Eh, they really don't - but they are unique and different. You're torn between enjoying the remainder of selfish time, and preparing for "their" time. For many many years, I played in a Sunday night softball league - and we piggos would perhaps get carried away.... We'd play for exactly one hour, then spend three hours in our lawn chairs talking about our one hour game. Long about 1998, there was a family vote as to whether I should continue playing in 1999 at age 47. The vote was 1 to 1, I lost.
Scrolling back to the days when I could still run like hell and talk legibly thereafter - an interesting conglomerate of dudes met at the Seminary (they had a gym) to play crosscourt basketball on Sunday evening for hours. You shot free throws to determine teams... and then it was shirts/skins - sweat, camaraderie, "glory days", and being an older fart - losing didn't hurt so much.
This particular Sunday night - I was hurting before we even started. One of my best friends (Cary) had gotten married the night before - and we stayed late at their reception to make sure the caterers hadn't run off with all the good beer the Weplers paid for. I was - wasted.
If I remember right... she left me there... I called, and she came and picked me up...
The next day, Sunday, sure - I had an incredible headache. Not much stirring that day - but at least she didn't get on me too bad for my antics/behavior from the night before.
6pm Sunday night. Ok, 20 minutes until basketball. WHEREINTHEHELL are my shoes? High and low, kid's room, stepson's room, basement, laundry basket - u name it, I looked. No sneakers. "Ahm, you might try the back yard." Ohhhhh, so she was pissed about the night before. Yes, there, about one frustrated throw away from the deck laid my tenny boppers. Tis Ok, I earned it. Off to basketball.
Shake hands with Coop, Dick, Tommy, Tom, Smitty, Lew, etc... and we shot free throws for teams. I shoot free throws like I golf, shitty (But I play great defense!). So.... I was destined to be a skin. (The first five guys making free throws get to be on the same team, and they get to be shirts.)
I rip my shirt off, they take the ball downcourt... Allofasudden the attention to the game is lost and everyone is pointing at me, laughing their ass off. WHATTHEHELL DID I DO? Nothing I could think of. "Hey Vic, run into the bathroom and look at your back."
Ok, I did. There in the mirror, in big black magic marker was "DRUNK" written in three inch letters mid back. Yes, I guess I earned it. I wish I had a picture to capture her smile that night when I walked in from basketball.
No moral to the story - I guess I'm just thankful that for so many years I didn't "let go" of the weekend - and I stretched all the living I could into it. Whatthehell kinda things you do at this age to stretch weekends?
1 comment:
This is kinda off the track but at "our" house we always had "Sunday Night Sickness." This was when you hated your job and the thought of going in on Monday morning made you nauseated. I've always envied people who had jobs they absolutely loved and couldn't wait to go in to work. Funny story Vic.
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