Necessary Roughness



Necessary Roughness with Gwar's Dave Brockie

Fuck! What a horrible weekend for me.

It all started a few months ago when my roommate got one of those above-ground pools you see for $300.00 at Wal-Mart. Oh, they look great on the box, but wait until you’ve had this thing sitting in your yard for any length of time. They become seething cess-pools of virulent disease and mosquito hives of epic proportion, especially after being left uncovered and un-tended (said roommate bought neither scoop nor cover) in the hot Richmond sun. Ahhh, but we are lucky. We have a pleasant shading of trees veiling our urban paradise. Trees that vomit an endless barrage of acorns, branches, and squirrel shit, all with uncanny accuracy and all directed at said pool. Acorns that quickly become water-logged, sink to the bottom, and make a shit-hole of that too. You need river-shoes in there!  My solution—bitch at roommate (went nowhere), and then take the trek to Wal-Mart (always a pleasure) to gather said supplies. My bitch ass cleaned their skanky pool.

That’s OK! He cooks a lot. But when summer ended (as it always does) the attitude of pools-take-care-of-themselves continued. Drained, the thing became a plastic heap and dirt-magnet and continued to sit in the yard. But so what! It was football Sunday! And I had a league to cover and a team to root for! The fridge was lined with beer and brats and my annoying friends had not shown up! I was ready for some football!

Week three is always a crossroads in the season. Most teams are at 1-1, and the lousier ones can still delude themselves into thinking they can actually have a run at the playoffs. Teams that think they should be 2-0 are like, huh? What? We’re not! What happened? They are trying to figure it out! There’s a reason those guys ended up in Phys. Ed.: it’s not like we are dealing with brain scientists here. In some cities alarm bells are already going off; the Saints 0-2 start had many in the French Quarter stumbling from bar-to-bar, drinking heavily. If you judged the Saints by their record, then Sean Payton was the closest thing that team had to a brain. Hopefully Drew Brees would have something to say about that in week three.

Another big issue around the league was these replacement referees. Several games had gotten out of control and it appeared our worst fears were coming true. Not only was there altogether too much crap officiating in the first couple weeks, but there was every indication that owners, coaches, and players were taking advantage of it. To make matters worse, the owners didn’t seem to give a shit. Why should they? They only make more money than God. “Fuck the refs!” NO, fuck the owners! It’s not the “scabs’” fault (and that was always such a horrible word…appropriate sometimes, but not here… the pros will never respect a bunch of “scabs.” They have enough of their own!), it’s the owners fault, so pay the regular refs the money they want so we can get the huge arms of Ed Hochuli back out there! God, I hope he’s not taking this time off to work on his arms even more.

For the unbeatens, it’s good to be the king. For now.

But that damn unwashed dirty-ass pool was still in my backyard. It was the only thing that was not perfect in my world. But wait. A disturbing thought occurred to me.  What if, for some cosmic reason, that fact that my back yard looked like shit led to the Redskins having a bad day? What if my failure to complete my yard work had a direct link to RGII’s throwing accuracy? I was already wearing my lucky slippers, so what could it hurt? I became The 12th Man. I leapt into the sodden thing, shaking the water off it as best I could. What it really needed was a hose job, and I didn’t have the cuttlefish handy! So I grabbed the garden hose and let fly. What fun. The only way it could’ve been better was if I’d put the pool up on the janky cable wire that ran from the house to a pole in the alley! That thing was so janky, I was sure it hadn’t worked for years — hell, I hung stuff from it all the time!  Nothing heavier than socks, but I didn’t think of that! — so I thought nothing of hoisting a large section of the dripping (but clean!) pool over the cable, the intent being to hose it off and let it drip dry.

Jameson emerged from the house. He looked puzzled, as he usually does when confronted with my antics. “Are you sure you wanna do that?” he said.

I ignored him. How could HE possibly know ANYTHING. Instead of the dismissive (yet rude) statement, I would usually make, I began spraying again.


The cable line came flopping down, dropping the pool on my leg. Acorn-choked water drenched my Redskins slippers as I stumbled backwards into a pile of dog shit. I had done it. Killed the web. The cable and the internet were out. The pre-game show was almost over! I frenzied, a lie-filled call to the cable company did nothing but secure a Tues. appointment. There would be no NFL in my house today.

Five minutes later I was in Dots, the closest bar, already too late for the Redskins sole lead of the day. At least I had the game on TV! I got a beer, some eggs, and starting talking to the weirdo next to me. The waitresses were hot and friendly and the first half was pretty action–packed. Dots is pretty much a weird old man bar, so I could look forward to watching the game without being assailed about GWAR. I settled onto a bar stool, ready to make it my home for maybe three games. This was was gonna be alright! I ordered another round.

“Sorry sir, we close at three on Sunday….”

Yeah, brunch and all. I watched like three plays and then got ushered out the door. I drove around, listening on the radio for a while. That sucked. I blankly heard how the Bengals scored 14 points in 3 plays and the Skins blew the whole thing by acting stupid. I finally went inside and listened to the rest of the game on the radio. It sucked as well.

I gave up. I had no desire to go to Buffalo Wild Wings or anywhere else but the open-air drug mart. That was the end of my NFL weekend. I have no idea what else happened. It wouldn’t surprise me if I got fired. Unless you guys save my ass. I promise I will have my cable fixed by then! Just for one week, come on guys, write my column for me!


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