This young kid, son of a politician, could care less of what his father thought. He was going to fight for liberty and democracy. So he put away his bra, pulled his half-burnt draft card out of the garbage can, and decided the gooks had to pay.
On board the ship to the Chinese-Pacific, he often wondered whether he made a mistake. He always felt that he had a knack for coaching football and was wondering if he threw his life away. Just watching the game on his 8' B/W TV every Saturday, he always knew what play Coach Badcalldon would run. He had been watching University of Frank Tate State for some time and often wondered if he had the chops to make it to the top.
Bogged down in a firefight on a dewy morning, he and his 6 fellow fighters knew getting out alive was a long shot. The Vietcong had surrounded them and things looked very bleak. Being a double talker, a long lost art that he learned from his father, the pudgy lad had a hunch this might come in handy. On a whim, he yelled out..."I blame the punter". No response. Again he shouted "I blame the punter". Nothing. Now he was getting nervous. If they don't respond to blame projection, what will work. After another 5 minutes of stillness, that seemed like hours, he finally yelled.."I will go for 2 up by 11". Suddenly the sun burst through the clouds and the enemy receded back into the forest. Everything looked possible again. He thought to himself that Frank Tate University be damned!!! I am better than than that! Someday, if God sees fit, I will coach a team somewhere in a Grand Valley where the grass is always green and the buffets are always open.
On board the ship to the Chinese-Pacific, he often wondered whether he made a mistake. He always felt that he had a knack for coaching football and was wondering if he threw his life away. Just watching the game on his 8' B/W TV every Saturday, he always knew what play Coach Badcalldon would run. He had been watching University of Frank Tate State for some time and often wondered if he had the chops to make it to the top.
Bogged down in a firefight on a dewy morning, he and his 6 fellow fighters knew getting out alive was a long shot. The Vietcong had surrounded them and things looked very bleak. Being a double talker, a long lost art that he learned from his father, the pudgy lad had a hunch this might come in handy. On a whim, he yelled out..."I blame the punter". No response. Again he shouted "I blame the punter". Nothing. Now he was getting nervous. If they don't respond to blame projection, what will work. After another 5 minutes of stillness, that seemed like hours, he finally yelled.."I will go for 2 up by 11". Suddenly the sun burst through the clouds and the enemy receded back into the forest. Everything looked possible again. He thought to himself that Frank Tate University be damned!!! I am better than than that! Someday, if God sees fit, I will coach a team somewhere in a Grand Valley where the grass is always green and the buffets are always open.
