On the Way to Kincardine in the El Camino

I only know a few couples that would talk in a British accent for the entire evening for fun.  These couples all have the exact same things in common.  The man generally enjoys (and feels a weird satisfaction) cutting the lawn.  The woman likes to make cakes in her spare time.  They are like the human version of what a Glee Club would be if every part of the ensemble was manufactured into a human body.  It makes me happy and feel sick all at the same time.  It’s a strange sensation.

There are too many salad dressings.  I can’t be walking up and down that aisle for 7 minutes looking at new types.  Just give me the top 5 that’s required.  It always works the same way.  “Hmmm, wonder what sweet onion parmesan would taste like?”  It’s a big risk – I’ll have this bottle for a minimum of two months.  Can’t chance it.

Grocery stores do seem to have better music nowadays.  This could be a combination of a couple of things.  People my age are in charge of the stores or the more likely scenario; I’m just noticing it more now because I’m actually paying attention and not just trying to find the chip aisle at a mad pace.

There were times where I would walk by the magazine section.  Maxim would obviously be sitting there for all to look at.  Growing up in a small town you couldn’t be caught with a Maxim in your hand at age 17.  You would get that look from a neighbor.  You know the look.  “Oh, my goodness.  What’s that Smith boy up to?  He probably smokes as well.  My Bobby would never be doing this.”  Meanwhile Bobby is beer touring with Big Willy on a side road out by Molesworth.

Molesworth is a small town going towards Wingham.  You knew when you hit Molesworth that you might as well shut your brain off for 30 minutes.  All there is to do is smell cow dung and look at farm animals.  That Adam Sandler stand up CD better be entertaining; because if not – I’m stopping at KFC for a bucket of chicken on the way to Kincardine.

El Camino’s are half truck and half car.  Whoever invented this was a bold person.  You have to think that if this idea fails I’m getting fu**ing canned.

There are two stuffed animals in our apartment.  I always have them facing me while sitting on the couch.  When I’m eating something that I probably shouldn’t be I look around the room – the stuffed sheep especially has a judgmental face.  This will sometimes stop me from eating the food, but more than likely I will just turn the sheep around to face the wall.

I don’t trust adults that wear backpacks while walking out and about.  I find it odd that you have prepared for wherever you are going so much that you have a full backpack of supplies.

Supply teaching would be a tough gig.  No rapport with the students.  They have no idea who you are.  You are trying to pick up where Mrs. Henderson left off.  Tommy is going to try to figure out how to push your buttons.  Tammy is going to take her cellphone out and Snapchat somebody giving you the finger while you are writing on the chalkboard.  It’s a no-win situation in my mind.

Top 3 things that they will have to speed through during tonight’s Oscars to keep my attention.

1) Lifetime achievement award. Bringing some 90 year old dude that would probably rather be eating soda crackers on the couch with Myrtle. This is not his scene.  Just mail him the award.

2) Best short film. Yup, there will never be a time in my life that I will say to myself. Maybe I should search for these 20 minute films that were short-listed for the Oscars.

3) What they are wearing Oscars commentators. If you showed me a dress that came from Old Navy versus Jean-Francois Beaulivier’s studded dress (this is all made up… I think) with fabric that can only be found in Southern France – I couldn’t tell the difference.

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The No Hitter

Looking out the window after a long hard day of his one and only class of Children’s Literature.  Smith thought to himself there is no way that they are going to be playing ball tonight.  Looks like rain, and that’s a mighty drive to Kincardine.  Just thinking about that beautiful cold case of Budweiser in the Admiral fridge from 1955 that was in the basement was almost enough for him to say forget it.

Then a small break in the clouds became a bit larger.  Hopping in the Eighty-Eight Oldsmobile. *before we move on here I would like to state that this is a stupid name for a car.  Especially if it’s not made in 1988.  It is very confusing.* Smith didn’t know what was about to be bestowed upon him.   On the way to the game you could feel something magical in the air, and it wasn’t passing by the KFC in Wingham.

Arriving at the game you saw the usual suspects hanging around their cars having beers and smokes.  None of them were fans, these were players.  After exchanging our usual high-fives and jokes about other team-mates mothers, we decided to get to work.  Even during the warm up I could feel the lucid delivery of a sharp lefthander.  Like a young David Wells getting to work.  Our catcher came up to me after the warm up and stated the following.  “Fuck Hencey, your breaking ball is fucking sharp.”  *Hencey was a former nickname of mine.  It basically means slow because of alcohol or drug use*

During the first couple of innings of this game, everything was moving fairly normal.  Smith was chuckin’ at a smooth 58mph.  Curve ball was looping, legs were flailing, and everything was working.  The third inning came around, and Smith was losing his control a little bit.  That’s when he noticed something.  The umpire was drunk.  He was calling strikes that were 3 to 4 inches inside or outside.  That’s when a lean lefty capitalized.  Two-two was locked in.  He pounded that zone for two straight innings.  Kincardine hitters had nothing to hit, and could do absolutely zero about it.

Fifth inning rolls around.  The umpire sadly has sobered up.  Hencey had to start pitching again.  Locking back in, he started to feel a bit of an uneasiness.  The curveball wasn’t quite as sharp, and he was going deeper into counts.  This is when the perfect game was lost.  Walking a batter with two out, and then having a screamer caught by the short-stop was the way that this inning ended.  Needing to relax, Smith goes up into the stands.  He pulls out an Export “A” ultra-lite to relieve the stress.  The Legionnaires put up a four spot that inning.  They developed a big lead.  All that needed to be done was to pitch another two innings.  At this point Kincardine realized that they were being no-hit.  It was time to bear down.

Sixth inning is where the magic started.  One out walk, and then a 3-2 count against their cleanup hitter.  He steps into a full-count offering.  Drills one right at the shins, Smith contorts his body in a way that has never been seen before and manages to catch the line drive between his legs on the back hand.  Falling down he noticed that the runner is well off the bag at first base.  Attempting to pick him off while doing an army roll….. The ball goes into the first base foul area about 10 feet away from the first baseman.  But what an effort.  Smith gets out of the inning unscathed.

7th inning.  The fog had rolled in from the lake.  Smith strikes out the first two batters on greasy curveballs.  Kincardine is down to their final out.  You can barely see in the sky anymore, the fog is unbearable.  This last batter needs to be k’d or it could be trouble.  54mph fastball is popped up on the infield.  Nobody can see it.  There’s chaos, then all of a sudden the first-baseman is screaming “GOT IT, GOT IT!” The ball lands safely in his glove.  Pandemonium breaks loose on the field.  After the hand-shakes at the conclusion of the game, venturing back to the parking lot, and lighting a few smokes; everybody knew that this day was going to go down in history as the greatest day in Legionnaire history.

The catcher walks up to Smith and asks. “Hencey what the fuck are we doing now?” Smith smirks and says “Let’s have 3 cheeseburgers from mickey d’s, and fuck off back to MoDean’s.”