Last weekend Teri and I continued one of our more odd annual traditions. We pick a cold fall Saturday and get in the car and start driving east out of the city. Once the unmistakable putrid, yet sweet, odor of manure hijacks our nostrils, we know we're there: Small town on the prairie football. We find the local football field and scope out the bleachers. If there's an obvious underdog, we'll sit on their side. This year we didn't really have a choice, because all the stands were packed, so we sat on the edge of the track on one corner of the field. These trips are much anticipated throughout the fall, and I usually spend the hours before the game fretting about what the down-to-earth country folk we're about to interact with will think of a dandy city boy like me. I have this unshakeable fear that when I try to purchase a ticket for the game, the old lady in the booth will look me up and down and say "We don't take yer kind here." I've heard it before, and it hurts. Bad. But without fail, as soon as we get into the stands and I let loose a throaty "Git 'Er Done!", Teri and I are embraced by the community, and frequently offered a blue-ribbon goat or hog or pie.
Anywho, our team the Platte Canyon Huskies were no match for the mighty Broncos of Platte Valley (similar names, a hundred miles apart). After the game, we took a quick loop through town, just to see where all those interesting people at the game live, then headed to Greeley for delicious Tropical Sno shaved ice.
3 comments:
Sarah and I once went into the "C-A-L Ranch Store" in American Fork. After a couple minutes, a young man in Wrangler's asked, with an obvious air of superiority, if he could help us with anything. I panicked and in attempt to show this employee that we had a good reason for being in the store I loaded up a cart with 500 pounds of livestock feed, a salt block, three lariats and a saddle. Obviously doubting whether I was actually going to buy all of these things, the young man followed me to the register. Well, I paid for every last bit of it AND made a large donation to the local 4H. Boy, you should have seen the look on his face! I think we all know who won that standoff.
Actually, when he asked if he could help us I just blushed, mumbled something about browsing and without ever making eye contact, walked down the closest aisle. I've never been so intimidated.
My favorite part is the sun glistening in your ear peach fuzz.
I'm actually in the market for some Carhart coveralls for my ice fishing ventures. I figure I could walk around the neighborhood too, just to show that I'm not that prissy guy at church that's way too old to have spiky hair.
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