What follows will be a stream of consciousness blog, written in real time as I watch the Hall of Fame Game. There will be no editing after the fact and, honestly, very little done while I’m writing. This is not an interesting sporting event. This is not a remotely interesting sporting event. So I’m trying to make it more fun.
I’m going over to the game after watching ten minutes of Chris Matthews on MSNBC. I always wondered who Matthews reminded me of and it just fucking hit me. He’s Paul Sorvino’s Lips Manlis from the Dick Tracy movie. They even drool the same way.
How did this become my life? There are people in bars, having fun, laughing together, fucking in bathroom stalls. I’m sitting on a couch with two cats. My girlfriend is getting on a plane for Israel. And I’m thinking, “Be fun to get a look at Kylie Fitts in pads.”
Just turned on Yankees v. Red Sox and Boston has a guy named Jackie Bradley Junior. Which sounds exactly like the name I’d give a character in my fake novel, Murder at Stax Records.
“Are you ready for some footballllllllllllllll?”
No. Kickoff is apparently not for another ten minutes.
Ray Lewis just did his obnoxious dance and started revving up absolutely no one. If only he were this enthusiastic when police asked him what he knew about a homicide.
First drive over. At no point during that drive did I even consider writing something. Chase Daniel threw a pick at the end of the drive. Even he didn’t seem to mind.
Al Michaels quotes John Madden saying the busts in the Hall of Fame talk to each other at night.
Cris Collinsworth says, “Maybe the greatest line ever”. Really? That’s the greatest line ever? Ever??
Instant replay should be outlawed in the preseason.