Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Only Butch Could Be So Wound Up and Burned Out At The Same Time

Butch Jackson is a huge sports fan, and particularly fond of golf and golf history. He was bubbling when he came through the front door of the Cafe this week, "Doesn't get better than a Phil Mickelson win at the Masters. Haven't enjoyed anything more since Hubbard beat Keller in the 1957 Regional Championship Game."

"Why is this such a big deal?" asked most if not all the coffee drinkers knowing this is exactly what Butch was hoping for and not having anything better to talk about.

"Glad you asked," answered Butch as he sucked in a deep breath signaling to his audience they were in some degree of trouble regarding any future time schedules or commitments. "Phil represents a long line of players who signify the true golf tradition. Golf is one of the last great examples of gentlemanly pursuits. Phil is a gentleman like Palmer, Nicklaus, Watson, Hogan, Nelson, Jones, and many others. He repects the game of golf. By that he is courteous to the fans what with knucking and high fiving them all around the course. He tips his cap. My gosh he not only talks to his opponents, but even to his opponents caddies. Not to mention his family situation with the sick wife and all."

"Heck on one green one of those little worm looking things flew off a pine tree and fell into the path of his ball, threw it off course, cost him a stoke, or he would have won by 4 shots. You know what? Phil didn't say damn, suck, or anything like that. No tantrums. He just kept playing all the while showing repect for players and fans alike. There just aren't many gentleman in the public eye these days what with people like Barney Frank, Bernie Madoff, Rahm Emanuel, and Snoop Dog."

Billy Roy Michum came to every one's rescue, "Butch, you look awful eventhough you sound alright. Are you OK?"

"You are very observant, BM. Thanks for asking. Actually I was up all night sick as a dog living on an unlimited supply of food stamps. I didn't have the patience to stand in line at Jasper's in Waco to get my usual BBQ fix and so I threw down a couple of really bad chopped semi-beef sandwiches at The Jug. I piled on some onions, sour pickles, and jalapenos to try to cushion the blow, but it didn't work. Man, not only did it jump the curb and do a 'head on' right into my mid section, but I had horrible nightmares all over me during what little time I slept."

"Listen to this," Butch was going down hill now with no signs of braking, "I dreamed some guy was born a Muslim, sneaked into several of those fancy Yankee schools, worked in a big Northern City helping folks sponge off us taxpayers, and of all things, somehow was elected President of these United States. Then I dreamed this guy was over in Europe negotiating a Nuclear Arms treaty (not making this up) with the Ruskies when the President of Poland was flying across Russia and crashed killing himself and everything. And then Puten, the old KGB guy, was going to personally investigate everything. Can you imagine something like this terrifying you in middle of the night?"

"Nothing scares me more than weapons treaties. Everybody knows if Islamic Extremists and Communist did away with their weapons, we would have no more violence. On the other hand if we and the free world put down our weapons, than there would be no more free world."

All the folks sat back waiting for Billy Roy to decide which direction this conversation should take. After mulling over his options for some time BM came forward, "What kind of sauce did you put on that sandwich, Butch? Their normal 'Slippin and Sliddin Sauce' or 'Jug's Own Personal Inferno'? Sounds like you mixed em."

"I didn't think it would hurt to mix em a little," Butch was pretty sheepish by now because everybody in Hubbard knows if you have to eat at The Jug that you don't mix these two sauces in any seven day period much less on the same sandwich.

Joe Borger Hurd could not hold back any longer, "Boy, that must have been a hell of a long line at Jaspers."

"Yep, must of been 8-10 people," Butch exaggerated of course but no more than usual.

Joe Borger likes Butch because he's not around him very much, "Don't seem fair, Butch, but knowing the hurry you are generally in, I certainly understand making a mistake like this. Man, if it were me, I would stay up all night tonight before I would expose myself to another dream like that. You know that mixed sauce doesn't wear off for several days, and you don't need a dream like that to come back on you, ever."

Maybe we should all think about eating more chicken,


1 comment:

  1. Having been awarded special dispensation to enjoy the Hubbard City Cafe blog, I feel compelled to issue a warning similar to that of your founder and moderator, young Jim. I am a card-carrying, proud moderate, who would, if I ever needed coffee in Hubbard, drink it at the Dairy Queen, unless this special dispensation gave me the opportunity to buy a cup for Jim's Mama and Aunt.

    In accordance with the main subject matter of the latest post, I am a golfer. In fact, I created a new definition of the affliction on Sunday afternoon. With two holes to play and Lefty in control, my overwhelming desire to chip and putt forced me to a nearby golf course for practice. After I satisfied my craving, I noticed another numnuts just chipping away. I approached him and asked, "Do you know the definition of a golfer?" He mumbled a bit and then said, "I ought to."

    "A golfer," I exclaimed, "is someone who will leave the last thirty minutes of the Masters to go practice."

    You tell 'em Butch.