It’s Combine week, which means Best Week goes to St. Elmo’s Steakhouse. It’s the only restaurant in Indianapolis that anyone outside of Indianapolis has ever heard of, for no other reason than because NFL executives and media types love to talk about it. How many of those weird ass shrimp cocktails are they going to sell this week? If I were Darren Rovell I’d be on the phone getting the answer. And while I was waiting I’d be jerking off to PepsiCo’s earnings report. Because when you’re Darren Rovell that’s just what you do.
But back to St. Elmo’s…what the fuck? I’m sure we’ve been through this before, but how can a place be so famous for shrimp cocktail? And why can’t the diner be trusted to dip their shrimp as they see fit? Regardless, St. Elmo’s will undoubtedly sell thousands of shrimp to bloated sports writers who travel from all over the country to eat allegedly delicious shrimp gasping for breath as they drown in a pool of chunky ketchup. Should have gone to Charles Mulligan’s, guys.
The Worst Week belongs to Janay Palmer. Regardless of the role Palmer played in the couple’s “very minor physical altercation,” she is clearly the victim. First she was (allegedly) rendered unconscious by her fiancee. Then everyone she has ever met watched as she was dragged out of an elevator and deposited face first on a casino floor.
Finally, she was arrested. Arrested! After being knocked unconscious (allegedly) by the man to whom she is betrothed. A man who, while small by NFL standards, is too large to compete in any class of boxing other than heavyweight. So hopefully Janay is recovering (as we know, being unconscious is super bad for you), and staying the fuck away from Ray Rice.
I want more like this!
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