The final episode of “The Shield” aired Tuesday night. I won’t ruin it for those who haven’t watched it yet, but I was a little disappointed. There was no twist at the end, no real jaw dropper. Continuing a pattern that has been going on for the last two years of the show, everything was neatly wrapped up by show’s end. Don’t get me wrong, the “Sopranos” finale sucked. At least the writers on “The Shield” tried to have some closure for the seven years that I’ve invested in watching it.
The show started seven years ago, and from day one it was like no other cop show. As lead protagonist/antagonist, Vic Mackey might say, “It was a different kind of a cop show.”
Much like Tony Soprano, Vic Mackey was the anti-hero. Even after doing all kinds of bad deeds, including murder, you found yourself mesmerized and wondering what he would do next.
Even though “The Shield” had fallen off a little in the last two seasons, it was one of the few non-sports TV programs that I tried to catch each week. The memorable characters will long be remembered. Vic’s Strike Team of Shane, Lem, and Ronnie. The good cops, Dutch, Claudette, Julian, Danni. Gangbangers, The Biz Lats, the One-Niners. Great season long guest stars, Forrest Whitaker, and Glenn Close. Bad guys, Antoine Mitchell, the Armadillo, the Armenians, and many others.
If you haven’t seen the show, I highly recommend watching the DVDs starting with season one, episode one. You won’t be disappointed. One more thing if you haven’t seen it yet, don’t expect “The Wire.” “Wire” is great, it’s nothing like “The Shield” though
Friday, November 28, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Jags vs Browns
The following takes place between 8am and 8pm last Sunday.
8:31am….I Call my brother to see if he wants to go to the Jags/Browns NFL game.
8:35….I hear the unmistakable metallic sound of a Red and White (Budweiser, fool) being popped open---it’s not his first of the day. So I know he’s in.
9:12….I have some unfinished business from last night to take care of.
9:14….Unfinished business now finished, I drop her off at her dorm, and make a couple of pre-game stops.
10:51….Arrive at my brother’s place. Way out in the woods of Northeast Florida. If you drive the ¼ mile dirt driveway all the way up to his house you must know him. Or, perhaps, just have a warrant*kidding*.
11:01….I bury my first Bloody Mary. Clamato Juice, Old Bay seasoning, and the Goose. That’s the way to pound a 32oz. Bloody Mary. When the Vodka runs out, Clamato and Bud Light are pretty damn good.
12:16pm….We’re watching NFL pre-game shows and NASCAR pre-race shows. Is Boomer Esiason the only one who knows the game? How are Terry Bradshaw and Jimmy Spencer still on TV?
1:45….After watching most of the first half of some bad NFL game---the race still hasn’t started---we head to Freakville for the Jags 4pm kickoff.
2:41….Dude didn’t have any parking spots left at his house, so we’re parked at the church across the street for $20. We sit here for about 30 minutes watching the race on the portable TV. I call my boy, P-Diddy (not that one, fool) from Charleston to see if he’s at the game. He is, we’ll grab a drink inside the stadium with him. A cooler full of beer and no port-o-lets at the church take their toll. So, we head the 200 yards to the stadium.
3:33….I break a cardinal rule and buy tickets from the first scalper I see. It works out this time, though. Two, $58 tix for $25 apiece. We won’t be sitting in them anyway.
3:55…We are inside the Bud Zone above the South end zone. Surprisingly, it’s not too crowded. You can actually walk through there without rubbing your arms all in some stripper’s Tetons. Damn!
4:01….Out onto the Bud Zone patio overlooking the Southwest corner of the end zone just in time for kickoff. We have a cool little crew surrounding us, two tall, dreadlocked bros to my left who continuously yell “Bluuu”. They think it’s hilarious when I yell “Blahhh” in return. Directly in front of us we have one big redneck, his girl, and three strippers, old strippers, but still putting it out there. Who am I to judge?
4:32….I look at my phone and see 4 missed calls from P-Diddy. I go down to field level to use the facilities and my phone.
4:56….Still can’t reach Diddy. I know, I’ll call that #1 Browns’ fan---JOKERSWILD---.
5:05….Damn, Browns have scored again. I walk through the tunnel right past some rent-a-cops, until I’m up against the short chain link fence at the back of the end zone. Browns are kicking off right in front of me. I call JOKERSWILD and we either got cut off or he hung up on me. I redial, he answers, and now there’s a hand on my shoulder. One of the guards figured out I wasn’t supposed to be on the field right as I was telling JW to look for me in the end zone. As I was listening to the guard, JW was asking me if I was being kicked out of the stadium. I told him, “no, just off the field.”
5:30…. Back upstairs I run into P-Diddy and his crew. We drink a couple more cocktails and Diddy and one of his partners come join my group on the patio.
6:22….*Actual Game Alert* Jags kicker, Josh Scobee runs down Browns alleged all-pro return man, and makes vicious tackle.
It all gets hazy after this. I heard that the Browns won. I do remember that I was trying to sell CDs for the dreadlocked bros to any hotts that passed by. I also remember the bros had a camera and were getting some nice mountain scenery. Except for that one old stripper who didn’t want her pic with me. Imagine that. I told her don’t expect me to show up during the day shift to tip her. I also remember the ride home, so everything worked out.
8:31am….I Call my brother to see if he wants to go to the Jags/Browns NFL game.
8:35….I hear the unmistakable metallic sound of a Red and White (Budweiser, fool) being popped open---it’s not his first of the day. So I know he’s in.
9:12….I have some unfinished business from last night to take care of.
9:14….Unfinished business now finished, I drop her off at her dorm, and make a couple of pre-game stops.
10:51….Arrive at my brother’s place. Way out in the woods of Northeast Florida. If you drive the ¼ mile dirt driveway all the way up to his house you must know him. Or, perhaps, just have a warrant*kidding*.
11:01….I bury my first Bloody Mary. Clamato Juice, Old Bay seasoning, and the Goose. That’s the way to pound a 32oz. Bloody Mary. When the Vodka runs out, Clamato and Bud Light are pretty damn good.
12:16pm….We’re watching NFL pre-game shows and NASCAR pre-race shows. Is Boomer Esiason the only one who knows the game? How are Terry Bradshaw and Jimmy Spencer still on TV?
1:45….After watching most of the first half of some bad NFL game---the race still hasn’t started---we head to Freakville for the Jags 4pm kickoff.
2:41….Dude didn’t have any parking spots left at his house, so we’re parked at the church across the street for $20. We sit here for about 30 minutes watching the race on the portable TV. I call my boy, P-Diddy (not that one, fool) from Charleston to see if he’s at the game. He is, we’ll grab a drink inside the stadium with him. A cooler full of beer and no port-o-lets at the church take their toll. So, we head the 200 yards to the stadium.
3:33….I break a cardinal rule and buy tickets from the first scalper I see. It works out this time, though. Two, $58 tix for $25 apiece. We won’t be sitting in them anyway.
3:55…We are inside the Bud Zone above the South end zone. Surprisingly, it’s not too crowded. You can actually walk through there without rubbing your arms all in some stripper’s Tetons. Damn!
4:01….Out onto the Bud Zone patio overlooking the Southwest corner of the end zone just in time for kickoff. We have a cool little crew surrounding us, two tall, dreadlocked bros to my left who continuously yell “Bluuu”. They think it’s hilarious when I yell “Blahhh” in return. Directly in front of us we have one big redneck, his girl, and three strippers, old strippers, but still putting it out there. Who am I to judge?
4:32….I look at my phone and see 4 missed calls from P-Diddy. I go down to field level to use the facilities and my phone.
4:56….Still can’t reach Diddy. I know, I’ll call that #1 Browns’ fan---JOKERSWILD---.
5:05….Damn, Browns have scored again. I walk through the tunnel right past some rent-a-cops, until I’m up against the short chain link fence at the back of the end zone. Browns are kicking off right in front of me. I call JOKERSWILD and we either got cut off or he hung up on me. I redial, he answers, and now there’s a hand on my shoulder. One of the guards figured out I wasn’t supposed to be on the field right as I was telling JW to look for me in the end zone. As I was listening to the guard, JW was asking me if I was being kicked out of the stadium. I told him, “no, just off the field.”
5:30…. Back upstairs I run into P-Diddy and his crew. We drink a couple more cocktails and Diddy and one of his partners come join my group on the patio.
6:22….*Actual Game Alert* Jags kicker, Josh Scobee runs down Browns alleged all-pro return man, and makes vicious tackle.
It all gets hazy after this. I heard that the Browns won. I do remember that I was trying to sell CDs for the dreadlocked bros to any hotts that passed by. I also remember the bros had a camera and were getting some nice mountain scenery. Except for that one old stripper who didn’t want her pic with me. Imagine that. I told her don’t expect me to show up during the day shift to tip her. I also remember the ride home, so everything worked out.
Fish Daddy
Fish Daddy had a little house that his mom left him in rural Va. Beach. It originally was called the ‘Marsh Hut’, but its name was changed to the ‘Cut Hut’ during the 80s. Fish Daddy was dealing and had a voracious appetite for his product, which was the ‘whitey’, cocaine. This led to him cutting his product as much as he could with whatever was available. Thus, the ‘Cut Hut’. During this high time Fish Daddy was also referred to as “Boots” due to all the stomping he did on the coke.
The Cut Hut burnt to the ground one day due to Fish Daddy’s father doing some soldering on the old copper pipes. Money jars were set up in the local bars and businesses to help Fish Daddy out. Guess what he spent all the money on? Someone gave Fish Daddy a camper trailer. The kind you pull behind a car. About six feet wide and 12 feet long. Fish Daddy set it up in the yard in front of the charred ruins of the house. Somehow he got a temporary power pole set up beside the trailer, so he had electricity.
Fish Daddy had a steady girlfriend at this time, and she looked pretty good until she started staying up for days free basing. To this day Fish Daddy swears that the girlfriend burnt the camper trailer to the ground during a binge. No big deal, Fish Daddy got another free trailer. Smaller than the first one, though. This second trailer didn’t last as long as the first one. Yes, it too was destroyed by fire. That was enough for the City of Virginia Beach, they condemned the property, Fish Daddy moved on, and the land was eventually sold for back taxes.
The Cut Hut burnt to the ground one day due to Fish Daddy’s father doing some soldering on the old copper pipes. Money jars were set up in the local bars and businesses to help Fish Daddy out. Guess what he spent all the money on? Someone gave Fish Daddy a camper trailer. The kind you pull behind a car. About six feet wide and 12 feet long. Fish Daddy set it up in the yard in front of the charred ruins of the house. Somehow he got a temporary power pole set up beside the trailer, so he had electricity.
Fish Daddy had a steady girlfriend at this time, and she looked pretty good until she started staying up for days free basing. To this day Fish Daddy swears that the girlfriend burnt the camper trailer to the ground during a binge. No big deal, Fish Daddy got another free trailer. Smaller than the first one, though. This second trailer didn’t last as long as the first one. Yes, it too was destroyed by fire. That was enough for the City of Virginia Beach, they condemned the property, Fish Daddy moved on, and the land was eventually sold for back taxes.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Spitzed Off
Mark Spitz is crying because no one invited him---paid his way---to the Olympics to watch Michael Phelps try to meet or beat his record, seven gold medals. Spitz thinks that NBC, or the IOC, or somebody damnit, should have brought him along to China.
"I never got invited. You don't go to the Olympics just to say, I am going to go. Especially because of who I am," Spitz told AFP in Hong Kong. "I am going to sit there and watch Michael Phelps break my record anonymously? That's almost demeaning to me. It is not almost...it is."
I guess when you've won seven golds, 36 years ago, you can have a pretty high opinion of yourself. Then again when was the last time this guy had a chance to get back in the spotlight?
"They voted me one of the top five Olympians in all time. Some of them are dead. But they invited the other ones to go to the Olympics, but not me," he said. "Yes, I am a bit upset about it. I won seven events. If they had the 50m freestyle back then, which they do now, I probably would have won that too," he boasted.
Spitz thinks that it would have been a good idea for him to present the record breaking gold medals to Phelps. Gee, Mark, I wonder how much you could have charged for pictures of that, autographed of course. Spitz also shared the secret of Phelps' success, "He's almost identical to me. He's a world-record holder in all these events, so he is dominating the events just like I did," Spitz bragged. "He reminds me of myself."
I think we can all see why they didn't invite you, Mark. Let go of it, bro. Your time was 30 some years ago. No one likes to see some old dude trying to hang on to his past glories. What's next, you try and kiss Suzie Kolber at poolside? You were a great champion...act like one.
"I never got invited. You don't go to the Olympics just to say, I am going to go. Especially because of who I am," Spitz told AFP in Hong Kong. "I am going to sit there and watch Michael Phelps break my record anonymously? That's almost demeaning to me. It is not almost...it is."
I guess when you've won seven golds, 36 years ago, you can have a pretty high opinion of yourself. Then again when was the last time this guy had a chance to get back in the spotlight?
"They voted me one of the top five Olympians in all time. Some of them are dead. But they invited the other ones to go to the Olympics, but not me," he said. "Yes, I am a bit upset about it. I won seven events. If they had the 50m freestyle back then, which they do now, I probably would have won that too," he boasted.
Spitz thinks that it would have been a good idea for him to present the record breaking gold medals to Phelps. Gee, Mark, I wonder how much you could have charged for pictures of that, autographed of course. Spitz also shared the secret of Phelps' success, "He's almost identical to me. He's a world-record holder in all these events, so he is dominating the events just like I did," Spitz bragged. "He reminds me of myself."
I think we can all see why they didn't invite you, Mark. Let go of it, bro. Your time was 30 some years ago. No one likes to see some old dude trying to hang on to his past glories. What's next, you try and kiss Suzie Kolber at poolside? You were a great champion...act like one.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Road Trip, Part I
This took place back in the mid 1980s. My best friend and fellow skirt chaser, Jay, and I drove to Tampa. We left Va Beach to go visit his son for Christmas. The son was about 6 then, and his mother was a stripper.
We had every intention of being in Tampa, at the whore and her kid's house for Christmas morning. We didn't make it until the day after Christmas. Don't remember why we were so late leaving Va Beach, but I remember it was about 3pm on Christmas Day when we pulled off I-95 into Fayetville, NC. Not even half way, and we got a motel room there.
Oh, yeah, funny thing happened on I-95 in NC. Jay had to piss, and I wouldn't stop. I was driving a Ford van that had a sliding door on the side. I told him to climb in the back, crack the door open, and piss at 70 MPH. I'll never forget looking in my mirror and seeing a car loaded with a family on holiday, have to turn on their windshield wipers on a sunny day.
Anyway, back to Fayet Nam. We rode around for a while looking for somewhere to eat supper. Everything was closed for Christmas. We finally found a Chinese or Japanese place where they cooked the shit right at your table. We were their only customers, and they put on a hell of a show for us. The chef is still the best table chef I've ever seen. The people that ran the restaurant were great. They gave us some ivory chopsticks as Christmas presents.
After eating, and back then it was probably the first time in a couple of days, we went to see if there was any night life in Fayetville. There were a couple of places open. One joint had topless bartenders, and all they could sell was draft beer. Another place was a rock band club. That's where all the off duty strippers hang out. Probably still do. I remember hooking up with some rock slut with a weird stripper name. Some Indian shit, or something. Being in Fayetville, all the dudes in there were Army guys. So two long haired guys from out of town could hook up with no problem.
The next morning---I think---we headed on to Tampa.
to be continued............
We had every intention of being in Tampa, at the whore and her kid's house for Christmas morning. We didn't make it until the day after Christmas. Don't remember why we were so late leaving Va Beach, but I remember it was about 3pm on Christmas Day when we pulled off I-95 into Fayetville, NC. Not even half way, and we got a motel room there.
Oh, yeah, funny thing happened on I-95 in NC. Jay had to piss, and I wouldn't stop. I was driving a Ford van that had a sliding door on the side. I told him to climb in the back, crack the door open, and piss at 70 MPH. I'll never forget looking in my mirror and seeing a car loaded with a family on holiday, have to turn on their windshield wipers on a sunny day.
Anyway, back to Fayet Nam. We rode around for a while looking for somewhere to eat supper. Everything was closed for Christmas. We finally found a Chinese or Japanese place where they cooked the shit right at your table. We were their only customers, and they put on a hell of a show for us. The chef is still the best table chef I've ever seen. The people that ran the restaurant were great. They gave us some ivory chopsticks as Christmas presents.
After eating, and back then it was probably the first time in a couple of days, we went to see if there was any night life in Fayetville. There were a couple of places open. One joint had topless bartenders, and all they could sell was draft beer. Another place was a rock band club. That's where all the off duty strippers hang out. Probably still do. I remember hooking up with some rock slut with a weird stripper name. Some Indian shit, or something. Being in Fayetville, all the dudes in there were Army guys. So two long haired guys from out of town could hook up with no problem.
The next morning---I think---we headed on to Tampa.
to be continued............
Saturday, July 5, 2008
My New Racing Column at SRM
And, I'm back. Haven't been on here in a while. Not that I've been too busy or anything. Just lazy, maybe a little depressed. Don't know why either. I'm still in Memphis. Planning on driving back to Charleston in the next couple of weeks. I've almost wrapped up my project here, but there are some add ons that I could hang around for.
I've been posting regularly at foxsportsblogs.com . My blog there is Copperhead Road, and my screen name is Hanahan. I put up a couple of NASCAR posts a week there. I have somewhat of a following there, and it's pretty fun to interact with the different readers. And they have a lot of readers at foxsports. Worldwide---Australia, New Zealand, England, Canada, Columbia, I've heard from all of them. I also have a sports blog at realsportsbloggers.com. My blog there is called The Strike Team, and my screen name is Mackey. Mainly just reposts the same blogs from Fox, although I do some just for them.
Which brings me to my latest news. I've been asked to do a couple of columns a week for sportsreviewmagazine.com. They're revamping the online mag next month and I'll be a part of it. A chance to work with some pros and maybe even make a little money down the road. SRM started as a glossy mag back in 1941. it's been bought out a couple of times, and went electronic in the early 2000s. They have several pro athletes, and sports related businessmen writing for them now. I'll be doing something tenatively titled, The SRM Motorsport Report. Focusing mainly on NASCAR, but as the name suggests, different types of racing from time to time also.
I've been posting regularly at foxsportsblogs.com . My blog there is Copperhead Road, and my screen name is Hanahan. I put up a couple of NASCAR posts a week there. I have somewhat of a following there, and it's pretty fun to interact with the different readers. And they have a lot of readers at foxsports. Worldwide---Australia, New Zealand, England, Canada, Columbia, I've heard from all of them. I also have a sports blog at realsportsbloggers.com. My blog there is called The Strike Team, and my screen name is Mackey. Mainly just reposts the same blogs from Fox, although I do some just for them.
Which brings me to my latest news. I've been asked to do a couple of columns a week for sportsreviewmagazine.com. They're revamping the online mag next month and I'll be a part of it. A chance to work with some pros and maybe even make a little money down the road. SRM started as a glossy mag back in 1941. it's been bought out a couple of times, and went electronic in the early 2000s. They have several pro athletes, and sports related businessmen writing for them now. I'll be doing something tenatively titled, The SRM Motorsport Report. Focusing mainly on NASCAR, but as the name suggests, different types of racing from time to time also.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Men vs Women II
More info on the battle of the sexes. This is concerning what to do if you end up involved with a bat shit crazy bitch. First, all women are irrational---compared to men---and maybe a little crazy. That's to be expected. The price of getting laid, you might say. The bat shit crazy bitch is entirely different than your average woman .
The BSCB may start her relationship with you seeming like a normal young lady. She will show signs over the course of the relationship that she is, in fact, BSC. The only reddeming quality of th BSCB is the sex. Crazy bitches are the best in bed. I mean the best. They will do anything, and I do mean anything for you in bed.
The problem is getting rid of them. This can be messy. Most of the time it is, and worse. I'm talking about having to call the cops messy. More than once. The sex is so good you may try and break up, but yet keep hitting it also. Uh uh. Not gonna work.
Most of the time to break up with a BSCB you have to disappear. Stay somewhere else. Don't answer your phone. And, no matter what, Do Not sleep with her.
The BSCB may start her relationship with you seeming like a normal young lady. She will show signs over the course of the relationship that she is, in fact, BSC. The only reddeming quality of th BSCB is the sex. Crazy bitches are the best in bed. I mean the best. They will do anything, and I do mean anything for you in bed.
The problem is getting rid of them. This can be messy. Most of the time it is, and worse. I'm talking about having to call the cops messy. More than once. The sex is so good you may try and break up, but yet keep hitting it also. Uh uh. Not gonna work.
Most of the time to break up with a BSCB you have to disappear. Stay somewhere else. Don't answer your phone. And, no matter what, Do Not sleep with her.
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