Part I: Blood is Thicker Than a Solution of Water, Urea, and Creatinine, Alternatively Titled "I Realize That I Have Something in Common With Daniel Snyder"

I spent the first 36 years of my life operating under the assumption that I would never have children. I don't like spending time with kids very much and they seem to be a massive financial loss center. My general lack of parental role models coupled with my miserable shrew of a first wife made me feel like I would be doing our offspring a disservice by trying to raise him or her.

But then I met zwoman and realized that being married with children could be a good thing, and it turns out this was the best thing I ever did. I am happier than I've ever been and I love my son beyond words. Indeed, I cannot find the words to explain why I still love him so much (or why I even allow him to continue to live in my house) after the events of last Saturday.

zson enjoys climbing and jumping all over me and I enjoy the roughhousing almost as much as he does. He's only 2 1/2 though, so his toes are very small and the bones inside them are sharp and pointy, with not a lot of meat surrounding them. That is to say, it hurts when he pokes you with his toes.

zson was doing one of his favorite maneuvers: while I sit in our recliner with my feet on the ottoman, he walks across my legs and jumps from my knees into my body. We've done this many times with nary an injury. Until last Saturday. As he had done countlessly, zson walked onto my knees and leapt forward like Jimmy Snuka.

Notice how Snuka's left foot is cocked back? That's exactly how zson flew at me. As all 40 pounds of him flopped onto my chest, he whipped his shoeless foot straight down, impaling his pointy little toes flush into the shaft of zpenis. To say that I experienced pain is to say that the Grand Canyon is a big hole. It was not unlike this. I folded up like a jackknife. I saw stars. My mouth snapped open but no sound could come out. zwoman's hand immediately shot to her mouth. zson laughed and rolled off me so that he could do it again.

The pain subsided relatively quickly. About 30 minutes later I felt no lingering effects from the affront to my schwantz, and I went into the bathroom to pee. I let loose the Kraken and it showed no ill effects from the blow it suffered. I pulled out the jammy, aimed it at the bowl, and let pee fly. For a second nothing happened; what happened next will haunt me forever. A large, shiny, burgundy mass shot out of my dick, much like John Hurt's famous "chester" scene in "Aliens" ... with my dick playing the role of Hurt's chest.



The blob looked like a cross between that little alien's head and a squashed grape. It hit the inside of the bowl with an audible "splat" and was followed by a contrail of what looked like fruit punch. But it was not fruit punch. It was blood-soaked urine. I finished before these events could register in my mind, wiped the fruit punch off of the rim, and flushed the alien baby down.

Once I realized what had happened I staggered into the family room and took to my iPad. I entered "blood clot in urine" and what I read sent me into a cold sweat and a Tony Soprano-esque panic attack. Kidney failure. Bladder cancer. Urinary tract infection. Kidney stones. Prostate cancer.

I relayed my fears to zwoman and because she is the most wonderful woman in the world she calmly noted, "Well, you did just get kicked in the dick ... really hard." She suggested I go to an urgent care facility. I peed fruit punch again (but no alien baby blood clots) so I went. In a long discussion with the doctor, I realized that I just had a physical for life insurance a few months earlier and that my application was approved, so I can't have all of the diseases I feared. The doctor (who was a lady and kindly did not make me whip it out for examination, but did ask for a sample of my fruit punch) said "You have a lot of blood in your urine but I think your son hit you just right and broke a capillary or two." Just right indeed.

I went home with my fears allayed. The next time I peed it was much less fruit punchy. And then the time after that produced a yellow bowl with just a few maroon streaks. Because I'm an idiot my immediate reaction was "Just like Dan Snyder, I piss burgundy and gold!"

Stay tuned for Part II coming tomorrow: my legal justification for changing the Washington Redskins' name to the Washington Hematuria!

#3bids4caa, Day 4

I got it dead right. Told you we'd see an upset yesterday that would keep #3bids4caa alive for one more day. (Fingers crossed that nobody will read yesterday's post to cross-check me.) VCU played as complete a game as we're likely to see this month, thoroughly outclassing a very, very good George Mason team, 79-63, to advance to the CAA Finals. The Rams forced 14 Mason turnovers, withstood a brief Patriot run to open the second half, and breezed in front of a partisan Richmond Coliseum crowd. Jamie Skeen hit a career-high 4 threes on his way to a game-high 21 points, while Bradford Burgess went for 16 points and 13 boards for VCU.

The loss snapped Mason's 16-game winning streak, but Jim Larranaga's team is still going dancing in a few weeks. Those with an appreciation of history will remember that the 2006 Cinderella Patriots fell in the conference semis before embarking on their mythical run. Selection Sunday will lack the same drama this year, and there were no groin-shots today, but the symmetry hasn't gone unnoticed in Fairfax.

Hofstra had an opportunity to send us all to bed happy last night; a win for the Dutchpride would've clinched the CAA's third entry into the NCAA Tournament. Alas, a combination of superior athleticism, terrific defense, inspired point guard play, and somewhat questionable officiating doomed Charles Jenkins and his mates, who fell to a hard-nosed ODU squad by a 77-69 count. Senior point guard Darius James, who averaged 7.1 ppg this season, dropped 16 for the Big Blue Beast to complement Frank Hassell's efficient 22. Keyon Carter came off the bench to give Blaine Taylor's team 10 and 8. Jenkins found it much harder to get points on the drive against ODU than he did last night against our Wrens, going 6 of 16 with 16 points and 6 dimes. Our new twitter friend Jerry Beach (@defiantlydutch) noted with both bias and some legitimate beef that Jenkins took 11 shots from inside the arc without drawing a single shooting foul.

It will come as no surprise that I'm picking VCU tonight. I really wish it were Hofstra taking their shot, but beggars can't be choosers. With every major chronicler of the bracket telling us that Mason and ODU have already punched tickets (Joe Lunardi had them as 7 and 9 seeds, respectively, as of Friday - hardly bubble teams), Shaka Smart's squad holds the fate of our silly little hashtag in its hands.

I once again watched CAA tourney action on a small corner of my laptop screen, toggling between the ESPN3 telecast and a lively community tweeting #caahoops and our homegrown #3bids4caa hashtags. (The CAA's decidedly bush league TV package is a source of a future post.) I was getting ready to shut down my computer and have my daughter kick my ass at SuperMarioKart when a final tweet caught my eye.

@midmajority: I missed it on purpose. I live in reality. RT @burythemfast @midmajority Somehow you must've missed the #3bids4caa hashtag making the rounds

Careful G:TB readers (and I think all of our 27 strong readership qualifies) remember our early season run-in with @midmajority, defender of the mid-major faith, obsessive hoops connoisseur, apparently touchy rule-keeper. My tongue was firmly in cheek back then when I lamented my loss of status among the chosen.

Today, though, I wonder with some reason whether the alleged keeper of the flame has forgotten the sublime magic of the possible. Truly, it's the arrogance that irritates more than the actual words. Has this eloquent chronicler of the quixotic quest of the littles become such a big in his universe that he can't bear a storyline that punctures his prefigured narrative? If #3bids4caa becomes a reality, could it mean that things are changing in a way that threatens the mid-majority ethos? (Well, no, it would just mean that this year's senior-laden and well-coached CAA teams had a really fucking good year, nearly all the way through the conference.) Why not revel in the silly, goofy hope, though?

The same guy that wrote, "It always ends in a loss. But this moment, right now, is a new beginning. It is the renewal of hope that things will finally change," is now dealing in reality? The talented dreamer that said, "Those of us who keep going, keep doing and keep traveling are fools in the throes of unrequited passion. There are thousands of us, everywhere, content to find and share the company of other perpetually jilted lovers, inspired and pushed forward by those fleeting and fading glimpses of beauty," now throws cold water on the hopeful giddiness of those who would seem to be fellow travelers?

Maybe he's forgotten.

Or maybe he's just a dick.

Why I Oppose Nut Shots

I have decided to get serious and oppose something too. Maybe not something as serious as this, but something deserving of attention, nonetheless. And I am ashamed to say this, but you are all to blame for this menace. I was once to blame as well, but I'm changing my tune from soprano to baritone. I am, of course, talking about the glorification of the nut shot.


The nuts . . . otherwise known as the jewels, the sack, the nut-sack, the balls, the scrotum, the tea-bag, the gonads, the purse, the testicles (if you're the scientific sort) and, my favorite: the junk. Despite the humble appearance of these wrinkled weebles, we must remember that they are where human life originates. No, they are not as elegant as the female genitalia; no, they will probably never achieve these aesthetic heights, but-- appearances aside-- they are half the equation in the creation of a new soul.

It is time for men to band together and protect their own. Everyday, billions of men go out into the world, naked, without the protection of an athletic cup, to earn their livings, eat large amounts of food, get drunk, and do many other very important manly things. And if one of those brave, unprotected men suffers a whack in the sack, what do other men do? They laugh. This is abominable and uncivilized. It is time for men to stop this derision towards their fellow brothers. Have you ever seen a group of women laughing at one of their own, just after she was kicked in the snatch?


There is no lower form of humor than the nut shot. There is nothing meaner than reveling in someones scrotal agony. I did some research-- make sure you scroll down-- and a nut shot is serious. There are a serious amount of nerves in the testicular region, plus even a "medium shot lowers sperm count." A nut shot can also cause you to double over because of abdominal spasms, and there is always the possibility of (gulp) a rupture. To laugh at misfortune is despicable. Especially if it is a fellow man doubled over holding his nuts. The Germans call this sort of humor "schadenfreude." And if the Germans have a word for it, then it's not funny. Good God! The nut shot is actually illegal in boxing, the most corrupt sport of them all (according to Igor).


If a brother man is hit in the nuts, we should not laugh, but empathize. Ask not what a nut shot can do for you, but ask what you can do for someone's nuts.

The digital age has compounded this problem. In simpler times, you saw maybe two or three nut shots a year. Perhaps at a soccer game, or during the breaking of the pinata at a kid's party. Now that we have access to nut shot compilations, we can see two or three nut shots a minute. Each and every day. We require more and more nut shots to sate our nut-thirsty habits. When will this end? Perhaps we will have learned our lesson when the American sperm count hits zero.


I can remember a day not so long ago, when Igor, Rob, and I sat on our freshman hall, hands over our genitals, eying our fellow men with suspicion, protecting ourselves from what we innocently called a "flang dang." Nut shots ran rampant for a few months on that freshman hall, and if I could get that time back, I would use it differently. Instead of oppressing my fellow man's junk, I would help that junk to flourish. There were girls right down the hall! Couldn't our time have been better spent? Spent procreating, freeing our nuts, instead of compressing them into painful oppression. And for what? A moment of laughter. This is no way to live. The next time someone tries to get you to watch a nut-shot video, look away. Just say no. Both your nuts deserve it.

Igor and I felt this was an appropriate "next post"

Enough of the political discourse and rancor folks...just watch and enjoy: