The Horror

A month or so ago, I played golf with a colleague at his old-line country club in Philly's New Jersey suburbs.  After our round, we retired to the men's grill for too many beers, big steaks, and the best bottle of wine I've ever had.  Tenuta San Guido Tuscany Sassicaia is a giant Bordeaux (forgive me, I can't recall the vintage), with legs like you read about and a deep, full taste (or whatever oenephilic description is appropriate).  The bottle retailed for $500, but it was half-price night at Tavistock, so we rolled like big-timers.  And my friend got the check, paying off a bet on this Spring's Bruins/Flyers series. I went back to my hotel with a quality buzz and a new favorite (if well out of my reach) wine.

Earlier this week, as I perused Mike Wise's tale of Dan Snyder's drunken-schoolboy impulse-driven pursuit of Mike Shanahan, one nugget made me spit out my coffee.  Recounts Wise, "While watching NBC’s “Sunday Night Football” game between the Arizona Cardinals and Indianapolis Colts, the four men drank glasses of Sassicaia, a bold Tuscan red that is a Snyder favorite, those who were present said. They added that Snyder eventually graduated to Crown Royal."

Not. Fucking. Cool. Couldn't be Opus One, or Cakebread, or some other pretentious tipple, nosirree.  Dan Snyder toilet-bowled my favorite football team, and now he's coming after my wine.  'Course, for him, grabbing a bottle of Sassicaia's like me picking up a six-pack of Dale's, which twists the knife even further.

And so I move thismuch closer to the New Orleans Saints, my soon-to-be favorite squad.  Drew Brees would never do this to me.