The Big Sploosh

The Big Sploosh

Or:  Cleaning Up Lost Threads

Captain  slow-on-the-uptake that I am I’m just now figuring out that Superman Week

was a ramp up for the new Superman flick . I suspect I’ll see it when it hits HBO or some such. Can’t say anything I’ve seen impresses me other than, maybe, Lois. I find it highly amusing the “real Americans” are just now figuring out our buddy Supes is an illegal alien. Just what did they think “strange visitor from another planet” meant?

Between the move, painters, carpeters and being laid low by the bug, a couple of passings slipped by without comment.

Love and mercy to the family, friends and fans of Brian Wilson. Growing up on the Beach Boys, their music has been a part of my life for almost as long as I can remember. When my brother Willi died, playing Wilson’s “Love and Mercy” on near endless loop was one of the things that pulled me through. Thanks, Brian. Love and mercy to you and your friends tonight.

A big thanks-for-everything to Big Jim Shooter. Like every other guy going through the bullpen in those days I got the $1.25 storytelling lecture he was famous for. He’d take me to task from time to time, here and there. Usually he was right.  When he wasn’t, most often I’d just go along because some things aren’t worth fighting over. As a result, nearly every time I refused I’d win because I never fought for fightings sake but for the work itself. Of course there was that one time we came within inches of it turning into a literal death cage match (my death because, its face it, Jim could’ve snapped me in two without trying but, I was that mad) but that’s a story for another day.

Today’s story is about the Great Jello Wrestling Incident of Westport, CT. I’m going to leave most names out of this because I’m sure there will be those humorless schlubs out there who’ll scream sexism, misogyny and all that jazz ( a pox on all your houses ) when all that happened was great fun for all. Someone was having a birthday and Shooter drove up from the city with a trunk full of every box of red Jello he could pick up along the way. He also had an inflatable kiddie pool and several bags of ice. 20-30 gallons of Jello ( maybe more) was cooked and dumped into the tub along with the ice to cool it down. 

Once set, several of the ladies in attendance donned bathing suits and the games were on until finally they all dragged the birthday boy into the pool (unfortunately not me, sniff, sniff) At this point it was decided that Shooter had to get into the pool as it was all his idea to begin with but, the ladies were exhausted and none of the guys wanted to wrestle with Jim because well, Jim was BIG. They could’ve named him JimJim as in two Jims in one. The only guy there willing to try was Jim Starlin. So, Jim and Jim start at it and they’re actually wrestling. At one point, Starlin, one knee on the ground, got Shooter into a full body press above his head when Starlin got a “good lord, what have I done” look in his eyes. His arms start to shake, his knee starts to buckle, gravity asserts its authority and SPA_LOOSH! It all comes crashing down, Jello goes flying all over the yard. Starlin’s squashed flat as a pancake and everything and everyone in the yard is covered in a gooey cherry-strawberry-rasberry mess. Those were the days.

Happy Trails,

Smitty