It has been a very bizarre couple of days for me. I went to a hockey game and met a hair band legend, I have mice in my house, and I drank one of the malt beverages that the media is up in arms about and facebook is all abuzz over. Ahh, the highs and lows of a 34 year old father who still thinks he is 22.

I worked for Comcast — the evil, hated, and vile cable company — for five years back in mid-2000’s. It wasn’t a great job, but it had a ton of perks. One was occasionally getting seats to the Comcast luxury box in the Spectrum for Flyer and Sixer games. Since I left Comcast, that perk went away but I was lucky enough to be invited to a game by my friend Don who still works there. These luxury boxes are meant for movers and shakers, big business men, yuppies, and the athletes’ family.  Not some short Irish schlub who has a very low paying job in higher education. So it can be easy to feel awkward upon walking in, but we got to the box and it looked like a nice group so my worries eased. There were two guys from Hometown Beverages in there telling us about, and giving us, beer after delicious beer of their Hometown Lager and Hometown Light. Nice guys, and the beer was worthy of an entire blog itself. It was nice to sit in a luxury box, stuff my face with gourmet food, and knock back free beers. 

Finally, I tried a 4Loko this weekend. This stuff has been almost urban legend to me until I tried it. I’ve heard story after story about crazy things happening to people who drank it. The bottom line is that it’s a malt beverage (bad news) mixed with energy drink (worse news) and it is 12% alcohol. The media isn’t helping matters by condemning it because it is only making kids want to try it.  So yesterday I decided to start my Philadelphia Eagles tailgate off by having one — another bad Marty O’Connor decision on any given Sunday.  Now I didn’t wake up in a gutter dressed like a clown and married to a hooker.  But after drinking it, I really only had a few more beers because I kept thinking my heart was going to explode into a fiery ball. I definitely liked it for a bit, put me in a good mood and put some wind in my sails.  Having energy was a weird experience because thanks to my son’s bad sleeping habits lately, I have been averaging about four hours of sleep a night. But my friends weren’t so well off. They got pretty nuts with it, but the good thing was that for once, I wasn’t the drunkest guy at the tailgate.

The hockey game was awesome — swinging fist, slapped pucks, teeth lost, and mullets flowing in the cool Wells Fargo Center air. I have only been to one hockey game in the past four years since I left Comcast, and I had forgotten how superior live hockey is to television hockey. After the game we headed to the large bar area to have one more before going home. As we were talking, my buddy says “dude, that’s CC Deville” as some raggedy looking, weathered rocker type with a wild blond mane walked by us. He yells “Yo CC!” and he turns and says hi. CC Deville was the lead guitarist for Poison, the 80’s hair band of bands. We ended up getting our photo with him, and I haven’t stopped itching since. I am kidding, but I did disinfect all the clothes I was wearing with a flea bomb. Alright, I am joking again. I guess my point is that CC Deville is surely laden with STDs and has a penis that probably hisses and glows in the dark by this point.  

 

 

 

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