I Kinda Thought He’d Put Me in the Goon Squad

For a moment there I thought Gil might have actually recruited Lineman Gordon Achebe to join his Mudlark hoopsters. That would’ve required some action on Gil’s part and, as longtime readers know, when it comes to coaching Gil doesn’t act, he reacts.

This time he lets Heather Burns and the Star do his dirty work. Knowing that Milford is that rare place in America where kids read GRIT the daily papers, Gildeaux lets Heather play up his squad’s scrawniness, then sits back and lets the volunteers roll in. Gordon obviously has confidence in his strength and he already has experience talking to Heather. He’ll be all set to field her softballs about his role in adding muscle to the Mudlark forecourt.

Will Gil’s passive-aggressive plan to bulk up his front line pay off? Time will tell. For now, it’s off to the locker room to see just how much more time Gordon can be big. Hiyo!

Thanks for Coming to TEDx Milford. Now Zip It.

Just because a plot is plausible doesn’t mean it isn’t dopey.

Some really dumb things happened in the fall arc, none of which would have led to negative consequences if someone hadn’t stepped up to stop them from happening. As soon as Boyd Spiller called Tevin Claxton a choker more than once, one or more of his teammates (maybe that voice of reason Gordon Achebe) should’ve shoved him in a locker or otherwise nipped it in the bud. As soon as word of Spiller’s hypnotricks got around, Tevin could’ve revealed that he’d be seeing a sports shrink, preventing multiple people from believing there was magic in Boyd’s pen light. But then he wouldn’t be able to give his preliminary TED talk which, though it kinda bombed, set the stage for Chance Macy’s better-received speech. As soon as Kianna Bello passed out at The Bucket, someone could’ve told her to stop burning the candle at both ends, which would’ve kept her from staring into Boyd’s pen light and, well, you know the rest.

As has been mentioned here multiple times over the course of the fall, a Coach, more than likely a Thorp, could’ve stepped up and and put a stop to most if not all of this. When Kianna started showing signs of fatigue, either Mimi or the gymnastics coach could’ve told her to quit one or the other team. At the very least, Mimi could’ve powered her by coffee. Even when Tevin kept his mouth shut and let people start believing there was something to Boyd’s pen light, either Gil or Kaz could’ve shut it down. No way word doesn’t get to the coaching staff until just before the Madison game.

Ah, well. Order is maintained in Milford. Mudlark teams underachieve. No one has to live up to anyone’s expectations but their own, especially Gil, Mimi and Kaz, who can always blame their teams’ shortcomings on their superstitious players. Everything is bound up as tightly as those kids’ digestive systems after eating all that Bucket food. Well, except for Kianna’s sitch. We’ll never know how that got resolved, because girl.

Daytime or nighttime, its Bucket time

Its unreal how the scenery jumps form day to night so many times in this strip. If it hasnt become a category, Im starting it now. Tying up all the loose ends from another dreadful storyline, we see Gil dressed in a wool collared shirt you could buy at Menards, and a pair of blue jeans for his sideline attire. Never saw any coach wear that. Most of em sport athletic pants and at least a windbreaker or jacket suitable to the weather, and a cap. How its so warm in December that Gil isnt even wearing a coat or hat is beyond me. By now he should be in a wool cap, gloves, and a parka like Bud Grant in Minnesota back in the day, with smoke coming out of his mouth with every breath. At least Kianna has a scarf on.

The kids look happy they won the game, which is proper since hardly anyone gives a fuck who finished where in the conference, at that moment. You play ultimately for yourselves, and years from now when they all (or some) gather together for their high school reunions, nary a word will be uttered that they finished 2nd in the conference senior year. Matter of fact, at my reunions we would make fun of the current crop of softies on the team, noting that one of them was happy he was out for the season with an injury of some sort. Everyone likes to look back on the glory days and claim they were the real tough guys. Hey why not? Nobody cares, like I said at the start.

Hmmm.. not limping makes me hungry.. well, guess thats true since most of my meals have been digested on 2 good ankles. Still a bunch of nonsense out of a high schooler. Surprised Mr. Clutch doesnt have exploding eyeball syndrome.

Finally what the hell is that huge letter on the field behind Gil?

Stumblin’ In

It didn’t take long for VT’s Matt Hasselbeck Jr. to eat his words. Milford draws first blood, but isn’t it kinda chancy (see what I did there?) to have your star tailback returning punts? Oh, what’s that? Maybe he didn’t return the punt and just ran in for the touch on a play from scrimmage? Either way, I hope he ran an extra ten yards through the end zone once he crossed the goal line. Gotta get ready for that Canadian ball, dontchaknow.

On to the next drive and Milford scores on another explosive play, as Tevin goes left while everyone else goes right. Classic misdirection. Pity it’s gonna get called back for holding on the Mudlark that’s got VT #51 tied up. That might be Tommy “Jamón” Serrano, who previously succumbed to Boyd Spiller’s fake juice but hasn’t completely recovered from learning that it was fake. In fact, to the untrained eye (or maybe the eye that was trained half a century ago, give or take) those two look like an electric football Backer figure locked together with an All Purpose figure…

…which would make perfect sense if we revert back to one of our original Gil Thorp tropes: that all of this action is playing out in Marty Moon’s crate in his parents’ basement.

Speaking of Marty, how nice of him to show up to broadcast the Mudlarks’ season finale. How do we know this is the finale? Look at the calendar, and the deus ex machina Rubin’s dropped in our laps. Milford’s gonna drop the Valley title to Goshen – the same Goshen they blew out by 24 not quite two months ago? Doesn’t make any sense unless the Milford loss is the only one Goshen’s suffered all season. If both teams end up tied in conference play, the Mudlarks take the title based on head-to-head. None of that matters when you have a plot to wrap up and you’re you’ve wasted on hooch most of your time on details that didn’t really advance it.

Post title refers to how Goshen will make the playdowns.

Let’s Snot and Say We Did

(alternate title: “Talkin’ Smak!”)

Well, kudos to Neal Rubin. Before today the compound word “snot-pound” apparently did not exist.

This week of kids standing on cafeteria tables spouting stupid platitudes comes to the stupidest, most platitudinal (dunno if that’s even a word) end possible. Just who had “negative expectations” of Tevin based on four or five plays in jayvee? Only one kid ever even mentioned it – the same jackhole standing there posing like he knocked out Sonny Liston even as he’s getting roasted – and nobody put any credence into it.

And how many kids placed their trust in hypno-jackhole there? I count three: the kid who needed a B on his algebra test, the lineman who kept missing his assignment on the jet sweep, and Kianna, who might not have had Tevin not pretended to be the fourth and played along with the jackhole. So on whom do we pin the Mudlarks’ late-season collapse? (And where the heck has Marty been to do the pinning?)

That one’s easy: this falls squarely on Gil and Kaz. No sooner than word spread round the campus that jackhole had tried his parlor trick and was taking credit for Milford wins, they should’ve nipped it in the bud. But nooooooOOOOOOoooooo! Somehow it dragged on until “six or eight guys” had undergone the jackhole treatment. Only then did Gil give his half-assed “we’re good!” speech, whereupon the Mudlarks crapped the bed and haven’t won a game since.*

We can only hope today’s strip wraps up the arc. The only loose end to tie up is finding out which sport Kianna quits; the rest is all Spiller – I mean, filler.

*Somehow we never saw these six or eight guys get hypmotized. Another hole in the plot, kinda like the holes in Georgia’s allegedly vaunted defense (speaking of crapping the bed… and now you know why today’s post was so late).

Stuff this team in the turkey

Headin’ out to San Milfordo
For the Labor Day bonfire show
I got my Hush Puppies on
I guess I never was meant for gymna-volleyball.
And Gildo I didnt know – that I’d be missin you so..

Come Monday, it’ll be all right
Come Monday, we’ll be losin the fight
I spent four lonely days in a hypnotic haze
And I want Spiller out of my sight…

Yes, it’s been quite a summer
Racing cars and golfing pain.
And now you’re off on vacation
Something you can never explain.
And, Gildo since I gotta go
That’s the reason I’m not gonna throw…

Come Monday, it’ll be all right
Come Monday, I’ll be pickin a fight
I spent four freakin days with A. Simpkins from State

and I just want this crap to subside..

What the Hell, Milford?

What fresh hell is this? A one-score game and we get an exposition? What the hell, Rubin?

And Mudlarks? Your QB hurts his arm and you fall to pieces worse than Patsy Cline? He couldn’t run the ball or hand it off to your star tailback? You know, that star tailback who turns away fan mail from recruiters, who had the State U running backs coach show up in person only to blow him off? He couldn’t suck it up and put the offense on his shoulders? And what’s with your o-lineman who can’t throw a block unless he can believe in pseudoscience? What the hell, Thorp?

Same question goes to little gymnast volleyball girl: You can’t take responsibility for your own health, listen to your body when it tells you to dial it back a notch? You want to rely on the same pseudoscience lineman boy did and blame the QB when it predictably fails? What the hell, Kianna?

Gil Thorp has to be the worst motivator in the history of coaching. He’s no Kirby Smart, that’s for sure. Mimi’s not much better. Then again, what can you expect from a bunch of superstitious, undisciplined-ass tank town kids?

meta: Thanks, tdrew, for covering for me on Saturday.

Let’s Go!

So Tommy Serrano missed his block and Madison was there (Madison time? sorry, not today) to show us what can happen. Wait, what happened? I forget, some guy got clobbered by another player in Carolina Blue, but now Tommy (presumably) is apologizing to Tevin.

And how is Tevin? Well, either Tevin is a victim of a coloring error or Madison knocked all the melanin off of him. Either way, he’s feeling great and he demonstrates this by doing something with his arms that doesn’t translate to a static image. He’s windmilling his arm or he’s untwisting it. He’s doing some improvised dap-like maneuver or he’s doing the ol’ Hey, I’m Caucasian now, alright, let’s go!

But…on third and seven, a ball is thrown, some shadow people act out some shadow football and then…we have a good result or maybe a bad result.

Here’s a tune by the Feelies. I was so into these guys in the late 80s. They kinda dissolved in the early 90s. Then, maybe ten years ago they just started sporadically doing NY/NJ/PA shows with their same lineup from when they stopped. But they are older and they look like dads (and a mom) who just do day trip gigs about six or eight times a year. I get a kick out of the aging fanbase on Facebook who pepper their posts with comments Play Denver, Play Denmark, etc. They sometimes respond, no, we don’t do that. We don’t tour in a van. As much as you liked us, it never really worked out for us. As much as you still love our records, it never really paid off for us and we’re beyond chasing any of that. I’m cool with that. Maybe I’ll catch them the next time they are in Cambridge. Sorry for the digression, Let’s Go!