Ed Podolak had just been strip-searched for the second time in 40 minutes by foreigners at the Denver airport when I met him in the Smoking Lounge, and his temper was rubbed raw. Podolak, formerly of the Kansas City Chiefs, is known all over the West as “the last great white running back”—which is not true, but that is his story and he has stuck to it for 30 years, for good or ill, and on this day he was looking sick.
“This country is turning rotten, Doc,” he said as he cleared a place at the bar for me. “I don’t know why they are picking on me, but they grab me every time I come near an airport. Last week in Dallas I was subjected to a cavity search.”
I have known Ed for many years, and I had never seen him so helpless and demoralized. “Are they doing it to everybody? Or is it just me? Pretty soon I won’t be able to travel at all.”
“Get a grip on yourself, Ed,” I told him. “Don’t you know there’s a War on?”
“So what?” he snapped. “I’m not a terrorist. I’m not carrying any bombs. I am a stand-up all-American patriot.”
“That’s what they all say,” I said. “Let’s face it, Ed. You are swarthy and you have black, bushy hair. You look guilty. Are you carrying any hashish?”
“Don’t say that word!” he hissed. “You’ll get us both locked up—and the answer is No, so get off my back.”
“Where are you going?” I asked him. “New Orleans,” he replied. “But I don’t dare go anywhere now—not if this ugliness keeps up. What the hell, I may as well just stay here and watch the games on TV.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “They’ll never find us here in the Smoking Lounge. Let’s hammer a few.”
Watching the Baltimore Ravens play football is like watching scum freeze on the eyeballs of a jackass, or being stuck for 6 hours in an elevator with Dick Cheney on speed. The Ravens will pounce on you and gnaw you to death, which can take eight or nine days.
The Raven is a queer and dangerous bird, far worse than the Crow. A pack of crows can destroy an owl or an eagle, but a single boss Raven will attack a whole gang of crows and rip the lungs out of its leaders. Most crows would rather commit suicide than go head to head with a boss raven.
You bet, so what does this tell us about this week’s play-off games?
Almost nothing, now that I mention it—except that Pittsburgh beat the snot out of the Ravens (at home) about a month ago. The score was 26–21, but the beating was far worse, so we can only hope that the Steelers can do it again, and knock this horrible saltwater Tar baby out of the play-offs as soon as possible, so they can’t dull out the rest of the season. Betting on a Baltimore game is like betting on a three-hour sumo wrestling bout. It is wrong for the Game.
—January 15, 2002