Interview With the Coach

Following Spring Football practice, Coach Gaylord Schwantz of Southern Home Industrial Technology University held a press conference.

Coach:  Spring practice went well. Some of our recently paroled recruits are going to help us out of the box.  Our conference is one of the toughest in the nation.  There are no weak-tweaking-nose-flicking football teams on our schedule.  We’ll have to be willing to give 110%, 110% of the time and not be resting on what happens next.  However, we do have some things to fix.  But fixing is my job.  Now, any questions?

Reporter 1:  I understand your quarterback, Gimpy Scroggins, is questionable.

Coach:  That’s completely untrue.  He will not be available to take questions.

Reporter 1:  No.  I mean he may not be 100% by the start of the season.

Coach:  I’ve answered this a thousand times.  Now that we’ve got him fitted with a prosthesis, we expect a full recovery.  The loss of a leg can be a handicap for a quarterback, but I always say, we’re just thankful he’s not our kicker.

Reporter 2:  What kind of prosthesis?

Coach:  Well, I’m not a doctor, but as I understand it, Gimpy has a new titanium alloy, full motion, two and a half horsepower, turbo-diesel leg that allows him to run the 40 in a little under a second and a half.  Unfortunately, his jock strap can only do it in five seconds.  Balls to the wall is not just an expression.

Reporter 3:  Does that cause problems when his natural leg tries to keep up?

Coach:  We’ve had no complains from his natural leg.  Next question.

Reporter 2:  Is it true that many of last year’s starters are now incarcerated.

Coach:  Allegedly incarcerated.

Reporter 1:  The name Cocksure Johnson ring any bells?

Coach:  …don’t recall

Reporter 1:  Exposed himself to a troop of Girl Scouts at a fraternity keg party.

Coach:  I object to that nickname.  He allegedly exposed his alleged member to a group of alleged Girl Scouts at an alleged party, featuring an alleged keg.  Ivanhoe Johnson is a fine young man.

Reporter 3:  Excuse me, but he’s 27 years old.

Coach:  Any starter with two years of eligibility left is a fine young man.  Also, the newspapers are quick to jump to conclusions.

Reporter 2:  But, several eye witnesses said…

Coach:  Those Girl Scouts are liars.  Several of Mr. Johnson’s teammates have sworn that at the time of the alleged incident he was on the other side of the city park buying cocaine…I mean ice cream.

Reporter 1:  Was that a Freudian slip?

Coach:  I don’t know whose slip it was, but I do know newspapers never mention Ivanhoe is a good provider for his girlfriend and her two children from a previous football team.

Reporter 2:  How ‘bout the allegations that some players are taking meaningless college courses.

Coach:  I deny that.  We are very careful that our student-athletes are meaningful students, who study meaningfully every day.

Reporter 1:  Amish Line Dancing ? Post-Coital Calisthenics?

Coach:  Not everybody can be pre-med, but we have two linebackers who are.

Reporter 3:  You’d be referring to Janic Thumbcushion, and Ivory Poacher.  Dynamics of Regurgitation?  Physiology of Sole Inserts? Oral Treatment of Testicular Stress ?

Coach:  Hip-high Jones’ major is statistics.

Reporter 2:  Handicapping a Horse Race and Handicapped Parking:  A Comparative Study,  Examination of Dice:  Dots and their hidden meaning.

Coach:  What none of you understand is that we support our student-athletes as they struggle to keep their eligibility. These young men deserve the chance to rise above their humble beginnings, date cheerleaders and make millions of dollars when they turn pro.

Reporter 3:  Should college football players be paid?

Coach:  You mean like graduate assistants and others who help the university?  Definitely not.  That’s not what college athletics are about.  College is a learning experience, especially concerning the fine points of the law, and attorney-client privilege.  It’s about the discipline to perform at your best after a long flight, two nights in a first class hotel, and a steak dinner.

Reporter 1:  What’s your prognosis for the coming season?

Coach:  I think we’ll do as well as we can, provided we can live up to our expectations.

Reporter 2:  That’s an evasive answer.

Coach:  We’re a football team.

Today's Special: A Very Special Movie

Generally, I don’t rate movies, or write film critiques.  To tell the truth, most of today’s movies are forgettable, cut and paste fabrications that are like serving the same hamburger with different commercially prepared toppings.  A little more catsup…ok, great, what a film!  Too much mustard, ok, we’ll tone it down next time.  AAA, AAA2, AAA3 and so forth.  It’s like a football team with so few plays in the playbook, the fans can call ‘em in from the stands.

Then, there’s the problem of perception.  Fact is, people have different tastes.  People can be holding  their sides laughing, while someone else thinks the humor falls flat.

Just found a movie so original and refreshing, it’s fine to watch it with a friend, a lover, by yourself, or even with a malcontent you thinks robins’ eggs are a nasty shade of blue.  Comedy? Amen.  Feel good?  Aced it. Realistic emotions?  Nailed on the head.

The marvels to me are the truth and depth of this film. Here’s the plot on a thumbnail:  Indian food.  Indian chef who has no clue how to cook Indian food and finds a taxi driver to help him.  Father who runs a failing Indian restaurant, and is in failing health.  Mother who plots to get her son married.  Interesting characters pop up throughout the movie.

Put these all together, add a bit of romance, the scarcity of jobs, a man who has no idea what to do next, loss of the deepest sort, love on so many levels you’ll have to take off your shoes to count them, and situational laughs that make you ponder while you chuckle.

Yes, it’s mostly set in an Indian context, but so universal in the presentation that you suddenly realize these are scenarios you’ve lived and suffered and laughed through yourself.

Too many movies are a waste of precious time. This one gives you an uplifting kick in the ass that makes you realize today is all ya got and you better love life and do something.

Best movie I have seen in years.  Here’s a short trailer: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MC9iRsoHS04

Are You Roger?

            I sat in a small bakery, sipping my coffee, reading the paper.  Well, not really the paper.  I mean it is technically a newspaper, but it’s online.  So, I was actually reading my iPad.

            I often do that over a morning coffee and yes, this is my favorite place.  Matter of fact, I only go to another bakery, or to….my god, Starbucks…if every other place on earth, or at least within walking distance, is closed.  This is a pretty big city, so that happens only as often as I have a date.  Can’t remember the last time for either one.

            It’s called Sam’s Bakery and maybe Sam owns it, but I don’t know.  Never met Sam.  His waitresses’ names are Rosy, Jacqueline, Judy, and Sophie.  They’re not all here at the same time, not all the same age, and not all the same breast size.  Yes, I notice those things.  But, just so you don’t think I’m some sort of perv, I don’t know the actual cup sizes.

            At that moment, a woman sat down in my booth.  Never happened before.  Not old, not young, but younger than my forty-five years.  Nice looking in a fresh, wholesome kind of way, with wavy mouse brown hair, and brown eyes.  No dipping neckline.  Nothing like that.  She wasn’t smiling.

            I was taken by surprise and didn’t say anything, just sat staring.  I live alone and I’m not used to women approaching me.  Can’t remember the last time for that either.

            “You’re Roger, right?”  The voice was girlish, with a kind of whispering sweetness.

            “Yes,” I said.  How did she know that?  “How do you know that?”

            “From the ad.”

            Now I was confused.  I’d sold an old bicycle a few months ago and a radio and three books, none of which were valuable.  Besides, they were long ago sold.  Maybe she read my confusion as distrust.

            “You must get a lot of responses.  That’s quite an ad.  My name is Mabel.  Well, that’s not my real name.  My screen name is Helena.”  Barely a pause before she rambled on, “I don’t suppose Roger is your real name either, but you’re just as I pictured you.  A father figure.  A little bit of a traditional dresser.  I hope you don’t mind me saying that.  I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that and it might make everything more real.”

            She didn’t like my Khakis and white shirt and beige Cardigan?  I keep the top button buttoned.   “This is how I always dress.”

            “Oh,” she said, “I like your voice.  Very masculine.”

            The two waitresses, Rosy and Judy, kept looking in my direction. 

            “You said your name is Mabel, but not really?”

            “Well, women don’t usually give their right name, right?”

            “My right name is Roger.”

            “See, that’s different.”

            “How?”

            “Well for one thing, you’re not wearing a wedding ring.  I am.”

            “Maybe I forgot to put it back on after I shaved.”

            “Oh, that’s clever.  You like to keep secrets.  I love a little mystery.”

            “How’s this for a mystery?  I have no idea who you are.”

            She started to say, she’d told me, but changed her mind.  “I like that idea.”

            “What idea?”

            “Playing the role. Strangers meeting.”

            “It’s the ideal role, we being strangers and all.”

            She laughed, a good throaty laugh.  “I like what you said you’d do to me.”

            “What did I say?”

            “The parts about making me do things.  Awful things.  While you watched.”

            You need to know, I don’t drink.  Nor do I put random ads online.  Nor do I know this woman, or what in God’s green earth she is talking about.  She looked like a normal housewife.  Not bad looking, but nothing glamorous.

            “Did I say that?”

            “You know you did, Roger.”  A sly smile crept in.

            “Did I tell you the part about the cockroaches?”

            She looked blank. “Or the spider webs across … well, you know. Drinking frog poo?  Eight ball in the side pocket?  Anvil tossing?  The horse-leg barbecue?”

            I expected her to bolt, but she didn’t.  The smile came back.  “You’re such a kidder, Roger.  You silly man.  Humor drives me wild.  Is there a men’s room here?”

I pointed.

“I’ll go in first,” she said.  “But, hurry, I don’t like to get cold.”  She scooted out of the booth and flew across the length of the bakery.

            I took another sip of my coffee.

            Another man came in, stopped at the door and looked around.  It’s a small bakery, as I said.  Finding a place to sit is not as difficult as waiting for a supercilious maître d’ and pressing a twenty dollar bill in his greedy hand. 

The guy wore a black raincoat and his dark, thinning hair was slicked back.  A little portly.  His eyes darted.

            Finally, Judy walked over to him.  “Are you Mabel?” he asked.

            “She’s in the men’s room,” I said.

Berry Bros & Rudd - London's oldest wine merchants

Berry Brothers & Rudd, London’s oldest wine shop (1698) holds a special place in my heart.  You’ll soon find out why.  Nope, not because of wine.

This wine shop caters to the world and has for about 315 years.  That alone is remarkable, but consider this:  It’s been at No. 3 James Street the whole time, selling first coffee and wine, then wine and spirits, as it does today.  Not that St James is the only location.  There’s one south of London, as well as Japan, Hong Kong, and Singapore.

The store is so understated, you could walk right by without noticing.  Dark exterior, with window displays and foot high lettering across the front.  You may notice the famous (but smallish) sign of the coffee mill hanging out front.  Coffee mill?  For a wine shop?

Yes, the widow Bourne (first name lost in the mists) started out selling coffee and supplying various coffee shops up and down the street.  Coffee business lasted into the 19^th Century. Besides the coffee shops that gradually disappeared, St James’s Palace, built by Henry VIII on the site of a leper hospital, is only 223 feet away.  It was the official royal residence until Queen Victoria’s time.

Step in the door at Berrys and look down.  The wide planks, fastened with hobnails have been there awhile.  So, I asked a clerk, “When was the last time these floors were polished?”

“I think the janitorial staff took care of that in the 19^th Century.”

You’ll also note a lack of bottles, or at least not very many bottles.  You’ll have to go into some of the side rooms for that.  One small room dedicated to wine and another to spirits.  So, it’s a small operation in a small shop?  Not exactly.  In the cellars sit millions of dollars of potables.  Although, oddly enough, although Berrys is the oldest wine shop, it does not have the oldest cellar.  That honor belongs to the cellars of The Stafford London Kempinski Hotel, one of London’s premier hotels, about a stone’s throw away.  Cost runs to $400 a night for a cheap room.

As you would imagine, Berrys’ cellars also have a colorful history.  Exiled to London, Napoleon III and future Emperor of France (not to be confused with Napoleon Bonaparte) lived in one of Berrys cellars, now called the Napoleon Cellar, of course.

At Berrys, traditions die hard.  It was not until 2001 the shop displayed any bottles.  Now they’ve got about 2000 bottles on long shelves in a couple of rooms. How can a retailer get away with that?  Simple.  Only about 5% of Berrys business is retail.  Hard to explain to the average tourist who thinks long and hard about proudly buying a single bottle. 

Lots of fabulous cellars around the world get their wine from Berrys.  Restaurants, hotels, the Royal Family, collectors, old families who have made Berrys their go-to wine shop for decades, or even generations.  Don’t know for sure, but I suspect you’d quickly recognize the names of many of their customers.

Quick, who was the first British Monarch to buy wine from Berrys?  George III, of American Revolution fame.  1760.  Now Berrys holds two Royal Warrants, which mean they provide beverages to the Royal Family and are allowed to advertise that fact.

A little known secret about Berrys.  You and I step through the front door, have a scan or two, maybe inquire about this wine or that, have a look in the spirits room, and head back out on the street.  But, the serious oenophile will be invited into a back parlor and parked in a deep leather chair to discuss wine needs over a glass or two, of wine, sherry, or whiskey.  Lunch may be served.

Don’t have any idea of the most expensive bottle of wine here, but I’d guess the 1942 Chateau d’Yquem comes close at $2385 per.  Yquem is pronounced ee-keme.   Berrys is a wine merchant, meaning they buy and sell.  Sometimes the buying comes from estates, or recently uncovered one-of-a-kind items.  They also sell wine under their own label.

Not every wine is beyond your means and mine. Berrys also sells wines priced for the multitudes, some under $15.  If you want to check out all the offers, here’s the site:  http://www.bbr.com

Ever wonder why the Brits call red wine, claret?  In my case, only for about fifty years!  Back a few centuries, when part of what is now France belonged to England (12^th Century), the main wine sources were inland vineyards, mostly sporting Malbec grapes, sometimes known as “Black Wine.”  But, English tastes went for lighter fare.  Bordeaux came into its own and since the wine was lighter, in both color and flavor, it was called claret.  Oenophiles and historians will shout and scream at the incompleteness of my all-too-brief description, bypassing hundreds of years and the bloody tug of war that led to final separation of the two countries.  Take it outside, ladies and gentlemen.  I’ve got wine to drink.

The Bordeaux Region is the red area in the lower left.

Perhaps you want to set up a corporate wine affair for a hundred fellow toilers.  Berrys can do that easily.  Big room downstairs.  Long oak tables.  Wine glasses the size of paint buckets.

But, why does Berrys tantalize and fascinate, and hold that special place in my heart?  Right beside Berry Brothers & Rudd, there’s a little alleyway called Pickering Place and named for William Pickering.  You see, the Widow Bourne’s daughter married William Pickering and they continued to run the business.  But before the Pickerings, the little alley and the area behind it was called Stroud’s Court.

Go ahead and step down the alley and checkout the courtyard.  This once was a din of inequity for gambling, bear baiting, and duels. Can’t believe a place like that carried my name! It was also home to the Legation of the Republic of Texas until Texas joined the Union in 1845.  Look for the plaque:

    TEXAS LEGATION

In this building was

the legation for the

ministers from the

Republic of Texas

to the

Court of St. James

1842-1845

You should know by now, there’s always more to London than the pedestrian view.  Only an old wine Merchant?  Think again. Find Berry Brothers & Rudd and you’ve found another historic paragraph in London’s fascinating story.  This Stroud will drink to that!