The Drunken Striker

Posted on July 26, 2007

They told me when I signed up for this that it would be fun, that we’d all enjoy ourselves and that we’d remember it forever, vividly, like how people remember the first time they got laid, or the last time they had a cigarette, or the pain they felt when they fell out of a tree as teenagers and broke both wrists. It was supposed to be kind of a party, a weekly get-together where we were more focused on drinking and cursing and getting away from family than on soccer, and who gives a damn who wins the games? Then Sanders got hurt, and two other guys quit, and one guy went nuts and ran off to live somewhere in Minnesota with his sister, and before you know it we’re down to five players and I’m playing every minute of every game just wishing like hell that I could get hurt too so I won’t ever have to run again.

The other guys, they’re mostly the same as me in that they don’t want to play either, but we feel like we have to because Sanders is sticking around to coach, and Winter is on the hook for four hundred bucks whether we show up or not, and it wouldn’t be right for us to leave him hanging. So we’re there every week, tired and fat and still sore from the week before, getting run off the floor by a bunch of twenty year olds without kids, jobs, body fat, arthritis, or any sense of what it means to be old and useless. We try to bully them, bounce their heads off the walls and hack at their shins until they turn purple (of course they don’t wear guards—they probably ride to the games piled 3 deep on the back of those little rice rockets without helmets, so why would they even think about slipping a little piece of plastic inside their socks?). We let them run past us and we let Harvey deal with the steady stream of breakaways, because if we all sprint back on defense, then there’s no way in hell we’ll be able to mount any kind of attack, and what’s the fun in playing a game if you don’t even have the chance to score? Harvey tries, but he’s slow, so if he gives up a rebound (he’s got good hands, but they’re not perfect), you know it’s a goal. Then he gets pissed, kicks the wall, and fires the ball at my back real hard because he thinks I’m still good enough to hang with these guys. Read more

I am the most NOW person of all time

Posted on July 21, 2007

This whole “Who’s Now” thing on ESPN is a complete joke. Yeah, some people think it’s a ridiculous, poorly conceived waste of time that reminds them of the kinds of celebrity gossip shows you would normally find on E!, but those guys are just jealous that they’re not as NOW as Shaun White or Kelly Slater. The idea of the tournament itself is awesome and might be the coolest thing TV has ever done, besides introducing me to Carlos Mencia and The Singing Bee. It’s at least the 3rd most NOW tournament in the world, behind the NCAA tournament and my fraternity’s daily beer pong tournament (two-time champs!). The problem is, the field is slanted, because they didn’t include me.

Look at some of the clowns they included– Ortiz, Manning, Sharapova. I’m more NOW than all of them combined. I’m more clutch than Ortiz (last week, I almost hit a game winning homer in the first round of my fraternity’s round-robin wiffle ball tournament, and last night, I won $20 playing online poker), have a better family than Manning (my dad is cooler and my brother isn’t autistic), and I’m like the male version of Sharapova when it comes to looking good (that’s why I go tanning as often as I do, and spend so much money on belt buckles). I should totally be in that tournament, and anyone who doesn’t think so is probably some kind of gaybo or a terrorist.

I still vote at least a dozen times every day, but it pisses me off because you can’t do write-in votes. Usually, I wake up around 7, do some push-ups, and then stand in front of the mirror for an hour checking out my awesome tattoos. I have one that spells my name out in Old English letters, and right below that I have barbed wire running around my bicep, kinda like Goldberg, except more NOW than his was. On my other arm, I wanted a Superman logo, but couldn’t afford the full thing yet, so it’s kinda just like an empty pentagon, and I tell people it’s there for America, because nothing is more NOW than loving America and being American. I’ll get the ‘S’ in there someday.

After that, I go and vote. By then I’ve already had 6 red bulls– it takes a ton of energy to be this NOW, you don’t even know how tiring it gets, so that’s why I wear clothes that are pre-ripped and wrinkled and stuff so you see just how tired I am from being so awesomely NOW– so I’m real hyped up, ya know? So every time my name’s not on there I rip my shirt off (I wear a lot of those old Hulkamania tank tops around the house) and go downstairs to kick my dog. My dog is not NOW, and I only have it because my mom made me take it to school with me. My dog is fat and stupid, and it craps everywhere. Things that are NOW don’t crap everywhere. That’s why Najeh Davenport isn’t in the tournament.

Last week, my girlfriend ditched me and called me a loser because I kept talking to her about how NOW I am. She said she didn’t even know what that meant, and I told her, hey, if you knew what it meant, then you’d be NOW too, but you’re not. Then I took some E and rubbed my face against the carpet for a few hours. It was awesome, and I only cried once.

It’s cool that she’s gone, because she’ll would never find anyone as NOW as I am, and when she comes crawling back, I’ll say “sorry, baby, but I’m NOW and you’re THEN.” Then I’ll go on youtube and post that video I secretly took of her when she was on the toilet. That’ll show her, and I’ll be ROTFLMAO’ing all the way to the bank, baby.

So I’m gonna start an online petition to include me in the next Who’s Now bracket (I’d like a bye too, but I guess I shouldn’t push my luck), so then we can settle once and for all that I’m definitely more NOW than Tiger Woods or that ugly swimmer that everyone pretends is hot just because she was in Maxim and FHM. Don’t get me wrong– Maxim and FHM are so NOW that if I were a magazine myself, they’d almost be as NOW as me (and that’s pretty damn NOW), but I just think they screwed that one up. Anyway, the point is, I’m starting a petition, and you should sign it, because it’ll make your TV viewing experience at least 75 percent more NOW effective immediately. And when I’m crowned the King of All Nowness, I’ll remember all the little people who helped me get there by giving you a 5% discount on autographed photos of me doing the most NOW-est things I can think of, like popping wheelies on my Ninja or attaching a nitrous tank to my Honda Civic.

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