I would have written something yesterday, but I was working with 3 hours of sleep. Sunday night, I went to the Ravens game, to see the Ravens trounce the Steelers 10-7. Great game. Horrible officiating. Amazing tailgate.

I went with a guy from work who belongs to this tailgate club. Now, of course I’ve tailgated before, however, this party was on a much larger scale than I could have imagined.

We arrived in the parking lot at 1:30 (for an 8:30pm game) and weren’t the first ones there. We brought beer. A lot of it. There already was chili, tortilla chips, and some cheese. The next people brought more cheese, and a box of Bluepoint Oysters. Someone else brought a huge pan filled with steamed shrimp. About 6 to a pound. Yeah, they were huge.

People brought steaks, hamburgers, hotdogs, venison, more cheese, bags and bags of peanuts, more beer, and the piece de resistance, (I forget how to type an accent grave in Word) a deep fried turkey.

The game went well. We were sitting in the club level in handicapped seats because my friend from work had foot surgery a few weeks ago. Great seats. There was a slight altercation though. Some people a few seats to our left wouldn’t sit the hell down, which didn’t really bother me, although it blocked the view of a handicapped guy sitting next to us.

I’m not sure what his disability was, although his legs were rather atrophied, and he was seated in a suped-up wheelchair. This thing was high tech. Electronic control panel, turn signals, the works. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a Stinger missile battery hidden under the seat.

Anyway, my friend said something to them about sitting down, and they got all in his face. I was about to regulate when the usher came over to diffuse the situation and made things worse when he suggested that we let it go because they were season ticket holders.

That fucker. To suggest that season ticket holders should receive better treatment than the disabled?

Anywho…

I received my first birthday gift in the mail yesterday. That’s right, my birthday is rapidly approaching. January 1. I’ll be 28. Send cash.

When I was younger my mom would always tell this corny-assed joke to anyone who was surprised to learn that my B-Day fell on New Year’s.

“January 1. That was my due date. And I always do what I’m told!” Hahahahahahahah….ahem.

Yeah, I love my mom, but I used to react to that much in the same manner as Will Bloom from “Big Fish” when his father told the catfish story. But now, not so much. I don’t let it bother me. (And I suggest you either see “Big Fish” or read the book, because they are both amazing. No. Wait. Do both. See the movie, and read the book. Because I said so.)

But I’m getting sidetracked here…birthday gift.

In yesterday’s mail arrived an aluminum tin with an embossed five-pointed star on the lid. I removed the shrink wrap and opened the tin to find a small card. “A real friend never tries to steal your thunder. Your lighter, that’s a different story. Happy birthday, from Marlboro.” Inside was a brushed aluminum lighter. Actually, it’s a 50 cent cheapo lighter in a brushed aluminum sleeve. Still, pretty cool.

Marlboro loves me. It’s a shame I don’t smoke. Never have, never will. Both of my grandfathers died from smoking related cancer. Now don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a diatribe on the dangers of smoking. If you smoke, fine. Your business. I don’t care one way or the other what you put in your mouth. (Smoke up, Johnny!)

Every once in a while, Marlboro sends me coupons for free packs of cigarettes and I pass them along to my smoker friends. A while back, I signed up for Marlboro’s mailing list. Why? Why else? For a woman.

There was this hot brunette walking around some bar one night. She walked up to me sporting a laptop and a Marlboro polo shirt and asked if I smoked.

“No, sorry.”

“Oh, OK.” She turned to walk away.

“Wait. Why?”

“Because I’m giving away lighters to smokers.”

“Hmm. Are they nice?”

“They’re butane lighters.”

“Wow. So, yeah, I forgot. I actually do smoke.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Like a fiend. Two whole packs a day.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“And I sure could use a lighter.”

“A lighter, you say?”

“Yeah. A butane one would be fantastic.”

“Well, as a matter of fact…”

Anyway, I signed up for Marlboro’s mailing list in exchange for a lighter and her phone number. I went out with her once, and unfortunately, she wasn’t all that interesting.

But now I have two cool lighters to show for it. Go me!

READ THESE JOURNALS Uncle Bob SaraH

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