At the bar…
A guy sitting next to Patti and me at the Channelside Hooters had a pitcher in front of him, no mug, said he was working on his third of the night.
I could see him telling his wife with a straight face: “Only had three beers.”
Anybody else notice that the strength coach for Alabama’s football team, Scott Cochran, just got a $105,000 raise? That bump moved him to $525,000 per season, which, according to USA Today, gives him a higher paycheck than 10 head coaches in the Mid-American Conference.
I don’t know how estimates of this kind are conducted, but Wednesday’s victory parade for the NBA champion Cavs supposedly drew 1.3 million to the downtown Cleveland area. Having spent most of Wednesday morning trying to figure out how to navigate the maze for a return to my hotel, I would have guessed more. Of note: Ohio lawmakers have passed the use of medical marijuana. I can tell you there were a lot of folks getting treatment on Wednesday.
Finally, from Mo Howard: “If there’s anything I like better than honey and ketchup, it’s baloney and whip cream! And we haven’t got any.”
Many casualties of the bar were nursing hangovers when I arrived to Cleveland on Monday.
The Cavs defeated the Warriors Sunday night to win the NBA Championship, giving title-starved Cleveland fans their first championship in any major sport since 1964 when the Cleveland Browns — now the Baltimore Ravens, defeated the Baltimore Colts, now the Indianapolis Colts, in the NFL Championship game.
I loved the Colts back then and remember being devastated watching Frank Ryan pass to Gary Collins for three touchdowns and Jim Brown running anywhere he wanted in the Browns’ 27-0 win.
While those I encountered on Monday were hurting, all deemed the celebration worth the pain.
As Dan Jenkins once wrote, “Sometimes you gotta play hurt.”
How about what happened when Dustin Johnson finished up his final round Sunday at Oakmont? If you saw it, you had to think he was getting punked.
Johnson had just busted a huge drive and prepared to hit his second shot to the 18th green — arguably the most important shot of his career. He stood over the ball ready to draw back the club when a cell phone suddenly went off.
To Johnson’s credit, he didn’t blow up somebody in the gallery. He simply stepped away from the ball, righted himself, then hit a 6-iron stiff. After running in the 3-footer for a birdie, he walked away the winner of the U.S. Open, his first major.
Finally, an old favorite when one coach asks another about a player.
Coach 1: “Can he play?”
Coach 2: “He couldn’t play dead in a western.”