How It All Began

Subscribers:
     I've heard your cries from the rooftops - from the nests on the ledges, to the dormers and downspouts - I've listened to your entreats. Amidst my despair and wallowing, I've been touched by the outpouring of love, sympathy and affection that was engendered by my last missive. I'm back; better & more full of myself than ever!

     Introspection has long been a valuable component of the healing process. Fortunately, I have the most interesting of specimens with which to work. However, it was during this time that I realized that I have done you, dear students, the gravest of injustices. I have failed to educate you on the most rudimentary of topics - one which I have been repeatedly asked to clarify. So, as briefly as my cacophonic predilection will permit, allow me to finally address the issue that has so vexed you all.

The Legend Of Speed Brisco

(cue the Marty Robbins music)

Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

     I became self-aware earlier than most; this, not surprisingly, the result of countless hours spent gazing into a reflecting pool near my childhood home. We were a poor, yet gifted lot, blessed with substantial talent, wit and charm. Rising quickly through the familial ranks, I developed a clear sense that I was a disturbingly different child special. Naturally, I parlayed this into remarkable scholastic and business success, and a model domestic life. My horizon was endless.

Chapter 2: The Revelation

     Late one evening, during a trip down South, the spark was lit! Yes, I was superior in nearly every way to those fortunate few I deigned associate with, but - to whom much is given, much is expected (rough interpretation of Luke 12:48). Given that even I cannot bend the rules of the universe to appropriate more than 24 hours in a day, it occurred to me that I could, however, develop multiple versions of myself - thereby serving to align the skewed supply and demand - for me - that existed. At the time, cloning was in its infancy and, in addition to the moral implications, I wasn't keen on the name Dolly; so that was not an option. Of course the solution was to create/invent a new/additional version of myself; it came in a flash.

Chapter 3: A Star Is Born

     As we rode aimlessly that late February evening, enjoying the gorgeous frosty view, my gaze fixed on a light of the Mother Ship's starboard bow; faint at first, it grew clearer the closer we drew. It was a sign that, though festooned in neon, advertised a humble business - the nature of which I've never been drawn to investigate. Regardless, the following is a link for that which birthed your beloved author:
        http://www.yellowpages.com/ashland-va/mip/speed-briscoe-auto-truck-stop-inc-2581067

Epilogue:

     Sadly, I fear that my co-opting of this name has resulted in popularity that far outstrips that of the business that inspired this iteration of yours truly. Since then, I've incorporated others (Tommy Geronimo, et al), but none have achieved the fame, acceptance and high regard accorded to Speed. I suspect this will remain so to the end of my days, creating a delicious conundrum that will, no doubt, be my progeny's to tackle. Thus endeth the lesson........................

                                             



The Agony Of Defeat

     As I pen this while lying in the emotional equivalent of the ICU, it will take all the restraint I can muster to avoid a meltdown - just trying to keep my rubbed-raw feelings in check. Though a dark gloom envelops me, I'll press on and report on the happenings of this weekend past.

     Saturday broke with all imaginable promise, as the day had finally arrived - PattyPalooza X was here (for those few remaining souls that do not understand the significance of this event, let me suggest you read my previous post, then return & try to remain abreast)! The food and beverages had been purchased/refrigerated/iced, the grounds were immaculately manicured, the pool was sparkling, and I, your window into this incredible world, was - as a fine thoroughbred - longing to leave the starting gate. I had trained for this moment all year; my sinewy form, taught with explosive anticipation, strained to be loosed. Upon our arrival, and at Patty's direction, we commenced what I only later learned would be a climb up heartbreak hill.

     Certainly, nothing foreshadowed the anguish that awaited me. The first day was zesty - punctuated by dips in the pool, snacks galore, adult beverages, relationships re-cemented (or, so I thought...) and a seafood banquet of shrimp and King Crab legs. Perhaps it was my preoccupation with my girls in the moon ensuring the best possible feast for our revelers that prevented me from sensing the skullguggery that was afoot. Regardless, my world would soon be shattered. I slept the innocent sleep of a child.

     Sunday dawned; I awoke to a sense of cold dread that I could not identify, but I thought, "What harm could possibly befall me, surrounded by my loyal, loving family?". It was soon after that I learned would could only be described as the horrible truth. Unbeknownst to me, a back-room deal had been cut; the centerpiece of the festival - THE WASHER TOURNAMENT - had been tampered with!

In an inexplicable and still heartbreaking turn, the teams had been "selected" by secret ballot.    Words cannot adequately express my horror to learn that my long-time partner (who shall remain unnamed, for fear of reprisals) had somehow been teamed with a younger entrant, with formidable washer skills! As the shock of this coursed through my veins, memories of prior tourneys came rushing back; words like teammates, camaraderie and loyalty flashed through my mind. Finally, though dazed by this sucker-punch, I gathered myself; then, in a manner as dignified as possible given this seismic change of events, I went behind the house and, in a scene rivaling the pathos of Greek tragedy, cried my eyes out.                    

     The first few games went smoothly enough. My new "randomly selected" teammate was skilled and battle-tested, and our team piled up one impressive victory after another. By then, I had gathered myself sufficiently to maintain a representative presence in the games. However, drained of all feeling, my skills seemed sub-standard; this owing no doubt, to the torturous visage of my former partner's playful enthusiasm with her new teammate. The monsoon-like rain that fell that evening, only served to presage what was to come with the dawn.

  The day of the finals - Monday - arrived, and the competition resumed. Though successful, their team owed little if it to my former partner's contribution; in fact, she was struggling mightily. She had somehow lost her magic, and points for her were hard to come by. It was then, that chivalry demanded action.  During a lull in the competition, I suggested a new technique that she might try to improve her results, and regain her mojo. Although sensing that I had somehow sealed my own fate, I did what I felt was the right thing - I rescued a wounded bird <see reference several posts ago>. Sadly, what happened thereafter was no surprise; taking to the new-found method like a duck to water, The Karate Kid kicked Mr. Miyagi's butt in the tournament's final game - wresting the championship, and what remained of his heart and soul, away. Oh, the injustice of it all.

                                                        

     There you have it dear friends. As I crawl inward to repair both my psyche and my pride, I leave you with this single dab of salience: no good deed truly goes unpunished. Process this and share your thoughts on my latest revelation.........