Friday, August 08, 2003
THE ENIGMATIC DR. F. (Part 1)
I went to the same high school as F (who was obviously not a doctor yet), but I didn’t really know him. He was some sort of big athlete and our paths didn’t cross much. I had him figured for a gung ho rah rah All-American type. Not someone I wanted to spend a lot of time with.
F and I both ended up going to the local college. One night I walked over to the college pub. The World Series was on. Reggie Jackson hit homer run after home run. The mood in the pub was electric. All the frat boys were chanting “Reggie. Reggie. Reggie.” I noticed F walking up to the front of the pub, where the big television was. He motioned everyone to quiet down. When he had everyone’s attention he announced, “Fuck Reggie Jackson. Fuck Reggie.”
The excited Yankee fans didn’t like what they were hearing. They surrounded F and started jostling him. I was working my way through the crowd when I saw F being hustled toward the door, then being ejected. I followed him out.
“That was quite a show in there,” I said. “What was that all about?”
“I hate that whole scene,” said F. “All those morons laughing and shouting. I was trying to make them think. You walk over? Want a ride home?”
When we got to the car F opened the trunk and pulled out a baseball bat. “What’s up,” I asked.
“Just wait here for a couple of minutes,” he said. “The game’s almost over. I going back over there and hide in the bushes. When the first one of those fuckers comes out I’m going to show him what else you can use a baseball bat for.”
“Sounds like you might be a while,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just walk on home.”
“Suit yourself,” F said. “See you around”
I went to the same high school as F (who was obviously not a doctor yet), but I didn’t really know him. He was some sort of big athlete and our paths didn’t cross much. I had him figured for a gung ho rah rah All-American type. Not someone I wanted to spend a lot of time with.
F and I both ended up going to the local college. One night I walked over to the college pub. The World Series was on. Reggie Jackson hit homer run after home run. The mood in the pub was electric. All the frat boys were chanting “Reggie. Reggie. Reggie.” I noticed F walking up to the front of the pub, where the big television was. He motioned everyone to quiet down. When he had everyone’s attention he announced, “Fuck Reggie Jackson. Fuck Reggie.”
The excited Yankee fans didn’t like what they were hearing. They surrounded F and started jostling him. I was working my way through the crowd when I saw F being hustled toward the door, then being ejected. I followed him out.
“That was quite a show in there,” I said. “What was that all about?”
“I hate that whole scene,” said F. “All those morons laughing and shouting. I was trying to make them think. You walk over? Want a ride home?”
When we got to the car F opened the trunk and pulled out a baseball bat. “What’s up,” I asked.
“Just wait here for a couple of minutes,” he said. “The game’s almost over. I going back over there and hide in the bushes. When the first one of those fuckers comes out I’m going to show him what else you can use a baseball bat for.”
“Sounds like you might be a while,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just walk on home.”
“Suit yourself,” F said. “See you around”
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