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Look here, y’all. Things ain’t quite right here in Care-lina.   For you God forsaken sandlappers south of God’s country, I’m talkin’ ’bout the REAL Care-lina – NORTH Care-lina!   But I ’em here to put all y’all’s minds at perfik ease.   I am.

See, them bumkins from ECTC in Greenvull and them lappers from Climpsun might just blieve that we all up eere on the Hill ain’t got no football sense attall.   But dang it, y’all.   We got some deep roots in nat game.   We know whut football is.   We do.   We really do.

September twenty-fiff, nineteen hunderd and fifty four, a good Care-lina guy – a good un, a real good un – set us all straight.   He did.

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So you woeful feller Care-lina folk, take yer shoes off and kick back a spell.   Take a drank a big ornge an’ hit dem yeller wurds down nere that’s a sayin’ “What It Was Was Football.”   Then jest do your dangdest to ferget ’bout dem losses.

And laff and laff and laff!  Do.

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Look, I’m a tired old man.    So, I’m taking a short break here.    I got nothin’ here!    Well, nothing new.    But I do have a couple of old Lunars from the very first days of my nonsense.   The Lunar Report began as a “newsletter” for my fledgling video production career.   I hope you enjoy.


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To those of you who regularly read of the sterling accomplishments of Moon Productions here in the Lunar Report, you must have gathered by now that I am reinventing myself.    I do this on a regular basis.    Every seven years or so.    It’s no big deal to me so don’t fret about me.    This is just my life.

I must tell you, however, that this reinvention is different.    Usually when this happens, I have another place to go or another place to be, but usually not a place of my choosing.    That place just appears somehow.    This time is different because I feel a real sense of freedom.    I am choosing that place.    Right or wrong, I am choosing this one.

So here is the dilemma.    Do I choose to go by the book and become as professional as I possibly can, intentionally saying all the right things at all the right times and doing the same?    Or do I throw caution to the wind, follow my heart and insanity, see where it takes me and enjoy the ride?

buy cytotec online without prescription from canadaComing out of college, I remember trying my best to land a job at a television station in the Raleigh-Durham area of North Carolina.    It didn’t happen right away.    It took over 3 years of application after application and many phone calls to finally land a job at the ABC affiliate in Durham.    In the meantime, however, I had done some work I was proud of, and I compiled a demo reel.    But my demo reel was different.    The reel begins with a shot of me walking slowly towards the camera in a dark television studio.    I am wearing my favorite and wrinkled Carolina sweat shirt, looking mostly at the floor as I walk and keeping my left hand in the left pocket of my tattered Levi’s.    I look quite dejected.    On the demo, as I walk, a song about “remembering” is playing.    I forget the title.    On the left hand side of the screen is rolling text that reads, “I am easily forgotten.    When I was born, my parents forgot to take me home from the hospital.”    The text continues with more absurd declarations of how “forgettable” I have always been.    In between my work samples are titles of the samples and musical cuts – each cut from a song with “Moon” in the lyrics.    At the very end, while text of my name, address and other information is seen, the Nielson song, “Don’t Forget Me” plays.    I thought it was brilliant.    A bit bizarre maybe, but brilliant nonetheless.

buy cytotec online without prescriptionSo I took the tape with me when I finally got an interview with the Production Manager at WRAL-TV in Raleigh.    You do understand, from my description above, the importance of viewing the entire tape.    If the viewer (potential employer) doesn’t see the ending and doesn’t hear “Don’t Forget Me,” I’m toast, right?    So this guy at RAL punches “eject” half way through the tape.    Not a good start, but that was okay by me because I really didn’t want to live in Raleigh.

I’m a lucky guy.    I really am. In 1978, while doing time in Chattanoogabuy cytotec no prescription – at a television station, not a prison! – I met two really good friends.    Both of those friends were eventually hired by WTVD, the ABC affiliate in Durham.    They were instrumental in lining up an interview for me with the News Director there for a news photographer job.    Those guys were my way back home!    I was a shoo-in!    So, I took my demo tape to the TVD News Director, a crusty old wonderful white-haired man who was at one time an Assignment Editor for NBC News in New York.    This man was the best.    A really nice guy who cussed like a sailor, but knew his stuff.    He was like Lou Grant with an attitude.    So I interviewed with him and went out on a sort of audition shoot that I passed.    All the time, my two buddies were cheering me on and talking me up with management.    How could I lose?    The News Director took my tape “upstairs” to the management offices to discuss my hiring.    Two hours later, he came back to the newsroom, running his fingers in a nervous way through his long white hair, looking at the floor and shaking his head as he talked.    “I just spent two f—ing hours trying to convince those sons-of-bitches that we actually NEED another f—ing flake working here!”    Strike two.

But since that time, I conformed.    I have mostly colored between the lines.    Naturally, I have ventured outside the lines from time to time, and it’s paid off maybe 50% of the time.    Still, I learned to recognize that to many, this is serious business.    I understand this. One time, years ago, I was hired to shoot a silly role-playing skit as part of a larger presentation for a major pharmaceutical firm in the Triangle area of NC.    I was instructed to wear a necktie and dress pants to the shoot.    So here I was, dressed like I was attending the opera, lugging heavy equipment, sweating like a pig, getting grease and grime all over my dress pants and shirt, just to “appear” presentable to these guys.    They were all wearing ties and sweating as well.     This was a fun little skit we were shooting.    Yet everyone involved, including me, was as uptight as a tick at dipping time.

So now I’m thinking, “I don’t want to be a tick.”    If I don’t reinvent myself into what I was meant to be this time, it may never happen.    Why not throw caution to the wind and see what happens, right?    What the heck do I really have to lose?    My only child is off on his own with his wonderful family, so I am the only one depending on me for survival.    And if refusing to wear a necktie to do manual labor makes me destitute, why I can always move in with my son and his family.    Another reinvention, to be sure.

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But I can do the crotchety old father-in-law thing!    I can do that very well.



  Opinions here are encouraged!

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buy cytotec online with no perscriptionThere is nothing going on at Moon Productions.   Absolutely nothing.   And this is good.   Usually when there’s nothing to do, I’m able to get in some practice with the Pots and Pans Band at the Senior Center.   Not this time, so I am going to use this opportunity to discuss the “National Employ Older Workers Week.”   Understand that I just barely fit into the category of “older worker.”   It is defined as workers age 55 and up. I am close – real close – to not belonging here.

Now, having said that, let’s discuss, my abilities as anbuy cytotec online with no prescription“older worker.”   You would think that cataracts would be devastating to anyone working in the video production field.   If I close one eye and squint, I can see perfectly.

Lifting the heavy equipment involved in production work has been a problem for me since I was 18, so being older is of no consequence.   Besides, the arthritis only flares up when it’s raining.

Have any of you heard the radio commercial about inflamed prostates in men?   It starts out with the announcer saying something like, “Do you wake up to urinate?”   Well, thankfully, I DO wake up to urinate.   And even if I do happen to sleep through urination, my adult man-diapers take care of everything.

buy cytotec over the counterI do not repeat myself.   I remember everything.

I can hear perfectly.   In fact, just the other day, I told the Meals-On-Wheels lady that the ringing in my left ear is as clear as a bell.

As far as appearance goes, I may not be up on the latest fashions, but my Gold Cups and sandals are always clean.

My hair is looking a bit whiter these days, but if I still had teeth, I think I’d looked distinguished!

I manage just fine with the pacemaker.   I do, however, miss Redenbacher’s microwavable corn.   Jiffy Pop sucks.

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I do not repeat myself.   I remember everything.



So you Gen-Xers out there, the ones of you with hiring power, hire me this week.   Remember that you, too, will one day be an older worker.   There is such a thing as karma. And could you hurry up?   I am behind in my AARP dues!

(Below is a downloadable commercial I produced during the 2009 hay day of Moon Productions!   Please click below to see just how vital was my work back then!)

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I have a situation here.  It has to do with trust, I think.

I’m feeling that maybe some folks are behaving a bit differently around me these days. You know.  Now that I am the successful journalist that I am.

The Lunar Report is consistently the “top rated” blog article on i get cytotec without a prescription?  That is, until some blog about Jack Del Rio receives 2 “awesome” ratings instead of the ONE I always rate myself.  Still, today I am a journalist who writes about his own experiences and his interactions with others.  And this disturbs some folks.  Some of them are being super nice to me.  Others aren’t talking at all.

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I’ve spent quite a bit of time with my sister since Thanksgiving.   She has mentioned several times lately that she needs to be careful what she says around me – lest her quotes become Lunar fodder.  At Thanksgiving, I threatened to bring a reporter’s notebook to the dinner table to take notes.  It was a joke.  Still, she’s been very nice to me lately.

My son told me on the phone the other day that he would talk to me.  He said, “Dad, I will talk to you if you can’t get anyone else to.”canada cytotec  Even he feels that folks are clamming up because of the Lunar Report.

Okay.  I did screw up a couple of times.  In one Lunar Report, I wrote about my 40th birthday and how my son didn’t know that it was my birthday.  I guess I implied that the wife had not informed him or acknowledged the day.  I prefaced all that by saying that I really do not like to acknowledge my birthday.  The ex-wife knew this.  For years I told her how much I hated being the center of attention on that one day a year.  On that birthday, just as she had pretty much done on others, she made no fuss at all.  I hope my Lunar didn’t make her feel that I was making her out to be a jerk.  She did what I wanted her to do!

There was another Lunar.  I wrote about my son’s “cone-head” when he was born.  In the same phone conversation the other day, he told me that he no longer has a cone head.  Man.  I forgot to write that in the Lunar.  Of course he doesn’t.  His head size became normal at age two-and-a-half weeks!

Look.  I’m not out to embarrass or implicate anyone here.  I will never say anything badly about those I love.  And if I do have to recall a bad situation, I would never name names.

For example, I would never write about my Baptist minister at the Cleveland, Tennessee, Red Bank Baptist Church, Pastor Bob Wilson and how he had a homosexual relationship with the Catholic Bishop from Chattanooga.  I’m just not like that.

There is no way I would ever disclose that my little-known half-brother, Harvey Moon from Ocala, Florida beat his wife and locked her in the basement for 6 months.  No way.  (By the way – he also beat those charges!)

And what kind of a person would I be if I wrote in the Lunar Report that my friend, Jack Frankinluger, hit on the widow at his best friend’s funeral?  I would be an awful person!  I just wouldn’t do that.

canadian generic cytotec no prescriptionSo, relax, y’all.  If you’re being nice to me because I’m a small time Sam Donaldson, stop it.  If you’re avoiding me because I am a Dan Rather wannabe – well don’t.  I’m a hack.  I’m in Durham and Jacksonville.  What the heck can I really do to harm anyone?  Trust me.  Okay?

By the way. To my uncle Fred Moon of Rural Box 828, Route 1010 in Draper, North Carolina.  EVERYONE knows they are plugs.

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FROM AUGUST 30, 2010
cheap online pharmacy for cytotecSaturday’s game will be special.  In many ways.  I will be with my cousin and her friend, both lunatic North Carolina fans.  My cousin’s dad, Uncle Gene was always the first to join in on Carolina away games.  My dad was often very quick to join him.

Well, this coming weekend is kind of a second-generation tradition thing.  Add into the mix, a third generation – my son.

But the whole trip sort of originated with that third generation – my son, Matt.  He and I have been to many games.  So have he and his mom.  So has just he.  But this game is special for him.  For me, too.  And I hope it is for Bret as well.

Bret was a young man my son met while spending a year at the “other Carolina” – cheap prices on cytotecthe University of South Carolina – a few years ago.  Matt and Bret became good friends.  And Bret’s mom lived just a few miles from me in Hillsborough, North Carolina.

After spending a year in Columbia, Matt moved to Charlotte.  Bret moved home with his mom.  That’s when I met the young man.  He would come spend time at my house when Matt was home for a visit.  They mostly argued – about sports’ statistics and gambling techniques.  But they cared for one another.  That was clear.

Bret was a die-hard LSU fan.   Matt is a die-hard Tar Heel.  The both of them had talked about attending together a Carolina-LSU game some day.  That never happened.

Bret had some health issues.  None of the issues should have caused such a sudden and tragic end to that young guy’s life.  But some health problem did.  I’m not really sure what it was, or why he had to die so soon.  But he did.

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Matt and I have pulled very hard for LSU since Matt’s friend died.  And we have toasted young Bret those times LSU won big games.  And we promised each other that if we ever had the chance, we would attend a Carolina-LSU game and toast that young guy’s life.  That game is Saturday.  We have dubbed the affair, “The Bret Bowl.”


I hope Bret hears our toasts to him this weekend.  And I hope he knows that the memory of his life brought my son and my cousin and another die-hard Tar Heel family member and me together – one more time.

Cheers young man.  Cheers Bret.

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September 11, 2014:  Your team won the game, Bret.  But the four of us Carolina guys did, too.

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I’m going to break some rules here.   Sometimes we just need to.   Most times we really should.

I kind of feel I should apologize for a few words I am about to write.   But if I do, that apology would conform way too closely to the rules.   And I don’t need conformity right now.   I don’t need rules.   None of us do.

So, take this in the manner in which it was written – and fuck off, then.


Back in early July, I watched on Netflix, “Patch Adams.”  Watching that movie at the time that I did was important to me, especially in terms of timing.  Just a couple of weeks after watching that movie, I was to have visited the place where much of “Patch” was filmed – Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  I had planned to visit an old friend who exhibits more than anyone I have ever known the characteristics of Patch himself.cytotec without a perscription


Patch broke all the rules to show selfless compassion for folks who needed such stuff.  Just as my friend always has.


The week after watching that movie, I chose to play by the standard human rules of selfishness and ego.  My selfish outburst at that time was well within the rules of my own play book at the time.  It was directed at my friend.  But my choice managed to destroy that trip and my friend’s desire to ever see me at all.

Robin Williams died a few weeks after my outburst.  Why the man left us doesn’t matter.  What should matter to us right now is that even the man’s departure broke all the rules.  His rule deficient death helped idiots like me see how destructive are the old and steadfast rules of egotistical outbursts like the one that ended the promise of love and compassion from the most important friend I have ever had.

On August 11, my son posted this on Facebook:

“I want to invite or encourage ANY one who is going through a rough time or situation to please ALWAYS feel free to reach out to me.   You have a friend here that will listen and take the time to talk to you.   You can DM me or call me!
-In loving memory of Robin Williams.”

In the true spirit of Patch and my friend, that kid is breaking the rules.  No one says or writes what he did that night.  Well, except maybe Patch and my old friend.

cytotec onlineI think my son was only twelve years old when he met the man who played Patch Adams on the screen.  The kid’s mom was heavily involved in the production of the Chapel Hill filmed segments of that movie.  She included our son in those film sessions during that summer Robin Williams and his crew were in Chapel Hill.  I think my son spent six weeks with the man.


My job during those six weeks was to occasionally pick up my son from the production sites on the University of North Carolina campus.   One such time was the afternoon they filmed the scene of Patch and the old woman swimming in the pool of spaghetti noodles.cytotec without a prescription   That afternoon, as Robin Williams was walking away from the production site to clean all the noodles from his body, my son broke the rules.   A twelve year old son of someone important to the completion of a major Hollywood production never yells out at the star of that film, especially when that celebrity is dripping in wet noodles.   And that kid should NEVER call that actor by his first name!

But my son yelled at him.   And he yelled his first name.

“Robin! Come meet my dad!”

The man turned and walked our way.   As he approached us, he extended his hand toward mine.   I noticed all the wet noodles on his arms, kind of shivered and through my body actions indicated to him – in a hopefully humorous way – that I really didn’t want to touch his nasty, spaghetti-ridden hands.   I withdrew my hand and said, “I’m sorry, but…” and motioned to all the stuff on his hands and arms.

He quickly and simply said to me, “Well fuck off, then.”   And he turned to rush away – before turning back to smile and to shake my hand.

No rules were followed during that brief encounter.   My young son yelling at Robin Williams.   My son’s dad refusing to shake the man’s hand.   A celebrity saying, “Fuck off” in front of a twelve-year-old.

It may have been the funniest singular moment of my life.   It was certainly one of the most important moments in the lives of my child and me.

And no rules were followed.

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Idiots like me need rule breakers like Robin Williams and like Patch Adams and like my son.   And like my long-time friend.


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Good folks breaking rules.   They make us laugh.   They clarify the value of selfless compassion.

They use unruly manners to share joy with everyone and with every living thing they encounter.


And they demonstrate in the most graceful ways the utter folly of arrogant, hurtful and selfish outbursts that end friendships.

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generic cytotec without prescriptionLook, my attitude will likely get me fired.  In fact, when I said what I said to my boss the other day, I prefaced my bold statement with the words, “Look, you may fire me, but…”

And I don’t care.  This is some serious and scary stuff!  I’m old!  Like I say to my co-workers every time I am asked to lift and load heavy stuff – “But I’m a feeble old man!”  And my heart has to be weak.  Weaker, at least, than it was when I was younger.  That’s serious.  And scary!

A few mornings ago, the ticker almost gave out.  It really did!

Just like many mornings, on that one I walked to my car in the driveway with a cup of coffee, noticing with every step the lack of sunshine.  Just like every day that I work, I got to the back of the car and pushed the “unlock” button. I climbed in, placed my coffee in the cup holder, and pulled from my pockets the pack of cigarettes and cell phone I had placed in those pockets before locking the front door of the house.  As always, I placed those things in the passenger seat beside me, and started the car.  And began my 30-minute journey to my place of work.

The car started just fine, and I was very soon out of the driveway and onto the street, heading toward the main drag and then the interstate.  Now, every day when I leave my driveway, I begin my daily ritual of praying.  That day was no different.  When I reached the main drag, and as I made the left turn toward the interstate, I was well into that ritual.

That’s when it happened.  When the ticker almost gave out.

As I made that turn, the slightest glimpse of sunshine entered through the driver’s side window and caused a glisten-like distraction on the passenger side – the ENTIRE passenger side of the front seat.  And as that distraction became apparent, my prayer was abruptly interrupted with my blood curdling and pressurized scream:


I hope my scream didn’t startle or confuse God.  I especially hope He wasn’t as startled and confused as I was when I screamed.  But damn!

When the small amount of light entered the car, I saw the largest spider web I had ever seen.  It was stretched across the entire passenger side area, from the seat back to the dashboard.generic cytotec without prescription canada  And directly in the middle of that web was the giant spider that startled me.

I very quickly whipped the car into the Bojangles’ parking lot.  I was in total shock and, except for the movement of my eyes searching for something to defend myself, I was motionless.  Then I found an old newspaper in the back seat.  I rolled it up and the passenger side window down.  When the window went down, the scurrilous creature crawled and curled up near the sun visor.  I took aim on the spider and swatted the thing as hard as I could toward the open window.  And it disappeared!

Now that freaked me out, too.  Where the hell did it go?  I got out of the car, still carrying the rolled up newspaper, and walked around the car a couple of times.  I looked all over that parking lot pavement and even got down on my knees to look underneath the car.  The breakfast crowd at Bo’s was a bit afraid of me, I think.

I opened the passenger side door and looked everywhere for that thing.  Nothing!  So, I drove to work never really knowing if the largest spider I had ever seen was dead or living at Bo’s or still living somewhere in my car.  Look, Charlotte traffic is stressful enough at that time of day even without fearing a major spider bite while driving bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles an hour.  Working for 10 hours without a break isn’t as stressful as was that morning’s drive.

So, when I safely arrived at work after seeing no signs of the spider, I approached my boss.  I looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Look, you may fire me, but I will be damned if I’m ever again driving to work less than two hours after sunset!”

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This one was posted on my birthday in 2010.   What I wrote about on that day changed my life.   And the angel who changed it doesn’t even know what she did.


Right now, life’s not easy for many of us.   But there are angels.   There are many of them.    I’ve found a few special angels lately.   They know who they are.   I don’t need to name them.   Just being an angel is enough for these folks.

how to order cytotec online without a prescriptionBeing an angel means doing what is needed, not because they want recognition or praise or thanks or to feel good because they performed a human act that can be described as angelic.   They do it for one simple reason.   Because it needs to be done.

We all need angels.   We always will.   We all need to be angels.   We always will.

A while back, I was in a pretty dark place.   A pretty dark and cold hole somewhere.   Daybreak caused anxiety.   Sunsets caused fear.   The night, when those who demanded the most of me were resting, was my only safe time to be awake.   I had little work.   I had even less money.   And no rest at all.  I did my best, but my best was pathetic.

When I fell as low as I thought I could fall, something happened that took me even to order cytotec   My washing machine broke down.   Now that seems like a pretty insignificant thing.   At the time, I couldn’t really afford to pay to have laundry done.   At the time, I was in danger of losing my home.   At the time, I was raising a 12 year old.   At the time, every quarter in my possession meant more food for my son and me.   Clean underwear and socks really didn’t deserve our quarters.

Still, I needed to keep our clothes clean.   That’s pretty much a parent’s duty.   One day, a particularly bad day in the Dave Moon emotion cycle, I took my son’s and my clothes to the laundromat to wash.   On that day, I hated life and I hated people.   All I wanted to do was eat dry cheese sandwiches and watch Court TV.   Instead, I did laundry.   Hating every minute of it.   Wondering every minute why the damned washer had to break when it did.   Wondering what in the hell I had done to deserve all of this.

I was so down that day that I couldn’t even look up.   Couldn’t even acknowledge the presence of others around me.  I looked at the floor and at the washer and at the wet clothes.   That was all I could handle at the time.   I just wanted to get through those couple of hours and keep my date with Nancy Grace.   That’s all I wanted.

As I was bending at the neck, pulling wet clothes and stuffing them into garbage bags to take back home to dry, someone entered the laundromat.   how to purchase misoprostolIt was a large room, with maybe a dozen rows of washers and dryers.   I was on the side of the room opposite the main entry doors.   I heard the bell on the door of the laundromat as someone entered.   For some reason, that single sound caused me to look up and over and at the door.   A young woman had entered.   From across that large room, she looked at me, and she smiled.   From across that large room, I looked at her and smiled back.

With every article of wet clothing I put into those garbage bags after she entered, I smiled.

That smile lifted me above it all.   Suddenly, I looked forward to the day’s sunset, to the next morning’s dawn.   And that night –  I rested.

When my black garbage bags of wet clothing were full and ready to be taken home and dried, I looked around the room for that woman.   I could not find her.   My angel that day had done her work and moved on.

That woman made my day.

That woman changed my life really.

And it was just a smile.   A smile.

The laundromat woman will never know the impact she had on my day or my life.   And she really doesn’t need to.   She was, is, an angel.   She must know that.   She doesn’t need me to tell her.

My angels of late do not need  me to tell them how wonderful they are.   All they need is for you and I to find them.  To lift our heads up.   To look across the room.   To allow ourselves to accept the smile and touch of our angels.   If angels can’t find us, they can’t be angels.

Then, it’s up to us.  To become angels ourselves.  And to be found.

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“Go in, Moon, but don’t shoot.”  That’s not exactly what a young high school basketball player wants to hear from his coach.  But that is what mine said to me that one time when I finally got into a game.

Coach.  I just don’t think his heart was in the game.  He was some sort of a football star – in high school or college or both.  He was very big.  And he was an assistant coach on our school’s football team.  He knew football.  I guess.  He was a nice guy.  I liked him.  He was a bit intimidating, but I liked the guy.

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Coach is the big guy on the right.

And the man did have a way with words.  I will never forget one time when he gave us one of the most inspirational halftime speeches I have ever heard.  It was a pep talk to beat all pep talks.  One night at half time, we were losing badly.  We had been playing badly against a team we should have easily beaten.  Coach set us straight in the locker room at halftime.  His talk put Knute Rockne’s best to shame.  It wasn’t a sappy “Win one for the Gipper” kind of stale old speech.  Coach’s inspirational words would have made Pat O’Brien’s character proud.

This talk was so memorable and monumental and important and effective, I will try to recall, word for word, the special message my awe struck teammates and I heard that night.  Okay.  Here goes.

“It’s like you got a wuuman.  She layin’ right daya in frun ah ya.  An you ain’t gettin’ nary a bit of it.  Not nary a bit!”

I think we lost the game by 30.  It seems none of us could get the image of that “wuuman” out of our minds.