Pants Free, Eck See and Magazine Grade Z

Justin July 28, 2014 0

My industry is one with strange hours. After working for the same company for 14 years, I’ve been lucky to settle into a relatively regular 11am-7pm work day, but there are still times when I have to fill in late at night or early in the morning. This is a story about one of those days.

A few years ago, I was filling in for someone whose shift begins at 4am.  That means you wake up at 3.  And, on that day, I did. Though I had gotten into bed at around 9 the night before, I didn’t fall asleep until after 12 because its hard to go to bed at 9pm when you are not sick and you are not 8 years old.

But, the alarm went off at 3, I jumped out of bed (alarms are especially alarming in the middle of the night,) and I got right into the shower. At this point, the brain fog started to set in, but I battled through. I got out of the shower. I picked out my clothes and laid them on the bed. I started to get dressed, stopping at one point to lie back down for a couple of minutes.  It is now 3:25.  THE BRAIN FOG IS THICK.

I got back up and finished getting dressed. Socks on. Shoes on. I even remembered to go to the fridge and grab the lunch I made for myself the night before and back it into my work bag. I threw my phone in there too. Then I grabbed my wallet and keys and left the apartment. I locked the door and went to put my keys in my pocket.  And that’s when I realized…

I’M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS.

I had forgotten to put on my jeans. I was standing there, in the hallway of my apartment building, in a shirt, boxer shorts, socks and shoes.

Thank god it was only 3:30 in the morning.

Sports Illustrated: July 28th, 2014 

Rory-SI

PREGAME:

Dan Patrick interviews Dennis Eckersley in this week’s “Just My Type.” When I was at sophomore in college at BU, Eckersley was a past his prime set up man, spending the last season of his career as a member of the Red Sox. I lived on Bay State Road, a short walk from Fenway. One afternoon, I was sitting on the stoop outside my building, reading a book. Dennis Eckersley jogged by in his Red Sox warm ups. And there was no one there for me to say, “Hey, look, it’s Dennis Eckersley.”  And that was one of the most frustrating moments of my life.

THE ARTICLES:

Is this the worst issue of Sports Illustrated ever?  It’s gotta be right up there. Its an article about golf, followed by a run down of Drew Brees’s workout regiment, followed by an ad for Peter King’s website that masquerades as a magazine feature, followed by an article about college football in the middle of the summer, followed by an article about soccer, followed by an article about skydiving. I read NONE OF IT.

Magazine’s are dying. Last week, our old friend, Beltway Buddy, was sitting in my apartment. He saw a couple of magazines underneath my coffee table and asked, why do you still get magazines? I really didn’t have a good answer, other than to say, “I have to get Sports Illustrated. I have always gotten Sports Illustrated.”

DO A BETTER JOB OF REWARDING MY LOYALTY, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED!

 

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