A Little FIFA for my Fiefdom

I have tried time and again to understand the popularity of this stupid FIFA soccer shit, but I simply don’t get it. Worse yet, I don’t even have a clue as to where to start, nor do I have the patience to structure an argument to explain why you soccer fans are idiots.

So we have a guy whose name sounds like he was a member of The Beach Boys, Landon Donovan. He is now a hero because he was able to kick a ball into a goal that measures 24’ wide by 8’ tall. He was able to make this unobstructed goal from 9’ away while the opposing goalie lay lifeless on the ground. As the balled rolled gently toward him, he must have had flashbacks to the time his mommy would roll the ball to him when he was five years old and all he had to do was kick it into the front their a 4 car garage.

Landon Donovan also enjoys singing show tunes and playing teeter-totter.

I want to give the guy credit where due, but it’s not because he was able to hit the side of a barn, it’s because he was able to run up and down the field for 90 plus minutes without puking all over himself; something I would be unable to do. I guess the troubling thing is how can players on both teams spend the entire day missing those simple shots. How big a loser do you have to be to miss layup after layup, before you realize you suck?

I’m pretty sure any numbnut can do this

Why don’t they just show marathon runners how to kick a ball

In football, a kicker has to sail a ball 150 feet, (or should I be speaking in meters for you jerk offs) in the wind, while 11 angry dudes, who know exactly when and where he’s going to kick it, try and block him from putting the weirdest shaped ball in the world, through an 18’ wide goal post………………while, I should point out, there is still time on the game clock.

Now this is worth watching

This brings us back to this 90 plus minutes thing. Why is this game not in overtime or something? What legitimate sport says ahh, just keep playing for a little bit. Have these people never heard of buzzer beater, walk off homer, scored as time expired? No, they keep playing for, well, a little while after the game is supposed to be over. What is that? That would be like playing Pictionary with no timer; go ahead and leisurely draw a picture of a caboose, or a dragon, no hurry, take your time; it’s not even an All Play, its freakin’ ridiculous.

I know there are guys in My Bowling League who are involved with soccer programs. Mike Hirsch and John Bondra are good examples of what a modern day soccer sissy looks like. Two guys with little to no athletic ability whatsoever, trying to pass themselves off as jocks.

Mike Hirsch and John Bondra, just a couple of jocks.

When you call them on it, they immediately start talking about how dangerous it is to play soccer, and that more injuries occur in that sport versus any other. The reason for that is simple; if I throw a pig off a roof, it’s going to get hurt because it can’t fly. A kid is going to get hurt in soccer because he’s not an athlete. Pigs don’t get hurt when they do what they are meant to do, play in the mud. Likewise, soccer players don’t get hurt when they do what they are meant to do, play with dolls.

Just a couple of future soccer players

Just a couple future football players

I’m not even going to get into the fact that the average game ends 1-0. I simply can’t take any more of this asinine World Cup soccer bullshit. Wake up people; you don’t live in a third world country for gods sakes. Men play football, sissy’s play soccer, end of story.

Lovingly Yours,

Marty Lynch

The King Pin

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The Vacation is Over

Well I was determined to get my pasty white ass out onto the Florida beaches yesterday. And, it only took the followings conditions to make that a reality: purchase a $139 – 10’x10’ Mighty Blocker sun tent; purchase a $49 Outdoorsman (cloth) camp chair with awning; purchase a $12 bottle of Coppertone #30 coconut scented facial sun screen; purchase a $9 can of Publix brand #50 spray-on sun blocker; purchase a $198 pair of Ray Ban sunglasses; purchase two $14 battery operated, chair mountable clip on fans; purchase an $18 case of Bud Light; purchase a $36 Coleman cooler with wheels; purchase a $4 bag of ice; purchase a $19 - 32 ounce jug of Aloe in case any or all of the above fail. But I really do have to admit what got me out the door was the free weather report calling for clouds, rain, and wind. Now that’s my kind of weather!

As you can see, the Ray Ban’s and beer worked; everything else failed, including that shitty weather reporter.

As many of you know, this is the one-year anniversary of the now famous Chip Tighe “circle pee” adventure. (If you missed it, see blog dated June 19, 2009) I told the lovely Mrs. Lynch that I was planning to do an anniversary blog for Chip, and she kind of started freaking out on me.

This is the part where Chip says he wasn’t scared.

She said “leave him alone, how would you like it if I told everyone about some of the idiotic shit you do?” I was like, what have I ever done that was idiotic? Sue, who prefers to be called Suzanne, reminded me that while Tighe was fishing last year, I was at home having issues of my own. Since the person who professed to love, honor, and cherish me, has now vowed to go public with the “Marble Organ Story,” I figure I should do what any spineless politician would do; go public and get ahead of the story……..So here goes.

Maybe this is a bad example.

First, I should let everyone know that I have Crohn ‘s Disease; which I should point out, is a sometimes-debilitating gastrointestinal condition that (unbeknownst to many of you) has required me to take a dump at your house. Perhaps the best way to describe it would be to say that having Crohn’s is like having Tourette’s Syndrome, only all the crazy uncontrollable shit comes out of your ass, not out of your mouth.

Anyhow, while Chip was fishing in Canada, I had a Crohn’s flare up that sent me racing to my bathroom. After I flushed and was leaving, I noticed what I could only describe as 9 big black marbles, floating in the toilet. At this time I am certain that I just crapped life sustaining internal organs out of my body. Not that Chip Tighe is a real doctor, but I realized that in a pinch, our little podiatrist would have to do. I want him to come over and look at these marbles and tell me what the hell I just did to myself, perhaps give me some idea of how much longer I had to live before the rest of my organs began shutting down.

They may look friendly, but I learned never to judge a book by its cover.

Obviously Tighe is gone, and as it turns out, my wife was out of town as well. So it will be up to me to either solve this or protect the specimens until I can get a reasonable medical opinion from someone. I decide that while I wait for Chip to get home, I will remove my marble like internal organs from the toilet with a spoon and set them on a towel on the bathroom vanity.

For the record, I did put this through the dishwasher twice before putting it back in sugar bin.

Once on the towel, I felt compelled to analyze them. They are all very firm, probably filled with blood, or pancreatic tissue, they definitely had a pulse, and they had to be something necessary for human survival. I squeeze them, I roll them, I measure them, and I document my findings and head to the internet. I didn’t find any answers on line, I only had more questions; would the doctors be able to reattach them, should I put them in the freezer like some kind of cryogenics experiment, should I drive myself to the emergency room, should I call 911 and have the paramedics transport me and my 9 heartbeats to the hospital.

I am usually pretty good at laboratory research and locating things on the internet, but this one had me stumped.

I must have had an anxiety attack and passed out, because the next thing I remember was me waking up on the kitchen floor with the refrigerator door open and my 9 marbles on the butter dish next to a gallon of milk. I start to freak a little and grab the marbles and run back to the bathroom. I can’t take the anguish anymore, so I throw them in the toilet and flush. They wouldn’t go down; clearly this was a sign from god, so I spoon them back out and back onto the towel. All I can do now is wait for Tighe to return.

The minutes seemed like hours, the hours seemed like days. I would check on them continually over the next 36 hours, until I fell asleep from exhaustion. When I awoke and ran to inspect the marbles, something was clearly wrong. No longer did they look strong, lively, and powerful. Now they appeared weak, listless, and frail. But as I stared at them, and the blood-purple stained towel, they also appeared to look like something else. Their wrinkled little lifeless bodies struck a remarkable similarity to a raisin. A raisin, not unlike the raisins found in the Raisin Bran cereal I had eaten not two days ago.

Well, at least I saved the co-pay, and deductible.

Yes it was traumatic, but I realized that I would live another day, Ole Martin V. may just live-forever, and yes, my power of prayer is enormous.

I don’t want to come across as being special, but, I is what I is.

Marty Lynch


The King Pin


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Sh*t My Mom Says

I’m guessing that many of you have heard about or have visited the website called www.shitmydadsays.com. If not, you should because it’s funny; but please keep in mind that it is laced with a good bit of profanity. Anyhow, I just spent five, count ‘em, five days vacationing with my mother, and I’ve got to tell you, she says some goofy shit. It’s not the same kind of stuff like the "shit my dad says;" it’s literally dingy shit, like she only wants to use about 50% of her brain.

My mom might not like me telling you her age, so instead of me spilling those beans, I’ll just say she remembers the Roaring 20’s. Anyhow, my mom has shown the ability to be sharp as a tack, so I don’t know if it’s just her, or if everybody’s mom gets a little tired of worrying about details every now and again.

Regardless, I’m at my niece’s graduation party in Atlanta last Saturday, and my mom sees some kid and says, “doesn’t that fella look just like Arthur Kirschner?” Everyone in the room just stared at her like, who the hell is Arthur Kirschner. Then she said, “you know, that guy who married that Dembi girl who used to be married to the bald headed Die Heart movie guy Bruce whatever.”

Once the doctor told her she had the internal organs of a 25 year old, my mom figured it was safe to take up smoking again.

Later, the conversation somehow turned to the Cleveland Zoo and how awful it is to go there on Mondays, a.k.a. free admission day. We were discussing how someone should take pictures of these people and post them on the web under “People of the Cleveland-Zoo.” It would be similar to “People of Wal-Mart,” except the Wal-Mart folks would look like high-society compare to our Monday morning zoo crew.

I’m not saying that Carla Bondra shops at Wal-Mart, but apparently someone who looks, acts, and dresses just like her does.



Former My Bowling League members Abigail and Jim Sirselle decided to renew their vows this past “Monday,” right outside the llama corral.

Anyhow, my mom says that when she was a kid she used to love going to the zoo to watch the “tangerines roll around.” What?............ My brother Terry told her that tangerines are in orchards, not in zoos. She was pissed at the boy, and said to him “what are you an idiot? You know what I mean, you god damn smartass, those monkeys, those baboons, those whatchacallems.” My sister Beth said, “Mom, do you mean orangutans?” to which I quickly interjected, “of course that’s what she meant, Terry, you’re an idiot.”

Is it possible that this tangerine is eating an orangutan?

Shortly after this, my mother told a story about a very suspicious character that she once knew. She said he was suspicious because he wouldn’t walk under a ladder, he carried a rabbit’s foot, and he wouldn’t leave the house on Friday the 13^th. Yep, he sure sounds like a pretty damn suspicious character to me.

This next bit doesn’t actually fall under shit my mom says, but I don’t have a category called shit my mom does. Anyhow, mommy dearest is working on a jigsaw puzzle with her magnifying glass, and I ask her how the puzzle is coming along. She couldn’t hear me and asked if I could repeat the question. She still couldn’t hear me so she asked me to hold on a second while she grabbed the magnifying glass, which she put up to her ear and said “okay, what were you asking me?” Now this may sound a little silly, but it does appear that she can in fact hear better when she puts the magnifying glass next to her ear.

Now that she has her audio magnifying glass, my mom won’t be needing that cumbersome ear horn any more.

Trust me, I’ve got plenty more mom stuff like this, and I may have to make a shit my mom says a weekly entry, well, until she finds out about it, that is. Then I’ll just tell her it was that idiot son of hers, Terry who writes all this stuff. Hell, I’ll just tell her I’m Terry, I’ve got to believe that there’s at least a 50-50 chance she’ll believe me.

Still waiting for your RSVP's,


Marty Lynch


The King Pin


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News - Non-Members Only - Mostly

Pilla's Facebook Dilemma

Jamie Pilla got hooked up on Facebook but hasn’t decided what profile picture to use. So I figured I would take the liberty of offering a couple of options from my James Pilla photo library.

I think any of these Jamie Pilla Photos would work well as his profile picture.

Salcer's is Salcer's, same old, same old

Tim Salcer had his 5th annual Memorial Day Party at his Highland Heights home this past weekend. Some people wanted to know how come I don’t take over that event and make it a Martin V Invitational. Frankly, that’s a very good question; I think my main hang up to doing that would be I’d have to unload virtually all of the current invitees, to include Tim Salcer himself.

Apparently Tim thought the best way to memorialize the dead was to invite as many dead or near dead personalities as he could find. Well let me tell you, he found a bunch of them. The party started at 5, and by 6 half the guests were asleep and drooling on his plastic table cloths. The other half were screaming infants and toddlers whose parents didn’t know the first about dipping the pacifier in whiskey to quite them down.

When nap time was over for the blue hairs, someone made them form a line so they all could wait their turn for a wig rattling ride in the Silver Bullet Rocket Car. Once they finished their spin around the block, they all shuffled onto the sleek new Tri-City Consortium of Aging shuttle bus and made their way back to whatever assisted living center they came from.

Tim wisely took this group picture right before nap time. I'm not sure which of these folks is me.

One of our bowlers, Cindy Lembach was at the party and made it a point to tell me a couple of her observations. First, she thinks Tim is kind of a dweeb because she wanted to wake the crowd up by putting some Motown on the CD player. Unfortunately Tim thought doing a “letter B medley” Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, and Benny Goodman was a way better idea. Then, when she suggested that she could pull the corn hole out of her trunk, he scoffed and told her that would be too dangerous. The worst part of that exchange is that the guy didn’t even seize the opportunity to make some lewd comment about her trunk and corn holing.

The last straw for me came when I discreetly told him that someone had clogged his basement bathroom, and he immediately assumed that since I had three hamburgers and four hot dogs, along with 2 plates of creamed jalapeño corn and a bowl of pork n beans, not to mention the 12 beers, that I was the culprit. When I challenged him on his “profiling” of my eating habits he immediately backed downed and said the real reason he accused me of clogging his toilet was because 16 other people have said that I’ve clogged their toilets when I went to their house for a party. Clearly his evidentiary argument is circumstantial at best; I still contend that either way, it’s profiling and we all know that’s wrong.

PJ Buynack was kind enough to have an outdoor restroom installed just for me.

Rain or Shine

Chip and Sherry Tighe had a Memorial Day party at their Ashtabula house and many of you were invited but didn't show up because of inclement weather. Just so you dickheads know, that's where the term fair-weather friend comes from. I wouldn't have minded being called a fair-weather friend but the lovely Mrs. Lynch reminded me that if I didn't show up, I would also fall into the category of douche bag neighbor; so we went.

Mike Richuisa and his wife Linda also braved the elements and made a soggy appearance. During the course of my ever friendly conversation, I asked Linda Richuisa how come she hadn’t joined My Bowling League like her husband had. She stuttered a bit, then told me it was because she didn’t want me putting any hideous pictures of her on the blog. So this is my way of gently inviting Linda to become a member.

Maybe I should introduce Linda Richuisa to Mike Reimer; I bet they would hit it off.


He got some Splainin to do

A little cruise news, Bill Homan has been on all of our booze cruises, and if he were in My Bowling League he would definitely be in a celebrity look-a-like blog. Regardless, for three years in a row this dude has easily won the Carnival Cruise award for being able to out drink not just everyone in our group, but everyone on the ship.

William Frawley (left) who starred as Fred Mertz in “I Love Lucy,” and our very own Booze Cruiser, Bill Homan (right) are dead ringers!

I will be releasing the 2011 Booze Cruise information on this blog by the end of next week. Those of you in the 46 states and 40 different countries who have visited this site in the last year, will be welcome to join us; unless of course, your name is Keith Olbermann.


I’ll be back sooner rather than later,

Marty Lynch

The King Pin

To receive blog alerts email mybowlingleague@aol.com, and request to be added to the distribution list ...................and please join the crowd to follow!