Hearing there would be ice skater hops at the Gipper this morning, three youths (hate! hate! hate!) from Mandeville hopped into Shooter’s truck and took the long journey north, in search of hot sauce, cheaper gas prices, and, of course, glory.
Glory, however, was not to be found. The first sight to hit these young men’s eyes (and a telltale sign of how the morning would go), was Moby’s mutt, Sonny. Now, nothing against Sonny, but he is looking a little rough around the edges these days. Looks like he could use sh&#, shower, and shave, as my dad might say (and actually, one of those, he would check off before the beatdown was through). No judgement, though, Sonny – we’re all headed there sooner or later.
But our despair wasn’t simply the sight of this poor, aging mutt. No, as the clock tower chimed 0600, there was no Einstein to be found. YHC thought maybe another bat had flown into his face like a few years back, and simply delayed him. But as the Bush-led warmorama dragged on, it became clear that there would be no ice skater hops today, no trivia tidbits on the geological formations that surround the train depot, and yes, sadly, smurf jacks were also likely off the menu.
Out of respect for the elder Todd, we retired Ice Skater Hops as you would the jersey of one of the greats. The rest of Einstein’s extensive catalogue, however, would be fair game, and we’d make a point of revisiting it in his honor.
Bush led the way, taking us to the Taj parking lot for a dizzying round of shuffles, cariocas, lunges, skips, and sprints.
YHC then took the backside of the Taj, where we honored the great superintendents and speech therapists of yesteryear with planks, bear crawls, merkins, al gores, broad jumps, and squats. It was good to see BBQ intensifying the count, and flexing his cadence-counting skills, which are renown across the region. YHC also learned that you can get a brick out there for putting in 9 years of service, which, if you ask me, seems like a low bar to set. (Hell, Jose would have two and a half bricks out there by now.)
Shooter took the third act, utilizing the wall of the Taj for a partner exercise: P1 skips the perimeter, P2 holds a wall sit, flapjack. Then for the real hurt: P1 runs the perimeter while P2 holds a near vertical, “donkey kick-esque” plank (you know Shooter and his donkey kicks). My neck muscles thank you, Fletch, for not lallygagging on that final run.
Back to the flag where Shooter took us home in what has become another Shooter go-to: single leg wife pleasers (one of the many bawdy comments from Moby resulted in the above title), Superman’s, and scorpion kicks. Not so fast, though – BBQ had one final Einstein routine to add to the mix: Jack n Jills.
With the tribute complete, we closed out with the COT – announcements of the Turkey Trot and Jambalaya Cookoff for Veterans (with Big Willie and Sogo). Then Bush prayed us out with intentions for Sogo and a push to continue to better ourselves in all aspects of our lives.
Thank you northern gentlemen for hosting us – every time I post up there I think to myself, I need more of these guys in my life!
