Fred Smith

Didn't get an opportunity to schmooze last night at the basketball game, after all. The game was good, but apparently the Prez was out of town. So much for that.

On another note, however, a phenomenon occurred at the game last night that kept me giggling for hours. I woke up this morning still laughing about it.

Every time one of our players whose name is all one-syllable words (I'll call him Fred Smith) would line up to shoot a free throw, the folks a few rows behind me would mutter or shriek or yell his name, very quickly, just before his shot. I think this was some kind of ritualistic attempt to make sure that the ball went successfully through the hoop, but it was hilarious.

Fred Smith.

Fred Smith.

Fred Smith.

Fred Smith.

All of this "Fred Smith" done at different tones, volumes, speeds. Hilarious!

And then when you add in the fellow behind and a bit to the left (whom we affectionately call "Whoosh" for reasons you'll see in a moment), it sounded like this:

Fred Smith.

Fred Smith.

Fred Smith.

Fred Smith.

WHOOSH!

This morning, Footslogger and I woke up, yelled at the cat, and muttered to each other . .

Fred Smith.