The prompt this month was "baseball" and for a while I wondered just how I'd illustrate it. But then one day on an errand I happened to pass by the city's former Lynx Stadium. The Ottawa Lynx used to be the Montreal Expos AAA farm team and in 1995 they won the International League Championship only two years after they began playing. I witnessed that win and remember fondly taking my kids to Lynx games. In 2007, however, new owners moved the team to Allentown, Pennsylvania.
All that remains is an empty ballpark, used mainly by local teams for tournaments.
When the Expos folded the Lynx began an affiliation with the Baltimore Orioles from 2003-2006 and ended their Ottawa days affiliated with the Philadelphia Phillies in 2007. But in their 15 seasons in Ottawa the Lynx never came close to those heady days in the mid-1990s.
Be sure and visit P.J.'s blog and see what the rest of this month's participants developed. (See what I did there?)
Thursday, 31 July 2014
Tuesday, 29 July 2014
It was late July and Bob and Ray were forced to amuse themselves indoors because of yet another heavy rainstorm.
"The rain is falling down in buckets" said Bob. "Buckets?" said Ray. "I don't see any buckets. Why in hell do people say that. There's no buckets. It's like how people say it's raining cats and dogs. There are no cats or dogs in rain." "I'm not so sure" said Bob. "I once stepped in one hell of a poodle!" And they both snickered as Bob passed Ray the bowl of cheese doodles.
"Why do we say those things during a heavy rain" asked Ray. "You think those are bad" commented Bob. "In Argentina they say 'It's raining dung head-frost'" "That's pretty shitty"said Ray.
"And in Denmark that say 'It's raining cobbler boys'" said Bob to which Ray replied "Eyelet that one pass."
"Okay" said Bob "Moving right along to France, they often exclaim 'It's rainy like a pissing cow.'" "Oh, man" said Ray "I cud n't go out in that."
"Ha, well in Finland, according to my good friend Ziva" continued Bob "it's not unusual to hear someone say 'It's raining as from Esteri's ass'". "God, that blows" replied Ray.
"In Poland they say 'it's raining frogs'" said Bob "And in Brazil they say 'it's raining frogs' beards.'" "Boy, I'll bet you have to hop a lot to avoid stepping on them" sniggered Ray.
Ray popped another cheese doodle into his mouth, swallowed and then said to Bob "Say, how come it's rained so much this year. I don't remember it having rained this much in a long time".
"Well" said Bob as he elbowed Bob in the ribs and raised his eyebrows knowingly "summer like that and summer not."
Tuesday, 22 July 2014
I don't know what got into me. Nachos with bacon, cheese and jalapeño peppers as an appetizer, the burrito special and four Coronas.
Throughout the night I'd paid the price for that dinner. Or rather my wife had having to put up with my intestinal acrobatics.
The air was blue, given my poor wife's comments, not to mention the lingering smell from my hind quarter's activity. And it had been active. Very active.
I apologized profusely as I hopped into the bath and tried to relax a bit until the day got under way. But my insides were still in turmoil and this was demonstrated by the bubbles in the water. Did you know bubbles from farts still smell when they break the surface? Amazing, huh? Isn't science something?
I towelled off and got dressed. Orange juice, bacon and eggs for breakfast. I wisely decided to skip the coffee.
As I drove to work I noticed an emission problem and it wasn't my car. I immediately rolled down the windows, so as not to to be overpowered by the odour.
I stopped at an ATM as I was low in cash. I joined the line waiting to use the bank machine. I don't know what it was about the small enclosed space, maybe the dust triggered my allergies, and I could feel a sneeze coming on.
AH-AH-AH-CHOO I wailed but having let loose with the sneeze I lost all self control of my nether regions and simultaneously let go a rip-roaring good one. I broke the sound barrier without a plane, a real cheek flapper, a flame thrower, and I immediately thought of that Faulkner piece The Sound and The Fury.
As the people in front of me turned around to see who had been practicing the colonic calliope I turned too. I laughed my nervous laughter, pointed at the guy behind me and said, "Please, sir, show a little decency" and fled the ATM cubicle without my money.
The moral of the story: if you eat Mexican be ready to pay so.
Tuesday, 15 July 2014
Dr. Notverynice was quite pleased with himself. After three months of working day and night he was finally putting the finishing touches to his Whambam monster.
He'd used the finest parts, not always easily attainable but necessary, in order to build a top-notch destructive machine. His plans for world domination were falling into place. The creature was the missing link. He laughed to himself at his little joke.
He sat back and imagined Whambam being let loose to run amuck (not the get stuck in kind) among the streets of Pleasantown with citizens screaming in fear and attempting to escape the clutches of Whambam.
Dr. Notverynice had planned very carefully and his constructive efforts had been meticulous, right down to the three hundred mile extension cord need to power Whambam.
He plugged in the cord that would bring the menacing giant to life. The creature stirred. Its eyes slid open. It's arms quivered while its legs rattled.
Dr. Notverynice was thrilled. And with tears in his eyes screamed at his invention "Welcome to our world, my boy. Have I got plans for you."
Whambam sat up, turned and slipped off the table to stand upon the floor. He took three steps forward and slammed into the wall. He stepped back, turned, walked across the room only to slam into the other wall.
And that's when it all began to fall apart.
You see, in his haste to dominate the world with Whambam he had neglected to give the mechanical monster any optical equipment. The creature was blind as a bat.
"Damn" saud Dr. Notverynice. "I didn't see that coming."
Evidently, neither did Whambam.
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
Everyone certainly remembered his most distinguishing feature. He wore a faded brown fedora. Always. No one could recall ever seeing him without it. It was a part of him. He'd always worn it.
Ever since he was young he sported that hat, always at a jaunty angle that made him look older but not too serious. His friends would laugh and joke about it but their ribbing didn't influence him. Still he wore it.
It might be sunny or cloudy, raining or windy, day or night. Friends took bets on wether or not he wore that infernal hat to bed. He never let on. It was part of his mystique.
That chapeau never seemed to age. It was like it was in a constant state of suspended animation. The hat band bore a thin line of discolouration from sweat which was understandable seeing as how he never took it off. There was a dimple on the right side, more like a crumple where he'd place his hand to tip it ever so slightly when he passed a woman or departed the company of a good friend. And the brim was tuned down at the front casting a shadow over his deep blue eyes.
Some thought the hat, and sometimes the wearer, was an anachronism; a throwback to another day and time. After all, people didn't wear fedoras anymore. Yet he did and he didn't really care what people thought.
But it was evident people thought highly of him. Those gathered round his faded brown bier spoke glowingly of their dear departed friend. Of his generosity. Of his reliability. Of his sense of humour. Of his dear, dear friendship. And of his hat which now lay on his chest in the open casket. It was the first time, and the last, anyone had seen him without it.