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ONE: Nosey people suck.
And I'm not talking about those friends, associates & colleagues who dip into a conversation to be "in on the joke" for a giggle. In fact, I encourage those types of folks to keep up the good work.
After all, laughing is the proverbial chicken soup for the soul.
What I am talking about are those who habitually ask, "What are you talking about?" not because they want to share in a few funny quips but, rather, because they need to feed their insecurities. Insecurites, by the way, that manifest for these folks because every time someone whispers in their pressence they feel they MUST be the topic of said whisper.
They are not secret. They are not safe.
Worse yet, even after they learn the conversation isn't "about" them, they're not relieved. They simply become MORE intrigued. And not for laughter's sake. They become more intrigued to soak up all the gossip and then run to the person or persons who were gossiped about to gossip about the original gossip which, in reality, probably wasn't gossip at all.
That's straight confusing, right? It's also the reason why these type of nosey people suck.
But don't tell them I said that.
TWO: I'm part of the 55 percent.
A recently released study found that over half the time an average Facebook user removes a friend -- 55 percent of the time, to be exact -- the reason is for "offensive comments and status updates."
It's must be the season of miracles because, based on that little tidbit, it's a wonder I have any facebook friends at all.
ONE: Every coworker in the world was the "best employee of all time" at their previous job.
True story.
It's easier to comprehend when you apply an essential doctrine of the Shawshank Principle called innocent guilt. You know, because all the inmates claimed to be innocent even though their asses were in jail?
Same rules apply to the work place.
Every coworker I've had, and every coworker you've ever had for that matter, will stop at nothing to tell tales of how "invaluable" and "innovative" they were in past positions. Some will go so far as to say they "essentially ran the company" despite holding 8 jobs over a 5 year span.
All CEOs in the making, I'm sure.
Try this little homework assignment if you're feeling skeptical about the veracity of my claim: head into work tomorrow, present the "So, what did you do before this?" question to a newer hire and see how their story measures up. Be warned, though. The bullshit will be flying fast. Real fast.
Faster than it flies in this blog, in fact.
But remember to try and stay your judgment for their egregious hyperbole.
After all, you're a coworker too.
TWO: Nintendo's Zelda contains all the relationship advice you'll ever need.
Who would have thought an 8-bit elf with a wooden sword and over-sized head would be my generation's Dr. Phil before Dr. Phil even existed? Certainly not me. Don't laugh, I'm serious.
Ocarina of Time Water Temple level serious, actually.
And it's not because Zelda's digital protagonist, Link, saves a damsel in distress by collecting pieces of a triangular shaped Triforce and harnesses its mythical power to save the world from darkness.
#euphemism
It's because he can't succeed in one level without the skills he learned and developed in the previous one. The relationship application is clear: As you progress through life looking for your Triforce, make sure lessons learned in former relationships -- personal and professional -- are applied to all others that follow.
The trick, of course, is discerning when to use each lesson. For example, don't use the hookshot when the ladder will suffice, don't send flowers when a simple note is needed and, whatever you do, don't use the Master Sword unless it's absolutely necessary.
One shan't be careless with such power, you know?
But when you reach a dead end and you know the relationship is a lost cause, stick to the basics by grabbing a bomb, lighting the fuse and blowing that shit up. You might even find a Heart Container or Magic Fairy in the rubble.
Boom.
I'm a little worried about all the adult women clambering to see the new Twilight movie. And it's not because I'm jealous of Edward or Jacob or anything: they get to be movie stars, I get to go on the big boy rides in amusement parks.
C'est la vie.
What worries me is the obsession these "Twilight Moms" have for characters and story lines constructed with their daughters in mind. I mean, I know the Sex and the City movie train hasn't left the station in a while, but is a movie targeted at teenagers really the most appropriate option to fill the void?
Really?
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Quick Thinking
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-- Hey, ESPN, please stop force feeding your viewers NASCAR coverage.
-- Seriously. Stop.
-- Any activity big city drivers perform on a daily basis shouldn't be considered a sport.
-- Actually, now that I think of it, assigning a sponsor and number, along with the obligatory unsightly paint job, on each car in Boston during rush hour would be more watchable than NASCAR.
-- Not to mention those piss poor godaddy.com commercials that accompany each telecast.
-- If a professional hockey team wins 9 games in-a-row and no one is watching did it really happen?
-- I'm learning whenever my Idaho roots are brought up in conversation someone will invariably say, "I da ho? No. YOU da ho!"
-- I get it, though. Seeing a group of cows garners a similar "Moo!" reflex from me.
-- Unless said cows are chasing me with pole axes, of course.
-- I think too much has been made of Gronkowski's head first tumble on MNF against the Chiefs last night.
-- Homeboy lives in a perpetual concussed state anyway.
-- E's Chelsea Lately should be renamed The Comic Graveyard.
-- The term "horseplay" is only acceptable when talking about the interactions between consenting adults.
-- And for those who participate in equestrian sports.
-- Giddy up!
ONE: Zombies are a polarizing lot.
I lost a total of 12 facebook friends as a result of last week's 2 Things post in which I joked about skull fucking zombies to death. I know. Only a dozen.
I was surprised too.
I really should put quotations around the words "lost" & "friends" though because, well, we're using the term "lost" very loosely and, as we all know, digital friends for the most part aren't really friends at all.
Unless you're watching porn, of course.
And while my knee jerk reaction is to tell all 12 of you to go skull fuck yourselves, (see what I did there?) I'm going to try the more "fatherly-advice" approach.
Here goes:
Listen, if you can't see the humor in someone overdosing on an erectile dysfunction pill in the hopes of killing the undead through violent eye socket penetration with his erection during a can-only-happen-in-fiction zombie apocalypse than we really shouldn't be friends in the first place.
Digital or otherwise.
TWO: A starting quarterback can win a NFL game by completing only 2 passes.
I don't have much to say about the above sentence because, while entirely true, it defies all conventional wisdom. Seriously, every last bit of it. Plus, the sentence reads like more of a question than a declarative statement to me.
And you know what they say about asking better questions, don't you?
With or without the question mark, however, it evokes the same response of disbelief. A response, by the way, that I'll modified for all my easily offended Tebow loving readers out there with delicate sensibilities: Shut the front door.
Oh, and go skull fuck yourselves.
ONE: Promiscuity will thrive during the Zombie Apocalypse.
Less than one month into Season 2 of AMC's The Walking Dead and we find the one married woman who's sheriff husband is still alive pregnant...by his partner.
With friends like that, right?
We also have a pair of strangers in the midst of a supply run -- one the archetypal "farmer's daughter" and the other a pizza delivery boy referred to by the group as a "go to town guy" or "in and out specialist" -- knockin' boots in an abandon convenience store because of the post-apocalyptic world aphrodisiac called a box of unopened condoms.
Waste not, want not I suppose.
In addition, there are two other unlikely couples laying groundwork for eventual trysts.
Giggity, giggity.
Looks like the impending zombie infestation will be more like the free love era of the 60's than originally anticipated, huh? A large anti-establishment constituency coupled with copious amounts of consequence free sex, mind expanding drugs and tie dye t-shirts.
Ok, minus the tie dye t-shirts.
Either way, looks like I need to add Viagra to my survival kit. Which will be more versatile than you think. The way I figure it, when I'm unfortunate enough to run out of ammunition during an attack, I'll simply pop a few dick pills and do what any man experiencing priapism during the Zombie Apocalypse would do: have sex with as many willing partners as possible.
After skull fucking all the zombies to death, of course.
TWO: Sometimes acting juvenile as an adult is imperative
Mistaken identity isn't just for plot advancement in movies anymore, folks.
I recently found myself the target of a colleague's verbal attacks for a situation I had absolutely nothing to do with. Knowing he was clearly confused, I chose to stay my tongue and silently nod until the storm ended.
"Feel better?" I asked.
Later in the day that same coworker went out of his way to apologize for his misinformed outburst. He offered to buy me lunch and everything.
But while being the bigger man who accepted the apology, and lunch, I almost started to feel bad for rolling up an award-winning sized nose nugget and throwing it so it stuck to the back of his head when no one has looking following the earlier incident.
Almost.
I'm starting to learn that, in life, being considered AN option is more preferable than being considered THE option. Hear me out, dear readers. I'm not making the preceding statement because of some displaced fear of failure I carry with me.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
I'm making the statement to try and help. Really. I'm trying to help and impart a little wisdom on those who might think being someone's "everything" is the "only thing." I'm trying to help because the hard truth is this: those who make you THE option in their lives are doing so to fill some personal void created by their own failures, fears & insecurities. And those kind of voids can't be filled.
Ever.
Except in the world of sports, of course.
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Quick Thinking
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-- The life wisdom imparted on movie fans who listen by Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs cannot be overstated.
-- Neither can his fashion sensibilities.
-- It appears Julian Edelman attended a few classes at Ben Roethlisberger's Charm School during his trip to Pittsburgh last weekend.
-- I wonder if the alleged "incident" was one of his homework assignments.
-- The thing is, Jules, if you were that aggressive on your professional field of play maybe you'd see more minutes.
-- The off-season has just started and I'm already sick of hearing about Tito & Theo's post Sox Nation lives.
-- Tom Brady's window is starting to close.
-- And I feel like Bill Belichick is the one closing it.
-- The recent allegations against Bieber provide further proof that the rules governing acceptable social behavior are incredibly gender specific.
-- They also highlight how "crazy" has become this Nation's currency.
-- And we're all part of the 1%, y'all.
-- Let's try a little Occupy Normalcy, shall we?
ONE: Bill Belichick's arrogance is slowly killing Patriot Nation.
Someone had to say it.
It's not like Coach Belichick has changed over the years or anything. He hasn't. Today's Bill is the same as 2000's version. Exactly the same, in fact. Save one dubious distinction: being able to win when it counts.
Which the Patriots can't seem to do anymore.
Patriot Nation's blind-faith mantra "In Bill We Trust" pacified us during our dynasty years but has proven fruitless as of late. Like zero-playoff-wins-in-the-last-4-years fruitless. So something has to change.
Doesn't it?
Bill's "value" driven personnel moves over the years, especially on the defensive side of the ball, have resulted in watered down talent and a substandard product on the field of play. See this season's defensive rank if you don't believe me. Or just ask the Steelers.
Either way.
Someone needs to remind Bill that talented players are just as important as any defensive scheme he can conjure. While they're at it, that same "someone" also needs to tell Coach Belichick to stop releasing playmakers like Asante, Seymour & Merriweather with such hubris.
Pride comes before the fall, Mr. Belichick.
The hard truth, Patriot Nation, is if Bill doesn't change we won't have a quality defense for a long, long time.
Or a meaningful win, for that matter.
TWO: You're never too old to enjoy the childish excitement afforded by a "snow day."
Never.
Someone recently told me I offend people. Truth be told, it wasn't just "someone." It was a friend.
And not the social media kind.
The constructive criticism came from a person I interact with outside the confines of facebook's digital playground. The thing is, I've been told as much several times during my life. Big surprise, right? But the most recent occurrence was different.
It resonated with me.
For some reason, I value this particular person's opinion which, by the way, is an occupational hazard of sorts for writers. The second a writer starts to care about what people think they mentally edit genuine "voice" and the resulting written word becomes, you guessed it, disingenuous.
This person explained how I can be "too harsh in my blog" and how I "need to take some things more seriously."
Sage advice, indeed.
Listen, I'm not going to bore you with my response citing some serious tragedies I experienced in my life responsible for a my life-priority shift, but the bottom line is this: Most people in the world, including this particular person, take themselves way too seriously.
Watch 2 minutes of Jersey Shore if you don't believe me.
That kind of life approach simply doesn't work for me. Sorry I'm not sorry about it. I choose not to take life very seriously and, more importantly, I don't think anything is considered an "off limits" topic.
Anything.
Sure, maybe I take my jokes too far sometimes. Maybe. But, c'mon, life is too short to really be concerned about what color tile the new backsplash in your kitchen is or if you "made the cut" on a wedding invite list.
In my little world, poking fun at others is a necessity and being made fun of is a compliment. I know some of you agree and for the others, well, maybe you should lighten up.
Seriously.
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Quick Thinking
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-- It's officially official: A Romo-led Cowboy Nation has become synonymous with choking.
-- And always will be under his reign.
-- Did you see Tony rip his arm away from the man who signs his checks on national TV following the loss? I'm guessing he'll be reminded of that next time contract talks come around.
-- I'm glad the Red Sox didn't make the playoffs.
-- That's right. I said it.
-- Speaking of the Sox throwing up on themselves, Quote of the Week honors go to my boy Kill Shot for the best post-playoff-eliminating-loss line of all time, "The only thing that could cheer me up would be a group sing-a-long of Sweet Caroline."
-- So good! So good! So good!
-- There really shouldn't be a place for Neil Diamond in baseball.
-- Why did I spend my college years going to "dress up" parties in an attempt to feel older?
-- And why the fuck do I find myself invited to "ugly sweater parties" or "80's" parties today in an attempt to recapture my youth?
-- Quite the funny dance life has us all engaged in.
-- Whenever media outlet powers-that-be refer to the Arizona Diamondbacks as "D-Backs" I invariably hear "D-Bags."
-- I guess age and maturity don't always go hand in hand.
-- It seems Adele's Someone Like You is this year's anthem for girls with broken hearts everywhere.
-- If it's any consolation, ladies, chances are the boy that was in your life who inspired a connection to said ballad probably didn't really care about you in the first place.
-- Except late at night or in the bedroom, I'm guessing.
-- Hey, I'm actually trying to help here so don't get upset. Just because a truth is hurtful doesn't make it any less true, y'all. I mean, why waste energy on someone who wouldn't waste any on you?
-- Unless, of course, it could be wiped off with a towel.
Dear Mr. Papelbon,
The Red Sox just suffered another loss to the Baltimore Orioles -- with you on the mound and the post season on the line -- punctuating the greatest September swoon in the history of Major League Baseball and your post game quote was, "I don't know what anyone else in the clubhouse is feeling, but, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
Really, Pap? Fuckin' really!?
That's all you got one night after you nearly broke an arm patting yourself on the back telling anyone with a microphone and camera how much you love "pressure situations?" You love them so much, in fact, that if we "checked the tape from [the previous] night's win you'd see me smiling."
Was that bravado real or were you just showing off because Heidi's tits were in view? It's an honest question, Pap. I'd say just about anything if Ms. Watney was that close to me and a shower. Or, as I like to call it, the sanctuary of self abuse.
Listen, Jonathan, I appreciate you taking the "professional" approach to your team's historic collapse. I really do. But maybe taking a little ownership of the defeat instead of quoting Zen-like proverbs would've been better received by the constituents of Red Sox Nation. After all, sometimes professionalism can be misconstrued as indifference.
Just ask Bill Belichick.
The thing is, you're right. That which does not kill you DOES make you stronger. If you can't strike out a number 9 hitter in Baltimore with your team's season in the balance it won't kill you.
It'll just kill your career.
Disappointedly Yours,
sports+thoughts
Spokesman, Red Sox Nation
I wasn't surprised when we lost to Buffalo.
Not even a little bit.
What did surprise me, however, was the WAY we lost. Championship teams don't blow 21 point leads. Period. Championship teams go up big and then they stay up big. That's what makes them champions.
Our New England Patriots are not a championship team.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Patriot Nation, but our great offense and less than mediocre defense means we'll be lucky to finish a few games above .500 this season. And by "less than mediocre" I mean "dead last in the league." 11-5 is a realistic expectation.
So is another first round playoff loss.
Don't say I didn't warn you come January.
#youhearditherefirst
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Quick Thinking
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-- Red Sox Nation has gone from the most popular kid in school to the pimple-faced girl who smells like cabbage sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria.
-- And it only took 3 weeks.
-- I hear she has a great personality, though.
-- Ochocinco's Drop Heard 'Round the World™ is further proof that practice performance is the best indicator of game performance.
-- That's right, Allen. I'm talking about practice.
-- Our second half woes against Buffalo also tell you how important Hernandez is to the Patriots' winning offensive equation.
-- And I'm not even that good at math.
-- After an initial text saying, "I gotta tell you, my kids kill my sex life." was met by 20 minutes of silence on my end because I was nowhere near my phone, Big Nick earns Quote of the Week honors for his follow up text that read, "Sorry. Didn't mean to gross you out."
-- Funnier than any contrived, trying too hard drivel you see on textsfromlastnight.com.
-- I'm a fan of Mr. Holley and all but "The Big Show" is the worst sports radio program on air today.
-- And was well before his arrival.
-- Week 3 is in the books and we're still hitting the Over Line better than 60% of the time.
-- Ok. I lied. I'm actually pretty strong at math.
-- Still does me zero good without a bookie.
-- Big ups to Ben & Jerry's for finally supporting the veracity of a claim I regularly made in college that my junk does, in fact, taste like ice cream.
-- Yummy!
-- Speaking of Schweddy Balls, how 'bout this late September heat wave we've been having, huh? Where's the Gold Bond powder when you need it?!
-- Found it!
-- Ohhhhhhh, tingly.
Watching Coach Belichick's A Football Life on the NFL network taught me two very important things.
The first is this: football is the most visceral and memorable of all the major sports. And I'm not just talking on the field of play, y'all. I'm talking about for us. For the fans.
Hear me out.
They say smell is the sense most tied to memory. And I agree. I remember getting day drunk and going to a TMBG concert in the early 90's with my boy Big Nick only because of the perfume a young lady in front of us was wearing. Big Nick has the same memory.
True story.
But watching highlights from the Patriots' 2009 season during A Football Life allowed me to recall, with absolute clarity, where I was, who I was with and what I was doing during each game. In some instances, I could tell you exactly what I was wearing, eating and even drinking.
Every detail comes racing back.
Does that mean the collective senses used when watching football highlights are the most tied to memory? I don't know. We'll need far more empirical data but it appears to be the case for me.
And, in the spirit of being honest, it really is all about me. Isn't it?
Oh, and the second, less insightful thing watching A Football Life taught me was that Bill Belichick is, hands down, the gayest rollerskating pirate I've ever seen.
Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure a gay pirate is the only kind that actually goes rollerskating.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
This is my 100th blog, folks.
No applause necessary.
In the scheme of things, I don't even know what that means. What I do know, however, is that my writing has evolved into a compulsion of sorts and the dream of doing it professionally is stronger than ever.
Until something better comes along, anyway.
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Quick Thinking
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-- Obscure News Conference Soundbite of the Week That You Need to Hear comes from the Golden Boy of Patriot Nation when asked by a reporter, "Did you hear the Jets were gonna win the Super Bowl?". (Scroll to the 8:50 mark) His response was, "The Jets? They....yeah. Well we've heard that for a few years, so..."
-- But you and I both know what he wanted to say was, "The Jets? They can go fuck themselves."
-- I really wish he would have said it, too. I mean someone on the Patriots' side needs to start talking shit. And who better than 3-time Super Bowl Champion Tom Brady?
-- The verbal bitch slap subtlety buried in his response to the follow up question was even better. (I won't ruin the surprise. You can open that present yourself.)
-- Jurassic 5 alum Chali 2na's new single effort, Lock Shit Down feat. Talib Kweli, is ill.
-- And I'm not just talking about the baseline, y'all. (Which is) I'm talking the entire package. Take 3:34 out of your life and dig on the visuals in the video.
-- Sometimes knowing you can do something is better than actually doing it.
-- Except when it comes to farting, of course.
-- Quote of the Week goes to yours truly for answering a colleague's, um, "personal" question concerning my surgically repaired arm strength with the following response, "I'm not worried about my arm strength, Jose. That's what dogs and peanut butter are for."
-- All the fantasy football hype has me wondering: what are my fantasy projections for this season?
-- I'm guessing 4,387 smart ass comments, 44 blogs, 17 facebook defriendings, 3 arguments, 4 shoving matches and 1 death threat for a projected 316 fantasy points.
-- Those are 1st round draft worthy stats, bitches!
-- Heartache of the Week Award goes to Burger King for changing Ad Agencies and dumping "The King" mascot.
-- Mel Brooks, we turn our broken hearts to you.
-- Nothing I'll miss more than the sweet oil of Flame Body Spray.
-- That's right, I said it. The essence of hot beef was a big hit with the ladies.
-- And was deadly with a jar of peanut butter at the pound.
Trying to find the Least Funny Fan of the Most Interesting Man (or LFFMIM for short) is no easy task, dear readers. Trust me. While I found hundreds of viable candidates during my search over the past 7 days, I may have bitten off more than I could chew attempting to crown a new winner each week.
I think I'm gonna need some interns.
And not only to work through the fan inspired drivel on the Dos Equis facebook page. But the more I read the more I fear contracting stupidity via osmosis and interns would be the perfect line of defense helping prevent that.
I'm full on stupid as it is.
I'm mean, seriously, the posts are so bad you can actually taste the idiocy that inspired them. It's palpable. Just like when someone farts near you and it ends up in your mouth a little bit. Only minus the shit particles.
But no less harmful.
Below are some of this week's unwitting contestants.
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Andre actually earns an LFFMIM Honorable Mention for his entry. Maybe it's because I have a soft spot for basketball quips. Or maybe it's because the pain of Magic Johnson's sky hook from Game 4 of the 1987 NBA Finals still haunts me.
Name recognition alone earned McJaks a spot on this week's list. Not only do I see Mr. Lewis as a recurring character in my blog but I plan on using his namesake as the default nickname for strangers. Standbys like "Buddy", "Sport" and, my favorite, "Chief" pale next to the incomparable "McJaks."
And this week's winner is Mr. Daniel Olsen. His posts are so dumbing that I couldn't pick just one. (They resonate better as a group, anyway.) In all honestly, I don't even know what these comments mean. Except the one about the Glass Chess Board of Death, of course.
Keep trying to be funny on the Dos Equis facebook page, my friends.
Whenever I find myself in need of a laugh I head over to the Dos Equis facebook page and, with each visit, I unearth a booty of comedy gold.
Lines from The Most Interesting Man in the World fans like, "On his feet he wears Dos Sockies" and "He literally made a silk purse out of a sow's ear" are the envy of comedy writers everywhere.
And they always put me in a good mood.
I've decided I can no longer keep this treasure trove to myself, dear readers. I'm going to share my favorites with you every week in a little blog I like to call, "The Search for the Least Funny Fan of the Most Interesting Man in the World."
Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?
My only hope is that you, too, may find a similar nugget of life's balance in Dos Equis Nation that I have.
To get us started this week, I'm simply going to show you a random sampling of the page void of any quips, dissection or breakdown. In future blogs I'm sure I'll have something to say about whichever fan posted comments I decide are the least funny for that particular week but, for today, I'll let them stand on their own merit.
You're about to discover why.
Keep trying to be funny on the Dos Equis facebook page, my friends.
I spent my formidable years, specifically grades 1 thru 8, tucked away in the booming metropolis of Central Falls attending Holy Trinity School.
The city had more cash back then.
What we also had was a CYO basketball team called the Holy Trinity Blue Demons. That's right, baby. The Blue Demons. We even had yellow t-shirts with the little blue dude on the front. Think Duke's Blue Devils. (pictured below)
But without the dumb ass C-target. (pictured above)
The problem is simple: very few people seem to remember my childhood CYO team's mascot. Even worse still, there seems to be zero proof that the little demon even existed.
And that's where you come in, dear readers.
I'm offering a bounty to any of my Holy Trinity alums who have proof that we were, in fact, the Blue Demons.
If you have a picture of someone wearing the t-shirt I speak of, I'll reward you with 100 bucks. But, if you have an intact version of the t-shirt stashed away in your parents basement that you can give me, I'll had over 250 buck-a-roos.
No joke.
The rules are simple pretty simple, folks. First come, first rewarded.
Let the games begin.
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Quick Thinking
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-- Reason # 1,459,340,209 this Country has Been Downgraded to AA Status: A petition has been started by one Lair Scott urging support for Bert & Ernie to marry.
-- True story.
-- I'm sorry you got beat as a kid and all, Lair, but how can you think there's a valuable message of tolerance in two Sesame Street characters, who only exist when they have some person's hand up their ass, exchanging vows?
-- Let's not over complicate things, y'all. Bert & Ernie are fucking puppets with poor fashion sense who sing songs about rubber duckies and teach kids how to count. Not advocates for educating kids about alternative lifestyles.
-- That's what parents are for.
-- I love everything Mr. Kraft has done for Patriot Nation and for football but, seriously, why does he always sound like the local drunk during interviews?
-- Speaking of football, isn't the preseason like your favorite booty call? You miss her terribly when she's not around but you don't really pay attention to her when she is.
-- I recently read it takes the average user a mere 3.5 seconds to decide the value of a newly visited web site.
-- Makes you wonder if the "Internet" is contributing to our nation's continued ADD epidemic.
-- And, as my boy K.!.D. points out, that's barely enough time to ejaculate.
-- Unless, of course, you're giving the cheerleading captain a thorough lollipop pants search following an away game back in 1990.
-- Don't judge me. I was nervous.
-- Plus she was really hot.
ESPN's Top 10 Plays wants you to believe the below video was filmed at Stan Van Gundy's Orlando Magic basketball camp.
But you and I both know it's unmistakeable footage of Marty Joyce running point at the Central Falls Community Center during his lunchtime workouts back in '82.
Will the wonders of CGI and the internet never cease!?
They must have edited out his trademark no-look, no-catch pass, though.
