anon [uh–non] adv. 1. in a short time; soon 2. at another time 3. Archaic. at once, immediately ∞ idiom 4. ever and anon, now and then: occasionally
William Shakespeare (1564), William Penn (1621), James Buchanan (1791), Stephen A. Douglas (1813), Cow Cow Davenport (1894), Lester B. Pearson (1897), Vladimir Nabokov (1899), Shirley Temple (1928), Roy Orbison (1936), Lee Majors (1939), Sandra Dee (1942), Joyce DeWitt (1949), Michael Moore (1954), Jan Hooks (1957), Valerie Bertinelli (1960), George Lopez (1961), John Cena (1977), Kal Penn (1977), John Oliver (1977), Jaime King (1979)
Hey, guys, remember being 21 and out at the ballgame with your buddies? Drinking beers? Heckling the opposing team and their fans? Eating a half dozen hot dogs? Those were good times, am I right? You know I am.
And remember those times when, say, a guy would be sitting in front of you with his daughters and, maybe, he didn’t like you cursing so god damn much and you, or one of your buddies, decided to show him who’s boss by sticking your finger down your throat and throwing up all over 11-year old daughter? Yeah, those were the days.
Wait. That doesn’t sound right, does it? You’re right. It’s not normal. That is unless you’re some fuckstick from Cherry Hill, NJ named Matthew Clemmens. After his idiot friend got kicked out for cursing too much due to a complaint from the 15-year old girl in front of him, Clemmens thought the best way to retaliate was to stick his fingers down his throat and vomit on the girl’s little sister.
Both girls were there with their father, Michael Vangelo, an off-duty police officer from Easton, PA. To his credit, Vangelo restrained himself and tended to his daughter instead of smacking the shit out of Clemmens. Fortunately, a few of the other spectators took care of that for him by holding the clown down and giving him the business until police arrived on the scene. Clemmens was arrested but not before pulling the same stunt, throwing up on one of the officers. He’s being brought up on a bunch of charges but, likely as not, very little will come from it
First of all, who does that? I have to say I’ve got an above-average imagination but puking on anyone, not to mention a little girl, is something I couldn’t have ever conjured, even on my best day. Clemmens doesn’t need a trial, he needs a shrink. And fast.
Also, I’d like to offer a sincere thanks to Clemmens for adding yet another chapter in the lore that is the creative misguided genius mindset of the Philadelphia sports fan. I mean, it’s embarrassing and all, but at least it’s not dull. Here’s a list of some of my favs.
→ We boo Santa Claus. Although the true story told in its original context isn’t really as bad as the legend of it. But, still, we boo Santa.
→ We throw stuff like snowballs and batteries. Because, why chuck anything at anybody if there’s no threat of bodily harm? That’s right, folks, we’re the reason every flake of snow gets removed from a stadium before game time. You’re welcome.
→ We will fight you. This happens mostly at Flyers games, the most famous when some dipshit thought it was a good idea to jump into the penalty box with Tie Domi, one of the toughest hombres ever to lace up skates.
→ We dislike our own guys more than anyone. You hate Donovan McNabb?Mike Schmidt? Eric Lindros? Allen Iverson? Cool. Us too. Exceptional athletes getting rewarded for their performances with a steady stream of boos.
I could go on and on (and on). But you get the picture. The truth of it is, Philadelphia sports fans are pretty solid folks, content to go to the games and have some fun but that’s the way in most cities, I guess. The difference is our bad seeds. They’re incredibly devious. And they suck. And they’re dragging the rest of us down into the sewer with them.
When we ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. ↔ Henri Nouwen
It seems like a lifetime ago that I had to get up every Saturday morning at 6am for work. (I know, right?) I blasted “Saturday Morning” by Eels as soon as I started my car for the drive in and, somehow, it always seemed to help.
→ Let’s face it. You text. I text. EVERYBODY texts.
→ In the ongoing battle for internet supremacy being fought by Facebook and Twitter, CNN.com has finally declared a winner: It’s Facebook.