Column: A Labor Day to Remember

No matter what you did this past Labor Day, you missed out. I’m sorry. But, you did.

It could’ve been a barbeque for the ages, wiffleball game for the hall of fame or a party for the police blotter– but you didn’t make the best event of the holiday.

You see, last Monday, stars from all across the sports universe converged to kick back together in a raging fashion. Preparing for the NFL season, college football year, NHL lockout and exciting end of baseball is exhausting, so this group needed a breather. And yours truly was there three days ago, taking notes on every moment of the afternoon.

So, welcome to the best cookout you never heard of.

Trickling through the North Jersey sky, polluted sunlight shone down on the mini-mansion of Timothy Tebow, this past Labor Day. Sporting a large cross-shaped pool behind his towering home, Tebow invited all recent sports headliners to come celebrate with Jesus’ favorite signal caller. Prepared with just five hamburgers and two hot dogs, the former Florida Gator, spent the entire day grilling, miraculously churning out enough meat for the hundreds in attendance.

Among the first to arrive was teammate and Jet wide receiver Santonio Holmes, who immediately called to the quarterback for a weiner. Scooping a couple up, fresh off the grill, Tebow fired them one after the other into the earth five yards in front of Holmes. Mr. Wildcat then aimed and launched the final dog clear into the heavens, missing Holmes by a mile. Muttering in disgust, Holmes longed for the days of having it out with the Sanchize.

While most guests continued to flow through the front entrance, an unexpected guest, Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane, snuck in through the back. No one knew how he’d made it out to such a prestigious event this late in the year, his last fall bash being in 2006.

Beane then proceeded to sit in the corner for the rest of the party doing magic tricks for the other 29 MLB general managers. Late in the show, Red Sox owner John Henry had to wipe the drool off the face of his own Ben Cherington, who sat in amazement at Beane’s mastery.

“Not so fast, my friends!”

As the gathering moved back to the pool, college football analyst turned lifeguard Lee Corso, took center stage. Barking at all the little kids sprinting by the water, the near senile Corso shouted his trademark phrase for hours until his dentures fell out. Later, he would be found donning the Georgia Tech Yellow Jacket mascot headpiece, scaring the hell out of the little ones while just trying to tell them that Tech would win that night.

Also positioned by the Olympic– sized pool was the ‘big three’ of the Miami Heat. Showing off his new bling, LeBron gave a drink order to a working caterer before going to take a dive. However, he found himself unable to pick the number of champagne bottles to celebrate with commenting “not five, not six, not seven…”

Chris Bosh faced the same problem, though dealing more so with the number of colors he wanted his nails polished.

“Yo soy Fiesta!”

Patriots part-time tight end and full-time party boy, Rob Gronkowski, screamed and dashed across the backyard fully nude. He had just been shut out in a game of beer pong to sharp shooting Steve Nash and was thus forced into completing a naked lap. Nash chuckled with new Laker teammate Dwight Howard, who was busy trying to find support so he could stand. Superman’s off-season diva surgery had left him with an entire lack of a spine.

Meanwhile Gronk’s teammate, 5’ 8” Danny Woodhead, struggled to make his presence felt at all. Even jumping up and down, Woodhead couldn’t gain Tebow’s attention for a cheeseburger, as the host continued to aimlessly fling things from the grill.

Back at the front gate, NHL commissioner Gary Bettman began attempting to charge a cover for players belonging to his troublesome league. Those refusing to pay were of course, locked out. Exiting, they each reminded Bettman that his owners weren’t forced to shell out contracts of $98 million and over. Simultaneously, the commish was then awarded the title of party pooper.

Coming in a close second though was the Nationals’ front office who finally appears ready to field a post-season club. After a long phone conversation with Royals’ on how to go from worst to first, they called for young fireballer Stephen Strasburg to grab a few beers. Then, as soon as Strasburg’s entire right arm had submerged, they ordered that he couldn’t lift it out until the season was over.

With the pitching phenom shut down, his teammates suggested they could really use him, and if not, certainly the booze.

Meanwhile, Dez Bryant was escorted by his Jerry Jones-ordered bodyguards from the kids' sandbox to the shallow end of the pool. Suited up with a pair of yellow floaties, Bryant wasn’t allowed to cross into the deep end due to his new deal with the owner. Corso repeatedly shouted from his chair, calling over to him as Justin Blackmon, Bryant’s successor, as star wideout at Oklahoma State.

After about ten minutes of Corso’s badgering, the second-year receiver bellowed, “Shut up!” He was then yanked from the water and put in time out.

As the day began to wind down, Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine strolled in late, followed by a crowd chanting a familiar “Boo.” Backed by a stiff drink, a nearby guest worked up the nerve to ask him if he had checked out of the miserable Red Sox season. Whipping around, he replied with the knuckle-sandwich, he'd promise a radio host days later. Things were immediately broken up, but not before the police were called and the night declared over.

And there it was. Just like the script read for the rest of us the next day, it was back to work for the Sports World. I just hope you can make it out for next year.