Column: Don't get me started ...
Probably few people are as aware as I am that highly opinionated people can be irritating.
I know this because I rarely meet anyone with more opinions than I have.
One summer in the ‘80s I was home from college and going to a movie with a buddy, and we ran into a girl we knew, who was with a friend we didn’t know. A cute friend. We all chatted a little, and the girl we knew made a remark expressing uncertainty about something – I don’t remember what, but it doesn’t really matter – and I launched Cliff Claven-like into the topic. The girl we knew immediately laughed, turned to the cute girl I had never met before and said, “Didn’t I tell you? He knows everything.” She didn’t mean it in a good way, like she had told her friend, “Here comes Guy – he’s simply brilliant.” More like, “Oh Lord, get ready, no matter what you talk about, he’ll have an opinion.”
Ever since then, I do try to keep at least some of my opinions to myself.
But sometimes I just can’t help it.
The past week has been several of those times, but Wednesday was a peak.
For instance, I still lament that New Year’s Day is no longer packed full of college football to the extent that you could change channels at every commercial break and never fail to land on a game instead of another commercial because you had at least two other options any time of the day. At least, that’s how I remember it.
And now Jan. 1 isn’t even close to the peak of bowl season anymore. There are still a lot of games, but several of the big ones moved out, little bowls moved in, and the big ones now are spaced out over the week, presumably to get higher ratings. And if you think a four-team playoff will fix the annual angst over the national “championship” game, I’d like to know what color the sky is in your world.
My wife and I took a break from football on Wednesday to go see “Anchorman 2,” and that set me off in a different direction. That is a phenomenally awful piece of work. Truly terrible. No review I had seen prepared me for the unending torrent of unfunniness pouring from the screen. A friend insisted that his Facebook post on the movie did actually say it was an awful movie. I insisted that “It’s about what I expected,” which was the totality of his post, does not begin to describe a horrible, awful, decrepit piece of moviemaking.
Later that night, back in football-watching mode, after a rant about how consolidation of major football into basically five giant conferences had opened the door to nobodies getting into what used to be top-level bowl games, Mrs. Lucas said to me, “Are you all right?”
She didn’t mean it in a good way.
I gave her as honest an answer as ever has passed my lips: “All right as I’ve ever been. Draw your own conclusion.”