Steve's New Fantasy Football Team

The Two Steves

The Curse of the Sambino

Yesterday, we took Robinson to his very first baseball game, Rangers vs. Angels. Steve won four tickets and a parking pass in a silent auction to raise money for Meals on Wheels. We invited Scott and his little boy Holt, who turns three tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Holt!

On the way to the game, I sat in the backseat with the boys. Robinson was fascinated with Holt and couldn't take his eyes off of him. Holt was really sweet with him and would smile at him and show him his book about trucks. Holt is really into transportation right now. As we are driving to the stadium we pass a lot of road construction, and Holt would excitedly point and shout, "Truck!" "Train!" "Tractor!" and "BIGGGG TRAC-TORRR!" It was hilarious seeing how excited he was. It reminded me of Jarred when he was a little boy. He loved pointing out and identifying all the different types of construction equipment we would pass on the road. It's really sweet how even though times change, these little boys stay the same. I also learned that everything that isn't a truck or a train, is a tractor. Bulldozers, cranes, doesn't matter. When you're three, they're all tractors.

Watching a baseball game with little boys is so different than sitting with a bunch of adults. Holt gets so excited seeing the "tractors" on the baseball field, and the mascot riding around in the "tractor". It's fun getting to be silly and excited with him and point out things to Holt, like "Look at the tractor!"

Robinson sat in my lap during the game. He kept fake-coughing loudly and making obnoxious fart noises for so long, the elderly lady seated in front of me turned around to see just who was sitting behind her. She laughed when she realized it was a baby.

Robinson was in pretty good spirits, especially considering how close it was to his bedtime. We did one feeding and one diaper change while we were there, and this was my first adventure in changing diapers in a public restroom. I think it went pretty smoothly. What complicated matters was that I too was in need of a bathroom break, but being loaded down with an infant and a diaper bag made this impossible. So I had to carry Rob all the way back to our seats and give him to Steve so that I could return for a solo trip to the bathroom.

Back in the bathroom by myself, I'm washing my hands at one of the six sinks. As I walk towards the wall of seven paper towel dispensers, I discover what the woman directly in front of me has already found: only one dispenser has paper towels, and for reasons unknown, an old lady is standing directly in front of it, preventing anyone from reaching around to take paper towels for themselves. She doesn't seem to realize that there are other people in the bathroom. Why is she bogarting the paper towels? What in the hell is taking her so long? She's not drying her hands anymore...she's using the paper towels to polish an apple. Who brings an apple to the ball park? Who meticulously polishes apples in the ladies' restroom? Now she's carefully wrapping the apple in a paper towel. Now she's wrapping it in a second paper towel. Now she's wrapping it in a third paper towel. It's not a large apple. The woman and I are forced to just stand there while our hands are dripping with water. I'm about to just give up and dry my hands on my jeans. But I'm curious. Did she bring the apple from home? Why does it need such polishing? Is she about to eat the apple? If so, why does she have to wrap it up in three paper towels? What is she trying to protect the apple from? Is the apple for Snow White? These are the questions that run through my mind. She is sure she has secured the apple in her purse before walking away, still never acknowledging us. I totally bust the woman in front of me making bitchface at the old lady. Shannen Doherty just got a royalty check, thankyouverymuch. I'm amused.

Rob lasted until the bottom of the sixth inning. I consider that a huge success. Of course, in the grand tradition of Samantha attending Dallas sporting events, the Rangers lost. I'm ten for ten at this point. I'm like some kind of victory assassin. So now we refer to this phenomenon as "The Curse of the Sambino"

Dumpster Baby Comes Out on Top

The title of this post is both misleading and inaccurate, but it stays. Steve had two fantasy basketball teams this year: Dumpster Baby and Curious Mole. When Steve came home last night and told me that he won, I was excited to share the news with everyone. I had assumed Dumpster Baby was the winner, but in fact-checking this piece, I learned that it was Curious Mole who was the victor. He just barely beat Bean's team, Achilles Heel. Better luck next time, Bean.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, but you find yourself mildly intrigued, you can catch up by reading here, here, and here. Steve's 2010 fantasy baseball team, Temporary Paralysis, won, and now his fantasy basketball team, and his actual baseball team, the Texas Rangers won the American League Championship, and his college football team, the Auburn Tigers won the BCS National Championship, so if you're sitting at your desk this afternoon asking yourself "How do winners feel?", I say that Steve would be a good person to answer that question.

Now we're on to baseball. The draft was a couple weeks ago. In honor of our infant son, the name of this year's fantasy baseball team is:

Footie Pajamas

and here is the logo for Footie Pajamas:

I don't mean to brag, but I think I have a natural gift for naming fantasy teams and choosing and creating logos. If you ever need help in this department, you know where to find me.

Baby's First Ballgame | Robinson: 1, Mavs: 0

We took Robinson to his first sporting event. It was an NBA game between the Dallas Mavericks and the Memphis Grizzlies. Steve, Rob, and I dressed out in our Mavs fanwear, and brought along Uncle Scotty.

We have quite a walk from the parking garage, and Scott is happy to carry Rob, despite Rob's persistent squirminess, until we reach Will Call and Rob pukes all over Scott's sleeve. That's always the point at which Baby is handed back to Mama.

Now I'm loaded down like a pack mule with my bulky diaper bag and a baby who gets heavier by the minute and seems determined to wriggle out of my grasp as I cautiously navigate through the crowd of fans, across a very hard floor, wearing heels. I should have stretched first. Steve and Scott don't seem to notice my struggle, and frankly, I don't want to be seen as somebody who isn't capable of carrying her own child, so I have my game face on. I stand patiently with the guys at the concession stand as they order one of everything.

As Steve is moving away from the concession stand, armed with an assortment of snacks, he asks me if I can hold one of his beers. "Are you kidding me? It's taking every ounce of strength and coordination I have not to pull a Britney right here!" Steve laughs, and what I love about him is that he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

It's been five years since I attended a Mavs game. Steve says I jinx the team. I also jinx the Texas Rangers and the Dallas Cowboys. Eff "The Curse of the Bambino", I am apparently the Mistress of Destruction. I just made that up. I don't know how my presence can be responsible for all of those defeats, but I can count the number of games I've attended on two hands, and we've lost every time. It must be my fault. Superstitions aside, I sat with the guys in some fantastic seats on the lower level behind the goal. I'm a person who has a much better time at sporting events if I have great seats. I think it's because I have ADD and am never fully invested in these games, and having great seats helps me to pay attention.

I forgot how loud these games are. Had I remembered, I would have thought Robinson was too young for this. Having forgotten this detail, I had my seven-month-old out at an NBA game that tipped off roughly an hour before his bedtime.

Before tip-off, an usher came by to see Rob. She was probably in her early-60's, and as she greeted me, arms outstretched, it occured to me that she was "asking" to hold my baby. This had never happened before. That's probably why I stared at her, confused, before handing my baby to a complete stranger. She talked to him while he stared at her. She told him that she could be his great-great grandmother, presumably because like Robinson, she has (dyed) red hair. I wanted to ask her exactly how old she thought she was, because Robinson's great-great grandmother is 99.

This is also the day I come to the realization about the subjectivity of color. Because every redhead in my family has either bright copper or deep auburn hair that is undeniably red, I've never viewed Robinson's strawberry blonde strands as "red". I've been telling people for months that I have a blonde baby. However, everyone who meets him says, "Look at that little redheaded baby!" This happened at the game too, and that's when I realized: if everybody is referring to my baby as a "redhead", then that makes him a redhead. My distinction of "strawberry blonde" is meaningless when the general public perceives him as a ginger. So, until further notice, I am the proud mother of a ginger kid.

As the game tips off, the noise reaches a fever pitch, and Rob understandably bursts into tears. The silver lining is that the noise drowns out his sobs, and he quickly calms down. Granny Usher returns, this time with Paw Paw Usher, because she wants to show him the baby. "Look, he goes right to me!" she tells Paw Paw Usher, as she plucks Rob out of my lap. Paw Paw Usher notices Rob is drooling and makes a comment about teething. I was genuinely impressed by his keen observation.

Now, if you're going to attend a sporting event, and you have good seats, and you carry with you an impossibly cute redheaded baby wearing Dallas Mavericks fleece footie pajamas, you're going to draw attention. We were on TV, and on the jumbotron, and at some point during the game, an announcer-type girl approached me and asked if I wanted the chance to win Dave and Busters dollars. I could have said no, but that would have been a lie. When she returns during a timeout, I stand up (holding Robinson facing out for all to see) and she announces that after the timeout, for every point the Mavs score in the next minute, everyone in our section will receive $10 Dave and Busters dollars, but I will win $25. Dirk scored a three-pointer, and instantly I was $75 richer. In Dave and Busters currency, of course.

We brought a toy for Rob to play with, but all he wanted was my Miller Lite draft. I was nervous that we would be seen on the jumbotron or on TV: me, holding Rob in my lap, while he is eagerly gnawing on my plastic cup full of beer. I think that would make me look like a really great mother.

The Mavs lost in the final second, furthering my reputation as the Mistress of Destruction. We waited for the arena to clear out, as Robinson quietly sprawled across my lap, sucking his thumb, attracting smiles from passers-by. He did look very sweet. We considered the outing a big success, and can't wait to take Robinson to his first Rangers game this spring!

Cam on Letterman

I make no promises that you'll laugh, but here's Cam Newton presenting David Letterman's Top Ten List: Top Ten Things Cam can say now that he's won the Heisman. Spoiler alert: Nowhere on the list does the phrase "Thanks, Dad!" appear.



War Damn, friends.

The "Why I Love Auburn Post" I Meant to Write

War Eagle, everybody! I'm pretty sure everyone watched the Iron Bowl on Friday, along with the encore broadcasts throughout the weekend, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention our triumph on my blog!

"Ugh, can we move on please? That game was like, FIVE days ago!" -Alabama fan

Last week I tried, without much success, to convey why and how I came to be an Auburn Girl. It turns out that to discuss one's love for Auburn and the Auburn rivalry with Alabama without offending Alabama fans is tough, and the diplomatic Libra that I am doesn't want to hurt anybody's feelings. I strongly feel that even as rivalries exist, we should respect other people's alma maters. The sidewalk alumni can still suck it.

If only we could live in a world where after each Iron Bowl, we could all join hands--Auburn and Alabama fans united--and sing songs in perfect harmony, and share a Coke and a smile, and forget about how much we hate each other. I'm so full of shit today. Then I read Kurt Branch of Auburn fansite WarBlogle.com contribute his thoughts to the Blogger Roundtable of al.com. You can read the post in it's entirety here, but I'll share a few snippets from his post, because he expresses my thoughts even better than I did...and without insulting anybody! Perhaps he isn't plagued with insomnia and consumed by a four-month-old baby who runs his ass ragged? Or maybe he's just smarter than me. Or maybe I should never write about sports. Either way, read my two-cents in bold beside his quotes.

But first a disclaimer, so that I don't have to worry all day that my post hurt somebody's feelings: To Alabama Alumni and Family who read this: I have nothing but love and respect for you. Life is so cold in your shadow, please don't hate me for celebrating Auburn's day in the sun. xoxo

"We all know that Alabama has the larger fanbase, and we all know why that's the case, and it's not because Alabama has had so many more graduates than Auburn. It's human nature to want to pull for the team that has a storied history, lots of championships, and all that good stuff. So, if you have no ties to either school, why not pick Alabama? It's the easier road, right?" Yeah, I basically said that in my post--only in a more fragmented, less articulate way.

"No, I'm not implying that every person in the state who didn't go to college pulls for the Tide." Not EVERY person. "I know tons of people who pull for Auburn who never took a class anywhere. But in general, for the most part, most Auburn fans went to Auburn or have a deep connection to the school, while lots of Alabama fans do not have any real connection to the University of Alabama. They, or their parents, just picked the team that was considered more of a winner way back when. That's not a jab. It's human nature, it's numbers, and it's the honest truth, whether you want to believe it or not. A "jab" would be to say, "I wear this Auburn shirt because I went to Auburn, you wear that Alabama shirt because you went to Wal-Mart."

"I love the family feel, and I love the connection that I have with a good portion of Auburn fans. I also love the underdog role that Auburn is so often forced to deal with. I'm not conceding to the whole "little brother" idea that Bama fans are so quick to mention, but Auburn does oppose the state school, has the smaller (and fine with it) fanbase, and resides in an area that would never be confused for a bustling metropolis." I wish Bama fans would stop pointing out that Auburn is cow pasture-adjacent LIKE IT'S A BAD THING. It's like when I was a kid and other kids would call me a "redhead" as an insult. Auburn is rural and quaint and lovely. Not every university can be located in a city so impressive and beautiful as Tuscaloosa. It's our loss, but somehow we make do. "That being said, looking at the two schools only, there are no glaring differences in terms of statistics, awards, enrollment, etc. Needless to say, Auburn does more, or at least equal, with less."

"Not to mention, the Tigers just won their 700th game in their own storied history. Only twelve other teams in the history of college football can say they have accomplished that feat, so Auburn is by no means a second-tier team or school." Thanks, Kurt, I did not know that! I like how your opinions are backed up with facts, where as I just write about my feelings. I'm such a chick that way.

"Now what gets under my skin is when one of those many Alabama fans who didn't attend the school they pull for talks trash to me, as an actual Auburn graduate, using the word "we" when talking about the Tide. No sir, you didn't do anything. You didn't pay one dime, or sit in one class. Don't talk to me like you're better than me when I'm the only one pulling for the school I actually attended. This does not include you, Alabama graduates." It bears repeating: This does not include you, Alabama GRADUATES. "Although I do not agree with your school choice, you have all the right in the world to talk trash to me, make fun of me when Auburn loses, and take what I can dish out when Alabama loses. It is you that have done nothing but buy an Alabama t-shirt and then feel entitled to talk down at me or my school that I have a problem with." Amen! If I were an Alabama graduate, I would be aggravated by the "sidewalk alumni". Or maybe you get used to it. It's your beast of burden, Bama grads.

"Although it makes no sense, it's what makes the rivalry great, albeit infuriating at times. The whole state takes part, whether it's deserved or not, and gives everybody something to hold on to all year round." Um yeah, I find it mostly infuriating. I wish we lived in a world where the Auburn or Alabama fans were actual graduates of those universities, and the fans were respectful of one another and practiced good sportsmanship, and life was "rainbows and lollipops" all year round!

A Fun Little Rivalry?

As I've said before, the Iron Bowl is a day I just have to get through. Fans are so intense and take this rivalry to such a level that it isn't even fun for me. To me, a good rivalry is still fun. Some examples:

Seinfeld and Newman

"Chaos--it reduces us to jungle law"

Sue Sylvester and Will Schuester

"I relish the thought of another full year of constantly besting you"

Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag

"She can't come to my birthday!"

Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd

"I'm sowwy, Mr. Wabbit. I hope I didn't hurt you too much when I killed you."

Alabama and Auburn's rivalry isn't fun like these others. It's more like:

War of the Roses

Charlie Sheen and (Brooke Mueller, Denise Richards, a porn star, a hooker)

Boris and Natasha vs. Rocky and Bullwinkle

"We've been trying to kill moose and squirrel for 35 years."

I feel like, if Alabama fans were, collectively, presented with Auburn University in its entirety, and Auburn University had dynamite strapped to it and Crimson Tide fans were told "press the red button, and there'll be no more Auburn. No more rivalry. You will win every Iron Bowl by default until the end of time!" I think Bama fans would press the red button.

If Bama fans could pull a Snidely Whiplash and tie Auburn's football team to train tracks, I think they just might. 

What I'm saying is, it's not so much a "rivalry" as it is a "bitter hatred". I take no pleasure in celebrating "bitter hatred". Keep me out of it!

Auburn and Me: A Love Story

After the disaster that was Alabama/Auburn Day 1988, I always had a t-shirt for Alabama/Auburn day, and my decision of which team's colors I would wear was based on pleasing my constituents. I found that if I wore Auburn colors, other Auburn kids paid little attention, and Alabama kids were belligerent. If I wore Alabama colors, Auburn kids still paid little attention, and Alabama kids' behavior towards me was much more favorable. For those reasons, I called myself an "Alabama Fan" until middle school.

The truth was, over time I really had grown to prefer Auburn over Alabama. Auburn and LSU were both "Tigers", which felt natural, and as I was blossoming into womanhood, I couldn't help but recognize that Auburn's colors of orange and blue were much more flattering to my hair color and complexion than Alabama's crimson and white. Auburn was geographically further from Birmingham, which appealed to my independent side, and their fans, while warm and welcoming, generally didn't push their agenda on me. They weren't trying so hard to win me over, and I found their indifference alluring. It felt like Auburn was shrouded in a cloud of mystery. This intrigued me, and made me want Auburn all the more.


Auburn: The Mr. Big to my Carrie

 Did I choose Auburn based on colors, mascots, geography, and playing hard-to-get? Pretty much. I was a kid. How was I supposed to base my decision? I thought both schools were great, academically. I couldn't base my decision on their varied curriculum, because I didn't know what I wanted to be. I just knew where I wanted to be. Incidently, I still don't know what I want to be.

Most of my childhood friends were Alabama fans, and I tried really hard to be an Alabama fan. Crimson Tide football is exhilarating, the kinship that exists amongst the fans is evident and their enthusiasm is infectious. As a transplant into the state of Alabama, it would have been easier to become an Alabama fan. They have a rich tradition, including Bear Bryant and now 12 National Championships, and the most intense fans I have ever encountered. Why wouldn't I want to be a part of that? One could justify being an Alabama fan if for no other reason than it is easier to be "with them" than "against them".

"So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day...would you stop thinking about what everyone wants? Stop thinking about what I want, what he wants, what your parents want. What do YOU want? What do you WANT?"

I could go on and on about why I chose Auburn instead of Alabama, but I'll let another "Sam" explain it. Sam Baldwin from Sleepless in Seattle, of course:

"Well, it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together...and I knew it...it was like coming home...only to no home I'd ever known. It was like...magic. "

It was like magic, just like Tom Hanks said. I promised you a love story, and by George, you're getting a love story!

I visited Tuscaloosa and Auburn many times, and when I was in Auburn, I felt at home in my surroundings, and when Auburn won, I found myself caring more. During one visit to Auburn, I was attending the Iron Bowl as an Alabama fan, with Alabama fans, and Alabama won. I found myself gazing into Auburn's student section and wanting to be part of it. That's when I realized I'd rather lose with Auburn than win with Alabama. It's the only way to be an Auburn fan, since any Alabama fan will quickly point out that they are historically more victorious than Auburn. I guess my love for Auburn is less about the winning (though the winning is really fun) and more about the spirit of Auburn, the quaint and lovely town, and the people.

 "I'd rather fight with you than make love with anyone else."

As for the Iron Bowl? It's always a day I just have to get through. I have never enjoyed it. Whether the game is played in Tuscaloosa or Auburn, whether Auburn wins or loses, I always manage to wander past the wrong tailgate and get verbally assaulted and physically threatened. I don't have a thick enough skin to withstand the intensity. It's like staring at the sun.

My Love of Auburn: A Brief History

As we gear-up for the Iron Bowl, I pause for a moment of reflection on the Iron Bowls of yore. Oh, and disclaimer: the anecdotes in this post are representative of my personal experiences, and are not meant to generalize, stereotype, represent or insult all Alabama fans, especially Alabama graduates. If you're a Bama fan and you read my blog, you're good in my book! xoxo

***

I was not born an Auburn girl. I was born in Louisiana, the product of two LSU graduates, and when I moved to Alabama at age six, I was forced to align myself with either Alabama or Auburn in order to fit in with my peers. When we first moved to Birmingham and began meeting people, introductions were always some derivative of this:

New Friend: Hi! Nice to meet you!
Me/member of my family: Nice to meet you, too!
New Friend: Are you for Alabama or Auburn?
Me/member of my family: Oh, well actually, we just moved here from Louisiana. We're LSU fans!
New Friend: Um, ok. Yeah, but--are you for Alabama or Auburn?
Me/member of my family: Well, neither really. We're...LSU fans.
New Friend: Sure, but between Alabama and Auburn, which one do you pull for?
Me/member of my family: Oh...um, ok...I guess if I had to choose...Auburn?
New Friend: Ugh. [eye roll]

New friend walks away. Damn it. I picked the wrong team!

Kids grow up being a fan of whatever team their parents love. My dad bleeds purple and gold. On the weekends, I was home in my LSU cheerleader uniform, listening to the LSU marching band on vinyl (yeah, we were those people) and jubilantly singing all the cheers. But, during the week, while at school, I had to pledge allegiance to another team. As for which team, my decision would win friends and alienate others, and my criteria was pretty arbitrary. That's rather tricky terrain for a seven-year-old to navigate.

I remember my first Iron Bowl in 1988. Every November, Auburn plays Alabama in football. For the uninitiated, I can't convey the importance of this game to the state of Alabama. It doesn't compare to your team's rivalry. Remember when the Berlin Wall came down? That moment of global and cultural significance? Yeah, the Iron Bowl is bigger than that. If you're under the age of thirty, that reference is completely lost on you, so I'll try to put it into terms you may understand: It's a bigger event than the premiere of the new Harry Potter movie, an impromptu Justin Bieber concert in your school's cafeteria, the Superbowl, a very-special episode of Glee, the election of Barack Obama, being a guest in the Oprah audience for her "Favorite Things" show, and a shower of $100 bills raining from the sky, all rolled into one spectacular day.

Sidenote: Next time you see me, ask me to yell "John Tra-vol-taaaa!" in my "Oprah" voice. It always cheers Steve on a gloomy day.

Ok, back to Iron Bowl '88. I was not informed that the Friday before the Iron Bowl is "Alabama/Auburn Day" (or "Auburn/Alabama Day") and that students and faculty show their spirit by wearing their team's colors to school. There was no announcement over the intercom, there were no fliers posted, it was just this unspoken understanding, and I showed up wearing a blue and white jumper and barrettes with flowers painted on them, one flower being orange. This was met with intense disapproval by my Alabama fan friend. She was sort of the Biff Tannen to my George McFly, and I went along with whatever she said for fear of being shoved in a locker. I went to play at her house before, and after noting the elephant painted on her toilet seat lid, I made a calculated decision to declare myself an "Alabama Fan". My wardrobe choice on "Alabama/Auburn Day" betrayed me. Clearly, it's a dark day in my history.

How did I recover from my Alabama/Auburn Day fashion faux pas? How did I wind up an Auburn fan? The answers to those questions and--eh, this post just got too long so I chopped it in half. Read the rest tomorrow.

Everyone Loves an Auburn Girl

Me and my ladies, 2006

Ok, in honor of the Auburn vs. Alabama football game taking place this Friday, I'm going to publish some related posts. Hopefully nothing I write will offend my gentle Crimson Tide readers. Seriously, I love what you Tide ladies have done with houndstooth:

photo via fannation

I am admittedly not very educated on the subject of football, but I love my Auburn Tigers. This year's meeting promises to be a hell of a game. I should probably write a post about My Boo, Cam Newton. Maybe another day. Today I'm going to tell you an embarrassing story about myself. Enjoy.

The night before Steve moved to Dallas, he took me out for a farewell dinner at the now-defunct Restaurant G in downtown Birmingham. It was a very classy, white tablecloth type of place, and I was enjoying a chocolate martini for dessert, which may have prompted this little gem:


Waiter: So, where do you go to school?
Me: I'm a junior at Auburn.
Waiter: Oh! My baby sister went to Auburn! You know what I like about Auburn? My little sister was a good girl when she got to Auburn, and she was a good girl when she left Auburn.

Me: [enthusiastically] That's right! And what happens in Auburn, stays in Auburn!

Waiter glares at me and walks away.

Me: Jeez, what's his problem?
Steve: I think you just called his sister a slut.

Fantasy Hoops Draft: Time for Inappropriate Team Name Reveal

Big Announcement: Steve's Fantasy Baseball Team won the championship! He is the winner of not only bragging rights, but $150! Snaps for Steve! [snap, snap]

Steve's Fantasy Basketball Draft is today. He's way excited. I'm not sure how he's gonna manage the draft while he's at the American League Championship Series Game between the Rangers and the Yankees. The Rangers are just one game away from winning the Penant (is that what they call it?) and going to the World Series! It would be such a thrill!

Anyways, back to the basketball draft. Once again, he enlisted my help in creating the logo for what is typically a politically incorrect team name for his fantasy team. Just to recap, the names of his past and present teams are:

Fighting Syphillis
Curious Mole
Temporary Paralysis
Box of Porn
Ramjetts
Curtains of Beef
The Two Steves

His 2010-2011 Fantasy Basketball Team Name?

Dumpster Baby

I usually get creative with Fotoflexer, but for this logo, I just lifted a picture from a Google Image Search. I'd say that's taking the "easy" way out, if you think that Googling the phrase "dumpster baby" is an easy thing to do. I beg you: Do not Google "Dumpster Baby". You've been warned.

Love Means Supporting Your Husband's Fantasy Football Team

Ok, so last year Steve joined a fantasy football league. This lead to joining a fantasy basketball league. I don't want to brag, but he dominated. Then he joined a fantasy baseball league. As a wife, the only negative I see to these fantasy leagues is that now, instead of just losing him to Auburn football, Dallas Cowboys, Dallas Mavericks, and Texas Rangers games, along with Monday night football, the NBA playoffs, the World Series, the NFL playoffs, an exciting college match-up, March Madness, and the occasional Texas or Baylor game (because it's our friends' alma maters), I now lose him to every televised game, because thanks to his fantasy league, every game has a consequence for him.

Good news, though: his baseball team, named "Temporary Paralysis" is going to the playoffs. I'm really happy for Steve.

For football season, Steve decided to kick it up a notch. Instead of joining one league, he joined four. FOUR. Three NFL, one college. As I said in a previous post, the part I like the best is getting to help name the team. Well, he went and signed up for four fantasy football leagues, and he didn't let me help name a single team. Bollocks! He did enlist my help to create one of the logos...

Last season, one of his friends had a team named "Can of Corn", with a can of corn as his logo (duh). Steve thought it would be hilarious to name his next fantasy team "Box of Porn" because...wait for it...it rhymes with "Can of Corn". Comedy by Dr. Seuss. Love it [eye roll]. As much as I openly mock and criticize the team name, when he asked for my help making a logo, I had to oblige...

Yeah, I made this on Fotoflexer. I'm sorta proud of it.

In Honor of the College Football Season Kickoff

This soundbyte never gets old to me. It's my favorite thing to say to Steve:

Who doesn't love Oklahoma State coach Mike Gundy's press conference hissy fit? I'm a man! I'm 40!

Here, Coors had a little fun with it:


My other favorite football phrase, courtesy of Terrell Owens: "That's my teammate, [sob] that's my quarterback." [A single tear rolling down the cheek]


And if we're on the subject of football players crying like little girls...


Oh no, she didn't! I forgot it's against the law to make fun of Tim Tebow. Here's a peace offering:

"Santa Claus writes letters to Tim Tebow."
"Lance Armstrong wears a Tim Tebow bracelet."
"Tim Tebow ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, and got one."

I'm an Auburn graduate, and the child of two LSU alumni, so my love for SEC football runs deep. It seems that most fans of an SEC team hate all or most of the other SEC teams, but living in Texas I have developed a fondness for these schools I considered rivals. That's what happens when you move to a foreign land where people don't know what the SEC is, they think Auburn University is in Georgia, and, upon learning I am an Auburn grad, smile and say "Go Eagles!" I don't correct them. I also don't correct people who say "Roll Tide" to me because they assume that since I'm from Alabama that I must be an Alabama fan. I just smile and say "Roll Tide".

You may think I'm a traitor, but trust me, you'd do the same thing. These people don't want to hear me clarify my allegiance and explain the rivalry. They really don't care. On the upside, I never run into folks with Crimson Tide-related tattoos (not that I don't think they're lovely)

This body art is mystifying. The first thought that enters my mind is that when this dude gets a back pimple, it looks like The Bear has a zit. That's crazy. I have to respect his commitment though. There isn't any person, place or thing that I would pay tribute to with that much body art.

Speaking of "Roll Tide"...there's a Birmingham-born comedian named Rickey Smiley, and he used to host a morning radio show in Birmingham. He is known for prank calls and a character named Buford, who is a die-hard Bama fan from Alabaster. Buford sings a song called "Roll Tide". It's hilarious, I don't care who you pull for! Fast forward ten years...I've recently moved to Dallas and am feeling kind of homesick. Searching the radio stations, I discover Rickey Smiley's morning show in Dallas, and just as I land on the radio station, "Roll Tide" begins to play. It made me feel like I was back home! You wouldn't believe how happy this song made me:

Mommy's Little Quarterback

This is a 12-month-old size onesie, but his papa really wanted him to wear his jersey to watch the game last night!

This is Like an Effed-Up Remake of Brewster's Millions

I didn't even know this was possible, did you? Steve has a friend who shops in his golf shop. We'll call him "Doug". Doug is a 40-year-old mentally handicapped man who lives in a group home, loves golf, and calls Steve "Uncle Steve". I know, it's enough to defrost your frozen heart. I met him at the Colonial Pro-Am last year, where Doug was caddying and Steve was playing. He's darlin'. Well, the IRS put the screws to our friend Doug over the past 16-some-odd years and didn't give him the correct tax refund. I'm fuzzy on the details. I don't work for the IRS (lucky for me), and I'm nobody's accountant (lucky for you). All I know is that earlier this week, a van from Doug's home came to the golf shop, and a big group of residents piled out. While all the other residents (who incidentally aren't golfers) browsed the store and basically scattered Steve's meticulously merchandised inventory, Doug and one of the people from the home were working with Steve to help Doug go on a shopping spree. Why? Because the IRS acknowledged their mistake and that they owe Doug $60,000 in back tax refunds, or from Doug overpaying his taxes, or whatever, but he only has a short time to spend it or he loses it forever. Are you effing kidding me? Now mind you, I was in bed trying to fall asleep when Steve told me this, and he wasn't rock solid on the details. While I was hung up on the whole "sixteen days to spend $60,000" angle, I actually think the purpose of Steve's story was to tell me how his day took a turn for the weird when a van full of mentally handicapped adults mysteriously filed into his store and quietly trashed the place. I should probably call him to clarify if I'm gonna post this, but if I called him right now he'd be all, "Are you seriously interrupting me at work to interview me for your blog? Are you telling me that's what you're doing? Please don't let that be why you're calling me." Steve is a big fan of the rhetorical question.

"You're Some Kid"

There was lots of cheering and celebrating at our house Sunday night as we watched our friend, Graeme McDowell, make history as the first man from Northern Ireland to win the US Open. Graeme's dad's first words as he congratulated his son, "You're some kid!" pretty well sum up Graeme, who Steve and I refer to as "Grammer". It seems like just yesterday he was playing golf for UAB and driving a 1983 Toyota Tercel. I got to spend a weekend with him in 2002 when he joined Steve for a golf tournament in Steve's hometown of Geneva, Alabama. Graeme had just been awarded the Haskins Trophy, which is college golf's highest honor (think Heisman for golf), and it was a great honor to have someone of his caliber playing in this small-town 3-man scramble tournament. Graeme really is one of the nicest guys we've ever known, and we had such a great time! Taking an Irish man to the deep south was classic fish-out-of-water comedy.

First, there were our friends, Katie and Lauren, who joined the weekend of fun. Upon learning that Graeme is the #1 college golfer, they dedicate Nelly's "Number One" to him, and for the entire weekend would shout the chorus in unison every time Graeme walked into the room, which happened no less than 50 times:

"I. Am. Number One! Two is not a winner, and three, nobody remembers!"

Graeme really didn't know what to do with these girls. Or with all of this attention.

Steve's nickname for people who act like goobers and knuckleheads is "mullet". In case it isn't obvious, it's because people with mullets are morons. Graeme had heard Steve use the term "mullet" many times, often directed at him, but he didn't really know what it meant until we took him to The Office, a nightlife hotspot in neighboring Enterprise, Alabama. We almost didn't make it to The Office at all, because Graeme tried to go out wearing a pink button down shirt and a necklace.

Steve (trying unsuccessfully to hold back the laughter): Oh, no, Grammer. I can't let you go out wearing that.

Graeme (defensive): What's wrong with this? It's a nice shirt.

Me: It's a very nice shirt, Graeme. Very...European. Just trust us, you do not want to wear that shirt out here. And I'm gonna need you to lose the necklace.

Steve: It is a nice shirt...a nice shirt to get your ass kicked in. I wasn't planning on beating up rednecks tonight, and if you wear that shirt, I'm gonna have to.

Me (waving my hands): And I'm trying to get in with a fake I.D. Blending in is of the utmost importance!

[2 hours later in The Office, blinded by cigarette smoke and surrounded by good ol' mullet-headed country boys]

Steve: Aren't you glad we didn't let you wear your necklace and pink shirt?
Graeme: Yes. I see what you mean...and don't ever call me a "mullet" again.

Congratulations, mate!

What's Your Fantasy?

So, Steve is in the middle of his first year participating in fantasy league. We realize he's a little late to the party, but he's jumped into it with gusto. He got his feet wet during football season, made people take notice during basketball season, and now he is poised for greatness as he embarks on baseball season. Since he has internet on his Google phone, he is able to obsessively monitor his score from anywhere. And he does. One of the highlights for him each season is the draft, and (more importantly) the choosing of the team name right before the draft. This is the part where I participate. I'm proud to say I have made the winning suggestion for each team name to date, and now it's time to reveal the name for baseball season! But first, a brief history and methodology on the fantasy team names:

For his football team, I reached into my memory bank and reminded him of a team name he had used once before -- for a group project in high school. His teacher thought that Fighting Syphilis was an inappropriate name for a team, but when a seventeen year-old Steve declared that "Van Gogh fought syphilis, and so will we!" Well...you just can't argue with that.

When preparing for fantasy basketball, I threw out a whimsical suggestion that I never thought he'd go for...Suspicious Mole. I thought the double entendre was just silly enough for him to like it, and I was right. But when the time came for him to sign up, he absent-mindedly submitted Curious Mole instead...is the mole inquisitive? I do not know, but regardless of this oversight, Curious Mole has dominated in the league and I could not be more proud.

With baseball season quickly approaching, I "stepped up to the plate" and offered up yet another suggestion. It's sure to be a winner! Only this time, I noticed a pattern forming and used that to create his baseball season team name:

Descriptor + Medical Condition = Fantasy Team Name

I'm generalizing here a bit, because I really couldn't say if a mole would be classified as a "medical condition" but you get the point. So, without futher delay, Steve's Fantasy Baseball team name is...

Temporary Paralysis