Alright everyone gather round, take a knee, and listen up. Monday morning concludes the horribly named running workout in Sardis Hills for 2017, and that day we will crown the season champ. Before I start to get into the particulars let me address the question that I am sure you are currently asking yourself. Yes, a meathead who runs slower than a three legged turtle high on Quaaludes and codeine is leading a running workout. I assure you there are reasons for this aberration.
First of all, it takes a meathead to make a running workout interesting. Running workouts generally consist of something like “OK guys, run down this street for awhile, then turn onto another street and run down it for a bit, then come back here. Repeat that a couple times, and go”. Monday will be a different animal. Speaking of animals, this particular workout (I try to use the official name as little as possible because it is just simply atrocious) is a big dumb animal. Therefore, since this big dumb animal is due to be put down, another big dumb animal should be entrusted with taking it behind the woodshed and giving it both proverbial barrels.
Secondly, I have just enough malice in my heart toward this beast to mercilessly pull the trigger. I will joyously snuff the life out of this thing just like the grunge era joyously snuffed the life out of rock and roll. Spare me the nonsense about Nirvana, Soundgarden, etc. Rock and roll was big, loud, fun, and awesome when its spiritual home was on the Sunset Strip. Once the epicenter moved to the dreary northwest it became whiny and un-fun. This directly led to rock taking a backseat in the hierarchy of popular music to hip-hop dreck , bubblegum pop, and electronic gibberish and we’re going on two and a half decades of new music being generally awful. Anyway, back to the matter at hand…Horsey is a far drive for a lot of us, even in the predawn hours, which makes it annoying. It starts at 5:15, which is also irksome. The neighborhood where it resides, is just a cornucopia of weird. There is a flagpole wrapped in neon lights, and more than one house on the mean streets of Sardis Hills display their addresses in neon lights. This is South Charlotte, and we have aesthetic standards down here. Get with the program Sardis Hills, pride starts at the curb. There is also a resident who wanders around the neighborhood talking to multiple dogs and telling them not to be scared of the hoards of invaders running around. I am one hundred percent certain this lady has more conversations with animals than she does with humans. Then there is Chester. If a laboratory were to distill the weird/creepy elements of Phil Spector, the ShamWOW guy, Richard Simmons, and the guy from Sling Blade, you would basically be left with Chester. He’s like when Major Blood created Serpantor, only with creepers. It will be my pleasure to euthanize this creature.
So about Monday morning: as I said earlier, we will be crowning the 2017 champion. The exact rules will be laid out in a pre-blast sometime on Sunday. Yes, I am pre-blasting a pre-blast. Some things deserve the hype, and writing provides me a creative outlet to keep me sane since I am about to go sit through a ninety minute meeting on a Friday afternoon with some Big Four blowhards. Take the weekend to mentally prepare yourself to gird up your loins and take the field of battle. This is winner take all and as the Clan McLeod taught us, there can be only one. It’s all fine and good to have trained with somebody else all summer long, but remember, Shawn Michaels never won the big belt until he threw Marty Jannety through the window of Brutus the Barber Beefcake’s studio. Monday’s effort will require not only running prowess, but the capacity for strategic thought and cunning. The title of this rambling is a clue to the format, and I will give you another clue right now. I will be playing the role of the Pace Car, a.k.a. the lumbering ox. Once free of the Pace Car, your job will be to hunt the lumbering ox. More to come on Sunday.
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