This Week in Milford

September 25, 2018

And Gil Screams Eiffel Tower High

092518

Awwwwwwwwww. Gil is in utter disbelief as his team is virtually getting railroaded. No doubt the Oakwood coach did call a time out but us Thorpiverse veterans are used to not holding our breaths when the Mudlark finishes the Mudlark Marathon run from Athens, Greece (where the Olympics all began) to Milford (well, the plot’s always a marathon, anyway) and beats the rest of the world by 2 days, 29 hours, 34 seconds, 1/456 microseconds, lapping France, Kenya, Sudetenland, Maldives (appaently training techniques suck, such as bad nutrition, i.e., dearth of Special K, Lucky Charms, apples, oranges, limes. uglis, mangos, beets, onions, borscht, prunes, etc.) et al only to find out he was disqualified because he skipped the Strait of Magellan when he was negotiating his way from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We’re resigned to our fate, thankful for the day when every ONCE IN A BLUE MOON they win SOMETHING. Nope, gang, Charlie Brown and his band of merry losers can keep on losing and build eternal character along the way and still keep its readership going. Not so in the world of Thorpiverse. Win SOMETHING, preferably a State Championship (Normally that’s wisely the case) or watch EVERYBODY switch over to Dagwood (technically Blondie).  A Doug Flutie like Miracle Bomb from the Strait of Magellan to the other end zone will have subscribers for life.

“Marino heaves a torpedo from 99 yards for the game TOUCHDOWN MILFORD. There’s an injury time out as the explosion caused mass destruction and the game can’t end on a natural disaster but the Mudlarks will likely win as De Windt, though blown in two, still managed to hang on and keep one foot in bounds!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Plus, everybody else got blown sky high!!!!!!!!!!”

If that doesn’t spike subscription sales, Marty Moon’s an astronaut.

 

And if Gil’s frown doesn’t prove that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, nothing will. That arc on his visage is the route you would negotiate through the Alps from Milano, Italia to Innsbruck, Osterreich. You forgot the Simplon Tunnel, Thorpiverse, assuming it’s nearby. Or just pick your favorite Deutscher Kaiser or Pope and attach an appelation to it. Make this fun.

Then there’s the fashion statement the referee is making. Time was, a referee might get yelled at by the Milford die-hards but  THE BLACK AND WHITE was wider in the stripes. Now, they got that look that Jordache is after. They’ll be hitting the runway at the modeling show at the Milford Expo Center after the game. At least there they’ll get cheered at.

 

Gang, wouldn’t you JUST ONCE love to see Coach Thorp do a tarantella when he gets waxed like he’s getting in P1? Granted, throwing a chair out on the field might not travel far in the natural grass and the field has bigger dimensions than a basketball court. But the worst I have seen from Coach Thorp the last 60 years are some Egyptian symbols (planet, ibis, North Star, pound sign, pyramid, etc.) out of some Sphinx somewhere along the Nile but I personally would like to see more animation and violent tempers and it starts with P1 in today’s strip. C’mon, Gil, you can do better than that. Scream so that Bulgaria can hear you, yell if the refs got their license out of a Trix box, say something about their mothers, they all have one, throw a helmet or a shoulder pad or a jock strap out on the field, ANYTHING to get ejected. Okay, Unsportsmanlike Conduct for throwing some player’s smelly piece of apparel is breaking precedent but the punting team has botched the snap several times, the referees are killing you and all you can manage is a Smiley face going the wrong way?  I hope the expression isn’t permanently welded. That might cause problems when you, Mimi and family do a family portrait at Milford Studios.

I do gotta admire the Nerfball sailing through the uprights at the Milford Observatory. The Oreo background makes for great atmosphere.

 

Walking toward the football field

He surely knows where to go

He slaps on his ‘phones

And puts on a show

Feasting on Gil’s fecklessness

And reckless leadership

And that Gil don’t give a shit.

 

He struts into the broadcast booth

He’s been there ever since

He strolls down to concessions

For a box of Junior Mints

Whooooaaaaaaa

Talking ’bout the game at hand

Thrashing Coach Thorp into sand

We’ll shout at Moon and demand

Try to get his attention

Scream at him

And we’ll scream, we’ll scream, we’ll scream

 

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream MARTY EIFFEL TOWER HIGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

I may have missed a verse or two. You might want to check me on that one. Also, thanks to Mimi Thorp for belting out the last verse and proving a suitable replacement for Grant Hart. We know she’s busy with her basketball team. She’ll be even busier this year as the conference upped the schedule by one game. How she finds time to sweat through a five-game schedule and rock with one of the best in the business and still find time for the kids and Gil (well, in bed, anyway) is nothing short of amazing. Scripts have a way of easing up the logjam.

 

If yore face got permanently contorted cuz that shot of Jack came straight from the well outta some corn field somewhar and ya wind up as a Witch Doctor Exhibit at the Milford Museum, ya might be a redneck.

“And Coach T’s inept coaching strikes again. That pouty gargoyle mien won’t save his ass this time. We’ll be back to wrap things up in a moment. The final score, Oakwood, 31, Milford, 28. You’re listening to WDIG, a division of Lear Field Sports.”

 

Coach Shaw is reading The Saturday Evening Post. He’s doing the “Where Do You Think You Are?” section. It’s all the Milfords in all the different states and he’s already figured out Milford, Delaware, Milford, Connecticut, Milford, Pennsylvania, and Milford Indiana, but can’t figure the state Milford, as in Mudlarks, comes from. (“It’s only 5 kilometers to Oakwood?”) While he’s wrestling with an Angel on this one

“Hi, Honey, I have a surprise!!!!!!!!”

“Wow, DO YOU EVER!!!!!!! I’m trying to solve this knotty problem. How many ‘k’s in ‘Mudlarkia’?”

“Darling, how can you indulge in one of Benjamin Franklin’s pastimes at a time like this when I have something in my possession that will alter your life?”

“You finally bought them mag wheels for my Dodge Durango? Wow, I’ll be the envy of my hunting buddies. Them raccoons will get their rings knocked off from all that glitter.”

“Nooooooooooooo.”

“Did my mail-order sawed off Winchester arrive today?”

“Nooooooooooooo.”

“Daggone it, I need to call the Milford FedEx office. It was shipped Tuesday. It’s already Friday. Looks like I get free shipping on my gun anyway.”

“I have something else that’s free.”

“Honey, you know they don’t run specials on deer tags. That’ll be the day.”

“Nope. Time’s up. Ta-daaaaaaaaaaa”

Shaw’s wife pops in the living room in a black bikini.

Shaw drops the Saturday Evening Post in the magazine rack between Field and Stream and Milford Outdoors Today

“Gloopy glop, um, I think I’ll head down to the Milford Public Library. I bet they’d know about Mudlarkia.”

“Uh, It’s Saturday and it’s 6:00PM and I think they’re closed.”

“Blippy bloop. That’s what you think (Coach Shaw recovering as fast as his brain can process the information) . I heard they were having a bake sale and handing out free cupcakes if you can read 500 Louis L’Amours in an hour. Shoot, the way he uses guns and kills off the bad guy in the end, it’s the same old same old. No Martin Charley Horse or whatever the name Dickens called him to contend with, let alone get on his hands and knees down at the Milford Shelter House beggin’ Oliver Twist for oatmeal and onion rings. Nope, bang, bang, take that you slimeball bank robber, you cain’t run off from Fort Knox with 500 tons of gold in your Conestoga Wagon. Louis’ll shoot you dead if ya don’t watch out. Them cupcakes is as good as in my belly.”

“The library has that many books on one person?”

“Oh, Hell, yeah. Then some lucky winner, if he/she can guess the State Flower, the State Motto, the State Flag, and the Admission Date of Mudlarkia will win a whole chocolate cake. I might have trouble with the last one since I don’t remember when the Carpetbaggers entered into our state but I’m pretty sure it was before the Gettysburg Address but just after the Wilmot Proviso.”

“Dear, why don’t we skip the history lesson and make our own history. We’ll do the 21-gun salute.”

“Because we might have run out of ammo?”

His wife caught off guard for the moment, Coach Shaw gets back on the offensive

“And if we read ‘The Positronic Man’ by Asimov before midnight, we get a $50 Gift Card to Milford Donut Solutions. I can taste those custard-filled chocolate long johns mow. Umm, umm.”

“I’ve never known you to read Science Fiction.”

“I read Clifford Simak and Ray Bradbury right before Game Film sessions. I can break down an opponent’s defense right after devouring ‘Fahrenheit 451’. AND the coop de grass is the drawing for the 2018 Chevy Blazer 4-Wheel Drive. It drivews through snow, salt water, sleet, ice, lichens, earthquake faults, Bavarian Alps, gneiss, permafrost, polar ice caps-”

“Polar ice caps? We’re nowhere near the North or South Pole. We’re in the State of Mudlarkia, remember? We’re practically across the Atlantic for the Bahamas, silly.”

“Blubby, blubby, there’s some snow that never melted at the Milford Wildlife area that the caribou dumped a load on and preserved for several months. If you’re not careful, you could drive your Blazer into the swamp and get eaten by crocodiles.”

“Caribou and crocs in the same refuge?”

“And all I have to do to be eligible for the drawing is read ‘Last of the Mohicans’ in Chinese before the cock crows twice.”

“Honey, you don’t KNOW any Chinese.”

“That’s what YOU think. I have this IBM Word Processor that can translate faster than you can say Rosenthal’s Methods for German. And it’s even been broken down into Cantonese, Mandarin, and Shikoku, in case the judges try to pull a fast one.”

“Isn’t the last one Japanese?”

Ignoring last slight, clinging desperately to his sexual barrenness

“And don’t you need batteries for the translator?”

One last stab

“Hell, I’ll get ’em down at Milford Electronics. It says right here, now where’d it go, ah, here it is, right under one of the electrodes ‘can…’, damn this Vietnamese can be a pain to read, only someone from the Gnomemobile can read it, ‘…only…be…special-…orderdered…send…SASE…'”

Coach Shaw looks up.

His wife is smiling in victory.

 

“It’s like Louis being surrounded by Black Bart and his gang without any bullets in his gun. You can’t have a happy ending in his novels if the supply office at Fort Leavenworth or Fort Cheyenne failed to order the right guns and ammo in time. We might still be using tomahawks. But at the Milford Men’s Clinic, you can shoot straight without any fear of the Dalton Gang spoiling your wedding. You can get married, get it on in bed that night, free from anyone crashing the party. With treatment programs that work, isn’t it time your wim-wim got the proper medicine and stood and be counted so that Louis can get that 1,345,586th novel he’s been working on? Don’t let Louis go the way of John Wilkes Booth and let him fight his way out of the barn. You’ll be glad you did.”

Gang, have at it. I don’t know which Art Deco bus I’m riding in, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

 

In Gil’s Living Room Decor

“Kaz, Shaw was listening to ‘Saturday Night Fever’ over the speakers, wasn’t he?”

“How’d you know, Gil?”

“There’s toilet paper forming a 540 degree angle from the shower stall to the film screen.”

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August 22, 2018

Mr. Scorer Speaks For Us All

Filed under: Gil Thorp, golf, lessons learned, metapost, oversize objects, Pissy faced Gil — teenchy @ 5:35 am

 

 

Gil’s doppelgänger has taken the words out of our collective mouths.  There’s nothing Mr. Scorer can do, except have scorers accompany the golfers as so many have pointed out since this whole travesty began.  There’s nothing you readers can do except, well, stop reading.  There’s nothing we bloggers can do except stop blogging keep on keeping on pointing out the ridiculous aspects of the story arc, like the huge talking golf bags front and center in P3.

metapost: robmize, you wanna jump in and run with this ball?

Metapost: Hello gang – I guess Teenchy didnt get the memo about his enforced vacation this week but its ok– I cant get up at 5:35 if my life depends on it, much less to write this blog, regardless of my pre-conceived interest in it. I have more thoughts on this but have to run some errands this morning so I’ll be back this afternoon – hope your all enjoying your beverages — Rob

So I’m assuming Gil is talking to 2 different people in P2 and P3, based on their shirt colors. I dont know which guy has more authority, but after you plead your case with 1 guy, and he says ‘nothing we can do about it’ (damn yes there WAS something you could do about it but you chose not to) why press the issue with another guy? Why think you’ll get a different answer? I still hope these cheaters get their come-uppence but the strokes that were not counted are lost to the ages unless someones out there with a video camera.. oh yeah – Milford You Tube Channel! Where’s ParrotHead when we need him??

Yes its a streaky game. I once hit 10 greens in regulation in a row en route to an 80. Not 1 birdie in that run even though I didnt hit a bad shot for 2 hours. 2 hours hitting it on the screws every time! Imagine..  8 pars and 2 bogeys. I was so locked in I could’ve shut my eyes while I was swinging and put it on the green. Another time I made 3 birdies in a row and rimmed out the 4th try. My score for the round? 91. My hole-in-one round was otherwise uneventful as I shot 98 on a day so hot my mom thought it was too hot for us to go out. We said we’re riding carts. Good thing I didnt listen to mom that day. Another time I made my first 6 putts of the round. I also went 98 straight holes without going into a sand trap. (5 1/2 rounds, but 2 of the courses had no bunkers).  I started keeping track after 2 rounds in a row trap-less; its not something I normally keep track of, if you were wondering. :)

All that stuff above is very hard to do– and it was all a small sample size of the whole round. So you can get hot for a while and still shoot what you normally shoot almost every time.  But again, Gil is shutting the barn door after the horse got away. This is files under ‘lessons learned’ for sure.

 

 

August 11, 2018

That hat aint gonna win you anything

Filed under: Gil Thorp, huge hats, Milford Weirdos, oversize objects — robmize2013 @ 7:51 pm

Oh well I can fill in since its late enough. More bs commentary from Gil. At least he didnt say ‘Gents’.

Yes theyre 2nd year golfers competing against 16 and 17 year olds. But there are Plenty of 16 and 17 year olds who are ALSO SECOND YEAR GOLFERS.!

I started swinging a club at age 9. My dad took me to the driving range for 3 years before he decided  I was ready to play a course. So I started playing in the fall of 1978 when I was almost 13. I shot 121. The next round I shot 122. Keep in mind I already knew how to hit a ball before I played a round due to my dad having me hit balls for 3 years. My short game was sorely lacking however, as I didnt have a lot of practice in that area save for chipping balls in my yard. I would aim for the lamppost in the middle of the lawn in front of the house, and we had several shorter grass areas surrounding the driveway that I used to hit shots of various lengths. I improved quite a bit from that but my putting was still weak from not enough practice on a real green. So anyway–

I dont think I broke 100 my first full season, and my 2nd season was cut short by a shoulder injury in July of the year when I went too far back on a backswing and felt something hurt. I played a couple more holes but couldnt swing all the way back, so I quit, and my shoulder wasnt better until October. 3 months. I think I may have torn a muscle, and it just took that long to heal, but I was basically done for the year. By October its school stuff and cooler weather and I dont think I played another round that year that I recall. But the shoulder healed completely. And being a kid I wasnt allowing the shoulder to slow me down- I learned to do stuff lefthanded like pitch and bat. Just couldnt swing a club.

So season 3 came and I was ready to improve and I not only broke 100 I beat my dad for the first time. Then in season 4, at age 16, I got a hole in one. I figure I played 100 par 3’s before that ace, which is very few for such a major golf accomplishment. That year I broke 90 a few times and decided I was ready to try out for my high school golf team as a junior. I had a couple things against me however. The team was good, its home course was the toughest 9 in the area, and I didnt play that course very well. My 2 nine hole scores were 52 and 52, and needless to say I was cut. My dad said dont take it personally, and I didnt, but I still felt I was better then those scores indicated; and my game continued to improve until I shot my lowest score ever, 78, a few years later. I still consider myself better then the average golfer, but I found out that improvement is slower once you reach a certain level, and I just didnt play enough to reach the low 80’s upper 70’s all the time. But thats my goal every time I tee it up.

So enough about me; what my point about telling all this is these guys are shooting 87 in their 2nd year, and thats way ahead of my pace. At that level, its all about the short game and minimizing the strokes around the green, and that takes practice and repetition. Then they can get those 83s Gil is talking about.

August 10, 2018

Ease up .. again??

Filed under: Gil Thorp, oversize objects — robmize2013 @ 5:27 pm

As we sink our teeth into a summer golf story…  2 or 3 strokes is close enough that a double hit could make things interesting. I dont think its weird at all that high school kids are giving each other grief about anything. Thats what they do. And in P3, Gil gives his timeless advice.. I thought the guys were hung up on every thing he said about the game, and all he comes up with is .. Ease up. How does he know they feel bad? All theyre doing is sitting on a bench having a cold one. Its so dumb how emotions are assumed so quickly in this strip, but thats why its only a comic strip and not real life.

July 27, 2018

What a long strange trip its been

Tieing up all the loose ends here on Feel Good Friday–

Panel One – How big is that mitt? Bigger then the players heads. Ryan must have gone to the Mens Big and Tall store for that. You catch a ball in that, it’ll be next week before you get it out. Jon Lester threw his glove one time because of that problem. Whatever it takes..

Panel Two– Nice of Gil to qualify Kevins season instead of just congratulating him and being done with it. Whats a great season when it takes 2 months longer then everyone elses?? This season made the Bataan Death March look like a drive through a car wash.  And the obligatory hands in the air for no reason – yippee, our seasons finally over and we can move on to summer on July Twenty Seventh!

And in Panel Three Kevin assesses his season. At a school as old as Milford, who there now gives a flying fuck about the guys there 30 years ago? Or even 10? High school records are about as big a deal to current players as an ant on their windshield. And Kevin makes a revealing statement –  -its his last season of Real baseball..? So next year he will play either Unreal Baseball, or .. wait for it.. football?  As long as its somewhere not affiliated with this strip.

 

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