Sports: I Give Thanks

As I pointed out in my splendidly narcissistic post about why I can't sleep, sports are my escape from the problems/issues in the real world that make me restless. Even though I spend much of the space in this blog trashing on teams/people and focusing on the suck (especially lately), I love sports. So, as a prelude to Thanksgiving, I will be filling this blog post with videos and websites about sports that I love.

If you are bored (especially at a job where they haven't blocked Youtube yet) this should keep you entertained for quite a while. Yep, this all makes me very happy. I don't even care that this took me hours, searching Youtube and watching all sorts of random shit.Happy thanksgiving, and please post any videos you love here or on my wall. Enjoy:

John Elway: John Elway leading the drive. I still own this video, and the 1986 "Mile High Champions" videotape, and I nearly wore both out watching them every Saturday and Sunday growing up. John Elway was my first true love and I always ask WWJED (What Would John Elway Do=Procrastination). I know Elway has been kind of dick in his personal life (and to Mr. Moorman, a story I may ask him to post on here sometime), but I don't care. Jesus had his share of problems, and he has done alright for himself.


 Brace for a blog explaining the Church of Elway (aka Elwayology).

Christianity has Jesus on a cross,  Elwayology has John leaping in between two Packers.



Gilbert Arenas: Best game-winning shot ever. Raising the arms before it even drops. I love me some Melo and JR, but that is just bad ass.


But that is not all that makes Gil great. There was the blog, which was just fantastic. Even while struggling through injury, he was entertaining. At the beginning of this season he was being surly and trying to avoid talking to the media, thinking it would help him focus. It didn't work, and it just wasn't Gilbert. Then this happened:

Agent Zero Pilot from Gilbert Arenas vs Agent Zero on Vimeo.

What other NBA player would do this? Not many, as they, or the people that run their lives, are too image conscious.

DeShawn Stevenson: "I watch gangster flicks and root for the bad guy, turn it off before it end because the bad guy die." -50 Cent. That is how I feel about my boy DeShawn. He is crazy. Insane in the membrane, but he captivates me.


I really fell in love after watching this video, with him and Gilbert betting thousands of dollars against each other in a post-practice 3-point shootout. Gil shot one-handed from college range, D-Steve regular from NBA range. NBA players from every team may do this, but it seems like the Wizards are the only ones who would have it filmed, thanks to Dan Steinberg at the DC Sports Bog and Bullets Forever. I need to make this blog as awesome as those.

Colorado State: When I feel really down about CSU sports I have a few videos I love to watch, especially this one.


And this one:

And I always enjoy Robert Herbert fucking bitches up. Oh what could have been if he didn't steal credit cards.


A little D.A.:


Eric Berry: All I want is Eric Berry to be a Bronco next year. Trade everyone for him, I don't care.





Hockey Fights: Red Wings-Avs, the best rivalry I have ever seen. If I ever meet Darren McCarty I am buying him a drink. Why? So that alcoholic motherfucker falls off the wagon. What a flamboyant cheap pussy. Oh, but what entertainment.

I love Roy kicking Vernon's ass.

This one is good too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0alqGVE9ipg

Joe Sakic's lone fight. "How do you like them apples, Gilmore."


Oh, Phadouche:


Peter Forsberg: Man he was good.


For more Avalanche love, go to Mile High Hockey.

Best Commercial Ever?

Fernando Torres: Just watching this video made me go out and play a few games of FIFA.

The Weekend Sack-Up: This keeps getting better and better...

(No pictures, I am too damn pissed to do that much work)

Am I trapped in a movie? A stupid, slackstick comedy, where I am in the Belly of the Whale stage (Sophomore Core ftw) and I ponder aloud "Could this get any worse?" only to have a piano fall and crush my car or some shit. Because it sure feels like it. It seems like yesterday CSU was killin' it, the Broncos were the tits, the Avs were cherry, the Rocks were epic and the Nuggs were mint (80s slang factor +1). Now, everything smells like taint and I don't want to look. The Nuggets only look good, but even they lost to the shitty LA team. What the fuck?

It is very nice that it is Thanksgiving and I will be with family all week (in lovely Sedona, Arizona) or else it might be wise for one of my readers to alert some mental health experts to check on me (Sedona is actually my aliby, as I will be hunting down both starting quarterbacks in today's game. SHHHH. I've got Marmalard in my sights, he is taunting a child whose balloon popped).  Seriously, shit is falling apart. I don't like it. We will go from worst to somewhat marginal as I grasp for silver linings:

CSU: CSU is so bad we aren't even inventing new ways to lose, we are being lazy and making knockoffs of 2006/07. This weekend's game against New Mexico was a carbon copy of the 2007 loss to New Mexico. Is there hope against Wyoming? I guess, but this Rams team just refuses to win. There are some bright spots for next season, as several young players made some big plays, but if CSU can't find a quarterback by next season it won't matter. Steve Fairchild and this team have gone from the Penthouse to the outhouse in just 8 games, and he better figure some shit out this offseason or he may not make it to year 4. I have been disapointed to be a CSU fan often, it goes with the territory, but this loss makes me embarrased.

Usually I have laid the blame on the fact that CSU was out-manned, but in this game the coaching staff didn't help at all. The staff didn't take a timeout with about 45 seconds left as New Mexico was obviously trying to set up for a field goal, allowing them to run the clock down to 15 seconds. Why not take the timeouts? We ran out of time in that game with one timeout in our pocket. At least it would have made New Mexico run another play, and as we saw against Weber State, sometimes one play can make a huge difference. I advocated a change from Sonny because too often his staff fucked up games like this, and last season this staff was aggressive and found ways to win. This season the team has regressed to the exact same place as 2007. I now wonder if we would have been in a better place by just keeping Sonny and skipping all the drama. This sucks.

The worst was the fact that the Rams could have stolen a win twice, when New Mexico muffed the CSU punt, only to have the lone Lobo in the area steal the ball from about six Rams and when CSU gave up the easiest 4th-and-3 ever on the final drive. Besides Sisson, Oppeneer and sometimes Elijah Blu-Smith, it seems no Rams defenders have the ability to make a big play. Weak. Jon Mosure's fumble was also terribily costly.


Broncos: The only reason this isn't the worst is that this game was fucked up from the start. It was just one of those games where everything that could go wrong, did.

-The Broncos had to start a back-up QB, when our starter isn't even that good.

-That back-up fumbled on his first drop back, killing all our early momentum.

-I am convinced that Knowshon scored before that fumble. He hit the gaurd's knee with the ball, and the guard's knee was in the end zone/on the goal line. Why the NFL doesn't have camera's on both goallines? I have asked this before and I will until it happens. The league makes billions and can't figure this out. This play was so crucial, and yet I saw two angles of it, none which made it very clear.

-Prior to the Broncos lone points, on third down Eddie Royal was held in his route and Merriman dove at an injured Kyle Orton's legs. That should have been two penalties, instead none were called. The Chargers only had one penalty called on them all game (two were nullified by calls on the Broncos as well), while the Broncos had 9. An entire NFL game and only three violations? Dubious, if you ask me.

-The Broncos didn't seem to bring much pressure and I have no clue why. Are we that scared of Phillip River's deep lobs that we won't rush. It was the key to the game last time and we sat back and let him pick us apart.

-The onside kick was baller, minus the Broncos failing to jump on the football. McD realized that it was now or never for the Broncos to grab some momentum and he risked it all. It failed, but I liked the gamble. I would rather get stomped 32-3 and have pulled everything out of the bag than to lose like 20-3 by taking the conventional NFL Head Coach route of deficit moderation.

-I'm really glad I'm not working this week or else I might stab my boss.

In da club: It was a very busy week, but nothing matched last week in the wierd category. Craziest thing was when some girl rubbed/grabbed the butt of one of our Gogo dancers (who may be dating Owen Wilson, if rumors are to be trusted). I usually am cool with girl-on-girl action, but everyone knows you don't touch the dancers. Sadly I was unable to break my choke-hold virginity on a girl, but I did have to escort her out.

Thursday I went into work and was told to post up six feet from a pole with three award winning pole dancers taking turns for about an hour-and-a-half. It really is a tough job. In order not to stare at them I also placed myself so that I could see them in the reflection of a mirror, thus I looked like I was scanning the crowd while I just kept watching. Sometimes I am smart.

Avalanche: Taking a page out of the CSU playbook by blowing leads late in the game. Not good. I want a reason to be able to watch hockey in March and April (or at least complain to Direct TV that I don't have VS). Please get your shit figured out.

-Matty Duchene is starting to score on the reg (/Kenny Powers). This makes me so happy. The kid is fucking awesome and he will be a star sooner rather than later.

Tweet of the week: (follow MessiahThaDon)  A tie this week between QBs traded for each other:

KingNeckbeard: Coach says i'm too drunk to start... What a flaming pile of horseshit! I only got this drunk so my ankle wouldn't hurt fuckface!
NotJayCutler : Watching Chris Simms throw is like watching Mozart paint.


Nuggets: The fucking Clippers? Without the Black Ginger. Fuck me. At least you righted your shit and beat those bitch ass Bulls.

-JR is blowing kisses to the crowd and that makes me happy.

-Birdman may be getting back to decent. I thought we were gonna have to start dolling out the coke to get him all excited again.

Rockies: Guess who is not on the 40-man roster? Yorvit. YEEEEESSSSSS. Sign that motherfucker next September, but until then keep his .200 average and spaghetti arm out of Coors.

Coming up this week:  To counteract all this negativity, I will fill a post of many of the people, websites and videos that make me love sports. Ya know, it is Thanksgiving week. Then a Pregaming edition for Wyoming, which will involve me trying to recount my Border War blackout last year.

Why I can't sleep at night: Random thoughts not really about sports

I get a lot of jokes made/questions asked about my nocturnal patterns (Leonard has dubbed me a vampire). People don't really get why I will stay up past the sunrise doing nonsense instead of dropping off to sleep like a normal person. Obviously my hours bouncing throw me off, but even before I always stayed up way too late, even if I had a dreaded morning class or work in the AM.

Partly it is my biological clock, but mostly it is the fact that I can't shut my brain down at night to fall asleep. Insomnia is kind of a bitch, but to put it in perspective here is a list of things I remember consciously thinking about two nights (mornings?) ago before I could fall asleep (this is just a partial list). Keep in mind I was dead sober for this, so imagine what thoughts run through my head when on any mind-expanding drug, and you can see why I avoid them:

-I start by thinking about Mad Men, which I just watched, and if I would be a cheating asshole like Don Draper, especially if I had that much random ass thrown at me.

-I start panicking about how I am wasting my life by working as a bouncer and staying up so late. I wonder if I would ever find a job I truly enjoy that actually pays. One that isn't NFL wide receiver, which I appear to have missed.

-I start thinking about my plans for the next day, what I have to do, what I want to get done. I get frustrated that every minute without falling asleep means another minute wasted the next day, but I know I can't rush the process.

-I realize I am only 24 and I have six years until I am 30 and really have to make something of myself. I look at how much I have changed in the last six years and realize I have a lot of growth ahead. I laugh at how stupid and awkward I used to be, especially since I am still awkward and stupid.

-I hear my roommate get up for work and I wonder if I could physically do labor at this time in the morning, day after day.

-I think about religion, and what my beliefs were. I thought so long about this I was able to basically come up with a new mission statement: "With all the horrible things carried out in the name of organized religion I find it impossible to follow one and I feel that any sort of rational God would see the enlightenment of a person choosing to live by their own personal moral compass rather than any religion created and moderated by anyone else."

-I begin thinking about death, and what it means and what will happen. I have been asking this question as long as I can remember, fearing the unknown. I literally have to force myself to think about something else or I become enveloped in fear.

-I start thinking about why the Broncos are playing like shit. I get angry at Chrissy Simms (Sports is my escape).

-I decide that I will mock the Chargers fans at work this week, as I can't go into this weekend's game lying down.

-I try to focus on nothing. I clear my mind completely. I see dark holes that come and swallow me up. I cannot physically move, when I try, but I am still somehow awake, aware that I am awake and not sleeping. My eyes twitch involuntarily and my body seems disconnected, yet I still am not asleep.

-A dog barks and I blink, shocking myself back into actual thoughts and anger that I am awake. I wonder if I will ever get to sleep. I imagine the possibility of never sleeping again and I roll over, readjusting my pillows.

-I wonder what is real and if I am maybe always asleep. I realize this is just stupid.

-I try to think about how upset I feel in the morning, as soon as my alarm goes, and I try to recapture that sleepy feeling that makes me hit the snooze button 6 times.

-A few minutes later, I believe, I actually fall asleep. I don't remember what I was thinking about then.

The moral of the story is that no one should wonder anymore why I spend so much time jotting down thoughts on my blog or doing stupid shit til all hours of the morning. I have to clear my mind and really feel dead tired to fall asleep in less than 30 minutes. Any thought unexplored that pops up or that I feel is important I have to sort out, or else it will drive me mad all night. Especially any guilt, fear or nervousness. I could drink until I pass out or take some sleeping medication but I refuse to do so on a consistent basis.

Entering my mind is kind of scary, right?

Sack and Edy discuss the NBA, Part II (finally) [Edy insults aplenty]

I welcome my readers to this preseason, first week semi early in the year NBA preview on Sackrilegious. Again, I welcome Mr. Trevor Edy to discuss the NBA (Remember this Nuggs Preview from about 2 months ago? Neither do I. Blame is on Edy, more on that later). I welcome him like you welcome Jehova's Witnesses into your house. Reminder: he speaks in Italics, because that is the way I imagine his French ancestors spoke. I speak in the noble font you know as normal.

This is a little all over the place, but is that really surprising in any way?  

When life gives you hate, make Haterade.

When prompted to write about the NBA by a friend, recycle jokes from freshman year. Glad you're bringing the A-game.


We need to give Ty Lawson some love: He is quick. Both Edy and I forgot to mention him during our Nuggets preview, and that was inexcusable. Again, I blame AC, whose suckiness melted my brain. A back-up point guard who comes in and changes the pace of the game, but in a good way. Egads! This does work better than a turnover machine.

Something we failed to address in the last post. Ty Lawson is going to have me saying “Is this real life????” (insert kid from dentist video) many times this season. He looks like a cross between Sherron Collins and Mateen Cleaves, but has game like Chris Paul, already. You know what this means, less minutes for AC-eeeeeeeeeee. AC can go take his green hummer and shove it up his ass… from the bench, of course.

Most hated player in the league: LeBron. I really seem to dislike him and the fact that everyone seems to love him. Ginobli is also up here, but the LeBron love gets to me. Guess what? That bitch hasn't won anything yet, but everyone keeps putting him up as the best player ever. He has barely done anything better than Melo and has achieved less than D-Wade. Plus, he is a fucking dick.

Not shaking hands after the loss to the Magic is a total bitch move. You lost to a better TEAM, give them some respect. Don't run off and refuse to talk about it. You want to be the highest paid athlete ever and you constantly appear in TV commercials hawking car insurance or some other dumb shit, annoying the piss out of me, but when things go bad you hide. It doesn't work that way Bron-Bron. You gotta take the good with the bad.

Crab-Dribble, what the fuck are you on? Delonte West even thinks that was stupid. 

Such a bitch. A 6'9" 250-pound man, who, as far as I recall, has never been called for a charge, despite flying to the basket like Brian Dawkins after a receiver. Always bitching about the refs. It makes me sick. I want to be able to cheer for you, being such a freak-of-nature and arguably the most athletic person on the planet, but you are too conceited for me, which is really saying something.  

Two words: Sasha Vujacic. Two more words: Douche Bag. If you don’t agree with me on this, well… fuck you. This guy might as well wear a giant pussy on his face. I can just see him doing an ‘Always’ pad commercial telling women to “have a happy period.” This is not out of the realm of possibility.  

Quick game: Which of these pictures is actually Trevor Edy, and not some douchebag? Answer below. 

Trevor, on Facebook, dubbed me the Sasha Vujacic of his friend's circle. That is the most fucked up thing anyone has ever said to me. Trevor could abort my baby from the womb of Betty Draper and I would not be as upset at him as I am over that slight.

He later recanted a bit, to say that "If my circle of friends was the Lakers, you would be Sasha." Oh, that is so much better. So then I called him the Luke Walton of my friend circle (in Laker terms), and also the Eric Byrnes overall in sports terms. Look at him: the abhorrent whiteness, the former long-flowing bleach blond locks, the fake hustle and, most of all, the shit-talking with absolutely nothing to back it up. If this blog takes some ugly swipes at Edy the rest of the way, remember that he called me Sasha Vagania-cic and you will understand my anger.

Plus, Edy was supposed to have this preview done weeks ago, but he is the biggest slacker since Kwame Brown. He even promised to work on it as a birthday present to me, and then didn't do shit. Cost me two weeks at least on this NBA preview because he "couldn't get his Bill Simmons on." Would the real Trevor Edy please separate stand up?  

Answer: All of the above are Douchebags. You're on thin ice as resident NBA expert, former-pal. 

All right, it is actually Edy in the middle, dressed as Aaron Carter for Halloween. On a related note, Mr. Edy, that is certainly a Man-Code violation. Your Man-Card has been suspended. 

Some good came out of this exchange, however: We decided that our Laker friend, Cartman Molloy, would obviously be Shannon Brown. According to a former Cavs and CSU staffer, Brown was the dumbest person he ever met. He would go on road trips and pack nothing but his warm-ups, meaning he had to wear a robe or jersey for most of the trip. 

Shannon Brown minus the really athleticism part. If the shoe fits. (Quote generated from Edy text messages). 

Favorite non-Nugget: I have Gilbert Arenas. He is my boy. Everything that I would want to be as a player. Quick. Quirky. A hard worker. Deadly jumper. One of the few guys in the league who can be a top-flight scorer and also be among league leaders in assists. He is bawse (/Tommy Joiner).  

Surprise team: Washington Wizards. Arenas is back. I watched some highlights, and that fucker is quick again. He isn't talking crazy shit either. The team has enough depth for anyone in the East, the young guys got time last year. Leadership from Antwan, Tuff Juice and Gil. Flip Saunders is a decent coach and will turn a 19 win team into at least the second round of the playoffs, pushing 50 wins. This is biased because I love the Bullets, but they are due. I think if they match up with the Cavs it is possible they shock them and force Bron out of Cleveland. The East is a crap shoot of overrated teams anyway.

*The Wiz have not really started out gangbusters, so this prediction looks really stupid. But Gil just brought back Agent Zero, and if you have ever watched a movie, you know the montage of winning is just around the corner. Right? 

You know that one girl at the party that you know is going to be either (a) passed out on the couch at the end of the night, (b) end up being part of a “Birmingham Booty Call,”or (c) telling everyone “I’m so classy” as her boob flies out of her tube top. You know one of these three things will happen, you just don’t know when. Just like, you know Arenas is going to get hurt, it might not be tomorrow or next week, but it WILL happen. The team will fold without him, just like they do every year. I think Flip Saunders is a great coach, but he is in a tough position. They have solid players, a good mix of crafty veterans and rising young stars, even have a leading candidate for my NBA first-team all-ugly, Mike Miller… and, uhhh, Sam Cassell (a perennial addition into the all-ugly team) is an Assistant Coach. I’m done here.   

He had knee surgery, it takes a couple years to come back from. It is the same injury as K-Mart, Amare and tons of other guys have had. Two years recovery, brother. Gilbert trained all offseason with Jordan's guy in Chicago. Barring someone rolling into his knee again, he will be fine. If we are going by your analogy, about girls at parties, he is the hot girl at the party who, for whatever stupid reason, ends up hooking up with a douchebag who treats her wrong. She loses confidence, gets out of the dating game for a while, but after some therapy and time to fix her life, she will come back into the game wiser and will make some guy's life (I imagine this is how Rihanna and I will end up together). That analogy was rough, but I still don't understand why I would want to talk on a cell phone that was up some chick's ass. Crazy Kappas. 

However, I think Houston is going to be a major surprise out of the Southwest division. In a recent win at Utah, they had eight guys in double figures. They are really an all around team with a good coach (Rick Adelman). Shane Battier, a guy that this blog has come to admire, was a +36 in the +/- that game. Pretty incredible in a 113-96 win.  

Houston is going to suck my balls. No playoffs. Sorry. T-Mac is their hope and it won't happen. They have bad ju-ju. If you think Gil is the girl about to lose her shit at the party, Houston is the sororstitute that have been drinking since noon, whose sole plan in life is to get pounded by someone cool. We all know how that ends: Mickeys and Blunts, your basement, Ronnie Aguilar and some poor little blond girl. Not a pretty sight, I must say: Houston will have a problem this year. 

No doubt in this category. Have to love OKC. What’s not to love? Kevin Durant is the future of the league. Plus, that Hyperize commercial slays me every time it comes on. 

I wanted you to write a preview ala Bill Simmons, not parrot him. But yeah, OKC really is the best choice. Fuck that Bawstahn fucktahd for stealing all the good talking points. 

Most hated Nuggs opponent that we haven't heard much about (and that you think the team would hate the most): More who we suspect will become a thorn in the Nuggets side. Like Russell Westbrook or OJ Mayo, after his 40 point blow up earlier this year. Like how Scott Hairston hits a bomb against the Rockies every fucking game, but sucks against everyone else. JJ Berrea is kinda like that. I gotta go with Trevor Ariza. Everyone gives Kobe credit, but Ariza was a straight punk last season to the Nuggs, fucking our shit up. He played Melo as well as anyone one-on-one (or as close to it as anyone does, because don't no one guard Melo one-on-one)...

"I don't really think it's possible to have a 'Melo stopper," Anthony said. "No team in the NBA will just let me play one-on-one against them. They just won't do it."

...and he managed to score enough points to piss me off. Now he is a Rocket. Awesome. With him and Battier the Rockets will piss Melo off enough that he might Kufi slap some more fools (ht: Rory). 

Going out on a limb here and saying Luke “Pretty Boy” Walton. He’s already been going back and forth with our man, Renaldo Balkman, in the early stages of the preseason. I see plenty of jawing in the future for these two. Obviously both teams have some beef to settle after last year’s playoff series. This will again be ignited this year. 

I hope to God that Balkman or someone smacks that Grateful Dead loving bitch in the face. If AC does it, he earns a reprieve from my hate. Do it A.C.

Will any NBA player challenge Ron-Ron Artest for Starbury Memorial Award and at what moment and how will Artest derail the Lakers? 1) Depending on what happens with this S-Jack situation, he could do some shit. Iverson could blow up Memphis (called it). T-Mac might injure himself in some creative way, like Houston the rapper/singer.

I think Artest takes a really bad T in close game, blowing a game that was about to be another classic Kobe-comeback. From then on the questions start and his play starts to slack. Either that or he becomes the first guy crazy enough to demand that Kobe get him the ball more, and in turn brawls with Kobe, finishing it by ripping the leg of a courtside table and impaling Kobe through the heart.

Why do I have Cleveland winning the championship this year?? Not Shaq, not LBJ.… Ladies and Gentlemen: Delonte West! He is a first-teamer on the NBA All-Neck Tattoo team. I was having a chat with one of my buddies and we were discussing the connection between stupid shit and neck tattoos. The correlation is uncanny. Guys in the L with neck tattoos: Starbury, Delonte, Kmart, Deshawn Stevenson, etc. (also see the “Uh, this is my one phone call, so don’t hang up” team) All guys who at anytime can be pulled over on his crotch rocket with a loaded shotgun (oops, that already happened) and you wouldn’t bat an eye.  It makes too much sense. And  that’s not even the most outrageous thing that Mr. West has done. Case and point. MR. WEST IS IN THE BUILDING! Anytime your young role player puts out a video like that, you have to know you’re going to be successful this season. …. We can build on this! 

The only thing that would make that video better is if Kanye West inturupted it somehow. "Excuse, Delonte West, but Starbury had the greatest meltdown on a webcam ever." Wow, that is glorious. 

As for Artest: I don’t see him being the defensive stopper he has been in the past. He just doesn’t fit in the Lakeshow system. Not really sure why they went and changed their chemistry to add a guy who has openly had a homophobic boy band love for their star player. “Mr. Mantrum ”will lose control and eventually cost LA an important game at some point. 

Will Blake Griffin ever play a game? Yes, only to rupture his ACL during the jumpball. 

Look for many top 10 plays from Mr. Griffin. Side note: ON PAPER, the Clippers are playoff contender. Baron, Eric Gordon, Al Thorton (whom I love), Kaman, Camby, the list goes on. This is like the dream video game team. Too bad for them, they don’t play the games on an 8.5 x 11. 

That is paper. Mixing your metaphors there young Edy. You also forgot to mention that Dunleavy is the coach. Doomed.  

Will Indiana cut Dauntay Jones before the end of the season? He is not white enough for that franchise. 

After watching just one game in which he played. I now know how the rest of the league felt last year. 

He is quite the dick. Maybe he can still do the Nuggs a favor and get Chris Paul suspended for another nutsack sucker punch.  

Player in the NBA who plays most like yourself:  Yao. I am really tall and have decent coordination for my size, but I should be tougher and I should be able to dominate more than I do. I also make dunking really difficult, when it shouldn't be at my height. Solid range to about 15 feet. Players a few inches shorter that are much quicker can own me. Fortunately, I am not a big pussy who is constantly hurt. Sadly, I am a full foot shorter. 

Andre Miller, excluding the fact he has the personality of a fish, this one is dead on. He’d rather back down a smaller PG, than take a contested 15 footer. A guy who looks to get his teammates involved first. This may cause problems in Portland, however. Both Andre Miller and Brandon Roy need the ball to thrive… only one ball.   

You would pick the whitest black man in the league. I think you play like A.C. You push the ball recklessly, have solid range in close but brick threes, but you hustle all over the place. IF I AM SASHA YOU ARE AC. SUCK ON THAT!   

Song that best desribes your Nuggets outlook this season: Don't Wake Me Up- Ya Boy ft. Knock the Hometown Hero. 

"I started off with them gangsta (people of color) that push and peddle, I Could have robbed some (suckus), could have shot some (Ninjas), but you did it first and look where it got you (sir), we set examples now, ball and watch these hampers pile full of checks, started in the West and world stamped it now, on top of the world, most the time on top of they girl, fuck the assumers, only idiots listen to rumors."

This sounds a lot like Melo, coming up from the hood and now he needs to realize that shit is expected of him. He can be the best in league, or at least he should be. Time to keep it going. Don't get involved in any of that dumb thug shit anymore.

"Sitting on top of the world, if my life's a dream, don't wake me up. I'm in magazines and I'm living it up. I'm on top of the world and I'm blowing up, don't wake me up."

The way the Nuggs played last year and started this season, I am pretty stoked. I don't want them to fall off, I want this to continue. If last season was our dream season, I don't want to see this season turn into a reality where we suck again, and aren't fun to watch.

"Tell them haters to pipe down."

Prognosticators picking us to fall off, fuck them. Only idiots listen to rumors, or Tim Legler.

"I'm on my grind, if you not on my level get left behind, take a look up and see where I'm at (Sitting on top of the world)" 

Other players on the team need to realize that Melo and Chauncey can take them to the top, but they have to step up their level as well. Too much last year, as we choked against the Lakers, it was just Melo and Chauncey, taking on all five Lakers. Odom, Pau, Ariza and even fucktarded Shannon Brown made big plays. No one on the Nuggs stepped up. That needs to change. 

“We Ready” By Archie… I think they are ready this year. They will constantly be the “Nobody believed in us except the guys in this locker room” team.  

Keith Burns thinks this song is very 1999.  

Song that best describes the state of the league: Three blind mice, because of the refs. Get it? 

Anything by LMFAO and that LOL (Smiley Face) song by Trey Songz… ever since athletes have been exposed to twitter they all of a sudden feel obligated to tweet like a 12-year-old girl in a chat room who just received another “300 more hours free” AOL CD in the mail. The NBA: Where LMFAO! and LOL! happens.   

LMFAO is the tits. Don't dog them. But yes, the smiley face song is perfect for the NBA. Every time that comes on in the club I want to strangle the fucking DJ. Edy wins this penultimate section. 

Random Notes: Side note #879 – Our GM came out with this… http://espn.go.com/blog/truehoop/post/_/id/10155/mark-warkentiens-play-in-tournament … This is why we love the Nuggets, among other things.  

Our GM should stick to finding a big man so Nene can play the four. 

Predictions: Trevor/Matt

Eastern Southwest: Miami/Orlando

Central: Cleveland/Cleveland

Atlantic: Boston/Boston

Western Southwest: Houston/San Antonio

Northwest: Denver/Denver

Pacific: Los Angeles Lakers/LA Lakers

Eastern Conference Champ: Cleveland/Boston

Western Conference Champ: LA Lakers/San Antonio

NBA Champs: Cleveland/San Antonio 

Most Valuable Player: Lebron James/Lebron

Rookie of the Year: Brandon Jennings/DeJuan Blair

Defensive Player of the Year: Dwight Howard/Dwight Howard (even if Battier deserves it)

6th Man: Rasheed Wallace/Jason Terry

Most Improved Player: Emeka Okafor/Greg Oden (which big man will suck less)

Surprise Team: Houston/Washington

Surprise Player: Ramon Sessions/Anthony Randolph

Disappointing Team: Dallas/New Orleans

Weekend Sack-Up: This losing shit sucks, let's do more of the winning thing

Christy Simms sucks my balls: Good lord, son, that was the worst interception ever. Even worse than Jake Plummer's left-handed shot put. That was Plummer's non-throwing hand, but you are actually left-handed. Fuck you and your absolutely awful announcer of a dad.

It looked like you fucking punted that ball, not kicked it. It would have been awesome if you were playing 500 in the schoolyard and called "Surprise Package," but unfortunatley it was a real life NFL game. If you even got that within a zip code of B-Marsh he would He-Man woman-beat anyone around to negate an interception.

We fired Mike Shannahan and then signed a back-up QB with an ankle tat of Shannahan's son. Maybe this was some sort of revenge? No one could throw such a shitty pass on accident. If you play against the Chargers I hope Merriman rapes you so hard that lose a kidney and liver. You don't have a spleen, pussy, but I didn't know you were also the tin man and the scarecrow. No heart, no brain. 100% FUCKKNUCKLE. Now we are tied with Los Chargeros and I might have to choke a bitch.

The Rest of the Broncos: You just lost to Washington. The Redskins, not the Capitals. Get your shit together. 6-0 doesn't mean shit if you don't win four more games the rest of the way. You are now tied atop the division with San Diego. You haven't won a game in a fucking month.

Champ looks like fucking Dre Bly lately, letting Hines Ward jump arr over roo and then whiffing on a huge tackle on third down during the comeback drive.


B-Dawk also got run over by Betts on the goalline. I understand you were on the field for the whole second half because retard Simms couldn't find his ass with Google Maps, but you still gotta make that play. You are Mr. Defense, all that whoofing and crazy talking to the football shit, you have to tackle guys at the goal line. Send a message. Instead, we saw you get run over like some roadkill.

Gotta be a Chargers fan in disguise.(HT- KSK)

McD. You got outcoached by Jim Zorn, and the assortment of random guys in charge of the Redskins since Danny Snyder took away Zornies offensive playcalling keys. That is not good. The Orton-injury is pretty big, because he was Ballin,' but why wouldn't we stick to the run when it became apparent Lefty Simms was channeling another erratic lefty, Phil Mickelson.

The defensive line folded like a cheap table late yet again. It is apparent this team is only built to play in the lead and can't handle a second half deficit. Not good. We got pretty lucky to start of 6-0 and now it evening out. It can all be remedied with a victory next weekend though. Beat some Charger ass and I will be happy again.

Special teams. I hate you. Mitch Fucking Berger sucks. And he is from CU. So he doubly sucks. Cut him now, please. An about 30 Broncos were expecting a fake punt, but not one of them could cover Mike Sellers. How fucking retarded are you guys?

Random Celeb Note: I still love Rihanna and have been rocking all her new songs, but I'm afraid she might be a bit resistant to rough sex nowadays, for some reason? That could be an issue for me and really doom our relationship. I think January Jones Betty Draper will have to be my new go to celeb wife. Bangable? You bet. A tad bit crazy? For sure. I would be faithful to you, Miss Draper.


CSU football didn't lose: We also didn't play. But the important thing is we didn't lose. I also notice, that dating back to my last blog I had two years ago, CSU hasn't won many games for me. These assholes better beat New Mexico. Beat them like Mike "Tom Cable, Jr." Locksley beats his assistants. End this stupid losing streak and then ruin Wyoming's chance at a bowl. This season may be disapointing, but it can end on a high note. Make this happen. Don't go out like bitches.

Kory Sperry scored a TD this weekend for the Dolphins. He is one big, MEASTLY looking motherfucker. Good for him. Plus he has tattoos.

(HT: Sun Sentinel)

Greg Camarillo really kinda horned in on Sperry's trademarked chest-pounding after a TD.

The Avs are also returning to Earth: Another Colorado team with a fantastic start and then they begin to fade as the season progresses. Heard this story before? I have. It is like one of those weekends when they play Cast Away all weekend, non-stop. I just sit there watching it, hoping the whole time that Tom Hanks comes home to a hotter wife than Helen Cunt and doesn't lose Wilson. Never happens, but two hours later I find myself watching again.

It is a long season and the Avs have a lot of guys coming back, so hopefully they get back on the grind. Matt Duchene will break out soon, along with Son of Statsny, so they could carry the Avs for a bit.

 The Avs also got new jerseys, and boy are they, uh, nice. Santa, no need to stuff one of these down my fake chimney this year. Plus it will be kind of toxic in there, as I plan on burning my Jay Cuntler jizz rag jersey this year.

Speaking of Cunty, ole Boy:

Just missed that jersey number, didn't ya?

The more picks you toss, the higher the Broncos draft pick will be. 

AJ and Big Teej will now go light themselves on fire.

 

At least the Nuggets offer hope: Beating some Laker ass. #DatswhatI'mtalking bout. I would like a Ty Lawson poster as well DJ Mbenga, but I wouldn't want to be in it. Fix your face.



How is your publicist gonna spin that, DoucheJina Mbenga (Pretty sure that's what DJ stands for. And yes, according to Simmons Mbenga does have a publicist).

On a 1-Awesome scale, the Nuggs are as awesome as this Halloween costume. Den Dollock ain't got shit on this baby.

Stories from the club: Two good ones from this week. 1) After the night ended, these two semi-ghetto white trash feaux-gangsters who had been asked to stop flashing "gang" signs earlier, started shit with a group that was mostly girls. I don't know why it started, but it was going on after the club closed, out on the sidewalk, so we had to break it up. One of the tough guys, wearing a hat that repped East County (like repping Rifle or Pueblo, something no one should be proud of) started screaming at these girls that they were ugly and he wouldn't fuck any of them. He was bragging that he was being picked up in a town car, while they were waiting for a taxi. Big time for sure, but as he walked to the towncar screaming, he looked back to laugh and ran head first into a steetpole, loud enough for me to hear the audible "Dong" about 15 feet away. Still didn't shut him up, but it did give everyone a good laugh.

2) After the club closed Sat. some girl came up asking to go to the bathroom. I guess she wasn't hot enough or was a bitch (or maybe he was actually doing his job), but my boy Hank told her she couldn't come in. In anger, protest and just general need, she then decided to pull up her skirt and squat, right in front of the club exit. Her friend held up a shall or jacket to give her a little cover, but probably at least 20 people saw her piss like a gusher all outside the club (No R. Kelly). The only reason everyone on the block wasn't watching her was due to the fact that another girl had gotten a DUI for driving the wrong way down the one way street. Man do I love drunk people.

Tweet of the Week: (Follow me, if you wish) VeryFakeAlDavis

"Thank god the Twitter is around to help journalists compare Jay Cutler to Jeff George in real time."

On a related note, the great Drew Magary tells me why I love Twitter: Because black people think it is cool. I should have guessed that. A little know fact is that Chad Ochocinco represents 15%  (UnoCinco percento) of both Hispanics and blacks. 


Random CSU thoughts from Vegas, On why the good turnout, for a game so far from home with shitty teams: CSU fans will show up in mass to two games, against CU and in Las Vegas. Why? Because both of those games offer an awesome chance to party before and after. Hughes, while a blast to tailgate with the right people, doesn't offer that same expirience. When the football team loses a home game it tends to dampen, if not ruin completely, the enthusiam for the postgame party. After the CU/CSU game in Denver and the games in Vegas everyone still wants to get drunk anyway. CSU, and the city of Fort Collins, needs to create some sort of avenue to attract fans to the game. Drink specials at bars or resuraunts with a ticket stub, even a student stub. Concerts (even shitty ones like Common). Closing down the streets in Old Town for a night ala Brew Fest. Get better at football (hopefully on the way, but tough to see). Bring back College Daze (unless I somehow get elected President, never gonna happen).

Or simply, schedule a few more marquee opponents and play them in Denver. Who cares if we catch some ass whoopings? The fans will turn out for a big name opponent and we can start to turn Denver into a CSU town. The more they see CSU in Denver, the more likely grads will want to get a chance to return to Fort Collins. Market the games as a chance to reconnect with all your friends. Set up a system to make dorm hallway, frat, ASAP, or whatever group want to reconnect. Oh wait, there is this thing called Facebook that makes that pretty easy. Well, then start aggressively promoting such ideas. People want to stay connected if they feel they are missing out. So have events, have some interns take pictures and throw them up online. Better than creating Ram Town to attract transplant Foco residents who will be busy taking their runts to soccer practice anyway. Those type of people will attach themselves to the program when the team is good. They are called bandwagon fans, and all the marketing in the world won't work. You have to win to have them, and we certainly aren't doing enough of that.

Pregaming Post-Analysis: Some Blogs Don't Stay in Vegas

I promised to report on my Vegas trip, and now five days later I was finally able to recover and put it into words. Everyone I know probably had a connection of some sort to this weekend, as it was like CSU threw up all over Vegas with the number of Rams in town (even into the fountains at the Bellagio...allegedly).

(Side: I have started giving everyone nicknames, in case the part you play in any story of my life is illegal/horrible/cause for termination/embarrassing/etc. Probably better that no real names and the phrase "got a squeezer from a tranny hooker" end up in the same sentence on Google. Because that would suck. I have put about 1.2 seconds of thought into these for each of you. Have fun and see if you can guess your nickname.)

Anyway, this is what happened, best I can recollect. Enjoy:

Key Players in the Vegas trip

Wheel: A drunk Texan and former roommate of mine who flew out to meet me in Vegas. He was the drunkest person in Vegas from the moment I arrived and may have continued his drinking long after I left. For all I know he could now be one of the underground sewer dwellers that infest Vegas (told you it was true, haters).

The Azn: A friend I met late freshman year in the dorms when she came to check out our hall on recognizance, if I remember the story correctly. An infamous member of the 'I-99 Sluts.' Now out in LA. Invited the FOF. A social butterfly in the truest sense.

The Friend of a Friend (FOF): One of two girls who accompanied me on my drive out to Vegas from LA. She is a friend of the Azn's who also went to CSU. Knows almost every person I know.

Johnny: I met Johnny at the Poinsettia Bowl 4 years ago in San Diego with Edy (who doesn't get a nickname until he apologizes for his horrific slight of me on Facebook), Kilometers and the Actor. My only bowl game I attended in five years at CSU. I think he was a few years graduated from CSU (about 25 years old) was fucking bombed and passing out carbombs like candy. He and his group took in four young Rams and took away all our fears that we would get MIPs. He was kicked out of that bowl game at least two times. I had not seen, or really remembered him since.


The FlyBoy: Played football at the Academy, dating the Trophy Wife. Happy you got mentioned?
The Trophy Wife: I-99 slut, dating the Cadet.
Nasty: One of those ironical, alliteration based nicknames. From the Dale.
The Wrestler: She dated a wrestler at Wyo.
The Secret Twin: Separated at birth (allegedly) from the FlyBoy, now his roommate.
Cartman: He is a Lakers and Dodgers fan. Football: Cowboys. We argue constantly.
Grand Theft: It will be pretty obvious why this is his nickname.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, 3:30AM. I get off work and finish packing. I debate if I should just blow town immediately and drive to Vegas, forcing my potential co-pilots in LA to drive themselves the next day. I could have made it by 9. I call Nasty. He got into Vegas earlier in the night. I tell myself, if he answers, I will leave for Vegas right then. He doesn't. I decide to make an honest attempt at sleep, no one wants to go to Vegas on an empty tank.

6:30AM: This sleeping thing is bullshit. I should have taken a Tylenol PM. Too excited. The Azn, getting ready for a half day at work, calls to question if it is cool that I have to be back in LA by 6:30 on Sunday. I think for a second she means 6:30AM. I am already delusional. I agree. I attempt some more sleep.

9:30AM: No sleep on the way. I give up, burn a CD since I am IPod-less and don't trust girls to have good music. It is time to go.

11:00AM: I reach the 101, it is slow. I announce how much I hate LA. I also have been awake for almost 20 hours straight. Probably shouldn't be operating a vehicle.

12:30PM: After a quick lunch I drop by FOF's house. I have never met her, but I am going to be driving with her for at least six hours, so I don't feel that asking to take a nap at her house is imposing at all.

When I pull up, we recognize each other at first sight, even though we had failed to ever be officially introduced. I go inside her house and the first picture I see is one of her and a girl from Aspen. Apparently we know some of the same people. Or everybody. We lived in the Lofts at the same time. The amount of similar friends and experiences we shared was unsettling to the point I almost felt that either one of us was lying or we both had a deep-seeded mental block.

I make the situation less awkward by falling asleep for 20 minutes or so.

1:45PM: We leave to pick up the Azn. Sometime roughly around now Wheel! arrives in Vegas. He texts asking where I am. I tell him I won't be in until about 7-8. He begins drinking.

2:30PM: We drive the 10 miles to meet the Azn at her work. I hate LA. We pack up and roll out.

3:00PM: The Azn announces that traffic should soon break, as we are close to the 10. Wheel decides that the best deal in Vegas is a yard drink in the basement of the MGM Grand. He has two.

4:00PM: We are on the 10, traffic has failed to break. We take our first bathroom break I am removed from the driver's seat. I would rather light my foot on fire than let an Asian girl drive my car, but I am exhausted to the point that I struggle to form sentences.

5:00PM: I slip in and out of sleep for a while, always irritated that we haven't broken out of traffic yet. I decide not to ask the Azn for any lucky numbers, Nostradamus she is not.

7:00PM: Traffic finally breaks. We reach Barstow. We get Inn-N-Out. I am happy. Everyone waiting for us in Vegas is now already getting drunk and ready to go. The girls are hydrating hard to make sure they don't die. This is a smart idea. Unfortunately their tiny bladders have to pee constantly. At every stop I plot how I can buy beer so that I can drink in the car. I am so ready to get schammered, but decide to wait, as Vegas never closes, so I should be able to take it slow. 

9:00PM: We reach the edge of Vegas and stop at a Whole Foods for some reason. They have a special display of 24 oz. PBR cans for $1.50 each. I buy 10. This is a good omen. 

9:30PM: I get in line to check into the hotel. Wheel finds me. He has no luggage and his second or third yard drink. He can't remember. He is swearing up a strorm. He is actually making people in the line around us, people checking into a hotel in Las Vegas, shake their heads at how drunk he is. 

9:40PM: Admittedly I packed poorly and haphazardly, with one backpack and two paper bags full of beer and random stuff. Wheel offers to help me hold a bag, but he won't put down his yard drink. The bag rips, sending tall-boy PBRs rolling all over the tile. The guys behind us are the only ones who seem to find any humor in this. 

9:42PM: A Vitamin Water falls, it's lid breaks off, spilling all over. I convince Wheel it is time to go locate his missing luggage. He finally wanders off. I wonder if I am going to even get into the hotel, then come to the realization that this is Vegas and people like Wheel are the reason it was invented. I relax. 

9:50PM: My room is upgraded, I get free drink vouchers and advice about which clubs to go (it's my brithday, Boosh). So much for Wheel being too drunk.

10:20PM: We get to the room. Wheel demands I give him some of the beer. He really doesn't remember much of the previous exchange in the lobby. As he tries to hook his laptop up to the 13.99/day internet I decide to make it so no internet/porn can be charged to my room. I am still sober. I lock up my camera and Wheel's laptop in the safe, but for some reason don't lock my keys up. FAIL.


11:00: A few PRBs down we cross over to the Monte Carlo. FlyBoy, Secret Twin and Nasty are there playing craps, along with Trophy Wife and Wrestler. Wheel wanders away from us before we even can make it over two escalators. This would be a theme.

11:30PM: We meet up. Everyone is ahead of me, drunk-wise. I am out of beer that I bought and don't really want to pay for any more. I decide I will give Craps another try, even though it confuses me and steals my gwop. Instead of actually betting, I just watch and snake drinks. The girls talk about something sad. I steal their drinks. File this under obvious foreshadowing.

I also decide that the theme song of the night is 'Shots' by LMFAO and Lil' Jon.

Saturday 12:30AM: I head out with the girls to head to a club at Treasure Island. The guys say they will come later. We meet up with a group of about 15 CSU kids, who have bottle service, and basically a private patio section, at the Christian Audiger Club.

12:45AM: I begin arguing with Cartman and friends about Lakers vs. Nuggets. This goes on for a while. There is dancing, lapdances and other belligerence. There is a fairly intense discussion of ovaries and testicles, and the comparisons between the two sensitive areas after Trophy Wife nut-punches me.

1:15AM: I take a long ass trip to the pisser (read; Get lost) and realize I am drunker than I thought. I resolve to slow down and get some water.

1:54AM: I respond to a text message with "Shots. X the Western World. Let's get it." I am clearly taking it slow.

I
AM
BLACKED
OUT


8:30AM: I have no idea how I got home. I am not wearing any of my clothes. I am alone in a bed. There are more people in the room than there should be, yet a couple people who should be in the room are absent.  I find this odd. Not as odd as the people in the other bed, Wheel, Grand Theft and Azn. I think someone is on the ground. I don't care. I go back to sleep.

In the time I was blacked out this much I can gather:
-No one remembers when exactly we left the club, or if I even left with the group. All they know is that when they returned to the room, I was already there. Teleportation at it's finest.
-Some continued the night gambling and doing God-knows-what.
-Two people (Cartman was one, I believe) yakked into the Bellagio Fountains. I am so disappointed that I didn't get to remember this.

10:00AM: I think Grand Theft leaves, and I awake. There is not a whole lot of energy in the room. I start to drink a PBR. It isn't going well. Wheel wakes up singing Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" and immediately begins drinking. He is in college, I am not. He is also quickly returning to super fucked up, while I decide that I need to take a break. There is tailgating to plan, and all the PBRs are now gone. 

11:00AM: I look for my keys. They are nowhere. That is odd, as my phone and wallet were neatly stacked on top of each other. I did use my cell phone all night, but don't remember taking my keys out. Why didn't I lock them in the safe? Goddamn, I am a fucking idiot. Wheel assures me I that will find them before the end of the trip, as suitcases eat thing. I remind him I don't have a suitcase, I am not taking a plane home and I need my car.

11:20AM: After frantically looking I give up. They are gone. We are fucked.

11:21AM: I remember I have On-Star and a spare key in the car. FUCK and YES. Maybe I donated my keys to the Bellagio Fountain or something, in my drunken haze, but I can still get out of here.

12:00PM: Wheel and I decide it is time to go get food. I call On-Star while Wheel finishes up his beer by the car. The girls need some more sleep. I drive to Whole Foods and pick up more big PBRs. Wheel and I blast "Shots" the whole way, repeatedly replaying Lil' Jon screaming, "SUCK MY COCK." I declare myself Vegas sober. 

1:00PM: We eat Chipotle. Wheel demands they make nachos, even though they are not on the menu. He is already getting drunk to the point it is risky. I order a beer, but then realize that I am probably still dangerously close to drunk, despite not really drinking anything all day and eating a giant burrito. I give the beer to Wheel. I am what you call an enabler. He begins to get angry that a family near us is dressed in Arizona State gear. Especially the baby.


1:10PM: He actually says he wants to fight the baby. It is time to leave.

2:00PM: After a stop for two 18-packs of Coors Light, we finally get back to the hotel. We find out that tickets to the UNLV game are only 5 bucks each if you donate three cans of food. Back to the Scratch-Mobile.


2:30PM: A Vons trip consists of: 4-48oz. bottles of water, hairspray, 6 cans of Golden Corn, 6 cans of peas, and every single 5-hour energy in the whole store. Such a ghetto Vons that you need to have someone escort you into the Beauty Supply/vitamin aisle. Fucking Meth-addicts.

3:30PM: Back to the hotel to prep for the game. I drink my entire bottle of water in about ten minutes. I debate my second 5-hour energy of the night. I drink half.

4:00PM: I call down to the Valet and ask how much cab fare will be to Sam Boyd Stadium. "About 10-12 dollars." Sweet, we roll.

4:30PM: In the cab, Wheel is shocked by the fact that we can have open containers. In the confusion of this and the fact that Miley Cirus blows up on the radio, ("I got my hands up, their singing my song") we get taken for a loop by the cab driver. Yes, we didn't have to stop at any lights, Mr. KANSAjsalhkfo3wefi, but you took us down to Henderson before swinging back up to the stadium. SHHHHHHEEEEET.


5:00PM: That'll be a $60 cab ride. Dumbass valet, dumbass me and dumbass cabby. Oh well, fuck it. Let's get drunk.

5:10PM: Wow, the parking lot was depressing. Not a whole lot going on for those folks. I don't blame them, since they are fucked way worse by stadium location than even CSU. Unlike us, many CSU 'fans' who claimed to the game was the reason for the trip skipped it entirely.

The only nice thing was that half of the tailgate was on some sweet grass (aka not mud/snow) and it was nice weather. Still boring, but CSU knows how to party.

5:30: After walking all the way to the Northwest corner of the field, we finally find a few CSU people. After bullshitting a little bit and throwing around a football, CSU fans do what we do best. Create a drinking game. In this case, Duck-Duck-Goose.

It was surprisingly entertaining when you involve people that have been drinking for hours (no one showed up to this game in any form of sober). Basically you just take turns running in a circle and tapping heads, because now that we are older no one ever catches anyone else. Unless the goose is fucking hammered with no coordination (Wheel!). Yep, out of about 30 turns he was the only one caught. Still, you chug your beer if you are the goose (or Rebel, as the game progressed to be called), so you get drunk. Shotgunning would be a more Brawsome penalty, but I didn't think of this at the time.

Look at that unbrideled joy. Johnny getting Ram-Ram-Rebel going.

A redheaded homeboy was so amped up, that every time he was close to being tapped, he would cheat and get into a sprinter's stance, but every time he would burn out and fall onto his face. Another spirited participant in this activity went by the name of Johnny. He begins calling me Stretch. I was certain I recognized him, but couldn't place his face. In fact, as Stretch has morphed into my nickname at work, I thought he knew me from there. He was from the San Diego area, and had heard of the bar, but had never been. Later I would figure out how I knew him, and this connection would turn out to be vital to my Vegas survival.


6:00PM: At a tailgate in Nevada I meet two people from Aspen, one from Hotchkiss and run into an old friend from Basalt. Western Slope represent. Johnny's Tahoe runs out of battery. He receives a jump from someone in a Toyota truck, leading to a barrage of "Nice truck, Howie Long?" and "What is this, a Toyota commercial?" jokes.

6:30PM: A game of catch nearly kills an old couple with the unfortunate idea to tailgate near us.I am absent for much of this, dealing with a list issues that could have gotten me fired. I am 500 miles from work and still able to fuck up. I think that maybe I am getting a little to drunk, then take a look around at everyone else. I am fine.


7:00PM: The game is about to start, but no one has made any movement inside.


7:15PM: The beer is pretty much gone and everyone begins to move inside. Everyone partakes in one final shotgun. We should have just stayed outside.


7:30PM: Despite having no one to deal with, UNLV ushers are fucking worthless. We finally are able to find the CSU section. Most of the group is late arriving as they rush to buy more beer from the concession stand. FlyBoy is excited to watch Nick Oppeneer, as he is another of the rare white cornerbacks.


Failgate of the week: 7:45PM: Wheel enters the front row armed with what looks like a cup of whiskey. He begins screaming curses and insults at everything UNLV. Everyone tells him to tone it down. He does no such thing. He isn't even focusing on anything in particular, just shouting at the top of his lungs that "UNLV IS FUCKING FAGGOTS."

I have been drunk at games. I have seen other wasted kids yell dumb, ignorant shit. I have yelled worse things at refs in anger. I have yelled stupid, retarded shit unrelated to the game and seen others do the same. But nothing, nothing, compares to this. His anger and unrelenting vulgarity make a crowd of about 50 people take a collective step back.


8:00PM: A security guard comes over and attempts to calm Wheel down. They get into an argument and it seems there is no way he doesn't get kicked out. This may be Las Vegas, but it is a football game, still a family environment to a certain degree. And with only about 10,000 people in the whole stadium I can say that almost everyone could hear him.

Somehow Wheel has talked himself out of trouble. Still, if you had given me odds I would have taken 1000-1 that he got kicked out. Glad no one took that bet.

8:15PM: CSU is playing more terrible than even Wheel could describe. When they finally score a TD to make it interesting, UNLV shoves a TD right back up our asses in about 30 seconds.

FlyBoy notes that Jon Eastman's delivery is "embarrassing to football." Awesome.


8:30PM: Halftime: UNLV has the mini cheerleaders come out to perform. What a terrible idea, in that town. Even the Pope couldn't avoid making future hooker/stripper jokes.

9:30PM: The CSU side begins to empty as it becomes apparent we will drop our seventh straight. Most have given up hope, not Wheel. In an effort to keep him from yelling horrible thing at the field, I sit a few rows behind him and begin betting him on every play. He keeps betting on CSU getting a first down, I keep accepting. This keeps him busy for most of the fourth quarter, including a five minute stretch where I bet him he couldn't use any word beginning with F. He slipped once, only using the word 'five,' so I gave him that one. In total, though, I would rack up $55 from him. Fuck blackjack, I am just going to wager the house against the Rams from now on. I'll get that tuition back quickly.

10:15PM: The game is basically over. I can't even remember who has the ball, but the game is down near the end zone in front of us. Nothing is really going on, but as the ref goes to set the ball Wheel decides to yet again yell, "FUCK YOU FAGGOTS." I don't know if he was insulting UNLV or CSU, or the refs, but all three guys on the chain-gang turned around, looked at Wheel, started chuckling and rolled their eyes. So absurd and surreal.

Refs work extremely hard to block out the crowd, so you know it was something pretty blatant to get their attention, but it was like everyone in the crowd had a "Fuck it, it is Vegas"-reaction. For all the embarrassment and annoyance that Wheel brought that night, that moment pretty much redeemed him. Not a single person who witnessed it didn't laugh. Even some mothers of the CSU players laughed. Maybe Wheel may have been one of those "people that can't handle Vegas," but he pulled it out in the end.


10:30PM: The security guard who almost kicked Wheel out comes back, and in the burn of the game states "You are the only guy I threatened to kick out who actually wanted to stay." UNLV-CSU: quality college football played here.

10:45PM: The game mercifully ends, and everyone begins to leave. I exit the stadium only to realize that I suddenly am alone. Wheel wandered off to piss, and the girls, it seems, bailed early, forgetting that they have my wallet in their purse. Awesome, no money and a drunken friend who I will be hard pressed to find and is probably getting arrested/in a fight.

I hear someone yell, "Lurch." at me. I turn to see Johnny from before the game. If he and Wheel were to have a drunk-off it would be Forman-Ali-esque. I remind him that he labeled me 'Stretch.' He tries to get up in my face and act tough, but due to size and sobriety he sort of half smiles. Suddenly I know where I remember him from. The Poinsettia Bowl four years ago. I remember that he was in the Tahoe and I ask if I can get a ride back to the strip. He says, "Pile on in, why the fuck not?"

I struggle to track down Wheel as the crew around the Tahoe grows to about 10. Finally I locate him and we get ready to jump in. The driver, affectionately being referred to as Pablo or El Diablo, doesn't seem too thrilled to be the official random-CSU sober driver, but he shrugs as we jump in.

We finally get going, and Johnny jumps into the front seat and begins cranking the tunes. Diablo shuts them off. They seem pissed at each other. I am just worried that Wheel is going to begin screaming dumb shit and get us kicked out of the car. Turns out is was Johnny up front who was drunker than Wheel, along with the  redheaded guy in the back who passed out mid-drink of his Coorls Light. I begin to worry a little less, but get anxious every time Wheel yells song requests to Johnny.


Johnny gets a call on his cell phone and drops an N-Bomb on whomever it is. The black guy next to me in the car could not have been too thrilled. I was certain something serious was going to happen. It turned out that he was also a random getting a ride, and like me wasn't going to say anything to rock the boat, but it was still a couple of pretty tense minutes.

We almost reach the strip, and I can see our hotel, but instead we cut up a backstreet, apparently the Tahoe group is staying somewhere else. Diablo seems to have relaxed, and after a little heckling about his driving ability, decides to race the car next to us at the light. We lose the race, as the Mazda cuts us off, only to almost immediately get pulled over by one of the two cops in Vegas. You have got to be shitting me.


11:00 PM: We pull into the Pallazo. I jump out of the car and almost kiss the ground. How do I always find myself in these situations? What's that? Sure, Johnny, I'll drink a beer and toss the football around with you, in this parking garage full of expensive cars. What was I worried about again?

Johnny demands that we meet him at Tao, right then. I tell him that I might have to change to meet dress code and he finally lets us go.

11:15PM: Wheel and I catch a cab back to the hotel. The girls are ready to go out. They are sorry for ditching us. Apparently we know some other CSU people with a VIP table at Tao. We rush to get dressed in our clubbing clothes, and Wheel is so excited to dress in his suit, even if it seems a little overdressed. He does get on his sweet cowboy boots and resumes singing Miley.


11:45AM: We get to Tao and pound some PRBs. The line is starting to back up, and we don't really want to pay $100 to get in. The girls wander to try and find a voucher to let us in cheap. Amazingly, within a couple of minutes, they find one for two girls free and two guys discounted. I have yet to place a bet in Vegas this trip, but I have certainly have seen some wild swings of luck.

Before we jump in line Wheel tries to give away our last PBR. The first poor bastard to meet his eyes happens to be a Gaysian. As I walk to the line I just see him sprinting away from Wheel, shouting that he isn't drinking.

11:58PM: Wheel and AZN get into the wrong line, and as I try to get them to step over the ropes, one of them gets their foot caught and knocks over the ropes. We might get into this club, but I am very certain that we won't be there for long.

12:05AM: I get a text. "Happy birthday. Hope you are having fun. Stay safe. Will call tomorrow. Mom." I just turned 24.

Shots? You bet.

Post Script: We exited the club, to the best I can tell, at around 4:30, maybe. When people started to pass out in the booth. Got a taxi back to the hotel. Having not really eaten in hours, we then hit up the Dan Marino Steakhouse inside the neighboring Hooters Hotel. Finished that meal at about 6:30AM. I did not see Johnny again, and I am unsure if he would have even remembered his own name, let alone mine.

I awoke at about 10:30 due to some my grandpa calling from the hospital (he's allright), and then never really went back to sleep. We checked out the hotel at noon, said goodbye to Wheel, who had another day until his flight home. About six hours later we pulled into LA, in time to allow FoF to pick her friend up from the airport. I drove the whole way. By the end I was literally unable to form sentences again, but I could focus on the car ahead of me, which was really all I needed to do.

In almost 80 hours I figure I slept, at most, about 15 hours, and drank heavily most of the time I was awake. It was quite the experience. Having that many CSU kids in Vegas was amazing. I recommend a return visit in two years, and next year I'll help host the shitshow in San Diego. 

Monday night, while watching the Broncos game, the Azn called. It turns out that Grand Theft, on his way out the room early on Saturday, pilfered my keys. Turns out I am not the only one with black Chevy keys and a New Belgium bottle opener. I have now lost a cell phone and a set of keys in the giant city of Vegas, on my last two trips, yet I have managed to have them returned both times. I would say that makes me lucky.

CSU may have played like shit, but the Rams presence in town gave me the best birthday weekend of my life.

I guess the motto still rings true for CSU: Win or lose, we still booze.