Nurse The Hate

Nurse the Hate: Hate Chuck E. Cheese

2012-01-19T19:59:00.002-05:00

When you spend a great deal of time in a van with other like-minded individuals, you begin to develop a language or shorthand of your own. For example, in our van, if you say something is “an Eel”, that means it is a mirage with dangerous potential consequences. As in, “Dude, don’t pull the van off at that exit. It’s a total Eel.” This means that while the exit allegedly is filled with a virtual wonderland of tasty food options and convenient gas stations, it is probably a desolate hellhole with pre-packaged sandwiches from the Nixon Administration and meth addict cashiers that will give you a filthy wooden stick with a men’s room key attached to it that unlocks a bathroom filled with horrors beyond your imagination.

This whole “Eel Concept” began with us imagining that a new species of giant eel had evolved into a Venus flytrap that hunted humans. So let’s say you were driving on a horrible section of I-80 in Indiana (i.e. any section of I-80 in Indiana) and you see an exit with a 16 pump sparkly Shell station with a Starbucks, Panera, and Super Discount Fireworks Warehouse called “Absolutely Free Fireworks”. When you step out of the van, a giant eel will emerge from a small previously unnoticed waterway and bite you in half. As you get pulled under the water to be devoured by the eel, you would take a closer look at the exit. The exit oasis would then be revealed to be nothing more than a two-dimensional Hollywood set. (I would like to point out that through much of the Midwest there isn’t much to look at on the interstate system, so one tends to rely on one’s imagination to pass the time.)

Let me really let you into the inner circle. There’s a phrase we use when you have been caught completely unprepared. You are “like a mouse without shoes”. Example: “I climbed up on my roof to fix those tiles, and when I got up there I realized I forgot to bring the friggin nail gun. I was like a mouse without shoes up there!”

Here’s the back story… Leo P. Love has always been involved in “showbiz”. He hasn’t always been here this close to the top where a man drinks complimentary beer and gets an occasional free sandwich for his trouble. No, he paid his dues. He has played drums for years, but what really put him on the map was a job he took when he was around 18. After answering an ad, Leo found himself cast as one of America’s most loveable icons, and faced with the massive responsibility of bringing that character to life on a near daily basis. Yes friends, Leo was Chuck E. Cheese.

As Chuck E. Cheese, Leo quickly discovered he could smoke massive amounts of marijuana and complete his assigned tasks with relative ease. The parents had no idea that the guy in the oversized creepy mouse costume was as baked as a college kid at Burning Man. As long as he popped out after the animatronic band in the restaurant kicked out their last tune, who cared? He quickly became the “go-to” Chuck E. when it was discovered he could skate. If you attended an Ice Capades show at the old Richfield Coliseum in the mid Eighties and saw Chuck E Cheese skate around handing out coupons and promo bullshit, you saw a really high Leo in a mouse costume. I think he got high by the zamboni with former Cleveland Cavalier World B. Free before he went out there on the ice, but that might just be urban legend.

Leo’s career as Chuck E. Cheese was going as well as a career as a freakishly oversized cartoon trademark mouse could go. Then one day he went to walk the parade route at Strongsville Home Days as Chuck E., hand out some coupons, and spread general corporate restaurant goodwill. When he got there, he discovered he had left the giant mouse feet at home. This may have been due to the massive amounts of weed he had been smoking, but hindsight is 20-20, isn’t it? Faced with marching in the parade slightly out of uniform, or not doing the parade at all, Leo made a judgment call and walked in the Chuck E. Cheese costume with the exception of wearing his Chuck Taylors in place of the giant mouse feet. You wouldn’t think this would be a big deal, but people got all worked up. Mothers actually called Leo’s Chuck E. Cheese location to complain he was out of uniform. I mean, it’s not like he was in the Air Force walking down the street in an Air Force dress shirt with medals and cutoff jean shorts. He was an 18-year-old kid in a fucking company mouse costume. What, were kids going to think Chuck E. wasn’t real?

Regardless, that put Leo on the radar at the Pearl Rd Chuck E. Cheese location. When he knocked a kid over after popping out of Chuck E’s hiding place post animatronic band jamboree days later, that wasn’t good. It was especially bad when the kid freaked out when Leo (as Chuck E.) leaned over to pick him up. Who wants to be picked up by an obviously high cartoon mascot mouse when you just got dumped on the ground by this clearly dangerous creature? It was over. He turned in his costume in shame.

Let this serve as a cautionary tale. Be prepared. Don’t be like a mouse without shoes.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Tim Tebow

2012-01-13T16:08:00.002-05:00

People are very excited about this Tim Tebow fella aren’t they? Why, that good Christian boy threw for 316 yards last week… as in John 3:16. Yes, there is only one conclusion we can come to by the success of this young man as a quarterback of an NFL team in nine games. He is blessed, and God’s favorite QB. This also means that everyone else Tebow faces has somehow fallen out of favor with his eminence, and God will always insure a victory for The Chosen One. There is no longer any point in fighting it. It is real. It as if it has been preordained.

I believe that Tim Tebow will lead the Broncos to victory on Sunday, because he is God’s Chosen Vessel. It is only through conspicuous rooting for the Broncos can we, as but mere mortals, become closer with God. I am a believer. I will not be surprised when Tim Tebow will score a late touchdown, and then majestically ascend towards the heavens while Broncoettes, clad only in white flowing robes strum hymns on lutes and harps. A single blinding white ray of light will beam down on Thy Second Coming, and men and women both will fall to the ground wailing for the suffering awaiting them in eternal torment of Hell as they have dared to doubt the work of the Lord. Hands will turn to fire that dared to hold a ticket with a wager against the Lord and His Denver Broncos. The Colorado River will run red with the blood of the fallen.

While it is apparent that Tebow is The Chosen One, it is only logical to think this through. God is a Denver Broncos fan, which of course places AFC West rival the Raiders as Lucifer’s team. This goes a long way to explaining things like the JaMarcus Russell draft pick, Terrell Pryor, the coaching merry-go-round, etc. But what of the Patriots? They also stand in thy way of Saint Tim. This also places Tom Brady and Bill Belichick as also part of Satan’s minions. Belichick, like Death Himself in his unwashed hoodie, emotionlessly moving ahead with his work. Sure of his charge. Certain of the eventual outcome of events. Plotting and planning. For only death could stop what has already been foretold.

Tim Tebow jerseys will replace “Sunday Best” clothes in churches. All various religions will fold under the one common banner of “Tebowists”, leaving only a few foolish skeptics and Raider fans behind. The planet will enjoy a peace and prosperity only spoken of in hushed whispers in the past. We will have enjoy knowing smiles each Sunday as Saint Tim will lead “Earth’s Team”, the Denver Broncos to inevitable victory after inevitable victory each Sunday.

It is a New Age. Let us embrace it.

Nurse the Hate: Wild Card Weekend

2012-01-07T08:38:00.004-05:00

This is my favorite gambling day of the year. Sure, March Madness is awesome, but I actually know something about the teams I am betting on today. Well, better put, I think I know a few things about these teams. With the Saturday 430 kickoff, it lays out perfectly to fill my home with some of my real degenerate friends that have no problem settling in for a day of heavy beer drinking and wild irresponsible wagering. Last year a guy so overextended himself on a late game loser, he openly spoke of "stringing himself up in the shower" when he got home. It's a glorious day.

The first game is two teams that will immediately be eliminated in the next round, no matter who wins. Houston will start one armed Yates at QB over Jake Delomme, probably because Delomme may have already fumbled the ball or tossed a pick six. Houston wins by playing good defense and running the ball. I think today they will try to play good defense and run the ball. (You see what an expert I am?) That means the game should go UNDER 38. Will the Bengals win this one on the road? If ever there was a scenario for them to do so, this would be it. They haven't beaten a winning team all year, so why would they now? The Bengals are young, this is their first time in the Playoffs, and they are on the road. No thanks. The spread has moved to four, which is a number I really don't care for. I am going to sack up and take Houston to win on the money line at -200.

New Orleans is red hot, and it seems like every media outlet has anointed them the Super Bowl champion already. It's amazing how quickly Green Bay has been forgotten after their one loss. Two weeks ago they lose at KC, and suddenly it's as if everyone forgot they went 15-1 while lighting the Lions up for 50 points with their backup quarterback last week. Still, I get it. New Orleans does look like a real buzzsaw. The common thinking is that the Saints will score 50 today and the Lions will be the Lions. In my heart of hearts, I know this to be true. The Lions will self destruct, and embarrass themselves on national TV. They will fall apart, guys will be ejected for sticking shivs in the sides of Saint linemen, and some guy in silver facepaint will be shown looking dejected in the fourth quarter. This is why I believe the time tested "counter selection" method needs to be applied here. I am taking Detroit +10.5 and hoping for some backdoor meaningless touchdown late for the cover. I have no rationale other than if the rest of America thinks the Saints will win big, it isn't going to happen. If you are playing for that Lion cover, you might as well go on the OVER too. It's at an all time NFL Playoff high of 59.5 too. God help me.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the DUI

2012-01-06T16:21:00.005-05:00

The best DUI story I ever heard was about a brother of a guy I knew pretty well. His brother had a real problem. He was literally destroying himself with alcohol. The pattern was always the same. He would emerge from rehab. He would get out and secure a good paying sales job. It was always easy for him to get that job because he was so charismatic, but at the same time having to reinvent yourself every 6 months had to be pretty tiresome. No matter how fucked up he was, he could always sell. In that one little way, he was lucky.

He was living in the Washington DC area, and after about his usual six months of working, he had become the #1 sales guy for the company. He also had just fallen off the wagon. He wasn’t a guy that drank a few too many beers. This was a guy that hit the vodka as soon as he got up in the morning on the way to sloppy violent blackouts. I think we can all agree that when you are drinking in the shower on a Tuesday morning, things may have gotten away from you a little bit.

This particular Tuesday morning he had a couple sales calls scheduled. He blew those off and went to a bar in town instead where he proceeded to get completely shitfaced. At some point he decided to leave the bar and drive somewhere. Within a few minutes, he had been pulled over and arrested for driving while intoxicated. Having had a great number of DUIs, he knew the drill. He got in the back of the police car, and went to the station to sleep it off like Otis from “The Andy Griffith Show”.

After sleeping in the cell for hours, he got up and posted bail. He knew he was going to be repeating the same pattern. He would not be able to drive to make sales appointments. He probably had lost his job again. He was on the downward spiral yet again. He walked down the street, and tried to come up with a plan on how to proceed. As he walked, he started to feel like he was in a familiar place. It was like a dream. He knew he had been there before, but couldn’t figure out when. Then he saw it. His car.

The police had left his car parked on the side of the road, and had not arranged for a tow. He reached into his pocket, and found his keys. What the hell. Might as well get the car home, right? He climbs into the car, starts it and starts to drive home. A few miles later, he sees the lights flashing in his rearview mirror. He gets pulled over. The cop smells the booze on him, and gives him a field sobriety test. He fails. Just like that, he records his second DUI on the same day from the same drinking binge.

When he eventually went to court, the proceedings were described as “unpleasant” to me. It couldn’t have been easy to explain that incident away. I think his license was finally taken for good that day. He agreed to go to rehab, and his parents flew across the country to pay for it and hear his hollow promises on how this would be the last time (again). He then went to a somewhat real jail where he earned the nickname “Iceman” for the silent demeanor he used to mask his total terror of being locked in with violent career criminals. Since then, I think he has been back to rehab another four times and counting.

His brother still laughs when he tells the 2 DUIs in one day story though…

Nurse the Hate: Hate the NFL Playoffs

2012-01-02T17:27:00.004-05:00

I have been very quietly putting my gambling empire back together this December. My unstoppable (and probably soon to be trademarked) Impossible To Lose Bowl Game Gambling System has paid off handsomely. (See the Defend Cleveland Show website for details.) I now am in a position to go absolutely wild on the NFL Playoffs. This is absolutely foolhardy behavior as these games are analyzed with more intensity than the Zapruder film of the Kennedy assassination. There is no edge to be had, but I will not let that stop me. I will confidently walk into this fire storm throwing money at everything, and in the end, I will be proven right.

Or not.

The Playoffs are especially interesting this year as every one of these teams has some legitimate concerns. Even though the Packers are 15-1, doesn’t it seem odd that they can’t seem to stop anyone? Can New England stop anyone? The Saints? Can Pittsburgh score? How about San Francisco? Let’s break it down, shall we? The teams can be divided into two groups. Let’s call the first group “They might actually win this thing!”.

The AFC has two of those teams, New England and Pittsburgh. The Patriots are an offensive juggernaut that can’t play a lick of defense. For all the play Belichick gets for being a defensive guru, has anyone else noticed he hasn’t had a good defense up there in about six years? There is one sure fire way to beat New England. You have to hit Brady, and hit him early. When Brady gets hit, he stops being the All Pro Wonder Boy that broadcast teams like to all but fellate during gamecasts. He kinda turns into Kelly Holcomb. However, most teams don’t hit Brady. In fact, most teams get penalized 15 yards for even glancing in his general direction. If James Harrison had hit Brady the way he hit Colt McCoy, he would be doing 15 years in solitary at Riker’s Island. Still, Harrison would probably take that tradeoff. That is why Pittsburgh is the only other team in the AFC that might win it all.

Pittsburgh can’t score. They have no running game to speak of, and their best running back is now hurt. Roethlesberger is playing on one leg throwing the ball to a bunch of guys you’ve never heard of. The team plays the way they usually do. They grind. They hang around. They stop the other team. They don’t do anything when they get the ball. Then Polamalu makes a big play with three minutes left, and they win 13-10. It’s why you have to take them seriously, even though they will have to win all their games on the road.

Houston, Cincinnati, Baltimore, and Denver are teams we can put in the “No Fucking Chance” category. Baltimore is the most interesting of these teams. Since they will host at least one game, you have to like their chances to get to the AFC Championship game. But can you actually see those guys put together three wins in a row over quality opponents? I can’t. Despite all the play Joe Flacco gets as being an “elite” quarterback, I think of him as Kevin Kolb on a pretty good team. Joe Flacco is not going to take a game over and win the thing for you. He is going to miss open receivers, throw a costly INT, and talk at the postgame press conference about “building on this next year and making the next step”.

The other three are just opening round fodder. Houston v Cincinnati is meaningless. Houston will have to decide to play next week with TJ Yates and his separated shoulder or Jake Delomme under center. All experts agree that Yates would be the better option even if his non-throwing arm needs to be amputated early this week. On the other sideline, Cincinnati hasn’t had a win over a good team all year, and they sure as hell aren’t going on the road and doing that now. Denver just plain blows. I think Denver is the 4th best team in the AFC West right now. Have you seen them play lately? I believe the NFL has “solved” Tim Tebow. It is safe to say Pittsburgh’s defense might shut down Tebow and Company after New England, Buffalo and Kansas City shut them down in successive weeks. Quick, which game would be higher scoring? The Pirates v Rockies or Steelers vs. Broncos?

The NFC has three “They Just Might Win This Thing” teams in Green Bay, New Orleans, and San Francisco. I think we can all agree that Green Bay and New Orleans are good teams. Can they stop anyone? Does it matter? New Orleans has not only won eight in a row, but also covered all eight. The over/under for the Detroit v New Orleans is 58.5, the highest total in Vegas history. I think it will go over. Didn’t Green Bay just drop something like 67 points on Detroit with Flynn at QB? How is Detroit going to stop Brees on turf inside?

San Francisco is the sleeper. No one takes them seriously because of Alex Smith. Hey, I get it. But that defense is a monster, and it will keep them in any game. In the NFL Playoffs, I love the defensive teams. They aren’t the sexy pick because everyone loves high scoring highlight reels. But I’ll tell you this; New Orleans doesn’t want anything to do with going out to a drizzly muddy Candlestick and playing those guys. If San Francisco can get lucky with the weather, I’ll take them against anyone.

Detroit, Giants, and Atlanta are hard to believe in. Detroit is going to get outclassed by New Orleans. That’s all there is to that. Atlanta is a pretty good little team, but they just always seem to be a play away don’t they? Matt Ryan, a.k.a. Joe Flacco 2, will hold the same press conference Flacco does but with a better stat line. The Giants can beat anyone. Unfortunately, they can also lose to anyone. They’ll probably win at home this week. Or maybe they’ll lose by 20. Who the hell knows with those guys? Like Baltimore, there’s no way in hell they win three games in a row against big time teams.

The current odds to win the Super Bowl are as follows:

Green Bay 3-2
New England 3 ½ -1
New Orleans 5-1
Baltimore 6-1
Pittsburgh 10-1
San Francisco 12-1
New York Giants 20-1
Houston 35-1
Atlanta 40-1
Detroit 50-1
Denver 60-1
Cincinnati 70-1

I think the play is to take an aggressive stance on New Orleans at 5-1 and cover that with Green Bay. If you want to get really wild, take a flier on San Fran and Pitt. Besides the nice payday, it would be great to swagger around all next year talking about how you “had the fucker the whole way”. Let's get all in on this thing...

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Missing Kid Story

2011-12-29T17:19:00.005-05:00

There is nothing the morning national news programs love more than a missing baby story. The details of the stories change, but they are always roughly the same. A fucked up hillbilly white couple calls the police to report their baby missing. “We put the baby to bed at 8pm. We didn’t leave the house. We woke up this morning, and the baby was gone! Poof!” After an exhaustive search, the police find nothing. Local news picks up on it, and depending on the marketability of the couple, the national media descends like jackals. Then the hillbillies go on TV…

I think we can agree that having your infant snatched would probably be much worse than someone ripping off your new flat screen TV. One may become distressed. I would offer the advice that opposed to talking to Matt Lauer and 20 million viewers, one should speak with someone privately. Someone like an attorney. With the exception of that couple of kooks in the Northwest that raised some kid they stole in a shed, has there ever been someone caught for stealing a baby without apparent motive?

I don’t know how many children are actually stolen, and what kind of an eBay demand there is for an entry titled “young hillbilly baby”. I also don’t know who these alleged bogeyman are that silently slip into lower class homes like ninjas to steal infants. Maybe there is a wild underground in the infant sales trade that I am completely unaware of… All I know is that almost every single one of these stories always seems to end the same way. The parents killed the kid somehow, and then figured the best way to cover it up was to draw national interest by reporting their adorable child as stolen by an international ring of hillbilly children thieves. It is the worst plan possible.

I do not understand why these couples agree to be grilled nationally by Matt Lauer daily. As soon as I see them awkwardly speculate on hardball questions for the hosts, I think “Guilty”. I think the excitement of being on TV so outweighs common sense that all caution is thrown to the wind. In America, there is no greater drug than fame. “You know what Honey Punch? I know we have to try and lay low but wouldn’t it be awesome to be on the set of the Today Show? Maybe we’ll get to meet Lady Gaga! They said they’ll even put us up in a hotel and we can order room service!” Then in exchange for a room service club sandwich, they get to answer questions like “People have speculated you might have had something to do with the disappearance of Baby Jessica. Exactly how involved were you in her disappearance and possible death?” Nothing like being tried in public prior to your inevitable real trial in a courtroom, eh? But you did get to be on TV!

The latest story is in Maine. The circumstances, of course, make no sense. Trista Reynolds, the mother of missing Baby Ayla, sat on the Today show set today and couldn’t have looked any more pleased. It looked like she was on a national media tour promoting a movie or book. You would have never guessed that she had a missing toddler. She was absolute ratings gold. What could be better than a fairly attractive young woman, fresh out of rehab, airing out her fucked up relationship dirty laundry? She was dishing on the couch like she was complaining to her loser friends at Applebee’s over jalapeno poppers. It was odd to say the least. However, it was great TV! When they got her in that tight closeup, while she implored the child’s father “to just talk to me”? The segment producer was doing a cartwheel down the hallway with glitter flying out of his/her ass screaming “Woooo!!!!! Woooo!!!!!”.

The baby’s father, presumably hitting the mattresses in some abandoned warehouse, is maintaining total radio silence. It’s a pretty tough situation for that guy. Let’s forget he probably has at least some idea of what happened. Imagine being that guy. It’s pretty crazy to think your white trash crazy alcoholic girlfriend is sitting on the Today Show talking shit about you. A few days ago she was leaving you crazy messages on your pre-paid shitty cell phone. Now she’s hitting the talk show circuit like a white trash Kardashion. Can you fucking imagine? You are probably being considered “Person of Interest #1” by the cops and the girlfriend is talking to anyone with a microphone blaming you. This should really be good TV as this develops. If Trista can get a good PR firm in the fold, and do a quick image makeover, she can probably score a reality show series deal. She is remarkably composed on the set. You really couldn’t cast anyone better. The key will be to get as much screen time as possible for her. By now, she must have “people” handling this.

I wonder if anyone will look for the kid in between TV bookings?

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Gift Exchange

2011-12-16T10:02:00.003-05:00

Once again I find myself trapped into the “White Elephant” Christmas gift exchange at work. This is an area fraught with perils that can end with you in lengthy training sessions regarding your understanding of diversity and/or harassment. For example, I worked at a radio station where a guy wrapped up a double headed dildo and left it under the tree. The random woman that unwrapped the three foot long rubber monster was not what one would call “laid back”, and immediately shot forth a flurry of legal paperwork that would have kept the Clinton Administration at bay for a decade. She was later fired for buying cigarettes with her company gas credit card, and the legal actions faded slowly into distant memory.

These “forced fun” celebrations at any public company are now best remembered for their catering to the lowest common denominator. The lawyers sucked all the fun out of this event years ago. Now these “parties” are usually dry, have cafeteria style food in foil tins, and have tables full of people craning their necks to see if the boss has noticed how supportive they are being. One sad woman is usually walking around taking pictures, as this may be the only holiday gathering she will be invited to in this holiday season. “Say cheese!” Judy from accounting will then force a smile as she shovels a forkful of cold lasagna into her craw.

The “party” will then move to the gift exchange section, where people that have no inclination to normally buy each other gifts of any kind, will then offer up hastily wrapped gender neutral gifts. As there is always a ridiculously low budget placed for these exchanges, it is almost impossible to buy anything that anyone actually wants. Last year I got a fucking coaster set and TV remote caddy. What the fuck am I going to do with that? It is like someone gave me garbage to put into my car. It’s still in my trunk one full year later. Someone paid $18 for that horribly ugly useless piece of trash, when they would have been better off just slipping me a twenty. Or better yet, skip the whole farce.

The other move is the gift certificate. One time I got a gift certificate to Chi-Chis for $20. You couldn’t have paid me $20 to go to a Chi-Chi’s, much less have me willingly go in there to eat deep fried flash frozen lard. Or how about a $20 gift certificate to Home Depot? “Hey, thanks for the $20 towards a riding mower. That will really come in handy.” That is the move that shows such little thought put forth, you should just say “Fuck it man. Here’s $20. Blow it at the Track.”

I also hate lottery tickets. The lottery is a scam made to take money from the poor, and then send it back to them in “education” with plenty of middlemen taking their cut first. I would rather be seen mainlining heroin in a bus station than be seen scratching off a lottery ticket. I think people would think better of me with a spike in my arm than with silver flakes all over my sleeves. Nothing says “loser” like a stack of worthless scratch-offs. No one ever wins that shit. Don’t give them to me and stain me with your scent of failure.

I always go one way in those gift exchanges. Small pets. I have wrapped up fish bowls, gerbil habitats, and lizard terrariums. It’s like packaging up Unwanted Responsibility. There is no better moment than seeing some woman you barely know open up a gift wrapped box to discover that she is now responsible for a gerbil. You thought you were going to get a Starbucks mug and a $10 gift card, didn’t ya? Wham! Here’s a gerbil! The best part is that you can’t give it back, as no one knows who put it under the tree in the first place. Well, most people assume it’s me, but they can’t really prove it, so what are they going to do?

Have a Merry Passive Aggressive Christmas! Each and every one of us!

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Elf On The Shelf

2011-12-09T17:24:00.006-05:00

I must have been living in a fucking cave, because I just got hip to this “Elf On The Shelf” hustle. Several friends of mine have little kids that are completely out of control, almost like having a couple raccoons living in their home. They swear by this mass manufactured child mind control wonder product. To quickly review, The Elf On The Shelf is a plastic and fabric toy elf that was probably made in China by a bewildered political prisoner in shockingly deplorable conditions. It is then packaged with a book, which is read to the child, setting up the con that this rubber Elf has been adopted by the family, and has one task. This Elf is a snitch for Santa.

As a child, I can imagine the excitement about getting close to The Man himself, that asshole Santa (See “Hate Santa”). It’s like getting one heartbeat away from Elvis. You know the guy that knows the guy that makes all the magic happen. It seems intoxicating to be so close to greatness. To think that you will be building a personal relationship with an Elf that can take your direct message right to Santa himself is about as great a networking situation a six year old can find himself in. But after awhile it must sink in. You have willingly allowed Santa’s toadie into your home, and his sickening dead eyes will be staring at you, mercilessly logging all of your misdeeds and reporting straight back to the guy that controls your haul on Christmas morning.

The other thing that you have to keep your eye on is that the Elf moves every night, and is in a new spot every day. As the story goes, when the kid falls asleep, the Elf returns to the North Pole with a full report of what went on that day. He then goes back to the home in a different location to let the kid know "I told Santa everything that happened yesterday. Don't believe it? Yesterday I was on the bookcase. This morning I am on the mantle. How did that happen? Think about it Junior..." So, let’s recap. You are a six year old kid and when you go to sleep, a small creepy Elf with a never wavering sick smile is wandering your home. No matter how hard you try to stay awake to see the Elf move, you can never catch him. However, when you wake up, that little creep has somehow moved somewhere else in the house. And people wonder why kids have problems.

If left to my own devices, I think I could ramp up The Elf On The Shelf by ad libbing my way through the book/verbal contract. "Now Billy, the book continues and says"...every night I will go to the North Pole to tell Santa if little boys and girls have been good or bad. And if they have been bad, I will take my vengeance upon thee with swift merciless justice!!!". That will get their attention. Need to really get their attention? Let's say your child has been especially rambunctious one day. The move then would be to place a recently slaughtered chicken on the kid's bed in the morning. I would then cover the creepy Elf in blood, and leave him swinging on a string, looking down on the child and smiling. That bloody smiling Elf image is tough for a six year old to shake, knowing that if he acts up, a violent magic Elf may cut his throat from ear to ear.

I don't know if parents can be locked up for abusing children by using this horrible behavior modification device that was clearly designed by Nazi scientists in the early 1940s. I am not doubting its effectiveness, but rather wondering about the toll of the method. Parents seem to like it though. The monsters that manufacture these sell a shitload of them. Can it be stopped? Barnes and Noble are a powerful corporate force and can probably make dissenters "disappear" in unexplained auto accidents and boating mishaps. There's a lot of money at stake here. I'm just one man. All I know is that I'm glad I don't have to wake up every morning and wonder where a creepy Elf is and what exactly he told Santa about my degenerate activities.

Once again, fuck Santa and his legion of mind control toadies.

Nurse the Hate: Hate New York

2011-12-06T23:09:00.004-05:00

When Bobby Latina joined The Cowslingers he was 15 years old. That’s a pretty young kid. His parents knew me because I had lived with his older brother at Kent State, and felt I was reasonably responsible and could be trusted with their son. This was actually a pretty good call, but there was no way they could have built in the “Leo Factor”. Still, Bob was able to build a reasonable path to adulthood balancing my twisted guardianship and Leo’s heroic substance abuse.

Bobby was very wide eyed when he was young. The first time he went with us to play New York, he asked us tons of questions prior to the gig. “In New York, are the clubs different? When you are in New York, are the girls better looking? People are really tough there, aren’t they? In New York, will people steal your gear if we don't stand next to it?” It was like we were going to a different planet. Let’s be honest, almost every douche bag musician from New York is from some small town East of the Mississippi and is walking around posing like they are in the Velvet Underground. Almost any sizable city around the size of Dayton has better bands than NYC.

Our bass player at the time was Tony Primiano. He was a really funny guy that loved fucking with Bobby. He loved to portray Bobby as a sharecropper kid, and his father as “Mr. Charlie”. (Even now, we refer to Joe Latina Sr. as “Mr. Charlie.”) Tony would tell Bobby wild stories of visits he had made to New York with members of The Walking Clampetts in the early 1990s. Bobby had New York envisioned as a combination of “The Godfather” and “Escape From New York”.

The first time we played New York was at a really good club called Brownies. It was in the East Village, and we were on a bill with the Devil Dogs and the Swingin’ Neckbreakers. Frankly, you couldn’t ask for a better night of rock music. On the drive up, Bobby was asking us all kinds of questions that in retrospect wouldn’t seem odd for a 15 year old traveling to The Big City for the first time. However, we were a bunch of twenty something wise asses and didn’t give him a straight answer on anything. The best thing was when Tony told Bobby the following. “Mr. Charlie… When you get to New York, don’t look like a kid. They call bathrooms in New York “glory holes”. So, if you want to go to the bathroom, ask people where the “glory hole” is.”

For those of you not educated in the more deviant sexual experiences available to you, allow me to explain a “glory hole”. It is a hole cut in a wall, generally a men’s room, where a man can insert his penis. On the other side of this wall, an unseen person will pleasure that man’s penis until the man ejaculates. I believe this is one of the most anonymous sexual encounters a man can have outside of Florida during Spring Break, or a Midwestern college during Homecoming weekend.

We pulled up outside of Brownies around 7p after an eight hour drive from Cleveland. I think Brownies was on Avenue A, in an area of town that was equally hipster nightclubs and scary yet-to-be-gentrified failing businesses. I drank a beer with Marisa Tormei in a shady joint there once. I didn’t even know who she was. She must have been feeling dangerous. It’s the way that neighborhood was back then.

New York is funny. Anytime you play a club in New York, it is important to note that the entire staff has turned over every two weeks for the last three years. The current employees are usually heavily tattooed, massively pierced, and they hate you. Literally, these people treat you with complete disdain. They are all struggling actors, musicians, and artists and are for the most part without a lick of talent. In this case, we walked in and a really muscular guy probably named something like “Horse” or “Pegasus” was wiping down the bar and scowling.

I remember seeing Bobby walking up to the bar. He was literally making a beeline as we started to load in our gear. I huffed and puffed while carrying Tony’s bass cabinet by when I overheard Bobby say to this bartender, “Hey! Where is the glory hole?”

The bartender was understandably put off balance by this question from a 15 year old boy. “What?”

“The glory hole? Where is your glory hole?”

The bartender made a noise like “Garumph!” and turned away. Bobby had no idea why this guy was reacting to him this way, turned and looked for a men’s room on his own. Tony almost fell over he was laughing so hard. He was literally crying. “HaHaHAHA!!! That little pervert is asking about a glory hole! What's wrong with that little freak? Hahahahahaha!!!!”

We played second of five bands that night. We got two encores. It was my favorite time we played in New York.

Nurse the Hate: Gambling Jag

2011-12-03T09:35:00.003-05:00

I have decided to go on a wild gambling jag this weekend. Now is the time of year Vegas has the odds so dialed in it is impossible to find an edge. Last night's MAC championship game line? Three and a half. Result of game? Favorite wins by three. I have no fucking idea how some guys in a windowless room in a Las Vegas industrial park know that Northern Illinois is three points better than Ohio University, but they do. I still maintain that there is a time machine someone hops into, because there is no visible reason why anyone would know that Northern Illinois is going to win that game by 3. I have a team of guys working a stock portfolio for me with allegedly the smartest minds in the financial world providing insight going over reams of information and raw data. These guys can't pick a winning stock if their life depended on it. Meanwhile, some guy named Roy in that Vegas industrial park knows Northern Illinois is going to win by three. It's time to look for value on the Big Board at the Mirage, because the stock market is a waste of time.

I spent most of late October and November getting my ass kicked in football. I have been very quietly watching games and lines. It has been a time of great soul searching and perhaps even clarity. I have accepted a couple of universal truths about myself in the last couple weeks. One of these is that I don't know what the hell I am talking about in regards to football. However, I do think I am very dialed into what the media and John Q. Public thinks about the various games. This is a very valuable skill to have in the first week of December.

The good news is that it is now about betting against public perception. It is all about picking sides of games where it seems an inconceivable outcome. A perfect example is taking Arizona +4.5 over Dallas. Arizona has not scored a touchdown since October. They are either starting Trent Dilfer at QB, or Kevin Kolb on a broken foot against a Dallas team that looks like the second best in the NFC. Even a casual observer knows Dallas will win this game by two touchdowns. Arizona should get their pricks pounded into the dirt. That's why I am taking Arizona +4.5.

Wisconsin is a battering ram of a team with cornfed boys of mammoth strength anchoring an offensive line that makes others quake in fear. I must have seen seven stories about how monstrous these guys are in the last two weeks. The Badgers were also top of mind last week after they destroyed Penn State, where the media hyenas continue to sift through the rubble of Happy Valley. Meanwhile Michigan State is universally regarded as a team ready to make good on their birthright, which is failing when opportunity is presented. They have to go up to Wisconsin, and play in one of the toughest stadiums in the nation against these big pasty monsters. There is no way they should even be in this game. That's why I am taking Michigan State +9.5.

Tim Tebow is the best story in the NFL right now. He is a nice guy that says and does the right things, yet 50% of the public hates his guts. Everyone says they hate thugs, but more people hate Tebow than hate The Dog Killer Mike Vick. Go figure. So this week Tebow and the rest of the Broncos go to Minnesota to play the Vikings. The Vikings made the national news this week for the first time all season when opportunistic washed up QB Donovan McNabb pretended he was a good guy and asked to leave the team so he could hop on a Playoff contender for a stretch run. Oh, maybe you saw a quick blurb on how their only legitimate player Adrian Peterson has an ankle injury so severe they are considering amputation? I will tell you this, every single Rube on the planet is going to take Denver +1.5. Why wouldn't they? Tebow, despite the fact he seems to have none of the tools necessary to succeed in the NFL, continues to win. Or he just happens to be playing QB for a team that is winning. Either way, John Q Public will be all over the Broncos with the points. That's why I am on Minnesota -1.5.

The Houston Texans held workouts to sign their 4th QB of the season. Jake Delomme and Jeff Garcia were the two players under consideration. No, I am not making that up. Although it would be just as believable if I had written "Vinnie Testeverde and Gary Danielson are under consideration". It's really a shame that the Texans have had to resort to Jake Delomme, a QB so bad that even the Browns said "Ehhh... I don't think so." Delomme isn't starting. Some other guy is. I don't really know who. I don't even care. All I know is everyone keeps talking about how the Texans are done. That's why I am on Houston +2.5 at home.

I am going to really step up on these games. If I win this weekend, it will be a very nice holiday season for those of you on my Christmas list. If I lose? I will probably spend Sunday evening in a continuing downward spiral of hopelessness and alcohol fueled despair. Either way, I think I will be getting a head start on the true spirit of The Holidays. And it will provide a much needed distraction from putting up a Xmas tree.

Oh yeah. Fuck Santa.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Santa Claus

2011-12-01T20:49:00.004-05:00

As the Christmas specials wash over prime time viewing like a nostalgic wave, I have come to an inevitable conclusion. Santa Claus is a dick. Now before you rush to his defense, can I offer the following evidence?

In “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer”, Santa is a hard ass Bear Bryant of a guy evaluating the incoming crop of reindeer prospects. Despite Rudolf’s superior performance at the trials, he bails on him the second he notices Rudolf’s red nose. He even busts his father’s balls. Rudolf is excommunicated and sent out into the Arctic. He isn't sent to boarding school. He is sent out to the roughest elements on the planet. "See you later Rudolf. Ha! Ha! Ha!" The door slams and Santa forgets all about this young deer. He never gives him a second thought. Rudolf is literally gone for years. Then, when things are at their bleakest, he slithers back to Rudolf for some help. No apology. It’s just, “Rudolf with your nose so bright, etc etc etc”. Who the fuck else were they gonna get in that storm? Rudolf sacks up, leads the team, while Santa gets the glory with all of his “Ho Ho Ho” bullshit. Afterwards Rudolf gets shoved into a barn while Santa knocks back some cognac next to a roaring fire. Thanks for the ride Rudolf. Now fuck you, and back into your stall.

What about “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”? Kris Kringle is an orphaned kid raised by elves. He splits when he becomes a strapping lad, immediately hooks up with the hottest chick in Sombertown, Miss Jessica. The going gets tough when the Burgermeister, a cross between Idi Amin and an alcoholic Danny Devito, trips on a toy and runs Santa out of town. Miss Jessica has to chase Kringle all over the planet before finding him in the woods with the “Winter Warlock”, clearly a Canadian based coke dealer. Kringle grows a beard, changes his name to Santa, drags Miss Jessica up to the North Pole after he dupes her into marriage, and then puts on 125 pounds/grows a beard. “Hey baby… Scratch my back fat, will ya?” Meanwhile Jessica, now Mrs. Claus, is stuck in the arctic with a bunch of Elves for company while Santa gallivants around the globe on his “magic sleigh”. You ever hang out with a bunch of Elves? They are total assholes. Remember those dicky Elves that ran the toy shop in Rudolf?

Finally in “The Year Without a Santa Claus”, Santa comes down with a cold, hears some second hand shit about his approval rating going down. Does he rally, and put in 100% effort to get back on top? Nope. He pulls the plug like a Prima Donna. “Christmas is cancelled.” Who the fuck does he think he is? He pulls some Axl Rose bullshit because he’s just not feeling it? Hey man, we are celebrating the birth of Jesus here. You can’t cancel it. It’s not yours to cancel asshole. He winds up sulking in his North Pole mansion and letting two elves get busted by some Southern cops. One of the reindeer almost dies in the heat. Does he give a shit? No way. Dude is laying around in his underwear, deep into a bottle of rum watching “Real Housewives of Atlanta”. Not until he gets a letter from a little girl sufficiently licking his ass does he get off the couch and work the one day a year he is contractually committed to.

Fuck Santa.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T15:44:00.005-05:00

Thanksgiving can make me feel a real sense of melancholy with some of the empty chairs around me. It feels wrong to not have certain people at the table. However, isn’t it really about having the glass half full? Isn’t it really about focusing in on all the positives on what is clearly the best American holiday? All you really have to do on Thanksgiving is hang out, drink, eat, and watch football. There is football from Noon until 11pm, and with three of the four games projecting to be pretty good, there is some serious wagering to be done.

Each year Krusty and I put together what we refer to as a “galaxy of wagers” on Thanksgiving. The key is to have so much action going you are not even clear if you are finishing out ahead as you sit there in a stupor. My personal favorite is the three team NFL teaser, a bet that looks like a sure thing, but is almost impossible to win. This year I will be taking Detroit +12.5/Dallas -1/San Francisco +9. I will lose this bet, and I deserve to do so. It is a Sucker Bet made only by degenerates and lowlifes. Still, it pays out at $360 for $200, so you’d be crazy not to play it, no? (Note, this is the sign of a degenerate.)

I called Krusty for the word on the big Texas v Texas A&M game. He contends that 7.5 is too many points to give in the last game of this 100 year + rivalry. So if you are going to take Texas +7.5 you pretty much also have to take the Dallas Cowboys -7. These are two bets that go together, like cowboy hats and concealed weapons. Like border patrols and aviator sunglasses. Like Roky Erickson and Junior Brown. Like Houston and breast implants.

I am going to take Detroit +6.5. Not because I think they will win. Not because I think they will hang close. Not because I like the city, because I don't. I hate Eminem, Motown, the Insane Clown Posse, Kid Rock, Bob Seger, and the Detroit Tigers/Red Wings. Is it because I actually like the Lions? No, it's because this is the first time the Lions have actually been interesting since football was broadcast in HD. I really want to root for the Lions, and I will be pretty focused with some jack on the line.

If you are in this deep, you should go all the way. Take San Francisco +3. They have a good D and the Ravens have the scent of a loser on them. Want to really get after it? How about "longest TD of the game under 53.5 yards in the GB/Det game"? I also like Aaron Rogers OVER 24.5 completions in the game. How about Charles Woodson intercepting a pass at +300? He'll have to be on Johnson and you know they'll try to force it in there. Why not? Take the Lions to WIN the toss. And while you're at it, why not Ndamukong Suh OVER 3.5 tackles?

The point is to be slightly confused after each play if something that just happened was good or bad for you financially. Isn't that really what the holidays are all about?

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Godfather

2011-11-23T09:16:00.011-05:00

It was evident 45 minutes before I became the Godfather that I might not have been the best choice. The Whiskey Daredevils had played an outdoor festival the night before the baptism, and I had drunk a heroic quantity of Southern Tier beer. Still, I am a gamer, and I arrived at the household 45 minutes before baptism kickoff with my church clothes safely tucked into the van. I took a shower and realized I had forgotten a dress shirt and shoes. I’m not really sure how I fucked that up, but I knew I wouldn’t be permitted to stand in front of the congregation in a Daredevils cowboy gig shirt and boots. (This would have made for memorable photos later, but the mother is a tad “traditional”.)

I had to borrow a shirt from my buddy (a size too large) and shoes (a size too small). The shoes were not my style, and may have been made by Buster Brown. As I stood up for the ceremony, I had an old feeling wash over me like I was ten and had been dressed poorly by my mother. If you see pictures from that day, you would ask yourself, “Why can’t that man take the time to find a shirt that fits? Does a man his age still wear hand-me-downs from an older brother?”

It was a rough start. I feel I have grown into the role nicely though. The Boy is coming to Thanksgiving this weekend with his family. The Boy is five now, and I haven't been called in to make any big moves. Let's face it, from age 1-5, how much input do you need from a guy like me? But what if I have to really step up? I have to be ready. I need to be prepared. If, God forbid, something were to happen to The Boy’s parents, I have created a five step plan I will immediately enact to insure the lad turns into a well rounded functional member of society.

Step 1: I will immediately take The Boy out of any athletic travel leagues. If he wants to play football, basketball, or baseball, that’s fine. I will begrudgingly allow soccer. We’re not traveling more than twenty (20) minutes away for him to get a game. He’s five and it is already clear he is not going pro at anything where he needs a sports agent. I’m sure he can get a good game up with kids his own age within the surrounding area of my home. Neither of us needs the hassle of driving great distances so he can kinda suck on the field of athletic competiton. Also, if he doesn’t want to play or participate in adult organized activities, more power to him. Adults that run those leagues are always chasing some unfulfilled dream of athletic glory themselves. It’s good to distance oneself from these types of people early on life.

Step 2: I will teach The Boy the concept of the left lane. As I drive America’s highways, I see failure of parenting everywhere. Where were the role models for these people clogging our highways? How did their parents fail them during their driver’s education years? A four lane highway has not been set up for you to drive in whichever lane you feel the vibe coming from. No friend, the left lane is for passing. If you are going 126 mph, but The Boy and I are coming behind you at 127 mph, you better move the fuck over. And if I pass you to the right, and The Boy and I see you are staring straight ahead with your mouth open oblivious to what is going in your mirror, I will teach The Boy road rage. He will learn to weave a tapestry of profanity that will hang in the air like a cumulonimbus cloud on a windless day.

Step 3: I will teach The Boy the basic skill of understanding point spreads. Five year olds can be pretty annoying. But a five year old that can pick winners against the spread? Well, that’s a five year old I can get behind! The Boy’s older brother lost his only dollar to me last year when he took the Browns minus the points at home vs the Panthers. When the Browns didn’t cover, that little punk refused to pay me, feigning not understanding the cover. Listen, I don’t care if you are seven, you gotta pay up. I’m still waiting for that dollar. If his father wasn’t such a close friend, I would have torched that kid’s Big Wheel just to send a message.

Step 4: I will allow and encourage The Boy to listen to the same crappy music his friends are listening to. It is a key communal experience in a young person’s life. There will come a point however when I will quietly walk up to him with copies of Johnny Cash “The Complete Sun Sessions”, Black Flag “Damaged”, Bob Dylan “Highway 61 Revisited”, Rolling Stones “Let It Bleed”, Link Wray “The Original Rumble”, and “Here Are The Ultimate Sonics”. He will be instructed to listen to these, and only these, for 40 days. This musical fast will be the watershed experience he will need for a lifetime of good taste.

Step Five: I will give the kid a "guaranteed blue print" for success. Stay in school despite there being no apparent use for learning “The Canterbury Tales”, the area of a rhombus, how to dissect a frog, or Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. School teaches you the basic skill of being able to sit motionless in a room listening to someone who doesn’t know what the fuck they are talking about, but you maintain apparent interest. This will be invaluable in business and adult life in general. Do what you say you are going to do. People like to know they can depend on someone. The 80/20 rule applies in everything. 80% of the people are completely inept. The other 20% keep the wheels on the rails for the remaining 80%. This applies at Lube Stop as well as The Cleveland Clinic. You have to exercise. Don’t smoke. Eat things that came from the ground, not a box. Be honest in your dealings, and assume others are honest with you. When they aren’t, assume they never will be honest again. Avoid trendy clothes. Those pictures will come back to haunt you. Wear a condom, because she’s probably been around a helluva lot more than she admits to and with some dirtbags too. Don’t skimp on cheese, wine, beer, shoes, or art. Enjoy the trip, because you don’t know how long it will last.

I clearly have this situation under control. Now I just have to nervously wait out the next 13 years so I can get out from under this thing.

Nurse the Hate: Browns Fan Black Friday Guide

2011-11-22T09:25:00.003-05:00

I’m not leaving my house on “Black Friday” to go shopping. This is not due to an aversion to crowds, but is more indicative of the fact that I am averse to being surrounded by Rubes. The General Public believes if they go spend all of their disposable income on the day after Thanksgiving, they will be rewarded with ungodly values on items like singing fish wall plaques, soon to be out of date DVD players, and off brand smart phones. This is a Fool’s Game.

The true Holiday Veteran shopper knows to hang low, and use the untamed power of the World Wide Intrawebs to secure that perfect holiday gift for that Browns fan on their Xmas list. I like you and I want to help you. I want you to be completely relaxed this Thanksgiving Eve, and focused on the shockingly amateur NFL Network broadcast of the Ravens game. I want you to know that your holiday shopping needs are but one click away. Browns fans, rejoice!

http://www.ebay.com/itm/vintage-JEFF-GARCIA-CLEVELAND-BROWNS-JERSEY-sz-LG-XL-/380200050558 For a mere $36 you can get your hands on probably the jersey of the most hated QB in recent Browns history, Jeff Garcia. An ugly footnote in the Browns ongoing QB Carousel, he was the guy NE Ohio loved to hate. In the short year he was here, Garcia was accused of being gay, nabbed a Playboy Centerfold, made a kazillion dollars, and posted a QB rating of 0.0 against the Cowboys. I wonder if he would whisper into the ear of the Playboy chick “See, I’m not gay!” when he mounted her from behind? Who knows… Anyway, Jeff got the last laugh and here’s the perfect commerative from the days when the team was sure they would get someone good off the old scrap heap.

http://www.sportsmemorabilia.com/sports-products/autographed-terry-kirby-photo-cleveland-browns.html Relive the unexplainable early hope and crushing reality of the 1999 Browns season with this signed Terry Kirby photograph. Kirby led the Browns with 452 yards rushing on what may have been one of the worst NFL teams ever assembled. At $21, this is a real value for folks that want to ask themselves “What were we thinking?” at every glance.

http://www.amazon.com/Cleveland-Browns-Football-Jersey-William/dp/B0012XPUVI There are still plenty of these William Green jerseys floating around a decade after the Browns made him their number one pick and assumed franchise player. This one, sure to light up any room in the festive orange, is only $25 and XXL. This is absolutely perfect for the “husky” boy on your list. Green washed out after one good year. Ah, but what a ride! He got caught for marijuana twice, fathered a child with a woman that was not his wife, got stabbed (somewhat understandably) by his wife, and got a DUI while wearing only one shoe and one sock. Maybe my favorite Brown.

http://www.ebay.com/itm/Mens-Reebock-NFL-Cleveland-Browns-Braylon-Edwards-17-L-Large-Jersey-Shirt-/250935527791?pt=US_Mens_Athleticwear&hash=item3a6cec496f The least expensive Browns jersey currently available on Ebay is this Braylon Edwards jersey. It’s $1.99. You can’t buy a tube of toothpaste for $1.99. There are homeless guys in rags that are shuffling along 30th and Euclid that would say “Fuck that!” if you offered them this shirt for nothing. How a young man could so quickly turn an entire region of the country against him is really shocking if you think about it. Edwards was always under the impression that he was going to get to be post career Michael Irvin just by showing up. He forgot to become a Hall of Famer and to not drop passes thrown to him. Catching passes is apparently looked upon favorably by teams paying great sums of money to wide receivers. Not catching passes and shooting your mouth off all the time about how great you are doesn’t play too well. Why is this jersey $1.99? Here’s why… I was at the Key Club at the Quicken Loans Arena, an area under the stands that is a VIP eat n’ drink for Cavs games. Braylon Edwards was there fixing a plate. He needed a roll, and some schlub like me was standing near them. He offered Edwards a roll. Edwards accepted this man’s kind gesture. The guy said, “If I throw it to you, you won’t drop it, will you?” True story.

http://www.ebay.com/itm/Vintage-CLEVELAND-BROWNS-Football-Jersey-MORGAN-sz-M-/220839682515?pt=US_Mens_Tshirts&hash=item336b1221d3 Who wouldn’t find unbridled joy on Xmas morning finding this Quincy Morgan jersey under the tree? Morgan flamed out with the Browns, and probably reached a high point for me when he made a statement about himself in third person after dropping a game changing 4th down pass. “I’m just going to go out and keep playing Quincy Morgan football.” Quincy Morgan Football proved to be dropping passes in key situations. He was quickly traded mid season for Antonio Bryant, a guy the Cowboys hated enough to trade despite the fact they literally had no healthy receivers and Morgan totally sucked. The times may have changed, yet this jersey lives on! And at $25, what better way to say “Happy Holiday!”?

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Turkey Bowl

2011-11-19T10:02:00.005-05:00

One Thanksgiving tradition I will not be taking part in is the “Turkey Bowl”. For those of you not in the know, a Turkey Bowl is where a large group of men well past their physical prime play tackle football on Thanksgiving morning much like they would have at age 12. The difference is now that instead of being 74 pounds and used to slamming into other 5 foot tall kids, the participants are now 200 pounds and have not engaged in an activity more strenuous than walking out of their SUV to get a Meat N Cheese Bowl at KFC.

Many feel that by putting on their play pants and going to the old field, the years will slip away and they will recapture their glory days of age 15-18. Those were the days. When a fella had a Toyota Celica with an Alpine cassette deck that could belt out “Back In Black” any time he wanted. When a guy got a sticker on his helmet for snapping a collarbone on a kid from 22 minutes down the road in a different color helmet. When the word spread that Randy got a fake ID that worked, and a guy could score a six pack of Michelob if he could get $5.00 to Randy by 6th period lunch. When a guy could be sure he would be able to wriggle his fingers into some previously unknown cotton panties if the team pulled out a “W” on Friday night.

This is only an illusion.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I am now a brittle old man, capable of shattering like a crystal knick-knack on even the slightest contact. My left arm feels like it might fall off, and that’s probably because I dared to do 11 pullups two days ago. My back was howling for two days after raking leaves. How do you think I would feel if an overweight man ran into me at full speed? Good Lord, I’d end up in the hospital with a feeding tube.

Many will heed the siren song of the Turkey Bowl. There will be broken bones, pulled hamstrings, and wounded pride. How much of an asshole will you feel like with an arm in a cast for the next 8 weeks thanks to a hit from a guy that’s a Quality Control Manager? It’s not like you are scoring the winning TD in Super Bowl XXV and taking a hit from Jack “The Assassin” Tatum. It’s some guy you went to school with 22 years ago that has male pattern baldness, a company car, and a wife named Meg with a chunky ass.

Football is a young man’s game. I have accepted the fact that I need to be relaxing comfortably by a fire, sipping a fine Bordeaux, while heavily leveraged on the action displayed on my gigantic television set. While some of you fools will be limping around your house Thanksgiving Day after doing irreparable damage to your body, I will be referring to the Lions as “soft” while splayed out on my couch like Cleopatra.

You will be receiving that call this week. “C’mon man. Everybody is playing.” Nope. Not me. I’m going out on top. Like a suburban Barry Sanders.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Camping

2011-11-13T10:55:00.003-05:00

I was very intoxicated the first time I fired a shotgun. That’s a sentence that usually begins a story that ends with “and that’s how I wound up here in prison”. In this case, it was just part of one of my last ill-advised forays into the world of “camping”. I hate camping, and I am not sure why anyone would ever want to go camping. Most camping I have been associated with is a group of people that go party in the woods and can’t possibly operate their motor vehicles to get home to their warm snuggly beds. This I understand. It’s a weird mix of “social responsibility” and “cry for help”.

One of the last times I went camping with a bunch of dudes I lived with, and a collection of girls that chose to hang out with degenerates like ourselves. Two of the guys were pretty hardcore into camping. They had a bunch of gear, and things like special hiking boots and utility knives. In comparison, I owned a knife that had a bottle opener and corkscrew. My only boots were Doc Martens. But if one of these guys was Grizzly Fucking Adams and knew what he was doing, I’d go.

The day before was spent in preparations. We gathered as much alcohol as we could carry. That was priority number one. Food and shelter factored into the equation somewhere after that. I think we had a couple of flashlights too. It was like the first 20 minutes of any number of teenage slasher movies. We were ill equipped, and heading actually pretty far off into the middle of nowhere. If this was a movie, I would have been the guy that died really early with an arrow in the neck after I lost the group while taking a leak.

I was like an alcohol sherpa, lugging a giant cooler of beer and backpack with whiskey deep into the woods. We set up our camp close to a ledge that overlooked a stream. It was actually picturesque. I would have preferred erecting a Marriott there, but when in Rome. The Grizzly Fucking Adams guy had brought a shotgun and skeet shooting crap. After drinking 113 beers, we left our now assembled camp, and walked to a clearing to shoot skeet. That probably violated every rule of gun safety there is in the rulebook. Drunken amateurs carrying loaded weapons across uneven terrain to learn how to shoot guns. Excellent.

Even if I hadn’t been cripplingly drunk, I don’t know if I would have hit anything. The realization that the petite girl with the loaded shotgun waving it around was probably drunker than me didn’t help steady my nerves either. After blasting a number of rounds into the air and watching the clay pigeons float harmlessly into the distant grass, we went back to camp. Darkness fell quickly, and we scrambled to get firewood together.

The big mistake was even bringing whiskey into the woods. That is clear now. I don’t remember a lot of what happened that night, but this I recall with a vivid clarity. 1) Grizzly Fucking Adams got really drunk and fell off the ledge with a scream. He broke his arm. 2) Bad weather came in. 3) My tent collapsed. 4) The girl I had tricked into going into my tent left shortly after the tent collapse. 5) My back felt like I was in a terrible car crash after sleeping on rocky uneven ground.

There is no worse hangover than the one in the morning in the woods where you have to pack a bunch of shit up. The area we camped in looked like chimps had destroyed it. Garbage was everywhere. The August sun was already blazing hot. Bugs crawled in and out of my ears. The bottled water floated in the standing water of the melted ice, luke warm. We quietly picked up after ourselves and trudged back to the cars, the distance seeming three times as long as the spirited walk into the woods yesterday.

I climbed into the back seat of my buddy’s Ford Escort, already scorching hot from the direct sun. I leaned my head against the window and hoped for a quick merciful death. There was no mercy that day. The drive home took forever.

I just saw a Jeep ad that showed a family living it up camping in the woods. Say what you want about the positioning of the Jeep as a desirable form of transportation. I know that car is an unreliable piece of shit that will break your heart like a small town Prom Queen. What really pissed me off was that company pretending that camping was fun. That is a God Damn lie. Camping isn’t fun. It’s a prison sentence.

P.S. I like Cincinnati today +3 over Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh and Baltimore beat the crap out of each other last week. Home dog +3? I'll do that.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Penn State

2011-11-10T05:13:00.007-05:00

If you would have told me two years ago that both Jim Tressel and Joe Paterno would be out as head coaches, I would not have believed you. Tressel I could maybe buy, as that guy was clearly as clean as a greasy used car dealer with a coke habit. You knew that something crooked was gonna stick to him as he looked incredulously at the cameras in his sweater vest. But Paterno? I would have assumed that if he wasn't coaching, he must have collapsed and melted into the earth, then cast upwards towards the heavens like a Greek Myth. This is the craziest sports story since Tiger Woods.

A guy like Paterno could get through almost any scandal. At Penn State, he isn't so much as a "beloved character" as he is some sort of deity. He is Penn State, a giant educational factory that rakes in a kazillion dollars in tuition as they sell another kazillion dollars of merchandise at Dick's Sporting Goods. By the way, how would you like to be the district manager of Dick's Sporting Goods in Pittsburgh, sitting on 14 tons of Penn State gear you bought for the holiday sales. Good luck getting rid of that. You'll see Penn State shirts showing up on Haitian refugees in about 90 days. Watch CNN closely. "Honey, look! That little crying woman covered with flies loves PSU. WE ARE! PENN STATE!"

But even Paterno couldn't weather a storm like this one. I think a good PR firm could have gotten him past almost anything, including but not limited to:

A) Photos surface of Joe in full Nazi regalia complete with a painted on Hitler mustache. In a prepared statement, the coach refers to the old pictures as "from another time" and the mustache as "a Chaplin, not a Hitler". At the ensuing press conference, Joe notes he "regrets the incident" and also that season ticket packages are on sale.

B) Larry Flynt announces he will be publishing a full photo spread of Paterno in a leather corset while being spanked by a group of Korean transsexuals dressed as Wizard of Oz characters. Paterno first struggles to recall if the incident in question ever occurred, then explaining it as "a time of experimentation when I was a young man in my seventies". At the ensuing press conference, Joe notes he "regrets the incident" and also that season ticket packages are on sale.

C) A massive dog fighting ring is uncovered at Paterno's modest ranch house in State College. Dog corpses are stacked like cord wood by the mailbox on garbage day. Paterno and his spokespeople claim that "dog fighting is in the culture of the Brooklyn born man". At the ensuing press conference, Joe notes he "regrets the incident" and also that season ticket packages are on sale.

Paterno will be forever stained by this, and that's awful. He's a man in his mid eighties that really appears to have tried to do the right thing most of the time in the seedy world of his occupation. Most pimps wouldn't take a job in big time college football as the landscape is just too morally corrupt. But wow, did he blow it on this one. If you hear that someone in the inner circle of Penn State Football has been fucking ten year olds in the ass in the shower, I think you may have to do more than mention it to your higher up. My understanding is that a graduate assistant walked in on Jerry Sandusky having anal sex with a ten year old boy in the Penn State lockeroom shower. The next day, he went to Paterno with the information. Can you imagine what that conversation would have been like for that graduate assistant when he told Joe that he saw his buddy of 40+ years having anal intercourse with a ten year old. "Umm, Mr. Paterno? Mr. Paterno? Hi... Um... Yeah, you probably don't know me, but um... Yeah, ah... Well, I was here at the locker room last night and I think, I mean, I could be wrong, but Um... I think I saw Mr. Sandusky... um... Well, I'm pretty sure I saw Mr. Sandusky... Ahh....". Meanwhile Paterno is staring at you with his giant glasses.

Have you ever tried to clearly explain something to someone in their mid-eighties? I listened to a guy I know spend 25 minutes explaining to his ninety year old mother that her clock radio was running five minutes ahead, and his wife was indeed qualified to make the necessary adjustments to get her back on the correct time. Try explaining to a guy in his eighties that whole Jerry Sandusky situation. I think you would probably stay away from phrases like "fucking some kid in the ass" and instead go into more ambiguous choices like "inappropriately touching" or "fondling". You have to wonder what kind of language they used with Joe to make him understand what a couple of janitors and the grad assistant witnessed. For instance, when I hear a word like "fondle", I'm not positive I know what that means. It sounds like something associated with kittens and lambs, doesn't it? It's like a laundry detergent word. "New Tide Pure, now with extra Fondle!" That's a word that sort of pussyfoots around the issue, isn't it?

Here's two sentences. Which one captures the depth of wrongdoing? 1) Jerry Sandusky was seen by a janitor fondling an 11 year old boy. 2) Jerry Sandusky was seen by a janitor blowing an 11 year old boy in the shower. I think we can all agree #2 is more accurate and a little more powerful. Either way you decide to go about it, I would think it would get any one's attention though. You would probably make it some sort of priority to address this scene when the reality sunk in. Certainly beyond mentioning it to someone else in the chain of command and then getting back to scheming on how to beat the Iowa zone blitz. "Hey Bob, Jerry was fucking some kid in the shower last night. You wanna look into that? I gotta go break down some game film. Later!"

So what have we learned after this whole sordid incident? 1) Joe Paterno was either an old man that maybe didn't understand the depth of what was going on, or a little too focused on keeping the football program in a positive light. 2) If you see a grown man spending an inordinate amount of time with young boys, words like "fondling" are going to get thrown around in the future. 3) If you are on a budget this winter, there will be plenty of great opportunities to buy heavily discounted Penn State sweatshirts.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Bar Tab

2011-11-02T11:57:00.004-04:00

The Cowslingers played a show in Nashville with the Blue Moon Boys at a place called Wolfy’s on Broadway. Broadway is the main tourist strip where bars have bands all day/night bashing out country classics and playing for tips. These bands playing for tips are made up of ringers that come from all over the country with the hopes of landing a gig in Shania Twain’s backing band, and are generally the best musicians you have ever seen. During the day they hope to be playing a session somewhere. If they can't, they sit in on gigs like this. These guys are always really good. Insanely good. Kenny Taylor from the Blue Moon Boys and Bobby Latina watched some fat guy in a baseball cap at Robert’s Western World that they said was maybe the best guitar player they had ever seen. They had no idea who he was. That was at 4:15pm on a Saturday.

Why Wolfy’s thought it was a good idea to have a punky rockabilly band and a scruffy cowpunk band like us wasn’t really clear, but I always liked Nashville, so I was all in. We walked around the tourist traps, tried on Elvis sunglasses, and gazed at instruments for sale so expensive even Garth Brooks would have winced. The best part of the Broadway area is staring at the various hillbillies that have driven into town for a drunken trip to their Mecca, each one of them hoping to spend quality time with Reba or one of the Judds. Although Reba may pretend to want to be with “the people”, the country music social contract does not allow her to be honest and say, “Get the fuck away from my Escalade you scary hillbilly. I’m going home to my 5500 square foot house and getting a massage from my in house servant Ku-Tran”. You have as much chance at hanging with Reba in Nashville as Jennifer Anniston swinging by your squalid apartment to give you oral pleasure. These people live on a different planet than you or I.

Mainstream country music is funny that way. They like to pretend that you might run into any of their chart topping country stars at a Wal-Mart. The illusion that is sold to the un-savvy public is that the difference between artist and consumer is slight. We’re all good folk just trying to get by. The stars are not allowed to distance themselves from the public, not allowed to drive foreign cars, and for God’s sake don’t pretend to be above the audience. “It is such a pleasure to go out on the road and play music for everyone in this great nation. To feel the power of God come through the crowd is amazing. There are so many great towns in America, but I must admit I love home cooking. I love coming home and tasting my Mama’s biscuits.” Meanwhile, Reba is knocking back a 1969 Domaine Romanee Conti after working out with her strength coach and consulting her personal chef. Even the Rubes must know this in their hearts, but they choose not to believe. “The willing suspension of disbelief” I believe it is called…

So there’s a bunch of Rubes wandering around Nashville knocking back Miller Lites, and we’re waiting to play. It was a Saturday night, and we were driving back to Cleveland after the gig. I’m sure I had committed to being at one of my then girlfriend’s never ending string of family get-togethers where I would struggle to stay awake while the other men watched golf. Let me tell you friend, it’s not easy to watch golf in a darkened finished basement when you spent 230a-1030a driving a van back from Tennessee. It would always be the same endgame. I would fall asleep with my mouth open, as her father and uncles wondered why she was wasting her time with me. (This is a question that has yet to be answered I might add.)

We had created a bar tab at the club, and I know we all had a few beers. OK, probably quite a few beers. The only thing I remember about the gig was making a rather distasteful remark about all the Pentecostal women in town for some conference on presumably guilt or private suffering. That didn’t play nearly as well as I thought it would. Eh, what are you going to do? We played the set, broke down our gear, and threw our stuff in the van. The Blue Moon Boys got ready to play, and we clowned around with Nic and Kenny before leaving. We split right as they headed up to play, looking forward to our next gig together. Those guys were the best rockabilly band of that era, hands down. The added bonus was we all liked hanging out together. We tried to do gigs as often as possible. We drove home without incident, and I probably fell asleep in a basement later on Sunday.

I remember calling Kenny afterwards to try and set up some shows. I could never seem to get in touch. Some time passed. Probably a year and a half. We were all doing a lot of traveling, playing the same circuit. We’d see their name on an upcoming flier, or see they had played the club a few weeks prior. I think it was at the Star Bar in Atlanta where a bartender said, “Man, the Blue Moon Boys are pissed at you, huh?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

It turned out that none of us had paid the bar tab in Nashville. Three of us had eaten meals. We all had 6-8 beers. After the show, the guy that owned Wolfy’s had an unpleasant exchange with the Blue Moon Boys and they had to pick up the bill. It was probably about $50, but to guys like us in the mid 1990s, that was a big hit in the wallet. Now, if Kenny had called me the next day and said, “Hey motherfucker! You stuck us with the fucking bar tab!” I would have sent him the cash that day. However, I had no idea we had even done that. Instead they were pissed and we were blissfully unaware.

After I learned of our slight, I called Kenny to repair the breach. He was fine after I explained, but told me how they had shit talked us all though the Southeast. He laughed about it, and I started to understand why I was having trouble getting booked in Alabama and Georgia. So if you ever wondered why you didn’t see the Cowslingers and Blue Moon Boys play for a period of time in the 90s, that’s why.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Costume Contest

2011-10-27T09:32:00.003-04:00

On Halloween when I was in second grade, we had a costume contest and parade in my school. My mother, who had the homemaking skills of a 19 year old college boy, sent me out in a store bought Spiderman outfit. This being the 70s, the costume consisted of a plastic mask and a pull on smock made of a synthetic material that later turned out to be so flammable that it was used as fuel in the early launches of the Space Shuttle. I was under no illusion that I would win the contest, but like a born again Christian QB in a sideline interview, I was “just happy to be there”.

Other kids had amazing costumes that their mothers had painstakingly made over weeks. In some cases, the kids had their mothers come to the school to help them prep for their triumphant walk around the playground in the upcoming parade. Seriously, it was like we were shooting a Hollywood film. Kids stood still while their mothers, and in some cases a team of assistants, put together their creations. “Jane! Jane! Where are the bobby pins? Alan’s cape is coming off! It will NEVER HOLD!” I sheepishly looked on plucking the rubber band of my plastic mask.

As showtime neared, we noticed that the teachers were trying to quietly shuffle one of the other students off. My friend Michael hadn’t changed into his costume, and looked a little bummed out. While over stimulated kids ran around and shrieked, he looked downtrodden as our teacher (the leggy Miss Volmer) put her arm around his shoulder and started to guide him out of the room. Just then the PA opened up with an announcement from the stern principal.

“Michael Schultz, Tina Stevens, and Lisa Phillips please report to the brown activity area in the basement. All other children, please report to the playground for candy apples, games, and the costume parade.”

The announcement was very matter of fact. I think our principal saw himself as a “tough but fair” leader, which is great since he was bossing around 7 year olds. My fellow students and I became abuzz with this developmental turn. “Why isn’t Michael in a costume? Where is he going? Where is the brown activity area? Is that the room with the spiders near the janitor’s closet?” These were the things we wanted to know.

This was the day I learned what a Jehovah’s Witness was. My understanding was that the Jehovah’s Witness kids could not celebrate Halloween, Christmas, or their birthdays. Their parents had signed them up for a religion that allowed no fun whatsoever. This was a tough break. I remember seeing Michael looking over his shoulder for a last glance at the fun he wasn’t even allowed to see. The door closed on him as he was led down the hall. I joined my other friends, and got a candy apple. I later lost the costume contest.

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Friendly Skies

2011-10-26T10:13:00.003-04:00

There was once a time when traveling on an airplane was special, and people dressed like they were going to be in public with other human beings. You would enter the magic tube, have a cordial flight, and set out on a great adventure wherever your plane gracefully set down its glistening silver wings. Sure, there was a “smoking section” on the plane, which is roughly like having a smoking section in a Chevrolet Suburban, but they were different times. Try flying someplace now. Now it’s like a half step above being in a bus station in Toledo. Enjoy dodging sexual deviants and swarthy mentally retarded foreigners from impossible to distinguish lands. Pay $11 for a stale turkey sandwich. Have a $9 beer. Midway Airport isn’t really that much different from that bar in the first Star Wars movie except Midway has more annoying security and worse food.

One of my major beefs is that as our society continues to become more about individual comfort and less about empathy, people feel that airline travel is now akin to a slumber party in the sky. Who the fuck was the first person to decide it was OK to wear pajama bottoms in public? Cotton PJ pants with colorful characters and designs should be worn by six year olds waiting for stories and mental patients that have hopped a fence at a nearby facility. 23 year old girls should have form fitting pants or a sundress on. A simple rule of thumb for the ladies should be, if a man is pulling your pants off and these pants make him wonder if he is committing a crime against a minor, perhaps you need to step up the old wardrobe.

Beef number 2… I am not a large man. I would say I am very average in a staggering number of ways. That being the case, why do airline seats in coach make me feel like I am a starting defensive tackle for the Rams? I sat next to some dude on a flight last week that was probably about 5-7 and 165 pounds. He and I had to take turns shifting in our seats like serpents so we could put our backs in a normal position. How much could it possibly cost to make airplanes another three feet wider and give everyone another six inches of width? Don’t even make me get into a flight I had next to a farting Samoan in 2007. I was wedged into the window seat like an old sock in a hamper while that guy rained farts down on me like the Nasal Apocalypse.

Beef number 3… Why does it take so long for people to get on/off the plane? Seats are arranged in the most simple grid system imaginable, yet every flight I am on there is some jackoff that can’t seem to find their seat. “Uh, I think you’re in my seat there buddy.” Even more incredibly, people can’t get off the plane. It takes me 2-5 seconds to get out of my seat and under way. I stand. I grab the bag from the overhead. I walk forward. If it takes 20 minutes to get people off a plane that has comfortably landed, do you think you’d have a chance in hell if you came skidding down into a cornfield? You’d be trapped in your flaming seat while some elderly woman poked around the overheads trying to figure out where she put her carry-on, and double checked her gate assignment at her layover. I would bet you I could get 25 house cats into a Southwest Flight before I could get 25 random people I plucked from Potbellies Sandwich Works at Midway.

Beef number 4… The Airport has become the bottom rung for employable people in the United States. It is a shocking contrast between flying out of the cordial efficient Barcelona Airport and landing at JFK. At Barcelona, the employees are knowledgeable and have social graces, despite the fact they are conversing with you in their second language. At JFK, it isn’t clear if anyone working there has any grasp on any language, much less a basic understanding of human interaction. JFK may consider hiring on a bunch of chimps to cut costs as well as potentially increase efficiency. When I was last in JFK, the bathrooms had standing water. When they lost my bag, the three attendants on duty couldn’t stop clowning around with each other long enough to track my bag. The lazy eyed endomorph at security spoke to me, and said “Muma Fa Muma Na”. It wasn’t much help. Your average Taco Bell has stricter hiring policies, and better leadership. JFK should consider getting that 16 year old kid with the headset at the Parma OH Taco Bell in there. She could clean that situation up.

The one thing to keep in mind? It’s still better than taking a Greyhound.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Tony LaRussa

2011-10-21T14:48:00.003-04:00

I am a baseball fan. Yes, I am one of the roughly 4.6% of the population that is watching the World Series with great interest. Why even more people will watch the Colts play whoever the hell is going to kick the crap out of them on Sunday night is perplexing to me. They will though. A meaningless NFL game will have a bigger audience than the Series in 2011 America. That's a shame. The World Series is for all the marbles baby, and when a story is this big the media has to create some good side stories. My personal favorite is the “Tony LaRussa is a Genius” narrative.

Even if you’re not totally on board with watching the Cards and Rangers play, you owe it to yourself to watch any random 30 minutes of coverage on Fox Television. While Tony LaRussa walks out to make a sensible and routine lineup change, Tim McCarver and Joe Buck act like he may have finally cracked the code for colon cancer.

Tim McCarver: “And there goes the Chessmaster Tony LaRussa to substitute .243 hitter Skip Schumaker for relief pitcher Arthur Rhodes here in the eighth. Look at him pull the strings!”

Joe Buck: “And it looks like Ron Washington is left to scratch himself for fleas like some kind of chimp Tim!”

McCarver: “What chance does Washington have to hope to match up against Tony LaRussa? It’s like he sat down at a chess board with Bobby Fucking Fisher!”

Perhaps the best part is how LaRussa has slipped on this persona like a comfortable robe. He answers questions in a distracted slightly irritated air, as if he has been interrupted doing mental gymnastics on how to gain a slight statistical edge by batting the starting pitcher third ahead of Pujols. Watch the coverage... Two seconds after they speak with the Sage of The Game, the cameras cut to Ron Washington, who is inevitably chewing on a toothpick looking like a guy about to hit you up for change outside the bus station. Frankly, they do everything but flash the word “cocaine” above Ron Washington’s head when he is on camera.

I have seen LaRussa manage himself right out of games, churning through his lineup in 8 innings and leaving himself with a backup catcher on the mound and a trainer hitting cleanup in extra innings. Let’s not dwell on that, or on his questionable results with an unbelievably stacked A’s team some years ago. The World Series is a TV event, and it is important to have an easily understandable cast of characters for the casual fan to tune into and watch Fox sold Taco Bell ads.

Managing a baseball team at the major league level can’t be easy. The players are assholes for the most part. Their agents are douchebags. The fans hate you when you aren’t winning. Newspaper guys take cheap shots. Hell, I’m taking cheap shots and I’m a guy that sings for a rock band. But, let’s have some perspective… Managing a baseball team on gameday is not that difficult. Take the pitcher out when he isn’t effective. If the new guy you put in isn’t effective, take him out too. Your batter doesn’t hit lefties well? Put in one that does. If a guy has hit a pitcher in the past, he just might hit him well again. If the guy you put in gets a hit on The Big Stage like the World Series, you are a genius. What happened Wednesday night? The guy LaRussa put in got a hit to win it. You know what Tony LaRussa is? That’s right. He’s a genius.

Quick Hits: I like Wisconsin -8 tomorrow. Michigan State always folds up like a cheap tent when they actually have something on the line. I think Wisconsin is going to go in there and shove them around… LSU might be better than the St Louis Rams. Then again, so might Auburn. Take Auburn +23…. It’s time for the Chargers to lose a game they should win. Take the Jets +2, even though they are the most overrated team in the NFL thanks to playing in the largest media market on the planet.

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Plumbing Problem

2011-10-19T17:14:00.003-04:00

Horrifying hillbilly story I heard today: A plumber was called out to a house that reported rapidly rising water in their basement. The plumber arrived to find the owners of the house concerned, telling him that the water was almost ready to reach the top of the basement stairs. The plumber walked to the basement door, and the smell made him gag before he could even open the door. He went outside to get a mask, and started to become very concerned about what he would find.

When he opened the door to the basement it became obvious this was no garden variety leak. The water was brown and was almost cresting to the top stair, the water currently just four steps below the doorway. The smell was horrible. This was obviously untreated sewage. It made him gag, and this was a man that routinely hauled sanitary napkins from shit stained pipes. Then he noticed something moving across the top of the water at the far end of the basement. He was worried it was a rat, as the house wasn't exactly the cleanest he had been to that day. It disappeared, and then re-appeared right in front of him. It was a ten year old boy, blowing water out of his mouth, and using the basement like a new indoor recreation facility.

The plumber freaked out, pulled off his mask, and yelled at the father. "You have to get him out of there! That's untreated human waste!". The father, cracking open a Natural Light, said, "Aw, it's OK. It's just like a swimming pool in the basement. He's got my permission." The plumber started to yell at the father about calling social services, and that sort of thing, as the father chuckled while the boy emerged from the six foot deep shit water in his basement.

This is now the plumber's go-to story for "the worst he's ever seen".

Nurse the Hate: Occupy Wall Street

2011-10-18T14:59:00.006-04:00

I can’t help but feeling many of the people involved in the “Occupy Wall Street” movement across this country are the same people that complained as kids when things didn’t go their way. Of course, it doesn’t really help that there doesn’t appear to be a cohesive point to this thing, except to get across the basic point of “I don’t have enough money, and I should get more. It’s unfair.” You knew that when all those years of praising kids regardless of outcome, and giving every kid a trophy in recreational soccer would come back to bite you in the ass sooner or later, didn’t you? “Billy, your team finished eighth, but you sure tried! Here’s a trophy just like the winners got!” Life is competitive. There are winners and there are losers. If you can’t figure out how to win, complaining that the game is unfair isn’t going to help. You better find an edge. Also, if you are going to complain, at least complain about something worth complaining about. It’s all a matter of focus.

If everyone took to the streets to hang Wall Street Criminals from lamp posts, I could get behind that. A little guillotine action in the Financial District would straighten a lot of that shit out. That smarmy investment shyster will think twice about cooking the books and leaving people like you and me out to dry if his head ended up on a pike if he got caught. Ivy League students aren’t exactly known for embracing physical challenges and mass violence. (See War, Vietnam) As it is now, everyone in the system covers everyone else’s ass. The angry mob with torches storming Goldman Sachs will probably keep those pussies in line more than a fine and stern talk. But this isn’t about that is it?

This appears to be every person that spent their early twenties on a friend’s couch smoking weed defending why they weren’t going to class/work gathered in one place. How do you know there are some folks detached from The Real World? The bongo drum. When you see a drum circle form, you are going to get some very naïve ideas about how the world works. “Hey man, there’s enough for all of us. Let’s share all the resources. You go grow some wheat. Have your buddy make the flour. Have someone else make some bread. I’ll be here making love with my new special friend “Star Shine”. Bring us some bread when you’re done working.”

Sometimes it makes me feel like one of those crewcut Union guys that wanted to bash hippies in the head in 1968. Of course, the main difference between 1968 and now is a unified tangible purpose. In 1968 an entire generation wanted to end a senseless war that was killing their friends. In 2011 some ex-Starbucks employees want to be able to get a new iPhone and X-box without having to work that hard to get it. It’s pretty hard to get excited about that, much less write a good protest song about that. People overthrow governments when they can’t eat, not when they can’t eat at Ruth Chris Steakhouse.

The bottom line is that some people have more than others. The people that have the wealth write the rules to make sure they keep the wealth. That was true in 1612 and it’s going to be true in 2012.

P.S. I have been writing sports crap for Defend Cleveland. Check out my take on Peyton Hillis here http://www.defendclevelandshow.com/2011/10/18/defend-hillis/

Nurse the Hate: Quick Picks

2011-10-09T13:03:00.003-04:00

OK, so I have been batting about .500 so far. Today doesn't look like it will help. It's a wilderness of mirrors out there. The oddsmakers have the teams pretty well figured, and even more importantly, they have the public figured. The lines are not so much a reflection on how good a team is but rather how good the public thinks they are. That's why I really like Tennessee +3.5 today over Pittsburgh. Tennessee looks like a legit 10-6 team, and Pittsburgh looks like an injury riddled 8-8 team. Matt Hasselback is healthy for the Titans, and now is the time to bet on him as he'll only be healthy for another 23 minutes. That man has had more injuries than Evel Knievel, but right now is successfully held together by tape. Take advantage of people thinking Pittsburgh is still the AFC Champ.

I think Houston will win the AFC South. If you are going to win the AFC South, you probably need to beat Oakland at home. I'm sure much will be made to "Win One For Al" in the Raider media, but I don't think a bunch of stupid guys in their twenties give a shit about some 80 year old leathery white guy that looked like the Cryptkeeper. I like Houston -4.5.

The Carolina/New Orleans over under is 51.5. That seems too low, doesn't it? It seems impossible that these two track star teams don't wind up in a 34-31 shootout. Drew Brees will probably drop 31 on Carolina by halftime, right? I see Cam Newton highlights on SportsCenter every time I jump on the treadmill. Everyone knows this game will be high scoring, don't they? That's why I am on the UNDER 51.5.

I watch the Chargers a lot at 4:00. I envision myself one day standing around in that sky blue gear knocking back Ballast Point IPAs in the parking lot singing that disco "San Diego SuperChargers!" song. I will live in La Jolla and have no apparent source of income, but yet wear $900 shorts. I will wonder, like everyone in Southern California, why the Chargers can have so much talent on paper but still can't seem to win big games. I think it is so friggin laid back out there, it seeps into the football team. Out in the Midwest, we freak out if our teams lose. In SoCal, people go to the beach and smoke weed. This week San Diego goes to Denver. They should kill the Broncos on paper. The Broncos are awful. They won't though. In typical Charger fashion, they will play to the level of their competition. I like Denver +4.5.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Saturday

2011-10-08T09:49:00.006-04:00

Penn State and Ohio State are the same thing. Like two Football Wal Marts, each provides the rural residents surrounding the franchise locations with weekend distraction. Like a Wal Mart, you know what you are going to get, in this case nine or so wins and a Bowl Game. It is comforting, like knowing that a McDonald’s cheeseburger tastes the same in State College PA as it does in Oslo Norway. Every year the leaves change color and fall, and every year Penn State loses to Iowa.

I don’t know how I never noticed this before, but Iowa is 8-1 in their last 9 vs Penn State. I am not talking about being 8-1 against the spread. They are 8-1 outright. Iowa is usually pretty good, but not that good. Iowa is like Herman’s Hermits while Penn State is the Yardbirds. And in this case, it is like Herman’s Hermits blows the Yardbirds off the stage every show. “Fucking Peter Noone cartwheeled off the stage belting out “I’m Into Something Good” while on fire! I couldn’t believe it!” I am taking Iowa +4.5 and the under. If it happened 8 of the last 9 years, it has a pretty good chance of happening again, right?

The Ohio State franchise just can’t get past this tattoo scandal. Their best receiver got suspended another 5 games because he was allegedly overpaid by $700 for work he did over the summer. I think $700 is what a pair of tickets cost to the OSU/Michigan game in the lower bowl. Don't worry about that. Let's take away the meaning in that kid's life so we can pretend college football is once again “clean”. Whew! I’m glad that got fixed. Now we can get on with the rich college football tradition of Big 10 Football, where Ohio State goes on the road to play one of the 12 teams in the Big 10, in this case Nebraska.

Nebraska, another Wal Mart franchise, should handle the Buckeyes. That is being held as an absolute truth. That worries me, but let’s move on and ask ourselves, “Can Ohio State stop Nebraska?”. If they can, we’ll have to go with the under. Ohio State is incapable of scoring against grown ups. All their heavily tattooed good guys are gone, and now they are left with the guys that haven’t got their free tattoos yet. That hasn’t gone too well so far. I am going OSU/Nebraska UNDER 45.

I don't have any information on Rutgers. I don't really know anything about Pitt. What I do know is that these two teams are pretty much the same. Pitt is pretty good. Rutgers is pretty good. Nothing to get too excited about. Rutgers is at home getting seven? OK, I'll take a flier on that. Rutgers +7.

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Facebook

2011-10-06T22:41:00.007-04:00

There was a friend of mine that went to a house party. He didn’t drive, as he could be counted on to always (and I mean always) drink to excess. He used to drive to parties, but after he wrapped his Camaro around a tree, he had someone else drive. He was pragmatic in that respect.

At this particular party there was the usual crowd. The “usual crowd” was probably a lot like most people’s “usual crowds”. There was the heavy pot smoker guy in the weird cap with the strange leather satchel hung around his neck. I always wonder what is in that little leather sack. Magic crystals? Magic beans? I know it is something magic, I just could never get to the bottom of what it might be. He was a guy that had records by bands no one else listened to like Hawkwind, Emerson Lake and Palmer, and Moby Grape.

There were the two brothers that drank astounding amounts of alcohol to no apparent effect. “Dude, the Kraus Brothers drank three cases of Utica Club on their own on the drive over!” Riding in the back seat was their buddy who took anything in search of a buzz. In this case, it was a guy named Les that told me he ate the insides of a Vick’s Inhaler. “Man, you trip really hard. The one bummer is that you throw up for 14 hours beforehand.” He had the habit of swiping his Mom’s heart medication and combining it with cough syrup, children’s aspirin, and Aqua Velva. He was a guy that missed 4 days of school when he took something called a "Nine Way Unicorn".

The women’s auxiliary was there too. The two chain-smoking girls with the heavy eye makeup that spoke exclusively to themselves whispered in conspiratorial tones in the corner. Everyone knew their names, but not for sure which was Lisa and which was Nancy. They were friends with the very pretty delicate girl that found herself in this house party of degenerates probably due to the dumb luck of being placed in the wrong Brownie Tribe 12 years earlier. Had she lived in another neighborhood, she'd probably be playing squash at Yale instead of smoking weed from a Pepsi can. There was also Tammy, the heavy girl that compensated for her lack of physical attraction by blowing most of the other guys I knew in the zip code. She was generally VERY popular from 11p-2a on most Friday and Saturday nights, and much less so in the harsh light of morning.

My friend zeroed in on Big Game. He zeroed in Lori. She was the ring leader. She was a woman that found a home in this crowd by being generally acknowledged to be the smartest in the room, but suffered from low self-esteem. This usually led her to be involved in sexually awkward situations with young men she didn’t know very well in stranger’s spare bedrooms. This was the case at this particular house party.

My friend had somehow convinced Lori it was a good idea to go upstairs and “talk”. Within a few minutes, he had removed Lori’s sweater and jeans, and had begun the time-honored tradition of bargaining for further sexual advances. As I recall, he told me he went with the somehow effective “just the tip” strategy. I know almost anyone reading this has either used or fallen prey to the “just the tip” technique. To review, this is when a man suggests he inserts “just the tip” of his penis into the vagina, therefore reducing the significance and potential negative fallout of this sexual congress. As it is “just the tip”, it is almost not worth mentioning,. “Let’s see if we like it, and then maybe we can try it.” This always, and I will hold to “always”, results in full sexual intercourse.

As expected, my friend was involved in casual thrusting into Lori after his successful “just the tip” gambit. What was unexpected was the Kraus Brothers announcing they knew of a party and wanted to leave immediately as this party was now dry. They could drink a lot of beer those boys… They dispatched the driver to alert my friend they were leaving and if he wanted a ride, he better get out of the stranger’s bedroom and get downstairs. Bang! Bang! Bang! “Dude! We’re bailing! You want a ride, you better get your ass out here!”

The word I heard to describe Lori afterward was “disappointed” when she realized that my friend had pulled his penis out of her, and threw his pants on with a “Gotta go!” and was, in fact, leaving prior to “finishing”. Very socially awkward and probably a blow to a young lady’s confidence. Certainly not good for a young man’s reputation with the ladies either.

Through the wonder of The Facebook I saw a picture of Lori today. She was sitting next to her well scrubbed children, smiling a full healthy smile. Her chunky face showed a life of weekend cookouts, lunchroom birthday cakes, and Blooming Onion appetizers. She looked like Everybody Else. Yet all I could think about was when my buddy pulled his wiener out of her because he needed a ride. Helluva thing a good memory.

Nurse the Hate: Sunday Funday

2011-10-02T11:42:00.003-04:00

I was up very late last night playing rock music. I went to sleep at a ridiculous hour and then was awoken at an even more ridiculous hour by a basset hound that was very insistent that I enjoy this morning with her. I now have a game plan of mowing the back grass and then being absorbed by the couch and letting a full day of NFL Football wash over me in a tidal wave of razor, beer, and erectile dysfunction ads. I may only move only once, and that is if I have to produce solid waste. If not, I may just urinate into any spare drinking glasses nearby and watch my surefire locks roll in, making me tens of dollars. It is a glamorous life being in a indie cowboy punk band my friends.

I like Pittsburgh today +3.5 over Houston. Yes, the Texans look like they may finally fulfill the annual speculation that after having 10 consecutive years of Top 6 draft picks, they have assembled some talent. Yes, Pittsburgh has looked terrible getting blown out by the Ravens and slipping by a Colt team that is a step above Rutgers. However, the Steelers are the defending AFC Champs, right? They can't be as bad as they appear, can they? I do know they have had ten turnovers vs getting one their way. That'll kill ya. Mark my words, that extra half point will be the difference. Pittsburgh +3.5.

The Buffalo Bills are on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Everyone is very excited talking about how the Bills are undefeated, and NO ONE saw this coming. You know what? The reason that no one saw this coming was because they aren't really this good. I see a letdown after they finally defeated their Goliath in the Patriots last week. The entire gambling community is on Buffalo -3. That's all I need to hear. My #1 rule is, and always will be, if the Public thinks one thing, it is ALWAYS the other. Cincinnati +3.

I think the lack of sleep and copious amounts of Avery IPA I had last night have led me to investing in San Francisco +10. I think the Eagles are all hype, and they have a ton of injuries. Their defense is a fucking mess. Meanwhile San Francisco has a really good D, and should keep this close. I say this knowing full well that the 49er offense is completely incapable of scoring from anywhere on the field. Maybe they'll block a punt or something. I dunno, but I am on SF +10.

I am concerned because money is starting to pour in on Tennessee over Cleveland today. I am even more concerned because I agree. Having lived in NE Ohio for all these years, I can smell a Browns letdown, and this has all the earmarks. The Titans can't run the ball, and it is gusty as hell outside, making the passing game an adventure. I feel like this is going to be one of those "Browns can't do anything on offense, what happened to the rushing defense?" days at Browns Stadium. Let me use technical terms. The Browns kind of suck. After a last second win over a sketchy Dolphins team, they will probably lose in similar heartbreaking fashion today. It's the way it goes when you "kinda suck". Tennessee -1.

I am taking the Raiders +6.5 because of perceptions. If I am not mistaken, people think the script today will be this; "Patriots Right Ship After Tough Loss, Raiders Exposed As Losers, Al Davis Looks More Like Cryptkeeper". That is why Vegas builds giant hotels that look like pyramids and losers like that guy near you at work go home with stolen hotel slippers. I am going against the script and taking Oakland +6.5. I think they have too much defense, and their running game should keep Brady off the field. I may even take a flier on the money line if I can stay awake until 4.

I am having a hard time thinking why I shouldn't take the Brewers or the Phillies today. Greinke has been awesome for Milwaukee since August, and the Brewers don't lose at home. Sure I hate the Brewers marketing department, and I have yet to receive my Rickie Weeks bobblehead that I purchased in a moment of weakness, but that doesn't mean I won't bet on them. I would have bet on Germany over Poland in 1939 if I could have gotten a line on it. Sorry, I digress. I'm on Milwaukee. Cliff Lee is money, and he'll pound the strike zone today. Why the Cards feel the need to pitch Carpenter on short rest is beyond me. Maybe we'll get a chance to see "genius" manager Tony LaRussa manage the Cards right out of the game with a double switch in the third inning that somehow leaves Jake Westbrook batting after Pujols, and Skip Schumaker in long relief. Give me Philadelphia all day.

Nurse the Hate: Rainy Saturday Action

2011-10-01T09:01:00.005-04:00

You know it is a rainy and grim morning when the first thing I focus on is the Air Force v Navy game. I have rather mixed feelings about betting on an Armed Service Academy after the disaster with Army last week. (Army managed zero completions against Ball State last Saturday. I am fairly certain Ball State didn't run out Revis and Charles Woodson to play corner either. How is that even possible?) However, let's shake that off. When it is shitty Navy vs shitty Air Force, it is worth a look. Air Force is 1-10 in their last 11 vs Navy. That's hard to believe as both of those team generally blow. Even more noteworthy Air Force's last road win over Navy was in 1997. That's a long time ago. Elton John's "Candle In the Wind" was the #1 song. "Two Guys, A Girl, and a Pizza Place" was a show television executives thought would work. 9-11 was 4 years away. Like I said, that was a long time ago. I am guessing that if Air Force hasn't won at Navy since then, they won't do it today either, especially with four defensive starters hurt. Take Navy -3.

I am continuing with my quest to bet against the University of Akron football team at every opportunity. Akron won last week, in a game that offered no line. To put that in perspective, you can get a line on the Miss Universe pageant or who is going to win Dancing With the Stars. You can bet on ANYTHING, yet that game was such a joke last week even Vegas wouldn't throw a line out. That is why I am so excited to see Eastern Michigan -8.5 against Akron today. Eastern Michigan has the marketing tag line of "Education First". I hope it's "Football Second". I think even "Football Third" will be enough to cover 8.5. Eastern Michigan -8.5.

Bowling Green gets to play West Virginia today after WVU got knocked around by LSU on national TV last week. This thing could play out two ways. It could be the "Let's beat the crap out of the MAC team to take our frustration out on last week's loss". It could also be "Let's not focus on this week's team we are taking too lightly and instead talk about what the hell happened last week". That's what I think will happen. It's Bowling Green? Who pays attention to Bowling Green? It's a flat campus outside Toledo with the architectural charm of 1952 Leipzig Germany. It's everyone's "safety school" in Ohio. "Yeah man, I hope I get into OSU, but if I don't I know I'm in at BG. I could live with Randy and shit." However, Bowling Green has a sneaky good football team. Bowling Green is 3-1 with a one point loss to Wyoming. Will they beat West Virginia? No way. But 19 points is way too many. Take Bowling Green +19.

I am thinking about taking Kent +16.5. This goes against one of the cardinal rules of gambling, Thou Shalt Never Take Kent State On Thy Road. I think the Pilgrims wrote that. I don't remember. I went to Kent, and we didn't cover a lot of stuff like that. I do know this though. Kent is at Ohio University, and that's not exactly a real juggernaut football powerhouse either. But Kent is 6-2 against the spread in their last eight vs. Ohio. Kent is also 5-0 in their last 5 in Athens. I hear the powerful echo voice in my head saying "Noooooo!!!!", but those trends are hard to ignore.

The books have the Phillies with Roy Halladay at -215 to make the price so high you won't risk it. A couple things to consider. Kyle Lohse, the Cardinals starter, has been back to being "Kyle Lohse" after a early season stint as Steve Carlton. He is very hittable right now. Roy Halladay, on the other hand, is a fucking machine. In an awful outing he gives up 4. That is if he has no control or velocity. He is an unfeeling strike machine. So ask yourself this... Can the Phillies score five off of Lohse and a dodgy Cards bullpen? I think they can. Phillies at (gulp) -215.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Shark

2011-09-29T19:51:00.003-04:00

A news story today… "A swimmer has lost his legs after being attacked by a great white shark in South Africa. The 42-year-old man, who ignored warnings to stay out of the water at a beach near Cape Town, entered the ocean 90 minutes after the shark had been spotted and the beach closed. The man, believed to be British, has been airlifted to hospital for treatment."

I don’t know what to focus on first on this news story. I have seen the British on vacation. Something I can tell you with great certainty is the man that went in the water after being warned about a Great White was shitfaced. How do I know this? Because every single time I have seen an English guy walking around a tourist area, he has been staggering drunk and ready to mix it up with locals, in this case a 16 foot killing machine that is the top of the ocean food chain. This should come as no surprise to anyone that has ever been in Amsterdam. Lay the story out to any prostitute in the Red Light District. “Oh, a British guy dove in the water on holiday when he was directly warned about a giant man eating shark? Sure, I could see that. Probably the same pasty guy that barfed on his Manchester United jersey after I gave him a golden shower last summer.” It’s a fucking Great White Shark, right?

Now, you would have to feel pretty stupid as you wheel your way around London in your wheelchair for the next 35 years. “No luv, I wasn’t in the war. Shark attack. Well, what happened was I was directly told not to jump into the water, as there was a giant angry two-ton creature with razor sharp teeth that was very hungry. I was really drunk though, and figured that the locals were trying to pull one over on me. I mean, I paid good money for this vacation, and I was not going to be told what to do on MY vacation. So I hopped in the water and had a go! Boy did I have egg on my face when he chewed my legs off! Bloody good crying about it now, eh? Spare a pound for a good bloke?” or some such nonsense.

Still, I identify with the guy. I was in Cancun one time, all cranked up on “all inclusive” Mexican beer and well tequila. I was swimming around the ocean, way the hell out there as I usually do. (I am of the opinion I am a much stronger swimmer than I actually am, which will explain my tragic early death in a kayaking accident in the next few years.) While I was lazily backstroking around, I hear a whistle and see a little Mexican lifeguard jumping around the beach like a monkey. Hmmm. Everyone is getting out of the water. What’s the issue here?

I look behind me about 40 yards and see a dorsal fin clipping towards my general direction. The thing is, I’m so buzzed up from drinking in the sun, I am nowhere near a state of panic. “Hey man, that shark isn’t going to hurt me man. They are more afraid of me than I am of them. I wonder if I brought any Donovan records on my iPod?”, I thought as I casually backstroked into the beach. I was in no particular hurry, still, I thought I’d pacify the silly lifeguard, and the crowd on the beach and come on in. It was probably a 6-8 foot shark of no real danger to me (I guess). The way my girlfriend and other hotel guests went on about it, you’d thought I had just out swum Jaws. I was so mellowed out; I laughed it off and went to the bar.

Stupid.

Now if someone had told me there was a 16-foot Great White out there (which is roughly the width of a Volkswagen), I’d have said “See you at the swim up bar Pedro, I’m all about the pool”. But then again, I’m not British and on vacation.

Nurse the Hate: Still Hate Football

2011-09-25T12:16:00.004-04:00

I chased last night, getting on LSU when I realized that the hopes and dreams of West Virginia rarely come true, much less on national television. WVU doesn’t do their marketing department any favors by letting all those people show up to games with animal skins on their heads. If you are considering an economics degree, do you want to go to a place with ivy covered buildings, or do you want to go to a place with a guy with a raccoon head draped over his dome screaming profanity at LSU? If I’m an 18 year old kid from the suburbs, I’m playing it safe and taking WVU off of my “short list”. Regardless, LSU covered easily and this leaves me back at even. I’m ready to go today. Here’s what I like.

The Browns are not an exciting team. In fact, they are broadcast to such a small national TV audience, I wouldn’t be surprised if the announcers today were James Garner and a local weatherman. Maybe that guy that used to play “Tubbs” on Miami Vice since the equally boring Dolphins are in town. But business is business, and I love a home underdog. The Browns are +110 on the money line, Chad Henne sucked at Michigan and sucks as a Dolphin, and Reggie Bush has already fallen out of favor. I may sleep on my couch during the entire broadcast, unless James Garner starts telling old “Rockford Files” stories, but I’m still getting on Cleveland. As an aside, why did that guy get pistol whipped so often? Eh, who knows… Take Cleveland +110.

The Giants have so many injuries, I had to scan the headlines to see if their team bus had taken a plunge down a cliff and I somehow missed it. This leaves the always slightly confused looking Eli Manning and some guys they found in the Terminal at Grand Central have to play Philadelphia today. Mike Vick is coming back after having his skull busted by smacking his face into one of his lineman, spitting out blood, and still finding time to shit talk Atlanta. Yet Philadelphia is somehow in better shape than the New York Football Giants. By the way, how in God's name was Vince Young not ready to go last week? The guy has a chance to go from "Lowest Wonderlick and Total Fucking Head Case" to "Redeemed Prospect That Overcame Adversity", but he's out with a tweaked hamstring? I'd like to "Sell" my Vince Young stock please. The Giants are getting nine, which seems like it must be some kind of trick to get me to take them and the points. OK. I'll bite. These NFC East games are always decided by a pasty kicker at the end, no matter how much better one team is than another. Why not again today? Giants +9.

I don’t know how good the Chargers are. I also have no idea if the Chiefs are as bad as they appear. I do know that San Diego will probably score a fuckload of points today. You know how many that is? Well, let me tell you, it’s a lot. I also feel fairly secure in saying that San Diego’s special teams will either blow a kickoff return coverage, or allow a blocked punt in their own end zone, so KC will at least get on the board that way. Some guy you never heard of on KC will probably also run into the end zone for an otherwise meaningless score while the stands empty and the clock runs out. San Diego/KC OVER 44.5.

Nurse the Hate: Hate College Football Again

2011-09-23T12:38:00.003-04:00

Ohio State Guy is in a full panic. His beloved Buckeyes are not following the script to provide him with easy wins on a Fall afternoon. There is no jacking off watching Ohio State “students” beating the crap out of the amateur teams placed in front of them. That back slapping self congratulatory Coors Light swilling “O! H!” I! O!” time is over. This is a “transitional year”. To use a very technical football term, Ohio State looked totally fucking horrible last week against a Miami team that doesn’t exactly bring to mind the Teams of Thugs Past. This week Ohio State plays a very ordinary Colorado team that kinda sucks. However, I don’t believe they kinda suck 16.5 points less than Ohio State. I think OSU wins, but have a hard time seeing Ohio State scoring a zillion points. Take Colorado +16.5.

My favorite team of thugs is Oregon. If the NCAA really wanted to get serious about “cleaning up college football”, this would be a good place to start assuming you had a SWAT team.. The NCAA wouldn’t place Oregon on probation. They would go up there and execute most of the team just for being sociopaths and dangerous criminals. Various players have been arrested in recent years for fist fights, robbery, sexual assault, firearms, and probably abusing a corpse for all I know. The good news is that the University of Oregon football team doesn’t know where I live, and probably won’t come to my house and commit violent crimes against me. Even better news is that they will commit these crimes against a reliably shitty University of Arizona team. Arizona lost to Oklahoma State and Stanford by 27 and 23 respectively. They sure as hell aren’t staying within 15.5 of Oregon. Take Oregon -15.5.

There are three things you need to know about Ball State. 1) David Letterman went there. 2) They have an ugly flat campus that looks like it might double as a mail order house processing and distribution center. 3) They are 3-14 against the spread at home in their last 17. This week Ball State plays Army at home. Look, I’m not all excited about Army or anything. Army will roll into town with their bad haircuts and repressed rage, and regret not going to a school where they can have drunken sexual misadventures as opposed to getting screamed at for not making their bed correctly. That rage should help them cover a flimsy four point spread. Take Army -4.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Childhood

2011-09-22T13:27:00.003-04:00

When I was a kid, I spent most of my childhood embarrassed by my parents. In retrospect, they were neither cooler nor any less dorky than anyone else’s parents though. Peer pressure is a monster when you are a child though, and my childhood ideal was always a strange mish-mosh of the Brady Family and Eight Is Enough. I was never clear why we didn’t have a pool table in the garage, have Joe Namath drop by the house, or have a housekeeper prepare me a tray of food for when I was upset and stewing in my room. I spent the years of eight to twelve pitching fits, stomping to my room, and waiting expectedly for a tray of delicious food and soothing talk that never came. Where was Alice the Maid when I needed her? That Bobby Brady had it all, that little fucker.

I also went through a period of time where I pretended I had no parents. I think almost every kid got dropped off at the mall at a secret doorway where you could then meet your friends by suddenly appearing. I liked to play it like I was just a single dude that had no back story. A real international man of mystery. It was as if I was a 13 year old that had my own apartment, and just happened to be attending Garwood Middle School as a brief sojourn on my way to getting involved in an Import/Export business based in Buenos Aires. “Hey guys! It’s just drove over from my condo on the wharf. I was knee deep in shit like coloring in my map for Geography Class and just thought I’d swing by. Who’s up for a brandy?”

Looking back, my father may have been way ahead of his time when he was mowing the lawn in black work socks, grass stained Stan Smith Adidas, and giveaway t-shirt. You put that outfit on some indie dude in Wicker Park, he’s beating back the pierced skinny jean chicks with a rawhide mallet. My Dad didn’t even know he was ironic. In 1978, it wasn’t considered such a rocking look though. I think he may have been a man slightly ahead of his time. You combine that look with my mother’s innate ability to yell embarrassing things across any retail store (Greg!?! Do you need more acne medicine???), and you had a real Power Couple.

It’s a damn shame I don’t have any kids. I looked at myself this morning as I walked out to get the newspaper. I had on a pair of brownish cargo shorts, an inside out and backwards brownish t-shirt, and sandals. I looked like a hippie Israeli commando in a strange wrestling onesey/unitard. I was talking to one of the bassets from the end of the driveway, while shuffling and farting my way back up the driveway. I really needed a 12 year old son/daughter standing with their friends at a bus stop so I could have yelled “Remember to add bleach to the laundry when you get home so we can get the stains out of your underwear!”. I need to pay it forward. I may adopt.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Football

2011-09-16T15:37:00.003-04:00

After a nice start to the weekend (LSU -3.5), I am hoping for the best as I try not to overreact to the first week of NFL and NCAA action. It’s not so easy to do. After watching Pittsburgh get fucking destroyed by Baltimore, every sports talk radio show has jumped to the conclusion it is time for the Steelers to rebuild, and the Ravens are an unstoppable force of nature. Why, the Ravens just might be the best team since the 1985 Chicago Bears. It is also logical to assume the Steelers may never score an offensive touchdown again, and their best available option may be to shut the franchise down. I would think condos would do well on that riverfront location where the stadium currently sits.

Last week Iowa State beat arch rival Iowa in an overtime game that lasted about as long as the first Gulf War, and may have left roughly the same amount of casualties. They say that the pig farmers go to Iowa. The pigs go to Iowa State. I don’t know if this is true, but I do know teams have letdowns going on the road after a game with their interstate rival. While ESPN shows college football as giant programs battling each other in a gladiatorial contest of wills, it’s actually a bunch of 20 year old dumbfucks playing each other. These are jock kids concerned with having intercourse with that girl from their Intro to World Geography class, where is the location of the keg party, and if their roommate ate the last Hot Pocket from the freezer. They haven’t learned about the week to week grind of a football season. This week Iowa State goes out to the East Coast to play U Conn in the Hood. Take UConn -4.

I am not sure why my alma mater Kent State can never seem to get a football team together. The only things most people care about in this part of the country are football, drinking beer, and watching football while they drink beer. Yet somehow Kent always blows. They have sent some of the most explosive players to the NFL in the last few years (The Steeler’s Harrison, Josh Cribbs on the Browns, a couple DBs, etc). Do they win games? Nah. They suck every year. This year they have a new coach that has installed a “winning attitude”. It’s worked out pretty well. They are 0-2, including a really embarrassing (even for Kent) loss to University of Louisiana at Lafayette in last week’s home opener. Now they go on the road to play Kansas State, who is a legitimate football program as I recall. Kansas State is 6-2 ATS in their last eight vs the MAC. I love Kansas State -17 despite squeaking by Eastern KY last week 10-7. This is Kent. They don’t win, much less on the road far from home. Note, I would probably take DeVry +6.5 against Kent.

I have liked the Chargers ever since I watched them lose a playoff game in a San Diego bar filled with friendly good looking people in sky blue jerseys. When the game was over, everyone finished their amazing local microbrew and went to the beach, the game out of their minds. Ah, to be on that beach instead of a NE Ohio chicken wing bar where people beat their dogs after a Browns loss… The Chargers have probably the best team in the AFC, but their special teams are so horrible they missed the playoffs last year. They addressed that issue and promptly allowed an opening kickoff return touchdown to the Vikings. “Hey Brah, don’t sweat it! We’ll totally come back. Let’s go get sushi!” The Chargers will probably lose to New England, but they’ll lose by a field goal. Take San Diego +7.

Can Atlanta be as bad as they looked last week? Can Philly be as good? I think there is too much hype on Philadelphia and not enough on Atlanta. I am taking Atlanta money line over the Eagles and hope to dodge the “Michael Vick returns to Atlanta” sports media onslaught. If the line moves to +3, take the points.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Retirement

2011-09-13T17:41:00.003-04:00

It becomes apparent that this whole “Golden Age of Retirement” scam is a fixed game. My understanding of the social contract is this. You work hard from your early twenties though your mid sixties. You scrimp, save, and don’t allow yourself to enjoy things TODAY as you are saving The FUTURE. According to the 401k website at work and most TV commercials I see, you will then be somewhat grey but still athletic, and paired up with an equally trim and attractive age appropriate woman. You will probably be walking holding hands on a beach, or maybe having a picnic. You will be laughing, or maybe just a smug smile that says “I gave an investment house all my capital, and they placed it in a variety of securities that have allowed me to have the world by the balls. Look at what a smug fuck I am with my implied beachfront property and frisky wife.” That would be great if that happened.

I am fairly certain it will play out like this. The only ones that make money on the 401K will be the company that holds my money hostage until age 65. I will get roughly what I put in over the last 40 odd years if I somehow miraculously make it to retirement age prior to an ugly death. Phantom fees and unexplained market lapses will erode the rest of the “profit” leaving me a slim monthly budget. Social Security will be a trivia answer on Jeopardy (which will still be broadcast, and I will now in my sixties be oddly fascinated by).

If I make that Golden Age, the pharmaceutical companies will have conspired with Corporate Medicine to have me hooked up on a variety of expensive pills that actually cost pennies to make by Burmese Slave Boys whipped by Oppressive Dictator Slave Lords. I will have no insurance as I am no longer working, so my beachfront smug smile money will only go far enough for me to sit in a one bedroom apartment that smells vaguely like socks while watching TV and waiting for death. God forbid if I linger too long after retirement age, as I will have to empty out my coffers completely to get shoved into an “assisted living” home. The “assisted living” is just me in a ranch style cheap hotel attended to by a variety of high school dropouts that may or may not flip me over on my soiled mattress so I don’t get bed sores. I will stare vacantly ahead, and wish I was walking along a particular stretch of California coastline with the breeze in my face.

Do I really have another 25 years of labor? Another 25 years of listening to people fearfully discussing the Economy like Chicken Little? Six more presidential elections to have to watch coverage on and pretend I care? Should I just empty out the fund, buy a Porsche and start writing stupid songs 24/7? Do the Daredevils have a benefits package? Has Leo been stashing money away for a rainy day? God, I hope so.

I think the real answer is to stop screwing around with the 401K scam, and just get down to real gambling. The bookies at least hit you with fees you understand. $11 to win $10. Winner take all. If I took everything in my savings, and just let it ride on one game this weekend, and hit… What if you didn’t have to work again? Is it worth the risk? What if you just took a year’s salary? If you hit, you take next year off. It is an interesting idea, isn’t it? And to think I had Oakland +145 last night. Damn.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Virgin

2011-09-10T10:18:00.004-04:00

There is no better conversation than when someone tells you about how they lost their virginity. While most teen movies have revealed that moment for men to either be with a) someone's really hot Mom, b) the previously unattainable head cheerleader, or c) the mousy nice girl that takes off her glasses to reveal she is actually Megan Fox. "You know, after Missy took off those ugly prescription glasses, I couldn't help but notice that she is as attractive as a Brazilian bikini model. Maybe I will take her to Prom!" I don't know anyone that had any of those scenarios happen. I do read about guys having sex with the Hot Mom once in awhile. That's usually in the newspaper and the Mom is going to jail as a "sexual predator". Ah, life was so much simpler in the 80s, wasn't it? What was once considered "hot" is now a "crime". Potato potahto, eh?

Things just aren't like the movies, are they? It's always nice and clean and sweet. In the movies there is usually a touching moment of reflection before the actual deed, perhaps inside a cozy sleeping bag near a picturesque lake. The boy will lovingly stroke the hair of his True Love and say something thoughtful and romantic, and then this moment of connection of body and soul commences like a rainbow arching over a meadow. This is not the experience most people have I am guessing. Allow me to present the composite I have created from my not very extensive interviews on this subject...

"My three buddies and I bought a 12 pack of Mickey's Big Mouth with my older brother's fake ID. We were sitting around Larry's basement drinking the twelve and listening to Iron Maiden pre-gaming for the party at Karen Stevens house. There was this girl from my third period English class who said she was going to go, and I figured I could probably hook up with her since I had heard she blew this Senior at a graduation party last year. Well, we finish the Mickey's and by this point we're all shitfaced. We show up at the party, and then I'm hanging out in the kitchen doing shots of Rumpleman's with the Kraus Brothers. I don't really remember the next couple hours all that well, but somehow I am hanging out with Tammi. You remember that girl that used to work at the old Dairy Queen by the Putt Putt course? Right, the one with the brother in jail! OK, so we're hanging out in the basement watching MTV, and by this time everybody is pretty much cleared out. We started to make out, and we're dry humping on the futon downstairs. Her breath tasted like cigarettes really bad, and something like Fritos. One thing leads to another, and I have her jeans pulled down, and I'm trying to cram my fingers down her panties. She's rubbing me really hard outside of my jeans, and it's like I have fucking friction burn at this point. She asks me if I have a condom, and I pull out that one I had in my wallet that I got in the men's room of USA Skates two years ago. I couldn't put it on for a really long time, and then Tammi helped me. It was pretty embarrassing. I put it inside her, and I came in 26 seconds. Afterwards we talked awkwardly for a little bit, and I wasn't sure where to put the used condom, so I dropped it behind the couch. I told her I was going to call her, and then I left. I didn't call her that weekend, and then when I saw her in the cafeteria at school on Monday it was really weird."

You can change the details, but this is the basic story almost everyone tells. The more horrible the story, the more I like it. Having a terrible location makes it perfect. You know it's going to be awful, so why not go all the way and have sex in an abandoned warehouse? Your dad's garage maybe? The back of a Toyota Tercel is always good. Nothing says romance like having Night Ranger playing on the cassette deck while you attempt to maneuver in a space roughly the size of a veal pen. I know a guy that lost his virginity to a girl named "Pop Bottle" Perishon, so named after an incident where she inserted a coke bottle in her vagina at a party. Allegedly. How great is that? It totally beats the Lake with the nice sleeping bag. Unless you are with The Hot Mom of course.

Gambling Opportunities: I really love the Arizona Cardinals this week as I am having a hard time seeing Cam Newton flying across the country and actually converting third downs. Maybe I'm off the mark, because the NFL is a total crapshoot, but rookie QBs don't win on the road. All the rubes betting in Vegas will remember how the Cardinals really sucked last year, but they'll forget that Kevin Kolb is there now, and appears to be a legit NFL QB. Take AZ -6.5.... The Cincinnati Bengals should be really horrible. Even for on the Bengals scale they'll be bad. However, I don't see the Cleveland Browns beating anyone by big scores this year. If that line moves to 7.5 by kickoff, I may actually take Cincinnati with the points. God help me.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Tent Sale

2011-08-24T09:28:00.003-04:00

I have a hard time understanding why the ubiquitous “Tent Sale” continues to be trotted out by local businesses. It must work I suppose, or why would they go to the trouble of renting a giant circus tent? Still, who are these Rubes that rocket out to strip plazas in search of “deals” under the tent? “Jesus Christ Margie! They’ve got a tent set up! Can you imagine the cornucopia of values under that fucker?” Since when did having a tent set up mean indescribable consumer values? Anytime I see a tent set up, I think about drunken camping trips, ill advised sexual advances, and barfing in the woods. I’m not thinking “dining room table”.

If you are in the market for a new living room set, does it make any sense whatsoever that you will get the best price/quality ratio because they dragged a sofa pit out of the back warehouse and placed in on the asphalt in front of the store? “Well, I like the look of that recliner mister, but let me ask you, how much would you be charging if we put that little baby under a tent outside in the searing sun? No thank you sir. I wasn’t born yesterday. I think I’ll just hold pat and see if you fellas put a tent up anytime soon.”

The power of The Tent cannot be denied. The Tent alone is a motherfucker of sales wonder. But let me ask you, what if we combined it with the monstrous drawing power of the inflatable Santa, dinosaur or bunny? Yes, behold the wonder of the giant balloon tethered to the roof of the store by some halfwit and his pot addled “helper”. It’s the DefCon4 of retail sales efforts. Can you imagine the juggernaut combination of the tent and inflatable Uncle Sam on the building roof? Cars must careen off the road as if drawn by a Super Magnet. The sound of screeching tires must be all you can hear for miles. “Holy sweet mother of Jesus! Take a left! Take a left! Can’t you see that inflatable robot on the roof? Right there! Right fucking there! By the tent! Get all of our money! Now! Now Godammit! These deals can’t last!”

I like to think of the guy that sells the inflatables to these businesses. They have quotas, inventory issues, and problems like anyone else. It’s a living. However, can you slink any further down the totem pole of business than to be hashing out an annual agreement that hinges on the availability of a Snowman? “Phil, look I’ll go to the mat for you on this thing, but you have to understand, there is NO WAY management will let me take our one snowman and place it here for two weeks in December when you don’t have an annual with us. I have had that thing locked in for six months, and it’s the end of August. You’re just a little late to the party. I’d give you the Santa, but that Alberta Clipper that rolled through here before New Year’s blew that fucker halfway to Buffalo. Replacement got all fucked up in that tsunami in Japan. But listen, we want your business… How about this? What if I give you the Elf for a week in December, spin you the Frankenstein for October, and guarantee… in writing… an Easter Bunny for a week in April. But I am going to need an annual commitment from you Phil. And I am going to need it today. There’s just no way to make it work otherwise.”

Let’s say you are a business owner. You’ve got the Yogi Bear swaying back and forth on the roof. You have dragged all your shitty merchandise nobody normally wants out into the elements under a rented tent that you have pounded into the parking lot. Is there anyplace to go from here? Can you possibly take it up another notch? I hesitate to even suggest it, but can you imagine the pure glory of adding the Radio Remote? How could anyone resist the allure of spinning the Q96 Prize Wheel and possibly winning such amazing prizes as a squirt bottle, station bumper sticker, tickets to a rib cookoff, or maybe even a station T-shirt with so many sponsor logos you wouldn’t even wash your car with it? You can engage in small talk with the sullen college interns that man the booth, and enjoy a response of “He ain’t here.” if you inquire about the whereabouts of the station’s wacky morning DJ. Meanwhile a steady stream of Dexy’s Midnight Runners/Human League/Lady Gaga/Gin Blossoms will crackle through the station’s low budget sound system at frightening volume. It’s really the whole package.

Nurse the Hate: The Big One

2011-08-23T22:05:00.005-04:00

Having survived what I will now refer to in all future stories as "The Big One", I feel very confident about my future. Here in NE Ohio we were gently shaken by the earthquake that hit the entire East Coast today. It was sort of like being in a small boat tied to a dock on a nice Summer day. Let's all admit, it was kinda exciting. To have been trapped under 50 tons of rubble like in Haiti would not have been exciting, but a gentle rocking back and forth at work? Hey, it had to be better than this week's highlight thus far, singing "Happy Birthday" with all the other Rubes at the office to a work acquaintance while candles flickered on a sad little grocery store sheet cake. This afternoon everyone was all abuzz!

The best part of The Big One is sharing your exciting story with everyone else. "I was sitting at my desk after lunch, and it seemed like someone was rocking my cubicle back and forth. I thought it might have been Steve. Remember how he put tape all over my phone that one time? I felt kind of weird, and then I wondered if maybe that tuna salad at Subway was bad, like maybe it gave me food poisoning? So then I figured I would have been barfing if it was bad, but I wasn't, so I wondered if this is what getting a stroke feels like. Next thing I know, someone says it's an earthquake, and some people are freaking out." That is pretty much everyone's story in Ohio.

The key is to turn it into something. You want to make yourself seem more heroic. Make future potential employers see something special in you. I know this guy that was in a hurricane, and he has told the story 4 of the 5 times I have been around him. The last time I heard it, he was some kind of cross between Superman and Bruce Willis in "Die Hard". Despite the fact he was safe and secure in basically a bomb shelter, he tells it like he was on top of a mast of a clipper ship on the high seas. It's great. That guy knew how to take a natural event and run with it. He's got a job now that pays him so much money you'd blush if I told you how much. People look at him as a Leader. Hell, I was excited the first time I heard the story. He had told it so often, it was "his thing". He was really good at telling it too. It's all about practice. If he had been here today, his version of The Big One would have been like this...

"I wasn't concerned when the building first started to shake. I am well versed in the various fault lines in North America, and so I was not caught by surprise at all. Most of the others fled the building. I stayed behind. It wasn't a conscious decision I made, but just something I automatically did. I didn't think. How could I? I didn't have time. And there was too much at stake. But I am no hero. The real heroes are the ones that stayed behind with me, under my leadership. This ragtag skeleton crew and I did what we had to do. I made decisions on the fly, with everyone pulling their weight and then some. But it wasn't for us. We have a public to serve. Those people out there waiting to see "Price Is Right". Who would be there for them, the silent victims? As the plaster fell around our heads... live wires crackling loose like angry cobras... alarms sounding... women crying... I did what anyone would do really. I made sure that those Burger King commercials aired as scheduled and the station stayed on the air. Most of you here in the room would have done the same in that position. Well, some of you would have wept and soiled yourselves like school children with the sheer fright of it."

I really have to take this opportunity and manufacture something. When Lady Luck deals you a hand like this, you have to be ALL IN.

Nurse the Hate: Jim Thome Redux

2011-08-16T22:05:00.005-04:00

As expected, a spate of articles have come out after Thome's 600th home run talking about how he has "done it the right way" and how he's a great all around guy. Cleveland sports writer Terry Pluto: "Jim Thome's Better Than A Good Story, He's A Good Man". Plain Dealer sports writer Bill Livingston offered up the irrefutable evidence of Thome's family being "big". My Aunt is "big", but she also doesn't get paid for athletics, you know what I mean? I don't doubt Thome's a great all around guy. I do doubt he did it "the right way". Seriously, you expect me to believe that he was the only Super Performer of his era not to do steroids? Is that right? This is the same guy that came up with Albert Belle and Manny Ramirez, but the secret creams and jells of the franchise were only shared with those guys? Ssshhhh.... Keep it quiet! Here comes Jimmy!

If Jim Thome wasn't a big likeable white lug, the mainstream media would be crawling up in his ass asking some tough questions. Has anyone even asked? Has anyone but me looked at these pictures? Thome's biggest home run years were from age 30-35. That isn't the way it works. The only guys to hit more home runs than him after age 30 were Aaron, Ruth and Mays. Oh yeah, and Barry Bonds and Rafael Palmiero. After Thome on the Home Runs After Age 30 list? McGwire and Sosa. Let's recap, shall we? The Big Three of All Time. Four Steroid Users from The Steroid Era. And Jim Thome. Nothing to look at here people! Let's all move along.

"It irritates the hell out of me that they bring [steroids] up with Jimmy," said Mike Hargrove. "He has never been mentioned as using it. I was around him every day [from 1993-99] during the season, and he never had the mood swings, the change of complexion or other signs." Of course, that's if you buy into the idea that the teams who had invested tens of millions into their players didn't take the trouble to check into what their guys were doing. I know the Giants would have put a stop to Bonds, his 79 home runs, and massive post season revenues had they only had an inkling of foul play! I know the Cubs also would have stopped those cash registers at Wrigley from ringing had they known that formerly spindly Sammy Sosa was on the juice. A team can tell if a guy has a degenerative condition in his shoulder, but they don't notice 40 extra pounds of muscle. Sure. Makes sense.

Take a look at those pictures. You tell me what was going on.

Baseball wants to move past all of this ugliness. The last thing anyone wants is more questions about how all this was allowed to continue for so long. You notice how the Bonds and Clemens trials quietly got swept under the rug? No one is going to say shit about Thome. His timing, like on those 3-1 fastballs, was perfect.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Golf

2011-08-15T22:34:00.003-04:00

Last week I attended the PGA Championship at the Atlanta Country Club. For the uninitiated, this is one of the “majors” in the PGA golf season. All of the big name players are there, and a whole slew of other dudes you have never heard of even if you watch too much ESPN. The real action is off the course however, as an event like this brings out every Old Money/Nouveau Riche Southerner in a 400 mile radius. Expensive sports cars displayed by perky girls in tight clothes beckon from air conditioned tents. The merchandise tent is roughly the size of a Dick’s Sporting Goods Superstore with PGA Championship logos on 45 different hats, 65 different golf shirts, signed course lithographs, wine glasses, pint glasses, golf bags, shoes, balls, tees, arc welding equipment, decorative burial urns, and pretty much anything else you can imagine. Corporate schmoozing is an art form as everything has been paid for via company expense accounts. It’s a crowd of thousands that looks like they fell out of a J. Crew catalogue. Every guy is walking around like he has the world by the balls, and frankly, he probably does. Tastefully dressed blond Southern Girls sashay around the VIP tents, dodging overfed middle managers with donkey dick sized cigars, looking for CEOs and The Holy Grail... an actual PGA Tour pro. It’s a real scene.

The PGA is serious business. It is well run, as extremely well educated and well heeled men trip over themselves to be a “Hole Marshall” and shush other well heeled men with too many Mich Ultras in their belly by the Seventh Green. These are serious men doing serious things. Ah, to be so close to Tiger Woods that you could make some sort of crack about a Waffle House waitress… It’s exciting. (Side note, I was so close to Tiger I could have whispered something terrible to him, and he would have heard it. He also could break me in two. That guy is fucking ripped. Someone check him for steroids already. Or have the Detroit Lions sign him as a nickleback.)

No one is allowed to use their phone on the course, lest these heroes be distracted while playing. As has been written before by everyone else, if the Duke point guard can hit a free throw while 20,000 people scream insulting things about his scrotum, I would think Phil Mickelson can deal with a camera phone as he hits a drive. But this is a gentleman’s game, and decorum must be observed. It is what separates us from the beasts. And separates us from those that serve us our Michelob Ultras in the VIP tent.

The golf culture has always been odd to me. It’s like it is exempt from all other social norms. For example, what other activity could you participate in during work hours like that and not be immediately fired with complete dishonor? It is no problem whatsoever for a sales guy to take out someone loosely considered a “customer” and spend 5 hours knocking a ball around while knocking back beers. “We’re not dicking around in a golf cart! We are building relationships!” However, what if that same sales guy went to his management and said, “Hey Terry, I am going to have Jim and Steve from Consolidated Logistics over to my brother’s basement this afternoon. We’re going to smoke some weed, listen to Social Distortion CDs and play some Madden 2011. Late.” That guy would be driving home with the shit in his desk in a box. But isn’t it really the exact same thing?

It all goes back to The White Middle Manager Conspiracy. Suburban white guys love Michelob Ultra, eating at Friday’s, college football, giant wristwatches, Jennifer Anniston, sport utility vehicles, Bruce Springsteen, Cabo San Lucas, and believing they could have intercourse with their regular waitress at their favorite corporate sports bar. But there is nothing these men love more than golf. Nothing. Golf has it all. There’s tons of gear to buy and compare with their buddies gear. It also gives these men their only opportunity to escape from their dreary lives and be by themselves for a few hours. It also doesn’t hurt that it is played in generally beautiful outdoor surroundings in great weather. Best of all, it is cost prohibitive so others below them in the social strata can’t come crash their party. I didn’t see a lot of saggy jeans and sideways ball caps at the Atlanta Country Club last week… No friend, at the Atlanta Country Club, we are all The Same. This is The Secret to golf. If you golf and can afford the country club dues, you are in The Club. You are One of Us.

I should have taken up golf years ago. I know the lingo. Maybe I can bluff my way through by just talking a good game, and never having to actually go out for hours on end and knock balls into various woods and bodies of water. The problem for me always comes into play that even dressed in J. Crew finest, I am quickly flushed out as Not One of Us. But still, I went to the gift shop. It was hot out there, and the sun was brutal. I got myself a $35 logo hat. I referred to a sand trap as “the beach”. I called a golf club “a stick”. I called Phil Mickelson “Lefty”. Maybe I can pull this thing off. Maybe now, in the right light, I can pass as one of The Boys. Who wants to go play Firestone?

Nurse the Hate: The Butterfly Effect

2011-08-04T16:54:00.009-04:00

Your life is defined by choices you make. It's not always the big ones along the lines of "Do I move to New Mexico?" or "Should I go to College or pursue my dream of being a Rodeo Clown?". Sometimes it is the little ones you make. The seemingly minor events that follow you forever. Sometimes you walk out of a door at just the right time and meet your Dream Girl. Sometimes you walk out in front of a bus. The butterfly wings that flap in Japan and create a wave that will drop you headfirst into the sand in San Diego. I present you this little story...

In the early days of bitter struggle in the band, traveling on the road was more exciting. There was a time when we were all single guys trying to meet girls (and generally failing in spectacular fashion). Leo, like seemingly all drummers in rock not named Dave Grohl, would often swim along the nightscape like a catfish. He would usually find the real damaged girls, the lost souls, and the outright mentally ill. This is the curse of having "partying" as your top priority for the evening. When you poke your head up at 3am and see who's left at the ball, it's not a pretty picture.

One night we were in Chicago, probably after a disasterous show as they all seem to be for us in Chicago. I recall Leo meeting a girl at the club that seemed really loud and super fucked up. It was either Lounge Ax or the Empty Bottle. This is not necessarily odd at a club like that at 2:15 in the morning. The decision to bring her with the rest of the band to a mutual friend's apartment? This is an example of "short term thinking". For example, what if you spend another ten minutes with this gal and suddenly realize, "Hey! She isn't cute and interesting like I thought she was initially. Why, in fact, she might be seriously mentally ill and she appears to be annoying everyone in the general area." Now you've got a situation where you have to get her out of there. Do you hustle her out the door with cab fare? (Drummers would never do this as they never have any money, and they would never even think of this very viable option in the first place. The brain gets damaged hitting stuff so close to your head. Never mind all the weed.) Are you going to drive her home in the band van? Sure, good luck finding the apartment again, much less running the gauntlet and not getting arrested driving around all fucked up after your 8 hours of "partying". Yep, you've got yourself in a real pickle there...

Leo handled himself like any classy drummer would in that situation. Knowing the rest of the band was trying to sleep, much less his gracious hosts, he knew he had to get this young lady out of the area. She just couldn't seem to be quiet as she was either fueled up on dangerous street drugs (probably not) or was heavily manic with all the unexpected male attention (likely). What can a guy do? Of course, he took her out to the romantic confines of our 1991 Ford Clubwagon passenger van, and "made love". OK. That may not be accurate. He banged her? Probably closer to the truth. God knows what went on out there.

We drove out of town the next morning to our next show, and I don't remember what happened to her. I think we threw her in a cab after she annoyed the shit out of us after she and Leo came back in the apartment the next morning. I definitely remember the people that had the apartment asking "Who is this????". At a certain point we packed up our shit and left. We got rid of her somehow. Just like that, she was out of our life. Poof. A new day was here and the past was the past. We'd never see her again.

An interesting thing happened. We finished that run of shows and we went back to Ohio. A little time passed. A month later we went to Springfield Il, to a club most noteworthy as having a back staircase Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins had fallen down years earlier. It was probably the inability to stay nimble in pointy boots and leather pants. No matter. The stairs were our problem now. So, here we were in Springfield for the first time. As we set up, the sound guy said, "Which one of you is Leo?". Leo raised his hand, clearly surprised that someone in a town we had never played before knew who he was. "You're the guy that fucked Crazy Patty!". Word had traveled.

It started to happen everywhere. The Star Bar in Atlanta. Mabel's in Champaign. Wolfy's in Nashville. Guys coming up to Leo while tapping their buddies shoulders saying, "That's the guy! That's the guy! The guy that fucked Crazy Patty!". He had become some sort of legend, and I'd like to remind you, this is all Pre-Internet. People had to be so excited by the news that Leo had hooked up with this legendarily insane woman that they immediately picked up the phone to tell everyone they knew. And then they called everyone they knew. And so on and so on and so on. It's kind of amazing. This woman was such a legend that people all across the nation knew who she was on either reputation or perhaps a more discreet previous sexual encounter they themselves had. Who can say?

Today I was on the phone with a club booking agent. He asked me, "Is that guy still in the band that fucked Crazy Patty?". Seriously, that had to be 17 years ago, and people are still asking. One moment of weakness almost two decades ago... A seemingly small action that ripples across time... The butterfly effect, I'm tellin' ya...

Nurse the Hate: Hate Bret Favre

2011-07-29T16:22:00.003-04:00

As all the NFL franchises scurry around like roaches exposed to houselights trying to sign players, I have but one thought as I listen to all the analysis and speculation. Will there be one August in my lifetime when I won’t hear pundits discuss the likelihood and potential teams interested in Bret Favre’s Triumphant Return? It seems impossible doesn’t it? Every time this year we hear about drought, the price of gasoline, Back-To-School sales, and how Team X may want to make a run at Bret Favre to possibly take them “over the top” in the upcoming NFL season.

Sure, there is a track record of Favre hanging out at his ranch driving around on his tractor (or whatever the fuck he does all Summer), and then slyly ducking training camp to sign at the last minute. He then arrives in prime time to bask in the glow of the media lights as ESPN anchors ejaculate on the red carpet as His Highness strides confidently past. He certainly is more compelling a story than where Kyle Orton is going to land, this I grant you. However, haven’t we all finally had enough?

I seem to recall Bret Favre looking every day of his 41 years last year. When he was healthy, he still looked damn good. Of course, he was healthy for about 23 minutes. I don’t know too many 41 year old dudes that could bounce back from having three 385 pound monsters that run 4.7 40 yard dashes crash into them. The problem with playing QB in the NFL isn’t the flak you catch for sending pictures of your ween to young female interns. The problem is you don’t heal like you did when you were 23 and some animal snaps your shoulder. Steroids work pretty great, but not that great. If they did, our pal Joe Montana would still be slinging it for the Chiefs instead of selling borderline orthopedic shoes like Shape-Ups.

I think we can all finally agree that even if Favre wants to make a Lazurus like return to the NFL, the expiration date is (finally) past. The question remains, when will ESPN realize it?

Nurse the Hate: Nautica Stage

2011-07-27T17:51:00.007-04:00

Tuesday night I went to Nautica Pavilion and saw The Decemberists play for what could be their last time in the area, and certainly the last time they will play Nautica. As Cleveland continues its quest for the winning cosmetic makeover to trick tourists into the city for gambling, the venue will vanish to make space for an aquarium. Why an aquarium? Ya gotta have something for the kids to do while Dad is losing the mortgage payment on a Hard Eight at the craps table! "Daddy look! A stingray! Hey, why is Mommy crying?"

The venue is a great place to see someone, with the stage backing up to the Cuyahoga River. It maintains an intimate feel for the performance space, but holds a good crowd while doing so. As night fell on the city and the Decemberists played “The Mariner’s Revenge”, a giant iron ore ship went by as if on cue. Those boats are so big, it’s like a giant building is floating by seemingly only an extended reach away. What a great prop for that song. The band will remember that forever I’ll bet. A couple quick notes on the show: 1) The band is really good, but I wish they sang more songs about whaling. You could always use more whale songs. 2) There were a lot of bookish dudes with beards there. The concert would have been a bad place to score narcotics, but probably a great place to score a used copy of a David Foster Wallace novel.

I’m moderately sad to see the venue go. While in The Cowslingers, I played that stage a few times. The most noteworthy was when we opened for the Brian Setzer Orchestra. Setzer is, of course, the founder and lead guitarist of the Stray Cats. If you made a flow chart of living rockabilly musicians, Setzer is probably comfortably placed at the top. Note, I said “living”, so you tattoo pompadour guys don’t type me death threats about disrespecting Johnny Cash/Eddie Cochran/Gene Vincent.

We were really pumped to play that show as not only was Setzer one of Bobby Latina’s guitar idols, it was not everyday we had the opportunity to do our thing in front of 3500-4000 or so people. We would get to play a 35 minute set. Not a long time as at the time we were playing about 125 shows a year averaging 90 minutes per show. We were crisp as only a road tested band can be. I remember going to sleep that night with a combination of nervousness about playing in front of the biggest crowd we had ever played to, and the excitement of knowing we were prepared and could knock it out of the park. Sure we were nowhere close to the league of musicianship of Setzer's band, but we did have our moments. Self delusion can be a powerful tool.

I woke up about three hours later and threw up. I threw up again about 30 minutes later. And again. And again. It wasn’t nerves. It was the stomach flu or food poisoning.

Every thirty minutes for the next 12 hours I violently threw up. When I was empty, I threw up bile and had the dry heaves. I couldn’t hold down water. Instead of getting ready for a really big day, I laid in bed feeling absolutely horrible as the clock ticked towards showtime. I was as sick as I had ever been, and show time was in five hours. I dragged myself in the shower, and shampooed my hair as I dry heaved. It was grim. I made the decision of eating a few crackers to build some kind of base. You know when right after you’ve thrown up, you feel pretty good? It’s that illusionary oasis of “well, now that the poison has been expelled from my body, I’ll continue on with my life”. I figured it was my only chance. I was weak and dehydrated, hoping anything would work.

I drove down I-90 to go to Ken’s house and the band van, and I pulled over about ten minutes into the ride. If you wondered who that guy was in the cowboy shirt barfing up crackers from the driver’s side door on I-90 on that hot July day was, it was me. I then pulled into a church parking lot at Ken’s exit ten minutes later, and barfed again in their parking lot. It was about 85 degrees. I was freezing cold with sweat streaming down my face. It was also about three hours until show time.

I finally got to the van, crawled into the bench seat with a plastic bag, and hoped I wouldn’t throw up again on the 20 minute drive to the venue. Leo and Ken didn’t seem too concerned as we bumped and swayed down the local roads to Nautica’s artist entrance. I was sort of moaning and curled into a fetal position. Death would have been preferable to that hot summer van ride.

The main difference between playing Nautica and playing a clubs we were used to like The Continental in New York is that at Nautica there is a whole crew of grizzled professional guys grabbing all of your gear and putting it where it needs to go. At The Continental there were grizzled guys that looked at you with disinterest and/or scorn when you asked where you put your stuff. We felt like real Big Boys having jaded disinterested dudes carry our shitty equipment to the stage, I'll tell you that. We had arrived. Welcome to the top Kid. I didn’t have to really do anything but crawl out of the van and slither on top of a picnic table backstage and hope I died.

About 15 minutes later, Brian Setzer walked by and looked at me like I was a heroin addict. I was splayed out on top of the picnic table, looking bleak. I looked at him with my heavy lids and groaned out a greeting. He looked at me, and said hello with as much enthusiasm as he could fake. Hell, that was more than I would have done under the circumstances. I would have stayed as far away from me as possible for fear of catching spinal meningitis or some kind of exotic burrowing skin worm.

I unsteadily walked out into the blazing sun for sound check, and surprisingly did not vomit again. The stage was huge to us. We were used to playing tiny little stages like the Empty Glass or the Star Bar. This was another world entirely. Bobby and Ken seemed like they were set up in another zip code. As it was usually my responsibility to do interesting stupid shit on stage, I realized I was going to have to move around more than I wanted to up there. To be honest, walking up the metal staircase to the stage was more movement than I wanted to do at that point. I wasn’t in any shape to do David Lee Roth karate kicks.

I managed to sip on a bottle of water before it was showtime. I was still really quesy, and my fear was I would throw up in front of thousands of people in a few minutes. Even if I stopped the show and explained, "I know many of you think I am freaking out due to stage fright, let me assure you that I have the stomach flu. Maybe it's food poisoning. That's not important. What is important is to not leave your seats while we mop up this bile. Sit back and get ready for some rock and roll. Thank you. Um, is that area mopped up yet?" Even if you play that scenario out in your head to "best possible outcome", it's not really something you are hoping comes to fruition.

At 8 sharp, I walked out there into the setting sun with the rest of the band. I hardly remember the show itself at all. Bobby and Ken were like statues to either side of me. I tried to move around a little bit, but when I did I felt really shaky. Towards the very end, I remember some people seemed to like us. Most of them stared at us with a "when do we get to see the famous guy we bought a ticket for" look of boredom. It all happened really fast. Afterwards Brian Setzer was nice enough to seek us out and say how much he liked it. He was probably in his trailer and didn't see a note, but even to make the effort to give us the lip service was great. He didn't have to do that, and I really appreciated the gesture. I remember Bobby and I looking at each other after he left and saying "We just talked to Brian Setzer. Like normal guys. No way." Considering we had been playing music for about four or five years, and had absolutely no idea what we were doing, it was pretty awesome. We were excited just to be there. For God's sake, I used to watch his videos on MTV when I was in high school. You don't get to hang out with people like that. At that point, Brian Setzer wasn't real. He was more like a concept. It was like if Bugs Bunny or Marcia Brady stopped by to say hello.

We hung out backstage for awhile, and then I started to feel almost normal. We waited until the end of the show, put the gear in the van, and went home. Nautica was different to me after that night.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Heatwave

2011-07-22T15:02:00.004-04:00

It’s hot.

The best part of having severe weather like this recent heat wave is the local news coverage. However, unlike massive snowfalls, there really aren’t a lot of visuals you can throw up on the old TV screen. When you’ve shown one hillbilly family waving fans in their face in front of their bleak rental house, you’ve kind of seen it all. How many times can you look at some sweaty dope walking around a local festival saying such compelling things as “It’s really hot!”. It’s tough to make good TV out of, that’s for sure. To me it gets most exciting not on the first couple days of a heat wave, but on day three or so. Day one is a breathless recounting of stats. High temperatures. Heat indexes. Advisories. When you get to day three, the news department can’t just rehash the same old crap. They have to dig deep and try to get your attention with another angle on this heat thing.

An old tried and true one is the “cook the food item on pavement” gag. “It’s already 89 degrees out there, and Jim is going to place that egg on the car hood and see if it will actually cook!” It should be noted, they should probably do a dry run on this prior to airtime to make sure it actually does cook. Viewers will not be too excited by an egg slowly running off a car hood. A savvy news organization will show a shot of the reporter holding an egg, and then deftly cut to a close up of an egg frying in a pan, implying that it is so outside that you would fry up like a piece of bacon if you slipped onto the pavement. Why let reality get in the way of a good visual, you know?

One of the other keys is to appeal to safety by implying that not only is it hot, it’s somehow very dangerous for children. “With record breaking temperatures all over the viewing area, the National Weather Service has issued a heat warning. Is YOUR FAMILY at risk? Join us at six.” I don’t ever recall losing kids in my class to a heat wave when I was but a wee lad, and I doubt anyone else watching has either. However, parents are more overprotective than ever. They sure don’t want to be the ones at the bus stop on the first day of school one kid short. “Oh, no we only have two kids now. We lost Johnny on that heat wave. If only I had known about that heat warning, I never would have let him leave the air conditioned cocoon of our home. I can only blame myself.” (collapse into uncontrollable sobbing)

If the heat wave continues, the story angles get more and more suspect. Day 3. “With temperatures breaking records all over the North Coast, it’s the dog days of summer. Tune in at six to see how to best keep man’s best friend cool.” Day 4. “As this heat wave continues to roast the region, the National Weather Service has issued an ozone warning. Are you safe outside? Is your family safe? Join us at six for an exclusive report.” Day 5. “Record breaking temps have made Lake Erie a sea of lava. Will life continue? What does it mean for YOUR weekend? At six.” Day 6. “Tragedy strikes a local family as their six year old child dies from dehydration. At six, we’ll talk with local parents that want to extinguish the sun.”

Right now, we’re still in the “Beat the Heat” phase. That’s when all over town you see crap like, “Coming up, five ways the people of NE Ohio are beating the heat”. This usually turns out to be 1) staying in air conditioning 2) sitting in front of a fan 3) going for a swim 4) staying in the shade and 5) drinking cool liquids. Seriously, it’s like the newscasts are put together with the assumption that the viewers are all slightly more intelligent than your average sea mollusk. “Wait a minute! Honey, are you watching this? That fella on The News says we can cool off if we turn on the air conditioning and maybe whip up some lemonade!”

Eh, what are you going to do? Just like those morons you’ll run into today that will hit you with some “wacky” line like “Hey, hot enough out there for you?”, it’s all anyone wants to talk about. The problem is, there’s just not that much to say.

It’s hot.

Nurse the Hate: The Jim Thome Question

2011-07-19T11:34:00.009-04:00

This is Jim Thome's rookie card in 1994. Above that is Jim Thome in 1997.

Six hundred home runs is a magical number. Here’s who has hit 600 Home Runs legitimately. Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth, Willie Mays, and allegedly Ken Griffey Jr. These are legendary players that literally set the standard in the game of baseball. Meanwhile, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, and Alex Rodriguez all passed 600 home runs while juiced up out of their minds. Those guys would all have put up big stats on their own, but when they passed landmark numbers, baseball purists all gathered to put the dark clouds of suspicion around them. This makes what is going on regarding Jim Thome even more curious to me.

Jim Thome is now four home runs short of 600. I have not heard one word about how this guy went from a kinda stocky OK third baseman to a giant plow horse of a man in 26 minutes. Thome hit 25 home runs on the 1995 Indians World Series team as a starting third baseman. That’s really good output from your third baseman. A couple years later, a much larger Thome hit 40 home runs. Not a little bigger. Much, much larger. It’s easy to explain really. From 18-26 he probably didn’t know that working out would help him as a professional athlete. He probably hit the weights for the first time when he turned 26 and threw 40 pounds of muscle on. Maybe he changed his diet up and ate more protein. In fact, I was thinking about doing the same thing this summer.

The really interesting thing is when Thome was 30 through 35, he had his biggest home run outputs in his career hitting around 50 home runs annually. Huh? How did that happen? It's not like in the past 80 years prior to steroids, guys got a lot better when they turned 30. Hell, I sure didn't. So Thome had a bad back, didn’t re-sign with the Indians and promptly hit 255 more home runs. Good diet, exercise, and lots of stretching I’ll bet! Maybe mix in a little yoga. That statistical trend of numbers jumping at age 30 is exactly like Barry Bonds at pretty much the same time. The difference? Barry Bonds is a giant A-hole that hit 70 home runs while Thome "quietly" hit 50. Everyone hated Bonds too. If you made a poll of disliked people, I bet Bonds finishes ahead of people like Stalin, The OctoMom, Paris Hilton, and probably even that poor little innocent Casey Anthony girl that clearly didn’t have anything to do with her kid’s death.

Thome is almost universally regarded as a really great guy. Everybody loves him, especially the media. He’s polite, makes himself available for interviews, and has that “aw-shucks” Midwestern Roy Hobbs thing that baseball writers love. "Oh, that Jim Thome is good for the game of baseball!" He does always say the right thing, doesn't he? You can't find anyone bringing up the fact that Thome must have been taking Gorilla Adrenalin, Mexican Power Juice, HGH, and every kind of cream/clear/ointment available. I would think he's still got some magic powder working. Still, isn’t there one baseball writer out there willing to look into it? Shit, they tore Mark McGwire down and everyone loved watching him launch 500 foot bombs too.

When Thome gets to 600 and ESPN makes those "gosh darn ain't he a good ole boy" montages, remember these two pictures. If you rip down Bonds, McGwire, Sosa, Palmero, etc, you better get after Thome too. He ain't no Roy Hobbs.

Nurse the Hate: The Evan Johns Story

2011-07-15T10:39:00.005-04:00

This morning while driving, my iPod shuffled onto Evan Johns and the H-Bombs “Vacationtime” from the "Rolling Through The Night" record. This is a killer record I will always associate with a particular time and place. I spent the summer of 1987 living in the attic of a ramshackle rental house in Kent OH. I was subleasing my room from four guys that I can barely remember. I called one guy The Big Kahuna, and one guy was a really fucking hairy Greek guy ironically named “Harry”. We didn’t really talk to each other much, but we were cordial enough I suppose.

That summer was insanely hot, and living in the attic was not exactly the most desirable location. It was literally like a sauna up there. I had two fans attempting to move the air around, but nothing really cooled it off. When folks reference the air being so thick you can cut it, they must have been in that attic on a day in July. The house did have the benefit of being located within walking distance to all of our regular bars, and with that all of my deadbeat buddies that were spending their summer at their cushy family homes would come down on weekends.

The usual routine would be that these guys would start to filter into Kent around 7pm or so on Friday. We would hang out and “pregame” at our house, and get into various misadventures in the dingy campus bars in and around Kent afterwards. One of my friends liked to come down a little early so he could visit my neighbor. We’ll call her “Sue”. Now, when I say “visit” I mean have brisk sexual intercourse with Sue prior to knocking back 500 beers with his friends. Sue was a nice enough gal with shall we say “liberated” views on sexual congress. With the exception of myself, I believe every single person in my social orbit had engaged in some sort of depraved act with her in the previous 12 months. Some would call her a Bad Girl. My friends called her a Fun Girl.

One particular Friday my buddy came down around an hour earlier than everyone else. He slunk off to the neighbor’s house for his Friday business, but discovered Sue’s roommate home and not going anywhere. He was effectively jammed up. When faced with adversity, this guy did what he needed to though. He convinced Sue to come over to my place, where he figured he could find an area private enough to get to work. Now I have no idea any of this is going on when I emerge from the shower, and walk into my room with a towel wrapped around my waist. I was a little surprised to see my friend and Sue in my bed under the sheets rolling around, but no big deal, I’d get all gussied up for my night out around them. My buddy wanted me to split for awhile, but I maintained a position that if he could just wait for about 10 minutes, I would be out of there and he could soil my bed. (I’m a pretty good dude to live with.) I put Evan Johns on the turntable, and started my routine.

I attempted to dry my hair, and the action on the bed started to escalate. Sue started to moan as my buddy was fingering her under the sheet, her enormous breast exposed. “Hey man, I’m not leaving until I’m done.” His response was quick. “Well, I’m not stopping either.” Fine. I’ll play this little game of chicken. I looked around for my cleanest dirty shirt. There was more thrashing around on the bed. My friend mounted Sue from behind and started pounding her. Sue’s eyes were closed, and mouth open in a low moan as her enormous breasts swung back and forth. My buddy was now staring down at her as the slap slap slap of their skin tried to drown out an extremely badass Evan John guitar solo.

“Hey! You up there?” From the bottom of the staircase came the voice of the little brother of one of my other roommates. He was about 18, and started coming down to Kent without his older brother once he got a taste of what was going on at our shitty little house. He was a nice kid that was quiet and wasn’t much trouble. He hadn’t been around too much, but he was a quick study. We didn’t mind him hanging around, so he became a regular fixture that summer. “You up there?” I looked at the scene around me. It was literally a live sex show. OK. You want to fuck Sue right now? You think you are winning? Fine. Let's up the ante. I yelled down to Tim. “Yeah Tim. C’mon up.”

When Tim walked into the room, it took a second for his brain to process what was going on. I was standing in front of a mirror without a shirt. Meanwhile my other buddy was fucking Sue doggy style with great enthusiasm. Sue was clenching her eyes closed and breathing in fast little gasps, not noticing or caring Tim had walked in. “Hey Tim. What’s up?” My buddy lifted his head up, noticed Tim and said, “Hey man! What’s up?” Tim stood there for a moment, turned around without a word, and walked back down the stairs. It was more than his young head could process. Evan Johns blasted out of the speakers.

I played a show with Evan Johns in Austin Texas years later as a member of The Cowslingers. I told him the story, and how I always thought about it when I heard that “Rolling Through The Night” record. He threw his head back with a throaty laugh and said, “Har Har Har! That’s what vacationtime is all about!”.

Damn, that’s a good record.

Nurse the Hate: Hate UPS

2011-07-11T19:07:00.004-04:00

I was recently sent a notice from my good friends at UPS that they were sending me a shipment from a merchant I had wisely chosen to do business with, and no it was not the Milwaukee Brewers. Scrolling down to the bottom of the notice I found a peculiar legal attachment. "© 2010 United Parcel Service of America, Inc. UPS, the UPS brandmark, and the color brown are trademarks of United Parcel Service of America, Inc. All rights reserved."

Seriously? You can trademark the color brown? Can I go out and trademark "triangle"? "I'm sorry Sir, but I am going to have to hit you with a cease and desist. I appreciate the fact that you seem to be enjoying that slice of pizza, but from now on that food item will have to be cut exclusively into squares. Oh, and if you will please note this eviction notice, I am afraid that I am going to have to insist that we demolish your A-frame house. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I have trademarked the word and very idea of the triangle."

It doesn't seem possible that you can claim the rights to "brown", does it? Wouldn't that infer that you created the color? Perhaps those black and white film clips you see from the 1920s where people are moving rapidly in herky-jerk fashion are actually accurate. Maybe it wasn't until just recently that brown was invented by those folks over at UPS. I think I remember having a brown crayon when I was a kid, but it just might be that the mists of time have clouded my memories.

If brown did exist prior to UPS working their legal magic, wouldn't it also mean that someone would have had the rights prior to this? "In a major sponsorship deal, UPS has announced that it has purchased the color brown from General Electric for $200 billion dollars. A clearly excited UPS CEO Scott Davis said, "We look forward to generating billions of dollars in future revenue anytime anyone utters the word "brown" or attempts to describe any of our shipping materials in our trademarked terminology. This acquisition really made sense for the UPS brand." Many investors believe this is only the beginning for UPS, as they speculate the shipping giant may also make a play for The Sun and the idea of the Wheel."

I am now mortified about even uttering "brown" in my home for fear of litigation from the United Parcel Service of America. My "brown dress shoes" have become my "mahogany dress shoes". My brown belt is now my "sandalwood belt". I have a pair of boots which are now known only as "The Boots That Shall Not Be Named". I am not taking any chances here. These people must have deep pockets and an army of lawyers that would like nothing better to sue me into submission. It's UPS. They probably have a goon squad of short muscular men in homoerotic oddly short brown shorts and work boots that are just looking for an excuse to bust down my "dark tan" front door and pummel me with billy clubs.

I don't know what Brown can do for me. I am afraid to even ask.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Brewers Part 3

2011-07-05T10:34:00.003-04:00

From: Greg Miller
Date: Tue, Jul 5, 2011 at 10:33 AM
Subject: Fwd: Free US Ground Shipping over $49
To: diny.hurwitz@brewers.com

Diny,

I don't know what kind of sick little game you and the Milwaukee Brewers are playing with me. I tell you again and again that I don't want to buy a Casey McGehee jersey, but yet you continue to shove this gear down my throat. The issue isn't shipping costs. My pockets are mighty deep my friend. The issue is that I think Casey McGehee looks more than a little like that guy that played "Corky" on Life Goes On. Remember that show? What is that actor's name? Chris Burke maybe? Regardless, I am not going to spend $49 to get your gear undoubetdly made in Chinese slave labor camps at astronomical profit margins. For God's sake, have you people no shame? You built a retractable dome on your stadium while the rest of the City of Milwaukee slowly crumbles into dust. Ye Gods man!

Let me also note I am not interested in your $34.99 Tony Gwynn Jr. signed 8X10 photo. Have you people no shame? Hasn't that guy already failed to live up to expectations on the Dodgers, yet you still shill what must be an entire storage unit full of signed photos while he still wore Brewers gear? I'll tell you what. You give me $50, and I'll dump those quietly in the river under the cover of darkness next time I'm in Milwaukee. I'll weight them down too so the organization won't get any PR backlash just in case dozens of Tony Gwynn Jr. photos are spotted floating by the Bronze Fonz statue. Nobody needs to see shaggy Greenpeace operatives in inflatable rafts pulling Tony Gwynn Jr. photos out of duck's beaks...

I will admit that I admire the Brewers single handed determination to sell me crap I don't need or want. You guys are like friggin pitbulls. You are unthinking unfeeling sales machines. You people are the Great White Sharks of MLB marketing. You have but a single purpose to which you have dedicated your lives: Sell Greg Miller second rate Brewers clothing and bobbleheads. You are a much more worthy adversary than I bargained for, however, the madness must stop. Don't make me put Rickie Weeks, Doug Melvin, Jim Bathey, Robin Yount and maybe even Bob Uecker on wild ass Mexican discount drug email lists. For every crappy discount Brewers offer I get, I am firing back with a flurry of Russian Mail Order Bride emails.

Clearly, we have reached the Doomsday Scenario we both feared...

I remain,

Greg Miller

P.S. That "Cerveceros" jersey is kinda nice. That kills me to write that too.

P.P.S. Giants baby! Giants!

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Brewers 2

2011-07-02T14:07:00.005-04:00

Never doubt the power of a simple mailed letter friends. I will no longer be bombarded with offers to buy Rickie Weeks bobbleheads or to take 12% off a Corey Hart jersey. Those days are over. Today I bask in my triumph.

P.S. Diny?

-------------------------------------------------------

Mr. Miller,

Per your request, you have been removed from all Milwaukee Brewers email lists. If you do receive additional emails from us in the future, feel free to reach out to me directly.

Thank you for your patience.

Diny Hurwitz

Data Analyst
Milwaukee Brewers Baseball Club
Miller Park
One Brewers Way
Milwaukee, WI 53214
Phone: 414-902-4419
Diny.Hurwitz@brewers.com

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Brewers

2011-06-28T09:58:00.004-04:00

I can't stop getting spam from the fucking Milwaukee Brewers. The madness needs to stop. I decided to write a letter to the guy at the top...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jim Bathey
Vice President Consumer Marketing
Milwaukee Brewers
One Brewers Way
Milwaukee WI 53214

Jim,

I made a grave mistake this May I would like to tell you about. Foolishly, I purchased four (4) tickets to see your organization play my beloved San Francisco Giants on Memorial Day weekend at Miller Park. Through the technological marvel that is the World Wide Web (a.k.a. “the internet”), I was able to have the tickets sent to me via email. What a world of convenience “the internet” has given us. Why, just the other day I purchased a novel, downloaded a free song, and bought a rare Bordeaux all while sitting in my couch in a pair of torn army cargo shorts. It’s a wondrous age my friend, a wonderous age!

The problem is now I find myself on the Brewers Team Shop email list, and I am unable to get off of it. Sure, I followed the directions on five (5) separate occasions to “unsubscribe”, but this has failed to do the trick. I imagine that some young whippersnapper at MLB Advanced Media has dropped the ball. But what can you expect? The young man probably spent a fortune on an education in either Graphic Design, Information Systems, or maybe even the greatest waste of money, a Sports Marketing degree. He thought the world would be his oyster with that college degree I’ll bet. Next thing he knows he is sharing a 75 square foot apartment in Brooklyn with a man named “Horse” that he met on Craig’s List. Even if he can somehow fall asleep while Horse watches German S&M videos, it has to be hard to be vibrant and enthusiastic the next morning at work entering J.A. Happ video highlights on the MLB.com sites for $12 an hour. Why would this young man care about me? His spirit has already been broken.

While I feel for this young fella, ultimately it’s just not my problem. I just want to stop receiving emails every single morning asking me if I want to buy some Milwaukee Brewers crap. I don’t live in Milwaukee. I don’t like the Brewers. In fact, at this point when I receive a Brewers email, it makes me wish a cobra would bite Rickie Weeks in the eye. I laugh when I think about Prince Fielder (or Mo Vaughn 2) eating himself out of the National League in 18 months. I’m glad Gallardo can’t find the strike zone. It makes me happy that Manny Parra is a bust. I hate those stupid interns that race in those sausage costumes for the delight of the pasty doughy crowds at Miller Park. I’m sick of the whole thing.

So tell me my friend, how do I get off of this email list? What do I have to do to make this madness stop? Do I need to send the Brewers a never ending stream of offers to buy the various crap I can sign them up for? Cialis offers? Mexican Viagra? World War II relics? AOL subscriptions? Do we really need to engage in a war of spam? Who wins then? Who I ask you?

I hope you can finally remove me from this list, and this chapter of my life can finally be closed. When you have done so, please do me the courtesy of letting me know at cwsling@gmail.com .

Warmest Regards,

Greg Miller

Nurse the Hate: The Petting Zoo Story

2011-06-24T17:01:00.004-04:00

When I was a kid, I went to the Zoo with my grandparents and mother. I was little, probably about four or five. I never seemed to go to the Zoo unless my grandparents were around. As I reflect back to that time now, I realize that the main reason for that was to find some activity to do while also simultaneously keeping the grandparents out of the gin bottle until at least five. My grandfather was kind of an old school blowhard. I think my father had warned my mother that he would lose it if old Grandpa went on a four martini bender and analyzed all the ways my father was coming up short as a man. I was one of the ground troops in the war for relative sobriety at dinnertime. That led to walking miles and miles at the zoo. It's a perfect day for two elderly people and a pre-school kid. Good times.

I remember one time I was taken to the petting zoo where vindictive looking goats and disinterested looking sheep wandered around a smelly gravel pen. I was walked though a gate, and then my grandfather walked me over to the gumball style machine that spat out little food pellets into a cone. The idea was that kids like me would have a fun and educational time bonding with the animals while feeding them. What actually happened was I was swarmed by angry goats that were as tall as I was, each one nipping me trying to get more of the pellets. It was scary. These goats knew the score. Bully the kids, take the food, and move on until the next victim came through the gate.

You would think my grandfather, grandmother, and mother would have been concerned seeing a young boy overwhelmed by angry goats. This is not the way the Miller family worked, and I was left to survive as best I could with whatever hand fate dealt me. It's every man for himself in the Millers. I vividly recall looking into the eye of one of those nasty ass goats as he repeatedly rammed me with his horns in the shoulders, shoving me backwards with the force. Thinking quickly, I dropped all the pellets on the ground with the idea of running for the exit. It looked like I would have a chance until a few of the goats realized they were going to be left out of the banquet I had dropped, and zeroed in on me either out of hunger or just plain spite. I was getting smacked around on all sides as my grandparents and mother roared in laughter.

To put it in perspective, this would be like if you got caught by the bulls in Pomplona or the Plaza de toros en Madrid. Sure, now I could teach that goat a valuable lesson, but as a spindly little four year old, I was outmatched. Those things were heavier than I was, and coming from all sides. The laughter from my caring family wasn't much for the old morale either. That's when my grandfather bought more food pellets, and reached over the fence to hand them to me back in what had become The Octagon. The madness ratcheted up another notch or two, and I tried to fall back to the gate, dropping pellets in front of the angriest of the goats. It was my childhood Waterloo. It was a retreat filled with shame. I eventually got out, bruised head to toe.

Nurse the Hate: Hate BMX Man

2011-06-17T17:03:00.004-04:00

Maybe I am missing the boat on how fun those BMX bikes are, but every time I see a guy old enough to have facial hair pedal by on one I think, "What a loser." First of all, if you have a beard, you really should have a car. I mean, you don't see guys with mustaches on pogo sticks or Big Wheels, unless of course you are at Burning Man battling a massive dose of magic mushrooms. Even then, there is no reason to be on a children's bike. The pogo stick is probably the way to go if you are going "children's transportation". That's only if there is no Green Machine, but I digress...

Now I am not down on bikes. Far from it. Bike it up I say. Let's say you are a real slacker, or maybe idealistically "green". Fine. Have that bike as your primary transportation, but have one where you can sit and not have your knees around your head. The kind of bike where you can sit atop your little throne seat and fuck traffic up while wearing your special little bike pants and shoes. One that sits high enough so all can look upon your beret or backwards turned Euro Bike Hat. One where you can assume the Moral High Ground on the way to your $7.00 an hour bike messenger job or coffee barrista gig.

I don't know who these men, and let's be honest, they are men, are on these bikes. They are generally wearing giant jeans with very exciting stitching on the giant pockets. These are offset by the white wife beater shirt, or even better, the skinny white trash shirtless look. The smaller, paler, and less developed a poor white kid's chest happens to be is directly proportional to his likelihood to not be wearing a shirt while on a busy downtown intersection. Let's call this the "Insane Clown Posse" effect.

Where in the world can a skinny pale shirtless kid be riding a children's bike to in the middle of the afternoon in a business district of a medium sized American city? Is he going to see his broker to short some bank stock? Perhaps working on a merger and acquisition of a chemical company? Or maybe just looking to see if he can break into my car and steal something for meth money. It's really hard to say for certain.

The path to adulthood is fraught with many perils. There comes a certain time to say goodbye to your little trick bike, and maybe think to yourself "Hey, I look like a clown on this. I should get a job and buy some new pants that fit."

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Benefit

2011-06-10T11:51:00.006-04:00

Someone I work with asked me to attend a benefit dinner for a woman that was suffering from some unbelievably horrifying disease. I received the quick pitch as I walked by. "Greg, will you come to the benefit we are having on Saturday? Kathy is a friend of my sister's brother-in-law that had to have her leg amputated up to her butt cheek because of bone cancer. The doctors don't think they got it all either. It's really sad."

Now I am not a heartless beast. I agree that this is a terrible situation. I assume that this woman that had half of her ass chopped off is an all-around good egg. Conceptually I can get my arms around having a benefit for her. However, it is hard for me to attend a benefit for someone that I don't know personally, much less the person that invited me doesn't appear to even know either. Since there is a detachment here, can we take a closer look at this idea? Can we start to really think about this "benefit" idea with a cool distant head?

I assume that having your ass chopped off is expensive. The medical bills must be absolutely staggering. It has to be something along the lines of the gross national product of Ecuador. I think it cost me $892 to have someone give me sinus medicine this Spring. The ass chopping procedure has to be killer. Additionally, the Insurance Companies are probably fighting tooth and nail not to pay anything, and I like their odds against a woman that has cancer in her remaining bones. The stricken family probably isn't much help either. Do you think they are outfitted to deal with those hedgehogs on the phones at State Prudential Medical Trust Insurance? "Sorry ma'am, but this illness was pre-existing. What's that? Give you an example of a non pre-existing illness? I'm sorry. The connection just got bad. Hello? I can't hear you. Gotta run. Ta-ta." Those fuckers will grind you. So how do we pay for the medical bills? Let's put a show on at Spanky's Barn! We'll all cook up some food and get a band! Let's help this poor woman! Good intentions, bad probable ending.

The benefit was a home spun effort. Some sort of Lodge Hall was rented out. People chipped in and baked pans of lasagna. Someone cooked pork and cabbage or some shit like that. Keg beer and well liquor were served. Plastic plates and utensils were placed in front of the steam table. A horrible cover band played. The front man made awkward announcements. "We are so sorry to hear about Kathy having half of her ass chopped off, but let's all dance the Watusi!" In the end, $5000-$7000 was probably grossed, with a net of about $3800. What the fuck good is $3800 going to do against $782,000 of medical bills and the never ending "therapy" keeping the meter running until her demise in 2-6 months? It just seems like a colossal waste of time and energy to try and fix the financial situation.

Why not just get all of her close friends together, and have a "We Love Kathy" dinner? If Kathy is up to it, people she actually knows can pay homage to her while she is still able to appreciate how much others care for her. It would be a good way to get a circle of people together and connect for maybe the last time in that way. Why go through the mirage of trying to solve the medical bills? Write that shit off. You can NEVER pay for it. The family and loved ones have enough of a burden with her failing health than to worry about mammoth bills that can't be paid. Why hammer that point home with everyone they know trying to pull together with all their resources and then the result is to come up 97% short? If there was a truckload of money in Elks Halls and local rock bands, wouldn't you see a lot more sports cars drive in to load in gear at clubs as opposed to beat-to-shit cargo vans?

I don't know this woman, and me spending $50 on a plate of ziti in a gloomy Elks Hall isn't going to do her a bit of good. Does Kathy really need some stranger sipping a Bud Light in a plastic cup looking her over and swaying his head back and forth in the "isn't it a shame" gesture? If I had half my ass cut off, I wouldn't want to see some stranger trying to clumsily explain the six degrees of separation of why he/she is here to eat my neighbor's shitty three bean salad and slap me a fifty. The real "benefit" is to avoid that kind of awkward situation for Kathy. I'll give you $50 to get her friends together for strictly a good time though. Forget the bills. Leave all that behind for a night. That's a real "benefit".

Quick Note: I couldn't have been any happier to see LeBron James come up short again. As I have said for years, that guy can't win anything. Bring him on in Space Invaders, checkers, or poker. I will beat his ass in anything but basketball. (I wouldn't be fair for me to play him in hoops, or him to compete vs me in writing a stupid song. Let's keep it fair.) I feel so happy to see a guy that is an obvious dildo not have his schemes come through. Even better, the entire population now considers him as a guy that not only can't play in the clutch, but totally wilts away. Then he lets loose with that "tomorrow you are all losers but I am still me" rant? Awesome! Let's stop all that "He's just a kid" bullshit too. He is 26, and put a giant tattoo across his back of "Chosen One". He refers to himself as "King James". He considers himself above you because he can put a ball in a hoop. Doesn't it feel great to see that kind of guy take shit from all corners? I love it, and I hope he continues to humiliate himself for years to come.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Ohio State Football

2011-05-31T17:41:00.002-04:00

Well it certainly was a shock to see that Jim Tressel had to resign in shame. Who could have possibly seen that coming? I have long maintained that Ohio State is the most corrupt football program in the nation (see Nurse the Hate 3/24/2007), and may be more corrupt than the Mexican National Government. Yet, everyone ignored all the evidence right in front of their face. These guys have always been filthy, but throw a sweater vest on it, and it’s all wholesome good fun! It has been that way since the beginning. Seriously, how many classes do you think Maurice Clarett attended when OSU won the National Championship? A conversation that was never had at OSU: “Man, I hope the football team wins the Fiesta Bowl. I just don’t know if Maurice has his head in the game. With all the work we have been doing in HIST 770 in study group, I just don’t think football is a priority for him.”

I have no doubt in my mind that 95% of all NCAA Division I football is strictly a pay-to-play machine. A guy I knew that lived next door to Pete Johnson (ex-Buckeye and Pro Bowl RB for the Bengals) and said that Pete maintained he took a pay cut when he left OSU and went to the NFL. Heck, this was in the early 70s before every school had multi million dollar TV contracts to maximize. Can you imagine how much Terrell Pryor got paid to go to Ohio State? Where did the money come from to pay for that Nissan 300Z he drove to the Tressel resignation meeting in? He probably is pulling 20 hours a week in the library filing books, or maybe he washes dishes in the freshman cafeteria. Maybe he’s got a part time gig at Chipotle?

Why even single out Ohio State in this? Because they bungled the cover up, that’s why. Every single team is doing it. USC and Reggie Bush finally got busted when no one could offer a reasonable explanation on why his lower income family was living in a big house on the beach. The USC Football team parking lot had better cars than the Dallas Cowboys lot. Guys at Alabama, Auburn, Georgia, LSU, etc. have all recently said they got paid. They are ALL being paid in creative off the books ways. Can you imagine the nonsense going on at Miami Fl or Florida U? When I worked for the Browns Radio Network, the rumor was a Florida “student” the Browns drafted couldn’t even read. When that guy got busted for weed at a party, the word was that he couldn’t sign his name on the police paperwork so he made an “X” for his name. I don’t know if that is true, but I also haven’t read any novels from this guy either.

I went to Kent State in the Eighties, at that time proud owners of the worst Division I sports program in the country. We lost in everything. Nobody went to games. It didn’t matter. Still, they threw money at it like everyone else. The shooting guard was in my Anthropology class. He parked his shiny new 280Z illegally in a faculty spot almost in the lobby of the building. It was insane. It looked like a car dealer had abandoned a sports car on the sidewalk. This guy showed up once every couple of weeks in expensive clothes and looked perplexed. He somehow passed the class although I don't recall ever seeing him take a note. You think Terrell Pryor is sweating his Sociology final? Hell, I knew a girl that was a tutor at the University of Cincinnati during the Bob Huggins reign. It was a tough gig to help one of the basketball players study for his History of Western Civilization final when the kid couldn’t read.

Why not end the façade and just pay these guys? They are generating a kazillion dollars for the university in exchange for an “education”. Well, that would be a lousy trade even if they did go to class. Those “students” are employees of the university plain and simple. OSU generated $52 million from the football program last year. A degree from Ohio State will cost between $45,000 and $110,000. Seems to me everyone is getting rich except the young men that risk having their knees destroyed. How much would you pay Pryor for what he brings to the table for the $200 million he was part of generating in the four years he played? Seems to me, it would be more than a car, some weed, and tattoos. The whole thing is ridiculous. The players get paid what they can scam. The coach wears a sweater vest so he seems virtuous and legit. That’s probably what really pissed everyone off. That sense of righteousness that Tressel and OSU football lorded over everyone. That nonsense talk of “doing the right thing even when it was hard”.

Just like everywhere else, it only matters if you win or lose. Why keep pretending? Bring in some hardcore convicts like Pitt. I’m talking guys that aren’t even allowed to mingle with the regular student body because they are so violent, dangerous and unpredictable. Run it unflinchingly like an NFL team, cutting guys loose the second they become expendable. Wheel off the 19 year old with the broken back and cut him a check after you kick him out of the barbed wire encased “Football Housing” because he can’t walk. Let’s go for it! OH! IO!

Nurse the Hate: Hate Milwaukee?

2011-05-30T16:45:00.006-04:00

This weekend I went to Milwaukee to see my beloved Giants at Miller Park take on the kinda likable Brewers for a couple of games, and enjoy everything Milwaukee has to offer. Milwaukee gets sort of a bad rap out there, but after going there a few times, I have to say that it is a good weekend destination. Please note, I have no desire to "settle down" in Milwaukee as I have no need to eat significantly more sausage, put on 15-20 pounds, become even pastier, and endure even worse weather than NE Ohio. That being said, I can tell you the following things about Milwaukee.

1) The People of Milwaukee are very friendly. I got pretty lit up on Friday night when the Giants pulled one out of their ass and beat the Brewers 5-4 in the 9th. I was sitting in the club section, which is surprisingly far away from the field (see photo), and was one of three Giants fans in the entire stadium. When the team name is the Brewers, and they play at Miller Park, there is certainly ample corporate pressure for heavy drinking at $7.00 a pop. You would think being surrounded by husky drunks, I would have received threats or at least well timed shit talk with the way I was acting up, but no Sir. We all laughed it up, and overpaid for various Miller products being hustled in the stadium. One caveat... Avoid the stadium food at all costs as I ate a hot dog that was barely room temperature, but still looked like a major improvement over a stack of deep fried alleged sea creatures greasily sitting in orange heat lamps. Plan ahead. The stadium is set off from the city, and the good people of Milwaukee like to tailgate before games. I think they are going through the motions until the Packers start up again, but what do I know? It would be easy to blend in and drink comp shitty Miller brew if you are traveling on a budget.

2) Milwaukee has a brewing tradition. Unfortunately the tradition was in brewing Schlitz, Pabst and Miller. Only Miller remains, as the Schlitz and Pabst facilities have become trendy condos by the river. There are three microbrew places that bear consideration. Lakefront Brewing is outstanding. Their entire portfolio was excellent, with certain beers resonating a bit more with me than others. Gravitating towards our old friend the hop, I liked the Lakefront IPA. The Cream City Pale is nice as well, especially if you don't want the high alcohol of the IPA. They push the Riverwest Stein Beer, which is an Amber, but it's a bit malty for me. Snake Chaser Irish Stout is real nice, but hardly a summer beer. The brewery is in a large old industrial building with German beer hall style tables to serve people on the Friday Fish Fry handled by someone named Captain Rusty. I don't know who Captain Rusty is, but he sounds like someone that would shanghai young boys onto his filthy ship to service the crew until they could dispose of the body at sea. Or maybe he's just a guy that likes to cook fish...

Sprecher is just North of the city, and specializes in German takes on beer. Having drunk my way across Germany a half dozen times, I find Sprecher to miss a certain zing in their beer, but it is certainly better than having a Miller High Life. Avoid the tour if you can, as the thing never seems to end. They force you to do the tour before going to the tasting room, but in retrospect I just should have slunk off from the group and ditched them. If you have time, check out the beer at Stonefly as well. It is one of those bearded slacker breweries where the music is ironic and beers are wittily named. If those dudes stopped buying clothes at thrift stores and spent more time in the brewery, maybe their beer could move into the #2 position. Also, I had been to the Milwaukee Ale House on an earlier trip, but I just remembered it as like going to a Rock Bottom. It seemed like less of a serious brewery, and more like a place to have a wedding rehearsal dinner. Buyer beware.

3) You can go to the Harley Davidson Museum if you want to. I don't, but you might. There seemed to be plenty of guys in their fifties with really big guts that had their chunky wives in their "weekend jeans" on the back of their bikes. I think the guys walk around and look at old bikes and throw terminology around while their wives buy shit in the massive gift shop. Owning a Harley now is sort of what owning a sailboat was in the 1960s, isn't it? It's the new suburban version of buying into the fantasy of "freedom" and "individualism", when in reality it is just punching an entry ticket to go to chicken wing house Bike Nights and drink Coors Light draft out of plastic cups. I like bikers that have their bike as their exclusive mode of transportation, instead of one of four "toys" in their 4 car garage. Bikers should be named "Ace" or "Spider", not "Mr. Bradley".

4) I exclusively stay at the Pfister Hotel. A great old hotel with outstanding service, the Pfister is where all visiting sports teams seem to stay. The best part? It's really reasonable. The last two times I stayed there Rickie Weeks went up the elevator with me, Pat Burrell and Aubrey Huff sat next to me at breakfast, and I almost spilled a beer on Randy Wolf. I resisted the temptation to bitch out Huff, who is absolutely killing me in a high entry price NL only fantasy league. I don't know, maybe I should have reached out to him. Don't you think he would have responded to a guy ten years older than him saying, "Excuse me? Mr. Huff? Mr. Huff? Ummm, you know, you're on my fantasy team... yeah, I have had you for two years now and... Um.... Where are you going?" That would have been pretty cool. Or how about, "So, Aubrey... I love betting the games, and I was wondering if you had any insight how Sanchez's shoulder was feeling? If you want, I can get some action down for you too. Hey, where are you going?" It's always better to play it cool even though I was excited like a ten year old boy to sit next to my beloved Giants.

5) It is fun to sit right behind home plate. The second game I had tickets in row 2 behind the plate. It was a great game, but the Giants lost 3-2 on a suicide squeeze in the 9th. It was my second favorite Giants loss I have ever seen, as sitting that close to the plate is the best view possible. You are close enough to the players that when Pat Burrell is in the on deck circle, you can see him think "Why is that dude from breakfast sitting this close to me again. Should I get a restraining order?"

6) There's a place called the Squirrel Cage in Milwaukee that is one of my new favorite dive bars. It's a small room with a pool table in a residential neighborhood that hasn't changed in 30 years. There are ancient Pabst signs, an Andecker Beer sign, and stuffed squirrels behind the bar. The squirrels are so brazen from being fed by the bar owner that they come in the bar to eat peanuts, hence the bar name. Rich Heming bought the joint from his girlfriend's parents in 1977, and runs it like you stopped over at his house. He drives a cement truck during the day, and stays open until his patrons leave or he has to go to bed to go to work the next day. After talking to him a bit, he offered up two of his specialty shots he mixes up. The Milwaukee Slammer is some kind of sweet alcohol punch. It was pretty good. The Apple Pie however tasted just like a slice of really good pie but had Everclear in the mix. Allegedly some crazy friend of his cooks it up and brings it in a metal pot every once in awhile for him to sell. This is a great dive bar. Highly recommended.

Nurse the Hate: Happy Birthday Bob!

2011-05-24T18:16:00.003-04:00

It’s Bob Dylan’s 70th birthday today, and as fine a day as any to celebrate arguably America’s greatest artist as any other. I am hopeful that any one reading this has multiple releases of Dylan’s, as to not have these is really to admit that you don’t have any appreciation of music at all. I have heard the flimsy excuses about his vocals being weak, his arrangements loose, and lyrically impenetrable. That is all complete nonsense. His high points are the high points in what is even possible in the medium of rock music, and once you get indoctrinated, you realize he actually can sing. You just have to stick with it. Look, you didn’t like beer the first time you had it. You stuck that one out and now are quaffing 7.8% alcohol IPAs whereas when you were 17 you were happy with a wine cooler in a plastic jug. Man up on this Dylan thing.

Dylan’s discography at this point is immense and pretty daunting to the uninitiated. His career can be explained rather quickly. He was a folkie and got lumped into the protest singers in the early sixties. By the mid sixties he got a killer rock band and created “serious” rock music. No Dylan, there is no Beatles from “Beatles For Sale” on. Things got crazy with drugs and public interest and he pulled the plug. He had some trouble getting his footing back until the mid 70s when he released a few great albums around his divorce. Things got pretty dicey for a long while in the 1980s with records that can be described as “spotty” at best. Out of nowhere, he comes back with three monster new releases starting in 1997 and follows with amazing collections of unreleased material. So, in my opinion, what do you need to get a grasp of Mr. Dylan?

First of all, don’t get Greatest Hits collections. He’s not a “hits” guy. Each of his records has a distinctive feel, and a specific mood. You want the whole thing and digest it as one thing, the way he meant to release it. There are about 50 to choose from. So what are the ones you need immediately? This is an easy Top Ten, and I'm not breaking any new ground here. Still, if you don't have these, shame on you...

1) Highway 61 Revisited (1965)- This is perhaps the greatest rock record of all time. Every song is spot on and has depth. To not have this at your home is a sin.

2) Blood On the Tracks (1975)- This is the “divorce” album. If you have a bad breakup, this is something you may or may not want to listen to. When you think about R&B songs that chart about losing a woman, and then you listen to this, it becomes obvious what children wrote those R&B songs. This is for adults.

3) The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963)- This is his second release. Peter, Paul, and Mary were considered the leading folk artists. Then this kid releases a record with “Blowin In the Wind” and “Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” on it. Thanks for coming everyone else…

4) Bringing It All Back Home (1965)- Half is acoustic and half with a badass roadhouse band. Everything is great on it. He is in a league of his own, and it seemed impossible to top this. Then he released Highway 61 shortly afterwards.

5) Live 1966- This was the tour behind Bringing It All Back Home. The acoustic set is great, but the electric set is maybe the most punk rock thing ever recorded. Pissed off English folkies boo him mercilessly, and he just crushes them with one great song after another with The Band backing him up. Best live recording ever?

6) Love and Theft (2001)- This is considered the second of his “trilogy” of comeback records. For me, this is the best. He lost whatever voice he had, so he just shifts into a blues croak and makes it all work. Mick Jagger is sixty jumping around in spandex bike shorts. Bob Dylan walks out on stage like a Southern gentleman from a period piece movie.

7) John Wesley Harding (1967)- A curious quiet little record that becomes more complex every time you spend time with it. There are no wasted words, and just feels concise. Most have a three verse model to them.

8) Time Out of Mind (1997)- A murky dark record that seems to dwell on impending death, it is shocking it came from the same guy that had released “Down in the Groove” and “Under the Red Sky” recently.

9) Desire (1976)- This is a departure in sound with a gypsy feel to it thanks to the violin all over it. There is exotic warm weather climate imagery, and some monster songs as Bob continues to play with word tense and cubism. This sounds like a loose and fun recording of some pretty serious material.

10) The Basement Tapes (1975)- Made when Bob pulled the plug, this is just him recording songs for fun in the basement with the Band. Um, this sounds a little better than any band practice tapes I was ever part of… Their throwaway songs became American songbook standards.

One of the breaks I got was to have the same birthday as Bob Dylan. I always feel bad when I hear someone say, “Oh I share a birthday with Fred Gwynn!” or "Robby Benson has my birthday.". It’s so much cooler to be able to drop Dylan. Dylan is as great as it gets, and even to have a flimsy association like a birthday is nice. I have listened to all these releases above a million times, and I never tire of them. There is always something new right below the surface if you pay attention. If I really get after it and Bob is still doing his thing next year, I’ll give you an even better list. “Great songs on dicey Bob Dylan records” Ah, but since this is 70 for Bob, let’s focus strictly on the high points…

Happy Birthday Bob. Thanks for the great music. And thanks for “Shot of Love” too.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the End of the World

2011-05-19T12:08:00.007-04:00

The good news is that Rapture is supposed to happen this Saturday. The bad news is that I just don't have a thing to wear! This thing really crept up on me. For those of you not in the know, kooky Christian radio host Harold Camping says rapture will take place on May 21st. For the uninitiated, that means that people that have earned a place in the inner circle (with generous monetary donations to Harold Camping no doubt) will shed their physical bodies and be transported into eternal bliss. Camping says 200 million people or 3% of the World's population will be raptured, leaving folks like you and definitely me on the "outside looking in". We'll be left with a period of time in which I would imagine the term "lawless" will have a new meaning. The true end of the world will occur 5 months later, on Oct 21st. This will be especially inconvenient as it is in the middle of football season, and the Daredevils already have gigs booked on Halloween weekend.

I suppose the move is to really play it safe and have your bases covered on this thing. For me, this means I will be withdrawing all of my 401k money tomorrow afternoon and buying a staggering amount of legal and illegal intoxicants, some heavy weapons for that nasty five month End of the World panic, and the finest cases of Bordeaux and Burgundy I can find on short notice. As we are going to be looking at "Drink Now" vintages of Bordeaux, I think I will concentrate on the 1982, 1989, 1990, and probably some select 1995s. I'll take whatever good Burgundy I can find. I suppose one can't be too picky when it is the actual End of the World and all.

After I see some folks actually rising up to the heavens, I will immediately go into "satisfy all urges" mode. This will probably become very unpleasant to certain people around me, especially those unarmed and unwilling to become involved in deviant sexual scenarios I construct while under the influence of elephant tranquilizers and gorilla testosterone. Since all of us left are the ones not invited to the Big Afterlife Party, we better live it up for the next five months, you know what I am saying? Loosen up a little. I'm not that unattractive, am I? Ladies, who do you ultimately want to spend End Times with, some dude freaking out with no good wine or a man with a stockpile of the only things that matter (i.e. Guns, Liquor, and Ideas)? I'm starting to look better all the time, aren't I?

Now I must stress if I go into this Party Like A Mad Ape mode and this thing doesn't go off, there are going to be plenty of apologies I am going to have to make. "I am so sorry I tried to make you have a three way with me and a mountain goat at gunpoint. Look, I thought it was the end of the world, and I saw the goat over there and thought, you know, if I don't do this thing now, how am I ever going to know what that was like... I know, I know... I shouldn't have laughed when you were crying and pleading, but I thought, "if you just go with it" you'd like it. Boy, do I look back at this weekend with some regrets... Well, anyway, this is very uncomfortable for all of us. Please accept this bundt cake and I just want to say I am really sincerely sorry, and hope we can still be good neighbors!"

Now if I do get in, which is looking very good thanks to the generous check I just sent to my new good friend Harold Camping, I expect to be enjoying some very serious Raptacular Good Times this weekend. I have always believed that in heaven you get your dogs back, so I'll be giving a few of my old bassets a walk along a stretch of road that looks like Northern California in my own personal heaven dream I have every week or so. There's a nice breeze and everything is the way it should be there. Heaven must be pretty cool, no? Lots of good restaurants with open tables I'll bet. I would think heaven has some pretty good bands too, although I do have some concerns that the acts that do well up there tend to skew Christian rock. I can probably pretend I am into Stryper and Reliant K. Why make waves?

Still, I have some concerns about this weekend. It's really about my own competitive nature. I have to say that if this thing goes off as scheduled, and I see certain people lifted to the heavens while I'm left behind, I will be bummed. For example, won't you be pissed if you are at a party on Saturday and everyone but you and the host's creepy Brother-In-Law are gone? You'll be standing there with a bunch of empty clothes going, "So, what was your name again? Jim? You just got out of jail again, right? Well with everyone else gone, you want to take Steve's Jaguar and go out for some chicken? The keys are probably in the pockets over there. No, no it's OK. Take his wallet too. I don't think it's considered stealing anymore. Look man, what's the difference now? You're out of the game!"

I will definitely call everyone I know and find out who got the call to The Show. I'll be sitting on my deck drinking my fancy wine, all pissed off, talking on my cell. "I can't believe Suzy got in. Seriously. Did I ever tell you what she did at Prom? How do you Hail Mary that kinda shit away? And don't even get me started about Kurt. Dude had six DUIs, and he got in? What did I do wrong? I never broke six of the ten commandments, and let's face it, one of the four I did break could have gone either way in a court of law. This is just total bullshit man. Hey, you want to come over? I got a case of 1995 Chateau Lafite and a mountain goat."

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Bus Driver

2011-05-09T22:34:00.004-04:00

Each year at this time the frequency of mailbox destruction and lawn turfing in my neighborhood goes up substantially. Having been a bit of a young punk myself, I have accepted these small acts of vandalism visited upon me as contrition for past sins. How can you blame these little ruffians? I remember a time when Summer Vacation stood out in front of you as a never ending blank canvas. At last you would be delivered from the hell that is public secondary education, and have three months of nothing but possibility in front of you. It was summer. Anything could happen. Anything. That was when three months seemed like 2 years. When you were on summer vacation in 5th grade in June, it seemed incomprehensible that August would even happen. Friday seemed like it was never going to get here, so why would 6th grade? The joy at being so close to that freedom always led us, as boys, to destroy things as a way to pay homage to the excitement within.

It was in 5th grade when on our last day of school, we decided to egg the bus that dropped off the kids from the snotty Catholic school about 20 minutes after us each day. That bus driver was a guy that was always in a bad mood, and had yelled at us about fifty times over the course of the year for such sins as standing too close to the road, throwing a nerf football too close to the bus, and looking at him cross eyed. In retrospect, the disheveled bus driver was either a raging alcoholic or dangerously unhinged Vietnam vet. Being violent and having a short fuse is probably a bad combination as an elementary school bus driver. Yes, the kids probably stay in line, but if you are on edge all the time, driving fifty jacked up kids around town while stopping every fifteen feet can't be the best environment. I'm thinking night security guard or clerical work in a library would be a better match, but this comes from the clarity of afterthought.

My neighborhood consisted of the same kind of kids yours probably did. Myself and another guy were the ringleaders. Two other kids were followers through and through, nervously agreeing to whatever half baked plans we had conjured up. These two guys are probably middle managers in some shitty corporation nodding their heads and saying "yes" right now to whatever stupid plan that has recently been devised at Corporate HQ. Filling out the group were two other kids, two years younger and regarded as lesser beings due to their lack of seniority. If this was the military, we would send them in first to a dangerous situation, and refer to them as "collateral damage" when things went bad. They had no say in anything, and were expected to blindly follow orders, which they always did.

The plan to egg the bus was discussed at length the day before, and sketched out like a commando raid. We had recently watched all the war movies of the time like "Kelly's Heroes" and "Guns of Navarone", and understood basic platoon strategy like fields of fire and flanking. We picked our ambush spot carefully. We knew that we had to stay a great distance from our own houses to throw The Authorities off the trail when this operation blew up. In reality, this location turned out to be three houses away from the area we all hung out, but in 5th grade that seemed like a pretty far distance. The spot we chose was where the bus made a stop and let out a girl we all hated (for reasons that remain unclear to me now as they did then). Directly across the street from the stop was a lot that was a new home construction site, with giant mounds of dirt to provide cover. On the driver's side was a house with a perfectly placed playhouse near the road, where one particularly brave soul would launch the first shot. If the bus stopped where it usually did, we would be able to place the bus in a crossfire of eggs and water balloons.

Our final day of public school was a half day, while the Catholic School finished two days after us. Their bus would be on time and heading straight into the biggest ambush any of us had ever dreamed of. The combination of glee on the Last Day of School and fear about our mission made time a fluid thing. We would go though with our plan for certain. The die had been cast. There was no turning back, no backing out. It was bigger than us now. We went home with sweaty palms and nervous energy, each of us responsible for bringing various supplies to the rally point at the construction site. I remember the day was warm, and my mother not asking why I had a hooded sweatshirt with giant pockets on. Had she checked the refrigerator, she certainly would have noticed a dozen eggs missing as well. My mother was many things, but observant was not one of them.

We gathered by the vacant lot and waited for the bus. We were all giddy, with no responsibilities, on the first moments of summer vacation. We were sky high on adrenalin. We went over the plan again and again. Robert, one of the younger kids, would be the first shot. He would emerge from the cover of the playhouse, and toss a water balloon into the open driver's window. Our thinking was that the driver would be so enraged, he would open the bus door as he had so many times that school year to chase Robert, and leave the bus a sitting duck. The rest of us would pound eggs and water balloons into the bus and its open passenger windows, pelting the snotty kids inside. We must have had three dozen eggs and a half dozen water balloons. After using our ammo, we would disappear into the brush and make our way to the rally point at the railroad tracks, gone like ghosts.

When we saw the bus approach, I called out for everyone to take their positions. We all hid down into our cover, breath coming in short fast puffs. It's funny to think about now, as we obviously could have just stood there and waited for the bus and nailed it, but when you are a kid, you assume it is totally obvious you have a devious little scheme afoot. I remember looking to my right and seeing one of the follower kids getting ready to lose it. With his face pressed into the dirt mound, he was acting like an extra in All Quiet On The Western Front, trying to gather his courage to go over the trench into No Man's Land in WWI France. "Wait... wait... wait..."

The bus stopped, and Robert made a throw as good as Joe Montana, his water balloon effortlessly gliding through the open driver's window and soaking the driver. The bus driver dude was super pissed about it too, as he let loose with a stream of profanity that included words I didn't know the meaning of yet. The school kids in the bus started to yell, as this was maybe the most exciting thing to happen on a drive home since that aforementioned nerf football controversy a few months back. The driver opened the bus door, and stomped out into the street. He was about halfway out of the bus when my buddy yelled "Fire!" and we all popped up from our hiding places. It took a few seconds for the driver to realize this wasn't just a lone gunman, but rather a well coordinated guerrilla attack of shocking ferocity.

I remember time slowing down as I rifled egg after egg into the side of the bus and into the windows. There is one image that has always stuck with me, of a girl who had her head hanging out the window screaming. I placed an egg right on the corner of the window frame by her head, and the contents of the egg sprayed her across the face while she continued to scream out in shock. Her face was shiny with egg and her mouth formed a perfect "O".

All of us performed with valor that day, executing our mission flawlessly, until Bruce went completely rogue to my right flank. Out of nowhere, he abandoned cover and ran towards the stunned bus driver. At point blank range he hit the driver with two eggs, one after the other. Out of ammo, he fell back with the rest of us into the brush, leaving the high pitched screams of the kids behind. Moments later we heard the bus lurch into motion, the gears changing aggressively, the clutch on the old bus complaining angrily. Then it was gone...

We waited a moment and worked back to the street. We had done it! Damn it, we had really done it! All of us were screaming at each other, recapping what had just happened, telling our individual battle stories. There isn't a much bigger high for a 12 year old. Here it was, literally the first hours of vacation, and we had already done something legendary. It was probably because we were all talking so excitedly that we didn't notice the obvious high pitched revving of an old empty school bus feverishly barrelling into our neighborhood. Yes, the bus driver was back and he was pissed.

We retreated into the woods like panicked schoolboys, probably because we were in fact, panicked schoolboys. The bus driver stopped, and got out of the bus screaming about how he "knew where all of us little motherfuckers lived and he was going to get every last one of us if it was the last thing he ever did". I believed him. I still do. That guy was crazy. We hid down in the brush like rabbits, shaking with fear. Eventually he drove off, grinding the gears in protest. The Follower kids started to freak, sure their parents would be alerted somehow, and started making waffling rhetoric about giving up the rest of us if they were called in for questioning. We tried to talk them down, and am fairly sure made some threats of physical violence if they "went rat". For some reason the driver never followed up, and we got away with it. It was an amazing day.

You don't get to feel that way as an adult very often. I've felt something close for only fleeting moments, just long enough to stir a memory of what used to be possible in simpler times. I don't know if I ever really felt that combination of excitement, joy, and freedom quite the same way again as I did that afternoon. Maybe one day I will recapture it.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Bin Laden

2011-05-03T18:50:00.005-04:00

After a mere ten years the US military finally found Bin Laden, not in a faraway cave but rather in a McMansion in a suburb of one of Pakistan's major cities. I think everyone was excited that he finally was brought to vigilante justice just like a Die Hard movie. Of course, one has to wonder how our good friends in Pakistan couldn't seem to find him when he was in a giant house with dudes walking around with automatic weapons. "Well my friends, I don't know where he could be. Let's go check those caves again! Oh that enormous house over there? I'm not really sure who lives there. No matter. Let's take another look at those caves." Pakistan is like that popular mean girl at the Cool Kids lunch table that is really nice to your face, but then when you walk away she says something terrible about you and her friends all laugh. She may write something sweet in your yearbook, but you know she says you're a shitbag after a few foamers at the graduation party. We need to talk to some of the other kids at the Cool Lunch Table and start the excommunication of the Pakis to the Dork Table. While we may suffer with instability in 7-11 franchises, I think we will all get used to seeing less bushy mustaches on cashiers rather quickly.

While this was undoubtedly a triumphant moment for the country to finally find Bin Laden and eliminate him, I couldn't help but cringe when I saw the footage of various groups of people chanting "USA! USA! USA!" while dancing around. It reminded me of those guys in the NFL that celebrate wildly after a QB sack in the first quarter. Act like you have been there before for God's sake. I wouldn't do a sack dance after Terminix came in and killed a roach in my house, so perhaps that behavior may be a bit over the top. For example, at Ohio State a bunch of students jumped into that pond on campus splashing water just like before the Michigan game. I don't know if that pre-football game tradition is necessarily the best way to note our Special Forces assassinated the mastermind of a terror plot that killed thousands, you know? "Dude! Bin Laden is dead! Let's crush a twelve pack, jump in the pond, and see if we can bang a few Sorority chicks."

You know how pissed off you get when you see a bunch of Arab guys screaming at television cameras burning American flags? For the most part, these are small mobs assembled for the benefit of TV cameras like a studio audience. They don't represent the majority of their country, but are the bunch of Middle Eastern Mooks that like to get worked up about whatever they get worked up about. Most people are like ourselves and want to go home, relax, and not get hassled by Mooks. This holds true in Egypt, Libya, London, and Ft Wayne Indiana. However, now when people like you and me from across the planet watch TV, they will see those Mooks in the OSU pond screaming "USA! USA! USA!", and think "Those guys look like assholes." You know what? They're not necessarily wrong.

It's a watershed event in history. Clearly, the "good guys" finally got their win. I think it also took about 17 minutes before the conspiracy theorists and political radio honks started up. In the last day I have heard 1) Bin Laden is still alive as this is a hoax to win the next election. 2) They won't release a picture because they took him prisoner and have him in detention somewhere super secret. 3) George Bush was actually the mastermind of this whole plan. 4) Obama is taking too much credit. 5) This is somehow tied into the fact there never actually was a Moon landing.

Do you think it was like this 50 years ago? Were people as cynical back then? "Hey man, D-Day never actually happened man. That whole thing was a movie made by Hitler. He and Stalin and FDR dreamed that whole shit up to corner the oil market and run One World Government. Seriously man. Did you ever see an actual picture of Hitler dead? Even if you did, it would have been totally photo shopped man. Wake up. It's all a big show meant to keep your eye of the ball. Those dudes are all still alive with Walt Disney somewhere off the coast of Brazil. Seriously man." The media aftermath and talk radio conspiracy kookiness is going to be absolutely brutal. Get ready.

I'm glad Bin Laden was finally killed. I'm sorry it took so long. It's a somber moment to remember a tragic event and its consequences, not a "High Five America Fuck Yeah!" moment. As a wise person once said, "Ding Dong the witch is dead."

Nurse the Hate: Hate The News

2011-04-27T06:19:00.005-04:00

* There was recently a Bill introduced in Ohio that would allow gun owners to bring concealed weapons into bars. Well, that certainly seems like a good idea. Why not combine the good times of tequila and the power of a 9mm pistol? It is incomprehensible to me how much juice the NRA has in this country. The "right to bear arms" thing in the Constitution was not referring to guys packing heat at BW-3 in case "somebody starts talking shit about me". And please don't even start that moronic "if they start to ban owning military grade assault weapons, next thing you know they won't allow me my rifle to go turkey huntin' with Grandpap" argument. No one wants to stop anyone from shooting turkeys. The goal is to make sure that the guy with the terrible tribal band tattoo and goatee doesn't start to wave an Uzi around at the bar after 17 draft beers to impress everyone with what a Big Man he is. I can't think of any situation at a bar that needs to have a gun introduced into it. Except maybe if the band at the club starts to play "Mustang Sally".

* You have a pretty good idea how popular the NFL is when all anyone can talk about is the NFL draft, and yet the entire season may not even happen. My favorite part of the draft is listening to Mel Kiper make proclamations with the assurance of a Greek God, yet he has even less idea of what he is talking about than most NFL executives. That dude is such a False God that if you look online for past proclamations you will find the record has been expunged. Seriously, I challenge you to find his past predictions. It's easy to always be an expert if you aren't held accountable for anything. I don't know if he has some hacker bully police out there or what, but there is no past with Mel Kiper. I did find a blog where someone had tacked an old "Big Board" from 2008 that told me that fat kid QB Brian Brohm from Louisville was "a polished passer in the Jim Kelly mold" and worthy of the #1 pick. If you waited it out until the #8 pick, you could have grabbed QB Andre' Woodson from KY, "big and mobile with a rocket arm". I think that guy just detailed my car. Nice fella. Too bad football didn't go as planned. Should've paid more attention in class I guess. None of these guys know anything. They are making educated guesses.

* The 2010-11 season NBA Playoffs have started, and they are expected to be completed in June of 2013. Even the first round are never ending seven game series with games happening every so often according to the whims of the TV schedule. It's hard to get all worked up about. It was nice to see LeBron James miss another clutch shot at the buzzer to lose to the Sixers last weekend. Seriously, will that guy ever actually win anything? If I was sitting at a poker table across from LeBron James, I am ALL IN. I could be sitting on a pair of threes, and he would come back with Jack high. I am so much more competitive than that guy, I know I could beat him in anything (with the exception of one-on-one basketball). You name it. Checkers, fishing, Scrabble, bowling, Battleship... Can you imagine the facial expressions he would make when I sunk his Battleship? It would be that combination of grief and a woman being in labor he likes to use so much with refs. I wonder if he uses a mouthguard while playing Battleship? I don't know. I do know that I can beat him in anything he chooses because he is, at the core, a loser.

* I wish there was more coverage on this Royal Wedding. I just don't feel as I have enough information. Is there any way we could devote even more media coverage? Four Networks broadcasting live just won't do it. I do understand though. For a certain kind of person, this is like a Super Bowl/World Series/Zeppelin Reunion Concert/handjob all rolled into one. I would imagine that if you are very excited about things like Dancing With the Stars, American Idol and ponies, this is the event for you. I hate weddings, so I am having a tough time getting excited about a wedding between two people I don't know in a country very far away whose residents seem to be comprised mostly of confrontational pasty drunks with horrible teeth. I suppose the Fairy Tale aspect of a wedding with no budgetary constraints is appealing to ladies that spend their entire lives believing they are Princesses that will have their Special Day too. However it can only lead to disappointment to compare the extravagance that will be on display with their future wedding of baked ziti in a foil tin, plastic ware, a DJ from "Soundtastic Entertainment Inc.", shiny men's rental tuxedo shoes, and their ex-roommate hooking up with "that guy from work" in the VFW Hall men's room stall. Look at it for what it is- a very well done tourist event.

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Lottery

2011-04-23T18:19:00.007-04:00

It has become increasingly apparent that there is no way to possibly stop working and actually enjoy any leisure in this modern American Economic Machine we have collectively built. While I have been a good boy and saved a percentage of my monthly income in my 401k, the only people that actually make any money are the ones that serve as "administrators" of the fund. Fees chip away at any real gains, while you still are the victim of perilous swings up and down in the markets which are being manipulated by Captains of Industry. The game is rigged. That fact is unavoidable. Your junior broker has been told by their upper management to place all their small fish like you in a stock or fund so the price will inflate. Then the firm's Big Fish can whisk the carpet out from underneath you at great profit when they sell out at the predetermined price. You are left with the loss, or modest gain, which is of course further cannibalized by the incomprehensible fees and "convenience charges". It's a fool's game.

Let's just say that you could somehow trip into a series of big wins. Let's say that you could get a nice little nest egg together. You could never just walk away. Not when there is iPhone 4 to buy. Or iPhone 5. Or 6. I spend something like $200 a month on sophisticated communications that ultimately boil down to there being several ways I can learn that Pete "likes" bacon on Facebook or Bruno is "hanging at Starbucks at 5th and St Clair". I may also receive a text message saying "you suck" from any one of a bunch of so called friends of mine. On the rare instance when someone uses their phone like an actual phone, they are usually killing time in an airport or long drive, and I am expected to entertain them much in the way radio DJs used to fill that role. Tell me something funny Funnyman. Is there really a reason for any of this? Is this technology actually making my life any better? Probably not, but yet here I am with my Verizon bill and seriously considering buying my third phone in the last 12 months. It all boils down to this: I have to keep earning so I can keep buying the stuff that helps me to earn so I can keep buying stuff. It's dizzying.

I either have to unplug from the society, which seems inconvenient, or get enough money together where I can jump off the gerbil wheel. It's obvious. The only real hope is winning the lottery. I have now resigned myself to understand that I need a 1 in 32 million shot to come in if I hope to ever get off of this consumer rollercoaster gone mad. The odds seem long, sure, but it's not impossible. You just have to believe and visualize it happening. Isn't that what sports psychologists say?

I think the real key in being a lottery winner is to set the tone early at the press conference. Most lottery winners are stupid hillbillies that have no idea what to do with the money once they get it. They will piss it away in a fever of spending on cigarette boats, monster trucks, garish houses with the interior design qualities of rap stars, and doomed business enterprise. They stand at the podium with their ceremonial over sized checks and smile goofily at their dumb luck of getting $322 million dollars. What are you going to do with the money? "Geez, I don't know, but I am quitting work tomorrow and buy a monster truck!" This is all wrong. Here's how you handle the press conference.

"Ladies and gentleman of the press, thank you for coming. I want to thank you all for being here to share in my good fortune at winning $322 million dollars in the Powerball lottery. I have pissed away thousands in income chasing this dream, and to see it finally realized gives me a chance to finally stand triumphantly above my detractors. You people are now nothing to me.

I would also like to announce I will not be quitting my job. Instead I have bought the business lock, stock, and barrel and would like to announce to everyone that I will be closing it immediately. I will be shutting it down for good, as we served no public good and most of the former employees there have not a shred of human decency. I will shutter the building and have it raised by demolitions experts by 5pm this afternoon. Good riddance.

Regarding the rest of the money... I will be placing most of it into three TOR-M1 9M330 mobile surface to air missile systems which I will be placing on my property in the Majestic Lakes subdivision. I have become increasingly concerned about the possibility of the airspace above my home being compromised, and I now have the capital necessary to confront this problem head on. This should provide me, at last, with some well needed peace of mind. I will now retire to my compound to finish work on my manifesto. Thank you all for coming. Good day to you."

So I face this Monday like most of you, head down and shoulders slumped. I am trying to resist the allure of iPhone 7, but it's hard. So very hard. Meanwhile, clutched in my sweaty hand is the lottery ticket. My last hope of getting out. My last hope of finishing the manifesto.

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Zoo

2011-04-18T16:41:00.003-04:00

I went to the Zoo last week. Alas, it wasn’t a pleasure trip, but strictly business. I like the Zoo. Who doesn’t? I wished I could have spent the afternoon strolling around watching lions sleep and orangutans throw feces around, but I was in the business of business conducting business with fellow business people. Heck, I even had dress shoes on. I was serious.

The weathered subcompact car sat pointed diagonally across three of the short term parking spaces at the Zoo. The woman stood about 10 feet away from the open passenger side window and spoke in an animated fashion to the unseen driver of the car. The woman was in her mid twenties, slightly overweight, and had that Appalachian/Eastern European genetic makeup that is so typical of Cleveland’s near Westside. She was pale and tired looking. She looked resigned to a future of single motherhood, long hours, poor wages, and unfulfilled dreams. There are about 300,000 women that look exactly like her in Northeast Ohio.

I pulled my car to the right of the rusty Geo, and continued the conversation I was having on the phone. I absentmindedly looked out the window at the woman speaking in an even more urgent fashion and noted her McDonald’s uniform, hands clasping her Golden Arch visor. Suddenly the driver whipped out of her side of the car, and practically ran over to the other woman. The driver looked very similar to the McDonald’s employee, but was maybe three years older and three years fatter. Her XL plain white t-shirt was faded and stained, and draped over her dumpy jeans. That’s when the both of them immediately started to trade punches.

I have seen a number of fistfights in my day. The ones that are the best are always where you least expect them to happen. The upscale restaurant. A church lobby. The Department of Motor Vehicles. Places that don’t have any bouncers or amped up security guards also have a bunch of people like me that have no interest in getting involved. It’s really a perfect storm. You end up with the fight continuing until the combatants are out of steam, or one of them kills the other. The entrance to the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo is a great example of a place with little experience in breaking up adult women fistfights. And I was clearly not going to be the one to get involved.

I sat in my car calmly continuing the conversation I was having while these two hillbillies traded blows to the face. I believe the quote was “I’m going to fuck you up” when the McDonald’s girl started to roundhouse into the eye of the car’s driver. Meanwhile I just hoped they didn’t shove each other into my car. I had just had it washed for God’s sake. I could not have been any more detached from the situation. I was no more excited about watching this than if I would have been if I was watching a Rockford Files re-run while home sick with the flu.

After a strong 45 seconds of punching each other, an older man and polo shirt clad security kid ran across the parking lot and wedged in between the two, effectively ending the brawl. The thirty or so 7 year olds that were entering the Zoo stood open mouthed as three teacher’s aides struggled to minimize the psychic impact of seeing two potential mommies knocking heads like Manny Pacquiao and “Sugar” Shane Mosely on HBO Sports. You could almost see the wheels turn in these kids’ heads. “My God. If those mommies can get in a scrap, what about my mommy? How can she handle herself in a dust up? And that one lady had a McDonald’s uniform on… Does that mean if I don’t finish my Happy Meal next time, she’ll kick my little ass?” This was a day where those teachers would really over deliver on their paltry salary. How much would you pay someone to make sense of a World Gone Mad?

As I exited my car the two women struggled to be freed from the grasp of their respective security guard screaming recriminations. “She started it! She started it!” I glanced at the spectacle a mere two feet to my left, and walked by into the Zoo Administration entrance. Even thinking about it now, I can’t come up with a scenario in which I would have been moved to get involved. Maybe, and I mean maybe, I would have tried to do something if the one was hitting the other with something impressive like a tire iron or ice pick. Even then it would have been more of a suggestion as opposed to getting in there like a steroid fueled Nightclub Doorman. I might have stood to the side and said something along the lines of, “Excuse me, is this really necessary? Can you maybe stop? You’re really freaking out those kids. No? Well, OK then, but I don’t think this is a real good idea.”

In the end, I don’t know how those Zoo employees handled it. After everyone calmed down, you can’t just send them on their way. You have to handle it quietly like a casino in Vegas would handle it. Maybe they handcuffed them to hot water tanks in the Large Mammal Building and then threw them in with the polar bears after hours. That would explain if there was a soggy McDonald’s visor bobbing in the polar bear pool the next morning. The rusty Geo was driven to an auto wrecker and compacted. The kids? You think they’ll ever talk about it again? No way. Not after the teachers finished up with them. No matter how it ended up for the ladies and despite my initial lack of enthusiasm, it turned out that this was my favorite visit to the Zoo ever.

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Facebook

2011-04-09T09:18:00.005-04:00

Like most of you, I have a Facebook account. I originally got one just to see how it worked, and figure out if I could use it for any of my various evil endeavors. I don't really use it that much, and every time I spend more than 15 minutes on it, I find myself annoyed. It might just be my "friends", or in reality the 300 or so people I have in my data base that consist of my 16 real friends and 284 people I kinda know and impulsively accepted into my circle in a moment of weakness. You might have a totally different experience. What I find each time I log onto Facebook is:

* Pictures of what people ate- I don't know why people think you are interested in clicking onto a picture of a plate of eggs or pasta taken in terrible lighting with their Blackberry camera. "Holy Shit! You got to come over here! Take a look at this burger and cup of chili Pete ate 6 hours ago! I've never seen anything like it!" Unless you ate at The French Laundry or Charlie Trotters, I'm probably not interested in your dinner. No one else is either.

* Updates on kids- Look, I am friends with you, not your seven year old. I don't give a shit about what he said on the way to school this morning. Everyone probably has a friend like this. "This morning Liam said he thought Mr Jingles our dog looked like a lion. Then he asked why Mr Jingles wasn't in the zoo 'cause that's where lions are kept!" Hey, it sounds like your kid is borderline retarded to me. I wouldn't start spreading that bullshit that comes out of his mouth around. At a certain point the kid is going to have to find work, and if I am interviewing him, I'll be thinking "Isn't that the little dumbass that thought his dog was a lion?". Also, just because the grandparents chime in with a "That's so cute. We like this." post, doesn't mean everyone else does too. We don't. Fuck your kids. Oh, and if you post a picture of your kid instead of you, I am deleting you. I will cast you out of the inner circle forever.

* Passive aggressive posts- When I see a vague post like "Some people need to learn how to treat other people", I know that this person is fishing for a sympathetic ear to whatever mundane wrong has visited them. The poster hopes to receive a flurry of responses like "What's wrong Steve? That is SO UNFAIR! Hang in there!". Quit being such a pussy and airing your dirty laundry on the web. While six people responded to you with what you wanted to hear, the other 294 read it and said "What a pussy".

* Vague declarations- Once a week I see a woman post a variation of "I am a strong independent woman! If you can't handle it, then fuck you!". You know this is the aftermath of four glasses of wine and an evening ending argument. The Facebook post has become The Last Word in that argument. This type of post is exclusively the domain of women. The respondents are always other women that offer support as they know that they too may make this type of post one day and would like to receive similar support. My belief is that any guy that gives the "thumbs up" to this is strictly making a long shot attempt to position himself as a Sensitive Guy and possible partner for coitus. I always have to stop myself from stirring the pot when I see one of these. I really can't help myself. I just think about how wound up people would get if I commented in a horribly insensitive way. I saw one this week and thought about making the nuclear option comment of "Looks like someone might be close to their period". There is no return from that comment even if you are kidding around. Every woman you know will hear about it, tell every woman they know, and your relations with English speaking females in North America have ended. You gotta be careful out there on the web...

* Attached clips of youtube videos- Yes, you are a fan of some obscure band like Black Oak Arkansas or The Undertones. What does that mean to me? If I was into Black Oak Arkansas, I could go watch their videos on youtube myself. I really don't need you to send this grainy video footage to me. I have 500 TV channels, a mountain of books, and stacks of CDs. The last thing I need is more "content". Listen to your Black Oak Arkansas at home, and leave me alone with that shit. I could spend 10 hours a day clicking on the bullshit people send me. It's like frivolous direct mail. The only things I ever click on are terrible accident footage and bizarre sexual videos. If I have 3 minutes and can watch Black Oak Arkansas or three midget women shitting on a Japanese businessman, I go midget every time. That's not wrong, is it?

* So and so is "Single"- What better way of announcing to the world the end of a longtime relationship with someone once very special to you than a mass email? "To whom it may concern. My wife of seven years and I are now divorced. I am now available for intercourse. On a totally unrelated matter, I "like" that you are a strong independent woman."

Nurse the Hate: Hate Indianapolis

2011-04-04T16:33:00.006-04:00

I was in Indianapolis last weekend, and it makes me think of what a city would look like if it was built by Target. If Indianapolis was a loaf of bread, it would be Wonder. I’m not suggesting that Indianapolis doesn’t have ethnic diversity, but I had salsa I could swear was ketchup with a green pepper chopped up into it. I was in a bar watching the Butler game, and all the women looked like they were presenting awards at the Country Music Awards later that night. The people are all really nice in that dazed faraway Born Again Christian way. They smiled at me and were polite, but I felt that at anytime I could be in danger of being thrown into a Christian Right Re-education Camp if they knew the way my mind worked. It’s not really “my kind of town”.

I think my feelings about Indianapolis start with their music scene, or lack thereof. The only bands I know that have had good shows in Indianapolis include The Why Store and presumably John Cougar Mellencamp. (I prefer to leave the “Cougar” in as a reminder of John’s selling out to The Man when he was sucking on chili dogs outside the Tastee Freeze.) Some guy told me about a blues club that was “world famous” called The Slippery Noodle. It appeared the blues bands that played last weekend included some guy in a Rastafarian beret, and another that played all Jimmy Buffet covers. Not exactly RL Burnside and Howlin Wolf…

I have tried to book a regular gig in Indy for years with the hopes of building an audience there. The Cowslingers and now Whiskey Daredevils have driven through Indianapolis for literally two decades to go to cities more interested in what we do. Clearly a city of this size must contain 150 people interested in the kind of music we play, but I cannot confirm this fact. The search for this magical club goes on, and another year slips by… It’s not just me either. Check out the Bottle Rockets song “Indianapolis” if you don’t believe me.

The best time I ever had in Indianapolis was when I went to see the Grateful Dead in the early 90s with a bunch of friends. The highlights included bungee jumping in the Deer Creek parking lot pre-show under the influence of a life threatening amount of intoxicants. My friend Jeff screamed like a seven year old girl during his entire 20 story descent. His knees were shaking afterwards like a WWI doughboy with “battle fatigue”. (Long time readers will remember Jeff as the high school boy that barfed on himself and his friends on a ski trip.) After the show, we oozed into a chain restaurant/bar by our hotel called the Bombay Bicycle Club. Think if Applebee’s pretended to be exotic like a British outpost in India, except it was in Indianapolis and had chunky thighed gals slinging Bud Light draft in tight black slacks.

There was a karaoke contest that night, and I endured listening to three women out of four consecutive contestants sing Bette Midler’s “The Rose”. I then freaked out, signed up, and sang Elvis’s “Little Sister”. I think I secured the win when I leaped on top of the bar for the verse/chorus after the guitar solo. One of the women complained that I "wasn't allowed" to leave the stage area with my wireless mic. I argued with her there were no written rules, and it wasn't my fault she "didn't rock". Man, was she pissed. She would have been really pissed if she knew I was a ringer. I won a bike. Well, not a bike, but a certificate for a bike.

I never got to use the certificate since we pulled out of town the next morning. Maybe I’m still sore at that town because it owes me a bike. Maybe I need to really go "Full Indianapolis" and go to the Indy 500 and pretend to care about open wheel racing for an afternoon. I could wear a Peyton Manning jersey and go with a girl with big hair and special jeans. I could punch someone in the face if they made a negative remark about Bobby Knight. Then we could drink macrobrew at a strip plaza bar, and head home to our prefabricated housing unit. Granted, that sounds like a good time. It's just not "my good time".

Good Advice: I had Butler -3 and UConn +2 on Saturday. Sorry I forgot to post the picks. I'd like to get Butler +4 tonight, but that damn line is stuck at 3. I may sit this one out if it doesn't go to 4.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Opening Day

2011-03-31T18:13:00.002-04:00

Well, it’s Opening Day. When hope springs eternal. When every team can make the playoffs. When you haven’t received a horrific sunburn by falling asleep in the bleachers on a Sunday afternoon in July at a meaningless Indians v Royals game. It all gets started again today. It’s a long terrible journey. The Major League Baseball season is a Bataan Death March. Players are out in April with grisly injuries only to return in September for the pennant chase. The season is so long, even the players themselves get bored in August. That’s what makes betting win totals so frustrating. You can actually forget that you want the Mariners to lose a meaningless game in July to the A’s because you have them UNDER 70 wins for the season. You really have to focus. On an August night, you may recall the wager and think, “That’s right. I hate that fucker Jack Cust. He just hit an otherwise meaningless two run homer off Brandon Morrow? I hope he busts his fucking ankle crossing the plate.” That’s what baseball is all about.

The key to betting baseball is to understand a few basic principals. A horrible baseball team still wins over 40% of the time. No team is as bad as the public perceives them to be at any given time. That of course excludes the Chicago Cubs, who are in fact much worse than people believe them to be, no matter what season in baseball history we are talking about. I like to start out looking at terrible teams and see if they have been underestimated in their win totals. That brings us to the Cleveland Indians. This line opened at 74.4 wins, and his since plunged down to 71.5. Make no bones about it; the Indians are really going to blow. They have one legitimate semi power hitter, a bunch of no name guys in the starting rotation, and discount bin retreads. It’s damaged goods all around. They had the lowest attendance in the majors, and the team responded by re-signing Austin Kearns. 54 year old Orlando Cabrera passed his physical to become the everyday second baseman. Some guy named Jack Hanahan is starting at third. I’m not saying he’s under the radar as an MLB player, but he may have been the guy that snaked out your drain last winter. We’re not talking about a team that is “loaded” here. However, all they have to do is win 72 games. Hell, they won 75 games in 2010 and Sizemore/Cabrera were hurt all year. I like Cleveland OVER 71.5.

The Cincinnati Reds won 91 games last year with a team that finally played like it looked on paper. It was always perplexing how the Reds played around .500 ball with a team of highly touted studs. Take a look at that roster. These guys have plenty of big time players entering their prime like Votto, Bruce, Phillips, and Drew Stubbs. They also have a nice mix of veterans like Scott Rolen, Ramon Hernandez, and Edgar Renteria. The pitching staff is young, improving, and deep. Cordero is a real good closer. So why is the line set at only 86.5 wins? The way I see it, the Brewers and Cardinals injuries to their pitching staffs are going to cost them some wins early in the year. The Cubs will blow. The Astros will be worse. I feel fairly confident the Pirates haven’t put all the pieces together. I think the Reds win the Central and 90 games. Take Cincinnati OVER 86.5 wins.

Krusty has an advanced degree involving statistics and the analysis of the various information that gets shat out by questionnaires and surveys. This is a man that understands how to read data. This is also a guy that looked at simulations for the 2011 season, and says the Padres prediction in Vegas is dead wrong. Why he always has a shitty fantasy baseball team, I really couldn’t tell you. Actually, now that I think of it, Bobby (old Cowslingers guitar player) has a bachelor’s degree from Kent State and he can’t figure out a 20% tip on a dinner check. Maybe these degrees don’t mean anything. Maybe no one I hang out with knows anything. Maybe I don’t know anything. Some or all of this might be true. But what I do know is this… The San Diego Padres will win more than 75.5 games.

The general public, who we all know doesn’t know a damn thing, believes the Padres will suck because they lost Adrian Gonzalez to free agency. While this first baseman may have been their only legit offensive threat, a first baseman isn’t going to carry you all season. The Padres won 90 games last year with scores of 3-2, 2-1, and 1-0. That’s pitching, not a big hitting first baseman. Is this team going to swing 15 games the wrong way because of no Adrian Gonzalez? Krusty doesn’t think so, and neither do I. Take San Diego OVER 75.5.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Traffic

2011-03-29T17:15:00.004-04:00

Sometimes when the light hits just right on a place, you remember something you thought was long gone. Then it hits you like it was yesterday. About five years ago I was driving home on I-90 during rush hour. Traffic was heavy and slow, like it always seems to be when the sun shines in driver's eyes. (Why is it traffic is slow when it is sunny, rainy, snowy, icy, and/or damp. The only conditions in which traffic moves swiftly is "overcast". Thank God it is always cloudy here.)

Red brake lights started to flash ahead, and traffic came to almost a complete stop in the left lane. I looked ahead and saw the problem. In the highway median was a dog. He was trotting out on the grass in the median, a scraggly mongrel of a dog. Luckily for him, there were cement barriers that line the sides of the lanes, keeping him captive in the area between the east and west four lane highway. I have no idea how he got out there in the first place. Traffic was so heavy at rush hour, it was inconceivable that he somehow walked across traffic. Yet, there he was.

As the cars slowed to almost a complete stop, I looked at the dog and saw his predicament. Eventually he would come to a service gap in the barrier, and probably get hit by an oncoming car. I know if that was my dog, I wouldn't want someone to just drive by and leave him there. I pulled over with the idea of attaching him to a spare leash I had in my car, and hoped he had a collar and ID tag so I could take him home.

I pulled off the highway on the left ahead of the dog by about 75 yards, and hopped over the median into the grass with the leash. I started walking slowly back towards him, calling him. He looked at me nervously and picked up his trot towards the left. It was then I saw the great miscalculation I had made in not noticing the service gap between me and the dog. I foresaw what was going to happen, and stopped in my tracks, calling out to the dog to "Stay! Stay! Stay!". He darted out straight into the traffic with his head turned to his left, looking back at me.

One of the cars in the never ending stream hit him square in the shoulders and head, cartwheeling the dog's body back to the side of the road with a sickening thunk. I ran over to where he had been hit, knowing it was a mortal injury. The dog's legs were useless, his mouth open and panting when I saw the light go out of his eyes. Then his bladder emptied out onto the gravel. I knew it was my fault for stopping and trying to help. I had caused the exact thing I was trying to prevent. A woman that had pulled over after the dog had been hit started crying. A man asked if anyone knew who's dog it was. I turned around from the scene of the accident without saying anything to anyone, ashamed at what had happened. I got in my car without a word and drove home. I still feel crushing guilt to this day.

Nurse the Hate: Hate South By Southwest

2011-03-26T18:03:00.005-04:00

I saw that the South By Southwest Festival just wrapped up in Austin. This was at one time the greatest unsigned band festival on the planet, and even now it stands as one of the best festivals for true music lovers and industry types. I could wax on about the Great Music Industry Crash, and how it was so much better In Our Day, but who really wants to read that? The digitization of music let the genie out of the bottle, and the old ways of doing business are dead and gone. The good news is that now anyone can put music out to the public. This of course brings up the bad news. Anyone can put out music to the public. Things change, so be it. Still, it would have been great to have been able to play this, or any year...

We last played it all the way back in 1998 when the music industry was somehow led to believe that roots rock would save their financial ass, and was The Next Big Thing. Ryan Adams from Whiskeytown was walking around at nighttime in aviator sunglasses with whispers that he had signed a deal that gave him an advance large enough to buy an SUV with fancy rims. Alejandro Escovedo and much of the old guard circled around the buzz bands hoping some of the magic would rub off on them and make them a hot commercial entity again. Meanwhile we were just happy to be there and hoped we could convince someone to give us enough money to put out “West Virginia Dog Track Boogie”.

The day before we played our “showcase”, we roamed around Austin checking out parties and other bands. It was pretty cool to stand next to Jimmie Dale Gilmore and talk to Mars from Liquid Soul about his tours with the Psychedelic Furs while knocking back free Lone Stars. It seemed odd that songs we had made up on my couch had enabled us to hang out with honest to God musicians as peers. I pretended not to recognize Sandra Bullock when she stood next to me. I hit all kinds of parties with Sasha, a guy that booked shows for us in Champaign IL and much of the Midwest looking for anyone that might be interested in what we were doing. Meanwhile Krusty, Bobby, and Leo head out with The Enabler, who was acting as our advisor and legal attaché.

The Enabler, being who he was, somehow convinced the guys it might be a good idea to really cut loose that night and “see what happens”. Leo, being who he was, ate a massive amount of mushrooms The Enabler had secured in some shady deal outside of an Ihop I believe. The boys went to a bar with a pool table and shot a game with some locals. Billiards is probably as interesting a way to spend an hour when you are under the influence of a crushing amount of hallucinogens as any other. Krusty and Bobby looked on from a nearby table nursing Shiner Bocks, when Ken noticed how the locals were interacting with Leo.

“Bob! Bob! Look! Those guys think Leo is retarded!” Leo’s behavior had been reduced to making gleeful shrieks of pleasure when he hit a shot. The noise was sort of an “EEhhhhhhheeeeeee!!!!!” that started from the gut and whooshed out with increasing volume. Meanwhile, the guys he was shooting pool with were saying things like, “That was very good Leo. Look at Leo. Leo made a good shot! Hooray for Leo!” in sing song tone you would use with a puppy or “special needs” child. Leo, of course, saw nothing strange in any of this, as he was probably wondering why the walls were melting.

The best part of this whole incident was that Bobby and Ken held onto it. They never confronted Leo with it until months later. I remember like it was yesterday. Leo was giving Bobby a hard time, and Bobby played the card he had been holding for so very long. “Oh yeah Lee? Hey, you remember when you shot pool with those guys in Austin? Those guys thought you were retarded!” Everything got quiet in the van for a few seconds as Leo considered this unexpected new information. “NO! No way Bob!” Leo don’t you remember how they talked to you? You remember how they clapped when you put one in? Leo considered it again. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! They did think I was retarded!”

In a week or so Rolling Stone will run some sort of corporate sponsored SXSW recap. I’m sure it was great down there. I’ll bet a good time was had by all. But there is no way it was better than that time we went and played.

Advice: I went 4-4 in the last 2 days with the tournament putting me at 15-10 ATS overall. Today I have Florida on the money line, Arizona +4.5, and I teased Florida +.5 with Arizona +9.5. It's getting tricky now...

Advice: I took VCU +11 and the over 148 in the NC/KY game. Why not?

Nurse the Hate: Tournament Locks Day 4

2011-03-20T11:45:00.003-04:00

After spending Friday at the Quicken Loans Arena with Ohio State Guy, I am looking at another long day with him starting at 5pm. A curious thing about Ohio State Guy. He loves the nylon OSU pullover. Absolutely loves it. Every other person you see is wearing one. They must hand them out at the Bland Factory Outlet Stores off of I-71. They must match Ohio State Guy's pleated Dockers, golf shoes, and golden retriever. Ohio State Guy loves the high five, and screaming out "O!" in the hopes some other dope will yell out "H!". All Ohio State fans look roughly the same, and act in the herd mentality that is perfect at sporting events. Right now he is at Panini's, Harry Buffalo, or other charmless Sports Bar throwing back Bud Lights and talking about the OSU men's basketball team with an emphatic "we" as if he will be running out on the court at 5:15pm. It doesn't matter how many OSU fans are in the arena though. They would win big if they played on my neighbor's driveway. George Mason has no answer for what OSU brings inside. If they double, they'll get killed by one of three Buckeye outside shooters. OSU is the real deal in 2011. Take Ohio State -11.

Krusty, who is still reeling over a Pitt money line disaster, convinced me that Michigan will stay in the game against Duke. Normally I would not trust the advice of someone that had has entire world turned upside down in the span of 2.7 seconds. However, he did have the luxury of being home when he melted down, instead of being in a public place and having law enforcement called in to hit him with a taser. His logic is that Michigan has stayed close in almost every game they have played vs an elite opponent. They have too. Look it up. Sure, Duke was bad news before that freshman point guard kid hobbled out on the court Thursday and dropped 15 points on Hampton. Still, Michigan will keep it interesting. Sounds reasonable to me. Take Michigan +12.5.

I haven't seen Arizona play all season. I haven't seen more than 13 seconds of Texas. But I do know that Texas does have a tendency of playing to the level of their competition. Texas seems to rush out to a 12 point lead and then allow the other team to chip away until they get to within 4. Since the spread is 5.5, I will take Arizona +5.5.

I was sitting deep in the heart of the Indiana State section when they played Syracuse on Friday night. As expected, the Indiana State fan base was filled with folks with physical maladies, odd deformities, and weathered ballcaps. There's nothing like seeing a 40 year old woman that absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke knock her cane into her 4 year old. When the boy's mouth opened up to cry and revealed teeth like those from a 1700's English seahand, I said to myself, "Ah yes, so Indiana does have more than just RV Superstores. They also have a desperate need for quality affordable dental care." These were cornfed Midwestern salt of the earth folks that know what a hearty meal is all about. The Sycamore dance team had legs that would have been considered "husky" on a video on BET. It must have been devastating to drive from Terre Haute to see your team get absolutely fucking crushed by Syracuse. The good folks of Marquette will experience the same thing today. I love Syracuse -5. Yes, they lost to Marquette this year in Marquette. But I feel the ship has been righted. Things have changed. Answers have been found. Stay with me here and take Syracuse -5.

Current record: 10-6

Nurse the Hate: Tournament Locks Day 3

2011-03-19T08:43:00.003-04:00

It's yet another embarrassment of riches spread before us today in the NCAA Tournament. While yesterday was a bit too up and down for my liking, the biggest plays of Marquette and the North Carolina OVER paved the way to another success. That leads us into today, where traditionally everyone will put too much emphasis on the last game and not enough on the body of work from a team. The games start to get tougher as we go, so today and Sunday may be our last chances at some truly heavy plays.

Kentucky is a school that recruits players that can't read. Not only do they actively try to bring players to their school that can't read English, they'll take "student athletes" that can't read even their native dialect. For example, this Fall while in I was in Lexington, the town was abuzz with the scheme that since Cam Newton pulled some crazy shit to play football in Auburn, perhaps they could do the same crazy shit with a 8 foot Turkish guy that looked to be about 32 years old. While they couldn't pull it off, and the Turk is headed to the NBA, the fact they were willing to try tells you everything you need to know about UK. It is win-at-all-costs. I would wager that my 3 month old basset hound can get a higher SAT score than the Kentucky starting five, and he's no genius. However, we must admit to ourselves that while these players cannot read or do even simple mathematics, they sure can play basketball.

The story being written by the national media is that the freshman heavy Kentucky team was nervous against Princeton in their first tournament game. Today, after they have rid themselves of these nerves in Game 1, they will be ready to demonstrate their God given abilities and destroy all comers. I dunno. I just think they are not quite as good as the recruiting hype yet. West Virginia has a bunch of guys that have been there before, and played a long season in the Big East. That's a brutal conference filled with elite players. It's not as if WVU hasn't played against talent all year. I think they are being disregarded with the "crazy hillbilly" factor nationally. I'll take West Virginia +3 and hope they don't let me down.

Speaking of win-at-all-costs, let's talk about Florida. Florida gets every blue chip athlete in the country, and why the hell not? The weather is good, and you'll play on TV every other day. If you are a dude that can't read and wants to play ball, why go anywhere else? There is no way in hell this team loses to UCLA today. Watch the pregame on this one. The Florida video will be of one of their recent National Champion teams cutting down the nets. The UCLA footage will be grainy footage of Kareem, Bill Walton, and guys with crazy sideburns celebrating 40 years ago. UCLA should have lost to a kinda crappy Michigan State team, but they hung on to get pasted here. I love Florida -5.

I think BYU is the biggest paper tiger in the tournament. This is a team that has not learned what it takes to win-at-all-costs. You cannot suspend your best rebounder for having sex with his girlfriend and expect to win. Heck, an Oregon University football player is probably robbing someone at gunpoint right now. Those guys know what it takes. Don't get me wrong, Gonzaga isn't going anywhere either, but BYU is Jimmer and a buncha guys. I think Jimmer will drop 50 on Gonzaga, but Gonzaga wins a close one. Please also note, I am not extremely confident on this one, but I plan to bet against BYU until it pays off. "Sex with his girlfriend"... Please! At Pitt they wouldn't have even suspended the kid if it was "sex with someone else's girlfriend with pistol pointed at head". I'll take Gonzaga straight up.

Speaking of Pitt, there's a win-at-all-costs tournament team. Sports Illustrated ran an article that revealed Pitt had more felons than any other NCAA program. Now that is a team I can get behind! Today they take on Butler, a bunch of pasty white dudes from Indiana. Butler will lose this game. They will get outmuscled under the boards. They will have extremely athletic heavily tattooed Pitt players fly by them to the hoop. Butler will look hopelessly outmatched. They will also somehow stay in the game with great execution of fundamentals and outside shooting. Pitt wins, but take Butler +8.

San Diego State is a legit team. Temple is not. Enough said. San Diego State -5.5.

Current record: 7-4

Nurse the Hate: Tournament Day 2 Locks

2011-03-18T07:04:00.002-04:00

While a drunk guy in a plastic hat kept leaning into me, I clenched my fist with a "yes!" watching Temple win but failing to cover by a half point vs Penn State. The human wreckage and failed dreams of St Pat's all around me, I may have been the only truly happy soul at the bar. Well, for that brief moment at least. But let's not live in the past, shall we? Today will be a full day at the Quicken Loans Arena where Krusty and I will be attending all four games at center court.

So this morning your loser friends will be moaning about their brackets, failing to realize that NO ONE had Morehead State, when they should be concentrating on George Mason +1.5, Texas -10.5, Arizona -6, Marquette +2.5, North Carolina OVER 158.5, Illinois +2.5 and Washington -5.5. My heaviest plays of the day will be George Mason, as Villanova is in complete free fall once again at the worst time possible. Washington is rated as a damn good team by everyone but the betting public. Marquette might not be the best team from the Big East, but a pretty good team from the Big East will beat a team from a mid major conference. This might be too much action for you, but trust me, it will make the work day go by that much faster.

Current NCAA Tournament Record: 3-1

Nurse the Hate: Tournament Day 1 Locks

2011-03-16T19:14:00.004-04:00

Most of your co-workers will gather around the water cooler and talk about their $10 brackets in the Good Ole Office Tournament Bracket Pool. Those people are God Damn Cowards. Real men step up and take advantage of this cornucopia of wagering available to them. This is a horn of plenty, and only a gutless turd wouldn't open up an offshore account immediately. You know that guy in shipping? I'll bet he can get some action down for you. They are practically giving money away! And on St. Patrick's Day no less! What could be better than wearing a plastic green derby watching an otherwise meaningless game while some shitty faux Irish band plays "Dirty Old Town"? You won't even mind that blonde with the sparkly shamrock on her face barfing on your shoes when some kid you never heard of hits a 3 pointer to cover a 2.5 point spread at the buzzer.

Here's all you need to know about tomorrow's action...

If you know me, you know I love the Mountaineers. I think I really grew to love WVU when their fan base traveled to Cleveland's Wolstein Center a few years back for the tournament and wound up sitting next to Princeton Fan. The Princeton fans may have had the good jobs and fancy houses, but they didn't have any rebounding from their team. They also had couches that would be easily set on fire by the junkyard dog Mountaineer fans. I think that betting public always underestimates WVU and thinks of them as crazy inbred hillbillies. This may be true, but those crazy inbred hillbillies can really kill you out at the perimeter. Clemson had to play their way in, and yet is getting only two points over a Big East tested WVU team? Clemson is also 1-5-2 vs Tournament teams this season. West Virginia -2 over Clemson is a gimme. This is my biggest play of the day.

I watch a lot of Horizon League basketball. As such, I have seen Butler play a lot this year, and am very familiar with this team. This is not a point of pride, but a matter of circumstance I might add. Some people turn to woodworking, masturbation, or The Good Book on a long winter's night. I turn to gambling on Horizon League basketball. It's a sad admission, but a sad admission that will pay off right now. Right now there are a bunch of dopes that got burned by betting against Butler last year in the tournament. They will step up this year and take Butler +2 to get their revenge despite the fact that the 2010-11 Butler Bulldogs have very little in common with the 2009-10 Butler Bulldogs. Butler blocks 1.6 shots a game, putting them 325th in the nation. (Quick... name 324 Division 1-A teams) Meanwhile Old Dominion gets almost all their points inside the 3 point line. Matt Howard of Butler may already have two fouls on him. I saw how Old Dominion handled Cleveland State earlier this year. They pounded it inside. That's what they will do to Butler too. Take Old Dominion -2.

Temple is down to 7 players after an injury to their center. He broke his right patella, and that can't be good for your chances of running up and down the court and jumping. Since John Chaney left Temple, they are 0-11 in tournament play. Penn State, on the other hand, has picked up momentum and went to the Big 10 Tournament Championship game. Temple played the 85th toughest schedule in the country. Penn State played the second toughest. Oh yeah, Penn State is getting 2.5. I wouldn't bet the house on it, but throw some love to Penn State +2.5.

Last minute update: Krusty loves the OVER in the Wisconsin v Belmont game. Belmont scores like crazy, but it is assumed Wisconsin is the better team. He believes it is a myth that the better team (Wisconsin) will control the pace. Take the over 126 and make a serious play. (Well, Krusty says so anyway...)

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Cover Up

2011-03-16T12:11:00.003-04:00

I have often been accused of being cold hearted. Now while I am without question not an outwardly warm human being, I do have a certain amount of empathy. However, when I watch the never ending footage of the Japanese earthquake, tsunami, and the nuclear power plant explosion, I can only think of one thing. Why did they edit out the footage of Rodan and/or Godzilla?

To suggest that this earthquake/tsunami/nuclear meltdown is not the work of Rodan is laughable. Clearly the media has decided to edit out all Rodan footage to try and stave off the inevitable worldwide panic that would ensue. While this may be the “responsible” thing to do, is it really serving the public’s best interest? For example, if Godzilla and/or Ultra Man are coming to fight Rodan somewhere near Tokyo, I’d sure like to know. This would radically affect my evacuation plans if I’m a white medical mask wearing Japanese citizen. You ever see what happens to the little matchbox villages when those guys duke it out? Let’s just say I am glad I don’t own any rental properties out that way. While Godzilla may save the day, he also inflicts a shitload of collateral damage. Eh, it’s a glass half full or glass half empty thing I suppose…

I think we can all agree that this is the combination of natural disaster/man made crisis we have all been waiting for. Even as a young boy watching Ultra Man, I knew that this situation was completely unavoidable. All you ever have to do is watch the Godzilla movies of the late 60s and it is crystal clear. Anytime the Japanese people are enjoying a nice sunny day, it is only a matter of time before a prehistoric creature the size of a city will emerge from the depths of the Sea of Japan and haul out a can of whoop ass. The army will be assembled and fire off worthless ordinance towards the creature. Tanks will be swatted away like gnats. Jet planes will bounce harmlessly off Rodan. (The same thing happens every time, yet the armed forces always proceed with the exact same plan. Why?) At some point, when things look especially grim, Godzilla will arrive and fight the creature. Or maybe Ultra Man. I’m not sure who they need to call in on this one.

While Western journalists love to applaud themselves about how they serve the public trust, they have finally lost me. Their commitment to the truth is only a commitment of convenience and serving the whims of their corporate masters. The hours they have spent to photo shop out Rodan, Godzilla, and Ultra Man cannot be justified. This coverup will eventually be exposed by someone like Wiki Leaks, Weekly World News, or Grit. And when it is, let’s just say, I told you so.

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Fear

2011-03-11T15:57:00.004-05:00

They say the #1 fear of most people is public speaking. I have always found that odd as there is so much more to fear. The obvious thing that all people should fear is a chimp attack. That would be the #1 fear if we only had better education on that issue. That is obviously a breakdown of The System. However, most other fears are usually personal. Allow me to unburden myself and provide you a quick list of things I am truly afraid of…

• A naked clown in my closet with an axe- I think I share the same thought in the back of my mind that most of us do when we open a closet door at night. Is there going to be a naked clown smiling holding a bloody axe on the other side of this door? I always feel like I have dodged a bullet when I discover it’s just my clothes waiting for me on the other side. One day that clown will be there, and when he is I will scream out like a 10 year old girl and wet myself. I’m not proud of that, but I feel like I should be honest.

• Large spiders- Specifically I am afraid of a large spider biting my testicles and them swelling to the size of softballs. I then imagine going to an emergency room to find the only doctor is a young intern. He will be heavily sweating, and will look back and forth between a medical journal and my purple swollen testicles trying to figure out what to do. He would then say something like, “This may be a bit uncomfortable.” as he pierces the now throbbing skin with a knitting needle and releases a geyser of blood and pus. The fluid would be running down the plastic curtain of the examination room like rainwater. The nurse would faint dead away as the intern screams “Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod!”

• The Wiggles- I have friends with small children that watch those Wiggles DVDs. Those DVD are scarier to me than “The Shining”. First of all, I am greatly suspicious of a group of four men in uni color shirts that spend the majority of their time with children. And what’s with the one that is always falling asleep? Nodding off on a heroin run more like it… They also have a friend named “Captain Feathersword the Friendly Pirate”. That sounds like the kind of guy that would start to rub your neck from behind and whisper into your ear with rum breath “Let me show you how friendly a pirate I really am...” as you struggle to get away. That whole thing is a real bad scene.

• Recurring dreams- I sometimes have a dream that repeats over and over where I am unprepared for a school exam, and I can’t even find the room where the test is being given no matter how I search. It plays in my head like a loop. I can be having the dream, while also realizing it is a dream, and still be unable to do anything but have it repeat in my head like a Seinfeld re-run. Why does that particular dream have to run over and over again instead of one recently where I was walking in California in a nice breeze? That is a moment I could stay in forever. Instead I am walking around in a campus vaguely like Kent State circa 1988 unable to find room 216.

* Hank III concert attendees- I don't know if you have ever seen Hank III, who is excellent by the way, but the people that come out to see him are terrifying. I attend most noteworthy American roots shows in the area, and I have to say, I have never seen the majority of people that came out to see Hank III the last time he was at the House of Blues. There was a guy with an entire tattooed face that had his 10 year old son. Plenty of men with eyes set too far apart in their heads like two legged hammerhead sharks. Angry drunken hillbillies with sullen chain smoking girlfriends. In every direction was someone vaguely off that was drinking a 16 oz can of domestic macrobrew and hoping to make eye contact so some sort of argument could ensue. Hell is probably a lot like that concert, but with a much much worse bathroom situation.

* Hotel room drinking glasses- I can sleep almost anywhere. (See "Nurse the Hate-Cheap Motels" re: Cuntlips Motor Lodge) Even though it is almost certain that less that 24 hours earlier a fat man was bound to this very bed and shat on by a leather clad dominatrix named "Misery", I can strike that from my mind. A crabs ridden plumbing supply salesman may have been spooning the pillow, his louse infested ass hair pressed against the same material where my face now rests. Not a problem. It never happened. I can distance myself from those events. However, there is no way for me to imagine that those drinking glasses with the cardboard toppers on them have been cleaned by anyone. That Guatemalan maid with trench mouth was probably sipping from it while watching "All My Children" when she cleaned up the feces filled linens from last night. Then she slipped the cardboard ring back over the glass and left it for you. Now, that's gross.

This begets the question... Which is scarier? Going to a Hank III concert with Captain Feathersword the Friendly Pirate, or having to give a speech in front of a naked clown and an angry chimp?

Nurse the Hate: Hate Cheap Motels

2011-03-08T21:58:00.003-05:00

I have played a lot of shows in my life as a Daredevil/Cowslinger. If you figure we have played around an average of 70 shows a year since 1992, you are looking at 1300+ gigs in all sorts of weird circumstances. Someone just asked me last weekend where was the worst place we ever stayed after a show. Now this is a tricky question as we crashed out at all kinds of people's homes in the Early Days of Bitter Struggle in the early and mid 90s. That yielded way to the Later Days of Bitter Struggle where we find ourselves nestled in even now, but at least our experience has made us remember never to stay at a punk rock squat house, or college housing of any kind.

The worst hotel room we ever stayed in was (in my opinion) a twin smoking room at the Cutlips Motor Lodge in Charleston WV. Cutlips was a privately owned cheap motel right off of I-77 within striking distance of a Tudor's Biscuit World and "Coal: Clean Power" billboard. We always referred to it as "Cuntlips" as it was a name a little more reflective of the place's personality. It was inhabited nightly by truckers, adulterers on a budget, the mentally ill, and parolees. This would be my first choice as a location to drink a pint of well whiskey and severely beat my female companion with a belt until the police were called and I was killed in a barrage of gunfire. I'm sure dark shit like that happened all the time. You could smell it in the damp faded wallpaper. Cuntlips Motel had two types of rooms available: Smoking/Heavy Smoking. I remember sleeping with my head wrapped in my jeans, the day old pants being the best I could do for some sort of air filter. The room stunk so bad I couldn't sleep. We may have been in the Black Lung Suite. I don't recall.

However, I think the worst place we ever stayed was in Gainesville Florida. We had played a show at the Covered Dish with the Flat Duo Jets. I remember us playing OK despite the fact that Tony, our bass player at the time, had gotten crushed at a bar called The Brass Monkey on some sort of 2 for 1 Happy Hour downward spiral. I also remember this being maybe the best Flat Duo jets gig I ever saw. Those guys were in a weird place with each other, and I was sitting in the dressing room with them uncomfortably while they hashed out a few things. Then they went out there and ripped. They absolutely crushed. Dex and Crow had some friends in town, and after the gig they invited us to come over to a house for an after party/crash pad. Since we had absolutely no plan or idea of where a reasonably priced hotel was, we jumped at the idea.

The party was really weird. There was a guy that spent a great deal of time explaining how close we were to several of the Danny Rolling "Gainesville Ripper" murder sites. He was one of those guys that was a little too enthusiastic about all the grisly details. It was almost as if he was trying to hide how giddy he was about being so close to a heinous crime scene that included decapitations and mutilations. I remember how he was trying to suppress a grin as he shook his head talking about each individual murder. I also remember noting how eager I was for him to go home and not chop my head off before he left. He really creeped me out. Meanwhile, Dex was walking around soaking wet after taking a shower and not toweling off, roaming from room to room like a caged animal. The house itself was a small beat up Florida student house, probably 4 rooms in all. All I wanted was to go to sleep, but I realized I had no choice but to wait out the party in the main room. Ugh...

Slowly most of the remaining soldiers headed out onto the front porch to continue on their quest to finish the ungodly amount of Natural Light someone had provided. It had to be about 430am or so. I took my chance to claim some space in the only room that looked open for us to sleep in. It became evident I would only be able to sleep by sitting in a chair and extending my legs onto the cheap coffee table. After cramping up a couple times, I spotted some yard furniture cushions on the porch. I created a little bed with two of those on the hard wood floor and tried to get at least 4 hours sleep before we headed off to Jacksonville the next day. It must have been about 15 minutes later that I started to itch. And then itch some more. And then really itch. I looked on my arm and saw little fleas biting away, and realized the cushions were completely infested. I stood up scratching and brushing myself off like crazy, hoping to rid myself of the bugs. This would require more desperate measures. I headed to the bathroom to try and wash the fuckers off.

I was not prepared for what I would find in the bathroom. I was so focused on the bugs and the itching, it took me a second to understand what was going on when I flicked the light on. There must have been 30 or more cockroaches the size of gerbils that scrambled for shelter when I clicked that light on. They were huge, unlike any bugs I had ever seen. It was like the entire wall had skin that was moving. I stood there blinking my eyes trying to come to grips with this horrifying scene. I then turned around, dug the van keys out of somebody's jacket, and climbed into the back of the van. I slept for about an hour at an awkward angle on top of the gear.

It was about that time we adopted the policy of never staying at someone's house unless we knew them really well, or someone we trusted could vouch for them.

Nurse the Hate: Charlie Sheen

2011-03-03T21:52:00.005-05:00

Without any question the most compelling news story of the last 20 years is this Charlie Sheen public meltdown. I can't keep my eyes off it, and I am guessing you can't either. It's not the fact that the most highly paid television actor in history is more out of control than a wicked combination of Keith Richards/Hunter S. Thompson/Bill Clinton. I think the best part of it is that people think to themselves, "Damn, I wish I could do that!". He is currently living the dream, and speaking frankly and insanely about it at the same time. It is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.

You just can't hate the guy. Normally an overpaid oversexed Hollywood Star would be the focal point of an angry Frankenstein mob. But this guy has a teflon shield to him. He destroys a hotel room and knocks around a prostitute with his kids sleeping 15 feet away on Xmas Eve. The next day he greets the press with a friendly "what's up guys?" and a wave. Nobody seems to get really angry with him. Even people he has done HORRIBLE things to speak of him in affectionate tones. It's unbelievable.

Seriously, who could have pulled the shit he has in the last few years and kept a job at Home Depot much less a job on the highest rated sitcom on broadcast? Conservative broadcast groups like CBS will hang you out to dry at just the slightest provocation. Those creeps that run these media corporations will crucify you in an instant. Any of those empty suit upper management types will do anything to insure they get a maximum year end bonus, and if they think some out of control actor on one of their programs may cost them $500, they'll have them quietly killed for the insurance money. Afterwards they will eat at Mr. Chow and sleep a deep satisfied sleep while their news division prepares a "news magazine" obituary special on the tragically deceased star with a tidy sponsorship fee from McDonalds. It's a cruel business. It's why it pays so well.

Yet, Charlie flames across the sky like the greatest comet any of us have ever seen. Will he be dead in the next 6 months? Sure, it seems impossible that he won't be, doesn't it? Yet, he seems to be doing exactly what he pleases as he pleases, and that strikes a chord in all of us. My God, if I could hold a press conference and refer to my "fists of flames" and my "tiger blood"... That dude looked straight into a 20/20 camera and said this about his daily life. "It's perfect. It's awesome. Every day is just filled with just wins. All we do is put wins in the record books. We win so radically in our underwear before our first cup of coffee, it's scary. People say it's lonely at the top, but I sure like the view."

What the hell will happen next? It's easily the best thing on TV right now. You put him in front of a TV camera and let him go. It is absolute ratings gold. I could watch him talk 24/7. Based on the heroic quantities of cocaine he is injesting, I would think he could talk for a week without pause. The thing that I find the most weird about the whole thing? At times, between the claims of his extraterrestrial brain and his "bi-winning!", come these odd moments where he makes sense. Granted, I can't imagine how out of control he would be to work with on the set. However, he was delivering the goods. The show was/is routinely "winning". His contract doesn't have a single mention of a conduct code (and how did the CBS lawyers let that happen by the way?). Everyone was making so much money, there had to be a way to keep the money train on the tracks. But that is all over now... Damn...

I have never seen one episode of Two and a Half Men. I probably never will. But I will tell you this. Charlie Sheen is my favorite TV actor of all time. He may look like a cracked out lunatic, but you know what that guy is doing right now? That's right. Winning.

Nurse the Hate: The Academy Awards

2011-02-27T18:40:00.004-05:00

As a known degenerate, I look for opportunities to gamble on things that might slip under the radar. Like my triumphant Miss USA grand slam a few years ago (Thank you Miss Texas!), you can find lines on events you never dreamed of. Tonight, the Academy Awards presents a sterling opportunity for savvy bettors to make a quick buck. The key to this awards show is to understand what these people are looking for in giving the award. What has happened in the past. And the golden rule of giving the award to characters with physical afflictions...

I have put a tidy sum on Colin Firth to win best actor in the otherwise forgettable "King's Speech". This is one of those movies that people giving these types of awards get VERY excited about. A character with a stutter? It's ideal. It gives the person casting the ballot the opportunity to feel good about themselves by casting a vote for someone with a physical disability. "Oh, what a horrible affliction. Can you imagine how poorly others must have treated that poor man!" At the same time, they can also pontificate about The Craft being exhibited by the actor. "Why, if I didn't know better, I would think that Mr. Firth had a speech problem. Jolly good!"

Now let's throw in that this film is a period piece. Somehow, movies seem more important if they are based in the past. They are more important still if everyone has a British accent. Everyone you know was more entertained by The Social Network, which wasn't even that good either. However, since it is about some nerdy guy with a shitty personality that made a kazillion dollars, no one wants to give that any more notice. "Hmm... The Social Network was good, but why does Mark Zuckerberg live in a mink castle and I live in 2000 square feet by a former cast member of Saved By the Bell? Best Picture my ass! What was the name of that movie with the stuttering British aristocrat? That's the vote..."

It's just like the all time example of "The English Patient". Only now years later can we admit that nobody liked that movie. It was about as pleasant as a rectal exam given by a thick fingered army doctor. However, everyone voted for it because it seemed "important" somehow. Trust me, it's that god damn British accent that tricks people.

I will also take a flier on Melissa Leo at -200 on best supporting actress in "The Fighter". Folks like to feel good about voting for someone that represents "The Common Working People". While everyone that attends that event and makes the votes likes the idea of lower class neighborhoods, salt of the earth, shot and a beer people, in fact this is about as close as any of them will ever get. Well, that would not include if they talk to their landscaper, but you get the idea. The ballots will swing "Working Class" instead of "The Kid" from True Grit. Kids don't get awards as they figure, "She's just a kid. She's happy just to be here. After she earns her stripes, we'll give her an award." Love that Melissa Leo at -200.

I don't know if I will actually watch the awards show. It seems like the best way to watch this show is with some extremely bitchy flamboyantly gay men that will make fun of everyone's outfit. However, let it be known that my interest level will be the same as theirs thanks to the never ending goodness of the online sports book. I wonder what Melissa Leo will be wearing...

Nurse the Hate: Hate Pre-Planning

2011-02-22T17:33:00.006-05:00

I very seldom open direct mail that comes to my home. It’s like a little game I play. If I even think it may be a piece of junk mail, I toss it without opening it. This policy may have something to do with the fact I have claimed to have “never received” my pharmacy card from my health insurance company, my last three car insurance bills, or any magazine subscription renewal. Those were undoubtedly thrown away with hardly a glance. However, yesterday I couldn’t help but open the hard paper stock Memorial Gardens offer of a free cemetery plot, a $650 value the brochure breathlessly exclaimed! If I would just respond to this offer, I would also get an absolutely free “Pre-Planning Guide”.

My “pre-planning” is pretty much relegated to insisting that no one dresses my corpse up in a 1972 Oakland A’s uniform for a wake, and not having any Jethro Tull played at the service. This is because I am a practical man with good taste. I’m not really too concerned about a grave site, as I have a hard time envisioning a grieving widow or my brother swinging by after the box was dropped in the ground. That's not so much a reflection of me though. There’s just not a lot of action at Memorial Gardens. Maybe they should put some sand volleyball courts and a tiki bar in over there. That would greatly improve visitation I would imagine. “Hey, let’s go visit Greg’s grave, play some volleyball, and have a mai tai! Losers buy!”

My favorite part of the whole direct mail piece was the smiling family. The parents were elderly, yet still active. The children are middle aged, ghoulishly looking on with a grin. “Hey Pop! Why don’t we make sure you and Mom are buried together, and while we’re at it let’s update your will. Carol and I would hate to see any confusion with your estate if you were to die unexpectedly. Heaven forbid…” Meanwhile the kid is clearly running plans through his head about turning Dad's workshop into a man cave with 53 inch high def TV. I also liked the photo in that it subtly implied that if the kids were to pass away (insert “Heaven Forbid”), the parents would remain their upbeat smiling selves. It's all good at Memorial Gardens! Plan now and laugh it up later!

Still, it does point to an existing problem for me. I really need to get a will together. That way I can handle "pre-planning" my own way. Off the top of my head, I will have myself cremated while my "estate" pays for Roky Erickson to play "Fire Engine" live. I'd even let him sell merch afterwards to help defray costs. "Dude! Killer Roky Erickson shirt? Where'd you get it? Greg Miller's funeral! Kickass! I read about that in Scene!" Well, who am I kidding? That might be out of my "Estate's" budget. Maybe getting a Jimi Hendrix impersonator to play "Fire" would be more pragmatic. Still, that's better than a bad cassette recording of "Amazing Grace" tinnily warbling out of two wall mounted speakers. Nobody is buying merchandise at that gig.

I would then insist my ashes be scattered in a series of horrifyingly inconvenient places by "dear friends" as indicated in my will. My lawyer will contact people I was once close to, and send them on wild missions across the Globe with mini Glad sandwich bags filled with my ashes. It's almost like I would take these select few on a mini vacation to a place they never would have gone to otherwise. If we remained close up until the last revision of the will, I'd send you out to the Cinque Terre in Italy , St Emilion in France, or Horseshoe Beach in Bermuda. Hell, I'll pick up the tab and put you and a guest up in a nice hotel. You can make a long weekend out of it.

However, let's say I have an axe to grind. If we might have fallen out of touch, or perhaps had some unresolved conflict, I would send you to a Godforsaken town in Uzbekistan or maybe someplace equally horrifying like Daytona Beach during Bike Week. In that case I would make it contingent that you stay in a pop up camper or discount hostel in the case of Uzbekistan. I am envisioning the kind of hostel where even if you wore boots in the shower, your toes would get a black fungus just because you were in the general area. (You may not want to cross me in the next few weeks while I get this Last Will and Testament together. Unless you enjoy the splendors of the Mexican City ghetto that is...)

There are probably some key details I have forgotten about in making all this happen after my untimely demise. That's why I am going to be just like the .03% of Americans that respond to direct mail and send away for my Free Pre-Planning Guide. It is for my convenience and piece of mind you know... While you have that nagging feeling in the back of your skull that not everything is just right, I will be serene. Thanks to my Free Pre-Planning Guide that is.

Nurse the Hate: The Dog Decision

2011-02-20T13:11:00.006-05:00

The search for the new basset hound began last October. There is something about having this particular breed of dog around me that helps keep me in possession of being "myself". I have always found that when the world around you tumbles down, these dogs will keep you together. It's a very calming influence on me. I have had three basset hounds now, and Dexter, my last one, was the best dog I ever had. I loved that dog so much. Losing him was a much tougher blow than I could have imagined. I was more crushed when I lost him than almost anything I have ever been through. I felt responsible somehow. He depended on us for everything, and there was certainly nothing more we could have done to improve his time with us. Still, it felt like I had failed him.

Time has passed, and I felt ready for a new basset. I miss the rhythms of having a dog in the house. Frankly, I need one. But why the basset you ask? These dogs are unlike any other breed. As I have noted before, the basset considers himself to be someone that is equal to you, but is in no real hurry to actually press for being the one that handles any projects in the house. It's like having the weird Uncle living in your house that offers everyone advice on how to handle everything, but has been living in the basement unemployed since the Carter Administration. Throw in the fact that bassets are kinda crazy looking, and are very loving, and you have a winner of a dog.

One of the real plus sides of the Internet is to be able to check out dogs and breeders online, instead of driving three hours to discover that the "basset breeder" you were going to see was in fact a hillbilly with some inbred beagle/basset mixes. It's actually sort of amazing what some people are trying to pass off as "pure bred basset hounds". Having had a long history with the breed, I know what the dog is supposed to look like. It didn't take long to narrow the field down to two potential breeders. As luck would have it, one of the two breeders was scheduled to have a litter in late December. After being vetted by the breeder and her extended family, it was agreed that I could get the first choice of the boys. The litter arrived, and it was a huge one. There were 13 puppies in total with 7 of them being boys.

Selecting a dog isn't like picking an item from the Extra Value Menu at Wendy's. This decision will effect you for the next 10-14 years. You better make sure and not blow it. We've all been to friend's homes with lousy dogs. Nobody wants to have the dog that humps everyone's leg while the guests nervously laugh "Heh-heh-heh" while hoping someone stops the spectacle immediately. Or how about the skittish dog that barks at guests from the other room, while the owner yells "Rosie! Stop!" to no effect? You want a dog that is interesting, and can hang out. A dog that greets guests, gets a pat on the head, and then chills the fuck out.

I made the seven and a half hour journey to select the basset last Thursday. The seven boys had been narrowed down to three for serious consideration. My plan was to sit in a room with just those three, interact with them, and make the call based on what I saw.

This is JJ. JJ is the best looking of the three. He already looks like an old man with a membership to an Old Guard social club like The Union Club. He seems like he would be at home in a place with high backed leather chairs, where he would sip expensive scotch brought to him by starched white jacketed waiters that would call him "Mr. JJ". Something about this guy seemed a little too aloof for me. He wasn't as engaged by me as I would hope an 8 week old puppy should have been. For God's sake, I've been around the world and done a few things in my time, you know? His biggest accomplishment was going outside to the backyard one time (1) where he searched out kibbles. Maybe he should cut the attitude a bit, huh?

This guy is Smiley. Smiley isn't for everyone. His coat has been designed by Salvador Dali, and makes him seem crooked. On top of that, he has a birth defect which is an underbite which makes his snout look small. However, he has an absolutely HUGE frame. His father was 75 lbs of muscle, and I wouldn't be surprised to see him top that. He also has a great attitude. He's like the Patrick Swayze character in Point Break, that all time great cinematic achievement. He is a confident surfer dude that would love to kick whatever "Johnny Utah's" ass he comes in contact with. (By the way, how did the character name "Johnny Utah" ever get past the first couple script meetings for that shitty little movie?) Smiley knocked both of the other dogs out of the way to get attention, or chew on my pant legs/Chuck Taylors/hands/etc... Great dog, but ultimately, that snout was his undoing. If you go to the trouble of going 500 miles for a dog, you really shouldn't take one from the "Scratch N Dent" bin.

This is the dog. He is currently known as Jamal, but since I am not a fan of the late 1980s Lakers or The Bill Cosby Show, I sense the name will change. I liked him for a few reasons. He looks like a basset is supposed to look. The face is very expressive. His frame looks nice and big, like he will also approach his father's considerable stature. Look at the mitts on him for God's sake. He's 8 weeks old, and those paws are bigger than your common Golden Retriever. Most importantly though, he kicked to crap out of JJ when the two were fighting it out on the carpet. I want a dog that thinks he's in charge, despite the fact there is no evidence to that point at all. He gave me the big sell job, felt confident he won me over, and then stretched out for a nice nap. TCB 24/7 just like Elvis.

The nightmare of house training begins when I pick him up next week. It is hard to believe that I will willingly bring an animal into the home that will be focused almost exclusively on destroying anything he can get his teeth on. Let's not even get into the urinatation and defication thing. I am hoping to have him not only house trained, but also grasping the basics of rolling over, getting the paper, and search and rescue operations by March 1st. I will devise breakthrough dog training techniques until I pick him up. The new basset is on the way...