In which the Vengeful Travel Gods take a day off and I set about ruining my own day...
Allow me to set the stage. It is Friday. I have been traveling and working all week non stop on the West Coast. Mentally and physically exhausted, I am relieved to finally be heading home for the weekend. With an estimated arrival to my home airport of 7pm, I have very definite ideas about being home by 8pm and unconscious before 10pm.
Here then the chain of events:
3:00am: My alarm goes off. Boo. Auto pilot. Up. Dress. Pack.
4:15am: Taxi
5:00am: Airport
6:00am: In the air.
9:15am: Arrive in Denver for 3.5 hour layover.
I spend the next 2.5 hours on the phone and email, working diligently and being productive.
I arrive at the gate an hour before my flight departs and spend the time speaking to my boss who is leaving on holiday in a few hours.
30 minutes to boarding. The gate is closed but it says Tampa. Continue talking.
0 minutes to boarding. No agent, no boarding. Sign says Tampa. Continue talking.
30 minutes past boarding. No one. Continue talking, assume delay. I'm still right next to the gate, they can't get past without my seeing them. It still says Tampa.
10 minutes to take off. It says Houston. Hang up. Seek out gate agent. Did they move my gate, this flight should be leaving in 10 minutes and hasn't boarded?
Agent: What flight?
Me: The flight right now, the 12:45pm flight.
Agent: You mean the 1:45pm flight to Houston?
Me: No, the 12:45pm flight. To Tampa.
Agent: It left at 12:45pm.
Me: That's now! Where is it?
Agent: Um, it's 1:45pm. You know you're in Mountain Time, right?
Me: I... wha... Bastard!! Not you.
Someone forgot to change their watch when they landed in Denver because they we're busy taking a work call as soon as they landed.
So that was the last direct flight home for the day. Of course, it was.
They can get me home by tomorrow evening. Right.
Can I take yet another connection to get home instead of going direct? I can.
Can I get home tonight? I cannot.
After an embarrassing conversation with a customer service agent (who laughed at me hardly at all) and scouring all available flights in every direction, my fastest route home is to fly to Houston, spend the night, and take a 6:30 am flight home which puts me home before lunch. So much for sleeping in on Saturday. Let's do it.
What about your bag, she asks?
I answer automatically, I never check a... Oh. I checked my bag. Is my bag here, I ask?
No. It is not. My bag is in Tampa. Because it knew it was on Mountain Time.
Clothing. Toiletries. All in Tampa. Super.
My laptop back pack is ridiculously heavy and I had tradeshow items stuffed into my carry on size roller bag. It was free to check it so despite my rule of always traveling with a clothing as a carry on, I break my own rule and decide to check it. I am now forced to endure another 3+ hours in Denver airport waiting for my flight to Houston and carting around a carry on that could give you a hernia.
One of the trade show items in my checked bag? A back pack with wheels that was given to me at the show. Oh, the irony.
I purchase a travel toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hairbrush and aspirin for the emerging headache at the airport shop. Has no one realized they could sell underwear for stranded travelers? They sell diapers. Confident they won't fit.
Might as well eat as I won't have a chance later. I am sitting in a restaurant at the airport. I think to myself I should really stop wearing white Oxford shirts on travel days. I look down and discover a portion of my meal on my white shirt. The one, I'll be wearing fr the foreseeable future.
A baby at the table next to mine starts crying. I look over. She looks tired and miserable; she has clearly determined the only course of action left is to cry. I hear you, sister. I hear you.
Friday, October 10, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
Long Story/Short Story: Once more into the breach, dear friends.
Long story:
I stood there, frozen, staring at it like a jockey thrown from a horse; knowing that it had to be now or never. I must overcome the fear that paralyzed me.
I looked at it with suspicion. Was it homicidal? Had I gotten something wrong the previous time? A foot placed a fraction of an inch away from where it should have been? A momentary lack of concentration? Had I just gotten too arrogant? The process such a daily routine that I had taken for granted the risks?
I looked down, inspecting the blue and purple bruises blooming over my skin. I could still feel the stiffness and slow throbbing of strained joints. Had it really only been 48 hours?
I had forgotten to respect that which can kill you and I had paid the price. Not the ultimate price, no. I had escaped. Barely. A different day, it could have been lights out.
I took stock of my injuries. Never again, I told myself, never again.
I approached it slowly. Don't spook it, I thought. Easy does it. Nice and slow. With each halting step, the pain reminded me of our last encounter.
My eyes narrowed with suspicion as I looked it up and down. I would remember to respect its power but by God, I would not buckle to fear.
Slowly, cautiously, I drew aside the shower curtain and stepped inside.
Short story:
I slipped and fell in the shower last week. Seriously. What am I? 65? No, I have no excuse, I really ought to be able to remain upright in a shower without supervision. Anyway, it happened. That split second when you're certain you're about to crack your head open and be found unconscious (and naked) in your bathroom will really get your heart rate up. Also, you think for a brief moment that you ought not to have mocked the LifeAlert adverts ("Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"). On the brigtside, it happened when someone was on their way to my house so it was at least comforting to know that it wouldn't take them days to find me. Bumps and impressive bruises aside, I was fine and yet, it was still with a surprising degree of nervousness that I stepped back into the shower. Tentatively. Two days later. That's right. It took me two days. Shut up...
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Vengeful Gods have delayed my flight... again.
I’m going to write a book. I have to. There’s just too much ridiculousness not to share it with the world. That’s the trouble really, every time I attempt to leave the immediate area to travel elsewhere absurd things happen that I feel sure can’t be happening to everyone else. Events lend themselves to the only logical conclusion one can draw under such circumstances: the Gods are toying with me. Much like in mythology, I sometimes feel that there are a large group of bored individuals lounging about somewhere very pleasant and exotic, slurping down mojitos and wreaking havoc upon my insignificant travel plans for their own amusement.
“Oh, she’s leaving. Hey, guys! Guys! She’s on her way to the airport. Where did I leave my lightening bolts? Someone fetch Bacchus and tell him to bring more of those little drinks with umbrellas, we’re out over here!”
I know this probably seems unlikely and above all rather self centered to most of you but it isn’t. It’s true. There’s no other reason to account for the frequency with which I am faced with delayed flights, inexplicable lightening storms, missed connections, freakish weather and out breaks of monkey sickness [click here for further information on HAMS Syndrome - High Altitude Monkey Sickness] suffered by children on board any aircraft I venture into.
The trouble is it’s never very funny at the time. It’s definitely not helping my blood pressure. When I finally get where I’m going and sit down to tell friends of my travel woes, it can be rather exasperating to have them burst into laughter as I describe how (to mentioned but a few highlights):
- after five hours of provocation above the Atlantic Ocean, I almost-very-nearly-but-not-quite retaliated by stabbing a six year old in the leg with my pen.
- I arrived in Bangkok to find my ticket for an overnight flight to London had accidentally been cancelled by a confused ticket agent several days prior during the rush to make up the cancelled flights from a Tsunami.
- the kid two rows behind spent what seemed like the entire duration of the flight standing on his seat rapidly turning the over head light on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off… you get the idea.
- we were delayed due to a mechanical glitch which caused the crew to have to replace a part and the woman in front of me had a panic attack. She refused to fly and also wouldn’t get off the plane. Enter police stage left...
- I was detained in a 3rd world country because I didn't have the right work visa in my passport. "You'll be deported," I was warned. "I'm trying to leave," I pointed out. "Hapana," ('no' in Swahili) they said almost gleefully, "you must be detained!"
- I was in a holding pattern circling an airport for so long that I was certain the pilot was lost but refused to stop and ask for directions…we had to be diverted to another airport because they didn’t have enough fuel to circle indefinitely.
My father travels far more frequently than I. He has amassed such a log of in flight hours that when you mention a plane being hit by lightening, he thinks nothing of it and sees little point in getting excited. So the part about all of this that which is most strange and simultaneously extraordinarily unfair is that my father who must easily have a 10 times more frequent flier miles than me…. he doesn’t seem to have most of these problems. And when on occasion he does it is certainly not with any more frequency than any other habitual traveler. Thus I can only conclude that petty gods beleaguer me for sport.
Under the circumstances, it would seem my only option is to throw the spotlight on this conspiracy in the vain hope that this unacceptable behavior ceases. Perhaps I can get a spot on one of those news features with undercover cameras and severe looking anchors that babble about ethics and demand justice on behalf of the common man.
Until then I shall be hard at work on my forthcoming book: “Vengeful Gods Have Delayed My Flight and Other Misadventures.” I have yet to decide if I should market it as a comedic work or tales of horror… surely my next trip will reveal the answer.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Dem bones, dem bones
It's the holidays. Well it's not now but it was. And in America that means chockablock airports.
The trouble with airports, busy ones in particular, is you have no control over how other people behave. The sheer effort expent trying not scream at people who are, let's face it, holding things up with stupidity that borders on the criminal has at one time or another left me visibly shaking and moments away from what I'm certain is spontaneous combustion.
It's bad enough when you're trapped and watching the idiocy unfold before you while you check your watch every ten seconds and wonder if you'll make it through security before your flight leaves. But when passengers willfully slow things down? Criminal, surely?
And right around the time of the holidays some absolute nutters, in the name of civil liberties, decide it would be the perfect opportunity to boycott the airport x-ray machines. Sigh... does anyone think these things through before opening their mouths to protest? It's really not an infringement of your rights, people. It's an x-ray. However good or bad you think you look, the bored, exhausted and indifferent TSA agent probably couldn't care less how you appear in x-ray format. If they're taking nude photos of passengers and asking you to pose or look over your shoulder and pout then I can see your point. In actual fact, they're looking at what is for the most part a bundle of bones. Have people seen what an x-ray actually looks like? I mean, you do know you like like an idiot if you think some desperate TSA agent is going to be getting excited looking at an x-ray of you, right? I'm not an expert but I feel good about my chances regarding the accuracy of the following assertion: if the TSA agent is that desperate for excitement I'm pretty sure he (or she) is just going to go home and look at porn.
While I'm not at all one of these folks who wants to sign away my civil liberties for the sake of safety, an x-ray really isn't all that intrusive. What's next, boycotting of CAT scan's and MRI's for fear hospital technicians are getting hot and bothered looking at your irradiated bits and pieces? Try to keep it in perspective.
And here's the thing, x-ray: 10 seconds, full body pat down 4 minutes. 100 passengers body scanned, approximately 16 minutes. 100 passengers patted down, approximately 6 hours. Now, how do you feel about having to be at the airport 2 hours before your flight? How do you feel about having to be at the airport 6 hours before your flight? Stop being an idiot and go through the stupid x-ray. "Oh, but they can see my contours!" Yes, and I'm sure that makes all the difference between an x-ray being of interest or not to a TSA agent. And after 8 hours of looking at x-rays on the job, who the hell wants to look at more that might or might not be possibly stored on a TSA hard drive somewhere?
It's far more invasive to have someone's hands all over you, I'm sure. And you really can't be one of these people who thinks you can say no to everything.
X-ray?
No.
Pat down?
No.
You have to have something done.
I'd really rather just go straight to my gate.
Oh. Ok...uh, never mind then. Have a nice day.
**LOUD BUZZER**
Nil points! It doesn't work that way. You cannot have your cake and eat it too. I've tried, it's not allowed. You can have your peanuts and eat them too but since you only about 14 per flight, it hardly counts and you'll be hungry later.
So for the sake of everyone's sanity, just shut up, if selected go through the x-ray (that's right, it isn't even a guarantee you'll have to have one!) and get on the plane so you can go home and annoy your family instead of me.
In that spirit, I leave you with these very sexy TSA x-rays which I think, we can all agree, probably don't look anything like you when you go through the scanner. Unless you're wearing stilettos and get very creative when told to stay still for 10 seconds. Enjoy!
According to Gadling.com, these images were created by a German agency for a Japanese computer display company called EIZO, and apparently they are actually just very good CGI and have nothing to do with the TSA.
The trouble with airports, busy ones in particular, is you have no control over how other people behave. The sheer effort expent trying not scream at people who are, let's face it, holding things up with stupidity that borders on the criminal has at one time or another left me visibly shaking and moments away from what I'm certain is spontaneous combustion.
It's bad enough when you're trapped and watching the idiocy unfold before you while you check your watch every ten seconds and wonder if you'll make it through security before your flight leaves. But when passengers willfully slow things down? Criminal, surely?
And right around the time of the holidays some absolute nutters, in the name of civil liberties, decide it would be the perfect opportunity to boycott the airport x-ray machines. Sigh... does anyone think these things through before opening their mouths to protest? It's really not an infringement of your rights, people. It's an x-ray. However good or bad you think you look, the bored, exhausted and indifferent TSA agent probably couldn't care less how you appear in x-ray format. If they're taking nude photos of passengers and asking you to pose or look over your shoulder and pout then I can see your point. In actual fact, they're looking at what is for the most part a bundle of bones. Have people seen what an x-ray actually looks like? I mean, you do know you like like an idiot if you think some desperate TSA agent is going to be getting excited looking at an x-ray of you, right? I'm not an expert but I feel good about my chances regarding the accuracy of the following assertion: if the TSA agent is that desperate for excitement I'm pretty sure he (or she) is just going to go home and look at porn.
While I'm not at all one of these folks who wants to sign away my civil liberties for the sake of safety, an x-ray really isn't all that intrusive. What's next, boycotting of CAT scan's and MRI's for fear hospital technicians are getting hot and bothered looking at your irradiated bits and pieces? Try to keep it in perspective.
And here's the thing, x-ray: 10 seconds, full body pat down 4 minutes. 100 passengers body scanned, approximately 16 minutes. 100 passengers patted down, approximately 6 hours. Now, how do you feel about having to be at the airport 2 hours before your flight? How do you feel about having to be at the airport 6 hours before your flight? Stop being an idiot and go through the stupid x-ray. "Oh, but they can see my contours!" Yes, and I'm sure that makes all the difference between an x-ray being of interest or not to a TSA agent. And after 8 hours of looking at x-rays on the job, who the hell wants to look at more that might or might not be possibly stored on a TSA hard drive somewhere?
It's far more invasive to have someone's hands all over you, I'm sure. And you really can't be one of these people who thinks you can say no to everything.
X-ray?
No.
Pat down?
No.
You have to have something done.
I'd really rather just go straight to my gate.
Oh. Ok...uh, never mind then. Have a nice day.
**LOUD BUZZER**
Nil points! It doesn't work that way. You cannot have your cake and eat it too. I've tried, it's not allowed. You can have your peanuts and eat them too but since you only about 14 per flight, it hardly counts and you'll be hungry later.
So for the sake of everyone's sanity, just shut up, if selected go through the x-ray (that's right, it isn't even a guarantee you'll have to have one!) and get on the plane so you can go home and annoy your family instead of me.
In that spirit, I leave you with these very sexy TSA x-rays which I think, we can all agree, probably don't look anything like you when you go through the scanner. Unless you're wearing stilettos and get very creative when told to stay still for 10 seconds. Enjoy!
TSA Calendar
Miss January
Miss February
Miss March
Miss April
Miss May
Miss June
Miss July
Miss August
Miss September
Miss October
Miss November
Miss December
According to Gadling.com, these images were created by a German agency for a Japanese computer display company called EIZO, and apparently they are actually just very good CGI and have nothing to do with the TSA.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Deja Vu
Television rots your brain. Or so I've been told. Given the sheer volume of rubbish on television these days, it's not hard to believe. Outside of sporting events which make up a substantial portion of my viewing, there's not much else to choose from. When everyone is apparently religiously watching Jersey Shore and America's Next Top Model, it makes it quite easy to imagine tossing my television and aborting the monthly cable bill.
For my personal viewing, besides Fox Football ("Do you mean soccer?" - click for more details) Channel, I used to turn to BBC America. It was my 'happy place' amid the pain and misery of US television programming. I could get news (proper current events, not local school children constructing the largest noodle craft project ever unveiled), sitcoms (that actually made you laugh) and drama (that wasn't predictable). You've got to give credit where it's due, we do know how to write interesting television in the UK. Lately however, the selection on the BBC America has become tenuous. It seems whenever I do have some time to actually watch television, and switch to my trusty BBC America I'm greeted by Star Trek: The Next Generation. What? That's not a British show. Not even a little. One English actor does not a British show make. Cough up the cash BBC America and pay for some more programming.
The only thing more worrisome than the appearance of American shows on BBC America is the sheer lack of imagination in actual American programming. It seems many of the shows which are having (or have had) enormous success are remakes of UK shows, re-casted with American actors (language barrier?) - Sanford & Son (Steptoe & Son), All in the Family ('Til Death Do Us Part), Football Wives (Footballers' Wives), Skins, Shameless, Coupling, The IT Crowd, The Office, Queer as Folk, and most recently Being Human. In the case of reality shows, they get shifted over the pond with a ready made charismatic/villainous host (Simon Cowell, Ann Robinson, Piers Morgan) - The Weakest Link, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, American Idol (Pop Idol), America's Got Talent (Britain's Got Talent), Cash in the Attic, Trading Spaces (Changing Rooms), What Not to Wear, Undercover Boss, Super Nanny and now Top Gear.
Top Gear, at least, makes sense. It's immensely popular and there is a different market of cars in the US with it's own group of enthusiasts who would love a Top Gear aimed at the vehicles available here. Unfortunately, the US version lacks the exact ingredient which has made the UK version such a smash success: personality. I can count the number of things I know about cars on one hand. I'm not an enthusiast by any stretch of the imagination and I know nothing about engines (outside of the fact that I need one to go). And yet, I love Top Gear. Why? Because it's entertaining. Unlike the US version which is decidedly not.
It would be nice, if the US networks would hire a few more imaginative people and come up with some of their own rock solid entertaining shows. It can be done but someone out there is going to have to work on getting some television execs who aren't monkeys jumping to copy the first entertaining thing they see. A few less Jersey Shore's, a few more House/Lie to Me/Law & Order's would be a treat.
Without that, it's only a matter of time until some dull witted TV exec sees Star Trek: The Next Generation on BBC America and pitches it to his network as a brand new show....
"I just saw it on BBC America," he says. "It's a show about humans traveling space, the final frontier if you will. Exploring the outer reaches and interacting with aliens. They call it Star Trek. We'll call ours...um, Planet Exploration?...No...Space Expedition?....No.... Solar Journey? No, wait, wait, I've got it... we'll call it Star Trek!"
"That's where you started, sir."
"Oh, well, we'll sort out the name later. Right, what we need is a bald actor, go find me one! Is Michael Chiklis free?"
It will be half way through its first season before someone at the network notices the show seems somewhat familiar....
"Hey, who bought the rights to make this new show?" Scratches head, "Don't we already own this?"
For my personal viewing, besides Fox Football ("Do you mean soccer?" - click for more details) Channel, I used to turn to BBC America. It was my 'happy place' amid the pain and misery of US television programming. I could get news (proper current events, not local school children constructing the largest noodle craft project ever unveiled), sitcoms (that actually made you laugh) and drama (that wasn't predictable). You've got to give credit where it's due, we do know how to write interesting television in the UK. Lately however, the selection on the BBC America has become tenuous. It seems whenever I do have some time to actually watch television, and switch to my trusty BBC America I'm greeted by Star Trek: The Next Generation. What? That's not a British show. Not even a little. One English actor does not a British show make. Cough up the cash BBC America and pay for some more programming.
The only thing more worrisome than the appearance of American shows on BBC America is the sheer lack of imagination in actual American programming. It seems many of the shows which are having (or have had) enormous success are remakes of UK shows, re-casted with American actors (language barrier?) - Sanford & Son (Steptoe & Son), All in the Family ('Til Death Do Us Part), Football Wives (Footballers' Wives), Skins, Shameless, Coupling, The IT Crowd, The Office, Queer as Folk, and most recently Being Human. In the case of reality shows, they get shifted over the pond with a ready made charismatic/villainous host (Simon Cowell, Ann Robinson, Piers Morgan) - The Weakest Link, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, American Idol (Pop Idol), America's Got Talent (Britain's Got Talent), Cash in the Attic, Trading Spaces (Changing Rooms), What Not to Wear, Undercover Boss, Super Nanny and now Top Gear.
Top Gear, at least, makes sense. It's immensely popular and there is a different market of cars in the US with it's own group of enthusiasts who would love a Top Gear aimed at the vehicles available here. Unfortunately, the US version lacks the exact ingredient which has made the UK version such a smash success: personality. I can count the number of things I know about cars on one hand. I'm not an enthusiast by any stretch of the imagination and I know nothing about engines (outside of the fact that I need one to go). And yet, I love Top Gear. Why? Because it's entertaining. Unlike the US version which is decidedly not.
It would be nice, if the US networks would hire a few more imaginative people and come up with some of their own rock solid entertaining shows. It can be done but someone out there is going to have to work on getting some television execs who aren't monkeys jumping to copy the first entertaining thing they see. A few less Jersey Shore's, a few more House/Lie to Me/Law & Order's would be a treat.
Without that, it's only a matter of time until some dull witted TV exec sees Star Trek: The Next Generation on BBC America and pitches it to his network as a brand new show....
"I just saw it on BBC America," he says. "It's a show about humans traveling space, the final frontier if you will. Exploring the outer reaches and interacting with aliens. They call it Star Trek. We'll call ours...um, Planet Exploration?...No...Space Expedition?....No.... Solar Journey? No, wait, wait, I've got it... we'll call it Star Trek!"
"That's where you started, sir."
"Oh, well, we'll sort out the name later. Right, what we need is a bald actor, go find me one! Is Michael Chiklis free?"
It will be half way through its first season before someone at the network notices the show seems somewhat familiar....
"Hey, who bought the rights to make this new show?" Scratches head, "Don't we already own this?"
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Reformed Demon
At some point in our lives, we all need to slow down. In some cases, it's age, over work or burnout. In my case, I was told to. By the police. Repeatedly.
To be fair, I wasn't keen on heeding their 'advice' so we bumped into each other fairly often. But it was not their grim demeanor or arsenal of hand guns and tasers that made me see the light. No, what finally convinced me that a lifestyle change might be in order was the daunting prospect of a car insurance payment that had ballooned to the size of what I was sure would match a small home mortgage payment.
I have, since my 'rehab' almost six years ago, become a mainstay of a group of drivers who travel just over the limit but never to exceed by more than 8 mph lest we trigger some sort of alarm. I have committed to the actual use of cruise control which heretofore had been the equivalent of self destruct button in the car - DO NOT PUSH! I have forfeited driving red coupes and grimaced as my five speed transmission begs to be toyed with on deserted roads. All done to keep me on the wagon as it were. What I haven't been able to shake in six slooooow years though is my speeder's guilt.
Traveling down any given road, the sight of a police vehicle by the road side triggers an involuntary response whereby I immediately slam on the brakes and then, panic stricken, look down only to discover I was actually already traveling at the speed limit. The down side to this sort of behaviour though is the three car pile up I cause on the road behind me. I'm aware of it, I'm working on it. But I still have a guilty conscience apparently. So consider this a friendly suggestion - don't tail gate in my vicinity.
To be fair, I wasn't keen on heeding their 'advice' so we bumped into each other fairly often. But it was not their grim demeanor or arsenal of hand guns and tasers that made me see the light. No, what finally convinced me that a lifestyle change might be in order was the daunting prospect of a car insurance payment that had ballooned to the size of what I was sure would match a small home mortgage payment.
I have, since my 'rehab' almost six years ago, become a mainstay of a group of drivers who travel just over the limit but never to exceed by more than 8 mph lest we trigger some sort of alarm. I have committed to the actual use of cruise control which heretofore had been the equivalent of self destruct button in the car - DO NOT PUSH! I have forfeited driving red coupes and grimaced as my five speed transmission begs to be toyed with on deserted roads. All done to keep me on the wagon as it were. What I haven't been able to shake in six slooooow years though is my speeder's guilt.
Traveling down any given road, the sight of a police vehicle by the road side triggers an involuntary response whereby I immediately slam on the brakes and then, panic stricken, look down only to discover I was actually already traveling at the speed limit. The down side to this sort of behaviour though is the three car pile up I cause on the road behind me. I'm aware of it, I'm working on it. But I still have a guilty conscience apparently. So consider this a friendly suggestion - don't tail gate in my vicinity.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
"You mean soccer?"
I've never quite worked out why soccer is called soccer here. Whenever I start talking about football, most people stop me and say "you mean soccer?" No, I mean football. Round ball kicked about with the feet. You've got all these leagues but the names don't reflect the actual activities going on. Whenever I talk to the son of a friend of mine about sports, I tease him about petitioning to have all the leagues renamed. I'm not quite sure if he's worked out that I'm kidding yet as he seemed genuinely concerned after I mentioned it to him the first time but I thought I'd outline my cunning plan for all to admire.
MLS - Major League Soccer? No. Football? Yes. Ball spending most of its time connecting with foot. But you can't call it MLF (Major League Football) because that's a typo away from being MILF and that would just cause confusion with people trying to understand the already overly complex viewers guide on the television. Plus, Hugh Hefner and the other lads would be tuning in and wondering where the naked ladies are. On the other hand, may be a Playboy sponsorship is what the US league really needs to (warning: imminent pun) get kick started. Import a few more Beckham's and the ladies will be happy spectators too. So with MLF off the table, MLS will be converted to the new National Football League (NFL) sans commercial interruptions!
We can’t have two NFL’s so naturally the old American styled NFL will need to be re-marketed as the NHL (National Handball League) as it is, after all, mostly about running around with a ball in your hand or catching a ball.
Those poor hockey folks are next in line for an accuracy update and while there is a fair amount of actually hockey being played, there seems to be inordinate amounts of fighting going on. I mean, seriously, they have a box to put you in if you beat up too many people. Sounds like the Ultimate Fighting Championship to me. Get out of the box, have some fisticuffs. Oh, and here’s a stick to help you with that pesky puck which periodically gets in the way! So the hockey lads will revel under their new moniker of UFC…
...while the actual half naked fighters of the old UFC are handing out plain old fashioned beat downs with elbows, knees, knuckles, feet and blood (it can be a weapon!) we may as well pay them tribute by revamping the largest growing sport under the banner of the NBA (National Beatdown Association).
Bringing us to the current league with the largest group of shockingly tall individuals ever assembled, the National Basketball Association. Well let’s face it, when was the last time you saw an actual basket used? It’s a steel rim, a hoop if you will, thus the colloquialism ‘hoops’. National Hoopball Association it is! Congrats, lads, you’ve just been inducted into the NHA!
Which leaves us with one final sport: the sad and lonely national past time of the good ol’ US of A. Baseball. Major League Baseball…yeah, I guess we won’t need to change that one. ::yawn:: Which is fine as I’m not overly enthused about re-christening a sport that can put you to sleep. I’m more excited by the prospect of a league for full contact chess in the future.
Must dash, have to send a quick memo to ESPN about their programming updates.
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