Tag Archive: Reebok


Day 8:  Weigh-in.  Down 9.4lbs, says the scale.  I need to remind myself that it’s a month-long marathon, not a week-long sprint.  Or some shit like that.  God, I am hungry ALL THE TIME – I realize that this may be closest I ever get to knowing what it’s like to be a skinny, hot chick.  Mid-afternoon, someone breaks out cupcakes.  Sabotage!  I indulge in half a cupcake (hey, I’m down 9lbs!) – 10 minutes after that, I feel like a fat turd.

Day 9:  Perpetual hunger is leading to crankiness.  On everyone’s part, not just mine.  I got into a huge fight at the office today, and called a friend a “skinny bitch” (not sure what she’s all worked up about, I thought it was a pretty flattering compliment).

Day 10:  My second place in the weekly weigh-in is causing me to feel complacent.  For a second night in a row I had delicious spaghetti bolognaise for dinner.  I rationalize the poor decision by telling myself that I’ll work off the calories in the morning at the gym.  Speaking of which, it turns out that when you weigh less, your daily permissible calories drop as well.  WTF.  I now have to eat 200 calories less than when I started this stupid contest.

Day 11:  Curry is catered for lunch today.  Diet = BLOWN.  The saving grace is that every other competitor seems to have indulged the way I have: everyone’s ravaging the food like they’ve been stuck on a desert island for 6 years.  After work, I go to a party and have far too much red wine.  I can’t even angle a positive for the wine.  Week 2 is looking bleak.

Day 12:  A scavenger hunt with the kids in the West Village is cut short by freezing conditions (minus the blinding snow – where the hell are you, snow?).  We’re limping around in sub-zero winds, which is just retarded.  So we ducked into some NYU-area bar for some brunch.   I crush an order of huevos rancheros and it in return crushes my already-faltering diet.  These huevos rancheros are ridiculous – the tortillas are FRIED, three layers of them.  It’s a bed of refried beans, fried tortilla, layer of chorizo, fried tortilla again, layer of cheese, one more fried tortilla, topped with two sunny side eggs.  It is the Schrödinger’s cat of breakfasts: it is both so terrible and so wonderful at the same time.

To make myself feel better, I buy a new pair of sneakers I really don’t need.  I tell myself it’s for my gym workouts.  I come home to watch football.  I can’t afford any more indulgences so I hold out on the booze.  Football without beer is terrible.

In college, one of my fraternity brothers bestowed this nugget of wisdom with me – teams’ performances often match the appeal of their uniforms.  Well, he didn’t exactly say it that way.  He was more like, “Teams with shitty uniforms never fucking win.”  Then he probably puked out the window after downing a case of Natty Light in our booze-free dorm.

So, yet another unoriginal idea from me, then.  Still, I’ve always kept this concept in the back of my head as I follow different sports season in, season out, year in, year out.  And you know what – he was fucking right.

Since I work in a creative industry (hah!), I’m always drawn to aesthetics.  I think it’s mostly because I probably always wanted to be a creative person.  But since I don’t do well with rejection (“What the fuck do you mean you don’t like my idea of midgets swimming with eels as an idea to sell penis pills?!”), I never pursued it properly.  Doesn’t stop me from always judging things by their aesthetics.  You don’t have to be Steve fucking Jobs to constantly see that things can work and look better.  Case in point: bigger boobs win almost all the time.  You know I’m right.

Anyway, shitty uniforms.  My buddy Keith was fucking right – teams with shitty uniforms don’t win shit.  The sport world is absolutely littered with examples to support this.

Look at the Denver Broncos.   I’m not talking about Jesus H. Tebow.  This pre-dates him by over a decade.  This involves his boss upstairs.  Again, not talking about God, let it go already.  John Elway, bitches.  That shitty orange and royal blue with the snorting horse in the D cursed Elway for almost his entire career.  Thank fuck they went to the Cyber Bronco design just in time.  Design change = instant Super Bowls.  Two of ‘em, in fact.

 

[Side note:  While I’m so, so fucking tired of the zoo that is Tebow Time, I just need to say that if Tebow was as fucking pious as he keeps telling us, he wouldn’t have been a professional football player.  This fucker chooses the one profession outside of the clergy that absolutely requires that you work on the Sabbath.  What a dick.]

More evidence?  The Tampa Bay Bucs had the pussiest orange uniforms ever.  They were completely and utterly useless.  Until they went to the pewter helmets and red jerseys.  And they dropped the creamsicle color, the stupid swashbuckler and went with a proper pirate logo. Sure, they became much more cartoonish – they have a pirate ship with real working cannon right there in their stadium! – but that swashbuckler was such a douchebag logo.  And wasn’t (isn’t?) Jon Gruden a real-life cartoon anyway?  In any case, new uniforms = Super Bowl.

Speaking of naff-looking mascots, I present the fucking New England Patriots.  Look what happened when they dropped Paul Bunyan Revere (EDIT: idiot moment) in a three-point stance.  Flashy silver helmet, stylized logo that’s not vomit-inducing = dynasty.  Granted, it’s a dynasty of voodoo-wielding, peeping tom assholes.  But a dynasty is a dynasty anyway you get it.

 

A subtler, less successful example would be the Philadelphia Eagles.  The Eagles went from looking like green M&Ms to that slick-looking hunter green – it’s just a much cooler shade of green, isn’t it.  With that new green, they consistently marched into the playoffs (in 2011, it appears that the new uniform mojo has completely worn off).  Fuck Andy Reid, it was the uniforms.

On the other hand, teams that constantly change their colors and/or logos deserve to fuck right off.  The most egregious offenders?  The MLB and the NBA.  Bar none.  How many times have the Texas Rangers, the Arizona Diamondbacks, or the Houston Astros changed their team colors?  Or the Milwaukee Bucks or the New Jersey Nets (Brooklyn represent!)?  Fuck ‘em.  Pick your goddamn colors and stick with them.  Learn to create a fucking legacy instead of trying to be like the sports equivalent of InStyle magazine.

So by definition, if teams with cool uniforms do more winning, then the reverse has to be true – teams with shitty uniforms don’t win shit.  This elite class of failures is practically overrun with willing participant teams: the New York Mets and Jets (spiritually these two are the exact same team who happen to play with different-shaped balls), the aforementioned Milwaukee Bucks, the New York Islanders, the Miami Dolphins (their stupid cetacean is wearing a goddamn helmet… on a helmet), and the reigning king of retarded uniforms, the University of Maryland football team.  Listen, you half-shell fuckwits, if you’re gonna show up on the field looking like a truck full of Skittles slammed into your locker room before the game, you’re gonna get your asses kicked like the goddamn clowns you resemble.

Now I’m off to figure out what I can wear with my University of Texas sweatshirt which I made the mistake of buying when I visited Austin.  That burnt orange color is bullshit and matches with NOTHING.