Is It a Blog?: Quick Hits #3

Originally posted on "Is It Sports?" Ryan and I go back to our roots and post discussion on the upcoming 49ers-Texans game to determine the #1 pick in the 2006 draft, which everyone thought would be Reggie Bush. Things worked out well for just about everyone involved. The Texans got the pick and picked up Mario Williams to anchor their defense. The 49ers ended up drafting Frank Gore, who has had a much better career so far, and Reggie Bush found a role on a winning team, but has pretty much been a bust.

Ryan: I think the NFL should instate a lottery as well, so we don't have to worry about games like San Fran vs Houston, and having both teams trying to lose
Steve: yeah this year could be a good argument for it
Ryan: I could really see that game ending in a tie
Ryan: 0-0
Steve: and maybe just because they suck that bad
Ryan: Well, if you are a wide receiver, you catch the ball and you are running downfield seeing nothing but green, don't you just fall down?
Ryan: or go out of bounds
Ryan: the only player I see trying hard is Domanick Davis or Kevan Barlow, or whoever they have as a running back
Steve: yeah
Ryan: Actually, if I'm Houston, I would only want that first pick to trade it for some semblance of an offensive line... Davis can be a serviceable back if you give him an offensive line... just trade down and pick Greg Eslinger from Minnesota as a center and be happy with that
Steve: that's what I've been saying too
Steve: no one agrees with me on that though
Ryan: Well, for the first time in perhaps 6 months, we have agreed on something sports related
Ryan: of course, if they trade out of that spot and Bush becomes a legend, they will be ridiculed until the end of time
Steve: yeah but they're the Texans
Steve: not like they won't be anyways

A Night Out

Originally posted on "Is It Sports?" by Ryan, the die-hard Vikings fan. This post is very well written and a lot of fun...

I went to the bar in Excelsior, near the pier on Lake Minnetonka. I got there 5 minutes before 8, expecting to wait for about fifteen minutes. He was always late. Everyone I go meet anywhere is always late. This time, however, I showed up and he was already there with crutches and a cast on his right knee. There were a few empty glasses in front of him.

“Hey, man,” I said, “How long have you been here?”

He looked off into space. “Got here about three. I have a lot of free time these days.”

I sat down and ordered a Captain and Coke, hold the Coke. We had a lot of catching up to do. Apparently he had recently been at a pretty sweet party that I wanted to find out about. But he seemed pretty dejected about some problems he was having at work, and about his injury. The whole, two guys in a bar awkward pause followed. I felt the need to say something.

“So…”

He interrupted my monologue, “It’s not my fault, Ryan. None of this is my fault!”

I slowly nodded, without saying a word. I allowed him to continue.

“I could handle Randy being gone, you know, if there was an offensive line on our team! And don’t get me started on the boss! Mike is a %#$@ idiot! Seriously, I met his father once. Mountain gorilla.”

I started to laugh, but then I saw that he wasn’t kidding. Mike was half ape.

“You know, maybe my injury is the best thing. It shows just how bad the offensive line is. I weigh 220 pounds, and the defense was able to get a good enough run at me to destroy my knee,” he said before taking another drink. I didn’t want to point out that he probably weighed a little more than 220, and that he hurt his knee on a scramble.

“As for that party,” He said. My ears perked up. I had heard there were strippers. “I went on that boat, on that lake,” he gestured to Minnetonka, “because my receivers were there. I wanted to get to know Marcus and Travis and Troy and Koren. And anyways, I knew there would be alcohol and Koren would need a ride home. But some of that stuff was appalling! I mean, my momma raised me better than that!”

We sat drinking in silence for a little bit longer. Just then, a guy we both knew passed by and stopped to join us for a bit. He was dripping sweat. “Whoo! Just got back from practice! That Duane, he sure works us good! I like the guy! He’s always talking about his experience, and what he used to do when he was in Seattle. It’s nice having a coach that knows what he’s talking about! Well, I have to go give money to charity. Like, over a million dollars. I’ll talk to you later!”

So it was just me and him again, and he was fuming. Again, I felt the need to say something.

“So…”

“I’m getting surgery, you know. In Alabama. They are fixing my knee in Alabama. I didn’t even know they had doctors in Alabama. I went to the University of Central Florida, and I still feel comfortable calling the people of Alabama stupid. And I’m getting three tendons reattached in Alabama,” He stopped and took another long drink before continuing on a semi related tangent. “Now we have this Inspector Clousseau looking tool running the team. He just looks sneaky doesn’t he? At least when we had Red we KNEW he was up to no good.”

There was another pause when someone else we knew showed up. “What’s up guys? Just got done meeting with Carl. What a crazy old coot that guy is! He said he wanted to pay everyone minimum wage, but I had to tell him that the union wouldn’t allow it! Ha! Tough guy to work with, but there is a silver lining! At least I don’t need surgery on my ankle!” He got up, made sure his hat was just askew, and left.

We sat there again, alone. He was fuming. - Ryan