It would be a humongous understatement to define this past sports weekend as a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. Akin to describing Aaron Hernandez as being in a bit of hot water. Roller-coasters are exciting, frightening and sometimes vomit-inducing. But almost certainly when it’s over, you wring out your puke-soaked tank-tops, haul ass back in line and strap yourselves in to do it all over again. Speaking of tank-tops, there’s a surge in popularity with those God-awful fashion nightmares making it’s way into “evening wear.” I’d like to see what can be done to put a stop to it if I can. The other night I was out to dinner and there was a dude two booth’s over sporting bare shoulders and pits while eating. This is a crime, people. It’s classless, trashy and above all unsanitary. I had visions of Kramer preparing a meal while showering. Fellas, if you’re headed out for an evening on the town and you look more like you’re going to a volleyball tournament, you’re doing it wrong. Guh-ross.
The ride began with a free fall without a safety net as the Tampa Bay Rays took a much needed series against the Blue Jays and flew off the rails face-first into the dunk tank. Friday and Saturday they lost … badly by a total of 13-5 and it wasn’t that close. Apparently Tanner, Engelberg and Bill Buckner made a cameo. By Sunday while the Buccaneers were busy going in circles on the tilt-a-whirl after too many deep fried Twinkies, the Rays turned a seemingly relaxing Ferris wheel 7-0 lead into a Tower of Terror sphincter-seizure and barely hung on to a 7-6 win.
Then there was Monday. You’d think 162 games would be enough for a decisive play-off picture. And you would be wrong. After seven months, the Plinko balls fell into place leaving the Rays and Rangers dead even. It still befuddles my dumb cracker mind that something like that can happen. That and “Fair Day.” Really, kids need a holiday to go to a carnival? They don’t know proper grammar!
Enter pitcher David Price and game 163. There was one last warm and moist ticket left in our back pocket. One more ride. It was now or never. It was get it done now or get your golf clubs.
“There is no tomorrow!”
-Apollo Creed, Rocky III
If you wanted to point to somebody on TV and say, “That’s a leader, son,” You could do far worse than David Price Monday night. Focused … fired-up … finished the game. It was enough to make even the most casual observers stand up and cheer. I sure as hell did … loudly. My dogs hate me. On to the mistake by the (flammable) lake to take on the Cleveland Steamers for one more last chance. One more ride.
I’ve got my ticket.
From the Rockin’ Roller-Coaster to the weight-guesser (“Take a chance and win some crap!”), our hapless Tampa Bay Buccaneers played just well enough to lose to a bad football team in the Arizona Cardinals Sunday afternoon. Quarterback Mike Glennon made his NFL debut and surprised nobody. He did, however, complete over 50 percent of his passes. Something a certain first rounder had yet to do this season. The way I see it, if we gave Josh Freeman over four years to become a bright spot on the team only to end up a brown spot on the mattress, I think Glennon (a third rounder) should get more than one afternoon.
Meanwhile, for those who’ve wondered why Freeman always had that scared and confused daze in his eyeballs under center all these years, this may shed some light on the subject. This week he admitted to having Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), a relatively new pseudo-psychiatric condition found in 6- to 12 year-olds. You may remember them as being referred to as a “spaz” in the ’70s. Since corporal punishment has been socially frowned upon these days, drugs like Adderall and Ritalin have been all the rage. So anyway, I’m not saying a spaz can’t be a productive member of society. But I may be a little gun-shy writing a seven or eight figure check to a guy with an attention disorder for a job where paying attention is kind of important.
Good luck, Josh. You can keep the helmet.
This article appears in Sep 26 – Oct 2, 2013.
