Back around the turn of the milennium, (No, this is not the opening screen scroll type thing at a Star Wars movie), an excavating company was working on digging and backfilling a big cellar hole In Exeter, NH. It was around coffee break time when Ronnie decided he had better not delay any longer. He would spend the first part of his break trekking about a hundred yards to the edge of the River. He sought cover from the couple of saplings and overgrown brush, in order to take care of some business that was going to be a bit more than could be tended to up by the foundation.
The rest of the crew sat on the foundation wall, enjoying a little coffee, light banter, and the view of the river. I’m sure the sight of the procrastinator, that decided to wait until all eyes would be focused in his direction, offered up a nice little conversation piece on a silver platter.
But it would get better. Ronnie crouched, trousers in hand, to clean his soiled jeans the old-fashioned way: By hand in the river. He reached up just high enough to throw his wet trousers over whatever sapling branch seemed sturdy enough. The boys were being treated to quite a show for coffee break that day
Anybody know what comes next? The skibbies needed to be cleaned, of course. What a disturbing treat! That silver platter was really serving up a doozie, but it was about to be crowned with jewels.
Of course the view at the river level didn’t provide the advantage of elevation that the guys- who were now rolling off the masonry with belly laughter- enjoyed from the foundation. Poor, poor Ronnie had know way of seeing around the bend. The UNH women’s crew team was rapidly approaching. They usually practiced about 1/2 a dozen boats at a time, either 7 or 9 kids to a boat, with a coach being chauffeured in a motor boat alongside. And there it was. The guys were in total disbelief that this was actually happening. Not a dry eye in the building at this point!
I know coaches are there to help, but can this coach legally suggest that the kids use bleach to scrub this from their memories, or are they all going to have to endure lifelong counseling?
A special thanks to my father in law, Harvey, for this one. I don’t know what to say, except, “Keep ‘em coming.”
By John Bradshaw