March Madness

A short time ago I ventured into The Press Box in Oswego, NY to grab a bite to eat and watch some of the 2010 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. Much like Greene's Ale House, where I'm gainfully employed, The Box is a casual atmosphere for taking in the games while tasting a couple of brews. Don't get me wrong, I love hanging out at Greene's too, but it was a nice change of pace for this particular afternoon. And boy was I in for a treat with regards to one of the other patrons at that establishment.

Upon entering the building, my friend and I quickly secured a pair of seats right in front of the beer taps in the middle of the bar. It was luck on our part because we were able to get a great view of all of the HD t.v.'s. The game of the day was highlighted by the #9 seeded "Cinderella" Northern Iowa Panthers, who were able to knock off the top seeded Kansas Jayhawks. However, the most entertaining game of the afternoon was the Old Dominion Monarchs battling the Baylor Bears.

Within minutes of sitting down it became quite apparent that somebody seated behind us was either really drunk, had a shit-load of money on the game, or he went to school at Old Dominion in Virginia. As it turned out, he did in fact attend college at ODU. That made his actions more tolerable because he had a legitimate reason to be rooting for his Alma Mater. But the guy was screaming at the t.v. on almost every play. When the Monarchs hit a free throw you would have thought that his team had just won the National Championship. When in reality, they had cut the lead to 2 points with 11 MINUTES TO PLAY! Not exactly a reason to be so enthused.

This gentleman's "fan-hood" got me to thinking about how people can be so childish when it comes to watching sports. I would never embarrass myself by yelling at the boob tube during an athletic contest. I can see being vocal if you're at the game. But if you're in your living room or out at a local pub, I've got a little secret for you. THE PLAYERS CAN'T HEAR YOU!

Many of you know that I'm a big Duke fan. I root for the basketball, football, and lacrosse teams respectively. Whenever the Blue Devils square off with North Carolina on the hardwood, I always get together with my good friend Michele, who happens to be a Tar Heel basketball fan. By looking at her and talking with her you'd think she was a lot smarter than that. But for some reason she roots for those douche bags from Chapel Hill anyway. And every time it's the same thing. While she is yelling and swearing during her many rants throughout the game, I remain seated, calmly enjoying 1 to 2 adult beverages during the contest, never losing my cool.

Although this type of behavior is typical for many sports fans during March Madness, it's not limited to the NCAA Basketball Tournament. I have witnessed such actions during football in the Fall too. In addition to being a Duke fan, I am also a life-long supporter of the Buffalo Bills. Every time they play, I gather with my fellow Bills fans at Thirsty's Tavern. Much like Greene's and The Press Box, it's another local watering hole that caters to some of Oswego's finest. And while all Buffalo fans respect the game and root in an adult manor, that cannot be said for some of the people cheering for other franchises.

Thirsty's is often filled with Cowboys, Redskins, Giants, and Dolphins fans to name a few. And these guys are both obnoxious and annoying. Especially the Dolphin fans (Sorry Galloway). Whenever the Fins make a good play, which believe me is very few and far between, they stand up and slam their hands on the eave that hangs over the bar. I know what you're thinking. How adolescent. If they only realized how stupid they look. And what makes matters worse, Dave Hall, who is on the cleaning crew at Thirsty's, never dusts above the bar so debris falls from the ceiling into our drinks.

Now I admit that I displayed a slight bit of emotion last November 4th when the Yankees won the World Series in 6 games over the Phillies. It was my birthday too so in addition to my standard 2 beers when I go out, I also sipped on 2 shots of tequila to celebrate. But outside of standing to clap at the end of the game when Mariano Rivera got Shane Victorino to harmlessly make the last out, I think I kept my composure quite well.

It's not that I'm some old fashioned fuddy duddy that doesn't like to have fun. I let my hair down from time to time. I'll tap my foot a little when I'm at a concert. I will applaud achievement when I deem it necessary. It's just that in this guy's humble opinion, I think people need to prioritize what's important in life a little better. Enjoy sports for what they are, a game.

Crop Dusting

Working in a fast paced environment at Greene's Ale House has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I've met a great deal of interesting people, some of which have become life long friends, I hope. The financial benefits have been excellent as well. They've afforded me the opportunity to pay back my student loans, purchase an automobile, and most recently, save for the down payment on my new home that I bought last Spring.

However, not every aspect of my job has been entirely fruitful. The dedication to my work has caused one aspect of my life to deteriorate at times. I'm referring to my diet. I admit that it's my fault what I put into my body. It seems like I subsist primarily on chicken wings and beer. And I do love a nice rare steak at least once a week.

My problem stems from my eating habits while I'm on the clock. Being a bartender, I don't have a set lunch break. Depending on each individual day, I eat whatever I can, whenever I can. It tends to be something fried because its quick, and I usually chase it with a carbonated soft drink. And because of my drive to get right back to my generous clientele, I have a tendency to wolf down my vittles quite rapidly. That can create a recipe for disaster.

Digestion is best served by consuming food at a casual pace, chewing each bite thoroughly. Because I ignore these directions, combined with the food I choose to nourish myself with, often, the result is GAS!! Although my shit doesn't stink, I understand that many others are not as fortunate as I. Therefore, I offer the solution of "crop dusting".

The art of crop dusting can be very challenging. If you are unaware of the practice of crop dusting, allow me to give a quick explanation. When ever you feel a fart creeping up on you, just start walking as you let her rip. The key is to keep the sound to an absolute minimum. I personally recommend letting off what I like to call a couple of testers. Take a step back from those around you and see what you have to work with. If there's minimal to no scent, then by all means, tear it up and let 'em go as needed.

If you detect noxious fumes, chances are the people around you will as well. And we all know that our own "cheese" never smells as bad as others. So take that into consideration when you are "rating" the aroma. If the stink coming out of your "big brown eye" leaves a lot to be desired, the key to passing the blame to someone else is to keep moving. In my case that's easy. I just have to appear to be leaving the scene of the crime to wait on another customer. What I've left behind could have come from anybody, right?

It's important not to jump the gun too. Let those left down wind to be the first to cast an accusation. But don't be scared to jump in on the action. I recommend waiting until at least the 3rd "air biscuit" has been launched. That way you can't be saddled with "the one who dealt it, smelt it first". Put on a good face, you know, like it wasn't really you who unleashed the fury. Then, pick out the weakest person who's near by and point the finger at them.

So far, I'm still batting a thousand at work. It's never been confirmed that I've been the guilty party breaking wind. I do have to come clean though. I've had my fair share of close calls, and I'm not talking about the smell. I've had a couple of near misses when I've been behind the bar. Allow me to share an example with you.

About ten years ago I had the pleasure of working a busy Friday day shift at Greene's. Just as the crowd was beginning to pick up around happy hour, I let a really nice, hot and wet fart go. I was sure that I had just shit myself because of the heat that accompanied this particular silent, but deadly blast. And to make matters worse, I was clad in a pair of light tan pants. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment. Just before the stench was about to hit the crowd, I faked that a keg had kicked so I would have to go and change it. I went out back and grabbed some paper towels assuming that something besides the keg needed changing. To my delight, and much to my surprise, I had not greased my drawers. I really dodged a bullet.

Although that's just one instance where I've almost sharted, I'm proud to say that I've never gambled and lost. I will also understand any strange looks from you in the future when you walk into the bar while I'm working. And the next time one of you says that my service stinks, I won't take any offense. Sniff, sniff. Will you?