I'm not sure who gave these boys the week off, but since the gridiron gang was off to parts unknown, I decided to follow suit and ride the rails. I'm sure no one missed me, as I didn't get a single telegram, candygram or any other sort of gram in my absence. Now that I'm back on the company dime, here's more Spring derring-do.
The big news to hit the wires in my absence (finally kicking the Dionne quintuplets out of the limelight) was that Bronco scheduling big cheese Mark Coyle had dropped a dime and got Louisiana-Lafayette and The University of Connecticut on the hook for a pair of games each in the near future. I don't know what kind of ball clubs these establishments will be fielding, but I did once split time with a gal from Lafayette. She was a real dish, I'll tell you true...but turned out to be a real dumb Dora if you catch my meaning!
I had the good fortune to stop by the Boise State Pro-fessional Day where the faithfully departed gridiron men tried to catch the eyes of fat-walleted suitors. My pocket watch only has a second hand, but it appeared all participants ran rather fast indeed. One impressive fellow was a Mr. Dan Paul, who looked more physically fit than Primo Carnera and as hirsute as a gypsy. Many of the scouts in attendance were impressed with his lifting of weights and afterwards he treated the stragglers to an impromptu kangaroo-boxing exhibition. Good show, kid!
During last week's impromptu journey to the hobo mecca of Toledo, Ohio, I met many interesting bindle stiffs whom I regaled with stories of the fabled blue fields of Boise over a shared barrel fire or tin of beans. I must say that more than one gentleman had heard of the Broncos and their famed skipper, "Old Dutch" Petersen, and I even spotted a duo draped in Bronco glad rags entering a local gin joint. It's true that the Bronco brand will soon reach from sea to shining sea and I predict will be more famous than Douglas Fairbanks in short order!
A hair scare
I'll admit that when it comes to the fads of to-day's youths you're tooting the wrong ringer. I never did quite cotton to phonebooth stuffing or goldfish swallowing and—call me a rube—but the hairstyles of some of these ball-playing fellows is very...well, lady-like. Imagine, if you will, a defense-man going for the tackle on a Mr. Linehan (for example)...he may well think he's running down a rather burly broad! I won't tell you how to play the game, but keep those hairstyles high and tight, gentleman...or at least wear a derby when on the sidelines!
Getting their kicks
It's easy to see why the punters and kickers are the most popular men on any ball team—and Boise's leg-men are no exception. The kickers get their own practice time away from the distracting for-ward passes of the quarter-backs and are greeted with an entourage (pardon my French) after their drills that would make Al Jolson jealous. Many things have changed since my time at The Picayune, but some things always stay the same.
A shocking confession
While I strive at all times to maintain the highest degree of professionalism in the clubhouse, I must admit that I have struggled in having to report on items involving one Mr. Ricky Tjong-A-Tjoe. I'm ashamed to say it—but I've long harbored a deep-seeded prejudice toward the Dutch. I find their wooden shoes and bill-splitting dating practices frightening and confusing. With time, I'm sure I'll be able to give him the same consideration I'd give a synthetic-shoe loving Yankee lad.
The Melvin Marsh Minute
I had neither the time nor the necessary wax cylinders to record this week's Melvin Marsh Minute, but I assure you, it shall return next week or my name isn't Melvin Marsh—and it is!