Saturday, September 22, 2007

drive time


I used to watch the Steelers in St. Louis at a hotel bar in Clayton. Clayton is a funny little city in the first ring of suburbs which hosts a number of skyscraping office buildings, a sort of second downtown more convenient to exurban commuters than the inner core of the River City. It's full of mediocre restaurants and saps business dollars from St. Louis itself, but whatever.

Anyways, I used to post up there in the Marriot bar, eat chicken fingers and crush mad watered-down coffee. It was cheap and awesome, and there were always random fans straggling in from around the country, like the one really jolly dude in a Bucs jersey that was there yelling at the TV every week, come hell or high water. Dedication!

GW9K and I tried to watch the opening game this season in the Fox and Hound, Philadelphia's premiere destination for chubby uncomfortable girls and fat dudes wearing black and gold. It was fucking awful. So we dipped to another Marriot down the street, where we crushed some sub-par nachos and watched sub-par football. My girl went to trusted Steelers outpost 200 Fifth in Park Slope, Brooklyn and said it was more crowded than ever and thus really unpleasant.

Last weekend, I didn't even go out. I sat on my friend's couch in Minneapolis and watched the Vince Young extravaganza. And watched the Steelers beat down the Bills thanks to these dudes. It was dope.

What I'm saying is, even though I get down for the pageantry and violence of football fandom, more and more I really just want to enjoy the fucking game in peace. While sitting down. I mean, shit, I am more often than not either hungover, sleep deprived or both on Sunday morning. I'm not really trying to stand for three hours in a bar, Steelers or not.

(The one benefit of 200 Fifth is that they have a pretty ill brunch. Some weeks I'd get brunch and football. Really, that is the new American Dream.)

Here's a story about Suge Knight "butt-fingering" a prostitute.

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