(Not Quite) Fifty Shades of Bops

 This is my cousin, Bops.

It's hard to tell from the above photo, but Bops turns fifty next week. For the occasion, her swell husband, Mike, saw fit to throw a surprise birthday party last night, and he invited all of Bops's friends and relatives. Bops had gone shopping in Atlanta with her oldest child, Rebecca, and when she got home, she was floored to see her house hopping with activity!

And even though Bops was exhausted from a day at Lenox, the party got her adrenaline going, and she partied down into the night.

Here are Harley and Tootie.

They showed her how fun it is to get down with your bad self. 

This is the cluster of party goers hiding out in the garage before Bops arrived. 

The bar was in the garage, so many folks decided to hang out there for much of the evening. 

However, others thought it was mighty pleasant in the warmth of the fire place.

Last night was just one night of fun with Bops, but over the 46 years that I've known her, I can think of many memories I've shared with her. I don't know if I can come up with fifty (that would be an awful lot to write down here), but I bet I can come close. So in honor of her big 5-0, here are some fun Bops facts:

• Bops's birthday is January 4, 1963. 
• Bops grew up in Hawkinsville, GA and graduated from Hawkinsville High School. 
• Bops was a majorette for the Hawkinsville High School Marching machine. 
• But I get ahead of myself. Long before she was in high school, Bops was a precocious, blonde little girl. She was more outgoing than I could have ever imagined myself to be. Whereas I was scared to death to talk to adults, Bops had no problem doing so. It always amazed me how she was not shy about anything.
  
  
  This is Bops (left) at my birthday party.
  I must have been about 3.
  She's trying to get me to smile for the camera.
  I'm clueless.
  P.S. That's Hatcher Way on the far left.
  • Many years on Christmas Eve, all the Lawson relatives used to gather at our grandparents' house on McCormick Avenue. Bobbie and Roger put their Christmas tree in their front living room, and one year, when I was about four or so (which would have made Bops about eight), she declared that she and I would don our black leotards and some other garments of Christmas costuming that she devised. Then we would perform a Christmas dance for the family. I was game, but we never practiced a dance, so when it was show time, Bops wrapped a long skirt around my waist and said, "Just follow my lead." I tried to, but the skirt was so long that while Bops was amazing the crowd with her arabeques and pas de beurres,  I was tripping over my skirt and tumbling to the floor. It was abundantly entertaining for all the adults.
  • Bops and her brother, Tootie, taught me, Sabra, and Harley how to play kick the can, which we played on countless summer nights until dark thirty.
  • Bops grew up at 6 Clark Drive in a house her parents built in Pine Level Estates. We walked to each other's houses frequently by cutting through Harris Hardin's pasture and then through Dennis Vickers's yard. It never occurred to anyone to ask the Vickerses whether they minded us using their lawn as a thoroughfare.
  • I still remember Bops's phone number from those days.
  • When Bops was little, she had some mighty bucked teeth. She could have chewed her way through a locked door if she needed to. But then she got braces, and her teeth looked beautiful. Then, shortly after those braces came off, she dove into D. T. Clark's pool into the shallow end, and she hit her mouth of the bottom, chipping those newly straightened front teeth. That had to have hurt like a $(@@%#*!.
  • We spent many a weekend out at the farm, and Bops's dad, Stewart once tied the side of a washing machine to a rope and then tied the other end of the rope to his car. He would pull that piece of sheet metal through the cow pastures and two of us would take turns sitting on it and riding. On one turn, Bops rode with Harley. As they laughed and bumped along, cow pies flew left and right, but one popped up and hit Harley in the face. He tossed it aside and kept riding, but I remember the grimace on Bops's face as she called, "Eww! That was fresh!"
  • When I was in the first grade, which would have put Bops in about the fifth grade, Hawkinsville experienced an active tornado season. One twister ripped right through the farm and upturned many oak and pecan trees. So one afternoon, Bops came over to play, and she decided that we should have tornado drills. She instructed us to find various places to hide (Bops was always good at instructing us to do things), and then when she yelled "Tornado!" we were to run to that hiding place. We practiced all afternoon. I never said anything, but each time she yelled, "Tornado!" I got a little more frightened that a natural disaster might actually hit, so by the time he had our fourth or fifth drill, I was scared out of my mind. I'm sure she thought it was very exciting.
  • One occasion seared into Bops's memory (literally) was the time she went with her family to the officers' club to eat dinner. I think our grandparents accompanied Bops's family on that outing. Bops was seated at one end of the table, and Tootie was seated at the other. Bops was enjoying her meal, minding her own business, while Tootie stayed at his end of the table heating a spoon over the centerpiece candle. Then, without a word, Tootie got up from his seat, walked to the other end of the table, and touched that hot spoon on Bops's arm. As Bops tells the story, "Mama yelled at me for screaming." She still has a mark on her arm as a souvenir of that dinner.
  • When I was in second grade or so, which would have put Bops in the fifth grade or so, the popular item everyone got for Christmas was a go-kart. That was in the early 1970's, so Harris Hardin had not yet built his house on the pasture behind our house, and we would ride those go-karts all over that pasture. Usually at least three go-karts were going at one time because Bops and Tootie had one, the Ways had one, and we had one. That pasture was the perfect place to ride those go-karts, and the only snag was that some man I never met named Mr. Smith kept calling our parents and telling them we were riding our go-karts through his yard, which we never did (and couldn't have because the pasture was enclosed by a wire fence). Mom believed us when we told her we were not offending the Smith yard, but we never understood why Mr. Smith repeatedly and falsely ratted us out. Years later, after Bops became a nurse, she worked with a medical technician who identified himself as the son of that Mr. Smith. He explained that he wanted a go-kart also, and he would watch us ride every day and beg his dad to buy him one. So Mr. Smith would call our parents and complain to them, hoping our parents would take the go-karts away so that his son would not nag him. Mr. Smith died years ago, but to this day I hold him in contempt.
  • When I was in the third grade (so Bops was in the 7th grade), our families took a road trip together to Washington DC. Our parents hired Laurie Stembridge, who was about seventeen at the time, to come with us to help with the kids. I thought Laurie was a movie star. Laurie, Bops, Sabra, and I shared a hotel room. That was one experience with Bops during which I was not scared out of my mind, but I do remember that Harley came down with the mumps.
  • When I was ten and Bops was fourteen, I accompanied her on a trip to Highlands, NC to visit Aunt Harriet. Tootie, of course, went along. Tootie and I were at odds the entire trip, and our conflicts drove Bops up a tree. I think she was glad to see me hop out of the car when her parents took me home.
  • Around that same time, I rode with our grandparents, Bobbie and Roger, to Ailey to visit our aunt and uncle, Nancy and Tom. Bops went as well. It must have been a summer day because Roger drove with the windows down. All the while he enjoyed some freshly picked scuppernongs. He would suck the juice and goodness out of each one before spitting the gooey seedy part out the window. Unfortunately, Bops was seated behind him, and whenever he spat out the scuppernong goo, it would fly in through Bops's window and hit her in the face. I remember her begging  Roger to stop. I don't remember whether he did.
  • When I was eleven (which would have made Bops about fifteen), I went swimming with Bops, Tootie, Sabra, and Harley at Scott Smith's house, which was right down the street from Bops and Tootie's house. While Bops, Sabra and I played Marco Polo, Tootie and Harley found the plastic skimmer cover and began to sling it over the pool like a Frisbee. I popped up out of the water to yell "Marco!" just as Tootie sent that cover sailing toward the deep end, and it hit me right between the eyes. I can still hear Bops's scream. I don't know who ran to tell Bops and Tootie's mom, but she had to take me to the emergency room, and I got five stitches right between my eyebrows. Bops said, "They gave you a shot right inside your cut!" She thought it was grossly cool. I was scared out of my mind. 
  • When Bops was sixteen (almost seventeen) and I was thirteen, we were hanging out at her house when her friend John Porter came over. Bops and John thought it would be a real hoot if Bops dressed me up, curled my hair, and put makeup on me and then invited over some guy named Wayne Bennett and told him I was sixteen. So John waited downstairs while Bops transformed me into a cool teenager. John called Wayne, who came right over, and for some reason, John and Bops decided that the mature thing to do would be to drive over to the river so we could all walk across the abandoned railroad trestle. I don't remember everything about that afternoon, but I remember crawling along the tracks, looking down on the Ocmulgee River, scared out of my mind. I was so afraid that I was going to lose my balance and fall to my death. How Bops and John crossed that trestle with no fear is beyond me.
  • 
  • When Bops graduated from high school, she went to the University of Georgia, where she pledged Zeta Tau Alpha and had a swell time. But then she met Mike Henry and started dating him, and when they got married, Bops returned to Hawkinsville and finished her nursing program at Middle Georgia College (I think).
    
  • But before Bops married Mike, she dated him, of course, and one day my dad asked Bops to drive me, Sabra, and Harley to Macon. He let her drive us in his Pontiac T6000, a little red hatch back we usually called the Farm Car. Bops was not that experienced with stick shifts, but she did fine until we got to Macon. Mike was playing softball somewhere up there, and she wanted to drive by and say hello. But on the way to field, she found herself driving up a pretty steep hill, at the top of which was a stop sign. Well, you can just guess what happened next. I think traffic was backed up all the way to I-75 before she got that car going. I think she was thrilled to give that car back to Dad.
  • Bops and Mike eventually moved in to the little house next to our grandparents' house. To this day we call it Auntma's house, even though Auntma died in about 1976.
     
  • When I was in college, I worked summers at the Pulaski Banking Company, so I would see Bops and Mike a lot. The first summer I worked there, Bops and I took another trip to Washington, DC, where we visited Rena and Johnny, who were living there at the time. Johnny would drop us off at the Metro station, and Bops and I would traipse around the nation's capital all day long until Johnny picked us back up at the end of the day. Eventually, Tootie joined us, as well as John McCune. Tootie brought his girlfriend, Amy, along, but he must have gotten tired of her company by that trip. I remember one night we all went out to dinner and a movie, and then we all came home and went to bed. Tootie and John waited until Amy fell asleep. Then they got dressed again and went out clubbing. Amy found out about it the next day. I think she went home then too.

  
  Well, that was twenty-three facts about Bops. Maybe Mike and Tootie can add twenty-two more. In fact, there's a comment link at the bottom of this post. If you have a different memory about Bops, feel free to post it here. Or post it on her Facebook page so all her friends can see it (but be sure to share it with me).
  
  Meanwhile, happy birthday, Bops!

Rams on Ice and Some Big Fat Hogs

Weekends at the Remler household are always full of something, and this weekend is an excellent example. It started Friday morning as Lawson and the rest of the eighth grade at St. Peter the Apostle School took a field trip. We started the morning at McDonald's for a healthy breakfast of McGriddles, McMuffins, and McFlurries. Nothing like a tummy full of calories and trans fats to fortify us for a morning on the ice.

Don't these boys look like they're ready to attempt some Salchows?

Then off we went to the Savannah Civic Center, where two dozen adolescents strapped blades to their feet and skidded across a frozen arena floor--some more gracefully than others.

Lawson blends in nicely in his camouflage jacket. 

I have to hand it to Adam King, who, within minutes of arrival, had already learned to skate backwards. Riley Sheppard picked up some new tricks, thanks to the help of the volunteer coaches. She, Bridget, and Elizabeth seemed to catch on pretty quickly to those spins.

It was a fun and active day for the eighth grade, and fortunately, no one got hurt, thanks, I'm sure to our three volunteer coaches, who made sure everyone skated safely. 

And many thanks go to Mrs. Newton, who arranged the field trip, as well as to Holly Price, class mom extraordinaire, who organized the volunteer chaperons:  Mrs. Sheppard, Mrs. Thompson, and Mrs. O'Connor. 

 

They're a great group of kids.

But then the day got even better, because Davis came home! This time for a whole month. He stepped off the airplane in his dress blues, but he didn't give me chance to take a photo (I'll get one later). Lawson tried to make up for it, but it's not quite the same thing. 

 

Smashing!

Davis wasn't home twenty-four hours before he started making plans to go duck hunting. He and his cousin Ben got up with the chickens Sunday morning and set off in the Triton to flush those duckies out of the marsh. They got a couple of ducks, but they weren't expecting to flush out three wild hogs also. Unfortunately, Ben ran out of ammo when the big hog charged. Fortunately, Davis had plenty in his shotgun, so he nailed that porker in the head, along with his two buddies.

They're in the back yard flaying those pigs right now. My gross-out meter is in the red, so I remain in front of the computer until they present me with some bacon.

I just hope that pig doesn't break the branch of my little oak tree.

Keeping the Home Fires Burning--In a Different Way

Devoted Remlerville fans likely remember Thanksgiving posts of years gone by, in which I've highlighted detailed accounts of our Friday night wienie roasts and subsequent infernos. I believe the most famous Lawson fire took place last year as the blaze consumed tires, plastic chairs, car batteries, barrels, and a fiberglass boat.

This year's pyromania took a much more subtle approach. The wienie roast took place in the back yard in town, and not much got burned other than logs, hot dogs, and marshmallows. Still, Thanksgiving wouldn't be Thanksgiving without setting something unusual on fire. This year, it was snack foods.

Sometime over the last summer, someone in my family (I think it was my mom) emailed me one of those forwarded messages that listed lots of innovative things you can do with regular household items. You know the things I'm talking about:  cleaning windows with coffee maker filters, using binder clips to help you stack soda cans in the fridge, placing a wooden spoon across the top of a pot to keep it from boiling over (still haven't tried that one).

Well, one of the handy tips on this list was the following:  "If you're ever camping and you run out of kindling, you can always start your fire with Doritos."

Now, I've always been a fan of those mouthfuls of nacho cheese goodness. In fact, I've taught my children that Doritos are God's little triangular way of letting us know that he loves us and wants us to be happy. So if my favorite sandwich side dish could take the place of lighter fluid, I wanted to know about it.

Then Stephen said, "I've read that when arsonists want to get fires going quickly, they start them in the chip aisle because the chip bags have gas in them to keep the chips from getting crushed." In retrospect, I should have been a little suspicious of that rumor, having never known of a grocery store to burn to the ground. But Stephen's claim had me curious about chip bags as well. So prior to the excursion to Hawkinsville, I made a trip to the Sandfly Piggly Wiggly and purchased two bags of chips (one regular and one sour cream and onion) and one bag of Lay's brand Doritos. The experiment was on.

First of all, it was hard to keep Lawson out of the Doritos. That little apple didn't even fall off the tree. But because I had purchased the family size bag, we had enough Doritos for the experiment and for Lawson to load up on carbs and sodium prior to the tremendous Thanksgiving turkey dinner.

Our initial experiment was with the potato chip bags. We put the bag of regular chips on top of a log and waited for it to explode. The experiment was underwhelming as the bag simply caught fire and burned up in a few seconds.

So then we fashioned a foil enclosure for the sour cream and onion bag of chips, our hypothesis being that if the bag didn't catch fire, it would eventually expand and explode. Watch what happens...



You can see Lawson in the background munching on Doritos and then snatching them away from Sabra when she tries to rescue them for our next experiment. Didn't Sabra do a good job with that folding? The bag did actually make a popping sound, but we didn't catch it on camera, which is odd, considering we did catch all the conversation surrounding the fire, as well as Lawson's crunching. When Dave Cannon unwrapped the foil, he found no potato chip bag, only chips. And we all appreciate his volunteering to sample them two or three times before confirming that they did indeed taste like plastic. So much for experiment number 1.

Experiment number 2 was a little slower going because Doritos are not as easy to light as one might think. One cannot use a simple Bic lighter because one might singe one's thumbs. If we had one of those Aim 'n Flame lighters, that would have been perfect, but, finding no such lighter on the premises, we opted for matches that worked much better.
So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Doritos do burn. Not only that, but the heat makes the trans fats ooze out of the chips and form a black oily puddle while a strange, gray smoke--nothing resembling wood smoke at all--curls from the chippy embers. At least for this holiday season, I am grossed out by the nacho cheese chip. So the next time you're in the mood for snack foods, I would recommend pretzels or popcorn, but not the crunch fire starters by Frito Lay.

As for the rest of the holiday, we had an exciting time:

• We're all glad Betsy's okay. Lesson learned: run swiftly and carry a big stick. 
• We're thankful for a large family and the delicious meal BB cooked and served to us.
• We never tire of playing corn hole and horse shoes.
• We were especially thankful to have Davis home with us for the long weekend, and we congratulate him on his hunting prowess.
• When the kids get cranky, just put them on the roof.

 

The Earputation

Go to your kitchen cabinet or pantry and pull out a Solo (or store brand plastic) cup. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Now, hold the cup's lip against the wall and slide it along the sheet rock. Then tap the lip against the wall a few times before you rub it on the wall again.

That sound is what I listened to for a couple of hours this afternoon after I brought Clorox home from the vet wearing a plastic party hat around his neck. Some animals refer to it as the Cone of Shame. Clorox had to wear it because today he had his ears removed.

The procedure was not a surprise; in fact we've been expecting it for several years now, ever since our friend and veterinarian Johnny Bembry gave us a subtle hint. He said, "Clorox is going to get skin cancer on his ears, and you're going to have to have them removed."

So we kept our eyes on his ears for five or six years, all the while thinking that as Clorox advanced in age the skin cancer might not be an issue. After all, Clorox seems to have lived more than nine lives with hardly a scar to show for it.

We got Clorox from the Humane Society of Savannah in 1998 when he was only two years old. Someone had tried to call him Jerome. He was so relieved when we rescued him so he could go by a decent name.

Clorox was patient with four year-old Davis and gentle with Lawson when he eventually joined the family.

As gentle as he was with our children, he always considered himself the great white hunter. Many days we'd see Clorox creeping through the marsh grass, his tail swishing as he stalked the lone marsh bunny. It always amazed us that as white as he was he thought he blended in with the surroundings.

As he got older, though, we watched the fur disappear from his ears. Then the tips curled back, the first sign of skin damage. A couple of years later, we noticed the scabs, and we thought, Uh-oh. Here's the skin cancer. But then the scabs would drop off, and the ear would heal, leaving us to think that the lesions were the result of a midnight fight.

Still confident in Clorox's health, Stephen set out to train him to take his dirty clothes to the laundry room. Clorox never carried anything heavier than a tee shirt, and he never got it farther than the kitchen, but I really think the trouble was Stephen's instructional strategy, not Clorox's ability to tote clothes. Come to think of it, if anybody threw a dirty red tee shirt on my head, I wouldn't be too keen to play along either.

Clorox was even patient when we decided to try America's short-lived favorite pastime, cat breading:

His ears were too big, though, so the slice of break always broke open. 

Last summer, Clorox came upstairs looking kind of puny, and I noticed he couldn't even hop up on the toilet bowl for a refreshing drink. After helping him, I put him on the rug in my room, where he lay still all afternoon. This is it, we thought. He's sixteen years old, and it's finally his time. 

But then after a couple of days he was all better. Turns out he just had the flu.

And then the scabs on his ears stopped falling off. Instead, the scabbing spread across the hood of his ear until it got so crusty that Clorox would get annoyed with it and scratch it off, leaving a raw patch until the scab cycle started over. But the lesions never gave him any pain. In fact, it might have helped camouflage him during his hunting expeditions:

 But eventually, the lesions couldn't be ignored. Johnny's prediction was right. Clorox's ear was not only pretty hard to look at, but it smelled also. We took Clorox to our local vet, Karen Kane, who diagnosed him with squamous cell carcinoma (see the red circle). She also noted that his cancer-free ear was damaged enough that cancer was imminent (see the blue circle).

So she did the surgery and kept him overnight, and I think she showed him a little preferential treatment because even though he had a semiprivate room, he was the only one in it. He also got to eat the extra special wet cat food. But he couldn't avoid the cone of shame. 

Clorox has a tendency to rub his head on every corner he walks by, and Karen didn't want him rupturing his sutures. So for a couple of hours, we listened to the sound of a plastic cub bumping against the walls, the stairs, and the floors. Then during dinner, we noticed the house had gone quiet.

"Where's Clorox?" I asked.

He has to be around here somewhere, "Stephen replied. "

"But I don't hear anything," I persisted.

Lawson got up to inspect. He found the cone of shame sitting on the bottom step, abandoned. Lawson found Clorox upstairs asleep atop Davis's clothes. He was much more comfortable without all that plastic around his neck.

So we'll just have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't pop his stitches. But I can tell we're already getting on his nerves. Maybe I should stop following him around with my camera. But I can't help it. He just looks so weird earless.

But maybe now we can fit a slice of bread on his head.

Wheaties? Ice Cream? Something Gave the Dawgs a Second Wind

If Lucy Van Pelt had ever left that football on the ground and let Charlie Brown kick it, his first attempt at the feat probably would have looked like this:

When I saw Marshall Morgan kick that ball, I laughed so hard I fell out of my chair. Even in this replay video, you can hear me chuckling. I still giggle every time I watch it. Instead of a number on Morgan's jersey, Coach Richt should have put a black zig-zag line.

That one kick represents Georgia's performance during their comedy routine of a first half. At times I wondered whether Richt gathered the team in the locker room and said, "Let's spend the first half making Ole Miss think we really suck."

If that was the Dawgs' goal, it worked.

But I'm glad I didn't turn off the TV because with just seconds left in the first half, the Bulldogs finally showed up for the game, and with Tavarres King's beautiful completed touchdown pass, Georgia finally came out of the doghouse.

Four years ago, when I first started watching Georgia football games with interest, Tavarres King was in his first year playing in Sanford Stadium. Early in the season, Joe Cox threw him a touchdown pass, and King later told the press that he was keeping his glove as a souvenir. That was when I started calling him Keepsake King. But if King wants a keepsake of his Georgia years, he should hold on to yesterday's glove--bronze it even.

Then the Dawgs returned to the locker room for a pep talk. I can't help wondering what Mark Richt had to say to them. Did he give them the Pa Ingalls treatment and cry as he told them he loved them?

Or maybe he gave them some of this:

Maybe he fed them some Wheaties.

Or Maybe he sicked Shawn Williams on them. His pep talks have done more good than anything this year.

He doesn't look like someone I'd want yelling at me. 

Whatever happened during half time, I hope it keeps up. If the Dawgs go to the SEC championship, they can't go looking like they did in their first half. And Marshall Morgan needs to get the Charlie Brown out of his head.

The second half was a completely different game with two more touchdowns, a touch back and a safety. This season, Aaron Murray has been promising the team Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream for each win. The Olegtrees, both Xander and Alec, earned a banana split each for their roles. So did Malcom Mitchell and Tavarres King. Downtown Marlon Brown scored the game's second touchdown of the day, but if I were Murray, I'd only give him a double dip of Chunky Monkey. Brown didn't exactly hustle down that field. In fact, he looked like he was jogging, which made me change his nickname to Slow Down Marlon Brown.

A score of 37-10 is great, but it's much more satsifying if the fans have something to cheer about all through the first half.

Two other great games to watch last night were Notre Dame versus Pitt and LSU versus Alabama. The first game was a treat to watch, as the Irish and the Panthers went into triple overtime. I've never seen that in a football game. It sure keeps the crowd in the stands. Two good friends, Beth Howells and Nylce Prada Myers are Notre Dame alums, so out of friendship to them, I always hope the Irish win. Notre Dame has had some pretty tough years recently, so it's been a treat to see them victorious this season. So when Stephen told me Notre Dame's loss would be Georgia's game, I tried to cheer for Pitt. I really did. But I couldn't help silently rooting for Notre Dame. I know more about that university, and I want my friends' team to succeed. Besides, their helmets were so shiny and gold.

After that game, I was ready for a football break. I can only take so much in one day, and I also had some papers to grade. I didn't accomplish much because the TV in the next room kept distracting me. When I joined Stephen on the couch, LSU and Alabama were at each other's throats in the fourth quarter. Alabama had put a hurting on LSU all evening, but when I sat down, the Tigers were making a comeback.

Stephen was cheering for Alabama. He wants the Crimson Tide to remain number one because if Georgia goes to the SEC championship, he wants the Dawgs to play a number one team. But I cannot bring myself to cheer for Alabama. If Alabama played football against the devil, even then, I'd have a hard time yelling, "Roll Tide." However, I don't like LSU either. Ever since I went to the Georgia-LSU game two years ago and saw Les Miles send sick players onto the field only to vomit on the football, he sank past the bottom of my people-to-like list. But my friend Jack is an LSU alum, and so for his sake, I cheered for LSU.

Unfortunately, I was unable to stay awake until the clock ran out. At 11:30 I called it a night, but Stephen watched until the bitter end. When he came to bed, he reported the bad news (or good news for him) Alabama finally pulled off a victory over LSU, 21-17.

St. Peter's: The End of a Season

The SPA varsity football season began in August with a Football-rama and ended Thursday night with a playoff game. Our team was small--only fourteen boys--but full of spirit, and the Rams ended the year with only two regular season losses.

The last regular game took place October 25th with the St. Peter's Rams facing the St. James Chargers. St. James had St. Peter's outnumbered and outsized, but our boys played hard, and we were proud of them.

So even though the Rams didn't win that game, they were successful enough to make it to the playoffs this past Thursday. Once again, they found themselves up against the big blue wall. 

This time the contest took place on St. James's field, and our boys in navy fought hard and made us proud. Drew Tison (#5) scored a touchdown for the Rams, and Mills Thompson (#44) showed the crowd how he can hustle when he picked up what he thought was a fumble and raced toward the goal line. Too bad that was just an incomplete pass. But still, my hat's off to him. Way to go, Mills!

As hard as our Rams played, they just couldn't match the size of the St. James team. Not only do the Chargers have a few behemoths on their offensive line, but they also have three times as many players as the Rams do. 

 

Look past our Rams players at the light blue team against the fence.That's just some of St. James's backup. We have three boys on the sideline at any given time, and that's if nobody's injured. Most of our team plays both offense and defense. That shows the stamina our Rams have, as well as their teamwork. 

 

I think our boys won as many games as they did because they learned early on how to work as a team. When Ian Heap injured his foot, removing him from the offensive line for several games, Lawson Remler toed the line, even though he had trained to play defense. When Adam King injured his thumb during the homecoming game, Drew Tison stepped in as quarterback. Consistently, Adam relied on a number of offensive linemen--Garrett Ducey, Drew Tison, Matt Lowenthal, Joseph Dodd, Zach Strickland, Aiden Anderson--to carry the ball to the end zone. Center Ryan Ducey found himself in the middle of all the action as he hiked the ball and then had to block the opponent's players, no matter their size. Mills Thompson too. One of our largest players, Mills put himself in harm's way every single play, as his job was to hold the opponent back while his teammates advanced the ball. As for the defensive line, I lost count of how many pass interceptions Lawson had. When Blessed Sacrament's Bigfoot-looking offense pushed its way toward the goal line, Kado Dang threw himself against players twice his size, showing no fear and bringing them down like drunken giants. One of the most joyous plays came at the end of a game against Bethesda when Cameron Parish, a fullback, found himself in an unusual position. Adam handed the ball off to him, pointed toward the end zone, and said, "Run that way." Cameron did--right between the goal posts. 

 

They were a good team, and many of them are excited about advancing to high school ball next year. In the post-game huddle, Coach King asked each boy, "Are you going to play high school ball?" Every boy answered yes. And then the coach asked Lawson, who replied, "No. I'm going to play lacrosse." 

 

That's my boy.

 

So I have watched Lawson's last official football game. For the last time, I've put a football helmet in the dishwasher. I'll no longer have to try to fold a pair of football pants. And those magic gloves? 

Now they're rank as crab trap bait. I think we'll retire them as well. We'll still have basketball, and next year I'm sure I'll be cleaning a lacrosse helmet in my Whirlpool. But Lawson's said goodbye to football. For someone who joined the team just so that it would have enough players, I think he's done an exceptional job. Just like the rest of the Rams.

   

Aesop Revisited

The way I see it, Georgia's victory yesterday resulted from a domino effect of oddness, starting three weeks ago in Columbia, South Carolina. That's when aliens descended on the Bulldogs' camp and sucked the players' football knowledge right out of their brains. It was a freak accident that could happen to, well, nobody but Georgia. That night, the Gamecocks pecked and pecked until the Bulldogs went home with their tails between their legs.

As it turned out the Florida Gators sat down sometime that Sunday afternoon with a big bowl of popcorn and mugs of hot chocolate and watched that dismal match in South Carolina's Swamp. By halftime, they'd drawn their conclusion: They had to turn off the idiot box and get back on the field to prepare for the game against the Gamecocks.

So they did. And last weekend we saw the Gators eat fried chicken for dinner. Then they returned to Gainsville and hung up their cleats because their next game in Jacksonville, they determined, would be tantamount to a match against Savannah High School. So it seems to me that yesterday's contest in Alltel Stadium was a modern day sports example of the hare and the tortoise.

Several factors fed the Gators' overconfident attitude. First, Georgia has looked a little tortoisey lately. Not only did the Dawgs fail to show up for the Carolina game, but their performance against Kentucky, although a victory, was underwhelming. All last week, any mention of football led to the same question:  "How do you think Georgia's going to play this weekend?" Predictions weren't promising. Usually such conversations went like this:

"I don't think Georgia's going to win Saturday."

"Me, either. I mean, I want them to win, but I don't think they will."

"Nope. I think Mark Richt should be fired."

We were still licking our wounds from the chicken coop.

Also feeding the Gator's inflated ego was the Bulldog nation's dissatisfaction with Georgia's head coach. Any time the Dawgs lose against a major SEC contender, most people wearing red start grumbling, "Fire Mark Richt." I don't think that man's resume ever gets cold. And after South Carolina, the grumbles had some merit to them. Contrasted against other SEC coaches, Mark Richt is a real teddy bear.  In fact some sports analysts have described Richt as the Pa Ingalls of college football coaches (see "Show Us Some Nellie, 2009).  

And then there was the whole first half. True, Georgia remained ahead, but not by much. Throughout the game, fans stayed in their seats waiting for Florida to score and take the game away from Georgia.

And then there was the fumble.

I've never been so happy to see a fumble in all my life (In fact, that inspires me to write a post about college football's most significant fumbles). As soon as Georgia jumped on that ball in the end zone, Stephen yelled, "There's the bean bag! Georgia's got the ball!" My first reaction was "Bean bags in football? What for?"

Then Georgia ran to a first down, and that was game. After CBS showed us about two dozen replays of that fumble (Thank you, CBS), the camera shifted to the Florida sideline, where Florida's #11, Jordan Reed, rested his helmet on a trainer's shoulder. The trainer had his arm around Reed's neck and was muttering through the ear hole of Reed's helmet. That's when I exclaimed, "Is he weeping? He is! He's weeping!"

And it wasn't just a few angry tears. Reed turned on the water works. I know that because Reed made the awful mistake of taking off his helmet.Then CBS steadied the camera on him so the whole world could see Reed's pout and puffy eyes (Thank you again, CBS).

Now, I always thought this went without saying, but obviously not:  College football players should not weep over a bad play--especially not on national television. Punctuating the inappropriateness of those tears is the fact that Florida's players earned some unsportsmanlike conduct penalties for pushing their opponents around on the field. I've always thought Florida showed bad sportsmanship. I've seen their players (again on national television) blatantly poke their fingers in Bulldogs' eyes out in the wide open where everyone could see them doing it (at least players of other teams are more covert about trying to blind each other). I know such behavior happens all the time on the gridiron. And I know Georgia's guys had some unsportsmanlike penalties as well. But if a player's going to behave that way on the field, then when he makes a major mistake like Reed did, he needs to suck it up and at the very least save the tears for the locker room.

So on Florida's side the tears flowed. On Georgia's side, the beers flowed. Mark Richt can file away that resume for another week, and the Bulldogs can prepare for their bout next Saturday against Georgia Southern.  Note to Murray:  Don't make the same "hare-y" mistakes Florida did.

Three Cheers for the Blue and Gold--and a Lot of Other People

Last night was St. Peter the Apostle School's homecoming, and even though the Rams didn't quite bust through that big blue wall that was St. James's defensive line, the evening was a big success in many other ways.

The celebration started with a pep rally immediately before the JV football game. All the cheerleaders and the pep squad demonstrated their award winning jumps and stunts before the eighth graders put on a show for the students, faculty, and parents by dancing Gangnam Style with Mills Thompson dressed as the popular South Korean performer PSY. Aren't they a hoot?

Look at Lawson and Adam busting a move on that field. 

 

Following that thrilling performance (Michael Jackson couldn't have done any better), the cheerleaders and football players had a cheering contest. That event brought back memories. The boys cheered, "Firecracker! Firecracker! Boom, boom, boom!" That was the first cheer I ever learned. I think I was six at the time. Elizabeth Way and I used to stand in her front yard all the time and yell that cheer. And I hadn't heard it since until yesterday afternoon. 

  The boys have got the muscles....

 

They modified the words a little bit and said that the girls have hairy legs, but otherwise they did a really good job. Mills served as the judge, so it only made sense that the football players would win the contest.

 

It was a good thing they won that because the game didn't fare so well. But everybody knew St. James would be a tough contender. Their players are just so darned big! But the Rams didn't let the game get their homecoming down. 

 

Between the JV game and the varsity game, the eighth graders and their parents were recognized on the field. Holly Price and LeAnn Sells did a splendid job of making sure that event came together. 

 

 

So many thanks go to them for that. And speaking of words of appreciation, some recognition should go to other folks who make the St. Peter's football season so memorable and enjoyable:

 

Many people don't pay much attention to who's announcing the game, but the Rams have their own Larry Munson in the press box at O'Brien Field. And it only takes one game at another school's field to recognize what a difference our game announcer makes. Not only does he offer play-by-play commentary at our games, but he also entertains us with groovy music that makes us dance in our seats, even when the Rams are down a few points. So the next time we meet at Coach's Corner, let's all raise a glass to Clint Fonseca, who volunteers his time and electronic equipment every week for the sake of our entertainment.  

While we're at it, let's all raise a glass to Susan Daly also. Always at St. Peter's sporting events, this Rams mom is constantly ready to offer her medical expertise when a player suffers an injury. Unfortunately, she's had to walk on that field a few too many times this season, and we're all glad the results turned out okay. But many thanks to Susan as well. 

 

Our cheerleaders didn't win their awards without the help and support of several St. Peter's parents. Holly Price, LeAnn Sells, Erin Thompson, and Lucy Fonseca have given so many hours of their time toward the Rams' cheering squad that our girls should make up a cheer just for these women. So here's to all of the goddesses of the goal line! At season's end, we'll crack open a cold one for you. 

I was lucky to get this photo of Erin Thompson. She just doesn't stand still!

 

Speaking of Thompsons, our team would be lost without the hard work of Carmen Thompson, keeper of the stats, communicator for the coaches, and guard of the game officials' parking spaces. Carmen fulfills an often thankless job for the school, so here's my online expression of gratitude:

Thank you, Carmen!

The mom who's da bomb!

And then, of course, our coaches deserve a word of thanks for their daily work with thirteen adolescent boys who often prefer to play the game their own way but sometimes realize that when they do what their coaches tell them they have some stunning plays (like that beautiful completed pass from Adam King  to Drew Tison last night). Our team wouldn't be where they are today (at the playoffs) without Lawton Tison, George Miller, Barry Dodd, Tommy Harrison, and Scott King waxing poetic from the sidelines: "Way to be there, baby!" "Don't let him get behind you!" "Keep your eye on the ball!" "Block him! Block him!"

And whenever there's a mishap, such as Adam King's jammed thumb (rendering it not so opposable), William Autry is there with a jug of water, a roll of tape, and words of encouragement.

What's so commendable about all this effort is that several of these parents don't even have kids going to St. Peter's anymore. They dedicate their time and energy because they love the school and they love these students. So St. James may have taken home the victory last night. Other schools might have more money or fancier uniforms or larger student bodies, but St. Peter the Apostle is rich in community and volunteer service. So to all you parents and St. Peter's alums who give so much to the school, you might not think we notice your efforts, but we do.