Two Boston College Grads Move to Buy New Orleans Hornets

February 4, 2012

The National Basketball Association

645 Fifth Ave.   

New York, NY 10022

Dear David Stern,

We couldn’t help but notice that you still haven’t sold the New Orleans Hornets. That’s why we wanted to make a formal offer of $25,000 to buy the team. We realize this is probably somewhat lower than other offers you have received. But it shows that we aren’t the type of owners who are going to overspend on players. And at the end of the day, that means more money for the league and no more lockouts.

At this point, I bet you’re intrigued by what we’re bringing to the table. But you’re probably asking yourself, “Who are Mike Salvucci and Nick DiMarino?” Great question Dave. Glad you brought it up. We both graduated from Boston College last May and we love talking NBA. Whether it’s sitting around in our dorm room or texting during the work day, there isn’t an NBA topic that we haven’t covered: how to fix the Knicks, the best landing spot for Dwight, whether or not the Thunder need an inside scorer. We’re basically like the Radio Shack of the NBA. You’ve got questions. We’ve got answers.

The way we look at it, this is a win-win for everyone involved. It’s great publicity for the league because it shows you understand the importance of a fresh perspective. It’s great for the Hornets because it brings stability to an organization that has experienced tremendous uncertainty over the last few months. It’s great for you because it lightens your load at the office. And it’s a great opportunity for us to come in and do what we do best, which is run an NBA franchise.

As owners of the Hornets, our competitive strategy would be twofold. First, we would declare our loyalties to New Orleans. This commitment will allow us to re-establish the fan base, as well as attract big-time free agents to this wonderful city. Secondly, we would name ourselves the GM’s of the team and would do things a little differently. No more $72 million contracts for Emeka Okafor. We’re going to run regression analysis to give us a competitive edge as we transform the team. Plus, we’re willing to be the fall guys when difficult decisions need to be made.

Thank you and we look forward to hearing from you,

Mike Salvucci 

salvucci.michael@gmail.com                                                                                  

Nick DiMarino

dimarinn@gmail.com                                                              

Seriously Mitch?

Really bro? That’s how you decide to make your debut in the comments section? Calling my soccer post the worst blog ever? I mean if you’re gonna shit on my writing, at least shit on my Europe blogs. Those were awful. But don’t just start complaining at the first blog that isn’t solely focused on you. Like, what do you want me to even say at this point? Hey everybody, meet my friend Mitch! He loves to fist pump to “Levels” and his long, blonde hair actually does correspond to how much of an asshole he is.

But I guess I kinda understand it, though. If you were a good enough athlete, maybe you could have played Varsity sports in high school, too. And then maybe you would relate to all this. Because the last time I checked, when you find an old DVD of your high school soccer team, you post it on the internet so your teammates can enjoy it. But maybe that’s just me.

P.S. Fuck you Tom. Nobody cares about college football. They can’t throw.

Well This Pretty Much Puts an End to That Debate

I can't believe we spent the last few days arguing about whether or not the 2004 Newton North soccer team could beat the U.S. Women's National team. Because, honestly, we'd probably be up like 8-0 at halftime. I mean did you hear the way our coaches were talking about us? Basically calling us the greatest high school soccer team in the history of the world. Sure, we lost in the first round of the tournament. But that was because half the team had a drinking problem. Not because we weren't good enough.

The Wonder of It All...

So last night, a few of the more fun All-Stars went to Foxwoods to see what all the fuss what about. Here’s how it went down for these high-rollers.

5:30 PM: Got to the hotel. Successfully booked one room for all six of us, despite Tom deciding to pop open a can of Bud Light right in front of the reception desk. Like that's not suspicious at all.

6:00 PM: Started playing drinking games and eating environmentally-friendly sandwiches that Jesse made for us.

7:00 PM: Spent about 20 minutes discussing what clothes we should wear once we hit the casino floor. Obviously I looked hawt.

7:45 PM: I sat down at the Blackjack table with Mitch. Bought $100 worth of chips. Had no idea what I was doing and was constantly ridiculed by the hick sitting next to me.

7:56 PM: Lost all my money.

8:00 PM: Jamie just killing it at the Cash Wheel. Jesse winning $3.41 at the penny slots. And Mitch, already $100 in the hole, says “Fuck it, I’ll just do another Craigslist deal tomorrow,” and heads back to the Blackjack table.

9:00 PM: Return to the room to drink more. Team Mike-Tom-Zack obviously win the best-of-three series of Baseball, with Zack temporarily deciding he’s not a Glu-tard anymore.

11:30 PM: Went to Shrine, an Asian-themed nightclub that looked like Legends of the Hidden Temple. Basically just reinforced the fact that I have no idea how to talk to girls. Didn't even try to approach a single one. Not that there were many attractive girls there to begin with. But still, there comes a time in a man’s life when he needs to be able to hit on girls who aren’t dating his best friends.

1:30 AM: Sat down at Fuddruckers for over an hour and inhaled multiple cheeseburgers, hot dogs, potato wedges, chicken fingers, etc… Realized that the girl in the red dress who we thought was hot was maybe the most disgusting girl in Connecticut… And almost gave Jesse a heart-attack when I told him I’m voting Republican this year cause I think the whole Democrat thing is played out.

3:00 AM: Mitch and Zack enjoy pillow talk while the rest of us head back to the casino. Tom becomes the first male in history to take off his shoes and carry them around because they were hurting his feet.

4:00 AM: Everyone trying to sleep, but Zack and Tom literally in a screaming match about who holds the key to the girl at Lee's Burgers' heart. Maybe the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard in my life. Like, you order food and she brings it to you. It doesn’t mean she’s in love with you, it means she works there.

Villages of Newton: Power Rankings

#1 Newtonville

Whatever you do, never start talking about youth sports with someone who went to Cabot. It’s literally the most miserable conversation you will ever have in your life. “Dude, Cabot had the best athletes, man. We had sick athletes. Like, if there was an Olympics with all the elementary schools in Newton, Cabot would easily win. We were sick.” Like, nobody cares. We don’t need to listen to stories about that time when the football bounced off the Humpty Dumpty and Kirsch caught it in the end zone. We’re over it. Believe me.


#2 Newton Centre

Basically the Disney World for overprotective mothers. I mean, this place has it all. Pick the little ones up at Hebrew School. Drive them over to their orthodontist appointment. Pop in to CVS real quick because your son forgot to bring a pencil to Kaplan SAT Prep. And since your daughter has an hour in between Russian math school and Driver’s Ed, why don’t you grab a bite to eat with her at Johnny’s. Partly because you want to ask her about her sex life, but mostly because Johnny’s is an awesome place for Newton mom’s to be seen. It just screams “I’m still young and hip enough to enjoy a burger, but you better overcharge me for it because people need to know that I’m well-off.”


#3 Newton Highlands

Yeah, I know most people on the Newton North freshman baseball team probably loved going to Lincoln Field every day after school. They probably all have great memories of Newton Highlands and the fun times we used to have there. Not me bro. Not when I was fucking humiliated in front of the whole team every single day at practice. Like, seriously Coach Kane. How many tennis balls do I have to throw against this wall before you realize I have no arm? I’m literally never going to throw out a runner at second base. It’s just not gonna happen. If you don’t want the other team stealing 14 bases a game, then don’t put me behind the plate. Otherwise, just pencil me in for the leadoff spot, let me hit my .350, and go teach Danny how to catch a fly ball in the 9th inning of a one-run game.


#4 Nonantum aka “The Lake”

See, this is what makes Newton so great. We identify problems and implement solutions. Since our town is like 50% Jewish, there’s obviously gonna be high demand for landscaping services. Because let’s be real, those lawns aren’t gonna cut themselves. But instead of allowing those jobs to be outsourced to Waltham and losing out on precious tax dollars, we reserve a little part of town for the Italians. Next thing you know, they’re immigrating here left and right and setting up landscaping companies. Everybody wins! The Italians get jobs. The grass gets cut. And the city finally gets some extra cash to start recruiting basketball players from Roxbury to win us state championships. It’s really pretty genius when you think about it.


#5 Auburndale

All those Auburndale hippies just counting down the days until the Cove finally freezes over. I mean, nothing says I’m white and have plenty of time on my hands like ice skating on the Charles River. Just be careful when the Albermarle All-Stars start showing up and playing hockey. Half of us can’t even skate and Izzy thinks he’s Zdeno Chara with that slap shot.


#6 Newton Corner

It doesn’t take a Boston College law student, I mean rocket scientist, to figure out I’ve been living the Newton Corner dream recently. Anytime you can take a cab back from Tavern for under $10, you know you’re sitting pretty. But it hasn’t always been this way. Back in high school, living in Newton Corner was the fucking worst. Since it isn’t even remotely close to anything, nobody ever wanted to come here. Trying to get a ride home from someone was almost next to impossible. Like trying to get the girls to help clean up after New Year’s or something. It just wasn’t gonna happen. I mean, Mitch basically summed it up when he said, “If it wasn’t for the Mass Pike, there’s no way I’d still be dating Sarah right now.”


#7 Chestnut Hill

Hey Libs. It’s Mike. I need a favor. I need you to explain to everybody what on Earth you were thinking with that whole New Year’s thing? Like, not trying to bite the hand that feeds me or anything, but that was the wrong move sister. Everyone knows we don’t finalize our plans until Calvin gets home and makes a last-ditch effort to change Izzy’s mind. That’s why I’ve been working so hard on my abs for the past few weeks, just hoping I’d get a chance to show them off to everybody in the hot tub. But now that dream’s over, thanks to your little power trip. Like “Oh my God, I lived in Chestnut Hill for 4 years. I’m an independent woman. Let’s have New Year’s here instead.” Typical BC girls. Never understand their place.

#8 West Newton

How cool are the people from West Newton? I mean, talk about trend setters. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was in Coolidge Corner. With a Sweet Tomatoes, and Trader Joes, and a movie theatre that only plays Sundance films I’ve never heard of. Honestly, where would this city be without you guys blazing a trail for everyone? Anyway, I know you’re all probably busy trying to revive the Occupy Movement, but if you get the chance, could you go on Spotify and blow up my Newsfeed with all the music that I’m supposed to be listening to? Thanks!


#9 Waban

If there’s one village looking to secede from Newton, clearly it’s Waban. They absolutely want nothing to do with us. They don’t send their kids to our schools. They definitely don’t send their kids to our camps. And they always use “Waban” as their hometown when they’re mailing a letter or listing their address. Personally, though, I don’t even care if they leave. We’re better off without them. Plus, there’s no doubt in my mind that Quibby is moving to Waban once Dave finally gets that corner office. So at least Dave can “technically” say he didn’t live in the same town his entire life.


#10 Newton Upper Falls

Hmmm, let’s see here. I hate animals, so obviously I would never be caught dead inside a Petco. That’s kind of a no-brainer. Plus, I haven’t been to a Newbury Comics since the 5th grade when my mom caught me drooling over a cardboard cut-out of Pamela Anderson. And those emotional scars don’t appear to be fading away anytime soon. So yeah, those are pretty much the only two reasons why anyone would ever go to Newton Upper Falls, right? Glad we sorted that out.


#11 Oak Hill

Everyone knows Oak Hill Middle School is the Slytherin of Newton, so it’s no surprise that the whole village is also a bunch of purebloods. Naturally, they don’t like contaminating the family blood lines, so they typically discourage outsiders from moving into the neighborhood. But if you really have your heart set on it, just make sure you work for a reputable company, drive a nice enough car, and most importantly, have an acceptable last name. Cause at the end of the day, you can have all the money in the world, but if you have a blue-collar last name like Salvucci, there’s no chance the realtor even looks at your application. In all seriousness though, the only person I actually know from Oak Hill is Mel, and she’s literally named after the fucking village! Like, if that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know, then I don’t know what will.


#12 Thompsonville

Literally never heard of it until now. Is this like the hood? Is this why we keep dropping in the rankings of America’s Safest Cities? I honestly don’t have the slightest clue because I just learned this place existed like 15 minutes ago. Fuck it, there’s only one way to truly find out. I’m going to buy an Xbox from Mitch on Craigslist and I’m telling him to meet me in Thompsonville. If he shows up with Brenny, then we know this place is dangerous. If he shows up with Quinn… well, then we know we got nothing to worry about.


#13 Newton Lower Falls

I’ve been staring at the computer for about an hour now, trying desperately to come up with something to say about Newton Lower Falls. And honestly, I’ve got nothing. I’m sure it’s a lovely place and everything, but I can’t even remember a time when I actually went there. So I’m shamelessly going to use this space as an opportunity to ask for help. Albermarle All-Stars could really use another writer. I’ve recently been getting tons of texts and Facebook messages from people being like, “Mike, I randomly stumbled across your blog, and I think it’s really funny and you’re hot. You should definitely try to post more.” I mean, how can you argue with that? All true statements there. Anyway, if you think you might be interested in posting something like once a week, please let me know. I could really use the help. Oh, and just to give you an idea of where my head’s at, my first choice is Hyatt but in a pinch I’d settle for Calvin.

NBA is Back!

Obviously LeBron's really excited to not win another championship. Here are the Top 5 reasons why I'm excited:


1. I don’t have to show my face in public with Quinn anymore.

Without an NBA season, I needed another way to get my basketball fix. That meant attending BC basketball games with Quinn. Initially, I thought this was a pretty simple solution. That is, until I realized that Dave thinks it’s completely reasonable to wear a pea coat, sweatpants and slippers to a basketball game. Like I don't already have enough on my plate trying to avoid former lovers whenever I come to campus. The last thing I need is someone committing social suicide in the seat right next to me.

The worst part, though, is that Quinn’s completely oblivious to it all. When I asked him about it, I believe his exact words were, "It's a good look." Listen man, don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. You look like a clown. Libby, if I were you, I would get out now. I know you’re probably waiting to see how this whole “lawyer” thing works out, but let me save you the trouble. Dave doesn’t have what it takes to be a good lawyer. It’s not in his DNA. Successful lawyers are always arrogant hard-bodies, not the soft-spoken type that you can push around like a shopping cart. Seriously Dave, it’s a good thing you didn’t pay a dime for undergrad, because this is $150,000 you’ll never see again.


2. I get to be considered an expert on something, even though I secretly don’t understand how basketball works.

It’s true. I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I only played organized basketball for two years. Like, that’s pretty much the same amount of time that Teodora’s been driving a car, and I don’t think anybody is ready to call her an expert on that.

It’s actually pretty crazy when you think about it. The amount of unwarranted credit that I get for being a “basketball guy.” Like yeah, I understand the superficial things. I know that Phil Jackson loves the Triangle, and Al Skinner loves the Flex. But I literally have no idea what that really means, and I definitely couldn’t distinguish between the two. But like I said, I only played basketball for two years. And even though I had the legendary Peter Roby as my coach, there’s only so much you can learn when the team’s most effective offensive strategy is isolating Igor on the wing.

3. Brenny probably doesn’t read CelticsHub, so at least some of my writing can elude criticism.

At the Boston College School of Law, Brenny learns about torts, contracts, and how to be an asshole. And boy is he good at it. I mean, the kid placed in the top third of his class for the rough draft of a memo he wrote. That kind of legal talent doesn’t just grow on trees, people. And since 3 months of law school obviously makes you an expert on everything in life, Brenny has also decided he’s going to criticize each and every one of my blog posts. “Listen, Sal. I’m not gonna sugar coat it. Blogs just aren’t doing it for me.” Listen, Bren. I’m sorry you’re like the Rob Gronkowski of interpreting blogs and only laugh when I write things like “Tom no like Albies.” Pardon me for trying to work some underlying themes and motifs into a comprehensive piece. Why don’t you go try a few Kaboomspikes in the backyard and you can laugh when it comes back and hits you in the face.


4. Hyatt and Tom can go back to arguing about sports instead of trying to solve America’s problems.

I mean, at least when you guys yap about Stephen Curry’s ability to play point guard, you have the slightest clue what you’re talking about. Unlike when we’re at Union St. and we have to listen to you guys talk about corporate greed and the distribution of wealth in this country. Because that shit’s embarrassing.

Honestly, Sam, I’m surprised you didn’t get a job offer when you went down to Occupy Wall Street. Because you’re great at talking out of your ass, and everyone knows that’s the only prerequisite to succeeding in Finance. But to each his own, right? If you want spend your days working for social and economic reform, be my guest. But don’t shove it in our faces every chance you get. Some people are revolutionaries. And some people just like showing up to their cubicle every day so they can have enough money to spend at Tavern on the weekends. That’s just the way the world is.


5. I can go back to being a man again.

I’m not gonna lie, I kinda went soft during the NBA lockout. I know I have a reputation as being the ultimate man’s man. You know, the kind of guy that Brooke wishes she could date. But without the NBA to keep me entertained, I found myself doing a lot of borderline feminine things. Think about it. I went apple picking even though I don’t have a girlfriend. I watched Pan Am for 3 weeks just so I could tweet nonsense at Mel about it. And every Facebook status that I’ve posted since September, I wrote with the intention of getting Libby to “like” it. But now that the NBA is returning, hopefully I can get back to doing regular guy things. You know, like going to the bar with all my boys, watching some hoops, and hoping that Ben Dyer picks up the tab before it ever gets back to us.

Why Traveling in Europe with Mike Salvucci was a Really Bad Idea

Just crushing Ruffles in the Mediterranean Sea. Nothing to see here.



Editor’s note: This is the first guest blog in the history of Albermarle All-Stars. Not gonna lie, I’m kinda nervous about it. I mean, if Mike and Dave are funnier than me, it's gonna be a tough blow to my self-esteem. Basically won't have anything else going for me in life.

But I know they put a lot of thought into this, even if it was at my expense. So I’m going to allow it. Plus, we all know Brenny is itching for someone to breathe some new life into the site.


By Dave Robb and Michael Kirschner

When we were planning this trip Mike seemed like a pretty good guy to travel with. But boy were we wrong. It would be impossible run through every detail but here’s a breakdown of a day in Europe with Mike.

If you’re sleeping in a hostel with Sal you’re not actually sleeping at all. If you close your eyes its hard to tell whether that’s a table saw in the top bunk or Mike’s just dozing off. We’re not making any friends in a 8 person mixed suite with this kid. You know its bad when the 35 year old dude from Kenya is throwing shoes over at him at 5 am. Only when you’re just falling asleep around 9am does Mike dismount from the top bunk and tumble onto the floor, effectively waking up everyone in the hostel. He stumbles out of the room in his boxers and button down. More often than not Mike neglects to drink water or take his button down shirt off before bed. Which takes us to our next point.

When Mike’s hung over he does his best to ensure that we are completely aware of how miserable he is. During the morning hours were walking around some European city with this train wreck lagging behind and complaining about how ugly Prague is or how unimpressed he is by the Coliseum. This doesn’t end until he takes his first of two daily showers. Eating also brings him out of his PMS which doesn’t happen for him until the three sequential dinners from 4-7. We all know Mike prides himself as a great tipper back in the states. The American “Salvucci 25%” converts here to leaving 25 cents in Danish Kroner equivalent to around a nickel and a penny.

Mike’s a terrible tourist. He cant read a map and he couldn’t work a camera if his life depended on it. He’s been asked to take two pictures the entire trip. He’s 0-2 dropping the cameras both times. If you give Mike a map don’t expect anything more than him to treat it like a maze and start drawing all over it. Literally every single time we walk out of the hostel he starts walking the wrong way. After walking around for the day don’t expect to hear anything out of mike if its not about how sore his knees and back are. The Salvucci family: “great hair, bad backs”

In preparation for going out Mike sometimes gets in a quick back rehab session. This consists of him standing upright, hands on his waist thrusting his hips forward and making a sound similar to that of someone coming prematurely. If we had any friends in the hostel before this they now have requested a room change.

Mikes dry-skin issues become apparent when getting ready to go out. After his second shower he applies between four and five layers of moisturizer. This kid goes through more moisturizer than a teenage boy who just hit puberty. Speaking of stuff he puts on his face don’t get us started with the chapstick. Before leaving every night Mike recites out loud “phone, wallet, keys, chapstick minus phone”. Really bro. Chapstick?? This problem became apparent in Prague when we spotted him essentially surfacing for air during a dance floor make-out session only to apply another coat.

“Alright two issues here. One why are my eyes red. And two, why do I have an asian glow?” Mike screamed from the bathroom as we were ready to head out for the night. When Mike starts talking like this he has usually had a few drinks and is ready to hit the town hard. In the clubs Mike is like an uncaged animal, his only fuel is some obnoxious fruity fishbowl drink. Upon taking one of his fishbowls to the face its on to his go-to dance which shares a strong resemblance to the 85’ Bears Superbowl Shuffle. Chicks dig it...like 28% of the time.

Long story short, leave this kid out of the mix the next time you’re thinking of going anywhere further than the cape.

Madrid

"Throw your hands up if you love clubbing in Madrid!"




Americans do a lot of stupid things. We drive inefficient cars, eat fatty foods and even listen to Dave Matthews Band. But, by far and away, the stupidest thing we do is clean the house the night before the cleaning ladies are supposed to come.

In our house, the cleaning ladies come on Thursdays. So every Wednesday evening I get the same speech from my mom. “They’re not here to clean up your clutter. They’re here to vacuum and wipe the bathroom and sweep the dust out from under the radiator.” Listen, Mom, you don’t have to tell me. I’m scared shitless of the cleaning ladies.

Seriously, I feel more motivated to impress the cleaning ladies than pretty much anyone else on Earth. I mean, I’ve failed my fair share of exams in school, and I have absolutely no problem walking into class the next day and facing the teacher. But if the cleaning ladies were to walk into my bedroom and see clothes on the floor and empty Coke cans on my nightstand, I honestly don’t know what I would do with myself. I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve woken up on a Thursday morning and shoved everything into my closet right before heading to school. Just the thought of them judging me in a foreign language is too much for me to live with. It’s like I can’t even defend myself.

But you know who wouldn’t get all worked up about the cleaning ladies coming? The Spanish, that’s who. Because the Spanish don’t give a fuck. In fact, they might be the laziest people I’ve ever met in my entire life. No wonder their economy is a sinking ship right now. It’s cause they go to the office for like 3 hours and then leave so they can go watch some soccer, eat some tapas and drink Sangria in the Plaza. No chance in hell they would lift the slightest finger if they knew the cleaning ladies were coming the next day.

But there is one thing that the Spanish know how to do better than anyone else, and that’s party:

Here’s the difference between partying in the U.S. and partying in Spain. Say you’re out at a bar in Boston and the DJ plays a couple bangers in a row. Like “Bulletproof” and “I Want You Back,” or something like that. Got everyone dancing and having a good time and everything. Well, as soon as the second song ends, what automatically happens every single time? The DJ plays a Third-Eye Blind song because he knows everyone needs a breather. Most likely the “Jumper,” but occasionally you’ll get “How’s it Gonna Be” just to keep you on your toes. Because God forbid people dance for like three songs in a row without “mellowing out” for a bit.

Now take Madrid, for example. There’s like 1,500 people dancing their faces off at Joy at like 4:00 in the morning. Just Avicii and David Guetta for days. Then all of a sudden the DJ decides he’s going to play “Wonderwall” by Oasis. Not even kidding, not one person in the entire club knew what to do. Everyone just stood still and started looking around, waiting for someone to take the lead on this. I almost volunteered, but honestly I thought it was another one of those siesta things right in the middle of clubbing. Seems ridiculous, but they fucking love those siestas.

Fortunately, though, it turned out to be the only slow song of the entire night. Good thing too, because the line to dance with Dave Robb was literally out the door. I mean how can you resist that dance move where he acts like he’s a choo-choo train, speeding forward and then putting it in reverse? Like, it’s not an actual train, people. It’s just Dave!

We had to leave at like 5:00 am to ensure we caught our flight to Barcelona, but there were absolutely no signs of slowing down at Joy, even though it was a Thursday. But I guess in Spain it doesn’t matter if you have work, school, or the cleaning ladies coming, because life is a joke nobody does shit anyway.

Copenhagen

When Steve Jobs died, I wanted to do something to honor his memory. But since Steve was such a creative guy, I figured I should do something a little more original than simply update my Facebook status. So I looked all over my room until I finally found my iPod Sillyband. And I started wearing it again as a tribute to the man that has done so much for me. You scratch my back Steve, I’ll scratch yours.

But when it was time to pack for Europe, I couldn’t decide if I should bring the Sillyband with me. I mean tribute or not, we’re still talking about the second rarest Sillyband in the world here. Like, there’s gonna be professional pick-pockets everywhere I go. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

But in Copenhagen, I realized why I made the biggest mistake of my life. On Saturday night, Dave and I went out by ourselves because Kirsch was at Sensation. We went to a bar called Sjus, which was kinda like the Danish version of Cityside. Mostly college students, but enough weird older people to make you explore all your options first.

We had recently discovered that northern European girls love American guys. Everywhere we went in places like Germany, Denmark, and Holland we had girls coming up to us left and right (the other side of that coin, though, is that Spanish and Italian girls are way too intimidating to even think about approaching). So we decided to go sit down at a table and wait for them to come to us. Not 15 minutes later, and there are two Danish girls asking if they can have a seat. One of them was really cute too, but she immediately sat down on a stool next to Dave.

My girl didn’t need a stool because she basically decided to sit on my lap. Normally I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but this was a little different. I know I make fun of people a lot on Albermarle All-Stars, but I still make a point to never write anything about people’s physical appearance. You just don’t say stuff like that. With that being said, though, this was probably one of the Top 5 ugliest girls I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s just no escaping it. And the moment she spotted my iPod Sillyband, I knew I was in real trouble.

After she asked about it, I literally had to show her like 12 different times that it took the shape of an iPod. And even now, I’m still not convinced that she understood because her English was pretty awful. She asked if she could wear it, and even though I knew this was probably a bad idea, I still allowed her to try it on. Like, what was I supposed to do, say no?

Anyway, then she proposes a trade by taking off her ring and placing it on my finger. “In Denmark, when you make a trade you have to kiss with the other person,” she says. Fuck me. Fortunately, though, I’m pretty quick on my feet and told her my girlfriend would be upset if she found out about that.

A few minutes later, the girls ask us if we want to go to a club with them. Keep in mind; I was still trying to flirt with the cute one across the table throughout this whole scenario. I knew Dave wasn’t gonna pull the trigger, so I was just waiting for my opportunity. The problem was I couldn’t shake this other girl. I know you gotta slay a few dragons to get to the princess and all, but I couldn’t take it any longer. When the girls got up to go to the bathroom, I had to make an executive decision.

“We need to leave,” I immediately tell Dave, who laughs at me like I was joking. Asshole. But after seeing the look on my face, he goes, “Wait, you’re serious?” And even though I knew I would never see my treasured iPod Sillyband ever again, it was a better option than seeing how the rest of that night was going to play out.

Prague

Czech Kirsch out!



Back in college, when you hooked up with a random girl from the bar, your biggest fear was running into her the next morning in the dining hall. Unless of course, she was really good looking, but that usually wasn’t the case for me. There was nothing worse than walking into Lower on a Saturday morning and seeing her in the omelet line. Because no matter what, the situation is going to be really awkward. Your friends are there. Her friends are there. They’re all whispering about you behind your back. You don’t know if you should just say hello as you pass by, or if you should stop for some bullshit small talk. It’s usually a nightmare.

Well, I think now it’s safe to say that running into a girl in the dining hall isn’t nearly all that bad. In fact, in comparison to what Kirsch and I went through on Wednesday, it’s pretty harmless. Yup, you guessed it: a 4-hour walking tour in Prague with the two chicks we hooked up with the night before…

On Tuesday night we rolled into Prague at around 9:00 pm and immediately went on a Pub Crawl. We show up at the first bar, and surprisingly, there are these two cute American girls playing ruit against these Canadian bros. At this point, naturally I’m thinking this is gonna be too easy. Just right in our wheelhouse. Yeah, I was kinda up for a challenge tonight. Maybe try to win over a nice Czech girl or something. But when life throws you a meatball right down the middle of the plate, you’re obviously gonna hit it.

I go over and ask them if we can play the next game and then start introducing myself. Nothing too over the top. Not trying to win the game in the first quarter. But just letting them know that Kirsch and I are in the building. By the third bar, it’s basically a done deal and all that’s left to do is decide which one is going to get Lindsey, the blonde, and which one is going to get Marshall, the brunette. I usually don’t go for girls named after discount retailers, plus I wanted to keep my consecutive blondes streak going, so it turned out to be an easy decision.

Then we split up and took our respective girls to different corners of the dance floor, and start talking and stuff. She tells me that she’s studying in Copenhagen at DIS (the program that Kirschner is in), so obviously my immediate response is “No way. Me too!”

Now I’m on a real slippery slope. Despite my recent discovery that Kirsch is a social animal, I overheard that the rest of the architecture program was pretty cut off from the rest of the school. So when she asked me what I was studying, I just told her that I was in the same program as Mike and that we lived together, blah blah blah. Then I just pulled a few street names out of my ass, and then a few train stops in Copenhagen, and she literally bought the entire story.

Next thing you know we’re dancing and inevitably one thing leads to another. Generally, I’m not a huge proponent for making out on the dance floor. Like, there’s a time and a place for everything. But with that being said, it’s not like I’m not gonna say no. I look over my shoulder and see Kirsch is doing his thing too, and it looks like things are heading in the right direction for both of us.

The problem, though, were their friends. These two grenades that were too much for a wifed-up Dave Robb to detonate. They eventually exploded right in our target range, and we were forced to say goodbye to Linds and Marsh a little earlier than we were hoping. Seemingly never to be seen or heard from ever again. Then Kirsch literally asked a decked-out Prague pimp on the street where we could get some food, and we ended our night settling for some late-night Doner.

Fast-forward to 10:00 am the next morning. My hangover is so bad that I’m seriously considering murdering Dave and Mike for making me walk around in this medieval land. Like, I thought I was supposed to be on vacation, not in King’s Landing wanting nothing more than for someone to take a Zelda sword to my neck Ned Stark-style. We finally arrive at the meeting place for our walking tour, and I’m hit in the face with the only thing that could possibly make this situation any worse: the girl I spent 3 hours making out with in the middle of the dance floor staring me straight in the eye.

Amsterdam

So obviously this picture is spreading like wildfire right now and people are probably all up in arms being like "What the fuck is going on in Amsterdam?" So I thought I'd just address the whole situation before it got any more out of hand.

On Sunday afternoon we got into Amsterdam, did a few laps around town, ate dinner at Pino's Pizza (seriously) and then went to this sports bar at night to watch the Patriots game. There we are, just three bros chillin at a sports bar, when all of a sudden Hana Haver comes blitzing through like Troy Polamaulu and is all like, "You guys are from Boston, right?"

Next thing you know she brings her friends over and we just start hanging out. Watching the game. Having some drinks. And talking about the good old days back in Newton. See that's the thing about Europe. One minute you're not taking Jager shots out of test tubes with Hana Haver in Amsterdam, and the next minute you are.

And after the game ends, you better believe we're all going to a club to dance the night away. Hana suggested a more classy place, but that decision was immediately upended by Kirschner's "gut-feeling" about a random black door on a white wall in this sketchy alley. Sure, we were the only people in the entire place for about 20 minutes, but once the DJ started bumping WIll Smith all bets were off the table.

EuroTrip Preview

For the past 3 weeks, I’ve basically been living in constant fear of my cell phone. Because whenever it rings there are only two things that can happen: either Comcast is hunting me down for the cable bill, or worse, Dave Robb is calling me with another stupid assignment. “Book this flight. Check that bus schedule. Email your friend. Go on Skype. Wake up. Get the fuck out of bed.” Shit just wouldn’t stop.

The good news, though, is that we’re finally done planning. Dusseldorf. Odense. Copenhagen. Amsterdam. Prague. Munich. Rome. Madrid. Bilbao. Barcelona. The flights are all in order. The hostels are booked. Cole World is on the iPod. And I bought these shoes that are so European-looking, even Calvin would probably think twice before trying them on.

Anyway, I guess now would be an appropriate time to address all the rumors that have been swirling around over the past couple months. It’s true. I’m not coming back to the U.S. at the end of this little adventure. When Dave gets on that Aer Lingus flight in mid-November, he will be all by himself.

No, seriously. I’ve played it out in my head like 1000 times, and it always ends the same way. I meet this girl at a club in Barcelona. We enjoy a wonderful evening together, and the next day she introduces me to her father, who just so happens to be a wealthy businessman. He offers me a job and Isabella begs me to stay. But I have to decline. I try to let her down as gently as possible, which is difficult for me because I don’t exactly put the “b” in subtle. “Isabella, mi amor. No puedo. Tengo un blog muy famoso en los estados unidos. Se llama albermarleallstars.blogspot.com. No podrias entender. Lo siento.”

Obviously, though, this vision doesn’t end there. I start seriously weighing my options more and more. Realistically, I could continue writing the blog from Spain. Sure, the cast of characters would change, but we could make it work. Also, my mom would probably miss me, but it’s no secret that I’m her third favorite child, so that’s not really a huge concern either. Maybe if it were Julie or Dan. But I doubt she would come chasing after me.

Once I make my decision, I finally work up the courage to tell Dave that I’m going to stay in Barcelona. He pretends to be disappointed, even though deep down he’s relieved that he’ll never have to deal with me on the basketball court ever again. But he still handles the entire situation with class. First class, all the way. We hug it out one last time, and he asks if there’s one last thing I want to tell the gang back home. Nah, man. They know I love them. And we turn around and go our separate ways…“Actually, Dave. There is one thing. Could you have someone finish my Words with Friends game with Sonya? I’ve built up like a 103-point lead and it would a shame if I lost because of a forfeit. Thanks, man.”

I Can't Decide Which Waitress at Union St. I Should Leave My Number For

A few years ago, back when The Gap was still a place where reasonable people could buy clothes, I went to the one at the Atrium to get a pair of jeans. After I try on a few pairs and make my decision, I obviously go up to pay for them. I give the girl behind the register my credit card, and she swipes it. But then she writes her name and phone number on the receipt and tells me to call her personally if there are any problems.

I remember thinking to myself, “Well, that’s just ridiculous. If there are problems with these jeans, I’m probably just going to return them. Not sure how calling you on your cell phone is going to fix anything.” It honestly wasn’t until I was back in my car that I realized, “Wait a second, was that just what I think it was?” Then when I got home and opened up the bag, I saw that this girl had “accidentally” left the security tag on my jeans, forcing me to go back into the store to have it removed. So I get in the car again and drive back to the Atrium. I walk into the store, and, just my luck, this girl is nowhere to be found. I have some other random employee remove the security tag and then I leave and go about my day. I never end up calling her, and that’s basically the end of this story.

But three years later, I still kinda regret it. Like what if that was some huge missed opportunity? I mean, superficial hook-ups that eventually fizzle out after two months don’t just grow on trees. And that’s especially true once you’ve graduated college and are stuck living with your parents. So you know what? I decided I’m going to leave my name and number on the receipt for one of the waitresses at Union St. The problem is, I can’t decide which one. Here are the frontrunners:

Waitress who loves me but is probably a little old for me. Two weeks ago, I waited by myself at the bar for like 30 minutes, and she kept me company. Plus she laughs at all my jokes, which is kind of a big thing for me. For example, she started informing us of how many wings we were eligible for based on the number of beers we had bought. “Well, you guys have ordered 3 pitchers, and you’ve only ordered 40 wings. So you can order another 50 wings!” Naturally, I made some witty comment about how we should be able to rollover those wings to next week and she just ate it up. “Hehehehe, oh that’s gooood. Nobody’s ever asked about that. I think I’m gonna tell my manager that one.” You do that, honey. Then come back like three years younger and maybe we can talk.

Waitress with the glasses who’s gonna ask about the Miller Lite beer tower. Love the initiative that this girl takes. She brings us this sweet Boston Celtics edition beer tower which I immediately identify as a fantastic trophy for the Albermarle All-Star of the Year Award. So we ask her how much it would cost to take it home with us. Instead of just laughing it off like most people probably would, she asks her manager about it and comes back with the most detailed response of all-time. Says that they rent it from the Miller Lite promotion company, so technically they can’t sell it to us. But since she knows we come every week, her manager is gonna try to get one for us by next Monday. Great news for us. Unfortunately for me, I’m pretty sure I saw this girl with her boyfriend during Week 3.

Waitress who’s Pre-med and therefore out of the running as a long-term option. This girl started off strong by recognizing us a “regulars.” And I’m pretty sure she’d never actually waited on us before, so that sense of awareness will put you on my radar 100 times out of 100. Unfortunately, though, it was mostly downhill from there. I recycled the same “rollover wings” joke with her and it missed completely. Then she had to close out her tab early with us because she needed to go study for her molecular biology exam. Trying to be a doctor or some shit. And everybody knows I only date teachers, nurses and Winter Olympians, so obviously that’s not gonna fly.

Time for a little change

Everyone knows by this point that Theo Epstein is leaving for Chicago to become their President of Baseball Operations. And you can’t really blame him. He accomplished everything he set out to accomplish. He will be adored by Red Sox fans whenever he shows his face in Boston. And so, I wish him the best of luck.

But that got me thinking. There are some changes that I would like to make in my own life. For instance, I’ve pretty much been the official 3rd Wheel of Team Zack and Mel for the past couple years. We basically do everything together. We play Words with Friends together. We go on Spring Break together. There really isn’t anything that I’m excluded from.

Nevertheless, I think it’s time for a change. No offense guys, you’ve been great. Honestly, you really have. But I’ve won my two World Series already, and there’s not much left for me to accomplish here. I need a new challenge. So effective Monday, October 17, 2011 I’m officially signing with Team Dave and Libby as President of Relationship Operations.

Obviously, my biggest obstacle will be convincing Libby that I’m actually a halfway decent person, because on Friday night she basically told me she thought I was an asshole. Honestly, though, I can’t even blame her for trying to add some variety to our conversation. Because for as long as Libby and I have known each other, we essentially have only had two discussion topics: Libby’s marathon training and my trip to Europe. And unfortunately, you can only get so much mileage out of a race that Libby’s never run and a continent that I’ve never actually been to.

Next order of business. When we’re out at a bar with all our friends, stop pretending like you’re on a first date. It’s ridiculous. Act like you’ve been there before. Seriously, everybody else is dancing and having a great time, and these two will be sitting in the corner flirting with each other. On Saturday night at The Draft, for example, I saw Dave gently touch Libby’s knee and then quickly pull it back as if he was trying to play it cool. Like, bro, you know you’re already going home with her, right? You don’t need to win her over. Casually putting your hand on a girl’s knee is arguably the most important move for a single guy, so for you to go around wasting it like that is pretty irresponsible. I mean, isn’t that like the entire point of being in a relationship? So you can talk about sports with your buddies all night and then get some anyway without needing to try?

And finally, we need to make sure Libby stops calling him “Quinn.” Listen, you guys aren’t a couple of bros shooting the shit together at the Plex. You’re boyfriend and girlfriend. If a girl ever calls me Sal or Voochi, I obviously know right away that I have zero chance with her. It’s a fucking death sentence. Clean it up Libs.

History Shows How #OccupyWallStreet Will End

Lost in all the recent media coverage of #OccupyWallStreet is the fact that this is not the first protest of its kind. Back in 2007 at Newton North High School, a group of students organized a movement called Occupy Main Street in response to a controversial decision to move Senior Countdown to the cafeteria.

For decades, NN seniors had celebrated the culmination of their high school education by hosting a Countdown Party right in the middle of the historic Main Street. But school administrators felt the chaotic festivities provided too much of a distraction for underclassmen, and so a ruling was made to move the Countdown to the more secluded cafeteria.

Obviously, the students were vehemently upset with this decision and immediately set out in protest. Similarly to #OccupyWallStreet, Occupy Main Street used social media to share their ideas and organize their demands. One Facebook user posted on the group wall, “They can’t do this to us!” And under the strength of rallying cries like that one, students were able to plead with teachers on the issue. Some even went so far as to tell the teachers that they would rather not attend the Countdown than do it in the cafeteria.

When Senior Day finally arrived, students set up lawn chairs on Main Street, tossed footballs back and forth, and simply caused a general ruckus. Throughout the day, more and more students joined the movement. Much like the #OccupyWallStreet protesters, these students also had no idea what they were protesting against, but they had nothing else better to do and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Eventually, though, the teachers and school officials were able to persuade the students to file down to the cafeteria. Without any legitimate foundation to stand on, the students had no choice but to surrender. Not to mention, high school was about to be over and nobody cared anymore and we all left to go party. Just like eventually Phish is gonna play Madison Square Garden again and all these hipsters are gonna leave this protest and forget it ever happened.





P.S. Who's the really handsome guy crowd surfing in that first picture?