Archive for category Sports
What possessed me to order a large soda at the CAVS game yesterday is beyond me. I hadn’t had caffeine in over a year, not since I was pregnant, and suddenly, I decide – in some sort of a daze – that WILD CHERRY PEPSI was a fantastic idea to wake me up to witness some Lebron magic.
After scoring CAVS tickets from my friend, Alexis, as a belated birthday gift, Nick and I enjoyed an adults-only afternoon and dinner, courtesy of Alexis who supplied the tickets and my mom who supplied childcare.
The game was unexpectedly thrilling as the Sacramento Kings kept it interesting. Although, the most interesting part of the game had nothing to do with the game. After my bulb of brilliance went off and I slurped down my drink and immediately began to have a headache, I heard a sharp PING! noise from the floor and felt Nick tense up and began looking frantically through the legs and feet of strangers sitting around us.
Hyped from our favorite legal drug of choice, I shouted a caffeinated, “DID YOU JUST DROP YOUR WEDDING RING? HERE? AT THE Q? HERE?! IN THE NOSEBLEED SECTION?!”
The man next to us looked at me. His eyebrows went soaring. The men in front of us sensed troubled and Nick asked them to look down at their feet for his ring. As they fished around for Nick’s half of fidelity, affection, and honor, I muttered obscenities into the popcorn and furiously slurped even faster. The Wild Cherry was wild indeed.
Luckily (for Nick) it was retrieved and returned to his fourth finger. Of course, my motor mouth couldn’t stop running, “JUST PUT IT ON AND KEEP IT ON!”
This would be a hilarious time to mention that I do NOT have my wedding ring on either. I took it off when I was pregnant because my hands were often swollen and I have yet to put it back on.
Caffeinated hypocrite, you could call me.
TweetDepression resulting from sports-related issues certainly cannot be resolved overnight.
I know this for a fact because it is Sunday afternoon and I am still moping over OSU’s loss last night to USC. I’m normally not an advocate of bottling away emotions without properly processing them first, but, in this case, I think it’s better for everyone in my life, especially Nick, if I just move on as best as I can and deal with the blemish on the Buckeye’s early football record.
When my sister was a highschool senior, their graduating class’ senior tshirts were custom designed for the class of 1993 and on the back it just read: Seniors rule. Deal with it.
I think I should make a similar tshirt for myself that reads: We had that game but we lost. Deal with it.
Beyond football frenzy 2009, Nick and I have had a lovely weekend of hanging out with friends, attending our neighborhood block party, and sleeping in. This morning we attended a pre-baptismal training class which Nick both led as the Pastoral Associate and participated as a soon to be parent.
It’s always fun getting the opportunity to watch your spouse in a different role, a role outside of the house. Not surprisingly he was great at making sure everyone’s little bundle of joys were on the right path to their first sacrament.
Our little saint, Isaiah, has been stretching his limbs and tumbling around like an Olympian. Sleep has been a bit finicky for me lately and some days I just feel like I just need a comfy chair to lie down in. Others days I am rip roaring with energy.
Today is a lay low kind of day. Nick is working. I can’t take any more football this weekend. And our house is a dustbowl of disaster because of the bathroom demolition.
I am hoping by the end of the day my Buckeye-induced sadness will have dissipated.
TweetSometimes the sports world makes the rest of the world too depressing to deal with.
Last night, the famous four (Me, Nick, Christina, and Brian) gathered around their monstrously clear flat screen to watch the flat screen effect of the Magic against the CAVS.
Sometimes it just hurts and the pain of defeat zaps all ability to write with enthusiasm.
In other depressing news, we just got word that Nick and I need to go shopping for a new car. For some people, this can be an exciting adventure. For Nick and I, buying something large – and all the details and discussion that goes into that decision – is about as enticing as eating a bowl of raisin bran. Not exciting whatsoever.
Why, you ask, does the prospect of buying a car antagonize us so much? Well, for Nick is means shopping. (It’s the same reaction if you ask him to cook, or go look at swatches at Home Depot.) For me, it means I have to make a decision based on practicality. I hate that.
So, it puts us in somewhat bitter moods, but we try to look on the bright side of things. But with the Cavs performance lately, Cleveland is one big gray cloud called Annoying. And it’s hanging right over our house.
Thanks be to God for the glory of spring. But, why God, why, must the lush green beauty come at such a price to my health?
My throat and nose are clogged with green as well. It’s just disgusting and not the lush kind green outside, but the sick, disgusting kind that come with colds, sore throats, and infections. GROSS. I hate germs. Like, more than you ever will or can possibly fathom. I HATE things that are in the family of centipedes, bacteria, sickness, and contamination. And fungus.
But, as the die hard Cavs fan that I have grown to be, my sickness did not preclude me from going to Christina and Brian’s house (pretty much Nick and my best buds here in Cleveland) to watch Game 2 of the Cavs/Magic of the Eastern Conference NBA finals.
Just as in game 1, I start off pumped and make all kinds of significant commentary about the lewd history of Marv Albert. And then I fall asleep at half time while Nick massages my feet and talks stats with Brian. I wake up with 3 minutes left of the 4th quarter and blast the Cavs for blowing yet another large lead. And then LeBron makes a LeBeautiful 3 point shot at the buzzer and I forget I have bronchitis and scream to the heavens. And the four of us high five each other. NOTE: We’re not high fiving kinds of people. That’s how pumped we were.
The one thing I could not get over and kept pointing out as much as the marvelous physique of Dwight Howard, is how Stan Van Gundy (head coach of the Magic) has a striking resemblance to JOHN LOVITZ. I mean, seriously.
TweetNick and I have been busy as usual. We trotted down to the Columbus area this Saturday to watch our cousin, Sue Borchers, coach her Varsity girls basketball team in Granville. We met up with family and had a great time in the stands sitting together. Bill Borchers had a very healthy processed cheese and oversalted tortilla chip snack while Tim, Kelly’s hub, chopped down a questionable looking Reesie cup. With eating habits like that, you’d wonder how Sue manages such a wondrously athletic and successful life.
Nick and I left immediately after the game to head back to Cleveland for my Christmas present – tickets to the US Figure skating Championship! It was freaking cool as all get out. I’d never been to anything like this before and I was moderately excited. But then once you saw the skaters, the amazement went to a whole other level.
As you can imagine, Nick and I have a combined knowledge score of ZERO when it comes to figure skating. Although, I do follow it when it’s on, I have a working and basic intelligence of different jumps, technical elements, and a general Who’s Who among the stars.
The top 25 or so skaters are separated into 4 groups with the lowest scorers going first. These skaters are grand and wonderful but when they fell, fell flat on their stomachs, sprawling in ungraceful splats on the ice and causing big a OOOHHHHHHHH from the crowd. They were allowed five minute warm-ups and it was so neat to watch them practice.
AND THEN the top 10 were on. The difference between groups CANNOT BE STRESSED IN A BLOG. It is drastic, to put it mildly. Even the difference between the top 4 skaters is so radical from the top 6-10 spots. The first difference is the SPEED of the skaters. The top 5 or so skate at a speed that makes me wonder if they are all on crack, or some version of crack for figure skaters. They are so much faster than the other skaters, it’s unbelieveable. When they fall, it STILL looks graceful. And I cannot imagine how controlled and strong they have to be to get up and keep going with the world watching them.
The winner was a student from Bowling Green! GO OHIO!
Nick and picked our favorites and they changed every 20 minutes or so. (We have no loyalties…) and when we became snobby enough to criticize and offer feedback after a performance, it was in the sophisticated manner of, “Can you believe she fell twice? Get it together, girl!” Or Nick’s in depth analysis, “Is it just me, or did she just seem kinda tired?”
Regardless, it was a magnificent gift. I suggest that, someday, you attend an event that you normally would not get tickets to, but you like watching on television. Seeing it in person brings it to a whole other level.
I went to my first Cavs game last week.
My brother, Fran, has season tickets and they were mighty good seats, too. As a season ticket holder, he was able to bring me out to the floor and I was able to touch the floor for good luck.
Lebron is simply a beast. Incredible. Superhuman. He’s a beast. I was able to snap some good pics of him. I was in awe the whole time.
Sorry for the profane ending…but the video’s still good
I shall be making the Anthony Gonzalez chicken in honor of my all-time favorite OSU player. (Go Colts.)
Arroz con pollo (Rice with Chicken)
One of Anthony Gonzalez’s favorite recipes:
• 10 chicken pieces
• Garlic powder
• Salt and pepper
• Cumin powder
• 6 cloves garlic — chopped
• Bouillon cubes
• 3 cups rice
• 8 cups water
• 2 packets of Azafran seasoning packet
• One can petite peas, drained
• One small jar diced pimento
• One can beer
Season the chicken with spices. Fry in extra-virgin olive oil and garlic until the chicken is almost done (about 25 minutes). Add rice, water, seasoning packet and bouillon cubes. Let cook until the water is almost gone and you can see the rice. Add the can of beer.
Cover and let cook on low for about 45 minutes.
Add peas (drained) and pimento on top.
I was there, compliments of my friend and loyal OSU alum, Christy who was kind enough to take me to her cushion-y amazing seats at the OSU/PENN State game. I was about 65 feet from Lebron on the sidelines and got peaks of Tressel working his magic.
There are certain rules I abide by at big games and the guy behind me broke #2:
Thou shall not annoy another fans who are trying to enjoy the sporting event in an energized and civilized manner.
If you’re going to be cursing up a storm, I’d rather you just blow f-bombs into the water instead of using the name of the person who, I happen to believe, is the savior of our planet.
STOP YELLING JESUS CHRIST INTO MY EAR CANALS followed by an expletive of how Tressel needs to move the safeties up. I know Maurice Wells has butter fingers, but STOP YELLING JESUS CHRIST at the top of your lungs. Not only does it massively annoy me, but I’m at the borderline of turning around and saying something along the lines of, “Shut up. Just shut up. You. Are. A. Disgrace.” But, Christy shook her head at me. So I bit my tongue and just yelled all the louder, “COME ON D, HOLD THEM!” along with the thunderous Ohio stadium.
I’m not an uptight person, but put the Jesus Christ AK47 away because it grates just a weetzy bit too much on my ears. Say hell, shit, or damn as much as you want. Go CRAZY with the f-bomb. Even an occasional g-damn is better than a 2 hour yelling spree of about JC.
The first OSU game I went to was against Texas a few years ago. They lost. I feel like I might be a curse to big OSU games. I very well may just stay at home in the name of my fanhood.
Nick was at a dinner party (oh la la, we’re moving up in the world) with coworkers, their significant others, his boss and pastor, and a lovely couple hosting them for dinner, where he confessed to me later he was surreptitiously watching the game. His cover was blown when he peaked and saw Pryor fumble the ohsoimportant ball that spurred Nick’s rare outbursts, “Are you freaking kidding me?”
He then apologized for his outburst that interrupted the conversation.
When I thought of the potty mouth sitting behind me and the string of Jesus Christs he hurled out onto the field, it only made me love the “Are you freaking kidding me,” all the more.
Nick if far too easy to fall in love with.