Freddy Got Fingered – No, Really

I was looking for a Freddy Got Fingered reference in the archives and sure enough I found one.  Still it wasn’t a post title, so…

Freddy’s form looks to be a bit off, but not as far off as the Oakwood ballcarrier in P2 who appears to be running parallel to the goal line, not towards it.  Could be because he’s dislocated his head, or that he’s distracted by Gil’s withered monkey’s paw on his shoulder. Maybe he needs to watch Sam Koch do it.  Better still, maybe he needs to find Sam’s golf bag.  (Seriously, if you have a few minutes to spare, read that golf bag link.  Pretty interesting stuff if you’re a football fan.)  Even better still, after this game take a practice teaching some other schmoe how to long snap and get Sam Finn back there to punt.  Then Freddy can get back to the business of placekicking, working at the family auto mall and dreaming of soccer.

Speaking of soccer [read in Andy Rooney’s voice]: Did you ever notice that Neal Rubin holds a not-so-secret grudge against soccer?  Earlier this week, Freddy uses soccer as an excuse for his lack of punting ability. (Okay, I can buy that, since we’re talking about two entirely different approaches toward putting foot to ball.)  In our last arc, Gil’s Golfing Gallants had turned to golf as an escape from soccer concussions (well, at least one of them; the other just went along for the ride).  Before that, we had the whole Heather Burns saga with mediocre girl soccer player turned backup tight end via the training room. Going back further still we had Milford’s soccer players and coach portrayed as villains for not doing Gil’s bidding and placekicking for him*, which in turn led to the Brody Abro Era. Why does Rubin hate the beautiful game? [Andy Rooney voice off, Linda Richman voice on].  Talk amongst yourselves.

 

*BTW, note in that link that I once had a different screen name. I don’t recall what made me change it.  Note also that the comments section was about triple of what we have now.  Wha’ happen’?

Advertisements

A Mediocre Football Game Is Better Than Paintbrushes Chewed Up By The Dog

At a Mudlark football practice one day held at the Luke Bunkin Multiplex Practice Facility:

I WANNA BE A GIL THORP RANGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna be a Gil Thorp Ranger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I WANNA LIVE A LIFE OF DANGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna live a life of danger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

LET’S GO!!!!!!!!!!! YOU WUSSIES’LL NEVER TACKLE, LET ALONE PUNT, IF YOU LOAF LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!!! THE PLOT LASTS 3 MONTHS INTO SUPER BOWL WEEKEND AND WE GOTTA STAY FIT. ALRIGHT, SAY IT AGAIN

I WANNA BE A GIL THORP RANGER!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna…

“Seconds” by U2 is blaring over the intercom at the facility.  Gotta keep the troops motivated. Plus, “New Year’s Day” seems to have improved the punting technique of a few Mudlarks.

 

Man, this is getting ridiculous. Who better than to turn a no-brainer into a quasi-dilemma? Ya say ya don’t know what a dilemma is? Okay, for all of you who got an “A” in Modern Vocabulary in high school (ME ME ME!!!!!!!) ,  you can take your dog for a walk and let him/her piss on his/her favorite fire hydrant while I explain to the rest of the numbskulls who were pulling wings from flies or tripping little old ladies while they were in the crosswalk on a busy street corner in downtown Milford even as the teacher was trying his/her damndest to define supercalifragilisticgetsmeoutadocious ((I think the second s in the word has 2 of ’em) . “It’s the atomic number for carbon!!!!!! Y’know, the black stuff that blows out your tailpipe?” “What’s atomic number?”

Dilemma, Gil, is when you’re stuck with basically 2 options, neither one very appealing but also have equal merits. To go one way, is to get the bad consequences and the good consequenes of the other and vice versa. Gil, what you said REALLY isn’t a dilemma. Granted, a mediocre punt meant that, well, at least you got off the kick and if the chickenshit punt receiver tries to do an end-around and finds himself cornered by Mudlarks and regresses even further and winds up on their own 2-yard line when the PR should have taken his punishment like a man and started at, say, their own 39-yard line, not great but STILL decent field position, then at least your Mudkarks got SOMETHING out of a potentially disastrous situation.

What GOOD consequences arises to the surface from a botched punt?

“Kaz, let’s screw this thing all to Hell and have Finn sail the damn thing over Malouf’s head and once Malouf picks it up at our own 20-yard line, have him kick it toward the goalpost for a field goal attempt. Rumors are he has a booming foot. We’ll call it Razzle-Dazzle Get on the Good Foot, C’mon, Double Out Right Curl Slant Option Wishbone Formation on two.”

“Way ahead of you, Gil. I’ve got it written in the playbook, on down to Razzle-Dazzle. Should the fullback pick up the nose guard on the blitz?”

“Nah, Finn can botch and chew gum at the same time. He oughta be ready for the gorilla comin’ to sack Malouf.”

 

I tried to tell you I can’t punt

But I’m never talking to you again

I showed you every way, you grunt

And I’m never talking to you again

I’m never talking to you

I’m tired of wasting all my time

Trying to talk to youuuuuuuuuu

Talking to you.

 

BTW, that isn’t Tiki’s car at the top of the pile in Husker Du’s “Zen Arcade”. As long as I’m quoting one of my favorite groups, just thought I’d set the record straight.

 

 

Sent forth from the realm of TV Land

Bringing truth and justice to our hands

It’s Milkmannnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!

 

“I like it cold.”

 

Tiki is moping in his war-torn sedan in the middle of the Luke Bunkin Multiplex Practice Facility. Is there more to life than football? Will Maine ever field an NBA franchise? Does a skunk shit in the woods (more than likely yes on the last question) ?

“…I’m glad you introduced me

And I hope you’ll understand

I’ll be faithful to this bottle in my handdddddd.”

 

Milkman has just dropped off 3 crate of Milford Dairy Skim Milk  at the Milford 7-11 and is just about to clock out when he spots Tiki, which he’s able to do by the blaring music.

“Tiki, when you’re screaming George Jones, I know things aren’t kosher in Mudlarkland. Why the honky tonk offering on your Close ‘n’ Play?”

“Milkman, my piece of shit just got shittier. It’s got a busted headlight, kids spray-painted “wash me” on the ash tray, and there’s more dents than dimples in a golf ball. To top it off, the car won’t start.”

“Tiki, I think your problem is very easy to solve. One day, my milk truck wouldn’t start and I was putting my Christianity to the test attempting to get to the root of the problem. I kept my profanity to a minimum but it was getting to the point where before too long I would sound like Bruce Willis in “Die Hard” (“Can’t you get the milk truck started?” “Does it sound like I’m ordering a fucking pizza?”) . Finally, my boss came out and calmly and gently put his arm around me and said ‘I believe you need one of these.’ And when I put the key in my ignition, I was able to finish my rounds at the Milford Toyata plant. I was overjoyed that I was able to deliver fresh Milford Dairy Homemade Ice Cream Blueberrry/Cheese Cake to the starving masses. And this (pulling a car key out of a container of  Milford Dairy Reduced Fat Kosher Prepared Cottage Cheese) should solve your problem.”

WOW MILKMAN THANKS HOW CAN I EVER REPAY YOU???????

“Gentlemen, start your engines!!!!!!!!”

Tiki takes the cue, fires up the busted commodity and flies off the Multiplex Practice Facility playing Tammy Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man”, loud enough for Oakwood to hear it.

 

As Milkman drives into the sunset

“Milk is the Key of Life.”

 

Now THIS is what gets me. We’ve spent all this time in the Agora with Socrates and Plato debating the merits and demerits of Democracy vs. Republicanism, with Jeremy Bentham, John Locke, Adam Smith, and John Kenneth Galbraith thrown in, I mean, they’re chewing through The Invisible Hand Theory (“No, Plato, the butcher will let The Hand determine if he should tell the customer that his Ground Round has flies in it.” “On the contrary, Socrates, the government should swoop in like John Maynard Keynes on Bad Hair Day and rescue the customer from this rancid set of circumstances and inform him before this customer develops herpes and is therefore incapable of sustaining himself in The Good Life.” ” I respectfully disagree, Plato” said I) , only to have the Romans come in and Rambo the Acropolis, Delphi’s Oracle, the Parthenon, Mount Olympus, and even the Labyrinth, after all that work the Minotaur put into it only to watch it reduced to plaster,  and drive the Greeks to the Rock of Gibralter.” Yeah, Gil, Bad Hair Day is better than dandruff, I suppose, but it looks like a football game, or a sport played of ANY kind, Hell, I’ll accept hopscotch at this point, would keep this strip in character and my sanity in order,  I’m that desperate for the Lincoln/Douglas debate to end and get READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL (“I move that we put a moratorium on this debate so that the good people of Quincy can watch the Bears/Packers game and we resume after the contest, assuming that is acceptable to Senator Douglas.”) !!!!!!!!!!!

 

Gang, get ready, cuz Gene Rayburn is rarin’ to go with another Match Game 2018 question. Take ‘er away, Big Guy.

Dumb Dora was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO dumb (HOW   DUMB   WAS  SHE???????) , she thought mediocre sex was better than a botched ________________.

 

Gil and Carrie White one night in the Milford HS chem lab.

“Carrie, you really get me erect. I don’t care what your Pentecostal mom says about you, your dirty pillows are better than Charmin Deluxe at the Milford IGA. You are saved, filled with the Holy Ghost and sexy. Let’s spend the night together.”

Carrie, weary of hearing that line after listening to the song 1000 times on Gil’s 8-track (“Coach, I didn’t know you were a Stones fan”) in his classic ’76 Plymouth Duster still lightly nods her head, a bit shy. Let The Games begin.

 

The Games are interrupted by a short in the Torch.

 

“Coach Thorp, you’re a hunk and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, you’re the teacher and coach, but…where is it?”

“Hmmmmmmm, I could have sworn I read more Penthouses than L’il Audrey Comix this week in preparation for The Moment. Is nothing peeping out?”

“Do I need to drop a coin to find out?”

Here, let me look in the Grand Canyon. The Colorado River is trickling here somewhere. Wow!!!!! I didn’t know Gila Monsters lived down this far. Hope they don’t drown but they probably won’t the way my ED is flaring up again. You have any IcyHot? Man, that cactus is dangerously close to my pubic hair. Ah, here’s the Lily of the Valley. Take me to the river, Carrie. Carrie? Carrie?….Carrie?

Carrie?

Gil searches around the house and turns up nada. He combs every nook and cranny of the house, then finally walks outside. He scales the front, careful not to step on Mimi’s plumerias, and heads to the back. He spots an old gravemarker by his Toro riding mower, just beyond the 3-point arc of his basketball court where he works with Keri and Jaime on their game in preparition for their pre-school league where they’re defending champions. Gil kneels and reads the inscription of the grave marker.

 

Carrie White and Principal Ek burn in Hell!!!!!!!!!!

 

SUDDENLY a woman’s hand with a Mudlark engraved into a bracelet and a man’s hand donned with a Milford HS gold watch both grab Gil.

Gil yells at the top of his lungs, desperately clinging to his Soul, scraping and scratching and clawing to keep from being dragged down to the pits of Hell.

“Gil, I’m here, I’m here, Gil, I’m here. I’m here, Gil…”

 

“Boy, what a nightmare. Thank God I had an ED injection ready by the nightstand. Mimi and I had a quickie and I returned to Heaven. Principal Ek and Carrie would have to endure the Lake of Fire by themselves. Fortunately, I would not commingle.

The Milford Men’s Clinic can cure your Erectile Dysfunction as well so that there’s no weeping nor gnashing of teeth. Shoot, it performs better than Sominex so YOU can perform better than Sominex!! I know, Mimi conked out just at the point of climax. You’ll be off to La La Land with a boner the size of a Coney Island dog. But don’t take my word for it, come to the Milford Men’s Clinic at their new location in Downtown Milford, right between the World Trade Center Towers. There’s free parking on the 100th floor. It can’t get any easier than that. My erection seemed to think so. Check ’em out today and check out the view from the Observation Deck on the 98th floor while you’re at it. You can see all the way to North Dakota and Apartment 3-G on a clear day. An erection with a view, now that’s the ticket.”

 

Gang, go to it. A bad commentary is better than a good Gil episode at this point.

 

“Hi, I’m Dennis Weaver. I was chased by a crazy oil rig driver all over the country. As a result, I developed Fybromyalgiacenterofibrosis of the panatella and the lateral cruciate ligament. I also received several head injuries, one on the medulla oblongata, one on the right dorsal lymphoid tissue of my cerebellum, and one on the frontal parietal bone, barely missing my left occipital lower cranial cavity, just getting off with a contusion. Then my butt hurt something awful from sittin’ so long, runnin’ my ass off from this lunatic. Thank God for The Shark. He helped me recover my back wages from lost time at work and the insurance company even paid for the IcyHot to soothe my butt. And we even found out that the driver was Charles Manson and that his driver’s license had expired, so he not only received more prison time for his escape but got his license revoked. The company paid extra on my center ventral maxilla for hirin’ him. If ya got a cell phone handy whether you’re at work or sittin’ on the john workin’ out yore IRA, it’s 1-FON-THE-JAWS.”

 

” I’m Joe Sharkey. Don’t fight Milford Mutual alone. One call, that’s all.”

“Coach, I Thought Jimi Hendrix Did That Guitar Twirl. I Got Confused. I Didn’t Mean To Take Us Out Of The Inning.”

Barry, you just absolutely dashed my hopes. Just when you went to the altar to accept Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord and swore you were going to turn over a new leaf and live right and stop drinking doubles with Marty down at the the Milford Lounge, you go on a shopping spree at Milford Liquor Warehouse.

You DO know what Coach Kaz means when he holds up his arms. The same damn signal a cop gives when he’s at a random busy street corner in Milford, USA. Let me throw you a hint: STOPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now when Coach Kaz is doing that Pete Townshend spiel as he’s air-guitarring “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, sure run like Hell towards home plate and test that Oakwood fielder’s arm. It’s only 90 feet. Take your chances.

And this after the “Four score and several plots ago, I started acting like an asshole and haven’t changed but I am sorry and am ready to take orders from George Gordon Meade or Coach Thorp, dependent on the venue of battle” and was willing to swallow the subsequent “even though I’m still a better general than George Brinton McClellan and can beat him in poker any day of the week” as long as he was willing to go to battle and fight the good fight. P3 shot that one down. Oh well.

 

Coach Kaz at the Milford Clay Oven restroom, on his cell phone, responding to text messages

“Gil, I’ve gone over a THOUSAND TIMES in practice with Barry over what the ‘Stop’ sign means. I’ve even done note cards on him. Burned several matches sending smoke signals. What do you want me to do, use sign language? I can try…” Coach Kaz looks down. He discovers he’s at a low urinal. Don’t text and piss. A message from the Milford City Health Board.

 

And gang, Duke Ellington is my idol. I live for Duke. “Live at Newport” is in my vocabulary.  But no way is he a baseball coach as in P1. He looks awkward conducting “Blues To Be There” Or is he egging on Paul Gonsalves on that electrifying 27-minute solo in right field? Hard to tell. His hands are too active for “Mood Indigo”. I can just hear that trombone growl from Joe “Tricky Sam” Nanton in the 1st base coaching box. No wonder why Bader ran through the sign. Too much of a jerk to appreciate good Jazz. Maybe he’ll listen to Barry Manilow.

 

Marty, stone drunk from the Drewrey’s he had carted to him straight from the delivery truck to his bar stool at Milford Lounge, is standing on the Milford Lounge street corner, calling Mudlark Transportation, Inc.

“Hello, Mil-Fart Trans-Part-Tay-ShunHICCUP? I needs a cabbbbbbbubbbb. Where am I located?”

Head bobbing, barely able to read the signs

“I am at the cor-nurrrrrrr of ‘Walk’ and ‘Don’t Walk'”

Well, at least he didn’t text and piss. Gang, if you must do nature’s duty, take Marty’s cue. Put your cell phone down on the Milford Lounge portable sign(“Happy Hour-1/2 price beer-battered onion rings and unlimited Jack Daniels liqueuer, 4-7) and pee-pee behind the bushes in Milford Lounge’s alley. Who’s gonna notice and you don’t involve an ambulance. Perfect way to avoid calls from injury lawyers(“One call-that’s all”).

Thanks to Frances Gregory for her help with the above joke. You help make America great with your hard work making MRE’s for the military. And you’ve got a great sense of humor as shown above.

 

I am like everybody else on the Jay Bhatia pitching issue. As a writer has mentioned, has ANYBODY in Milford heard the word ROTATION? Right now, it’s Ryan Van Auken and whoever else has a halfway decent connection to the plot, regardless of talent. You could make Captain Kangaroo the closer but he’s not been in the scheme of things for quite some time. Guess we gotta stick with Jay and his Orwellian “Curve ball is a fastball approach”. Hey, it’s got the Oakwood batters fooled, just like the rest of the readership.

 

Steve Luhm, calling at the phone booth by the kitchen(“dial ‘9’ to get an outside line”) at Milford Clay Oven(“The Taste of the Himalayas comes to Mudlarkland”)

“Yes, I’ll tell ’em not to put too much paprika on the Ramen Noodles or the Tandoori Chicken Wings!!!!!!! I’m painfully aware it makes you fart in the Journalism room!!!!!!! I had to use heavy-duty deoderizer to wipe out the residue of the tamarind sauce. Yes, I’m sure the students could smell it in the seats!!!!!!

 

“And Barry is thrown out by a mile at home plate!!!!!!!!! Well, that’s Coach T and his baserunning strategy for you. We’re still tied, 3-3, after 14 innings and we will take a commercial break. This is WDIG radio, a division of Lear Field Sports.”

 

“We’re here at Milford Downtown Mall where we are conducting a taste test between Pepsi and Milford’s own, Mudlar-K-ola.”

Coach Shaw, after walking out of Milford Ammo Emporium, samples the merchandise. He spits out the 2nd, getting spray all over his wife’s shopping bag.

“Man, who BREWED this bucket of piss?”

The incognito can is revealed

“PEPSI?????? Brother, we’re going grocery shopping next and we’re buyin’ 2 24-packs of Mudlar-K-ola. I KNEW Pepsi had changed the last few years.”

His wife heartily nods in agreement, if only to get more intimate at Mudlark Lake Resort once again

 

Generic Fan, seen especially at blowouts of Milford Basketball games, in favor of Milford and not in favor of Milford, samples the merchandise. After sampling 2nd choice, face immediately caves in and reappears as Generic Milford High School Cafeteria Lady.

“Jesus, we serve THIS to the students!!!!!!!!!!!!! After we microwave it and serve it with pepperoni pizza that’s been under the lamp for 2 days!!!!!!!!!!”

When informed that it’s Pepsi, he/she says “I need to call Milford Vending and tell the trucks to stop delivering Pepsi and bring in 10 canisters of Mudlar-K-ola.”

 

Daffy Duck, after walking out of Milford Beauty School after completing her recertification on chunky bracelets, takes a sip.

“Ooooooooooooooo, this thing’s got cooties. What is it?”

The culprit is revealed

“Yuk. Somebody doodied in the Pepsi. Thank God I got some change in my purse. There’s a Mudlar-K-ola machine by the mall entrance.”

 

When all is said and done

“You sure they weren’t looking when you switched the cans?”

 

Gang, sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I’ve been dragging along like this plot. Now I’m scheduled to pitch so I better start warming up. You can comment on my slurve if you want.

 

As Coach Kaz leaves the Milford Clay Oven drive-thru, satisfied with the Merlot thrown in on the deal(only with coupon) Padoka Veggie Combo, his wife lets out a scream

“WHAT’S THIS PLASTIC SPIDER DOING IN THE ALLU PAPDI CHAT??????????? IT’S CRAWLING ON THE CHAAT MASALA!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Thanks to Joseph Szerletich for his idea that he threw at me at work. It worked, Joseph. Nice job. You da Man.

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Jay Bhatia No-Hits Oakwood!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Had Batters Completely Fooled All Day On Ephus Pitch He Learned From Coach Luhm.”

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.

 

Marty Moon: The Straw That Stirs the Milford Drink

Today’s strip just serves to bring the glaring plot holes, inconsistencies and missed opportunities into stark relief, not unlike Marty’s face in P2.  Without belaboring the obvious – oh, who am I kidding? Let’s belabor the obvious:

1. If an Aagard scores 26 points and there’s no one there to report on it, does it make a sound? Last winter’s saga of Aaron and his opioid-addicted mother ended with his transfer into the protective custody of the Hiatt-Brown family. Rubin brought Aaron back this season, but Big Ken Brown is no longer around to make things happen. Couldn’t those loose ends have been tied up in a panel?
2. Nice use of parallel drinking by the not-broadcasting broadcasters, one with hooch, the other with Yoo-Hoo (or does that just say “Poo”?). The glaring sign behind Marty’s head must be meant to offer a contrast to his apparent sour mood. It also offers a nice segue into a song parody but I fear those days are behind me. The idea that WDIG can’t or won’t run games without Marty to call them borders on the absurd. Absurd doesn’t begin to describe the Milford Pirate Network’s approach to the games. If they’d been up front about why they popped up then played it straight, they’d still be on the air and no one would’ve cared that there was no coverage from Marty and WDIG. But noooo, MPN based its whole schtick on taunting Marty, so no Marty, no MPN. For that matter…
3. … no Marty, no Gil to antagonize or be antagonized by Marty. Hence Gil’s call on Pocket Square Sporting Radio Station Manager to no doubt try to get Marty back on the air. As with his meeting with Marty, Gil’s on neutral ground where drinks are involved but this time it’s only coffee (unless Gil’s secretly making it Irish).

If all this is a pivot towards turning this strip from Gil Thorp into Marty Moon, I could be persuaded to stick around. The travails of a drunken shock jock looking to redeem himself to unwitting victims of his shock doesn’t cover new ground but it has potential.

late metapost: Over lunch I came across this article about Latinos attempting to assimilate in the American South. No one in the story is Puerto Rican, but it touches on an angle Rubin has chosen not to pursue to much extent in this arc.

Glory, Glory To Old Georgie

I think the only hurricanes Marty’s been exposed to are the ones at Pat O’Brien’s, amirite? That would have required him to travel to New Orleans and, judging by his tone-deaf pronunciation of Jorge’s first name, he’s probably never left his mom’s basement the Valley. Then again, ask a New Orleanian to pronounce “Chartres” and you may think otherwise.

Equally tone-deaf is Marty’s assessment of the impact of Hurricane Maria on Jorge’s life. I’m willing to bet Paloma heard Marty, or someone from the Milford High Token Libertarians Club heard him and will tell Paloma about it over an enchilada burger at The Bucket. If this leads to Paloma starting a campaign to get Marty fired, I’m all in. Odds are it’ll only lead to Gil shaming Marty into an on-air apology to the Padillas. Wonder if we’ll see Jorge’s name spelled out phonetically when that happens (“Whore-hay”)?

Meanwhile, as further proof of his cultural assimilation, Jorge’s transitioning into the Aaaaron Aaaagard Woody Woodpecker ‘do (or is it the Andre frohawk?).  Try not to stare at his freakishly large right hand too long.

metapost (a bit after 3pm EST): I see over at the ‘mudgeon (again, folks, I don’t look at the CC before I post, honest!) a good bit of outrage at Marty’s tone-deafness and an alleged response from Rubin himself, to the effect that Rubin has put these words in Marty’s mouth to make an example of him. We’ll see how Neal makes Marty eat them.

Much discussion of the life and death of Roberto Clemente in our comments today as well. I make no attempts to disguise my age through my commentary, but I am really going to age myself now by admitting that I saw Clemente play. Granted, my age was in the single digits, but I saw him play nonetheless. I remember being shocked and grief-stricken when he was lost, not unlike what I felt when Thurman Munson was killed several years later but made even more tragic by the humanitarian effort Clemente was trying to carry out. Here’s an image of Clemente on his 1960 Topps baseball card, looking unamused at being referred to as “Bob.”

In Control, Until They’re Not

Okay, nothing too out of the ordinary to start off with today.  New Small Mudlark Jorge Padilla gets vertical and grabs a board. Gil sticks with his hyphenated game plan and Milford gets the W.  Playing at higher altitudes didn’t give La Junta the advantage at presumably closer to sea level and oxygen richer Milford. Maybe it was the size-shifting basketball that gave them trouble.  They have a long train ride ahead of them.

Panel 3 provides us our Whisky Tango Foxtrot moments of the day. This was a home game, and Milford has banners. How long have they been there? When was the last time we saw a Milford hoops team win the Valley, or anything more? And what’s with that out-of-control, writhing mass of humanity? I need to post up the color version to try to sort them out.

Who are these people? Is that Jorge doing the jazz hands thing in the back? Where’s Aaaaron Aaaagard? Being so much taller than the rest you’d think he’d stand out. Is that Big Ken Brown, still with the team front and center? Who is this freakishly large guy at front right, and what is he doing to front-and-center guy’s left arm? Looks like he’s trying to break it. I’m throwing the Recycled Art tag on him; his profile looks an awful lot like the generic Whigham everyguy profile. Heck, the whole panel just looks like Whigham cut and pasted every rando player he’s drawn for the past few years, with no regard for scale, proportion and perspective.