Two Nights – and One Mouth – Running

In the days before the Internet when dinosaurs roamed the earth and yhs was a teenager, part of my weekday routine during sportsball season involved walking uptown from the high school to the public library after classes ended, studying and doing my homework there, then walking back to the high school for late afternoon/early evening sportsball practice. After practice I either hitched a ride home with an older teammate who had his license and lived near me or called my folks from a pay phone at the convenience store nearest the high school and waited there for them to come pick me up. (Oftentimes dinner on those nights would consist of a Stewart hot sandwich and a Coke with salted peanuts in it. Training table of champions.) Same thing applied on game days/nights, though my folks almost always came to games even when I wasn’t a starter or guaranteed to see any playing time.

Guess what I’m trying to say is that the public library’s busiest hours don’t always come in the evenings. Not that it matters to old culo rojo Abel here. Nope, if that place ain’t hummin’ when he’s there, it ain’t hummin’. Speaking of which, why isn’t he there during normal business hours if he needs online access for work? Pulling on his widow’s peak to make it peakier? Oh wait, the pandemic hasn’t hit the Thorpiverse and neither has the concept of working remotely (though that’s what Abel’s doing at night, isn’t he?).

I’m sure that router will be delayed by another day – long enough for Sr. Brito to go back to the library and find out from Dr. Pearl-with-a-dye-job that there’s an opening on the Milford Library Board which he can fill. (Damned if this comic strip isn’t filled with boards and board meetings! You’d think Milford’s adults would find other ways to make life difficult for their children pass their time.) He’ll be slashing budgets and locking doors in no time flat.

Not sure what Sra. Brito is reading but it could be one of many books titled Blue Moon or this. Wonder if she got it at the library.

Zane the friendly ghost

Our new, old face is none other then Zane Clark, who is a pitcher, hasnt played in 3 years, and is bigger. Well shit. Show me someone who isnt bigger as a senior then he was as a freshman. I was 5’2″ and grew to 6 feet by senior year, putting on about 55 pounds. And I couldnt play baseball, save for a brief career in little league.

How the hell does Gil just put him on the team after not seeing him throw in 3 years?? Yeah he’s well rested, but dude– there’s something called TRYOUTS that you need to attend, whether youre Dizzy Dean or Dazzy Vance. Even has a damn uniform already. Freshman baseball is a world different from varsity as well. Im sure he loves those red unis — 99% of the world uses white or gray pants with a red top. Not Milford. And who wears their uniform to practice for the thousandth time?? Well– no numbers on these dreds so maybe thats the difference. I can see he has the same mitt he did 3 years ago– it barely fits his hand. My first practice in t-ball one of the kids came up, looked at my pint sized glove and said -“Here– want a bigger mitt?” So I can relate.

So if ol Zane gets lit up in Game 1, dont say I didnt warn you Gil!

Zane 2018 aint Zane 2021. Good thing he waited til 7 weeks before graduation to show up. Almost burned up his eligibility dicking around for 3 years. Put him in the bullpen until he shows he can come to practice every time, let alone walk in and grab a uniform.

Meanwhile we find out Katy Brito and Zane are seeing each other. Or were. Love the use of ‘ghost’ as its a fairly modern slang term for ghosting– not responding to messages or texts etc. Rubin certainly has been around the kids lately to be using that word. I guess the spring storyline will be about these 2 lovely folks. Methinks the Ghost is the one who turns out to be the weirdo of the two.

Two Douches and a Four-speed and a 389

What have we learned today, TWIMers?

1. Doug Guthrie’s favorite NASCAR racing family? The Pettys.
2. Vic Doucette was seen by drove a Plymouth Satellite faster than the speed of light.
3. When it comes to teaching your kids how to drive, Doug’s dad got it all wrong. Kid sits on dad’s lap, steers and shifts while dad works the pedals and takes hold of the steering wheel as necessary.
4. Thanks to #3, Gil Thorp is the strip that has come the closest to a depiction of road head since For Better or for Worse introduced the bizarre term “going roadside.”
5. A girl rejecting a guy for his grandpa van? Bad. Said guy catcalling said girl? A-OK!

I guess this wack-ass approach to putting Vic behind the wheel of a cool ride is cheaper than pimping out Vic’s van or fitting hand controls to Doug’s GTO. Style points to Whigham for getting the ’66 Goat interior close to correct, adding a column-mounted tach even if he defaulted to the cliched 8-ball gearshift knob.

Honestly this strip doesn’t feel like any kind of arc-ender, much as we might want it to be. If it is, a metapost might be in order.

meta: Well I’ll be darned; it is the arc-ender. Can you say “anticlimactic”? Sure, I knew you could. The post title is, of course, an homage to the second line of “Little GTO.”

All About Shoes

Hey kids! Today you’re gonna get an installment of teenchy’s True Life Stories!

Back in the day when dinosaurs roamed the earth your old pal teenchy drove a ’66 Ford Mustang. These days ’66 Mustangs are considered classics almost on a par with Doug Guthrie’s GTO, but when I owned one it was a just a nice used car. While I was away at college I had a minor fender bender with it, requiring the replacement of the left front fender, the front bumper, and a headlight bulb. Not long after the repairs were done I drove back home to see the folks and let them see how well the repairs had been done. I brought a friend with me and that Saturday night we barhopped. On the way back home, much like ol’ Doug here, I saw the flashing blue lights behind me; unlike Doug, I thought I might be spending the night somewhere other than in my own bed.

Instead of “License and registration, please,” the first words the state trooper drawled to me were “Son, who painted yer car?” Stunned, I asked him to repeat himself, whereupon he proceeded to admire my Mustang’s paint job and its overall condition. I sheepishly admitted to the recent accident and repair and told him the name of the shop that had done the work. The trooper replied, “Well, they did a nice job, but I believe they forgot to hook up yer headlight when they finished up. I’m giving yew a warning and telling yew to hook them wires back up when it gets daylight in the mornin’. Yew’l see my name and badge number on that warning; if yew ever want to sell this car call the barracks and ask for me.”

Sure enough, the next morning I popped the hood and saw the left headlight connector and wiring harness dangling on the inner fender just below the sealed beam unit. I eventually sold the ‘stang but I never did call that trooper, though.

I’m guessing Doug’s having a similar experience with old Officer Wilbon here, but I’m a little confused about the tires comment. The Flowmasters probably let the Tri-Power 389 breathe a bit better but top end is as much a function of gearing as it is of horsepower. Doug might be implying that if the Goat were to run a little faster, he might have to replace its shoes with a set having a higher speed rating. Finding tires in the correct size for older cars is getting harder and more expensive by the day as manufacturers focus production on higher-volume sizes for current models. How that factors into Doug’s decision isn’t clear, and neither we nor Tom Muench have time for that, so off we go to Milford High and hoops practice.

Sorry for rambling on about my youth and the vagaries of classic car tires, but I figure it had to be at least as interesting as watching Tom and Doug awkwardly run laps for being late to practice. (Doug was so distracted he put his sneakers on the wrong feet.) Gil must take comfort knowing the hardwood is one place Clan Guthrie doesn’t lord it over him.

Today I Learned Privilege Is a Thing in Milford

****THIS IS THE SATURDAY POST****

Lemme get this straight. Doug Guthrie decides when he blows off practices and when he suddenly unmisses games there are no consequences from the coaching staff. He speeds through town just as snow beings to fall – from a clear blue sky no less. (I know that when it rains while the sun shines, the devil is beating his wife; what’s he doing when it snows while the sun shines?) He gets pulled over and let go by a deferential Milford cop who asks him pretty please to slow down. Let’s not even bother to guess whether Doug’s self-assessment of his driving skills is sarcastic or not and cut to the chase: just who is Doug’s father anyway?

Could it be there’s finally a man in Milford who is so powerful and influential that even Gil Thorp dare not cross him? Is he the Thorpiverse’s version of Skip Barber or Bob Bondurant? If Pops Guthrie is so wealthy and has such an in with the po-po, why doesn’t he slide them some coin? This poor Milford cop is under-dressed (no coat in the snow) and appears to be driving a Crown Vic Police Interceptor that is ten years old at the newest.

We’ve been wandering almost rudderless for two months now. This latest development has the potential to be more interesting than the social butterfly who can’t play defense stroking the PA announcer with CP’s ego, or why the fire hydrant with a chip on her shoulder cares about any of it. Of course, this means we probably will hear no more about Pops Guthrie until we find out he’s paid off Chief Lind after Doug does donuts on Dr. Pearl’s lawn.

Speaking of donuts on lawns: Doug may own a GTO, but if he owned a Camaro you know it’d be bitchin’.

Hey roadhog, ease up!

***THIS IS THE FRIDAY POST****

Only in Milford can it snow on a clear blue day. But Doug is still speeding, and the cop pulls him over. Hey, if my car took up the whole road and no one else was on it, I’d pay no attention to the speedometer either. And apparently the cop knows him well enough that he addresses Doug by name without asking for his license. Yes its just a friendly warning, but if I’m Tom I’m a little nervous that Doug converses with policemen on a regular basis. In other words, he speeds regularly in his GTO, on or off the racetrack.

P2 the 2 boys seem way closer to each other then should be normal in a car like that. Obviously Doug couldnt pay for extra width in his 2nd car.

The cop not only has on a tie, which I never see on cops around here, but his outfit is a bit colorful for a policemans; he looks like he’s ready to enter a race himself. All he needs is a Pennzoil label above his breast pocket and he’s good to go.

You? Me? Us?

Vic Doucette can do anything – pep up Doug Guthrie, possibly wipe the hair dye running down behind that kid’s ear – but getting traction with Tessi Milton? Put it there, pal!

Any sincerity Tessi might have in trying to gain attention and excitement for Milford girls’ hoops is blunted by her ham-handed appeal to Vic’s raging hormones. Of course Vic doesn’t realize that “us” means “the Lady Mudlarks,” so his head has been set to bobblin’ at the thought of cutting class to go tidy up the interior of his GMC Safari.

Wonder whether Tessi knows that getting guys to do stuff for her using broad deceptive hints is part of Corina’s “brand”? We (blessedly) haven’t seen Corina in a few strips, so it’s about time she pops in and pops off at the mouth.

Sometimes, the Lyrics Write Themselves

Want a guard who races? I tell you I’m your man
I play some, skip some, all the same to me

What do you wanna bet, am I blond or a brunette?
The Bucket’s where I feed, my car is all I need, I’m Doug Guthrie!
I’m Doug Guthrie!

Restoring a barn find, rebuilt it with my dad
Got my GTO, I don’t need girls you see

Showing up for Oakwood, Gil is watching me
Pick a sport or quit, I don’t give a shit, I’m Doug Guthrie!
I’m Doug Guthrie!

My tailbone’s on the ground, I’m goin’ round and round
But that’s the way I like it baby
I don’t wanna win the Valley

And don’t forget Vic Doucette!

Pushing up the roundball, the defense gotta see me
Reach in and weep, slapped out my hand again

You see it in my eyes, I’ve let practice slide
We’ll blow this game you’ll see, it’s gonna be on me, I’m Doug Guthrie!
I’m Doug Guthrie!