Too Good

Happy belated May Day, you pinko bastards.

So last night was trivia at Rocks. The team was comprised of me, Christoff, Gregerson, Tradd, and The Brothers Weeser* (minus Tim and minus Greg, of course). After much internal debate, we named ourselves St. Louis Blues, mostly as a tribute to Bessie Smith, but also because that dude on the Cardinals drove into the back of a tow truck at 65 mph, thereby ending his Major League Baseball career, among other things. Among the team names that were struck down by the PC naysayers:

• One Hancock on the Road is Worth None in the Busch
• For Sale: World Series Ring, Slightly Dented
• The Cubs: 99 Years with a Complete Team

The team name doesn't really matter anymore, as St. Louis Blues battled back from upwards of a five-point defecit in the early rounds to tie for the lead after the final round. A 5-question tiebreaker would be what separated St. Louis Blues and Whiskey Ditkas. One would leave as the subject of eternal worship -- false idols for a new generation of pseudo-intellectual alcoholics. The other would leave knowing that they have a perceived leg up on the competition next by virtue of choosing a category -- a paltry consolation, given the alternative.

As if I needed to tell you, St. Louis Blues won for the second week in a row, the fourth time in the last five, and the fifth time in the last seven. I hesitate to call it a dynasty because I'm not sure that word does justice to the extent of our accomplishments. Stewie Griffin's middle name? What, you think I sold 'em all?