Sabby, Steroids and Smirnoff, a Deadly Mix!

Now, I'm not one to blame others (unless like in this case, it's their fault!) but the dude should have known.

Well, really it wasn't as much his fault. It was the lax security guard that let me smuggle in a water bottle filled with vodka, it was his fault. Oh, and even more it was that second year Rookie, Sabby Piscatelli's fault. Sabby, what are you thinking? Tight game, you pick up a fumble, that's good. That seals the game, unless of course you forward lateral the ball to no one and the other team picks it up, and goes down the field and scores a few plays later and now it's "Go-Time!" Sabby.... Go sit on the bench for two games, learn from someone that's not a tard, and come back in. You're young, you can still learn. Unlike the yahoo in the men's room, he's old he'll never learn, hence the roid rage...

I'm not proud of this, but the dude standing next to me in the men's room, well, he thought Sabby could do no wrong because Ernest Graham bailed out the Bucs and we won anyway. This dude was drunker than me, older than me, dumber than me, smaller than me, and no way he was roided up like Barry and Me! Anyway, he should thank God that I was the only person in Buccaneer stadium with an Auburn Cross Country shirt on (I was, as they say, easily identifiable) or his head may have been just a spot on the wall above the urinal in the South Endzone. Ah, who am I kidding, it would have been. I almost jacked him in spite of my, "Yeah, I saw it all, guy was wearing an AU CC shirt, you know they won their football game 3-2, was it a wild pitch or a two-run single that won it for 'em, he smashed this fool's head, guy deserved it, but yeah, it was him." status.

But, better senses prevailed, I left, called my bro and we laughed about it. Anyway, Sabby, hang on to the darn ball, and you rent-a-cops, do your darn job, I wasn't even hiding that bottle, I can't be expected to be a saint all the time!!

No Tour de France in my Future!

Well, I will NOT be competing in the Tour de France. And no it's not because I can't keep up with the "C" group of the local bike club. I am positive with a few weeks of riding I could even lead the C group and possibly hang on the wheels of the B group.

Why can't I ride in the Tour?

Let me give you a hint, It's Not about the Bike. The San Francisco Giants just just called and they want me to fill Barry's shoes. That right, I'm on steroids! The Doctor prescribed them and I can feel the shirts getting tighter already! Think I can hit 756 home runs in 5 days? I hope so, cause that's how long the prescription lasts.

Course there is a difference between me and Barry. I am freely admitting that I am on steroids.
There is a difference between me and Lance Armstrong. I am freely admitting that I am on steroids.
There is a difference between me and Roger Clemens. I am freely admitting that I am on steroids, and he's ugly!

Song of the Weak, I went I went!

Thanks SuperDave for the song of the weak!
Well, our man Chase was 100% right about what Doctor Feelgood would tell me.

Dr. (after taking one look at my feet and starting to touch them, then going back and putting on gloves, good move Doc.) "Hey, your feet look pretty bad. Looks like you've got some fungus under this toenail."
Me: "Don't worry about the toenails, they are gone anyway."
Dr: "So why are you here?"
Me: "See those crutches over there? Those are mine. I can't put any weight on my left foot."
Dr: "Ok, how did this happen?"
Me; "I run up to 100 miles at a time."
Dr: "You shouldn't run too much. Take it easy till it's better."
Me: "You don't see many ultrarunners do you?"
Dr: "We have a couple of patients that run marathons."
Me: "Well that's the same thing.... divided by 4 anyway."

Yeah, I'm getting an X-Ray this weekend, and I'll see the foot guy, but hey, it's feeling better already, I'll probably be off the crutches by .... What time is it?

Yoikes, Now I Gotta Go!

Ok, Ok, Ok, Ok, I'm goin', I'm goin', I'm goin', I'm goin'!

Geez, just because I've been complaining and limping and limping and complaining, you'd think it was my duty to go to the doctor or something (can't be a good thing to do, aint nothing but sick people there!) And doctor's, no offense Candi, June, and Jack, can tend to be about full of themselves, as this documentary below clearly illustrates:
However, last night I was running with an FL Ultrarunner when the I kicked a root and the flawed left foot went all Roberto "Hands of Stone" Duran on me and said, "No Mas!" I had to limp back to the car. Well, the suggestion I posed to the medical community (see below) didn't fly, so now I'm going to a real doctor and trying for a real cure. I'll let you know how it goes.

Tail on the Scale: #175

Ok, nothing big, up to 175, I think it's the two pounds of tape on my ailing foot though. I'm still a lean mean TV watching machine!

I'm about ready to take Chase's old job criticizing those TV shows (do they not have Pilots anymore? How does some of this cheese make it on the tube? You know what would make a good show? We have a wall come at people with holes in the wall and people jam themselves into the holes and try to go through the wall...... Pa-Leees! What a load of manure! What's next? These ultrarunners will pull off their toenails with their bare hands.....)

The Long Walk

Star went and gave me this book for my Birthday, thanks Star.

It's awesome. Although the author, Richard Bachman (he also goes by some other name, with which I am not familiar) has little knowledge of what it really takes to walk on and on and how fast someone can do it. In the book the participants must maintain a speed of four miles an hour constantly or they give fragged by some creepy soldiers.

He has the pain, sleeping on your feet, hallucinations, camaraderie and desperation right, but the speed, yoikes, he's got that all wrong! Guys 4.2 miles an hour is 100 miles in 24 hours. Not many well trained ultra runners can do that. And to try it without even squatting for a minute, well... can't be done. 4 miles an hours may sound easy, and it is, for about 3 hours, then one gets a little tired. And the clock ticks while you tie a show, and the clock ticks while you relieve your bladder, and the clock ticks while you stretch.

I HATE THE CLOCK! But, I am enjoying the book, thanks again Star, you rock!

And Carol Means, Plus One!

We had the Five Alive Slammers from Wasatch.And lo and behold with 22 minutes and a few seconds to spare.... Carol O'Hear made it Five Alive, Plus One! All six of you made it! Great!!!! My hat is off to you!

Arkansas Here we come!