What’s this? New haircuts? Shiny white shoes? Facial expressions of bemused excitement, ignorance and hormonal self-discovery? School’s back!
That time of year when the spoiled entitled future of our country officially transfer terror from local malls to classroom halls, wacky weed wafts from the bathrooms, and life lessons are learned, anything from recycling beer cans to how to get a last-minute babysitter before prom. Ah, that takes me back to my completely unrelatable memories of nap time, rusty jungle gyms, and “smear the queer.” What … it was the ’70s and we had no idea what that meant. Don’t whitewash history. Not to mention, the bullying was fantastic.
Quick note to the Oprah-fied masses: You can no more stop-the-bullying than you can stop-the-boy-bands. They’re as much a part of school as square pizza since the days of Butch and Woim from The Little Rascals. Yeah, you heard me. “Woim.” Here’s a thought: Try standing up to the bully. George McFly didn’t call an assembly and start a TV campaign. He knocked Biff’s block off, got the girl and went on to bless the world with Alex P. Keaton (Isn’t this supposed to be a sports column?). Let me finish.
Speaking of bullies, Buccaneer quarterback Josh Freeman was knocked on his ass three times in two possessions last Friday against the New England Patriots (Worst … segue …ever!) in what is increasingly becoming a bigger and bigger question mark on the Bucs offense this season. I realize preseason is a bit like the first day of school. Everybody gets all dolled up, roll is called, and for the first minute or so, it appears that class is in session. But in actuality, it’s just a gathering to hand out a syllabus, give a hint here and there of what we plan to see in the upcoming year, then spend the rest of class screwing around and snapping bra straps. So outside of the tickets and beer costing the same (seriously, what the hell), the games essentially mean nothing. I get that. But Freeman is in his fifth year as a starter and he still has the look and pocket presence of Rain Man with one minute to Wapner. The rush is coming. Your two biggest bodyguards are missing. Get rid of the damn ball, slick. Something rookie Mike Glennon seemed to have figured out, throwing a couple of TD passes in the process. Granted, he was throwing against the same people who will most likely be running down the drink and appetizer specials at Ruby Tuesday’s by September, but Glennon looks comfortable and Freeman looked rattled. Again. If he doesn’t show real signs of maturity soon, there just may be a genuine QB controversy in the near future. And don’t give me any of this rookie crap, Seattle and San Fran did pretty well last year. Just sayin’, an (R) next to a name doesn’t necessarily mean “Ruh-roh.”
Speaking of Ruh-roh, offensive guard, 2012 free-agency acquisition and giant badass Carl Nicks is out with an infection due to a blister on his left foot, temporarily putting my nickname, “giant badass,” on hold. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve had plenty of blisters on my extremities (no follow-up questions). So please forgive my simplistic diagnosis and recommendation inspired by Gunnery Sergant Hartman from Full Metal Jacket.
“Pop that blister!”
When asked how long Nicks would be out, head coach Greg Schiano said, “I don’t know …”
I like that. I … don’t … know. Will I be the head coach of the Buccaneers next year? Gee, Mister Schiano, I don’t know.
Incidentally, if you bet the over on movie references this week, winner winner, chicken dinner.
Honorable Afterthoughts: Our Tampa Bay Rays finished off the weekend taking the series from the Blue Jays, kicked off the Baltimore series with yet another 9th inning sphincter-clenching victory in Camden Yards Monday night, and find themselves once again with their noses squarely up the butts of Boston for the AL East title (of course, by the time you read this, they may be back in a shit-spiral. This season has more ups and downs than Debra LaFave — school reference!); former USF football player Terrence Mitchell was arrested (again) early Tuesday morning on DUI and assault charges (It’s rare and refreshing to find athletes who’re losers both on and off the field); finally, Red Sux fans are so God-awful, they have the power to make me feel sorry for Alex Rodriguez. Three seconds later, I realized it was like watching a fight between Justin Bieber and Honey Boo-boo.