Last Call

The big talking point around the sports blog-o'-hood today is the lawsuit filed by Josh Hancock's dad. I'd imagine that 98 per cent of intelligent people think this lawsuit is bullshit and indicative of all that is wrong with overly litigious America.

That's a perfectly reasonable position. I was (unfortunately) listening to Colin Cowherd this morning, and he did what he often does: make a salient point that I reluctantly agree with. Cowherd called Old Man Hancock out as a man and as a dad, stating that the restaurant and the tow truck company did not force the pitcher to get loaded, speed and talk on his cell with pot in the car two days after he'd wrecked another ride.

(You see, Colin? That's called attribution. When someone else has an idea you can use it, but you need to give credit to the author. It's not that hard.)

I personally think that Old Man Hancock is missing the boat, not in his frivolous lawsuit but its target. Let the tow truck company and the restaurant alone, grumpy, and go after the real villain here: Missouri.

Those who have not traveled to the Show-Me State and sampled its wares may not know this, but Missouri's bars are open until forever. Sometimes they close at three, and sometimes seven, and sometimes never. It's very confusing, especially when you're plastered, tired from driving across Kansas, and stubbornly defending the greatness of Colorado. I tend to get really wasted and disoriented in Missouri, and it is totally not my fault. That fucking state and its mesmerizing alcohol laws will completely knock you on your ass.

Plus, most of the chicks there are fat. And there are a bunch of broken-down cars on the side of the interstate. And the humidity blows. I conclude that all of these problems are directly attributable to the mysterious last call policy.

So what I'm saying is, Josh Hancock's dad, you're barking up the wrong tree. Sue Missouri, and preferably every single citizen in a class action. It's their fault.