Introductions...

“You know me-I don't need no introduction and sh*t”. Those, my new friends, are the finely crafted lyrics of one of the most under-rated and under-appreciated artists of our time. I speak, of course, of the great Bryan Williams, a.k.a Baby, Birdman, or B-32. However, in the off chance that you don't know me and that I do need an introduction, allow me to take this time to do just that. I'm Brock Sargent and I'm a man. 6'3, 235 lbs of semi-rock hard muscle, dark skin, dark hair, kinda hairy, gregarious, apprehensive, funny, dull, witty, and doltish (yeah, I looked the last one up). Well, I think 11 adjectives is sufficient.

I approached this inaugural post in the same manner I would a major life decision because, well, it means that much to me. After days of prayer and fasting I went up into the mountains where I could clear my head and allow nature to guide my thoughts to the appropriate topic and content. Whilst in the middle of a meditative state it came to me that it was not only befitting but also necessary that I take it upon myself to explain, expound, and divulge the complexities that surround the relationships the exist between Mr. Frei, Mr. Nielson, and myself. And so without further ado here is the story....

The year was 1996, it was a typical fall in Santa Clara, UT, and Clinton was enjoying the end of his first term. As the children filtered out of their classrooms for a.m. recess on that first day of school at Santa Clara Elementary, they probably didn't notice the new kid hanging around by himself. This particular new kid had just moved here from California and was eager to establish himself on his new turf. So when a game a RAD (rebound and die for those who didn't have childhoods) started up, he quickly recognized this as a chance to prove himself. He got right in there and with above average size, athletic ability, and a will to win that rivals post-cancer Lance Armstrong's, he began to amass victories like the Angels win AL West Championships. Now, to say he began to turn heads on the playground would be an understatement. He created a buzz and his new found stardom didn't sit too well with the recently dethroned RAD, and Santa Clara Elementary for that matter, king, Mr. Blair Frei. Blair was your prototypical most popular kid in school. He was tall, good looking, mean to un-cool kids, dated the cutest girl, and had a mean set of Dr. Martens. There began our relationship, not our friendship necessarily, just our relationship. We were nothing more than acquaintances, but we both knew deep down that we would end up together. After a few more years of Blair being secretly jealous of this semi-popular kid's superior RAD and female attracting skills we finally became what you might call “friends”, and from that point on we were known as the twin towers (because where we come from 6'3 is out of the ordinary tall). This was the start of high school and little did we know the adventures we had in store. Now the purpose of this post isn't to dive into the details of the years and years of Blair's and mine experiences together but more to introduce the logistics of our meeting. So let it suffice to say that we had our ups, we had our downs, we laughed, we cried, we fought, we hugged, and now we sleep with his feet less than 2 feet from my face.

Now, onto the story of Corey Nielson. Okay, I have to be honest here. I literally have no idea where Corey came from, and I really don't know anything about the kid. He just kinda showed up one day, forced himself into our group, and hasn't left yet. I would kick him out, but he usually has cereal and ice cream laying around, of which I freely partake. So as long as the food supply stays readily available, I guess he can stay.