Coonridge Digest: An eye on the game

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

I belong to a rather futile but harmless group of bleacher bums. We go to every home high school football game, form our little cafe’ of cocoa and fellowship on the 50-yard line, and generally ignore the rest of the game. When our cheerleaders jump over two feet off the ground we assume the Coonridge Carps have scored (which they did most splendidly one evening in October of ‘97) and we whoop and holler like we know what’s goin’ on.

To save embarrassment at Sunday School we politely ask someone the score before we leave.

Lucille is the only exception to our little band of sports incompetents. While we busy ourselves with the news of the world, the gossip of the community, and the vexation of growin’ older, Lucille actually watches the football game. In fact, she can have the Cardinals plugged direct into her left ear while watchin’ the local Carps take their weekly thumpin’ and still be able to tell you what’s goin’ on in both games.

This makes Lucille mildly irritatin’. She insists on watchin’ the game.

"Who’s ahead?" I’ll holler and Lucille will remain sittin’ steely-eyed at the gridiron and murmer, "Keep your eye on the game and you’ll be alright, Freida."

The only thing that makes a stubborn soul more obnoxious is when they’re right.

For the past three weeks the hottest topic of the Bleacher Bum Brigade has been the world’s crisis and our own personal safety. Four of our little quintet haven’t been to the mall since September 11, two of ‘em have started lockin’ their doors at night (the other three have no locks), and Florine McBride canceled a trip to see her cousins in Phoenix. (Whom she claimed weren’t really worth visitin’ but they did winter in a sunny climate and thus deserved a trip.) For the entire game last week we filled the time listin’ the precautions we’ve been takin’. The fact that only a confused (and momentarily lost) terrorist would consider targetin’ Coonridge never entered our minds.

Ella Sealey told us that she was puttin’ off buyin’ a new car and Millie Brandis said she had vowed to avoid all cities until the current troubles had passed (the fact that Millie hadn’t been out of town in three years didn’t seem to phase anyone.) Meanwhile, steady old Lucille kept watchin’ the game. And maybe the most infuriatin’ thing about the woman’s single-mindedness is the fact that she insists on sittin’ in the very center of our group, causin’ us to talk right over the top of her head. The woman won’t be moved.

Lucille Lister is 82 years old, still keeps her own garden, has been around the world about 12 times and has every intention of flyin’ to Rome in January. She drives to St. Louis every month to shop and rumor has it she can whip her weight in stray dogs. In a weak moment last Friday night (the Cards were in the 7th-inning stretch and the Carps had limped off to the half-time locker room to draw straws on who’d have to play the 2nd half), Lucille asked what we were talkin’ about.

"We’re talkin’ about bein’ careful, Lucille. Takin’ precautions ‘til the world settles down a bit."

Lucille stood up, tossed a hearty laugh into the October air and shuffled off to get a bag of popcorn with extra butter.

We have never approved of Lucille’s eatin’ habits. While the rest of us have relegated ourselves to a lifetime of low-fat, low-cholesterol, no-taste retirement, Lucille continues to eat like a queen. Of course, addin’ to our disapproval of her unhealthy lifestyle is the irritatin’ fact that she’s the healthiest one in the group.

By the time Lucille returned to her mid-field position, the Cards were up to bat and the Carps were countin’ off to see if they could field eleven players healthy enough to finish act two of "Les Miserables." Ella asked her, "Lucille, you mean you ain’t scared even just a little about all this trouble in the world?"

Lucille plopped down her popcorn and coffee (the only one among us who dares drink it past noon) and was commencin’ to tune us out and the Cards in when she answered, "Girls, you got a choice. You can worry, stew, and jaw all you want or you can just get about your business and keep your eye on the game."

We’re all gonna die someday. I have that on good authority. But at Lucille’s funeral they can add another line to the obituary. "She also decided to live."

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.