Woke up this morning in a dark mood. Lazy, tired, lumpy and dumpy and crumpy.
Came to Starbucks to write. Still lazy, tired, lumpy and dumpy and crumpy.
Sat down. Opened up today’s New York Times. Noticed a story on page B11 (yes, I still get the damn thing in print) that was headlined BRONCOS’ PRO BOWL SAFETY SUSPENDED FOR A GAME. It concerned T.J. Ward, a Denver star.
I started reading. And, even though I have yet to order a drink, I nearly spit my drink in laughter. This is what it says: “Ward was accused of throwing a glass mug at a female bartender at a Denver strip club in May 2014.”
Find me a more beautifully constructed sentence. Find me a sentence that packs more delicious information in less space. Not only did Ward throw a glass mug at a person, and not only was that person a woman, but the person he launched the mug at was a woman working at a strip club. And she wasn’t even a stripper.
As I noted yesterday, I’ve been watching a lot of Hard Knocks, the HBO series on life with the Houston Texans. The team’s coach, Bill O’Brien, repeatedly emphasizes that his players must handle the media with caution and softness. I’m sure this is a message repeated through all 32 NFL locker rooms, but, clearly, it is incomplete. “Be careful with the media,” one must say, “and if you go to a strip club, which you shouldn’t, and there’s a bartender at this strip club where you shouldn’t be, and the bartender is a woman inside this strip club where you shouldn’t be, and she hands you a glass mug inside this strip club where you shouldn’t be, don’t—by any means—throw it at her.”
Oh, and extra lifting starts at 6.