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Has-beens tell many tales and practically all bend the truth - but funny - no one seems to notice.
Still, at a recent gathering of our has-been crowd I overheard a conversation between two spouses of has-beens that went like this:
Spouse 1 (speaking low): "They tell these same stories every year."
Spouse 2 (eyes rolling): "I know - don't they realize?"

We do realize - sort of - but doesn't everyone just love to hear these stories? And don't the listeners think that we, the tellers, are just a bit more special (read, cool) after hearing these tales? Don't they?

Into the Breach by Milton

The Fedora by Milton

Hands Like Henry by Milton

Oafs Go Deep by Milton

Georgia Baseball by Milton

Hemorrhoids by Milton

LeanAndRest by Milton

The Connoisseur by Milton

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Tall Tales
Oft Told [Tall] Tales
Got a tall tale to tell? - Please email any and all.

"Oafs Go Deep" by Milton
Our gang of Ends, much like Rodney Dangerfield, got precious little respect. Our backs reckoned us as but undersized clods who could neither block nor tackle. Our linemen, the true oafs would glare at us as we trotted off to some rinky-dink passing drill, while they prepared for live one-on-one in the pit. We were neither fish nor fowl, beset on all sides , only Coach C. Harry would tolerate us for long.

One pre-game Friday we got a measure of revenge. The Brain Trust decided that our QBs needed to unlimber their golden arms, so a deep passing drill was organized. Walley and Doyle were throwing simultaneously, so we Ends were split into two lines. Since we were only six (Larko would join us later in the year), that put three in each line. This meant that by the time you ran down the field, caught the ball, and trotted back, it was time to go again. It was a warm humid afternoon, so after a bit of this, we began to tire. Zak and I, exerting the privilege of seniority, kept returning to Walley's line, shooing the surplus sophomores over to fetch the Mad Bomber's ICBMs. This save ourselves some thirty or forty yards per round-trip, which helped, but not enough. Our QBs were just hitting their stride, and so the drill continued, with no rest for the weary.

By now we were pretty well washed out, but King and Denoia showed no signs of stopping. We needed reinforcements, and C. Harry came up with a plan. Coach Mike and his linemen were roaming nearby and it was suggested that they might like to catch passes for a change. As that bunch had few opportunities to touch a football they thought this sounded like great fun. They were all smiles as they lined up to chase deep passes. But soon, after a few receptions, the smiles had disappeared. of course Chick had prior experience in this role and Bo could always run, but the remaining worthies were soon huffing and puffing like overtaxed steam engines. there were no signs of disappointment evident when finally the QBs indicated they had thrown enough, and practice moved on to something else. The End corps enjoyed a brief sense of vindication, plus a few chuckles. As for the oafs, they never volunteered to shag passes again.

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