We've all done things in our youth that, looking back as new members of the "adult" community, we find ... insane. No two ways about it. When my buddies and I toss back a few cold beverages as we stumble down fuzzy-memory lane from time to time, the better stories finish off with something along the lines of, "We're lucky to be alive." Everything from dumpster-diving (literally — one dude pulled a Louganis just outside our fraternity house) to being asked to leave a gentleman's club for being a bit too .. .grabby? Yeah, we'll go with grabby. Point is, it's easier to understand the importance of making good life decisions after a few years of mastering some embarrassingly poor choices. Fun, too! But the young-and-dumb excuse, much like my beer tolerance, has limitations. Playful drunken tickle-fight deteriorating to a very public make-out session with the heavyset babe before last call? Funny. Innocent play-fighting with your brother evolving into somebody getting stabbed in the leg? Not so much.
Which brings us to the latest off-season shenanigans from our beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneer 2014 reboot project still under construction. They should hang a sign in front of One Buc Place that reads, "Pardon Our Dust Bust." On Sunday, wide receiver and perpetual problem child, Mike Williams, who apparently has been ass-cheek deep in celebrating last year's $40 million contract by throwing loud property-destroying parties to the delight of his Avila neighbors, getting charged with criminal mischief and trespassing in December for kicking in the door of some chick's house, and, of course, missing a lot of football due to injuries, has made the papers again. Apparently, his brother Eric Baylor grabbed a kitchen knife, stabbed Williams in the left thigh and fled the scene. Oh, you know how siblings are. I once gave my brother an Indian-burn that left a mark for like a solid hour. Boy, was Mom pissed. Even though Williams is technically the victim in this latest brush with ridiculousness, it is of the opinion of this sports hack that it's time for head coach Lovie Smith to take this young man by the earlobe, drive him to Tampa International and put him on the first plane out of town. And for good measure, Smith should whisper his concerns to the nearest TSA officer to make sure Williams gets a generous body cavity search beforehand. While we're at it, throw in a screaming baby with explosive diarrhea in the seat next to him. And no peanuts! But that's just me.
Speaking of brain damage, Tampa Bay Rays pitcher Matt Moore had a scare Sunday afternoon after being hit in the coconut with a line drive by Boston shortstop and spell-check nightmare, Xander Bogaerts. Thankfully, Moore escaped the incident with nothing more than soreness below his right ear and a lip the size of Mushmouth's from the Cosby Kids. Not only was he extremely fortunate, but also quite the badass. With two outs left in the bottom of fourth inning, after getting plunked in the jaw, Moore still managed to pick up the ball and throw it to first base to make the final out before he proceeded to bleed. Rays went on to beat the Red Sux 9-2. Suck on that, you annoying chowdah-headed douchebags. Feel better soon, Matty. If that happened to me, I would have barely been able to mumble "call 911" before passing out and pooping my pants.
Honorable Afterthoughts: The Florida Gators (34-2) make their fourth straight trip to the NCAA Tournament "Sweet 16" after putting an old-fashioned ass-pounding on the ninth-seeded Pittsburgh Panthers, 61-45 (The quote-that-made-me-giggle award goes to Panther senior center Talib Zanna: "They got to the loose balls ..."); NFL owners will most likely vote to eliminate overtime in preseason games (however, fans will be relieved to know that while they enjoy watching a bunch a nobodies play football before serving up our burrito supremes the following day, tickets and beer prices will most likely remain the same reasonable wallet-raping amount); and finally, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts will be performing July 12 at Tropicana Field after the Rays vs. Blue Jays game as part of the Summer Concert Series. For those of you too young to remember, before Miley Cyrus began making a comfortable living dry-humping everything with a pulse (actually a pulse may be too strict a policy), there used to be people called "bands" who used "instruments" to play "music". I have officially become my father.