March 06, 2007
Less than an hour and a half in a day in the life of Acidman
All originally published March 3, 2002
There is something terribly wrong with the new basketball I bought for my son. We went to mama's house today, visited with her for a while, then walked over to the schoolyard to shoot some hoops with the new ball. We tried three different goals on three different courts, and we sucked on every one. Airballs, bricks and clunkers flew from our talent-box like frightened quail, and we pretty well stunk up everywhere we went. My son blamed it on the rain, which WAS falling in scattered drops at the time, and I agreed. Otherwise, I would have to admit that there is not a single shred of basketball talent between the two of us. But it's a new ball and IT is not accustomed to the job of GOING THROUGH THE HOOP when we fling it in that general direction. Rawlings makes a crappy basketball. Don't buy their defective product.
A football game is being played in my front yard. The rules seem fungible and the object of the game appears to be GET DIRTY. The boys are doing a fine job of that. My ex-wife will be here in 30 minutes to take my son back to her house, where the unemployed, dope-smoking lover waits to welcome my son "home." God, I hate this shit.
I'm going outside to play quarterback. I need to protect my Japanese plum tree from those rampaging Visigoths in my front yard.
The football game is over and my son is on his way back to where he lives. I always feel an incredible emptiness when he leaves, but I have a nice souvenir of this visit, which is a set of muddy footprints running down the hallway and back again, where he left his tracks when he picked up his clothes and went to climb into his mama's very cool sports car. She picks him up when the unemployed, dope-smoking lover is staying at her house, which is every weekend, but she's still worried that I might show up with a pistol one day and put a couple of well-deserved slugs into that bastard's diseased liver. The thought has crossed my mind more than once.
I would rather shoot her, but I never will because my son loves his mama and I love my son. And after all the crap she's heaped on my head, I still love her, too. That's sad.