The teacher noticed that little David was being uncharacteristically quiet and so she asked him about his father.

“My father’s an exotic dancer in a gay bar and takes off all his clothes in front of other men. Sometimes, if the offer’s really good, he’ll go out to the alley with some guy and do it with him for money.”

The teacher, obviously shaken by this statement, hurriedly set the other children to work on some coloring, and took little David aside to ask him, “Is that really true about your father?”

“No,” said David, red faced. “He plays for the Detroit Lions, but I was too embarrassed to say that in front of the other kids.”

——–

I’ll never forget the first time I saw my grandfather cry. It was 1983, I was five years old, and the Detroit Lions had just missed a last second field goal to lose in the playoffs at San Francisco. It was the beginning of the 49ers dynasty of the 80s, and the first in what would be a lifetime of misery as a Detroit Lions fan.

In India, many Hindus believe that when you are born, your fate in this world is already determined. If you’re lucky, you are born into a caste that allows you to get an education, enter public life and pursue any profession you choose. If you’re born into a lower caste, however, you’re screwed. Doomed to a life of poverty, you’ll live your life in pain and hunger, and probably die a miserable death much earlier than your contemporaries in other castes.

I was born in Detroit, and like my father and grandfather before me, I am a Lions fan. Like the Untouchables of India, we are both pitied and mocked. We live our entire existence in misery in the shadows of society. Like the Untouchables scrape together a living on scraps of bread and contaminated water, getting by on the hope that in the next life, they will ascend the caste system to a more desirable position, Lions fans live on the brief moments of joy we’ve experienced in our lives as fans. Barry Sanders’ great runs, Mel Gray’s graceful kick returns and that one time the Lions won a playoff game. Hell, even one of our most joyous moments — Mike Utley giving the thumbs up as he was being wheeled off the field — is just simply tragic. When you find starting joy in misery, it’s time to seek counseling.

To be sure, Lions fans aren’t the only ones who have been miserable. Bengals fans had to deal with a rough stretch of years, for example, where the franchise was banking it’s future on Akili Smith. Most of us identify with a team early on, and stick with them through their failures and successes. Eastside is a life-long Cincinnati Bengals fan, and is now walking around with a permanent hard-on because of their success. No amount of heading to the bathroom with the Gap for Kids catalog can knock that thing down either, he’s just too excited after all these horrible years. So if we’re going with the comparison to the Hindu Caste System, Bengals fans would be members of the sudras (laborer) caste. Their normally miserable life is temporarily punctuated by moments of joy. They also have limited freedom of movement, like in 1989 when they had the opportunity to go to the Super Bowl to cheer on their team.

I mean, for crying out loud, the Lions last won a championship in 1957, just seven months after my mother was born. Dwight D. Eisenhower was still in office for God’s Fucking Sake!!!

In the Super Bowl era, the Lions have won just one playoff game. After beating Dallas at the Silverdome in 1992, they went to Washington for the NFC championship game and got their asses gift wrapped, put in a nice little basket with a bow on top and handed back to them by the Redskins. I remember my parents getting frustrated and leaving the house after the first quarter. They took my brother and I to the store, where I found a television to watch while they did their shopping. I was convinced that the Lions — my Lions — would come through for me. How couldn’t they go to Super Bowl, they were just too good! I’d grown up with seeing what the Lions did to my family members, but at 13, I had my Lions rite of passage. They had just enough success to make me buy into the “next year is our year” mentality. As Detroiters, we’ve all long since accepted the fact that the Lions suck, but we’re like Luke Skywalker, convinced that deep down, there’s some good inside Darth Vader. We’re just waiting for that day when they’ll turn on Matt Millen and throw him over the rail into the core of the Death Star.

That shimmer of “good” has been different for each generation. For my grandfather, it was Bobby Layne. For my father, Wayne Walker and Billy Simms. I grew up on Barry Sanders, Herman Moore and Chuck Spielman. And now, just as my father got frustrated with Andre Ware and Scott Mitchell, I’m throwing things at the television whenever I see Joey Harrington and Jeff Garcia. Frustration with the Lions is genetic, just like a proclivity to heart problems and colon cancer.

3. Members of the opposite sex: There’s no key to understanding someone unless you actually share the same chromosomal traits. Guys try to be nice to girls in the hopes of moving a relationship along and it often goes nowhere. Girls try to act interested in any number of ways and guys generally tend to be oblivious. If you’re in a happy relationship, hold onto it like an Ethiopian with a loaf of bread, because being single sucks.

4. Detroit sports: Last year’s Pistons championship was a perfect storm. A tough defensive squad gelling at the right time, a few key plays and two of the most dominant basketball players of their generation fighting to the point of forcing their team to melt down all came together to give us a banner in the rafters of the Palace. It’s more than likely not going to happen again this year, and with hockey out of business for the season, we’ve got nothing to cheer about in this town. The Lions suck and the Tigers couldn’t get any real free agents to come here (so much for the “Pudge effect.”) Get ready for another year of crying into your beer as your favorite sports team keeps the decades-long tradition of suckitude alive.

5. Ashlee Simpson: How the hell did this ridiculous excuse for a singer become a star? If you took Debbie Harry’s hair, Beaker from the Muppets face, Hillary Duff’s body, a Leprechaun (for his jig-dancing skills) and Rob from Milli Vanilli’s real voice and mixed it up, she is what would come out. By the way, how creepy is her dad? First he gives Jessica a wedding ring to wear on her ring finger as a promise to stay a virgin until she was married (he supposedly told her that it meant they were bound together until she found a husband.) Then he constantly talks about both of his daughters’ breasts. I know they’re from the south and all, but geez.

6. Eastside: I was convinced that him joining TESS was going to give him enough bad karma so that he’d never get any. That “nice guy” routine he tries to pull must have worked though, because that bastard is getting laid more often than you.

I grew up all over the country. In my childhood, I saw 13 different houses in six different states, Growing up like that, you learn a couple things. First, you learn to be comfortable with adjusting to new surroundings, which isn’t an easy thing for most people. Secondly, and more importantly, you learn the value of loyalty. You learn that friends are important, and if they are loyal to you, then you must pay them the same courtesy.

That said, my hockey team, the Rebels, has had a rough go if it these past six months. We haven’t won a game since August and I fear that I have failed them as a leader. Yet, season after season, they keep coming back. They keep looking to me for leadership and they keep giving 110%. I can’t explain it, but their loyalty to the team is astounding.

So right out of the gate this season, things aren’t much different. We’re 0-2 and at times, we looked like the damn Keystone Cops out there. Everybody keeps trying though, and they keep looking to me to lead. Meanwhile, in the same division, is a team called the Nordiques, made up of some of my other friends, including my brother, cousin and friend Chav. Their team did significantly better than ours last season, and complete with their lineup of ringers, should do better again this season.

That’s where the point of this story comes. You see, we have one particularly hard worker on our team. He’s a grinder with great puck control named Rick. Chav, the captain of the Nordiques calls me every other day asking me to join his team next season and bring Rick with me. “Don’t you want to be part of a winner?” he asks. The last voicemail I got, he said he was going to cut another player loose, one who has been on the team since we started playing. Meanwhile, our team took on a player whose skills are admittedly marginal at best. He’s our friend and was a part of the original squad back in the day, however, and he’s got more heart than anyone on the Nordiques. Was it a smart decision in regards to improving the team’s skill level? Probably not, but it’s about loyalty, and that’s the thing Chav just can’t understand.

It’s not just about hockey though, it’s about life. I cherish my friends and would do anything for them. I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve managed to surround myself with a group of people who feel the same way. There’s no better feeling in the world than knowing that your friends have your back, no matter what.

So fuck the Nordiques. We may lose games, but we do it as a team. If I’m going to go down in flames, it’s good to know my friends will be there right beside me.

Other than that epiphany, last night was great. Blondie came out and watched my hockey game. We won, and I made two horrible plays and four really huge plays, so in the end, I’m +2. The big plays, by the way, came after I took those fucking sweatbands off. After the game, I met up with Loc, Beaker and Cannons at the bowling alley. We used to bowl all the time back in the day and we’re trying to get back into it.

Now back in the day we used to all have bowling nicknames. They were completely retarded and reflective of the frame of mind we were in at the time. Beaker was PornoBeakeric, Loc was Loc (from Don’t Be A Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood) and I was The Jesus (from the Big Lebowski). The names are fun, and we never thought twice about using them when we could put them into the computer ourselves. It was an inside joke, and nobody else had to be embarrassed by our stupidity.

Flash forward to last night. I get to the bowling alley in Novi as Loc, PornoBeakeric and Cannons are finishing up their first game. As I’m paying the lady for my shoes she asks “You’re going to add on to their lane?” I nod my head and she says “What’s your name? I have to put it in the computer.” So now, I’m thinking. “I’m 26 years old. I’m still wearing my dress shirt and khakis from work, and I have to tell this woman that my name is ‘The Jesus’?”

I kind of sat there and stared at her for a few seconds. Looking back on it, it was probably a few seconds too long, because she seemed kind of weirded out when my eyes glazed over and I got that far-off look on my face as I contemplated saving myself the embarrassment and just telling her that my name is Joe.

That’s when I looked down at the lanes, to my friends, acting just the same way we did back in college, and I decided to throw caution to the wind. I leaned over the counter and said in a hushed tone “The Jesus. It’s a long-running joke.” Without blinking an eye, she punched it into the computer, looked me and said “That’s my favorite character in the Big Lebowski. Now don’t go hitting on any 8-year-olds.” Then she just smiled and walked away. What a night.

Adding to my list of reasons to hate Texas A&M University, Don Muhlbach blew the snap on what would have been a game-tying PAT, essentially losing the game for the Detroit Lions. Damn Texas A&M, damn Don Muhlbach and damn the Detroit Lions. One of these days, they’re going to kill me.

I’m going out with “blondie” later though, so I’d better put on my happy face and cheer up.

1. I learned a long time ago that the best way to avoid seeing something that makes you uncomfortable is to not look at it. If you’re embarrassed about what you’ve done in the past, for example, and it’s documented somewhere, don’t go reading and re-reading it.

2. I’m still looking for the following Jude songs: Everything is OK and Everything I own.

3. I had this strange dream last night where I was the spokesman for an NFL team who had the first pick in the draft. The problem was, I didn’t know who we wanted to draft, and for some reason didn’t even know any of the top prospects. To make matters worse, when I finally thought I figured out who we should pick, I tried to announce it from the podium and realized I had no voice. So I asked Lou Holtz, who was dressed in all Notre Dame gear, to help me. When he got up to the podium, I pointed to the name of the player I wanted to draft and he just started laughing at me. It was the strangest thing.

4. The Lou Holtz dream was only a one-time thing, but I’ve had this other, recurring dream a lot lately. I’m walking through the airport with my personal assistant, a young woman named Anita. She is pulling her luggage behind her on a cart and I have a bag slung over my shoulder. Suddenly we see some terrorists down the hall, brandishing automatic weapons and taking people hostage. We immediately decide to start running and sometimes we get away from the terrorists, other times we end up ducked behind a barricade with them shooting at us. This dream must mean something, since I keep having it. Right?

5. I have a big problem with unreliable people. If you say you’re going to do something, do it.

6. I hate the holidays, they always make you think about what you’re missing out on. If I have to see one more romantic commercial about buying jewelry I’m going to throw my television out the window.

7. I’m still looking for something to do on New Year’s Eve. I thought I was going to the Suicide Machines show, but if there’s a party or something going on, let me know.

It was a nice change of pace being just one of the members of the team, rather than the man in charge. I don’t even hear my own name any more when it comes to the Rebels, it’s always “how ya’ feeling tonight, coach?” I definitely think I was more relaxed without having to worry about letting down my buddies or living up to whatever my brother’s team is doing. I played 100 times better tonight than I have in a long time.

That aside, I want to just make a brief comment about how I’m feeling right now. I know it’s a downer, and I’m really sorry to beat a three-month-old dead horse, but I just need to get it off my chest. Last spring, while EB was home, she went to a wedding shower for her best friend at Eastside Mario’s on Plymouth Road. I picked her up after the festivities and you should have seen the look in her eyes, she was positively glowing. We had been talking about getting married for a little while at that point, and you could see that she was not just genuinly excited about the prospect of marriage, but that she was excited about me being the groom. Every time I drive by that place I think of that day.

That brings me to my bigger point. I should have been in the middle of packing tonight, getting ready for a plane ride to Texas and a long, but wonderful road trip back home. This week or next would have been the time we would be packing all of EB’s things up and moving them back here. It’s kind of depressing, when you think about it. How quickly and drastically my life changed directions scares the hell out of me. Some days it’s just too much to handle. Fortunately, those days are becoming more rare. This holiday season is going to suck. I just can’t wait to be on the other side of it.

It’s an interesting time in my life. I’ve made reference in things I’ve written before to other girls. I’ve talked about girls I’ve met, girls I’ve gone out with and even girls I’ve kissed (when I say it like that it sounds so junior high.) I guess, as I sit here and look at myself, I realize that none of it means anything. The types of girls I’ve gone out with run the gamut. I tell my friends about it sometimes, other times I quietly spend the evening out and don’t tell them what I’m up to. I hang out with my core group of friends most nights of the week, so a night away from that sometimes raises eyebrows. Do said something strange to me yesterday when I was talking about the phone number girl at Loc’s party (see below for story). He asked me if anyone could confirm the story, like I would make something up so inane. The sheer number of stories I have about girls I’ve gone out with in the past three months would boggle his mind, I’d of course have to top the collection off with stories about Mia, from the mall, but I digress.

I guess the point in my rambling tome is that I hate auditioning. I hate spending time with girls, trying my damnest to feign interest because maybe, just maybe, I’ll discover a redeeming quality. I hate the process of dating and I want to get out.

See, this is usually the place where I’d say “I wish EB would just move back, we’d both say we’re sorry and we’d move on with our happy little lives.” But you see what I did there? I’m miserable, but it doesn’t have anything to do with EB any more. Dammit, how did I get here?

On another note, one of my bosses almost melted down today. At one point he started yelling and stomped away from his desk and out of sight. At another point he just rolled his chair back, sighed heavily and cradled his head in his hands. At least he isn’t throwing things anymore. I damn hear lost an eye last year when he threw his mouse.

All right, I’m off to meet up with Beaker. We’re going to see Loc’s graduation ceremony from the Michigan State Police academy. Soon, he’ll be carrying a gun when he hangs out with us. Scary thought.

Oh yeah, one last thing. I joined yet another hockey team last night. I’m the newest member of the American Eagles. It should be fun times, joining a team full of guys with whom I’ve never played. I know them well enough, we played them enough times at the old rink. Rest assured, however, my loyalty still lies with the Rebels.

1. I don’t know if it was the size 64 jeans with the elastic waist band or the dirty pony tail sticking out from under the rainbow-colored NASCAR cap. Maybe it was the way he was yelling across the bar for the waitress to bring him another drink every ten minutes. It could have been in the way he demanded the drink, holding up his empty glass and pointing at it with his thick, sausage-like fingers. Maybe it was the fact that he was drinking Captain Morgan’s and Diet Coke (as if the Diet Coke was going to help him shrink that waistline.) Whatever it was, it made me never want to go back to that redneck bar again, despite the fact that they have every NFL game on one of their 20 or so televisions.

2. I have a new motto to live by: Nobody messes with Miller Time. I damn near got into a fight at the end of our hockey game tonight when this stupid pond rocket was hacking on our goaltender. He tried getting in my face, but I just stared him down and fortunately he backed down. The kid was slightly shorter than me and I definitely had some weight on him. If he threw a punch he was going to get the beating that had been coming to him all game. I guess in the end he realized, just like the old-school ice hockey game for Nintendo, you just don’t fuck with the fat guy.

3. The movie Sliding Doors is pure evil. Why would anyone want a movie that makes them think “what if this event happened just this little bit different, look how my life could have changed for better or for worse.” I’ll be honest, that movie makes me think just a little more than I want to. I fucking hate that movie.

4. Having half of next month off for vacation will actually be a good thing. I thought I’d go nuts, but I’ll finally get to finish the Detroit restaurant guide I’ve been trying to work on for some guys at work. I can’t wait. Geez, I’m lame.

Last night was kind of a trip. I hung out and got some coffee in Plymouth for awhile and then headed to a last-minute party with some of Chav’s friends. Beer pong was the game of the evening, and Peanut had a pretty good streak of beginner’s luck going. It’s been a long time since I was at a party that rowdy, it took me back to the partying at EMU days.

After that I had a pretty intense dream about EB. I don’t know why, but she and I were sharing a house and Rene showed up to crash. He shook my hand, smiled and said it was good to see me again. I was so upset I woke up in a cold sweat right after he moved his things into her bedroom. It’s been awhile since I thought about her, I hate that she still gets to me like that.