Ranch-Style, Part 2 of 2

…exact events….slipping from my mind….have to….wing it…..

So, got down to The Ranch about mid-morning where, as I said, the opportunity to put the morning’s events in the context of a classic regale helped quash the potential of fuming or scorn from my host. We had a laugh together, then headed out for late breakfast at the Happy Chef who, as we discussed, is almost certainly the father of the Big Boy.

Events at that point were, out of necessity, coming together in such a way that would allow us to be down in Clog’s basement in front of the TV by 1:00 pm. For, you see, the heartbreak kids (aka The Vikings) were to be taking on the surging Cowboys in the NFC playoffs. Given the much-chronicled last playoff game we watched together in a previous January (a game of such cataclysmic bitterness in these parts, that two phrases: “the knee” and “the kick” need no further explanation), there were some ghosts of the past that needed busted.

Before the game, we had the chance to traipse around out front of the house with a football. There was a lot of snow and some ice, but we made a few catches and made a few throws. I think, additionally, that T-Clog made some frozen pizza which we consumed before the start of the game. Then: the game. And what a game! Such an ass-beating I’ve never seen the Vikings lay on ANYBODY in the playoffs. Clog was still concerned heading into the 3rd period, but the game was well in hand. Making it at least five times sweeter was the fact that Sean & his boy, fanatical Dallas fans, were at the game in Minneapolis. It was definitely the source of some mirth and merriment as the game progressed. It was only over Easter weekend that I dared bring up the game to my brother, who is still so shocked and sad that he is unwilling/unable to even attempt to deflect the negativity back on fans of the enemy team, a classic sports-dummy move. So, that game definitely raised the overall fun quotient.

MOONS OVER MY HAMMY

At some point, I should probably see a sports-injury specialist. I’ve now pulled my hamstring three times in the past year, each time from a seemingly mild athletic endeavor. Obviously, much of it is age, and the fact that I don’t stretch out in advance of some of these activities and go suddenly into sprinting. I think it probably also has to do with my chronic dehydration. So really, a three-bladed sword. But somehow, when doing our silly little football thing (you know, four passes to get pas an arbitrary TD marker), I came up lame. Like, bad enough to where I had to hobble back to the ranch (following a long American tradition of men hobbling back to ranches).

Other than that, it was – as they say – all good. TClog has an array of pleasures to delight the senses and trip the mind to fancy. His house is the dream of EveryMan. Pool table, high-class dartboard (almost canceling out his 1995 purchase of a Poverty Phone), Nintendo Wii, and foosball. We played all of the above, for various amounts of time and in multiple instances, for most of the rest of the afternoon and into the night. I could be remembering this wrong, but I think I lost every time at pool, foosball, and darts; but I did much better than one might expect, since I don’t have the opportunity to practice any of them. Beatles Rock Band, at least, I dominated (on vocals). I think I recall that all day I was pestering the Clog about opening up the hot tub on his deck. He was like a mad scientist, feverishly mixing chemicals and fretting over the pH levels. At one point, having just added this and that and waited out a timer, he actually stuck a lead rod into the hot tub to test it’s condition, and when he pulled the rod out, the bottom half was eaten away. Nevertheless, I eventually convinced him to let us take a dip, which was glorious (and the results of which are available in the video, below).

That night, before bed, I watched the last half of The Lost Boys. It was as bad as I suspected, but I hung on either out of respect to the recently departed (or soon to depart – I can’t recall the timing) Cory Haim.

In the morning, it was breakfast, and back on the road for a much, much less eventful ride home.