Washington and Lincoln Stand as One for Fired Coach

Usually we live in two separate camps:
The Washington Cherry Hatchets vs. The Lincoln Split Rails,

but not in these days of great trouble...

No more "Our Guy's #1 and Your Guy's 16!" Incredibly, Washington recently put aside the rancor and joined in common cause with Lincoln. They proclaimed, "Today both our guys are #1." Wow! This new sun arose just the other day, right in the bleakest part of the night, as the day first dawned, at the moment nature itself is at its darkest...

Both teams awoke to the same terrible news: "LINCOLN'S BASKETBALL COACH FIRED!" Who took his team to 17-5 last year, including a hard fought victory over those Washington bastards. It was the talk of the town. Gatorade flowed freely in public troughs.

But now everything changed, when, inexplicably, the new Athletic Director at Lincoln, Witt DeMann, instead of a relatively cheap testosterone injection, along with a shadowy cabal of gutless underling principals, including the head principal taking an underling role because his son was grievously overlooked for a letter man's jacket and the ceremonial kiss of the prettiest girl in town -- who is actually homeschooled and thereby assumed to be without the normal diseases -- sacked Coach Mikelson. The whole thing gets complicated, but that's the basic story. They fired him, for no actual stated reason, and said, "Case closed. Move along. Nothing here to see. There's no story."

Until an influential newspaper man, showing the power of the full court press, rallied parents, townspeople, the students of Washington, Lincoln, and this one pretty homeschooler, against the idiotic cabal and their flubber-chinned henchmen on the school board. Not exactly empty suits, if you catch my drift. But were you the head man of a tribe of cannibals, and having them for Thanksgiving, you might want to double check the overall ratio of fat to lean. And if you were from a brain-sucking tribe, lest you end up on the menu yourself, in revenge, you'd want at least to tap into the cranial cavity of one and extrapolate from there. Planning makes perfect.

Anyway, the newspaperman caught the Lincoln AD at his self-congratulatory best, lounging in leisure, who issued chiseled-in-granite comments like, "Under no circumstances whatsoever -- come hell, high water, or Washington victories the next one hundred seasons will I ever accept Lew Mikelson back as our coach." He further put off the newspaper man with a repeated, "There's no story here. Go on, little man, peddle your papers elsewhere!"

It was at this point the Washington team joined forces with their bitterest rival, Lincoln -- and their proud parents, especially those whose children are on the honor roll. The others, who can't be bothered with whether their sons excel -- I'm trying not to diss my own parents too much -- sat out the fray.

Well, it happened that the school board was going to meet that very afternoon. And they were sure surprised when the students, the parents, and a half dozen extras with pitchforks and torches, came into the room. Each stood and in a dignified way offered their considered support for Coach Mikelson. They shook hands congenially with board members. But nothing seemed to sway the board till -- What's this?! -- Till the door opened again, and there stood one scowling woman in a miniskirt, nice-looking, with her homeschooled daughter, yes, the same one. Mom marched with confidence and determination to the blackboard, and said, "I'd like to address this meeting of the---" We'll just cut to the chase...

It turned out she knew all the dirt on each of these dirtbags. Including Bobby Taylor, sitting there, who'd seven times asked her for a date! Mrs. Taylor's mouth dropped open, smelling of ice. The students, each with hidden romantic entanglements of their own, sensed a distinct shift, the tide turning. The school board, the feckless principals, and even AD DeMann, were jiggling their chins and huffing such retorts as, "Well, I never!" and "Be silent, curséd hag!" before immediately voting (without a second) on the motion that they rehire Coach Mikelson, give him double pay for the past week and his inconvenience, and censure their previous handiwork with malice aforethought and the strongest prejudice.

The students erupted in cheers. This meant now, of course, unless they physically catch Mikelson with the entire cheerleading squad and the homeschooled girl, and the homeschooling mother agrees, they can never, not ever, fire him again. He has them -- and especially AD DeMann -- firmly by the nuts today, tomorrow, and henceforth forever. "Squirm, you worm, DeMann! Now, let's talk about that raise." And, "It's been 10 minutes, DeMann, I feel another serious ass-kissing coming on."

The newspaper recounted the joyous event, the historic day when Washington, Lincoln, and the homeschool mother all came together and socked it to the whole bunch of 'em. But they were generous enough to leave out of it the scofflaws' names. An appearance of graciousness that probably has more to do with future access than anything else. "We were just channeling public sentiment, not burning our own bridges, harumph..."

As for the Washington and Lincoln students, it's back to Total All-Out War! No one owes anyone anything! Come Fall, you filthy bastards, it's back on! "Your boat's going down, Washington!" and "Lincoln, how'd you like that play?"

Shooting Fish In A Barrel -- I Fire Trade!

You haven't seen much of me here in the last couple days. It's been a tough stretch. But I'm starting to catch my breath, after being confronted so harshly by Trade Smith, up till now the only remaining member of my blog's Board of Editors on the 2nd tier.

It was no doubt a mistake to put two siblings together on the 2nd tier, since when one decided to be treacherous (Mark) it would be only a matter of time before his brother joined him in perfidy. The fact is that the very same "insult," as Trade took it to be was also directed at Dale, my remaining male board member, and Dale didn't seem to mind. But of course Dale is a funnier guy, not that serious, so maybe he didn't give it as much thought as Trade. Trade obviously stewed over it, his resentment built, the whole thing festered over, then he reached his boiling point and it erupted.

The insult, such as it was, and I actually didn't mean it in an insulting way, was in this paragraph from my post on "Jimmy's 18th Birthday at the Library."

I and the Board were well-dressed too, neither standing out as being over- or under-dressed. I was happy with my own choices. I had a full array of clothes to choose from, having done the laundry the previous day. Dale and Trade weren't wearing anything particularly memorable. But Delilah looked very sweet in a light blue, checkered dress, much like you might see in the cafe of a comfortable Alpine chalet.

I thought it'd be nice to take a few minutes and tell what all the principals in the whole drama were wearing. I went over Jimmy's attire, his mom's, his dad's, the library directors, mine, Dale and Trade's, and Delilah's. But the fact that I meticulously listed everyone's clothing, then said, "Dale and Trade weren't wearing anything particularly memorable," rubbed Trade the wrong way. Plus, if I could just add a bit of conjecture, I wouldn't doubt it if his brother Mark had egged him on in private. Like a devil whispering in his ear.

Anyway, he confronted me in the garage, where we work on the blog, and threw the now-infamous line in my face a dozen times in the course of his tirade. As he ranted on, I noticed he was wearing a seasonal long sleeve shirt, blue, button-down, attractive and neatly pressed black slacks, nicely polished dress shoes, and a Happy Wanderer type of green felt hat with a red feather, clearly an allusion to my description of Delilah's dress as something from an Alpine chalet.

"Couldn't remember it, huh!?" he charged, getting himself worked up royally, his felt hat going askew. "Nothing memorable about my clothes, huh!?" He complained that he'd put in his best efforts for the blog, helping to guide the direction of it, etc., and that it shouldn't be too much for him to get equal attention with Delilah or even me in the descriptions of our work together. I probably shouldn't have mocked him, but I couldn't help myself, flapping my hand up and down like someone talking who won't stop.

He started backing me up with his raving. Then I thought of the old truism about bullies: You have to stand up to a bully! I walked back toward him, throwing out some mean bluster of my own, coming to the conclusion that to have mentioned what he was wearing, even had I remembered, would be, 1) A waste of bandwidth, which I will not do under any circumstances; and, 2) To give him more than his due, because, I said, quite frankly I could care less had he been wearing a wooden barrel with two straps!

It was like I'd stabbed him. Apparently he looked up to me more than I thought. My opinion meant something to him, even with everything that had gone down with Mark. But instead of backing up, I doubled down, saying how great it'd be to put him in a barrel with a school of fish, and for me to have a gun and to try shooting them, with him doing his best to dodge the bullets! Which wouldn't be that hard. It's not like he'd be blindfolded!

He suddenly got all calm, knowing it was over, and smarted off at me, anticipating the charge of him wanting to have sex with Delilah that I'd thrown in Frank and Mark's face, saying sarcastically, "I suppose you'll say I'm imagining having sex with Delilah on your kitchen table, with all the trimmings." I felt a slow boil rising up from my core. I glared at him, my face feeling flushed, the heat now rising and descending between my neck and the top of my head, and shouted something like, "You have condemned yourself with your own words!" I dashed to the garage wall and yanked off the garden shears, saying, "You want the trimmings!? If there's any trimming to be done!..." I left the rest of the threat implied. As he hurried out the door, I shouted, "You are fired!"

The Board of Editors has obviously taken a massive hit. What started off so good has turned very sour. Now with Trade, the two 2nd tier is wiped out. That means we either skip having a 2nd tier all together, or the 3rd tier might become the 2nd. But I hate giving wholesale promotions, so I think we'll just leave it blank. It might make more logical sense to just say we have two tiers, the 1st and 3rd, like the Traveling Wilburys did with their albums.

I haven't told Dale and Delilah any of this yet, although maybe the Smith boys have filled them in. I'm just hoping they're not automatically against me when we meet again, especially Delilah.