Well, kids, now that the writers' strike is over I suppose it's time to get back to work at this here HoG farm. Now I'm not a union member per se, but I don't cross picket lines.
So Bankmeister, you can quit bugging me and harassing my family. Just because you are a slave to the cold, hard steel of commerce and have no respect for the solidarity of my brethren doesn't mean you can insult me like that. I have feelings and emotions and...hey look the Chiefs went 4-12!
We are, of course, in the doldrums of the sports calendar. We could pay attention to college hoops, but then again we could take sandpaper to our nuts. They both kind of suck. The only event that is even remotely compelling is the presidential race, but this is not a political blog. Here we talk sports, not government, except on those rare occasions when the two collide.
The other day I visited a little Colorado town called Manassa. It's kind of out of the way, and while I've been within 40 miles of the place dozen of times, I've never actually made the final trek. On Monday, though, my travels took me to within a stone's throw, and I had to check it out.
Manassa is tiny, one of the smallest towns you'll ever see. But a world heavyweight champion (Jack Dempsey, the Manassa Mauler) was born there, and two current U.S. Congressman (Senator Ken Salazar and Representative John Salazar) grew up there. When Cecil, Bank and I were matriculating at The Fort Lewis College we used to drink at a bar that once hosted a Dempsey fight. His mural was on the wall outside, splattered with Cecil's chunks (kid can't hold his whisky). Years later, I got plowed at that same bar with a staffer on Ken Salazar's campaign, all while conducting the world's most awful fantasy basketball draft via cell phone. I think I picked Mike Dunleavy Jr. in the second round.
Anyway, the mashing together of Manassa's sports history and political history makes no sense, it's just a coincidence. Just like Rocket's appearance on Capitol Hill makes no sense. It made everyone look like a moron. I know nothing about the law, but I know more about Rocket's case and certainly more about Rocket than these doofus congressmen. Half of them were there to fellate him, and the other half were there just to look tough on TV. On the fellating and looking-tough fronts, it reminded me of this show.
I didn't watch the hearings, but this one element did stick out: If you are to believe Rocket, his best friend, personal trainer and wife were all injecting each other with illegal performance enhancing drugs. They've all admitted it. They shot up in Rocket's house and locker room. He claims that he wasn't there, that he never saw it happen, and that he's clean. The trainer injected him with legal vitamins, and everyone else with dope, but Rocket is clean. And these congressmen sat there and ingested this crap, never calling him on his blatant bullshit.
If you're going to create this circus, and go through the pretense of putting a blatant drug abuser under oath, you may want to ask him some questions that will pinpoint his arrogant deceitfulness. I'm no lawyer, but I watch an episode of Magnum P.I. last night. Now that was a moustache you could set a watch to.
And here, for no reason whatsoever, is a chick getting ready to jam two balls in one hole. It is Wednesday, after all. Enjoy!
Update: I forgot to mention this, but the funniest part of this whole deal has been the shit with Rocket's wife. She let McNamee shoot her up just before her SI bikini shoot, which resulted in the centerpiece photo of my last post before I went on strike. So what I'm saying is, I inadvertently broke that story. Send any Pulitzers to HoG World Headquarters, Kansas City MO.
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