Solitary Man

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. As the clock strikes midnight, it is exactly one week until my beloved Bulldogs take the field against the infidels of the University of Louisiana at Monroe. I bear those boys no ill will, just a sound thumping, somewhere in the neighborhood of 51-0. Anything less will prove to be a disappointment. 

Speaking of disappointment, Mulva and I had date night last night, and before you yahoos start jesting about what the disappointment was, let me clarify. Friday night is traditionally spent watching our local high school team, the Nunsuch Cooters play against other 1A competition. Some times our boys will venture over into Tennessee or the Carolinas to find competition worthy of our level of play. We may be small, and we may be few, but like our namesake, when we catch a-hold of you we don’t let go. At least until it thunders as the legend goes. So, when someone calls you an old Coot, wear the label with pride.

Since the terms of my parole don’t allow me to travel to the games, Mulva got a video for us to watch on the big screen in the rec room as our “date night”. We had to wait until the 11PM closing of the rec room before we could have the place to ourselves. Mulva had popcorn and sodas and it was pretty close to a Cineplex experience. She’d even picked up my favorite Milk Duds from the Walmart. My spirits had just about returned to neutral from the low of missing the Cooters play, and then the movie started.

The Solitary Man, starring Michael Douglas, and a host of other folks you’d recognize. Now I can take or leave Michael Douglas, I guess he’s a good actor and all, but it’s not like I’m sitting on pins and needles waiting for his next flick to come out. Not like Arnold. Anyhow, turns out Mr. Douglas is playing a character that is a royal, revolving screw-up. When I say “revolving screw-up”, I mean any which way you turn him, this guy is screwed up. About the time it dawns on me that Mulva may have conspired the movie as a setup, and all of the nice things she has done in setting up our “date night” have been a ploy to get me to see a fellow that had everything and let it slip through his fingers, Johnny Cash comes on singing a Neil Diamond song. The all too familiar feeling of the heat rising in my face and ears dissipated. Take a listen:

Well, my heart just broke. I cried like a baby and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I don’t know that I’ve ever cried that long or hard before. It seems like it lasted forever, but I can see by the Dr. Pepper clock it didn’t. I know that when some people give their soul to Jesus that the emotion in the release of turning over their life to a higher power causes them to cry sometimes. Based on the events of the evening, I guess I just gave my soul over to Johnny Cash. I’m comfortable with that.

Oh, by the way, Neil Diamond and others, don’t ever attempt to sing that song again, it’s been sung.

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