Thursday, April 6, 2006

The Smurf Comes Equipped For Warfare

Sports I'm Looking Forward To This As The Weather Turns Nice

ButtermilkBay006.jpg

   Now, your faithful author here is a jock. I love sports. Basketball, soccer, tennis, hockey, beach volleyball... you name it, I've been in the outfit to either play it or cheer for it. Only a decided lack of talent  prevented me from being a professional wrestler (Tammy, who's never played a sport ever, can throw me around like other people's money).

   That was some time ago when I was actually playing all these sports, I must add. I'm less active now. I have this tendency to break my leg, and I've also had a concussion, a herniated disk, a broken thumb... I even got bit by a snapping turtle once- I've still got the scar, and probably always will. My obligation to my children far outweighs my urge to say "Eff that fool... I can get my shot off on anyone."

   Still, I can bring the ruckus in the right situation. While I won't be jumping into any 5-on-5 hockey games anytime soon, I can still get my ball on. Some of the sports I mean to discuss aren't sports in the true sense, but they'll take up lots of my time.

Swimming

   I'm not talking anything Olympic here. I do about 50 yards out, and 50 yards back. The briskness of my pace varies by how in shape I am. The difference between Duxbury Bay (my old beach) and Buzzards Bay (my new beach) is the sharks- Buzzards Bay is just a quick veer out of the Gulf Stream, while a shark has to actually make a concerted effort in navigation to get to Duxbury Bay.

   The offshoot of this sport is Tummy Surfing. Get about thigh deep on a day when there are some waves, make an arrow out of your body and leap with an incoming wave... I can get beach 9 out of 10. There's a depth where you have to stop before the beach if you have a chest, but this is a family blog that doesn't need that kind of discussion... technical or no.

 

Fetch

   This is Sloppy's favorite game. She's a Labrador retreiver/border collie, and she can play fetch all damn day. If she's 10 feet in front of you and facing you, you can't roll a ball past her- she'd make a remarkable shortstop. I don't actually throw that well, so she sort of gets back (she's blindingly fast) with the stick faster than my arm likes her to. I keep wishing that Stephen would get into hunting.

   Once summer comes, I can ease up on my arm by throwing the stick into the water. Sloppy has to swim for it then. As fast as she is on land, she's strictly a dog-paddler. My wimpy throws suddenly keep the Slopper occupied for a more lengthy period.

   She'd go into the ocean (usually after geese) in the winter, but she gets sort of salty. In the summertime, you can blast her down with the hose after.

 

B*tch

   We used to play this one when I was teaching. It is also called "wallball" and "suicide." It's probably the greatest game ever invented.

   What you do is get about 5-10 people, a raquetball, and a huge wall- we used to use the tennis courts in the Charlestown Navy Yard. You throw the ball off the wall, while everyone is 10-20 feet back. The ball comes off the wall at some random angle, and you have to field it cleanly. You then throw it off the wall for the next sucker.

   The game gets fun when someone mishandles the ball as it comes off the wall. They have to run for the wall, while someone else picks up the ball and throws it at them. If you make it to the wall before they bean you, no demerit is awarded. If you get hit three times, you have to make a Stand.

   The Stand is simply standing with your face against the wall, with both hands laced behind your head- ostensibly to protect your neck and skull. Everyone else in the game then gets one free throw at you from about 20-30 feet back- we used to stand in front of the tennis net.

   I don't throw that hard- but I'm evil enough to throw from an angle, so the ball comes off the wall and maybe caves someone in. I call it the Blue Baller.

   I haven't played this since I stopped teaching, but I still find myself instinctively looking forward to it as the weather improves.

 

Surf-Casting

   I fish pretty well for someone who refuses to touch any sort of bait. I catch a striper or two every summer. I don't actually bait the hook, cast the line, or take the fish off... but I do everything else, and I always bring a pic-a-nic basket.

   Surfcasting is done best during the evening hours. If you find a nice isolated stretch of beach, build a fire and set up shop. Coolers make for fine seats, so drinking is actually a necessity.

   When I personally catch a fish, I always throw him back. Otherwise, I will cook any DRESSED fish that someone in my group catches. I have recipes for striper and bluefish, and you can make a nice broth out of the bones.

   I'm allergic to seafood, myself. I was an orphan, really poor... and I lived between a clam bed and a lobster breeding ground. I could have eaten steamers, fried clams, chowder, and lobster for free, every day... but No.

Grilled Bluefish With Eggplant Recipe | Bluefish Recipes| On The Grill - Fish and Seafood Recipes @ CDKitchen.com :: it's wha...

Baked Striped Bass recipe from The Martha's Vineyard Cookbook

 

Keepaway

   This sounds like a Sloppy game, but it's Gabrielle's version of Soccer. I take a soccer ball, and dribble (soccer style) around the yard. Gabby tries to get the ball from me. I use the hips, although I haven't sunk so low as to put the forearm to her yet. She's 4.

   She'll be growing out of this soon (meaning she'll be able to knock me over soon), but it keeps her occupied for days if you add it up at summer's end. This will become Gabrielle vs. Melissa soon, at which point I'll fill the vacancyin my participation with wine-drinking.

11 comments:

Anonymous said...

((Mmonponsett beats Sloppy!)))))
you go Mon! thanks for a wonderful entry!
love,nat

Anonymous said...

lol Monponsett (I knew that)
natalie

Anonymous said...


Bluefish? Tres nast (as my French friends would say). Way too oily, no?

I would keep those stripers every time. Yum! Chesapeake Bay restrictions/limits be damned.

Speaking of stripers, it's spawning season next month, right? Your husband can go for the triple crown of manliness if you substitute "football game" for "Pepsi 600."

I can't find the link that references the triple crown, but your regular readers will know what I am talking about...

-BV

Anonymous said...

We're not as close to the beach as we were in Duxbury... the Triple Crown would involve dragging the striper across Head Of The Bay Road, now. Maybe he'll get a boat.

http://journals.aol.com/monponsett/HighAboveCourtside/entries/341


I wouldn't eat bluefish, either. Mean fish, a blue. There are a lot of fishermen in New England with scarred hands. If you're crazy enough, you can catch 3 at once by running out with a laundry basket when they're blitzing.

Anonymous said...

We called it "stoop ball, and "bottoms-up" :>) This was a nice blog smurf

Anonymous said...

Well Done

Anonymous said...

That's it. That's a HAC CLASSIC entry!!

Thanks for the memories there.

And I wasn't talking about the blue's teeth, but rather their nasty, oily (let's face it, FISHY) stench.

And please, go ahead and get that boat. If not for the TPORM, then at least so a humble buzzline editor can do some fishing when next rockin' the Cape.

Anonymous said...

great entry!  Much as I love the ocean, hate swimming in it....too much shark phobia, riptide phobia, no can do!  

Anonymous said...

Great post Monpon.

By the way, I have a full blood Border Collie named Harley...your description of your dog mathces Harley...He will play catch with a toy until he just can't go anymore.....

LewP

Anonymous said...

Does your dog instinctively herd everything?

Mine is like having a coach in the huddle with my kids.

Anonymous said...

Bob.... there's no way I'd allow you and hub to go out on the same boat. One sinking, and I'm a widow who has to pay for AOL again.

It's a lot like how Coca-Cola never lets the seven guys who know the formula fly in the same plane, but more self-centered. I'm the Fighting Sullivans of selfishness.