Friday, August 13th, 2021
We began the week running after drop-off and we ended the week running to pick-up. The Mullany ‘Cuum Championship game went down to the wire today and ended in dramatic fashion. A big congrats to the Han Solo Cups who, without their ace coach/pitcher, still found a way to come back in the bottom half to take the ‘Cumm. But today we couldn’t have our normal spazzfest because we ran out of time. Probably better that we did, last week a counselor sliced his finger batting away a flying root beer can.
Friday at the Wiffling camp is the bacchanal of all bacchanals. Root beers, Twinkies (generic brand), gigantic freeze pops, and today, scratch tickets. My brother’s new wife just won $5,000 on a scratcher last week. It first annoyed me, no one wants to hear that you won money, but then inspired me to send every Wiffler home today with the dream of winning big like my brother’s new wife. I also insisted that if they won anything they had to give me a 40% cut. I know one kid won a free ticket and we’re trying to figure out how much is 40% of that.
The day started with some other drama as we were locked out of our Twitter account. Twitter had shut us down after determining that our account was being operated by children under the age of 13. You have to be 13 to use Twitter, I found out. I had to explain to them that these were my employees and that it was essential to their job duties. Now I have to produce some work permits and apparently there’s some kind of child labor law and blah, blah it’s a whole deal, I won’t bore you. But I got it back up and running. What would we do without Twitter?!
I’m about to find out as I shut down Twitter and the rest of this operation for the next year. Closing up the Wiffling Overlook Hotel today for the season, but wow did we go out in style. In our 19 1/2 year we pulled off 3 weeks! I did not have a nervous breakdown. My wife might even say I was pleasant. At times. It took a new diet to get me through these past two weeks. Dunkin’ for breakfast. Stress eat half a ham sandwich at noon. 7-11 buffalo chicken roller in the afternoon. And for dinner a hot warm plate of me passing out. I’m on the back 9 of life and this body and mind need rest. Lots of it. I don’t exercise or eat well so this week was a lot for me.
But it is always worth it. Especially this year, Wiffling in the Time of COVID. After last year’s shutdown, we needed a big bounce back and got one. I got one anyway. I hope your kids got one. These weeks together felt as normal as, and more fun than, anything I’ve experienced since the world turned. So thank you for sending your kids and allowing me to do this. I wouldn’t be able to take my wife out and swanse her once in a while without this operation. Hell, we’d be on the dole without this operation. So, again, thank you for supporting my tawdry business.
Let’s get ready for the Big 2-0 next year. I had Ben Afflack, Bogan Bogdonvitch and the Vaccine Angel this year. Who am I going to get next? I might be able to get Studs Terkel. I know someone who knows him. Who else you got? Anyone know Tom Skilling? How about former governor George Ryan? Anyone friends with George Wendt? Richard Marx? Let me know.
And I hope to see you all there. I’m thinking of having a kegger at night for the parents. It’s gonna cost me thousands of dollars.
Thursday, August 12th, 2021
I’m not much a fan of today’s pop music. It’s mostly schlock. There’s some stuff I like. I like Bieber. He nice. He seems like a nice young man. I like that Olivia Rodrigo, but I’m going to dive out a window if I hear “Deja Vu” one more time. Deja Vu? I’m getting deja vu every time I turn on the radio. But I don’t understand the rest of it. Especially the hip-hop. It’s all mumbly and heavy breathing and filthy talk. I can’t make heads or tails of the lyrics. I’m starting to sound like Old Blue Eyes chastising the youth, but it’s just not my cup of tea.
I like Mr. Kenneth Loggins. He’s the real deal. I can understand all his lyrics and they speak to me. Singing about love and the games lovers play. I thought that if I played enough Loggins and Lionel and Lightfoot it would really grow on the kids. And because I’m a dope, I thought it had. That is until I brought in a couple guest youth DJs this week. Once these teens started spinning the records, the whole camp vibe changed. I mean changed. Today our new house deejay, DJ SayDay, took the controls and brought the camp to a (non-COVID) fever pitch. Wifflers were bouncing around, doing choreographed moves, and air grinding on each other. Two boys started slow dancing to some awful new cover of an old Paul Simon song. I was nonplussed.
It turns out they all hate my music. What to do? Should I give in and shelve the yacht rock playlist that’s been running for the past 20 years in favor of this new age crap? Or should I dig in my heels and give them a plenary lecture tomorrow on the great career of Eddie Rabbit? I am at a crossroads.
Well, we’ll cross that road tomorrow, our last hoo-rah of 2021. 20 straight summers, minus one COVID fart. I can hardly believe it. Today was a beaut. These kids are beauts. They really come alive when you take away, the rain and oppressive, geriatric killing heat. They were dancing, singing, Wiffling and goofing. Maybe all I need to do is stay out of their way. The less I do at this point, the better. I’m looking forward to my Fred days. When I can just show up at camp and sit in a chair like aged Fred from Fred’s Camp. I don’t know anything about Fred. But I imagine this is what he does. He sits under a shade tree nodding off, drinking unsweetened ice tea and looking at pictures of his grandkids on his jitterbug phone. Kids walk by and whisper “That’s Fred. Is he sleeping? Or dead?”
Yep, I got that to look forward to. And tomorrow I, we, have a Championship Friday and Dining in the Rough Depression Era Banquet to look forward to. All you need to know is that Old Bill O’D is going to pick up another check. Yeah, I know. I did pick up that check for the Hawaiian Shave Ice truck yesterday, but what the hell. That was for the kids. This one’s for you. Take the night/morning off from ham sandwich detail and let me feed your child with high-end pizza pie from the good Christian folks at Domino’s. It’s the least I can do. You’ve been floating me for 20 years.
Wednesday, August 11th, 2021
When I decided to tack on this third week of Wiffling, I figured I’d be stretching myself a little thin. I figured my 20-year act might grow tired on some of the crew. I do get some eye rolling and mumbles of “Nooo”, every time I go into the story of my 7th grade math teacher that had a nervous breakdown. But after 20 years, this camp is designed to run like the TV guide, nice and predictable. Donahue at 5, Wheel of Fortune at 6, Jeopardy at 6:30……(All times Eastern Standard)
I’ve learned over the years that children thrive off of routine and structure. That’s why I rarely deviate from the script. They want what they know. Nice, warm, and familiar. It’s why young children love to watch the same episodes of the same show over and over again. In a world that’s unpredictable to them, they like things they can predict. And long as I can run the script, we’ve got a pretty good show going here.
But in this week of freakish weather my improvisation skills have been put to the test. Right from that first drop-off when it started pouring before I could even roll the theme song and opening credits. But your kids have showed me that they can go off script. They were awesome today as we had to shift to zoo shelter and eat lunch at 1045am. Though I was dying inside, none of them were moaning and groaning (The Hawaiian Shave Ice surprise probably helped). Like I said earlier this week, these kids are resilient. Probably more than we are. COVID has tested all of our mettle, and I think we’re learning our kids are way stronger than we thought. Sure, we all like the comforts of a nice routine, but, if we haven’t already, we better get used to the unpredictable, sometimes uncomfortable, life.
And while “The Playoffs” haven’t been as smooth and seamless, or sunny, as “Spring Training” and “The Season”, it’s not slowing the roll of any of these kids. I think they know school is around the corner and they aren’t letting rain or masks or my neuroses spoil their fun. And while we’re not nearly out of the woods with COVID, we’re making sure we’re make new memories. Young or old, we can only live inside that same familiar episode for so long.
Speaking of same episodes, we got one more tomorrow as we turn back the clock for Throwback Thursday. Grizzled Wifflers are encouraged to bring back one of their old favorite Wiffling t-shirts to celebrate the great teams of the past. We’ll force the kids to use the old original yellow bat for one game. And we’ll make-up for our All-Star washout today and compete in the Wiffling decathlon. It’s a full agenda, and there’s no option to work from home.
Your Man With or Without a Plan,
Tuesday, August 10th, 2021
“You look wrecked”, a parent said to me at pick-up today. Sure I do. “Wrecked” is putting it mildly. There sure was nothing mild about the today’s weather though. I shot out a tweet this morning an hour before camp about how “gorgeous” it was in the Village. It didn’t take long for the gorgeous Village to turn into the Devil’s backyard.
Mingya, it was hot. It was like the summer of 1995 today, the year when all those old folks died from the heat. From July 12 to July 14, 1995. Where were you? I was doing an internship that summer in Jefferson City, Missouri and living in a flop house with a couple of oily upper classmen from Mizzou. The AC crapped the bed because of a brown out and they headed off to stay with their girlfriends who still had air conditioning and nice apartments. I didn’t have any such luck with ladies (I know, it’s hard to believe) so I rode out the heatwave alone with a box fan and a aluminum drum of nacho cheese. All I could do was lay on the cheap brown pleather couch, in the buck, my whole body stuck to the cushions, wishing for death.
I didn’t have any ladies back then but I got me one now. A good one. Last night my wife was giving me a light hand back rub in bed and as I drifted off to sleep I thought to myself, “I’ve got me a good wife”. And in that moment I decided that I would rename one of our fields after her today. The patch of grass formerly known as Geary Field, named after a guy who gave me $200 to buy trophies for the kids (I pocketed the cash, no trophies), was today christened Kate Fulling Stadium. We had a gold shovel to scoop some dirt like rich people do and I played Atlantic Starr’s “Always” as we slow danced at home plate. As the kids say, “It was super cringe”. But what a special moment for me, like renewing my vows, and a disturbing memory for the children.
Tomorrow we renew our love for All-Star Wednesday and the Dope Jersey Fashion Show. What’s that about? It’s old hat for anyone who’s come before, but for anyone new you just gotta know this. Your kid should wear a “dope” jersey. Any jersey — pro player/team jerseys are most popular — but fan favorites are the ones that are a little off. Cabana shirts from dad’s closet, bad corporate giveaway shirts, or a family reunion tee. Basically, if you forget to wear a “dope jersey”, your accidental jersey will probably win the contest. We’ll also determine who amongst the youth is the best at home run derby (hammer throw), hurling a ball the farthest (shot put), running around the Village (400 meters), and throwing a ball in a bucket (I’m out of Olympic events, this one is like the money grab bucket toss at the carnival).
And Old Bill O’D has one more trick up his sleeve for tomorrow. He’s dusting off the wallet and springing for something big. Real big. It’s gonna really set me back but what the hey. I know when to pick up a check. I get a lot of crap for my nickel and dimey ways, but I’m going to show you all tomorrow what a Good Time Charlie I am. I’m no skinflint!
Well, that was quite a start to the week. This morning I jumped out of bed like Jack Spratt to see if it was raining. Nope. And for the next 4 hours it didn’t. I had expected the worst and the sun was shining. And it was all good right up until the last Wiffler got out of their car. Then cracklin’ Rosie and the thunder and lightning came. I hadn’t even gotten back to the Village before it started pouring.
But like plastic, Timex watches and the Calvin Klein boxer briefs I’ve had since 2007, these kids are resilient. They waited patiently in the tunnel listening to my act until the rain let up. Then we were off and running. And slipping. And sweating. I felt like I was working the line at a Bob Evans. Come afternoon we were all a glisten and pitting out.
It’s gonna be a hot one this week. Wet hot. Not dry hot like Phoenix, but wet hot like Peoria. I wouldn’t be rocking jeans this week. Not a week to pack your kid soup for lunch. But if the weather tracker knows anything at least we won’t see more rain. Thank the Lord Skilling for that.
By now you should know that this week, the last before our official 20th anniversary blowout next summer, we’re honoring some of legendary past championship Wiffling teams the Hobos, Pheelies, Led Wifflin’, Han Solo Cups, Twinkies, and Flint Tropics. And the camp song, as voted on by your children, is Dolly Parton’s anthem “9 to 5”. Last week we “worked from home” and this week we’ve got “passion and a vision”. Each morning and afternoon when you pull into the circle you’ll be treated to a boom box taste of Dollywood. There’s no escape.
So let’s get a nice cold shower tonight, some talc and some Speed Stick. We’re in “The Playoffs” now. Playoffs? Ah, Playoffs? You kidding me? Playoffs???
See You in the Circle,
P.S. Be sure to sign-up for our Twitter so can get all the latest news, updates, and puff pieces from the Wiffling Village!
Well, I hope you enjoyed your day off from my emails. Cause now you’re looking at 6 straight days of me spamming you. I like to think that everyone enjoys my emails but I now know that isn’t the case. On Friday, after sitting silently through weeks and weeks of my emails, a woman gave me some feedback. “Can you remove me from this list”. Ouch. That one stung. She had wanted to register her kids a few times and the camp was full, so I left her on the list in case she wanted to join up. I responded back, “Yes, sorry!”.
I like it better when parents tell me they enjoy the emails I send. Not because I love the flattery, which I do, but because it let’s me know you get what I’m doing. I’m having fun. I’m trying to entertain your children and you. I’m not crazy. Not crazy crazy anyway. Did you know that I have a Master’s degree in Child Development? I’m not tooting my horn here, I’m just letting you know that I’m not some loon off the street. Not a loon loon anyway. I’m not some creep that crawls out of a hole every summer trying to make a buck in the summer camp racket. I’ve been working in the field of early childhood for 20 years. I’m a college professor! I’ve studied Erikson, Piaget, Ainsworth, Bettelheim, Montessori…all the greats. And I’ve learned the secret to child rearing. Kids love sugar.
All this is to say, to anyone new out there reading this, your children are safe with me. Alright, I’ll admit that sounded creepy. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not just a guy who gives out candy to children. Again, that didn’t come out right. I also give out prizes. Just know this. We’re gonna have big fun this week. Big fun. I promise. Even if it rains. Which it might tomorrow. But I wouldn’t cancel under any circumstances, because, as a parent of 4, I know the most important thing to you is that you get away from your children.
I learned one other thing from those early childhood folks.
Wheeeew! Wooohooo! We made it, we did it. Time to let our hair down, kick back and try to savor all that this week was. My wife said to me last night (we rarely speak), “This week has really been fun”. You see she comes to the Village everyday, for at least half the day, and takes in the whole thing. She’ll let me know when I’m going over the top or when I need to get over my self-loathing. She’s good like that. And she gave this week her BBB 5-star review. That’s high praise.
Like I said yesterday, and the videos don’t lie, I had a blast. We had a blast! If your Wiffler didn’t have a blast, I’m sorry, I did all I could. I’m happy to offer you 10% off your next visit to the Village to make it right. No cap, I want every kid that sets foot in the Village to have the best week of their summer. Or, for the die hards, the best three weeks of their summer. I don’t send out a satisfaction survey, because I could never figure out how to do that, but I love feedback of all kinds. So long as it’s flattering to me.
I have to admit that I am also a little relieved right now. I am out of debt. Not credit card, mortgage, car, tuition, etc. debt. I’ve got a boatload of that. I am out of debt to all those who kept their money in my building and loan over the past year. After canceling camp last year during the COVID peak, you trusted me to hold on to your money (I spent it as soon as it came in) and deliver a camp a year later (I often thought about disappearing with the money like the guy who ran the circus-self esteem camp). Every day over the past year I feared that I would die or become bedridden or get put in jail or anything that would prevent me from rendering the services owed. Thankfully you won’t have to shake down my widow for any refunds.
Next week is no COVID canceled make-up week. It’s the return of “The Playoffs”! Back when I was full of vim and vigor, I could run Wiff all summer. 3 weeks, 4 weeks, 5 weeks! Sitting out last year has given me renewed energy and I’m bringing back the old 3rd week (My wife is making me). Some of you, and your Wifflers, will have heard my act three times this summer. Afraid that I’m going a little long in the tooth, I’ve got to dig deep and come up with some new bits. Rest assured, after a few sitz baths and a 48-hour Tangueray IV, I’ll be raring to go by Monday.
What a week. And now, to remember it, you’ll have a high gloss Bruce Lee poster on your child’s wall forever. Every time you walk in their room to say goodnight, and you see Bruce kicking Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in the groin, think of me.
Thursday, August 5th, 2021
I can’t believe tomorrow is the last day of “The Season”. This week has flow by for me like no other week. I usually don’t enjoy myself this much at camp. I feel a little guilty actually. I feel like it’s wrong for me to be enjoying myself and that I should be more stressed. But maybe I have hit the 10,000 hour mark that Malcolm Gladwell says is necessary to achieve expertise at something, and there’s nothing left to stress about. Maybe I have achieved total Wiffling consciousness.
Or maybe it is because there is another session next week! Normally I’d be crawling to the finish line but I know this one is a marathon. Got to go at a medium pace. Got to conserve my energy and emotions. We’re running this thing back next week and it’s way too early to plotz. Eyes on the prize.
For the Wifflers, that prize makes it’s appearance tomorrow at the Wiffling Village. The much revered Mullany ‘Cuum, our version of the Stanley Cup, is currently being polished and packed for the Wiffling Championship tomorrow afternoon. The ‘Cuum has all the names of the championship teams Sharpied on there from the last 20 years. It’s got a lot of history on it. And in it. The dirt and dust bunnies from when I last used the vacuum are still inside. This stick vacuum, now spray painted gold, was the vacuum I had in my divorcee bachelor pad back in the early aughts. If this vacuum could talk what tales it would tell. The ribald tales of a lonely, sad man. Cruising home on that dirty bar stretch of Lincoln Avenue everyday after camp is another haunting reminder of my rock bottom bachelor days. Wobbly, loveless walks home to my dingy studio apartment building, a hotel of lonely hearts and their cats.
Now I’ve got a full brood, a full heart, and a full camp. Though technically “living in poverty” by government standards, I consider myself, like death bed Lou Gehrig, “the richest man alive”. And because I’m so rich, I can afford to spring for lunch tomorrow. That’s right, I’ll be treating the whole camp, including those shifty-eyed counselors, to a fancy all-you-can-eat Italian buffet. For appetizer, we’ll be having a nice light gelati (freeze pop) to whet the pallet. For the main course, a Tuscan flatbread (cheese pizza) and antipasti (pepperoni pizza). For dessert, we’ll have creme brûlée (generic Twinkies). For beverage there will be a large choice of flavored pelegrínis both carbonated (root beer) and tepid (Lil’ Hugs barrels). All this provided to you gratis by the good folks at BWC, LLC who understand what a pain in the crack it is to pack a kid a lunch everyday.
One more day for some, one more week for others. Either way, I love all of you for helping me pay for Catholic high school and Volvo repairs. Thank you.
Wednesday, August 4th, 2021
Well, maybe you do. I’d actually like to go back to work. Not this work, my other work. I can’t take another semester of teaching college students from my home. And I really can’t take another day of my kids doing school from home. My wife and I used to have a nice time together on weekdays when the kids were in school, at the school. COVID took all that quality husband and wife time from us. Between 8am and 3pm we used to sit and talk, drink the joe, go for handheld walks, sit around at home, just the two of us. Just spending time alone together. In the house. Without the kids. Just the two of us. Alone. Together. No kids. Just finding stuff to do together. Alone. At home.
Now we’re at each other’s throats. These past 16 months has felt like one looooooooooooong President’s Day with nothing to do and everyone home. So that’s why we chose “Work From Home” by Fifth Harmony as our camp song this week. As tribute for the neverending working from home, schooling from home, everything from home nightmare we’ve been living. Tomorrow I’ll have a young man standing at the circle holding a speaker above his head like Lloyd Dobler from “Say Anything” blasting “Work From Home”, but please also dial it up on the car speaker as you commute to the Wiffling Village each morning. It sets the mood.
I’m prone to hyperbole, I know, but today the mood was unlike anything I have ever seen in 20 years of running this camp. It was off the rack. I mean chain, it was off the chain. I shop off the rack. In honor of Ryan “Lil’ Ottie” Ott’s birthday, his amazingly generous family arranged for an ice cream truck to pull up to the Village and treat the entire camp to the frozen confection of their choice. They went bananas. My son’s birthday is also this week and I was planning on buying a few boxes of popsicles from Jewels. I think maybe I’ll skip that now.
The ice cream truck sent the camp into a frenzy and a dance off/sing off to “Work From Home” ensued that I can’t even describe. Check the Twitter for the video. I really got caught up in the fun, but had to pull myself together for the arrival of our celebrity guest athlete, Bogan Bogdanovic, a great basketball player. He was nice enough to sign autographs and take pictures with the kids. They seemed confused whether he was the real Bogan Bogdanovic from the Atlanta Hawks or just some guy I know who waits tables at a Swedish restaurant in Andersonville. We’ll leave that one alone.
Tomorrow is Throwback Thursday. What’s that mean? Well, if your Wiffler has an old Wiffle ball jersey from a previous session, have them wear that. The older and smaller, the better. We call shirts that are too small on someone, “young shirts”. Feel free to also cut that shirt into a bare midriff. I’d do this, like the jocks in my high school, but I have a muffin top I’m not trying to show anyone. Throwback Thursday also means a visit and signing from a Wiffling legend and making all the kids play one game using only the skinny yellow bat that comes in a Wiffle ball combo set. I will also be taking the hill for one inning of each game to show that a 45 year-old man can strike out young children and still take great joy from it.
I hope your kids are having as much fun as I am this week. I am locked in and ready to keep this party going the next week for “The Playoffs”. Maybe even the week after that! Wait, no, I gotta go to work.
The Man That Watches Your Child From 9:30am - 2:30pm This Week,
Tuesday, August 3rd, 2021
Sitting under a shade tree at my young son’s football practice, I’m enjoying watching some other men take charge of children. They are putting them through all kinds of drills. Lines and whistles and order. These kids don’t lip the coaches. No sir. There are no freeze pops handing out of their mouths. There’s no boom box blasting Kenny Loggins tunes. There’s no kid asking to be traded to another team. The head of the camp is not telling the kids about his divorce and how he’s been staying at the YMCA. This is organized sports at it’s finest.
My operation is a little different. My youth program could be described as “disorganized sports”. It’s very loosey-goosey. Decisions are made willy-nilly. The whole camp is thrown pell-mell into a 1990 Volvo wagon. As CEO, COO, and CFO, I am clearly OOMM.
For me, this camp both keeps me in my youth and takes years off my life. Every summer I get to be a little kid again, reliving the great joys of my childhood. At the same time, carrying 30 traffic cones through Lincoln Park to construct a Wiffling village each morning accelerates the aging process like those people on the beach in that new Shyamalan movie “Old”. Did you see it? Don’t, it sucks.
So it’s a wash. A zero sum game. Like paying out the rear to keep this Volvo on the road, so everyone can drive by me and reminisce (and laugh), I feel like I’m doing a historians job by keeping the 1980’s, and a lot of our childhoods, alive with this camp. What if there’s a generation that never experiences candy cigarettes? Who will play the easy listening favorites of the 70s for these kids if I don’t? It’s a lot of pressure.
The pressure of “The Season” takes a siesta tomorrow for All-Star Wednesday. It’s a Wiffling Decathlon — running, throwing, hitting, and vamping. We’ll be celebrating our individuality with a rag-tag fashion show in the Village, with all the Wifflers donning their “dopest” jerseys. What makes a jersey dope? That’s up to them. Could be a (now) throwback Rizzo jersey, maybe a LeBron Lakers tank, or maybe something from their mother’s closet. Maybe a camisole, or kimono, or mu-mu, or corset. Maybe dad’s dress socks with garters. Get weird with it. Get loose. It’s usually the unusual that wins the day.
I’m having a blast. Your kids are awesome. They keep me young. And are putting me in an early grave.
For now though, I’m like Frosty the Snowman.
We’re off to a great start! Beautiful out there, perfect Wiffling weather on Day 1 of “The Season”. That ball was flying out of the grove today. Home runs galore. Either the quality of pitching has declined or these kids are jacked up on something. If this keeps up I’m going to run out of Wiffle balls by Wednesday.
And we kicked it off in style with some pretty sweet jerseys, I must say (Ed Grimley voice). I am always proud when we unveil the new shirts, but especially so this week.
Long Haulers “The longer it lingers, the longer the dingers”
Sick Bats “Don’t blame us, it came from that lab”
2nd Wave “Respect the break”
Fighting Faucis “100% effective against a hanging curve”
Hydroxychloro Kings “We got team chemistry”
The Herd “Immunity from the strikeout”
We are at the head of the pack when it comes to satirical COVID shirts (We’re the only ones), but we try to keep them tasteful. I was at a seedy beach town in Maine over the 4th and went into one of those boardwalk t-shirt shops. Well I never! Filthy and lewd shirts. Vulgar all of them. I wish I could repeat them all here but they’re too bawdy. Where can you wear a shirt that says “I’m Not a Gynecologist but I’ll Take A Look” or “This Orgy Sure is Off to a Slow Start”? Only a disgusting pig would wear that around. If I start rolling out shirts like these, put me in a white jacket with sleeves that tie behind the back, I’ve cracked.
But this COVID is no joke, so let’s get through these couple weeks without incident. I know we all feel different ways but make sure your Wiffler has their favorite mask with them at camp. Or else I’ll have to give them a lame disposable yellow one with turtles on it like they give at the dentist.
Tomorrow is usually my favorite day of the week. No pomp and circumstance like on Manic Monday, All-Star Wednesday, Throwback Thursday and Championship Friday. It’s just Two-Game Tuesday. After all the protocol and pageantry of the first day, we can all relax and just play the games.
We’re really cracking on that website now, so check it out. My new webmaster, Bennie Khan from the “Today” show that got all those old folks vaccine appointments, is a whiz. We’ll bring back the podcast this week too so stay tuned for that. Hopefully your Wiffler had the best of days, but if they were rusty or didn’t get that dinger tell them to remember the camp mantra…….
Well, here I am on Wiffmas Eve, putting on the finishing touches to what is sure to be a glorious week of Wiffling. The landing in my basement looks like, what I imagine, is Santa Claus foyer on December 24th. That is if Santa Claus peddled in old tymey candy, vintage baseball cards, t-shirts, freeze pops, gum buckets, sunflower seeds, Lil Hugs barrels and other diabetic favorites. My sled, a 1990 Volvo 240 wagon, is set to take flight tomorrow morning at about 6:30am.
Get those Wifflers all tucked in their beds. It’s a little early still, but why not? The anticipation should be so great they are clamoring to go to bed. That should afford you a little extra time to canoodle on the couch with your lover, thanking Bill O’D for the respite while petting each other and binging the new “Ted Lasso” season. You’re more than welcome.
I am going to lay it all down this week like Christ’s estranged brother, all so that your child can have the greatest, most bananas camp experience of their summer. I could dial it in, I’ve been at this for a while, but I commit to each week like Bette Midler on Broadway. I know you’re paying top dollar (well, not as much as Fred’s Camp or some of these other shysters, but more than I could afford) so you’re getting a Mickey Rourke “The Wrestler” type of all-in sell job.
To that end, I want to introduce you to beta-version of our new website (below). I have been grinding in my chair over here trying to get this up and running. I want to thank legendary Ben Kagan, the young man from the “Today” show that got old folks their vaccine appointments, who built this baby pro-bono. All that I had to do was connect it to the old domain name, which I failed at. I am the most tech challenged person under 60 in the world. It’s giving me fits so here it is sans it’s everybodywiffs.com home base. Check it this week for pics, standings, vids, etc. But to really get the sights and smells of camp, your best bet is following us on Twitter these next two weeks. Real-time news and highlight spam-o-rama. Your phone will be dinging every 5 seconds you’ll immediately want to unfollow. What can I tell you, my teen counselors are in charge of that.