The pursuit of perfection...

How far does one go in the quest for greatness? Magellan sailed around the world.  Michael Phelps swam every single day for four years.  Keanu Reeves attained greatness in Bill & Ted….and then spent years trying to re-attain that pinnacle of excellence.  Me?  I prefer to hop in the car, drive to Westchester, and find greatness in deep-fried poultry appendages covered with buffalo sauce.  

On Sunday morning, Traci and I hopped in the car and drove up to the Candlelight Inn and met Brian, Sara, & Lee for wings.  I mean, it’s only a half hour drive each way.  And, in my humble opinion, these are the best wings in the state [ed. note -- Brendan has never had wings anywhere north of I-287, so his myopic view of the "state" should be ignored].  Better than Down the Hatch; better than Blondie’s; better than Firehouse; better than the Town Tavern; and better than insert-place-that-you-incorrectly-think-has-wings-better-than-candlelight.  Never mind, my opinion is not humble; it’s right; and those of you that try to disagree with it simply have incorrect opinions.  These wings have crispy skin and tender, juicy meat on the inside.  I think one of their “secrets” is that they don’t separate the thigh from the wing, which probably locks in more flavor.  And the sauce; the sauce is critical.  The wings aren’t soaked in buffalo sauce; they’re lightly tossed.  The sauce is spicy, yet creamy.  I could go on all day, but then you’d get bored.

Some fans wear their love of the New York Footbal Giants on their sleeves....my dog wears it around his neck.

I like to gamble. No question. Placing a wager makes everything more interesting. My buddies and I bet on the coin flip for the Super Bowl (and, sadly, the over/under on how long the national anthem lasts --- never take the under with Aaron Neville at the mic). It's not the money that matters; most of the time, the wagers aren't for cash.

That's boring. A good wager should make the game more interesting. For example, one of the many times when Linzer and I beat Traci and Bev in spades, the winners got to choose shirts for the losers to wear by the pool (in addition to the losers having to provide the winners with two hours of pool-side beverage service). Four words can describe the treasures I found for them at Walmart: Hannah Montana, pink, ruffles. You get the point.

So, what is this all building up to? Good question. You see, the wife is a cowboys fan. Yep; it's true. If you didn't already have serious doubts about her judgment when she accepted my (marriage) proposal, you've now read the clinching fact. So, bleeding Giant blue, and being the person I am, Traci and I placed a friendly wager on the Giants- Cowboys game. The stakes? The collar that Toby would have to wear until the next Giants-Cowboys game. Giants win and Toby wears a Giants collar. Cowboys win? Same deal. To paraphrase the immortal Mike McDermott:  With Romo out, it wasn't even like gambling.

The game wasn't even close. Giants win 35-14. Toby? His new collar was installed minutes after we got home. He's happy as a clam. The wife?  "Listen, here's the thing. If you can't spot the sucker in the first half hour at the table, then you ARE the sucker."