Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Mild Jackassery

Occasional Thought: One time I saw Dustin Diamond at a Walmart in West Bend. He noticed me gawking and said, “Hey what’s up man” as he walked by. I realized then and there he should’ve played Zach Morris. What a cool dude.

In a rare deviation from football, I recently attended the first round of the NCAA tournament in Milwaukee with some beanbag-tossing cohorts. The first thing everybody pointed out was that the Bradley Center wasn’t serving alcohol. We all had done our homework. So we pooled some money and went on a fast and furious booze run, clearing out the liquor store’s selection of airplane bottles minus the gin.

Getting through security at the game was a breeze thanks in part to our good friend, Dingleberry. His ingenious plan of duct-taping the bottles to his leg and then wrapping bunch of Ace bandages over it and limping in as if he got hit by a car totally worked. Once in, we maneuvered through the crowd to the nearest bathroom where we unwrapped Dingleberry and divvied up the goods. I ended up with ten Jagermeisters, seven Absolute Citrons, some Jameson and a Sex on the Beach (nice!) for the day. I was set.

Unfortunately, it was probably the most boring first round in the entire tournament but the group was content to enjoy ourselves with some outrageous banter, numerous bets and the occasional nudie pic courtesy of Woody and his fancy iPhone. As the empty bottles piled up, we got louder and more obnoxious (shocking). Then, as we were discussing the cheerleaders at the concession area, Dingleberry interjects, “There’s AJ Hawk!”

Sure enough, #50 and his unmistakable medieval warrior hair walked right by us. My whole world turned upside down. It was the last place I would think to see a Packer. But then again, his alma mater Ohio State was playing. Of course!

“AJ!!” I blasted. He looked and I froze. “Um…2010! Best…year…EVER!” He continued walking without a reaction.

I immediately came to the realization I was Drunk Fan. You know, the one who screams whatever comes to mind because the alcohol had dissolved the verbal filter he once had. I felt especially bad doing this to one of the Packers. Any other team/player, fine. But not one of our own. When the players talk about Green Bay and living in Wisconsin, it’s not uncommon for them to mention that community all knows who they are but let them go about their business without making a deal out of their celebrity. No one else among the hundred crowded in the concession area bothered Hawk. Just me.

Woody then noted he heard Rodgers was in the building, too.

WHERE??!!” I demanded to know. Surely I could’ve prepared something better for him.


  1. I've put some thought into this, and if you get into your hot tub time machine, you could go back and yell out Packerranter.com! Maybe that would have gotten a reaction. Maybe he's a loyal reader?

  2. I have the same kind of story only on a much crappier scale. I was at at Cubs game (I live in the dasterdly town) and CBS 2 sports guy Tim Weigel walked by rather quickly.

    I said: "HEY YOU ARE THAT GUY!"

    He said: "Yeah yeah I am"

    He passed away of brain cancer like a year later.

  3. Don't be so sure

  4. So ominous!

    Moral of the story? Committing an act of mild jackassery never ends on a positive note.

    On the other hand, some might consider "2010! Best... year... EVER" to be a positive note. I mean, best year ever?! That would be a pretty good year! Athough 1984 was a pretty good year too; I think someone wrote a book about it.

  5. I saw Big Papi at Oneida Casino the night before the Packer/Viking game this past season. He was being led into the high roller lounge while I was ordering a couple Spotted Cows. Good thing Robert was in the can, or who knows what he would have yelled.

  6. Good point Shizzler. 2010 could very well shape up to be the "best... year... EVER!"
    Like every year, 2010's rating will come down to pad-level.
    Pad-level, of course, speaks to conditioning, flexibility and strength, but mostly the will to win!
    Will-to-win, as everyone knows, is fed 60-40 by a deep seated insane desire to inflict violence on others, and fan support.
    Fan Support = Franklin in front of the tube, alone in the dark on his couch, shirtless, cutting slices off a block of cheese the size of a car batter that rests on his belly, screaming "CLOCK MANAGEMENT!"
    Robert's inner-voice rising up like a 47 year-old biker chick hurling her panties on stage at a Nugent concert at the Dodge County Fair.

    I thank you both for your efforts.

  7. I'm pretty sure Robert and I were out in downtown Appleton in the late 90's and saw some of the Super Bowl crew at the "club." One of them might have been Gilby B. These men were far to enormous for me to yell out anything absurd. I'd feel more comfortable now, day 25, P90X, definite results.

  8. You know what... You should've shouted Lightning Bolt...


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