Gridiron Glory Taste of the Town Round Two

Another Friday arrived and I knew what was in store. As Gridiron Glory’s resident food expert, it was time to depart on another pancreatic pursuit to discover the tastiest tailgate treats in Southeast Ohio. This week’s assignment was a quest to “The Tank” in Ironton where the Tigers took on SEOAL powerhouse Logan.

            I began the day with an open mind. I finished the day with a closed stomach. I began the day at a comfortable body temperature. I finished the day in a cold sweat. I began the day with a general disregard for my personal well-being. I finished the day with a two-year subscription to Men’s Health. Needless to say, it was a successful trip.

            Naturally, when I arrived I sniffed out the concession stand. I went around to the back and assertively asked for an interview and sampling of their unique foods. The reaction I got was startling. My inquiry was met with laughter. The workers of the Band Booster concession stand harmoniously cackled. I briefly surveyed the area to see if Dane Cook or Will Ferrell were behind me telling jokes. It was at this time that I realized that they were laughing at my ambitious request. For a painstaking moment I felt about as awkward as Kim Jong-Il in front of the U.N. Security Council. Finally, the lively concession workers warmed up to me and offered a few of their most distinct dishes.

            Band Booster president Dru Pack was agonizingly short of shy about her intentions. She jokingly (I think) told me that if I didn’t like her food there would be consequences to pay. She proceeded to briefly outline the consequences, but I did not understand what she was saying because my thoughts were drowned in fear of my personal security. From her facial expressions and gestures I gathered that it would be a morally debatable form of corporal punishment that would require me to seek urgent counseling and vigorous physical rehabilitation. Little did I know, liking her food would not be an issue.

So, feeling about as safe as a share of K-Mart stock, I moved on to the eating.  Dru had four treats for me to try:

Hot Dog doused in Nacho Cheese- This one is pretty self explanatory. Your everyday hot dog just smothered in rich nacho cheese. This one is a fan favorite at Ironton. And I’ll tell you first hand it definitely isn’t an intestine favorite. Nevertheless, I absolutely parked it and enjoyed every bite.

Tiger in a Bag- This is Ironton’s version of a walking taco. It is taco meat, jalapenos, lettuce, tomatoes, Fritos, and sour cream all stuffed into a Frito bag.. This was outstanding. It also benched me. After I took a hearty bite of it, Dru cordially informed me that she thought it would be cute to sneak an inordinate amount of jalapeno sauce in it. I had heard of slipping drugs or laxatives in drinks as a practical (well, not very practical) joke. I had even heard of putting a small child’s pill in one of their favorite foods to get them to take it. But sneaking jalapeno sauce in my Frito bag? This was unprecedented. My larynx was trembling. My large intestine was quivering. My colon was shuddering. I instantly lost all fundamental feeling and sensation in the majority of my respiratory organs.

Sauce on a Bun- Still not over the jalapeno massacre, I pressed on to what Dru called the “redneck sloppy joe.” It was a unique sauce and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

GASTROINTESTINAL UPDATE: Remember earlier in the story when I was concerned for my personal safety? At this point my vital organs were concerned for their personal safety.

Pickle on a Stick- What a phenomenal idea. After indulging in an assortment of heavy and spicy foods, this pickle was a refreshing change of pace. We aren’t talking about your little dainty Vlasic pickles that you sprinkle on your hamburger either. These are monstrosities. These are juicy. These are crisp. These are delicious.

            I had eaten all these foods in less than three minutes. The rest of my Friday night was bittersweet. The extraordinary taste of the evening’s treats lingered on my tongue for hours. However, the extraordinary contents of what I ate lingered in my G.I. tract. On Friday nights in Athens many students can be found chugging beers. This Friday I could be found chugging Pepto Bismol. My trip to Ironton was overall rewarding. After joking around with Dru Pack and watching a rowdy group of band parents truly enjoy serving their community, I had realized that through their unbelievable cuisine and incredible attitude the Ironton band parent’s have embraced the spirit of Friday night.

 

Kanye's Mistake

By now we all know what Kanye West did at the 2009 VMA awards. Sure it was disgraceful. I understand it was unfair to Taylor Swift. It easily would have been best if Kanye just kept his mouth shut, and I can think of a few songs where that is the case as well. But all of these glaring reviews of Kanye's reprehensible rant are really missing the point. The right idea is that Kanye shouldn't have done it, but it is why he shouldn't have done it that is tragically misconceived. 

His flailing fallacy came when he forgot to account for who was in the running for the award. Sure his beloved Beyonce video, which he seemed to like a little too much, was a finalist, but one of his perennial enemy's was a part of the group as well. I speak of punky pop princess Pink. Kanye and Pink have quarreled over some issues in the past, including a summer tiff that involved Kanye's excessive support of the fur industry. This set off avid environmentalist Pink.

The reason this was a mistake for Kanye is simple. Pink is scary as hell. We're talking about a girl who changes her hair more than R. Kelly changes his sheets. Her body is pierced more often than a dart board. I mean she is the Louvre of female body art. And Kanye had the audacity to put her already unstable emotions in a position where they could easily implode. Reports have it that Pink showed visual displeasure and was escorted away from Kanye after the incident. 

I don't think Kanye realizes what could have happened to him. Has he ever seen Pink's newest hit video, "Please Don't Leave Me?" Pink deceptively sings the words 'please don't leave me' to a well-groomed, trendsetting guy. As she does this she proceeds to find innovative and twisted ways to make his life physically, mentally, psychologically, and emotionally torturous. There is even a scene in the video eerily reminiscent of The Shining where the no longer gorgeous, tattered gentleman is fearfully locked in a sequestered bathroom, and Pink, with a demented smile on her face, is casually attempting to open the door with an ax. In the end of the video, the man overcomes Pink by spraying her in the eyes with an unknown substance that causes her to fall helplessly to the ground of the mansion's foyer a floor below. The conclusion of the video shows the man, generally appalled at the  notion of life, being carted off by paramedics. It then focuses attention to an apparently unconscious Pink who promptly wakes up and looks over at the petrified man as she pants, "please, please don't leave me." Pink does two things to round out the video:

1. Blows a kiss to the camera.

2. Scares the shit out of me.

Let's put it this way, Kanye. You sing "Amazing." Pink sings "Trouble." You sing "Good Life." Pink sings "Long Way To Happy." You sing "Gold Digger." Pink sings "Just Like a Pill." Your hit video "Jesus Walks" denounces violence. Pink's hit video "Please Don't Leave Me" harbors violence. In life you have to pick and choose your battles. I think it's safe to say you wouldn't win this one big guy.

Gridiron Glory Taste of the Town

            Friday night I embarked on a journey. I ventured across the winding roads of Route 13 to West Muskingum in search of their most delectable game day dishes. The unpredictability of this voyage was frightening, but its success was legendary. Lance Armstrong conquered the Tour de France with an unforgettable will and a swift bicycle. Christopher Columbus tackled the Atlantic Ocean with a faulty map and a massive ship. And I took on a Friday night in Tornado country with a 2002 Buick LeSabre and a relentless esophagus.

            After an unsettling trek to the stadium, I arrived keen to discover the taste of West M. I strolled eagerly into the confines and immediately began sniffing around the concession area. My initial behavior drew several inquisitive looks from an assortment of spectators. I was a Rottweiler outside an Outback Steakhouse. I was a seagull hovering over the Atlantic Ocean. I was Al Roker at a Ponderosa ten years ago. I was carnivorous. I was ravenous. I was ready to go.

            I proceeded to meander around the concession area for a while longer before I found the source of West Muskingum’s tasty tailgate. I first spotted a huge Traeger grill. A grill that was so big you could cook enough of three different meats to stock the entire concession stand. When I first saw the grill, I stood in awe of it at one point pausing for a moment of silence in appreciation of it. As I slowly raised my head to see who was operating it, I expected to see several brute men standing and staring at the grill with admirable approval. Instead, I found two assiduous ladies. Michelle Gutridge and Barb Wolfe were adding meat to the grill diligently. I approached them and introduced myself. It was clear that they were in the zone. I made small talk with Michelle. She agreed to allow me to taste some of their unique foods and promptly resumed working. So, I took a step back and observed. What I watched was music in motion.  I never thought the smoothest most operative offense I would see this year would be that of the West Muskingum High School Band Boosters. Michelle grilled the dishes to perfection, constantly checking the meat to ensure it was of the highest quality. But it was after the meat was cooked that impressed me the most. Barb Wolfe, a volunteer band mother, would receive a perpetually clean handoff from Gutridge and dart into the concession stand, where Band Booster president Paula Moore would await enthusiastically to prepare it to be served. It was a beautiful thing. Offensive coordinators around the area should take a lesson from these astute women.

Finally, I was given an opportunity to taste the foods. Here they are in order:

8 oz steak on a stick- This was a straight succulent steak cooked medium well on a stick. I was utterly baffled by this. I stood before it and marveled at the immense wonders of innovation. Then, I punctually devoured it. You may ask: ‘did you use A1 sauce?’ No need ladies and gentlemen. This cut of meat is almost as spectacular as the way Michelle Gutridge cooks it.

Pulled Pork Sandwich with apricot barbeque sauce- Gutridge doesn’t mess around with her pulled pork. She began cooking it Thursday night. She smokes it on the grill for an astonishing 18 hours. At first I was skeptical about this. After all, in 18 hours I could make Easy Mac 308 times. I questioned whether it was worth it or not and was instructed to taste for myself. That was before I started thinking about the combination of apricot and barbeque. I felt like I was compromising between a tea party and a hog roast. So, I cautiously went on with it. The results were phenomenal. Eighteen hours and three bites later, I appreciated every second that went into making that pork.

Sweet Potato with Cinnamon Butter- Once again, I was in heaven. It just blows my mind that they would think to bake sweet potatoes at a football game. I ate this so fast I almost didn’t taste it. It was so rich and decadent that it melted in my mouth. I absolutely mauled the poor potato in my hands, utterly disregarding the two forks that they had so thoughtfully provided for me.

I had been eating for four and a half minutes and had already tasted everything. I, also, had developed a considerable amount of intestinal discomfort (not due to the quality of the food, but more or less the manner in which I ate it) and a mild case of heartburn. That’s when Paula Moore suggested that I go to the other side of the stands and try out the Athletic Booster’s rib eye sandwiches. This was a classic example of my head telling me yes and my heart (as well as a host of major organs) telling me no. Naturally, I treaded over to the other side and began blubbering around again.

I found the same massive grill and held another ceremonial moment of silence. This time, however, I found a group of men holding down the grill. I met with Jack Brady, a volunteer Athletic Booster. He presented me with a sandwich. I queasily observed it. It consisted of a large, sebaceous slab of meat doused in yellow nacho cheese. My small intestine was quivering. Needless to say I took one bite and loved it. The meat was gloriously tender, and the cheese just added to its succulence and to my developing digestive disorder. In fact, I don’t recall there being more than one bite. I believe I just kept on trucking right through the whole sandwich.

I arrived in West Muskingum Friday night with a selfish appetite for the finest foods. I left humbled by the people I encountered, and the food I ate. The concession experience in West M is phenomenal. They have it all going for them: tremendous football, tremendous food, and tremendous people. That, to me, is the spirit of Friday night.

The Art of Snacking Taken to a Curious Level

The year 2009 has included several historical landmarks ranging from the inauguration of our first black president to the 40th anniversary of the United States landing on the moon to the Hall of fame induction of Michael Jordan to the memorialization of Michael Jackson. And yet, we as society have still managed to carelessly neglect one of the most prolific landmarks of our time. I speak of the tenth anniversary of Yoplait's snack sensation, Gogurt. 

Never have we seen such a moronic concept turn into an international phenomenon. What should have been a parent's nightmare has drastically turned into a child's savior. With its downright senseless layout, its utterly dangerous advertising strategy, and its contorted consistency, Gogurt appeared headed for a swift and inevitable decimation. But Yoplait, through all its determination, turned it into the most aesthetically attractive and  notoriously nourishing yogurt on the planet.

Allow me to outline just why this extraordinary product line ought to have, for all intents and purposes, failed.

First of all, we need to examine the general idea that General Mills had when they created this product. It just baffles me to imagine the thought process behind such a unique product. I often envision a knock down, drag out board meeting with sophisticated professionals dressed sharply in formal attire. I like to think one of these very executives was a somewhat paranoid mother who had recently made a frantic call to poison control because her small child had recently consumed an inordinate amount of toothpaste mistaking it for an edible entity. While briefly sharing the anecdote with the confounded council, she offered a trivially tragic attempt at a joke that went something like this: "I sure wish our Yoplait yogurt was in that moderately unsanitary plastic tube." It was then that her discouraged disciples perked up and announced their intent to make her humiliating humor into a gluttonous reality. 

I recently decided that this is the only logical explanation I will accept for Yoplait's initiation of putting yogurt, a spoil-some and rich dairy creation, into a long plastic tube. This, to me, borders on revolutionary. The beautiful thing about it is that it worked. It took out the need for the most tedious aspect of the yogurt eating process, the spoon. It amazes me that one of the most radical ideas in modern existence (up there with bagged milk, which made for some unforgiving indigestion throughout my early education years) has become a staple in snacking society.

 

Also, the very basis of their advertising campaign is preposterous. It not only portrays their product as ideal for consuming "on-the-go," but through several print, television, and product illustrations they display and encourage the digestion of their relatively thick, inscrutably textured dairy product during vigorous physical activity. Here is a list of activities the pretentiously contemporary Gogurt cartoon character is participating in while holding not one but two open Gogurt tubes:

Playing Soccer- I couldn't dribble the ball for five seconds as a kid. I also couldn't efficiently eat yogurt out of a tube. There is no way I could do both.

Riding a Scooter- First things first. The scooter fad was short-lived and is long gone. So, not only is this impractical, but it is ineffective.

Riding a Bike- I rather enjoy this illustration because they were sure to send a strict safety message to the impressionable children they advertise for by showing a helmet on the cartoon character. Little did they realize that their diplomatic display is all but negated by the two tubes of Gogurt the child is holding while navigating his bicycle that's front wheel is shown turning unstably to the right.

Roller Blading- Because nothing helps an undeveloped child balance like two open tubes of grimy Gogurt.

Skateboarding- I've watched ten X-Games competitions and not once have the professional role model skaters pulled out a tube of yogurt in mid air to stay nourished.

Hockey- This is one of the grittiest and toughest sports on the planet, and Gogurt has marginalized it by showing their disproportional animated representative eating a quaint and fruity snack out of a colorful and optimistic tube.

Snowboarding- Chances are if you try this one you'll be wearing the Gogurt.

My final point as to why Gogurt should have failed is when they entered the endorsement world of professional sports they went to one of the most irrelevant athletes in the world. You would think this extreme, active snack would choose one of the above mentioned sports to expand their name. Instead, they drifted to the most ridiculous sport around, Nascar. That's right, did you know Gogurt was featured on a car for one Nascar race? I didn't think so. Maybe that's because they sponsored Bobby Labonte's car. Do you know who Bobby Labonte is? Exactly. He raced the car in the 2006 Coca-Cola 600. For some reason I get the impression that their target audience of active elementary schoolers weren't watching the Coca-Cola 600. And if, for some ungodly reason they were, they probably didn't notice and were not enlightened by the Gogurt logo on Labonte's Dodge. This may be due to the fact that the children watching didn't care, or it might have something to do with the fact that the mediocre Labonte finished a fitting 17th place and likely saw little airtime en route to his passable performance.

The evolution of Gogurt has been inquisitive at best, but through a variety of luscious flavors and numerous relevant promotions (including a Scooby Doo edition that was called "Rogurt") Yoplait has prevailed in a constantly amended munching world. So, today I commemorate the makers of Gogurt. For ten years ago you implemented the wonders of innovation and today you are legends.

Was it worth it, Osama?

On the anniversary of September 11, I decided to write a cordial letter to Osama Bin Laden. 

Dear Osama Bin Laden,

Was it really worth it? Eight years ago you and your jackass jihads decided to spark an al-Qaeda uprising by hijacking commercial planes and attacking the World Trade Center buildings. That really worked out for you didn't it, chief? 

You didn't think that a nation built from principles like resilience and independence, a nation built by some of the classiest, most dynamic individuals to ever walk this earth could overcome your amateur antics? 

Not only did we overcome, but we shoved your perspective "holy war" with America up your cave-dwelling and rarely wiped behind. Instead of your envisioned glorious rise to international power, you find yourself scrambling around the musty mounds of the Middle East wondering if you are going to live to see the next day. This might be a complex concept for you, but I have a suggestion for you. Next time you want to dismantle, or even scathe, an international superpower, try industrializing first. You know, developing a stable economy, a global reputation, and militaristic competence. That might just be a helpful tidbit coming from a citizen of a nation that got that out of the way a couple centuries ago. But hey, Western civilization is clueless, right? 

As for you, I just wanted to check up on you. I mean it must be nice living the dream over there in the homeland. I mean you're probably hairier than an alpaca on Rogaine and about as clean as a domestic hog at a county fair. Not that you would know what any of that is since you sit on your gradually decaying ass all day and stare at rock formations. 

Oh and as for the above picture, that's your buddy Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, you know one of the dudes that helped you pull this whole thing off. Yeah, we found him about five and a half years ago. I thought you'd like to see a photo of him. He always was a looker! I mean naturally the cave life will wear on him a little, so don't be too discouraged by the ruffled mustache, the mane of chest hair, and the seven chins he has. 

Also, just so you know, if you are ever in America, we have some great salons and killer (haha, oh the irony) clean public water that you could use to groom up a bit. Oh wait! Everyone in America hates you! Better luck next time, buddy!

In closing, I wanted to address another issue that has arose in the past eight years. I have heard there is a possibility that you are dead. If that is the case, it's probably for the best big guy :).

Love (because that's what we do to our enemies here),

Robert N. Guliano

Person of the Day Wednesday September 10, 2009

Yesterday on the campus of Ohio University all girls involved in a sorority could be spotted exhibiting a straight black tee shirt that read "I Am Greek" on the front. This was likely intended to serve as an early method of recruitment that displayed sorority members as a large, united group of young women who were relatively proud of their involvement in their respective campus organizations.

I will now fast forward to today. As I exited my first class of the day and began my brief journey across the south side of campus I couldn't help but be alarmed by a shocking sight. What I saw was a seemingly alert and functional blonde girl parading across the South Green lawn with what appeared to be a customary astuteness. The only thing that set me off about her was the fact that she dawned the very shirt that a whole category of people had systematically worn the previous day.

Naturally, I began brainstorming explanations for this, and I decided that there was no possible way that her wearing the "I Am Greek" shirt today was not completely embarrassing. I developed three approximated scenarios, all of which render today's Person of the Day socially unacceptable:

1. Her confident stride across campus was actually a "walk of shame" from a Wednesday night hook up. 

Trivia: What is more inglorious than a drunk hookup at Ohio University?

Answer: A WEDNESDAY NIGHT drunk hookup at Ohio University.

2. She was simply still wearing the shirt from yesterday. 

Perhaps she was simply attempting to heighten her status within the organization  by attempting to advertise Greek Life for an extra day. However, strength in numbers was the point of the campaign, and if I were an impressionable college girl and I saw today's Person of the Day wearing that shirt today, I would tend to shy away from Greek recruitment. This is primarily because this girl was literally the only one wearing the shirt today, making the Greeks look like a pretty lonely group on campus. Not to be overshadowed, scenario #2 would also indicate that this girl did not wash her shirt after a day's wear on Wednesday leaving it marginally sweaty, inelegantly wrinkled, and principally disgusting.

3. She missed the memo.

This possibility would mean that she is the uninformed sorority member. The one that defies the odds of intimate sisterhood and fundamental affiliation with her respective organization. The member that remains blissfully oblivious to all the latest group news/events, but still puts forth the front of an involved and loyal member of her respective organization.

So, tardy t-shirt toter, you may not be the sorority sister of the year, but, today, you are Person of the Day.

How Crazy Will Corporate Endorsements Get?

Corporate endorsements are rampant in sports. Big companies buy naming rights to stadiums, contract top athletes for advertising, and stake their claim on everything from what an athlete wears to what broadcasters announce on air. My question is, just how far will this go?

 

Will Lebron James' chalk toss be sponsored by gold bond? Will Rafael Nadal trophy ceremonies be sponsored by Fixodent? Will John Daly's practice rounds at major golf tournaments be sponsored by Busch Light? Will Brandon Marshall's contract signing be sponsored by the Denver County Prosecutors Office? Will Miguel Tejada's baseball bat read "US Immigration Services?" Will Orajel take over the running of the Stanley Cup Playoffs? 

 

In a sporting world where advertising is finding new ways to appear on your television screen the possibilities are not only endless but scary. Small market professional sports teams are already pressed for money, but big market teams in big cities are making matters worse by spending immeasurable sums to try to win. As this aggregates down the road, things could get ugly in small market professional sports cities. 

Imagine the Orlando Magic wearing Mickey Mouse ears for home games to make some extra money. Perhaps the Seattle Mariners will turn to sipping on Frappucinos between innings in the dugout. I mean the Oregon Ducks are already test dummies for Nike. Does this mean the Arkansas Razorbacks will become test dummies for Walmart? Nothing would intimidate SEC foes more than 11 guys coming at you full speed wearing Faded Glory and Athletic Works apparel. Not to mention, when they go to the sidelines and snack on Great Value mixed nuts and RC Cola. 

There is no end in sight in this frenzied advertising atmosphere. So far it has had a marginal effect, but in the blink of an Acuvue contact lens, it can turn the sporting world upside down.