A non-descript little man with glasses and a slight potbelly sat on the smashed hood of his brand new Chevy station wagon, waving and smiling to the vulgarity-slinging passers by as he puffed on a cigar. The man he rear-ended paced back and forth beside his wrecked Mustang on the bridge spanning Lake Pontchartrain. He was wringing his hands and cursing very loudly to no one in particular. Although the venomous glances, from time to time, aimed at the Chevy's driver denoted the source of his agitation. The little man puffing away on his cigar ignored him. Nothing could wipe the grin from his face.
When a police officer finally made his way through the congested mess and arrived on the scene, he asked the little man what happened. The cop's confusion as to the man's apparent joviality was answered quickly enough.
"My wife went into labor," he explained. "Guess I was over-zealous trying to get to the hospital."
"You seem awfully calm for a man who caused this mess and has a wife about to give birth," the cop noted.
The man shrugged. "I have insurance for this. Plus, I have four more kids at home. Been there before. Wouldn't be doing much at the hospital except sitting in a room smoking a cigar, anyway. Hell, I can do that here."
The cop shook his head. "OK, then. Let's see if we can't get this mess cleaned up and you on your way."
"No rush, officer." The man layed back on the hood and clasped his fingers behind his head, smiling. He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and handed it to the cop. "Have a smoke. I'm going to be a daddy again."
At about the time this was going on, a very pregnant woman was being wheeled into a delivery room in Baptist Hospital in New Orleans. She looked surprisingly like a younger version of Lucille Ball. Or as she liked to describe herself, "Lucille Ball with a Jane Russell body and a Mae West attitude". Her resemblance to the actress wasn't what had the nurses in a funk. This woman who was about to give birth, had a paperback resting on her belly. And she was thoroughly engrossed in it's pages.
"Uh, ma'am," a young attendant tapped her on the shoulder. "You can't bring a book into the delivery room. You do understand you're about to have a baby, right?"
"Oh, sweetie," the woman smiled politely and patted the young nurse's hand. "This is my fifth time. I don't think there's going to be any surprises in there. Besides," she added, "it's just getting good." She held up the book. It was Mickey Spillane's I, The Jury.
"You're going to have to give me the book, ma'am," the nurse demanded. "The baby's going to be coming out any minute."
The woman waved the nurse away. "Nonsense. It'll wait until I finish this chapter."
Sure enough, a few minutes later the Lucille Ball clone put down the book and nodded at the exasperated nurse. "Alright, honey. Let's get this show on the road. Mickey's got me on the edge of my seat."
As they wheeled her through the doors, she yelled over her shoulder, "Don't lose my place in the book. And don't bend the corner of the page." She looked at the concerned nurse walking beside her and winked. "Relax, sweetie. I do this all the time."
From what I've been told, that's pretty much what happened on the day I was born. Seeing as how I've heard the story a hundred times, I feel comfortable claiming every word to be the truth. Yep. That was my parents. And that's how Hawkeye came into the world---with a smash and a wink.
There's a reason I shared that story with you guys. A few weeks back, OCC ran a post inquiring about where the BTBers hail from. It got a great response and most here seemed to really enjoy getting to know a little more about the people they spend so much time cyber-chatting about the Dallas Cowboys with. Since FA is waving at us in the rearview mirror and the draft is still over a month away, I thought it would be fun to take a break from the mocks and the pining of players we can't afford.
I invite any who are willing, to stop by for a few minutes and relay a story about you or your family. Maybe just tell us a little about yourself. What makes you tick? Have you ever been in Turkish brothel? When biting into a chicken leg, do those tendons make you gag? Do you have recurring nightmares about Bill O'Reilly and pink spandex?( Well, maybe that one's all me ) Do you now have more hair in your ears than on your head? ( Again, maybe that's all me )
C'mon, BTB. Pony up to the bar and let's hear from ya.