MOST GANGSTA MOVE OF THE WEEK

Alright, as the week is drawing to an end, I present to you the Most Gangsta Move of the Week. This week, it's the tale of two weathermen (or "stand up comics with a green screen" as I call 'em). Two local guys. One's the head "meteorologist" who gets the 5pm, 6pm and 10pm news. The other is the young whipper-snapper--works the early 6am shift and then the morning updates (in the rare case that anything interesting happens in the mid-morning hours in the morning).

Here's how it all went down: Monday, Mr. Bill Turner (the big guy--not just physically) comes on, to draw his segment to a close, he gives us our seven-day forecast.

Hi, I'm Big Bill Turner. I get the good shifts. Primetime, baby!

His forecast, like most weeks here in the Yellow, is "hot and dry" and then he gives some sort of Smokey the Bear warning about grass fires. On a personal level, he depresses me. I know our weather here in the Yellow is horrible and we never get rain, but please just lie to me. Tell me it's gonna rain tigers and wilderbeasts. Tell me there's a high chance of tornados. Tell me a huge tsunami's gonna wipe out the entire city. Because, "Folks, it's gonna be super hot this week and dry as a bone. Enjoy your week," just doesn't work for me. Especially because I'm Forrest Gumpin' it and walking to work everyday. I don't care if the cat fabricates a cold front in June that drops our temperature to 40 degrees--I'm buying it. Because "hot and dry" just doesn't work for me. Somedays it makes me want to just stay in bed and suck my thumb.

Well, Big Bill didn't help me out this week. His forecast was just seven suns and a variance of maybe three or four degrees high or low. It was either 98 degrees or 102 degrees. No chance of rain. No chance of a hurricane. No chance of a single drop of rain.

Now, I know the seven day forecast is tricky. Especially in West Texas. The weather can sneak up on you, slap you across the face and leave you wondering why the ground's wet. It's no joke. A huge cyclone could rip your house off Earth like a dying weed faster than you could say, "Bill, what's it gonna be like tonight?" But looking at this forecast, it's like Bill didn't even try. It's like he just said, "What are the chances that it won't be hot and dry this week? Screw it, make it "hot and dry" so I can come in late and go home early."

Well, that's well good. That's my forecast at 10:15pm on Monday night. I curl over in bed and get my standard eight hours of sleep. I rise at 6am to my boy Matt Hines. Same channel just eight hours later. I move to the edge of the bed while he wraps up his forecast with, as usual, the seven day forecast. I grab my glasses because the words I'm hearing come out of Matt's mouth leave me shocked and baffled. By the way, this is our buddy Matt.

Hi, I'm Matt Hines. I drink a lot coffee. I hate my shifts.

You would've thought Matt was forecasting the weather for a city a thousand miles away. Every daily high was about five to seven degrees less and there were little clouds on his seven-day forecast graphics. Some of them even had little lightning bolts coming out of the bottom of them. I say to myself, "Matt, you dawg!" Duke went up against the boss and delivered a completely conflicting forecast not buy nine hours later than Big Bill's forecast. It was like he walked in that morning, watched the tapes of the evening broadcast (because, you know, dude needs to hit the hay early), saw Bill's forecast and said, "Moron." Then he went through, changed the entire forecast, put it on the air and sat back and smiled proudly saying, "Looks like we'll have a chance of rain this week," with the confident swagger of a Tony Montana and then just col' left the studio like, "My job is done here."

He went against the big man--the chief meteorologist without any concern of how it would confuse the viewers. We were forced to choose. Do you take your umbrella on Tuesday or are you going with Bill's forecast? At the time, I wasn't even really caring about who was wrong and who was right. I thought, if Matt has the cohones to completely alter the forecast to a more favorable forecast, I'm going with him. Forget that 10pm newscast, the truth is spoken at 6am.

Well, it turns out. We never cracked 100 degrees this week, but we came close on Wednesday at 99. There was a chance of rain for the last three days and some really good area rain and golfball-sized hail for the eastern panhandle. In fact, Pampa (pronounced /PAM-puh/) reported multiple power lines down as a result of 80 mph headwinds with approaching storms.

Matt was right-er. In the Yellow, there's no right or wrong when it comes to weather. It's all about how confidently you present your forecast. Not to discount Doppler Dave and his wonderful staff or even Big Bill Turner, but Matt Hines' move that morning was straight gangsta! And, for that reason, good ol' Matt Hines is awarded the coveted Most Gangsta Move of the Week award and I'm starting a petition to get this cat moved up to 6pm. I'm not sure if he used that schooling to draw up that forecast or if he just tuned into the Weather Channel (I know of a few weathermen who do locally--yeah, I've been keeping score), but the kid almost nailed it.

You gangsta, Matt. Keep rockin'.

For those who are just joining The Root Down, welcome.

For those who are making your evening trip, don't be shocked. Same slammin' site, but with a new name. I really loved The j3 Spectacular, but it was a little longwinded (like that's ever been my concern) and it didn't match up with the URL which is http://therootdown.blogspot.com (tell your posse). So in the interest of keeping the marketing message consistant and, plus, it's just an ill name anyway and, more importantly, The j3 Spectacular was a little self-glorifying and over the top. The Root Down it is.

And hopefully the black is a welcome color to the blue. Just a healthy change. Plus, Chuck looks a lot better on black.

Sunday brunch with my Grandmama. Have a wonderful Sunday and, papas, have a happy Fathers' Day. Do dogs count as children? If so, I'm taking tomorrow off. I'm gonna sit on the couch, drink beer and watch the Sox beat the snot out of the Braves (Buffalo Bills of MLB).