That’s right, I’m really worried about the Fosk these days. Hugh, along with Ray Pippin and myself, form “The Brotherhood,” the most elite social organization in the world. Our membership list has tot...
That’s right, I’m really worried about the Fosk these days. Hugh, along with Ray Pippin and myself, form “The Brotherhood,” the most elite social organization in the world. Our membership list has totaled just three since 1976, and you can‘t get much more exclusive than a club with only three members. Ray and Hugh are my two best friends, so if something goes wrong for one of them it automatically becomes a concern for me. And that brings me around to what’s going on with Hugh these days.
Used to, Hugh and I would occasionally get together to watch a ballgame, grab some Nu-Ways, or just talk some smack about who the hottest woman in America is. Nowadays, I’m lucky if we get in a few minutes on the telephone every few days. Frankly, this situation has concerned me, so I decided to do a little undercover work to see just what’s going on. What I’ve found has really shocked me, but, being the professional investigative journalist that I am, I’m going to let all my readers in on the sordid truth behind what’s monopolizing Hugh’s time. Bottom line, Hugh’s joined a cult.
I know it’s shocking, and I know it’s something that’s hard for y’all to believe, but Hugh’s involved in a cult. It’s something called “Youth Soccer,” and it’s got him wrapped him up like a newspaper does a freshly caught brim. Hugh’s into it bad, and I don‘t know if I’ll ever get him out of it. If I call him up on a Saturday and ask him to go to a ballgame, he’ll inform me that Ross or Will (his two sons, both are proud SOBs, Sons Of The Brotherhood) have “Saturday morning indoor games.” Other times he’ll tell me that they’re “playing a rec league Thursday night tournament game,” or that they’re having “an out-of-towner” way off in another city. Honestly, I think Hugh and his boys are playing soccer seven days a week, and, on top of that, soccer season apparently runs year round, as Hugh openly admits that his boys play from early February on up ‘til up around Thanksgiving. When Thanksgiving comes, they take off for a few weeks, get a bunch of new soccer gear for Christmas, and then they start it up all over again in February. Frankly, I’ve never seen Hugh so enmeshed in something, it’s so bad that I‘m starting to think that a bunch of naked Amazonian women standing on the sidelines couldn‘t get him off a soccer field.
Well, before I can attempt to get him out of this cult, I have to try to understand it. I’m already sensing the attraction for Hugh. Soccer seems to have its biggest following down in South America, huge crowds there attend the games and just go bonkers over it. I’m sure Hugh likes the fact that all those people are so passionately into the sport, and he also appreciates the fact that those South Americans like to play free and easy with the rules. I guess you would say its kinda like Ric Flair soccer. If the game is going badly, the coach just makes up a few new rules, distracts the ref, and then gets his team back into the game. Hugh would appreciate that kind of sportsmanship, in fact, he and his sons have been going to school recently in order to learn to how to referee soccer games. That way, Hugh, Will, and Ross can not only play but they can also take bribes and skim off the coaches of the other teams as well. This little gambit could end up being so lucrative for Hugh that he might end up retiring from his job and devoting himself full-time to pari-mutuel soccer. Only in America, you know.
Well, it’s my duty to get Hugh out of this cult - he’s starting to kick his dirty underwear around the house, and just the other day he spent twenty minutes telling me about how much a soccer ball should weigh. It’s just too much, and I’m puzzled as to how to handle it. So please, loyal readers, for Hugh’s sake and for the preservation of the Brotherhood, I humbly ask you for your help. Please send Hugh an email at: email@example.com
...tell him that you love him, and remind him that Ray and I miss him here in the Brotherhood. Perhaps, if enough expressions of love and kindness find their way to him, he’ll come to his senses, and then go with Ray and I to wherever Amazonian women hang out in order for us to beg them to come out to another soccer game...
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ed’s latest book, “Rough As A Cob,“ can be ordered by calling River City Publishing toll-free at: 877-408-7078. He’s also a popular after dinner speaker, and his column runs in a number of Southeastern publications. You can contact him via email at: firstname.lastname@example.org, or through his web site address at: www.ed-williams.com.