Guys, guys, guys!!! It’s officially Friday, which means it’s Fried-ay, which means it’s time for me to bend over my keyboard and Johnny Sins’ it into submission. For those of you unfamiliar, Fried-ay is a blog I post every Friday (or Saturday, Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday) where I just dump a bunch of disconnected thoughts into a WordPress box and publish it for the world to read. In other words, it will eventually be the reason I get fired from a job someday. Let’s get into it…
For those keeping score at home, Tiger is BACK, and if there’s anyone who’s been riding the Tiger’s Back bandwagon, it’s me. Over the past two years, nearly half of my Fried-ay blogs have featured “Tiger’s Back” in the title and with good reason. Yesterday, he dropped to his knees, lined up left-handed and plopped a chip from underneath a bush onto the green within 5 feet of the pin; today, he holed an 82-yarder from the fairway to beat Patrick Cantlay and advance to the weekend of the WGC-Dell Technologies Match Play. Given where we stand right now, Tiger will likely match up against Rory tomorrow morning and word on the range is that Rory’s on suicide watch….
There are tons of running arguments I get in with my friends, which means there are tons of arguments I win. I always contend I should’ve been a lawyer because I just dish out bodybags in my group chat but there’s one particular argument that I can’t seem to shake.
Seemingly whenever I head to a foreign house party or pregame, there’s always some asshole who calls me out for drinking Michelob Ultra. For the record, I’m a God damn athlete, which often requires me to make sacrifices that never cross the minds of other, weak-minded beta slobs. One of these things is caloric intake.
While others recklessly shove logs of cookie dough down their gullet as if they’re in a race to see who gets diabetes first, I’m the guy at the table who has to muster up the courage to order a salad on occasion. This plight often extends to my drinking habits.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But Joe, if you’re so concerned with athletic achievement, why not just quit drinking altogether?”
Well, I don’t know, because I’m not some inbred psycho? Moving on…
So yeah, whenever I bring Michelob Ultra around, I have to deal with some douchebag—most likely wearing a Hartford Whalers hat and ranting about the latest Vin Diesel movie—who says something like “Nice chick-elobs bro” or “Why don’t you drink like a man?”
Given the temperament through which he expresses such sentiments, it’s pretty clear that he’s attempting to nullify my masculinity, which makes ABSOLUTELY NO sense. For the record, Michelob Ultra has the exact same amount of alcohol as Bud/Coors/Miller Light. Literally the only difference between these brands is the amount of calories each can contains.
With that said, what’s the difference? I’ll answer that: the fact “that guy” is an insecure clown…
One of my pipe dreams in life has always been to open a local breakfast place. Why? Well, there are a lot of reasons. First and foremost, breakfast is awesome and pretty easy to make. I mean, it’s really difficult to fuck up eggs and bacon; it’s like pizza in that some slices are better than others but in the end, it’s still pizza. You need to have an incredibly pretentious culinary palette to hate on a particular breakfast order.
Furthermore, local breakfast places crush because they provide an ambiance that a chain can’t replicate. Breakfast was intended to be consumed in a closet-sized diner that’s open 6 hours a week while some 72-year-old woman named Betty or something comes around with a pot of coffee and asks “whattayahavingsweetheart?” Either that, or at 4am in the morning to dilute an eventual hangover.
That’s what breakfast was meant to be and places like IHOP or—for people in MA at least—Bickford’s just can’t do it. Side Note: I used to go to Bickford’s all the time and order silver dollar pancakes because why would you want 2 appropriately-sized pancakes when you could have 16 smaller ones?
– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)