Good morning…
It is currently 2:45AM eastern time as I lounge delicately in my 2014 Ford Fiesta hatchback (“The Silver Sex Machine”). For those keeping score at home, the US government has identified my contributions to society as “essential.” In other words, while all you insignificant blowhards are blistering through White Claws and chucking up air balls on Hinge, I’m keeping this country the fuck alive. Feel free to thank me for my service…
Anyway, I have not a single blog post to my name in over 2 months. My WordPress app is shrouded in dust. The peanut gallery cackles as local newspaper editors finalize drafts of my obituary. I am nothing but a punch line in a sea of sick jokes.
However, in the words of Rocky Balboa: “I didn’t hear no bell.”
Earlier this week, CEO Joe informed me of a virtual chip off tournament that Branded planned to host this weekend (today). He mentioned he had an open spot to fill, and well, it’s impolite to turn down a meal.
Does is matter I’d be running on little sleep? Does it matter I haven’t picked up a club in over a year? Does it matter I’d presumably be the only New England representation in the entire tournament?
No, because when adversity knocks, I open the door…
I’m not someone who looks for the decision. I don’t squirm at the sight of blood or hail the lifeboats upon a leak. Long story short, I’m a fucking world-class athlete and it doesn’t matter if we’re talking Spikeball, chinese checkers, or the annual family Easter egg hunt—if there’s an opportunity to metaphorically snap someone’s neck and dance on their brains, I show up in steel toes.
As fate would have it, I’ve been granted a first round bye. The cupcakes will have their pillow fights starting at 11AM and the fireworks will commence at 4. I’m not about to lose to a flock of cheesesteak-eating, cracked bell-worshipping perennial losers. Vince Papale ain’t walkin’ through that door…