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People feel comfortable telling me things. All kinds of things, actually.
And, while I'm flattered folks trust me enough to share those marginally inappropriate thoughts as they pass through their minds, I have to kindly ask you all to stop.
No, seriously. Stop.
A coworkers recent unsolicited graphic description of the homosexual porn he viewed with his wife the previous evening in an attempt to "try something different" has left an indelible mark on my psyche forcing me to close up my "lend an ear" shop for a little while.
I fear I may never recover.
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Quick Thinking
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-- He may be losing his grip on reality, but Charlie Sheen's idea of the perfect work environment involving, "sandwiches, massages & handjobs," is tough to argue with.
-- Speaking of Mr. Sheen, did you hear him say all this debauchery is a gift he's giving to people?
-- I wonder what type of reciprocal gifts all those porn stars are giving him.
-- Other than herpes, of course.
-- Don't look now, but here comes madness of the March variety.
-- Odette Yustman is moving up my celebrity crush list ladder.
-- Quite nimbly, I might add.
-- I miss listening to Dale & Holley during my mid-day drives.
-- Big ups to Danny Ainge for having the courage to build for the future.
-- After all, nostalgia doesn't win championships.
-- Quote of the Week goes to yours truly for saying the following to a coworker in an attempt to make her laugh after she shared with a group of us that her grandmother MAY HAVE HAD a stroke, "Well on the bright side, if she did, at least she can be Rocky every Halloween."
-- Awkward Moment of the Week is credited to said coworker when she responded, "Not really, Terrence. She's black."
-- My response earns Quote of the Week II honors, "Oh, than just give her some American flag shorts and she can be the old version of Apollo. You know, if Drago hadn't killed him."
-- It also inches me closer to that penthouse in Hell I seemed destined for.
-- Hope the view is good.
They say those who live in the past are doomed to die there. With that in mind, dear readers, I implore each of you to forget what was and remember what is.
The past is just that: past. So, instead of feeling anger or guilt for things that have happened, start planning for things you hope still can.
Now I'm not saying forget everything from times past. Reminisce, sure.
But don't set up residence.
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Past Thoughts
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-- I'm still hungover from the Patriots' playoff loss.
-- Yup, still.
-- Watching Conan the other night made me realize G-Love, similar to a booty call, isn't the same without Special Sauce.
-- Stefaan Engels, the Belgian athlete who completed his quest to run a marathon every day for a year, is officially the only man who can say P90X is for pussies.
-- Remember though, Mr. Engels: no one likes a show-off.
-- Especially for 365 consecutive days.
-- Stupid Question of the Week goes to yours truly for asking an unnamed co-worker upon seeing a tattoo on the inside of her right wrist that reads "...this two shall pass..." the following: "Why 'two' instead of 'too?'"
-- Stupid Answer of the Week goes to that same co-worker for responding, "Because it's a famous saying. Duh. You went to college, right? Shouldn't you know that."
-- She's right. I should know that.
-- My boss recently informed me upper management was "taking note" of my actions and viewed me as an "agent of change" in the company.
-- And by "agent of change," I think he meant "grossly overqualified for the menial position I accepted with the company due to our country's shit economy."
-- There may have even been a hint of "we also hope the slightest promise of a promotion will keep you pacified and, ultimately, pigeonholed in your current position," too.
-- Spaced alliteration anyone?
-- Monster.com and your inspirational commercials, I turn my lonely eyes to you.
-- Speaking of commercials, why were the trio of gay bakers, responsible for the yummy breakfast treat Cinnamon Toast Crunch, replaced by...um, well, the cinnamon toast crunches themselves?
-- Crazy squares, indeed.
-- Oh, and why did Brisk Iced Tea make an attempt to recapture the brilliance of a late-90's marketing campaign,, anchored by clay-like figurines voiced by their celebrity movie counterparts, with Eminem?
-- The Italian Stallion, digital or not, knows what he's talking about, y'all. Thanks to the time machine qualities of YouTube & the Internet: nothing is over.
-- Nothing.
-- Except, of course, my focus on retro commercials in this blog.
With the healthy birth of my first child, Declan David Joyce, I find myself reflecting on sins of past "lifetimes" in hopes they won't haunt my baby boy.
Other than that, there's really only one thing I can wish for the little man.
That crazy skips a generation.
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Quick Thinking
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-- Conspiracy Theory Award of the Week goes to Christina Aguilera for "accidentally" forgetting the words to our nation's anthem.
-- If you don't think the over/under line in Vegas for the song's length @ 1:54 had anything to do with her sudden memory lapse than you're too naive to be reading this blog.
-- So you know, Christina's "big game" anthem timed out at 1:53.56.
-- True story.
-- Memo to All You Female Teachers Out There Engaging in Sexual Relations With Students: Sex with high school boys will not help you recapture your youth or win that coveted Prom Queen title you've been harping for all these years.
-- Having sex with me, on the other hand, will.
-- Giggity, giggity.
-- Youth recapturing and prom title notwithstanding, of course.
-- When did Tiger Woods forget how to play golf?
-- Mix Tape Song of the Week Award goes to Steven Marley's Hey Baby.
-- And, no, not because it features the mighty Mos Def.
-- Hey, FOX, thanks for that Tom-Brady-is-the-first-ever-unanimous-league-MVP halftime update kick in the balls.
-- I still prefer the old # 12. You know, the one who's greatness was defined by winning championships.
-- Not individual accolades.
-- Ok, I lied. Mos Def had everything to do with Hey Baby being awarded the Mix Tape Song of the Week.
-- His lyric, "And even though I'm gone, I am never to far; You're the light through the dark, shining right through my heart." didn't hurt, either.
-- Ray Allen is 2 away from netting 2,561 3-pointers and passing Reggie Miller atop the NBA's all-time list.
-- I couldn't hit that many three's playing Double Dribble.
-- On Level 1.
-- Against the Boston Frogs.
-- That's right, the green team on Double Dribble was the digital basketball powerhouse known as "The Frogs."
-- Speaking of which, am I the only one who thinks their mascot looks like a creepy, 8-bit sex offender? (He makes an appearance at approximately 17 seconds.)
-- Giggity, goo.
-- Watching the post-Patriots playoffs learned me our home team is too soft on defense to win a Super Bowl.
-- Big ups to the female propaganda machine which successfully cheapened the inherent gifting spirit of birth by commercializing said experience with the materialistic notion of a "push" gift.
-- Talk about irony.
-- I'll be expecting one next time I take a shit so big my ass bleeds.
Dear Bill,
It appears our relationship has been splintered, yet again, by another playoff loss. These crossroads are all too familiar as of late, Bill. Eerily familiar, in fact.
One street sign reads "Heartache." The other reads "Anger."
And, while we stand at this corner trying to answer the unanswerable, I can't help but feel the only words of comfort you would offer are, "Cheer up, Patriot Nation. It is what it is."
Really, Bill? Really?
We've suffered through the perfect season near miss. We endured the Raven Train that rolled over us during last year's Wild Card Weekend. And now this? Losing to the fucking J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets after finishing the season 14-2?!?
Really?!?
Your team's effort on Sunday resonated with the same indifference you demonstrated towards Rex Ryan's media taunts. And, in both cases, you came out the loser. So, instead of replacing passion with professionalism this off-season please allow yourself, the team and the organization a chance to reflect on recent failures and realize that football, by definition, is an emotional game.
Just ask the last three defensive units who beat you in the playoffs with their fervor and passion.
But, hey, it is what it is, right?
Concerned,
Terrence Joyce
Spokesman, Patriot Nation
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Quick Thinking
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-- There's no truth to the rumor that the only thing the Patriots' offensive line successfully blocked on Sunday was my writing.
-- "Give Credit Where Credit is Due" Award of the Week goes to Rex Ryan's defensive scheme on Sunday for transforming our "Golden Boy" quarterback into nothing more than a "Supermodel's Wife."
-- Memo to All You Sports Radio Callers Out There: Never open a call by saying, "I'd like to start with a quick joke..."
-- Chances are, what you find funny, isn't.
-- Trust me. I try to make people laugh every week with this column.
-- And fail miserably at it.
-- See?
-- More importantly, while dissecting one of the biggest losses in New England Patriots' history, I don't want to hear your take on "Two rabbis walk into a bar..."
-- I need a little more "Rex Ryan" and a lot less "Bill Belichick" from the Patriots next season.
-- That's right. I said it.
-- More cowbell wouldn't hurt, either.
-- Oh, and thanks for introducing us to the wide-eyed, confused "Brady Face" on Sunday, Rex. I imagine it's the same look he gives Gisele when she straps one on and "gives him the business" in the bedroom.
-- We also need to retire your favorite little idiom, Bill. It doesn't come across as impartiality any more.
-- It comes across as apathy.
-- The reports of a broken Brady foot have been greatly exaggerated.
-- Those of his broken vagina, however, have not.
-- BLAMMO!
-- At least I'm not bitter about the loss or anything.
This week's opening statement may be hard to believe, dear readers, so brace yourselves: I influence people.
That's right, I said it.
And I'm not talking about the peer-pressure-drink-this-drink kind of influence. I'm talking about the kind responsible for shaping individuals as the calendar transforms formative years into young adulthood.
Exhibit A comes in the form of my nephew. While getting his "writing on" in Journalism class Tyge, or TJ3, wrote the following about yours truly, "(Uncle) Terry is basically that older brother I always wanted and the man I can go to for any type of life question or problem that I have."
I'm not sure what's more flattering, the fact that he said he can come to me with any type of life question or that he referred to me as a "man." It's the proverbial coin flip situation if you ask me.
Exhibit B comes from, well, nowhere. There isn't an Exhibit B...yet. But one's influential footprint has to start somewhere.
Kool-Aid anyone?
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Quick Thinking
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-- I stumbled across Wedding Crashers on cable the other day and, simply put, that movie never gets old.
-- Ever, you motor boatin' son-of-a-bitch!
-- Here come Rex and the Jets, y'all. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened, your tray tables are in their upright and locked position and your carry-on, along with any open-toed shoes, are securely stored under the seat in front of you.
-- While informative, Ron Jaworski's The Games That Changed the Game: The Evolution of the NFL in Seven Sundays would be better served as an ESPN mini-series.
-- Was the Big Shamrock brought in to bolster our front court or to help Rondo with his foul shooting?
-- Sorry about the break-up, Macauley, but no man can compete with two weeks of Timberlake nakedness. It's like relationship kryptonite.
-- I can only assume you're prepared to be Home Alone.
-- But you know what they say happens when you assume.
-- Big ups to the infomercial world for convincing my nephew he couldn't unlock his body's full potential without the newest advancement in at-home fitness: Shake Weight.
-- I guess masturbating like every other teenager just wasn't good enough.
-- Sexual orientation is inconsequential when measuring the value of a person. Their behavior, however, is not. So if you're an asshole, gay or straight, stop being an asshole.
--Who dat. Who dat. Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?
-- Oh, the 7-9 Seahawks did?
-- My bad. Tavel home safe, Saint Nation.
-- At least you'll have another week to start your off season mole-removing regimen, Mr. Brees.
-- Memo to All the Professional Athletes Out There Who Keep Sexting Their Junk to the "Official" & O.P.P. Ladies in Their Lives: Please stop. You're bringing unwanted attention to the greatest benefit of these silly cell phones we all can't seemingly live without.
-- No, seriously. Stop.
-- Idiot Award of the Week goes to an unnamed co-worker for saying the following while engaged in "locker room talk" about the NFL Playoffs during business hours, "The Pats are lucky. They only have the best record in the NFL because all the good team they beat played bad against them."
-- Um, what?
-- And he actually said it with a great deal of conviction.
-- Idiot Award of the Week II goes to that same unnamed co-worker for following the above nugget of idiocy with, "Don't be surprised when Kansas City beats them and goes on to win the Super Bowl."
-- The only thing that surprises me, dear co-worker, is the level of conviction in your voice when uttering such drivel.
-- And the fact that you have a college degree.
-- The void created by a Patriots' bye week was filled thanks to the familiar fictional exploits of Hank Moody.
-- Welcome back, Hank. I missed you and all the starlet nakedness surrounding you.
-- Success is best achieved, and measured, by group effort.
-- Not individual achievement.
-- We're putting the Morbid Fact of the Week noose around 16-year-old Thomas Granger for being the first reported hanging in Massachusetts in 1642 for the death penalty worthy offense of "buggery."
-- More specifically, buggery in the form of fornicating with a mare, a cow, two goats, a sheep, two calves and a turkey.
-- Good thing I went through puberty in the 1980's.
-- Ten years of dominance has made me eternally thankful for the "tuck" rule.
-- And I'm not talking about the Buffalo Bill kind.
Dear Santa,
They say it takes a big man to apologize and a bigger man to accept that apology. Here's hoping you're the bigger man, Santa.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry your eternity is the most thankless job of all time. I'm sorry kids cry, pee and poop on you while their parents take pictures they'll never remember being in. I'm sorry Tim Allen played you in The Santa Clause. (I'm really sorry they made 3 of those awful movies.) I'm sorry for our one-way relationship over all these years. Finally, and more specifically, I'm sorry I stopped believing in you.
Regardless of my disbelief you've continued to nurture our relationship and, instead of defriending me, you simply embraced my doubt as an opportunity to flex those miracle muscles by granting my beloved sports teams an embarrassment of riches during this holiday season. (And not the shitty kind those wise men brought to baby Jesus. I mean, seriously, what the fuck is an infant going to to with Myrrh?)
You brought out the big reindeer and gave the Sox a penchant to use that checkbook they've had stashed in their back pockets the past few offseasons while their main opposition was slighted for using theirs. You transformed youth & arrogance into a coachable defense in Patriot Nation. You showed another hall-of-famer that chemistry is as important to winning a championship in Shamrock Land as hitting his free throws. And, if that wasn't enough, you put an end to the idiocy surrounding some old dude's desire to keep playing a game that passed him by.
Well played, Santa. Well. Played.
The age old adage, "When things seem too good to be true they usually are" speaks to the full-time conspiracy theorist in me but, considering what time of year it is, I think we both know there is no conspiracy here. There's just a fat man in a red suit with magical powers bringing all of us New England sports fans a little holiday cheer.
Again, I'm sorry about my past-disbelief-filled-discretions and, in all honesty, I'm really quite pleased we're beyond my "non-believing" phase. Rest assured, Kris, any speculation concerning your existence from this moment on will be dismissed as unsubstantiated gossip and hearsay.
Sincerely,
sports + thoughts
PS: Please tell Rudolph thanks again for his help. I haven't been that busy since Amsterdam in '03.
PPS: Oh, and stop stressing, it looks NOTHING like a bowlful of jelly when you laugh.
PPPS: Not even a little bit.
I know one game does not a season make but, since HBO's Hard Knocks aired this summer, the Jets have been crowned as the class of the AFC and, by a majority of media outlets, as the "best team in football."
So where do they stand following a 45-3 drubbing at the hands of the Patriots on Monday Night Football? Were the wheels officially hammered off the hype machine or did a great team simply have a bad game?
I don't know.
What I do know, however, is that while I enjoyed the ass-kicking as much as any other in Patriot Nation, the victory - in and of itself - means very little. It wasn't a playoff win. It wasn't a championship win. It was one game. And, as we all know, one game does not a season make.
Unless it's the Super Bowl.
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Quick Thinking
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-- The signing of Carl Crawford means Jacoby Dreamboat just became Jacoby Tradebait.
-- It also means the age old adage, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" is Theo's new battle cry.
-- Looks like you need some more milk to wash down all that humble pie you were served on Monday night, Rex.
-- I'd recommend sticking to the skim variety.
-- Hey, Brett, at least the interception fever that has ended your previous 3 seasons can't stop your egomaniacal run toward 300 consecutive games started.
-- You may have sustained some injuries but at least you haven't tarnished your legacy in the process or anything.
-- NOT!!!
-- The respective performances of Tom Brady and Peyton Manning over the past 3 weeks with both throwing to sub-par receivers should end the debate on who the better quarterback is.
-- Tom is so good right now he's even transforming "questionable post-game wardrobe decisions" into "trendy male fashions." Let's hope he can pull off wearing the Cement Shoes (-3) this weekend in Chi-town.
-- If you haven't seen Jimmy Fallon, JT & The Roots perform The History of Rap than you NEED to.
-- Now.
-- Randy Moss being traded has turned out to be the greatest example of addition by subtraction since J.R. was shot on Dallas.
-- I'm guessing Randy wishes it was all a dream, too.
-- Why are all the ladies screaming? Did Bradley Cooper just take his shirt off or something?
-- Shit. He did?
-- Ok, fine. I'll give this one up to all my female readers out there. Have fun soaking it in, ladies.
[EDITOR'S NOTE: Sorry, ladies. I tried. But photobucket is the law around these parts.]
-- But the sound I was referring to was the collective cheer heard from Woman Nation on Sunday following the sumo chop Haloti Ngata used to break Mr. Roethlisberger's nose.
-- The irony, of course, is after getting his nose broken, trapping drunk co-eds in bathrooms while his entourage stands guard is now officially Big Ben's only recourse when he feels like getting "lucky."
-- Too soon?
-- I mean, c'mon, if there was an "e" at the end of his "rap" BEFORE his nose looked like a right angle...
-- Obligatory photos of three incredibly hot women.
-- I know the above pictures were void of any witty introduction. But, as we all know, one shirtless man needs to be balanced out by three hot women.
-- Sorry, ladies, I don't make the rules. I simply try to follow them.
