It's Over, Johnny
It all started on Tuesday afternoon when my wife called to ask if I had any ideas about dinner. It's a daily conversation that is usually easily handled because I normally have an idea. On Tuesday, I was a little tied-up with work and I was annoyed with the question. "We didn't take anything out," I said. "I'm clean out of ideas."
My wife has learned to gauge my moods - I'm usually either happy or extremely agitated - she took it as agitated and said - "We'll think of something," and she got the hell out of the conversation.
Now, I'm not kidding here - about two miles later, I was driving down the street and the traffic in front of me kept swerving out of the way of three boxes sitting dead center in the road. Believing that I'm a good guy, I pulled over and stepped out of the car with the full intention of pulling the boxes to the side of the road. A middle-aged black man met me at the boxes. "What the hell is it?" I asked.
"It looks like boxes of meat," he answered.
I turned one of the boxes over, and sure enough, they were cases of unopened Shalen's hot dogs. "Want to split the take?" the man asked me, as though we'd just rolled a store. I grabbed one of the boxes - "You get two," I said.
Three minutes later I called Kathy - "We'll have hot dogs for dinner," I said as I told her the story.
Fast forward to a few hours later. I ate three dogs with all the trimmings and some homemade fries. I plopped down on the couch and put on Family Guy. I was feeling a bit bloated and sitting in front of the tube wasn't going to help. So, I gathered the dogs and headed outside. "I need to move around," kept popping into my mind. I retrieved the basketball out of the garage and started shooting. Yet going after my own rebounds is about as much fun as walking around the block - so I decided to call the boys.
The boys and I have various sayings that we all know. For instance, if someone falls down, I'll most likely do my Howard Cossell imitation and say - Down goes Frazier! The boys don't know who Joe Frazier was, but they laugh. They also don't know the old Rambo saying, It's over, Johnny, but they've heard me say it.
I played them three-on-one - which was always fun, but was usually a pretty easy run for me. They're getting better. Matt is a great shot; Jake hits the open jumper; and Sam runs around like his hair is on fire.
Late in the game I was up by one, and breathing like Cannon used to in those old detective shows. I had the ball, and all the smack talk working. "I just want to say that you all played well," I said. "But this shot is going to end the game."
Matt was all over me. Sam was yipping at my ankles, and Jake was waiting to grab the rebound of my missed shot. It's over, Johnny, I yelled. "See you in the house."
I let the ball fly from about 18 feet out. As soon as it left my hand, I knew that it was good. I had stepped up. I had taken it to another level. I had given 110%. I was in the house seconds after it settled into the net. Of course, Kathy spotted me straining to breath on the steps. "Oh, lovely," she said.
Fast forward again to last night. I couldn't put my foot on the floor because of the pain in my right Achilles tendon. I was watching Family Guy, feeling bloated, with an ice pack on my heel.
Jake walked in and took in everything about the scene, and dead-panned - It's Over, Johnny!
Perfect!
My wife has learned to gauge my moods - I'm usually either happy or extremely agitated - she took it as agitated and said - "We'll think of something," and she got the hell out of the conversation.
Now, I'm not kidding here - about two miles later, I was driving down the street and the traffic in front of me kept swerving out of the way of three boxes sitting dead center in the road. Believing that I'm a good guy, I pulled over and stepped out of the car with the full intention of pulling the boxes to the side of the road. A middle-aged black man met me at the boxes. "What the hell is it?" I asked.
"It looks like boxes of meat," he answered.
I turned one of the boxes over, and sure enough, they were cases of unopened Shalen's hot dogs. "Want to split the take?" the man asked me, as though we'd just rolled a store. I grabbed one of the boxes - "You get two," I said.
Three minutes later I called Kathy - "We'll have hot dogs for dinner," I said as I told her the story.
Fast forward to a few hours later. I ate three dogs with all the trimmings and some homemade fries. I plopped down on the couch and put on Family Guy. I was feeling a bit bloated and sitting in front of the tube wasn't going to help. So, I gathered the dogs and headed outside. "I need to move around," kept popping into my mind. I retrieved the basketball out of the garage and started shooting. Yet going after my own rebounds is about as much fun as walking around the block - so I decided to call the boys.
The boys and I have various sayings that we all know. For instance, if someone falls down, I'll most likely do my Howard Cossell imitation and say - Down goes Frazier! The boys don't know who Joe Frazier was, but they laugh. They also don't know the old Rambo saying, It's over, Johnny, but they've heard me say it.
I played them three-on-one - which was always fun, but was usually a pretty easy run for me. They're getting better. Matt is a great shot; Jake hits the open jumper; and Sam runs around like his hair is on fire.
Late in the game I was up by one, and breathing like Cannon used to in those old detective shows. I had the ball, and all the smack talk working. "I just want to say that you all played well," I said. "But this shot is going to end the game."
Matt was all over me. Sam was yipping at my ankles, and Jake was waiting to grab the rebound of my missed shot. It's over, Johnny, I yelled. "See you in the house."
I let the ball fly from about 18 feet out. As soon as it left my hand, I knew that it was good. I had stepped up. I had taken it to another level. I had given 110%. I was in the house seconds after it settled into the net. Of course, Kathy spotted me straining to breath on the steps. "Oh, lovely," she said.
Fast forward again to last night. I couldn't put my foot on the floor because of the pain in my right Achilles tendon. I was watching Family Guy, feeling bloated, with an ice pack on my heel.
Jake walked in and took in everything about the scene, and dead-panned - It's Over, Johnny!
Perfect!
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