Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Hey Rube

From Hunter S. Thompson's's Page 2 column.

Irsay called me last week from the ancient and honorable POLO Lounge in Beverly Hills, saying he was terribly nervous about his team's huge season opener in Foxboro -- somewhere on the outskirts of Boston. And he wondered if some of his players were planning to vote for George Bush in the coming November election.

"That's ridiculous," I told him. "Edge and Marvin would never vote for a criminal freak like George Bush. He is a failure in everything he touches."

"Well," he replied. "I don't know about that. Those two little daughters of his are extremely wild and hot. I've been sweet on those girls for a long time; I want them on my side when the deal goes down."

"Be careful, James," I said. "Those cupcakes are crazy as barn-cats, and they will never be on your side. Don't even think about inviting them up to Indianapolis for a game. Old Man Bush will call the cops on you and have you put in prison."

He laughed.

"Don't worry, Hunter," he said. "I know how to handle women. Those girls will be like putty in my hands. They will be worth at least three points in close games -- and I want those three points. I need them"

Only a sadist would have scheduled Indianapolis to visit Foxboro for the first game of a new NFL season. Nobody wants to open a season against the best team in the league, especially on a foreign field that brings back cruel memories of failure, defeat and suffering. But that is exactly what happened, and the Colts lost again by exactly three points. It was horrible.

The Bush girls were nowhere to be seen that night, and Irsay was carried out of the stadium in a brown rubber sack.