Celephais
08-20-2008, 11:45 PM
http://www.metrobostonnews.com/us/article/2008/08/21/00/4044-72/index.xml
Howe: My plan for gold in 2020
Through an intense session of self-reflection, I’ve decided there are two things missing from my life: a Heisman Trophy and an Olympic gold medal. Since my career on the gridiron ended after a flag football season in the seventh grade (I was a backup quarterback, and a poor man’s version of Michael Bishop, at best.), my only chance at a Heisman involves buying one from O.J. Simpson — on the condition he pinky swears not to rob me the following business day.
So, after seeing the public’s adulation for Michael Phelps, I’m going for gold, baby. I swim with the grace of a one-legged squirrel and run as fast as Vin Baker chasing a non-alcoholic drink, so events requiring physical dominance are out. That basically leaves pingpong, everyone’s favorite game that no one’s really good at. And I’m going to do this right. There’s no rushing for 2012 or going for broke in 2016. Here’s the deal: If I play pingpong every single day for the next 12 years and can’t win a gold medal in 2020, I’m more worthless than FEMA after a hurricane. Game on.
I look around and see those who have achieved greatness — Arnold Schwarzenegger, William Hung, Star Jones, George Bush, Ben Affleck, the creators of “King of the Hill,” heck, even France has its own country — and wonder, where’s my pie? I’m 6-foot-2 and 185 pounds of fire and pain, and I’ll dominate that table like a rockstar.
I’ll even have my own Chuck Norris fan-generated Web site. (“When Jeff Howe serves a pingpong ball, you don’t hear the click of paddle hitting ball, you hear the ball screaming in agony.”) Plus, I’m already an established amateur, having played a solid 30 games in my career, winning at least 18 of them. All I need to do is manage my spin control and depth perception. Let’s just say it’s time to start clearing off my mantle, which includes a few baseball trophies and a second-place ribbon from my sixth-grade science fair. (I made a windmill, which is ironic, since I’m nicknaming myself “The Windmill” once I turn pro.)
Jump on my bandwagon right now. It’s got golden rims, and it’s being driven by Ron Burgundy. Someday, I’ll be a big deal, too. Wanna come to my house and hang out with my gold medal? Of course you do. Just don’t touch it, or you’ll get a pingpong ball in the throat.
Howe: My plan for gold in 2020
Through an intense session of self-reflection, I’ve decided there are two things missing from my life: a Heisman Trophy and an Olympic gold medal. Since my career on the gridiron ended after a flag football season in the seventh grade (I was a backup quarterback, and a poor man’s version of Michael Bishop, at best.), my only chance at a Heisman involves buying one from O.J. Simpson — on the condition he pinky swears not to rob me the following business day.
So, after seeing the public’s adulation for Michael Phelps, I’m going for gold, baby. I swim with the grace of a one-legged squirrel and run as fast as Vin Baker chasing a non-alcoholic drink, so events requiring physical dominance are out. That basically leaves pingpong, everyone’s favorite game that no one’s really good at. And I’m going to do this right. There’s no rushing for 2012 or going for broke in 2016. Here’s the deal: If I play pingpong every single day for the next 12 years and can’t win a gold medal in 2020, I’m more worthless than FEMA after a hurricane. Game on.
I look around and see those who have achieved greatness — Arnold Schwarzenegger, William Hung, Star Jones, George Bush, Ben Affleck, the creators of “King of the Hill,” heck, even France has its own country — and wonder, where’s my pie? I’m 6-foot-2 and 185 pounds of fire and pain, and I’ll dominate that table like a rockstar.
I’ll even have my own Chuck Norris fan-generated Web site. (“When Jeff Howe serves a pingpong ball, you don’t hear the click of paddle hitting ball, you hear the ball screaming in agony.”) Plus, I’m already an established amateur, having played a solid 30 games in my career, winning at least 18 of them. All I need to do is manage my spin control and depth perception. Let’s just say it’s time to start clearing off my mantle, which includes a few baseball trophies and a second-place ribbon from my sixth-grade science fair. (I made a windmill, which is ironic, since I’m nicknaming myself “The Windmill” once I turn pro.)
Jump on my bandwagon right now. It’s got golden rims, and it’s being driven by Ron Burgundy. Someday, I’ll be a big deal, too. Wanna come to my house and hang out with my gold medal? Of course you do. Just don’t touch it, or you’ll get a pingpong ball in the throat.