Yesterday Once More

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The Miami Hurricanes are doing it again.

For the first time since the Bush administration, the Canes find themselves thisclose to winning it all. Sixty minutes in fact. I’m old enough to remember the simple math this program existed inside of, back when the Dolphins were literally the only game in town. Miami University was a private research school whose football team was mostly just a rumor in those days.

And then it all changed.

When Howard Schnellenberger was named head coach of the Miami Hurricanes in 1979, he inherited a tire fire that had come precipitously close to being dropped altogether. Hurricanes fans were understandably dubious of the hire, seeing as how Schnellenberger’s only head coaching experience was a miserably short stint with the Baltimore Colts. He was best known for being the offensive coordinator of the undefeated Dolphins team in ’72, but was given little chance of turning around a moribund college program.

So much for first impressions.

By his third season, the Miami Hurricanes had cracked the AP Top 25 Poll twice and in 1983, the impossible happened. After getting drubbed by Florida in their season opener, the Canes didn’t lose again, gaining an invite to the Orange Bowl to play the heavily favored Nebraska Cornhuskers. Despite the home field advantage, few gave the Canes much of a chance against Tom Osborne’s top ranked squad.

Led by a redshirt freshman quarterback named Bernie Kosar, the upstart Canes took the heavyweight champions to the fifteenth round, and then they knocked them out. Kosar would throw for 300 yards and two touchdowns as Miami upset the Huskers 31-30 for the program’s first national championship.

Things were just getting started.

Over the next twenty seasons, the Miami Hurricanes would appear in seven title games and they would take home the trophy four more times. Jimmy Johnson burst onto the national scene when he succeeded Schnellenberger the next season and he ushered in “The U”- a modern day gangster flick of a program that became synonymous with winning and lawlessness.

The U didn’t just bend the rules, they demolished them. Theirs was a four-lettered fable that lorded over the sport, winning titles with four different head coaches who delivered on the field whilst keeping legal teams on speed dial. The Hurricanes specialized in recruiting and bail money and their rosters ‘graduated’ to NFL stardom on the regular. Michael Irvin was one of these triple threats, winning a natty in Miami before going on to win three Super Bowls with the Cowboys while behaving like an outlaw. According to Irvin, “The U is the only program in America whose alumni include the FBI on their resume,”

They played the role of villain, and they loved every minute of it. When Joe Paterno led his Penn State Nittany Lions to a title game win over Jimmy Johnson’s Canes in 1986, the result was heralded as a win for the good guys. It was milk and cookies defeating madness and mayhem. And when the Canes played Lou Holtz’s Notre Dame teams years later, the games were billed as “Catholics vs Convicts”.

It’s ironic how time has changed those narratives, what with the Penn State scandal being uncovered decades later and the Catholic church being exposed for all their crimes. Looking back on all of it, the lawyers, guns and money that was Hurricanes football is downright quaint when compared to what was going on at Penn State and inside the Catholic church.

The Miami dynasty died in the desert in 2002 when the Ohio State Buckeyes defeated Miami to win the title thanks to one of the worst referee calls you’re ever going to see. The result changed the trajectory of both programs, as Ohio State would become the national power going forward, collecting two more national titles. The U would dwell in football purgatory, suffering the worst of all sporting fates; mediocrity.

For two decades it has been this way, and then a 13-member selection committee pulled a fast one on Miami’s old nemesis by jumping the Canes over the Irish for the final playoff spot. In the quarter finals, Miami faced Ohio State; the school that had sent their storied program into mothballs. Only this time, the Canes didn’t let the refs decide things, kicking the Buckeyes into next season. In the semis, Miami beat a game Ole Miss team in one of the best games- college or pro- I’ve ever seen.

So . . . it’s been a while. Twenty-four years and a week . . but who’s counting? But now I can actually say the words. Again.

Miami Hurricanes football is back. But this year’s group isn’t bringing “The U” with them, nope . . this current iteration, ain’t that. We’re living in an age where you don’t have to break the rules when it comes to paying players, unless you’re Jim Harbaugh. The Canes will go into their heavyweight title bout against undefeated Indiana as the underdog after the Hoosiers dismantled two perennials in Alabama and Oregon to get here. Indiana was a basketball school until Curt Cignetti came to town and turned a 100 year loser into a powerhouse inside of five minutes.

The Canes won’t be able to get away with sloppy football the way they did against Ole Miss unless they want to become the latest team to get curb stomped by IU. They’re going to have to get the Carson Beck who willed the Canes to a win in the semis. Running back Mark Fletcher Jr. is going to have to be a human battering ram once again. Malachi Toney will have to get behind the Hoosiers secondary a couple times.  Rueben Bain is gonna have to summon his inner grizzly bear and make Indy quarterback Fernando Mendoza wish he’d gone into finance. And head coach Mario Cristobal is going to have to find a way to coach his team to the fourth quarter with a chance to win. It’s a lot to ask, but it’s not impossible.

Personally, It’s nice to see the Hurricanes playing big games again. Even if they do come up short on Monday night, Cristobal has returned his alma mater to national prominence and there’s reason to believe the best is yet to come. This isn’t like 1983 when a bunch of unknown kids got known. It’s not like ’87, ’89 or ’91 when the U was burnishing its black hat reputation. It’s not like 2001 when 17 Hurricanes players were drafted in the first round of the NFL draft. Those were heady times indeed but you know something?

I prefer this story.

 

 

Born In Scotland, Murdered The World Over

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I was asked the other day if I played golf and it brought to mind my first (and only) time out on the links. Instead of admonishing the individual for dredging up such a shitty memory, I decided to share my account. Because the best way to punish someone who engages in small talk is to go long form.

I was invited to the local country club for a round of golf and had borrowed an old set of clubs from a friend, seeing as how I wasn’t a golfer. Honestly, to invest in a set of golf clubs when heroin exists seems like a wasteful expenditure. My friend’s father was a part of our quartet and he became the most memorable part of this venture. Pops was given to peculiar anecdotes and long winded tutorials and while I’m sure he meant well, it didn’t help me in the least.

“If you like poker, you’ll like this game . .” He promised.

This was nonsense. Poker is a board game with a proximity complex that rankles my ankles since I am averse to scrunching up against people for competitive design. Sure, poker allows you to cheat in myriad ways, but this requires an advanced degree of knowledge I do not wish to expend on a game of chance. Conversely, I figured golf was going to be a cinch as far as cheating was concerned. Alls I had to do was drive the ball into seclusion and then pimp my walk with ball in hand until I was within throwing distance of the green. Needless to say, such impropriety would prove to be much easier in theory than application.

When I was asked for my handicap, I replied by saying “Yes”, which I assumed was the correct response but alas, it was not. I confessed that I had no blessed idea what my handicap might be and was told that it was a matter of calculating my shot differentials from previous rounds and then adding the current population of Los Ybanez, Texas. Okay, only the first part is true but I would’ve taken the process more seriously if the second part had also been true.

Golf is unlike any other sport, and I’ll lean into calling it thusly only because it combines a few of the necessary requisites. Things such as precision,  concentration, stamina and perhaps most importantly, smack talk. The positive aspects of golf include drinking adult beverages in vast quantities and inventing curse words on the fly. The negative aspects are everything else associated with this maddening endeavor.

In biblical terms, the game is a three-tongued fire: Driving, Chipping and Putting. Unfortunately for yours truly, success relies on a synergetic composition of three disparate objectives that I found impossible to bundle.

Driving the ball is just fine with me, but then you have to go chase the thing. Which makes zero sense when you consider that a golf ball is less than two inches in diameter and the course is larger than Lauren Sanchez Bezos’ walk-in closet. I suggested that I could be the designated driver and this idea was immediately lauded for its genius, but only because the group assumed I was volunteering to drive their inebriated asses home.

“No, I mean . . I’ll drive the ball off the tee for everyone . .” I explained. The collective silence let me know this wasn’t such a genius idea and so of course I pretended I had only been joking.

I tagged along with Pops on several of my walks down the fairway and the crusty old bastard did not disappoint. He told me how this particular fairway was his favorite because “it reminds me of when I ran track and field in high school,”. Again, this analogy made zero sense to me but I figured if I was going to be trapped in purgatory, he wasn’t the worst company.

Chipping was my own personal Afghanistan. Unable to Rosie Ruiz my approach onto the green, I had to rely on a nuanced familiarity with the environs which I most certainly did not possess. So it was that over the course of several hours, I collected more strokes than a retirement community whilst utilizing a host of four-lettered varietals. Pops tried his best to lay some wisdom on me in the hopes that it would fine tune my flail but really, all he did was provide me with some good material for a future post . . thirty years later. Impressive.

“When you look at the green, pretend you’re dancing with your wife,” He suggested. I simply nodded as I prayed for the engine cowling of a 737 to come crashing down on my skull.

My putting game wasn’t the worst part of my wasted Saturday morning. It wasn’t the best part, but it wasn’t the worst. The highlight came when I sank a twenty-five footer for bogey, which should have been my cue to feign a sugar low and retire to the bar for a gin and juice. Instead, I finished the day like a man; frustrated, angry and dumber for the effort.

I quit golf over a dozen times that day, and in so doing I decided to limit any future involvements to driving ranges and pitch and putt courses. Because I learned that golf is God’s way of letting us know that life is too short, but not nearly short enough.

Hey, it’s something.

Best Laid Plans

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Love and romance are not wed to agreeance.

Amy and Dantley were well aware of this fact, having experienced their fair share of cosmic bargains inside their unabridged iterations that connected the naivety of their younger days with the realities of their current ones. Love was a well worn collection of gospels, severe like that. Romance on the other hand, was the reduction of all those rambunctious seeds, irrational and disobedient.

When blessed with the prayerful showers of spring, love and romance were allowed to prosper inside a dynamism that had the power to soldier oceans out of desert sand. Conversely, when left to wither and rust inside the fleeting agonies of stormy weather, there was a savagery to the whole accord. Over the last several weeks, it was becoming apparent to the lovebirds that their story would not finish well, and that was alright by them. Because in a world where forever is a curse, the moments do shine more brightly.

Oh . . hey. I realize this is rather unconventional, but I didn’t want to leave the narrator (me) of Best Laid Plans holding the water. So I said to myself . . Self? Let’s break down the fourth wall in the form of some evidence as to why Amy and Dantley are a fledgling bloom with an expiration date attached to their love thing. 

I’ll provide it in the form of a few responses made by these two crazy kids whilst being softly interrogated by a Detective Riggs after they reported the final resting place of one David Greene. Standing alone, their diametrical statements might be seen as little more than the difference between Venus and Mars. Cute like that. But since I’m a believer in spoiler alerts, today’s dish will pair nicely with my upcoming episodes in which the cracks in their sexy mosaic begin to show signs of breakage.

How did you come to discover this hole in the wall? 

Amy- We have used that particular room for seances, seeing as how this was a murder house at one time. Well, is a murder house . . slapping a new coat of paint on it doesn’t change that fact. So yeah, I was just making sure everything was in order for our next séance and I happened to notice that the wall wasn’t flush . . it was kinda jutting out near the corner of the room. It reminded me of the time my brother-in-law did some detail work in our kitchen. Let’s just say the project called for Raphael and he brought the Picasso . . .

Dantley- I didn’t.

What did you do immediately after finding the body?

Amy- I had to go back upstairs to retrieve my phone since I’ve been making a concerted effort to put it down more, separating myself from my device . . you know? I’m doing the thirty-day detox after watching a Masterclass on dopamine . . Oh my God, it really makes you think. Anyways, I went and got my phone and then I called you guys.

Dantley- I debated whether or not I would be committing a crime if I had sex with my girlfriend before calling 911.

Did you happen to notice any strange individuals around the premises recently?

Amy- Well there was Chuck. He had been looking for David Greene, along with a lot of other people, it seems. This Greene guy didn’t endear himself to anyone . . actually quite the opposite. Chuck just figured he skipped town and it sounded as if this was Greene’s MO whenever he needed to get out from under . . to just run away. But the guy is super sweet . . Chuck I mean, not the dead guy. There’s more of a chance my Uncle Buck had something to do with this whole sordid mess than Chuck did, and he’s been dead for years. My Uncle Buck, that is . . not the dead guy. I can grab Chuck’s business card for you, that way you can see for yourself . . this guy would be one of the first to go if there was ever a zombie apocalypse . . he’s totally harmless.

Dantley- Nope.

After Greene’s body was extricated from the premises, the detective looked to button down the process for the couple before he shoved off. His slight voice ran counter to his girthsome frame. Detective Riggs was built like a fire hydrant; a balding, solidly defined middle aged cliché of a cop: Divorced, a donut lover and hopelessly addicted to caffeine and nicotine and a complete mess when it came to small talk.

“Hey guys, if there’s anything else you think of . . even the most seemingly inconsequential thing, please do not hesitate to call me,”

“Thank you detective,” Amy smiled.

“Umm, Dantley, can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

“You go ahead babe, I’m gonna fix myself a drink to chase away the creepy crawlies,” Amy said as she moved upstairs.

“What’s up?” Dantley asked as he walked Detective Riggs to his unmarked vehicle.

“Hey, you guys are in the clear as far as Greene is concerned but you knew that already . . .”

“Yes, I am well aware of this Bobby, but it still doesn’t explain how this guy ends up stuffed into a wall in the basement. What am I missing here?”

“Hell if I know, but I plan on getting to the bottom of it,” Riggs promised him.

“Well, the sooner the better. I never mastered the art of the curveball on my varsity baseball team, so needless to say I’m not loving this one, at all . .”

“All things considered, this discovery could’ve been a genuine shit storm if Greene hadn’t been found alone in that hole”

“Don’t worry about that compadre . . . the bag is safe and sound, ” Dantley winked.

Rock the Boat (Remastered)

The Sorryless NFL Playoff Preview!

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For the first time in twenty five seasons worth of playoff football, neither Tom Brady nor Patrick Mahomes will be receiving the voodoo pin cushion treatment from fans of the lower thirty. Their twenty five year reign of terror has finally come to an end . . at least for now. Us football commoners can rest easy knowing that Brady is now the boss of a thrift store outfit in Las Vegas whilst Mahomes is spending his free time at Sport Clips and Whole Foods.

The Sorryless Dream Super Bowl? The Bills and Bears. Buffalo is a Shakespearean tragedy and Chicago’s favorite season is still trapped inside the time of MTV and metal bands. These days, the Bills have the best quarterback in Josh Allen and the Bears have the next great quarterback in Caleb Williams. Alas, these teams play defense as if they were the French army so this tilt will most likely remain a dream.

Now, let’s get to the most wide open NFL postseason since the Clintonian Era . . .

For These Teams, It’s Winning Or Misery: 

The Los Angeles Rams are the football version of Fast & Furious. Matthew Stafford should be the MVP and Puka Nacua led my fantasy team to victory, so I have no problem with them. If I had to wager real money, it’s these guys.

We’re well aware the Philadelphia Eagles are still the champs until some team knocks them out. Omar Little always said, You come at the king, you best not miss. Yes, I take every opportunity to use that line because it’s a favorite.

The Denver Broncos play defense, they win close games and they have the Mile High altitude working in their favor. And not since Brett Favre have we been left to wonder, can a guy with a name like Bo Nix really quarterback his team to the title?

The Future’s Bright But Do They Have The Quarterback?:

The top seed Seattle Seahawks have super cool uniforms, a great stadium and an amazing fanbase that rocks it so hard they actually move the needle . . on the Richter Scale. They have the defense but not to sound redundant, do they have the quarterback?

If Favorites Had A Junior Varsity: 

As for the New England Patriots, they went from blech to boom in fifteen minutes. Drake Maye has become the new Lord Vader and Mike Vrabel is a football coach straight out of central casting. I’ll put them here out of respect for what they accomplished this year but honestly, they’re still pups to this business.

Teams That Could Do The Thing And No One Would Be Shocked:

The Jacksonville Jaguars haven’t lost since mid-November. They’re riding an eight game winning streak with a quarterback in Trevor Lawrence who is finally behaving like his ancestors.  Yanno . . the Lannisters?

The Chicago Bears ain’t quite ready for prime time but since this year’s playoffs are more late-night adjacent, who knows? They have a rock star QB and head coach tandem and they play for a fan base that literally drank Nashville dry once upon a time.

I’m rooting for the Buffalo Bills to win it all now that Mahomes is out of the way but the Shakespearean struggle I spoke of earlier is very real. On the plus side they have Josh Allen. On the minus side, they only have one of him.

Here’s where things get sneaky. I could see the Houston Texans riding that buzz-saw of a defense to the title if everything breaks right. It may not be likely but to hell with what’s likely? Mahomes ain’t here!

Is there a better head coach going than Kyle Shanahan? He had his San Francisco 49ers within a win of clinching the top seed in the NFC in spite of fielding a MASH unit for most of the year. Call them Team DiCaprio, because they can score with anyone.

Teams that could win it all if this were one of those Hangover movies:

The Green Bay Packers have started three quarterbacks in the last thirty years while the Miami Dolphins have started three quarterbacks in the last fifteen minutes so really, to hell with Green Bay.

If somehow, someway, Aaron Rodgers leads the Pittsburgh Steelers to a Super Bowl title, this would become a Disney movie. Of course, Disney would end up scrapping production due to excessive use of ayahuasca and numerous lascivious entanglements.

Jim Harbaugh has not committed a single recruiting violation with the Los Angeles Chargers in two years at the helm. The dude must be going through withdrawal. Welp, at least he has his stud quarterback for years to come, and he didn’t even cheat to get him!

Nope. Just Nope: 

I would love to see the Carolina Panthers win something someday. They play in a state where college basketball, NASCAR and chewing tobacco rate ahead of them in terms of popularity. The reality is they only made the playoffs because their division is only slightly stronger than the American Athletic Conference. And those guys are collegians . . I think.

Welp, that was fun wasn’t it?

For any collectors reading this playoff preview, you might want to print out a copy of it since it’s destined to be a collector’s item. I figure that Mahomes guy has another ten years in him, which means more postseasons with his name on it. The league will probably end up burning all evidence of this postseason once he starts winning Super Bowls again.

Let’s enjoy this while it lasts.

If- By Rudyard Kipling- Narrated by John Facenda 

 

 

Best Laid Plans

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It was no more than a couple of seconds before the gravity of the situation compelled Dantley’s central nervous system to launch an all out paranoiac response to the size twelve shoes interrupting his attempts at sealing the threshold.

“What the fuck man?!”

Paranoia was an easy response. Understandable. It was Dantley’s natural inclination to panic, and it was obvious this would not deter the six-foot four interloper with the thick black mane of jet black hair encapsulated by a boutique gel that made him look like a character ripped from a James Cagney flick.

Dantley’s next move was to parry the remaining space in order to prevent himself from losing any more ground to the intruder by sliding his Nikes across the other side of the door. With an impasse now remedied and with questions abounding, the two men forged an impasse. They had put up their dukes but their faces were easily deciphered; neither of them wanted to actually use their dukes.

“Okay guys . . both of you . . stop!” Amy’s command was abrupt without being punitive. It allowed them a feasible option in that if they cut the shit right now, she wouldn’t feel the need to use her claws to puncture anything of value attached to them. She placed one hand on each of the men and it was as if the Greek goddess Eirene was prevailing upon them to choose a more peaceful resolution.

“I’m sorry,” The stranger muttered sheepishly. The humility in his voice did not match his imposing figure but it disarmed Dantley enough that he removed his foot from the other side of the door, after which the stranger’s foot retreated as well.

“You can see where my boyfriend had every right to lose his shit, right?” Amy said calmly.

“I didn’t lose my shit,” Dantley protested.

“You did not handle that very well handsome, but you . .”

“Chuck,”

“Chuck, you didn’t have to put those Tom Ford burnished leather Oxfords in harm’s way like that. By the way . . black is the correct color with that charcoal suit. Five stars,” Amy smiled.

“How do you know so much about shoes?” Dantley asked.

“I watched Sex and the City. Okay if I step out of the room, are you guys gonna behave?”

“Of course babe,”

“Good,” Amy said, kissing Dantley on the cheek before leaving.

“Listen, if you’re here about the money, I put it back alright? I don’t want any trouble,” Dantley offered.

“What do you mean you put it back?”

“I put it back where I found it,”

“So, you know David Greene?”

“Who?”

“David Greene,” The stranger repeated, clearly perplexed. “He was the previous tenant,”

“I never met the guy. All I know about the guy is what my landlord told me. That he was a golf pro and a royal piece of shit. My landlord wasn’t enamored,”

“I’m confused, so are you saying he didn’t give you the money?” Chuck asked.

“He did not,”

“Wait, what money are you talking about?”

“What money are you talking about?” Dantley said, throwing the question right back at his inquisitor.

“We arranged a small loan for Mr. Greene after which he left town and we haven’t been able to locate him. This house call is my due diligence,”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how much was this loan he skipped out on?”

“$2,000,”

“Oh that’s nothing . .” Dantley blurted as he breathed a sigh of relief now that it was clear the black leather bag tucked inside a wall in the basement contained quite a bit more than two grand and that the stranger was after something else entirely.

“Well, the interest on that loan is something. Which is why Mr. Greene’s whereabouts are a mystery we need to solve,”

“How much interest we talking?” Dantley inquired.

“Five percent,”

“That’s not bad,”

“A week,”

“Jesus. I went into the wrong profession. So what is your role in all this?”

“I’m the accountant,” The man replied.

“I dig it, the sobriquet is very Carl Hiassen. And what business are we talking? A pizza shop? . . Construction?”

“A nail salon,”

“The new economy is some wild shit,” Dantley smirked. “And so your boss, he’s supplementing? Or is the nail salon a front?”

“My aunt, she’s always looking for new revenue streams. So you have never crossed paths with Mr. Greene? He didn’t leave anything behind?”

“I told you, never. Actually . . he did leave a parting gift in the way of a heroin kit,”

“He’s a collector of bad habits,” Chuck said.

“How can golf be so boring when the people who play it make John Belushi look like Mr. Rogers?”

“You’re a lousy bad guy, you know that?” Amy said as she reentered the living room eating yogurt.

“Ex  . . excuse me?” Chuck stuttered, his mouth agape as if his teacher had just informed him he had to repeat the third grade.

“This debt collector gig isn’t your thing, is it?” Amy continued.

“Babe . .” Dantley interrupted.

“Jesus, am I that bad?!” Chuck asked, his face crestfallen as he kicked his size twelves in the air.

“You overshare for one thing. We don’t need to know what business you have with Mr. Greene or how much he borrowed or what the vig on the loan is. Remember the ABC’s of the loan shark business. Always Be Cryptic. You had the upper hand when you kept my boyfriend from slamming that door in your face but then you gave it all back,”

“I’m gonna write that down, that’s great stuff.” Chuck said as he jotted on a notepad. “Always . . . be . . . cryptic. Damn that’s good!”

“On the bright side, you have a couple things going for you. You’re tall with broad shoulders, which gives off the impression that you can easily hide a couple sidearms in that coatrack of yours. The scar on your chin is very intimidating. And you dress the part too . .”

“Gee, thanks! I played some college basketball up at State, which is where I got the scar,”

“Someone elbowed you during a game?” Dantley asked.

“No, I got drunk after a game and tripped on the sidewalk and busted my face wide open,” Chuck confessed.

“See, that’s what I mean Chuck,” Amy began.

“Oh shit, that’s right. How’s this? . . How I got that scar is none of your business!” 

“Excellent! How did that feel?” Amy said excitedly.

“Amazing! I’m not gonna lie, I felt a little bit like DeNiro just now,”

“And with time and confidence, you can change it up if someone asks you about the scar. Instead of the real story, tell them you got it during a day long interrogation that didn’t end well . . for the interrogators. A little embellishment goes a long way . .”

“Oooooooh! Yeah . . yeaaaah! Hey! That’s pretty badass!” Chuck said excitedly.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” Amy asked.

“I am grown up,” Chuck said.

“I mean, what is your passion? If you weren’t an accountant, what would you be doing right now?”

“I wanted to work for the CIA, but that didn’t pan out because I failed my drug test. The weird thing is I only had a couple tokes that morning but when I took the test, it was still there! I’d read somewhere that a toke only stays in your system for about an hour . . .”

“That’s alcohol,” Dantley smirked.

“Are you sure? How do you know that?” Chuck asked.

“From experience,”

“So anyway, I went into the family business when I graduated a couple years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good with numbers and I love doing it but yeah, the CIA was my dream,”

“Okay, okay. That explains the natty getup, I like it,” Amy smiled.

“And uh, I don’t carry a gun just so you know,” Chuck assured her.

“Well you could’ve fooled me. But don’t go sharing that with your clients,”

“Should I tell them I’m packing heat?” Chuck asked earnestly.

“Tell them nothing. It’s inferred, remember?”

“Oh that’s right! Always be cryptic! God you’re good at this!”

“Well listen Chuck, I’m really glad my girlfriend could help you out with this side gig of yours but if you don’t mind, I have some laundry to get to,” Dantley said.

“Sure sure . . and oh wait! Here’s a pic of Mr. Greene just in case he comes around. You can keep it, I made copies,”

“Uh yeah, great. Thanks?”

“Oh, one more thing!” Chuck said as he dug through his pocket. “Here . . for you. It’s a fifty dollar gift card to our nail salon. It’s the least I can do . .” Chuck blushed as he handed the card to Amy before leaving.

Ten minutes later, Dantley and Amy were talking up dinner ideas as he loaded the washing machine.

“Hey, wanna check to see if the money is still there?” Amy asked as a devilish grin took hold of her face.

“Not really but I’m afraid to say no to a natural born loan shark,” Dantley laughed.

“Oh stop it. The boy needed some guidance,” Amy said as she moved into the small room and removed the plywood cover from the wall. There was silence as Dantley headed for the door slowly, waiting for Amy to catch up.

“Umm . . handsome?”

“Is it still there?”

“No,”

“No?! What the fuck?! Well, cover up that hole and let’s get out of here!” Dantley said as he approached the hole in the wall and looked inside as Amy stood silent.

“Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing Amy. Please tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing,”

“Alright, you’re not seeing what you’re seeing . .” Amy said as Dantley held up the pic of David Greene that Chuck had just given him.

“Well, we found him . . .” Amy said.

Nick Waterhouse- (If) You Want Trouble

My ‘Burn After Writing’ Top Ten New Years Resolutions!

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Since I don’t do resolutions, it made sense to finger paint in the mostly hypothetical wilderness of things said and things that should be left unsaid.

Let’s dig in!

10- In the event an unknown meteor spiraling towards the earth becomes known and the prognosis is global annihilation, Imma start smoking again. Anything and everything. I’ll smoke enough to kill Humphrey Bogart all over again. I’ll even smoke Oxy, which will make that meteor feel like a snowball.

9- Start a peace movement that becomes a global phenomenon and changes the world for the better by . . . oh wait . . did I say peace? I meant pizza. I’ll start a pizza movement that becomes a global phenomenon. Yanno, on second thought, pizza’s popular enough as it is.

8- I will not say a disparaging word about my Dolphins next season, the team I love to hate. Or is it hate to love? Anyways, nary a four letter word will used to describe this outfit, until they are eliminated from postseason play. So . . . not until the end of September.

7- Drink more beer, because it’s good for me. The author Sally Cronin says it’s better to drink a few (my results may vary) alcoholic drinks throughout the week rather than drinking all at once on the weekend. Welp, you don’t have to tell me twice!

6- Smile more. I plan on doing most of my smiling in my sleep, which is some next level efficiency if you ask me. This frees up my waking hours for growling, smirking and grimacing.

5- When people ask me if I have any new year’s resolutions, I’ll tell them I plan on losing wait. And no, that’s not a typo and no, they won’t realize I don’t mean weight. By losing wait, I’m committed to spending less time in lines at stores, on hold with representatives or paying any attention whatsoever to commercials when I can grab myself a beer with that time.

4- In a last ditch effort to feel young again, Imma try sleeping until noon at some point. The last time I slept till noon, I could fill my gas tank and grab lunch for less than twenty bucks, I had all my hair and I kept a rubber in my wallet. Even if I just lay in bed for six hours . . it’ll still count dammit.

3- Sign up for the gym. Just kidding . . I’m not a psycho.

2- Consume more plant based products, like French fries and vodka. Remember kids, doing the right thing is all about believing that you are doing the right thing. And you’re welcome.

1- Hunt down the individual who came up with that inane ’67’ thing and take them to an undisclosed location.

Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy? Imma Say Both . . .

Sorryless38 Comments

To commemorate my Disco Lemonade club’s second consecutive Fantasy Football League title, I’ve enlisted the brass knuckled baritone of John Facenda, seeing as how the legendary voice of NFL Films was once coined “The Voice of God” for his narration. Even though he checked out more than forty years ago, it still counts.

It was the most unlikely of ascents for Disco Lemonade. At the midway point of the 2025 fantasy football season, the defending champions were forced to contemplate their own mortality. But just as Dionysus was resurrected in the form of chaos and revelry, so too was this unique assemblage of men, whose talents battled the unforgiving night into sunrise once more.

Yeah, umm . . . just like that.

A year ago, I shocked the world (Myself) by going from worst to first in my fantasy football league. I went 9-5 in the regular season before sweeping through the tournament one season removed from finishing with a 3-11 record. From fuckery to fabulous, from cinderblock to Cinderella, just like that.

2025 carried a simple mandate for yours truly in that I didn’t want to look like a schnook now that my fantasy club was sitting on the Iron Throne. I wanted my team to be a high wire act that scored points in bunches whilst thrilling the masses (Myself) and I really wanted to make the tournament again, if only to show that last year was no fluke. Even if I was fairly certain that last year was actually a fluke.

Of course, any champion worth his salted caramel is going to macchiato the fears and doubts away by utilizing that age old bulwark of athletic(ish) competition: Bravado. So it was that when I accepted the title belt back in August, I did my best Pat Riley impersonation. I guaranteed my team was gonna win it again.

Pat Riley we’re gonna win it again

I’m certain Pat Riley believed his Showtime Lakers were going to repeat, because aside from being the coolest cat in the room, he’s Rushmore on the hardwood. My guarantee . . it wasn’t that. Mine was the result of trash meeting talk, now that I had to deal with expectations.

My season debut shit the bed and then I lost my top overall pick Malik Nabers. And just when I was starting to figure shit out, my running backs went milk carton on me and my starting quarterback Bo Nix started playing like Tebow and all that bravado had resulted in a 3-5 record.

Just when I was about to accept a collect call from The Buggles, fate intervened and was like Alright, enough of this shit.

Or something to that effect.

My new quarterback- Drake Maye- started playing like an MVP, and never stopped. My second overall pick Puka Nacua continued putting up pinball numbers. Trey McBride, the all-world tight end for my club two years running now, kept on doing all-world things. And my running backs- Chase Brown, RJ Harvey and Travis Etienne- figured the shit out, and then some. George Pickens and Michael Wilson supplied enough cash to go with all that flash and I heart my Houston Texans defense for their junkyard dog methodology. I think my kicker did alright too. And so from the ashes of 3-5, I didn’t lose again.

And so what if I didn’t know Trey McBride from Bake McBride until two seasons ago . . or that I didn’t realize Chase Brown was a real person until I drafted him . . or that I still confuse Travis Etienne with his brother Trevor, which is akin to mistaking Sly Stallone with his brother Frank . . . and I still wouldn’t be able to identify Michael Wilson, and okay . . okay . . I still refer to RJ Harvey as PJ Harvey, the English singer/songwriter.

None of that matters, because I nailed the encore. Of course, this will most likely lead to the commissioner drug testing me, but that’s okay because I’ll fail the drug test just to shut everybody up. My real life fantasy for this make believe fantasy world is that next season, I deliver a solid enough showing that one of my opponents attaches a ‘Gate’ to my exploits. Accusations of impropriety because I engender such enmity is some cool shit.

There will be no guarantees of a three-peat in 2026 because I’m still shocked that I won this thing once and next season Imma be getting over the fact I won this thing twice. Nah, no need to guarantee anything after all that. Of course, if the liquor’s flowing at our annual draft in August . . .

. . . all bets are off.

Queen- We Are The Champions