Dorchester Shrimp

I know, it's a cheap jab at our friends across the bridge, but I think we've grown far too comfortable with each other over the years. We need to make it interesting again like the good old days.

And last night was the final straw for me.

I was sitting pretty with a 0-7 Superbowl square with just seconds to go. At the end of the quarter, if the score remained, I would walk away with $330. Cash.

Ben got picked off and the Cards were marching down the field. With the Steelers Defense I figured they would stop Arizona and kill the clock. Instead, the Cards brought it all the way down to the goal line, and my only hope was a turnover. At that point, Warner threw a pass directly to the Steelers defender and my prayer was answered.

I was going crazy. I was jumping up and down in my living room. Yes! I will use this money for something good. I will pay my electric bill. Or maybe I'll pay those cocksuckers at Comcast. Yes. Yes. Yes!

But he kept…on…running.

GET HIM. GET HIM! TACKLE THAT FUCK! NOOOOOOO! WHYYYYYY?!

James Harrison had a record-breaking 100 yard return. He was eventually tackled at the .025" line, but his knee landed on Larry Fitzgerald's leg and wasn't officially down until he crossed the plane. It went up to the booth for official review, but it was clearly a touchdown.

John Madden using Cambridge Youth Soccer logic argued that after an effort like that Harrison should be granted the TD regardless of whether he was down or not.

And that's when my head exploded.

AAAAAARGHHHHH!!! C-BOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMBBBBBB! (repeat 5x)

My girlfriend and Opie were cowering away from me on the couch. The dish told me to relax because it was only a game and the Patriots weren't even playing. I told her we just lost $330 and she suddenly became aware of the dire situation. She joined in the tirade. It was bullshit, she agreed. Madden sucks. And he's fat. And ugly. And stupid.

To make matters worse, moments later, I was wearing ridiculous 3D glasses so I could watch the new fangled TV spots. How pathetic. And boy, was that a disappointment. I don't know if I have a shitty television, but I couldn't see a thing. The picture was all fuzzy. I kept flipping my glasses up like an outfielder tracking a flyball in the sun.



Do you see anything? I don't see anything? Do we have bum glasses? This is bullshit. Are we supposed to be closer. Did you see anything. I don't think I saw anything. Opie, you see anything pal? No?

If that weren't depressing enough Bruce Springsteen came out for the halftime show, and wow, I wish he hadn't. I am a fan. I saw him recently and thought he put on a terrific show. I think he's a legend, but holy hell, he was awful last night. He kept panting for Stevie to join him which I think was a ploy to hide his gasping. He sounded like me after a minute on the stationary bike. And I think if I were his manager, I would advise him against extensive calisthenics during a set. Bruce, we love ya pal, but please stand still and save your energy. You had the right idea in DC a couple of weeks ago. That's the model for your concerts moving forward. Stand still. Sing your songs. Get off the stage and enjoy your grandchildren. Back in the day you could run around the stage for 5 hours and belt out the classics, but those days are behind us. Long gone. The glory days.

I decided the only thing to make me feel better was getting to the 10,000 calorie mark for the day. I was futzing around the kitchen when I came across the printout of the squares. I wanted to know who hit the 2nd quarter number. So I followed my thumb across the appropriate rows and columns and came across his name:

Newman! JOE Newman!

A friend of mine. A solid guy. I should have been happy for him. But I wasn't. I am an ugly person. The recession has made me angry. And selfish.

So it's back on. It's war.

We will be strengthening troops on the West Bank of the Neponset River, and trade between our borders has now closed. Have a hankering for some Chinese food? Have a court date? Plan on picking up one of our sisters to bang in the backseat of your Mercury Grand Marquis? No mas. It's over. We will turn the asylum seekers and their rafts away. No more Clam Box for you.

And yes, Pat's Pizza delivers to Quincy. I checked.