Freddogg Off The Chain

Why do “war stories” send individuals and crowds ducking for cover? War stories aren’t just about military combat rather they are stories told by someone who lived and experienced something they think was important enough to tell the tale later to individuals who generally are not remotely interested. I sometimes resemble that story teller but it ain’t my fault the entire planet in on medication for A.D.D and or/bipolar disorder.

I met the new University of Delaware basketball coach, just 35 years old, an African American and Philly boy just like me. Well, not white like me, and not old like me, but otherwise we shared quite a bit. I told him about Saint Joe’s “back in the day” gave him a starting lineup of Matty Goukas, Billy Oakes, Clifford Anderson, Marti Ford and Tom Duff, a team coached by Jack Ramsey, who later coached the Portland Trailblazers to an NBA tiled beating Julius and George McGinnis and the rest of the Sixers. I was doing what I do, mapping the Gnome of the entire sports universe. Coach Ross was getting that polite look on his face like “when is this mother fucker gong to shut the fuck up?”

I then go and schmooze with Delaware football people and when I tell them that I actually played in a game for Temple against Delaware before legendary and now Hall of Fame Delaware Coach Tubby Raymond was the Head Coach. Listeners are mentally mapping the room imprinting escape routes. I tell them this true anecdote.

“I was warming up in the Temple Stadium end zone doing dumb lineman monkey roll drills with my fat and hairy buddies when the student manager of Delaware came down and told stadium manager Skippy Wilson, ”Coach Nelson said there is no toilet paper in our locker room.”

“You tell Coach Nelson to go fuck himself.” That’s what Skippy said to this little manager dude.

Temple football staff hated Delaware because their campus had grass and then there were those uniforms and helmets and precision wing t offense and that Blue Hen mascot and they were just faggots that’s all there was to it.”

All in all not a bad story if you like football war stories and no one does unless they’re telling them and they are a player.

I once conducted a silent experiment in one of my high school classes where I brought an authentic plaque to class that read, ”Dave Frederick: Outstanding Basketball Player in Philadelphia Catholic League 1963.”

I passed it around and told them the title of this lesson would be “Let’s talk about me for awhile.”

I started to roll with one war story after another all casting me in heroic game winning situations. After 15 minutes my students were suicidal. If they all had Nike sneakers they’d have caught a ride on the Hal Bop Comet. They’d have bobbed for Apples in a cauldron of Jim Jones Kook-Aid. When I had them good and agitated I stopped and said, ”The lesson is, ”Nobody Freaking Cares!” It’s not about me and it’s not about you.”

A smart student spoke up. “Tell us wise old Fredman , relic of the past and prophet of the future. What is the meaning of life?”

“Life is like a bridge,” my young students. “Life is like a bridge.”

“I don’t understand,” said the one girl taking notes. “How is life like a bridge?”
I gazed out the window and pondered the universe and shrugged my shoulders. “So it’s not like a bridge.”

Peace Freddogg