Speaking of the Pats, my 4th grade classmate Alan was an extreme Patriots fan. He wore a lot of Patriots clothing and talked about the team constantly. Although I too root for the Patriots it's more a regional requirement than a conscious choice of devotion, so I had absolutely nothing in common with Alan until our class learned about incubators. Our class was loaned two incubators inside of which we each had our very own (decorated to differentiate) egg. We had been promised that we could keep the chicks that emerged from the egg. My mom was absolutely thrilled to hear this because we lived in an apartment and the landlord was definitely (not) going to let us keep a chicken!
Each member of the class watched their incubated egg's progress until it hatched. Surprisingly, almost all of the eggs actually hatched a chick, even though the odds should have been a bit against us. When my chick hatched it was the proudest day of my 9-year-old life. I give a lot of thought to naming pets so I still didn't have a name for the little guy when he was born, but rest assured I was thinking pretty hard about it and I think I had narrowed it down to Henry and Charlie.
Alan and I were the only two kids in the class to have “special” chicks emerge from their shells. My chicken had a foot permanently stuck straight up in the air (no Hitler jokes, please) and he just wasn't thriving. Alan's chick seemed normal enough at first. Then the weekend came and our chicks hit the fan. On Monday morning our teacher arrived to find that my chick had died of natural causes, having fallen to his back with his little clawfoot curled over onto itself, while Alan's chick had become suicidal and drowned himself in a Gerber baby food bottle of water. When we arrived to class our teacher broke the news to both of us together, away from our other classmates. Alan and I were both so sad that we just bawled. Our entire class then had a field trip to the wooded area on the other side of the teacher's parking lot where we buried both our birds in silence. Whenever I think of the Patriots I think of Alan and our dead baby chicks and I root for our team to win.
*I'm pretty sure I'm going to get some fly-by “you're an idiot, the Patriots aren't playing!” comments, but that just goes to show they don't understand my sense of humor. :)
Update: It is of absolute zero (Kelvin) surprise that a lot of people who read my blog are not interested in football. I mean, I just don't convey that “YAR!!!!!!” attitude that football fans need to possess for their game's religion. However, I do happen to know a bit about today's game. The Indy Colts (blue and white) are playing the Windy City Bears (blue and orange). I'll pick the Bears over the Colts because I think the drink might taste better.
7 comments:
If you hadn't qualified it by saying they weren't playing, I would have believed you. I have no idea who's playing who. I'm about as clueless as a person can get about football, and sports in general.
The Bears are playing. I could not tell you who they are playing against, and I only found out this morning that the Super Bowl is today.
This is Buckeye country. We don't need no stinking Super Bowel.
I'll pick the Bears over the Colts because I think the drink might taste better.
Ha! You rock!
It just so happens that I have the very ingredients in the pantry to make these drinks. I'm such a lush.
Gecko, I'll be right over. We don't have to watch the game to drink the drink, though, right?
I love, love, LOVE the rationale for your pick there. :-)
It makes me sad that a teacher thought that was an appropriate school project. And even sadder that the chicks didn't make it. Now, every time I hear about the Pats, I will think of your chicks.
Belly up to the bar, Poppy. Your drink is waiting.
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