Week 15: We Do Right Bayou

After getting my parents a new surround sound system last Christmas, my brother and I were struggling to come up with a gift this year. Digital cameras, laptops, PDAs and the like would turn into hi-tech coasters within days of our departure. But one thing our parents do do is watch television. Every night after they come home. And they don't have cable. (Realize that my parents still use the first cell phone they ever got. In fact, I think it's the first cell phone ever made. It's about the size of a shoe. And their calling plan is something like twenty-five minutes per month.) They don't need anything fancy, like TiVO. It's not like they like some television significantly more than other. They just like television. So, after some research, I decided to get them a Dish Network subscription.

"That's a great idea," said my brother after I told him. "They're going to love that. Plus we won't feel like we're in a third-world country every time we go back home."

I set up their subscription on my credit card, and arranged for the installation on the morning of Christmas Eve. Now, all I had to do was tell them when to be home. I could hardly contain my excitement. I called them at work.

"Hey, we need your flight information," said my mother as my parents got on the phone.

"I'll get it to you, it's sometime late afternoon on Christmas Eve," I said, struggling to sound calm. "But listen, I need you to be home that morning from 8 to noon."

Dad: "He's coming between eight and noon."
Me: "No, I'm not coming then. Someone else is coming. To install something. I need you to be home."
Mom: "Who's coming?"
Me: "I can't tell you. It's a surprise." I was smiling from ear to ear.
Dad: "This is for Christmas?"
Mom: "Someone's coming with you from the airport?"

What did they think I was going to do, install a baggage carousel in their den? "No, no one's coming with me. I'm not coming in the morning. Someone else is coming to install something. A surprise."

Dad: "No no no, we don't need a plasma screen."

Jesus Christ, how much did they think we were going to spend this year? "Um. . .it's not a plasma screen."

Dad: "Are they delivering a car?"
Mom: "You're getting Daddy a new car?!"
Me: "NO! No one's getting a new car!" What happened to the simplest gifts being the best? "I just need you to be home from eight to noon for a surprise."
Mom: "I don't understand what time you're coming."
Dad: "Why don't you bring girls home with you? That would be a real surprise."
Me: "LOOK, just be HOME from eight to noon."

I thought that was the end of it. Two hours later, my father calls me.

"Look," he started, "we appreciate what you're doing. But don't worry about it. If you're getting us cable--" here I smiled again "--don't bother, we're going to get it eventually, once we decide where the television is going." They've had that television for six years now. It's never moved once. I would be able to convince them out of it by week's end.

"Now, if you're getting us a treadmill. . ."

Onto the game. . .

With the Bucs blanked by the once-more-overhyped Patriots last Saturday, control of the NFC South was there for the taking on Sunday by America's Team, the Scourge of Dixie, your CAROLINA PANTHERS! Six, nearly seven fans were in attendance in Baton Rouge as the hapless Saints, the NFL's equivalent of the Kucinich campaign, hosted the Cats. (Side note: it's funny how the NFL hype machine has stopped billing the Saints as the post-Katrina feel-good story of the year. It might have something to do with multimillionaire owner Tom Benson swearing he'd never return to New Orleans. Something every New Orleans resident who still doesn't have clean water or working streetlights can feel good about.) The game also marked the return of Louisiana's favorite son, the Brahma Bull of Breaux Bridge, star of Louisiana-Lafayette and former Saints backup, Pro Bowl starting QB Jake Delhomme!

The Panthers showed why they're considered the most dominant team in the NFL, establishing the early lead from the hands of a Pro Bowl QB to the hands of Pro Bowl receiver Steve Smith. Touchdown! Panthers up 7-0! Saints QB Aaron Brooks, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Martin Lawrence both facially and in their inability to carry anything to success by themselves, had been benched in favor of Todd Bouman, who spends most Saints games selling Cokes in the stands for extra cash. In a brilliant maneuver, Coach John Fox allowed Bouman to march up the field, in order to better study his prey. 7-7.

Then the levee broke and the Panthers went Category 4 on their ass. Kasay field goal. An exchange of fumbles, before Delhomme looted the Saints D for a TD run. Panthers up 20-10 going into the half! The fans do the wave--no, it's just two of them standing up. Bottom of the third, Delhomme to Smith for a TD. Pro-bowl-icious! Saints underwater 24-3. With the game firmly in control, the Tar Heel Terror Squad settled back a bit, permitting the Saints a final recovery effort before closing it out 27-10.

No reader mail feature; keep the emails coming, folks.

Next week in the NFC South: the Panthers take on the Cowboys. I loved Bill Parcells' press conference last year, when he said, about their playbook, "I don't want to offend anybody, but we use a lot of Jap plays. That means sneaky plays." Then, when he saw the stunned looks on the faces of the press, he said, "I SAID I wasn't trying to offend anybody!" The best part was how offended he looked that his disclaimer hadn't been enough. Forget coaching--why isn't this guy heading FEMA?

And the Bucs and Falcons hopefully beat the hell out of each other.

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!

MERRY XMAS EVERYBODY!

Week 14: The Panther, the Buc, and the WarZone

Once a year, my father goes up to New York City for a five-day medical conference, and once a year, I trek up to the Ground Zero of bad tipping to spend a Christmas weekend in Manhattan with him.

With the ice storm, my 9:30 flight was delayed two hours, such that it was two o'clock in the morning when he, bleary-eyed, let me into his hotel room. I chatted with him as I unpacked my overnight bag into a dresser drawer that doubled as a secret stash of soaps and shampoo bottles he was hiding from the maid service. Sorry I'm late, I apologized. When I left my message, I
thought I was coming in on the 9:30.

We talked about the conference (going well), my work (busy), and New York (anything you want, anytime you want). "You know," I said by way of illustration, "there's a diner across the street from this hotel. We could get breakfast there anytime we wanted."

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I ate at the airport."

"Because I missed my dinner waiting for you."

"Oh, I'm--" that didn't make any sense. Had I made my original flight, I still would have arrived at midnight. I looked over at the phone on his bedside table.

"You have no idea what that flashing red light means, do you?"

"No, there's been something wrong with it since this afternoon."

Onto the game. . .

Random football note:
* How much do Chris Berman's daughter's friends hate going to her house, knowing her dad is going to call them by some lame nickname he came up with ten years ago?

This past weekend, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, led by the second-year out of the Blue Lagoon, Chris Simms, traveled to the Queen City to take on their arch-intra-division rivals. Whenever these two teams meet, the hits crunch harder, the passes spiral tighter, and Kavika Pittman gets his leg snapped. Last time they met, two Carolina Panthers had sex in a bathroom stall and
then beat the crap out of some Buccaneers fans. Needless to say, tension was running high. Every public bathroom stall had been outfitted with a video camera.

In a nailbiting epic, the Buccaneers, winless in their last five meetings, threw their enigmatic Cover 2 defense at Jake Delhomme. More mystifying than Nicole Ritchie's celebrity, the reads were too tough for even the Cajun Hannibal to get to his wide receivers. The Bucs ran Cadillac Williams up the center. Touchdown, Bucs! Like historic kings of yore, Delhomme risked life and limb to lead his team's comeback. Meanwhile, the Bucs did what the Bucs do best--cheap hit. Late hit from S Will Allen makes WR Steve Smith's whistle tips go wooh wooh! Back and forth the momentum pinballed, the fate of the NFC South in the balance. But despite their integrity, despite their valor, the heroic Panthers experienced one too many cheap hits to pull ahead. The Bucs squeaked out of Charlotte, 20-10!

Disheartening? Hardly. Consider it. Last week, the Panthers crushed the Atlanta Falcons, a team that had beaten them five times, by stunning them with mystifying defensive coverage and establishing a running game. This week, the Bucs, a team that had lost to the Panthers in their last five outings, finally beat them by. . .stunning them with mystifying defensive
coverage and establishing a running game. If this week proved anything, it's that the only team capable of beating the Carolina Panthers is. . .the Carolina Panthers.

They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.

Reader mail feature:

FFH says,
"Dear Panther fan --- Nice blog! I was looking for Fantasy Football Cheat Sheets related info, but stopped for a minute when I found you blog! It is great! I am book-marking it and will come back! I haven't seem a blog quite like Week 13: DeShaun Also Rises! Anyway great blog, but no Fantasy Football Cheat Sheets info here I I am out! THanks..."

Who is FFH, you ask? Some auto-generated dickhead plugging a fantasy football site. This guy leaves multiple messages on my blog each week. Remember, my blog gets fewer eyeballs than a fat girl asking you to sign a petition. Yet check out his nine postings to Week 12(http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11813620&postID=113353100150672471.
I encourage everyone to go to this guy's website and personally tell him know how much of a douchebag he is.

Next week:

The battle for the NFC South is on! 9-4 Bucs travel to New England, 9-4 Panthers travel to Baton Rouge to face the Saints, and the 8-5 Falcons travel to Soldiers Field in Chicago to take on the Bears!

Until next time.

Rrowrr!

Week 13: DeShaun Also Rises

December 7 was Pearl Harbor Day. At my firm, the associates had a big sushi lunch.

We are magnanimous in victory.

Onto the game. . .

It's the stat the world was talking about heading into last Sunday. Undefeated. No losses. That's right. Michael Vick's perfect record in five starts against America's Team, the Fearsome Felines, your CAROLINA PANTHERS. I was so worried about it that in the middle of my date with Liza on Saturday night, I ducked into the bathroom to make a quick phone call.

John Fox: Hello?
Me: John? It's me.
John Fox: Oh, hey! How's the date going?
Me: No time for that, John. Listen, I'm worried. Theisman said we had no chance of beating Vick tomorrow.
John Fox: Joey Harrington ordered room service and Theisman said it was "they type of gutsy call this kid can make under pressure." Trust me, just watch tomorrow.
Me: You sure?
John Fox: I'm sure. Now, go back and don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Sunday, the plan was poetic in its simplicity, brilliant in its totality. Play the corners man-to-man, free your safeties to drop back or blitz, and force Vick to pass. What do you get? Why, just the most sacks in one location since Kelly's law school parties! On Minter, on Rucker, on Peppers and Draft! Put Davis at spy and leave Vick feeling trapped! Buckner, Moorehead, and Witherspoon too! Let Warrick go for it for a negative two! On Ericsson field there arose such a clatter! The Panthers were serving whoop-ass on a platter! Five sacks and two picks, the Panthers are rising! It's Carolina's world, so screw you, Theisman!

Reader mail feature:

From Mark L. at Wet Willie's on Miami Beach:
"I'm glad you and Reenah had a nice turkey day. You should start up a thanksgiving day catering service."

We are accepting pre-orders for our Dum-Dum platters for Halloween '06.

From Brian B., in NYC:
"...Joe Horn's constant use of the third person to describe his on-field exploits is just money. I am trying to work that into my conversational habits, a la 'those are the kinds of big deals brian b---- gets done,' or 'that's the kind of investment banker brian b----- is.'"

Do you remember a couple of years back when Joe Horn was trying really hard to get the nickname "Hollywood," and would keep using it during interviews (ala "T-bone" on "Seinfeld)? Then Chris Berman started calling him Joe "Little Big" Horn. And just like that, his endorsement opportunities went from unlimited to greeter at Foxwoods.

This week: Huge divisional matchup, as the 9-3 Panthers take on 8-4 Tampa Bay. A win this week gives Carolina undisputed dominance over the NFC South, a loss puts them in a dead heat with Tampa Bay with three games left in the season.

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!

Week 12: Jake Delhomme and the Goblet of Whoop-Ass

This past Thursday, I spent Thanksgiving the way I have for the last six odd years, making dinner with Reenah. This was to be our first Thanksgiving in her new house.

"Let me take that," she said shortly after I arrived. I had draped my jacket across her sofa. It's actually a very nice jacket, calfskin. It's part of my fall look: "Prosperous Yet Sensual." She took my jacket, walked five steps, and threw it onto another sofa.

We had divided up the dishes. Reenah was in charge of the traditional Indo-Korean roast chicken, the stuffing, cranberry sauce, butternut squash, and mashed potatoes. "And you," she told me over the phone, "are in charge of the beverages, the dessert, the greens, and the backup gravy." Reenah, I said, how 'bout we make some gravy and then we make some babies? At first I thought I had lost the connection, but after a few moments, she started speaking again.

The bird turned out succulent and perfect, my roast asparagus spears with asiago shavings was a hit, and the backup gravy proved wholly unnecessary, as this year, Reenah had used copious amounts of chicken broth to give her gravy a rich, briny flavor.

I carved the chicken, prepared our plates, and then sat down with her to give our thanks. I've been going first ever since the notorious 2003 debacle. Reenah went first that year. "I'm thankful for my apartment, and my job, the vacation I'm going to take with my mother this year, and that this food turned out so well. Your turn." "I'm thankful that we have such good friends in our lives in such proximity, and that all the people we love
and care about are in good health." I picked up my knife and fork.

Reenah: "Wait, that's what you're giving thanks for?"
Me, knife and fork poised in midair over his food: "Yeah. That's it."
Reenah: "I thought you were just going to say something funny. I get to go again."
Me: "You don't get to go again! Once you say it and pass, you're locked in. There's no do over."

This year, I gave my thanks, Reenah matched, and we started eating.

How's work?, I asked. "Oh fine. I was working pretty late yesterday on this patent case I have next month. I actually made one of the junior associates miss his flight home." "That must have made you only slightly less popular than handing out one Dum Dum per person on Halloween." "And next week is crazy. I have a deposition on Monday, a mediation on Wednesday, and two more depositions Thursday and Friday, all in different cities. The partners wanted me to take a deposition on Tuesday too, but luckily that one had to be rescheduled. How's work for you?" "Good. One of the secretaries told me I remind her of her gynecologist."

"Are you cold?" called out Reenah. She had gone upstairs to check the thermostat. I was watching in silent fascination as my mashed potatoes were beginning to unmash themselves back into a potato. I poked at a frozen mass the size and consistency of a hockey puck with my fork. "I'm fine," I answered. "All right. Let me know if you get cold," she said, coming down
the stairs dressed in a comforter.

"Seeing anybody?" I asked. "Nope," she said, checking her blackberry for the sixth time that evening. "You?" "Nope," I said, interrupting the iPod playlist she'd created for the evening to find something I liked instead.

Cake and tea in hand, we settled down onto her sofa to watch the movie. (My first holiday selection, "The Killing Fields," was vetoed in favor of my second, "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.") "Do you think we'll be doing his five years from now?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said. "Only with more cats."

On to the game. . .

Random NFL thoughts:

Peyton's new commercial: rarely does one see so much effort behind so little personality.

Did anyone realize that the Cleveland Browns are playing this season? I'm serious, they are. Quick, name a single memorable play of theirs this season. Name a non-Reuben Droughns starter. Uh huh. Uh huh. I'll come back.

Did you hear Joe Horn rip into Paul Tagliabue for not meetings with the Saints after Hurricane Katrina? Funny, it's been ages since I heard the NFL hype machine spin every Saints victory into a "feel-good story for America." You want a marketing tip, watch figure skating. I was looking for football highlights on ESPN2 and found figure skating. Yeah, that's it. Anyway, one of their television sponsors? Ore-Ida french fries. I don't know who convinced Ore-Ida that advertising during a skating competition would hit their target audience, but they deserve a raise.

Like the pilgrims of yore, on the last blustery weekend of November, the NFC South leaders, America's Team, your CAROLINA PANTHERS, headed north to Buffalo, home to the number four take from the "great" QB draft of '03 and the self-proclaimed "best running back in the league." Buffalo, New York--official motto: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." Wheezing spittle and wing sauce, sixty thousand plus fans in attendance leaned forward in their Rascals to cheer their team on. Against these odds, how could the underdog Panthers possibly prevail?

The first quarter passed without a score, a stalemate between two outstanding defenses. But early in the second, with the brilliant John Fox calling the plays from the sidelines like a non-anti-Semitic Bobby Fischer of x's and o's, the Panthers took a 3-0 lead. Sure, many rookie coaches would have been tempted at this point to go for flashy, high-risk touchdowns. But revealing yet another layer of his genius, Coach Fox knew what he had to do: protect the lead, grind out the clock.

Whatcha cookin, mama? Tough to say, because the Carolina D is all up in Willis McGahee's kitchen! 21 carries for a puny 53 yards! Tied after three quarters, the Bills led by three in the final three minutes. The end, it seemed, was certain. With WR Steve Smith facing double coverage and WR Keary Colbert still in the witness protection program, there was just no one to--wait, is that Garth Brooks? No, it's his sure-handed alter ego, third-string TE Michael Gaines! Delhomme to Gaines for a TD! Panthers win! Panthers win!

Reader mail feature:

Brian B. from Buffalo wrote,
"Excuse you? 'Capital City of Failure'?? Buffalo is known, fyi, as The Queen City. I can't wait to head butt you."

Don't worry, Brian. I hear Joey Harrington will be on the market this spring. And you know what they say. 'There's always room for Kurt Warner. . .'

Next week: the Tar Heel Terror Squad takes on Michael Vick and the Falcons. You know you're surrounded by too many yes-men when you leave the house with the cornrows Vick or McNabb sport and think it looks good.

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!