Predictable, That’s The Word Of The Day

Summer has officially arrived. We survived a plot that nobody wants to think about ever again, so we cleanse our palates with a cool, refreshing beverage on the deck at the Thorp house. This event is so predictable that Mimi calls out its predictable nature in the text. Wow, that’s like, meta.

Gil is as predictable as the strip named for him. He knows it and Mimi knows it. Ah, but Gil has a trick up his sleeve. He’s mixed iced tea into the official beverage of the Thorp deck, lemonade, to make Arnold Palmers. (Is Gil already thinking of golf? Probably. He is so predictable.)

I don’t mind an Arnold Palmer, but I am a dedicated drinker of iced tea. We don’t know Mimi’s stance on iced tea. (Have they ever drank iced tea in Gil Thorp, Long Island notwithstanding? I haven’t a clue.) If Mimi is not into iced tea, perhaps an Arnold Palmer to her is a ruined glass of lemonade. Maybe Gil is about to get a pitcher of Arnold Palmers dumped on his head. That would be unpredictable, but…

We’ve got to ease into a new plot with some characters we can’t identify. We have two young women, one who wants to sleep in and one who needs her “bestie” to get her downtown. (Do kids use the term bestie and do they actually address friends thusly? I’m clueless here too.)

So the bestie that’s all ready to go (Earrings: check. Bracelets: check. Bare midriff: check.) has presumably passed through a parental checkpoint and proceeded straight to her bestie’s bedroom. I can’t help but image an Eddie Haskell like conversation in the foyer. “Is Bestie up? No, well Mrs. Bestie, I shall rouse her so that she shan’t tarry in bed all summer. All my best to Mr. Bestie!” Maybe kids just barge into each other’s homes these days. (Clueless.)

The word predictable immediately brings to mind this Kinks song from the dawn of the MTV era. Maybe this era of Kinks pales in comparison to the genius songwriting of the 60s/early 70s. This song is a little trite, I guess, but I have a soft spot for that period when aging sixties acts tried their hand at updating sounds and making videos to appeal to new audiences.

Mimi Thorp: Guaranteed to Satisfy

While I was flat on my back in hospital this past weekend I did manage to keep up with the shenanigans at Milford Town Park, where the Milford – Valley Modified baseball game turned first into a rout then into a pukefest picnic. First the game was interrupted by pizza and drinks, then with a giant sub in the porniest way possible then, finally, with a visit from an ice cream truck with a name straight out of a Cheech and Chong movie and looking like it’s staffed by two Kazakhs and a bear.

As disgustingly as that whole scene played out, it pales in comparison to the victory lap these three mooks are taking in the Milford teacher’s teachers’ lounge. Nice to know that Gil, Kaz and Rooney feel as though buying the Dead End Kids some grub can assuage their guilt over not standing up for The Mayor when he needed it most, effectively screwing up his life for the forseeable future… or have they? What’s this mysterious email Gil’s referring to? Will it help Mike Knappe overcome the stigma of violating a draconian zero-tolerance policy for which none of his teachers or coaches stood up in opposition?

Who knows? All they care about is trying to figure out who sent the ice cream truck to Town Park. Hunkered down with a Popsicle® and a knowing smile, Mimi breaks the fourth wall. She must’ve been the one who stopped Uncle Bud as he was passing by.

 

This Plot Finally Gets Its Much-Needed Crutch

P1: Don’t look so surprised, Mimi. You knew her ankle looked sketchy. Where was Trainer Rick Scott when you needed him? Does he only train for the football team?

P2: Having once again failed to develop any pitching depth (see Radley, Boo and Hobson, Carrie), Mimi resorts to strategically planting land mines along the basepaths. Unfortunately the mines aren’t very powerful and the Madison runner still scores. An eye for an eye and an ankle for an ankle won’t cut it in the Valley, Mimi. As if you care.

P3: Ah yes, back to the perspective we’re used to in this strip: Girls watching boys. At least I think that’s a girl. Maybe it’s Phoebe and she’ll help Mike and the Misfits hone their skills to beat the Mudlarks. After it’s all done she’ll say it was her way of protesting the draconian zero-tolerance policy that went unchallenged and sent Mike down this path of pathos.

Stepped On

Remember that chopper to the first base side from last week? Here’s the payoff! Pitcher Jamila Moses races the Valley Tech batter to the bag, catches probably too much bag and gets herself stepped on!

It’s her foot, maybe her ankle! Mimi assesses Jamila’s status while performing a provocative squat on the infield dirt.

Jamila pops up because she’s a gamer and wants to continue to perform. She also doesn’t need an eyeful of Mimi’s jeanmeat. Mimi’s having none of it and Jamila is through for the day.

A Sort of Homecoming

In case you didn’t pick up on the long hair in the dugout yesterday (or thought it was a Kevin Pelwecki tribute), the Milford @ Goshen game is in softball, not baseball. It was one of the Lady Mudlarks who called out Mike from the stands. Unnamed – and not particularly visually distinctive under the earflaps – it must be Phoebe, the only Milford girl who showed an inkling of interest in The Mayor and who, as the recipient of The Mayor’s attention, was an unwitting spectator to the spiral of events that led to his expulsion.

Nevertheless, she’s surprised and happy to see him, so she spontaneously gives him a hug. Remember spontaneously giving people hugs? Yeah, me too. Is that a butter knife in Mike’s pocket or is he just glad to see Phoebe? Leave it to Mimi to rain on this little parade. Wonder how much she knows about the situation, especially how much she knows about how little Gil did in Mike’s defense.

What other reason does Mike have to hang out and watch his old schoolmates play ball? That world is behind him; even his ex-coach called him an idiot for even thinking about trying to recapture it.  So unless the ex-Mayor is plotting some kind of revenge he really shouldn’t be torturing himself with reminders of his past. That includes Phoebe; after all, didn’t we just see an equally cute blonde on the Valley Modified campus a couple of days ago? Now, where are the brake lines on the Lady Mudlarks’ activity bus?

“Mimi and I washed our hands. Here, Alexa, smell ’em.”

Well, rob went there yesterday. I was beginning to wonder how long we at TWIM could go without making mention of the current global crisis, one that could end up making the crisis that gave us the Padillas story arc a couple of seasons ago look relatively minor in comparison.

As I write a good many of us may be working from home, either by choice or by force. Some of us may already have been working from home, but travel restrictions may be keeping us from visiting our clients or customers. Rob works for the USPS, so I doubt working from home is an option for him. (Be careful out there, rob.) Some of us may see our work cut back or lost entirely. Too soon to tell.

Less than a month ago I was planning on playing hooky taking the day off from work and going into DC to see something no one has seen in ninety-five years: a major league baseball team that calls Washington home raise a world championship banner. Then the Nats announced they wouldn’t be selling single game tickets for Opening Day, that the tix would only be available as part of a season ticket plan or partial plan. (Ah yes, the sweet smell of success.) Okay, whatevs, I’ll hit StubHub. It might be another ninety-five years before it happens again.

In the words of Gilda Radner’s Emily Litella, “Never mind.” MLB cancelled the rest of spring training and postponed the start of the season by at least two weeks. The NBA, NHL, MLS, and Premier League have suspended their seasons; the XFL (look it up) canceled its season outright. The Masters, PGA and LPGA tours, and most motorsports events have been postponed. The NCAA has cancelled all remaining winter and spring sports championships; any March Madness we see will not be on a basketball court.

Where I live the schools have been closed for at least the next two weeks. The SATs scheduled for today have been postponed. High school sports have been cancelled for the remainder of the academic year, including the basketball playoffs. I guess it’s a good thing Rubin and Whigham have helped prepare us for our immediate sports-free future by turning away from sports to a few weeks of he-said, she-said about academic cheating.

Just wait until the spring story arcs start in a week or two. They’ll make the Thorpiverse look even more like a fantasy land than it already does. Stay safe, TWIMers.

Update (5:25pm EDT): In all the gloom and doom I forgot to wish you all a happy Pi Day. I took time out of my day to bake a pie – an old school Florida favorite, sour orange pie. Here’s a pic so that you may enjoy vicariously. My meringue styling skills could be better.

Gils got Corona

His name was Gildo

He was a teacher.

But that was 30 years ago, when they used to make some dough

Now he’s a statue

No need for coachin.

He pretends to give a care

But who knows whats in his hair

He works from 8 to 5

Drinking coffee half-blind.

Then he went to see his doctor

And he found out why

 

 

The Corona

Corona virus (the virus)

Has struck him worse than larynghitis

And the ‘Rona’s

At Gils cabana.

Music and passion will be out of fashion

At Cantina.

The coffee cups fell…

Over the sinkwell…

 

His name was Kaz-man

He wore a diamond

Gil hired him as his right- hand man

He met Kelly on demand

They hit a disco

And did the cha – cha

But some old dude went way too far

Kaz sailed across the bar

And then the punches flew and chairs were smashed in two

There was blood and open wounds

But just who got the flu??

 

Gil got ‘Rona

At the cabana.

It may be the end of the draaama.

Here at the high school

Where there’s a band of

Cheaters and writers and Marty Moon sighters

And a Duuucey…

Writing the lineups..

Out in the land of….

Gil’dos cabana.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not An Exhibition(ist) Game

Unlike Dan Reeves, Alexa wants to let ’em see her sweat – and bang bodies, too – but doesn’t want to let ’em see her score? If you went by dialog alone you might this was an outtake from Eyes Wide Shut. This is no orgy, at least not on the scoreboard and not at the moment.  Assistant Head Coach Phoebe Keener is about to change all that.

Nice to see Mimi has given up on coaching Alexa since effectively abdicating that role to Phoebe last week. This is painfully apparent during the timeout. So the Milford girls have one (student) coach for one player and one for the rest of the team? Marty Moon should’ve noticed that and ran with it like a preschooler with a pair of scissors.

Mimi has lost control of the Lady Mudlarks and Rubin has lost control of this plot. It’s been two weeks since we’ve seen Chris Schuring and over a month since we’ve seen the boy hoopsters; can any of them get this thing back on the rails?