STANDING BY YOUR FAVORITE QB
There are only three guarantees during an NFL offseason:
Somebody is going to say a player is in the best shape of his life.
A rookie is going to “look unstoppable” in shorts.
And every media outlet known to man is going to release a quarterback ranking that turns grown adults into maniacs.
This week’s winner? Josh Allen. Anonymous NFL executives voted him the best quarterback in football in some ESPN article. Congratulations to Bills fans. We did it. Print the shirts.
Now it’s time for my favorite part of the NFL calendar…
The reaction to the reaction. Grifters from each fan base enjoys QT haters to hell to get points with X. My only question is…what exactly are we voting on? Is this based on last year? Careers? If you’re starting a franchise tomorrow? Who you’d least want to game plan against? The criteria seems to change depending on who’s making the list.
Allen wins one. Mahomes wins another because of the rings. Lamar gets love because he’s a two-time MVP. Burrow gets thrown into the conversation because of his accuracy and passing yards.
They’re all unbelievable quarterbacks. The problem is every list seems to be grading a different assignment. But honestly, the rankings aren’t even the newsworthy part anymore…it is what happens next.
Bills fans celebrate. Chiefs fans remind everyone about the Lombardis. Ravens fans bring up Lamar’s MVPs. Bengals fans post clips from 2021. Then someone else releases another list three days later and we start the whole thing over again.
Here’s where these debates really go off the rails.
When you’re debating, you’re naturally trying to find kinks in the other guy’s armor. That’s the whole point of a debate. If you think Lamar is better than Allen, you’re going to point out where Allen comes up short. If you think Allen is better than Mahomes, you’re going to pick apart Mahomes. That’s how arguments work.
The problem is people mistake criticism for hate.
If I say Mahomes has had the better career, it doesn’t mean I hate Josh Allen. If someone says Lamar is the better regular-season quarterback, it doesn’t mean they’re saying Allen stinks. If someone prefers Burrow’s pocket passing, it doesn’t mean they think Allen is overrated.
Somewhere along the line we’ve decided that if you criticize someone’s favorite quarterback, you must secretly hate him.
That’s why these conversations get so stupid.
You end up arguing against positions people never actually took. One person points out a flaw because they’re making a case for their guy, and the other person hears, “Your quarterback is trash.”
They’re not the same thing.
The reality is this: if your team has Josh Allen, Patrick Mahomes, Lamar Jackson, or Joe Burrow, congratulations. You have one of the handful of quarterbacks every other fan base wishes they had.
And by Week 3, nobody is going to remember who finished first on some anonymous July list anyway. They’ll just move on to arguing about who should be No. 1 on the next one.
THE FAKE ID CHRONICLES
Look, it is July. It’s my blog and I’ll write what I want to. So here’s some Joe making an ass out of himself as a teenager stories.
By the time I turned 21, I had owned 8 fake IDs. Looking back now, I spent hundreds of dollars, made multiple trips to Canada, paid coworkers for their driver’s licenses, hired a lawyer because of one, and probably invested more time into fake IDs than I did studying for college.
Was it smart?
Absolutely not.
But if you grew up in Buffalo in the late ‘90s, you’ll probably recognize a few of these places. And if you’re wondering whether any of this was worth it…
Well…
Let’s begin.
Fake ID #1: The Chalk Artist
Like every teenager in the ’90s, I was obsessed with getting into bars before I was old enough. The first bar I ever walked into was The Locker Room. I was sixteen. To this day, every time I think about that place, I hear Daft Punk’s “Around the World.” I swear to God that song played every single time I walked through the door.
My first fake ID wasn’t really fake.
It was my learner’s permit.
A kid from my high school named Justin had somehow mastered the art of “chalking” IDs. He’d carefully alter the numbers on the birth year. Somehow he’d turn an ’80 into a ’69. I still have no idea how he did it.
It actually looked pretty convincing.
The problem?
Who in the hell was going to believe this baby-faced with a bunch of pimples sixteen-year-old was pushing thirty? Still, it worked enough to get me into The Locker Room and even buy beer from some hole-in-the-wall bodega somewhere in downtown Buffalo that clearly wasn’t checking IDs all that carefully.
I thought I had beaten the system.
I hadn’t.
Fake ID #2: Terry Scott from Illinois
Eventually I wanted something better.
So naturally…
…we drove to Canada.
Back then you’d head up to Yonge Street in Toronto where there were places that openly sold fake government IDs. Looking back, it’s insane. My buddies and I piled into my dad’s Bronco and crossed the border. The IDs were awful. They looked like something you’d print on your home computer.Instead of using my own name, I became…
Terry Scott.
Why Terry Scott?
Because my friends and I had this stupid inside joke from a Ronco Food Dehydrator infomercial. One of the people in it was named Terry Scott from Illinois, and for whatever reason we thought it was the funniest thing ever.
So now I was Terry Scott.
From Illinois.
With my picture.
Perfect.
I carried both IDs—the chalked learner’s permit and Terry Scott from Illinois—and somehow managed to survive for a while. Then we made another trip to Canada. We were only about a year away from being legal there, and in our teenage brains that somehow meant we’d blend in.
Our destination was The Daily Planet, which seemed to be the place to be every Wednesday night. I think it was Ladies’ Night, but honestly we were going because they had Mike’s Hard Lemonade before it even existed in the States.
Feeling confident, I handed my Illinois masterpiece to the bouncer. The guy looked exactly like Clark Kent.
Clean cut.
Friendly.
Extremely polite.
He looked at my ID for maybe five seconds.
Smiled.
“Sorry, this is fake. I can’t let you in.”
Then he calmly folded it up and slid it into his back pocket.
I begged him.
“Can I at least have it back?”
He smiled again.
“Sorry. Can’t do that.”
One and done.
Game over.
But then my buddy Face—yes, that was really his nickname because he was ugly—decided the best course of action was to walk up to the exact same bouncer……with the exact same fake ID. Clark Kent now had two fake IDs in his back pocket.
The ride back across the Peace Bridge was one of the quietest car rides of my life.
Busted #1
Now I was down to one fake ID. The chalked learner’s permit. Around this time I inherited my older sister’s Chevy Cavalier. Like every teenager with terrible priorities, I immediately dumped about two grand into it.
A ridiculous stereo system.
Tinted windows.
Headlight blackouts
Silver trim on the doors
And, because I apparently hated money, a black light from Circuit City mounted in my back window and wired into my amplifier.
Completely useless.
One night my buddies and I were driving from North Buffalo into Amherst by Bailey and Main with the black light glowing. We all know that intersection is a trap for cops to pull people over from the city. An Amherst cop pulled us over.
He told me the black light was illegal.
I remember thinking, I literally bought this at Circuit City.
Then he asked for my license.
As I opened my wallet to hand him my real license, his flashlight caught something in another sleeve.
The bottom of my chalked ID.
“What’s that?”
My stomach dropped. He asked for it.
Busted.
He wrote me a misdemeanor ticket for possessing a fake ID. That little piece of plastic wound up costing me about $500 in lawyer fees just to get the charge reduced to basically the equivalent of a parking ticket.
Five hundred dollar…For a fake ID that barely worked.
The story doesn’t even end there. A few years later I ran into that same Amherst cop at The Steer. Trying to be funny, I walked up and said, “Hey, you’re the guy who gave me the fake ID ticket.” He was off duty and Without missing a beat he looked at me, took a shot of crown, and said…
“Fuck you.”
Then shoved me.
So apparently he remembered me too or was just another ACAB example.
At this point I had officially lost both of my fake IDs. My lawyer had more money than I did. Canada had Terry Scott. Amherst had my chalked learner’s permit. Most normal people probably would’ve learned their lesson. I wasn’t most people. I had 3 more years until I turned 21. That was way too long to wait.
So there I was.
Most people would’ve called it quits.
I looked at the situation and thought…
“Time for a rebuild.”
Fake ID #3: The Scanned ID
One of the guys who worked at my parents’ pizza place knew a guy…
…who knew a guy…
…who made scanned IDs.
This was cutting-edge technology for the late ’90s. The process was actually pretty clever. He’d scan your real New York driver’s license, change your date of birth so you were over 21, print it out, and then superglue it onto an expired version of your real license. For the first time, I had something with my real name and my real picture.
The only fake thing was my birthday.
Thirty bucks.
Done.
This was going to change my life. The first test came at Molly’s Pub. I worked just down the street, and while I was never the biggest Molly’s fan, Thursday nights were legendary. All-you-could-drink for five bucks.
Looking back…
How was that even legal?
Feeling confident, I handed my masterpiece to the bouncer.
There was just one problem.
Because it was literally another piece of paper glued onto a license, so, it had some weight to it.
The bouncer looked like Fred Flintstone with a a mole on his face the size of Jenny Sack’s mole on her ass.
He looked at the ID.
Looked at me.
Back to the ID.
Then…
CRACK!
He bent the license completely in half and it cracked all over. The glue split right down the middle. My beautiful thirty-dollar investment was ruined and had multiple cracks.
My reaction was basically Daniel LaRusso watching Mike Barnes smash his bonsai tree in The Karate Kid Part III. I wasn’t even mad that I wasn’t getting in. I was mourning the death of my fake ID. Thankfully, unlike Clark Kent in Canada…Fred Flintstone handed it back. Now it had a giant cracks running right through it.
Technically I still owned it.
Functionally…
It was dead and maybe would work if I went to a towny bar in Pat Moran’s neighborhood.
Fake ID #4: The Lookalike
At this point I decided fake IDs weren’t the answer.
Real IDs were.
One of the hidden benefits of working at your parents’ pizza place was that eventually somebody would need money. There was a guy named Mike Horstkotter.
Nobody called him Mike.
We called him Pants.
Why?
Because every single shift he wore the exact same pair of blue Adidas track pants.
Every.
Single.
Day.
Mike was over 21.
Mike was broke.
We didn’t exactly pay him like he was a Fortune 500 CEO. So I asked him… “If I give you thirty bucks, can I borrow your license?” He thought about it for about three seconds.
“Sure.”
The beauty of a lookalike wasn’t that you looked alike.
We didn’t.
Not even close.
The beauty was that it was a real New York State driver’s license. I started developing a theory. Bouncers didn’t really care if you looked exactly like the picture. They mostly wanted to make sure the ID itself wasn’t fake. I guess because if they got raided, the cops wouldn’t waste time trying to figure out if that was you in that picture and was easier to spot Terry Scott Id or a 15 ounce ID.
Armed with Mike’s license, we skipped Main Street.
Forget Canada.
Forget college bars.
We were going straight to Chippewa.
Destination: Zoobar.
If you remember Zoobar, you remember the atmosphere.
Dark.
Strobe lights.
Techno music.
Hot girls.
You couldn’t see three feet in front of you. The perfect place for a questionable ID. That night it was me, my older sister, and another employee from the pizza place.
As we stood in line, my heart was pounding.
Then I looked up.
The bouncer.
It was the exact same guy from The Locker Room.
Six-foot-five.
Built like a tree.
Completely bald.
Probably in his fifties.
“Please don’t remember me…”
I handed him Mike’s ID.
He looked at it.
Looked at me.
Looked back.
Then…
He raised the ID above his head so the to the camera that was posted high would see it, which meant security would see it wasn’t me and escort me out by my head.
Instead…I got The nod.
Holy shit.
I’m in.
For one glorious evening I wasn’t an eighteen-year-old kid sneaking into bars. I was twenty-five in my own head. I drank overpriced Long Island ice teas. Made out with an older girl on the back dance floor while my sister watched from across the floor looking absolutely horrified, Meanwhile, my coworker was fist-pumping to Darude’s “Sandstorm” and yelling “yea big Joe!!”
It was everything eighteen-year-old me thought adulthood looked like. The lookalike worked.
Fake ID #5 and Busted #2
The problem with a lookalike ID was that bars loved it.
Gas stations didn’t.
Cashiers actually looked at the picture. Then they’d ask…
“Do you have a credit card with this name on it?”
“No.”
“Student ID?”
“No.”
“Anything else with Mike Horstkotter’s name on it?”
“…No.”
Ironically, they were more likely to believe Terry Scott from Illinois than an actual real driver’s license.
So…
Another trip to Canada. Another fake state ID. This time it had my real name on it.
Now I had three IDs.
The cracked scanned ID.
Mike Horstkotter’s real driver’s license.
A fake Ohio ID with my name on it that still looked suspiciously like a library card. After my fake ID misdemeanor, I decided to become organized.
I carried…
Two wallets.
One for my real ID.
One for all my fake IDs.
Why?
Honestly…
I have no idea.
It made perfect sense to nineteen-year-old Joe. Then came another problem. Teenagers never make plans until ten minutes beforehand.
“Hey! Let’s go to Mickey Rats!”
“Let’s go downtown!”
Problem was I’d have the wrong wallet with me and either have to go home to get it or just not go.
So instead of learning anything…
I started carrying BOTH wallets….Because apparently making one bad decision wasn’t enough.
Remember Face?
The same genius who tried using the exact same fake ID after mine got confiscated in Canada? Well, he’d become our designated driver. And by designated driver I mean He’d still drink and drive. Just less than everyone else…or so he claimed. Face drove like every road was The Daytona 500.
Twenty over the speed limit.
Floor it.
Let off.
Floor it again.
Repeat.
One night we were flying down Route 33 from Cheektowaga toward Amherst near Harlem Road. Face was doing about seventy in a fifty. Red and blue lights. I wasn’t worried.
“Finally,” I thought.
“This idiot’s getting a speeding ticket.”
Besides… I was sitting in the back seat. No chance I’d end up in trouble. Then the cop opened my door.
“Step out!” followed by grabbing me out of my seat like the car was on fire.
Why?
No clue.
He searched my pockets. Then reached in and pulled out… Wallet number one. Then wallet number two. He looked at me.
“Why do you have two wallets?”
The second those words came out of his mouth…
I knew.
You.
Fucking.
Idiot.
Inside were Mike Horstkotter’s driver’s license……and my fake Ohio ID.
Gone.
Both confiscated.
Thankfully Buffalo police weren’t nearly as interested in paperwork as Amherst police. No ticket. No misdemeanor. They simply took both IDs and sent us on our way. As we drove home I realized something.
The only fake ID I had left… Was the cracked scanned ID sitting in my dresser drawer. Somehow… That broken piece of plastic had become the last survivor. By now my fake ID career looked like the Buffalo Bills’ quarterback situation during the drought. Nothing was working.
Terry Scott from Illinois?
Gone.
The chalked learner’s permit?
Gone.
Mike Horstkotter’s license?
Gone.
The Ohio library card masquerading as a state ID?
Gone.
All I had left was a scanned ID with a crack down the middle that looked like it had survived an earthquake. At this point there was no point. I couldn’t stop stepping in horse shit. Forget trying to hold onto a job—I couldn’t even hold onto an ID. But I had learned something through all this stupidity.
The best fake IDs weren’t fake.
They were lookalikes.
Fake ID #6 and #7- The Last Ride
My first thought was to go back to Mike Horstkotter and see if he’d rent me his license again. Hard no. Apparently after Buffalo police confiscated it from my second wallet, they actually called him and told him he could come pick it up. That scared him.
Selfish.
So I needed another volunteer. Luckily, the pizza place was full of underpaid employees.
There was another guy named Scott…
Nemoroff.
Nemorhoff.
Nemorhuff.
Honestly, after all these years I still have no idea how to spell his last name. Scott was 24. Scott was broke. Scott wanted fifty bucks.
Done.
At about the same time another employee introduced me to a guy on UB’s campus who’d figured out an even better scanned ID. Instead of gluing the printout onto a real driver’s license, he’d laminate—or maybe just superglue—the printed pieces together so they felt much thinner.
It wasn’t perfect. But it fooled people. Bouncers would still do the famous bend test. Only this time… Nothing happened. They’d bend it. Look confused. Hand it back.
“Go ahead.”
That became my liquor store and gas station ID. Scott’s license became my bar ID.
For once…Everything was working.
I think I had Scott’s license for close to a year. No more two-wallet strategy. I’d finally learned. The fake IDs stayed home until I knew I needed them. By twenty years old I wasn’t looking for fake IDs anymore. I was just counting down the months until I turned twenty-one.
I could finally see the finish line.
Then SoHo opened and If you remember downtown Buffalo around 2000, you remember SoHo. It was the place.
Hot girls.
Loud music.
Make out sessions everywhere.
And about five hundred dumb Italian meatheads wearing gold chains.
Unfortunately…
Twenty-year-old Joe was also a dumb Italian meathead wearing a gold chain.
I wanted in.
So one more time, Scott Nemoroff—or whatever his actual last name was—got called into action. I handed the bouncer his license and he started asking me questions. This wasn’t anything new. I’d memorized everything.
Birthday.
Address.
Height.
Weight.
Eye color.
I even knew Scott’s zodiac sign.
Then came the one question I never thought to study.
“When did you graduate high school?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
My brain completely shut off. I basically turned into Ralphie from A Christmas Story sitting on Santa’s lap.
“Uhhhh…”
“I don’t know.”
Idiot.
I could’ve said 1995, 1996, 1997.
Who cares?
Instead I somehow answered the only thing guaranteed to get me caught.The bouncer—a short, juiced-up guy with what looked like a five-dollar crew cut—just smiled. He knew. Scott’s license was gone and I got even a slight “get out of here” push from another bouncer.
I begged.
Pleaded.
Negotiated.
I even started dropping names.
“I know the barback!”
Ironically, the barback was a guy I went to school with who didn’t like me……and I didn’t like him. Didn’t matter. At that point I would’ve claimed we were cousins if it got me the ID back. No chance.
Scott Nemoroff…
Nemorhoff…
Nemorhuff…
Whatever his last name actually was…was officially retired. And just like that… Fake ID number 6 was gone.
The End of an Era
A few months later I finally turned twenty-one. I did have a lookalike ID by some dude named Bryan Carmel, but there’s no backstory or confiscated story to it. It worked well. But finally, I turned 21 and went to zoobar/McMonkeys right at midnight. It was the greatest feeling ever.
No more fake IDs.
No more trips to Canada.
No more paying coworkers to borrow their driver’s licenses.
No more wondering if every bouncer secretly worked for the FBI.
Looking back now, I probably spent close to a thousand dollars between fake IDs, lawyer fees, gas money, and paying people for their licenses.
I made multiple trips across the border.
Created an alter ego named Terry Scott.
Had a Canadian bouncer confiscate my ID with the politeness of a kindergarten teacher.
Got hit with a misdemeanor because of a black light I bought at Circuit City.
Carried two wallets because I thought I was some kind of criminal mastermind.
Got my fake IDs confiscated while riding in the backseat because my idiot friend drove seventy in a fifty.
And somehow memorized another man’s zodiac sign……but not what year he graduated high school.
The funny thing is, at the time, every one of these felt like the end of the world.
Now?
They’re some of my favorite stories. The bars are gone. The fake IDs are gone. Circuit City is gone. Even most of the people reading this probably have no idea what The Locker Room, Zoobar, Molly’s Pub, or The Daily Planet were. But for those of us who grew up in Buffalo in the late ’90s and early 2000s, Those places were chapters of our lives. Mine just happened to include seven fake IDs.
And somehow…
I managed to lose almost every single one.
STATHEAD OF THE WEEK
The playoffs always seem to be the biggest X-factor when it comes to assessing where your favorite QB ranks. For the most part, Allen’s numbers are great. Albeit, the yards per attempt/completion need to be higher.
DAD SHOTS
—The Bills announced this week that they added 23 new radio affiliates to their gameday broadcasts, with NYC being the big one. Bills games will now air on 1050 ESPN. I always thought there were designated markets for each team and that you couldn’t really infiltrate another team’s territory. I have no idea what changed, but it’s crazy to think I can now listen to Bills games locally.
If you peeked at the ESPN 1050 announcement on Instagram, Jets and Giants fans weren’t very happy. I also wonder if local Bills backer bars will try to sync the radio broadcast with the TV feed now. Furthermore, if the Bills are broadcasting on that station, will they provide exclusive content or access for ESPN 1050? The station is the radio home of the Knicks and Rangers. For the most part, it carries more ESPN national syndication than local programming. ESPN 880, which is owned by the same company, has The Michael Kay Show and more locally focused programming.
—The other news was that Mitch Morse and Chris Trapasso will be hosting the pregame and postgame shows. So, forget using people from 97 Rock like they did back in the 2000s. This is definitely, as the Bills said they wanted, an internal production of the Buffalo Bills.
As for the cast, Morse was always viewed as very quotable and articulate during his playing days, and he now has his own podcast. I listened to the episode where he had Brandon Beane on, but that’s about it. I can definitely see him and Eric Wood doing segments together, similar to the roundtable discussions they already have. I’d even pitch a players-only segment with Tasker, Wood, and Morse.
Trapasso is an interesting story. He’s been around since around 2010 and worked his way up from being a blogger at Bleacher Report—back when they’d let just about anyone write for them—to becoming a freelance football writer at CBS Sports, then a draft analyst, and now a Bills radio host. It’s pretty remarkable when you consider he’s never really been a full-time talk show host outside of doing fill-in work on One Bills Live. If anything, it’s definitely some new blood and fresh voices.
—I have absolutely no idea if WGR could do this, but I’d love to see some sort of ManningCast setup where you can listen to the hosts while they watch Bills games live, allowing fans to sync the radio and TV broadcasts together. It would also be hilarious to hear Nate Geary have a complete mental breakdown when the score is 3-3 in the second quarter.
—716 Day is kind of boring and feels very contrived.
—Connor Hellebuyck has to be getting traded. Not to steal Jeremy White’s conspiracy theories, but posting parts of your schedule with 11 player photos that do not include him makes it feel like he’s on the move.
—I’ve always thought Patrick Kane was a bit of a knucklehead, and the only Buffalo fans who seem to want him are South Buffalo bartenders and Pat Moran. The Sabres already seem to have a lot of forwards, so someone would probably have to be on the way out. Kane is probably a 15-to-20-goal scorer at this stage, and it feels like you can find those types of players anywhere through a trade or free agency. If he didn’t have the résumé or the Buffalo connection, I don’t think many people would be pushing for this.
—The herd of buffalo statues at the stadium at night looks very cool.
—I had zero idea the NHL schedule was 84 games. I also feel like the Peyton Krebs contract seems a little steep, but take that with a grain of salt from someone who stopped caring about hockey for most of this decade until this past Sabres season. I’m still operating under the mindset that Drew Stafford getting four years and $16 million was expensive.
—The 2026 midterms are going to be, well, a giant shitshow. You have to be completely obtuse not to see what Trump and Republicans are trying to do by making it harder to vote. Trump has essentially said that if he loses, the election is rigged—but if he wins, everything is completely legitimate. Dark times ahead.
—NYC is getting hit with wildfire smoke from Canada again. Someone tell me global warming isn’t a thing.
—Going back to Jeremy Fowler’s Top 10 rankings, having just two Bills players on the list while the top team had nine is quite the indictment of Brandon Beane—and maybe Sean McDermott too, if you believe he had a major say in personnel decisions. I can’t stress enough how important it is for this season that someone—anyone—emerges as a top-10 player at their position who isn’t named Josh Allen.
Lastly, I do wonder if any Bills executives participated in Fowler’s survey. Keep in mind that Fowler was also the first person to report that McDermott’s job security could become an issue last December, saying he had heard it from people around the league.
—The conclusion of Dark Side of the Ring on TNA and Jeff Jarrett was kind of a letdown. They basically skipped everything that happened to TNA after Hogan left. There was nothing about the Billy Corgan era or everything the company went through after that.
I get that the episode was centered around Jarrett and how his alcoholism affected both him and the company, but I still would have liked to see more of TNA’s later history.
Furthermore, I wish they had interviewed more wrestlers who were actually in their prime during TNA’s peak. Guys like Christopher Daniels, Jay Lethal, and Kurt Angle would have been great additions. Aside from Awesome Kong, most of the wrestlers they featured either felt like castaways or weren’t in their prime while they were in TNA.
—This is an interesting tidbit. I do feel like everything is on the table if this team doesn’t at least reach the AFC Championship Game. The Bills hierarchy above Brandon Beane has changed several times since 2017. Kim Pegula is no longer involved in the day-to-day operations, while Laura Pegula and Pete Guelli have taken on larger roles. I’ve always believed Terry Pegula can be influenced by the people in his inner circle.
—Andy’s birthday party was this weekend, and we had 20 kids! We held it at Laughing Floor in Queens. The service was excellent, and one of the best parts was that we were able to stay and play even after our two-hour party room reservation ended. There was a ton of sugar, plus Elmo and Cookie Monster cupcakes. The kids had an absolute blast.
I always find it funny that opening presents in front of everyone at a birthday party just isn’t a thing anymore. I feel like when we were kids, that was one of the main events. At some point that changed, and I have no idea when or why.
Andy was definitely a little overwhelmed at first with 20 kids running around, but after a while he settled in. Ironically, he spent the first hour pushing around a toy shopping cart, which made me think we probably could’ve saved a bunch of money and just taken him to Wegmans. Eventually, though, he warmed up to everything and started going down the slides and jumping into the ball pit.
— Tom Brady vs Logan Paul is going to suck cause no one likes either dude.
—If you made it this far, thank you. If you’re enjoying the Substack, please share it with your friends. And while you’re at it, convince those friends to buy you a Homage shirt through my link. If you’d like to support the site directly, you can always buy me a beer. With two kids now running the house, every donation goes toward supporting my mental health… one cold beer at a time.
I’ll also be joining Mr. Chicken Wing Man on the Street on Monday for his podcast, so keep an eye out for that.
Thanks again, everyone. Drink plenty of water… and vodka. Stay hydrated.
I had no idea 90s Yonge Street was a magnet for Buffalo teens looking for fake IDs! Yonge Street back then was Toronto’s armpit. It hasn’t improved much over the years but is a lot more touristy than it used to be. Of course, Yonge Street was always a magnet for seedy fun not unlike old Times Square.
As a Browns fan, all we can do is continue to look on jealously as everyone else at least sometimes has a QB in the conversation.
Btw, as someone with no inherent bias because my team has no dog in the hunt, I say Josh Allen IS the best QB in the NFL right now.