So how was your Mother’s Day? Mine? Great, thanks. I spent it playing with sewage water, lead and 76-year-old toilet wax. This began while Mrs. Crappy was getting ready for work this morning; as she summoned me to the upstairs bathroom, I knew immediately that my plans for the day — mostly stuff in the yard… Read More johnny (part one).
I had my Kentucky Derby horse. And it would have been perfect. A beer-related name. Trained by Bob Baffert, who is my guy. And he would have worn the silks of co-owner Michael Pegram — a big MP, which, by the way, ARE MY INITIALS AS WELL. Hoppertunity would have been a solid choice too, opening… Read More lost hoppertunity.
A few years ago, I told you the story of getting a birthday present from Tiffany for Mrs. Crappy — and the subsequent discovery that carrying a bag from Tiffany through Ross Park Mall was the surest way to get noticed by women I had ever seen. Over the weekend, Mrs. Crappy discovered the male… Read More pied piper.
Another year. No Pulitzers.
I’m not sure that John Calipari’s system at Kentucky — grabbing a bunch of talented one-and-done freshmen in hopes that he can cobble together a solid team in time for a March run — is good for college basketball. And I know for certain that it wasn’t good for nearly every single person who entered… Read More blue. grass. bock. town.
I’m accustomed to writing posts about the smoking carnage that is the brackets of my AUCNFFC contestants at this point of the tournament. And the brackets of those entered in the Ninth Annual Uncle Crappy NCAA Final Four Challenge (Brought To You By Bocktown) are no different. Well, actually, they are. If it wasn’t for… Read More wreckage.
Uncle Crappy 