Arrow Roulette

(Editor's Note: I was a witness to what you are about to read. This is all a 100% true story)

I’m sure most of you have heard of the "game" Russian Roulette, right? One bullet in the chamber, six pulls of the trigger, 5 of them result in a harmless *click*. The last one...well, you know.

It definitely all started with a couple Russian bastards on about their 37th shot of piss warm hard whiskey on a Tuesday evening. Then the one who finally felt a buzz pulled out his magnum. Big smiles all around. You know the rest of them got a little tingle in their stomachs at the sight of it. 

Okay now sub out those cold-blooded Russian sick fucks for a couple big shot bros whose balls didn’t drop very long ago and just watched a movie with with four (ir)responsible, cool ass family men playing a game of arrow roulette in the woods. I mean I wasn’t a bad ass (I tried just wasn’t bad ass enough) but fuck it, I wanted to be like the adults goddamnit. And of course, of fucking course, there’s a goddamn BOW AND ARROWS in the downstairs of the crib we’re in with max ammo. 

Already too late. 

The level of danger a compact bow presented to 4 middle class white kids who were all immediately picturing Orlando Bloom killing insane amounts of Orcs was immeasurable. It was un-comparable (shoutout to Slim). 

Things were bound to get fucked. And that it did. 

Everyone circles up, smirks plastered across our faces. Everyone knows as soon as that arrow launches into the air you’re supposed to be out. You're supposed to be a sensible human and act like a scared little boy. That's what you're supposed to do. 

Well kids, guess what: I. Didn't. Move.

The thought never crossed my mind. Those other kids all got degrees and I’m just here making these blogs. Makes sense. 

Back to the scene.

*Click*

The arrow is up and everyone else scrambles in a panic...everyone except me. And yeah don’t get me wrong I was absolutely just trying to flex on them. I was looking at the nerds with my mean mug on, holding my ground. It was genuine too. Because my dumbass was like, "This fuck can’t shoot an arrow accurately. That shit is a dud going 40 trees back." 

*Action* 

The arrow starts to take shape. Screams all around. 

"RIELLO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!" 

This should've been enough to make me realize I had to bail. However, today my insecurities and stubbornness would prevail. I continued to hold my ground. HAHAHAHAHAHA. I look up to the sky and suddenly see a gruesome death coming my way. It's happening. Tell Momma I love her. Next thing I know...*DINK*

Now look I know I’m a loudmouth who tends to overexagerate. I get it. But the real ones that day know that I was FOR REAL ONE FOOT AWAY from looking like a Game of Thrones casualty. If I took one step backwards before that arrow pierced the grass behind me, it would've been lights out for ya boy. Imagine, just fucking imagine the thing you try to be good at and flex your false alpha-ness is in a game where if you win you and actually stand your ground YOU MIGHT FUCKING DIE. 

Atta boy Riello keep them goals high and keep striving for greatness.

Twitter Rant Follow-Up/Mission Statement

I think this should have been my debut blog. 

This wasn’t my usual blockhead-type mistake which I’ve learned to love and laugh at. But the thing is I don’t want this whole blogging thing to be a depressing tell-all of my struggles. I want it to be full of little relatable, one-off lines that make light of my flaws and help you feel better about your own flaws from making you laugh at mine. 

Me dropping my first blog the way I did was a prime example of me rolling with something that went straight to my head out into the world, hoping it would be something that people would feel. 

Have a real reaction to. 

And that’s what I want this whole thing to be about (and sports, duh). But I’m thinking this should've been the debut blog. Me explaining my goal and the whole of point of those tweets that still make me cringe but also have me so relieved. 


I felt like this post was necessary so you can better know the person behind these words and where he’s starting. I want it my 100% way so I don't end up regretting anything, no matter where I end up. This is me and my mind trying to coexist with your minds and make magic in our crazy brains. 

I believe I’m going to miss a lot especially because this is all so new for me. But I know I’m golden because I did the hardest thing already and if I keep my energy and continue to work like I plan to then it's all going to work out. Every 10 blogs I put out, if even half of one really resonates with someone, then that is all the fuel I need to continue building from there. 

Brick by brick. 

I'm raw, but man watch me grind and master the translation of brain to paper.



PS: A man named Rocky Balboa was raw once. He was a man with a dream who knew how low he was, but was also ready to work. 

5+ movies later there’s a FUCKING STATUE OF THAT MAN IN THE STATE THAT BRED THE FOUNDING FATHERS LIKE ATLANTA BRED HIP-HOP.
(Editor's Note: Atlanta did not breed hip-hop. New York did you fucking traitor 😁...now back to the post). 

You can do anything.



PS PS: ...thinking this one over and I just realized my spirit animal is a fictional character who absolutely had CTE at the age of 25.




PS PS PS: I'm officially done with these fucking PS's.

Mark Riello's Debut: The 5 Worst Feelings in the Game of Life (From Worst to Least Worst)

Guys. Hey. It's been a while.

I always figured I'd find my way back here like a loyal house cat, but this post is not about me. Actually, neither is this blog anymore. I'd like to announce that I'm temporarily handing over the reigns of 10 AM in Philly to my guy Mark Riello, who's here to make his blogging debut with a little list he came up mostly fueled by post-fantasy draft adrenaline (the best kind of adrenaline).

And with that shameless self-promotion right there, it's time to throw it to Mr. Riello. Take it away kid.
(Sorry about the white highlight, I have no idea why that happened and couldn't figure out how to get rid of it...enjoy)

The 5 Worst Feelings in the Game of Life (From Worst to Least Worst)

Losing a Bet

Man.

The only time I wish I didn’t like sports is when I get that kick in my brain that a baseball team is a 100% lock in the middle of a 162 game season.

Muthafucka’.

I could lose a $5 4-team parlay and I feel like Kurt Cobain after all the drugs. Imagine I actually had money. Bless up, poor for life (*praying hands emoji*)

Getting Blacked Out and Having Sex

I compare this one to getting a 95 on a test, but you’re in the class full of kids who can’t even pass public high school.

You know you finished the job, but the rest is left up to the imagination. Maybe you throw some good dick around, but you can’t even remember and it becomes like, “What was the point of ever wasting that time?” You swear the dick was actually good.

But then you keep thinking about it.

Was it bad dick?

The fuck man it’s an absolute mystery at that point, and what’s worse is it becomes impossible to learn from your mistakes.

Feeling Like Someone You Love is Doing Ten Times Better Than You

I know, heavy.

Look, I want everyone in this world to do good because if that was the case I’d feel better. It’s like being on the Spurs or the Patriots. You don’t have to be good but as long as your there and everyone else is doing good you still win. However, this is just where my inner psychopath comes into play. I just can’t help thinking about what the person I’m talking to has over me, even if it’s with my friends. Who doesn’t want to be the guy who can brag about what you doing, and not even on some arrogant shit just like “Hey look what I got going on.” But instead your just like “Fuck yeah” I might be good but this person I fuck with is better than me so what’s the fucking point? It’s like I want you to be Bill Gates, but then I want to be Jeff Bezos, you know?

Motherfucker.

It’s like if I was the worst Molina and still made the major leagues. THE FUCKING MAJOR LEAGUES PEOPLE. I’d feel like a person who grew up poor with no parents and raised his siblings but still died in the same hood he was born. I know it’s fucked up, I get it, but I can’t control my brain. Honestly, I’ve really come to now think this is the most underrated terrible feeling.


Watching the New York Mets When They’re Playing the Best Baseball Ever

People. Hear me out.

90% of the issues in my brain and the reasoning behind the uncountable absolutely awful decisions I’ve made in my life can be attributed to these motherfuckers. Obviously to get this you need to know every time something looks like it going to be good it immediately gets matched with something that is the WORST possible thing that could happen.

Example: Mets signed All-Star and source-of-major-trust-issues-for-many-Mets-fans Jason Bay to a mega-contract. The same day: it comes out that the team lost 2 billion as the biggest investor in the infamous Bernie Madoff Ponzi scheme. Of course.

You may be thinking, “Mark how do u let a shitty sports team affect you this much”.

Man, I just really don’t know. If I had the answer maybe I wouldn’t be addicted to shit sports teams and I probably could’ve ended up with a degree and became a salesman or accountant or some shit. What I do know is that it’s a real thing, because you can see it in every Mets fan. You can spot the pain in their eyes. It looks like their grandmother just died, but nah it’s just them thinking about how their blood is 99% loser and how much time they waste hoping for something impossible.

That being said…stay strong all my miserable Mets fans out there. We miserable together. #MetTape  

“Son/daughter I’m not mad at you ......... (pause that goes on for eternity) I’m JUST disappointed”

We all know that statement.

Every single kid growing up, the one thing we all have in common, every fucking one of us from the South to the North Pole, is that statement is the ultimate gut punch. And what’s crazy is that I think the shittier the parents are the worst it feels. And I’m all in on how little the parents think that actually means compared to how fucked up it is to hear your parents tell you they’re disappointed in you.

Because when your parents are proud on you, it feels like you just hit a 10,000,000,000 bet on McGregor vs Khabib. But then on the other end of the spectrum it feels like I just got sent away to a clinic with Johnny Manziel, Lamar Odom, Josh Gordon, and the guy from Mighty Ducks who looks like a crack head (you know who I’m talking about).

It’s that word. Disappointed. It’s forever the most powerful sentence a parent can break out, and it absolutely levels you every time.