By: Boe-Boe

I don’t know about you, but having three games spread out for the entire day of Thanksgiving was like a gift from the NFL. Week 12 saw two bag match-ups, with my Bucs prevailing over Lenny’s Skins 19-13 and Randie’s Cleveland Steamers prevailing over my Texans 27-17. Three of us went 1-1 for the week, with Shawn racking up two more in the loss column, and me winning the write-up by virtue of compiling a mere three points more than Leo.

What struck me most this week was the train wreck that was Monday Night Football. When I first tuned in at 8:30, I saw an empty stadium and a bunch of workers up to their shins in water trying to make in go away by poking holes in the turf with a pitchfork. The amount of rain that was coming down - and the fact that they were so ill-prepared to deal with it - were both mind boggling. It reminded me of when I was little and went on one of my first sleepovers. At one point, I ended up clogging the toilet, and when I flushed, the water kept going over, and over, and over the top, and of course there is nowhere to hide it. My buddies and the babysitter are all hanging out in the hallway, waiting for me to finish my business, and I’m paralyzed by the fear of them finding out that I’m the skuzzy neighborhood kid that comes over and gets shit-water all over their bathroom because his turds are too big to go down a 4” pipe. I’m very aware that I could quickly gain a lasting reputation for being the guy who can’t manage to take a dump without screwing up the plumbing that seems to be perfectly fine for 99.9% of the human race - a tendency that is supposed to be reserved for obese adults who dine exclusively on eggs, meat and cheese. I’m desperate to find a way to cover my tracks before I raise the curtain, so to speak, yet I rapidly have to come to grips that I have some serious ‘splainin’ to do.

That is how the Steelers owners and stadium management must have felt. They’ve only been playing football on grass in the rain for 100 years, yet here they are at the most professional level, on the biggest, brightest stage, and unable to get it together. “Shit shit fuck fuck why is this happening to me?!?!? Don’t come in don’t come in don’t come in where are the fucking towels?!?!?! FUCK! Are you kidding me with the fucking water??!?! The LINES are coming off the field? Jesus Christ! Please, if you just go down I swear to God I’ll be a better person.” They jiggle the handle yet the water keeps coming. “Who the hell can I blame for this? Crap, everyone is going to think I’m a douche! Shitty goddam sod! Gotta hurry gotta hurry I’ll be right out I’m just washing my hands!!! Who put that tarp there like that???”

Much like the Steelers couldn’t keep the media from quickly finding out about their incompetence managing Heinz field, neither could I keep my friends from finding out about my unsanitary transgression. My friend started banging on the door, “Hurry up, I gotta take a dump too!” he screamed as I was rummaging for a plunger under a sink and throwing soaking wet towels in the bathtub behind the shower curtain. “I’m not kidding -open up I’m about to crap myself!” he yelled, attracting the scornful attention of the babysitter. “Come-on now, let him use the bathroom would you? This isn’t funny!” She pleaded in a tone that suggested I was purposely trying to torture my friend by taking my sweet time. I closed the shower curtain and the sink doors, and closed the lid to the toilet. At this point, the water stopped flowing but the bowl was just a hot, swirling stew of toilet paper and turds. Like the Steelers, I had to face the crowd.

I have to say, metaphorically it was also probably the equivalent of a 3-0 win. As it turns out, he had to go so bad that he didn’t notice the situation until it was too late, and he repeatedly tried to flush the toilet as well, making matters worse yet. When he left the bathroom we both laughed hysterically and brought the babysitter in to bear witness to our collective destruction. She wasn’t pleased, but there is a part of me that suspects she was pretty impressed.