Wednesday, September 24, 2008

This Week in Route 1 Football

I called my father yesterday, and asked him a simple question: “What national restaurant chain would be perfect for Route 1?”

“I dunno, Hooters?”

That’s right, as if by some divine grace of God, America’s bastion of class, fine dining and breaded wings has finally settled in its natural home, Route 1 in Saugus. A more perfect marriage has never existed.

I love Hooters. I love it with every fiber in my body. And, before you go calling me a mysogonist, my love is not for the obvious reason of “scantily clad waitresses,” though I do very much support any institution that so obviously degrades women. Rather, I love Hooters because they specialize in the perfect food: wings. Specifically, breaded wings. Anyone can eat unbreaded wings, but really, where’s the fun in that? Breaded wings include my three favorite food groups: meat, grease and fried. In today’s age of “trans fats are evil” and “organic foods,” Hooters wings serve as a throwback to simpler times, where you’d club an animal, gnaw at its carcass, and throw away the bones before bending your woman over a rock and having your way with her. And none of this “hot” shit for wings either. If you’re truly eating for speed and accuracy (as you should at Hooters), your stomach should be undisturbed by foreign spices and tear-inducing sauces; if anything, these invading tastes help take away from the lovely flavors of meat, grease and fried.

In college, my friend and I would eat every semester at the Hooters across from the Daytona Speedway, right after our last final had ended. It was a grand tradition. We’d split 50 wings and two orders of curly fries, and regale each other with our most shameful conquests of the semester. And trust me, they were pretty fucking shameful. Like “getting a blowjob from the fattest girl in school to test the theory of whether fat girls give better head because they’re hungry” shameful. (ironically, it was only okay, I kept worrying that she'd pretend it was a Twinkie and start chewing away) The rest of the night would be spent nearly paralyzed by the grease, meat and fried sitting in our stomachs, drinking cheap beer and watching episodes of South Park while waiting for the colonic onslaught to ensue. And when I think back on my favorite parts of college, it’s not the girls or the parties or the nights spent writing papers that I remember, but rather plowing through wings at Hooters, telling my friend about how I masturbated regularly to thoughts of his mom’s fake tits. Ah, memories.

So when I heard that Hooters, my Hooters, has come to Route 1, my Route 1…well, there simply were no words, just a child-like smile and tears of happiness. Welcome home Hooters. Welcome home.

Anyways, onto the college football-ness:

Kelly’s Roast Beef Real Fucking Deal AwardFlorida. Suck on it bitches, my Gators are, to quote Outkast, “for real.” A 30-6 drubbing of the cousin-fuckers from Tennessee has proved that, as has the fact that the Orange and Blue has not had ONE single turnover this season, the only team in the country to do so. And unlike last year’s “Tebow left, Tebow right, Tebow center” offense, this year’s team features more speed than Jesse Spano during Finals week. Brandon James is looking like Devin Hester: College Edition, Percy Harvin seems finally healthy, and even ex-Trojan Emmanuel Moody got into the act against the Vols, leading the Gators in rushing.

It’s almost enough to make me try to forget the fact that my father, now a Tennessee resident, offered me tickets at the 40-yard-line for this game in Knoxville, but I couldn’t go because I had to attend a wedding where I saw SEVENTEEN men with ponytails. Seventeen. And yes, there was medieval-themed dancing, thank you for asking. Her friends, not mine.

Weylu’s Epic Fail Award – While there were three Top-25 upsets last weekend (Oregon, East Carolina and ha-ha West Virginia), the biggest epic fail, at least from this Gator mind, has to go to the Florida State Seminoles, who lost to Wake Forest for the third year in a row. If you told me in the 1990s that FSU would lose to Wake Forest three years in a row, I would have quite literally popped a hernia laughing. But now? The Criminoles threw five interceptions and averaged a whopping 3.3 yards per pass against the Fightin’ Scholars of Wake Forest, the smallest student body in all of Division I-A. Somewhere, CampTigerClaw is crying Indian tears. Special mention goes to the cheerleaders of Idaho, who have voted to dress less skimpy, and not more. Sure, because god forbid people of Idaho have something to excite them every once in a while.

Karl’s Sausage Kitchen Team that Scares Me Award – Okay, enough of my Florida bias. This week’s team that scares the piss out of me was certainly Alabama, who beat Bobby Petrino’s Arkansas squad into karma-guided shame by a score of 49-14. And that’s not to say that Arkansas is bad, in fact, they could probably win the ACC with their second string. But Alabama is scary good. The Tide ran back two interceptions for touchdowns, ran for 328 yards, and still have the country’s best freshman, Julio Jones, playing wide receiver. Alabama travels to Georgia this weekend in what should be the most competitive game of the season to date, especially since USC-Ohio State sucked so much and all. Quick, someone offer Saban a higher-paying job!

DB’s Golden Banana Stabbed Hooker Award – This award for excellence in injury goes to anyone who plays quarterback for Oregon. It is only Week 4 of the season, and Oregon is down to its FIFTH-string quarterback. And they’re not even UCLA either! The projected starter blew out his knee a week before the season opener, and the backup blew out his other knee in Week 2 against Purdue. The third stringer, Jeremiah Masoli, then got knocked the fuck out by Boise State Saturday, causing fourth-stringer Chris Harper to get in the game. Harper proceeded to throw picks on two of his first three passes, for a passer rating of -133.33. Way to go Chris! Fifth-string freshman Darron Thomas finished the 37-32 loss to Boise, but he is expected to spontaneously combust….now.

Kowloon’s “Good Ol’ Fashioned Fun” Award – While the LSU-Auburn game was a classic, it wasn’t nearly as Schadenfreud-y as Michigan State’s 23-7 ass pounding of Notre Dame. As someone who likes to give candy to children and then snatch it away from them just as they unwrap it, I took great pleasure in watching Notre Dame, on the heels of their win over Michigan, shit the bed once again to a mediocre Michigan State squad.

Frank Giuffrida Exalted Human Being Award for Excellence – This week’s award goes to two Big Ten running backs: Penn State’s Stephfon Green and Michigan State’s Javon Ringer. Green wins the award for running for 132 yards on only nine carries, and also being named “Stephfon,” which I’ve never seen before. Ringer took on the heroic task of shutting Notre Dame fans up with 201 yards, two touchdowns, and one trampling of Jesus. Being Midwestern running backs not accustomed to seafood, may we suggest the Fried Seafood Platter, which features Shrimp, Scallops, Clam Strips and Haddock, all breaded and deep fried, served with French fries, onion rings and cole slaw. Tartar sauce optional, but suggested.


SmartyBarrett said...

Yeah, enjoy your breaded crap.

//chugs 32.5g of sugar Vitamin Water

Zach Martin said...

Best part, you know, besides the writing, is that the Hooters pictured is a Hooters in Anchorage, Alaska. And you know that is the hottest waitress they got.

features more speed than Jesse Spano during Finals week.

Oh My God, YES. I always thought it interesting she thought her best career move post-Saved by the Bell, was to play a stripper in a movie and show off her fun bags. Eh, guess she had the same manager as every female tennis player.

Rocco said...

Spoken like a true asshole. Breaded wings are for fags. Real wings come one way: "naked" and hot. Frank's to be specific. And now I'm pissed because Buffalo has no Hooters left. Probably cause they had about the 238th best wings in town. But the Best Hooters Swimsuit Pagent the other night was just awesome.

And I have bad cholesterol and shouldn't be eating wings. Fuck!

"Bucket, crispy, extra saucy, and keep the buckets of splits coming honey." That's a man's afternoon.

Rocco said...

Rolling Rock splits, that is.

What's better than heading to the bar for some darts? That's right, a case of RR splits on ice waiting for you.

DALE! said...

Wings without hot sauce is like sex with a condom. All the pre-excitement and build up, only to be knocked down by lack of stimulation.