Has-beens tell many tales and practically all bend the truth - but funny - no one seems to
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
Hands Like Henry
Oafs Go Deep
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Oft Told [Tall] Tales
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"THE CONNOISSEUR" by Milton
Morning of the Harvard game, on Boston common, stretching my legs with Larko. A glorious day, early autumn.
Andy calls my attention to a fellow he soon dubs "The Connoisseur." Elderly (by our standards in 1961)
chap in white trousers, dark blazer, and spiffy ascot. Quite distinguished looking, actually.
He's puttering about admiring the flowers, the shrubs, and so forth. Lark and I wander over and say howdy.
The Connoisseur inquires after our health, and what we're up to on such a fine day. "An interesting bit of sport,
is football," he remarks upon learning of our afternoon's agenda. The three of us then inspect the Commons sundial,
which seems to be off by about an hour. Our new friend is quick to discern that this is because it has not been
repositioned to account for daylight saving time, then still in effect. "The Connoisseur --- he knows things,"
Lark intones under his breath. It's soon time for Andy and me to report back, and The Connoisseur wishes us well.
Later, at Harvard Stadium, we win on a miracle.
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