Over The Pylon

A way out in the midwest there was a fella, fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Stan Parrish. At least, that was the handle his lovin’ parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. This Parrish, he called himself the Coach. Now, Coach, that’s a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about the Coach that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived, like- wise. But then again, maybe that’s why I found the place s’durned innarestin.

They call Muncie…Funcie. I didn’t find it to be that exactly, but I’ll allow as there are some nice folks there. ‘Course, can’t say I seen London, and I never been to France, and I ain’t never seen no queen in her damn undies as the fella says. But I’ll tell you what, after seeing Muncie and thisahere story I’m about to unfold– wal, I guess I seen somethin’ ever’ bit as stupefyin’ as ya’d see in any a those other places, and in English too, so I can die with a smile on my face without feelin’ like the good Lord gypped me.

The Coach abides. I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that. It’s good knowin’ he’s out there, the Coach, takin’ her easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the MAC Championship. Welp, that about does her, wraps her all up. Things seem to’ve worked out pretty good for the Coach, and it was a purty good story, dontcha think? Made me laugh to beat the band. Parts, anyway. Course–I didn’t like seein’ Brady go. But then, happen to know that there’s a little ManBeast on the way. I guess that’s the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin’ itself, down through the generations, westward the wagons, across the sands a time until– aw, look at me, I’m ramblin’ again. Wal, uh hope you folks enjoyed yourselves. Catch ya further on down the trail…. Say friend, ya got any more a that good sarsaparilla?

Donny... please.

Filed under: Ball State |