Saturday, March 31, 2012

WrestleMania XXVIII Gambling Predictions

Yes, it's true, WrestleMania is on the online books to be gambled upon for everyone's enjoyment. Now I cannot recommend doing this, because it is shady and stuff, so the U.S. government frowns on it. But it would be a disservice to the world if I did not give some advice on where you should place your money, especially for all of my international readers (I've been blowing up in Poland lately).

Beth Phoenix & Eve (+300) over Kelly Kelly and Maria Menounos (-400)
Let's start with a big time upset. Celebrities are not invincible at WrestleMania. Just look at Pete Rose who gets his ass kicked by Kane anytime he shows up. I don't see Maria Menounos as some big-time celebrity who needs to win at Mania. The only thing that could ruin this bet is if Menounos, who is rumored to have a rib injury, has to pull out of the match, which would mean that they could replace her with Kharma.
So yeah, if she comes back, then it's bad news for Beth & Eve.

Kane (+375) over Randy Orton (-550)
I have gone back and forth on this one. Initially, I thought Randy Orton would win, because it makes no sense for Kane to win. Then, I got to thinking, it really makes no sense for Orton to win either. Both of these guys could lose, and it wouldn't hurt them at all. But, because of my pick in the World Heavyweight Title match, I decided to go with Kane since they could push him to a championship feud after the Sheamus/Daniel Bryan rivalry is over. For a shocking ending, I'll say that the corpse of Katie Vick comes out and helps Kane win.

Big Show (-120) over Cody Rhodes (-120)
Even odds for this match absolutely shocks me. Cody Rhodes has beaten the shit out of the Big Show and embarrassed him every single week leading up to Mania. Big Show has to get his revenge, right? The only way Show loses is if Cody pulls off some bogus win, only to have Show start smashing him after the match to raucous applause.

Sheamus (-350) over Daniel Bryan (+225)
Daniel Bryan has had a good run. He's actually become entertaining on the mic, but his time has come. They'll extend the rivalry a little bit, but then I think it's time for Sheamus to feud with Kane. Cody Rhodes also has a shot of being the heel that feuds for the title next.

Team Johnny (-1000) over Team Teddy (+550)
These odds were much lower earlier, but then everyone came to their senses and realized that there is no way they could put Teddy Long on TV twice a week. He's awful. John Laurinaitis is awesome. Also, for a surprise, I'll say that Team Johnny takes out The Great Khali before the match. Team Teddy searches for a replacement and comes up with Mason Ryan. Everyone gets excited until Mason Ryan turns on Team Teddy and becomes a bad guy who feuds with The Funkasaurus.

Undertaker over Triple H
These odds have been taken off the board, but it was last seen as -1500 for Undertaker. I don't care about either of these guys. I know I have said nothing about this match, but I'm already done.

Chris Jericho (+170) over CM Punk (-250)
I think it only makes sense to give Jericho the victory here. If Punk wins, it basically ends the feud, and then who is Punk going to face? Nobody. If Jericho wins, it continues the feud for a while until a good guy champion can take the belt and face Dolph Ziggler in the summer.

John Cena (-230) over The Rock (+160)
Everybody keeps asking one of two questions: Why would The Rock come back to lose? or Why would The Rock come back if he was just going to lose? Well, The Rock is going to lose, because The Rock realizes it is pro wrestling, and wins and losses don't mean shit in pro wrestling. The Rock once jobbed to The Hurricane, does anybody really think his ego is too big to take a loss? He also grew up in the pro wrestling business, and honestly, the pro wrestling business treated him very well. He actually left pro wrestling in good shape, which may make him the first pro wrestler to ever do that. It's not like people are going to not see GI Joe if The Rock loses to Cena. Shit, I'll be at Fast Six on opening day no matter what happens at WrestleMania. It'll be a back and forth match, Cena will win. They will stand in the ring. Cena will extend his hand for a handshake. The Rock will take his hand and bring him in for a hug. The crowd will go wild as The Rock triumphantly raises Cena's hand as confetti reins down from the rafters and Cena will get his first great face pop in the last six months. All will be well with the world.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Jose Canseco And Global Warming

The title of this blog makes me happy. I honestly never thought I would be able to write about Jose Canseco's thoughts on global warming, but here I am, living a blogger's dream. Jose has finally shared his thoughts on global warming and other important stuff. Let's start off with one of many awkward tweets over the past couple days.

Of course. This is where Jose starts. Sophomoric lines about how all people attracted to men are in love with him. I have said something very similar to this, and I am not in the least bit ashamed.

Of course. One day it is lines about how even gay guys dig him, the next day, it's time to talk about global warming. These are the transitions that make Jose Canseco such a fascinating person. Most people probably thought they were ready for Jose's pop quiz on global warming. Nobody in the world was ready for the bombs that Jose was about to drop on the world. First, a warmup.

First off, I think Jose is misguided in his assertions. He keeps calling people clowns, but clowns are some of the most passionate environmentalists in the world. Just look at their idea of carpooling.
Clowns should truly be commended for their conservation efforts. He also mentions the extinction of polar bears, but compared to the news he is about to drop, the death a few bears is a very minor news story. Brace yourselves.

Yep, Jose is just randomly claiming very alive former Vice Presidents to be dead. I will admit that my initial reaction to this was, "Al Gore isn't dead." But at the same time, I don't follow any actual news sources, so I wasn't sure if Jose was just the first person on my Twitter feed to break the news. Bad news, polluters, Al Gore is still alive. He is only dead in Jose Canseco's world. But Jose set things straight with the former presidential nominee with his following tweet.

Jose's sorry for proclaiming you dead, but seriously, Al, make some more noise. If you weren't so damn quiet, Jose never would have made this mistake. He's super serial about global warming. He is the only one who believes you about ManBearPig. Together, you may be able to tag team that issue. Let's focus on ManBearPig first, and then, if there's still time, we'll get to that pesky global warming issue.

Although that would be a nice place to wrap up, how about one more tweet from Jose that was sent right after a couple more global warming tweets:
Change of plans for the newly formed Canseco/Gore tag team:
1. Sitcom where Jose plays a gym teacher in "old skool" nuthugger shorts and high tube socks.
HUGE gap
2. ManBearPig
Even BIGGER gap
3. Global Warming

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

A Breakdown of MVP's "Holla To The World"

So I heard MVP's "Holla To The World" a few months ago, and I thought I should share it with the world. One thing led to another, and it took me a while to get around to it. It's a good thing I waited, because I was thinking about making fun of it, but the more I listened to it, the more I enjoyed it. Also, I was listening to an episode of the Art of Wrestling Podcast with Colt Cabana and found out that MVP was a straight thug who was so gangster that he did an armed robbery on a cruise ship. He got sentenced to 19 years in prison when he was 16 years old. MVP is not a man to be fucked with. So MVP, excuse me, Mr. MVP, nothing but respect for you.

Although I usually like to do comprehensive breakdowns of songs, but I can't find the lyrics for MVP's Holla 2 The World, so I would just like to point out and analyze a few of the choicest lines from what should be a hit single. Since I am a white guy from Iowa, I have enough trouble understanding rap lyrics (they talk too fast for my Midwestern mind), so this was quite an undertaking. Still, this song made it well worth it.

Another day, another dolla as I holla to the world.
I love the way I'm livin. Love the Gucci, love the girls.
The parties and the clubs, and the models and hot tubs.
And the German engineering set on deep dish dubs.

Pretty normal stuff here. Hollerin, dollarin, Gucci, girls, clubs, hot tubs, and honestly, I'm not positive of the last line, because I know very little about cars, and even less about the lifestyle of rappers. But deep dish dubs sounds like something I could sell a rapper.

Wake up in my bed, and I'm feelin kinda stuck
From this Tempurpedic mattress, I don't want to get up.

I absolutely love that he has product placement for the Tempurpedic mattress. That is the whitest mattress of all time. Seriously, check out this commercial:

Okay, so there were a few black people, but seriously, I didn't get a good enough look; they may have just been Ted Danson wearing blackface.
Enough racism, let's get back to the lyrics:

Roll out of bed, plant my feet on the floor,
There's a girl wrapped in my sheets, don't know her name anymore.

Now these are problems I can relate to. But what is the best way to deal with this situation? I mean, you can't just let the girl know that even after being inside of her, you can't even remember her name.

Hey pretty girl, I hate to wake you from your slumber
But it's time to go, so leave your name and number.

I stand corrected. Just make her feel like she has no choice but to write it down. That's a smooth operator right there.

I walk her to her car, and click my gate open
She says (please call), and in her eyes, I see she's hopin
That she'll get back to the palace that I live in
I'm sure she will; I dig the sex that she was givin.

If MVP does not dig the sex that you are givin, you are buried out at sea. Just a warning, ladies. Give up that diggable sex if you want to survive. Don't half ass it.

(No, I'm gonna call you for real...I promise).

I laugh every time I hear this. The unnamed girl may have given up diggable sex, but playas like us (no er necessary for guys like me and MVP) can get diggable sex on the reg from a bounty of ladies looking to satisfy our every need. We make promises just to break promises.

I ain't gotta lie about the places that I've been
Check the facts, Florida State DOC, gave 'em ten.

He got out early for good behavior.

Go to Times Square, make way, let me through
Whoopi and Sherry want to hang out on The View
Barbara's asking questions bout Sherry, but I'm ducking her
Elizabeth Hasselbeck is dreaming about me shhhhh.

MVP knows to leave them wanting more, and that is why he put this so late in the song. Rappers like to keep it gangsta, and MVP is no different, so what does he rap about? A show with nothing but middle aged to grandma aged women gabbing about...whatever it is they gab about on The View. Obviously, Sherry is very interested in MVP, because she's bla...desperate for a dude (Phew, that was a close one). And I know a lot of my white friends think that Elizabeth Hasselbeck is dreaming about MVP being quiet, but she's actually dreaming about givin' up that diggable sex.

It's just another thing that MVP and I have in common, white chicks love us.

Monday, March 26, 2012

A Fantasy Baseball Wrestling Promo

Outside of Jose Canseco, I can’t think of many things I love more than fantasy sports and pro wrestling. While I was lying in bed, I finally decided to combine the two. It took me about ten minutes, but I honestly believe this is the greatest thing I have ever written in ten minutes or less. I have written a wrestling promo while managing to use every player on my fantasy team’s name in the promo. Enjoy.

I hope I remember to CC (Sabathia) everyone on this message:

Yu (Darvish) are all going straight to (Jeremy) Hell(ickson). I had the brains, now I got the (Ryan) Braun. Everything went (David) Wright for me in the draft. My team is on the Mark (Teixeira). Don’t be (Francisco) Liri(ano) of my greatness; I (Brian) McCann do anything.

It all started before the draft. After doing a Body by Jake (Peavy) workout, I had a (JJ) Hardy meal full of (Joe) Nathan’s hot dogs and (Jason) Motte’s apple juice. I didn’t need any Mountain Dew, because I had Serg(io Santos). I threw away my (Tommy) Hanson CD, and got all jacked up by listening to Distubed’s “Down with the (Jason) Kipnis.”

You can try to fight the (Brett) Law(rie), but I think you should (Travis) reconSnider.

(Jason) Hey(ward) ladies, now that I’m (Adam) Dunn, I have time for you to give me a BJ (Upton) on my (Kelly) Johnson.

It’s gonna be a long season, so don’t forget to secure your belt (Clay) Buchholz. Better luck (Brandon) toMorrow, and I hope you all can stay (Delmon) Young.

A bigger stud than Pretty Ricky (Nolasco),

Hott Joe

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

My First Hate Mail

It finally happened. After over two years of writing this blog, I finally can say that I am no longer a blogger; I am a legitimate writer. I finally received my first hate mail from an adoring fan (or angry psychopath, depending on how you look at it). I have received hateful comments before, but there's something really great about opening up your email and seeing that there is somebody in this world who really hates you. It means they care, and that just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Before I get into the hate mail, feel free to send hateful thoughts, loveful thoughts, or just plain thoughts to me on Twitter @HottJoe or preferably through email at (God bless having an email address that I created in high school).

Now, onto the hate, as this person filtered through my constant Jose Canseco updates to find an old piece that I wrote about Hunter S. Thompson. If you want to, you can read that piece here, but all you really need to know is that I am not a fan of HST. His thoughts are in bold and italics, with my thoughts in normal font.


I prefer Hott Joe.

You just don't get it.... No I do not consider myself in any way to be one of those hipster assholes that you elude to so amiably on your blog, but I would relish the opportunity to tell you that you are dead wrong directly to your face.  

Oooh, sounds like he's challenging me to a good old fashioned donnybrook.

Your blog post regarding Hunter S.Thompson is so plainly inept that I simply need to write you this email.  I may be wasting my time and words, but I feel as if I have to inform you that you are a disillusioned asshole.  

I feel like no guy would ever use the term "disillusioned asshole", but that could be just that I have only been  told this by girls in the past.

While I will admit that I have not read any of Thompson's novels 

So, even though my post focuses on what a shitty writer he is, this man has NEVER READ ANYTHING WRITTEN BY HIM. Despite this, he still manages to call me an asshole and challenge me to a fight in the first paragraph, that's impressive stupidity.

I take exception with your characterization of the man and your characterization of those who enjoy his work.  
"If you like Hunter S. Thompson, hey, that's your decision, you should just know that you're a moron who likes shitty writing."  

Goddamn, that's a good sentence.

This sentence of pure idiocracy illustrates, in itself, the disgusting type of person you are.  

I'm pretty sure you mean "idiocy" but good try.

To say that someone with a different opinion than yourself must be a moron is utterly ridiculous. 

Ridiculously awesome. Hating people for thinking differently is how this country was built, not to mention every religion ever.

People are entitled to their opinions Joe.  

Again, Hott Joe. Don't forget the second "t" either.

Not everyone is going to agree with you.  I hate to inform you of this, but in the case of Hunter S. Thompson, the majority of people who are familiar with his writings disagree with you.  While you may believe that they are all morons and that you are some sort of superior intellectual being, maybe you just have different interests than those who enjoy Thompson's works.  How about that thought?  

Zzzzzzzzzzzz, oh, I'm sorry, were you saying something important? I'm going to guess not.

Or maybe you are just a closed-minded ass clown who believes that others will actually take interest in the "uncensored writing" you claim to be  blogging.

Props on the use of ass clown; it is by far the best writing in this email.

Hunter did not say he was an outlaw in the sense that he viewed himself as a bad ass.  This is a simple concept that essentially defined who he was.  

Defined who he was? He did a lot of drugs, but backed down when he got himself in a tough situation. That isn't a badass. That's a poser. Someone who shoots guns but runs away from a fight is a coward, and that's what HST did. Maybe if you had read anything by him, you would have some understanding of that.

Anyone with a coherent mind could absorb this through the reading of his biography.  Hunter was an outlaw in that he did not live his life based upon the system that has a stranglehold over people in this country.  He was able to distance himself from the rat race and carve out a life that was actually worth living.  Hunter lived exactly how he wanted, refusing to allow his path to be dictated by outside influences.  

Unless he was confronted by any sort of conflict, in which case he tucked his tail between his legs and ran for cover.

Hunter S. Thompson did not fall prey to circumstance like most.  This is why he considered himself an outlaw.
Respond to this email if you would like.  What would be even better is if you came and told me your opinion to my face. Or are you just a pussy like you claim hipsters to be?  

This guy must be a black belt in the martial art of keyboard warrior. Does anybody know of a person who seriously challenges people to fights on the internet? I don't, so I'm just really curious about this underground world.

Honestly, I would like to thank you, 

You're welcome.

as this email has allowed me to blow off a ton of steam on the type of ignorant societal clone that I am coming to detest with great passion.  Have a good day.

Honestly, this email made my day, so that will not be a problem.

Sick Of Assholes Like You

Wow, that's That's perfect. I thought ass clowns would be my favorite part of the email, but he saved the best for last.

Anyway, that's all for my first hate mail. Again, feel free to send me questions, comments, or just good ol' fashioned hate @HottJoe on Twitter, at Uncensored Writing on Facebook, or at Thank you, "Sick of Assholes Like You." They say you always remember your first, and sir, I will never forget you.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Make March Madness More Exciting - Black Guy/White Guy

Sorry, this is being posted so close to the tournament, but I needed to inform the world of basically the greatest game ever for making March Madness more fun for everyone. This is a game that my buddies, Jay, Joel, and I created a few years ago when we were up in Chicago for the first weekend of the tournament. Did we go to the games? Hell no. This game loses a lot of its luster if you are unfortunate enough to be at a game. This game is made to be played at the bars.

The game is called Black Guy/White Guy. Its beauty is in its simplicity. You watch a game of the NCAA Tournament, and you bet on who will score next, a black guy or a white guy. It really works best in the early rounds of the tournament, as there are way more white guys in there early on. Let's face it, a ratio of 6:4, or 7:3 favoring the white guys makes the game the most fair. At 5:5, black guys have a distinct advantage. I'm pretty sure that's not racist, because I'm only complimenting how much better black people are at basketball compared to white people.

The game works best when betting either drinks or money. Be sure to make it small amounts as this game can come at you fast and furiously. And I must confess that there is more danger in this game than a gambling debt and excessive intoxication. Anytime something is on the line, you are going to start openly cheering for your rooting interests. This could get you in trouble at a bar as you scream, "Let's go white guys!" or "God damnit, black guys."

Still, the rewards far outweigh the risks involved as this may be the greatest game ever created. Have a great weekend everybody, and feel free to let me know how much fun you have while playing Black Guy/White Guy.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Jose Canseco Is Brilliant

Usually, I like to have a theme when I break down Jose Canseco tweets, but sometimes, I just feel that I need to break things down, even if there is no centralized plot line here. He has provided a potpourri of interesting items, and I would be remiss if I did not help share his thoughts with the world. Let's begin:

I am above mocking Jose for his lack of capitalization, punctuation, and spelling, so let's just ignore all of those and focus on the message. This is where we run into problems. The first problem is that the Caribbean is basically just a generic name for islands in a certain part of the world. The second, and most important problem, is that Cancun is in Mexico, which is not even a part of the Caribbean. Not your best effort, Jose, but you'll get 'em next time.

Who? That's easy...
K-Dogg is the most powerful man in Mexico, so if something's going down, he's got to be involved. But why is he doing this? Well, that's pretty goddamned obvious. Because he can. Arriba la raza!

Although most people assume this medical condition was caused by excessive steroid use, those people are wrong. Sure, those people have "doctor's evidence" on their side, but a Ph.D. doesn't make you a genius. So what really caused his testosterone problem, you ask? Lack of hugs. So please, ladies and gentleman, give this man a hug.

Also, as a bonus, Jose Canseco has since deleted these, but my phone saved them to give me a chance to share these amazing tweets with the world:
That is really what he wrote. There is clearly only one place that this joke is going, and it's clearly going to be Jose claiming he has a large penis. He hasn't done this in a while, but it is probably time for him to assert this so he can impress his Twitter followers. I guess I'll still read ahead to make sure I'm righ...wait, what? No fucking way. In a shocking upset, the punchline is...
Wow. At this point, it is becoming a very real possibility that Jose Canseco is some sort of comedy genius. Nobody could not think penis with the opening of this riddle, and to come back with "My arms hugging you saying thanks for supporting me," deserves to be recognized. These are not tweets that should be deleted. These tweets should be taught to all young writers, because it is pure genius. God bless you, Jose Canseco. You inspire us all.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

The Greatest Softball Game Ever Played

A few weeks ago, I witnessed history. I saw some of the greatest athletes in the world give it their all in the sport they loved. Then we put down our beers, stopped watching basketball, and headed to the baseball complex to watch my idiot buddies play a game made for idiots. The team was sufficiently buzzed, which made them in perfect condition to play slow-pitch softball.
Now I must make an admission that I am awful at all baseball related activities. It's not something I worry about as I'm pretty great at most other things. If you've read the book Moneyball, I became the team's Paul DePodesta. If you saw the Moneyball movie, I became the team's Peter Brand. If you have not read the book or seen the movie, my main duty was keeping score, but I would still refer to myself as a bench coach. This is usually not a problem, but this game would definitely test my book-keeping skills (I tell you this only so it makes sense that despite not taking the field, I will to the team as our team, and use the we form, because I suffered through the freezing cold that February in the Midwest provides and I deserve at least some credit).

After blowing through our first two opponents, we were confident that we would cruise to the championship as we had won it all two of the last three years. We took the field first as the home team, and our raucous crowd of eight fans cheered on the squad as they stumbled to their positions. Unfortunately, this game did not go like the other games, as this team could hit the ball...and hit the ball...and hit the ball. It also didn't help that our outfielders didn't believe in cutoff men, but it was mostly their hitting that led to them taking a 13-0 lead after the top half of the first.

Luckily, our team rallied back for a total of...three runs. Yep, at the end of one, it was 13-3. Things were not looking good.

The bad guys responded with six more runs, making it 19-3 going into the bottom of the second. This is where Manager/3rd Base Coach, Jay, really took his game to a new level. He gave no inspirational words, in fact, he said nothing to the team at all. He just went out to third base as if his only job was to guide them on the basepaths. This move of ignoring the team only ignited the fire in each and every player, and a crazy thing happened. They started hitting. They started running. And most importantly, they were drinking again. They got back into the game by scoring eight runs, and making it 19-11.

Sure the team was still down eight runs, but it sucked the life out of the visiting dugout. Before the bad guys knew what happened, they produced a scoreless top of the inning, leaving the score at 19-11 going into the bottom half of the third.

The good guys kept clawing back, and put up four more runs in the bottom half of the third to make it 19-15. They had the bad guys right where they wanted them.

But here's the sad tale that nobody wants to tell you. Sometimes, the drunken assholes (good guys) can't beat the team that is sober and seem like decent human beings (bad guys). Sometimes shit hits the fan. The bad guys started spraying line drives all over the field and ended up scoring eight more runs to extend their lead to 27-15. Things were looking bleak and blurry for the good guys.

Jay would not sit idly by with silence this time around. He greeted the team in the dugout and spoke in his regular voice, "Let's go team." Three words. Three simple words. Yet, not even Martin Luther King Jr. could have ever said something so powerful so briefly. "Let's go team." These words did not echo in our heads, but in our hearts. "Let's go team."

And go that team did. Batter after batter, whether spraying a line drive, beating out an infield hit, or drawing a walk, just kept reaching base. Slowly, the lead shrunk, 16, 17, 18 the runs went up. 19, 20, 21, and the hits kept coming. 22, 23, 24, the team cheered with every batter. We didn't know what was going on, but we knew it was magical. 25, 26, 27, and the game was tied. It was pandemonium in the dugout. Grown men were hugging (honestly, this was mostly the alcohol, but the comeback helped). 28, and eventually 29 before the inning ended. Where the bottom of the fourth started as a 27-15 deficit, it ended as a 29-27 lead.

We could have put the nail in the coffin, but errors and miscues led to the bad guys putting up three runs to go up 30-29 going into the bottom half of the last inning.

Still, we had to feel good. In a 30-29 game, and our 2-3-4 hitters starting off the inning, one run didn't seem too difficult. But, like every event in this game, nothing was easy. Our #2 hitter fouled a ball off with two strikes, which counts as a strikeout.

One out.

It shouldn't have mattered. We had our best hitter up, somebody who had something crazy like eight home runs in the tournament, six of them inside the park (Seriously, MLB scouts, contact me. He gave me the right to act as his agent). With his speed, all he had to do was get on base and it was a guaranteed run. He popped it up.

Two outs.

Our cleanup hitter drew a walk. We're still alive.

Then our first basemen, fresh out of his AA meeting, and getting progressively drunker as the day goes on, rips a line drive to the outfield, and both he and the runner on first are chugging around the basepaths (speed was not a strength of this team, so they were not flying around those bases). Still, the crowd went wild as one run crossed the plate and our first basemen stood proudly at third.

Tie ball game. 30-30.

Although the tie was great, the tournament rules stated that extra innings were sudden death, so if we were unable to score a run, we would need to shut the opposing team out in the sixth for a chance to win the game. Really, what we needed was another run.

Our drunkest hitter, D, came up to the plate. This guy has trouble standing, so when you put just a tiny amount of alcohol in him, he becomes a truly decrepit piece of shit. There is nobody I have less confidence in on the team. But luckily, a miracle happened. They intentionally walked him. Our drunkest hitter walked to first, and then to second as they intentionally walked the man after him as well.

Up came our right fielder, and co-captain, Tony. This is a man who tore his MCL in the tournament the year before, because the man simply doesn't know how to not give 110%. This was the moment that every little boy dreams of. Tie game, two outs, bottom of the fifth with the bases loaded in the annual winter slow-pitch softball tournament. And so he came up to the plate, with the bright C on his sweatshirt, ready to make or break the team's hopes of a championship.

The pitcher lobbed one up (they're all lobs in slow-pitch softball) and time seemed to go in slow motion. Tony took a cut at the breaking ball that seemed to hang up there just a little too long. He blasted it into the gap. The outfielders were in hot pursuit of the ball, but they had no chance as it landed between the outfielders and rolled to the fence. One run scores, two runs score, three runs score, and even Tony would circle the bases for an inside-the-park grand slam (as scorekeeper, I am giving him credit for this, even though the game is technically over when that first run crosses the plate).

34-30 was the final score as the entire team rushes the field. The dog pile was pure insanity, and I apologize to the person I stabbed with my scorekeeping pencil. The celebration continued all night long as we ate greasy food, drank cheap beer, and sexually harassed every woman we came in contact with. We partied like kings.

If you wrote that in a script, everyone would say it was too unrealistic to ever be made. This wasn't a Hollywood ending. It was an Iowa ending, because shit gets real in the heartland.