Someone needs to hook me up with an autographed 8 x 10 glossy of Rich Kotite right now.
Contrary to popular belief, I like Visions. When they're bad they're good and when they're really bad, well then Visions is just comedy gold. Case in point, their clever title for the Fall Fest article was "Baird Point Smacked by God." Unreal. Hilarity ensues to this day when I think of that one.
It's in my blood to be a Visions fan as well, considering I ate up the Nintendo propaganda rag, Nintendo Power, back in the day. My love for SA's propaganda-spewing Visions is only natural.
So, I saw a Foot Locker commercial the other night for a Clarence Weatherspoon sneaker. Yeah, I know, take a deep breath and you will be all right. Don't worry, the world isn't coming to an end just because "the 'Spoon man" has his own kicks. Well, I can't guarantee you that, but it could be worse. Imagine if Jay Fiedler had his own line of cabbage soup. See, Clarence having his own shoe isn't really that bad.
Okay, forget it. It's insane. The only way I'd ever purchase a shoe that that meathead endorsed, is if an actual picture of his meathead was on the front of the shoe.
Is there any fan of the NFL (non-Oakland) who is not thoroughly enjoying the comeuppance the Raiders are receiving right now after years of fielding a team full of appleheads? (I can't curse in The Spectrum remember, so I have to use terms that Michael Jackson "playfully" uses.)
Here's the kicker. With the season-ending injuries to quarterbacks Rich Gannon and Marques Tuiasosopo, the Raiders are left with the notorious duo of Rick Mirer and Rob Johnson. Eek.
That stable of quarterbacks may even be worse than the fabled Alex Van Pelt-Todd Collins tandem for the Bills in 1996.
However, the saddest part of all of this is that I own three of the four previously mentioned quarterbacks' jerseys (Johnson, Van Pelt and Collins). That's pretty sobering. Even more sobering than the fact that Clay Aiken's debut CD was the best seller a few weeks ago. If you bought that, stop reading right now.
I said stop, man. Now.
Okay, so maybe I've been a little harsh on Doug Flutie over the years. I have bashed his mullet, his inbred Zubaz-flaunting fans and, of course, his height.
Flutie may not be on the top of his game right now, but we have to remember that the little guy is pushing 54. It's just sad that Paul Tagliabue and the rest of the NFL have been trying to push Flutie out of the league for so long, even when he was able to carry a team to victory single-handedly.
I do understand, though. Flutie, not unlike most people under 5-feet-7-inches, has the Napoleon Complex, and nobody likes a midget with an attitude. We all know a guy who's about 5-feet-5-inches and makes up for his stature with a tough guy mentality. So obnoxious. And that's Doug Flutie - the little guy that just doesn't shut up. If he were not such a feisty little guy, maybe he wouldn't have won six Grey Cups. But no, he had to be that guy.
Have you ever been at one of those pricey UB vending machines that contain the microwavable food and had the irresistible urge to get a Chimichanga, even though you know that soon there will be an alien race incubating in your stomach after you eat it? Well, I have. I just can't control myself. I don't know what it is about Red Baron Pizza (why would I eat pizza with a picture of a friggin' pilot on it?), Spicy Chicken Breast (three best words in the English dictionary), or Michelina's Authentico Noodle Stroganoff, because each one shortens your life by five years, but I can never resist.
Maybe it's the NFL Primetime music that plays in my head whenever I'm making a selection. I hear the music blaring as I eye the one pound Hot Pocket and brand X burritos, and then it peaks when I finally make my selection of Katiki Chicken Nuggets ("it's the sauce!" they proclaim) and it drops to the bottom of the vendy.
Yeah, it has got to be the music. The wonder of Primetime music can make any man or woman achieve new heights in athletics, video games and even vending machine exploration.
So much for my prediction of a Bills-Giants Super Bowl for this season. That really went up in flames. You can tell your prediction is not coming true when the seasons of the teams can be summed up by titles of R.L. Stein Goosebumps books. For example we have "Night of the Living Dummy," which can definitely apply to head coaches Gregg Williams and Jim Fassell. "Let's Get Invisible" is something the Bills' offense must have said to themselves during that beautiful four game losing streak, and "The Abominable Snowman of Pasadena" definitely pertains to ... uh, well, you get the point.
We're in the midst of the holiday season, and right behind those old school pajamas with the feet on my wish list are Cincinnati Bengal tickets. Going to a game in that stadium must be like stepping inside of a Disney movie on par with Angels in the Outfield or the Mighty Ducks. Although there are no Gordon Bombays coaching or Christopher Lloyds messing with field goal attempts, there is Jon Kitna and Chad Johnson. And that is worth its weight in gold teeth.
Bengal-fever is sweeping the nation, and I for one am loving it. This whole Kitna as a MVP candidate thing is amazing. Soon the Kitna line of products will be rolling out with everything from Kitna Kaboodle cereal to Kitna Kaleidoscopes featuring distorted pictures of Kitna throwing touchdown passes to the gold teeth rockin' Johnson.
People always say that fashion is cyclical, but I'm not so sure about that. I've been waiting about three years now for Bugle Boy to come back in style, and I'm not getting any younger here.
Speaking of being young, I need to get something off of my chest. These current UB freshman and those to come are so spoiled with their fancy-schmancy dining halls and new age Hubies and Elli, they don't realize what they missed out on. When my class of 2004 were freshman, we used to eat Leggos - and we liked it! But whatever, I'll take the old school Student Club any day over these newer models.
The Student Club had heart, the Student Club had soul and darn it, the Student Club had Demetrius making the meanest Super Steak I've ever had.
