judge roybeanbag
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Your daily dose of Ernest....
For Whom the Pot Bangs
by Ernesto Heminghorn
In Collie Station during the late summer of that year the sparse rains fell as usual and washed the leaves of the dust and dripped from the leaves onto the ground. The big pickups with gun racks and saw'em off stickers drove through the rainy streets and took the people to school, then later brought them back, their tires spraying the puddles into the air. The field was wet.
Many milliseconds RC stood for a long time and watched the rain and the pickup trucks and drank his double-tall dixie-chicken mocha. With the mocha in his belly he felt powerful.
Wally who lived down the block and who was drunk from drinking salty dogs came to him and told him that the season was upon them but the potbangers were back. The potbangers and two-percenters who were always there even when you were in your office late at night making fun of elephant walk or humping a secretary and you thought you were safe but they were there and although it was dark and the nights were hot the aggie goons were there and they always came at you if you walked on the sacred grass, even if you were the coach. They had no respect like in the old days when he was young.
When Wally told him this he asked how many. "The Zone and the Commons and the Dixie Chicken are swarming with corps turds and potbangers and two-percenters" Wally said. "They are infinite."
"Why do you ask me? You know I cannot do anything anymore since I lost my offense."
"Once you were great" Wally said. "No one was greater," he said again. "Not even Jackie."
"Jackie? What of Jackie? Let Jackie take care of the potbangers then."
Wally shrugged. "Jackie is finished. He was fingered by a female tutor at school. Or maybe he fingered a female tutor at school, who knows, but all he does now is sit in his office in a tier three SEC school and no more will he play you in crappy bowls with bad weather."
"Bullcrap!"
"It is true, my friend." Wally shrugged again.
Later he went to his office and sat in the dark for a long time. Then he sent e-mail to Dino the Great OC.
Dino came to RC while he was sipping another mocha. They sat silently for awhile, then he asked Dino, "I need you to eliminate some potbangers for me."
Dino looked down. "I can't do that anymore," he said.
"This is different. These potbangers are powerful. There are an infinity of potbangers."
"I'm finished with that," Dino said again. "I just want to live slowly, run the ball, and punt on third down."
"Have you heard Jackie is finished? He was fingered. Now he can will not be bowl eligible."
"No Bullcrap?" Dino said.
"It is true," he said sorrowfully.
Dino stood up. "Then I will do it, my friend," he said slowly. "I will do it for Jackie, who was once great against the potbangers. I will do it for the time we filled the Fedex Truck with thick brown envelopes and the recruits poured in. I will do it for all the wings we ate together and the whooping we did."
Together they walked slowly back, knowing it would be good. As they walked the rain dripped softly from the leaves, and the pickup trucks with the gun racks and saw'em off stickers carried the potbangers back from the school lots.
And it was still late summer in Collie Station.
For Whom the Pot Bangs
by Ernesto Heminghorn
In Collie Station during the late summer of that year the sparse rains fell as usual and washed the leaves of the dust and dripped from the leaves onto the ground. The big pickups with gun racks and saw'em off stickers drove through the rainy streets and took the people to school, then later brought them back, their tires spraying the puddles into the air. The field was wet.
Many milliseconds RC stood for a long time and watched the rain and the pickup trucks and drank his double-tall dixie-chicken mocha. With the mocha in his belly he felt powerful.
Wally who lived down the block and who was drunk from drinking salty dogs came to him and told him that the season was upon them but the potbangers were back. The potbangers and two-percenters who were always there even when you were in your office late at night making fun of elephant walk or humping a secretary and you thought you were safe but they were there and although it was dark and the nights were hot the aggie goons were there and they always came at you if you walked on the sacred grass, even if you were the coach. They had no respect like in the old days when he was young.
When Wally told him this he asked how many. "The Zone and the Commons and the Dixie Chicken are swarming with corps turds and potbangers and two-percenters" Wally said. "They are infinite."
"Why do you ask me? You know I cannot do anything anymore since I lost my offense."
"Once you were great" Wally said. "No one was greater," he said again. "Not even Jackie."
"Jackie? What of Jackie? Let Jackie take care of the potbangers then."
Wally shrugged. "Jackie is finished. He was fingered by a female tutor at school. Or maybe he fingered a female tutor at school, who knows, but all he does now is sit in his office in a tier three SEC school and no more will he play you in crappy bowls with bad weather."
"Bullcrap!"
"It is true, my friend." Wally shrugged again.
Later he went to his office and sat in the dark for a long time. Then he sent e-mail to Dino the Great OC.
Dino came to RC while he was sipping another mocha. They sat silently for awhile, then he asked Dino, "I need you to eliminate some potbangers for me."
Dino looked down. "I can't do that anymore," he said.
"This is different. These potbangers are powerful. There are an infinity of potbangers."
"I'm finished with that," Dino said again. "I just want to live slowly, run the ball, and punt on third down."
"Have you heard Jackie is finished? He was fingered. Now he can will not be bowl eligible."
"No Bullcrap?" Dino said.
"It is true," he said sorrowfully.
Dino stood up. "Then I will do it, my friend," he said slowly. "I will do it for Jackie, who was once great against the potbangers. I will do it for the time we filled the Fedex Truck with thick brown envelopes and the recruits poured in. I will do it for all the wings we ate together and the whooping we did."
Together they walked slowly back, knowing it would be good. As they walked the rain dripped softly from the leaves, and the pickup trucks with the gun racks and saw'em off stickers carried the potbangers back from the school lots.
And it was still late summer in Collie Station.
