Ho Ho Ho! Christmas is right around the corner – is everyone ready? I am not. I’m still feeling a little lacking in spirit, overwhelmed, like nothing’s in its right place. Work to finish, cookies to bake, “Love Actually” to watch 16 times (min), gifts to wrap, gifts to buy. Everyone might just get a coupon for One Free Hug this year. And some special people will get coupons for One Free Stevie Wonder.
Ha, no! No one’s getting an SW – I’m just going to beat that joke into the ground. And then lie down next to it and make my butt clap.
No, no, no. I just wanted to start off with some silly stuff because I have some sad, sad news to share. A Dynasty has fallen. The HoBags have been defeated. After 14 hard-fought weeks, we’ve been eliminated for the 2010 season, just one game away from the top. It’s a tough break, sure, but we’re all taking it OK, I think. Except for DeSean Jackson who totally cried into his quiche at the post-game brunch.
It helps that we were toppled by a worthy opponent; a solid team helmed by QB Michael Vick, a man who is currently living literally my favorite thing in the world: a sports-related moral comeback.
I’m already working on scripts for the movie version of his life. It will be like “The Wrestler” meets “Lassie,” starring Jamie Foxx as MV (my search history now contains “black actors who look like Michael Vick,” yikes), and me, obviously, as his tough-as-nails, slightly trashy lady love/baby momma who teaches him how to love, to live, to be a man. Post-prison he returns to the field, stronger, more focused – he rebuilds his relationship with his children and eventually the courts award him the right to own a dog. Then, one desperate Sunday, after his team (Fantasy, not the Eagles, let’s stay grounded in reality here) is defeated by the HoBags, weakness takes over. He drives to his old neighborhood, to the dog fighting pits, but when he gets there, his former dog fighter friends are angry with him for blowing up their spot – and they beat him senseless, leaving him for dead. And kidnapping his dog! But then, his brave, strong pit bull, Conan (after O’Brien, MV’s favorite late night host) escapes from the captors and rescues Vick, moments before death.
“You saved me,” Vick whispers, urgently, pressing his face into Conan’s fur. “You. Saved. Me.” He weeps. Conan licks away his tears.
AND SCENE. (The Oscars have just been renamed the LizHos.)
But I digress. This isn’t about Michael Vick, it’s about the HoBags. A team full of strength, courage, wisdom, humor, talent, running ability, good catching hands and sex appeal. They are the greatest group of men I have ever pretended to know. My heroes.
We’ll reunite this spring for our annual team retreat (this year: Colonial Williamsburg!) but until then, send us home, Boyz.