As expected, today’s installment reveals nothing except a potential physiological cause for Aaron’s inconsistent play: his horrible, horrible hip dysplasia.
What else to highlight? EES from some Milford rando, the usual shiny floors and Prairie Style windows, a couple other Milford randos shrinking back in fear from Raging Aaron? I’m going for Ken Brown’s nasty Gillette Fusion cut while maintaining his sideburns. Y’know, I’d kinda like to examine what Rubin’s done with Big Ken’s character over the past couple of seasons but I think that could get touchy. I think for now we can all agree that he’s been given feet of clay.
Post title came to me before anything else this morning. Rather than the more obvious invitation of comparisons between Gwen’s cover and the original, I thought of a more confrontational response.
Pitchers and catchers reporting this week, so I reckon it’s time to move this wagon train along.
Gil does what Gil perhaps should’ve done already once Brown and Granger started snooping around Aaron’s personal life. Why this couldn’t be accomplished with a phone call is beyond me. My money’s on Gil wanting to see the poor side of town as a reminder of what might happen to him if the Milford School Board ever truly gets wind of his coaching abilities.
In any case we see that McShane’s Hardware is kinda run down and Tina Aagard keeps the books there. Though we don’t learn details, Tina of course thinks Aaron did something wrong and the sparks begin to fly. Tomorrow* we’ll learn that Aaltruistic Aaron’s performance is all a function of his worry about his overworked, underemployed mom and the guilt rays will emanate from Tina’s forehead. After that she’ll be ready to come back to the mind-numbing number crunching at McShane’s.
Way to sow the seeds of domestic discord, Gil. Now, can somebody help me roll the batting cage out to the field?
*or the next day, or the next day, or the next day…
As Ned would say, “It’s Madison Time!”
Have you ever seen a basketball court where the free throw lane is three times as wide as the tipoff circle? No, that can’t be the three-point line since the lines for the lane are coming straight down from it with no top of the key in between. The basket doesn’t exactly line up, either. Follow that up with the weirdly foreshortened right arm of the Madison hooper and Aaron Aagard’s exploding forelock and the visuals are a bit much to take today.
Why am I expounding on this minutiae? Because it will come as no surprise on Monday when Quadruple A (channeling his inner El Hechizado in P3), missing his mommy, bricks the easy inside shot and sends Milford falling from the ranks of the undefeated. After that, we’ll spend the rest of next week trying to find out What’s Eating Aaron Aagard.
If you thought you’d wake up this morning to get the lowdown on Molly, your hopes have been dashed. Here are three panels of Aaron Aagard-centric basketball action. Bobby Mitchell gets involved from long range, but you’ll have to use your imagination to picture his three point form. (If it helps, Bobby was part of Milford’s impressively sized front court. Fill in all the other blanks for yourselves.)
That’s about all we’ve got folks. In studying this strip for inspiration, it occurred to me that I have never witnessed a single minute of actual, live high school basketball. I know you faithful readers and commenters have all kinds of deep prep sports knowledge from personal experience on the court and in fandom. Many of you may even live in regions where high school hoops puts asses in the seats. That never seemed to be the case in Florida, where I grew up and still live. I couldn’t even tell you if the teams fielded while I was in high school were any good or what kind of records they posted. Occasionally, someone would mention our state championship team from the early 70s featuring future NBA all-star Otis Birdsong. A decade or so later, Jack Deedrick was still coaching Blue Devils on the hardwood, but I only remember him shouting directions to us out in the Drivers’ Ed practice lot. “Wheel it, WHEEL IT!” He does have a new (newer, anyway than the stinky, humid barn I remember from boring assemblies and pep rallies) gym named after him.
Aaron Aagard went to Kill The Noise where he hooked up with Molly (whatever that means) and grooved away Saturday night, producing this eye popping panel of freaky kids all enraptured with Kill The Noise. What is to the extreme left of the panel in the foreground? A face? Some other body part attached to a strand of hair? Señor Wences?
And then on Monday…we’re right back where we were last week! Mike and Ken are still building their case, dithering away about what to do. Wait, was that Gil? Was he coaching? Do you think he might get a clue about Aaron’s deficits in attention and energy? It’s still January, so we should probably wash, rinse, repeat a few more time before we expect significant action from Gil.
Taken out of context, today’s strip would present the unacquainted reader with a nonsensical succession of words. Even with context, today’s strip is a little jumpy. Are we on the verge of an antic, manic madcap jaunt through the world of underage raving as only Gil Thorp can capture it?
Because that would suggest in-game coaching and that ain’t Gil’s bag…
Panel one: Good thing there isn’t a coach or anybody in that other seat next to AAAA. Nope, just put the low energy guy next the shaggy haired teen doing his best impression of the personification of ennui.
Panel two: I admit that I had to check whether Julius Funchess is a Key and Peele reference. The character design certainly is suggestive of Keegan-Michael Key.
Panel three: I also admit that I don’t have a joke for this one. Enjoy your day in the sun, Mike Granger!