12 March 2007

Recovering from Alumni

Why does alumni weekend always fall on my deadline? I've been working 12 hours straight so far today, trying to catch up and have a paper I can send to the printer tomorrow. On the bright side the twelve hours haven't been too awfully bad because (1) I'm relatively sober (after drinking Friday and Saturday night, I managed one beer last night before falling asleep - WAY early - in the bathtub) (2) I had already laid out most of staccato notes, the one part of the paper I truly hate laying out and (3) I didn't have anything in this issue that I had to write myself. Yet. (City council meeting in about 20 minutes, so we'll see what comes up.) Maybe there's a (4) as well - as I can't talk today. Between this horrible cold/cough, drinking, and very little sleep, I've lost my voice. So I've avoided answering the phone. It's not only hard to hear me, it hurts.

I don't play alumni, and every year, as I watch the volleyball, I regret it. Maybe next year. But I spend the entire weekend taking pictures of all the players, and it's a job I love. Most of it's basketball, and I sit pretty much right under the net in order to get good shots. It looks more dangerous than it's actually been throughout the years - the worst I was ever hurt at a basketball game came when a player landed on me in the bleachers. This year, I only got hit once and, believe it or not, it was my own son who crashed into me. Beezer Ruen came pretty close, and I did a beautiful zig while a guy from Noxon did a beautiful zag that kept me from some painful injuries this year.

If I load these pictures correctly, however, the first one looks like Alan Potter was just about to take me out at the neck. He actually missed me by a good three inches. My reflexes are pretty good. The second pic is just to show you guys that it's not just kids who play alumni - we get returning players of all ages. I think Bob Hays, at 70, is our oldest.

I heard this great story from someone who shall remain unnamed but this person, let's call her "C" flies home to Clark Fork every year just for alumni. She meets up with her sister, "T" and they rent a room and make a weekend of it. C was telling me that she knew they were going to give a bed in their room to their old friend (a male) "M" because he didn't have a place to stay. So she gets to her room late on Saturday night, and here's T in one bed, M in the other, and some guy sleeping with his shoes for a pillow on the floor. C tells me she wakes up T and asks her, "who's the guy on the floor?" T says, "I don't know. It's some friend of M's who didn't have a place to stay so I said he could sleep on the floor." In the morning, C asks M who the guy is and M responds, "how the hell would I know?"

Welcome to Clark Fork - and welcome home, alumni. It was another blast of a year.

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