It was Hog Heaven

.... on Saturday night in Canton, Ohio, as the two biggest Redskins legends of my childhood, WR Art Monk and CB Darrell Green, were inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Green was a deserved first ballot Hall of Famer but Monk had to ridiculously wait for nearly a decade before finally receiving his bust. Monk was the last of the 6 enshrinees to be introduced and when he finally stepped to the podium, Redskins fans gave him an unprecedented 4 minute standing ovation. Reporters were shocked, saying they had never seen one team's fans take over Canton the way the Redskins fans did on Saturday night but I am not surprised. For whatever reason, our fans always took it personally that Monk wasn't in the Hall of Fame and when they finally let him in, Skins fans wanted to be there, too.

I'm not trying to say that Washington, D.C. is the best sports city in America. It's not. It's honestly not even close. The Wizards have a loyal following but it's small. The Capitals' following is microscopic. We didn't even have a Major League Baseball franchise in D.C. during my lifetime until 2005. But our fans have always been there for the Redskins. Home games are always sold out, no matter how bad the team is. The season ticket waiting list has thousands and thousands of names on it, including my own. When my father graduated from Georgetown in 1972, he put his name on the waiting list and had to wait nearly 20 years before he finally got the call. Most season ticket holders in the lower bowl have had their seats for generations.

You have to understand that Redskins fans are true fans. We aren't like garbage Philadelphia fans, constantly bickering and whining about their first place teams and/or All-Star players. We stand by our team and our players no matter what. We aren't like New York fans with their loyalties split between over a half dozen franchises. All we really care about in Washington is the Redskins. And we certainly aren't like worthless Dallas "Fans" who come out of the woodwork when and only when the Cowboys are having a good season. I've been going to Redskins-Cowboys games since I was a little kid and you could put me in the stadium at kickoff and I could immediately tell you whether Dallas was having a good season based on how many of their "Fans" were in attendance.

I wasn't surprised at all to see the Redskins fans come out in droves last night. For Darrell Green it was well deserved and for Art Monk it was way, way overdue. Redskins fans take great pride in our past successes that include multiple Super Bowl titles and multiple Hall of Famers. As for Philadelphia fans - At least they had that great Arena Bowl Champions Parade to go to. Congratulations on your football world championship, Philly.


Okay, okay. Enough about the Redskins. (Although, you may as well get used to it because in a few weeks Redskins talk will make up roughly 50% of this stupid blog's content.) Tuesday in San Diego was fun but Wednesday was wild. Even Scotty's hungover, wet-blanket routine couldn't slow us down on Wednesday. So, here we go, the final part of the San Diego Trilogy.


Warning: Today's blog is very, very long. Even by the standards of a guy who is notoriously long-winded and loves to read his own stupid banter. Seriously, this thing is going to take a while to plow through. I highly doubt that I'll be able to hold the attention of the majority of you throughout (Looking at you, AB) but to those of you who actually make it to the end - Allow me to thank you in advance.



WEDNESDAY

I had planned on waking up early on Wednesday morning so I could head downstairs for the complementary breakfast and perhaps take in the "Sights." That didn't happen. Getting out of bed in the morning is hard enough. Getting out of bed when Jorgen is there is downright impossible. I don't know how Amanda does it.

We decided to take a train, The Pacific Coaster, to Del Mar on Wednesday. It was actually pretty strong, as it went right along the Pacific Ocean for much of the trip. While we were waiting for our train to arrive, the four of us were sitting in a relatively crowded train station. Jorgen was wearing a purple striped button down shirt (I thought he hated purple?), jeans, and his circa 1980s Top Gun aviator sunglasses. He looked ridiculous. We were sitting across from each other, when he started to make unfunny jokes about my little sister. That lead to this very public exchange:

Me: So, that's really the shirt you chose to wear, huh?

Jorgen: (No response.)

(Random people sitting in the train station start laughing.)

Me: Did you not have any other clothes left?

Jorgen: (Still searching for a response.)

(Random people continue to laugh and are joined by Graham and Hoffman.)

Me: Or did someone steal your bag?

Jorgen: (Still nothing.)


He really does have a way with words.

After we got off the train in Del Mar, we had to take a double decker bus over to the racetrack. I ended up sitting next to the Swedish kid and right in front of us sat a very MILFy brunette. The MILF's seat wasn't very sturdy and when she leaned back, she practically fell into Jorgen's lap. When she apologized for this, Jorgen, in that ridiculous getup I described earlier mind you, told her that he didn't mind at all in a very suggestive voice. Let's just say that a few minutes later, when this woman and her family wanted to take a picture in front of the racetrack, they asked me to do it instead of talking to Jorgen again. What a perv.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it. We got killed at Del Mar on Wednesday. It wasn't pretty. We didn't even last all 8 races. (The boys left after our late Pick 4 ticket went up in flames in the 6th.) We did manage to see some crazy hot girls at least. There was this one chick in a white dress and VERY visible underwear who seemed to be everywhere we went. (Maybe because we were actively stalking her.) Her boyfriend was literally cupping her ass for most of the day and never let her leave his side. He may as well have taken a piss all around her. There was this other chick sitting in the same row as us who had the face of a 15-year-old and blatantly fake jugs of a porn star. (Perhaps in San Diego, rich girls get implants for their 14th birthday? Who knows?) Either way, it did lead to this funny exchange with "The H":

Hoffman (staring at the girl): Dude, those tits are awesome.

Me (glancing over): Yeah, they really are.

Hoffman (never stopped staring): Dude.

Me (now looking in another direction): Yeah, I know.

Hoffman (finally looks away): Dude, I just got big time caught staring.

Me: Dude....


We got back to our hotel around 6 PM, just in time to catch the Embassy Suites Happy Hour, which was literally an open bar from 5:30-7:30. To say we took advantage of that open bar would be like saying that the degenerates at the SuperBook take advantage of the fact that we don't have a drink ticket system. Within 15 minutes of sitting down, Graham, Jorgie, Hoffy, and I were all double fisting everytime we went up there. And the bartenders loved us because we were throwing them nice tips. Meanwhile, this was easily the strangest place I have ever got drunk in. The four of us were the only ones really abusing the hotel's nice offer. Everyone else was just sitting there with their families, enjoying the free snacks and drinks and having a good time. I remember seeing this one little kid climb over Hoffy about five times. Meanwhile, he's throwing back alcohol like a fraternity pledge.

There was this one MILF walking around the room that we couldn't take our eyes off. (Well most of us couldn't take our eyes off her. Hoffman was busy checking out this one chick in a towel that he claimed would be hot in "Like five years." He was right but that's really not the point.) Anyways, this woman knew exactly what she was doing parading herself in front of our table, while her kids sat across the room. She was insanely hot. She may have been even hotter than the legendary HCM. This lady was so hot I was certain that Jorgen was going to have to excuse himself and go up to the room for a few minutes. (Yeah, I went there.)

By the time the bar finally cut us off, we were all geared up to hit the Gaslamp District. Between the beers we had at Del Mar and the open bar at the Embassy Suites, we had done more drinking than most people usually do during a night on the town and it was only 7:30. We decided to go out to dinner and ended up at a place Jorgie recommended called the Rock Bottom Brewery. It was pretty strong but Hoffman complained the whole time about how eating was going to make him drowsy later. (In his defense, he was absolutely right.) Graham had a LOT to drink at the open bar and he started dozing off during dinner. In fact, he didn't even make it through the entire meal. Once he got the okay from Jorgen that the Swede was picking up the tab, our fearless Coordinator was on his way out the door and back to the hotel room to pass out.

And then there were three.

We aimlessly wandered the streets for a while, looking for a bar to go in to. Eventually, I was stopped outside the bar by this stupid drunk kid, telling me why I should go into this place called The Bitter End. (A very fitting name for a bar we spent our last night in San Diego in because believe me: When you go on a vacation with The Hoff, that last night really is the bitter end.) When the drunk kid ran off, I made a joke to the chick working the door that he seemed like he may have been drinking. When this kind of, sort of, cute girl laughed at my jokes, I knew this was the place for us. We go into this bar, buy a round of drinks, and decide to head downstairs to watch the "Live music." We get down there and the scene is uber lame. There was this group of four dorky looking young kids playing covers of other bands' songs. The kid on the piano looked like Napoleon Dynamite and the rest of them looked like the members of Weezer, minus the talents of one Rivers Cuomo. There was this one babe working behind the bar down there but we knew it was time to move back upstairs.

Jorgie and I had fun at this place but Hoffman wasn't really feeling it. In fact, he threatened to go home at one point, while complaining that he just wanted to be back at his place in Vegas. (Well, I'm glad you came then, guy.) I don't know why he was so down on the place. The girls drinking there were pretty cute. The girls working there were more than cute. And the drinks weren't even that expensive. Plus, Jorgen was starting to push through the "Drunk" phase and into that phase where you are saying completely nonsensical things while your friends laugh at you and hope no one is offended. Our cue to leave The Bitter End came with this exchange between Jorgen and the nice lady bartender, who was probably in her late 30s:

Jorgen: Do you know where we can find some hot older women?

Bartender: What do you mean?

Jorgen: Like a bar with hot MILFs.

Bartender: Oh, I don't know. I really don't go out much. I work at a bar five days a week.

Jorgen: Well, where do you drink then?

Bartender: Usually at home.

Jorgen: You're an alcoholic.

Bartender: I'm not an alcoholic....

Jorgen: You're a racist!


At this point, Hoffy and I felt it was probably time to get out of there.

Once outside the door, we ran into the same girl I had talked to before we went in. Again, Jorgen felt the need to ask about where he could find a hot older chick:

Jorgen: Where can we find older girls?

Door Girl: What do you mean?

Me: He wants to find like older women....

Door Girl: Oh, you mean like, cougars? I really don't know. I just moved here.

Me (Seizing the opportunity to mock): Yeah he wants a cougar and my other buddy here is looking for a nice high school girl.

(Glare from "The H.")

Door Girl: Well, what are you looking for?

Jorgen: John's gay!

(Glare from me.)

Door Girl: (Laughing at us)


It was time to head to the next bar.

I can't remember what the next bar was called but I do remember Jorgen stealing the show in there. I don't know if Jorgen hit a Pick 3 while no one was looking or what, but the kid was constantly up at the bar buying us all another round. He even got yelled at by the MILFy Brazilian waitress in our section because he kept going up to the bar.

There was this very young looking couple at the table next to us that Jorgen was fascinated by. The guy was a typical no-personality douchebag with a hot girlfriend. And the girl was.... Wow. She was legitimately beautiful. And she was dying to dance with Mr. D-Bag, who just wasn't feeling it. When this lovely young lady got up to use the jon, our man "The Y" decided to go over to her boyfriend and sit down next to him. Hoffman was concerned that there would be a fight but I reassured him that Mr. Hot Girlfriend over there was not the fighting type. (I think Jorgen could've put his sack on the kid's forehead without him fighting back.) So, Jorgen is over there chatting with this kid, who was drinking water by the way, and offers to buy him a drink. The next time our waitress comes by, Jorgen actually buys this kid a drink, a red bull and Vodka.

In other words, Hoffman, Johnson, and I are sitting at a table, just the three of us guys. And one of us buys a drink for another guy. I wonder what the waitress thought....

Jorgen is not slowing down at all and I'm doing my best to keep up with the Cyclone, switching from beer to mixed drinks. Meanwhile, "The H" is quietly keeping to himself and making faces at me and basically anyone who looks over at him. (Mental note: Trips with Hoffman should be two nights maximum.) At one point, Jorgen flips over his empty glass and yells out that "The Y is ready to party!" I proceeded to turn the glass back over and put the ice back into it. Someone has to be the sensible one.

There was a period of 5-10 minutes during which this beautiful girl was dancing in front of her mindless boyfriend and I don't think any one spoke the entire time. Except for Jorgen, of course. He continued to yell at this guy for not dancing with her. Poor kid. Eventually, this couple disappeared into the night and Jorgen finally let it go. (Or just forgot about it. I'm really not sure.)

When you're at a bar in San Diego and the clock strikes 2 A.M., it's time to go. The security guards combed the area quickly, making sure everyone got out of that place ASAP. This isn't really an unusual practice but it can be kind of strange when you are used to going out in Las Vegas.

At this point, there was nothing left to do but get Jorgen home. This proved to be more difficult than I had hoped, as everyone's favorite Swede was more interested in making drunk phone calls to people back in Iowa than he was in going to bed. We crept down the street, begging Jorgen to follow us, when a guy on a bike pulling a cart behind him came up to me and Scott. He offered to take all three of us back to our hotel for $10, an offer I was ready to jump at. Scotty and I agreed but unfortunately Jorgie had other plans: Johnson was sitting on the ground, in front of an adult bookstore with a huge picture of Jesse Jane, sending drunk text messages and calling people. Scott and I pleaded with him to come with us back to the hotel but he adamently refused. I apologized to the biker and he pedaled on.

Police cars were circling the area and Hoffy started yelling at Jorgen to stand up, so that none of them would approach him/us. Scott and I walked back over to Jorgen, got him to his feet, and seemingly convinced him that it was time to go back to the room. I waited for another of those bikers to come by and when I saw one coming around the corner, I flagged him down. Turns out it was the same guy I had turned away about five minutes earlier. He again agreed to give us a ride back to our hotel for $10 but again Jorgen refused to come along. I tried to confiscate his cell phone but he refused and kept making calls. (Like you've never drunk dialed someone before. Don't judge The Jorgmeister.) I could tell that Hoffy was ready to leave him, so I asked the guy how much it would cost to take just one person home. He paused for a second, considering this turn of events, and then told me that it was still $10. Pass. I apologized to this guy for a second time, he laughed, and pedaled away into the night. People in San Diego are so nice.

Somehow, we managed to coax Jorgen back to the hotel room but after Hoffman passed out on the sofa bed, Jorgie snuck out into the stairwell to make more phone calls. Knowing he would regret this in the morning (I've been there, bro), I went out there to once again try to confiscate his cell phone. He refused. I managed to get him back into the hotel room and thought the night was over but he snuck back outside while I was in the jon. Dude.... I went back out there again and finally managed to lure him back into the room and to bed but not before we embraced in a quick man hug. We finally passed out and Wednesday was a wrap.


THURSDAY

I have made a lot of stupid drunk phone calls in my lifetime and believe me it sucks the next morning. It's especially disheartening when you look into your Outbox and see the ridiculous nonsense you sent to your friends the night before. Here is an actual text Jorgen sent to a friend in Iowa:

Sorr8t...i su2ck at liefe. z9xoua.


The man is an animal. I consider him a young me.

We stopped at Graham's house outside Los Angeles, for a desparately needed home-cooked meal. (Special thanks to Mrs. Graham for that.) Then it was back to Vegas for some much needed sleep. (It was a long car trip. I know that Jorgie, Hoffy, and I were especially feeling it.) All in all, it was a very fun time, even though my buddy Bhushan didn't come. Hopefully, he'll make it to the next one. And you're all invited, as well.

In closing, I will ask you all to guess which one of these trip stories/statements is FALSE. Enjoy.

1. Jorgen did not bring his big red man purse to San Diego.

2. In a hungover daze, I read a text message from Amanda on Jorgen's cell phone, thinking it was for me.

3. At the final bar we went to, Jorgen grabbed a hot girl's butt while he was waiting to buy us a round of drinks.

4. At the Padres game on Tuesday night, a girl was running from section to section trying to get the wave started. During the 8th inning, when Hoffman went to the bathroom, he saw her being carried out of the stadium over her boyfriend's shoulder.

5. Hoffman bet over $1,000 on the 3 game series between the Diamondbacks and Padres.


The item from Monday that did NOT happen was #4. Jorgen did not take a piss outside of Kansas City Barbecue. But he did pose for a picture there in his Top Gun sunglasses. What a guy.

I was surprised to see that "Haven't Seen It" won a close race in my poll asking what you guys thought of The Dark Knight. For those of you who haven't seen it: What exactly are you waiting for? Also interesting is that out of 16 voters, not even one person thought the film was overrated. My Mom is apparently going to be seeing it tomorrow. I look forward to hearing her review and will try to pass it along to the blogosphere. There is literally no possible reaction from her that would surprise me. She could say just about anything. This is a woman who recently bought a new refrigerator and new stove for her kitchen, apparently without measuring either of them. When she realized they didn't fit, she simply stormed out of the house in a huff instead of dealing with the problem. She was so mad that she left our poor dog at the vet for seven hours by mistake. (From what I hear, he was very upset when she finally came to pick him up.)

I'm putting up a new poll, I'm putting up some new pictures, and then I'm going into hiatus for a while. I did a phenomenal amount of writing over the last three days for a guy who doesn't get paid any money for it. I hope you all enjoyed the San Diego Trilogy because I'll be off for a while. Ross has had some very strong filings recently and hopefully Bennett will resurrect his blog. We'd all love to hear from MikeyMillz, as well.

I'm not working today, providing me ample time to complain about how horrendously bad the New York Mets are, watch the Cup race this morning, and enjoy tonight's Redskins preseason game with my buddy, Franco Cortes.






Enjoy the Trilogy.