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Football Fever

9/9/03

Saturday, 9 AM:  I head over to a sports bar in the Marina to meet up with other UVA fans including Brett “Moneyball” Stone, Chip Hudgins, John “Look at the Ring!” Ayers and Andy “I’m Sick of Your Nicknames” Kellam.  Game time for UVA/South Carolina, which should be a UVA 20-point victory, is 9:30 PST.

9:07 AM:  Chip, Brett and I are halfway through our first pitcher...and Brett has already consumed his first bourbon.  The table is set for a long day of football, bar food and happiness.

10:17 AM:  Through one quarter, UVA “quarterback” Anthony Martinez—a first-year that is already looking at where to transfer before he gets maimed by UVA fans—has something ridiculously pitiful for a stat line like 7 total yards of offense.  I am angry, and have exercised my first world-famous Justin Ball Angry Hat Toss following our third running play on a third-and-long.  I am convinced that although we are suddenly a second-half team (after the heroics in multiple games last season), we are in for a long afternoon.

10:45 AM:  We finally score a touchdown, producing high-fives at the table.  Although we are playing like dogshit, South Carolina looks the worse of the two teams, and now I’m thinking we are going to blow these guys right off their own field.

11:04 AM:  We go three-and-out twice.  I’m angry again, and toss my hat for almost no reason.  After the commercial break and a UVA punt that pits the Gamecocks at their own 1-yard line, I smell safety.  Oh, one problem:  OUR STUPID FUCKING DEFENSIVE COORDINATOR calls what I am sure is named Mad Dog Blitz, which (just like the famous play in each and every version of the Madden video games) is an 8-man blitz to stop a running play, leaving two DBs in man-to-man coverage with a deep safety.  The Gamecocks call a quick slant, their wideout catches the ball in stride and eludes just one player on his way to a 99-yard touchdown reception.  All of us were screaming more profanities than Joe Pesci did in “Casino”, and the game slowly collapses from this point on.

12:14 PM:  Two more scoring drives in the second half by the Gamecocks lead to three hat tosses by me, and one each by Brett and the normally reserved Chip.  In fact, as I look over at Chip following a USC scoring drive that featured a run by the USC quarterback for six yards where he ran OVER a UVA defensive lineman, I am convinced I have never seen Chip so angry while watching a UVA sporting event.  In fact, Chip—as far from “sports loudmouth” as any man can be—is nearing a loud “fucking shit-fuck” level of profanity last seen when I lost my mind watching UVA b-ball blow it to Maryland in Charlottesville during their national championship run two years ago.  At one point, Chip is so angry that he literally utters a phrase that sounds not unlike Pootie Tang after he clocks a bad guy—an unintelligible, angered mess of words that come up in one breath.  Soon after this, he blows his top and leaves the bar, prompting me to tell anyone in earshot “Damn...that’s whack!”

12:31 PM:  I leave the bar following our 31-7 loss (!!), and do what I always do after UVA blows a chip shot against a bad team:  I check in with the regulars.

“Jellybean” Grant—“What a bunch of fucking horseshit!  Holy shit, do we suck!  I can’t believe how bad we blow.”

Gordon “The Professional” Stokes—“Suckity suck-suck.”

To compound the pain, I approach my car wearing a UVA t-shirt and UVA Sabres hat.  Three USC guys drive by in a Pathfinder.  Actual phrase yelled at me from a moving car:  “Hey pal—Virginia fucking sucks!”  I consider yelling back at them with “It was our backup QB, assholes” but think better of it and get in my car and drive home.

4:45 PM:  After a two-hour nap, I get up to watch Maryland-Florida State.  The game was not very interesting, but what WAS interesting was the game analysis by the two schmoes covering the game for ESPN2.  Damn if these guys weren’t bobbing their heads in Ralph Friedgen’s lap—they were kissing up to the Maryland coach like it was part of their incentive clause.

Maryland, already down 21-10 in the third quarter, runs the ball up the gut on a halfback off-tackle for a two-yard gain on third-and-two:  “See, that’s what I’m talking about.  That’s Ralph Friedgen football all the way.”

Maryland QB Scott McBrien throws a quick slant (a play that has assuredly been available to all passers since the debut of the forward pass decades ago) for seven yards:  “[Friedgen’s just a genius.  His play-calling, his flair for the offensive game design, is without peer.”

A Maryland inside handoff goes for four yards and a first down:  “Friedgen’s mix of plays is just incredible tonight.  Everywhere he has been, he figures out a way to score points.  His offensive genius is unquestioned.”

Oh, and by the way, the “genius” led his team...to a 35-10 ass-whoopin’ LOSS.  With The Citadel coming up next weekend, Maryland will get off the slide soon, but for now, stop kissing the coach’s ass!

Sunday, 9:10 AM:  I am prepped for NFL Kickoff Weekend.  I’ve already had breakfast, I’ve got my fantasy rosters printed in my room, NFL Gameday is being live-TiVo’ed, and I’ve already had my first of four meals before the first game is even over.  Football is just so beautiful.  Although it looks like it will be sunny and 70 outside, I won’t be leaving the house until the late game is over.

9:35 AM:  For the “Mayne Event”, a comedy sketch piece by Kenny Mayne on Gameday, ESPN profiles another of the high-profile entrants in the California gubernatorial race:  San Francisco wide receiver Terrell Owens.  While not as funny as Mayne’s funniest bit for me (when he was allowed to try out to be a ballboy for the US Open tennis tournament last year; HIGH comedy), the Owens debate with Gary Coleman and some corny statistics on the upcoming race all made for good laughs.

10:05 AM:  Andy and Brett show up at the house with a dozen Krispy Kremes, Gatorade, and a six-pack.  I consider eating some fruit before bagging the idea and accepting a day of gluttony as a reward for Saturday’s suffering.  Upon entering the living room, Andy’s first question:  “Do you have a laptop so we can check fantasy stats for the other games?”  Negative.  “G**dammit!!”  Already, before kickoff of the first game, I am a failure.

10:22 AM:  The highs and lows of watching football with fantasy teams in mind are in full swing.  During the Rams-Giants and Chiefs-Chargers game, nearly half a dozen guys are on the field that factored into our fantasy stats, leading to play after play of phrases like

“Come on, Kurt [Warner]—just make sure you THROW a TD pass, don’t hand it off to that Faulk guy”

“How many rushing yards is that?  19?  Dammit, I need 20 for a point...do we get partial points for rushing yards?”

“NO!  NO!  NO!  Thanks a lot, asshole.  That 40-yard run got wiped out because of YOUR stupid holding penalty!  That’s two points down the drain right there.”

“It’d be nice if my team won...but, more important is if Priest scores four touchdowns.  Guy’s a fuckin’ monster.”

10:49 AM:  Chip shows up with breakfast number three:  a bucket of fried chicken from Popeye’s.  Sorry, but we here at Bellview just love it when white guys named Chip show up with a bucket of fried chicken from Popeye’s.  Absolutely LOVE IT!

12:15 PM:  Somebody comments of just how cool it is to sit around with other men, eating fried shit and watching football, producing ManMurmurs throughout the living room.  This moment is repeated twice more before the first game is over at 1.  Genius.

1:08 PM:  The three other guys leave to “get out and do stuff”; I have no such plans, so I sit and watch my team (the 49ers) blow out the hapless Chicago Bears 49-7.  Each time I start to fall asleep in the third quarter, the Niners pick off a Kordell Stewart pass or recover a fumble.  I get a 30-minute nap in there, but it isn’t easy.

4:15 PM:  Insatiable in my need for more sports, I watch a little of the men’s US Open tennis final, as well as flip-flopping to SportsCenter In-Game so I can check out the baseball scores.  I also watch more football highlights even though I have already seen them four times.  I heat up more food then settle in for the 5:30 start of Raiders-Titans.

5:38 PM:  The broadcast for the game is slightly delayed because our President is trying to tell us something.  I fucking hate this Bush guy and wish he would go away altogether.  If you have something of substance to tell me, then by all means do so.  If you want to wax poetic on the fact that our men and women are still fighting the good fight, kiss my black ass and get back to me on Monday.  BEFORE the Monday night game.

6:40 PM:  I am beginning to go blind from watching television for a marathon 10 straight hours.  But luckily, the game is quite good, and Rich Gannon of the Raiders is my starting fantasy QB, so I have to watch to make sure he scores points for me.

8:53 PM:  Disaster strikes—Gannon is sacked and comes up hobbling on the play.  I could give a chicken fried shit if the Raiders win the game, but if Gannon has a serious injury then my fantasy season is essentially over.  I start to consider my options:  Jake Plummer (Denver) is my backup, but he can’t be counted on for a full season.  Could I make a trade?  At this point, I seriously believe that I am a real NFL GM and wonder if I need to get a life.

8:54 PM:  Andy calls on my cell phone:  “Looks bad for Gannon, eh?”  I curse him for realizing my bad fortune in just 60 seconds.  I am also stunned that he knows that Gannon is my QB; this means that he is watching the game with a laptop open, surfing to see who had Gannon, and calling just so he could get under my skin and make the first offer for a solid backup.  He also knows who my second-best player is:  “Hmm...that Randy Moss SURE looks good to me...”  I curse him again and hang up, while immediately trying to remember who is on Andy’s team so I can raz him later in the season when he meets a similar fate.

8:59 PM:  Disaster averted—Gannon’s injury is just a minor one, and he comes back on the field to lead a late Raiders rally and throw another TD pass.  I wipe the sweat from my brow and move on.

9:30 PM:  I peel myself up from the couch (ala “The Simpsons” episode where Homer gets free cable) and go to my room to stare at a wall for a while before going to bed.  What a day.

Monday, 10:57 AM:  I check the new rankings for college football, and as I expected, UVA dropped out of the rankings in the AP poll.  What I didn’t expect:  a drop from #15 to #30.  Wow!  Boise State got more votes than we did.  Shocking, embarrassing, and wrong.  Just wrong!

6:01 PM:  I tune into the broadcast of “Monday Night Football” expecting to hear Hank Williams crooning another ridiculous opening song for the show.  To my surprise, Sylvester Stallone appears, talking about football, and boxing, and men, and football, and winning, and Philadelphia, and men, and football...and, I am getting more fired up for a game than I have in years!  The trickery worked—the mix of Stallone footage (sparring in a ring with a faceless opponent, looking ripped as usual), Stallone voiceover and shots of football players running, leaping, tackling, yelling, all works.  The idea of Stallone opening the game (played in Philly, with “Rocky” originally set in Philly) was pure genius and the folks at ABC have dug themselves a deep hole for blowing it all away in weeks to come.

Damn, I love football.

 

Random Bellviews, courtesy of Bell and Longer Community Trust:

• “Soul Calibur II” for Xbox:  Opening Weekend

• http://www.netmusique.com:  $9.50 Show

• Hot, aggressive women at clubs...that turn out to be married:  Matinee

• Landlords:  Rental

• Swamp ass:  Hard Vice

 

justin@bellviewmovies.com