Dry Onions

My mom yelled before leaving the kitchen, “don’t you dare touch those onions, were almost out!”
There sat on the open counter a can of French’s dry onions, an essential ingredient to the green bean casserole to be served at the Thanksgiving feast. For some reason the inner child in us comes a live when we are told not to do things, and there is a sudden urge to do the thing we were told not to do.
For my old man, the dry onions with the command do not touch, turned into a candy store. But at his old age he has learned to be crafty. In order to get the job done it was necessary for him to hike his pants up over his bulging beer gut, and casually make a trip to the fridge.
A trip he has made in his day many times to fulfill his palette with an ice cold Budlight. The plan was perfect, statue of liberty to the counter and sweep out of the kitchen unnoticed.
The execution however was a disaster. With all eyes on him except my mom of course he crumbled under the pressure. The stroll to the counter was inconspicuous, but when his large arms went to swipe the tiny can they failed to grasp the container and dry onions flew like fireworks on the 4th of July.
He scrambled frantically to pick up the ant size dry onion pieces with his stubby fingers. He was against the clock, my brother had burst into laughter, and an angry housewife was about to return to her feast she had been slaving over all day.
When about half the can was back in its place, he suddenly froze to a deathly stare.
“What are you doing Brad?” my mom said sternly.
He had been caught and stuttering the first thing that rolled off his head, “I was putting the dried onions back in the fridge?”

Please tune in yesterday...

Tick…This is what separates No. 1 from the rest…Tick…Defense wins championships, offense wins games…Tick…Hang on, out last, survive…Tick…Move the pawn, it’s the right play...Tick…But is it too predictable…Tick…No time for decisions, just instinct, is it enough…Tick…please tune in yesterday…

The Gift

So stuck up in his ways and full of love towards himself, it’s a wonder when gifts of kindness are handed out. But miraculously a gift was handed out yesterday. The gift couldn’t of come at a better time as one was strung at a crossroad whether to give up on the activity that has given him joy the past eight years. To come from such an egotistical individual the gift’s worth was priceless and may have just given one the confidence to keep trucking perhaps till the end.

Ignorance

Ignorance will best the best and may just lead to one’s downfall. There she sits without words, fire a blaze in vision, wishing fault on others. When did she become the martyr? Didn’t he drag you realm to realm successfully? Two bad days and one shot below the belt just may lead one to leave her. He has been quiet till now, but this time he has had enough

Unexpected Call

An unexpected call filled one with an instantaneous emotional explosion. But when the debris cleared, it was much of the same. Two lovers strung across a vast plain of emptiness. One, willing to say those obtrusive words but in no position to conceptualize their meaning, the other incapable of vocal expression but understands the other’s ignorance.

Placebo 11

It is if one has been handed a gift, but none has been given. It is unknown why one feels like he has plenty of free time to be spent on the worthless. Time is not infinite and actions are finite, a quandary, which at the end of the day will spell one’s doom. Please put down the placebo.

Potential 10

The potential witnessed by one today, has given an epiphany of hope never before seen in his career. Perhaps with a little work and effort, dominance is possible. But the naysayer population are plenty and more than willing to put one back on his feet. Only time will tell if potential is filled.

Drunken Euphoria- 9

The drunken euphoria was a regret this time around. The ecstasy wiped one’s consciousness. Money grew on trees and there was enough beer to water the trees it grew on. Too bad the euphoric episode didn’t recreate Johnny Apple seed.

No punches, just thoughts (week 8 little behind)

The room is an acoustic Pandora box of sound. The squeaking of players feet echo off the wood constructs of the bleachers. Combined with the screams of who has who and the general yelling no you don’t have who, confusion runs rampant. Confusion seems to be the theme of the field house. As one sense of smell is taken back to a smell once recognized in an old boxing warehouse. But no punches will be thrown today, just shots.

Right or Left

The fork in the road could never be so perplexing. Although only faced with two choices the complexity of the decision could leave one second guessing for years to come. Yet there are not years to be had, not months, nor weeks, only hours, twenty four to be exact.
On the right, the decision carries the most bite and impact but does not carry the same flair or understanding of others as the left. The left however is cheesy and perhaps even predictable, but safe. Alas time keeps a ticking….

A Role not worth playing

There they sat content with themselves like they had put in the same time and effort into an activity. Such oblivious ignorant fools, they hadn’t won an award worth winning for years. But they were sure to babble on about their intellect and generous donations to charity. As if intellect of a child is something to boast, almost as appalling was their supposed donation, a mask hiding the lack of any remote success. &(*#@ them, they need another script.

Blah

Dreary weather makes for leery thoughts. The perpetual fall of water droplets succumbs one’s brain to hibernation for which there is no time. The brain is suddenly awakened to the sirens of urban sprawl, a reminder of the wasteland that waits for it if deemed unsuccessful. Let the sun break through and ease a thought or two.

Day of Reckoning

Getting off to the right foot is crucial for the long haul of the season. One competitor is faced with the challenge of a new partner, a choice made by him, and if deemed a failure a responsibility placed on his shoulders. Saturday is his day of reckoning and he feels that he is not the least bit prepared. He hopes for once that talent and not hard work will be the ultimate victor, otherwise he will have a lot of questions to answer.

Running out of time

So much to do, too little time to do it.
There he sat motionless. Not because he had nothing to do, just the list of tasks ahead kept compiling in his mind, making him feel anxious and incomplete. Perhaps if he started earlier, things may have gone smoother. But then again, maybe there just wasn’t enough time in the first place.

Whopper Woman

Here sat an overly large middle-aged woman entrapped in her wheelchair. The chair was too small for her size and her excess fat seeped over the hand rests, seeking escape from the immense pressure. A putrid smell radiated off her and although she hadn’t done any serious physical activity in years, sweat created a waterfall off the tip of her nose.

The physical therapist asked her when she walked, in a normal day. Then with ease, she responded as if she didn’t realize the ignorance she was about to bestow on the world, “Only in Burger King because my chair doesn’t fit through the door.”

Senioritis

One year may sometimes seem like an eternity.
For one Washburn student, his first week as a senior has felt like a decade. To balance school, newspaper, debate, and work one may guess that it would fly by with ease, well at least fly by. But with graduation in sight, time has stopped and capacity to handle much more school has ceased.