Words and Thoughts — December 14, 2023
Hello again alleged readers! I’m trusting that all of you will keep what I’m about to share with you relatively quiet. I’d like to avoid this news getting out on the internet, or America Online, or in any form of printed media. Actually though, I wouldn’t mind my announcement being mentioned in the footnotes of a 2017 calendar featuring windmills of the world. Not old fashioned windmills like in Holland, rather more modern wind turbines. Ideally June would be a silhouette shot of a Vestas V150-4.2 MW™ at sunset, however that’s not a dealbreaker, (it would obviously be lunacy if it was a dealbreaker), and Stav ain’t no lunatic.
My rather exciting news is that I’ve recently found my way into a bit of extra money. Not too long ago, I found myself hitchhiking across Texas, and right around New Braunfels, I asked the gentleman I was riding with to let me off at the Buc-ee’s Truck Stop. Real nice guy, animal control officer from Houston. So, as I rolled out of the back of his truck I, as everyone does, stopped at the Buc-ee’s gift shop for a souvenir spoon and pudding cups. You know how much I love pudding. Now the spoons I’m used to are of the plasticky, color changing, variety that came in a box of Trix Cereal back when Trix still had all the good chemicals in it. Real easy on the teeth. Care to guess what’s not easy on the teeth? If you guessed a Buc-ee’s souvenir spoon, you’d be absolutely correct. There I am, three pudding cups deep, really just hitting my stride: me, the pudding, and my new spoon. But before I was even out the front door of Buc-ee’s, I cracked my molar on the spoon. I know I’ve got about 39 more teeth, but it’s the principle of the matter. So back in I went to lodge a formal complaint with the cashier, forced to finish the remaining pudding cups without a spoon for fear of damaging any more teeth.
Let me save you all about forty minutes here. When all was said and done (both the pudding, and my well thought out and cogent complaint), the cashier gave me 60 American dollars just to leave. They had no idea I would’ve settled for $2.98, the going rate for another six pack of pudding. Boy howdy I sure wasn’t going to argue though. This type of windfall was life-changing to say the least.
So now, alleged readers, you must be wondering what I’m doing with my newfound fortune. Wonder no more, I say! I bought a baseball team. Tee-ball to be exact. Say hello to the new owner/manager of “Stav’s Lil’ Swingers,” pride of the West Tulsa Peewee Division III League.
Let me tell you what though, these kids have zero concept of the sport of tee-ball, let alone baseball. Just chock-full of enthusiasm however, and they do love swinging bats at stuff, and running back and forth. I already know exactly what you’re thinking, and trust me, I did exactly what you’re thinking: We’re a cricket team now. They are no less skilled at cricket than they were tee-ball, and I’ve got a secret weapon! I just so happen to play correspondence chess with Rathindra Haran, the greatest cricket coach this side of Rangpur. Rathindra knows about five English words, and these kids know exactly zero Bengali words, but the language of sport is universal. I’m about two and a half more Buc-ee’s spoon settlements away from being able to fly Rathindra over in time for spring training.
I sure hope Rathindra likes pudding cups.