Sports = Life.
Ya never know the outcome, what's next. You suffer. You hail.
Being a miser (that's fancy for not believing at age 20, 30, 40 that one will ever be 60, 70 yada, and not $aving accordingly).. Where was I? Oh yeah, Po'. I always get distracted. My mother was a child of the Depression. She would always say "We were po' but didn't know it."
Victor, price of tea in China, get on with it.
OK. Sports. The miser in me wanted to cut cord, stream. Fitty dolla WiFi with T-Mobile, then stream real cheap. Wifi box came before I ever truly investigated cost therein of streaming. I admittedly have a really good rate with Spectrum. Called them, "I'm quitting"... then, of course, counter-offer.
Ended up, I took the new Wifi box back to T-Mobile. Spectrum let me pick 15 channels (plus local, including WiFi) for under a hunnerd dollars, I kept them.
Victor, back to tea in China.. the hell does this have to do wiith anything?
Life, it has to do with life. I picked a good amount of Sport's channels. Because, life can be ugly. Sports takes your mind offa thata.
Remember, old people repeat stories.
Remember, old people repeat stories, so if you've already read alla the below, humor me. Ha.
My favorite umpiring event. 9 and 10 year olds. Very first opportunity to hit a real pitch. One that ain't setup on a Tee.. one that ain't thrown by your Coach. Live Pitcher. Like life, ya just never know what's coming. Sports is like that. Kid gets hit on the hand. He's in pain. Bends over for a moment. Baby tears. Now upright, collected, he limps to first base. (Remember, humor me please!)
Golf course, oh the memories, the "screw you life - which - can be poopy, I'm loving being out here in Nature, no matta' how badly I play."
#1 hole at our golf course. A line of houses on the left. A huge pond on the right. Of course, I've 'done' both, many times. As far as I know, I'm the only one to EVER hit a ball COMPLETELY over the houses. I stopped. Awaited ambulance sirens. None. Party on Garth. Whew. Hey, coulda been worse. My cousin's SIL teed off, right thru a plate glass window, a thousand dolla's. That's a lotta dough.
Nubert. I love me some Nubert. Maybe the only self depricator that's better'n me at it. Claycrest. Blue Tees. Nube up. He hits a worm burner that hadn't quite made it's way to the round red women's tee marker yet.. and... it HIT the round women's tee marker. The ball was like it had a mind of it's own, IMMEDIATELY came right back at Nubert's head, he had to duck in a millisec, the remainder of us were on the ground in stiches. (Stiches is a good thing that makes you forget the shitty things in life.) Thanks Nube.
Dale. I loves me some Dale. Cameron, MO. Dale's turn. Dale hits heap big slice off tee. I remember it in slow motion. Headed right for a house WAY on toppa the hill. In it's flight, garage door opens. Lady in SUV pulls out, ball still mid-air. Ball goes into garage, ping pong bounces here, there, everywhere. Lady hits remote, closes door, golf ball still in there. She never knew it. Dale now with big eyes. Us, the other three, rolling on ground. Rolling on ground is a good thing 'cause it makes you forget the shitty things in life. Thanks Dale.
Me. A buddy, Jimmy, indicated I was a misogynist. Ha, fun. For whatever reason, life led me to coach women. I kinda fell into it, and I was lucky. Ha ha Jimmy, I enjoyed it. Some 'events' within coaching women.
One player, mostly frantically, "COACH, COACH, do you have change for a dime?" HUH? Thought, the hell would anyone need change for a dime............................. OH, sorry.................... here ya go.
Same chicky, sometime later in the season. We'd worked for almost 30 minutes on the pick and roll. That's a play much like the rub-off play in the NFL. Ya screen a teammate, then roll to the bucket for a hopefully easy basket. As I surveyed the eyeballs of the 12 or so standing around, it was a rain in Spain moment. BY GEORGE I THINK THEY'VE GOT IT! Dime lady raises hand. "Yes?" "Coach... are we talking about offense of defense?" (Again, humor me.)
Dressed to the nines. That's what people did back in the day when they went to Major League ballgames. My uncle took us three boy cousins to an A's game. We were 8, 9, 10, 11, somewhere in there in age. Game was kinda boring, he'd (uncle) already driven a long way, had a long drive ahead. "You guys ok if I go get a catnap in the car?" Me, the oldest fart (I'm usually always the oldest fart in life, I guess I can't gripe about that.) "Sure Unc, we'll be fine." TBC (that's to be continued, paragraph too damn long.)
Sno cone. Ya go to the ballpark as a a kid, ya gotta have a sno cone and or cotton candy. We got 2 sno cones and a cotton candy, retreated to our seats, right in fronta us, 3 older dudes dressed to the nines in their solid white dress shirts. Purple, grape, that was the color, flavor of my younger cousin's cone. We were short. Kids are short, so we stood. I looked over and noticed my cousin was holding his sno cone on the tip, like, the very bottom. Uh oh, I thought. And uh huh, it happened. It tipped over, literally covering, soaking, two of the three white (now purple) shirt dudes. We were off in a millisec, just sure they were chasing us. A long, long run, we did it. Never told uncle. A story we cousins talk about today, you mighta had to been there.
1985. Uh huh, that's the year the Royals won the I-70 Series. "Cheaters" I believe is how our Eastern neighbor still refers to us as thanks to Donnie Denkinger. Anyways. Grand Street. Kansas City, MO. Heap big crowd there to cheer the World Champion Kansas City Royals as they made their way on convertibles thru confetti, cheers, beers, hollerin', little kids on shoulders of parents, fun. (Sports be fun, it makes you temporarily forget the shitty things in life.).. There were so many of us.. .it was so dadgum crowded, if ya moved, you bumped into three people. I was next to a cop. On the other sidea the cop was onea my buddies. And another buddy, and then some drunk guy we didn't know. Allofasudden, drunk guy three down, unzips, and uh huh, pees. We're aghast. (Aghast is what sports do to make you forget, temporarily get away from the shitty things in life.) My buddies and I, six eyeballs, train in right on the face of the cop. Will he get his cuffs out? Will he tackle the guy? Our huge eyeballs awaited his next move. He looks left (at my buddies and the pee'er, looks right, at me, then says "Captain said 'anything short of murder, let it go.' " Holy guacamole.
Hey, I gotta go. No, not that. I mean I'm hungry, gonna go eat. I loves me some food almost as much as I love sports.
Sports been berry berry good to me. Indian Ball. Wiffle ball. Tackle football where grandma's sidewalk was the fitty yard line. Afraid to shoot jump shots in high school 'cause my underarm hair was blondish red and it didn't look like I had any. Victor did you really tell that? Uh huh. Did. I love me some sports. Coaching girls, women. One year, same chicky. She HATED to lose. I loved that. But.... but.. right after games we went into the locker room, the coaches too (both me and assistant, males) for a rundown of the game, baby speech... and gal who hated to lose forgot we were there, and she immediately takes her top off, buddy and I of course turn around the other way. Laughter, red face (her and us). Laughter comes with sports. If chicky who hated to lose did it once, I bet she did it six times that season. Hey, don't laugh at me/us, we won a lotta games too.
1985 World Series, Game 7. RIGHT BEHIND HOME PLATE (very last, upper row in the Stadium). I was there though. Wore a gorilla suit to a men's bball game at Jewell. Don't remember why, but twas fun. Hot. Forgot life's woes during. So many tickets. So many competitions. So, so much.
One more quickie. If you're like me, quickies are fun to enjoy. VICTOR. Sorry, I mean quick stories. (But, quickies too, sorry, not really.) Annually, WJC. We no likey Missouri Valley College. When the football teams would play every year, the Sigma Nu's of WJC (that's us, quite a few crazies) would travel to Mo Valley to play the Sigma Nu's of Mo Valley in a flag football game. One year, we took a school bus. Needed a driver. That would be my future wifey. She agreed to drive. Close your ears, we Sigma Nu's were drinking beer. When you drink beer, much like the guy at the Royal's parade, ya gotta pee. We, however, found ourselves on I-70 between rest areas, towns, but having to go real real bad. "Not a problem, I'll pull over" said future wifey. (TBC, paragraph too long)
Sooooooooooooooooooooo....... 20-some of us..... standing, kinda hiding behind the bus parked on the shoulder of I-70. Funny ha ha future wifey bus driver decides to be cute (she was that). She pulls off. There we were. Twenty of us. Our pride and joys exposed. We were whizzing as the wizzying cars went by. Fully exposed so to speak as bus was now fitty sixty yards down the highway.
That's all. Sports. A Godsend to me, many.
Love, Victurd
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