...them fuckin' iggles...

[ Me and Ulysses got to talkin' about football the other week and I told him this story. Today I was scannin' thru old shit and found that I had written a letter to the editor at Anti-Hero Art about the experience. This is the letter. It's for you Yosep, ya fuckin' Iggle Head...]

Did I ever tell you about the time I was across the river (in ....New Jersey....)

from Veteran's Stadium on a business trip? Probably not. I was there for

a tech. class while I was working for Legacy Comm. out of ....Denver..... I had

to stay thru the weekend, and on Sunday morning the paper reminded me

that the 'Pokes were in town for the afternoon game.


'Shit,' I says to myself, 'I wonder if I could pick up a scalper ticket at the gates?

Badass. Huffman, go forth and experience the nastiness which is Philly.

Get you a big ol' salty mustard pretzel and a Philly-Cheese and about 23

draft ....Olympia.... beers and watch the 'Pokes spank those bird-heads in their

own house. Hell Yeah. Beats the shit out of sitting in this fucking motel

room all day.'



It was decided. I had a couple of hours to play with, so I went down to

the lobby for information.


'Yes, sir,' the cute little motel-person said. 'We can shuttle you over

to Veteran's and back for free. But you might want to check the

weather...'


She nodded toward the glass doors. I looked. Cold wind was whipping the

trees in the parking lot around and blowing misty drops of rain on the

doors.



'Uh, thanks.'



I drove the rental car over to what those Yankees call a 'Package Store'

and got me a case of ....Olympia..... Cans would have to do. Started towards a

fast food joint then remembered that the motel had expense account room

service. The game was on, but my ass would be out of the rain and cold

while I watched it.



The motel room had a big ol' cushiony easy chair, and my ass fit

perfectly. Iced Olympias in a plastic motel trash can next to me, room

service nachos on the end table, a damn good football game on the tube.

Beautiful. Until Michael Irvin tripped up on that piece of shit floor of

Veteran's and broke his shit. I could tell before the camera close-ups

that he was fucked. I had always hated MI as a person but loved him as a

WR, but apparently Philly just hated him, period. The whole stadium

cheered about a man down, possibly dying . 'GOTSDAYAMN!!!' I flung a

half-Olympia at the TV and commenced to trashing the room.



'Damn, baby,' my ol' lady said when she picked me up at the airport, 'Did

you hear that Michael....'


'Yep.'


'What's wrong?'


'I guess I'm just thinking I'm lucky I didn't go to that game.'


'Huh? Why?'


'Cause I'd be dead now.'