Sports Addict and his personal assistant, Zeus. Actually, I had a choice between a really funny picture of Zeus with Mick looking like an inmate at a maximum security psychiatric hospital, and this picture, where Zeus is less of a clown and Mick looks less disturbed. So I went with less.
Sorry, I've got nothing, folks. It was just one of those days where I should have been doing something and did almost nothing instead. So I'm left with musings and memories.
A good portion of my morning was spent giving Mick a re-cap of Tuesday's episode of The Biggest Loser. He worked and missed it the night it aired and I saved it for Wednesday on the DVR because the commercials drive me insane. The funny thing about this show and Mick is that when he first heard that Miranda and I had started watching it, he was down-right hostile about it. Can't remember exactly what snotty comment he made, (he has a deep-seeded dislike for "reality" television), but I remember my reply, "we have another TV--you can just go to bed, you know". But it only took a few minutes of Mick watching the program for him to get hooked. That's because he's one of those sports addicts. I'm sure the word "fan" is derived from "fanatic"; it just has to be.
Mick likes The Biggest Loser, not only because it's inspiring, but it can be viewed as a sporting event--kind of. He loves to talk "game play", "strategy", and just "sucking it up". We can laugh and groan at the over-dramatization of the program and get fed up by the excessive commercials.
When guys love sports and there isn't any sports on TV, they will find a way to make do, not by watching some riveting drama, but by twisting something else into a pseudo-sport. Memories...
It was many years ago. It was one of those nights when there wasn't any sports on TV and Mick called me from down in the bar. "Hey, I think it's your night to work."
"Why?" I asked with suspicion, "what's going on?"
"Nothing," he replied too innocently, "there's just a couple of customers and I'm really tired. I just want to come up and hang out with the girls."
I knew it was way past my turn to work and it sounded like an easy night. In truth, it did turn out to be an easy night. As I came downstairs, Mick moved past me to go up. I caught a look in the bar and saw that there wereonly two customers. "Hey," I hissed at him, "you didn't tell me it was Mike Knott and Wade here in the bar!"
"Yeah, but it's just those two," he again replied too innocently. Then he wisely high-tailed it up the stairs before I reneged.
"Hi, guys," I said as I entered the bar, "anyone need a drink? No?" I said as they lifted full beer bottles at me, "well, I do," and I poured myself some wine. I knew that more than likely some liquid tolerance would be required. "Hey, I'm going to put on the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, but I'll keep it low."
"Jesus Christ!" Mike bellowed in his normal voice, "why do we have to watch that?!"
"Because I watched the first night last night; you weren't watching anything anyway; and because it's the second largest dog show in the world and probably the most prestigious. It's not going to hurt you and you guys can keep on talking to each other. Don't worry--I won't forget to serve you". So much for liquid tolerance. If Mick had given me more warning, I could have had a head start.
Fast forward about a half hour later. These two guys had moved all the way down the bar from where they had been sitting to the opposite end and were glued to the television. There was the occasional, absent-minded call of, "What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?" And I'd automatically reply, "Try 'please'". And the two argued with each other. This was their norm, no need for alarm. What were they arguing about? Normally, you wouldn't even want to know. That night? These two were arguing over whose dog was going to win. They had comments on each and every dog that went around the ring, they were second guessing the judge, pumping up their preferred dog, trash-talking its competitors, and then cheering or groaning and cursing as the winners were announced.
I love the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. I watch it every year. I can't remember which dog won that year, but I remember Mike and Wade vividly--and believe it or not, with fondness. I'm not a real big sports fan, but I like men who are. I find their obsessiveness and devotion to be fascinating and amusing. Sports can bond them or be fodder for major arguments. That was a fun night. Unexpected, but fun. And a little liquid tolerance never hurt.
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