Elle Severe Presents

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Superbowl

In Life, Musings, Random, Sports on August 9, 2012 by Pabby MFNP

Back in January of 2002, I had the good fortune of going to Superbowl 36 to watch my beloved Patriots beat the Rams for their first superbowl win ever.  Going to that game was probably one of the greatest things that will ever happen to me.  Also, some day when my days are drawing to a close, and I’m saying my final words, I will think about that game and give the details to whatever family member is present,  or orderly or whatever the case may be.  But before I do, I will detail the story of what happened on the way to the Superbowl as this memory is near and dear to my heart and quite possibly the funniest thing that I have ever seen.

So when the Patriots made it to the Superbowl during the 2001 season, I made it clear to everyone that I was going to go this game come hell or high water, which as it turns out this was very prophetic.  Also, this was the only time in my life where I said I was leaving to go do something and if I’m not wanted when I come back, then so be it.   Thankfully, I still had a girlfriend and job when I got back.  But in any case, I was determined to go because it felt like as New England fans we were finally getting some luck.  We had spent countless years being let down by the Sox and the other sports teams.  But there was something special happening with the Patriots.  Sure, no one thought we could beat the Rams but we had a chance and who knows when we would ever get back there.  So I had to go.  So my friend Dave and I loaded up my father’s van and began the drive from God’s country, Dorchester, Massachusetts to New Orleans and we didn’t look back.

Dave and I were thrilled to be going on a cross-mid-country adventure. But just like most trips like this, it’s real fun at first and  then it drags.  On the ride down, we debated who should be the starting quarterback, Bledsoe or Brady. He was a fervent Bledsoe fan but so was I until it was very clear that Brady was the better quarterback for this team. This argument got us through New York until I just couldn’t talk about it anymore. Surprisingly, we would still have this argument on the way home, even after Brady was clearly better choice. It’s possible that even now after all that has happened, he might still argue for Bledsoe.  But when we hit Pennsylvania, the drive just dragged and dragged. It was raining miserably. A lot of the scenery was extremely depressing. Billy Joel’s “Allentown” was playing in a continuous loop in my head. “And we’re living here in Allentown and they’re closing all the factories down.  Out in Hmmm hmmm hmmm, they’re killing time.  Standing in line.  Filling out forms.”  (I don’t know all the words) This continued for what seemed like an eternity but then something so beautiful happened, so poignant, so unbelievable that I am sure I will be telling my grand kids about it someday.

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Wide World of Whitebread Sports

In Life, Musings, Random, Sports on August 1, 2012 by WhiteBread

With 2 weeks of overbearing Olympic coverage spanning multiple media outlets, haunting my every waking moment, all the hoopla really got me thinking: what qualifies some of these sports to be worthy of an Olympic level?  Equestrian?  Really?  Hey lady riding that horse, who’s actually doing all the work here?   You can have that gold medal after the horse gets on your back and you jumped over fences  (actually, that would be awesome to watch).  Trampoline?  This sport should only be deemed Olympic worthy if the rules limited participants to ages 6 to 11.  Handball? See: Trampoline.  My God, what’s next? Ultimate Frisbee?

A few of these current sports just don’t appear significant enough to be classified as significant on an Olympic level.  Instead, I’d argue replacing the undeserving sports altogether.  With what, you may ask?  Well, I’ve got some suggestions…

 Street Fighting.

No, not West SideStory street fighting.  I’m talking straight up Mortal Kombat Street Fighting.  Rules and regulations would be very similar to those governing the MMA but with a few, small exceptions.   While steroids and other performance enhancing drugs wouldn’t be allowed, use of multiple, personal, authentically grown human arms and legs would be permitted as well as the use of magic, lightning and abnormally long tongues.

Points would be awarded for superb combinations, special moves, technical presentation and flawless fatalities and deducted for any strikes to the groin.

Overall, this event would finally produce a forum where it was publicly appropriate to yell out things such as “FINISH HIM!” and “FATALITY!”.  The Greek gods would have loved this shit.

Laser Tag

Imagine this: every country in the world sends out 5 of its bravest, fastest, smartest individuals in the most dangerous area of the present Olympics location.  Oh and it’s completely pitch black.  And no, this isn’t some Hunger Games bullshit.  This is Laser Tag.  In fact, that might be the tagline for this sport.

Every country remains in the competition until the 5 members it has selected to represent them are officially counted out.  The game begins on the first night of Olympic competition, and once morning arrives, is suspended until night the next day.  The competition continues until there is only one country left standing, or until the final day of the Olympics, in which case a winner is chosen based on their GDP.  (Highest one wins suckers hahahaha!)

There are no boundaries in play or sharp objects to be used nor are there any stoppages due to weather, injury or death.  Forming allies is completely allowable.  No technology is allowed besides the hardware provided by the Olympic Committee.  Countries will be adhering to strict guerilla warfare tactics.  Of course, countries already used to participating guerrilla warfare would have a leg up.  HeyAfghanistan! This might be your one chance at medaling in the Olympics!

Arm Wrestling

My desire to witness this athletic endeavor on an Olympic level is directly correlated to the amount of time passed since I last watched Over the Top.

Because like Over the Top, an International Arm Wrestling competition is something I’d only be okay with being subjected to once every four years. Yep, that’s pretty much the only reason I want this included.

Hand Jive

Look, I’ve seen Grease.  And from what I can tell, Hand Jiving is really fucking hard.  Do you  know how coordinated you have to be to participate in this dance?  Fist pounding, hand clapping, thigh slapping and cross wrist action, Hand Jiving involves a complicated pattern of hand moves and a fuck-ton of rhythm.  Think of this sport as an even more ridiculous, rhythmic gymnastics competition.  Like Gymnastics, countries would be able to choose the songs to which they Hand Jive, ranging from 50s Doo Wop to high speed Electronica.  Competitors would be scored on choreography, choice of objects, difficulty and overall presentation.

Okay, so this one might be a stretch, but really think about it. The music would be awesome, the outfits would be fabulous and John Travolta would once again be relevant since he’d be one of the judges.  Paula Abdul would probably be another.  And it would be awesome.

Camden Yards – The Story of the Stairs

In Life, Musings, One Beer In, Random, Sports on July 31, 2012 by Elle Severe

In September 2006, my husband, myself and our two best friends, Sully and Claire, decided to take a baseball road trip and combine our two biggest loves: drinking and the Red Sox.  We drove to Baltimore in Sully’s super smooth riding Volvo while he made us listen to his iPod, which was chock full of crappy music.  Luckily I had had a root canal the day before and was fully stocked with Percocet.  Once I settled into the backseat I strategically wrapped my pillow around my head in a turban-like fashion, pulled my hood over it to secure it in place, took my medication, which shall henceforth be known as “candy”,  said ‘peace out’ and slept ‘til Baltimore.

Once in Baltimore we checked into our motel, found our room and after settling in to this wonderful hotel that I booked online (“Only 3 miles from Camden Yards – Come Stay With Us!”), immediately set about trying to get the hell out of this room.   Now remember kids, back in 2006 we didn’t have the internet on our phones so I had to call my sister to ask her to please find us a new hotel room that had been cleaned sometime in the 2000’s.   Honest to God, this place was that type of place where if they did that black light thing on the bedspread, the whole bedspread would glow….we had to go.  My sister called back pretty quickly and got us into a nice Courtyard Marriott.  We packed up and were just about to hit the open road when we noticed that there was a Walmart across the street.  This proved to be serendipitous as we actually needed a Walmart.  Why? Well Sully and Claire were not boyfriend and girlfriend.  Sully was my husband’s best friend from childhood and Claire was my best friend from high school; they were not a couple.  So as to eliminate any awkwardness and keep costs cheap by getting only one room per stop on our illustrious road trip, we agreed that at our first available convenience, we would stop and buy an air mattress.  Sully had graciously agreed to sleep on the air mattress so I graciously agreed to pay for it.  We pulled in to Walmart and once inside went our separate ways, boys to the gun section, girls to bedding.  When we met up in front of the store 20 minutes later, I had a new air mattress and Sully had a new machete.  I guess the powers that be think it’s a good idea to sell machetes in Walmart stores in Baltimore.  I don’t think that’s a good idea, at all.  For the rest of the trip, from Baltimore to New York and back to Boston, any time any of us acted up,  Sully threatened us with his new machete.  In retrospect, I have to question the wisdom of all four of us in thinking that it was a good idea to A. purchase a machete, B. keep said machete in hotel room,  C. keep said machete in hotel room within reach and D. keep said machete in hotel room, within reach, while binge drinking.

Anyway, by that evening we were ensconced in a lovely Courtyard Marriott that my super efficient sister found online (Dear Karyn and Expedia, In all likelihood you probably saved our lives. Love, Elle) and were trying to figure out our next step.

The boys agreed to think on it while watching porn, while I decided that an herbal remedy would help me think better.  Claire, who is a good girl, sat and watched the debauchery unfold.  Finally, after what seemed like hours but was in fact only about 15 minutes, our great minds came together and it was agreed that we should head over to the Inner Harbor before the game starts.  Once there we would see the sights, get some drinks, have some dinner…brilliant plan!

Sidebar: I cannot for the life of me say or write ‘Inner Harbor’ without hearing it in my head as INNAH HAHBAH, that’s how ingrained my accent is.  Moving on…

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Flag on the Play

In Rants, Sports on July 27, 2012 by K. Vargo

I’m a baseball fan.  I’m also from Boston so you know what that means, die-hard Red Sox fan.  Right now I live in Washington, DC; to satisfy my baseball cravings I go to a lot of games.  I have an issue.  My issue spans all baseball parks from Fenway to Safeco:

If you are going to a game, and the teams playing are the Nationals and the Mets, why the fuck are you wearing a Phillies jersey? Are you being defiant about the fact that you are at the game? Like “fine, I’ll go but I’m gonna make sure everyone here knows I am NOT a fan of either team playing.”

Come on guy.

Did you show up on the wrong day?

Were you just hoping that by wearing that team’s gear they might show up to play just for you?

And I am not discriminating here, Red Sox fans are not off the hook on this one. I hate it when people wear Sox gear to the Nationals games when they are not playing.  Whenever I see this I want to walk up to the person perpetrating this heinous offense and ask them directly, “you know the Sox aren’t playing, right? Okay, just wanted to be sure.”

And of course there are those that wear a Red Sox hat to a Patriots game or the Caps shirt to a Nats game.  I can’t decide if this is mildly insulting to the team that’s playing or if people do it to show some kind of allegiance.

You’d think I’d be over it being from Boston where people consider sports schwag to be a legitimate, and even optimal, wardrobe choice no matter the circumstance.   But no, it still gets under my skin when I see people wear a Bruins jersey to a Sox game and a Sox shirt to a Pats game and a Pats jersey to a Celtics game and Celtics tank to a Bruins game. Or any of the above to a wake.

Wear the right gear, or don’t wear any at all.