From the guy who brought you “Celebrity Suicide Kit” and “Actual Size Sports Hero Jersey” comes “Terrible Tighties”!
Sunday afternoon, Gilby, Dick and I spent over six hours at the bar watching football, and in no way is that depressing. Watching a “Heroes” marathon on cable? Depressing. Watching 8 NFL games simultaneously on big screen TVs, with wings and beer galore? The mathmatical opposite of depressing, which I believe to be…what’s the word? Oh yeah: AWESOME.
The thing about watching that many games at the same time in a bar is that even if you don’t like football, you could be completely enthralled just watching the other people around you. For instance, the tables immediately to our left were filled with Steeler fans, who were thoroughly enjoying their blowout win over San Francisco. One of the dudes had a Terrible Towel, the yellow towels that the fans at Heinz Field wave, and every time there was a huge play he would bust it out. Well, with the Vikings predictably making “Championship Paint Drying” a more compelling spectator sport by comparison, I began to watch the Steelers game. This required turning my head exactly 7.8 degrees to the left.
Before long, I mentioned to Dick that it was too bad I didn’t have a Terrible Towel with me to wave, just because it seemed obnoxious and rude and fun all wrapped into an enchilada of awesome.
And thus was born Dick Herculanum’s “Invention of the Month”.
D: “You know what you need? Yellow boxer shorts. Then whenever you’re at a bar watching the Steelers and don’t have your Terrible Towel, you can just rip them out and and voila, you’ve got your Terrible Towel!”
M: “That’s a terrible idea.”
D: “Stop making bad puns.”
M: “Right. Outside of the obvious hygienic and social concerns, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable solution to a common problem.”
D: “Exactly…and the best part is, if you’re at a Browns game instead, you just turn it inside out and you’re still good to go!”
M: “That’s disgusting.”
D: “And if you’re at a Chiefs game?”
M: “This has officially gone too far.”
On the heels of that enlightening and socially important discussion, we noticed a rather inappropriately dressed lady at the bar. By “inappropriate” I mean “dressed in a black dress with red stiletto heels”. I have a decent sense of being able to sniff these things out, but Gilby is legendary. The two of us came to the conclusion that she was probably just out to pick up guys (and what better place than a sports bar on Sunday afternoon during NFL season)? But that didn’t stop us from making jokes about the ways some people make their money. These jokes only ratcheted up when she left 20 minutes later, rather hastily I might add, with the one guy who was sitting by himself at the bar. I’m just saying.
Soon after this, Gilby noticed two ladies (and I use that term loosely, no pun intended) come in and appear to be scouting out the bar. They sat at one table next to a group of four guys, and over the next 15 minutes despite doing their best to be noticed, were subsequently ignored. There was football on, after all. So they moved to the table next to us, and once again put on a dog and pony show, and once again were ignored. Well, except for the penny-ante observations I noticed enough of to be able to write this paragraph, that is.
Between the gratuitous tattoos, the strung-out hair follicles and the helter-skelter eyes, I wasn’t sure which trait made me less enthusiastic to enjoy the rest of my beer or more happy there were 8 games to keep my eyes focused straight ahead. Before long, they were gone from that table too, and were sitting at another one, next to another group of guys on the other side of the bar. And when I got up to go to the bathroom later, they were at yet another table, next to yet another group of guys. Were they colleagues of the nice lady in the stiletto heels who had just departed? Only your family practice physician knows for sure. You bet.
Hey, did I mention my new phone allows me to check the status of my fantasy football team in real time? Well it does, and on paper sounds freaking dominant. In practice, it just means I can find out how much better a team Gilby has than me, any time I want, anywhere in the world. The only awards I’m winning this year are for team name. “Cleverly Named Team” stinks. At the conclusion of the 3pm games, I was losing 82-41, which is bad enough when you don’t consider the rest of the league was in the low 100s.
Thankfully Marion Barber and Jason Witten had big nights on Sunday Night and pulled me to within 82-79 with both Drew Brees and Deuce McAllister still to play on Monday, but with those events still in the future I left the bar at 6:30 pretty dejected. Much like the nice ladies who had sat at the table behind us and were unable to get our attention.
You bet.