Maureen Welsh – I can’t remember if it was Welsh or Welch. We were in 2nd grade art class, near Valentine’s day, and we had to cut out hearts. You would fold the construction paper in half, draw the heart on the half, cut it out, and then you’d do whatever the project was with the hearts. Problem was 2 fold 1) I couldn’t draw the heart 2) I couldn’t cut it out. Before I go into the conclusion, I hated art class and Mrs. Hunter. She called every kid Henry of Henrietta. Don’t you think that’s confusing? Now my art skills are minimal and maybe non-existent. Every project I ever did would go into the trash can. We’re talking my mom would draw all my assignments. Anyway, I started to cry like a little bitch because I couldn’t draw the heart right and my cutting skills were that of a kindergartner. Maureen was probably the most athletic girl in the class and held some artistic skills so she did it for me. It was extremely nice and looking back I’m glad she did. It saved me from being scarred for life.

Steve Emanuelson – I’ve shared this story before but I was 2 years or so out of college and I went to visit Jeff for the weekend. We started off the day slamming some beers and then decided to play basketball. I must have used my old student ID to get into Trees on a Saturday. There were many players there like usual and we called the next game. Once the game ended and we were supposed to be on, there started to get some confusion on who was the next team. Being an outsider, I didn’t really have much say but Steve and Jeff were forming it. I started to get the feeling that I was going to be the 6th man but Steve stepped up, commanded the group, and made sure I was on the team. There is rarely a worse feeling than being left off of a 5 man team when you’re the 6th guy because your chance of playing again with your friends is 0. Steve didn’t let anyone else join the team when I’m sure there were better choices than an out of town, drunk, friend of his brother’s. Still don’t forget it.

Ed McGrath – Freshman year of college is a tough time for some. It’s your first time away from home and making friends isn’t as easy for everyone. Ed was someone who I went to high school with so I knew him. This was before the age of cell phone’s I should add. Ed was pretty popular because he smoked cigarettes in the ash tray and got invited to all the parties. I was in Tower B and he was in Tower A. As he developed friends on his floor in Tower A, I was stuck with my poindexter roommate who would secretly jerk off when I went to sleep. I never actually caught him doing it but I was happy when that year ended. On the weekends I would not want to stay in and I didn’t have a great enough grasp on friends yet to get invited anywhere. Well, Ed would actually call me up on the Tower phone and tell me to meet him and whoever to head to the party. Huge social favor. Still won’t forget it. I remember one time I went solo to a Pitt game, made some random friend on the bus, then hung out with him and his two other friends during the game. Really weird. Times were different back then.

Exactly like this.

Paul Long – Not sure why all of these are coming college but Paul was the one who drove me to the foot doctor in Pittsburgh after I got frostbite on my foot. Paul and I were friends, but it was mainly friends through friends so not super close. In college not that many people had cars, and I had crutches so public transportation would have been tough. Paul volunteered to take me to the foot specialist. I have to imagine no one reading this blog has ever gotten frostbite before. It’s actually quite scary because you start thinking that they’ll have to amputate your foot. The foot starts getting really purple. I’m talking scary purple. Then it starts to turn into this one massive blister. So after the initial visit to the hospital where they give you crutches and some bandages, you have to schedule a visit to see a specialist. The specialist sees this huge pussed up foot, starts to cut the skin off, then gives you some cream to help it heal. I was lucky that my foot didn’t have to get chopped. Paul was a friend who came to the rescue in a delicate time and I won’t forget that.

Here’s the full story written in 2012. (7 years after the event which still would make details not as exact as they probably were)

I ended up finding a post I wrote in 2009 which was pretty good too.

I didn’t do anything stupid in all of high school, didn’t even take a sip of beer. Second week of college when I was 17 I got my first underage after doing 5 beer bongs (total light weight) and stumbled into a cop. Only person to get a citation. I got frostbite after getting hammered and taking off my shoe to climb a fence on the coldest day of the year (long story with foggy details). I was driven home in the paddy wagon one night. I received a public drunkenness the night I faceplanted into the sidewalk. 

I got caught pissing by the cops next to a wall at 3 in the morning when I decided to make a run for it. I ran up a hill in manayunk for about 800 yards before I got exhausted. I stopped in the middle of the street, saw the paddy wagon behind me, and turned around and put my hands behind my back. They took me in where I acted like a badass telling them I was getting my lawyer and they slammed me in the wall and let me go. I still got a citation for public drunkenness. I had a standoff where I climbed a fence to the post office and police were on the other side telling me to come back. The only thing I remember is climbing back over saying “I’m going to tear my sac.” Fortunately, I was released with no problems. Final things, Yes I’ve patted Samuel Dalembert on the back and yes I’ve asked Freddie Mitchell if the 4th and 26th was the greatest play of his career (obviously). I don’t even want to get into AC or strip club stories.