Craig’s Eggs Installment #6 – Sometimes Eggs Are Better Eaten Cold

(The Mac T is back and he is bent. I warned you we’d all be in his cross hairs. For the record, I don’t own a Blackberry or any other form of smartphone.)

Okay, so I go for a 3-day weekend to take a little R&R in Cleveburg golfing during an away OSU non-game like Purdue. That’s how you do “it” during football season. Nice fill–in video, Mr. Editor. You guessed my cameo appearance, I mean MIA routine quite well. Except I wasn’t sitting in a crib, but was fetal in a steamer trunk with a tennis ball in my mouth with fire dragon red lipstick smeared under the duct tape with a pink tube top and yellow banana hammock and aqua tutu wearing tube socks and black high-tops with my hands tied behind my back – as the rumor goes. That’s why I couldn’t answer your insipid Crackberry taunts. Better yet, I drank a boilermaker (a shot of whiskey dropped into a beer) and was sick for the weekend. Only an engineer could come up with that swill.

This is exactly what I was afraid of, succumbing to the pressure of far away Doppelgangers. Thomas Haynes Bayly (or THB to his posse) wasn’t right when he said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Take that poignant placard off your guest bathroom wall that you bought at a garage sale or got from your mother-in-law who got it at a flea market and gave to you for your wedding. “Distance makes nimrods with Crackberries ping you harder” and more frequently which is tough to answer when you’re hog-tied. And, now the tail is wagging the dog.

All right you bastards, here are the ground rules for getting under my skin like the bunch of chiggers that you are:

I am like Andy Rooney. I would rather be down by the creek pounding two rocks together in my whitey tighties than chatting with you for the 10th time this week. My wife’s beginning to wonder about us. But, I digress. There is/was a game to address.

Sure, Purdue had great stats in the newspaper with a contemporary, prolific Joe Tiller spread offense. I am the Egg Man and Joe Tiller is the Walrus. Hear me roar, “Goo Goo Ga Jube.” He might look big, but I can hit JT over the nose with a rolled up newspaper easier than I can to my brain dead dog. With warning beeper blaring, the Buckeyes came into town and backed up a truck full of whoop-ass and as the Boilermakers stood patiently, dumped a pile on their heads. Tiller yes, but I wouldn’t mess with Lou Hotz. Lou once said “Dogs don’t bark at parked cars.” But, if they did, Lou would know what to do with it. So would I, get 20 drunk co-eds, flip it and burn it – win or lose then saunter off nonchalantly as the police arrive.

QB Painter was so cool, fragile, and patient. I want his blood pressure. I thought I was watching a re-enactment of a high school game. Did you see that crappy Roosevelt-era stadium? I wonder if they even have toilets. I bet the “Big house” has at least two more on each side. “Hell, coach… I’d loved to come from Los Angeles to come play here any day… what, and it snows… hey, where’s the bathroom?”

The Purdue fans were so well-behaved I thought I was at a Miami of Ohio game without the sweaters and Weejuns. What did they do, practice their cheers in their dorms for five weeks to get bitch-slapped by a team who’s fans flip cars and burn dumpsters? Here’s a hint, until you have some passion about the sport, you’re never going to win.

Remember, my “Nice Guy” diatribe from my Washington game installment? Add Joe Tiller to Craig’s List. That’s right, Al Gore and I invented that too, and we’re rich – stinkin’ rich with the love of our misguided followers. Al and I have matching parkas for the Ice Age that’s coming in 2010 when we’re releasing our 2nd book How to Get Rich When the Weather Changes. It’s also convenient to write about something that already happened. I helped Newt Gingrich with his last book, When Monkeys Flew Out of My Butt. I see winning a Pulitzer…

Face it. There’s nothing satisfying about playing Purdue, before, during or after the game. You might as well merge both Iowa and Purdue football teams to make one decent team out of the combo. Maybe I can send a memo to their presidents with these selling points:

Let’s call it “Iado” (i – uh – doo), then they can have four-sided stadium chant that a drunk can remember or any foreign exchange student pronounce like “O. H. I. O!” It’s easy to text to friends when you’re sitting at an airport taunting your buddies – THAT DON’T POSSESS A CRACKBERRY!

The Purdue game was so one-sided that at the sports bar, I watched the LSU Florida game and cheered for Florida so NostroJimma’s prophecy could come true for a BCS rematch. But, it wasn’t to be. You know how LSU figured out Florida’s plays? It wasn’t when Tebow counted his fingers when he was figuring out downs, but when his lips moved while reading the plays off his wrist. Speaking of relaxing academic standards… He does have one thing going for him. USC’s (University of Spoiled Children) John Wayne Booty is injured, so there will be at least one guy behind TT at Heisman time. OSU needs the rematch because I have so much new material for “The Love Boat” installment.

Thank all of you for antagonizing the writer’s block out of me. There has to be a statistic that there’s more Monday road rage due to Starbucks drinkers having no chits left on their coffee cards. Oh, to see the sandals and fanny packs flying.

Next week, I promise to be on time. I’ve been secretly compiling a list of inane recurring themes for a crossword puzzle. Al and Newt are going to be so jealous when it’s in the NewYork Times. It’s hard to cheat on my puzzles because there’s no “windowlickers” in the dictionary.

Lastly, I’m seriously disappointed that no missile scientist has been able to solve my movie trivia quote for “Outstanding, Red Team… get that man a case of PBR.” Name the actor and movie and you’ll win a get out of jail free pass from my maligning you for one year. So, you’re all fair game…

Sincerely,

Captain Stubing