All I have to say about this one is that for the record, Easy-E did say she did not want to ride in the back of my truck. I might have used that to bolster my defense, but in no way did I fabricate that.
Volume 1, Issue 4
“Where We Only Ask Because We Care”
Charlotte, September 2003
by Jacob Crawford
With an excerpt from L. R. Miller’s Pullitzer-nominated “Compulsive: Memoirs of Biloxi”
Because our Tailgating President & CEO, Dr. R.L. Bentley III has been shipped to Biloxi, Mississippi with other useless Clemson fans, I am penning this week’s edition of TNL. However, if there are questions, concerns or other meaningless and totally unfounded criticism of this publication, it should still be directed to Mr. Bentley’s diaper, Lucas Miller.
Without further adieu, let’s get started with a recap of last weekend’s festivities.
First, Lucas called both Worm and myself Friday afternoon and informed us that he would not be joining us on our trip to Raleigh as previously planned. In a confidential statement that I’m unconfenditialing, Worm said that Lucas said something about Emily saying something about not wanting to sit in the back of a truck on the way back. Lucas also let the words “prior obligations†slip out of his mouth in the conversation. A) Lucas didn’t have prior obligations. B) If Emily, who he should’ve called Eazy-E, didn’t want to sit in the back of a truck, why would Lucas leave the three of us to ride in Worm’s truck to Raleigh. Either way, her Eaziness would be riding in the back of a truck because you know good and damn well my ass isn’t getting in the back of some bitch-ass truck. Back to point A). Lucas didn’t have prior obligations. He had a date. Apparently, the ass-clown hadn’t been on one in so long, he forgot how to say the word, “date.â€
Upon our arrival to Raleigh, I suggested phoning Lucas and inquiring about his behavior. Worm added the grand suggestion of a solid practical joke on Lucas. Basically, I called Lucas, told him we weren’t coming to Raleigh, and he threw a hissy-fit, impressing his date.
In Lucas’ words, it went something like this:
Worm, who obviously holds such terrible animosity towards me because I am good with women and he is not, got a wild hair and decided it would be funny for Jacob to ‘Punk’ me.That S.O.B. calls me up and tells me he ain’t coming to the game until Saturday! The dirty, rotten-ass bastard.For the record, I knew he was lying, but something inside me went click and I flew into a fit of rage unmatched since Ben beat the hell out of Chip at Sylvan Park, way the hell back in 1998.At that moment, Jacob was dead to me. Dead. Which is really traumatic since that would make him the second Crawford to become dead to me in less than 2 weeks. Think Ben was on my shitlist? Hell, at least he was missing the game for an excusable…never mind, I can’t even try and justify it. Ben is still dead to me.But Jacob? First he tries to blame it on me. ME! “Well, we were planning on riding up with you but since you left us” — for good reason, might I add — “we’ve decided to come up tomorrow instead.” Then he tells me he doesn’t want to get up early. Speechless. Hang up #1.
Call back. Wait for him to laugh. Call him a few names. Explicative. A few more explicatives.
Hang up #2.
Call back. He still isn’t laughing. This isn’t funny. Not in the least.
Hang up #3.
Yeah, yeah, he was at the Ale House, I got punked, everyone laughed, haha, funny.
As you can see, Lucas conveniently leaves out the part where he told us he had “prior obligations†and the horseshit story about Eazy-E not wanting to ride in the back of a truck. The moral of the practical joke is this: If you’re going to sell out your friends for a date, that’s fine. Just make sure you are honest about it. See, when posed the question of whether or not he had a date, Lucas responded: “uh…. Maybe.†Lying isn’t cool, and lying to your friends about what is basically public knowledge of your relationship to seek personal glorification in the eyes of the cast of “Queer Eye for a Straight Guy†is downright stupid.
While at the Carolina Ale House Friday night, Worm noted that he was surprised to be the only person at the table without a date. That’s what happens when you continuously date women who have yet to receive their drivers’ licenses, much less women that are old enough to enter the Ale House.
When the shit hit the fan this week, the following comments were made in regards to Lucas’ situation:
“We only ask because we care.†– everyone in the group.
“It’s not like he’s dating someone he can’t tell everyone about, this time.” – Chuck Wagon
Enough about that… On to Saturday.
Although Ben notified us that he was not going to be attending the game, it was a real shock to be tailgating without someone downing an entire fifth of Captain Rum. From now on, Ben must consume Mount Gay Rum if he’s in our presence. If he brings another brand of rum, do your civic duty and drink the entire contents. As stated by nearly every person who has learned of the situation, it is now known that Ben has conceded all decision-making abilities. Word on the street has it that Ben even has to call Elizabeth (we need to find her a good nickname) and ask for permission to type on his keyboard at his office.
As usual, Saturday morning was spent at Bojangles and as Shawn noted, the fast-food crew had some problems adjusting to having a Caucasian team member. Here’s a clue that you need to get a new job: if you’re a grown ass man/woman handing out honey mustard at a fast-food joint, you need to get a new job.
Although it was tested earlier in the day, Chuck decided he could break Worm’s tent (the same one he doesn’t really have) first thing when we arrived to our new tailgating spot on the other side of the RBC Center. After downing a few beers and strips of Canadian bacon, Chuck took his father, Steve, who would later become the MVP of Section 30, on a journey around the facilities. Leave it to a French-Canadian to break shit and then wander off like he wasn’t responsible. Anyway, Worm enlisted me to join him in a trip to Dick’s Sporting Goods – where we purchased what were supposed to be our last-minute tailgating supplies earlier in the day. Nonetheless, I sprung a solid $85 for the tent (Eazy-E, if you’re reading this, the tent cost me $35) that would give us the proper amount of shade.
The tailgating included the following expected occurrences: Lucas and Worm found something to complain about; the dating habits of Lucas, Worm and Chuck (you know, the three that have toed the statutory rape line); Eazy-E, as predicted, found something wrong with my behavior at approximately 3:08pm ET; Shawn and I performed a remarkable rendition of the Biz Markie classic, “Just A Friend,†followed by Steve whispering in my ear, “You could use singing lessons.â€
The game featured the Pack’s showdown with Western Carolina. We whipped that ass, but the most memorable moment of the day, was Steve joining the annoying “First Down†chant that goes something like this: “Move the chains, move the chains, roof roof roof.†While our entire group spent the entire game in amazement at the stupidity of the chant, Steve mocked the horses-asses, and then followed with “who was that?†Obviously, Chuck’s free-agent acquisition has seriously paid off for the group, and rumors have been circulating about Tailgating President & CEO Dr. R.L. Bentley III eyeing a trade that would send Chuck to an anonymous group for an attractive young woman that will shut the hell up. Other sources are saying the deal hit a snag, as there is no such thing as an attractive young woman that doesn’t talk too damn much.
It has come to my attention that something called a “TNL Supplement†was emailed to select readers this week. As acting dude in charge of shit, I hereby have renamed said email, “Shit I Did: Memoirs Of A Redneck In Biloxi.â€
The email in full follows:
After a turbulence-ridden connection flight on one of America’s last remaining WWII-era prop-planes — trust me, nothing can rival the experience of a 15-minute roller coaster ride at 15,000 feet, nothing — I got the keys to my Chick Magnet (aka Hyundai Elantra) and coasted up Hwy 90 to one of the remaining bastions of Confederate glory.
Biloxi, Mississippi: Home of the Beau Rivage Casino and Resort (among numerous others). This place is plush. PLUSH. This would be a pretty sweet vacation spot, you know, minus the working-during the day and all.
I’m watching the six o’clock Sportscenter — which comes on at 5 here — and getting ready, standing at the bay window looking down on the Gulf from twenty-five stories up and I decide to take only cash and my room key; the credit cards and debit cards will stay safely in my wallet. No need to get all crazy or anything.
I’m ready. Let’s go play some Blackjack.
The Good
I now know when to hit, when to stay, when to split, and when to double-up. I know how to put insurance on the dealer’s hand. I know that a 14 is the same hand as a 16; they’re both a ‘Mother-in-law’ hand because “you want to hit her but you know you shouldn’t.” I know to split eights and nines and double-up on 10 or 11. The dealer was a working-tutorial because everyone at the table sucked (I’ll tell you why in a minute). I’d say ‘hit me’ and he’d say ‘you wanna stay, trust me’ (and based on the odds and numbers he was always right, although i didn’t always win). I learned how to play the dealer’s hand rather than my own. I now have the basic knowledge to play Blackjack for real…
The Bad
…I dropped a buck-fifty to learn. Well, minus the free Budweiser and three bottled waters it was really only like a buck-forty-seven or something. I won a lot. The problem was I made all my low bets ($5, minimum bet) on my winners and all my high bets ($10) on my losers. Lost with 19 or 20 like five times. But damn it if it wasn’t fun.
The Ugly
All the newbies were at the same table because the dealer had a disclaimer for anyone who sat in: “I’ll warn you, none of these guys know what they’re doing so they’re not playing the game right — just a warning.”
I found out quickly that people who know what they’re doing hate people that don’t because by playing the game ‘wrong’ you mess up the order for them. This fat girl plopped down beside me and laid $100 on the table — all the rest of us are playing the $5 minimum so she likely knows what she’s doing. Well, I took her face card, and that didn’t make her happy, and she let me know about it.
The Funny
This one guy at the table made a $5,000 bet (the max). This cat, easily chasing 60, has this Hawaiian Tropics Model wrapped around his arm, and he’s sporting a stack of $1K chips. She’s clinging to him, sipping on something Ben would drink, laughing as she bets a $100 and then hits on 19. hilarious. he just laughs (likely at the rest of us because he knew he’d be getting some later on).
So then the waitress comes by to take drink orders. The dealer tells us she was Miss Mississippi 1998 (absolutely believavble, might want to check with Worm though to make sure). Anyway, I take my Bud and plop down $3 worth of chips on her tray, thinking I’m The Man. She works her way around to the old bugger and he drops a $500 chip on her tray. $500! This kitty slinking on his arm obviously doesn’t like that at all so she starts pouting, refusing to make a bet. They wind up leaving to go eat and the dealer tells everyone how glad he is for this cat to be gone.
The dude beside me, about our age, then overstates the obvious, that she was only there for the money. Come to find out, this cat beside me is on his honeymoon. His wife comes up and is all pissy and he pretty much tells her to bug off. The dealer, who worked us well, by the way, great guy, asks if there’s trouble in paradise.
“Probably. She’s pissed because all i’ve done is play Blackjack all week. She wants to go to some stupid show tonight — i ain’t spending money to go to some dumbass show. i told her to go by herself.”
Worm, what are the odds on this one making it to the first anniversary?
Anyway, by 9 I was broke and tired, so i racked out.
I’m going to Naw’lins tonight and i believe i might just have a spare fifty or two for one more night tommorrow.
Later from Biloxi.
Because of this false titling, and in part because he’s tried so hard to keep everything a secret about his relationship with Erin, Aaron, Errin, Erinn (however you spell her damn name), and in part because he was sweating my nuts so much this week about a trivial fantasy football player, Lucas Miller will now go by the following name:
ALICE
While you may not understand the reasoning behind his new name, which I might add is a distinguished honor – Pele, Madonna and Prince all have one-name monikors – you should understand that it is only with great pride we herebyuntoforthwith name the previously dubbed Lucas Miller, Alice. Until Lucas decides he is man enough to retain a manly name like “Jacob†or “Your Daddy,†he shall be known as Alice.
Note: I get to decide when Alice’s name will return to Lucas, if it returns to Lucas, or any other name changes to the former Lucas Miller, and present Alice.
Roster changes for the week of 9/6: @ Wake Forest. It is my understanding that Ben has been activated from the ICMMODL (I Can’t Make My Own Decisions List), and will rejoin the starting lineup. No word yet on whether Lucas or Worm have been able to call up a young woman from their farm teams – aka Statutory Rape I and Statutory Rape II – to join the active roster for upcoming events.
Additionally, I have it on good authority that TNL will return to its normal format with next week’s issue, unless Alice comes up with another sorry excuse as to why he didn’t type this shit.
Jacob Crawford
Online Production Associate
The Sports Business Daily