Lou Pickney's Online Commentary
The Masters
Sunday
April 8, 2007
There is one golf tournament every year that I thoroughly enjoy watching: The Masters. Maybe I'm buying into the CBS propaganda. Maybe the green jackets mesmerize me. Maybe the intentionally limited commercial interruptions appeal to me. But, whatever the appeal is, I tuned in for all of the coverage on CBS today.
The most shocking/disturbing thing was seeing the stock photo used by CBS of Vijay Singh sporting a reverse mustache (one located *under* his mouth, not above.) That has to be up there among the all-time horrid athlete facial hair choices (I'm not sure if Jake Plummer's mustache will ever be topped, though.)
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Last night I met up with a girl (Lacey) who found me via MySpace; we hit Norm's, a local bar, had some beer, played some pool, and had a good time. Naturally, this happened with me leaving town two weekends from now. Just my luck.
From there I went over to Hooters, where I met up with John Pouncey and a couple of his friends to watch UFC 69. It was a very entertaining show; for $20 or so, I had some beer, the highly underrated ham and cheese sandwich that they have on the menu there, and watched the PPV.
UFC is a sport I've enjoyed for many years, albeit as a rather casual fan, but it is growing in popularity to the point where ESPN (which briefly had a blanket ban against its coverage) reportedly had the results of it on the late SportsCenter last night. Matt Serra's upset of George St. Pierre in the main event was shocking, and it was a great example of the unpredictability of the sport.
From there Pounce and I ended up at Five Points in Birmingham, hitting up the nightclub 1120 for awhile. We were upstairs in the dance club area, and John noted to me that the scene (early 20-somethings) made him feel old. I concurred strongly. The shadow of 30 is drawing closer, and Pouncey is only six months or so behind me. Tick tick tick...
Of course, since it was an evening of me going out, the bizarre had to happen. This one girl was blowing up Pounce's phone, trying to get him (and I) to come over to an apartment party she was having. We left 1120 and headed over there, with her giving Pounce directions over the phone and Pounce, in turn, relaying them to me. To say that it was confusing would be an understatement, as the girl didn't particularly know how to direct us through the maze-like apartment complex. All I could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all.
We made it, and a hot blonde with a nice rack (as John had told me to expect) was out there waiting for us. She was nice enough, but then John introduced her to me as Lindsay. Unfortunately, her name is Leslie, and she got mad at Pounce for screwing up her name. That was hysterical.
Then we got inside and there were maybe 14-15 people hanging out in there. I didn't know any of them, but one girl in there got super excited to see me for some reason. She yelled out to me to come over, and she gave me a big hug and
started kissing me on the cheek (more than just a peck.) The guy next to her on the couch mumbled "Watch it" as she nearly pulled me into her, the couch, and the dude's leg. I managed to pry myself away; the Watch It Guy then proceeded to mark his territory by putting his arm around the girl for the rest of the (brief) time we were there.
The visit ended abruptly when Leslie/Lindsay started rubbing all over some other guy who was there, apparently trying to test Pouncey. Bad idea. John made some pretty stiff shoot comments about her on the ride home, how she wouldn't be able to show her face at any bars in Auburn after this, how he was an alpha male (and not a beta male), and that no girl treats him like that. I don't blame him for being mad; I would've felt the same way. But it was just one of those bizarre, unexpected, random interactions that seem to pass through my life more than they do to other people. Either that, or I just have a longer memory than most.
I'm glad that Major League Baseball is embracing the legacy and history of Jackie Robinson and what he did to break the color barrier in the game, but the hubbub being made over the number 42 is bordering on the ridiculous. The concept of a retired jersey number is an annoyance of mine, but the way MLB retired it across the sport was just silly. It's just a number.
Tonight, with the TV on CBS after The Masters, I caught 60 Minutes (which is almost always a compelling show.) They did a profile on a lobbyist named Rick Berman, who impressed me as being someone who is actually fighting against the Nanny State, government knows best policies that are being pushed by all sorts of activist groups. It was disappointing to see the piece take a negative slant against him (talking about him being called "Dr. Evil"), but I was glad to hear his story.
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