We haven’t had a ‘silly Connecticut’ story in a while, and I can honestly say I have no idea why I didn’t write this up at the time.
Our local sports team is the Bridgeport Bluefish, a non-affiliated, minor league baseball team. Their only real claim to fame is that their coach is a very renown former lefty pitcher whose deserved reputation was eclipsed by his eponymous surgery - one Tommy John.
Anyway last summer, pre-teenage Spud and his oh-so-teenage brother were staying with us and so we decided an evening at the ballpark would be nice. Next to the ballpark is the Arena, a multi-purpose venue, and this particular evening the WWE was doing its sweaty man dance thing at the Arena while the Bluefish played the Lancaster Barnstormers.
The car-park was more crowded than usual and as we pulled up to the orange vested lady at the gate she said:
“Baseball or Arena?”
“Baseball.” We said.
“Three dollars” said the young lady. I don’t know if it was me, the boys or Christine who actually said it first but we all thought it. So one of us said:
“How much if we were going to the Arena?”
“Oh,” she said, “that’s five dollars”
So I know what your thinking, if you ever go to an event at the Arena in Bridgeport make sure you tell the parking people you’re actually watching baseball. Not so fast! Behind the Arena and the baseball stadium is a ferry terminal which also uses the same car-park and guess what? It’s free!
<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>
Bazza
Picture from Google Maps
I awoke early, the sky was just turning grey and the thermometer was reading below freezing. By the time the tea had brewed there was a crimson line along horizon. I took my mug and headed down to the back door. I pulled on my old boots and took the red checkered jacket off the hook.
The winter had been long and cold. Round here they mix sand with the road salt. A lot of sand. The floor of the garage crunched underfoot as I lifted the reluctant-to-open overhead door. It was lighter outside now and a few of the houses across the valley seemed to be stirring, a solitary chimney sent a blue smoke trail into the air.
I grabbed the yard brush, its worn handle felt snug against the callouses on my hand. By the time I finished sweeping out the garage the sky was blue and the brass thermometer had inched past the freezing mark. I drained the tea mug, leant the broom against the door frame and listened. So quiet through the winter, the woods that lined the valley, were waking up. The calls of a distant wood pigeon were mixed with the enquiring whistle of the Robin and the piercing call of a thrush. And there, across the woods, was the unmistakable creaking rattle-taps of a woodpecker.
There will probably be a few more nights below freezing, maybe even another inch or two of snow. But the birds know it’s time. The deer that past through one evening last week, they know it’s time. The tulips and the daffodils know it too - it’s been a long cold one this year but winter is clearly leaving even if a but unwillingly.
<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>
Bazza
As I mentioned in the note about the bumper sticker, I have been having a significant amount of sinus pain. So much so that me, an ordinary male, was finally motivated to visit a doctor.
While sat in the waiting room looking around I noticed a door with one of those little brown signs on. You know the typical kind of door sign. They're about eight inches long and a couple of inches high and usually brown with white lettering. Generally the signs say things like ‘Authorized Personal Only’ or ‘No Admittance’. I had been kinda staring the door and its sign, unfocused, for a while before realizing what the actually read. it simply said.
PATIENT TOILET
Blimey, I'm glad I know where that one is cos I’d hate to end up sitting on the impatient toilet…
<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>
Bazza
