Call me Ishmael, but first let me wipe this whale blubber off my face. Little bit of egg on there as well.
“But tell us, Mr. Know It All, how did this marine mammalian insulation come to smear your impressive profile? You usually don’t go in for gel. And you take your eggs scrambled with mustard.”
Well, it happened like this. I was reading War and Peace and a college football game appeared on the flat screen on the forecastle. The ‘Canes of South Beach were taking on the large black cats of Allegheny County. My shipmates and I, harpoons in hand and espying a particularly juicy target, sprang like, well , panthers on a sure kill.
What unfolded was sheer horror. The great green and orange beast seemed under our control. We intercepted his leaps with barbs that seemed to take the starch out of him, but we were shortly drawn into a great squall that upended us into the drink and allowed the son of a gun to break free.
The curses were loud as we shook the brine off our bell bottoms and scrambled back on board to update the Excel spreadsheet. We were doomed, doomed, I say!
Yet hope springs eternal. We stumbled back to port, taking a more docile animal on the way to feed the lamps of New England and thus blubber all over me, which gave a handsome sheen to our pate. We set our eyes on the next voyage, however. This one will be overland to the Lone Star state. Will the TCU lizards of Fort Worth escape the SMU wild horse hooves of Dallas by more than 17? We are torn.
Only time will tell, as the comely TV correspondents tell us. Will call Liz Cho, Diane Sawyer and Katie Couric for advice. Got ‘em on my speed dial.
Meanwhile, Ichiro Suzuki must reveal his secrets for the betterment of mankind and aspiring whalers everywhere.
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