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Ahoy-hoy! Welcome to another edition of The Gripe Report, OutKick’s one-stop shop for all your complaining needs.

It’s been a good week for me, and by that I mean there was plenty to gripe about.

Have a gripe? Of course you do! Send it in!: mattreigleoutkick@gmail.com

While I may have been blessed with dashing good looks, I was not blessed with good eyes. If I didn’t have contacts I could probably beat a fruit bat in an eye chart reading competition, but just barely.

So, I’m on the hunt for some new glasses, and the girlfriend and I drove all the way across town the other day to look at some, none of which looked right on my handsome — albeit obscenely large — head.

But that’s not my gripe…

On the way home, we decided to stop and grab a little lunch at a McCallister’s Deli.

However, when we walked through the door it was as if we had stepped into the vacuum of space because despite this restaurant being fairly busy, it was the quietest restaurant I have ever encountered in my life.

It appeared that the music wasn’t working, but that meant that without the sounds of your typical hot adult contemporary playing throughout the restaurant, your fellow diners could hear every word you were saying. This, in turn, made it even quieter because everyone kept their voice to a whisper or just simply didn’t speak.

You know when something is so loud you can’t hear yourself think? Well, this place was so quiet I think I could hear the thoughts of people several tables over.

Occasionally, you’d get a small wave of conversation and everyone would hop on that, but it would eventually subside so that once again all you can hear is the blood rushing through your inner ear and an occasional clang from the dude in the back assembling your club sandwich.

I just would’ve appreciated a warning on the door before I walked into that vacuum. That way I could decide whether or not I wanted to deal with it. 

But let’s not pretend the answer is blasting tunes. Because restaurants that do that suck too. The music should be loud enough to camouflage your conversations from the tables around you, but not from those sitting right next to you.

I don’t know how many dBs that is, but we may need to determine a standard based on room size and what kind of material the walls are made of. For example, have you ever been to a craft brewery with brick walls? Of course, you have; they all have brick walls. They’re absolutely cacophonous.

Let’s get this music restaurant situation under control or at least give diners a heads up before they walk in and find themselves having to whisper the entire time.

Now, let’s see what you wonderful folks are griping about this week…

You may find them interesting, but I can assure you, nobody wants to hear about the dream you had last night. (Getty Images)

Dream Retellers

DJ is going to bat leadoff for us this week with a gripe about people who insist on giving synopses of their dreams:

Sorry if this has been covered, but can people just stop telling others about their dreams?  Unless it’s about me (and let’s be honest, still usually don’t care) or you can tell it in 30 seconds or less, just stop.  No one cares.  You might as well just start asking if people want to hear a 4–minute story that’s made up on the spot.  Or go talk to a therapist about it, most coworkers, friends, and family don’t care about your long, weird, boring made up story.

…

Has anyone ever heard someone go into great detail about a dream they had and then said, “I’m glad I sat through that,” when it was over?

I think the answer is a pretty definitive no.

I’m always amazed at how eager people are to talk about their dreams. Dreams are the work of your subconscious, and there’s some subtext to a lot of dreams that are probably left in your head.

But nope, people can’t wait to tell you about the dream they had where all their teeth fell out or they couldn’t find the room for math class on their first day of math class, unafraid of whatever armchair psychoanalysis you’re doing on them.

And that’s if you’re even listening. I know I’ve half listened to dream stories just to throw in an occasional “…whoa; crazy,” at appropriate intervals just to keep things moving.

Also, just because someone appears in your dream, doesn’t mean you need to share it with them. It’s often weird. Again, this is your subconscious mind on autopilot and I’m showing up? 

I don’t know if I should be flattered or if I should move and change my name (I would probably go with something sweet like “Jefferson Steelflex” or “Todd Smith”).

This guy probably has business cards that say something like “CAPTAIN CHARGER” in his back pocket.  (Photo by Stephen Dunn/Getty Images)

Pump-Up-The-Crowd Guys

Brad in NC has a great gripe about something I guarantee any sports fan — and since you’re a loyal OutKick reader, I’m going to assume that includes you — sees regularly both on TV and in-person at stadiums and arenas around the nation and that is the self-appointed Pump-Up-The-Crowd Guy:

He is usually a season ticket holder always seated in the front row ie between you and the playing field. He is usually, but not always, a superfan – a dork with full face makeup, elaborate costume, bling necklace, wig, sign etc. He rarely sees the actual game since his back is turned to the field or he is seeking out the TV cameraman. He thinks his job – his calling – is to gesture to the crowd to stand up and ‘make noise’ (ugh) on cue. The crowd is responding to events in the game anyway but the Pump Up The Crowd Guy thinks he is Moses and the fans are following his commandments. Pump Up The Crowd Guy flails his arms, cups his hands to his ears, and points at any heretics who may actually be sitting in their expensive seats or, God forbid, ignoring his look-at-me performance. Pump Up The Crowd Guy not-so-secretly believes he is helping his team win.

High school and college games have their self-appointed cheerleaders but they are usually students, usually in groups and usually create atmosphere and spirit. But NFL games seem to be an irresistible magnet for the egomaniacs, the attention seekers.

…

Ugh… these guys…

Look, I love my teams too, but there’s a point where this kind of thing seems to be less about the team and more about you getting some notoriety as some kind of strange, unofficial mascot.

You see these all over sports, but I think the NFL is an especially fertile ground for it. Being a big fan is one thing, but when you’ve gotten to the point where you’re concocting some kind of character, maybe slow things down a little bit.

Once you start crafting a backstory for yourself like you’re playing Dungeons & Dragons it’s no longer about cheering on the team. It’s now about feeding your ego, and that’s a weird thing to feed your ego with.

We’re way past David Puddy painting his face Devils colors to “support the team.” We’ve got full-on cosplaying happening in the stands and there’s no other explanation for it aside from attention-seeking.

Let me ask you this: has there been one instance of a player saying that one of these self-anointed pump-up-the-crowd guys helped the team win?

“Yeah, I was really out of rhythm on that final drive, but right before we went for it on fourth down I saw that fat guy wearing papal robes in our team colors and that gave me everything I needed to get the first and keep the drive going…“

I’ll help you; it has not.

Cheer for your team, but it shouldn’t become a part-time gig. If you’re printing off business cards advertising yourself as “Captain Dolphin” or “Seahawks Man” maybe reel it in a little bit.

Only a psycho would see a bowl of ceral and think, “I think I can drive with that in my lap.” (Getty Images_

Rogue Cereal Eaters

Mike Is checking in with a gripe that really takes you on a journey. I thought it was going to be a gripe about one thing until it took a sharp left turn into something that I’ve started noticing recently too:

While driving to work the other day, the car in front of me changed lanes, on the freeway, without a signal (IYKYK). I’m like, okay, not a big deal, probably just forgot. Well, she did it a second time. Since I don’t need this type of negativity in my life, I drive around her. I glance over and I see her holding a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other. She’s chowing down on a bowl of cereal doing 75 up the 405!

…

Call me old-fashioned, but cereal is an at-home food. It’s what you eat while sitting in a dignified manner at your kitchen table or island, although I will accept eating it while sitting on the floor in front of the TV criss-cross-applesauce on a Saturday morning watching Wacky Races.

But that’s about it, and now that these rogue cereal-eaters are trying to cram Froot Loops in their dumb faces at highway speeds, someone needs to say something about it, and that someone is me.

Actually, that someone was Mike, but I’m spring-boarding off of his gripe… that’s how this usually works.

A few months back, I saw someone eating a bowl of cereal at my apartment complex’s pool. I was appalled and horrified, but I didn’t fear for my life the way I would if I saw someone trying to steer with their elbows while balancing a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

Unacceptable when we live in an era in which every food — cereal included — has been reproduced in bar form. You can eat those puppies one-handed which leaves one hand to plant firmly on the wheel or hold your phone with (kidding).

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And that about wraps up another edition of The Gripe Report, and dare I say, that was one of our gripe-iest yet.

Good stuff. We’ll do it again next week, so in the meantime, send in those gripes!: mattreigleoukick@gmail.com.