The John Wall song is bumping in my impala as Walt hits the rumble strips. We’re rolling through Wichita, Kansas. It’s the WQ, (Ellis “the grime master” Libby, Tom “Walt” Gisler, Wade “the MVP” Chitwood, and myself “fireman”).
After our season game to an unfortunate end last night, we decided we need to salvage the spring break we have left. So after calling it a night around 2:30 a.m., we fired up Moyer around 5:30, packed our bags, and got on the road. We’ve now been driving for about 9 hours today. Our destination is Oklahoma City to hang with Bloomington Jefferson native and Thunder Rookie Cole Aldrich.
Tonight, the plan is to spend some quality time with Cole and potentially check out the Thunder practice facility.
Here are some highlights of the nine hour trip we have experienced so far:
an interaction with car of two Iowan ladies that were impressed by Lib’s dance moves while riding shotgun.
We heard a Northwestern Ad on the radio in Missouri...Represent 3003. #nwcnation
Getting tweeted at by Drew Shepp. Nice Lib. An offer has been made for steaks in Clear Lake IA.
We ran into a little town called Eagleville, Iowa. The only thing impressive about it was it’s name. Nice “Welcome to Eagleville Sign”….We’ll see if it’s still there when we journey back at the end of the week. Moyer could use some new signage.
Another highlight was the full quartet singing our ever popular “Dancing in the Moonlight”.
Ever since Walt’s iPod chord warmed up after 5 hours in the car, the tunes have been bumping.
Walt is a machine at the wheel and has been for almost four hours. Lib took the early shift and I put three hours of my own….Wade has been a bum and slept pretty much the whole time. He wakes up to eat, administer insulin to Walt, and ask if we’re there yet. #thatguy. #hibernation #nwcnation
Also a quick update on the tanning competition between myself and my girlfriend, Ali….I’m losing. Haven’t seen the sunlight all day. Looking for a strong comeback. I don’t want to refer to a spray tan on the way back...but I’m in it to win it. #gameface
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
On Fire, but Not as Hot as Pistol
Hey World, What's happenin?
Life is good with me. I'm living the college dream right now. I'm taking classes like a legitimate D1 scholarship athlete. The light load has given me an opportunity to log so many more facebook hours, keep up with nearly every D3 basketball team in our region, and even throw up a quick blog.
I'm currently sitting in Lib and Walt's "office" across the hall from their bedroom here in the Cinco. This is where I do some of my finest multitasking. Now that's not usually my strength, but I can manage pretty well until my legs start to get numb.
So the world of Wetberg has been pretty good lately. I mean it's been GOOD. It's been real Guuuhd. School is getting going after my favorite non-religious holiday, Thanksgiving. It was nice to get home, get some rest, see family and friends, and pack on a few pounds.
Back at N-Dub, things are going pretty typical for this time of year. The team is off to a 3-2 start after falling to my man Gilby and his LAX goons last night. Prior to this, I need to give a little background on my season. I've been placed in a supporting role to help the team, so my hands have become callused from rooting on my Eagles, yelling "WET" every time a WQ member catches the ball, and holding my teammates back after a sick lay-up that gets the Erickson center on their feet.
I have gotten in a couple times this year, but managed to ruin my trillions in both my opportunities. I got greedy against my hometown Falcons and had to cast a couple deep balls before returning to my seat that thankfully still had a little warmth. I sat in shame as I thought, "What would the Shark do?". This was a feeling I didn't want back anytime soon. So a couple days later, my name gets called and for some reason a allow a few rebounds to fall into my hands. C'mon Wetberg! You're never gonna get a trillion at this point!
Finally, Yesterday came though. It was a much anticipated game. It was a reuniting of two brothers that are only separated by blood, 125 miles, a few shades of hair color, and about 100 pounds on the bench press.
This game must have been hyped up a lot because the whole town of LaCrosse was buzzing for this Monday night, early season, non-conference showdown. Okay...that's a total lie.
So we hopped off our bus in LAX with our dreams and our cardigans. (there are only a few guys that could rock a cardigan with any decency, and I don't think I'm one of them.)
I guess I lied again. Nobody had the respect to Miley to at least pull out a cardigan for the trip. That being said, we walked into the gym in typical fashion to get changed and ready for the game. We went into the gym an hour or so before the game to get some shots up. Nobody warned us we'd be playing in the dark.
I figured UW-L was ready to put up a big show. How legit would it be to warm up with basically just security lights on, then during player intros, the court just shines. I was ready to see how legit these state schools were! I was like "wow! No wonder so many of my friends go here!"
This dream just wasn't going to happen. So after warming up in the dark, tuning out the 15 fans, and listening to coach give us the keys to success, it was game time.
Now, I'm not qualified to give a post game summary of a college basketball game. I think you need a degree for that (or have license plates reading "GZIL"). So I'll just fast forward to the last 6 minutes of the game. We were trailing by about 20, and coach gives me the nod. Despite my tight legs from sitting for over an hour, I flew out of my seat. My mouth started to salivate as I saw six minutes left on the clock.
Finally the buzzer sounded, the refs signaled me in, and it was time to do my thing. It took a couple minutes to get used to the flow of the game, but at about 3 minutes, one of my teammates asked me, "You gonna get wet or what?". These words of encouragement and confidence were all I needed. (Plus a 2 1/2 hour inspirational skype chat with my boy GZ) ...no homo.
To make a long story short, I decided to go Jason McElwaine* on em. (I feel like that should be a new line in the "kobe bryant on em" song by Sho Baraka. In the last few minutes, I decided to live up to my "wetberg" nickname. I hit my first real-game 3-pointer in the year 2010, then my second, and then my third with a couple seconds left in the game. I went from lucky shot, to heating up, to "HE'S ON FIRE!". My next shot was about to be from half court with the ball torching in flames. (What's up NBA JAM for the Super Nintendo?)
These points were significant for nothing other than my confidence, making the box score look less harsh, and making my man Gilby and all his teammates have to run the next day for my most glorious scrub minutes of my career.
If you feel like you've heard a similar story, it's because you probably have. See the youtube video link below for the man who was truly "hotter than a pistol". All I can say is that I was packing Half the heat of a pistol.
* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzFCU7hN2yk *
Well, my lower half is almost completely numb, so I better wrap this up. J-Mac is bringing tears to my eyes.
Wetberg's World: Be inspired. Keep living the dream, and as always, Stay WET!
WETBERG
Life is good with me. I'm living the college dream right now. I'm taking classes like a legitimate D1 scholarship athlete. The light load has given me an opportunity to log so many more facebook hours, keep up with nearly every D3 basketball team in our region, and even throw up a quick blog.
I'm currently sitting in Lib and Walt's "office" across the hall from their bedroom here in the Cinco. This is where I do some of my finest multitasking. Now that's not usually my strength, but I can manage pretty well until my legs start to get numb.
So the world of Wetberg has been pretty good lately. I mean it's been GOOD. It's been real Guuuhd. School is getting going after my favorite non-religious holiday, Thanksgiving. It was nice to get home, get some rest, see family and friends, and pack on a few pounds.
Back at N-Dub, things are going pretty typical for this time of year. The team is off to a 3-2 start after falling to my man Gilby and his LAX goons last night. Prior to this, I need to give a little background on my season. I've been placed in a supporting role to help the team, so my hands have become callused from rooting on my Eagles, yelling "WET" every time a WQ member catches the ball, and holding my teammates back after a sick lay-up that gets the Erickson center on their feet.
I have gotten in a couple times this year, but managed to ruin my trillions in both my opportunities. I got greedy against my hometown Falcons and had to cast a couple deep balls before returning to my seat that thankfully still had a little warmth. I sat in shame as I thought, "What would the Shark do?". This was a feeling I didn't want back anytime soon. So a couple days later, my name gets called and for some reason a allow a few rebounds to fall into my hands. C'mon Wetberg! You're never gonna get a trillion at this point!
Finally, Yesterday came though. It was a much anticipated game. It was a reuniting of two brothers that are only separated by blood, 125 miles, a few shades of hair color, and about 100 pounds on the bench press.
This game must have been hyped up a lot because the whole town of LaCrosse was buzzing for this Monday night, early season, non-conference showdown. Okay...that's a total lie.
So we hopped off our bus in LAX with our dreams and our cardigans. (there are only a few guys that could rock a cardigan with any decency, and I don't think I'm one of them.)
I guess I lied again. Nobody had the respect to Miley to at least pull out a cardigan for the trip. That being said, we walked into the gym in typical fashion to get changed and ready for the game. We went into the gym an hour or so before the game to get some shots up. Nobody warned us we'd be playing in the dark.
I figured UW-L was ready to put up a big show. How legit would it be to warm up with basically just security lights on, then during player intros, the court just shines. I was ready to see how legit these state schools were! I was like "wow! No wonder so many of my friends go here!"
This dream just wasn't going to happen. So after warming up in the dark, tuning out the 15 fans, and listening to coach give us the keys to success, it was game time.
Now, I'm not qualified to give a post game summary of a college basketball game. I think you need a degree for that (or have license plates reading "GZIL"). So I'll just fast forward to the last 6 minutes of the game. We were trailing by about 20, and coach gives me the nod. Despite my tight legs from sitting for over an hour, I flew out of my seat. My mouth started to salivate as I saw six minutes left on the clock.
Finally the buzzer sounded, the refs signaled me in, and it was time to do my thing. It took a couple minutes to get used to the flow of the game, but at about 3 minutes, one of my teammates asked me, "You gonna get wet or what?". These words of encouragement and confidence were all I needed. (Plus a 2 1/2 hour inspirational skype chat with my boy GZ) ...no homo.
To make a long story short, I decided to go Jason McElwaine* on em. (I feel like that should be a new line in the "kobe bryant on em" song by Sho Baraka. In the last few minutes, I decided to live up to my "wetberg" nickname. I hit my first real-game 3-pointer in the year 2010, then my second, and then my third with a couple seconds left in the game. I went from lucky shot, to heating up, to "HE'S ON FIRE!". My next shot was about to be from half court with the ball torching in flames. (What's up NBA JAM for the Super Nintendo?)
These points were significant for nothing other than my confidence, making the box score look less harsh, and making my man Gilby and all his teammates have to run the next day for my most glorious scrub minutes of my career.
If you feel like you've heard a similar story, it's because you probably have. See the youtube video link below for the man who was truly "hotter than a pistol". All I can say is that I was packing Half the heat of a pistol.
* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzFCU7hN2yk *
Well, my lower half is almost completely numb, so I better wrap this up. J-Mac is bringing tears to my eyes.
Wetberg's World: Be inspired. Keep living the dream, and as always, Stay WET!
WETBERG
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
That time of year again!
Wetberg's World:
It's been far too long. Days, weeks, and months have passed and many of you have been wondering what I've been up to. Now, is there any special significance of why I'm posting my blog today for the first time in three months? Why yes. There is. Today is the first day of the season that really matters. For the last three months, I have been training, preparing, and engaging myself for this very day. It's been circled on the calendar as "Game 1". During the past three months I have been pouring hours of time and sweat into the fine establishment we like the call "the Erickson Center" at Northwestern. Many fall afternoons, I could and have been seen attempting to lift weights, chucking a few shots up, and even working on a few fundamentals that keep me from getting cut, henceforth, allowing me to live the D3 dream.
The last month has been an up and down little stretch. The practices have been competitive, but fun. We've been going hard for over 4 weeks, but now it's time to test our skills against our friends from down the road: Hamline University.
Now before we get too carried away with what's actually going to go down in tonight's game, let me take an opportunity to hand out a few pre-season awards (while it is still the pre-season)
We'll start with our seniors:
-Most likely to quote a youtube video in a pregame inspirational chat: Point Guard "LeBrian"
-Most likely to foul out of a game: J-Will
-Most likely to "get some after the game": Thomps (Don't worry NWC! He's Married! Congrats bro.)
For the Juniors:
-Least likely to Dunk: Reep
-Longest post-game phone call: Big E (Man-child)
-Most likely to be confused for a legitimate D1 Athlete: Gabriel
Sophomores:
-Most hideous no-shave November results: Grime-Master Libby
-Most likely to have a diabetic seizure: WAAALLLTTTTT
-Most likely to trip while playing D: Chit (Although, if my boy Pav from RF were playing, he'd give him a run for the money)
-Most likely to record a Trillion: Yours Truly!
Freshmen:
The Jury is still out on these guys.
Most likely to achieve 3+ foot stomps, and call out a play for someone not on our team this year (2-Steven): Coach.
Well, I gotta head to the game. Hopefully none of these guys live up to their pre-season awards except for Libby. I know for a fact he will.
Time go Wetberg on em.
Much love.
It's been far too long. Days, weeks, and months have passed and many of you have been wondering what I've been up to. Now, is there any special significance of why I'm posting my blog today for the first time in three months? Why yes. There is. Today is the first day of the season that really matters. For the last three months, I have been training, preparing, and engaging myself for this very day. It's been circled on the calendar as "Game 1". During the past three months I have been pouring hours of time and sweat into the fine establishment we like the call "the Erickson Center" at Northwestern. Many fall afternoons, I could and have been seen attempting to lift weights, chucking a few shots up, and even working on a few fundamentals that keep me from getting cut, henceforth, allowing me to live the D3 dream.
The last month has been an up and down little stretch. The practices have been competitive, but fun. We've been going hard for over 4 weeks, but now it's time to test our skills against our friends from down the road: Hamline University.
Now before we get too carried away with what's actually going to go down in tonight's game, let me take an opportunity to hand out a few pre-season awards (while it is still the pre-season)
We'll start with our seniors:
-Most likely to quote a youtube video in a pregame inspirational chat: Point Guard "LeBrian"
-Most likely to foul out of a game: J-Will
-Most likely to "get some after the game": Thomps (Don't worry NWC! He's Married! Congrats bro.)
For the Juniors:
-Least likely to Dunk: Reep
-Longest post-game phone call: Big E (Man-child)
-Most likely to be confused for a legitimate D1 Athlete: Gabriel
Sophomores:
-Most hideous no-shave November results: Grime-Master Libby
-Most likely to have a diabetic seizure: WAAALLLTTTTT
-Most likely to trip while playing D: Chit (Although, if my boy Pav from RF were playing, he'd give him a run for the money)
-Most likely to record a Trillion: Yours Truly!
Freshmen:
The Jury is still out on these guys.
Most likely to achieve 3+ foot stomps, and call out a play for someone not on our team this year (2-Steven): Coach.
Well, I gotta head to the game. Hopefully none of these guys live up to their pre-season awards except for Libby. I know for a fact he will.
Time go Wetberg on em.
Much love.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Club can't even handle me.
Wetberg's World: What's happenin? I'll tell you. Get off.
I've been back on the holy grounds of Northwestern College for about 3 weeks now. Why 3 weeks? Class has only been going for 2! Yes, this is true. However, I have a confession to make: I made an attempt to become a two sport athlete. I wanted to live the Eric Bender dream of being an Eagle in two separate sports. (This doesn't include CC and Track, because they are basically the same thing.)
Three weeks ago today, I was moving into my dorm room and reacquainting myself with the wild memories of Moyer Hall- a place I can call home.
So yes, I was a fall athlete at NWC for 5 glorious days. What inspired this? Can't I be content in my wetness on the basketball floor...I mean...on the team?
Let's move this story back about 6 weeks when I was nice and drugged up. I had surgery on my knee. Don't judge me like that! 6 weeks of no basketball was 5 too many for me. I needed a replacement. Now, everyone who's reading this from NWC is crossing their fingers to read about I had 6 weeks of immense spiritual growth and found something everlasting to lean on. I did that sort of, but I also spent a lot of my time hitting up the twilight golf rate at the local country club. Just when I thought i couldn't get any whiter, I threw on some khaki's and a polo and marched up and down the links for a few weeks. Well...I went from average, to slightly above average, but by no means good. This inspired me to try out for the Prestigious NWC Men's Golf team.
Why in the world would I do that? I played one year of JV golf in High School. Why not compete at the D3 level? It would allow me to move in to my dorm 5 days earlier, leave the God-forsaken town of River Falls (haha jk), and treat myself to 63 free holes of golf and numerous "free" meals at the cafeteria. In your face Northwestern!
Anyways, I played consistently inconsistent and brought out the best/worst in my power slice strategy. I sprayed the ball to every fairway on the course. I played the correct fairway rarely. The only club that couldn't handle me was my 8 degree devil stick, My driver.
After the first set of cuts, I dodged under Coaches lathe and lived to die another day. That day came and the phone rang after I posted an embarrassing 99. Coach had so much sympathy in his voice. He was really pulling for me, but all I could say was thank you. Thanks for $150 of free golf, $50 of free food, and a free five days in the holy grounds we call Moyer Hall.
I did exactly what I came to do. I came, I saw, but I failed to conquer. Many memories were made on those finely trimmed fairways, but more were made in the roughs, the bunkers, and the woods. No homo.
Now the knee is supposed to be back in working order for basketball, and my miles of walking and carrying cheap golf clubs has paid off. The minute I got cut, I shook my head and said, "Basketball season begins today".
I'm in the process of learning to find my wetness again. Lord Willing, it won't take long.
It's great to be back at Northwestern though. The quartet has been reunited and all under one roof. Bed before midnight has become a thing of the past, and studying is only an option if there's nothing better to do.
That being said, I should really get some work done.
Thank you to all my faithful readers. Props to Mark Titus on his latest blog, Kimberli Wende for her new blog, my boy Lib for his brief blog updates, and Walt for his romantic love letter that I may or may not have read...aloud. I plan to get back at it soon with some shout outs and hopefully some short, but direct letters to people who have really made me shake my head.
As always, Stay Wet
-Wetberg
I've been back on the holy grounds of Northwestern College for about 3 weeks now. Why 3 weeks? Class has only been going for 2! Yes, this is true. However, I have a confession to make: I made an attempt to become a two sport athlete. I wanted to live the Eric Bender dream of being an Eagle in two separate sports. (This doesn't include CC and Track, because they are basically the same thing.)
Three weeks ago today, I was moving into my dorm room and reacquainting myself with the wild memories of Moyer Hall- a place I can call home.
So yes, I was a fall athlete at NWC for 5 glorious days. What inspired this? Can't I be content in my wetness on the basketball floor...I mean...on the team?
Let's move this story back about 6 weeks when I was nice and drugged up. I had surgery on my knee. Don't judge me like that! 6 weeks of no basketball was 5 too many for me. I needed a replacement. Now, everyone who's reading this from NWC is crossing their fingers to read about I had 6 weeks of immense spiritual growth and found something everlasting to lean on. I did that sort of, but I also spent a lot of my time hitting up the twilight golf rate at the local country club. Just when I thought i couldn't get any whiter, I threw on some khaki's and a polo and marched up and down the links for a few weeks. Well...I went from average, to slightly above average, but by no means good. This inspired me to try out for the Prestigious NWC Men's Golf team.
Why in the world would I do that? I played one year of JV golf in High School. Why not compete at the D3 level? It would allow me to move in to my dorm 5 days earlier, leave the God-forsaken town of River Falls (haha jk), and treat myself to 63 free holes of golf and numerous "free" meals at the cafeteria. In your face Northwestern!
Anyways, I played consistently inconsistent and brought out the best/worst in my power slice strategy. I sprayed the ball to every fairway on the course. I played the correct fairway rarely. The only club that couldn't handle me was my 8 degree devil stick, My driver.
After the first set of cuts, I dodged under Coaches lathe and lived to die another day. That day came and the phone rang after I posted an embarrassing 99. Coach had so much sympathy in his voice. He was really pulling for me, but all I could say was thank you. Thanks for $150 of free golf, $50 of free food, and a free five days in the holy grounds we call Moyer Hall.
I did exactly what I came to do. I came, I saw, but I failed to conquer. Many memories were made on those finely trimmed fairways, but more were made in the roughs, the bunkers, and the woods. No homo.
Now the knee is supposed to be back in working order for basketball, and my miles of walking and carrying cheap golf clubs has paid off. The minute I got cut, I shook my head and said, "Basketball season begins today".
I'm in the process of learning to find my wetness again. Lord Willing, it won't take long.
It's great to be back at Northwestern though. The quartet has been reunited and all under one roof. Bed before midnight has become a thing of the past, and studying is only an option if there's nothing better to do.
That being said, I should really get some work done.
Thank you to all my faithful readers. Props to Mark Titus on his latest blog, Kimberli Wende for her new blog, my boy Lib for his brief blog updates, and Walt for his romantic love letter that I may or may not have read...aloud. I plan to get back at it soon with some shout outs and hopefully some short, but direct letters to people who have really made me shake my head.
As always, Stay Wet
-Wetberg
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Cat Attack!
Hey Wetberg's World. This is kind of disappointing that I will only be throwing up 4 blogs this summer. Also, it's been far too long. I needed blogspot to send me an email reminder because I forgot my password. EWPS! Well this will be it for the summer, but you can say I've been inspired by a nice shout-out in "Bunking with Brian", and a crime of a shout-out in "The Way it is". Here's a shout-out to you lib: Get off my Junk. Now, let's all collect ourselves and please, for everyone's sake, I know this is the last one of the summer, but do not get too excited, propose to your girl, and end up lost in Las Vegas and wander around the desert all day. That's just getting a little overdone.
So like I mentioned before, life is just full of memorable events that need to be recorded for history's sake. Life can be WET for now, but some day it's going to dry up. Maybe you're drying up a little bit right now. If this is you, I'll encourage you to sit back, relax, and enjoy a laugh or two as I share a story of how bonding time with my mother went sour. Oh yeah, there's one more thing....GET WET.
I was out picking raspberries innocently at my grandma's house since she is no longer around to pick them. (RIP Grandma). Grandma lived in farm country in western Wisconsin. She has a very sketchy neighboor who was kicked out of the Navy and now hides out in a run-down house next to her. he's about 50 with wrinkly tattoed skin and 42 cats. Naturally, these cats are mangy and basically stray. As I picked berries with my mother, a crowd of 5 cats had assembled around us. I had nothing against cats. I had 4 cute kittens and 3 adult cats who just do their own thing. After about a half and hour of picking berries, one mangy cat got brave. I thought he wanted to be social. The joke was on me. He wanted to be fed. I told my mom, "this cat is giving me a weird look!" and laughed insecurely. The cat got too close for my liking, so i walked into the pushes. He followed. His eyes never broke from me. We had a connection like when you make eye contact with your crush and you look away. Then when you check back in a few seconds, they still haven't broken the stare. Then it quickly turns from cute to creepy. At this point, the cat stood about 5 feet away from me as I walked humbly back onto the grass. Just as I turned to pick a nice red berry, I saw this black, devil possessed cat take a few quick steps and pounces onto my right leg with extended claws! It made a harsh meow as I batted it away like a running back breaking a soft arm tackle. (A.K.A: the way Ryan Grant breaks my whole team's tackles when we play Madden '11) The stiff-arm was too late. The deed had been done. I felt a warm prickling on my right calf. Blood trickled from two gashes in my skin. The pain was not severe, but the result was was filled with gore. I feel for the cat. It didn't live in a good home. Still...he must pay.
So as my leg turned from pasty white to the right half of the American flag, I entered my grandma's empty house and selected my weapon of choice. My dear grandmother was an avid bird lover. She loved her bluebirds and orioles. However, there was one kind of bird that drove the bluebirds away: Sparrows. This upset my grandma for years, and she made them pay...with their lives. My sweet grandmother had pinpoint aim with her bolt action .22 caliber rifle. Grandma kept the bad birds away as well as the bad boys from her three daughters!
As I picked up the gun, I felt the hostility that my sweet grandma once held against some God-forsaken critters that over-stepped their bounds. I loaded a bullet into the gun and threw a few in my pocket just in case other mangy cats we able to pick up the scent of my new Stuart Little cologne.
It was a hot, muggy Wisconsin day, and my fuse was not very long for stray cats that wanted my blood. I went out to pick a few more berries in peace. I gave them a chance. I kept the .22 ready by my side for an emergency situation. After dropping a few more berries into the bucket, I made eye contact with that devil cat. The look in his eyes was a cocky, challenging, and threatening look. He began to pace towards me. I nodded my head and said, "Hello Kitty! Now we go!". I backpedaled away from the side of the house closest to the sketchy neighbor's house. I walked quickly and the cat followed, ready for round 2. The joke was on him. We made our way into the middle of a field of tall grass and stood about 20 feet apart from devil cat. I made the first move. I pulled out my phone and hopped onto Facebook for a quick status update. (Now, I'd probably tweet it. LanceWetberg. Holla!)(Not Wetberg...that's an account that fans like to tweet for me. The celebrity status is nice, but a little overrated)
After my post, I closed my phone. The 2-minute stand-off had ended. The evil cat slyly crept towards me, but I didn't flinch. I dared him to come closer and try to get another taste of Wetberg. You know it wouldn't taste dry!
The cat began his sprint and prepared to pounce. Like a true man, I started to backpedal, and I pulled the trigger. It wouldn't move. The safety was on, and I felt like a goose. (Rightfully so.) I quickly flipped the lever and the gun was ready. Kitty-Diablo crouched and began to run towards me. He was thinking it was dinner time, and that he's be the most popular of the 42 cats for slaying a 6 foot 4, 195 pound, division 3 player. (A trillionaire?) Yes. In your face Travie McCoy. Any way you look at it, he thought wrong. Diablo won the battle of the raspberry patch, but I won the war. Actually, I won it like the US won world war two. People will scratch their head and ask, "Really? Was that really necessary?". I'll answer that question with another question once posed by Patches O'hullihan in the movie "Dodgeball". I'm just kidding, Patches is almost as deranged as this crazy cat. To get down to it, I'll answer that question with an unquestioned response amongst the NWC Basketball crew. I'll tell all my haters: I couldn't lean him forward with the risk of getting fleas, so... The punishment fits the crime!
This all happened so fast, it gave me the strongest desire to spit out a quick blog to the Wetberg faithful. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be near a laptop for hours, so I slid open my phone and got to work!
When it was all done, I wanted to read it to my mother as she laughed at me because I was afraid of a small kitty. I wanted to read her my work of art with the passion that my recently traumatized self had concocted, because she had been here through all the blood, sweat, and tears. So, I turned up the radio in hopes for a musical dramatic effect from the radio. This was a fail. The best that KTIS and Casting Crowns could provide me with was "The voice of truth, says do not be afraid". Wow...thanks. I guess God certainly speaks in crazy ways.
Until next time my friends, watch out for mangy, infected, delirious black cats, and as always, Stay Wet!
Wetberg
So like I mentioned before, life is just full of memorable events that need to be recorded for history's sake. Life can be WET for now, but some day it's going to dry up. Maybe you're drying up a little bit right now. If this is you, I'll encourage you to sit back, relax, and enjoy a laugh or two as I share a story of how bonding time with my mother went sour. Oh yeah, there's one more thing....GET WET.
I was out picking raspberries innocently at my grandma's house since she is no longer around to pick them. (RIP Grandma). Grandma lived in farm country in western Wisconsin. She has a very sketchy neighboor who was kicked out of the Navy and now hides out in a run-down house next to her. he's about 50 with wrinkly tattoed skin and 42 cats. Naturally, these cats are mangy and basically stray. As I picked berries with my mother, a crowd of 5 cats had assembled around us. I had nothing against cats. I had 4 cute kittens and 3 adult cats who just do their own thing. After about a half and hour of picking berries, one mangy cat got brave. I thought he wanted to be social. The joke was on me. He wanted to be fed. I told my mom, "this cat is giving me a weird look!" and laughed insecurely. The cat got too close for my liking, so i walked into the pushes. He followed. His eyes never broke from me. We had a connection like when you make eye contact with your crush and you look away. Then when you check back in a few seconds, they still haven't broken the stare. Then it quickly turns from cute to creepy. At this point, the cat stood about 5 feet away from me as I walked humbly back onto the grass. Just as I turned to pick a nice red berry, I saw this black, devil possessed cat take a few quick steps and pounces onto my right leg with extended claws! It made a harsh meow as I batted it away like a running back breaking a soft arm tackle. (A.K.A: the way Ryan Grant breaks my whole team's tackles when we play Madden '11) The stiff-arm was too late. The deed had been done. I felt a warm prickling on my right calf. Blood trickled from two gashes in my skin. The pain was not severe, but the result was was filled with gore. I feel for the cat. It didn't live in a good home. Still...he must pay.
So as my leg turned from pasty white to the right half of the American flag, I entered my grandma's empty house and selected my weapon of choice. My dear grandmother was an avid bird lover. She loved her bluebirds and orioles. However, there was one kind of bird that drove the bluebirds away: Sparrows. This upset my grandma for years, and she made them pay...with their lives. My sweet grandmother had pinpoint aim with her bolt action .22 caliber rifle. Grandma kept the bad birds away as well as the bad boys from her three daughters!
As I picked up the gun, I felt the hostility that my sweet grandma once held against some God-forsaken critters that over-stepped their bounds. I loaded a bullet into the gun and threw a few in my pocket just in case other mangy cats we able to pick up the scent of my new Stuart Little cologne.
It was a hot, muggy Wisconsin day, and my fuse was not very long for stray cats that wanted my blood. I went out to pick a few more berries in peace. I gave them a chance. I kept the .22 ready by my side for an emergency situation. After dropping a few more berries into the bucket, I made eye contact with that devil cat. The look in his eyes was a cocky, challenging, and threatening look. He began to pace towards me. I nodded my head and said, "Hello Kitty! Now we go!". I backpedaled away from the side of the house closest to the sketchy neighbor's house. I walked quickly and the cat followed, ready for round 2. The joke was on him. We made our way into the middle of a field of tall grass and stood about 20 feet apart from devil cat. I made the first move. I pulled out my phone and hopped onto Facebook for a quick status update. (Now, I'd probably tweet it. LanceWetberg. Holla!)(Not Wetberg...that's an account that fans like to tweet for me. The celebrity status is nice, but a little overrated)
After my post, I closed my phone. The 2-minute stand-off had ended. The evil cat slyly crept towards me, but I didn't flinch. I dared him to come closer and try to get another taste of Wetberg. You know it wouldn't taste dry!
The cat began his sprint and prepared to pounce. Like a true man, I started to backpedal, and I pulled the trigger. It wouldn't move. The safety was on, and I felt like a goose. (Rightfully so.) I quickly flipped the lever and the gun was ready. Kitty-Diablo crouched and began to run towards me. He was thinking it was dinner time, and that he's be the most popular of the 42 cats for slaying a 6 foot 4, 195 pound, division 3 player. (A trillionaire?) Yes. In your face Travie McCoy. Any way you look at it, he thought wrong. Diablo won the battle of the raspberry patch, but I won the war. Actually, I won it like the US won world war two. People will scratch their head and ask, "Really? Was that really necessary?". I'll answer that question with another question once posed by Patches O'hullihan in the movie "Dodgeball". I'm just kidding, Patches is almost as deranged as this crazy cat. To get down to it, I'll answer that question with an unquestioned response amongst the NWC Basketball crew. I'll tell all my haters: I couldn't lean him forward with the risk of getting fleas, so... The punishment fits the crime!
This all happened so fast, it gave me the strongest desire to spit out a quick blog to the Wetberg faithful. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be near a laptop for hours, so I slid open my phone and got to work!
When it was all done, I wanted to read it to my mother as she laughed at me because I was afraid of a small kitty. I wanted to read her my work of art with the passion that my recently traumatized self had concocted, because she had been here through all the blood, sweat, and tears. So, I turned up the radio in hopes for a musical dramatic effect from the radio. This was a fail. The best that KTIS and Casting Crowns could provide me with was "The voice of truth, says do not be afraid". Wow...thanks. I guess God certainly speaks in crazy ways.
Until next time my friends, watch out for mangy, infected, delirious black cats, and as always, Stay Wet!
Wetberg
Monday, July 12, 2010
Buddy Check
What's good Wetberg's World? I'll assume not a whole lot since you haven't heard from me on this fine blog in a MONTH!I'm sure you all read the blog title and were intrigued...Was Wetberg some kind of camp counselor that conducts buddy checks every 10 minutes at the beach? You'll hear it here first: I'm not and wasn't. That'd be my boy Bri-Guy who also throws up a savage blog called "Bunking with Brian" (Holla!)
Part of my non-blogging has been attributed to my inspiration, Mark 'The Shark' Titus' retirement from the blogging community as he decided to write a book. The good news is, he's back after being drafted by the Harlem Globetrotters where he is poised to post many more trillions.
On the note of trillions...(a stat line of one minute played and zeros for the rest of the stats.)...I couldn't have recorded a trillion in our previous summer league game if I tried. We had 5 guys, and I was the most qualified to be the point guard with my measly 6'4" stature. We were big, and we were slow. Or roster was myself at the point, Walt at 2, freshmen recruits at 6'5" and 6'7", and Rob Dog. We had 5 guys, 10 lungs, and not enough oxygen. We panted our way to a 6 point loss to a solid St. Olaf team.
Back to the point of this blog. Where've I been for the last 5 weeks? Beaches? Traveling? (only on the court) Hanging out with friends? Barely...No. I've been taking a five credit chemistry class at River Falls' highest rated 4-year university in the town. A semester's worth of General Chemistry was shoved down my thoat five weeks. It was one of the most mediocre experiences of my life. It was a class of 25 students from many different walks of life. I can appreciate this. I'm all about diversity. We had a lot of cultures in there and a lot of different ages, but only one person was able to get under skin. No, I'm not a racist. I didn't even mind that my professor had some kind of crazy Russian accent. I actually preferred it because she sounded out each syllable of each word, and talked nice and slow, but kept a very peppy attitude except for the time she threw a model of an atom overhand like Todd Coffee hurls a late-game fastball for the Brewers...at a student. He deserved it though. He asked a dumb question...too stoned to think straight.
Let's get back to the guy who got under my skin.
I don't think anybody knows the true name of the guy who got under my skin, but he can be described to a T. This guy was an adult education student. I have no grudge against people who return to school. I think that's great that they're trying a new career, or getting more qualified. The only thing that grinds my gears about adult education students is the uncountable (or are they?) number of questions that they ask. Adult Ed. Students that are being trained in their field have legitimate reasons. Students in General Chemistry have little to no reason to ask a rediculous number of questions. If I had to guess, this guy, "Buddy" (as his white lab coat read), probably got fired from his old job for being the most annoying worker.
About 15 minutes into day one, Buddy's hand is waving in the air to ask a stupid question like if notes about the syllabus would be on the mid-term. Beginning then, the Math Ed. major in me flared up hard. I pulled out the back of my folder to tally the number of questions that Buddy would ask each day of class. Well 5 weeks of class went by and the results are in!
A quick background on our class will tell you that we had a 3 1/2 hour lecture on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, and a 2 1/2 hour lecture on Thursdays. Mondays we had exams, which were a guaranteed hour of silence. I was very diligent to record tally marks for any and all questions, boisterous comments, and pointless concerns.
Buddy was out to prove a point: He loves chemistry, and he is better at it than everybody in the class. We aren't even in the same generation, and we were reminded each and every day.
Here's a fun fact to paint a picture for you. Over the course of our 18 days of lectures, our class got the privilege of hearing his voice over 256 times! For you non-Math Majors, that just over 14 comments per day. That's about 4 comments per hour. (Every 15 minutes) I sat 30 feet away from him in a large lecture hall and could hear every single whisper scream as he used his years of wisdom to guide a young, confused college student.
Here's a short letter I've composed to my man Buddy,
Dear Buddy,
You probably don't know me, but I know you. That would be creepy, but every member of our class knows you. There's even a good chance that the classes next door know you. You could potentially be my father, or even grandfather. When you've got everyone in the class beat out in age by at least 30 years, you should just blend in the background because you're not the center of attention in the class. Why don't you just put in your time, get your five credits, and go become a game-show host where you can ask all the questions you want.
I'll give you some credit buddy. Of your 256 questions, there were a few that were actually pertinent to my education and helped my learning. However, you asked so many bad questions, I ran out of jokes to tell my lab partner. So not only are you looking bad, but you're making me look bad.
A couple more things: Don't show up to the first day of freshman summer chemistry in a lab coat. We get it...you're smart and a big deal, but your tool-o-meter is flashing on red right now. Also, when you wear classic rock t-shirts tucked into your jeans every day to class, it only exposes our age gap. Finally, don't go around hugging the prof and act like it's you two vs. a class of college kids. She's your professor, not your friend.
Buddy, I know I've been hard on you in this blog and letter, but know I don't hate you. Ya just grind my gears. My gears have been ground to the point of being dry.
So there's a solution for buddy, myself, and each of my 14 adoring fans,
GET WET!
Part of my non-blogging has been attributed to my inspiration, Mark 'The Shark' Titus' retirement from the blogging community as he decided to write a book. The good news is, he's back after being drafted by the Harlem Globetrotters where he is poised to post many more trillions.
On the note of trillions...(a stat line of one minute played and zeros for the rest of the stats.)...I couldn't have recorded a trillion in our previous summer league game if I tried. We had 5 guys, and I was the most qualified to be the point guard with my measly 6'4" stature. We were big, and we were slow. Or roster was myself at the point, Walt at 2, freshmen recruits at 6'5" and 6'7", and Rob Dog. We had 5 guys, 10 lungs, and not enough oxygen. We panted our way to a 6 point loss to a solid St. Olaf team.
Back to the point of this blog. Where've I been for the last 5 weeks? Beaches? Traveling? (only on the court) Hanging out with friends? Barely...No. I've been taking a five credit chemistry class at River Falls' highest rated 4-year university in the town. A semester's worth of General Chemistry was shoved down my thoat five weeks. It was one of the most mediocre experiences of my life. It was a class of 25 students from many different walks of life. I can appreciate this. I'm all about diversity. We had a lot of cultures in there and a lot of different ages, but only one person was able to get under skin. No, I'm not a racist. I didn't even mind that my professor had some kind of crazy Russian accent. I actually preferred it because she sounded out each syllable of each word, and talked nice and slow, but kept a very peppy attitude except for the time she threw a model of an atom overhand like Todd Coffee hurls a late-game fastball for the Brewers...at a student. He deserved it though. He asked a dumb question...too stoned to think straight.
Let's get back to the guy who got under my skin.
I don't think anybody knows the true name of the guy who got under my skin, but he can be described to a T. This guy was an adult education student. I have no grudge against people who return to school. I think that's great that they're trying a new career, or getting more qualified. The only thing that grinds my gears about adult education students is the uncountable (or are they?) number of questions that they ask. Adult Ed. Students that are being trained in their field have legitimate reasons. Students in General Chemistry have little to no reason to ask a rediculous number of questions. If I had to guess, this guy, "Buddy" (as his white lab coat read), probably got fired from his old job for being the most annoying worker.
About 15 minutes into day one, Buddy's hand is waving in the air to ask a stupid question like if notes about the syllabus would be on the mid-term. Beginning then, the Math Ed. major in me flared up hard. I pulled out the back of my folder to tally the number of questions that Buddy would ask each day of class. Well 5 weeks of class went by and the results are in!
A quick background on our class will tell you that we had a 3 1/2 hour lecture on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, and a 2 1/2 hour lecture on Thursdays. Mondays we had exams, which were a guaranteed hour of silence. I was very diligent to record tally marks for any and all questions, boisterous comments, and pointless concerns.
Buddy was out to prove a point: He loves chemistry, and he is better at it than everybody in the class. We aren't even in the same generation, and we were reminded each and every day.
Here's a fun fact to paint a picture for you. Over the course of our 18 days of lectures, our class got the privilege of hearing his voice over 256 times! For you non-Math Majors, that just over 14 comments per day. That's about 4 comments per hour. (Every 15 minutes) I sat 30 feet away from him in a large lecture hall and could hear every single whisper scream as he used his years of wisdom to guide a young, confused college student.
Here's a short letter I've composed to my man Buddy,
Dear Buddy,
You probably don't know me, but I know you. That would be creepy, but every member of our class knows you. There's even a good chance that the classes next door know you. You could potentially be my father, or even grandfather. When you've got everyone in the class beat out in age by at least 30 years, you should just blend in the background because you're not the center of attention in the class. Why don't you just put in your time, get your five credits, and go become a game-show host where you can ask all the questions you want.
I'll give you some credit buddy. Of your 256 questions, there were a few that were actually pertinent to my education and helped my learning. However, you asked so many bad questions, I ran out of jokes to tell my lab partner. So not only are you looking bad, but you're making me look bad.
A couple more things: Don't show up to the first day of freshman summer chemistry in a lab coat. We get it...you're smart and a big deal, but your tool-o-meter is flashing on red right now. Also, when you wear classic rock t-shirts tucked into your jeans every day to class, it only exposes our age gap. Finally, don't go around hugging the prof and act like it's you two vs. a class of college kids. She's your professor, not your friend.
Buddy, I know I've been hard on you in this blog and letter, but know I don't hate you. Ya just grind my gears. My gears have been ground to the point of being dry.
So there's a solution for buddy, myself, and each of my 14 adoring fans,
GET WET!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Peace up. A-Town.
Wetberg's World: What's Happenin? That's probably the question exact question you have for me and the reason you clicked to read this blog. Another reason could be that you have an unhealthy addiction to the ins and outs of my life. Common side effects of this vary from as minimal as hourly update checks to literal shaking as you crave to read about the shenanigans I've been up to. Well if you've been shaking, you can soon be back in your happy place as I'm about to drop a fresh Wetberg right in your face. (Take it how you will). Pun intended.
Now, what've I been up to the last two weeks? Firstly, I've just been out here grinding. Secondly, I've been a full time student. When I'm not doing that, I'm just out doing what I do. I think that paints a real nice picture of my summer.
So on to the purpose of this entry. It is not to tell you about my obsession with the raunchy Usher song with the catchy beat from 2001. No, it's to share a story of a brotherhood that was re-united in one of the greatest cities in the Fox Valley region of Wisconsin: Appleton. (A-town....as the suburban white kids like to call it)....I was tempted to dub it one of the greatest cities in the world, but after many E. Libby reminders, we all know that Bloomington, MN takes that cake the way a little kid destroys one on his first birthday. B-Town is great. We get it. On to A-town!
It was a Thursday afternoon. I had a few hours of class under my belt and was fresh out of a doctor’s appointment telling me I'll be needing a minor surgery on my right knee. If this is the first time you've heard this, Adam Scheffner is not doing his job very well on the NFL Network. I tried calling it in to ESPN as breaking news, but they were too busy showing the same ground-out that Jim Joyce blew that cost a dude a perfect game. Atta kid Jim. I don't know the name of a single major league baseball ump, but thanks for putting yourself out there as the worst ump I've ever seen. ESPN makes some good efforts to talk you up, but then repeatedly exposes you for making the worst call of your life, then goes on to show you crying on national TV. I feel for you, but the punishment fits the crime. Sorry for the long baseball rant, but this rant has been a great transition to my trip to A-town.
My day had been average. After not caring about class, receiving the package from the doctor, and my overall disappointment with Adam Scheffner and Jim Joyce, I was ready for a bright spot in my day. 4 short hours of driving and alternating between Jay-Z, and Chris Tomlin led me to that bright spot I had been waiting for. I arrived at the baseball stadium of the Brewers minor league team: The Wisconsin Timber Rattlers.
As I approached the entrance door I saw him and began to hear a one-man round of applause. I had reunited with my good college friend, Gary who was beaming from ear to ear. Correction: this was not college Gary. This was Gary minus 17 pounds. I was so proud of him as I held him in our embracing hug. (no homo) I can't decide what I was happier about, Gary's commitment to fitness, or that I had just saved my $5 admission fee by walking in during the 3rd inning. (In your face T-Rats)
As we walked in to the stadium, I heard the chatter of 1000 baseball fans, and smelled about 2000 glasses of beer. (The T-Rat fans were either doing some serious double-fisting, or they all decided to cake on their Miller Light Cologne during pregame. The place just reeked of Wisconsin.
We got to our seats, and waiting for us were four friendly faces. Two twin girls that Gary was friends from in high school, a good guy-friend of his, and the man of the next hour, my former roommate, my current teammate, my point guard, WQ member, the grime master himself: Ellis.
It was a picture perfect night. The lights were bright. There was some quality single A minor league baseball happening. We were hanging with some good friends. Then...all of a sudden....the night got even better:
Being a minor league team, the T-Rats had to have a bunch of contest, drawings, games, and other between innings festivities. I was really bummed when I didn't win the buy one get one free coupon for a Taco Bell Crunch Wrap. (Over a $2 Value!!)
Between one of the innings, was the Bratzooka bombing. I've been to MN Twins games where they shoot T-shirts into the crowd for a lucky fan, but not the T-Rats...They were bombing foil wrapped brats! We were on our feet jumping and waving our hands like 13 year old girls at a Justin Bieber concert. Then a brat launched high into the sky. The drunks were stretching out to snag the flying brat, and I said to Ellis, "Dude this one's coming for us!" That being said, Lib removed his "White man can't jump hat.(Usually a hideous adjustable hat that was popular in the early 1990s. Now you see them at garage sales for $.50. He flaunts it backwards on the back of his head..."his swag") As the brat arched down towards us, Ellis reached his arm back well into the vacant row behind us and made a miraculous catch. Next thing we know, a camera man is in our face, and we are on the big screen. Lib and Wetberg...in HD.
With Lib as the main attraction for his incredible brat catch, I was in the secondary friend role. I did the right thing by dishing out high fives, and acting like we won the lottery. Looking back at it, I wish I had pulled a Mark Titus after winning the Big Ten Championship and just made some ridiculous faces into the camera as Thad Matta was interviewed...Class Act shark!
As we celebrated with him, an inning came an went. We watched a few more innings of baseball and eventually opted to have a big night, NWC style. So sure enough, within fifteen minutes we were hittin' the Bees! (going to Applebees for half price apps)
The girls we were with were not as Bees savvy as we had become after many trips last year. I knew which half-price appetizer I was going with before I entered the family friendly establishment. In fact, I'd like to attribute 2 pounds out of my freshman 15 to Applebees. The next 8 goes to Cafe Naz and their weird food. The final 5 pounds is split between shoppers value Ice Cream and sweets sent in care packages by loved ones of the WQ. (Thanks Claire and Barbara).
12 hot wings later, we said our goodbyes, went back to the G-Zil pad/mansion and immediately hopped on facebook. Everything just seemed so right. It felt like nearly every single night as an NWC Eagle. Moyer 5D had been reunited. After a few minutes of facebook creeping, we all decided to call it a night. We had just been apart for almost a month, and within hours, we were right back in stride.
This was just the first half of my trip though. This was Lib+Lance+Gary night. We went big. I'm going to cut this blog off here and hopefully have the next night's festivities up soon.
I hope this answers any questions of What's happenin in Wetberg's World.
Until next time my friends,
Stay wet and God Bless,
Wetberg
Now, what've I been up to the last two weeks? Firstly, I've just been out here grinding. Secondly, I've been a full time student. When I'm not doing that, I'm just out doing what I do. I think that paints a real nice picture of my summer.
So on to the purpose of this entry. It is not to tell you about my obsession with the raunchy Usher song with the catchy beat from 2001. No, it's to share a story of a brotherhood that was re-united in one of the greatest cities in the Fox Valley region of Wisconsin: Appleton. (A-town....as the suburban white kids like to call it)....I was tempted to dub it one of the greatest cities in the world, but after many E. Libby reminders, we all know that Bloomington, MN takes that cake the way a little kid destroys one on his first birthday. B-Town is great. We get it. On to A-town!
It was a Thursday afternoon. I had a few hours of class under my belt and was fresh out of a doctor’s appointment telling me I'll be needing a minor surgery on my right knee. If this is the first time you've heard this, Adam Scheffner is not doing his job very well on the NFL Network. I tried calling it in to ESPN as breaking news, but they were too busy showing the same ground-out that Jim Joyce blew that cost a dude a perfect game. Atta kid Jim. I don't know the name of a single major league baseball ump, but thanks for putting yourself out there as the worst ump I've ever seen. ESPN makes some good efforts to talk you up, but then repeatedly exposes you for making the worst call of your life, then goes on to show you crying on national TV. I feel for you, but the punishment fits the crime. Sorry for the long baseball rant, but this rant has been a great transition to my trip to A-town.
My day had been average. After not caring about class, receiving the package from the doctor, and my overall disappointment with Adam Scheffner and Jim Joyce, I was ready for a bright spot in my day. 4 short hours of driving and alternating between Jay-Z, and Chris Tomlin led me to that bright spot I had been waiting for. I arrived at the baseball stadium of the Brewers minor league team: The Wisconsin Timber Rattlers.
As I approached the entrance door I saw him and began to hear a one-man round of applause. I had reunited with my good college friend, Gary who was beaming from ear to ear. Correction: this was not college Gary. This was Gary minus 17 pounds. I was so proud of him as I held him in our embracing hug. (no homo) I can't decide what I was happier about, Gary's commitment to fitness, or that I had just saved my $5 admission fee by walking in during the 3rd inning. (In your face T-Rats)
As we walked in to the stadium, I heard the chatter of 1000 baseball fans, and smelled about 2000 glasses of beer. (The T-Rat fans were either doing some serious double-fisting, or they all decided to cake on their Miller Light Cologne during pregame. The place just reeked of Wisconsin.
We got to our seats, and waiting for us were four friendly faces. Two twin girls that Gary was friends from in high school, a good guy-friend of his, and the man of the next hour, my former roommate, my current teammate, my point guard, WQ member, the grime master himself: Ellis.
It was a picture perfect night. The lights were bright. There was some quality single A minor league baseball happening. We were hanging with some good friends. Then...all of a sudden....the night got even better:
Being a minor league team, the T-Rats had to have a bunch of contest, drawings, games, and other between innings festivities. I was really bummed when I didn't win the buy one get one free coupon for a Taco Bell Crunch Wrap. (Over a $2 Value!!)
Between one of the innings, was the Bratzooka bombing. I've been to MN Twins games where they shoot T-shirts into the crowd for a lucky fan, but not the T-Rats...They were bombing foil wrapped brats! We were on our feet jumping and waving our hands like 13 year old girls at a Justin Bieber concert. Then a brat launched high into the sky. The drunks were stretching out to snag the flying brat, and I said to Ellis, "Dude this one's coming for us!" That being said, Lib removed his "White man can't jump hat.(Usually a hideous adjustable hat that was popular in the early 1990s. Now you see them at garage sales for $.50. He flaunts it backwards on the back of his head..."his swag") As the brat arched down towards us, Ellis reached his arm back well into the vacant row behind us and made a miraculous catch. Next thing we know, a camera man is in our face, and we are on the big screen. Lib and Wetberg...in HD.
With Lib as the main attraction for his incredible brat catch, I was in the secondary friend role. I did the right thing by dishing out high fives, and acting like we won the lottery. Looking back at it, I wish I had pulled a Mark Titus after winning the Big Ten Championship and just made some ridiculous faces into the camera as Thad Matta was interviewed...Class Act shark!
As we celebrated with him, an inning came an went. We watched a few more innings of baseball and eventually opted to have a big night, NWC style. So sure enough, within fifteen minutes we were hittin' the Bees! (going to Applebees for half price apps)
The girls we were with were not as Bees savvy as we had become after many trips last year. I knew which half-price appetizer I was going with before I entered the family friendly establishment. In fact, I'd like to attribute 2 pounds out of my freshman 15 to Applebees. The next 8 goes to Cafe Naz and their weird food. The final 5 pounds is split between shoppers value Ice Cream and sweets sent in care packages by loved ones of the WQ. (Thanks Claire and Barbara).
12 hot wings later, we said our goodbyes, went back to the G-Zil pad/mansion and immediately hopped on facebook. Everything just seemed so right. It felt like nearly every single night as an NWC Eagle. Moyer 5D had been reunited. After a few minutes of facebook creeping, we all decided to call it a night. We had just been apart for almost a month, and within hours, we were right back in stride.
This was just the first half of my trip though. This was Lib+Lance+Gary night. We went big. I'm going to cut this blog off here and hopefully have the next night's festivities up soon.
I hope this answers any questions of What's happenin in Wetberg's World.
Until next time my friends,
Stay wet and God Bless,
Wetberg
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