But what an effort, by our DAWGS!
Yeah, sure, Michigan's got the "Big" House, and, I'll tell ya', Husky Stadium would hold 98,500 if we put in "Big" House seating . . . seatin' for 9-inch butts. But hey, these are corn-fed, Midwest, Michigan butts, kinda' makes for a cozy atmosphere. How they do pack ‘em in at Michigan! Why, you shoulda' seen our section. Every time our row cheered, the guys on the ends got catapulted out into the aisle. Oh sure, it was great entertainment for a quarter or so, besides these guys on the ends were these geeky lookin' dudes. But enough was enough.
Along about half time, these two drunks show up in our row, one wore a "Cadillac Bar" baseball hat, the other was decked out in an "A-J's Tire and Bowling" tee shirt. Coulda' been a scene straight from Martin Stadium I suppose . . . Well it seems these fella's were serious about sitting down.
"Now if everybody will just scoot down a couple of seats?"
"Hey you guys on the ends, you don't mind sitting in the aisles, do you?"
It turns out the drunks were in the right, but right doesn't make up for late, not in Michigan. I got to thinkin' that right didn't stand for a whole lot . . . especially in a place they call "The Big House." Being a cop, I know my way around a penitentiary and this place would rank right up there with the other crossbar motel's I've stayed in.
So the drunks got all hacked-off and left, never to be seen again, probably ended up in Windsor, Ontario. But that's another story.
Groinman, here, tries not to put much credence into omens and the like. Sometimes ya' just can't help it. This trip got off on the wrong foot, and never recovered. Our tickets for the game in the "Big" house were in row twelve, a haunting number. Desk Sarge Deano had row 12, seat 12. We arrived in row 12, 12 minutes before kick-off.
Our gang is huddled down at Sea-Tac airport, we're already late, but are finally boardin'. Still no side kick, no Deputy Mikey. Somebody got the wise idea to actually call his cell phone! "Hey Mikey! I bet you'll wish you were here!" Mikey seems disinterested, "Yeah, I just got a few more reports, then I'll run by the house real quick and meet you guys at Baldy's."
That'd be real nice Mikey, ‘cept that our flight leaves in the AM, not PM. AM, when it's light out side, AM on your radio dial!
The noise just before the click on the other end of the phone was damn near deafening.
What with the delays and the transfers and what we began to call the "excuse" of the day, we ended up at our dump motel in just a little over 18 hours. Not to mention the 3-hour time change. Pullin' into the motel, I couldn't help but notice the reader board:
"Welcome Deputy Mikey and the Rome Georgia Sluggers Women's Softball team."
Ain't that a peach?
Sittin' on the bench outside the lobby door, was the owner of the biggest arse-bitin' smile in Detroit. It was Deputy Mikey, lickin' a cream sickle!
The bugger caught a later flight, damn near direct, at no extra charge. The smuck.
Before the game, we took in that big buffet deal, the one the Alumni Association over charges ya' for, ya' know, the Warm-Up. It was on a golf course. And what a spread it was! I was about to go stand in some line, when this familiar lookin' face wearin' a business shirt and slacks comes up and introduces himself.
"Hi gentlemen! I'm Congressman Norm Dicks, and how are you guys today?"
"Just fine Mr. Dicks! But we prefer that our Congressmen wear purple to a Husky game, if you know what I mean?"
We exchanged a few pleasantries and then he politely excused himself and left.
The good Congressman returned 10 minutes later in a purple Husky polo shirt! "Is this OK? It cost me 60 BUCKS!"
"That's fine Mr. Congressman, we can talk now . . . "
The Congressman went on to tell us stories from his playin' days as a Dawg, he has a load of stories, all interesting. Of course he was there to see his son Dan play, I think he went home, as we all did . . . with mixed emotions.
Walkin' out of that stadium, hurt like hell, in more ways than one. I cramped up. From my "wallet" region, all the way down to my Achilles heel, the hamstring, the whole bit. The only reason I tell you this, is in the hope that it may bring pleasure to some of you, to know my pain.
Dehydration is not all it's cracked up to be.
I did find myself feelin' a certain kinship, with Greg Carothers . . .
Now there is nothin' to say about this game that hasn't already been said, argued and dissected twelve different ways - Just let it go…it happened.
The gut wrenchin', deflatin', and down right miserable way to lose a game can be outright gut wrenchin' and deflatin', not even to mention miserable.
The mood on the way back to our dump motel was dark. Somebody brought an ol' "Z Z Top" cd. The tune that stood out was the bluesy "Mexican Blackbird." Desk Sarge Deano was at the wheel of the rented Chevy Astro van. Deano looked grim, this is not good. Depression settled into the van like a mornin' fog, trouble was probably not far behind.
We pulled into the motel "Le Dumpe's" parkin' lot, right next to the shallow pool and against the cyclone fence. Inside that cyclone fence was the entire Slugger's Women's Softball team - remember, the one from Rome Georgia? Including their catcher Beth, their 290-pound enforcer.
Now Beth seemed to be standin' guard over three ice chests full of longneck Bud's. It seems that the motel Le Dumpe didn't care about glass in the pool yard, and why should they? They burn Detroit down every Halloween.
"You guys win your game? And what's the matter with your Leg? Cramps? Come on in! The water's great!"
"And Beth gives good rub."
Seems Beth had a dual role as team trainer…
Well, when surrounded by Roman's, I've now seen some men do as the Roman's . . . especially Roman's with ice chests!
Groinman's tip of the week: Never walk across a Michigan golf course, wearin' a purple Husky shirt, with the cramps.
And don't worry about this football team, Husky fans. We'll be more than fine.
Groinman gets big timed in the Big House
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