I haven't had a drink since Sunday, December 28th (a parting pint of Guinness at the Avenue Pub at approximately 6:48 p.m. if you must know) and already you make me want to rotate the world to February 1st and have a drink.
Not much else to say, Pete, except that you make me wanna subscribe to a customized version of the Times-Picayune that exacto knifes every word that comes out of your weathered melon prior to arriving on my door step and re-packages it around a whole redfish.
Either that, or you make me wanna buy you a drink. A drink at the track. Or a drink at the fountain of youth. A drink anywhere, really. That's one thing we know for sure. A drink. A drink can be ordered at a bar in a city that knows bars. And drinks. And defense. If it knows what's good for it, this bar will write this down in a book: D-fense. Next to D-rink. (Damn, those Finney Beer Goggles work as advertised!)
And here it is, Finney in focus about the Saints . . . and the Green Wave . . . and the Tigers . . . and Ricky Williams . . . and Drew Brees . . . and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers . . . and . . . what?!