Now, though, it's the Connecticut Defenders.
Complete with a nuclear submarine float. Sigh. I miss Ahab and his cute little harpoon.
Mistah and I went to a game recently with our friend Johnny Slips. On a Thursday. A Thirsty Thursday. A cold rainy endless-spring-in-Connecticut Thirsty Thursday. $3 Sam Adams. Including the pint glass. Can't beat that.
The guys brought out the line up cards, as they do. But, really? I know it's all a ruse. I know what they're talking about. “Candlesticks always make a nice gift.”
The Defenders' mascot is a chicken. Clearly. Johnny Slips, however, insists he is an eagle and he is called Cutter. Yeah, right.
I still say he's a chicken.
I only recently got a real handle on the difference between the words pugnacious (argumentative) and pugilistic (fights with fists).
And it looks like we got a little bit of both here . . .
There was a serious, conspicuous, lack of peeps at the game.
I think there were only 12 people there. Including me and Johnny Slips.
But we had a grand time. We drank Sams . . .
. . . we yakked . . .
. . . and we enjoyed less than 2 hours of baseball. The game was over before we knew what hit us.
Aw, finally the
chicken eagle made his way over to me. Since there was no one else in the stadium, the flying rat bastid.
I'm goosing him; can you tell from his expression? He loved it.