HAT IPS
Hello,
I’ve got some good news and some bad news. You know how that goes. The Bison were the good news. Twins losing Cuddyer was the bad news. One good player. One. And they let him go. We now have a catcher who spends more time in the training room than on the field. A first baseman that might or might not play. A closer who can’t close. The Vikings… Need I say more? Oh yes, 50 above here and snowing in Texas!
But back to the NDSU Bison. Zim! Zam! Shirley and I had to go to Bismarck over the weekend. No, I wasn’t going shopping. I don’t shop. Locally or otherwise. We were attending the Stockmen’s Black Boot Ball. That’s right. Black Boot Ball. Tuxedos, suits and ties, lovely ladies in long dresses…those ranch ladies clean up real nice. Guess maybe we should do that more often.
Anyway, before the ball, I attended the Bison football game at a local watering hole. It was crazy! I suppose I was one of the oldest fans there. So, I may not have been as technically savvy as many of the screaming Bison fans. But I do know this. The referees and coaches cannot hear you when you scream at the TV! Really! I don’t care if it is a bad call. I don’t care if it should be challenged. It does no good to stand up and scream at a TV screen. There was one young man who constantly screamed at the ref and the coaches. I honestly think he thought he was communicating with the people in Fargo.
It was wild. And later, after the game, plans were being made to head to Frisco, Texas, to cheer on the Bison Jan. 7. One friend planned on being at our house this morning, borrowing a horse, and taking off for the game on horseback. I told him I would pick him up at the New England bar. This morning, he said he is leaning a little more toward flying.
At the Black Boot Ball, the seating was kind of prearranged. I ended up sitting by a big guy. I mean really big guy. I’m big. This guy was really big. I mean, for supper, instead of prime rib, they just threw him a bale of hay.
And wouldn’t you know it, he was of a different political persuasion than I. Which is not unusual for me. I tend to end up in situations like this. And I usually kind of enjoy being the only one right.
But maybe it was kind of an extension of the passion and excitement of the football game. Maybe it was the wonderful weather. Maybe it was the wine. That is seeming more likely as I now think about it. Anyway, the discussion became pretty heated. And in my mind, I was grabbing this guy by the collar, dragging him out of the party (in front of 150 people in tuxedoes), and teaching him how democracy works.
In reality, I got up and left. He was three inches too tall, 30 pounds too heavy, and 30 years too young. As I sit here and reminisce about the evening, I reach one conclusion…I’m glad they mixed the drinks weak and weren’t serving fighting whiskey!
Go Bison!
Later,
Dean