Yesterday was not only our dog Roxy's third birthday but it was the day that the prematurely anoited kings of professional football were dethroned, prior to coronation.
Deep in the heart of Giants territory, I ventured up to Central Jersey to a Super Bowl party thrown by my lifelong friends, the Zimbiodelic's. The house also served as a convalescent center as many mutual friends met to wish ZYMBOT the host, a speedy recovery from kneecap replacement surgery...ouchies!
In that hostile environment...I of course was the only person rooting for the Patriots--so as I always suggest: find out who I like and bet the other way.
On the brighter side, the patient was cheery from the company and the result of the game. His upbeat demeanor made it easier on his wife FLOWGLO...who throughout the day was her usual lovable self and cordial hostess.
I was enjoying the clam dip with RBOY when he told me that he recently had a get together with other old friends from the neighborhood. They wound up at a schoolyard and shot baskets. He made the point that despite being 53 or so...everyone's personality on the court was a consistant throw-back to being 14.
RBOY said, "Despite the best and worse that life has to offer, we can't change the root of who we are. The selfish friend who became a great businessman still never passed the ball, the cool dude whose life has been riddled with addictions and dead end jobs was still a show-off, the lazy sloth after two divorces still played no defense and stood still on offense waiting for a pass, the whiner was still petty and cried foul too often, the tough guy played dirty and the space-case lost interest right away and played video games on his cell-phone."
I guess what I forgot to ask RBOY was--how are you the same? I think he would have said that his jumper, a step inside the foul line, is still deadly. I also should have asked about me. I really don't know about my hoops personality but I do know one aspect of my life that everyone at the party has come to expect.
I am a STOREHOUSE OF USELESS INFORMATION, if it doesn't matter, I know it. And in small doses, like once every few years, my talent for superficial, free association is greatly appreciated.
The day's first bone of contention was: my mentioning the military draft prior to Vietnam... during peace time.
ZYMBOT challenged this assertion so I pointed out that many celebrities and sports figures had to put their careers on hold, to serve. I used NFL Hall of Famer Paul Hornung's story about his coach Vince Lombardi personally calling President Kennedy to use a favor, to get Hornung a weekend pass to play in the 1961 championship game, (it was called that prior to being dubbed Super Bowl).
He didn't like that example because he couldn't believe that there was ever a draft during peacetime. So I mentioned Elvis Presley.
One of the women said, "Elvis doesn't count because he was drafted during the Korean War."
I regret not not sticking to my guns because he was a nobody in '51-'53. I reseached it on Wikipedia and found out that he was drafted December of '57 and was inducted into the army March '58. In September of that year, Elvid was sent to Germany where he was stationed for the next 18 months.
My second nonsense nugget made a lot of people scoff: The Outerbridge Crossing that connects the Tottenville section of Staten Island New York with Perth Amboy New Jersey is named after someone whose name is Outerbridge.
Most people seem to think that because it was the most southern point in New York or that it was the last outpost in the state, it was named the "Outer" Bridge. But its the Outer Bridge Crossing. More specifically Outerbridge is indeed one word. I wasn't prepared to tell the whole story at the party but "Instant Recall Edelblum" (me), is ready now.
The Outerbridge Crossing was named in honor of Eugenius H. Outerbridge. He was the first chairman of the Port Authority. The "crossing" was opened on June 29, 1928 and in 2006 32,438,000 vehicles came across it.
After finishing my column, to belatedly honor my dog's birthday, I offered her a treat. She rejected it. I guess because I missed HER party, she's wasn't interested in my trifle. Either that or she smelled Cody and Casey, (two dogs who were at the Zimbiodelic shindig) and hates me for seeing other pups behind her back.