Smokey’s Potpourri

The suspenders are on. Let’s King Thing this bitch up.

-Over the past few years there’s been an influx of Bills fans in my social stratosphere. These are a curious lot; they tend to be realists and pessimists. They’ve mastered the art of the shrug and eye roll, which is why they’re the perfect fans to get someone like Terrell Owens. The premiere episode of his new show has aired, and it rests on my DVR until such time as I summon the intestinal fortitude to sit through the entire episode. My lady friend watched it, being a Bills fan that she is. She told me they showed clips of his arrival in Buffalo and the mayor giving him the key to the city. I purported that the over-the-top-ness of those two events led me to believe they were merely spectacles conscientiously conceived and executed by the producers of his show. She was aghast I would think so pedestrian of her hometown fans. She guaranteed that none of the crowds and enthusiasm for Terrell Owens’s presence in Buffalo was constructed of anything more than pure, unadulterated fanaticism. She stated this last bit really, really proudly. She may be right, she may not, but we’re headed to Buffalo over Labor Day for a wedding, which should give me an accurate read on how they feel about TO heading into the season.

-While thinking about this whole “is the pandemonium about TO real or not” I was reminded of something I really effing hate. You know when you’re watching a movie or tv show and two characters are arguing about something and one of them makes an example from a movie or tv show and the other guy says, “Yeah….but this isn’t a movie/tv show.” I hate that. That’s incredibly lazy writing. (Well, hello there, Mr. Kettle) The one thing you should never be allowed to say in a fictional work is to imply that it is not, in fact, a fictional work, citing other fictional works as proof. I get all stabby when that happens.

-Played some golf this weekend atop the city of Glendale, CA. It had fine views and a cool omnipresent low end hum. It was also hot as balls. Rediscovering a sport you picked up late in youth gives easy way to nostalgia. First time I ever golfed, I was in my teens. Only played a handful of times throughout college, and barely any since moving out west. I’ve played twice in a month now and I’m enjoying the hell out of it. The clubs are the same ones from Wal-Mart I got over a decade ago. Projecting back to the simpler times before driver’s licenses and facial hair occurs often on the course. Even when it’s balls hot outside.

-I’m headed back to Dodger stadium this weekend for my second game of the season. A group of friends have taken it upon themselves to bring more recognition to Casey Blake’s Beard. As such, it is advised that you watch Sunday’s Marlins-Dodger game, for there’s a decent chance you’ll see our body-painted supplication to the power and the glory. This is the first shot over the bow of my long-term ninja-esque project to bring scorn and/or spotlight to the fine people, of CubicleGM.

-One last thing: congratulations to the Sacramento Kings fan who lives below me. You won the chance to watch Sean May gorge himself in your fine entertainment districts. But be wary: do not make too much fun of poor Seanny, or else the local sports columnists will go all apologist on your ass and tsk tsk your poo poo’ing of a shitty player. Maybe if he hadn’t hit the Boberry Biscuits so hard Larry Brown woulda played him some more. Y’know for their salaries and the amount of time they’d actually play, Sean could’ve just as easily been traded to the Lakers as a salary dump in February. But you know what? He wasn’t. And that, my friends, is yet another reason, why Adam Morrison is a world champion.