The toughest Monday

This is Officer Lee Groinman . . . Seattle's most cantankerous cop! Cantankerous, but cautious, because, who knows what's gonna hit ya' next? I know that the older ya' get, the quicker the anniversaries come about. February 2nd, Ground Hog's Day, March 1st, football ticket day, April 15th tax day, and every Thursday of course is garbage day.

But ya' can't pull the ol' goat over Groinman's eyes, no sir! There's somethin' amiss here! The other day, I'm rootin' thru the mail in the stack of stuff on the kitchen table, and there it was. The away game ticket application.

"DEADLINE MAY 3rd!" MERCY! That's at least a month earlier than last year! Just grinds my BEANS! Is there no MERCY? My calendar is all screwed up.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not about the money, but did you see what Michigan wants for a game in August? 49 BUCKS! And not to be outdone, OrYgun wants 50 BUCKS!! But no, it's not about the money. I can always borrow against my cop pension, or sell the paddy wagon.

Fifty Bucks?

And no Bay Area game this year. What's up with that? No moochin' off the in-laws this year. Yeah, and it's not about the money.

Fifty bucks?

Just then the phone rings. It's one of those time-share resort places, wantin' to give me this big special weekend, 75% below cost, no obligations, plus a handful of restaurant vouchers . . . AND FREE FOOD?

Since it's not about the money, I surprise my wife with a fantastic weekend in a four-star resort! Kinda' getting' her buttered up for that away game app! There was just two catches with this resort, one, this package, comes with one of those guided tours, and two . . .

It's in OrYgun.

Seems Gloria was negligent in her navigator role on the way down to OrYgun, like somehow, we missed Hwy. 97. How embarrassin' is that? "Lee, we could just stop and ask directions!" Hmmm…"Nonsense, Gloria, the map says we can hit 97, alls we have to do is take a little detour thru Bickleton."

We stopped at the "Bickleton Bar & Spittoon.

"Howdy boys!" I say, as approachin' the bar.

The barkeep was ready for us. "Well looky here folks, we got us a city-slicker feller with his girly-friend! I just bet that girly-friend has got to use the potty!"

Who was to know that the guy was a frickin' mind reader?

"Tell ‘em about the potty-surcharge Hank!" Yells someone in the back. The place erupts in drunken laughter.

Dang . . . I just hate toilet-humor.

"I'll have a Coors, Coors light," I say as I take my place on a ripped red barstool.

"Only city-slickers and sissies drink light beer around these parts mister!" Says Hank, the Grizzly bear behind the bar. "Which one is you?" A voice in the back yells "I think he's BOTH!" Again, the place erupts in uproarious laughter.

Great. Seems I'm surrounded by a bunch of comedians.

"Hey Mister Sissy! Don't look now, but it seems that cross-eyed Jack just followed your girly-friend into the ladies room! Whatcha' gonna' do about THAT?"

"Well, I did order a Coors Light, or don't ya' remember?" Now Hank is lookin' at me as if I'd just lost my mind, the place became silent, Hank grabs a mug and places it slowly under the tap, starin' at me the entire time.

"One Coors Light," Hank says, "anything for your girly-friend?"

At that point in time, the double doors to the Ladies room literally explode open! Cross-eyed Jack comes flyin' across the hall, landin' in the men's room! A pair of feet sportin' two Georgia Boots, left layin' out in the hall.

"Gloria, Hank here wants to know . . . did ya' want anything?"

"Iced-Tea please."

Did I ever tell ya' Gloria spent 7 years in the Army?

"Here Hank," I says, while puttin' a 5-spot on the bar. "That oughta' cover your surcharge."

Well, we made it down to OrYgun about 10 minutes before the 8 pm. deadline at the visitor's check-in center. Some bubble-headed bimbo is giving us the goods.

"Now all you have to do, is go thru the Fred Meyer parking lot and take a left, drive for about 10 minutes, then take a right just beyond the yellow and green port-a-potty. You can't miss it. Have fun! Remember, your adventure starts here!"

We finally find the resort, got checked in, and . . .
,br> "I'm sorry sir, the restaurant has closed for the evening, if you like, the café will open, let's see, in less that 10 hours! Or you could just go back, get on Hwy. 97 and…"


We made it back home to our ol' barn back here in Washington. Wanting to forget the weekend, Monday morning as I punched up I saw the news

"Curtis Williams passes away."

The shock, the stun gun feeling. It seems no matter how ridiculous your day or weekend can get, Monday can always get worse. I called Gloria into the computer room. Now Gloria has never been a football fan, but she, like all of us, was a C-Dub fan! She cried like a heart-broke Army mule, yeah, and she wasn't the only heart-broke mule reading that computer screen.

I flashed back to that painfully wet Stanford Stadium, the victory that tasted so much like a devastating defeat, well, it is finally over, over in all of it's devastation…

Lord Have Mercy, as Jesus weeps no more.

Gloria put on some of Elvis Presley's Gospel tunes on the CD player. As Elvis was cranking out "How Great Thou Art!" I couldn't help but wonder, no, I couldn't help but KNOW!

"C-Dub" would not trade his brand-new Heaven-tech body for that old man-made wheel chair. No sir. Not in a 1000 years!!


God bless you Curtis! You and your family!

C-DUB! #25! Your adventure has just started, and we will always remember you. ‘Til later, C-Dub! Top Stories