Blooper Reel

Daftpunk can’t run her precious little hit piece on Ryan, so she quits the school paper.  Ryan gets rattled when Central girls troll him about an event that (according to his parents) wasn’t all that, so he loses his mojo and quits on the mound. Now the rest of the Milford baseball team quits all around him and the season goes down the crapper. Gil’s quit on his team too: relying on hope and working on his grilling technique, he could give two shits about the rest of the season. Yo Gil, out here in the real world, winners eat steaks, losers eat franks and beans. (By the way, what the hell is Gil wearing on his wrist? Is he talking to Dick Tracy on that thing? Maybe he’s talking with that talking baseball with EES in P1. And what the complete hell is with his hand with integrated spatula?)

Even the color monkeys phoned it in on this one: they didn’t color the Jefferson player or whatever it is Mimi’s got in that pitcher (and don’t tell me it’s straight Everclear). I’m beginning to get the idea that the Whigrub brain trust has run out of ideas on how to wrap this arc up; not saying they’ve quit on it yet, but it’s starting to feel that way.

I’ve been on the road all day to Bakst country and just arrived only a few minutes ago.  I almost quit on this post for today, so I hope you’ll forgive me for its brusque nature.

 

Chill, ‘Cane! You still got the W

Having been yanked from the game by Gil, Ryan Van Auken looks startled as he trudges into the Milford dugout.  And no wonder: judging from the motion lines Whigham drew in, Ryan’s glove arced over his left shoulder before hitting the back of the bench in front of him.  He must have thrown that shit before he walked in the dugout!

Bobby Mitchell (not the one who integrated the Redskins) earns the save when a levitating Barry Bader wills the ball to rise vertically into his outstretched glove.  Awful nice of Gil to put stripes down the sides of the Mudlark unis; gives Barry a way to relate to his old man. But what is that leaf-like object hovering over Barry’s rear end?  An actual tobacco leaf?  An indicator of his preferred kinks?  Or something else?  Talk amongst yourselves.

Saved by the ‘Cane

Maybe Wellington batters could make contact with Ryan Van Auken’s stuff if they weren’t using cricket bats.  Maybe CB Bucknor has found an umpiring job closer to his level and called that a foul tip.  Maybe Wellington’s first base coach (if they have one) shouldn’t let his baserunners get such a huge lead trailing by three runs.  Maybe Wellington shouldn’t channel the early 1980s Phillies by wearing powder blues at home. Maybe I should go back to using the black & white version of this strip for my posts.

In any event, much less drama than we were expecting out of the new kid who, from this angle, is looking an awful lot like the old new kid.  Guess we’ll have to wait a bit for his first meltdown. Maybe on the bus ride back to Milford?

Marginally Adequate, Unlike This Plot

Good grief, now Rubin’s really phoning it in. So tempted to do the same but you all have been pretty kind to me since my return so, gentle readers, I must make the effort. I do appreciate the rabbit hole of old candy bar ads yesterday. I don’t remember Chocolatey Pay Days very well, but Pay Days themselves were pretty popular where I grew up. Then again I grew up in a part of the country where people were wont to throw salted peanuts in a bottle of Coke or Pepsi so there’s that.

It would be nice if “marginally adequate” was defined, especially given that no other Mudlark’s stats have been mentioned. It would be “marginally adequate” to tell us who Milford’s opponents were and the game result, but I guess if your only goal is to show us that a couple of nosy parker players have turned their coach into a nosy parker then, hey, mission accomplished. Also, mighty nice of Gil and Mimi to leave the house to get their drink on once in a while. No probs hiding a flask in the jacket pocket to sneak into the Coffee Cantina.

My highlight of the day: back dimples on raver at P1, lower left. She’s gone all Mardi Gras in her party bra on us. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Periodic Domination?

Let’s leave aside the mysterious periodic relationship between Aaron, his mother and Milford basketball for a moment and get back to something we really haven’t talked about enough.

Someone needs to explain to me what the hell is going on with Aardvark’s hair because between panels one and two it is not at all clear to me where it is shorn nor where it has been left to grow out.

Bonus point: Panel two is pretty darn awesome. Not sure why it couldn’t have been done across the final two panels as the drawing of Marty doesn’t add anything.

 

Feed and Granger

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.

Same Look, Different Results

I was disappointed to learn that the Sulphur Tors aren’t named for Tor Johnson but is short for “(Golden) Tornados.” How cool would it have been to see the Sulphur fans turn out in Tor Johnson masks?

The Tors also wear dark jerseys at home. Hell of a road trip from the Great Lakes down practically to the Gulf of Mexico. If  the “later” when the team arrives at The Bucket is the same night of the game then the Mudlarks must’ve taken a chartered jet back home. Maybe Wildcat Maris and the booster club got a multi-year deal after Gil & co. lucked into the state title season before last, and couldn’t back out of it after last season’s Holly Dobbs-orchestrated clinker.

Did Marty make the trip south or is he doing a recreation from his crate? Is he mentally willing the ball into Max Ortiz’s hands via his pose, or is he channeling his inner Rooster Cogburn? And how about that puny souvenir football Max hauled in for the insurance score? If they use balls that small during game situations, maybe The Secret Pelwecki won’t have so much trouble handing them off. Let’s hope Heather Burns, The Quarterback Whisperer, has a supply on hand in the morning.

Those Who Can, Do. Those Who Can’t, Coach for Gil for Free

The Secret Pelwecki’s Other Ball just dropped from the arm of the Oakwood running back, giving the Mudlarks’ sputtering offense a shot at getting back in the game. Leading with his head helped Kevin jar the ball loose, but I’m sure that’s not the way Gil wants to see his quarterback use his head.

Speaking of quarterbacks, new assistant trainer Heather Burns has her own opinions about Milford’s. Could it be that the mediocre soccer player doesn’t want to use Rick Scott to sidle her way to becoming the Mudlarks’ placekicker, but to become their quarterbacks coach? Wasn’t one Bobby Howry enough this decade? Or could it be that she actually wants to become the quarterback herself?  By the way, whatever happened to Jarrod Hale?

Pantheon of Hair Dept.: That bowl cut with the keyhole bangs that Whigham is so fond of drawing and that would not look out of place in an Our Gang Comedy.