I’ve been playing fantasy football for about eighteen years, and for the last ten or so have been in a league with family members. I love it, because it gives me an opportunity to interact with my grandsons who I seldom get to see.
Over the years, I’ve re-named my team, oh, probably… 25-30 times. I get a kick out of it, especially when I can entice Nathan—my youngest grandson—to ask what the heck the new name means. When he does, the answer can be quite lengthy—a small novel—and, in my opinion (hopefully Nathan’s too) quite entertaining.
Here’s the latest:
Question from Nathan:
I should know better then to ask but my curiosity has once again got the best of me. What is the origin of this so creative name oh grandpa? Where does this “Souper Duck” title come from exactly???
Funny you should ask about the name change, Nate. Actually, I thought it only appropriate to honor one of our family’s historic figures. SD is adopted, mind you, but your once-removed uncle, Nek, insists he be considered family. I refer to your uncle as once-removed, in somewhat of a joking manner; the fact is I’ve had to remove him many more times than once; from bars, sporting events (the man can get quite boisterous on five-dollar beers), church, and even from the house a few times (a few being somewhere between six and eleven.) I might add, the reason he is easily excited when consuming five-dollar beers is due to his … how shall I say it… I hesitate to call him cheap, because the man does dress well… tight-wad seems a bit harsh, as he often buys two five-dollar beers at a time, and I’ve always assumed one is for me, in spite of having to hold him at arms-length with one hand while I drink with the other. So let’s just say the man keeps a good budget and is thrifty with his fivers.
It was at a sporting event when SD waddled into our lives—I call it a sporting event only because we were drinking and talking various sports. We were hanging out—most all the family was there—at our favorite banana juice bar (we did not drink banana juice, by the way, and beers were only a few shells apiece) when a sudden hush fell over the cabana. It was sudden as I say, but seemed to move in a wave, starting at the front entrance and moving to the outside table where Nek, Sew, Lib, and yours truly were pounding a few brewers. I’m assuming you know that is where the phrase pounding brews comes from. We were quite innocently throwing back a few and (just moments before SD showed up), these yokels from somewhere back east rolled in—I say rolled somewhat jokingly, due to their rotund physiques—and began bad-mouthing the Heat. Nek took offense to this, because being the world traveler he is, he spent a considerable amount of time on the mainland, and had grown fond of the Heat. When he derided the yanks, they became quite belligerent, shouting something to the effect that Nek had his balls confused. OH-MY-GOODNESS! I still laugh, remembering the look on Nek’s face when he heard that; kind of a cross between a monkey whose cymbals won’t tink and a clown with a big blue nose (another inside joke; Nek was once known to his chums as the big-nose bank, because anytime they were short funds for five-dollar beers, he was happy to lend them some cash—there was, of course, interest on the loan.) In any case, the brawl was on, and, much to our surprise, we discovered those Wisconsin fellows can brawl with the best of them. Oh, sure, we pounded a few of them, but they would not stay down! I remember a toy we had when we were kids—a balloon sort of thing that looked like a clown, that we’d blow up—it was almost as tall as we were—then punch and kick it like we were champion fighters. Trouble was, the darn thing would roll when you socked it, and stand right back up! Same thing with the round cheese-heads (did I mention their hats? And they thought Nek was confusing HIS balls! Hahahahah! Another story, but I’ll come back to it.) Speaking of coming back to it, the sun is rising, and I must be off to tend to some outdoor chores. I’ll get back to you about SD. It’s quite a story.