chowmeinsammich: Requiem for a Slice of Pizza.

My few regular readers have inquired why I have not written anything in a few days. NO , aside from this hay fever the Spring brings with it at the beginning of the season I feel very well indeed. NO, I have NOT been caught getting frisky in the meadow grass and have not acquired a case of poison ivy on my rear end....besides, who in God's earth would I find to apply the anti-itch lotion to THIS hairy backside. (I agree...EEEUUUUUUEEEEE) Hey...I'm honest, what can I say and if Spring sees you getting sprung, DON"T CALL ME, because your festering bummy is entirely YOUR business.

I have been busily ensconced in my favorite yearly activity. It all ended yesterday. Yes, I am one of those football geeks who lives and dies for the NFL Draft. And I am now undergoing some serious decompression. Maybe I'm finally growing up, but the last straw for me was Friday night.

I ordered my usual Draft Day Pizza to munch on as I tired to do the following (I'm not kidding, I was actually doing this- and BTW, I used to order up a Marcucci's sub, but pizza is, after all, the perfect food containing all the basic food groups if ordered intelligently, and all those carbs are needed over a three day period...it's no longer just fun, it's damn near a crucible now! Marcucci's is recalssified for hallowed occassions only!):

- Watching the NFL Network and clicking back and forth to the ESPN coverage during commercials, or during "BS-ing" moments.....(it was sort of like watching the QB's eyes and reacting)
- Having the computer breathing and clicking on any number of newspaper, NFL and Mock draft sites looking for any and all information about trades or information about potential picks....

- Listening, with only one ear of the headphones, to a live web cast by the writing staff for the Pro Football Weekly, a largely in-house site for the NE Patriots......

I had gotten away from my numerous pages of information of NFL combine results or draft site lists of "best ranked" players, by position, usually with about 500 names in total. Why waste the equivalent of a small forest and all that printer ink when you can see all that information on line? Now we're talking! The marvels of technical advancements in the modern world!

So there I was, dutifully watching all the goings on, trying to calculate who the home town Patrots might have left available to select after each team's choice like an MIT math major trying to count cards in Vegas. We're in the first round and and the early action is hot and heavy . But the first ten picks roll by very fast. So I open the pizza and choose my first piece. Pacing is critical here. But I'm a veteran of the NFL Draft wars and I know what I'm doing - or so I told myself. Soon another half hour goes by...and another slice is down the gullet. I'm so busy I find it hard to take a bathroom break, surpressing the urge to let go of that 2 liter bottle of Coke Zero that long ago was rented. But somehow the recent spate of flooding in the City goes through my mind and I know I won't be eligible for the Mayor's flood relief program so I man up and head off to....you get the general idea.

Ok...back in business and feeling renewed. Time is flying by...another slice bites the esophageal dust. Then it's time for the Patriot's 1st round choice...and I'm just about to eat another slice while holding this huge smile on my face when..... "New England Patriots have traded their pick to the......." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!, not again!

I am in momentary crisis! I start to talk myself down. "It's ok, Belichick knows what he's doing better than you do, he has more information that you do, he's the original man with the master plan, that's why you refer to him as "Master Hoodie""

OK...OK...I'm all right now....I'm ok now....back to the draft........I fight the urge to call my buddy so we can swear out loud at the hellspawn fiend Belichick, but I have to FOCUS, there's work to do, soda to drink, pizza to munch....man, it really stinks to grow up, I think to myself.

Now, it's time AGAIN! There's the Commissioner heading to the podium, he has a slip of paper in his hand, and as everything gets quiet and the talking heads shut up, the Commissioner says......"New England Patriots have traded their pick to the......." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!, not again!

I hate you Master Hoodie, I hate you!....this is so wrong, so wrong....I come back to complete consciousness finding myself screaming at the TV screen "Belichick YOU SUUUUCCCKKKKKKKKKK, YOU CAN"T SUCKKKK ENOUGHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Now worried what the neighbors are thinking, I throw the piece of pizza that had been close to my mouth when the INFAMNIA occurred back into the box and SHUT the box, all flaps INSIDE the box. Just disgusted, appalled, mortified, horrified, stupified, terrified we've screwed up royally. Shaking my head in disgust, my jumping up and down like a six year old has awoken the sea gods once again, and being a person who has great respect for the story of the Noah and the Ark I choose this as a convenient moment to.......you get the general idea.

Once again refreshed and with a clear mind, I'm committed to only bottled water and once again open the pizza box which I now think was prepared by someone named Pandora, such a curse it's brought to me and the Sons of Belichick this night. We've traded down twice and passed on players who I think are very good. I know, I know, we've picked up selection spots in later rounds as a result that we otherwise would not have, but the Sons of Belichick demand satisfaction. All over the state, ney, all over the world, when you consider servicemen and ex-patriots (US citizens in other countries, not rich ex- Patriot players - let's not get silly now!) are choking on buffalo wings, pizza and microwave popcorn with every machination contrived by the Hooded One!

With a new slice dancing on my taste buds, the Commissioner now approaches the podium once again, holding a piece of paper. I stop chewing, pizza sauce trickling out of the corner of my not quite closed mouth as I sit transfixed to hear the words, " And with the pick the Patriots have selected Devin McCourty, Defensive Back, Rutgers......."

I am petrified in place, much like Lot's wife from the bible. I'm sure anyone seeing me this way would have thought it's ugly and diabolicly cruel to feed pizza to catatonics, the pizza sauce now hitting my floor! SPLAT, SPLAT! I cannot move. If Master Hoodie were before me right now his life would be in serious danger. It would not matter if the entire offensive line of the Patriots were here protecting him. They'd be dispatched easily, their necks snapped like so many broken twigs before me. Especially the German offensive tackle nic-named "Sea Bass".... I would strangle the beast until his tuetonic eyes popped out of their sockets like a kids joke toy, or like one of those hand squeeze "tension" relievers. It's a mental picture that goes by slowly like a gun battle in a Sam Peckinpah movie. All I can hear are the hoots from the NY Jets fans, laughing at Patriot Nation while in the background you can hear the NFL Commissioner saying slowly, "DEEEEVVINNNNNNNN McCOURRRRRTTEEEEEEEEE". Oh, the pain, the humiliation. The PIZZA!

Still silent and now completely depleted of life itself, I place the half eaten piece of pizza back in the box slowly, gently, with respect, like the body of a deceased comrade who gave his life on a mission that ultimately failed. I close the pizza box, all flaps inside the box, and slowly make my way to the refrigerator, as the evenings festivities are closed for this particular Son of Belichick.

Suddenly I find myself thinking of the SS Poseidon, the ship turned upside down by an unexpected giant wave at sea, and think it's a perfect end to my evening and Master Hoodies' efforts this night, as I hear the refrain "There's got to be a morning after..."...... you get the general idea.