Trivial Perfection

I just saw something about Rex Ryan having a foot fetish. I declined to read the article exploring this foot-loving freakiness. I don't want to know about Rex Ryan's fetishes. But I am left to wonder if this foot fetish of Rex's involves one or both of the feet of the Mexican Joe Montana, one Mark Sanchez. Because if that is indeed the case then we cross over to a double fetish - involving feet and Mexicans. Not to mention two other troubling aspects of such a seedy thought, 1) Ryan's massive girth, and 2) the homoerotic nature of the whole notion. Can't you just picture Rex in the locker room with a taco in one hand and Sanchez's right foot in the other? Both smothered in salsa, sour cream, and guacamole.

I was chatting with Brandon the other night about the dark world of 11 to 10 (many of our conversations revolve around gambling matters) and talk turned to college hoops. I made the point to the kid that if Jimmer Fredette played in the ACC or Big East, he would be the biggest star in the entire country right now. Bar none. As it is, you have to hope that BYU games are carried by Mountain Network to catch a regular glimpse into the genius that is Jimmer Fredette. Jimmer will remain a folk hero to some of us (most notably Geilfuss, the kid has an unhealthy fixation on Jimmer). And an unknown to the masses of moronic east-coast focused hoop fans. That is, he'll remain unknown until he leads the Cougars on a deep run in the NCAA tournament. Then the ESPN hype-machine, in cahoots with the tedious CBS coverage of the tourney, will shove Jimmer down our throats to a nauseating level. Maybe it's better if Jimmer remains a folk hero. Yes, it's definitely better.

That same night I was chatting with Derek, Dave, Omar, and Steve about this and that basketball related (we had flipped the TV to NBA TV after the MNF game). Derek brought up the fact that there is some movement within NBA circles to permanently retire the #23. I know King James, or as I like to call him - the new Scottie Pippen, has pushed for this in the past. And the whole idea of retiring the #23 is so beyond absurd that it's laughable. MLB retired the #42 several years ago (although the Ice Man still wears it for the Yankees). Whether you agree with MLB or not for retiring the #42, if the NBA follows suit and retires the #23, there is then a tacit equivalence between Jordan and Robinson. That's where I have a big problem with the idea. Jordan is the best basketball player I've ever seen. Robinson was very good for the Dodgers, but MLB did not retire the #42 because Robinson was very good for the Dodgers. It was because of the groundbreaking nature of what Robinson accomplished and the hate he endured by racist fans all over the National League. Hate he endured with class and grace by the way (if you wanna read a great biography, get the Robinson book by Arnold Rampersad - Andy has my copy - no doubt hidden under a mountain of other books in his basement...). When we look closely at what Jordan "endured" off the court, matters of massive gambling, horrible tipping at high-end restaurants, and extraordinary womanizing (including friends' wives -allegedly {that's you Rick Fox}) come to mind. Not exactly the same as Robinson, is it? Now, you may say, "TBFH, what about the #99, hasn't the NHL permanently retired it?" And you'd be right. The NHL did retire the #99 for good. And I don't think it was only because Gretzky was the best hockey player ever. My guess is that the retirement of the #99 had more to do with Gretzky's popularizing hockey in the United States to such a level that teams exist in hockey hotbeds like Miami, Nashville, Raleigh, and Phoenix. The NBA did expand to Vancouver and Toronto during Jordan's heyday, but not because of him. The whole debate is silly. But it does make for interesting late-night bar chatter. And I guess that's something at least.

Rare night at the old live team trivia yesterday - we had a perfect game. Every answer correct. 23 for 23. And I give all the credit to myself. And I should. I was on fire. I was even pulling Bible and science answers out of my ass. The best aspect of the perfect game was the final question. It involved 2008 baby names. And the answer was my man Barry, or Barack as the little people call him. Those of us down with Barry call Barry Barry. Anyway, perfect games are rare. I had a couple down in the ATL, and God knows we came close a number of times up in and around the town Elaine Benes is from. It's a completely meaningless accomplishment of course. I'm aware of that. But, if you're gonna waste the time to play the stupid game, you might as well aim for perfection - I see no other reason to bother showing up.

The hostess at the live team trivia was a dimwitted blonde who has trouble pronouncing words. For instance, she called a thesaurus a "thesur" last week. And the woman couldn't say the word insurrection to save her life last night. But my favorite example of her gross incompetence came when she revealed the answer to what current world leader is the shortest in stature. We turned the correct answer in quickly. Then Phil's wife and Mandy (by the way, props to Mandy as she was vital in answering a question about Love And Other Drugs) had to listen to me go off on the possible size of Barack Hussein Obama's tool for 2 minutes. I digress... Anyway, when the slightly retarded blonde running the game announced the correct response to the question about the world's most diminutive leader, here is exactly what she said: "Kim Jong the Second."

After the trivia game the Operator of the Wing Joint came by and was throwing out the idea that she would like to get an all-star team consisting of players from the various teams at the Wing Joint to travel to another bar and take on teams there. She stated that I would be vital to such an undertaking. When she told me her idea, I declined to be a part of any such team. In fact, I informed the Operator of the Wing Joint that she needs to be sure to let me know when and where this all-star scheme of hers would take place. Why, you may wonder? Because I would show up at said joint and play against this all-star team by myself. And that would drive the Operator of the Wing Joint crazy. That alone is reason enough to do it. That and the fact I don't play well with others, obviously.

That merriest of merry seasons is upon us yet again and I'm gonna try to get another post up before Saturday. But if I don't, I'd encourage newer readers of this blog to go back and read Christmas posts from the past. Namely one titled The Real Meaninglessness Of Christmas from 2008 & another titled Way In The Manger from last year. Fond Yuletide memories from a delusional mind can be found in both.

Bitter Tears