College Football Week 3: What We Learned

Another week has come and gone and now that a quarter of the regular season is in the books hot starts turn to sky high expectations, continued struggles become demands to clean house, and some teams are just sticking to the script. I have a first hand story to tell this week so lets run through some quick hits first.

-The Death Star is Fully Operational: Alabama came into the season with the most annoying quarterback controversy I’ve ever seen. Either you go with Jalen Hurts who started his career 27-2 and made it to back to back national championships as a freshman and sophomore, or Tua Tugoviloa who won a national championship as a freshman by coming in at halftime to put the team on his back like Bobby Bucher. Captain Insano shows no mercy and neither does Bama when Tua is at the helm. The Tide was up 49-7 at halftime against Ole Miss and I’m ready to declare this a scorched earth season for Alabama. The media angered Nick Saban with the constant QB questions and now his mission is to steamroll everyone in his path for the sole purpose of giving Hurts garbage time snaps to rack up his own All-Conference stat lines.

-Cancel Rutgers: I said last week the Rutgers should just stop playing Ohio State because no one should have to endure that type of consistent abuse. Well after a 55-14 loss to Kansas it’s time to widen that net. I’m pretty sure Kansas has a football team only because the Big 12 requires them to have one. They have been a non-bye week bye week for the Big 12 for years now so where do you go from here if you’re Rugters? Watching Rutgers play is like watching Apollo Creed get his brains beat in by Ivan Drago, I’ll do what Rocky couldn’t and toss in the towel before we need to call the paramedics.

-Coach O is a Gift to College Football: LSU opened a lot of eyes after their week 1 drubbing of Miami and after a comeback win on the road against #7 Auburn LSU is for real. The best part about LSU climbing the college football ranks is that we’re going to get all the Coach O we can. I love a good locker room speech but there’s just something about hearing a guy the sounds like Cookie Monster after chain smoking a pack of marbs scream “FUCK THEM” that puts a smile on my face. We already have great Ed Ogeron stories like how at USC he was still recruiting when there was no coaching staff and how he used to eat cups of coleslaw for breakfast, now that there’s going to be even more media surrounding the Tigers I can’t wait for what’s next.

Now it’s time for what ya boy learned this weekend from his own experience. I went to the Syracuse-Florida State game on Saturday and the rumors are true, the Seminoles STINK. It was 6-0 Cuse at halftime and it was no doubt the most one sided 6-0 game I’ve ever seen. Florida State still has a roster full of 4 and 5 star recruits but somehow Willie Tagart has managed to turn them into St. Marry’s School for the Blind. Two weeks ago Western Michigan managed to put up 621 yards and 42 point on Syracuse’s defense. Even Wagner managed to score 10. Florida State had 240 total yards and only scored 7 points. Deandre Francois was taking such a whooping that he was telling his lineman to fuck off when they would try to help him up. Tagart said his offense was “lethal simplicity” which apparently means “too dumb to breath.” Stick that flaming spear in the ‘Noles THEY. ARE. DONE.

On the other sideline, Cuse is back baby. I’m ready to sign that in blood now. I was in the broadcast booth last year when Syracuse beat Clemson on Friday the 13th and could see that Dino Babers was actually building something real even if it didn’t always show up on the scoreboard. The past few years the wheels would fall off for Syracuse around the mid point of the season because Eric Dungey couldn’t stay healthy and behind him wasn’t much. Well Dungey missing snaps due to injury came earlier than expected but Tommy Devito stepped in and kept things rolling leading the offense to 24 2nd half points. Devito struggled a bit when he got garbage time snaps in the past 2 weeks but his performance on Saturday has got to be a huge boost to the young pup’s confidence. The defense in the past managed to find ways to struggle no matter what the caliber of opponent they were up against. That was not the case this time around mainly because their front 4 dominated from start to finish. To top it all off, Coach Babers delivered another classic locker room speech where he managed to temporarily replace my hangover with pure adrenaline by talking about the weather.

On the topic of that hangover. Knowing I’d be going to a nooner the next day I decided to spend Friday night living it up like an undergrad. I was at a Cuse bar named Harry’s the night before with a buddy because his frat had a bar tab there. Harry’s seemed a lot nicer than the last time I was there, probably because they cleaned up the river of piss flowing from the bathroom that’s connected to the middle of the dance floor (classy) and also moved the main entrance from inside a CVS (very classy) to around the corner. Here’s a tip, if someone tells you to order a drink called “Electric Gatorade” just don’t. I don’t know what was in it but the next morning I was praying for the sweet release of death. Combine that with the 100 degree heat and 100% humidity inside the Carrier Dome, I was way closer to booting on the little girl sitting next to me than I’d like to admit. It was so hot and humid in there that some concessions stands were running out of bottled water by halftime. There’s nothing like the Dome when it’s packed and the crowd is feeling it but if it’s going to be a real home field advantage then it can’t be a health risk to go to a game. Figure it out folks.

Never order a drink if it’s the same color as the matching shooter sleeve and Kyries the annoying rich kid at the YMCA is rocking. Next week I’ll stick to what’s on tap.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

Contraceptives Are Not Bookmarks

If I had to describe my employment history in one word, it’d be strange. It started out pretty normal, when I was 15 I was a dishwasher at the same restaurant as my brothers but that came to an abrupt end over the course of a few hours where my brothers and I all got fired, rehired, and quit in the span of 3 hours. All stemming from me having a tennis match scheduled for Mother’s Day.

From that point on it got weird. I was a librarian for 2 years, a brief stint as a tennis instructor, a few summers teaching kids how to make candles at a nature preserve, the summer after high school I was painting fire hydrants, a few more doing landscaping, a couple years in a mail room, a summer as a locomotive engineer in bum fuck no where Pennsylvania, and now I sell boilers. My LinkedIn is a like a madlibs filled out in a drunken stupor. Last week I got offers for jobs as a middle school English teacher, product developer for Ford, and agender stripper. I have a try out at The Cashmere Dragon next Tuesday.

Today’s tale brings us back to the first one, my days as a librarian. My junior and senior years in high school were funded by my 20 hours a week at the local community library, and yes it’s fair to ask yourself “what kind of dude in high school is a librarian?” Answer: Ya boy over here. Let me tell ya, working in a library is a sweet deal. While you chumps were slaving away cleaning plates, saving fat kids from drowning while their parents had poolside limearitas, and asking paper or plastic. I was chilling in a library doing nothing. The only people who go to public libraries are old people who have been going there for decades and know where everything is and families where the parents don’t give a shit and the kids just flock to where ever the brightest colors are.

The only other people who worked there were grandmas who retired and were just looking to kill some time and fund their Wednesday night bingo habits. Grandmas are the best when they’re not showing the era they grew up in and dropping little breadcrumbs of racism, they’re always happy and every time they see you reset the wifi they make you feel like Albert Einstein. Plus it turns out a bunch of them had seasons tickets to Syracuse Basketball since the 80’s so we’d just pass the time debating Scoop vs Triche.

Everything about my time as a librarian I look back on rather fondly, except one thing. I was a librarian from 2012 to 2014, take a moment and really try to remember what was hot in the literary streets back then. Go ahead, take your time… Around this time was the great sexual awakening for middle aged suburban moms across the country thanks to 50 Shades of Grey.

Listen, I’m all for you doing you and if Mrs. Jones wants to draw a bubble bath, pour a tall glass of Merlot and have some personal time go right ahead. She earned it. Being a mother is the hardest job there is, besides being an agender stripper at The Cashmere Dragon. But there’s a point where this flipped from a fun trend to downright creepy and my personal line on that was when I was processing 50 copies of these books a day. If you think reading about mild BDSM is a good time then I have some links that would make you need a cigarette after just seeing the URL. Hit me up and I’ll pass them along @LlFired. It didn’t help that the 50 Shades books would always come back strategically hidden in a stack of 20 children’s books, like a modern day Trojan Horse. I know you weren’t wrangling up the Captain Underpants anthology and your version of Captain Underpants just happened to be laying on the same floor. Those were two separate collection periods, I know it, you know it, no shame in the game so let that freak flag fly.

One freak flag flew WAY too high when some depraved sexual monster decided to return a copy of 50 Shades Freed with what looked like a strawberry fruit rollup in a zip-lock bag sticking out of the top of the book. *Pause, the mystery bookmark was placed roughly midway through the story. Why? Did they sense the denouement wasn’t going to get them across the goal line so they decided to walk away and let their mind fill in the blanks for the time being and then go back for the sake of the plot? Did they hammer out about 200 pages of soft core erotica in a single session? This is what keeps me up at night. Resume* I can’t put a book back on the shelf with a bookmark still in it, that’s just not professional. So as a professional I pulled the place holder from it’s location and the bag felt a little oily to the touch. A closer inspection revealed that in my hand was a strawberry flavored dental dam. The oily feel was a result of the strawberry residue seeping through the bag and now my hand smelled like an old jolly rancher, it still does ever so faintly.

Now is when I’ll take a moment to fill in anyone who missed that one day in 8th grade health class where we got the Lisa Ann sexual starter kit. You remember it right? The paper bag with 3 lifestyle condoms in the colors of traffic lights, an unflavored dental dam (because if it was flavored then we’d have all been eating pink meat for lunch that day) and a single serve ketchup packet of lube you convinced the dumb kid to put on his chicken tenders. So dental dams are basically a piece of saran wrap you put over your consenting ladies business because you can’t eat gluten and she loaded up on bread sticks at Olive Garden. I’m pretty sure that’s how that works. No one is really certain about their true function because if someone has one in their personal possession outside of the one day in health class they’re a certified psychopath.

That brings us to this existential quandary, how did the dental dam end up in the book? The only possible reason I can think of without delving into the possibility of minors reading mild erotica, FBI please don’t break down my door (this actually happened with the previous owner of my parents house and now there’s a dent in the front door), is that there is some woman roaming CNY with such an excess of strawberry dental dams that they just have to find ways to use them or else their house will turn into a scene from hoarders with mountains of them piling up. Like beer distributor that uses boxes of damaged bud light to construct their furniture. One things for certain, this persons a menace to society and needs to be stopped. If you see something, say something.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

One Age for the Rest of your Life

A friend of mine tossed out an interesting hypothetical the other day. If you could be one age for the rest of your life what would it be? As is the case with any hypothetical you have to lay some ground rules first so that way we’re all playing the same game. So here’s what I’ve got for rules:

1. You don’t age physically

2. It’s not a live forever type of deal. Average life expectancy is something like 80 years so you’re still clocking out at 80 but for you’re time on this Earth you’re whatever age you picked.

3. Whatever age you pick you’re in that stage of life. You’re not picking 21 and then progressing through life like you normally would. No baby faced Fortune 500 CEOs in this hypothetical.

Alright now that that’s settled let’s take a look at the contenders.

-Anything under 18 get the fuck out of here. Congrats on being captain of the football, team no one cares.

-College Aged 18-22: Ah to go back to the glory days. Party all night, sleep all day. You’re only real responsibility on a day to day basis is to make sure you’re still breathing that same time tomorrow. I get why people say they’re never gonna leave that place, but everything’s not all peaches and cream. Keeping up the the b.s. of classes already was gettin old after 4 years and I’m not trying to be scrap for cash where I’m drinking beer that gives me diarrhea because that’s all I can afford. I want to make that choice under my own fruition. Every answer is going to have pros and cons and I just feel like there are better options out there.

-23-26: Have fun being too broke to ball out and too young for people to take you seriously.

-27-29: My pick was 27 and I’ll tell you why. Supposedly your mid to late 20’s is when you’re at your biological peak, I don’t know how true that is but I’ll take the nerds word for it. You’ve been in the cube game long enough to where you’re above an entry level pay grade but not long enough to be trusted with much real responsibility, managing a couple interns or something. Yeah I bitch about the 8-5 grind but it fills the hours and if I’m not going to be broke for the other hours of the day then I can be alright with that. Late 20’s is also the last opportunity you have where you can act recklessly at times and not have society look down on you too much for it. Play your cards right you’re living in a B-level romcom. Dirty little secret for ya boy is that I’m a BIG romcom guy so maybe that’s noodling around in the back of my head as I write this but I don’t care. I’m in.

-30-39: Anyone who I know that’s turned 30 or is on the precipice of their 30’s talks about it like they’re awaiting a guaranteed cancer diagnosis. Given how this decade starts I can’t imagine it getting much better as it goes on. I’m out.

-40-49: hahahahaha

-50-64: I was going to dismiss this bracket like the 40’s but I think there’s something to be said about the mid-late 50’s. The kids are probably gone by now screwing up their own lives, you and the Mrs. are out recapturing your youth. Salaries looking pretty good these days now that your career is much closer to its conclusion than its beginning. It still probably isn’t the right pick since you’re still grinding out the work life and you’re at the point where things start to break down on you but there’s an argument there for sure.

-65: For the sake of avoiding a rabbit hole we’ll say 65 is retirement age. It’s like another shot at college life minus classes plus actually having financial assets to throw around. There’s a point where you just get old enough where you’re no longer obligated to give a shit because anything you do can be attributed to “oh he’s just old and set in his ways.” Not a bad deal and I hear that STDs run rampant in retirement communities like Raider Rash at Texas Tech (there’s an interesting topic we’ll address another day) so if it still works you’ll probably be slinging it around. My only hesitation is that getting old seems messy and I don’t know if I want to deal with the daily battle with gravity and biology the elderly face.

What’s your pick?

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

Deep Fried Oreos, a Bride on Skates, and Captain Jack Sparrow

Summertime here in Central New York always closes out with a bang when the “great” New York State Fair rolls into town. I use quotes around great because greatness is determined by comparison to ones contemporaries. Are we comparing this to the Valley Field Days where a few years ago one of those free fall rides broke and snapped a few shin bones? If so then yea I guess the fair is pretty great but let’s not get stuck in our little bubble.

I’ve been going to the fair just about every year I’ve been a conscience human being save a year here and there when I had literally anything else going on those last 10 days of summer. 2018 wasn’t one of those years as I dove into the depths of all that this region has to offer on Saturday. On that day it was reported that 130,000 other souls entered the fairgrounds to partake as well, really puts into perspective how massive those 100,000+ seat college football stadiums really are. This boiling hellscape of asphalt, edible diabetes, and livestock of both the quadrupedal and bipedal variety feels claustrophobic and it’s an open range, having that many people in one building blows my mind.

Let’s start from the top. It’s late August, maybe global warming hadn’t fully t-baged us when this event started but these days that sweaty manbag is resting comfortably on our collective forehead. Between the population of a small metropolis, freshly paved asphalt, 90 degree heat, and enough operating deep fryers to make Ronald McDonald blush it had to have been no less than 5 degrees colder than the surface of the sun. Billion dollar idea for Goldbond, put a stand at every entrance point selling single serve packets of your powder. Try it once and cut me in at 8% for the idea, you’re welcome. Instant swampage and all I trekked on.

Approximately 35% of the real estate at the fairgrounds is dedicated to showing off livestock. I don’t know why but it just gets the people going. You think you’ve seen one cow you’ve seen them all but let me tell you, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. Something about those utters and the very prominent smell of manure draws us in like flys to…well, manure I guess. That’s just the first animal building though. There’s one for sheep and horses, ducks get some action in there, and the chickens/roosters. Oh boy those are some gorgeous cocks. Those bad boys could get their own week and they’d still pull in close to 50,000 a day. When I say I’m from New York you probably picture this.

But really it’s this.

Look at those people, sitting in a hundred degree building filled with crap just to look at some poultry. Am I one of those people? Absolutely, I don’t know why but I just am.

But what happens to those beautiful beasts after their 15 minutes of fame are up? Well let’s head on over to where the food stands are. Where the battle cry of “if you can eat it, we can fry it” reigns supreme. You got the classic fried foods, chicken, turkey, any potato product, but then the mad scientists moved in. Oreos, twinkies, tacos, ice cream (I still don’t understand how that works), and any animal not found on PETAs endangered list but a few that are toeing the line. Those are just the fried selections though, ever wanted to eat a bacon cheese burger but instead of buns it’s glazed donuts? Well then waddle your way on down to the fair! How about this monstrosity?

As a product of New York “A real taste of New York” feels like a personal attack for some reason. Also the sly cliff note on the bottom letting you know that this will come with a serving of gravy, as if it wasn’t implied already, is adorable. I got your Fry Guy secret sauce right here.

What other magnificent attractions could this wonderland possibly hold. Rides that creek and shake a little too much? Yep. Musical acts that peaked 15 years ago? Ludacris put on a hell of a show earlier in the week. Games that you’ll have to drop $30 at to win a $5 stuffed animal? There’s a reason we have strong market for casinos year round, gotta introduce kids to the thrill early on. How about a wedding? Shut it down, we’ve reached peak fair.

To escape the heat my friend and I went into the new expo center that boasts functioning a/c and an ice rink. We turn the corner and on the ice there are two blocks of folding chairs set up center ice with a strip of carpet in between and a podium in the front. I turned to my friend and said, “holy shit I think they’re gonna have a wedding here.” She dismissed this idea because no way that would actually happen. Que the groom in an all white tuxedo stepping onto the ice and gliding around like Nancy Kerrigan pre-lead pipe. The joy the this sight brought me is right up there with Malcom Butler wiping away the Seahawks budding dynasty at the goal line. Not because I’m some wacko that gets antsy in my pantsys (pantsees, panties(?)) but because this is what the fair is all about, people watching and the absurd.

If they’re happy I’m happy for them because life’s fucked just about anyway you look at it so who am I to judge what puts a smile on those faces. That’s not going to stop me from finding this hilarious. The groomsmen escorted the women down the makeshift aisle, a role I’m familiar with. My brother got married a few weeks ago and us groomsmen were told that if we hold out our arm to a woman they’ll instinctively know to grab onto it like a fish biting into a lure to be brought to their seat. It seemed like a little bit dated and I’ll be honest it was a little weird walking up to two strangers, looking at the husband and then having his wife grab onto me. Did I wink at a couple of the husbands? Mr. Steal Yo Gurl shows no mercy.

I had to tap out though when I saw the bride. She was beautiful as any bride may be on their wedding day but this was a wedding on ice and the bride was on skates. This woman was being towed down the ice along side the aisle by I assume her father who was walking on the carpet. Something about this image of a bride being dragged to the alter in a situation where walking away under her own power seemed impossible was very reminiscent of a time when weddings involved those prize winning cocks and cattle being exchanged for an underaged bride. Ah the good old days.

What’s a wedding without a reception. On deck for the evening was none other than The Prince of Darkness Ozzy Osbourne. I was at the show with my dad along with thousands of other people there to see Ozzy on his second farewell tour because maybe this time he means it and how dare you pass up a chance to see a legend perform one last time.

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t mean it. At one point during the show Ozzy stopped to say “people keep thinking that this is fucking it for me. I don’t know why. I’m just done touring the fucking world. I got grandkids man.” 1. Hmm Ozzy I don’t know why people think that the “No More Tours Tour 2” is your swan song, haters just hating I guess. 2. That was a surprisingly sobering moment to realize that the guy who once bit the head off of a live bat now has grandchildren.

Ozzy still has it though at 70 years young, it was kind funny to see him scoot around the stage though as he hyped up the crowd, not quite as spry as he was back in his Black Sabbath days. Zakk Wylde can still shred as evident by the 15 minute guitar solo he had during War Pigs, at one point playing with his teeth. They played all the hits and closed out with Crazy Train which now carries a different underlying theme as the band gets older. Is that a dementia reference? Don’t worry about it.

Oh yea, Captain Jack Sparrow, almost forgot about him. During the concert there was a guy in a full movie-quality Jack Sparrow costume stumbling around taking pictures of people for money. Not a bad gig if you ask me.

And so concludes another trip to The Great New York State Fair, I’ll see ya there next year. Meet me at gate 6.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

Put Straws in Your Nose the River of Shit is Rising

Shout out to the hilarious lunatic Lewis Black for writing the title of this blog. That line comes from a bit he did about when the US economy imploded back in ’08 because of the housing bubble bursting. Well Mr. Black might have some new material coming down the pipeline because of the new financial burden that’s all the rage, student loan debt.

Now I’ll be upfront with you about this, my economics background stops at a handful of business classes I slept through to get a minor in management. However I have seen The Big Short about 8 times because there’s something about the aspect of those poor shmucks shouting into the void that the sky is falling and then once it pops off they’re left with a mountain of cash, guilt, and dipshit bankers saying “we should’ve listened” that I find entertaining. So take my conclusions with a grain of salt. But I just set up my own loan repayment plan and this anvil hanging over our heads has been a reoccurring topic of conversation with a friend of mine so it’s on my mind.

Let’s start with the basics, what the hell happened with mortgages that tanked the economy about a decade ago. My understanding is that a lot of people bought houses on apartment budgets and when they went to take out a loan banks were like a fat kid at a buffet, they couldn’t say no. I used to be that fat kid at the buffet, one time I ate 6 plates in about 15 minutes and then blew chunks all over the place before I could make it to the bathroom. Me getting a 2nd viewing of those 30 chicken tenders is the housing bubble bursting in this scenario. It came up on us quick, we tried to stop it or at least minimize the damage but in the end we were left standing in a pile of vomit with tears in our eyes. Once the chickens came home to roost and people started defaulting on these loans they probably shouldn’t have been given in the first place more money was given out than could come back in and the economy was flipped on its head.

Now after I puked did I go get a glass of water and call it a night? Hell no! I rallied like a champion and got myself a big hot fudge Sunday. When the sky fell did banks take a step back and reevaluate how they operate? Not really, they took the bailouts, reworded everything so it got more confusing, and came out with emotional “we need to be better” commercials. Then it was back to business as usual.

That brings us to today and the reason many recent and not so recent college graduates find themselves grabbing a bottle of whiskey on a Tuesday night. That fickle bitch Sally May.

…I started writing this Monday morning but got side tracked with my actual job but then by the afternoon I saw a report that the head overseer of the national student loan debt resigned in protest over the White House’s hostility towards protecting student loan borrowers. Yikes, I better get back to solving this crisis before we’re all fucked…

So here’s the big numbers on student loans. Currently U.S. citizens collectively hold $1.5 TRILLION in debt, that’s a lot of 30 racks of natty. The real problem here is the rates in which cost of attendance of college has vastly outpaced the way in which compensation has increased for college grads. From 1990 to 2016 the cost of attendance for public and private colleges has gone up 183% and 142% respectively. Meanwhile the average starting salary has raised 3% in that same time. Now I don’t need to bust out my trusty TI-83 to tell you that math doesn’t work.

That was a lot of numbers so how about a classic dead baby joke to lighten the mood. What’s the hardest part about walking through a pile of dead babies? …My erection.

So how do we prevent this bomb from going off? I really don’t know. People say that we should just hit the reset button and forgive existing student loan debt. Like I said, I’m no economist but for some reason waving a magic wand and making 1.5 trillion dollars disappear doesn’t sound like the brightest idea. Maybe we just make Mexico pay for it, that seems to be an idea people enjoy. It’s like asking your neighbor for a cup of sugar, let’s even toss Canada into the mix , they seem like a polite bunch.

One trend I’ve seen, I hesitate to call it a trend because it’s probably just one of those buzzfeed deals where two dumbasses do something and then an article titled “See what wild things guys are doing to their nipples now!” gets published, is intentionally defaulting. To those two or ten dumbasses, knock it off. You knew what you signed up for when you picked a college that required you to take out enough loans to match the GDP of a small island nation. Throwing a temper tantrum and taking your ball and going home just fucks over other people.

I racked my semi functioning brain for a while trying to come up with a real solution and I got nothing. I don’t think a bikini car wash is going to get enough traffic to be a viable option and you can only donate so much sperm before they say “sir this is a money bank, put your pants back on and leave or we’ll call the cops.”

So until The Hunger Games becomes a reality and I get to use those sweet archery and karate lessons I took for a couple years when I was younger to fight for fiscal freedom I’ll keep the straws in my nose in preparation for when the river of shit starts to flood. Also I just signed up for one of those sugar baby websites so I’m just going to whore myself out to some old lady in the meantime.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

‘Twas the Night Before College Football

‘Twas the night before college football, when all through the land no one was on the field, not even the band.

The goal post were raised, by the end zone with care. In the hopes that Lane Kiffin would be there;

The players were nestled all snug in their bed, while visions of Kirby and The Coach danced in their heads;

And Harbagh in his kakis, and Malzan in his vest, had just settled down for a quick pregame rest.

When out on the campus there arose sounds that elate, fans had already gone out to the lot to tailgate.

Away to the stadium I flew like a flash, tore through the banner and fireworks did flash.

The moon was on the breast of fresh cut grass, gave the luster of linebackers ready to whoop some ass.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear, but a running back, he turned the corner and was in the clear.

With short choppy steps, so dynamic and quick, he was moving like someone’s thumb was on the joystick.

More rapid than Bryce Love he charged to the endzone, and he called out the names of coaches ascending the throne.

“Now, Dino! Now, Dabo! Now, Gundy and Kelly! On, Fisher! On, Frost! On, Saban! On, Leach!

To the top of the poll! Now dive on the ball!

Have Phyllis from Mulga go tell PAUL!”

As yellow flags that nosy referees let fly, when met with adversity, the team never says die.

So up to the playoffs their game plans they drew, with a bag full of tricks, Coach Kiffin has two.

And then, in a rumbling, I heard in the stands, the roar of a crowd and clapping of hands.

As they rose to their feet, creating quite a sound, out of the tunnel Coach Kiffin came with a bound.

He was dressed in Adidas from his visor to shoes, and his players well coached at positions they choose.

A call sheet of plays he had gripped in his hand, and he looked like a general ready to command.

His plays — how they wowed! His schemes how cunning!

Play fakes like magic, defense never saw it coming.

His QB was set, in a pocket so clean, surrounded by linemen, so big, strong, so mean.

His headset held tight gripping over his ear, he was focused, the crowd may have not been here.

He had luscious locks and a smile so sly, it’s no wonder recruits see him and say “that’s my guy.”

He was clever and funny, a true modern day coach, sound bites galore when the media approach.

A change of play, a quick scan of the field, the fans need not worry, his offense won’t yield.

He spoke not a word, but simply winked his eye, this subtle note told his QB to let it fly.

And before the snap he already knew, a touchdown scored and they’ll go for two.

He leapt off his feet, to his team gave a cheer, for the owls knew this one would be their year.

But I heard him exclaim, as they celebrated into the night.

“WHERE ARE YOU SABAN, WE’LL GIVE BAMA A FIGHT!”

Football is back baby.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

Back to Schoo…Shit

Late August is officially back to school season. The endless Target adds peddling folders repping whatever cartoons are hot in the streets these days and emotional insurance commercials showing parents dropping their child off to a 4 year bender are inundating our lives. Sitting on the other side of that fence now is a bizarre feeling that I wasn’t quite prepared for.

The nights leading up to graduation back in May while they were the final pages in my collegiate book never really felt like it. There weren’t really any tearful nights reminiscing about how much we’ll miss this place or whatever cliche was supposed to happen. Despite our best efforts too, one of the last nights before the last few of our friend group moved out we held #Cryfest2k18. A beautifully depressing gathering where about 8 guys got together in our living room, turned off the lights and played every sad song we could think of for the occasion. We had some heavy hitters going too. Come Join the Murder, Hallelujah, and the dumb Vitamin C song every group of high school chicks cries too at the end of senior year. After over an hour of this attempt at real emotion no tears were shed, in fact we all thought it was pretty funny because of how ridiculous and over the top it was. So we then decided to go back to our roots, kicked on Sherryl Crow’s all-time banger Soak Up the Sun, cranked that bitch up to 11 and smashed all the glass bottles we had accrued on our mantle from the past two years of drinking. We christened our apartment for the next generation of stories like a ship being sent out to sea for a new voyage.

A seismic shift has now occurred though. For the past 16 years those damn commercials signaled the return to school like the Beacons of Gondor calling upon the Riders of Rohan to come aid in battle. Now that I no longer answer to those beacons I find myself feeling those emotions we were supposed to find in that dark room back in May.

Here’s a tip for everyone out there still in college. When you graduate, don’t stay local. You might think that it wouldn’t be that bad and might actually be kinda sweet especially if you’ll still have some buddies at school to hang with. Let me tell ya, it’s not. I grew up in Syracuse, went to SU, and now work in the area so maybe it’s all compounding with the desire to leave the hometown. Yesterday I was working on a job site just a few blocks from campus and had to drive by my freshman dorm and apartment from junior and senior year to get there. It was one of the most surreal and depressing things I’ve experienced in my life.

Driving by Shaw Hall and seeing the endless line of cars pulling up to move in those blissfully ignorant 18 year old freshman bastards, I was blown away by how that was actually me 4 years ago. I wanted to pull over, shave my beard, and pick a random couple to call Mom and Dad in the hopes that maybe there’d be an empty bed waiting for me in 457 like there was back in 2014.

I’d like to take a moment here for anyone who might be thinking “just let it go you bum.” With all due respect, fuck off. If you’re not finding yourself missing it and wanting just one more victory lap then you definitely didn’t do college right. These days I have a 50 minute commute to an 8-5, 5-figures worth of debt suddenly attached to my name, and a front row seat to a life I once lived like some real life version of A Christmas Carol. There I was boozing on week nights without any regard for tomorrow, had 3 day weekends, and was pretending to be some some knock off Dan Patrick covering Syracuse Football and Basketball for a student radio station. You bet the stick shoved up your ass I would rather keep that train rolling. Let me feel my feelings damnit.

For now though I, like many of you, am stuck toiling away in my cube longing to have one more shot at it. I’ll probably take a few swings for old times sake, I do have some friends who are still in school, but it just won’t be the same. So for now raise a happy hour special domestic draft to the good times and maybe share a few bits of advice to someone younger so that they get the most out of their time.

I’ll start with a little story from early on in my freshman year.

About a month in a my friend Matt from high school who is a year older and went to a smaller college near by asked me to come meet him at DJs. A bar next to Syracuse’s campus which will let you in at 18 but gives you the mark of shame Xs on your hands signaling the bartender to not serve you. Really though you could pass as being 21 if you showed them a library card. This place is the goddamn Wild West where no laws actually apply. At the time I didn’t know how loose DJs interpreted “legal form of identification” so I got Xd up like a mutha fucka. Matt had a shitty fake so he could buy booze, when I met him in DJs he immediately handed me a beer which of course I proceed to drink (whoa look at the hot shot over here drinking beer in a bar). A bouncer sees the beer, sees the Xs on my hands, comes up to me and says “you’re out.”

I’m not a bitch so I toughen up, puff out my chest and defiantly say “okay” and leave. I was in the bar for maybe 5 minutes. Leaving the bar a homeless man walks up to me and gives me some story about how it’s his birthday and he’s just trying to buy a bottle of Jack and asks if I had a couple bucks. Obviously I’m hammered off of my sip of Bud Light but really I just admire the honesty of “hey man I’m just trying to get fucked up.” So I toss him a couple bucks for his troubles. Welp, he then puts his arm around me, tells me I’m a good dude and asks “yo you smoke?” Before I can say anything he pulls out a small bag of crack from his hat and offers it to me for $10. Crack rocks are no more than 6 inches from my face at this point. My eyes get wide because now shit has just gotten very real and say “I gotta go” and book it back to my dorm to go to bed and ponder what the fuck just happened.

So the moral of the story kids, is to make sure you have a good fake and as Nancy Reagan said, just say no.

God I’m gonna miss it.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

I’ve Found My Mortal Enemy

So I’m a firm believer in the notion that your surroundings are a strong indication of how you’re doing in life. There’s a reason why if you grow up with dreams of making it big you picture the bright lights, big city and hill top mansions.

My current terms of employment have me working in a one traffic light town with one bar and the great tragedy of recent memory was that the McDonalds went out of business, how’s that’s even possible I don’t know. I’m a broke ass 20something just looking to find some ground to stand on in this apocalyptic wasteland known as post-grad life. If you offer me a salary and health insurance I’m in regardless of location. This type of environment is something that I’m used to anyway. I spent last summer working in a rust belt town in the middle of bumfuck Pennsylvania where the event of the year was that a Motley Crüe cover band was playing at the railroaders memorial museum. You could say I’m the poor man’s John Taffer of towns that have been passed by in the forward march of development. Bring me in, I shout “shut it down,” but then I don’t really manage to make much of an impact. Then it’s off to the next one! I lied, there’s actually 2 traffic lights.

Let me paint you a picture of my commute as I come into work. I exit the highway and turn onto the road my office is on. At the turn there’s a plywood sign that just says “eggs” with an arrow pointing in the only direction you can continue. It’s written in red spray paint so while the arrow doesn’t really add any vital information to those driving by, it does clarify that this isn’t some poorly planned PETA sign trying to convince me that eggs are murder. The road is dotted with small houses separated by almost a mile a piece and a barn where I assume those murderous eggs are hiding. There’s something else dotting the road too. Actual horse shit. It’s just smeared across the asphalt in streaks resembling what it looks like if you take a brown crayon and lightly brush it against a piece of paper.

This is because of him, my nemesis. The Amish guy who I pass by at least once a day in his horse drawn buggy. Now Jedidiah and myself have never actually interacted outside of our passing glances along the turd paved road, almost like a rip in space and time has opened up and what once was is now staring back at what now is. The reason why he’s my nemesis ties back into the whole where you are says a lot about where you’re at. The Amish are supposed to be societies canary in the coal mine except instead of a methane leak it’s an indication of modern amenities.

There’s a reason you never see a horse and buggy rolling down Sunset Boulevard or Broadway unless it’s some over the top cheesy romcom. It’s because the 21st century has moved in and said get the fuck out of my way. We as a people stopped shitting in outhouses and now bathe using hot water because 1. Ew and 2. it’s waaaaaay better this way.

The great poet Niki Minaj once said “put this pussy on your sideburns”, but that doesn’t really apply here. She also said “my haters are my motivators.” I don’t know if he hates me the way I hate him but he’s still one of my biggest motivators so I guess I should thank him for that.

This actually isn’t the first time I’ve tangoed with Amish folk. Back when I was a young lad, probably around 12 years old, my dad brought me to a trade show he was working. The primary theme of the show was farm equipment and a handful of related markets. At the show there were a few businesses run by Amish people, I don’t know what they were but I assume they had something to do with hand churned butter or a home defense system to protect you from the Apaches. A family dawning the traditional monotone and button laden garb walked past our booth and my dads’ friend Aaron said to me “I bet you $20 you can’t get an Amish girls phone number.” It took me a few seconds but then I had the come to Jesus moment and replied in a half questioning tone “they don’t have phones.” Aaron laughed and turned to my dad to say “you got a sharp kid over here Mike.” Yeah, sharp as a butter knife.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired