Hall of Champions Inductee #1

When I decided to start writing a blog that would serve as a chronicle of my champion achievements, I knew that it would bring joy to people all over the world. It also donned on me that there are other champions out there besides yours truly, so it only made sense to devote some of my time on this website to make my readers aware of these other champs. At first I was going to do a "Champion of the Week" post, but being a champion is a lifestyle, not a seven-day act.  Also, I don’t know if I will be able to post once a week about these people, because champions have no set schedule.  One day I might wake up and decide to go to “work,” clock out and drive home, and write all night about my past sexual exploits and binge drinking escapades.  On the other hand, I might wake up one day and not go to work, drive to Oneonta for a twelve day drug-and-alcohol-fueled party, and put in the type of MVP performance worthy of a future blog post. 

So with that said, you may be asking yourself why I posted a picture showing what appears to be the offspring of Gimli Gloin and Yoda.  Clearly a man who looks like that cannot be worthy of enshrinement in the prestigious HOC.  WRONG.  That man is George R.R. Martin aka author of A Game of Thrones aka Champion.  (minor spoiler warning)

 A Game of Thrones is actually the title of the first book in his planned seven book series A Song of Ice and Fire.  Calling them books doesn’t do Martin justice either, these are fuckin’ Tomes.  Each one is near a thousand pages or more, and they are filled with epic sword battles, back-stabbing that makes the Desperate Housewives look like Big Bird and Elmo, and graphic sexual encounters. Anybody who can write about a Dragon Queen taking a Horse Lord’s “manhood in her mouth” in one chapter, then discuss a Dwarf who fucks a prostitute before leading a band of mountain clansmen into battle is a true Champion in my book.  Also, don’t get too emotionally attached to any of the characters – Martin won’t think twice about chopping off the head of a fan-favorite main character to advance his plot.  Just ask Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of the King, and fuckin’ dead before the first book ends.  And to top it off, an Emmy-nominated HBO series is based on his books, creatively titled “Game of Thrones.”

Basically, if Lord of the Rings raped The Sopranos, Game of Thrones would be the bastard child.  So George R.R. Martin, I am proud to welcome you to the Hall of Champions.

A Little Advice From The Champ

Hey readers! This is your friendly neighborhood crime-committing Champion checking in to give you a little bit of advice.  If you have 900 dollars laying around, and you don’t want to part ways with it, then do exactly the opposite of what I did in the following situation.

A few years ago I was feeling a little worn out.  All of the championship winning I was doing was really starting to take its toll, and my life felt as if it was a never ending playoff series in which the trophy-clinching game was always within my grasp, but still just out of my reach.  To make a living, I was delivering pizzas, which is slang for smoking weed while driving around town to pick up tip money.  One night, after reflecting on my life over a thirty pack of PBR, I decided I was going to quit.  Instead of giving my manager two weeks’ notice, I felt that the most appropriate way to leave the job would be to just not go in - without any prior indication that I was unhappy with my work.  Also, I decided I would head straight to a local bar and pound some beers.   Eventually, my now-former boss called my cell phone to see where I was.

“Where are you, you’re late for your shift,” he asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

“I’m at the bar, where are you?” I responded, matching his angry tone.

“Well ya can’t drive if you’re drinking. You wanna get fired?”

“Yes.” I said as I hung up and threw back a beer.

Now that I was officially a free man, I decided to celebrate.  I ordered shots for myself and the three girls sitting next to me, and after drinking them I immediately left the bar, forcing them to pick up the tab.  Whatever…I do what I want.

I ended up meeting up with a few of my friends at another bar, and the heavy drinking really took off.  I mean shots being chased my mixed drinks mixed with shots being chased by beers in between bogey breaks.  After a few hours of this alcohol induced massacre on my personal well-being, I was obviously the most fucked up person at the bar.  The bartender must have noticed my belligerence, because when I ordered another round of drinks he told me that I was cut off.  Now a normal person would probably realize it was time to call it a night.  Not a Champion.   My response to a bartender telling me I’m cut off is like when a girl insists she's on the pill but still shows up on your doorstep six weeks later with a positive pregnancy test. 

I exploded with uncontainable rage tainted with regret and pride - AKA the Champion's cocktail 

Before the bartender had time to react, I reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of some type of liquor.  As I tipped it back and the liquid started pouring into my mouth, my friends grabbed me and tried to force me into submission.  Meanwhile, the bartender hopped over the bar to join the confusion.  A few seconds later the bouncers jumped in the melee, and it was complete chaos.  Finally, someone managed to wrestle the bottle away from me, and I was told that if I didn’t leave immediately the cops would be called.  I decided to be the bigger man and leave, but not before I left my mark. 

As my friends and I were strolling out of the exit, I grabbed a vase off one of the tables and concealed it under my jacket.  As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I threw the vase at one of the huge 10x10 foot windows that faced the main road.  Needless to say, the window shattered and I laughed like Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight during the whole car ride home.  

Unfortunately, I left my cell phone on the bar, and I was caught on camera.  So the next day, I received a phone call from the owner of the bar telling me if I didn’t pay for the window there would be felony charges pressed against me.  Since I am familiar with criminal law I decided to pay. I will stack misdemeanors like Jose Canseco stacks hormones, but felonies are no joke. 

Nine hundred dollars later, there was a new window at the bar that I am now banned from, and my friends who were there decided it wasn’t a good idea to take me out for drinks when I am “celebrating” new found freedom. 

To conclude, I just want to say that you should never celebrate quitting your job in an extremely inconsiderate way -  drinking an insane amount of alcohol and ignoring someone who tells you that you’ve had WAY too much to drink and then smashing a 900 dollar window for no reason.  Oh Champions, ya can’t live with em’, ya can’t live without em’.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯