H. Neal Glanville: Sure Trey has a copy – or 20
Congratulations to the Cardinals and their coaches for the Doak Walker championship game victory for fifth- and sixth-graders.
The game was hard fought and well played by both teams.
If you look back at Friday’s paper, on page 12 you’ll see the triumphant smile of my grandson, Trey Gallegos.
If by chance you missed that issue and see Trey floating down the sidewalk, ask him if he has any extras.
I’m sure he still has a copy – or 20.
What a great team victory, though it seems odd that the paper didn’t say much of anything about the only girl on the team, or as I understand it, the only girl playing in the division.
I’m sure her teammates were happy to have her along on their trip to the top.
Back in the olden days, girls in grade school just giggled a lot and stood in small groups with their toes pointing in weird directions, talking about whatever it was they talked about.
I’m certain if I asked our multitude of granddaughters the content of their conversations they’d be more than happy to drive the weak side of my brain a little further over the edge.
News flash: Jane says “there are some things I’m better off not knowing” and “girl talk tops the list.”
I had so hoped to become one with Oprah and Phil.
Since the wave of hunter orange has swept upon us, I’ve taken it upon my ever enlarging shoulders to randomly observe and question the nonresidents taking pictures of our local deer population.
Nobody, not a single responder, saw a problem.
One lady called the deer “quaint” (Jane typed that word). I watched one fellow belly crawl the north-south ditch across from the cop shop to get several good pictures of the “sewer bucks” that feed there each night.
He told me that “even if I don’t take any game home, these pictures have made my trip.”
Now for something completely different.
Lake and pond fishing has been slow.
Freeman Reservoir and the Perch ponds have a two- or three-hour window for productivity, but the fish still are biting.
This week, my plan is to fish our stretch of the Yampa River and prove once and for all that there still is big trout hiding out there.
Several people have commented on my words about underage drinking, or minor in possession. Since some think the problem isn’t that big and others believe it’s fast approaching the crisis point, I will search out hard numbers.
That way we can all make up our own minds and start thinking of solutions instead of finding a place to hide our heads.
Until next time :
Yup, there I was surrounded by how comes when I said to my self, “Self,” I said, cause that’s what I call myself when I’m talking to myself, “how in the name of burnt crock pots did Barack Obama ever get the Noble Peace Prize. Surely stranger things are coming.”
In honor of my brother, Roy Franklin Southard, I will end all future columns with his words of love to me:
“Hey, you be careful out there.”
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