Bombers are Bombing
I am sitting on the top row of the bleachers, watching the high school football game. 2:33 left in the 1st quarter... we, the mighty and proud Bombers of Argenta-Oreana, are beating the lowly Maroons of Clinton 21-0.
The lovely Mrs. Honnold and I love the city of Clinton. awesome eats. cool shopping. great history.
but, their football team sucks.
sitting here on the top row of the bleachers, I've come up with some questions that I'd like to ask:
to the football players:
you don't feel masculine in those tight white pants, do you?
to the coach:
why are you so intense? smile... you're winning 21-0.
to the band:
there's only 25 of you.... how do you sound so good?
to the guy wearing the floral tank top:
that thing would not be stylish in Hawaii. what made you think it would be stylish here?
to the public address announcer:
did you forget your "exciting voice" at home?
to the officials:
betcha wish they'd let you wear shorts, huh?
to the Clinton coach:
betcha want to go back to last Spring and not schedule this game, huh?
to the cheerleaders:
does it give you any sense of pride in yourself to be wearing such a short skirt?
to Mr. Blair, who has "recess duty" supervising all the kids playing on the practice field:
you know there are 100's of them, right? you know they could overtake you and tie you to the goalpost, right?
to the kid running back and forth with the big Argenta-Oreana flag:
didn't your momma teach you not to run with pointy things?
to the waterboy:
you are DA MAN ! did you know that?
to parents of teenagers:
do you know where your kid is and what they are doing?
to parents of teenage daughters:
why did you let her buy and wear that?
to the official wearing the white hat:
did you notice that you're odd man out.... everyone else wore black hats?
to the white kid trying to look all "gangsta":
REALLY??
by the way, the score is 56-0 now.
out for now......
Matt
