It was Indira Gandhi who said never shave during a winning streak. That lady knew something. I'm 7-0 since the geezers arrived and the bloodstream turned foamy with Pabst. Seven and oh, baby.
When we started, we were in second, a ragtag assortment of lovable misfits, the Jamaican luge team, the Washington Generals, the Persians, the runners up on American Idol: We had no 8th inning bridge to Mariano, no certainty about Joba, no knowledge of the impending made-for-TV movie that is Sergie Mitre. Something happened. We are the Bad News Bears Touring Japan, we are Madonna cutting her mystical sex path through the Onondaga Community College lacrosse team -- yes, we are pleasuring ourselves, daily, as the great and muscular Madonna would, if she could stroll into the oily but clean weight room at the Downtown Syracuse YMCA and say to the burly towelmen, "I am going to bench press you 40 times." That's us. First place.
I don't know why. But it's working. The metaphysical vibrations from my rapidly corroding brain functions are pushing neurons of nourishment into some electromagnetic wormhole, causing Rizzutonian nodules in the gridstream to reverse polarity. Result: Sergio Mitre!
Yesterday, we went through four growlers from the Middle Ages Brewery like jelly beans on Easter morning. We savaged twelvers of Bud, just to soften the LSD, the mushrooms, the horse Nitol, the Viagra cheetos. Today, we're snorting Pop Rocks and biting electric cords. Whatever it takes. Seven and oh.
We're winning the pennant for this team.
Who do we play? Anybody know? Bring em on.
Friday, July 24, 2009
My head hurts and I stubbed my toe, badly, but I am not going to stop drinking until we lose
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7 comments:
Wailing Wench is particularly good... though the Dragon Slayer stout is where it's at
Get yourself a 12-pack of the 12 Beers of Summer from Saranac. (For those that don't know, that's the "upscale" version of our official beer, Utica Club.) And for a guilty pleasure, buy a 6-pack of Saranac's "Summer Brew," which is a lager mixed with lemonade. Sounds weird, but it's pretty good.
Just stay drunk 'til mid-October, Duque! We're counting on you!
Wailing Wench... my head hurts thinking about it.
I'm glad somebody reminded Duque of our official beer. The Pabst plug was like a kick in the stomach.
Duque,
If it helps at all in keeping the winning streak alive, I'll offer to buy you a round. Actually several. Over several days. And a liver transplant application, just in case.
Just don't kick Duque in the stomach right now. In his condition, that could get messy.
And, you know, since we've declared Utica Club the official beer of the site, you'd think the Matt Brewery folks would at least send us something -- like one of those canoe paddles with the Saranac logo, or a few baseball hats, even some of those silly little foam things that hold your beer bottles. Or -- here's a concept -- some beer.
'Cause we're not above groveling for graft.
Well, at least I'm not.
I'm not below groveling for graft. Especially if it is in the form of alcohol.
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