* What a miserable weekend.
I had to suffer the indignity of watching that train wreck of a basketball team you call the Chicago Bulls beat my Pistons by double-digits Saturday. It wasn’t even a good game. Sloppy play on both ends of the floor. (The fact that Cuppy Coffee won the Dunkin’ Donuts race barely made a dent in my sorrow.)
Always classy, the hometown fans began to chant “Detroit sucks.” Look, even Detroit natives know their city sucks. But their sports teams are generally good (Lions excepted). So lay off, Chicago. You beat us. Leave the stadium with quiet dignity.
What was worse was the fact that I had to walk around in the -23 degree wind chill that night. It was horrific. I felt the skin on my face freeze and harden. I’m sure that’s how Joan Rivers feels every day.
After the game, I went to hop on the bus back into the city, but it was a completely inefficient process. Three extended buses were lined up, but they only let passengers board the first bus. When that was full, the second bus pulled up, and passengers could board just that one. After watching two buses fill while the circulation in my lower torso came to a screeching halt, the third bus pulled forward. My friend and I were among the last few to squeeze on to the bus. Really, seeing hundreds of freezing Chicagoans fling themselves onto a bus was akin to the fall of Saigon. I’m surprised no one handed me their baby as I boarded.
* In addition to crummy weather and a crummy game, there was the matter of the Packers losing the NFC Championship Game. Everyone outside New York wanted the Brett Favre vs. Tom Brady showdown. Instead, we get the Giants. Boring. New England wins by 14. Write it down.
* I should mention something that happened Friday. I casually mentioned to one of my fellow producers that “I respect my elders.” At this notion, virtually the entire newsroom exploded. (They’re almost all older than me.)
Executive Producer Wendy challenged me to a competition. I think an exact quote was, “I’ll whup you, youngin’!” I was challenged to arm-wrestling, among other things. Of course, I didn’t arm-wrestle Wendy. First, I do respect my elders. Breaking my elders’ arms in a show of massive, youthful force isn’t my idea of fun. Second, Wendy is a lady. I think even in the Sylvester Stallone opus “Over the Top,” there was no gender-mixed arm-wrestling.
Throwing gasoline on the fire, Zoraida told me, “You’re younger than you look.”
That’s really a nice way of saying I look like a shriveled apple or a piece of half-chewed beef jerky, I guess. Thanks, Zoraida. Why don’t you tell me Detroit sucks and push me out into the -23 degree wind chill while you’re at it?
* Today is supposedly the most depressing day of the year. Boy, tell me about it.