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Hey.
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Looks like Phil's the main guinea over there now.
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Anyway, we're at Maxwell's Plum,
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the Saturday night before the game.
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Who walks in but fucking Namath?
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Three sheets to the wind, fucking staggering like a sailor.
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So I know the game is going into the toilet.
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I said to my brother Jerry,
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he was just a kid at the time,
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"Take this money down to old Caruso on the corner
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"and put it all against the Jets."
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My brother was just recovering from rheumatic fever...