While in college I spent a semester as an exchange student in Nigeria. For the first month I stayed with a family in Lagos. Apparently the people running the exchange program didn't think my capacity for rough living was very high because they placed me with a very wealthy family in the swank Victoria Island neighborhood. The patriarch of the clan was actually running for president of the country. Then again, at that point in 1993 there were more than 100 candidates running for president so that's not so notable. (And that election was eventually annulled.) The presidential contender was never around anyway. I believe I met him exactly once. He didn't have much to say.

The matriarch of the household was a very large, quite beautiful woman who was a fervent Christian. She would go to church for roughly eight hours every Sunday. She would also host worship sessions at the house every Wednesday night. The first time one of these occurred, my host "brother" attempted to warn me that I might want to make myself scarce. But I failed to heed his warnings.

There were maybe 10 people at the prayer session. I think we read some Bible passages. Then people started praying. Within minutes they began collapsing on the floor and speaking in tongues and screaming like they were possessed by some really wicked juju. As I stood there, vaguely terrified and intensely uncomfortable, my host brother tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that I should follow him out of the room. We drove to a bar and drank super-sized bottles of Guinness until midnight. We repeated this Wednesday night ritual for the length of my stay. It was much more fun than worship service.

There were all kinds of servants who worked at the palatial home on Victoria Island. There was one man, Amos, whose only job, as best I could determine, was to cook me breakfast. Every morning he'd make me a tasty cheddar cheese omelet. He was small and smiled a lot and didn't speak much English and looked a bit like Garrett Morris.

Another of the servants was a woman named Oguchi. When the matriarch wanted Oguchi's attention she would ring a little bell and call out "Oooooguchi, Oooooguchi." Oguchi was generally sullen and quiet. I think she may have resented being a servant.

Oguchi is actually quite a common name among Nigerians of Igbo descent. My favorite Oguchi at the present moment is Oguchi Onyewu.

Don't miss Gaines' hotel room tribute. Heal quickly brother.

I played in a Chippy Poker tournament the other night in Plymouth. One of the prizes was a Jake's Sports Cafe t-shirt. This very drunk girl declared that if she wanted a t-shirt she could just sleep with the manager. I did not win any prizes.

The Indomitable Drinky Crows started a new season yesterday. We lost 2-1, despite outshooting the opposition by a factor of roughly five. Sometimes that happens I guess. Not surprisingly both opposition goals were scored while I was playing "defense".

The Minnesota Thunder's absurdly dense schedule continues tonight. They take on the Rochester Raging Rhinos at 7:05 p.m. at The Jimmy. Then tomorrow night they host Mexican 1st division club Dorados up in Blaine. That will make for five games in seven days. The club continues to scuffle. The Thunder (4-5-6) have played six of their last seven games at home--but have managed just five points from those contests. They currently sit 10th in the 12-team table. However, in terms of points per game (the most accurate indicator of how a team is doing), the Thunder are actually in 7th place, just behind the Atlanta Silverbacks. In other words, despite playing mediocre to poor throughout the first half of the season, the Thunder are just one team back from the playoff drop zone. Three points are vital tonight, especially considering that the squad will now hit the road for four of its next five games.

Damian Stewart is a vicious thug.

Holy moldy tomatoes. Holy curly tales of war pigs. Good glory god Billy joe shaver. I started to write this post last night--or was that early this morning?--but then realized that the breathalizer was flashing red alerts.

For a legitimate game report you'll have to go elsewhere, but the Minnesota Thunder triumphed 6-4 last night over Real Salt Lake. Yeah, that's right--6-4. The good guys trailed three different times. Regulation ended 4-4. Jason Kreiss netted a hat trick for RSL. But unlike in recent matches, the Thunder were dogged, relentless--indomitable. They definitely ate their okra before this one.

Johnny Menyongar played like he had flaming chili peppers shooting out of his ass. Like Brett Boone on steroids. He was a dynamo for 120 minutes, abusing the RSL defense in a manner unsuitable for children to witness. The rest of the squad (well maybe not the defense) was almost as terrific.

Boy was that one sad Salt Lake bench at the end of the game.  Those guys looked like they'd just been drafted into the Iraqi police force. I don't think they really appreciated our singing: "It's just like playing Chivas!"

Friday, friday, friday: Montreal Impact, free beer, free food, Artie Kramer kissing booth.

Huge week underway for the (not so) mighty Minnesota Thunder (4-5-5). On Sunday night they blew a two-goal lead and had to settle for a dispiriting tie in their rematch with the Seattle Sounders. I can't remember a time when a tie felt more like a loss. The only pleasant moment was when Thunder defender Chris Brunt, responding to an elbow from Roger Levesque, shoved the dirty face-kicker over the boards and into the stands. They both got yellow cards for that confrontation.

I forgot to wear my glasses, so am a somewhat untrustworthy analyst. But it seemed to me that Thunder goalkeeper Joe Warren could have done better on the two Sounders goals, particularly the first one, headed in off a long throw in. Joe is a very big boy. He should be able to control the box like a third-world despot.

No time to wallow in the funk though. Tomorrow the Thunder will be back at it, hosting MLS debutantes Real Salt Lake in a U.S. Open Cup match. The Utahans got humiliated on Saturday night against the incredibly stinky Chivas USA, losing 5-1. Hopefully their swoon will continue at The Jimmy. Kickoff is at 7:00 p.m.

I spoke briefly on the phone today with RSL goalkeeper DJ Countess while the team was waiting to board an airplane. The transcript will be posted at Blue Sky soon. Coach John Ellinger was supposed to call as well, but I never heard from him. Probably a wise decision on his part. 

On Friday the Thunder will host the defending league champions, the Montreal Impact. These freaks are yet to lose. They are 8-0-4. The game will be on national television (FSC). We are buying a keg of Grain Belt and lots of brats and will be dispensing it free of charge in the Central High School parking lot. That's right: free beer! This is probably not legal. Everyone must show up. Attendance is mandatory. Tailgating will commence at 4 p.m.; kickoff is at 7:00.

There is more to say, but I've run out of time. Some other day perhaps.

"Everybody should gamble--and those who don't I have no respect for." -- attorney Joe Friedberg, speaking on the O'Connell-Rosenbaum show this morning.

I once wrote a profile of a guy named Danny DiLiberto. He was one of the greatest pool players that ever lived. He'd also been a professional boxer and a semipro baseball player. Most of all, though, DiLiberto was a hustler. He was 64 at the time that I wrote the piece and claimed to have never worked a steady job in his life. (Shortly after my story came out, he was indicted on cocaine trafficking charges, but was ultimately exonerated.) He was a funny, arrogant, tough little son of a bitch. And he would gamble on anything at any time.

Luck wasn't exactly shining on DiLiberto by the time I caught up with him in Hollywood, Florida, though. He had prostrate cancer. He was legally blind from cataracts. He was largely trying to "make the nut" by betting on simulcast dog races in West Memphis, Arkansas. Each afternoon he'd go down to the Hollywood Greyhound Race Track and sit in one of those plastic chairs with a TV attached to it that you generally only see in really seedy bus stations and scream bloody murder at some drugged up dog running around a dirt oval a thousand miles away.

It was a bit depressing, but here's the rub: I'd rather spend six months straight at a dog track with Danny DiLiberto than I would five minutes with Tom Prichard or any of the other goofball jackasses who are morally opposed to gambling.

But the real point of this post is to point out that it's now legal to hold poker tournaments in Minnesota bars. Under the following restrictions: Players can't be charged tournament entry fees and the payouts can't be more than $200. 

A couple of degenerate gamblers that I know have started a company called Chippy Poker. They're running tournaments at bars across the metro area. Tonight's is at the legendary BeBop in Blaine!  

 

Greg Andrulis was fired today. It's about time he was justly rewarded for his complete and utter shittiness. Congratulations Greg!

Dismal proceedings at The Jimmy last Saturday evening. The Minnesota Thunder (4-4-4) played their best home game of the season against the Seattle Sounders--only to lose 3-1. In the first half they were flying around the field like meth-heads. Midfielders Freddy Juarez and Godfrey Tenoff, in particular, were tremendous winning and distributing balls. The Thunder went into halftime with a deserved 1-0 lead, courtesy of a Johnny Menyongar tap in.

They then proceeded to get pasted in the second half--although it wasn't entirely the team's fault. The Thunder immediately gave up an equalizer (which I missed because I was in the parking lot drinking beer). Then the Sounders' Brent Whitfield unleashed a crackerjack volley that the Thunder players could only drop their jaws at and admire: 2-1 bad dudes.

This is when things got really ugly. With the Thunder pushing forward for the equalizer--and therefore vulnerable to counterattacks--Seattle's Roger Levesque broke in on goal. Thunder goalkeeper Joe Warren was quick off his line, though, and cradled the ball at the top of the box just before Levesque could get to it. As Warren lay on the ground Levesque then appeared to kick the goalkeeper in the face, causing the ball to squirt free. This would seem to be an obvious foul--and likely a red card--but referee Marcel Yonan swallowed his whistle. The Sounders then proceeded to score on an empty net: 3-1. In the ensuing fracas, two Thunder players were booked for dissent.

It was an outrage. A travesty. The worst mscarriage of justice since Kenny Lee was suspended from the James M. Bennett High School varsity soccer team for underage drinking.

The Thunder will get their chance for revenge soon though. They battle the Rochester Raging Rhinos tonight at 6:35 CST in New York. Then on Sunday it's back to The Jimmy for a 7:05 rematch with the Sounders.

We will be sending our love to Roger Levesque:

Levesque, Levesque, we're gonna break your neck.

from the smoking gun

My cat just brought in another baby rabbit. I think my neighbor's raising the critters. I've got a real genocide on my hands. This bunny was very much alive, though. I harassed Bunky into dropping the poor thing. Then I proceeded to chase it around my kitchen for 20 minutes with a kitty litter scoop (should've gone for the larger dust pan), until finally tossing it out the door. Now I'm all sweaty and am gonna have Watership Down nightmares. Must drink more Carlo Rossi.

I caught a decent chunk of this on The Current yesterday and enjoyed the piss out of it. It was much much more than 50 songs. They should've skipped Delaware. You can listen to the whole damn beautiful thing here. Some songs I would have included:

1. "I've Been to Georgia on a Fast Train"-- Billy Joe Shaver

Admittedly Georgia is probably the toughest state in the union to pair down because there are so many damn good songs--why is that?--but this is one of my all time favorite redneck anthems.

2. "Girl From Immokalee" -- Raiford Starke                            

Yeah, nobody's ever heard of this dude. I don't think he ever plays outside Florida. The one album of his that I own isn't all that good, but this track--about a dude who loves a girl from Immokalee--kicks serious ass.

3. "Paradise" -- John Prine

Hands down the best song ever written about coal mining. (Take that Loretta Lynn"!) Kentucky's another state with a disproportionately large number of great songs. In fact the south as a whole is much more likely to inspire the musical muse of its inhabitants. This weekend at a bbq some folks were talking about how we might be better off if the South had triumphed in the Civil War. Now I realize that this kind of speculation is probably offensive for all sorts of reasons--and these people were obviously joking--but secession would definitely leave us a musically weaker country. It's something that should be considered if this secession talk gets serious.

4. "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request" -- Steve Goodman

It'd have to be a live version. The song just doesn't work nearly as good in the studio. You need the audience response to fully appreciate Goodman's comic genius.

5. "Streets of Baltimore" -- Gram Parsons

Maryland really got the shaft in The Current's list. What's up with that? Maryland, being my home state, is way, way, way cooler than Delaware--despite the geographic proximity. And "Streets of Baltimore" is a way cooler Gram Parsons song than "Colorado," which actually made the cut. I also love "There's A Girl in the Heart of Maryland," but I'd probably  have to go with the Goodman version and I don't want to have two selection from him (even though he's the man.)

6. "Baltimore" -- Five Chinese Brothers

Yeah, that's right, TWO songs about Baltimore. It's such a way cool town. And this song is like the story of my life. I still listen to the freaking Orioles games on the radio every few weeks. Except now I listen on-line and don't have to try and pick up the signal from St. Paul.

This could go on and on and on and on. I don't know how they ever paired that list down to a reasonable length.