Back to the Rocky Mountain Way


Vance G was a crazy character.  On the way back from away football games he would lead the team in singing, “spent the last year Rocky Mountain way,” then the team sang “ba na na na,” and then Vance, “couldn’t get much higher.”  The team sang, “ba na na na.”  This bonded us.  He even sang it after a loss, which infuriated our head coach.

Later in life we shared a house.  He was a womanizer which was fine with me.  We had women coming and going.  The sounds emanating from his room became a bit much, so I wore earplugs.  When three of his rent checks bounced, we got into a fist fight.  After that our friendship was never the same.  He died several years back at the age of fifty from a brain infection.  He will not be forgotten by me and not by many women.


Fireflies, Fireworks and Sparklers


Our annual Fourth of July football game was under way.  Little kids, senior citizens, even girls were allowed to play. I was going only half-speed as I had already eaten two hotdogs and two hamburgers. Even with this massive load in my stomach I caught a touchdown thrown by my uncle Frank. He could play with a cigarette in his mouth–that takes talent. When he gave the football to his son, little Frankie ran the wrong way and kept going until he was tackled in my neighbor’s yard. The turnout was big this year–nearly a hundred cousins and friends. All together in our front yard. I was proud. We were drinking, sweating and swatting away gnats. At dark the fireflies came out, then fireworks and sparklers.

Happy Fourth of July



I was athletic in high school.
I was a heavyweight on the wrestling team. This sport required that you be in tip-top shape. I never reached my potential. I would smoke pot before practice. Once a teammate threw me on my stomach and a small cloud of pot smoke came out of me. The coaches were sniffing and looking around.

I never did get in shape. Once during a match, the seam in my pants ripped open revealing my butt crack to the cheerleaders. From the horrid expressions on their faces, I knew they didn’t like what they saw.

My football career was less impressive. I was the heaviest player on the team and the slowest. One hot summer I laid down on the tires we were supposed to be jumping through. The coach told the team to run over my fat ass. My back was sore for a week after that.
That was a long time ago. I didn’t let too much bother me in those days.

The Kings of Frederick County


My best buddy Vance and I were cruising to Monocacy Village park to catch a buzz.  We had just beaten Westminster’s football team. Later, we would go to a house party with the cheerleaders. In those days we were the kings of Frederick County. Making our own rules, no fear, all muscle, living large.

Vance had two fatties of Mexican. Some hard tokes, holding it in, feeling the coolness, which seemed to go all the way to my vertebrae. We headed back to TJ High School. We would go to the school dance and scope on some babes.

Making a left turn onto 13th Street, I saw flashing lights in my rear-view.

“Vance, it’s a cop,” I yelled. I had never been pulled over before.

“Vance, what do I do,” I yelled again.

“Floor it!” Vance said.

Vance was crazy and stoned, and so was I. I jammed on that gas pedal with my extra wide foot. My rusty, beat-up VW beetle did not put much distance between us and that cop. At the four way stop, I pulled over.

“Eat this.”

Vance handed me a fat joint. I stuck it in my mouth as I saw the cop, almost at my window. He shined his light in my face as I pushed the joint between my front teeth & gums and my upper lip. I smiled at him with my hidden joint bulging my lip and tiny slits for eyes. I must have looked Chinese. Then he shined the light on Vance. Vance was holding his arms weirdly in the air, and he was making a face with his lips all crooked, and he said, “Officer, I have muscular dystrophy.”

The cop and I both did a double take. The cop said, “Now look, your smart-asses could get a fine of over 100 dollars for speeding. Now, as I saw you boys kick Westminster’s ass, and my nephew Booger is your defensive end, I want you to get the hell out of here.”

I was lucky that night, and many other nights. We were kings of Frederick County, living large, in our glory days.