I just thought it. I’m kidding. Not about Ugarles saying it. That part’s true.
After running a credit check, G-train determined that I was, in fact, good for a purchase of six wings. I actually didn’t like the wings, so I bought a burger, but I also made sure to buy another basket of wings as per my agreement.
We were watching three games: Eagles game, some other game, and the Cowboys game. Ugarles had Jones-Drew, McNabb and the Eagles defense on his fantasy team, so he was mostly paying attention to that game. I was focussed on the Cowboys game and since I had a team I hated before I had I team I adored, I promptly started rooting for “the red guys” that the Cowboys were playing.
G-train thought this was the funniest thing ever and started calling them the red guys too. When I got to the bar, the red guys were up by 7 points. Then the Cowboys scored a two touchdowns and the poor red guys were down. There were a bunch of Cowboys fans in the bar, including one dude dressed from head to toe as a football referee, but with the Cowboys logo on the shirt. Each time the Cowboys would score a touchdown, the fans would chant “Blow the whistle! Blow the whistle!” And the referee guy would blow the whistle and do the arms in the air thing signalling a touchdown.
Of course, since we were going back and forth on all the TVs, I also watched the Eagles game, and when they were losing, I was all “uh oh, if they lose this game, I believe CK will have to kill herself.” I mean personally, I would have killed myself after that Eagles-Cowboys game, if I were unlucky enough to be an Eagles fan…but that’s just me, maybe rules are different for people used to cheering for football teams with no Superbowl rings. (Tangent #3 since G-train moved away there hasn’t been much fodder for my running “question? Answer. Series. But at one point, the gets loose and one guy jumps on top of it and another guy jumps on top of that guy, until there is a huge pileup in the middle of the field, and the G-train takes a swig of his beer, longingly looks at the TV and goes “I want to jump on top of the pile too!”)
Anyway, as we’re watching the various games, I’m asking them my spate of random questions usually reserved for annoying Alceste at poker tables or on drives to AC.
“Wait…what does that hand thing mean, why’d they throw that flag, how many yards does he get for that, wait, why’d they take the red guys’ TD away?”
G-train would say helpful things like “I thought you were smart?” And Ugarles would explain various things like the Tuck rule made famous by my Tom Brady and the “icing the kicker” thing. Which G-train determined “is something Dawn would do.”
(It totally is. And just like with the red guys, I’m sure it would turn around and bite me in the bum!)
Anyway, after the Eagles game turned into a blowout, we all focused on the Dallas game. By now the red guys were up by ten and the bar was chanting the equivalent of “where’s your whistle now? where’s your whistle now?” Because, as G-train and Ugarles explained “everybody hates the Cowboys.” So, the red guys were up by 10 with three minutes left in the game and everybody seemed relaxed, but I have known Karol way too long to be comfortable until the Cowboys have officially, finally and without hope lost LOST. And sure enough, my skepticism was well-placed. We heard that stupid whistle and suddenly the Cowboys were within 3. Ugarles was still all “nah, it won’t happen.” But G-train and I weren’t so sure. And then when that stupid guy hit the 52 yarder AND the Cowboys won the cointoss, I was all “vaffles for the red guys.” But no! They pulled out the win! Yay!
“CK is happy cause the Eagles won, I’m happy that the Jets won AND the Cowboys lost! It’s a great day!” G-train said.
“Well, that’s a good day…a great day involves the Patriots winning.”
Ugh. How much was that not to be?
When Gostkowski missed the freaking routine field goal after the announcers said “Well, Gostkowski’s had a perfect kicking season so far,” I wanted to throw the remote at the TV, but realized it was the universe’s way of punishing me for mocking Karol after Folk missed his routine field goal attempt. See everything always works out for her, or the universe punishes anyone that laughs at her mild misfortunes. I started to feel physically ill by the end of the first half. HOW DOES CASSEL NOT GET A TOUCHDOWN FROM THE ONE YARD LINE? HOW? OH, he sucks. Right. And I switched over to my previously recorded episode of Grey’s Anatomy.
At some point during the game I start getting texts from the G-train taunting me about the impending loss.
“Are your tears salty yet? HAHAHA” he writes.
“Bite me.” I reply.
I say something like “I can’t watch anymore.” G-train starts to text me the play by play of the Pats crushing. (Tangent #4: Earlier that day, G-train was also mocking my Patriots fanhood by saying “You know Roosenpenis is a Patriots fan, right? (Referring to this tool that used to play poker with us back in the day.) I replied that I did know that and that fact delayed my official decision to become a Riots fan by like a week and half, but ultimately I decided that since I will never see that tool ever again and I obviously have nothing to do with him -he’s the only person so far that I won’t even add as a facebook friend, and you guys know how low my facebook friend adding standards are- that he’s just some Dbag that happened to be a Patriots fan. There are millions of us, some are bound to be Dbags, what can I do? The Riots are still Hawesome. Yes, Cassel’s performance yesterday notwithstanding. (Tangent #5: Did I just put a tangent within a tangent? Yup. And that wasn’t even the tangent I was referring to, this is: Tangent #6: I was really really bummed by Cassel’s outing yesterday…Did he throw one complete pass that was longer than single digit yards? Ugh…Anyway, I told Alceste that I wasn’t really worried about how bad Cassel is because I know that Belichick hates losing as much as I do. “He’ll cheat to win,” Alceste said. “Yeah, exactly…so he’ll do whatever it takes to makes sure we don’t have a losing season.” “Well, if he’s going to trade for a quarterback he has to do it by tomorrow.” “Oh no, nothing like that,” I said “I assume, he’ll take Cassel’s mom hostage or something like that, you know, kill his family one by one until he learns.” Alceste remained silent. What? Belichick doesn’t lose. Just sayin’.))
Anyway, I go back to the game. Watch the Patriots score their only touchdown, watch them almost lose possession of the ball again Jesus, Cassel, you’re supposed to be the new Brady, not the new Romo, and then watch the clock wind down as Cassel threw yet another incomplete pass — or as it’s known “Pull a McNabb” or is that just when you throw the pass into the ground?
Okay, believe it or not all that was just the prologue to my real post, which is a response to girlfriend of the G-train — Who shall henceforth be known as The Beard!
I’m guessing after hearing many of the facts that I have just laid before you AND residual bitterness over being the first target of my first football burn,

FFF: “Hey CK. I just learned a new burn for Eagles fans.”
CK: “What’s that?”
FFF: “How many Super Bowl rings does your team have?”
CK: (rolls eyes)
FFF: “BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN.”

(I also taught the burn to Karol.)

The Beard has issued me a challenge. In the form of a lengthy burn over on her site.
Now, I assure you she fires many a burn in my general direction including:

Said team had a model-esque QB at the helm, which was a key element of FFF’s interest in that team. Some people, including FFF, think that this QB is marriage material. (Aforementioned QB does not feel the same way toward FFF.) I, on the other hand, don’t find him to be all that attractive. Then again, I’ve always been anti-butt chin.

I don’t know why someone would want to hurt my feelings by saying that Tom Brady does not consider me marriage material, as this is a patently ridiculous claim that is so ridiculous I won’t even dignify it with a reburn about how at least my man likes girls.

And then there’s this:

So let’s look at adopted team status the same way that people look at adopted person status. That’s right. I JUST WENT THERE.

Agencies just don’t give babies away. The hopeful parents have to go through several screening interviews, home studies, etc. Their lives are poked and prodded to make sure that they will be suitable parents. If FFF is really serious about becoming a fan of an adopted team, then FFF should have to qualify as such.

1. If you haven’t made it through a full season as a fan of your adopted team, then you are not a REAL football fan.

2. If you don’t understand the game, then you can’t be a REAL football fan. We’re not talking about being able to break down the Tampa 2 defense. Just the basics. Like the names of the positions and whether or not they are offensive or defensive positions. Or whether a false start penalty is 5 yards or 10 yards.

3. If you can’t name the key personnel of your team, then you are not a REAL football fan. If you only know the name of one player, then you are a fan of that player, not the whole team. (So that means that if your player gets knocked out during Week 1 with a season-ending injury, you have NO football team to root for.)

4. If you don’t understand some of the key points in your team’s history, then you are not a REAL football fan. You can’t claim your team’s history, yet know absolutely nothing about it.

So I am issuing a challenge to FFF. If you want to be considered a REAL football fan, then you should be required to meet all four of the aforementioned requirements.

Item #1 is simple enough. You just have to prove that you remained a fan through this entire season. (And yes, I know that you probably didn’t watch the end of yesterday’s game . . . but we’ll let that pass.)

Well, as you all already know, I did in fact, watch the end of yesterday’s game, in Patriots attire AND I’m probably going up to Foxboro for next week’s game, so the Beard can suck it.

However, the Burniest Burn of all burns lies in the fact that despite an entire post burning me, the Beard does NOT LINK ANY OF MY BLOGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDE.

Anyhoo…after the fire, after all the rain, I will be the…sorry…digression…comes the Beard challenge:

I must be a Riots fan for the rest of the season and answer 20/25 questions drafted by the as yet to be determined “Commitee” –Headed I assume by “Miller Lite Commish.” At the end, The Beard offers an “up to a hundred dollar” costing Patriots thing.

Now, first off, let me say that I don’t subscribe to her underlying thesis that the only way to be a real football fan is to be raised as a fan. Football fandom is a choice. Some make it early in life because evidently they didn’t have to spend four hours in a combination of Sunday school and Catholic church. Others of us, choose the best team in the NFL at the height of their awesomeness, when they are laid up all Winter recuperating from surgery. Either way, I will submit that suffering through ten months of “nice Superbowl” from every Tom, Dick and Assface, getting NINE text messages within two hours of Brady’s season ending injury, having to share a team with Roosenpenis AND being the proud owner of an entire array of Patriots clothing is enough support and suffering to more than make me a Patriots fan. HOWEVER. I do like other people’s money. And the Patriots. And using Other People’s money to buy more Patriots clothes…well…how could I pass up such an opportunity?
So, I will agree to the Beard’s challenge, with the following conditions:
1. If I win, this will be the prize:

With the Name Clareified on the back. It’s slightly more than the $100, but I’ve never been good at math.
2. The Beard will have to drink a tequila shot for every question I get right.
3. I am allowed to name one member of the Commitee, who may or may not be in Vegas, but will be a poker blogger who may or may not blog and whose name likely rhymes with Malceste to ensure that all questions fairly represent knowledge that biological Football fans of the Patriots would know, as opposed to randomly esoteric knowledge like how many points you get for a field goal or other information that only wikipedia nerds would know.

4.I GET A DAMN LINK TO MY BLOG RIGHT NOW IN THAT POST

5. Okay, there is no five, but my OCD makes me unable to stop at four.

So, there you have it Ms. Beard. Those are my terms. But before you accept, BEWARE lest you fall victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never go in against DAWN SUMMERS when a public bet is on the line.

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Tuesday, October 14th, 2008 at 1:53 am and is filed under Personal, Sports. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.