Slack Rerun: Snubbed By Drew Brees
Regarding yesterday's coveted advice, I selected LaDainian Tomlinson with the second overall pick in my fantasy draft last night. And like the time I went swimming in raw sewage, I love it.
Our annual fantasy draft serves as my official kickoff to the football season, the time when I get the goosepimples and start to grow increasingly more excited about the upcoming campaign. This year I'm not prognosticating the Jets to win the Super Bowl like I foolishly did a year ago, so I'm counting on my fantasy squad to provide me with most or all of my excitement over the next five months (and Liverpool across the pond in the other football season).
A team called the Porn Kings selected New Orleans quarterback Drew Brees with the 67th overall pick, and I couldn't help but snicker and/or giggle. Every time I hear the former Purdue Boilermaker's name I automatically think back to that time he supposedly shamed me in front of my house-party guests. And since my audience when I posted this story for the first time was about 1/20th of what it is now, please allow me to recount a few paragraphs from my 9/21/04 post (slightly edited for typos and sense-making):
"Two groups of women never fail to take a liking to me: unabashed fatties and the criminally insane. Well, a pleasant combination of both happened to live in my house senior year in college. This chick wasn't fat per se, but she was plumper than the average bear, and by all means crazy, uncomfortably crazy, like on more than one occasion I thought she'd boil my bunny. Craisins.
Anyway, after her initial attempt to ask me out was thwarted by the 2000 Subway Series (and by my vomiting in the corner like the new guy at a crime scene), she covered it up with a string of doctored e-mails from a fake and clearly transparent Hotmail account, claiming she really wasn't asking me out but was taking me to meet her boss Conan O'Brien at the NBC Studios, where I'd get hooked up live via satellite to the Yankees and Mets lockerrooms before the first game of the Series. I'm not making that up. This girl was that batshit nuts that this lie didn't seem far-fetched to her. So there's a little bit of background on this bitch for youse.
Fast forward a few months and a few envisioned fists punches and judo kicks the right temple, and we're having a party in our house. Despite inviting way too many people, we neglected to invite our crazy upstairs neighbor, who takes offense in the biggest way possible. And then unbeknownst to me, she concocts the following story, and procedes to tell many people on campus, mostly her black pantsed sorority. I had maybe three separate groups of people come up to me and ask me if it were true or not. How she picked Drew Fucking Brees, I'll never figure that out -- maybe she thought I liked the giant thing on the right side of his face.
Here's the story she came up with to spite me and show me how cool she was: Drew Brees, star quarterback of the Purdue Boilermakers, came to visit this neighbor on the night of the party, and knocked on our door. [ed. note: We didn't even fucking go to Purdue] Being the ridiculous sports fan that I am, I opened the door and immediately began fawning over the arrival of our guest: 'Come on in, man, can I get you anything? A beer? Wow, Drew Brees, I loooove you man.'
Brees, invited by our upstairs neighbor to her place and not to our party, hatefully responded that he had no intention whatsoever of coming inside, for if our neighbor/his close friend/perhaps boyfriend/ looney slutbag wasn't invited, then the lovable QB wasn't gracing us with his presence and coming to our party. 'I wouldn't go to any party thrown by someone who doesn't invite [crazy neighbor girl],' I believe he said to me in front of others.
I forget how it all ends exactly, but apparently I was so distraught by this turn of events that I spent the rest of the night sulking in the bathroom (which is actually the only accurate part of the story, and how most parties ended for me in college) while they laughed it up at my expense. Everyone laughed it up at my expense. I was ridiculed. And the relationship between Brees and I has never been the same since."
I apologize for the somewhat anti-climactic finish, but the intense comedy of the situation has never been lost on me. I can't see his name or face without thinking of our fight. I mean, as payback for not inviting this girl to our party, a story circulated around a bunch of anorexics that one of our school's rival QBs, a Heisman candidate no less, came to campus and snubbed me in front of my friends. Between this story and the fake Conan interviews, I'm not entirely sure how she wasn't committed to an institution. I loved her.
Maybe I just should have let her blow me and saved a little face. Perhaps a lotta head saves a little face.
Slack Video of the Day: Two of my favorite things -- Jell-O and Racism -- come together for a 1950s commercial that may not exactly be considered politically correct today. (Thanks, D-Noonan for the link)
Slack Song of the Day: The Brain-Damaged Eggmen played together for the second time earlier this month, laying down some serious Beatles and Floyd covers at The Vic in Chicago.
By all accounts, the group -- Jake Cinninger, Brendan Bayliss and Kris Myers of Umphrey's McGee with Marc Brownstein and Aron Magner of The Disco Biscuits -- kicked some serious ass in the Windy Apple, ala Urlacher and Singletary. Listen to 8/6 for yourself.