English Premier League

I totally KICKED ASS today with my team, 2nd Degree Assault.

The boys at Arsenal served up big points, and my new Main Man from Portsmouth notched three goals! Awesome!

EPL rules!

Beware of Cows

On a country road in Burnworth’s van, Tom drove us through the rolling hills of northern Maryland at a leisurely pace. Passing a small farm on the right, I noticed a gigantic white cow. It was about the same size as Burnworth’s gigantic white van.

“Get a load of that gigantic white cow over there!” I said to Tom.

He slowed down and leaned over just in time to see the gigantic white cow look up and notice us. The beast snorted, lowered its head and began rumbling toward us. “Get us the hell out of here,” I yelled.

Tom hit the accelerator, and of course the gigantic white van’s engine roared but rolled us away very slowly. The gigantic white cow picked up speed and quickly pulled up alongside the gigantic white van, matching us stride-for-rpm. The enormous bovine poked its head through my open window and tried to bite me, with teeth gnashing fiercely.

Finally, the mouth caught hold of my jacket sleeve and yanked me out of the van, tossing me like a worthless sack of grits into the ditch beside the road. I got up and ran, but soon the gigantic white cow caught up and ran over me. The bright, beautiful afternoon slowly dimmed to black as I lay there bloodies and broken, wondering what becoming a meal for the gigantic white cow would be like.

Basketball Memories (with Much Respect to Jim Carroll and The Basketball Diaries)

Winter, 1992, Hollywood - 11am - 1pm, Weekdays

Lunchtime hoops with movie industry dudes from all the nearby, no-name studios. (Grips, Best Boys, Gaffers [What’s a Gaffer?], Lighting guys, Sound guys, Assistants-to-the Assistants, Coffee Gophers - you name it.)

Wake up at nine, kick back, shower, eat breakfast. What a wonderful way to spend a weekday morning. But that’s only the beginning. The clock reads 10:30. Time to lace up the basketball shoes and head over to the courts.


Fall, 1993 - 6pm - San Francisco, Marina District.

Following a day of relaxation, bumming around town and riding the fantastic electric busses, I see some good hoops going on at a picturesque outdoor hoops court near the marina. “Man, this looks good” I said to myself. I ran to my car, popped the trunk and grabbed my basketball shoes, then played a solid round of street ball as the beautiful San Francisco evening turned to night. Everyone there - the players, the friends, the hangers-on - hooted and hollered as some good ball played out before them. Talk about feeling good for many reasons…

Afterward, I felt completely spent. To one side, there was a big grocery store full of fantastic food just a couple of blocks away. I opted to head in the other direction, toward the Youth Hostel where I had been staying all week long, because halfway there sat my roadtrip car, with some free food in the trunk: a can of Pork & Beans. And a plastic spoon. Yep, that was a meal only the best gourmet chefs in the West could top. Mmmm.

Then I staggered back to the Hostel, showered, and passed out.

At a Healthclub

At a big health club in Connecticut, the gang was all there around 11pm working out. Kevin, of course, began heckling some redheaded kid, who was part of a ginormous Pilates class.

“Come on! Get those crunches right! You’re weak!” yelled Kevin, jokingly.

The redheaded kid got up, walked over, and challenged Kevin to a “duel” of sorts. “Anything . How about boxing?” the kid offered.

“Boxing?” asked Kevin. “I’ll murder you.”

“Naah, it’ll be all right. We wear all that equipment and padding,” the kid said.

“Yeah,” I chimed in. “Lots of padding. No one will get really hurt.”

Justin, sitting quietly, watching the whole scene, nodded in agreement and took another drag on his cigarette. Then he downed the rest of his scotch and signaled the waitress for another.