Football season is upon us. Many people are preparing for fantasy football drafts, and others are gearing up to root for their team, they’re buying jerseys, hats, and face paint. You can be sure, though, that some just don’t have the desire to put in the time and effort that comes with a team in a fantasy league, but they do enjoy watching football.
When I wrote Pinky Anderson And The Traveling Flea Circus I included a chapter on a club that Pinky joined. He didn’t care much for fantasy football, but he thoroughly enjoyed the camaraderie of belonging to the “37 Club.” It’s a way for someone to enjoy football without joining a fantasy league, and maybe even make a buck or two. I’m including the rules to the club here in case anyone would like to try their hand at what Pinky found to be an enjoyable pastime. Continue reading
What a night I’ve had. I just got home. And I’m glad to be here, even if I won’t be staying long. It all started yesterday because Jerry’s Bad Ass Barber Shop was closed. Who ever heard of a barber shop being closed on Wednesday?
I’m just passing through the area again, and I’ve been by Jerry’s a few times, but I never thought about checking the hours of operation at an honest to goodness barber shop. You don’t come across too many of those anymore. Being a fairly old guy, I’ve been in a few barber shops in my life. Now, I’m talking about an actual barber shop and not some fancy hair salon where some squirrelly guy runs off at the mouth while snipping a few hairs, and then tries to talk you into letting him put goop on your head to cover up his mistakes. Keep that in mind. All the actual barber shops, like Little Joe’s, Buena Vista, and Cedar City Cutters, have alway been closed on Sunday and Monday. Hours of operation have been ten to six, or thereabouts. The only time any of them have been closed on Wednesday has been when the barber was on vacation, and you always knew that well in advance. Typically it was around the start of hunting season or a weeklong fishing derby, things like that. Continue reading
I first met Pinky Anderson in the second grade. We sat next to one another in Mrs. Lewinsky’s class. I knew at seven years old that Pinky was destined for a challenging life. He just had that air about him.
Even though we grew up in the same small town, and lived across the street from one another for several years, we were never really close. Pinky was…well, Pinky. Growing up, he was the kid that no one liked, but didn’t know why they didn’t like him. He was always chosen last to be on any team sport, and then left on the bench where he couldn’t do any damage. The other kids didn’t tease him as you might have thought they would. They just ignored him. Continue reading