For the Love of the McGriddle
The crowd roared, but I just smirked, the moment Brandon Roy brought down his slam dunk. It was his second tomahawk dunk of the night, but this one was, unarguably, superior to the first: it brought the team to 101 points, and that meant everyone in the crowd won a free chalupa. I smirked because I didn't care about free chalupas. Plus I wasn't even in the crowd anyway. I was in bed at home, watching the game on my plasma TV.
I'd stockpiled a dozen McGriddles in the cooler next to my bed. This was definitely the right occasion to pull out one and munch down. Heck, any occasion is right for a McGriddle. Sometimes I walk out of my bathroom, spy my cooler, and am like, dang I'm totally gonna get down with a McGriddle right now. And I do, and it's great.
I think I'd start actually going to the games if they gave out free McGriddles after 100 points. But I was telling my main McGriddite Josh the other day that I doubt the stadium would give out McGriddles unless the game was a morning game. And there aren't really morning games in basketball. But there probably should be, if only for the opportunity for free McGriddle. But then Josh said, "I bet I'd probably go to games if they gave out free McSkillets." And I was like, damn it Josh, shut up.
But then he looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Don't even talk, because McGriddles are awesome breakfast food, and you're taking advantage of them by eating them all the time. You gotta keep it sacred. You gotta keep it real."
And I thought about it for a second, thinking maybe he was right. Maybe I'm devaluing them by eating them so much.
But then I looked down, like I often do, at my cooler, and I felt so happy inside. I can't help it: I love having a stockpile of McGriddles by my side, and I hope that feeling never fades.