This Week in Milford

March 13, 2018

Who calls Assistant Coach Kaz, “Daddy-O”


Fe Fe Fi Fi Fo Fo Fum

Marty got run from the gymnasium

That Marty Moon

That Marty Moon

He’s a loon

That Marty Moon

He’s gonna get tough. Just you wait and see

Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?


Who’s always ripping all the teams to shreds?

Who’s got the personality of Mr. Ed?

That Marty Moon

That Marty Moon

He’s a goon

That Marty Moon

He’ll avenge The Dove.  Just you wait and see

Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?


He broadcasts all the ball games foaming bile

Even if the ‘Larks win by a mile

His enemies pile up and gather ’round



YEAH YOU!!!!!!!!!

(Milford cheering section in unison, led by Mimi Thorp and Karina Klown)


Who’s calling Coach Thorp impotent and slow?

Who is a vulture on the radio?

That Marty Moon

That Marty Moon

Come back soon

Oh Marty Moon

He’s gonna call your bluff.  Just you wait and see

Why is EVERYBODY always pickin’ on me?

The final BOOMBOOMBOOM can be heard fading into the sewer while Marty races like Dale Earnhardt to WDIG studios, fumbles with his keys to open the door, the Milford Courthouse clock showing 1:15AM, never too early for a muckraker to type a rough draft on his radio screed but too late to catch the other Marty heading back to 1955 due to BOOMBOOMBOOMS from the flux capacitor. A lot of BOOMBOOMBOOMS with his typewriter. From Marty MOON, not McFly, so that we’re clear on things.

Gang, it was toss-up between “Daddy-O” and “Who calls ol’ Doctor Pearl, Mommy-O”. I hope I made the right call.

Wow, gang, I don’t know about you but I think Karina and Paloma dropped one bomb too many over Pearl Harbor (no pun intended). They have aroused a sleeping giant who really never sleeps based upon his arrogance and abrasiveness but what’s a blog without the obligatory cliche, right? The point is, we’re in for some more mud-slinging for the next 2 months (oh boy oh boy). Only the hog-rassling event at the Milford County Fair offers more but that’s only for a day or two. At least in the latter the winner will get a blue ribbon. But wouldn’t you know it, there’s Gil to save the day. As Jive Turkey has noted on a couple of occasions, Gil has been non-existent, especially on this issue. And the extent of Daddy-O’s coaching has been to remind HOR-HAY that there’s a game in front of the Puerto Rican Huckleberry Hound. Not a lot of cool points being dished out. STILL, sure as the mutant poplars grow out of the evergreens like the ones in the background in P1 and shed their antlers(I DID check the definition for “deciduous”, goody me!!!!), Gil HAS drawn a bead on this one after sleeping in his coffin for centuries. That explains why Marty is TOTALLY out of character in P3, continuing his ring-kissing(or maybe the kissing of Gil’s, well, never mind). Gang, I’ll keep saying it. ANYBODY thinking Marty is going to go to the altar and repent better think again. There’s been plenty of Thorpiverse neophytes who had a Euraka!!!!! moment, exclaiming to their friends down at The Bucket “Marty has found Jesus!!!!!!” The Thorpiverse veteran in the corner booth of the same venue orders the Triple Layer Nacho Bandito Supreme because he knows better. They’ve seen Judas turn over a new leaf before only to wind up back in his WDIG office saying “Vengeance is mine, saith The Moon”. Nice set of encyclopedias in P3, Gil, BTW.

If ya lay a Yorkshire flat on its back in yore Hanes imported from the factory in Tijuana and all ya git fer yore troubles is a cream pie, a sombrero and mud enemas, ya might be a redneck.

“What the-                                                              ”

Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Coach Thorp. Did they move his office?”

“This has been the boiler room for years. WHO did you say you were looking for?”

“Coach Gil Thorp.”

“Never heard of him. You sure you’re in the right school?”

“Yeah, I broadcasted his game last week in the gym down that hallway.”

“That leads to the cafeteria.”

“What?? No way!!!!! Paloma and her friends ran me out of the gym last week.”

“It was New Year’s Day last week. The school would have been closed. Who’s this Palooka-”


“Paloma, whatever. I never heard of her, either. Who is she, someone who wanted to celebrate 1955 and went a little overboard with it at your expense?”


That’s 3 years before Gil was born!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Where the hell am I?”


You’re on Riverdale High School property!!!!!!!!”

“And Dr. Pearl is not the principal?”

“NO!!!!! CERTAINLY NOT!!!!!!!!!! I AM the principal, Mr. Waldo Weatherbee!!!!!!!! But you can call me The Bee for short, if you like. The students do.”

“DOC!!!!!!!! THANK GOD!!!!!!!!! YA GOTTA SEND ME BACK TO MILFORD!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’LL EVEN APOLOGIZE TO PALOMA!!!!!!!!! BUT, DAMN IT, GET ME BACK TO 2018!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Marty, where did you get that goatee? Nobody grows facial hair in 1955.”

Today’s Women’s History Month entry is another personal favorite of mine, Annie Oakley. Born Phoebe Ann Mosey, she was a VERY adroit talent with the rifle, at one time defeating her future husband, Frank E. Butler, who was not too shabby with the rifle himself. She went on tour with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, dazzling audiences with her marksmanship. She could hit dimes at a distance, shoot a cigarette out of her husband’s mouth, hit a target from behind her, using only a mirror to line up the shot. What was neater was she would hold shooting clinics before the Wild West Show, instructing people on how to use a rifle and the safety procedures that went with it. A picture of Annie helping a young girl shoot a clay pigeon said it all and melted my heart. Annie, you did us proud and proved that women could use a rifle just as well as a man, especially when a rifle was necessary to defend yourself. Please spread the word about her as she contributed to humanity in a MIGHTY way.

Gang, have at it. I gotta go to 1955 and bail out Marty, both of them. AGAIN. Does anybody have a spare key to the flux capacitor?


March 12, 2018

Is That A Grundig?


Happy Monday! We have sprung forward and it seems waaay to early to be doing this. Thankfully there is much to chew on in today’s installment, so let’s jump in!

Yes, indeed, Marty Moon just walked off the job when the kids turned up the heat. This prompts SO many questions about WDIG’s sports broadcasts as well as the nature of Marty’s job. Those kids were getting on Marty’s nerves so he just strolls out? Did the station have something ready to throw on the air? (An old episode of the Joe Morgan Show?*) Will Marty face any heat from management about walking away from an assignment? (“Well, we can’t really fire him. We don’t actually pay him to do the games.”)

So, Marty takes to the airwaves from his studio safe space to rant about “a few ingrates and malcontents, fueled by Gil Thorp’s indifference”. Oh, that is so delicious. Actually, I think that quote should probably be included on the masthead of This Week In Milford!

The icing on the cake is that Gil is actually at home, listening to Marty, live on the radio! Gil, has it come to this? This is your Saturday? If Marty finds out that you’re actually listening to him, you know you’re gonna unleash the beast! Choose your words carefully when Marty comes to see you on Monday. (Is this Monday, I forget.)

Speaking of radio, I spent more than a few minutes trying to identify Gil’s radio, or at least something close enough that might have served as Whigham’s inspiration. I’m kind of fascinated by radios and the evolution of design. I didn’t really find a good match. Do any of you other malcontents have any ideas?

*The absolute worse thing I’ve ever heard on sports radio. I actually reached out the program director of a local sports radio station and begged him to put anything else on.

March 10, 2018

Goodnight Moon*


Goodnight room
Goodnight Moon
Goodnight fans shouting over the Moon
Goodnight light
And the racist goon
Goodnight game
“Goodnight”? Lame
Goodnight Padillas
Oh, goodnight? See ya!
Goodnight job
And goodnight slob
Goodnight little house
And goodnight souse
Goodnight Gil
And goodnight (W)DIG
Goodnight nobody
Goodnight pig
And goodnight to your shot at another gig
Goodnight scars
Goodnight hair
Good night Mudlarks everywhere

*apologies M. W. Brown



March 9, 2018

Its not gonna work

Filed under: basketball, Gil Thorp, Marty Moon, Steve Luhm's Ghost Mops These Floors — robmize2013 @ 8:31 pm

Marty appeals to Gil to stop the shenanagans behind him so he can do his broadcast in peace and quiet. Where’s his analyst by the way? Paul Strange? It would help if he had a partner in crime so to speak, or even a sound man. Dont most radio broadcasts need several people to make it work from a remote location like a basketball arena?  Is Marty really doing this alone? If so how? Any radio experts out there who can help? I’ve been in the stands and seen people doing radio broadcasts up high in the stands (also High School Cube works like this).

How about 3 panels that not only move the plot along, they make sense. A completely normal exchange given the situation. Marty could ask the PA announcer or the school officials to quiet the students, but pretty much anything goes at these games unless it gets physical. Chanting and group demonstrations in the stands are pretty much ok. I think Marty will have to deal with this between games. He may want to move his location to another part of the arena next time, but it may not work. Good stuff for a change!

March 8, 2018

Join In the Chant


I love it that Paloma’s all up in Marty’s grill; too bad Exploding Spittle Syndrome is not a thing. Still I’m a little disappointed in the chant. “Muzzle Marty” is a four-syllable phrase. Why aren’t the protesters using the “clap clap clap-clap-clap” cadence? You’d think they know it since “Mudlarks” is a two-syllable nickname.

Raised fists make for good visuals but they can’t be heard on the radio. Maybe since they’re not in the cheap seats they think they can just rattle their jewelry.

What four-syllable chant would you have the Milford crowd do? Keeping it clean so WDIG doesn’t pull the plug (although Marty’s think-skinned ass may just do it for spite, the station manager may think any ratings are good ratings). “Fuck you Marty” or “Un pendejo” are right out.

Inspiration for today’s post title:


March 7, 2018

So, Uh, They All Just Stopped Chanting When Marty Got Up?


In the long history of student demonstrations at Valley sporting events (which I am too lazy to document here), this has got to be one of the weakest ones ever. No signs, no props, not even a particularly clever chant. Just a forest of Freak Hands and Chunky Bracelets to assure that we are indeed in the Milford milieu.

Assorted questions:

So, is the game still going on? Is there someone back at the studio to fill the air? Why isn’t Karina shouting back at Marty? Who’s face is that in Panel two? Does Marty’s mike not reject most ambient noise and if not, why the hell is he wearing a headset then? In short, just what the hell is going on here?

Minus points: Let’s go back to Panel One for a moment… With the possible exception of Duncan, those are supposed to be the hands of teenaged girls.


March 6, 2018

Go Ahead, You Can Chant All You Want, But You Got No Philosophy.

Filed under: Exploding Eyeball Syndrome, Marty Moon — tdrewhardin @ 5:31 am


God, I gotta quit listening to Ben Folds Five when I’m doing my post. Not a way to mix business with pleasure.

And folks, we are pulling out all the stops here as we have a battle royale on our hands. Poor Marty is left clueless for a riposte. Well, that’s what Thorpiverse wants you to THINK anyway. T-verse is just hoping you stay with the plot that has not surprisingly offered little drama from the sports angle anyway and wait to see if Marty winds up diving in the same radioactive pool of water that befell Dr. No when the latter tried to tangle with James Bond.  But when has ANYBODY seen Marty throw in the towel, let alone drown in Dr. No’s cesspool? And Gil couldn’t manage, unlike James Bond, to throw Marty out the same airplane window that sucked poor ol’ Goldfinger and sent him crash-landing belly-up 10,000 feet below. If ANYONE, and that goes for you too, Paloma and Ernie, thinks that they’re going to hear that ugly grating Model T sound that we all heard on Dr. No’s island after James Bond turned the steering wheel the wrong way and all the Dr. No myrmidons are going to run every which way in Milford’s gym after Marty called Jorge a “Jose Cuervo on the boards”,  I got farm land to sell you, cheap, right behind McShane’s Hardware.  They might run like hell towards the ocean to escape but Marty and Milford’s gym should be intact by the time M picks up Mr. Bond.

The Gang of 15 enter Milford’s gym after paying for their tickets.

“How many?”

“15, please.”

“Protesting or non-Protesting?”

“Oh, definitely Protesting.”

“Right this way. We have a section right behind the WDIG table. Should have no problem with the reception picking up your favorite grievances. Enjoy the show.”

“And some Japanese man has entered the gym. Looks like he could use the Ultra Slim-Fast plan. WHOOAAAA, he just flung his top hat at me. Thank God, the old reflexes are kickin’ in after 60 years on the job. Unfortunately, can’t say the same for Coach Kaz. Luhm’s coming in now to sweep up his head. The towel boys are wiping off all the blood on the court. The refs are enforcing the no-blood rule.”

And aside from the problem I’m having trying to link up all the balloon comments to the speakers (sheesh, T-verse, I’d rather pick up Kaz’s head), who you gonna replace Marty with should you succeed in running him out of the gym with this scathing tirade? Mrs. Aardvark? She’s too busy watching her son inbound the ball. Not that Marty is going to take it and like it. Marty is not going to be written out of the script, Paloma and company. Protest all you want. You can shout from the top of your lungs MARTY IS A WIENIE!!!!!!!!! or PEACHES DESERVED BETTER!!!!!!!!! and when the smoke has cleared, Marty will still be spewing his venom for generations to come. In fact, I can see this 40-50 years down the road when Paloma has grandkids:

“Where are you going, in multiples of 5, Mariposa?”

“Down to Barry Bader Field to air our complaints. Milford is taking on Oakwood and we’re going to cram into Marty’s little hot dog stand and give him a piece of our mind!!!!!!!He can’t call HOR-hay III a ‘Speedy Gonzales around the base paths’ and get away with it!!!!!!! He’ll be in the unemployment line Monday morning if we have anything to do with it or my name doesn’t mean ‘butterfly’!!!!!!!”

“Well, tell Marty, Paloma says ‘hi’. And I changed jobs at the phone company.”

If ya got a cheering section that ya drag along at yore Industrial League softball game on Wednesday night at the Milford Sports Complex and ya enjoy downin’ a Bud Lite in the dugout after ya flew like a Mexican jumping bean on an inside-the-park job and yore cheering section chants in Latin American Spanish “Flies like a mariposa and stings like an abeja,” ya might be a redneck.

Heard midway through the 3rd quarter on WDIG:

“…and HOR-hay signals time out as Coach T wants to talk things over after Valley Tech has gone in a 10-3 run. And with-


-3:25 to go in the 3rd Quarter, it’s Milford, 53, Valley Tech, 51. You’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, Marty, surely you have other things to do besides rip athletes to shreds here at WDIG studios. And Anonymous Calculus Dude is in Guatemala on a sales run. Why don’t you let me show you a good time?”

“Sorry, Miss Moneypenny, this time the kids are out to hurt somebody and I got to take action. Besides, Peaches and I are spending a weekend at the New Thayer Hilton.”

I will be doing a Women’s History segment once a week. Today’s entry is none other than my own mother. Before I get run out of Milford on nepotism charges, let me say that Jacqueline Lee Hardin defied a lot of odds when she took the hammer and nail and rebuilt the inner city through Habitat for Humanity. She unfortunately played go-for until one day when a worker didn’t show up, my mother stepped to the plate and hammered the day away. She was one of them by day’s end. Two newspaper articles liberally singing her praises stamped their seal of approval on her contributions. Mom, you’ve come a long way from the day when you went to the hardware store to ask whether a project required a 9/16 or a 3/8 socket and the hardware clerk asked “What does your husband think?” I love you and salute you, Mom.

Gang, if you need me, I’ll be under the bleachers. Oddjob isn’t getting MY HEAD on a silver platter.

March 5, 2018

15 Fans And What Do You Get?

Filed under: basketball, huge earrings — nedryerson @ 6:46 am


Well, I don’t know about you, but today’s strip has inspired me. I am ready to rock!

The first panel is actually visually arresting. I don’t know if it’s the geometrical precision or the use of negative space or what, but it sets the tone nicely. I would like to point out that the rise of the bleachers seems a bit too gradual for your standard high school gymnasium. It’s a shame, because given where we’re headed here, the closer we have multiple rows of people packed behind the scorer’s table, the more this scenario could turn into Thunderdome.

Duncan Levin seems to be leading the way. Good work saving seats (that nobody seems interested in to begin with) Duncan. He managed to shoo everybody away from those primo seats until tip off, so Paloma and Karina just shuffle in and take their places. Seems a little casual, but that’s why they keep Duncan around.

Milford is up early and the game begins! I’d love to go back to that wide perspective of the first panel and see all seats empty except for a cluster of people behind Marty breathing down his neck and listening intently to see what he’s saying.


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