I've Got Man-Crushes, and I Don't Care Who Knows

Okay kids, I have to get something off my chest. I'm happily married, I have four kids, and I'd like to think I'm very comfortable with my sexuality. Having said that, I've got a man-crush on three dudes, and it's time I told both of you who read this shit.

1. Arnold Palmer- This is not a new thing- I've loved Mr. Palmer for a lot of years. I've always said that if I ever get the chance, I'm going to have him sign my man-cleavage in permanent marker. I'm not kidding.

There was a time when I was a halfway decent golfer before little league sports completely dominated my free time (had the handicap down to six, which ain't too shabby for an old fat guy), and he was the guy I wanted to emulate.

And it wasn't because of his golf. I started playing seriously around 1980, and by that time he was pretty much at the end of his PGA career, and had moved on to the Senior Tour. It was the way he handled himself, on and off the course, that made me want to be like him.

The man signs every autograph, poses for every picture, and never takes his fans for granted. He has more money than God, but you'd never know it by the way he acts. If you look up the word class in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of Arnold Palmer. He's 81 years old now (same age as my dad, by the way), and my greatest wish is to shake his hand before he goes to the big 19th hole in the sky.




2. Justin Timberlake- Yeah, I know, I'm a rump ranger. But hear me out on this, okay? I don't give three shits about his music, although Rock Your Body is a pretty kicky song. What I like about him is that he isn't afraid to make fun of himself, which is absolutely the best quality a celebrity can have. Or anyone, for that matter.

If you've seen any of his appearances on Saturday Night Live, you know exactly what I mean. He has no shame- he'll dress in a turkey costume, an old lady outfit- he even put on a leotard and high heels to back up Beyonce during a skit where they were shooting a video.

But the highlight for Timberlake had to be where he goofed on his In Sync roots, and shot a video with Andy Samberg called Dick In a Box. If you haven't seen it- where the hell have you been? Get over to Hulu as soon as you can- it's really funny, along with the two sequel videos they made later.



He's humble, he's funnier than shit, and he got to drop the hammer on Jessica Beal for a couple of years, so there. Anybody that gets to do that is aces in my book.

3. Timmy Thomas- I've liked him for a long time, but he made my man-crush list this year. And there are a variety of reasons.

First, we have a little bit of a physical resemblance. We're both short, bearded, old and chubby. Also, we have similar styles of play, in that we both scramble and flop around on the ice a lot. Now, he flops because he has the ability to stand right back up and get himself back into play. I flop around because once I go down, I'm like a turtle on it's back. I just kick my little legs until one of my defensmen turns me over on my belly.

In an era where most of the goalkeepers are 6'3" or better, this guy is a throwback to a different time. He's listed at 5'11", but I'd bet the house that he isn't over 5'9". As proof, just scroll down my blog to where he fought Carey Price earlier this season. Price is listed at 6'3", and just towers over Thomas.

Second, Timmy is the absolute model of perseverance. After a decent college career, the guy bounced around the minor leagues and in Finland because he couldn't land a job in the NHL. He finally started playing regularly for the Bruins when he was 32 years old. That's a hell of a long time to wait for your shot, but he wanted it that bad.

Then two seasons ago, after winning the Vezina Trophy for being the NHL's top goalie, he hurt his hip and lost his starting job to a sieve named Tuukka Rask, who promptly choked away a three game lead against Philadelphia in the playoffs. Thomas was 36, and it looked pretty much like the end of the line for being a starter. Instead of accepting that role as a backup, he had surgery on his hip and worked his ass off to regain that number one spot.

Then this season, after taking just a few games to put Rask's ass back on the bench, Timmy set a record for save percentage in a season, and absolutely carried his team on his back to a Stanley Cup over a more talented Vancouver squad. He gave up eight lousy goals in seven games. He won another Vezina, and was the oldest player ever to win to the Conn Smythe Award (playoff MVP), at 37.



So we're similar in stature (not so much, talent-wise), and I can't help but admire the shit out of how hard he's worked for his success. But that isn't really why I love Timmy Thomas. For me, it's the way he conducts himself on the ice, and with his teammates.

If you looked closely during the Stanley Cup Finals, he always had a smile on his face. It didn't matter if he was winning or losing- you could see that shit eating grin on his bearded grill the whole time. He just looked like he was enjoying the experience so much, the game situation was almost secondary.

Plus, he's the perfect teammate. He constantly pumps up the guys in front of him, and encourages them when they make a mistake. As a result, they fuckin' love the guy. They'll throw themselves in front of pucks to block shots, and if anyone from the other team touches Timmy after the whistle, there are about three guys up his ass.

And even at the broken down old age of 52, that is the kind of teammate I'm striving to be. I've gone through periods, because I'm so goddamn competitive, where I've barked at my friends on the team when they've made mistakes, and lost sleep when I've fucked up. And I'm not proud of it at all. I wish I had a do-over on a lot of that shit.

It's taken a long time, but I'm finally getting to the point, as I get near the end of the career, where I'm really enjoying the experience, and having a bunch of fun with my buddies. I can't remember the last time I yelled at a teammate, and I'm going out of my way to tap a guy on the ass with my stick when he makes a good play. And even better, I'm going out of my way to tap a guy on the ass when he messes up, which is when he needs it more.

So there may be hope for my wrinkled old ass after all. I really believe a more positive outlook has improved my game, and I'm almost certain I'm more enjoyable to be around. If an old, short fat goalie in the NHL can be a great teammate, then an old, short fat goalie in the beer league can be one as well.

Family Night and the Spelling Bee IV

So last Thursday night the family all gathered in our basement fortress to celebrate what has become a favorite family tradition. The school year has ended, we've gotten through the Memorial Day weekend, and now it's time to enjoy the annual Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee.

Honest to God, this night is right up there with Christmas and Thanksgiving in our household. It is the one evening of the year where we can get together, and further our education, while expanding our vocabularies.

Okay, that's bullshit. We actually spend three hours making fun of the mutants that are the contestants in this spectacle. This is what the military guys call a "target rich environment" for dorks, and Sweet Jahovah, do the jokes fly around the room like SCUD missiles during the contest. This is our fourth year doing this, and I always keep a running diary to try and capture how much fun we have.

(Writers note: If you want to see the other three articles, you can archive back to July/2010, June/2009, and May/2008. If you happen to have had a kid that was one of the contestants, I apologize in advance. Not really.)

As always, before I begin please let me reiterate that I'm fully aware that we're indeed a bunch of assholes that need to find something more constructive to do than make fun of doinks. But again, when was the last time you spent a night with your entire family, all laughing your asses off? It's been awhile, right? I think I can live with the guilt. So for the fourth year in a row, bite me.

(One more writer's note: You guys must not be too indignant- I get more good feedback on the spelling bee and pageant articles than anything else. I think I chased off all the tight-asses a long time ago, except there were some that were really pissed about me cracking basketball players vs. hockey players recently. But like my Dad always says: Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck.)

And now, put on your thinking caps, boys and girls, it's time for The Running of the Dorks. Here we go:

6:30- Good evening, everybody, and welcome to back to the fortress! Tonight I am joined by my lovely wife Annie, along with my boys Mike (16), Sam (15), and Ben (11). My daughter Lauren (7), also known as "The Girl", will be in and out of the room all night. We'll try, and most likely fail, to keep the bad language down while she's around.

We're greeted by our hosts for the evening, Sage Steele from ESPN, and 1990 champion Paul Loeffler, whom we're certain has still retained his virginity since last year. We're already extremely happy, because Tom Bergeron isn't anywhere in sight. Goddamn, I hate Tom Bergeron...

As always, the words will be given tonight be Denver's Dr. Jacques Bailly, who isn't exactly a fireball of personality. He fits right in with the rest of this group.

6:35- Okay, here comes our favorite part of the evening- let's meet tonight's finalists! If you haven't read the other three articles, I always give the contestants nicknames, because I don't want to have to spell their real names all night. You'll see why in a second.

There are only two tonight that were here last year. They are:

Laura Newcombe- Laura is a very pleasant young lady from Canada, who has an Asian mom, and a very, very white dad. We quickly throw around some mail-order bride jokes- the best being "You love me long time, eh?" We're just getting warmed up. Laura will again be called, "Can-Asian".

Joanna Ye- Joanna's from Scranton, PA, which makes us believe she has a future working for Dunder-Mifflin. She's grown up since last year, and her hair looks like one of the Jonus Brothers. She'll again be "Ye-Haw".

Now let's meet the eleven that are new this year:

Samual Estep- Samual looks like a mini version of Steve Carell, including the very large nose, and doesn't move his mouth when he speaks. We'll call him "The 11 Year Old Virgin".

Prakash Mishra- Prakash is the first of whole shitload of Indians that will be on the stage tonight. He's wearing a cricket jersey that has the number of what must be a famous player back in the homeland. I know more about sports than most guys, but the only thing I know about cricket is that it takes days to play, and it sucks. Sam comes up with his nickname, which is "Oshkosh Prakash".

Lily Jordan- Lily is from Maine, which helps explain why she might be the whitest girl I've ever seen. I have to believe the sun comes out every once in awhile in Maine, but I don't think Lily has ever seen it. She'll be "Albino Lily".

Mashad Arora- Another Indian kid, and we discover that he is from Brownsville, Texas. Mike says, "Isn't everywhere he goes Brownsville?" Hey, we made it almost eight minutes before tonight's first entry for "Most Inappropriate Comment of the Evening". We now have to call him "Brownsville".

Nabeel Rahman- Nabeel is from Buffalo, loves the Rubik's Cube, and was recently in the Math Olympiad. Gee, no shit. He'll be "Top Rahman". You know, like the noodles? Try to keep up.

Arvind Mahankali- Arvind is from New York City, is 11 years old, and weighs approximately 35 pounds. That is one tiny little Indian bastard. We quickly label him, "Starvin' Arvind".

Dhivya Senthil Murugam- See what I mean about having to spell the names? Holy shit. Dhivya is from our very own Denver, is the youngest finalist at 10 years old, has a raspy voice, and looks a lot like Dora the Explorer. Because of the voice, we call her "Sexy Dora".

Dakota Jones- Dakota is from Las Vegas, has a mouthful of braces, glasses, and plays the viola. He has not one chance in hell of ever getting laid. We all think that Dakota Jones should be the name of a black porn star. We're going to call him "Not Black Dakota Jones".

Veronica Penny- Veronica is from Toronto, and clearly does not want to be here tonight. All the other kids are smiling and waving to the camera, and Veronica is doing this:



This picture doesn't even do justice to how bad the look on here face is. She cried when she was spelling a word in the semifinals this afternoon, because she thought she missed it. Wow, she must get cigarettes put out on her arms at home when she fucks up. This is an easy one- we're calling her "Suicide Girl".

Sriram Hathwar- Sriram is yet another tiny little Indian kid, and his voice is a dead ringer for Linus in the Peanuts cartoons. When they pan over to him during the introductions, he has both hands down the front of his pants. Swear to God. From now on, he's "Pocket Pool Linus".

Sukanya Roy- Holy...Mother...of...God. Every year there is one kid that takes the title of Queen of the Mutants, and your 2011 champ is Sukanya. She's 14, has an oblong head, and easily the longest neck I've ever seen on a human being. I couldn't find a profile picture, but this should give you some idea:



This doesn't begin to do justice to exactly how long her neck is. The kids and I all gasped at the same time, and then happiness descended upon us like a giant cloud of nitrous oxide. Goddamn, we love the spelling bee. She just has to stay in for a long time tonight-there are just too many jokes waiting. She'll be "Indian Cherry Picker".

6:45- Alrighty, all the preliminary bullshit is out of the way, and we can get down to spelling some words. Last year sucked, because they elimated half the contestants in the first round, and the show ended about an hour earlier than normal. We had so many more jokes to tell, and it was all done before we knew it.

7:00- Either the words were easier, or the kids were smarter, but all 13 made it through the first round. Nothing major happened, except that Albino Lily has two chubby younger brothers that held hands while she spelled her word. They looked like they were around 10, so it just seemed a little off that they were holding hands.

Also, Suicide Girl takes the entire 2:30 that they're allowed to spell a word, and then goes really slowly, and makes a face like a bomb is going to go off if she gives the wrong letter. This poor girl has some problems. We decide as a group that we truly don't give a shit.

7:15- Uh-oh, we just lost our first contestant. 11 Year Old Virgin misses bondieuserie, which is shoddy religious art. Is there religious art that isn't shoddy? So Sam Estep is gone. As he's walking off the stage, I yell, "I... need... some... poon!"

(Writers note-If you don't get that last reference, then you must not have seen The 40 Year Old Virgin. If that's the case, I have no use for you. Just get out of my blogsite right now, go rent the movie, and then you can come back. I mean it. Off you go.)

7:20- CanAsian gets the word attaca (pronounced uh-tock-uh) , which is some kind of musical movement. When she asks for it in a sentence, Sam says, "My wife has a hairy attaca", and Mike follows quickly with "I really like the pink attaca". First DVR pause of the night, while I laugh like a little girl for a few minutes.

7:25- They show a chart after a commercial, and Colorado has had seven champions over the years. Guess how many my home state of Wyoming has had? Yeah, that would be a big donut. We don't grow 'em real smart up there. Hell, they skipped me past first grade because I could put two sentences together without shitting my pants. Honest to God, I skipped first grade. Now I'm a fuckin' goalie, and I make dick jokes as a hobby. I peaked at age seven...fuck me. Let's just move on...

7:30- Suicide Girl is up again, and they show a graphic that says she's home schooled. Wow, no shit. Then they show Suicide Mom, and we can see where Veronica gets all her good looks. The lady puts a revolver in her mouth until the word is spelled correctly. This is going to be like The Deer Hunter before the night's over. And if you get that reference, you're old.

7:35- Oops- Albino Lily is out on phanerogam, which is a flowering plant. Now her brothers can stop holding hands, and I can stop being creeped out. And Lily, check out that big yellow thing in the sky once in awhile, won't you please? Even Nicole Kidman thinks you're too pale.


Jesus...

7:40- There goes Top Rahman- he just missed dockmackie (North American shrub). Of course you know what happens next. We all do our Mr. Mackie impressions from South Park. "Drugs are bad, um-kay?" "Which one of you boys made a fudge dragon in the urinal, um-kay?" Goddamn, this is fun so far...

7:45- They're starting to drop faster now- Oshkosh Prakash is gone on susurrus (babbling stream). On his graphic, it shows that he was this year's champion of Mega Math Madness, which must be just a terrific place to score some pussy. Good thing his wife was selected for him ten years ago. Bye, Oshkosh...

7:55- Oh, shit. Everybody better hide all the sharp utensils, Suicide Girl flames out on rougeot, which is a grape disease. I say I had a disease in my rougeots once, but I got a penicillin shot, and it cleared right up. Nobody laughs. Tough room.

So Suicide Girl walks in tears to the other side of the stage, and sits down next to Suicide Mom, who just stares forward. Doesn't clap, doesn't try to comfort her daughter...nothing. I'll bet her whole fucking world revolved around her daughter winning this thing tonight. I'm thinking of the perfect word to describe this bitch, but it's one of the few words I never write. I'll give you a hint, though- it rhymes with "bunt".

8:00- You know who's doing just great tonight? Indian Cherry Picker. She's just bombing right through the words like she's reading them off of a card. We all decide that the reason she's doing so well is that she can extend her neck far enough to see the words on Dr. Bailly's sheet. Shit, I'll bet her breakfast hasn't made it all the way down to her stomach yet. We're talkin' long neck here.

8:05- Sexy Dora's history- she misses ephelides (freckles). She bursts into tears as she gets to her parents, and they actually comfort her. At least both Mike and Sam are very empathetic.

Sam- "She's crying tears of curry and failure".

Mike (in pretty good Indian voice)- "Oh, Vishnu, you have disappointed me yet again".

DVR pause again- that one got me. Goddamn, I love my kids...

8:10- Dammit, there goes Pocket Pool Linus. He crashed on polotouche (flying squirrel). In my best Bullwinkle voice, I say, "Hey polotouche! Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!" Because, you know, Rocky was a flying squirrel? What I forgot when I made that joke was that none of the kids had ever seen Rocky and Bullwinkle, and they all looked at me like I shit in their hat. Fuck, I have to update my material.

8:15- YeHaw correctly spells teppanyaki, which is some kind of Japanese food. Sage Steele says, "I guess it's good to eat out once in awhile". Mike excitedly says, "Dad, I heard the rules for 'eating out', but I can't say it out loud because Mom will yell at me". Annie agrees, and tells him to keep it to himself. She's trying to keep things from getting too out of hand.

30 seconds later, my cell phone beeps, and it's a text message from Mike. Uh-oh. I open it up, and it says:

The eating out rule: If it tastes like chicken, keep on lickin'. If it tastes like trout, get the fuck out.

8:25- It's been 10 minutes, and I'm just now collecting myself. I've been crying like Sexy Dora while the rest of the family has been getting a snack and taking a piss. Every year, one of those little bastards says something that just kills me, and it was Mike's turn this year. I think they take real pride in busting me up.

8:30- Brownsville is a goner- he misses samiel, which is a hot wind. All my kids would have spelled that word correctly, because they are the masters of the hot wind. I have never been around a group of people that have so much fuckin' gas. If there's ever a Scripps-Howard National Farting Bee, I'll have trophies all over this house.

Anyway, Brownsville sits between his parents, and pushes them both away as they try to make him feel better. He has a severe case of the red-ass right now; he's really pissed. Must be because he realizes he has to go home now. I've been to Brownsville- it's a total hunk of shit.

8:40- Okay, kids, we're down to five. CanAsian and YeHaw have been very strong- I think they're the favorites right now. Starvin' Arvind is still here, along with Not Black Dakota Jones. And my girl Indian Cherry Picker is hangin' in there- she went outside and ate some leaves from the tall trees, so she should be good for the rest of the competition. Did I mention she has a long neck?

9:00- They've gone through three more rounds, and they can't get rid of anybody. The highlight in the last few minutes was when Not Black Dakota Jones had to spell pustza (pronounced puss-taw), which is a treeless plain. Can anyone besides me see the next joke coming right down Broadway?

Mike- "I love a treeless pustza." Yep, that's my special boy right there, ladies and gentlemen. I don't think he's ever even seen a pustza, but now I'm not so sure. Conversation for another time.


9:30- The kids have spelled 23 consecutive words right- this is fuckin' amazing. If this keeps up, we're going to be here until the next Rapture Day. By the way, did anyone else other than me just hesitate for a moment at midnight on May 21st and then say, "Still here? Cool. Let's watch Sportscenter". That rapture guy's a fuckin' lunatic jagoff.

9:40- Finally, we've eliminated somebody! Not Black Dakota Jones misses zanja, which believe it or not, is a Mexican drainage ditch. So NBDJ's hopes and dreams have gone straight down the zanja for this year. Indian Cherry Picker stands and claps as he leaves the stage. I swear to God, her head should be on Easter Island right now.

So we're down to four, and all the white kids are history. They lasted much longer than I thought they would. Well, if nothing else, we still have hockey.

9:45- There goes the last boy- Starvin' Arvind bombs on jugendstil (decorative style). When he gets to the other side of the stage, his dad shakes his hand. Gee, that is a tender moment, Pop. What a penis.

Three girls are still here. Well, two girls and Indian Cherry Picker. Still not quite certain she is of our species.

9:55- Whoa, here's an upset- YeHaw is gone on galoubet, which is a small flute played with the left hand. Come on-are you kidding me? This is the easiest softball we've been thrown all night. I go first:

"I only play with my small flute with my right hand."

Sam- "I'm a southpaw".

Mike- "Joke's on you- I'm ambidextrous. I double date."

One more DVR pause. My stomach muscles are cramping- happens every time we watch this.

10:00- We're down to two. CanAsian has been flawless, and ICP has been just as good. Right before they start giving the final words, she turns sideways, and looks just like a Pez dispenser. I'm not kidding.


No shit- this is pretty close

10:05- CanAsian is the first to stumble- she misses sorites (collection of items). ICP steps up and nails periscii (polar circle), so all she has to do is get one more word right, and she will be the champ.

The word is cymotrichous (wavy hair). ICP does all the regular shit, like asking for language of origin, and then rattles it off perfectly. We have us a winner! They're way over the time allotment, so Dr. Bailly quickly hands over the big trophy, and around $40,000 in cash and prizes. Maybe now she can have that surgery to remove three or four feet of her neck.

Mike sums up the evening for us perfectly, when he jumps off the couch, and rips a giant fart on his way up the stairs. I guess that's "good night" in his language. Sam and I bust up one more time, and Annie shoots me a crusty look. She's pretty much over the farting thing- can't say I blame her that much. But like Dennis Miller says, "You know why kids think farts are the funniest thing in the world? Because they are the funniest thing in the world".

So there you go, boys and girls. One more year with my group of misfits, and this was a fun year. We don't have much time to regroup- the Miss USA pageant is this Sunday, and that is almost as fun as the spelling bee. I'll have a pen in my hand as usual- stop back by again soon, okay?