Summer used to mean a lot more. Days of Little League—from fat chaws of Big League Chew [grape] to post game Chuck E. Cheese skee-ball-bangers—are long gone. A summer reading report on The Bridge to Terabithia sounds pretty chill right now. As it is, I’m just hot like hell in the South, sweltering in monotony. The end of the World Cup marked the start of the summer sports drought and I have been professionally covering the likes of Pro-Fastpitch Softball, semi-pro basketball, 12-year old bowling prodigies, and women’s half-marathons. Shit is about as exciting as Al Gore on the Karaoke mic. This weekend marks the start of Titans training camp and it’ll be nice talking with real athletes, and one video game character, for a change. But even preseason and SEC Fall practice is fabricated excitement; most of the ‘players to watch’ are in ‘heavy competition’ for a spot on the bench they will never leave.

So I’m left to tell you that the dog-days have trapped me restless and day dreaming. Whether about the chick that got away, the job that pays in legal tender instead of Applebee’s coupons [n e 1 want 2 get fajitas?], or just a time where you can walk down the street without sweating through your Reggie Miller Jersey—the mind seems to be preoccupied with something down the road. Until father-sol stops slow-roasting my balls, I certainly won’t have the energy to do anything about it. G-Side says “slow-motion is better than no motion”, and this week’s list might co-sign that sentiment if it could get up the gumption. Flying in to North Carolina and exiting through the UK [no Don Draper] with a classier name, this one’s about keeping it moving while not moving at all. -mw