I’m talking to you, Sports Guy. This will be the most dizzying Sunday in the history of televised athletics. Until the next one.
So get to work. Find those keys. I’m guessing they’re in precisely the same place you dropped them after yesterday’s beer run.
Take a deep breath, if you can, and take inventory.
Beverages? Check. Beans and wieners? Check. Crunchy snacks and a vat of gooey orange-colored garnish with zero nutritional value? Check.
Batteries for the remote control? Hey, this is no time to gamble. Better buy new ones and make sure they have a brand name.
Once morning morphs into afternoon, you won’t be leaving the house. And look at yourself welded to the recliner, sweat-stained Budweiser Racing hat atop your thinning mane, belly protruding from an ill-fitting, outdated Nomar jersey. This won’t inspire your significant other to run any emergency errands for you.
We’ll start off slowly, probably because the sporting gods knew our overly taxed arteries couldn’t tolerate too much excitement right off the bat.
Fore! For what?
First, there’s the final day of the Ryder Cup starting at noon, a biannual golf match between the most beloved golfers in the United States and their snooty, evil counterparts from Europe.
Yes, people actually watch golf on television. There’s even a 24-hour-a-day network devoted exclusively to it. And trust me, if you’ve invested even one hour of your life in a home shopping channel or a show with the word “makeover” in its title, you are in no position to deliver a snide retort.
So anyway, this is a big golf match and a bigger source of national pride. Is anything more American than watching our boys overpower a helpless opponent between commercials for Cadillac, Macintosh and Viagra? I think not.
With one hour elapsed in that colossal clobbering and merely five to go, your day of testosterone overload gets infinitely tougher. Golf’s headed straight to the back burner, but good luck deciding what replaces it.
Sitting out Sox game
Red Sox-Yankees? In mid-September? That used to be a no-brainer until some of us decided watching beach volleyball was a pleasant alternative to having our heart ripped out.
This season’s different, they tell me. True believers cite that tremendous August winning streak. Too bad there’s a logical explanation. None of those games were against the Yankees.
Besides, you’re one of the many thousand folks on a waiting list for a ticket at New Hampshire International Speedway. Your only recourse, for now, is watching the Sylvania 300 on TNT. You turn up the surround sound to simulate car noise. You sniff the Budweiser hat, just in case there are any lingering gas fumes from the ride-on lawn mower.
In a moment of clarity, you realize that the final 25 laps are the only essential viewing in a 317-mile race. So you surf.
The New York Giants are playing on FOX.
Their revolving scoreboard reminds you that there’s an alternate National Football League game on CBS.
Wait! Manny Ramirez just homered. Or was it Alex Rodriguez?
Hey! That chunky dude who just sliced that little white ball into the pines, was it Phil Mickelson or Darren Clarke?
Whoa! Tony Stewart just hit the wall. His tantrum begins momentarily.
Help! You look at the clock. Soon it will be 4:15, time for the New England Patriots’ kickoff against the Arizona Cardinals. Panic sets in. Potentially, four major events and two post-game highlight shows running simultaneously.
What would a former sportswriter do?
Hey, that “former” is there for a reason. If the weather’s nice, you might find me picking apples or taking a walk around the neighborhood, carrying my Walkman and hoping for the best.
Just don’t hold it against me if I include four AAA batteries, orange goop and a Curt Schilling jersey on my shopping list this weekend. Old habits die hard.
Former sportswriter Kalle Oakes is the Sun Journal’s staff columnist. He may be reached by e-mail at koakes@sunjournal.com.
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