Fire from the Hip: Thoughts on Sports & Real Life

With little to do on this Saturday morning, I racked my brain for interesting topics worth exploring on the blog. Then it hit me: Big Red. Was there ever a more appropriate story to offer readers insight into my life besides the tale of the gorgeous 1997 Town and Country with leather interior? With that as a lead-in, I begin the true story of Big Red.

As I waited for my mother to pick me up from the Arbor Hills gymnasium, I sat depressed on the curb. Having just been cut during junior high basketball squad tryouts, I wondered whether life could be any worse. I was an awkward kid during those years, hard to believe I know. As I sat on that lonely curb, I contemplated what life had in store for me, now that I wasn't going to be a professional basketball player and professional football player. Suddenly, entering the parking lot, my eyes were drawn to a dazzling red mini-van, making its way towards me with mediocre acceleration. But we had a '87 Chrysler Grand Voyager, it couldn't be my chariot. But alas, it was my mother, and so Big Red entered my life. Buoyed by her appearence, I accepted my fate as an intramural basketball all-star for life.

In my pre-license years, my mother chaperoned most of the outings that Big Red and I shared. Being a big Indians fan, some of my fonder memories come from making the trek to Cleveland for October baseball. On our way to a playoff game, I decided that an Indians sticker ought to be put on the van to let others know about our allegiance to the Tribe. And so it was. Well conceived but poorly executed, the decal failed to show through the tinted windows, but there it stayed. Thus, the bond was cemented: Chief Wahoo, an emblem, of Big Red and I's relationship.