Bowser
03-27-2009, 11:27 AM
NOTE:What follows is an untimely dispatch from Bowser describing events leading up to the first round win over Akron. As you would expect he is in route to Las Vegas, indulging one of his little basketball fantasies. Again. Don't read this if you are offended by buffonery. Mrs. Bowser
March 18, 2009
Due to SnapCo responsibilities [a deposition in one of the growing number of nuisance lawsuits alleging sexual harassment], I remained in the Portland area. Thirsty, I pulled in the parking lot of a Red Robin near the Rose Garden barely missing the open car door of some guy dressed in red and white. “Rental car. No worry. I got the insurance,” he says.
Nice guy. No surprise there. I recognized the red globular thing on his shirt as the WKU mascot. “Yo Topper, nice shirt. Goin’ in? Buy you a beer?” He nodded and we small talk our way into the lounge. His name is Zeke. Though that cornpone voice can fool you in the beginning, this guy is no dumb ass.
The place is packed and finally two chairs open up at the bar next to guy who looks like a slimmer, buffer Walter Sobchak only with a vest full of merit badges. He’s wearing an Akron Zipper hat and staring straight ahead. “Hey Zippy” He looks at me with some disgust, “You’re sure original. The name’s Ted, moron.” Well, he had me there. Not original at all. So I tell him, despite his snippy demeanor, that his money is no good here and that I’m buying. We find out Ted is a proud alum of Akron’s air rifle team. There is much to the story.
Finally we’re all talking hoops and are several beers into it when out of the blue Ted says he wants some “good calamari and some atmosphere.” He wants a Greek restaurant. Ted is a very serious man.
“Are you into the First Amendment?”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“Zippy, you’re in Oregon where they take the First Amendment very, very seriously.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with calamari.”
“It doesn’t”
Even though he’s known me for about an hour, Zeke senses mischief and stifles a smile. “Come on Ted, we’re out of towners. Let’s go with the flow, partake of the local hospitality. What could be wrong with that?” Ted nods and off we go to The Acropolis, which is way out on the east side of town.
“This is a long way to go for calamari.”
“Relax, Ted, we’re almost there. You said you wanted atmosphere.”
The Acropolis is a ramshackle place known for cheap food. At first glance, you wouldn’t know that cosmeticlly enhanced freedom of expression is practiced here 24/7 on 3, perhaps 4 stages and the patrons celebrate it with cash during every three dance set.
“What kind of restaurant makes you pay a cover charge?” Ted asked.
Zeke quickly responded, “They don’t do this in Ohio? It’s customary in the best places. Sakes alive son, is this your first trip away from home?” Ted just scowled and Zeke let it drop.
We grabbed a table and ordered two pitchers. Zeke and Ted are settling in while I go to arrange a special bachelor party for Ted who definitely needed it.
“Ted, get your eyes back in their sockets, friend. And sit down!” Zeke had hold of Ted’s belt as Ted was violating every protocol associated with similar bastions of free expression, leaning close to the stage, a dangerous proposition. As luck would have it, an immodestly clad woman approached Ted to escort him to his bachelor party. At least now Zeke and I could relax and work on the pitchers.
Pretty soon Zeke leaned over and said “I’ve done a bad, bad thing.”
“Probably no worse than stuff I’ve done.”
“No, this may be bad.”
“Can’t be that bad.”
“It is.”
“Probably not.”
“Trust me. Trust me on this.”
“Ok, what did you do?”
“Ted, asked for an antacid.”
“So”
“I didn’t give him one.”
“So.”
“I gave him a Viagra . . . ”
“. . . Big deal . . .”
“And before I could stop him, he took two more. . . He chewed them like they were baby aspirin.”
“Zeke, I’m not sure the rental insurance is going to cover this. For chrissakes, what were you thinking? Teddy is already overstimulated.”
Zeke just shrugged, “Guess we’ll find out.”
About an hour later, Ted lumbered back to the table. Time to go. Ted was delirious and obviously not done for the night. At least physically. Zeke and I were a tad tired.
On the ride back, Teddy just wouldn’t shut up. “Zags suck. Toppers suck.” On and on and on. Zeke suggested we drop by an ER since he had counted the hours at more than four. Teddy wouldn’t have any of it. He was the effing king of the world. Then one final demand, he wanted to go pick up tickets for tomorrow’s game from Will Call. I tell him they are likely closed at this hour, but he goes on and on. So I relented.
“Teddy, I forgot there is an all night place near Chinatown. We’ll take you there and wait for you while you get the tickets. Just ask for Darcelle or one of her assistants.” So Ted stumbles into the place. When the door closes, I lay a patch out of the place.
“Aren’t we going to wait for him?”
“No. No we aren’t. He’s in a special place now.”
March 18, 2009
Due to SnapCo responsibilities [a deposition in one of the growing number of nuisance lawsuits alleging sexual harassment], I remained in the Portland area. Thirsty, I pulled in the parking lot of a Red Robin near the Rose Garden barely missing the open car door of some guy dressed in red and white. “Rental car. No worry. I got the insurance,” he says.
Nice guy. No surprise there. I recognized the red globular thing on his shirt as the WKU mascot. “Yo Topper, nice shirt. Goin’ in? Buy you a beer?” He nodded and we small talk our way into the lounge. His name is Zeke. Though that cornpone voice can fool you in the beginning, this guy is no dumb ass.
The place is packed and finally two chairs open up at the bar next to guy who looks like a slimmer, buffer Walter Sobchak only with a vest full of merit badges. He’s wearing an Akron Zipper hat and staring straight ahead. “Hey Zippy” He looks at me with some disgust, “You’re sure original. The name’s Ted, moron.” Well, he had me there. Not original at all. So I tell him, despite his snippy demeanor, that his money is no good here and that I’m buying. We find out Ted is a proud alum of Akron’s air rifle team. There is much to the story.
Finally we’re all talking hoops and are several beers into it when out of the blue Ted says he wants some “good calamari and some atmosphere.” He wants a Greek restaurant. Ted is a very serious man.
“Are you into the First Amendment?”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“Zippy, you’re in Oregon where they take the First Amendment very, very seriously.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with calamari.”
“It doesn’t”
Even though he’s known me for about an hour, Zeke senses mischief and stifles a smile. “Come on Ted, we’re out of towners. Let’s go with the flow, partake of the local hospitality. What could be wrong with that?” Ted nods and off we go to The Acropolis, which is way out on the east side of town.
“This is a long way to go for calamari.”
“Relax, Ted, we’re almost there. You said you wanted atmosphere.”
The Acropolis is a ramshackle place known for cheap food. At first glance, you wouldn’t know that cosmeticlly enhanced freedom of expression is practiced here 24/7 on 3, perhaps 4 stages and the patrons celebrate it with cash during every three dance set.
“What kind of restaurant makes you pay a cover charge?” Ted asked.
Zeke quickly responded, “They don’t do this in Ohio? It’s customary in the best places. Sakes alive son, is this your first trip away from home?” Ted just scowled and Zeke let it drop.
We grabbed a table and ordered two pitchers. Zeke and Ted are settling in while I go to arrange a special bachelor party for Ted who definitely needed it.
“Ted, get your eyes back in their sockets, friend. And sit down!” Zeke had hold of Ted’s belt as Ted was violating every protocol associated with similar bastions of free expression, leaning close to the stage, a dangerous proposition. As luck would have it, an immodestly clad woman approached Ted to escort him to his bachelor party. At least now Zeke and I could relax and work on the pitchers.
Pretty soon Zeke leaned over and said “I’ve done a bad, bad thing.”
“Probably no worse than stuff I’ve done.”
“No, this may be bad.”
“Can’t be that bad.”
“It is.”
“Probably not.”
“Trust me. Trust me on this.”
“Ok, what did you do?”
“Ted, asked for an antacid.”
“So”
“I didn’t give him one.”
“So.”
“I gave him a Viagra . . . ”
“. . . Big deal . . .”
“And before I could stop him, he took two more. . . He chewed them like they were baby aspirin.”
“Zeke, I’m not sure the rental insurance is going to cover this. For chrissakes, what were you thinking? Teddy is already overstimulated.”
Zeke just shrugged, “Guess we’ll find out.”
About an hour later, Ted lumbered back to the table. Time to go. Ted was delirious and obviously not done for the night. At least physically. Zeke and I were a tad tired.
On the ride back, Teddy just wouldn’t shut up. “Zags suck. Toppers suck.” On and on and on. Zeke suggested we drop by an ER since he had counted the hours at more than four. Teddy wouldn’t have any of it. He was the effing king of the world. Then one final demand, he wanted to go pick up tickets for tomorrow’s game from Will Call. I tell him they are likely closed at this hour, but he goes on and on. So I relented.
“Teddy, I forgot there is an all night place near Chinatown. We’ll take you there and wait for you while you get the tickets. Just ask for Darcelle or one of her assistants.” So Ted stumbles into the place. When the door closes, I lay a patch out of the place.
“Aren’t we going to wait for him?”
“No. No we aren’t. He’s in a special place now.”