FOOTBALL!

Football without the rest of the gang is boring, to be honest.  Sure, I’ll watch and sporadically comment on IRC if I’m around, but even that gets quite annoying after all the “why isn’t anyone saying anything????” scuttlebutt… so, for me, the season actually began last Sunday with the rest of the Ironman Crew.

No, I don’t have a name for us, to be honest.  What should my Sunday Crew be called?  Send in your suggestions!

Anyway, brain- you’re gonna have to quit being sporadic about this one, as we gotta get down to the nitty gritty.

Okay.

…can you stop using my fingers for whatever you have to say?  THE DOMINANT YET OBVIOUSLY FALSE INTERNET PERSONALITY IS IN CONTROL.

Okay.

…

Sorry. 

Due to fate kicking me in the ass and making me its bitch, I had to work for most of last Sunday, which means I missed the one o’clock opener.  I’ve decided that this six month football chronicle of mine will focus only on the Gang In Question, as they’re the stars of this thing, not me… so, with that said:

THERE ARE NO GREETINGS ON SUNDAY, JUST CONSTANT SHIT-TALKING

I could barely make it through The Don’s backdoor without Willis embarking on his years-old tradition of giving any Redskins fan a bunch of shit due to them playing crappy football.  I’d missed a good chunk of the first quarter against the Giants, but I hadn’t really missed anything as far as awesome offense was concerned- Kenzan texted me to let me know that they were stinking up the joint, so I knew it was going to be a long three quarters of football due to the amount of shit Willis was going to spew.

“Bricks, lemme get you up to speed!  You in for it today, boy,” I hadn’t even put my backpack down, but immediately went over to get a beer mug out the freezer.  The Don’s got a tap, because having a kegerator in your house is something that every man should aspire to have.   Michelob is the beer of choice during football season, by the way.  Fuck Coors.

“Can you, uh, start giving me shit in about five minutes?  I just got here.” 

“Oh, oh, oh- five minutes.  Okay.”  I think he really started to count down, but I’m not sure.  I sat down and stared at the TV, trying to get my bearings.  It was Sunday.  My beer mug was so cold that there was ice floating in my brew.  The Redskins were, in fact, stinking up the joint.

Sundays are awesome. 

So, we get into the usual small talk before the shenanigans begin: how am I doing, how’s work, etc., etc.  It doesn’t take long for someone to fuck up, namely DeAngelo Hall’s non-tackling ass, so the camaraderie begins in earnest.

“Goddamnit, he shoulda tackled him,” said Old Man Brick.  He’s drinking vodka and Crystal GOT DAMN Light Lemonade.  I am concerned.  I started looking at my beer and looking at his drink and wondering what alternate Sunday football session I walked in on.  This overrode my passionate hate for defensive players that don’t tackle people (WRAP THOSE ASSHOLES UP!) and go for the easy push out of bounds.

“Hey- what’s up with your drink?” I tried playing the role of Concerned Son, and managed to almost succeed.  “Special occasion or something?”

“Beer’s got too many calories for me these days.”

HOW DID I MISS THIS?!  I’M SUPPOSED TO KNOW THESE THINGS.

“He’s supposed to make that tackle- how the fuck don’t you get that guy?” The Don asks rhetorically.

“I hate that shit.”  Obviously, I have a lot to contribute to the conversation.

“Now they got to come back from that shit.”  The Giants score and The Don turns the channel to the only thing that can interrupt a day off football:

TIGER WOODS WHIPS THE MONKEY PISS OUT OF EVERYONE

Big, big Tiger Woods fans are we- he’s the only thing that could cause us to change the channel on a Football Sunday.  While I can barely grasp the basic mechanics of golf, watching the sport (yes Virginia, it is a sport) with the gang is nothing short of bliss as well.

“Hey Donny,” Willis piped up after refilling his glass of wine.  “That’s old shit Tiger’s wearing!  All that money he got and he can’t afford something new?!” 

SIDENOTE:  Willis sounds like a cross between Meatwad and Richard Pryor during the Live and In Concert era.

“That’s all new shit,” The Don said without missing a beat.  “Fresh out the box.  New hat, new shirt, new pants, new shoes, new socks, new clubs, rubbers on the side in case he needs them, a sandwich in case he needs a snack… it’s all new shit.”

And you now know where I got my gifts from.

DECEPTION!

The Redskins ended up scoring on a fake punt, which riled Willis up yet again:

“BRICKS!  That is evil!  That is deception!  That’s trickery!  That’s that damn Redskins football- you can’t be doing that!”

Again: Meatwad + Live and In Concert Richard Pryor.  Clean your drink up after you spit it out just now.

LINES YOU CAN USE AMONGST YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY

“I got one thing to say,” said the Don after Willis was ranting about how his bottle of wine was going to blow up in the freezer.  “Cold wine equals kiss my ass.  That bottle ain’t gonna fuckin’ freeze.”

“There are… little crystals in my drink, Donny!”

“Well, your shit can explode, and I’ll just blame it on you!  My shit’s in over there, I ain’t got to worry about it!  You know how this works: something goes wrong and the carpet gets fucked up, I blame it on you.  My wife’s gonna say, ‘Who spilt wine on the floor?!’ and I’ll go ‘Hey baby, it was that dumbass Willis putting his shit in the freezer when I told him not to.’  You know how this works!”

Again, you now know where I got my gifts from.

THE PERFECT SETUP

“Hey Brick,” The Don said sometime during the third quarter after my dad refilled his drink, “your dad doesn’t know about this, but I’ve been talking with the liquor store down the street.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ve been working on getting a quarter keg of vodka set right there,” he pointed at the wall where his tap was.  “So we can drink all the Crystal Light and vodka we want.  I’ll buy you a case of beer- Willis can buy his own shit- and me and your dad could have the perfect drink.  They gotta make it now where you can just mix the shit right there in the tap- a perfect blend!  You got the vodka out one end, the Crystal Light out the other… you got to have Grey Goose, though.”

Sometimes, I think this is where my imagination came from: constant Sundays with these dudes over the course of twenty plus years.

AND FINALLY, RUMINATIONS ON A SPORT WE LOVE

As you can tell, Sundays with the Gang are hard to recap… so I will leave you with this:  old school Ironman Football players tend to have flashbacks when they’re watching the game. 

“Hey,” The Don asked my dad, “You ever run back kickoffs?”

“Nah.  Punt returns.”

“Man, that’s the worst thing you can do- running back the ball after a kick. Either you can’t hit that hole, or you’re gonna get hit.  Can’t do both.  I still have nightmares about that- number 44!  I don’t remember what team he played for, but I remember his jersey was black, with forty-four in gold.  Black visor.  That muthafucker beat the SHIT out of me- every time I watch a football game, I think about that asshole.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and Willis summed things up for all of us in Football Land:

“This is NOT a nice sport- they try to make it nice, but it ain’t!  It’s about whooping your ass.”

Ain’t that the truth.

NEXT TIME

Travel rears its ugly head, so the gang is not together.  But when we come back… it’ll be a Sunday of AbG strife as the Redskins take on the Lions!  Hooo boy.