. . . Or more accurately, the gate 4 departure lounge at Newport News/Williamsburg International Airport. This is the first time I've ever actually made use of my new laptop's wi-fi capability, and the fact that I can do all the Web-surfing I usually do at home, only in the middle of a public place with no wires attached, is pretty impressive. (Well, not all the surfing I usually do. There are kids around, for Christ's sake.) Anyway, the point is that I'm on the road, headed up to New York City for a long weekend to go visit an old friend of mine. If I can post on here over the next four days, I will, but there's always the chance I'll be laid up in bed with a broken bone (or perhaps many broken bones) after we go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center and won't really feel like it. I guess that's just a chance that I, and by extension you, will have to take.
But anyway, the major news from my neck of the woods (sort of) is that the Georgia Bulldogs welcomed Georgia Tech to Athens last night and taxed that ass to the tune of a 91-75 victory. Now, you may think that because I don't follow basketball nearly as closely as I follow football, that this wouldn't really be that huge a deal to me. You might also think that I got my fill of ragging, tweaking, and otherwise wholesale belittling Georgia Tech in the days leading up to and directly following the UGA-GT football game. My response is: Sorry, but I'm not that nice. If Georgia beats Georgia Tech at basketball, especially given how basketball is allegedly the solace of the hoops-crazy Tech fans when their football team gets nailed to the wall by the Bulldogs, it's a big deal. Hell, if we beat them at tiddlywinks, it's a big deal, because each victory is another brick in UGA's towering superiority over the Techies, and because I'm a cruel S.O.B. who likes to watch each and every one of their exquisite crystalline tears fall from their little Techie faces, tears I like to catch in a glass and mix with ten parts Stolichnaya and one part dry vermouth to create what I like to call the Martini of Pain. And it is, as Montgomery Burns is so fond of saying, eeeeeeexcellent.
And since I'm apparently on a roll when it comes to offending random sections of the college-athletics-consuming public, let me just ask those Ohio State fans who were so incensed at my characterization of them as "thugs": Just how in the hell do your football players afford all this sweet stuff, anyhow? I mean, three grand in cash? Two laptop computers worth $3,000? Was all this stuff supplied by the same folks who hooked Mo Clarett up with his various rides? And who the hell pays $250 apiece for XBox or PlayStation games? (There, that oughta bump the hate-mail numbers back up in my absence. I was really starting to miss it.)
I'll try and holler back at you slags sometime between now and Monday . . .
(I do have something planned for whenever I can make a full-fledged return to this blog, though. Equal to or maybe even better than the Simpsons thing. Two words: Cheer. Leaders.)