A few thoughts on the sportball...

Last week saw a near record number of days spent on the single track, and was capped off by a ride down to Westport for the remnants of the Strong Beer Festival and a viewing of Pulp Fiction whilst consuming at least *673 kinds of beer in a 3 hour period....and of course eating like a little piggy in A Christmas Story: why oh why can I not just say no to guacamole and chocolate-sea salt almonds; surely the psychic motivations are PhD dissertation-worthy. I had the opportunity to meet the 8 Lumens crew out at WyCo for yet more SS goodness, but instead opted for a reconnaissance hike on the Kaw sandbar with the kiddos and Joe Schmoe...laying out in my pickled mind a course for the Fat Sand Nationals that will take place this coming weekend on the 23rd.

A look at the long-range forecast is a bit daunting: rain towards the end of the week and then, the coup de grace, a wintry mix and a high of 30 the day of the 'race'. Fatbikes were made for the nastiest of trail conditions, so my concern does not arise from the chance of precipitation, rather, the temperature will surely frighten all but the most resilient and hard-core riders: there will be mucho whiskeo provided so there really is no excuse to sit at home on your deflated sack of seed...

Which brings me to the meat of this here post, the blended anal glands of the swine, the carcass of the crap-filled dog of hot: my own penchant for viewing the sport of balls. I grew up playing futbol as if it were a religion, but American Football was what my father and I watched with a passion every Sunday and Monday nights, a guilty pleasure that I have now passed on to my son of 9 years. As did many a fan of our Chiefs, we had a truncated dinner party last night for the Denver Donkeys game, which ended as expected with Mrs. Manning eating us out like an extra-juicy series of meat-curtains. But, as if that was not enough time spent in front of millionaire lobotimites, I was offered a very rare opportunity by a close friend to attend the KU home basketball game Tuesday night at the eponymous Allen Field House, a venue in which I have never seen a game....and the seats are 10 rows up from center court: good fucking grief. So, short story long, I am choosing the sportball over a warm November night ride; I'm sure it will be an incredible experience, however jaded and cynical I am about my closeted love of athletics - besides cycling, of course. There is something unmistakably visceral about being crammed like sardines into a stadium packed to the brim with rabid fanatics: the mob mentality is without a doubt the most powerful force in humanity, aside from a 10 hour Youporn binge that is....