Last night, I was celebrating the fact that it was Wednesday at the Backdoor. It was your typical Wednesday there Backdoor. There were drunk sorority girls singing karaokee and spinning in skirts, so the bar could see their latest Victoria Secret purchase. There were drunk fraternity guys trying to prove they were the biggest tools in the bar, by flexing and showing off their latest purchase from Ed Hardy. You had me the creepy old men watching the young girls just hoping a boob pops out.
Then out of the corner of my eye I spot a tall dude with a shaved head. No, it couldn't be? Or could it?
Yes, it was. Standing at the bar was none other than, Alex Ruoff. I'm not a stalker or anything but when I see players or coaches at the bars or out in public, I can't help but to stare for a couple minutes. It isn't a fetish, I just want to see what they are like off the court.
Examples:
- While eating at Kegler's on a Sunday afternoon I spot Pat White at Suburban Lanes. He was a volunteer with Special Olympics bowling. He was giving kids high fives and having a good'ol time. On the field, great. Off the field, great.
- I am in Blockbuster in Morgantown with Charley. We spot Jay Hewitt with what we think was a girl. He picks up a movie off the shelf and immediately drops it. He picks it up and goes to put it back on the shelf and it falls off. On the court, screw-up. Off the court, screw-up.
- I'm walking my puppy by the stadium a few years back and I spot Rich Rodriguez. I yell, "Hey coach great game." He runs at me, kicks my puppy and then laughs. In the media, jerk. In real life, jerk
Ok, that last example was not true but I am having brain freeze as to other examples right now.
Now, back to last night. This was a big night at the bar. The place was packed. It was loud and everyone was having a good time, except for Ruoff. He was sulking through the bar wearing a Milwaukee Bucks t-shirt.
The shirt was one of those official practice shirts that I am sure he stole from Alexander just so he could look cool. Dude, everyone knows you didn't get drafted. Give it up.
Anyway, back to the point of the story. It's last call and the lights come on. Everyone begins to stumble up the steps to leave. As Ruoff goes to leave he turns around and throws his beer at the trash can. Guess what happens next?
BRICK, off the front and then smashes on the floor! On the court, choke artist. Off the court, choke artist.