June 11, 2021

I usually write this column on Thursday mornings, but it always comes in handy when I have a topic to start with. I didn’t do it this Thursday, which every normal reader understands, that it is not uncommon.

I started thinking about my Wednesday yesterday, also known as Hump Day. Now I’m not sure if retirees have hump days or if it was just another Wednesday in my case, but whatever I call it, it sucked. So I’ll share The Suck to see if I feel better.

The day started badly when I got up at 5:30 a.m. At 5:30 am, nothing bad happened except that I had to get up to prepare for work. I know that pensioners should like to get up at first light, but I remain a night owl who often doesn’t come until midnight or shortly afterwards. For 22 years, as the editor of this newspaper, I got up at 6am to get The Robesonian out when it was delivered in the early afternoon, and I hated it the last time as much as the first and all the times in between. I did it for you

One of my first tasks at work is getting the carts out for the golfers. When I took out the first of 32 carts, I appeared to have churned up a hornet’s nest – and I use the term literally, not figuratively. As I write this, the sting is still visible on my left wrist, but for the most part I am fine.

There were about 10 of them swarming around the barn door, essentially creating a glove. I considered using a can of Raid which was practical but instead opted for a nonviolent approach in the hope that the hornets are reasonable and relaxation can be achieved. It is useful to know that unlike our friend the honey bee, a hornet does not die after being stung, so at least in theory 10 of them had an infinite number of stings. They wouldn’t run out of ammunition.

So I took the carts out further, making sure I had enough momentum to race through the glove at high speed. I wasn’t stung again, but there were close calls. I made sure the golfers were aware of my heroism. One couple even faked concerns.

The work day itself was uneventful, except that The Suck continued with a Bad Back Day that had a new ally that made me unhappy, a sore left Achilles tendon. I dragged my foot around while my bad back was half-bent. If I was a millennial I would have asked for a couple of weeks of R&R, but I’m from a different generation, not The Greatest, but not The Worst either. I would have been late for work too.

On top of The Suck, I was busy all day – and even now – worrying about a best buddy struggling with a terrible illness and my thoughts on how to offer him some level of comfort could. If you even know me, you probably know who I am talking about, so a prayer would be appreciated. My day of suckling, I assure you, would not be a fraction of what it endures every day and has done bravely and without complaint for 13 years. He offers me healthy portions of inspiration and perspective.

The work day ended at 1pm, I took a nap because without it I turn into a grumpy old man. Then the errands were ticked off, and I even decided to hit a few golf balls to see what I could do in my decrepit condition. It wasn’t great, but a little golf, even bad golf, makes you better every day.

After plucking a few weeds from the garden and feeding three cats, including the wild tail, I made myself comfortable in the deck chair, cool beer nearby, cooked dinner, and ventured my last hope, the day of suckling into one To transform the day of the easy Better than suck.

The Atlanta Braves played at the Philadelphia Phillies and I watched them go for their fourth straight win, which would put them on the plus side of .500 for the first time this year, trying to take the NL East Division’s lead from to shrink the New York Mets.

The Braves reached the bottom of ninth place 1-0 with their loser Will Smith, who stood 11 to 11 in rescue attempts and brought the heat.

With two downs and a runner on the first, I wrote to a group of Braves fans that Atlanta was trying to go “25 and oh” when it went into the ninth inning. I was cautioned that there might be a hex on the Braves, but I argued that I was using reverse mojo.

Then Luke Williams, a Philadelphia native who came into the game with zero hits that year, got his third hit of the game, a 377-foot walk-off home run, which made him the hometown hero and me the guy who bewitched the Braves. My cell phone indicates that my text message was at 10:01 pm and my investment of two hours, 31 minutes – every second counts at my age – had not been rewarded.

It was a picture book that ended on my day of sucking. And while I’m not feeling any better with my day of suckling, I’m off to a good start on Thursday as this column is finished.