Couple months ago I was having a little work from home sesh. Something I’ll occasionally do early in the week, Monday, sometimes Tuesdays. Was jotting down some tasks I wanted to knock out in my black, 1 subject spiral notebook.

“Stats”
“YouTube Longform”
“Expenses”

Quick look at the computer. She’s asleep. Move the mouse, back to the notebook. Coffee cup’s lying on its side. Coffee all over the desk. I spring into action. Immediately grab the electronics. Phone, safe. Keyboard, should be fine. Meanwhile, my notebook is getting absolutely pumped! Page after page just straight soaking up that lukewarm Don Francisco Vanilla Nut. Felt bad for bro. He keeps me organized, on top of shit, dialed. Suddenly, when push comes to shove, he’s the last guy I save… He understood and was cool with it, but still… felt bad. I set him aside and had him dry off. He wasn’t alone; I was reading Infinite Jest at the time, and a couple endnote pages got splashed.

I go the rest of the day with a Post-It Note and no “What the fuck did I just read?” thoughts.

The next day I check in on my guys. They’re dry, but forever scarred. Stained for eternity. Whatever, not like it’s a jersey or a couch or something. Still usable.

I turn to a new page in my notebook. This page consists of a long, narrow stain that looks like a stretched-out Laos. It hugs the bottom right part of the page. Now I’m curious to see what the other pages look like.

Flip, flip, flip; each page consists of a different shaped stain. Similar location, similar size, yet still unique. Kind of beautiful honestly.

I start writing well above the Laos-shaped blemish. Between scribbles, my eyes wander; the stain keeps grabbing my attention. I start diggin’ it. Makes me feel gritty, like my notebook’s been through it. Start feeling like a detective known for his unconventional thinking. Like a leadoff hitter who steals 2nd in the top of the 1st. Dirty uniform, effort, grind; my notebook’s not sitting on the sideline with his bullshit, clean-ass uniform. Nah, he’s out there. Grinding.

Something about those stains man.

Just need my boss to catch me mid-note. Swings by my desk Monday morning: “Hey Bob. How was the weekend?” She sees me eyeing down the 4 notes I have scribbled under Monday. Stain catches her eye.

“Oh no. What a gross, sloppy worker he is. Why can’t he get a clean notebook like everyone else?”

Yeah fucking right.

Side note: The Infinite Jest stain is on a whole other level.

Might start doing it on purpose honestly. Fresh notebook and/or book. Give it a little coffee sprinkle. Make it feel like I’m Thomas Jefferson scribbling away on aged parchment.

- Bobby D

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Shoutout Teddy C for this Move.

It’s a beautiful time of year. Baseball postseason race is heating up; college football’s right there, NFL, fantasy football, fall, leaves, pumpkin spice lattes, slight brisk in the air, 3:00 tee time, sun setting, takeout, Sunday Night Football, 2 more beers, doze off on the couch, migrate to the bed. Yes please.

Somewhere in that fall glaze sesh, I mentioned fantasy football, which, I mean, it’s alright. I don’t know man. Somewhere along the line, my love for fantasy football has completely fallen off a cliff. Now, don’t get me wrong, I dig the talking shit and keeping in touch with the boys aspect of the whole thing, but fantasy football kind of sucks. If you’re in a league with enough people that know ball, it’s 99% luck: injuries, running into a career game from Kyle Pitts, a 2-14 defense somehow completely shutting down your RB1 on a random Sunday afternoon. All the heartbreaks, trust me, I’ve experienced them.

Maybe I’m just a bitter loser, in search of any excuse to make me feel better about blowing it in the playoffs year after year after year after year.

Whatever man. Fuck fantasy football. Laying a bet down and paying more attention to the line of scrimmage battle >. Only issue: laying a bet down and paying more attention to the line of scrimmage battle doesn’t come with a group chat where people constantly banter and talk shit… Wait, I’m sure I could find that somewhere. God that would be sick. “You boys checkin’ out 44 in Jacksonville? Really setting that edge.” “Flippin’ over. Thanks, Bill.”

So yeah, fantasy football, I’m checked out. In search of anything to keep myself entertained. Shit like this is what I need. Just dumb shit that’ll make the boys giggle. Draft happens and there’s an immediate notification that a trade went down. Boys rush to see the transaction. Defense for defense… God that’s genius. Especially if you and whoever you traded with nabbed a couple defenses late. Chargers/Chiefs swap. Nothing crazy, something you won’t lose sleep over. Next thing you know, 6 quick messages in the group chat.

“Why?” says the dude trying his best to murder the bit.

“Dolan got fleeced!”

“High on the Chargers this year.”

“Dumbest trade ever.”

“Why you haven’t won since 2008. Scared to push the chips in!”

“This isn’t pushing the chips in.”

“Bro’s mad because he hasn’t made the playoffs since 2020.”

Cut to the semis. You lose by 2 points. Chargers’ defense gives you a measly 1 point. Their defense has been mid all year, but you decide to stick with them because of the defense for defense bit. Meanwhile, the Chiefs put up 5 thanks to a last second pick thrown by Brock Purdy. You would’ve moved on. And guess what happens in week 17? You already know: 152 points. Just dominate the 3rd place game and put up the highest amount of points that week.

“Let the record show, Dolan would’ve won the Championship if he didn’t trade the Chiefs’ defense at the beginning of the year.”

7 laughing emojis.

The guy who took you down in the semis takes a screenshot of the Chiefs for Chargers transaction and makes it into a shirt.

Why we play the game man.

Swap Defenses Immediately After Your Fantasy Draft. Could Be The Move.

- Bobby D

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Feel like as humans, community is something we crave. Being arm in arm with your neighbor, aligned on similar goals. It’s how we evolved, how we came to be the dominant species.

Why I’ve been snaggin’ the local paper lately. Scratch that community itch. Learn more about our local officials, local props, who’s playing QB for varsity.

Be a lot cooler if I could get that community hit by going to some town concert or some bob for apples bullshit. Drink a couple beers, get to know the local real estate or haircut guy.

Local paper’s all I got. Eh... I guess I could hang out at my local dive bar 4 nights a week? Sure, that sounds fun, but booze is fucking expensive now man. Local paper’s free.

(Maybe third places are where communities used to live?)

What else? Facebook community groups? I mean, those are entertaining, but what’s going to come from that minus a “Is this guy serious?” laugh. Boomers dropping shit like, “Anyone know where I can get a shirt dry cleaned?”

I guess I could walk around town more. Stop and talk to the neighbors. Neighbors who I’ve really never met. Everyone’s old man. I live in an apartment surrounded by a bunch of nice-ass houses. Bunch of old people and rich 40-somethings. “Hi. I’m Bobby!” Oh yeah, I’m sure that’ll scratch that community itch you dumb fuck.

Could just start my own community. Put up signs around town. “Starting a community if anyone’s down.” Location: Jimmy’s Bar / Time: 8:00pm.

Honestly, that could be fucking sick. Just get a bunch of people to meet up and drink a beer or three. Beers evolve into fireworks in the park. Young couples, families coming together, supporting one another. Ha. Yeah right. Maybe in Chicago. Not in my neck of the woods.

Fuck it. I’ll stay here, keep reading the local paper and pose as a Dodgers fan once the O’s get eliminated. That’ll work for now.

- Bobby D

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Also feel like there’s a deep romantic angle here. Fuck it, let’s start there.

Think we can all agree, the beer flight tasting experience is much different than diving into a pint. With flights, there’s usually an element of new that’s involved. “I’ll try this one, that one. Honey lager sounds good. IPA? Sure, I’ll throw that in also.” A fresh taste, fresh perspective, taking your time, sipping at a slower pace, senses turned up a notch, engaged. Multiply that by 4... I’m in.

Something about a stimulated brain being introduced to a flow of blood containing .06 grams of alcohol. Insert chef’s kiss emoji.

Then there’s the blindly getting after it approach. The one we all know and love. Sure, when placed side by side with the flight tasting approach, it can come across as primitive, less sophisticated, but that’s boozing baby. Cracking open a Coors Banquet and guzzling it down for the nth time, still a delight.

A lot of times, with breweries, we start with flights and transition over to ordering something we know we dig. Visit after visit, the blindly getting after it approach starts creeping in. After a while, it has you in a stranglehold. Just guzzling that Hazy IPA over and over and over again. As that Hazy rests on its damp coaster, it scans the room and sees the flight drinkers taking their time, cherishing each sip, analyzing every note that’s brushed across their palate. “That used to be me,” the Hazy IPA murmurs to itself. Half drunk, numb to its taste and aromas. “What happened to us?”

Might have to go back to the beginning. Back to the start. Coldplay - The Scientist. Fill up those flight glasses with Hazy, Hazy, Hazy and Hazy. Now we’re in flight tasting mode with a beer we’ve truly taken for granted. And suddenly, we’re falling in love again. Sipping slower, analyzing, wow… Now I remember exactly why I chose this beer every time I set foot in this brewery. Least you could do for a beer that’s been by your side for so long.

As for the bit, c’mon, that’s hilarious.

- Bobby D

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Move via: Hunter J.

Feel like this is right up my alley. Need a little curveball to keep the people guessin’. I’m over here pouring my innermost thoughts on a computer screen for 10s of 15s of people to read. Wouldn’t mind sprinklin’ in a little mysterious vibe. Nothing too crazy, but enough where people lean in when I whisper.

This could be a great bit, borderline legendary. Need a yard and a fire pit first. Big city readers in shambles. Wait… I just thought of something. Big city readers, back.

Need a yard, and preferably a fire pit. If you don’t have either, a gas stove or lighter will work just fine. Well, not really. You’ll just look more like a psycho. Fuck, alright, no fire pit’s going to be kind of tough. God damnit. I’ll think of something. At the end will be instructions on how to execute this Move without a fire pit.

Alright, you’re having people over. “Hey! Gonna get a fire and some drinks going.”

Time to prepare for the show.

• You pull out the Rioja you won at some wine tasting event. Yeah, this Move pairs well with a medium-full body red. Nicely done.

• You get the fire going. Nothing too crazy, but the logs are lit, shit’s cracklin’.

• Sun positioning is big here. Preferably she’s 90-95% down. Enough to sort of see around, but if a ball’s thrown your way it might get dicey. Next point wins kind of light.

• Grab some bills; one-sided is ideal. If you’re a perfectionist and really want this Move to pop, I’d recommend writing yourself 3-5 letters.

• If there’s a speaker set up outside, make sure it’s off. No music here is key. Not only for the vibe, but so you can hear when your guests arrive.

• Hit the group with the following text, “Door’s open. Come on out back.”

• You’re outside, sitting down, back facing the door to get outside. Said door is shut.

Pour yourself a nice glass of Rioja. Couple sips. Just warming up, like Kevin McCallister and his big ole plate of mac n’ cheese.

You hear footsteps and chatter approaching the front door.

Showtime.

Right when you hear that front door slam, or a friendly, “Hello? Is anybody home?” “Did somebody say margaritas!?!?” “Some really funny inside joke nobody else would really understand.”

First paper in the fire, immediately followed by the second. If they’re bills, bill information down, blank white backside showing. If they’re letters, backside down, writing showing. The first two papers begin to slowly catch. Wait… wait… now you hear them getting closer. Again, it is extremely important that your back is facing the door to get outside. You hear the door open; their eyes burn the back of your head, maybe something funny is said. Third paper, fourth. Stare.

“Bobby?”

Ignore.

“You good?”

Ignore. Beat. Beat. Turn around.

“Oh, hey guys.”

You now have an element of mystery to you.

Fucking brilliant. Hunter J.

For those of you who do not have a fire pit. Pretty much do everything mentioned but light the paper with a gas stove or lighter. When the paper really starts burning, throw it in the sink. Wait.. that’s probably going to fuck up the sink. I guess if you have a fireplace you could just do that… but I dunno man, fireplace gives off more of a tax evasion vibe.

I’d recommend, for the time being, sticking with a fire pit.

- Bobby D

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Move via: Isaac M

Something about free: can’t put my finger on it. Just feels… well, it never feels real. Paranoid about a catch. Got that Adam Smith in me. What can I say?

Damn... Just hit up Google. All this time I could’ve sworn Adam Smith coined the phrase, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” He, in fact, never said those words. Let’s try that again.

Something about free. Can’t put my finger on it. Just feels… well, it never feels real. Paranoid about a catch. Got that Milton Friedman in me. What can I say?

Bro’s right. Nothing’s free. Always something lurking.

Oh, I gotta sign some shit. Oh, I gotta download this app. Oh, I gotta drop my credit card. Oh, I gotta finish this 80oz. steak. Oh, I gotta buy 9 first. Oh, I gotta…

“Wait… what?” “A free pitcher? How?” “You know someone?” “Just because?” “Saw the boys vibing and figured we could use one more?” “This is incredible. God we’re so back.” “Here’s to the greatest night of our lives!”

Big Viking ass cheers.

I love this Move man. I’m getting fired up just thinking about it. That first sip of a “free” pitcher. Electric!

Now this Move has one downfall. One blemish, if you will. This feels like a pretty easy lie to get caught in. Knowing my friends and how chatty they get when they’re boozing, this “free” pitcher is 1000% getting brought up next time someone hits the bar.

Oh yeah. Think about it. You and the squad are absolutely buzzin’ from that free pitcher. That one guy in the group who’s known for buying unnecessary shots weasels his way to the bar. Some formation of the following words are definitely coming out of his mouth: “Thanks for that free pitcher!”

Depending on the bartender or server, bro could quickly realize Santa Claus isn’t real.

He looks over at the table of 4 believers and the guy who made up this fairytale. The 4 believers are smiling ear to ear, still soaking in the joy of their “free” pitcher.

“How could he? Why? What does he get from lying about this free pitcher?”

Shot guy drops off the shots. Boys get even more pumped. He looks over at the free pitcher guy and suddenly it all makes sense. Free beer just creates an untouchable atmosphere. No sense in ruining it for the other guys.

”I don’t know what’s going on today, but these were also free!”

- Bobby D

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Shoutout Morgan H for this Move.

Nostalgia’s a wild thing man. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d yearn for oddly shaped logos with color schemes that pay absolute no tribute to the original branding. Yet here I am, debating whether a throwback AI jersey and calling a cab will make my life better.

Uber used to be unstoppable. I mean prime Uber... Gives me this feeling, or that. Changed the game. Paved the way for convenient automobile transportation.

Pre-Uber... Oh boy. What a scary place. Ease? Hell no. Customer service? What? Ratings? Reviews? Ha.

Honestly, I’m trying to recall the step-by-step process it took to get a cab to my desired location. Waving one down is one thing. Getting one to drive off the beaten path is another. Had to know the number, had to know your exact location. Shuffling to the nearest intersection. “One second... Ok... York and Burke.” They say 15 minutes, but who the fuck knows. What a truly awful experience.

With all that being said, the idea of calling a cab is starting to look at me like a Vince Carter Raptors throwback. Might have to dabble.

“Just called a cab!”

“Hehehe. That’s a fun term for calling an Uber.”

15 minutes later, some yellow taxi comes rolling up.

“Wow... What?”

Think there’s something there. Always fun to look back and wrap your arms around a little nostalgia. Might make you appreciate the advances in modern technology. Or maybe the cab experience ends up being sick and you have a new Move in your arsenal.

Either way, worth a spin.

Calling a Cab in 2026. Could Be The Move.

- Bobby D

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A wave of lively energy began bubbling before our weekly 10:00 a.m. meeting. Side conversations grew louder and louder. Pretty soon, it sounded like a school cafeteria. The conversation I had the pleasure of taking part in was with my friend Arman. We were talking ball and bars with sick Guinness.

Suddenly, as I wrapped up my review of a very poor Guinness I recently consumed, I noticed a lightbulb flick on above Arman’s head.

“Oh yeah. Got a Move for you. Was at a BBQ the other day. Sun goes down and everyone started toasting marshmallows, making s’mores. Except for this one guy. Dude busted out a glazed donut and started giving it a light toast. Glaze was dripping. Looked unreal.

Arman said he talked to the guy about the Move and he said, “When they zig, I zag.”

I’ve never wanted to execute a Move more in my life.

Let’s paint a little picture. You and the boys snag an Airbnb for a bachelor party, golf trip, or just a good old-fashioned getaway. 5 bedrooms, pool, jacuzzi, fire pit, pretty good-sized yard.

Squad gets in around 5-6 for night one. Decide it’s an indoor, share some drinks, catch up on old times night. Couple people hit the pool, jacuzzi, but nothing crazy.

Next day, the festivities begin. You guys go out and play golf, hunt, fish, watch live music, Comic-Con, whatever the purpose of the trip is. Afterwards, you and a buddy head to the liquor store and pick up a couple extra beers. Before you head back, you mention to your buddy, “Hey man. Pull into that donut shop.” Come rolling out with a dozen. Back at the place, you tuck the donuts away from plain sight.

The night festivities begin. Maybe you hit some restaurant, a bar, maybe another bar, maybe one more. You guys get back. It’s 100% stogie and fire time. Squad gets the fire started. Everyone’s enjoying their time. Next thing you know, you sneak inside the house, snag the donuts and come rolling out.

“What’s bro doing with those donuts?”

You throw one on a roasting stick and start letting it rip.

Could Be The Move.

- Bobby D

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Then a new photo of this unstoppable play hit Twitter and did absolute numbies. Different lighting, different spacing. Beautiful. Shoutout @00JimmyT.

Glad this puppy hit my radar again. A revisit to this Move is exactly what I needed.

At first, it just made me giggle. The optics of walking into a place and seeing a Cheesecake Factory paper towel dispenser hanging out in a 2-bed/2-bath are incredible. The wow factor and post-wash excitement your guests get to experience is enough of a W for me to consider this an incredible Move.

Sooner or later though, the wow factor and post-wash excitement will fade. The honeymoon phase will conclude and you’ll be face-to-face with this hunk of a kitchen appliance for years to come. With all that being said… this Move is still a bucket.

So many intangibles.

- There’s a 0% chance you’re not saving money on paper towels.

- Avoid the sloppy paper towel rip. You know when you’re looking for one paper towel and end up with 1.17. Next paper towel up is only at 83%… Hate that shit.

- Avoid that Chop Move where your hands are covered in, let’s say buffalo sauce, and your hand grazes the top of the roll. Now each paper towel coming from said roll will have a slight remnant of buffalo sauce on it. Can’t have that, and you won’t! Not with this bad boy. Just a quick wave. Paper towel. Bang.

Yes, with any great Move rests a con waiting to rear its ugly head. Here, it’s safe to say these paper towels are much more rough and coarse than your typical Costco or Bounty. Easy fix, have a roll of Bounty on standby for delicate jobs. Looking at the background of Harrison B’s photo, looks like the boys already have this strategy in play.

What else? Might be a son of a bitch to move? Little damage on the walls going from place to place?

Shoot, if a 30-minute caulk job is one of the bigger cons you face… feel like you’re on to something.

What a Move. Big fan.

- Bobby D

Other Account: Website/Newsletter, Instagram

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Move via: astrophotograhy

Honestly, one of my favorite Moves ever sent in. Your boy dropped a little IG Story question to get this one. Might have to do that more often honestly.

I’m a pretty cautious dude, especially when it comes to fireworks. The ole “play stupid games, win stupid prizes” saying really hits home here. I mean, I’m not scared to light 'em or anything. Not scared to hold a Roman candle. Not scared to buzz my buddy a little with said Roman candle. Make him dance a little ya know.

“I wasn’t going to hit him!” I exclaim to the worried cries from the wife/girlfriend section of the BBQ

When I was a young lad, me and the boys had a firework phase. Anytime someone got their hands on fireworks, we’d go to a park and let ‘em rip. Always thought the cops were after us, tough shit like that.

Throughout my years of lighting and observing cheap South of the Border fireworks, I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone’s in danger. Those things can freak out and go sporadic at a moment’s notice.

So now we got our guy, pulling off this Move. Let’s call him Gary. Gary’s 4 dogs and 8 beers deep. He’s got some sick, white, short-sleeve, USA-themed button-down. Some shit you’d see on Chubbies’ website. Bunch of tiny American flags. Speakin’ of Chubbies, he paired this shirt with some old school 4-inch inseams. Shorts color? Ecru. Flip-flops? Nah. Hey Dudes, gray. Fuck it, let’s throw a Tour visor on him. Navy, Congressional Country Club logo.

Gary’s vibin’. Three sips away from asking Trev for another cig. He just butchered the lyrics to Len’s “Steal My Sunshine” but considered it a massive win for knowing the artist. He shouted it out with great pride once that distinct, reverb-y, woodblock hit.

Time for the show. Tim’s in charge. His house, his fireworks. Gary’s excited, but in a subdued 8 beers deep sort of way. It’s childlike and filled with curiosity.

Tim goes to light the first batch. Everyone’s decently far away. Sitting in their patio/camping chairs, conversing about Love Island and Obsession. Couple chirps from the peanut gallery. Tim laughs and interacts. Not Gary… Gary’s locked in.

Now Gary’s got this moth to a flame look going. He’s waiting in anticipation for Tim to light these puppies. Sparks. Tim backs up about 10 paces, passing Gary on the 7th pace.

It’s showtime, but about 70% of the people there have the same thought. “Is Gary too close? I mean, it’s not that close, but it’s closer than Tim and Tim knows ball. Is Tim just soft? Is Gary just drunk? Maybe Gary’s a pro. Maybe Gary knows ball. Tim’s a pussy. Gary should be running the show! Or maybe he’s just drunk? I don’t know. Should I say something?”

First batch was fun, but everyone was trying to process Gary being that close. I mean, it looked fine, he was ok, but still… I don’t think he should be that close.

Meanwhile, Gary’s just completely sucked in. Can’t feel the worried stares from his comrades.

During the second batch, someone chimes in, “Gary! Move back a little. You’re scaring us!”

He takes one step back… but then creeps back in after 30 seconds.

Fucker’s ruining the fireworks, I swear.

- Bobby D

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Move via: dancprice

This Move came across my desk a couple months ago. It tickled my crown chakra and I immediately stashed it away in the “future carousel post” folder. Day after day, week after week, still no honey post. I was delaying its exposure and inclusion in the CBTM universe. What can I say? I was attached. Posting this Move felt like I was letting go of something, its innocence, if you will. Letting it run free in the CBTM world of “chop” and “this shit mid” comments… no. Not yet. Not with this Move.

Then, after my bi-monthly, half-assed, 30-minute Evernote tidy-up session, I once again came face to face with this Move and decided it was time. After it was posted, I had this feeling that I didn’t do enough. This Move needed a deeper breakdown. So here we go.

Dan P was straight in his BAG with this one. This Move hits on so many different levels.

Level 1 - Supporting Your Local Economy: With the Potential of Becoming Boys With Your Local Honey Guy.

I love the idea of supporting your local economy. Just a tip of the cap to the people who keep the community flowing. Not sure if Dan P snags his honey from the farmers market or not, but I’ve had this dream/goal of being absolute BOYS with the honey guy. I mean, c’mon. How chill would that be? “Hey Bob!” “How the hell are ya Skip?” “The usual?” “You bet!” Holy chills…

(Off topic, but I really like the idea of emphasizing the fact that you’re supporting the local economy. Especially after doing something that’s physically or financially irresponsible. Get hammered at a bar: “Don’t mind me boys, just supporting the local economy.” Buying a shit ton of snacks at the gas station: “Gotta support the local economy.” Parking ticket: “Where would the local economy be without a guy like me?”

Level 2 - Respecting the Honey.

When I snag some baller-ass honey, I usually use it for at least 3 consecutive days. Tea, peanut butter and honey sandwich, just a quick teaspoon rip, I’m in.

Then my urge to add honey to every meal or snack in front of me fades. Next thing you know, that bottle’s tucked in the corner of my cabinet. Side by side with that massive tin of Old Bay I bought three years ago.

“Fun week huh? Better get comfortable here Honey. He ain’t coming back for a while now ya here… Better hope for a sore throat! Heuaahhahaheha,” laughs a jaded Old Bay tin. His laugh is boisterous, but layered underneath is a great deal of emotional pain.

With a Move like this, feel like you’re obligated to polish off that bottle of honey. How could you not? For a moment in time your whole life revolves around this high-quality honey. Be a slap in the face to disregard the quarter that’s left and move on to a new bottle. Could never! And I have a feeling Dan P could never as well.

Level 3 - Treat Yourself.

Something to look forward to. Have a tough Tuesday? “Hey man. Just grind till Friday. Honey day.” Little shit like that can help you grind a little harder. A little extra oomph to get you out of a rut.

Level 4 - Cute as Shit.

Just feel like this Move’s cute as shit. Here’s a guy who knows what he likes and he fully commits. No “look over the shoulder and see how the audience reacts” bullshit… Nah… Dan P’s being true to himself and I fully respect that.

Can’t wait to try this Move.

- Bobby D

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How bout chur BOY! Back-to-back Movesletters regarding flying. Lot of Moves up there, what can I say?

This Move is brought to you by Hayden O., and I swear to god, bro must’ve read my mind because I was 1000% thinking about this last weekend.

Was 30,000 in the air, flying back to the worst airport in the United States, possibly the world. To my delight, I had the World Cup and Stanley Cup going. 30 minutes of Ivory Coast/Ecuador, followed by Jordan Staal hoisting the cup. Was great man. Time flew by. A late Ivory Coast goal, complete Canes domination, next thing you know I’m over Nevada and bringing in Spotify to close out the flight.

It was a casual watch. Falling in and out of a light slumber. Eyes popping open after an eccentric call from the announcer. Lil’ game, lil’ snooze, beautiful. Definitely Could Be The Move.

Now, if I were heavily invested in the outcome… feel like this Move would be a disaster.

If I’m in economy watching the Caps try to close out the Cup in 6, I’d be a straight mess. Absolute panic every time we lose connection. Trying to hold it together. Freak out after they let in a weak goal. Joining the No Fly List thanks to a violent reaction to a weak offensive zone penalty.

I fly American a lot, and know they have RedZone during their flights. There have been multiple occasions where I book a flight knowing I’ll be able to dial in a little Scott Hanson for 4+ hours. It’s beautiful. Every flight feels like a chip shot.

Legit, the only con I can think of is a monetary one. High in the air, enjoying the third round of The Masters. Jim Nantz’s soothing voice and flush 7-irons from your noise-cancelling headphones, oh my. “Might as well go all in,” you say to yourself. Two Heinekens, a snack box and $54 later.

Mmmh…

Shit, if spending $54 for that extra level of comfort on a cross-country flight is the biggest flaw I can find… Hell of a Move.

Book a Flight During a Major Sporting Event. Could Be The Move.

- Bobby D

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More writing on another account I’ve been working on called A1JonSnow: Instagram, Newsletter/Website

CBTM Merch: Here

I also brainstormed this Move during a solo podcast. If you want to hear me ramble, check it out: CBTM Podcast

- Bobby D

Lil’ double closeout. You like that shit? Could Be The Move honestly.

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I’ve completely checked out of the last, I’d say, 85 pre-flight safety briefings.

It was a slow bleed.

When I first started flying, I was locked in. Young, scared, impressed that the seat cushions could float. Then, after I survived my first 20+ flights, I started tuning in because I thought it was the right thing to do. Got someone in front of you doing the whole song and dance for your safety and well-being… figured this demonstration was worth at least 65% of my attention. Then it turned into 50%, 40%, 20%. Now, when I hunker down by the window or when my row-mates arrive and I close off the aisle or middle (hopefully not), I throw on the headphones and completely check out. Start pumping my flying playlist, scrolling through a list of movies, see what’s cooking on live TV. No occasional glance, no smiles, no nods. Just a guy consumed by entertainment or the back of his eyelids.

Might start showing respect again like Brian B here. Why? I don’t know man, just because. No… that’s not good enough. Why? I don’t know man, maybe because this angel of a person is actively trying to prepare me for a complete disaster of a situation.

American Airlines sent me this group of angels and what do I do? Drown out their instructions with The Postal Service and Kid A?

Might go back to watching, taking it in. No headphones, phone tucked away. 87% of my attention. Give it a ranking afterwards. Notes app filled with dates, airlines, a 9.2, 7.8, 8.3, so on and so forth.

Dad picks you up from the airport. “How was the flight?” “Solid. 9.1 safety briefing, so that was a W… Yeah… Dude was really bringing it.”

Brian B’s going for camaraderie, which I get and respect. “23D’s locked in over there… make sure he gets an extra bag of SunChips.”

Not me man. I’m doing it for the love of the game.

My sweet angels.

- Bobby D