Notes From OB

As I said on Twitter yesterday, my dream of live-blogging/twitting the NCAA goofiness from Ocean Beach was an epic FAIL. But even though my laptop turned into the world's biggest coaster, I had a hell of a time. Highlights:

* My buddy Steve on President Obama's tournament picks for ESPN: "That bracket was more conservative than Michael Savage!"

* We spent most of the day at the refurbished Arizona Cafe, something nobody would do years ago unless a) they lost a bet; b) were out on a Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas-style binge. The Arizona wasn't just a dump years ago, it was the dump in OB: no windows, one door, one bathroom and the only lights in the place hung over the lopsided pool tables. You couldn't see what you were ordering, but you knew it'd be cheap, and you knew you'd be bumping elbows (and just that, if you were lucky) with surly winos all night long. Naturally, cheap smart-mouthed bastards like my college buddies and I loved the place.

* Needless to say, the Arizona's new look -- windows! carpeting! two bathrooms! -- stunned us all when we returned yesterday morning. But they didn't mind us hogging the bar and we were drinking since the morning, so it all evened out.

* On picking the longshots:
DC -- "Have you ever nailed a 14 seed beating a 3?"
Me -- "Before you said seed, that question was going nowhere good."

* I'd been worried about my health going into Thursday's get-together. Nothing major, but you know: have I been going out too much lately? am I cooking enough at home so I'm not eating out? But I can now tell you, after watching two of us attempt to race against each other on 30-something year-old legs and flip-flops, I feel a whole lot better.

* Unspoken moral of the Less-Than-Amazing Race: If you've consumed three Bloody Marys, a Tom Collins and parts of three pitchers of beer before lunch, it's not a good idea to race anybody, lest the finish line be the nearest toilet.

* Arizona bartender, upon seeing the winner of the race slumped over at his stool, post-vomit: "Hang in there, buddy! Just one more round!" Showing our increase in maturity since our college days, the rest of us didn't break down laughing until after our buddy stumbled off to puke again.

* How's my bracket doing? Put it this way: I think I understand how my sick buddy feels.