Freddogg Off The Chain

Just before halftime in the press and media bathroom at Raven Stadium in Baltimore it came down to just me and another broad shouldered guy standing deltoid to deltoid. He was about 6’5” dressed in a power suit with moistened hair slicked back. I was in sportswriter’s uniform: Polo shirt, jeans, white socks and off white New Balance sneakers.

The man began to talk to his penis. “What’s that you say down there, speak up I can’t hear you.” I remembered that same lyric from the “Talking Heads” on the song “Wild Wild Nights” or was that Knights? Anyway I thought, how ironic and penis irony would be painful even with sizing and a Proctor and Gamble set on steam.

I glanced sideways at head level—that’s not funny—then stared straight ahead bulging out my eyeballs to bear witness to the fact that this was my first eavesdropped penis conversation I ever overheard in my long life, no pun intended. “Speak up I can’t hear you?”

“I’ll be down there as soon as I get a hotdog. Do you want me to bring you one? How about the agate guys in the boom truck”?

I knew agate was a sports term used to define “raw data” I also know it’s a testicle synonym like “Ahh, I just got hit in the agates with a ground ball.”

The game was being stepped up with hotdogs on special delivery to penises and agate men in boom trucks. I know this is Baltimore but did you just call me Bun, Hon”?

It was only when this guy was leaving that I noticed Mr. “I talk to penises that call me out by my name” was wearing a head phone set and I guess talking to real people down on the field and I found that rather mundane and disappointing but also stupid and offensive.

Wait my cell is vibrating in my right pocket. There is no cell phone in my pocket. I have entered the “Twilight of my Life” Zone.

Peace Freddogg