The family that...

Where to begin? Words are lost. Honestly, they were never found. I'm sure some kind of genitive mood should be required somewhere. But where? Enough prattle. The final roller derby match was this Saturday just gone by. Oh yeah. We were there. A round-robin extravaganza pitting the three teams that make up the Emerald City Roller Girls against each other. Is "against" the right word when so much fun is (was) to be had by all who were present? The Flat Track Furies vs. the Andromedolls vs. the Church of Skatin' vs. the Flat Track Furies. In between the first two rounds there was an exhibition by the Junior Roller Derby. Their name escapes me. Actually (crutch) it was never in my possession. Nor should it have been. There was one little girl, maybe 12, maybe 13, wearing a t-shirt with the logo pictured below. I don't deserve to describe it further. On the back was her roller derby name: Tinker Hell. Again, nothing more to add. What more could one say? Least of all me.

Fred, Debbie. Debbie, Fred

As if you would notice. Indeed. As if. We are catching the train in the morning. The wee wee wee all the way home hours of the morning. The Yankees are coming. The Yankees are coming. To Seattle. Like a moth to a flame I must go. I won't score each pitch, but I will keep score. Obsessively. Compulsively. I even picked up a tiny little pencil sharpener. Just in case. The mechanical pencil works, but the characters and notations don't have that sharp appearance I want. That I need. They appear to almost bleed graphite. Tests conducted in the minors will make their big league debut. Once. Twice. Thrice. Blind mice. My line-up is set. My bag is packed. I have checked and re-checked that the tickets are there. Where they should be. It is in fact our aba daba honeymoon. Really. Yabba dabba doo! Until I return, you will get nothing. And like it.