Green and orange keep on coming up, with twists and turns on the outcomes of the betrothen. In seas of color in the stands by the tens of thousands, and on the bench by only tens of hundreds, when including trainers and assistants, there were green and off-gold in college football, bowl games, all things Baylor (my man’s fave), in NFL playoffs, in college basketball, and of course in the Deer District. As a result, Lambeau in hunting season is not the only one ablaze with orange.
Like that, last seen in shades of green on the screen only wee seconds apart, it was competition vs. commercial: Giannis and Guinness.
And the Arkansas Razorbacks do live on despite recent meat-filled holidays, displayed in their trademark red flesh in both roundball and pigskin tones to round it out, but not by being broadcast live on our old TV — even if its progressed beyond black and white — and what it can pull in without having all channels, versus a replay. So we did see red, just in another way.
So as a viewer, I walk the line. Or run it. Up the gut. Usually without success? But that keeps the winning coach registering in the black — gray if Zimmer — in his bank account. He was Mr. Smart. And not Maxwell. Dumb coaches don’t win national championships.
A commentator said so.
Or win Olympic Gold. It was added that as far as individual luge, a person’s weight might be viewed as a good thing to get the sled rolling faster, but watch out for those bigger hips! Just might mean a Silver.
Covid came at the worst possible time for a competitor who was just ready to hit the slopes, and with her plentiful tattoos, one just has to wonder if the disinfectant was not championed at the right time. Or placed, or not, over the tiny virus-vaccine needle point. Would it be a banned substance?
That Russian athlete who kinda, sorta, had an illegal substance in her system, to help with … what … something as non-controversial as the common cold? Like the past intake of Mary Jane, which to repeat, is only performance enhancing if you play the bass??
Shawn White of USA at 35 was trying to medal in his last Winter Olympics, but would he succeed? Skateboarder Shawn spoiler alert, and my surmised smoking stoner advisory. But wait, that all occurred already. But when you can be on the high end of things, maybe, time is fluid? Much more on that in a future post.
The Wisconsin version of the biathlon could include pool and darts … ???
Back in the USA, there are mascots so ugly they’re cute, although they swim like the Florida Gators — with such a flag waving at New Richmond main-drag residence — many of those aforementioned colors past you? Us? Badgers and Gophers? Maybe that Georgia Bulldog? That pot-bellied pig, not so much, but being so sheerly big, as Texas?
But those Jayhawks, too, as in that mascot painted-on at center-court until near the end of their run. But why those tennis shoes. To hide those gnarly feet?
And that pot-bellied pig pet just referenced, owned by someone back in the day in ‘Ol Arkansas who is now reinventing his roots, could be viewed as Public Enemy No. One — even though it was not out in public — since you weren’t supposed to have one in that apartment, or with that zoning. And not end zone … Guess they were just channeling, in reverse, Iowa State colors and mascots, watched on that very day. With that blight of bad karma, Iowa State almost did them in on the gridiron. Irons Up!
So, you’re in whole hog or not at all.
But the saying of that long-sought-after playoff day, which was a doubleheader game, was Who Dey, and we are not talking The Who or Guess Who, but they were making devil horns.
The sign later shown forth in the stands, and was prophetic: The Year of the Dawg. How long’s it been? Forty, again like the U2 song, or is it 41 or 42? Couldn’t remember for sure.
The TV-visited golf score, in noticeably warmer climes for their course, chimed in at a stated -15, as in 15 under par. Like the temps/wind chill faced by the viewers here in the Hudson area.
We recall, being in plain sight on our old TV since its a postgame show, the kissing of the proclaimed “best” trophy in sports, in the late night of one of those trio of college generated games, and could go to OT or more than one, even if that is after bedtime. That would be just like the Gopher bowl game out on the coast.
That brings to mind the old day of Ellie’s, when a big replica of an NHL trophy made by a local man was bantied about, for all who were even quasi-prominent to sign. I put my john henry in an obscure place, so not to be seen — apologies to U2 — until 40 days and 40 nights pass.
Back to the roles in bowls, some of them super …
In his starring gig in a series of ads, Gronk the gonzo tight end shows comedically that getting USAA insurance is perhaps more difficult to obtain than even SSDI! But being a veteran, and that’s the rub, helps on both counts. And this injury prone superstar has methinks more lives — as measured in his recoveries and then playing again — as a cat and its nine. We love the way he is so comfortable in poking fun at himself: “But I’m special!” Second to only Ozzy at that.
Or as Helmberger saith Ruthlessberger, both ending not with dessert, but Berger, in a Giannis type length of name.
Something finally went the Vikings’ way, but Cousins would have to take them five yards for a win, which after penalties and a sack raised the need to fifty, actually.
Also, the way the ball bounces — or fails to. The doubleheader-game center’s snap barely made it past his butt, then a scramble ensued including the QB for the (oblong) ball.
So Alary’s as a Bear Bar in St. Paul, to see these things that at long last came to pass, was likely shoulder to shoulder; but no more busty babe bartenders in bikinis, due to a redone format. Boo hoo.
But Da Bears, how bizzah, says Nate. Especially since shootings in that general area, and we’re not talking pool, are becoming more prominent, and that also harckens to a time way back, think gangsta days, and not the rap music version.
If they only were like the what’s-old-is-new-again, Lingerie Football League, in only their Brazzeres. That would make you channel surf between three games.
Then a commercial to best those in the Super Bowl, a big screen shot of that huge guy, torso longer then legs (like me) in one extreme to the other … but only an average inseam. Psst, it can be taken it in.
When near the goal line, and the Vikings love of running it straight up the gut for no gain in recurring fashion, it’s the reverse of the first we’ve heard of Once Bitten Twice Shy, because the old Dibbo’s, when Great White played there multiple times, is old hat.
So not to tip my hat to the play-calling. Another sorta Vikings? Only sorta?
Some of these were done in, using typical fashion, a play that was basically the wrong replay. Was this — again and also and in addition — the bias against the Razorbacks ringing true, as saith again my man when also drawing a Viking comparison? That replay only prevailed when the team got creamed, and thus did not effect the outcome.
Then one of those clones of inconsistency used on a trick play a wideout as QB. Why not a kicker also? Channeling Garo.
So at first in the playoffs, football style, the scores were more like a baseball game. Hence a bold prediction made for one end of such a contest, of 37-10 — only 3 or 7 then 10?
Still, when the Super Bowl neared, there were many times killer quarters, in games that should have been tight and defensively fought, had them largely decided by halftime. But then in the last of the lategoing, games were not languishing, but decided in the last seconds. More two-minute drills that went on for about ten.
When the man of the hour or day was entering the building, he wore flamboyant striped garb befitting a zebra, rather than a Bengal tiger, (so a lower case B? Something tells me that PETA could weigh in on this. Or that nun I know who interestingly mis-called her favorite team the Beagles. But why do we even need such nicknames? Doesn’t the name of a city count as enough? Can’t we just say, rather than the Washington football team, D.C. and leave it at that. Or the Politicos? But in reverse with soccer, the Team NL could be the National League squad.
So more suspicious quarterback conundrums were to follow, from those who could be in a quagmire of the righteously disgruntled, but Mr. Stafford had the last laugh.
So how do you know if you’re a redneck? As in a pro football QB. Of the 40-or-so (magic number) players on the roster, 25 are Cousins. Just kidding.
But Brady and Rodgers. Who will most likely go the way of Favre? More than once? But the luck of Rodgers against San Fran has been like a sifting search for a 49er gold result.
Better than beer …
From a-tight-end-other-than-Gronk, Cooper’s Kupp, my man’s pick for best at that position, was indeed overflowing in the bowl of bowls, as he made a passing attempt at running with the ball after the catch.
Fitting to a tee? The Titans had a record 91 players on their roster in the past season, so Adrian was not an anomaly. But I owe Mr. Peterson an apology, from a previous post, where I meant to wish him good luck in all future football endeavors, but was clumsy with the wording. The comparison extends, like a third broken tackle on a running play, as the Titans director of player personnel was sought for Minnesota general manager job.
Before the Super Bowl was even a memory, there had been nine assistant coaches hired by the home teams. Guess eight is not enough. And in Hudson, Super Bowl time taxi fares, between sports bars, had an hour wait.
So don’t rap on the rap, and stay for this halftime show that was among the most popular, even when not having the featured dancers give their typical twist and not have a wardrobe malfunction.
There was a massive delivery special offered by Jersey Mikes, just for the game, but does the shop on The Hill make it all the way through North Hudson to the turf of Big Guys BBQ — are their NFL home team marketplace rules?
Now I’m backpeddling, this was the Super Wild Card Weekend, and not the Minnesota Wild, and it had six games with right in the middle, Jan. 16, one sporting a vexing total of allowing just 66 yards in a key defensive category.
The Longest Yard(s) were seen during final football three minutes, and went all the way until last call and past, a span of at least 20 minutes — but the quarterback couldn’t spike ball after a poor run, so that last 14 seconds expired, and the game ended.
In a game where it was 14-0 with 11 minutes left in the first half, Brady abruptly throws a completion to Brate. And then there was a screen shot(s) of all those hair styles, more than a dozen, that Brady has gone through in his 44 years as a pretty boy. You would think they’d do that with supermodel wife Gisele.
But in another game, Matt Jones would finish his blockbuster night with (insert the racheting up scoring by the opposition) … prematurely 1:49 left, and that almost gave way to a loss.
Are you ready for some football? Or Winter Olympics? Or ongoing hoops? There are many different shades to how this has all played out, and who took the fall come the end of autumn. Thus, this grab bag of observations is like grabbing on a point guard’s jersey, Green and Gold or a (Larry) Bird of a different color — just saw that Old School jersey at the sports bar.
Share the Post:
Related Posts
- I’ll be (relatively) brief and punchy with this headline notation, as we transition to giving you more and sometimes shorter choices. And you may notice some of that as you beckon forward. It’s circular. Like a flush. Be careful what you mix, heads vs. text, drinks vs. food, and all kinds of potions — that may go bump in the night. —– Punchy, potentially, but I digress or progress with a new patriotic addition. And a second edition, an old Obsession, as in a concert.
My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. — On another stage, I dissed...
- This coulda been Vanna White’s next Big gig In The Sky, if the scaffolding was not so high. So this is how the project went, by the letters and numbers, of get Trump’s name erased from the Kennedy Center. The $250 bill might be tougher. Sad but true. So, What are there more of going on right now, wars or Trump pet construction projects?
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
- Stressed out as a caregiver? She’s back at yah. This is a rare case of a husband and wife being joint caregivers — for each other — aided and abbetted by the fact that they have a lot of the same disabling conditions. So she shovels snow using a walker/scooter, while he cooks gingerly using a microwave and offers her a plate when she sits down, in an easy chair, in a reversal and new take on traditional roles. Whatever it takes. Necessity is the mother of invention. —– In a new add, Towns and the champion Knicks got kicked around but still got their kicks in the long run … As do Norwegian dancers.
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
- He says, and goes fishing with the boys. She says, then goes to the middle of Texas, inviting her mates to a ranch/villa built for the ages. The bachelor and bachelorette parties were on the same night, but though very different, they had some things in common … like the snakes, at least three kinds, to avoid. (None with exotic dancer.) But while away, they did not avoid each other, completely. He made a phone call. —– Just added, last call included a Carolina cowpoke.
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
- Full metal jacket? Hey, I wasn’t exactly to the point of going Rob Halford. But tastes aside, there must be some reason why after 26 years I was shunned, like going Bob Daisley by Ozzy at his reunion? OK, I know, my style may not have fit with the packed crowd. And the last couple of times for this, I tried to do too much with ad-libbing. So yeah, I get that this time around, I was the somewhat unusual choice to be the one left off the set list, with singers clamoring to get up there. But seriously, just being analytical of strengths and weaknesses as a singer here, no hard feelings. I’m not Dio. (Or Traveling Wilburys, a when jumping inside, inside joke.)
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
- Songs by Napalm Death? A fire swept down my very street today, where the babies were burned. (But alas, a new A/C unit is on its way up the freeway.) The Stones did not leave these themes unturned, either, or should I say unrolled. Oh wait, this all was my cooker of an apartment, and we are not talking the kitchen. But all these matters will become more pressing, a pressure point, as the new normal especially in southern climes is temp well into the triple digits. It is these people, the third world, and their heat stroke not mine, that most concern me. (Another example of hellfire temps just added. Sin after Sin.)
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...