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As I sat here at the beach, I realized that I had no excuse for not writing an article in almost a month. True, my life had been fairly busy over the last few weeks; my real life reporting career had both started and stopped, I had begun a dishwashing career at Ciccione’s Pizza, and I had developed an unhealthy affinity for bowling. But now I was away from it all for a week, with no responsibilities at all. This was the opportunity I had been procrastinating for. Now all I needed was a topic. Of course, I didn’t have one. The question then became “do I need a topic?” I thought back to a fairly uninspired, yet mildly amusing article I wrote last summer, “Musings of a Man After a Game of Whiffleball.” Not my finest work, but it was a work nonetheless, and it was written proof that an article of mine does not need a topic. Conventionally, articles require a topic, but once again I had proven the old aphorism “convention is for those who don’t have the talent to defy it.” And by making up that last saying, I have proven once again that I take myself about as seriously as the WNBA dunk contest. And with that, I present to you my latest “article,” in no order whatsoever: My cousin Zak brought up a good point the other day. How could A.C. Slater be on the basketball team and the wrestling team if both are winter sports? Perhaps, just perhaps, early 90’s high school sitcoms were not quite as realistic as we all thought. As long as we’re on the topic of “Saved by the Bell,” where was The Max supposed to be located? How could the gang get there so quickly from school, even before they had their licenses? Was the restaurant inside the school? Am I crazy, or is this one of the ten or twelve most pressing questions of our generation? Admit it, you felt just a little bit better about yourself when you saw Lebron James whiff twice in a row in a slow pitch softball game on “The Life.” I watched “Paradise Hotel” for about 10 minutes last night, and I couldn’t help but wonder why they chose the winner of the 2003 “Least Likeable Person in the World” competition to be the new guy on the show. Ten years ago, Carl Lewis sang the National Anthem and proved that he has no functioning vocal chords. Last week, he tossed a 5-hopper to the catcher from 45 feet. Is it possible that he is the first person in the world to be paralyzed from the waist UP? The other day, I saw an article in the gym about using these oversized, foam “water weights” to lift in the pool. I’m not sure I see the point. Couldn’t you just paint “I am a senior citizen” on your shirt? In one of the most surprising developments of the summer, I have decided that the Six-Dollar Burger from Hardees probably should cost six dollars. In the least surprising development of the summer, no one in the western hemisphere has ordered a McGriddle so far. In the past week, I have decided that Peter Gammons and Wayne Graham (baseball coach at Rice) are both definitely on my first team of “Coolest Guys over age 60,” joining Sean Connery, Jerry Stiller, and my future self in 41 years. Just as Jim Rome will never be able to escape the stigma of being “the guy who got beaten up by Jim Everett because he wouldn’t stop calling him Chris,” there is simply no way Paul Wilson will ever be known as anyone other than “the guy who tried to charge the mound but immediately got form-tackled by Kyle Farnsworth.” And that’s unfortunate. If the fact that your bathing suit occasionally gets knocked off does not deter you from trying to do flips over waves in the ocean, you are definitely not an adult yet. I can’t decide whether or not I should be ashamed that I realized that in Chris Cagle’s “What a Beautiful Day,” he incorrectly states that he had his 50th anniversary on day number 18,253, when in reality it should have been either 18,262 or 18,263, depending on the leap year. You know you’ve watched too much ESPN when you demand to hit last on the final hole at Putt-Putt just so you can make your victory walk up the 18th fairway. It’s Dwyane Wade vs. Antawn Jamison in a battle to see whose name is more phonetically incorrect! The winner will face the virtually unpronounceable Ndudi Ebi for the world championship. I’m not sure people realize the magnitude of the latest Subway commercial. The guy who says, “oooweee, that is nice and spicy” could actually replace Jared Fogle as the worst actor in the storied history of fast food advertising. For goodness sakes, how long do we have to wait before ESPN releases a “Best of Fred Carter Pointing at the Camera” video? And in conclusion, despite the fact that Babe Ruth also got traded straight up for cash, I think it’s safe to say we won’t be talking about “The Curse of Kyle Korver” 50 years from now. |