Seventeen years ago, during the Braves' unlikely run to the World Series, a friend of mine was riding the MARTA train home from one of the games when a young boy, who was...shall we say... a bit mentally challenged got a bit caught up in the moment amongst the rowdy fans on the train, and -- attempting to add his own celebratory comment to the slew of cheers -- cried out, "ARE WE WORLD SERIOUS?!?!?" (Please picture that line delivered in the voice of a boy who is...shall we say...a bit mentally challenged.)
Since that time, "Are we world serious" has become something of a rallying cry amongst my inner circle of Atlanta sports fans.
I bring it up now because as I write the Hawks have a three-point lead over the Celtics at the half and are making an insane bid to tie this series up. (This coming just a couple days after I suggested that Mike Woodson should -- in a perhaps unprecedented move -- be fired in the middle of the series, a stance I have cooled on momentarily now that the Hawks are playing with a fire under their ass.)
If the Birds can somehow tie this thing up, Game 6 is on Friday night in Atlanta, and The OCC will most likely be in attendance, assuming I/he can acquire a ticket to a Phillips Arena (a.k.a "The Highlight Factory") that is suddenly an absolute madhouse.
Are we world serious? Probably not. But this sure as hell is fun.
If I were to tell you that Charles Oakley is pitching his own TV cooking show entitled "Cafe Oakley," is that something you might be interested in?
What if I told you that John Starks was a guest on one of the pilot episodes, and that some of the dishes prepared were "Oak's Fried Chicken and Macaroni Salad," "Oak's Pasta, Sauce and Sausages" and "Oak's Smothered Steak and Rice."
I don't watch cooking shows, and I don't watch much in the way of non-sports programming, but I'm pretty sure the level of intensity this man would bring to the kitchen would almost certainly make it worth my while to tune in.
Somebody really needs to pick this show up immediately.
According to experts (and by "experts," I mean the people who wrote Knocked Up), pink eye is caused by "poo particles" (or particles of feces) getting into your eyes.
Sometimes, when you have a numbers crunch (i.e., an odd number of people) in a pickup football game, you designate one player as the all-time quarterback (meaning he plays QB for both teams).
As Falcons owner Arthur Blank told the NY Daily News, "Apparently, there was a prison football team and he played quarterback for both sides."
The only problem with this from Vick's standpoint is that it's very hard to complete an afternoon as the all-time QB without being accused by at least one person (if not an entire team) of trying harder when you're QB'ing for one of the squads.
The safest thing to do is probably pad the stats of the guys who look like they could whoop your ass.
Or, alternatively, don't go to prison in the first place.
My favorite thing about this video is not the fact that Mikhail Youzhny bludgeons his face with a tennis racket (though that is enjoyable). What I really enjoy is when the announcer likens Youzhny's behavior to that of Vincent Van Gogh and then -- emboldened by what he feels is a brilliant analogy -- goes on to point out that Youzhny, like Van Gogh, has short hair as well.
One man (a professional tennis player) hits himself in the face with a tennis racket because he's extremely frustrated about losing a point. Another man (an artist) cuts off his ear because he's insane (and I think it had something to do with love also). And, both have short hair.
On Monday night, Orlando Magic forward Rashard Lewistook his family to Medieval Times. Some teenagers asked for his autograph. Eventually, more people crowded around. There was pushing and shoving. A fight broke out.
This is either a statement about what horribly rabid and desperate people sports fans can be, or it's a comment on the declining quality of Medieval Times shows, which are apparently so boring that the sighting of a very good but not incredible NBA player incites full-scale mayhem.
Whatever the case, I am ashamed, and I wasn't even involved (and for the record, had I been there, I would have certainly glanced up from devouring my half chicken with my bare hands, but would not have bum-rushed Rashard to get an autograph -- if anything, I may have attempted to strike some of the teenagers with a broadsword to get them in line).
The operative phrase: Act like you've been there before. And by "there," I don't mean at Medieval Times. I mean "in the presence of celebrities." It's okay to tell someone famous hello or that you're a big fan if you deem it appropriate. It is not okay to get so desperate for his attention that you start cat fighting in the stands at a knight show.
Let's all take a second to compose ourselves.
I will now hack off three of my fingers with a battle ax as a remembrance of this terrible event.
