THE TRIP 1989

"It was like cherry-picking babies."

                                                                                                Shamu, 1989.

Dear Fellow Owners/Managers:

The above quote, so cogently articulated by the cerebral Shamu, rather succinctly summarizes the Summer Trip to Kansas City/Chicago/Milwaukee.  Not that there would have been any alcohol involved.  Of course, those of you who did not make the trip have got to be asking yourselves, what's the point, Shamu? 

Although the trip is still fresh in most of our minds, I think a short recap is in order, so that non-attending League members may enjoy some vicarious pleasure, and so that we can keep things in historical perspective twenty years from now when our vivid imaginations have embellished the Trip into a series of events far removed from reality.  So here goes. 

Appropriately enough, the true genesis of the Trip was beautiful Council Bluffs, as Sandjigger entered a tavern there for the first time (in three hours) to purchase some loudmouth soup for the journey down I-29 to McBlunder's.  To the sober chauffeur of the I-29 caravan, it appeared that the boys (Shamu, Sandjigger and WhiteSot) were not in a festive mood, since the top beer drinker was only able to choke down seven beers during the trip to McBlunder's, and one of the riders (who shall remain nameless) is believed to have consumed no more than a six­pack.  The years are obviously showing on these boys.  In any event, after the Skipper masterfully picked his way through Kansas City to get to McBlunder's home, we were warmly welcomed by the hospitable McBlunder pair. 

The beer was ice cold, and the plumpers hot and spicy at the ball game, so the rest of you would not have enjoyed it very much.  Very little beer was consumed at the game, and so it was decided that we should seek further liquid refreshment at Westport, over the strenuous objections of Sandjigger, who wanted to go home and play Trivial Pursuit, and Shamu, who wanted to pursue more groceries.  After closing down Kelly's, a timely suggestion was made to close out the night with a nightcap at Lynn Dickey's (not Len Dawson's, Shamu), and we were lucky enough there to witness as fine an exhibit of rug-cutting as has ever been seen this side of the Mississippi.  Fueled by his intake of -- by this time -- nineteen or twenty beers, Sandjigger stumbled into the cattle pen and wound up shaking his cake with a real stunner.  Mr. Happy Feet showed as many moves as a monument, and predictably was alone again after just one dance. 

After Dickey's, instinctively believing that he had not consumed enough alcohol, WhiteSot called for a round of French beer at the McBlunder Arms.  Fortunately, McBlunder had not recently replenished his beer cellar, and the lone French ale was consumed by WhiteSot as he cleverly and in rapid fire manner disposed of his intoxicated foes in a spirited game of Spades (or was it Pitch, WhiteSot?). 

Day Two of the Trip began in a typical fashion, with Sandjigger and Shamu up at five bells to click off an invigorating five mile run through the McBlun­der neighborhood, followed by an hour of marine calisthenics, before winding down with stretching and meditation exercises performed to the solemn chanting of Sandjigger-authored haiku.  WhiteSot likewise was able to hop out of bed with little or no demonstrable evidence of the previous evening's debauchery, and the happy group set out on the second leg of the Trip.  U-Belly was pleased that we were all at the airport in a timely fashion, and Pipsqueak was just plain pleased to be along on his first HSL Trip. 

After a fine flight to Chicago, and a snappy conversion from our air transportation to our luxury van, we proceeded on to Milwaukee to become weekend Cheeseheads.  Some made the transition better than others. 

I believe that all who were on the Trip will forever after recall Milwaukee with a certain amount of fondness, although we will all certainly have our own distinct memories.  Sandjigger and WhiteSot will recall the acute reaction time of the beer vendors to their frequent requests for barley replenishments.  McBlunder will fondly recall the banked surface of the Milwaukee interstate system, which allowed him to propel the death-van-from-hell at speeds eclipsing 110 miles per hour with a full coterie of drunken passengers and a snootful of beer on board.  Crooked smiles will surely come to the faces of U-Belly and Pipsqueak as they fondly recall discovering that it was "seat cushion night" at Milwaukee Stadium.  I of course will never forget meeting a very special and beautiful friend at Smuggler's.  And Shamu.  A tear will form in Shamu's eye as he wistfully recalls capturing the cherished Mound Ball Award, enabling him to spend every waking moment of the remainder of the trip with his hand firmly clenching a Bratwurst (of course, Sandjigger spent a lot of time on the Trip with his hand around his bratwurst, but that's another story). 

Obviously, the Summer Trip was a depraved, bacchanal event, for which we had all hoped.  There is much more to comment on about the Trip, but rather than discourse on the entire debauchuous story, a few more of the Trip highlights should suffice to recap this year's momentous occasion: 

                                                                  Trip Highlights

TRIP EPILOGUE

All in all, it was a good time for all.  Next year's trip plans call for a journey to Arlington, Texas, to see the Rangers play, with the trip to coincide with a gigantic sports memorabilia collector's convention to be held in July in Arlington.  Next year's trip will be planned and accommodated by Underbelly and Babytrumpetfish (maybe for once we can get "Mr. Golf" off the links and onto one of our summer trips).