Also, yes, you read that first sentence correctly: I WENT DRINKING.
I AM COOL.
Man, I miss the days when it was normal for everyone to subtly brag about how much they drank the night before. Was it kind of sad and pathetic? Sure. But it beats the overriding sense of shame I feel now. I think the point when you start to get old is when you start trying to under-report how much you drank the previous night. In the old days, I would just inflate away, and I know everyone else would too. Now, respectability means something different.
Friend: Hey man, you go out last night?
Me: Hell yeah.
Friend: How much you have?
Me: It had to be like 15. I'm never drinking again, ha ha!
Friend: Oh my God, did you really drink 15 beers?
Me: Beers?! I'm talking kegs, man! I drank 15 kegs of beer by myself! And I wasn't even drunk! And I hooked up with the Dean!
Friend: Hey man, you go out last night?
Friend: Uh...I heard you did.
Me: Well you fucking heard wrong!
Me: I only had three quarters of an O'Douls.
The only good thing about being hungover is that it increases my capacity for really stupid humor. Like, the semi-annoying kind my dad always employed and that I swore I would never stoop to. In fact, another obvious and depressing sign of getting old is when you find yourself reverting to crap your parents did. And in my case, awful, obnoxious jokes are easier when I'm hung over. No idea why. But I'm able to easily pull off gems like this:
Girlfriend: Crap, have you seen my phone?
Girlfriend: I can't find it. Can you call it?
Me (yelling): Oh phonnnneeee! Phonnneeee, where are you?!
Just real classic gems like that. For about 80% of her life, my girlfriend functions as a target for that aspect of my personality. I'm not sure why anyone would want the job.
BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME. The time is finally here. After several months of hiatus, Pick Six is back and better than ever! Buckle up, fancy Dans. It be go time.
VOLUME FOUR, INTRODUCTIONS
Oh, that music! Goosebumps, folks! All interception returns should be set to dramatic music.
The Friday Pick Six is an original SCSD! game where six people make six sports predictions for six weeks. Along with their picks, they're allowed and encouraged to submit a 'sound-off' on any topic, sports or otherwise. When it's all done, the winner earns great honor among the people, while the two losers are exiled in shame and the three middle finishers go to purgatory, with the chance rescue their good name up to three times. To learn more about the rules, and about the current contestants, read below:
THE HALL OF ANGELS: OLD CHAMPIONS
3. Patrick and Dylan
Today we commence Volume Four, and here's how it looks:
The Last Chance Gals (3rd attempt, win or bust): Swetha & Sabreena
Purgatory Part 1: Marc, Monty
Newcomers: Craig & Tim, Tim B., John
The trophy currently sits with Dylan & Patrick, and we are awaiting their championship photograph. The actual picking begins next week, so let's take today to meet the newcomers and maybe hear a few words from the old guard. This is truly a great crop, and I'm really looking forward to the rants. Volume four features our first UNC fan (look at that avatar- typical), more friggin' lawyers, a Bostonian duo who root for the Celtics and Red Sox (vomit) but have maybe the greatest avatar in Pick Six history, a guy trying to emulate Mike Conley, Jr., and a line about tennis balls and Nascar from our old pal Marc that will be hard for anyone to top. Ever.
The standard has been set. Sound off, gang!
Hi SCSD! fans, I’m John. As far as I know, I’m the first UNC fan to be pegged for the PICK SIX competition, so I’m sure to be a crowd pleaser. I demand that you all look at the picture of me above and acknowledge my athleticism. I am certainly not a Yankee fan by any means…not that passionate about MLB, but what fan I am is National League, which gets little airplay around these parts. Mostly into college sports of all types with big on the bigs. After that NFL, tennis, mlb, and the big sporting events good Americans come out for (majors, Olympics, Copa Mundial and the such). I could watch
highlight reels of cool soccer goals for hours, but the games lose me unless it means an awful lot. So it’s a shame that college sports are winding down for summer hibernation. Hopefully we can get some Pick Six about the waning college meets such as baseball and tennis.
This site is one of only two sports blogs I check in on, and the other is only college football season. I guess we all know that Shane is entertaining, respected by sports writers everywhere, and reasonable man despite his occasional forays into his true nature.
Well, I am no writer, so will not make much attempt to recreate my spontaneous social wit into deftly composed and lyrical paragraphs for the masses. I think I said lyrical due to enjoying some live dead right now. I do have a warning: I plan on using my hard earned doctorate to employ advanced statistical modeling, reasoning, and simulation techniques during the PICK SIX contest. With high probability this will render me unbeatable. That yet-to-be-named (unless I missed it) indian statue is calling for me
to place it on my desk for all to jealously admire.
Gary Williams is retiring and it doesn’t even seem like much of a deal…can’t you imagine if Roy or K was retiring instead? That guy always seems to be whining about how good of a coach he is. Hockey is the worst…was always the section of sports section I skipped and I still get upset with prolonged coverage during sportscenter. After the Hurricanes won the nhl, I saw in the Daily Tar Heel that Stanley’s cup was on campus…I wandered over with my Mexican friend and there it was sitting in a nearly empty room…really not very impressive. Here is a (cropped) crappy cell phone pic of me with the Cup…I like to show it to any crazy hockey people since they are all crazy and flip out.
Anyway, I went to a Hurricanes game since everyone says “It’s soooo much better in person.” Well they lost 0-4 and it was just about the most bring event I’ve ever been to. Also nba (especially a much too long regular season) is usually quite boring. I drove to DC and went to a Wizards game since I wanted to see Jordan play once in my life. It was his last season, he scored 45 points, highest scoring affair of the season, and it still was duller than the worst Carolina game I’ve been to. Tennis is good in person…underrated sport…although it’s now getting picked up by all of the big outlets like this link, which has tons of promise: http://sethcurrysavesduke.com/tennis/
You may ask: Why is John playing pick six with a bunch of Duke fans? What’s in it for him? I will answer your questions in the form of a quote from our host Shane from 12/8/10: “Also, John, you should definitely play. If you can beat a bunch of Duke fans, you'd have bragging rights for life.” I may have to pass my trophy on some day, but I’m playing for life!
Name: Craig J.
Location: Cape Cod, MA
Relevant skills: Codebreaking, windsurfing, fingerpainting, and filing frivolous lawsuits
“Fear Us. Envy us. Worship us.” – Probably Larry Bird said this, and I adopt this statement as my own.
I’m not here to bore you with our stellar Pick Six credentials. I’m not here to prove why we’re the prohibitive favorites to dominate this series of Pick Six.* I’m here to tell you the truth. And the truth is based on cold, hard facts. Facts are determined by winners. And the truth is that me and Tim are winners.
*Yes we are.
As we watched the Bruins humiliate the Flyers on Wednesday, the question asked wasn’t how we were going to win this, it was how could we possibly lose?
Craig: What are your thoughts on Pick Six?
Tim: Oh we’re gonna dominate.
Craig: Yeah, but whats the plan?
Tim: Whaddaya mean?
Craig: Well, I guess I mean, lets think about this, how could we possibly lose?
Tim: … … … (utterly confused look on his face)
You see, it never even crossed Tim’s mind that we would lose!!!
That pretty much sums up our philosophy and it’s really all you need to know about either of us. That’s what the competition is up against- unwavering self-confidence combined with blind gut instinct. There is nothing more dangerous. Well, except maybe for Jaws, he was pretty dangerous.
Expect chaos, expect dominance, expect strong opinions and even stronger fightin’ words. Let Pick Six begin!
Height: 1 Fathom
I've traveled to the molten center of English language command and back. This was long ago. My time away from its limitless, chaotic core has left my ability to swap prose at a mere fraction of its potential. That said, I'm excited to reignite my passion for the written word and thank SCSD for the opportunity to do so competitively. I look forward to pulling your figurative pants down in public.
Having been on the waiting list for a few months now — back when I signed on, I was all, “I know it’s improbable, but Andre Dawkins could totally shoot well above 50 percent from three-point range for the duration of this season, Salim Stoudamire-style” and “If I know one thing, it’s that Kyle Singler’s senior year will in no way be regarded as a time of developmental stagnation” — I have come to fear this opening statement. Introductions are hard, and that’s before Shane gave us a “say whatever” prompt that didn’t include a single icebreaker question. Seriously? Since icebreakers are the foundation of any good introduction, I’ve decided to provide my own, simply by remembering every event in my life that was labeled an “orientation.”
Where am I from?
This is an increasingly complex question, which the English form of the word “to be” doesn’t portray as accurately as, say, the Spanish split between ser and estar, where ser has something to do with origin and estar with present location, if I’m remembering middle school correctly. In the general sense, I’m from New Jersey, but I was born in Staten Island, spent four years in Durham which would seem to be germane to this blog in particular, and currently reside in Boston while spending a reasonable chunk
of time in the state of Rhode Island. All this information has led you to believe that I must have some absurd/awesome conglomeration of accents.
Where did I go to school?
I’m pretty sure I let that one out of the bag above, but my relationship to Duke is of the alumnus: alma mater kind. Among the things that I personally witnessed while at Duke were the Blue Devils’ worst regular-season and NCAA Tournament losses of the last decade. Among the things I did not personally witness while at Duke was a win over UNC at Cameron.
As an aside, I very much enjoy finding out where other people went to school, because it says something about their background and I happen to know a lot about college sports, so, for instance, if someone were to say they went to, I don't know, Winthrop, I would be like, “Curse that Chris Lofton! You guys definitely deserved more than a 15 that season!” and “Is your school named after that Puritan?” But I often refrain from the alma mater question because, with many people, (a) it will look simply like an
excuse to gloat about going to Duke — because that’s what we all are, pretentious gloaters — or (b) it will lead to a conversation about the lacrosse case.
It kills me to contemplate all the potential Winthrop University alumni I have encountered but missed out on having the aforementioned three-line conversation with.
How will I approach this volume of the Pick Six?
Having done my research in the past 10-15 minutes, I’ve noticed two dominant strains going through Pick Six rants: over-the-top bravado and self-confidence masked as self-deprecation. Unfortunately, these are like two of my defining qualities. But for now, I’m going to try a third, slightly more original approach: sober, detached realism, complete with cultural references that are only tangentially relevant. Think Emile Zola, whom I’ve never read but have simply associated with sober, detached realism (and tangential relevance, for that matter) since discovering he was the answer to a question in a crossword puzzle (I would venture that the majority of crossword-puzzle answers that begin with the letter Z- are Zola, for either Emile or Budd).
I’m not trying to set records or blow everyone away. I’m gunning for a third-place finish, like the Blue Jays. I will attempt to emulate the career path of Mike Conley, Jr., who was steady and generally unimpressive for years in Memphis before becoming slightly steadier and less unimpressive this season, to the point where everyone thought, “This Mike Conley, Jr. isn't so bad” before remembering “Oh wait, Mike Conley, Jr. was supposed to be better than ‘not so bad.’”
See what happens when you don’t give me boundaries?
Finals in grad school blow. I feel like in these past two weeks I've written more for finals than the entirety of my undergraduate writings. Expect the rest of this rant to have terrible syntax because my brain is done. All my brain wants is for me to ingest copious amounts of alcohol to try and forget everything that I've learned this semester. Five o'clock on May 9 and I will breathe freedom. I plan to strap myself to a wooden table while my friends stab me with various medieval implements. Eventually I'll raise my head in triumph, prepare my best Australian/Scottish accent and scream "FREEDOM," or "ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE." I have yet to decide. I feel like I bonded with Kevin Garnett when my girlfriend asked me to read Shane's Boston Osama story. May 9. A few more days.
Nascar. N-A-S-C-A-R. A few weeks ago I was invited to go to a Nascar race at Darlington. I hate Nascar. It's miserable. Sitting in a hot stadium, surrounded by thousands of sweaty screaming rednecks, watching insanely loud cars turn left while drinking natty ice is not my idea of a good time. The thing is, if I rejected the invitation it would be extremely impolite considering the circumstances. I didn't see a way out. All I want to do on a Saturday is relax, eat good food and do something enjoyable. Going to a Nascar race would destroy my Saturday. I may be from the South, but I cannot handle large parts of southern culture.
The last time I was surrounded by rednecks I almost had a panic attack. My friend invited me up to Minnesota, and during the visit we ended up going to an ice fishing competition on a frozen lake. Once we got there all I could see were bastions of camouflaged rednecks drinking keystone light. "Dude, we have to leave. Now," I pleaded to my friend. He smirked at my discomfort and made us stick around for a while but I was close to meltdown mode. If I couldn't handle hundreds of rednecks in the great outdoors there is no way I can handle thousands of them, trapped in a stadium. Going to a Nascar race is my worst nightmare. Luckily though, I had a trump card. Finals. As much as I hate finals, they have finally come to my rescue. My finals have gotten me out of a torturous affair.
At this point I would not like to issue an apology to any Nascar fans I may have offended. Sorry, it blows. It does not have any redeeming qualities. If you like to watch Nascar for the "crashes," then that's just despicable. "YEEEHAW John-boy-riley-billy, didja see that number four car hit that number three car? Didja? Didja? Oh golly when those two cars crumpled into heaps of destroyed metal and the drivers barely survived I sure got my rocks off!" I would rather lie down on the ground and throw a tennis ball up in the air with the goal of it landing on my genitals, then go see a Nascar race.
Well my friends, I'm ready for a new Pick Six! season. In fact I may throw this one on purpose so I can stick around for the fall edition so I can pick Duke to win a few football games. But seriously, I plan to dominate this year and not blow my lead at the end. I'm no Rick Pitino.
No rant for Monty. He's that confident.
Finals week sucks. But we're back ... third time's a charm?
By the way, remember how I was saying I jinx possible no-hitters almost as soon as it becomes realistic? It happened yesterday. I was calling AJ's no-no in the fifth inning, and less than ten minutes later it was broken up. Then the Yanks lost the series to Detroit, and now we have to go to Texas. Gulp.
Enjoy the weekend, enjoy the playoffs, enjoy baseball. See you Monday.