Teh Squeaky Wheel
New Hampshire Hangover O grabbin’!
I might have to reuse that O grabbin’ comment on Wednesday.
So, yeah, I watched the “debate”, ABC commentary afterwards, and the CN&N gang panel. No Fox. We have been watching a whole lot of C-span. The political hoopla has been a good distraction for BW, with my ever expanding conspiracy theories keeping her wondering if I’m on to something or just entertaining her. Ha!
I’m hoping for a quiet day-hoping y’all have a Jerrilicious one!
A blessed Sabbath, Gerbil Nation!
Good morning, hungover RabBiT!
Thanks for taking one for the team, RabBiT! I’ll probably just read the biased reporting on the innertubes.
I hear there’s some collection of commercials on today, interrupted by a football game.
Hai, RabBeet! (Who is a better person than I, since I’m almost entirely disengaged from this presidential election cycle…aside from loathing all the major party candidates pretty equally.)
Hai, Paddy! I was wondering why Walmart was so busy yesterday; Super Bowl Sunday (come at me for phony-baloney “trademark infringement”, NFL lawyer bros!) just doesn’t register on my radar.
There’s an election metaphor here somewhere:
Good morning Rabbit, Paddy, and Fatwa!
Super Bowl Sunday again. Although I’d like to see Manning go out on a win, I don’t see much hope for that happening. If the Broncos do win, it will be because of Wade Phillips and their defense which did a great job hammering Brady into the turf when they won the AFC championship.
Filing under the “about-fuc*in’-time” heading, Ken Stabler finally elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Now if they will just get their act further together and vote in Tom Flores and Jim Plunkett, all will be right in Raider Nation.
In the late 1980s, a few months apart, I had occasion to cover book signings by two of the East Bay’s all-time greatest sports stars at a small bookstore in San Leandro. The first one was for Catfish Hunter, the legendary A’s pitcher who had just been inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. The other was for Raiders quarterback Ken Stabler, who wasn’t being touted for any hall other than ones where beer was served or pool was played.
The Catfish signing drew a nice crowd, maybe a couple of hundred people.
And then, a few months later, there was the Stabler event. It was more akin to the Feeding of the 5,000. Or Woodstock. Or more appropriately, based on the clientele, the Sturgis motorcycle summit.
The bookstore was filled beyond capacity long before the event started. The supply of books was exhausted quickly. It was loud, raucous, very close to out of control. The line to have a moment with this man Stabler went out the door, around the corner and down two city blocks. And for more than three hours, the fans kept coming, and coming, and coming.
With no books left to buy or sign, Stabler agreed to autograph whatever his legions brought to the table. Crude signs and photos from their personal Snake altar. Safeway shopping bags. Blank post-it notes. All manner of clothing, including women’s underwear. Some folks, with nothing to sign, just had Stabler sign the backs of their hands, or in the case of at least a few women, the area just above their halter tops.
At the end of it all, Stabler looked as if he couldn’t wait to find the nearest watering hole. He granted me a brief interview. I remember none of it. But I have never forgotten that scene, the reverence and joy people expressed, and how the bookstore owners were as astounded as I as to what they’d just witnessed.
A surprisingly not bad tune from Randy Bachman especially considering he’s like 75 years old.