The Bottom Rung Dbag

From trading and poker I create a lot of hatred for myself. It’s obvious to most people that it’s not very healthy – but being in both realms for long enough you learn that it’s part of the game(s) and you deal.

And since I’ve never done something like this, I decided to include it on here. Just in case people were thinking I thought a little too highly of myself. Also because I know all of us have at least a little bit of hate for ourselves – some of us just aren’t willing to readily admit it (or write it out).

I really like the term “douchebag”. The reason I like it is because I feel that it’s got more of a male connotation to it and also it can be applied to all types of men. It’s not like “prick” which also IMO has a male connotation associated with it – but is typically reserved for the wealthy/arrogant.

A doucebag can be your local grocery store’s bag boy or even as high up as the grocer’s CEO. A douchebag can be your best friend or your most hated rival. The douchebag can be any size, shape, color and background. Really, if you look around you, I’m sure you’ll find a few good candidates that would love to come live with me in Douchebekistan.

A dbag can usually be spotted from some distance. This is because their attire and overall appearance just screams something at you. From what I’ve found it’s either “trying too hard” or “didn’t even try”. I don’t belong in the “trying too hard” category, but you can see those types flaunting brand names on their clothing and spending hundreds of dollars on multiple pairs of shoes like they were women. I’m just going to say that a dbag on that end of the spectrum goes tanning, gets their eyebrows plucked (when they don’t even need it), and speaks freely of the nail and hair salon they go to with other dbags. (Which is probably where they met in the first place). If you are paying any more than $30 for your haircut (like $100 or more) you’re probably going to fit in to this category. You’re a top rung dbag – you’re spending way too much for your douchebaginess.

On the flip side you have someone like me. On a regular basis people will ask me if I just woke up. Yes. I did. And unfortunately the look I had when I rolled out of bed is the same one I have right now. Because of my laziness (very douche like – I’ll get to that later) and partly due to my early morning shift, I take my showers at night. The problem with this is that when I wake up in the mornings, my hair is stuck in the position in which it laid for the past 7 hours. Patches of hair are matted completely against my head where other strands look like they’re trying to flee my scalp. It also doesn’t help that I have roughly 5 cowlicks on my head too.

I also rarely buy myself new clothes. Nor do I like to go to the dry cleaners more than once every 3 months. For those reasons you’ll typically see me at work in khakis I’ve worn 3 days in a row, in an un-tucked polo shirt both wrinkled and stained. I always question if my coworkers wonder to themselves if I own more than 2 pairs of dress pants. Really, I do. But it’s khakis for 2 days straight, then maybe my black pants for 2 days straight, then maybe the chinos to finish the week off. Also, for some reason over the past year or so I’ve been in between belt sizes. Which means that if I tighten my belt it makes me uncomfortable, but keeping the belt loose means I’m constantly sagging my business casual and trying my best to pull them up around my non existent ass and hips.

Did I mention I also don’t own a pair of brown dress shoes I can wear? Yeah, I’ve owned the same pair of brown rockports (which my mom bought for me) since my sophomore year in high school nine years ago. Since my mom mentioned how terrible they look (all scuffed up) and how they were actually hurting me (soles were worn down to nothing) I had to finally retire them this year. So guess what I wear instead of those brown shoes now with my khakis and chinos? My running shoes. Yes. And nike socks to boot. Everyday I get looks from the managers on my floor – looking directly at my feet - probably annoyed that I’m defying the dress code by wearing my tenny runners with my un-tucked shirt. I am. I could nut up and just buy another pair of brown dress shoes, but I haven’t – since no one has pulled me aside and reminded me of the dress code yet. If I wrote a dictionary this last paragraph would be under the “extra definitions” section for the word “Douchebag”.

Throw that all in together with my wrinkled, dry skin, big lips/ears and flat nose along with the fact that I tend to smell “like the outside” (I’ve been told) and you’ve got a real winner. I seriously look like a disgrace to myself and people are probably embarrassed to be seen with me. I pulled the total dbag move by not caring about my appearance anymore after I got married. Part of me has just figured that there was no point since I wasn’t trying to attract anyone anyway. Actually, I take that back – looking like a dbag really has nothing to do with my married status. The look has stuck with me since junior high I think.

Along with general appearance, being a douchebag requires a certain mentality. Typically that mentality roots in a holier than thou position. Whether it be total hippy style and trying to save the Earth as best as possible and making sure everyone else does too – or being overly religious, pompous, boring, vegan, political or any other sort of thing that can get shoved down another person’s throat – that’s a run-on sentence douchebaggery.

I like to compare myself to others in my age group. There are certain areas where I feel like I am above the average for my peers. But does it give me any right to put them down, put them in their place and walk all over them? No. And yet I’ve got this air about me that screams “I’m so much better than you”. I can’t seem to shake it so I’ve decided to live with it. I swear if I tried to change people would just peg me back to how I am now. Humility just doesn’t work for me – but believe me, I know I’m not great at anything. Does that mean I think that people who are the best or at least in the top percentile of a certain category have the right to look down upon the rest of us? Sure. It’s only fair since I (and others in my position) do it too.

The dbag train of thought means thinking that you are an individual. That in someway you are special and significant in this world. That you’ve had different thoughts and have experienced so many other things that people before you or those around you haven’t. Sometimes I live my life like I am the star of my own movie. And to be that selfish and not allow other people the chance to maybe have the lead role in even one of the scenes is just plain douchebaggedy. The act of trying to be the center of attention is a definite douche act.

While writing up this post I was thinking to myself, “What would I consider someone who was not a douchebag like?” And honestly, I couldn’t come up with an answer. Thinking about it, it’s possible we’ve all got a little bit to hate about each other. Wow – that’s such a nice thought.

To close, I’d like to leave you with this link:

http://www.encyclopediadramatica.com/Douche

The Monkey Off My Back

I wasn’t sure how to feel. I mean, it was weird.

Finally, a championship win. And in what ridiculous fashion.

I was trying to think back to the last time I won a championship in an organized sport. And the last time I can remember winning one was for the NYBA. And it wasn’t even really a championship because the first place team (us) just played the second place team in a one game playoff.

Since then I’ve been in a complete drought. 8 years and no rain. No glory.

I was on some good teams. Basketball, football. All solid teams. All good players. And still when it came down to it, we became choke artists. No one ever wanted to take over and pull through at the end.

To this day, even tonight, after what happened last night, I still get shivers about “the play” in football.

Flag football. Intramural Men’s league. Probably the most fun and yet most intense sport I have ever played. On 4^th and ridiculously long we are down by 4. A touchdown would win the game. Rain coming down, mid 30 degrees, fans yelling from the sideline. I’ll always remember the scene. We had to get the ball in to the end zone. The QB was scrambling chased by 2 guys. Somehow the ball is up. The ball is coming to me. I am double covered, but the ball somehow makes it through a few defenders hands without getting knocked down.

It’s tipped by one of the hands though. And the ball spins just enough and there’s just enough rain in my eyes for me to take it off of the ball for that one second. The ball slips right through my fingers and to the ground. My one chance to play under the lights of Husky stadium for the flag football intramural championship. Gone like that.

Other losses have been less intense and less painful than that one. Last season in the Boeing basketball league we were undefeated. Up until the championship game where it all fell apart. 14 straight wins to lose the only one that counts. In other leagues I’m not so lucky.

For softball we didn’t even make the playoffs. In fact, we lost a tiebreaker to another team…just as our team was starting to get hot. The other basketball league I play in we haven’t made the playoffs for 2 seasons running.

So you start to question your ability after awhile. You think maybe you are the reason your teams are losing. Or maybe the people you choose as teammates. Or maybe the refs. You start to place blame, and the ghosts of previous losses come to haunt you. I always have to humble myself and remember that for every winner, there is a loser. Try as I might, I can’t win them all.

This basketball season for the Boeing league had all the makings of another loss in the championship.

We played our best basketball the first few games of the season. And then after that things just went down the drain. Sure, we pulled out victories, but they were ugly. Terrible shooting, turnovers, no defense and laughable amount of second chance points allowed for the other teams.

Making it to the championship game was a miracle in itself. If we hadn’t hit a last second shot in the semi-final game we wouldn’t have even been playing in that game last night.

The game was a struggle from the beginning. The refs were calling everything tight, and we were in double bonus already with more than half of the second quarter remaining. I was on the bench longer than usual this game because I got a quick 3 fouls in the first half and then proceeded to get my 4^th foul early in the 2^nd half.

The score was tied at half, and emotions were being worn on the sleeves as technicals and double fouls were being doled out by the refs. We knew in the 2^nd half we’d have to take over if we wanted to take the victory home. So we turned up the defensive pressure. We went man and pressed full court. Something that had worked in the last game we played. The opponents lost their composure and I could smell blood in the water.

Suddenly what had been a fierce struggle and a tie ball game had started to look like a blowout. We were up by 11 points 54 to 43 and cruising to the final minutes of the fourth quarter.

It was exactly at that point that a player can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. We let up. We thought we had it in the bag. We stopped hustling. We kept trying to slam the door shut, hammer down the dagger – but it wouldn’t come. And by the time we panicked it was too late. We were only up by 4 points now and the other team was closing fast. You could feel the momentum building because they brought a large crowd – and it was the loudest I’ve ever heard that gym. The screams from opponent’s families and supporters was deafening and at the least had me scared.

A few missed calls by the zebras when we had the ball had our team frustrated and making stupid mistakes. Due to the terrible officiating, we had a few key players who had fouled out and no one willing to step up and be the answer. We watched the lead disintegrate. From 54 to 50. To 58 to 59. We were losing now. With 27 seconds left.

Everything was coming to me in waves. This is normal I thought to myself. It’s happening all over again. I’m letting this championship slip out of my hands. I could see the stress on one of my teammate’s face and I tried to reassure him but the voice I heard come out didn’t sound too confident.

We had fouled them in the back court and we got lucky. The person we fouled twice in a row (we were again in double bonus) missed his first 2 free throws in a row. We were again not able to convert on the offensive side and had to foul again – luckily the same player. Still down 59 to 58 he once again missed both free throws. On the 2^nd free throw up, I swore I had the jump on the person I was defending but he somehow grabbed the ball just as I was. And as he went up with the ball 2 of my teammates went in for the hack and luckily we prevented the foul and the score.

I looked up at the clock and it read 7.4 seconds left. Not enough time to really get a play off. We were yelling at each other, trying to will ourselves to grab a board, and to remember that we had a timeout just in case we needed it.

The guy had been solid at the line the entire game so I thought we were doomed. Sure enough he hit the first free throw. And at that point I had given up. In my mind, there was no way we were going to get down the court in 7 seconds for an open 3 pointer in order to even tie the game. And if we did tie the game we only had 5 guys available to play what would be an overtime game and a lot of us were in deep foul trouble.

Magically the 2^nd free throw came hard off the iron and one of my teammates grabbed it between two guys. 60 to 58 now. All we needed was a 2 pointer to tie, maybe the 3 to win? The rest of what happened is a complete blur to me. It was 7 seconds long, but it seemed much shorter than that:

My teammate who grabbed the board underhanded the ball to me between the outstretched arms of two defenders. I started to dribble out of the backcourt up the right sideline. I could hear teammates yelling my name down the court but I was only looking to get it up the court without turning it over. The defenders came and crowded me as I reached the half court line and the only face I could see was that of our center.

I passed the ball to him to get out of trouble, but he looked terrified and I knew he wasn’t going to be able to make the final shot from half court. I continued running past the half court line and I waved over to him and yelled his name for the ball back as the defenders who had tried to stop me had rushed to him.

I remember catching the ball, and I don’t even remember if I dribbled. I think I did, but viewer accounts say I didn’t dribble at all. I picked up the ball knowing there wasn’t much time left, I looked down court at the block and didn’t really have any other option – less than 2 seconds now and counting down – I threw up a prayer.

The ball was true. It rattled home and I saw the ball go down to the floor, get grabbed by the other team as I raised my fists in the air, sprinted the opposite direction and watched the clock roll over to 0:00 with the buzzer sounding. All I could think of was Derek Fisher vs. San Antonio when he hit that buzzer beater 3 pointer to win the game and how he ran straight for the locker rooms with his team chasing him and leaving the entire stadium in pandemonium.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RodiAAns6Jk&feature=related

I was laughing hysterically as I watched my entire team chase me to the other court and try to tackle me. Even now when I think of it, I get those chills again. I hope I can look back to this game as a time I saved the team, instead of screwing it all up for them.

This is definitely one for the books. My first buzzer beating shot couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s silly, but I’m very proud of it since I know all of the hard work we put in throughout the season. It feels damn good to be champions of the Everett Boeing basketball league, division 2, fall season.

Here’s looking towards next season where the goal is to go undefeated.

That One Grey Hair

Yes, I will be using “grey” throughout this post because it looks cooler than “gray”. Just like the words “Theatre” and “Favourite”. However, “greying” is not acceptable in Word spell check, so I’ll be using “graying” later on (neither is favourite).

Atop of my head stands one grey hair. I’m sure I’ve got other grey hairs on my head, but for some reason, this one just stands out. Only people who have stared at me for hours of time (not sure why they would, but they have) know it’s there. Or at least people who have looked at my head closely enough.

If you do look close enough, you can find it. It’s at the pinnacle of my scalp. Probably at the highest point of my head, which is why it sticks out.

Like a lightning bolt shooting down through a darkened forest.

I’m not sure when it first showed up. I think I can remember seeing it as early as 2 years ago. And this is my blog post dedicated to it. Silly, I know, but I didn’t have much time to write and I wanted something that wasn’t so serious.

I once thought of pulling it. In fact, some days I want to.

Recently though, I’ve come up with all sorts of theories on it. Why I only have one grey hair on my head – at least that I can see.

And since I only have one, I guess I shouldn’t pull it. I’ve sort of grown a little proud of it. Also, I’m worried that if I pull it, one will sprout up elsewhere. And I won’t have the ability to locate that one grey hair on my head…unless the grey hair just moves a follicle over.

I remember watching my aunt pull my uncle’s grey hair out. He had a few dozen grey hairs at least on his head, but it wasn’t the “salt and pepper” – you know George Clooney look. I remember thinking to myself while I watched her pull at his head that soon he would be bald if she kept pulling them.

My one grey hair represents what another person’s God may represent to them. Release. I’ve heard that people who go through major physical traumas (like a stroke) can suddenly go from a full head of brown hair to all grey (or even white). All of that stress on the body can really change you, and it reflects in your hair obviously. I’ve never seen it myself – but I have seen what the years have done to my parent’s generation and their hair. Heck, I’ve even seen what age has done to my older friends, one who is 28, and like my uncle should get his grey hairs pulled out. They look odd being scattered amongst his head.

Why my one hair represents release to me is for this reason: When I’m feeling somewhat overwhelmed or stressed, I’ll look in the mirror and see that hair. And it’s almost like I can funnel all that burdens me in to that one hair. In my mind, things get a little better. Since the hair is grey already, I’m sure it wouldn’t mind taking on a little more. Whatever works right? And maybe it’s not just that I funnel it, it’s like I know it’s there so I’ve got a little outlet for all that ails me.

I also like to imagine that this will work for years to come. Unfortunately (maybe I’m looking too closely) I’ve noticed that my hair line is starting to recede. Both of my grandpas were bald. My dad is bald. Even my wife’s dad is balding. Really I have no chance of keeping any cover for this huge noggin. World, I apologize in advance, but there’s going to be a lot of reflection coming off of this massive gourd.

As a kid I was taunted as having such a huge head that I looked like a watermelon on a tooth pick. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will forever plague me until I’m paying $200 an hour to a shrink. My mom always talks about how she was in labor for 18 hours and they tried to suck my out but then pushed me back in and finally c-sectioned. Sorry mom. To this day I am still tormented – but it’s not that bad because I’ve still got my hair to cover it. And I am hoping that I’ve got enough of a timeline left in this hair that I won’t be laughed at for another 7-10 years. I mean at least give me that. Maybe by that time they’ll have extensions for men, but not really extensions, just good looking hair that isn’t as bad as plugs, or an all out toupee.

Maybe it’s kids that bring the balding/graying of hair? That’s possible.

I had a dream about 2 weeks ago where I looked in the mirror and my hair had become that salt and pepper color. It didn’t look too bad. For a few years there my dad used “just for men” hair color. You could tell when it was fading because you could see the grey in his hair coming in…but then all of the sudden the next day his hair was jet black. I swear, who do we honestly think we’re fooling? Watching him do that every month I promised myself I would wear my grey hair with pride. And I will. It took years to get that badge of stress and old age, and I’m going to wear it well (hopefully).

Isn’t it weird to have just one grey hair though? And have it for so long without any other grey hairs showing up? I swear I haven’t seen another one on my head. Maybe there’s a name for this condition…if it is a condition.

And it’ll be just my luck that tomorrow I’ll wake up and they’ve multiplied. My one grey hair knew I was thinking/writing about him and he had to wake up the rest of his buddies.

Well done me.