Da Bears

I don't know about you guys, but this weekend was one of the better sports weekends for me in recent memory.

Friday night Jester and I went to Hidden Shamrock for Reed's birthday, where we listened to rock and or roll and drink some flavored cola. I was wearing a new pair of dungarees that really creased my parents. They're such squares. Rather than get busted under the Mann Act, Jessie and I headed to Kirkwood where we met up with Pissed Off, Gregerson, and Hess. Much to our surprise, we also ran into the likes of Popper, Huffman, and Emkes. We couldn't handle that many Pi Kapps in one room, so several of us headed to Deja Vu. Little did I know that this would not be the last time I crossed that horrid threshold this weekend. Since it wasn't Shabbos, Gregerson and I rolled some Silver Strike, I believe each winning one game before succumbing to the lure of erotic Photo Hunt and music trivia. And yes, the number one score in the music category belongs to JAG (Jessie Andrew Greg). As the clock struck 5, my head hit the pillow.

Saturday greeted me with a punch in the face and a couple Excedrine Migraine. Luckily we were meeting my mom, aunt, and Reed at Cafe Ba Ba Ree Ba where a fantastic bloody mary bar allowed me to conquer tapas in a fashion not unlike the Moors conquered the Iberian peninsula (too soon?).

After waxing some Spaniards, we headed to Rocks for the IU/UConn game. It was here where my decidely self-destructive tendencies teamed brilliantly with the $8 pitchers of Leinie's Red and freshly directly deposited paycheck to carry me into a wonderful state of oblivion. Interestingly, there were even more Pi Kapps at Rocks than at Kirkwood the night before, including the likes of Crazy Legs Hirst, Wood, Chambers, Little Reising, Shemmer, and Gsell (and of course, Rocks co-owner Manta). I didn't flip out and go to the Vu, however. Not yet at least. Also joining us were Kyla, Alex, and Ari. IU won. Good win.

Morgan and I stuck around after everyone else left (except Manta), as we had tickets good for admission at the Chicago Bulls basketball game. We rolled some Silver Strike, although no wagering took place. Unfortunately we left before the 15 jukebox songs I paid for had played, meaning that I would have to wait until today to hear "Cowboy Song" by Thin Lizzy.

The Bulls game was low point, sportswise, of the weekend. They lost to the Jazz, and the crowd was full of idiots wearing Illini sweatshirts because former non-NCAA-championship-winning players Deron Williams and Dee Brown play for the Jazz. Actually, only Deron Williams plays, which prompted the Illini faithful to chant "we want Dee" during the game. Luckily I was in the club section, so I didn't personally come into contact with any of these people. By that time the amount of beer in my system was nearly enough to elicit sarcastic comments about Illini fans holding on for dear life to the greatest team they've had, even though they didn't win a banner.

After the game, we stopped back at my apartment so that I could use the facilities and try to convince Jester to go to Alive One with us. She was baked out of her mind and painting a mural on the living room wall, so I let her stay in.

At Alive One we were greeted with the likes of Adam "Matthew Spring" McClure and his special ladyfriend Katie, Sean, Slange, Johnson, and nearly every other Eastern Illinois alum in the city. At one point, I sent Morgan to the bar to buy a beer for himself, and he pulled the standard Morgan ghosting, never to be seen again. I didn't actually notice until I just wrote that.

Meanwhile Katie asked the DJ to play some fucking Bon Jovi or Journey, but apparently they were too obscure for him. In related news, Katie stabbed a DJ to death while singing a very eerie, yet heartfelt version of "Faithfully."

The night deteriorated quickly, as we headed toward the Vu to avoid the fuzz. If you could guess one type of video leisure activity that I played, what would it be? Yes indeed, it turns out that Slange is willing to bowl for cash. The challenge was formidable, although the records may show that I came out between zero and ten dollars ahead.

High on my own sense of self-righteousness, I declared myself the King of the Vu, and danced a jig on top of the bar before being tackled by a very nice bouncer named Bubba. Apparently he didn't get hear my proclamation, so I brought him outside to explain. Instead of press the issue, Katie, Adam, and I hit Los Tres Panchos for some Spanish-derivative food, which we took back to my apartment to eat while watching Metal Mania and keeping Jessie awake with our witty banter. At 5:30am, my head hit the pillow. I hate myself sometimes. Well, all the time, but sometimes more than others, since I knew Jessie would not let me sleep until 1:30 to get 8 hours of sleep.

On Sunday, THE BEARS WON THE NFC FUCKING CHAMPIONSHIP.

Tomorrow night the Hoosiers travel to Champaign for a heated battle with the Illini. Much of the game's focus will be on the whole Eric Gordon situation, and the U of I student section will no doubt be giving Kelvin Sampson a lot of guff because of the fact that Gordon wanted to go to a school where he has a chance of winning a national title. What I find interesting about the outright hatred that Illini fans have developed toward IU, Eric Gordon, and Kelvin Sampson is how short their memory is. First of all, a verbal commitment is not a signed letter of intent. Thus, a verbal commitment means nothing more than me saying, "Yeah, I'll totally meet you at Durkin's tomorrow night." Second, back in 1997, Sergio McClain and Marcus Griffin of Peoria Manual -- probably the two top players in Illinois that year -- were all set to go to IU (not sure if they gave verbal commitments or not). They had both said that IU was their first choice, and it was. Until Signing Day when they magically switched to Illinois. Bob Knight didn't bitch about how they screwed him over because IU didn't recruit other players because he thought they were coming, although junior college transfer forward William Gladness had been shot more times than Griffin and McClain combined, and I don't even know if he had ever even been to Peoria.

And of course, Bruce Weber (the alleged "victim" in all of this) has his own shady recruiting skeletons (thanks to Holt for the link). Back in 2004, Carbondale's Justin Dentmon had signed a letter of intent to play at Illinois State. Dentmon's stock rose considerably during his senior season, and Weber convinced Dentmon to go to prep school for a year in hopes so that Weber could woo Dentmon to Illinois. Of course we all know Bruce Weber is a horrible recruiter, so Dentmon ended up going to Washington after prep school. Nonetheless, Weber kind of lives in a glass house on this issue. I wonder if he did the ISU coach the courtesy of calling him before talking to Dentmon. Die slow, you hoarse-voiced, frog-faced, Sioux-insulting, ugly-sportcoat-wearing, terrible-recruiting, dead-mother-having, whiny bastard. I hope IU wins by 90 because if they do, fuck it, I might just buy a bottle of Cris for everyone at Rocks and we're gonna do it up COAS style: NO RULES. This assumes, of course, that Rocks carries between 50 and 100 bottles of Cris. If not, I'll probably just go home. After my team wins trivia.

SWEET GHOST OF SWEETNESS, THE BEARS ARE IN THE SUPER BOWL!