The Holiday Gift Exchange

There is nothing -I repeat, nothing- more awkward than the Holiday Gift Giving Season. In truth, it is the only down side of this festive time of year, and unfortunately, the awkwardness is almost as unavoidable as Herpes Simplex I.

With only three games left, the New England Patriots are knocking on the door to football immortality.  The ’72 Dolphin’s champagne has been relegated to the ice bucket this season while the Pats blistered through their schedule.  The only bumps in an otherwise smooth road have been a nail biter against Indy and hiccups against the Ravens and Iggles. Now only the Jets, Dolphins, and Giants stand in their way to a perfect regular season. Out of that trifecta of losers, only the Jets have a legitimate shot of knocking them off, only because it’s a division rivalry game and Mangini hates Belichick. Big Blue and Miami won’t have anything for the Patriots. 

Pitch a Tent at Pitcher’s Pub When my ex, Geoff, and I first separated, we split Main Street down the middle. In our Custody Battle for Alcoholic Establishments, I attained the Bayou while he obtained Pitcher’s Pub. Now that he’s not around, I have free range of all the bars on Main Street again. Yipee freakin’ doo! I can once again, chill at one of my favorite sport’s bars in the ‘Yunk!

Fans are rejoicing on Broad Street once again. The man who has almost single-handedly destroyed the Philadelphia 76ers, Billy King, has finally been given his pink slip. To call him a lame duck GM would be a disgrace to lame ducks everywhere. King was a boil on the neck of the Sixers, allowed to fester as ownership concentrated more on hockey than basketball.