The throwers’ coach at our rival school looked squarely at Coach Kirby then down at the shot puts then back at Coach Kirby in disgust. “Fran, what the hell are you trying to pull here? All your shot puts are a pound light. Come on, Kirby. You can’t pull this shit.” Coach Kirby promptly picked… Continue reading The Word Of The Day Is
When I was nine, my family and I went to a rain-soaked Red Sox game in the middle of July. We sat just out from under the first base overhang down the right field line, decked out in our dorky Red Sox ponchos for over an hour until they postponed the game before the first… Continue reading Thanks, Papi.
My sophomore year of high school, I took a class called Modern European History. We started at the French Revolution and ended at the fall of the Berlin Wall. There were only eight of us dudes—sophomoric both in grade-level and weiner joke proficiency—and one salty teacher who looked like William Macy, acted like William Macy, and… Continue reading Imagine