(I have nothing in the way of witty opening remarks.)
I left the house just after noon today; I arrived home just before midnight, and after a quick shower and change into the warmest pair of pyjama pants known to man, I’m here to reconstruct–albeit in point form–the day that was.
- Dirk Nowitzki is the greatest porn star that never was. I mean, apart from his name and his nationality, just look at his hair! If that doesn’t scream “porn star!” more loudly than a nine inch youknowwhat then I don’t know what does.
- Speaking of Nowitzki, never have I seen shooting as accurate as his.
- The Toronto Raptors couldn’t teach a defensive rebounding drill to my midget high school basketball team–y’know, the one where they didn’t make cuts, so everybody who signed up made the team. Am I suggesting that a group of thirty fouteen year old Canadian boys could out-rebound these Toronto Raptors? Yes, I am.
- Today’s undeniable extracurricular highlight: during the first quarter (I think…might have been the second), they showed this kid on the scoreboard who’d just won a prize pack or something. Anyway, they zoom in on this kid–and naturally, his brother (or at least the kid sitting next to him) starts edging himself into the shot…and the first kid starts throwing elbows, then punches, and then puts the other kid in a headlock and starts shoving him off screen! Just an amazing thing to witness–these kids are Canada’s future!
- We were seated near an entire row of Germans, who would freak out whenever Nowitzki hit a shot (which was often). At one point, they were shown on the scoreboard (and no, none of them started throwing elbows). Nowitzki acknowledged them with a chuckle and a shaking of his head.
- Jamie’s housemates and acquantainces are insane. Our entire conversation this evening revolved around (among other things) hermaphrodites, the word “gunt”, watersports, the various players sporting last names “Gay”, “Johnson” and “Brown”…just an utterly profane evening.
- The exchange of the night–and quite possibly of all time: Amanda, “Don’t guys hit their sexual peak at, like, eighteen?” Me, “Yeah.” Ryan, “I hit mine at six.” Jamie, after a split second pause, “Is that what the minister told you?” Easily one of the top five most offensive comments I’ve ever witnessed, right up there with “72 oz.? That’s more than a crack baby!”
- As for the game itself, it was a lot closer than most people expected. But the team that deserved to win, won. The Patriots this evening were a perfect example of how a championship team does what it does: it makes plays when it has to, it doesn’t rely too heavily on any one member, and even if tonight wasn’t the best game they played this year they still did enough to finish the job. But man, props to Terrell Owens: I’m not his biggest fan, not by any stretch, but his performance tonight personified so many of the sporting axioms so erroneously bestowed upon Brett Favre (sorry, Tim–last shot till next year, promise).
- Sir Paul was…I dunno. Safe? Is that the word I’m looking for? I guess after what happened last year the NFL wasn’t looking at bringing in anybody even remotely edgy. (And no, Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake aren’t even remotely edgy–and yes, that whole incident was overblown in such a way as only the NFL is capable.) But yeah, Sir Paul was good. Also, was I the only one hoping Axel Rose made an appearance during “Live and Let Die”? Anybody?
And so another Super Bowl has come and gone. Congratulations, New England, on a job well done. And congratulations Tyler Turnbull, who was in attendance this evening in Jacksonville. Here’s a quick call for the Vikings to win Super Bowl XC! Night, everybody.