Smoke and Mirrors

In a perfect world . . .

Category: Sports (page 2 of 3)

Snow Day

Looks like tomorrow is destined to be a snow day.
I may not even venture into Boston.
Yeah, we’re talking about an ‘effin Nor’easter.
On the menu: snow blowing, cigars and cooking some risotto.
The little one and I may go see a movie (Sweeney Todd) in the afternoon if I can take care of the expected snowfall.
Lord knows, my snowblower is hungry . . . bow, bow, bow.
As of right now, school has already been canceled.
No need to wear the PJ’s inside-out.
I’m going to bed tonight with the glee of a high-schooler.
No school. No work. (with the exception of snowblowing the stoopid white shit)
How strange is that?
Yeah, I’m gone.

And now for something completely different . . .
from the Associated Press:

A man who mailed a cow’s head to his wife’s lover was sentenced to probation and community service. The man, Jason M. Fife of Hunker, “understands that in a civilized society a person cannot send a severed cow’s head to anybody,” said his lawyer, Henry Hilles.
The police said Mr. Fife, 31, obtained the cow’s head from a butcher’s shop, claiming he wanted the dried skull for decoration. Instead, he mailed it, frozen, so as not to alert parcel carriers to the contents, police said.

Wow, talk about a head “fetish”.

And now for something completely different and equally disturbing.

“I thought I was dreaming,” a Warsaw man told the newspaper Super Express after he visited a brothel and saw his wife among the establishment’s employees.
The paper said she had told her husband that she worked at a store in a nearby town.
The couple, married 14 years, are divorcing.

What a freekin’ surprise.
Off to make snow angels . . .



On Disabilities Awareness Day at Fenway Park, an autistic man was chosen to sing the National Anthem.
Halfway through he gets a case of the giggles.
Watch what happens. I still have goosebumps.
Thanks to Annie for the wonderful link.
Videos like this make me believe there’s still hope for the world.
Red Sox fans are alright . . .


Patriots are History

Love them or hate them, it’s in the books, folks. [38-35]
Though I’m pissed Eli Manning didn’t take a decent hit all night.
(though he managed to dodged a few, the goofball that he is)
16 – 0
And I’m not ashamed to admit; I love Wes Welker.
Rock on, Pats . . .


Just Evyl and me

Evyl and I have decided to offer our services to all the gentlemen types currently surfing the web looking for something interesting to read, watch or do.
We’ve started something of a manblog to be sure but it has so much more to offer than that.
At Evyl and Smoke there will be no syrupy sweet posts, no sentimentality and a no holds barred policy; a very different place than here at Smoke and Mirrors.
Oh, and absolutely ‘no bullshit’.
This is a place where I can let my hair down
(funny, so to speak, even though we’re two guys with cueball noggins)
Women, cigars, sports, beer, booze, good eats, guy gripes and chili recipes will rule the roost.
Both of us aren’t quite sure where this thing will go but it’s been a blast so far and we’ve decided to finally go public with it.
We’ll leave it up to you as far as linking to us.
We are, first and foremost, gentlemen. 😉
BTW- We decided on an anonymous system in terms of posting and commenting thinking it might offer a bit of devious fun because you’ll never really know who is who.
I’m honored beyond belief to team up with the likes of Evyl.
He pulls no punches yet you always know where you stand.
For now, I’ll just welcome you to our new abode: Evyl and Smoke
Stop by and at least say hi.
And yes, it’s most definitely a guy thing.
And that’s alright by me . . .


Game on!

Where I am right now.
TV, slippers and a nice beer.
Let’s rock, folks . . .


Bring on the Rockies

Love ’em or hate ’em the Boston Red Sox are the 2007 ALCS Champs.
(Mark must have been wearing his lucky hat)
The game went too late for me. I fell asleep.
The World Series begins this Wednesday at Fenway Park.
Boston is buzzing.
Maybe Australia is too . . .



Isn’t it ironic that his last name rhymes with dick?
Here’s to hoping someone throws the whole God damned book at this smug bastard . . .


ps. a shout out to my bud Will for sending the awesome pic 

No More Goodbyes

My father has had a rough few weeks.
I haven’t mentioned it because truth be told there hasn’t been much to mention; until last Tuesday morning.
He experienced a seizure that lasted approximately a minute and a half.
The details of the event aren’t as important as is the possible impending neurological damage done.
His body has been a virtual wasteland of short circuits and genetically faulty wiring and I truly believe he’s had quite enough.
I want to believe the brain gets to a turning point when it tells the body, “It’s all over, pal, I can’t help you anymore.”

As with my mother, I’ve grieved for my father forever; all the time gone by and the man I knew vanishing more mysteriously than a David Copperfield illusion.
If this goddamned disease has taught me anything it’s that the ultimate reality
is the final release from the grips of this thing makes all things bearable once again. . . somehow . . . someway.

It’s the bottom of the 9th of a grueling doubleheader.
There are two outs and the count is 3-2.
I can see my father standing on a shamrock green outfield impatiently tapping his foot.

He’s thinking, “No more damn foul balls. Just get this damn thing over.”
And I’m in the stands holding a cold Fenway Hot Dog just waiting to finally take him home.
I will keep you all posted on his condition.
He’s currently listed on the DL . . .



Color Me Red

I would normally reply to everyone’s comments after I got home but tonight found me at Fenway Park.
A close friend of mine called and offered me a free ticket (courtesy of Luis Tiant).
How could I say no?
The Sox won and it was an awesome game.
Varitek hit a home run.
Perfect night with good friends and it cost me a few beers.
The pic above is close to the view I had.
Going to bed now.
Beered out.
Boston rules.
For tonight, anyway . . .


Trust me

This is something of a public service announcement regarding people I just can’t seem to trust. I’m not sure why this got written but maybe it has something to do with flaming pink hats.

Here’s a list of people I can’t trust. Ever.

*Anyone that wears sunglasses at night.
Sometimes it’s a celebrity and sometimes it’s just a schmuck I pass on the way to South Station. If the sun has fallen far below the horizon and all the cars have on their headlights, lose the shades. You look like a jamoke and therefore can’t be trusted.

*People that smile a lot.
Alright, this one is a bit sketchy but just think about it.
I saw a guy staring aimlessly at a TV (tuned to CNN) perched on a shelf in a storefront window on Boylston Street.
In a nutshell, the programming make-up of CNN is this:
War-Death-Famine-Ominous Meteorological Phenomena and Cancer (repeat 24/7)
This guy is staring at the streaming CNN images and guess what?
Yep, he’s smiling.
A walking head wound and definitely can’t be trusted.
In a city like Boston, smiling zombies are everywhere if you just look.

*Guys that wear pink hats.
I saw a guy wearing one just the other day, I swear to God.
I could never trust a guy like that to even wash my truck windshield.

*Muscle-bound guys that habitually work out at the gym
They grunt, fart loud enough to raise the floorboards and make those nasty ‘faces of death’.
Hey buddy, you wanna point that cannon of yours in a different direction?
And if self-image is worth more to you than that Stanley Steamer you just dropped in your trunks, I wouldn’t trust you as far as you could throw me.
Oh, and nice manboobs, too.
I do admire the fact that these guys are so damn dedicated.
I draw the line when it seems imperative that I exert myself to a point where an internal organ shoots out of the closest orifice just to belong to ‘the club’.

*Any woman that says (as she’s walking into and bargain basement department store) “I’ll be out in five minutes.”

Come on, ladies.
How dumb do you think we are? Do not answer that.
In this instance, women can’t be trusted.

*Anyone that votes for Sanjaya,
and his asinine ‘pony-hawk’, obvious lack of talent and absurdly white teeth just to keep him on American Idol.
That’s just absurd.
What’s the point?
Sanjaya voters suck.

*Poodles, Chihuahuas and any other small dog that would easily fit inside a casserole dish.
These dogs are nervous and jumpy.
Actually, they’re not animals folks, they’re appetizers.
And I hate when they hump things…like a piece of furniture or worse. . . my leg.
Because they have a brain smaller in size than a walnut, you can’t trust them.
You never know when they’ll snap and go psycho.

These are the folks that go through the ’10 items or less’ line with a week’s worth of whatever happens to be on sale that day.
Watch them at a busy deli counter too.
They’ve been known to make up numbers.

This is obviously a partial list and I invite you to add a few of your own.
You may even see a sequel.
Then again, I don’t know if I trust myself enough to write one.


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