Greetings Tipsters
Jonathon Taylor dropped the ball right on the goal line and may have cost his team the match. I’d been talking to Doug, my head coach, a few days before.
“Doug, I don’t want to see any receiver smartarsing before they’ve secured the touchdown. Two hands on the ball, keep it on the chest, no skipping or high stepping. Get the touchdown. Then they can celebrate all they want and if the League wants to fine them, we’ll figure out a way to cover them.”
Well, bloomin’ heck, if it wasn’t bad enough that I wanted the cornerbacks to learn how to tackle properly, now I’m crashing the recievers’ creativity. Doug looks a helluva lot like Rob, my neighbour back in Goolwa, and he objected to this suggestion with all the voracity a man facing the sack can muster.
This building is crammed with egotistical alpha males and it’s a hard field to hoe when you’re a lazy bum from Australia. I got in touch with the only American I’ve met who might be able deal with it and Deniz said he could spare a few days from his Hawaiian coffee plantation. It was ‘thank you for your service’ from arsehole to breakfast when he walked around, then I flew in a couple of his mates and they played a show, tho most of the staff and players are too young for rock and roll. I declined the invitation to join them on stage, geez, I aint Jim Irsay.
Knowing a USN flight surgeon made a slight difference, just enough. Maybe. Doug is justifiably certain that I will sack him. Trent, the GM, is nervous. He suspects I might sack him too. And he’s right. It aint that he’s a bad GM but I want young and hungry blokes, confident in themselves. Trent has been here too long, it’s time for a change.
I sacked two young dickheads cos they banged on about how much they loved Nirvana but couldn’t name a song. No room for wankers in my organisation, I had to make a statement. No assumptions, okay? One of the video editors thought I might be a GnR fan, I set him right. Good at his job, so I didn’t sack him but the message is seeping through.
I’m living in a lovely 1950s modernist bungalow, Perky Girl digs the pix and vid. I have a swimming pool and a plunge tub and a wifi stereo that follows me through the house. It became unnerving so I put on a Roky Erikson t-shirt, climbed over the back fence and went to a bar, caught a noisy rock band and heard what the locals thought about the new owner. They weren’t impressed by this Aussie interloper. Remarkably, none of them recognised me, tho one woman did recognise my accent and asked if I knew anything about this Earl O’Neill.
Cash in my shoes, crashed on a couch, cooked breakfast, made jugs of Bloody Mary.
“You don’t have a fone?!”
Three taxis home, walked the last two blocks, Philip and Phillip broke from attention when they saw me walk around the corner. I waved them off with an imperious gesture.
Somedays, cruising around in my Jaguar Blue Dodge Challenger, black trim and a pistol grip shifter, some people give me a thumbs up, some throw milkshakes at me. None know what it’s like to have to deal with a quarterback on $55M a year.
Trevor won every game in high school and college, had the infamous Urban Meyer for his first pro HC, a mostly lousy O line, yet he’s still only had one half decent season out of four and my team is on the hook for a quarter billion. He is so goddamn polite and his hair is always perfectly shampooed, I hate to say it but my cynical resolve melts a bit.
Thankfully, Trevor and most of his teammates have girlfriends that are either high-school sweethearts – they’re a real tenacious type – or fashion models and they all help to make a barrier that even an old bugger like me can recognise and stay well away from. Still, Trevor’s ego has to be massaged, even when he’s out for the season so I suppose I’ll have to pretend to play golf with him. Damn, my hand-eye co-ordination is terrible at the best of times, I can’t even connect with a golf ball let alone move it anywhere.
Cheers Tipsters
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About Earl O'Neill
Freelance gardener, I've thousands of books, thousands of records, one fast motorcycle and one gorgeous smart funny sexy woman. Life's pretty darn neat.
Jacksonville is not your scene Earl. Golf courses, condo’s and wannabe Trump national security advisers. Get back to Detroit before it’s too late. What profiteer a man if he gains the earth, but loseth his soul (music)?
No comment on the Bills-Lions ball buster? Game of the season? Condolences.
Peter, the winter weather here is good and Tom Petty grew up nearby. No apostrophe in ‘condos.’
It wasn’t that the Lions lost the match, they lost FOUR players for the season, incl starting DT and CB. To have the best playing and coaching squad in team history then lose almost the entire DL and LB to injury is Detroit Lions in a nutshell. Might win one playoff but can’t see us – oh, I mean them – making the Conference game.
No ‘o’ in veracity either punk. Respect your elders.
A brilliant read, Earl.
Hunter S. Thompson and Jack Kerouac eat your hearts out