Dudes,
Your intrepid Commissioner just back from Turning Stone and the annual NYState High School Coaches Association Conference. Odd, you're thinking, cause the Commissioner is not exactly an
active coach. True. But I had a ticket for the show and I didn't want to miss those awesome Turning Stone conference chairs.
Damn. Boys. This is, like, Squanto's revenge. These chairs, I mean. My ass, with it's flowing mane of protective cuticles, can take, maybe, fifteen minutes in one of these Spanish Inquisition inspired chairs and then it starts to seriously. Cramp. Up. I sat on one or another of these fuckers for, count 'em, 6 hours today. Maybe more. Don't know. Lost Ass-consciousness. Particularly since once the keynote speaker finally wrapped it up I piled in the cruiser and drove home in a blinding snow storm. The highlight of which was the nut-busting numb-ass-or-not neuron tweaker slog from Mohawk to Fly Creek in a dog pack of tail lights headed up by some poor douchebag in a four door shit machine chevy with 2WD and bald tires and an alarming tendency to spin out even at the mother fuck 25 miles an hour we were travelling at THE WHOLE WAY FROM MOHAWK, GOD DAMN YOU, BASTARD, JUST PULL IT OVER!
Jesus Christ in heaven does my ass hurt me right now. Did I mention that?
Anyway. Back from the conference. Picked up some great swag for McLovin', nada for the rest of you dildos. Whoa. Sorry. I'm a sufferin' bastard right now, so bear with me.
Fuckers, do you know what a ballroom full of, like, 150 NYS High School football coaches who have been drinking beer all night the night before and eating Native American casino buffet for 3 consecutive meals smells like? Go find a sick dog. Look for a pile of dog puke nearby. Stick your face down there. Get back to me.
Oh my FUCKING god. This has been quite a day. That's it. I'm done sharing with you BRFLers.
Jimbosuke,
Commissioner for Life
PS: The Cortland defensive backs coach has his shit squared away, most definitely.
