Jeremiah's School of Levitation

Oh my. I have been a bad blogger. No posts, no replies to comments. Nuthin. Quick, let me sacrifice a pencil to the blog gods (snap!) (ouch, a piece of pencil just dun went up my nose--what are the odds? that's what I get for sacrificing an innocent pencil and, did I just commit an act of heresy by suggesting that there is actually some dietic entity that holds blogs in the palm of its sweaty, cosmic hand and watches over us all, making sure that we blog daily or, if not, slink about in the shadows, feeling guilty that we've not been plugging up our hole in the blog dam, or damn blog, whatever mood you happen to be in that day? And, what penance must I pay for suddenly launching into a steam of consciousness rant, and, no I didn't mean to say "steam of consciousness" but I misstyped and took a look at that and figured, hey, "steam of consciousness" actually makes sense and it also conjures up a nice image of me hunched over my laptop, curls of white unfolding from my scalp and forming words in the sky, or, more likely, just a big question mark in the sky, which, apparently, brings us right back to gods.)

The flag football team I'm coaching won this weekend. They are the most spirited group of 8 and 9-year olds that I've ever seen, at least without sugar being involved. I am swelling with pride--no wait, that's the Whopper Jr. I ate yesterday--no, wait, yeah, that IS pride! These little men hustle and dart and I think I was smiling the whole game because my lips and cheeks were sore all day long yesterday. And, they call me Coach! The parents call me Coach! For plenty of men, this has already happened, but for me, I have to admit, I haven't coached anything before this year, and now, people are calling me "coach" when they address me, and a little tune starts playing in my head and it's so catchy that I just stand there and nod to it, and smile and sprain my lips again. I like being called "coach." I think I'm going to call myself Coach. "Hey, Coach, let's scratch ourselves now!" or "Man, Coach, you sure can coach, Coach!" Also, I now have official license to boldly, and uabashedly yell out such coachisms as "Way to go!" "Take Off!" "That's how ya do it!" "Hustle up!" and, my all-time favorite, "You boys left it on the field today!"

Alright. Enough of me. I just thought I'd write a postcard from my head. Having a great time in here! The weather's fine, but just a little steamy, Coach.

Who would want to dam up the damn blog? Let your words flow forth as the river to the sea.

(although, your pencil sacrifice made me chuckle just a bit!)

An exciting adventure on the field! My BIL coaches soccer at the same level and quite enjoys the on-field banter as well.

Way to go, Coach J.!

Subad: Whopper Jr's contain the same heartburn and gut swell capabilities of regular whoppers, they are just more like grenades than bunker busters, which, by the way, would be a great name for a burger--Tha Bunker Bustah!

TG: I love coaching football--I have to admit that I was pacing the floor for hours afterwards, thinking of all the things we could have done. I think I got coach-itis

I love CALLING the guys 'coach'! My hubby is coaching soccer and in the summer coached baseball, and I love it when the kids call him 'coach'...I can hear his grin cracking!

Way to go on the win, Coach!

I hate the blogger gods. They make me ignore my laundry until the fateful day comes and I'm digging in my hubby's drawer for clean boxers. And that is probably more than I should have said on a public blog.

Did you hear of the dyslexic writer who loved to glob? Just checking.

You can always fall back on the classic coach aphorism, "Second place is First loser!!"