Falcons stink up the joint
By Dave Brown / Staff
PUTNAM COUNTY -- We like to keep it real in Lake Country, sports fans, so when the Falcons snatched defeat from the jaws of victory in Super Bowl LI, it made me want to purge myself and retch up my most putrid sports nightmares into a purple velvet bag, use the gold draw cord to tightly tie up the memory mixture and dispose of it properly in a deep hole in my backyard in some sort of semi-spiritual ritual.
Super Bowl LI will henceforth and forthwith be known in the annals of my mind as Super Blew IT.
Oh brother, if you think pouring a bottle of Crown Royal down your gullet will slow your roll the next day, consider if you will me brushing my teeth, looking in the mirror at Mr. Loserville personified and experiencing epic morning-after, dry-heave convulsions caused by a nasty combination of Canadian mouthwash mixed with the Falcons’ monumental choke job.
Despite the Monday morning haze, I vividly remembered Sunday night’s meltdown to New England and danged-near regurgitated. The strangling half-gag tasted like toasted angst, felt like losing hanks of hair from a sequence of yanks and smelled as hideous as Hillary Clinton’s dank Spanx.
Thanks once again, dear reader, for returning to this teeny-tiny ink spot in your favorite community-based newspaper and allowing me to bring harsh reality into your cars, homes and businesses.
We could go through the misery of recounting what happened and assigning blame when the Falcons blew a 25-point lead with 17 minutes left to the Patriots in Super Blew IT, but there’s no reason to be get all dizzy and unsteady on your feet from something akin to unpleasant nausea caused by checking (re: whiffing) an underarm of a stale, thrice-worn (without washing) yard work t-shirt.
It was is if I had a heinous poisonous mustard gas cocktail concoction sent me spiraling back in time to the dregs of 2012 for SEC Championship game where the Georgia Bulldogs collapsed like a Girl Scout’s pup tent in a whirlwind after leading Alabama by 21 with an invite to the national championship game on the line, and then a month later the Falcons self-flagellating a 17-0 lead to the 49ers and eventually losing the NFC championship game to Colin “The Commie” Kaepernick that brought new meaning to the phrase “football flatulence.”
They say the sense of smell triggers the most vivid memories, and a trip down sports’ stinky Olfactory Lane will singe your nostril hairs like a crackhead using a Zippo to pipe up in a breezy doorway.
The subway system in New York City smell like rank junkies’ urine and the malodorous scent of homeless peoples’ body odor, but taking the D Train on the return trip from the Bronx to Penn Station smelled like the perfume counter at Tiffany’s compared to the time the Braves stunk it up at Yankee Stadium during Game 4 of the 1996 World Series.
The felonious fragrance from the Braves death throes on the field wafted in the gloom to my auxiliary press box seat behind a giant support beam after the Braves were leading 6-0 and had a chance to go up 3-1 in the seven-game series, but choked the game 8-6 in 10 innings like a scurvy dog with a chicken bone when Jumpin’ Jim Leyritz homered. Atlanta turtled from that point and lost the series 4-2.
None of those previous sewer-smelling forays were even close to preparing me for the offending foul of the Falcons walking the stank-plank at the shank-end of Super Blew IT.
The Falcons really, really, really stunk up the joint. That wasn’t a Baby Ruth in the punchbowl at the end of the Super Bowl party.
It reminded me of the time my daughter – whose named I spelled “Hillairy” because it made me envision inhaling the wonderful ambiance of mountain breeze – had a big-time blowout diaper and I had to hose her off with hand-held showerhead in the bathtub.
Just like the Dr. Seuss bedtime story I read to her once or twice or 10 times a night around Christmastime with the immortal passage about Mr. Grinch’s breath, that day I changed her diaper in bathtub was the epitome of stink, stank, stunk. However, that memory will last forever because I love my daughter more than a penguin would love a long, hot bath.
So no matter if the Falcons dirty birded in the backseat, made me gasp for fresh air at Super Blew IT and figuratively roll down the windows of the car, I’m still riding with them.
Yeah, I know. It stinks to high heavens, and that’s the type of smell you never forget.
(Dave Brown is a staff writer for The Eatonton Messenger. Brown won the Joe Parham Trophy for first place humor column from the Georgia Press Association in 2016. He lives in Putnam County. Email him at firstname.lastname@example.org.)
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