Deep Clackamas

Father Owen’s bombastic decree was most effective as nearly all made it out to the Vendetta. Los Tres Orignales arrived in standard formation: Behatted EBMB, Danny Moses, and Scrappy Pappy. The Chairman was already waiting and the town cryer rolled up just after. A bit strange to arrive in daylight, but with the table open, we’ll make do. Two Marias were stepping in too so they’ll play winner. Beard and Boobular behind the bar. Great music=White Hinterlander, Grizzly Bear. Fosbury, Lester’s More, and Kong fill out the ranks like an elephant in wet trousers, and we are eight strong. Dan and I continue our “Deep Clackamas” tractor pull, making swift and tidy work of all comers to the tune of a 7-0 night. I become co-Don of the Kielbasa Nostra, registering my second, with 2 hangers a piece, a two-end shutout, and 119-48 scoring difference thrown in for good measure. Clack-a-lacka! The rest of the bunch closed at the Tiga, but Dave and I rolled home early. With an illness creeping, I chose the bus assist home from Beaumont and pondered the small glimpse of hope the night’s victories had shown. With help from Danny Moses, the Israelites from Deep Clack had made a bold move. It’ll probably take a truckload of these nights to make a dent in the hole I’m in. At the very least, I stopped digging for a night and looked up.