• Hopefully, my last sports related entry of the week

    Here are a couple quick conclusions drawn from the Bucs game tonight:

    First, if you made Brad Johnson six inches shorter, made him a little less accurate on the intermediate pass, and made him more mobile: you’d have a quarterback that looks a lot like Bruce Gradkowski. The difference between Brad’s and Bruce’s long ball is that Brad knew enough not to throw it (either that or Gruden didn’t ask him to throw it as often). Granted, there are some good quarterbacks that didn’t show much six starts into their careers; but, Bruce is SO inconsistent… even when you factor in the dropped passes. “Rookie” should not be a hall pass for poor play, and I think Bruce may be getting too many.

    Second, there aren’t too many other choices right now.

    Third, nothing is safe in the hands of the Bucs’ safeties. Who knew the Bucs would miss Darrell Jackson so much? (Besides Darrell Jackson…)

    Fourth, Michael Clayton still isn’t doing much to back up his claim he’s not getting enough touches. You could say that he’s suffering through a rookie quarterback… but he wasn’t doing much with Simms either.

    Fifth, the Bucs are facing stiff competition in the Brady Quinn Sweepstakes. Detroit, Tampa, Tennessee, and Oakland are all right there at 2-7 with nearly identical conference records of 1-6 (Oakland has a game in hand at 1-5 in their conference); but they’re all a game behind Arizona at 1-8. However, the ace in the hole continues to be the Bucs’ schedule… which continues to be brutal.

    Sixth, it’s really late and it’s going to be a REALLY long day tomorrow. They don’t make coffee strong enough for tomorrow morning.

  • Not a shingle dollar

    Thats right friends, no play on words is to lame; we’re officially poor. Late last week we employed a classic strategy for budget busting known as “roofing.” Any time you employ someone to perform strenuous labor in uncomfortable circumstances AND you involve a primary component of the structure of your house… you’re likely to end up hosed. What’s more, like the garden variety, there are several ways you can take your hosing… the traditional “soaking” method or the lashing technique are but two examples. Either way your bound to feel ill afterwards.

    I don’t know about you, but I’m about to throw my hose away. Not only is it harbinger of memories best forgotten, but everywhere it goes growing grass follows. Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve kept it around this long. I really hate to mow the grass.

    On a high note: I took in a most excellent hockey game Saturday night. Had it come later in the season, with graver consequences hanging in the balance, it might have been the best live hockey experience of my sheltered existence. And on a relieved note, we made a nice trip to see Cheryl’s family in Orlando. As astute readers can attest, I don’t normally relish an opportunity to see our old home town, but Sunday’s road trip wasn’t bad at all. It may not sound like much, but there’s nothing wrong with a weekend that’s not bad.

    **Author’s note: this entry was submitted in it’s entirety without proofing or editing of any kind. Just for kicks, I turned off the spell check too. (Boy we’re really having fun now!)

  • Bogota, we have a problem (another entry about coffee)

    I think I have the symptoms of a serious chemical imbalance. Specifically, America’s favorite stimulant doesn’t seem to be working as a stimulant. I am familiar with the concept of tolerance… but this goes well beyond your garden-variety tolerance issue. It’s as if I’ve punched my ticket to bizarro world, or left this plane of existence, did not pass go, did not collect my $200, and went straight to hell. You see I’m strapped in the back seat of a van barreling down the highway towards Orlando, Florida.

    *** This is a test of the Vacation Disaster System. In the event of an actual vacation, this alert would be followed by an intervention; to make sure you really wanted to spend your vacation in Central Florida. ***

    As it happens the occasion of this trip is not a vacation, but a visit with some blood relations of my in-laws. Anyway, I’m sitting in the van with my knees pushed back into my appendix, sipping some store brewed joe, when I begin to feel drowsy. DROWSY?!? I just sucked down thirty-two ounces like a horror movie monster; I should be wired like the gas tank of a ’76 Ford Pinto hatchback.

    I’m beginning to suspect foul play. I can just picture a disgruntled Dunkin Donuts employee indiscriminately slinging decaf to the unsuspecting a.m. customers with an evil gleam in his eye.