Remember When Concussions Were A Big Deal In Milford?

Here’s the exposition strip we’ve all come to know and love.  To say Gil isn’t up for this is an understatement, as evidenced by his half-hearted attempt to slit his own throat.

Alright, let’s get down to it.  Nobody’s heard of these two jabronis before because they were soccer players.  As we know in the Thorpiverse, playing soccer gets you nowhere and gives you ideas that you can do other things.  Then again, maybe that’s the concussions talking.  Maybe Heather Burns took one too many balls to the head and that made her think she could be a trainer a tight end The Quarterback Whisperer.  I seem to recall a whole story arc revolving around concussions and their impact.  Oh yeah, that was a football arc.  Since we’re talking soccer here it’s only worth one panel.

The Real Wilson Casey was a star tennis player. This could easily have been a summer tennis arc but that would have warped our fragile little minds.

There have been many Tony Pauls.  I’d like to think this one is a shout-out to the industrial designer, but more than likely it’s to the Detroit News sportswriter, given the Michigancentricity of Rubin’s world.

John Jawor wears the same middle-aged white guy face that Del Bader, Wildcat Maris, Father of True Standish, and countless other middle-aged white guys in Milford have worn.  Wouldn’t it have been more interesting if Whigham had drawn him to look more like the real John Jawor?

On that note, here’s an interview with The Real John Jawor.  Maybe it’ll be more interesting than this August plot. One thing’s for sure: The Real John Jawor would’ve told those kids to keep their elbows straight by now.

 

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Yo Quiero Taco Bell And A Baseball Scholarship, Coach Colvin

Gang, First off, let me get this crow-eating part of me out of the way. That was not, as I might have suspected, Coach Tod Andrews that Gil was genuflecting to on the telephone. I should have known that Berrill’s version of Coach Andrews wouldn’t translate mathematically into Raul Julia at the tanning salon. Hey, you have a hard day at the office and you’re trying to please rabid fans and alumni plus perhaps an athletic director who might pull the trigger at the next 3 23-38 seasons, and ya gotta go somewhere. They’d never think to look under a heat lamp sleeping on a Serta mattress (“Charlie Brown, who’s that funny-looking gentleman with the shades? They never allow adults on the strip. Schultz and Pig Pen are turning over in their graves.”).

Oooooooooookkkkkkkkk, time to get back on my soapbox. And I have one question. Weren’t Coach Colvin and The Chihuahua at the same family reunion? I’d laugh my ass off if Moose showed up at the Taco Bell drive-thru ordering Triple-Layer Nacho Supreme, Mexican Pizza, hold the mushrooms, with tartar sauce, Nacho Cheese Doritos Ranch Style Locos Tacos Supreme, Beefy 5-Layer Burrito, Colby Jack substituted for American, side order of Arthur Treacher Fish ‘n Chips (in one of those little styrofoam containers you can barely take a urine test in, let alone cram mac and cheese or green beans with a slice of bacon the size of Scotch tape), wait behind 5 cars, daydreaming about hitting the game-winning home run in the bottom of the 9th inning, a grand slam no less thanks to all those videos about launch angles (hosted by Mel Allen when he’s moonlighting from This Week in Baseball) for good ol’ State U. against their hated rival, University State, the line is finally moving after 25 minutes, Moose is ready with the correct change, right down to the wooden nickel (“They never say anything”), only to find out that Coach Colvin is opening up the window. “Coach, do you have any mild sauce?” “Nope, all we have is extra-hot.”

Looking at my bat a 3rd time

Waiting for the Coach to call my name

Cuz I’m tired of doing all my homework

I just want a chance to play the game

I know Coach Thorp has warned me strongly

But I just got to dump this town for fame

DON’T GO BACK TO MILFORD

DON’T GO BACK TO MILFORD

DON’T GO BACK TO MILFORD

And waste another year

And let’s get the obvious out of the way. Thorpiverse has wasted our time with the obvious in P2. What did Gil think we were anticipating? Man, Kaz, if he lays on the beach on the Redneck Riviera (Alabama, for you non-rednecks), and takes pointers on how to pick up women from all the sailors who hail from all over the world, he oughta be able to pick up his bat speed by the time Fall Ball rolls around. I talked with Coach Colvin and he said that learning hand-eye coordination is like making a chimichanga. It just takes the right ingredients, i.e., eyes, hands, beans, sour cream, Hillerich & Bradsby bat, fresh ground beef, 80% fat-free with no hormones, 12″ tortilla. Yup, working the drive thru has taught Coach Colvin a lot about making Chimichanga Nuclear Cheese Buster that he’s carried out to the ball diamond when doing batting drills and knowing the count when you’re up at the plate. I think Kevin will do fine.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Daffy Duck Promoted to Editor!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Pulitzer Prize-Winning Story on Papa Bader Making “The Catch” At The DOC World Series Turned Many Heads. Warden Considering Early Release”

All you Brady Bunch groupies, remember when Don Drysdale came by the Brady manor because Mr. Brady (what’s his REAL name, Mendenhall Theophilus Randolph Brady III ?) was good friends with Don and the latter fattened Greg Brady’s head by saying that he could pitch in the World Series one day? I think Don fattened Moose’s head along the way. At least, I’m bettin’ that’s the gist of the conversation in P3. Sure Moose, you could start this weekend for the Yankees. Mickey Mantle is taking a personal day and they’re gonna be short-handed. Might as well start somewhere. If you can handle those assholes, Marty Moon and Ernie the P., surely you can handle the crowd at Yankee Stadium. No place like it.

Well, we all saw what happened to Greg.

It’s not as though I really need you

If you were here, I’d only leave you

But everybody else in town only wants to bring you down,

That’s not how it oughta be

Well, I know it might sound strange but I bel-

Gil, shouting in Moose’s ear “MOOSE, FOR THE 3RD TIME, YOU’RE ON DECK!!!!!!!”

“And Moose belts one over the Green Monster and the Yankees lead the Red Sox, 7-3. There’s a pitching change. Moose is obviously gotten to the pitcher, not to mention the Red Sox fans. We’ll be right back after these messages.”

 

At the Milford Wal-Mart Supercenter, Gil and family are about to check out.

“Mimi, I think we got ‘er done. We have everything for the Annual Baseball & Softball Picnic. 10 bags of Great Value Barbecue Chips? Check. 8 2-liter bottles of Fanta  Lime/Pomegranate? Check. Off! Bug Spray? Check. Oscar Meyer Reduced Fat Low Sodium Carb Free Kosher Prepared Light Garlic Thick-Sliced Bologna? Check. Is there anything else we forgot?

Mimi spots the family bathroom out of the corner of her eye. The diaper station was a dead giveaway.-

“Gil, let’s go to the family bathroom. Kids, you take the groceries to the station wagon. We’ll be right out.”

“Mimi, it’s been 30 years since we’ve changed anybody’s diaper. If you got to take a potty break, go now or forever hold your pants.”

“Gil, I need to talk to you about all the VanCamp’s Pork ‘n’ Beans you bought. Our check might bounce.”

“Mimi, we have Check-Bouncing Protection at Milford National Bank.”

“Yes, but they need our Social Security Number and you can’t say it out here. What if Marty’s around the corner, writes it down, then runs up a tab at Milford Lounge?”

Gil, trapped on that one, not wanting to see Marty stealing his SSN in the name of Gerst Beer, relents.

They enter the bathroom. She locks the door.

“Mimi, we don’t need to lock the door over Pork ‘n Beans.”

Mimi drops her pants. A perfect place for a quickie. And Gil is trapped.

He forgot to take his pill this morning because the Moen faucet sprung a leak and Milford Plumbing Inc. was on assignment over the weekend down in the sewer lines.

Gil had nothing to wash it down.

“Mimi, Is that helium balloon station by the Vision Center still there? Because I’m as limp as a 10-day-old plantain.”

“Gil, I can’t go out like this. That was THE IDEA, to stay in from the rain and get warm and cuddly.”

“Mimi, I don’t think that stall with all the street gang symbols on the walls would fit us anyway. I couldn’t go back and forth with that little room, let alone with the Twinkie I have in my possession.”

“Gil, surely the residue from the double dose you took the day before ought to carry over to this stall. I can wait until things start to inflate. In fact, I think I have a safety pin to prick the wienie in my purse.”

“I don’t know, Mimi. Now I know what Papa Bader goes through. He can barely poop, let alone pull a Pee-Wee Herman.”

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“IF YOU’RE DONE IN THERE, MY 3-YEAR-OLD HAS DIARRHEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Wal-Mart Assistant Manager Don Granger has the last word.

“It wasn’t pretty. We had to evacuate the Frozen and the Bakery aisles. We managed to salvage the endcap on the Healthy Choice’s.

Unfortunately, we had to literally flush all the Great Value Low Sodium Butterscotch/Maraschino Cherry Ice Cream on the other endcap straight down the janitorial-sized toilets. We had to refresh our associates on hand-washing procedures at the morning meeting, making sure they washed up to their elbows. It just sucked when we couldn’t do the Wal-Mart cheer (“Gimme a SQUIGGLY!!!!!!” “SQUIGGLY!!!!!!!!”).

“All of this could have been avoided if Gil had gone to the Milford Men’s Clinic. There’s a branch right here at Wal-Mart. That’s right, right next to Milford State Bank by the Grocery entrance. When men fail in their sex lives, isn’t it nice to know there’s a convenient location where men can get a refill while the wife does the grocery shopping? A match made in heaven. And the cleanup jobs it’ll save our associates. It makes for one happy family. Sam would have wanted it that way.

 

“Joe, could you hit that spot in the corner with the mop? There’s still a bit of doo-doo by the Totino’s Supreme Pizza endcap.”

“Yup. You want it buffered?”

“Nah, We won’t have time. The Totino’s blitz is today and I don’t want anybody getting run over.”

 

Gang, while Moose is trying to get out of Rockville, fire away. I’ll leave you with this

 

At night I sleep in Milford’s dugout

Waiting patiently to board the bus

Cuz it’s so much easier to handle

All my problems and I don’t have to swear and cuss

I’ll lift some weights and run a lot

And get my scholarship without a fuss

DON’T GO BACK TO MILFORD

DON’T GO BACK TO MILFORD

DON’T GO BACK TO MILFORD

 

And waste another year.

Coach Colvin needs to see a trainer, amirite?

Where’s Rick Scott or Heather Burns when you need them?  Poor Coach Delano Colvin has suffered an horrific ankle sprain or worse (link is not for the squeamish).  Gil may have run into Delano on the Mudlarks’ trip back from Bluffton earlier in the season. That might lead me to believe that “State U.” is the one in Raleigh; however, a GPA of “almost 3.5” looks like it won’t cut the mustard there, being a reach at best.

While Pelwecki gets called to the office over the intercom (instead of Gil having the message sent to Pelwecki’s next period teacher, as he is often wont to do) we get spirited back to the Trumpet office in what is essentially a tell, don’t show repeat of Thursday’s panel 3.

Meanwhile, in an assisted living facility in an unnamed town, Herk the Mauler watches old wrasslin’ highlights and wonders when his rematch with Beau Dandy is coming up. Here’s a wrasslin’ highlight from one of my all time favorite heels.

 

 

Clearly The Recipient Of Gil’s Call Is A Former Player…

Because, just like the rest of us, he’s as surprised as hell to find Gil taking any sort of interest in him.

FWIW, per some cursory research, for Michigan State and Ohio State (to name two State U’s in the nominal vicinity of Milford) the average entering GPA’s are rather higher than 3.5. Let’s hope Kev was taking lots of AP courses… hey, maybe that’s where he got tipped off to the whole launch angles thing.

Just to wrap things up before I turn my attention to more serious concerns, but what is going on with all of the awkward chin touching by Counselor Drew? I mean panel one is I guess kinda normal (well, that flipper does look like it could be thalidomide induced), but your guess is as good as mine when it comes to whatever messed up salute or gang sign she is flashing at Gil in panel two. I don’t think wrists quite bend that way…

HEJA SVERIGE, Y’ALL!

Great Moments In Milford Journalism

Are not depicted in the above. Please stay tuned in for the inimitable T. Drew Hardin’s commentary coming right up!

In the meantime, please feel free to fire away.

Minus points: Since when did Marjie adopt the poking out ear look?

Holding a Finger in The Wind

Not to get all meta on y’all, but lemme just say that following up on posts such as those Ned penned yesterday can be a bit daunting. That said, let’s get to it.

It seems we’ve come some way in the realm of finger repair and thumb reattachment, such that it’s not preclusive of rehabilitation and return. Unfortunately for Gil’s powers of recollection, as described below, Joe made it to the bigs prior to his injury and may possibly have enjoyed success as a pitcher a la Three Finger Brown. Then again, this was forty years ago so Gil may be forgiven for being a little shaky on the details. Heck, forty years ago I was… Well, let’s just leave it at that it was a real, real long time ago.

Want to know what would make panels two and three a lot more interesting? Context.

Instead of wasting time dragging the Bader characters through the mud for no discernible reason, we could have some sense of how many games have been played, how many remain, what efforts Gil may or may not have made on Kevin’s behalf to get him to the next level, etc.

Heck, we could even have explored an arc where his teammates, annoyed with his obsession for personal stats, go to the coach for help with their well meaning but misguided star. Maybe have Kevin go down swinging when he should have just been trying to advance the runner and the Mudlarks lose a crucial game to a hated rival to miss the playdowns.  The point is: There were a lot of missed opportunities for Lessons To Be Learned.

Instead, we wasted more panels than I am prepared to count on an inane interview of BB by DD that I can scarcely recall as, practically speaking, it had no plot. Which might not be the end of the world, except that it’s the middle of June and I have to imagine the football arc starts in August.

Minus points:

P1: Re: Gil’s up the nostril shot, as my toddler son used to say, “No TANK You!”

P2: Please tell me that is some kind of miniature clipboard.

P3: It’s been my lifelong quest, which I embarked upon eight weeks ago, to break his all-time record, with which I am only vaguely familiar.

metapost: FYI to the team, I have created and applied The Legend of Joe Sharkey category.

Orange is the New Bader

“Ordinary things take longer in the prison system… like showers.”

My first inclination today was to search to see if Ms. Rizk was staying on model (I’d say close enough). I was thinking that between her knowledge of the penal system and her approach to journalism, Ms. Rizk might not be her real name, and that she’s a refugee from the Federal Witness Protection Program. Then I noticed this strip in which Gil was ready to jump on Ms. Rizk and Dafne for thinking about writing about Ryan Van Auken. Where’s Gilberto now that these two have turned their attention to Barry Bader? Oh, that’s right, no one gives two shits for Barry.

Now what in tarhooties does Dafne think sending a letter to Del in the can is gonna accomplish? I’ll leave it to you, dear reader, to reach that conclusion. Maybe if she keeps up the convo and sends some pics along with the letter, the guys in Central State Pen will think Dafne’s Del’s girlfriend… kinda like Pee-Wee and Lou.

Oh, yeah, I guess that last panel is supposed to remind us that there’s still some kind of sports going on in Milford. Think we’ll ever see another softball game?

The Moose Is Loose-lipped

Well I was all ready for another day of Barry justifying to his mom why he thinks it’s a good idea to bare his soul to Dafne Dafonte and, by extension, to the Milford High student body.  Barry could point out that budget cuts sent “Sarah,” or “Mrs. Forbes,” or whoever packing and that his coaches would rather manhandle and punish him than see that he gets some kind of help. If Rubin turns this arc into “Barry’s Got a Gun” it wouldn’t surprise me a lick, and I’d expect him to handle it as tactfully as he handled the crisis in Puerto Rico post-Maria.

But noooo, we’re back to actual action and, with two games in one strip, a reminder that the baseball season needs to speed up a little. (BTW, shouldn’t Barry’s two-game suspension be over after the Valley Tech game? Did he make the trip to Jefferson?)  I’m curious as to whether the Jeffs outfielder has dislocated his arm at the shoulder in an effort to snag Pelwecki’s tater, ’cause it looks like that arm will hang below his knees once he lowers it.  Meanwhile, Pelwecki is starting to come perilously close to turning from likeable, ambitious wannabe star into that most common of Milford athletes, a braggart whose hubris will be his undoing.  Careful, Kevin: slow that home run trot down too much and you’ll get the Carlos Gomez treatment.