NFL action on island

Tropical Storm Maria was a complete tease. She was on a direct line for the USVI but passed north by about 50 miles. So the alleged day of reckoning turned out to be another sunny day in paradise.

Now what I am going to do with all the canned raviolis I bought? I'm sure I'll eat them eventually.

Moving on. So it's 12:50 p.m. on Sunday and the NFL is about to kick off its Week 1 action.

I was excited. My laptop was on the coffee table so I could monitor my fantasy teams, my stomach was full of cheesy eggs and I was still wearing my pajamas. It was shaping up to be a classic Sunday.

Then the satellite goes out.

I let out an angry yelp that was definitely rated R and frantically searched for answers. It wasn't because of a damaged signal or an approaching storm. Nope. The box literally turned itself out.

I looked at my watch. 12:57. Three minutes before kickoff? Sonofabitch.

I wasn't about to miss the opening game of the year but earlier in the week, I announced to my beautiful girlfriend that I was going to stay away from the bars this season. I wanted to preserve the girth of my cash roll, prevent the ensuing hangovers and spend some quality time with my lady while we shout at New York Giants together.

While I sat there and watched a TV screen full of static, my palms started to sweat. I considered jumping through the front window and running wind sprints until I passed out.

Brianna: "I can tell you're about to freak out. Why don't you just go to the bar?"

Sober NFL fan: "But I'm trying to save some money. We're paying for this satellite with the New York feed so we can watch all the Giants games. Did you hear that? I think I'm starting to hyperventilate."

Brianna: "The Giants game is on at 4. You didn't know that?"

My lady always knows what to say to clam me down. I kissed her on the forehead, put on my Giants jersey (no showering for this guy) and grabbed the dog leashes. She knew exactly where I was going.

The Dog Pub near downtown St. Thomas is a great spot. You can put your dogs in a large cage and let them duke it out while you sip suds at a nearby bar and watch football. The owner is a Giants fan. I knew this bar to be my one safe haven on a unpredictable football Sunday.

People always ask me if there is a big football fan base on the island and there definitely is. Despite the very lack of available sports bars, there are plenty of import fans from all across the States.

Check out my San Diego friends Chris and Maggie. Yes, that is their new baby already sporting Charger threads.

Hooter's (aka Hoots McGoots), Caribbean Saloon and Shipwreck Tavern are also wise selections when watching football on St. Thomas. The good people at Sib's open early for football but they are hardcore New England fans while just about any other drinking hole is a crapshoot.

The Giants ended up losing to the Redskins (for the first time since 2007) but I still had a great time at Dog Pub. Brianna's car got slammed into by some drunk leaving Shipwreck but that's a whole different story and I don't feel like typing anymore.

Maybe I'll swing by Dog Pub for one on my way home? Perhaps. Wouldn't you want to know? Good day to you, sir.

Full moon party?

So there was some rumblings about a possible visit from an old friend. Tim "Woody" Woodward is a high-powered mutant of some sort not even considered for mass production. He's too weird to live and he's too rare to die.

I haven't spoke to Woody since Christmas but I got a voicemail from him last week. He was intoxicated and he must have called me from the middle of a packed club because I barely made out what he said.

"Urn, it's Woody. I'm coming to St. Thomas with my girl. I arrive Tuesday and that Wednesday is my birthday. Call me back."

That was it. That was the entire message. Haven't talked to the guy in months but I guess that's how old friends operate.

So I was at Shipwreck Tavern last night watching Dirk and the Mavs stick to the Big 3. My friend Ross asked me if I wanted to go to the BVIs for the full moon party next week. Now I've heard of these festivities but have never participated.

Once a month, there's a full moon (just learned that last night) and in the Caribbean, it's another reason to get in a boat and act like rock stars under the magic of the moonlight.

Ross is leaving for Dallas soon so he can be closer to Dirk Nowitzki and the full moon party will be a good chance to hang with my buddy. Turns out, the full moon next week is on the same day as Woody's birthday. Sounds like trouble.

I texted him from the bar to confirm the date of his birthday and in keeping with the "no chit-chat" vibe we were working with, I didn't explain my celebration plans for him and his girl.

"Just bring your passports" is all I texted back. Quick. To the point.

Should be a good time. And after such a freakout, be sure to check back with the blog to get an in-depth and comprehensive report on all the lunacy.

No more cancer sticks

So a smoking ban at restaurants and all public places went into effect this week on St. Thomas.

Yet, there I was. Sitting a the Shipwreck, devouring a 2/3 pound Mexican cheeseburger with a beer. Minding my own business. Looking straight ahead.

At the same time, on each side of me, drunken men were puffing away on cigarettes.

"Smoking, huh?" I asked.

"Yup," they sort of muttered (one of them actually just nodded).

"In a public place, huh?" I said before a refreshing swig of beer.

They didn't vocalize their answer but I can only imagine they were thinking, "Why not? Fuck off."

The news reporters at our newspaper are tearing the smoking ban rule apart. Even the jackass who wrote the actual law doesn't know what to think of it.

It reads that you can't smoke inside a public place or within 20 feet of said place. But if you go down Main Street -- where more than 100 jewelry and other tourist crap stores are located -- you can walk to the middle of the street and still be within 20 feet on each side of the shops.

"Does that mean you can't smoke at all on Main Street?" the diligent reporters asked only an hour after measuring the distance between shops on Main Street and almost getting run over.

"I'm not sure," the jackass said.

"What about the hookah lounge or at the cigar bars?" they follow up with.

"I'm not sure," the jackass says again.

And these dumb asses just spent a majority of their money and man hours this past year trying to get re-elected. For dumb-ass laws like this. Way to go, fellas!

As for me, I finished my burger. I drank my beer. I left a good tip and I drove to the high school football game I was covering that night.

I told my friend about the experience and he was privy to my situation. He knows the owner at Shipwreck and told me the smoking ban will go in effect there on the 15th, not this last week like the rest of the island.

Which would explain the parting shot I unknowingly absorbed.

"We got until Monday you sonofabitch," the smoker on my right muttered as I walked out of the bar. "This fucking guy thinks he knows everything..."

Hurricane Earl nips USVI

Before I forget to do it, I better post some Hurricane Earl photos. I know, the storm hit last week but I was cleaning off my desktop and you know how that goes.

The eye of the storm came within 65 miles of the USVI so we did not get a direct hit but there was some damage. Like I said, it's a week later and there are still residents without power. What a world?

As soon as the power went out at our house the day of the storm, Brianna, my two dogs and I went to my nearby office, which had power from a generator. From there, I picked up by friend Thomas and we drove around St. Thomas chasing hurricane all day. It was a good time, I didn't die and here are the photos to prove it...

This guy works for the Water and Power Authority on the island. The confusion on his face could be felt by all residents in the days after the storm.

The storm surge consumed multiple picnic tables at Magens Bay on the north side of the island.

That's Thomas sawing a tree that fell and blocked our path on a road near Peterborg. Thomas never leaves home without a saw.

Local idiots tied up smalls boats and other vessels to trees and whatever they could find.

I took this picture only a few hours into the storm. It's a 150-year-old tree that fell near one of my favorite bars on the island, the Shipwreck Tavern. After I took the picture, I noticed the bar tenders were hauling away crates of booze in one hand and drinking a beer with the other. Classic.