Bokolis is not sure what I learned from this year's NFL regular season. Every time I sit down to watch, something puts me to sleep. Historically, the Jets have been the culprit. But, we've had so many weeks where the Giants or the Jets were not playing on Sunday afternoon that out-of-town teams were regularly dumped on us. All manner of bullshit conspired to put me to sleep.
So, really, the season wasn't that memorable. It was just a bunch of plodding; sometimes certain teams were good, sometimes they weren't. The Bears, Eagles, Jets and Ravens fit this description. The only team that stood out was the Patriots. Others, the Falcons Saints and Steelers, looked like they could do some work on their best day, but weren't always on their best day. The Packers and Colts were too hurt to key us in on what they really have. Similarly, the Chiefs could be a dark horse, or could be the team that lost twice to the Raiders.
So these are your playoff teams. The Seahawks are only involved to piss people off. Two ten win teams are home. Tampa Bay pulled about a half-dozen games out of its ass and can look to build on that, as they will still play a third place schedule next year. The Giants won 10 games without really pulling a game out of their ass and were well beaten- though they had a sniff at stealing the first Eagles game-in 5 out their 6 losses. Fans will point to the meltdown against the Eagles as what did them in, conveniently forgetting that they were smoked against Tennessee and Dallas at home.
Onward we go, in hopes of atoning for last year's disaster.
SEAHAWKS (+10.5) over Saints - There are no match-ups to discuss. The Saints are the defending champs and the Seahawks are in because they play in the NFC West. Nonetheless, I think Seattle's home field advantage has been discounted too much. Putting an indoor team in a raw setting should inject some counterbalance into this game. If the elements can keep the Saints from flying out of the blocks, the Seahawks may stay close enough to keep focus.
Jets (+3) over COLTS - What has changed from last year? The Jets aren't really playing better ball than they were at this time last year, but they can afford more mistakes than last year. Even last year's outfit was ahead at halftime before the injury to the RB scuttled the ship. The Colts are banged up, can't quite move the ball as well as last year and can have the ball moved on them. P. Manning may be the best player on the field, but he is not the overwhelming force. This game is here for the taking.
Ravens (-3) over CHIEFS - I don't think much of Flacco, but I don't think the Chiefs have much to offer. Much has been made about Arrowhead being a tough place to play. The Chiefs were 7-1 at home this year, but they have played NOBODY this year. Am I to believe that they will outperform against relative quality when they didn't look all that impressive against scrubs?
Packers (+2.5) over EAGLES - Will the Packers be able to move and score on the Eagles without having a running game of note? What I'm seeing out of the Eagles is that Vick is allowing himself to get a little full of himself. I don't see the same solid QBing that I saw the first half of the year. He's been sloppy. Not surprisingly, the Eagles went 3-3 in their last six games. Even when you toss out the Vickless finale, the Eagles were behind entering the 4th quarter in the other five. As it turned out, they were a freakish 8 minutes from being the ones out on their asses. I don't believe Vick will be able to dial it back up for the playoffs.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Liver-cesspool
As we approach Sunday's cup tie with the filthy manc cunts, Bokolis will reflect on the state of Liverpool LC. More pointedly, I will examine what it took for us to get to this sorry state, where the fmc are on course to overtake 'Pool with a 19th League while Liverpool are on course to miss out on Europe next season.
Fans often blame the coach when the players look shyte. But, as people call for Hodgson's job, have they not considered that this squad looked shyte from the beginning and was put together by prior regimes? By that rationale, Hodgson must have worked magic when they ran Chelski, especially since Chelski have since gone into a tailspin.
It is the coach's fault when the team always looks awful, even when the team is awful. But, when you have an awful team, blaming the coach is sort of like blaming Obama for running the debt to $14T without regard to how the first $13T was racked up.
Unfortunately, Liverpool is suffering the combined effects of two terrible courses of action. Half of the team was owned by a man dumb enough to buy something from Goerge W Bush. Tom Hicks, having fallen ass-backwards into the Texas real estate boom, together with his partner in bungling, George Gillett, had (a la Fred Wilpon) pressed his luck in the hopes of cashing in on the new stadium payday. When that well dried up, it disastrously affected their ability to bring in top tier talent. The brink of bankrupcy has ousted Hicks and Gillett, at the expense of misfortune and mediocrity.
Of course, that's only half the problem. The other half came in the form of the fat Spanish waiter, Rafa Benitez. Benitez gutted the youth system, failing to develop a single player from within. It was one thing to bring in quality like Luis García and Xavi Alonso. It's another to start bringing in the third tier Riera and Arbeloa and third tier Brazilians Fábio Aurélio and Lucas...that fucking Lucas...he must have been Benitez' mistress or something. They brought him Keane, Benitez shunned him and they sold Keane for 60% of what they bought him after 6 months. They brought Benitez Aquilani- Benitez treated him as though he found out Aquilani was banging Lucas on the side.
Hey, Hodgson isn't the answer (neither is Obama, for that matter). But, like Obama, he didn't create the problems. Moreover, having this team overachieve and get to, say, 6th place would only further delude those who think a top four spot is merely a few tweaks away.
Watching Liverpool pull Champions League victories (Benitez won it in 2005 with Houllier's team) out of the hat while struggling to stay top four in the League (while clinging to its history) pulled the wool over most people's eyes. Bokolis could sense this coming for a few years. As the stadium deal soured, I knew there would be a day of reckoning.
Having never been to Liverpool, I imagine that, at its best, it is sort of like Pittsburgh; at it's worst, Detroit, and can probably be categorized as somewhere between Pittsburgh and Cleveland. All three of those are dying cities, with Pittsburgh having done the best job of re-inventing itself. I feared the team was dying in the same way.
With fuck-ups of this scale, they will be lucky to avoid relegation. The current cycle hasn't even hit rock bottom. Rock bottom will be when Stevie G, who has got about one solid season left in him, which he will surely look to convert into 4 years of salary somewhere else, leaves and no one is there as he was when Macca left and Owen was when Fowler left. Torres - well, he only plays about a half season anyway, what's it matter if he leaves?
So, it doesn't matter who they bring in. Liverpool will be feeling the effects of the mis-management- both by the fat Spanish waiter and the two dumbshits- for at least a few years...and, that assumes the current regime can both rebuild the youth system AND go on a City-esque spending spree to hold over the fans.
What will hold Bokolis over is putting one over on the fmc. As it is, asking what took so long to get to 18 will lose its effect once the fmc get to 19.
Fans often blame the coach when the players look shyte. But, as people call for Hodgson's job, have they not considered that this squad looked shyte from the beginning and was put together by prior regimes? By that rationale, Hodgson must have worked magic when they ran Chelski, especially since Chelski have since gone into a tailspin.
It is the coach's fault when the team always looks awful, even when the team is awful. But, when you have an awful team, blaming the coach is sort of like blaming Obama for running the debt to $14T without regard to how the first $13T was racked up.
Unfortunately, Liverpool is suffering the combined effects of two terrible courses of action. Half of the team was owned by a man dumb enough to buy something from Goerge W Bush. Tom Hicks, having fallen ass-backwards into the Texas real estate boom, together with his partner in bungling, George Gillett, had (a la Fred Wilpon) pressed his luck in the hopes of cashing in on the new stadium payday. When that well dried up, it disastrously affected their ability to bring in top tier talent. The brink of bankrupcy has ousted Hicks and Gillett, at the expense of misfortune and mediocrity.
Of course, that's only half the problem. The other half came in the form of the fat Spanish waiter, Rafa Benitez. Benitez gutted the youth system, failing to develop a single player from within. It was one thing to bring in quality like Luis García and Xavi Alonso. It's another to start bringing in the third tier Riera and Arbeloa and third tier Brazilians Fábio Aurélio and Lucas...that fucking Lucas...he must have been Benitez' mistress or something. They brought him Keane, Benitez shunned him and they sold Keane for 60% of what they bought him after 6 months. They brought Benitez Aquilani- Benitez treated him as though he found out Aquilani was banging Lucas on the side.
Hey, Hodgson isn't the answer (neither is Obama, for that matter). But, like Obama, he didn't create the problems. Moreover, having this team overachieve and get to, say, 6th place would only further delude those who think a top four spot is merely a few tweaks away.
Watching Liverpool pull Champions League victories (Benitez won it in 2005 with Houllier's team) out of the hat while struggling to stay top four in the League (while clinging to its history) pulled the wool over most people's eyes. Bokolis could sense this coming for a few years. As the stadium deal soured, I knew there would be a day of reckoning.
Having never been to Liverpool, I imagine that, at its best, it is sort of like Pittsburgh; at it's worst, Detroit, and can probably be categorized as somewhere between Pittsburgh and Cleveland. All three of those are dying cities, with Pittsburgh having done the best job of re-inventing itself. I feared the team was dying in the same way.
With fuck-ups of this scale, they will be lucky to avoid relegation. The current cycle hasn't even hit rock bottom. Rock bottom will be when Stevie G, who has got about one solid season left in him, which he will surely look to convert into 4 years of salary somewhere else, leaves and no one is there as he was when Macca left and Owen was when Fowler left. Torres - well, he only plays about a half season anyway, what's it matter if he leaves?
So, it doesn't matter who they bring in. Liverpool will be feeling the effects of the mis-management- both by the fat Spanish waiter and the two dumbshits- for at least a few years...and, that assumes the current regime can both rebuild the youth system AND go on a City-esque spending spree to hold over the fans.
What will hold Bokolis over is putting one over on the fmc. As it is, asking what took so long to get to 18 will lose its effect once the fmc get to 19.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Dutch Treat?
Sylvie van der Vaart showing that her old man ain't got shee-yit on her.
video via El Comercio
aside- I guess he's not her "old man," is he? WTF is Rafael van der Vaart doing with a bird 5 years older than he is? Bah, she's doing better than his already washed-up ass...AND she's had to fight off breast cancer.
El Comercio asks its readers, toungue-in-cheek, hopefully, whether this Dutch trick is real or fake? I haven't seen such bad posture on the ball since Desailly was playing for Milan. Moreover, there's no way anyone without proper form on a high-five can juggle a football...none, fuckin' fuggedaboudet.
If they wanted to get a broad to juggle a football in heels, they should've just brought in Poof-naldo and taken the scratch they saved on the CGI to order up a few call girls.
video via El Comercio
aside- I guess he's not her "old man," is he? WTF is Rafael van der Vaart doing with a bird 5 years older than he is? Bah, she's doing better than his already washed-up ass...AND she's had to fight off breast cancer.
El Comercio asks its readers, toungue-in-cheek, hopefully, whether this Dutch trick is real or fake? I haven't seen such bad posture on the ball since Desailly was playing for Milan. Moreover, there's no way anyone without proper form on a high-five can juggle a football...none, fuckin' fuggedaboudet.
If they wanted to get a broad to juggle a football in heels, they should've just brought in Poof-naldo and taken the scratch they saved on the CGI to order up a few call girls.
Monday, December 6, 2010
turn out the lights...
...the party's over.
No, Bokolis didn't die out there on the tarmac. The plane made it to where it was going...no Matt Busby songs about me.
"Turn out the lights, the party's over," is what Dandy Don used to sing/croon/whatever- way back when- in the MNF booth when he figured a game was decided. Even though it meant my ass had to go to sleep, it never seemed to get old.
Unfortunately, he did, and he checked out on Dec. 5.
Among his other gems,
referring to Nixon as "Tricky Dick,"
way before Twitter and Facebook, changing his status to "mile-high" on the opening intro of a game in Denver,
and
as of an undefined point in the 1970's, not having met a fair hooker.
Suave, homes. While I'm stuck listening to Jon Gruden this evening, Bokolis will shoot one back for you.
No, Bokolis didn't die out there on the tarmac. The plane made it to where it was going...no Matt Busby songs about me.
"Turn out the lights, the party's over," is what Dandy Don used to sing/croon/whatever- way back when- in the MNF booth when he figured a game was decided. Even though it meant my ass had to go to sleep, it never seemed to get old.
Unfortunately, he did, and he checked out on Dec. 5.
Among his other gems,
referring to Nixon as "Tricky Dick,"
way before Twitter and Facebook, changing his status to "mile-high" on the opening intro of a game in Denver,
and
as of an undefined point in the 1970's, not having met a fair hooker.
Suave, homes. While I'm stuck listening to Jon Gruden this evening, Bokolis will shoot one back for you.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Bowling
Preface: Found this siting in my drafts...from October 2010, after an extended period without posting. actually hit send on 5/7/12
No, Bokolis didn't die on that plane...or in that pseudo-tornado that hit the Apple three weeks back. Summers are usually a busy time- moreso at the fun job than at the real job- and it gets buckwild after Labor Day at the real job. That's all in addition to getting to the beach and living a full life. It all means that I don't have much time or will to organize methoughts. It's too bad- really- because I think of some good shit.
Now that Summer is but a memory and I'm sitting on the bowl, I can reflect on what happened. Of the title of this weblog should indicate that I'm not spilling the beans on anything good. Rather, I'll burn some pent up negative energy on discussing the miserable losers, the New York Mets.
As always, the failures of the 2010 season, like one of those upside-down planted tomatoes, are rooted at the top. Financially speaking, the Wilpons ran this franchise the way I would try to manage after a bad two-week gambling run back when I was in college. Having nothing left after paying off (or not even having it to pay off), I would do nothing but sit in the house and play video games in between work shifts. Certainly, no partying; leaving the house at all would lead to expenditures. I wouldn't even drive so as not to waste gas. I wouldn't train so as not to build up an appetite and not need to shower. In fact, if had the next day off of work, I wouldn't shower so as not to waste the toiletries.
There is probably more to add to those, but I've blacked out those memories. To be sure, gambling wasn't always bad to me. But I'm not going to tell tales of the winning or of the ensuing strip club outings...not on here, anyway. The point was to illustrate the piker mentality and counter-productivity of bunkering up.
After the Wilpon's own epic cock-up with Madoff, they've spent two seasons at their shrine to the Brooklyn Dodgers struggling to fill half the seats on weeknights. They've taken price gouging to a whole new level, charging different pricing not just for different "class" of games, but for seemingly every section in the place. Well, as an old associate of mine used to say, the fucking you give isn't going to be worth the fucking you're going to get.
Back to the Wilpons. They market going to the ballpark as an experience, rather than merely showing up to watch a ballgame. This includes having fun shit to do while at the game and a marked step up in concessions and food, with accessible-from-outside restaurants and bars built in. If that is the case, why the need to differentiate the classes of ballgames to such a degree? If the idea is to get people to spend (as much money as they did on the ticket) while at the game isn't it imperative that you fill the ball park?
A counter-argument can be made that, since the club farms out administration of all that stuff, there is no overhead cost to be borne by the club on underutilized concessions capacity. Let me know how the contract renegotiations go and let me know if you have problems with the crane getting the chimichurri truck up to the top deck.
After all, if no one shows up, what's to experience?
No, Bokolis didn't die on that plane...or in that pseudo-tornado that hit the Apple three weeks back. Summers are usually a busy time- moreso at the fun job than at the real job- and it gets buckwild after Labor Day at the real job. That's all in addition to getting to the beach and living a full life. It all means that I don't have much time or will to organize methoughts. It's too bad- really- because I think of some good shit.
Now that Summer is but a memory and I'm sitting on the bowl, I can reflect on what happened. Of the title of this weblog should indicate that I'm not spilling the beans on anything good. Rather, I'll burn some pent up negative energy on discussing the miserable losers, the New York Mets.
As always, the failures of the 2010 season, like one of those upside-down planted tomatoes, are rooted at the top. Financially speaking, the Wilpons ran this franchise the way I would try to manage after a bad two-week gambling run back when I was in college. Having nothing left after paying off (or not even having it to pay off), I would do nothing but sit in the house and play video games in between work shifts. Certainly, no partying; leaving the house at all would lead to expenditures. I wouldn't even drive so as not to waste gas. I wouldn't train so as not to build up an appetite and not need to shower. In fact, if had the next day off of work, I wouldn't shower so as not to waste the toiletries.
There is probably more to add to those, but I've blacked out those memories. To be sure, gambling wasn't always bad to me. But I'm not going to tell tales of the winning or of the ensuing strip club outings...not on here, anyway. The point was to illustrate the piker mentality and counter-productivity of bunkering up.
After the Wilpon's own epic cock-up with Madoff, they've spent two seasons at their shrine to the Brooklyn Dodgers struggling to fill half the seats on weeknights. They've taken price gouging to a whole new level, charging different pricing not just for different "class" of games, but for seemingly every section in the place. Well, as an old associate of mine used to say, the fucking you give isn't going to be worth the fucking you're going to get.
Back to the Wilpons. They market going to the ballpark as an experience, rather than merely showing up to watch a ballgame. This includes having fun shit to do while at the game and a marked step up in concessions and food, with accessible-from-outside restaurants and bars built in. If that is the case, why the need to differentiate the classes of ballgames to such a degree? If the idea is to get people to spend (as much money as they did on the ticket) while at the game isn't it imperative that you fill the ball park?
A counter-argument can be made that, since the club farms out administration of all that stuff, there is no overhead cost to be borne by the club on underutilized concessions capacity. Let me know how the contract renegotiations go and let me know if you have problems with the crane getting the chimichurri truck up to the top deck.
After all, if no one shows up, what's to experience?
Monday, July 19, 2010
On the tarmac
I'm stuck on the tarmac at PHL, so I've got nothing better to do. Here goes off the phone.
As it turned out, homegirl bartender was in AC with the BF. How sweet! Nothing good to report from that night...I overdressed and got hit on by guys all night (no homo).
I went off the program on many counts, mainly because I was feeling myself. The night ended with me trying to kick it to the female cop stationed by my telly. She was pretty much a captive audience, so WTF.
The details are very hazy, so I can't say how close I came to getting thrown in the drunk tank. But the movement might still have ended in a collar for her. These three black dudes come along...one of them on a bike. I say, in my best knockaround guy voice, watch these guys. Sure enough, the guy on the bike is a spazz, and he stumbles off the bike. A switchblade falls out of his back pocket. "OA!" exclaims the cop. "Right there!"
13 years out the hood and I can still pin out these muthafuckas. I walked right up the stairs, I think without saying good night.
As it turned out, homegirl bartender was in AC with the BF. How sweet! Nothing good to report from that night...I overdressed and got hit on by guys all night (no homo).
I went off the program on many counts, mainly because I was feeling myself. The night ended with me trying to kick it to the female cop stationed by my telly. She was pretty much a captive audience, so WTF.
The details are very hazy, so I can't say how close I came to getting thrown in the drunk tank. But the movement might still have ended in a collar for her. These three black dudes come along...one of them on a bike. I say, in my best knockaround guy voice, watch these guys. Sure enough, the guy on the bike is a spazz, and he stumbles off the bike. A switchblade falls out of his back pocket. "OA!" exclaims the cop. "Right there!"
13 years out the hood and I can still pin out these muthafuckas. I walked right up the stairs, I think without saying good night.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Live from...an undisclosed location on the East Coast...
Like Cheney's bunker, y'all'll have to guess. I mean two and two can be put together, but I still ain't saying. Because I forgot to bring my phone charger, I've had to come down to the car to recharge. Luckily, I have my laptop. The following is the world's gain, pre-gaming at 8PM and tipsy-inspired.
Spending a weekend in a beach town, the overarching theme is that, god...dayam, there are a lot of fat people in America. What balls on these people to waddle around looking like that, as if it's all right! I mean, Bokolis is not soccer-player skinny (despite being a soccer player, I look more like a rugger), but I look fucking good...not important though.
Well, it is semi-important because I'm about to relate some bullshit. I'm at the spot last night, working the place (I should mention that I hunt lone-wolf). I've been coming down here for years. The difference is that, this year, my trusty bartender is nowhere to be found. This is terrible, as she would keep me out of trouble.
I've previously (in the tipping post, one of my first) went though why it's important to have the bartender on your side. I hunt lone-wolf, because, quite frankly, a bartender is as good a wingman anyone could hope to have. I've had 4 good (non-bartender) wingmen (I'll call them my running partners) in my life. 4 is probably 3 more than most people...I know how to pick out quality and I'm a good guy to have around because nobody fucks around while I'm around. I've also had the need for 4 because they inevitably fall by the wayside to marriage, drugs, etc., etc.
Roping in the tangents, without my trusty bartender, I am exposed. I'm working the place, only to get accosted by a fat chic. It's a hazard of the game; Bokolis is put together and the fat broads consider me a great prize. In the ultra-long shot that I could rope in her two hot friends and under the theory that, when life throws you a lemon, you make lemonade (she wouldn't leave), I decide to engage her.
She's not quite the water buffalo in the
">Jerry Ball category (and, that's Jerry Ball from his SMU days, not the fat tub of shit that lined up for the Vikings), but she was plenty fat...but not ugly; justl like there's Irish girl cute, there's fat girl pretty.
Almost needless to say, Bokolis was not entertaining the thought of throwing her over the shoulder. But, I figured that she'd be good for warming up my game. Of course, she had different designs, but I've dealt with this before. Some breeze and a few pecks on the cheek later, she starts telling me how I'm the first white guy to whom she's ever been attracted. I immediately thought of the Nik Richie post on Amanda Bynes, where he commented that he loved how, as soon as white chics start getting fat, they automatically think they are attracted to black guys. My only reponse was that her womanly intution must have sensed that the purple crayons have nothing on Bokolis...I didn't use the term "purple crayon," but Bokolis is, at least in my head, a porn star. This bird treated herself to a feel and another peck.
Anyway, I eventually got rid of her. A quarter hour later, she was in the arms of a purple crayon. Some, somewhere along the line, some suitable talent starts working me. 21 and petite in a little black dress. Surely looking to get steamrollered. At some point, she instructs me to buy her a drink.
Many girls- girls that haven't yet graduated to bottle rat status- will chat up guys to work a free drink out of them. Of course, the money means nothing to Bokolis. I'd throw 2, 3 hundred, even a nickel on the table and proposition them, if only to remind them that they are just whoring themselves and to cut to the chase. I'm a little more chill than that and I don't think of it as paying for a drink. I'm paying for information, like calling a better hand just so you can see what the guy played.
Nonetheless, because guys should never give any woman what she wants when she asks for it, I string her along. She's a bartender (whythefuck isn't she working on Friday night?!?) in a little black dress. While I never pursue a bartender when she's working, under the theory that a salesman is the easiest person to sell because they will sell themselves, I've got this all worked out. Further boosting my cause, people actually knew her...and I engaged two of them (guy and his GF) to where they gave their implicit blessing.
This is all in the space of maybe 10 minutes...I got felt up yet again. I have the seal of approval, I'm in...it's just a matter of closing.
But, in the end, as Joe Pesci explained in Casino, I fucked it all up. I waited too long to get her a drink, so she took it upon herself to order. She gets carded by my unfamiliar bartender because of a particular bracelet she was wearing. After an awkward moment, she asks me to order her drink. Too fucking late now, I'm thinking. She pulls out her ID to show me that she's 21 ("look! 1989!"). I looked, but, as I was about 12 drinks in, I couldn't settle my eyeballs to see shit. A bouncer quickly showed up and escorted her out. I went out there to try to work some magic, but it was only half-hearted. She was borderline hysterical and, even though the friends appreciated it even more, I knew I was sunk. It was abut 3AM, and she was too hysterical to even suggest the room party with her friends (and work the full swap), so I cut bait and headed back to port.
And, no, I didn't go looking for the fat chic. I sure hope my homegirl is working tonight...that NEVER would have happened if she was there.
Spending a weekend in a beach town, the overarching theme is that, god...dayam, there are a lot of fat people in America. What balls on these people to waddle around looking like that, as if it's all right! I mean, Bokolis is not soccer-player skinny (despite being a soccer player, I look more like a rugger), but I look fucking good...not important though.
Well, it is semi-important because I'm about to relate some bullshit. I'm at the spot last night, working the place (I should mention that I hunt lone-wolf). I've been coming down here for years. The difference is that, this year, my trusty bartender is nowhere to be found. This is terrible, as she would keep me out of trouble.
I've previously (in the tipping post, one of my first) went though why it's important to have the bartender on your side. I hunt lone-wolf, because, quite frankly, a bartender is as good a wingman anyone could hope to have. I've had 4 good (non-bartender) wingmen (I'll call them my running partners) in my life. 4 is probably 3 more than most people...I know how to pick out quality and I'm a good guy to have around because nobody fucks around while I'm around. I've also had the need for 4 because they inevitably fall by the wayside to marriage, drugs, etc., etc.
Roping in the tangents, without my trusty bartender, I am exposed. I'm working the place, only to get accosted by a fat chic. It's a hazard of the game; Bokolis is put together and the fat broads consider me a great prize. In the ultra-long shot that I could rope in her two hot friends and under the theory that, when life throws you a lemon, you make lemonade (she wouldn't leave), I decide to engage her.
She's not quite the water buffalo in the
">Jerry Ball category (and, that's Jerry Ball from his SMU days, not the fat tub of shit that lined up for the Vikings), but she was plenty fat...but not ugly; justl like there's Irish girl cute, there's fat girl pretty.Almost needless to say, Bokolis was not entertaining the thought of throwing her over the shoulder. But, I figured that she'd be good for warming up my game. Of course, she had different designs, but I've dealt with this before. Some breeze and a few pecks on the cheek later, she starts telling me how I'm the first white guy to whom she's ever been attracted. I immediately thought of the Nik Richie post on Amanda Bynes, where he commented that he loved how, as soon as white chics start getting fat, they automatically think they are attracted to black guys. My only reponse was that her womanly intution must have sensed that the purple crayons have nothing on Bokolis...I didn't use the term "purple crayon," but Bokolis is, at least in my head, a porn star. This bird treated herself to a feel and another peck.
Anyway, I eventually got rid of her. A quarter hour later, she was in the arms of a purple crayon. Some, somewhere along the line, some suitable talent starts working me. 21 and petite in a little black dress. Surely looking to get steamrollered. At some point, she instructs me to buy her a drink.
Many girls- girls that haven't yet graduated to bottle rat status- will chat up guys to work a free drink out of them. Of course, the money means nothing to Bokolis. I'd throw 2, 3 hundred, even a nickel on the table and proposition them, if only to remind them that they are just whoring themselves and to cut to the chase. I'm a little more chill than that and I don't think of it as paying for a drink. I'm paying for information, like calling a better hand just so you can see what the guy played.
Nonetheless, because guys should never give any woman what she wants when she asks for it, I string her along. She's a bartender (whythefuck isn't she working on Friday night?!?) in a little black dress. While I never pursue a bartender when she's working, under the theory that a salesman is the easiest person to sell because they will sell themselves, I've got this all worked out. Further boosting my cause, people actually knew her...and I engaged two of them (guy and his GF) to where they gave their implicit blessing.
This is all in the space of maybe 10 minutes...I got felt up yet again. I have the seal of approval, I'm in...it's just a matter of closing.
But, in the end, as Joe Pesci explained in Casino, I fucked it all up. I waited too long to get her a drink, so she took it upon herself to order. She gets carded by my unfamiliar bartender because of a particular bracelet she was wearing. After an awkward moment, she asks me to order her drink. Too fucking late now, I'm thinking. She pulls out her ID to show me that she's 21 ("look! 1989!"). I looked, but, as I was about 12 drinks in, I couldn't settle my eyeballs to see shit. A bouncer quickly showed up and escorted her out. I went out there to try to work some magic, but it was only half-hearted. She was borderline hysterical and, even though the friends appreciated it even more, I knew I was sunk. It was abut 3AM, and she was too hysterical to even suggest the room party with her friends (and work the full swap), so I cut bait and headed back to port.
And, no, I didn't go looking for the fat chic. I sure hope my homegirl is working tonight...that NEVER would have happened if she was there.
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