He said it

Reggie Bush on what he likes most about the possibility of playing pro football in Houston: “No state tax.”

What about-to-be-rich twenty-something would blame him? Reggie Bush knows he's money and he knows he's all but solidified the number one pick in the upcoming NFL draft. What comes as a refreshing deviation from what's becoming the norm in pro sports is that the NFL's next big superstar is a surprisingly humble, level-headed guy. You won't find Bush talking himself up when the microphones are in his face. He just lets that ankle-breakin' play on the field do the talking.

Speaking of the NFL draft, the thing is still about two months away, yet the hype and speculation has already started to occupy at least 20% of each SportsCenter broadcast. I guess I really can't blame them though. As much as I love baseball, the stories from spring training tend to be as exciting as quarterly corporate financial statements.

The NFL draft combine has gotten exponentially bigger each of the past three years and this year it's almost as big of a media circus as Super Bowl week. This draft prospect meat market is now even being covered on the NFL Network and the event itself has garnered corporate sponsors (I'm personally waiting to see The BenGay NFL Draft Combine). Personally, I still think scouts put way too much stock into the draft. Just get some "football players." You know what I mean. Favre. Urlacher. John Lynch.

Okay, 180-degree topic switch. Last night I was out for an ultra-belated holiday party for my previous part-time employer, which I was graciously invited to even though I was done working for them in January now that I have a full-time job. The first part of the night was a group trip out to ComedySportz, a live improv comedy show that offers good, clean fun for the entire family, but also manages to be completely hilarious. Since we were in somewhat of a mall-type complex -- it's called Calhoun Square and has various shops and restaurants -- we had some bars at our disposal. I rounded up a few of the guys and threw out the idea of us going to get a shot before the show. So we scurried over to the bar and I was hounded by a few people to buy the round, being one of the only guys with a full-time, "real world" job (although I can't say my disposable income is much higher than any of them, especially when one of the guys still has his rent paid by his parents). So I give in. The shitty part is, one of my friends takes the liberty in choosing what shot to order and has the audacity to choose a $6-per shot selection. Fine, whatever. I didn't have a whole lot of money set aside for the night, but my friend tells me everyone will hit me back later. Okay, cool.

A few hours later, everyone's at the sushi bar chowin' on sushi rolls and putting back sake. Without much money left and wanting a brew, I'm patiently waiting for one of the guys to step up and offer to buy one. Well, no one made the move. The great part is, when I subtley ask the friend discussed earlier if he would be kind enough to hit me back, he relies "I'm not going to buy a drink here" like the prices made the idea blasphemous. Nice. Real nice.

Well, I've fulfilled my rant obligation for the week and while it's quite possibly the slowest day I've experienced since that time I actually watched grass grow, I can't think of anything else I want to write about to extend the life of this post. So this is it.

CURRENT LISTENING: Built To Spill - You Were Right