A Good Sport

My brother Ken is an avid sportsman. He has always enjoyed golf, baseball, hunting, or almost anything that occurs out of doors. When he played golf on his downtime as a caddy, he would come in one or two strokes either behind or in front of the course’s golf professional.

In hunting, only the seasons change as to what game he was hunting and the weapon he used not the desire to hunt; bow and arrow, rifle, or shotgun. He enjoys fishing as well, but not as much as hunting. He went out West to hunt elk one year, riding a horse into the mountains on the tour. He helped the guides setting up camp.

When he played baseball, he played in a local league for young men. The league played their games on Sunday afternoons. If we wanted to know if he had a game that Sunday, we’d tease by saying, “Are you going to the church of the swinging bat today?”

He often got roped into being an umpire at his son’s little league games. Ken didn’t like when coaches verbally abused their charges and at the beginning of each game he told them, “I’m giving you two warnings about cussing at the kids before I toss you out…and this is the first.”

He was attracted to fast cars, motorcycles, and A.T.V.s. They were a past passion in his life although the A.T.V. is an integral part of his hunting now.

I think his two favorite cars were a pale yellow mustang, his first car and a 1976 Dodge Demon that was black with white stripes painted across the hood, roof, and trunk. I always thought it looked like a skunk. Ken tricked and souped it up for speed and took it to the drag races to compete. There was a large air scoop that rose above the hood.

He’s slowed a bit since then and has just finished restoring a Jeep, painting it red. Red was our dad’s favorite color. It’s Ken’s baby and it stays up on blocks during the winter in the garage. His cars are a little less powerful than before, but he still likes to work on them.

The one thread that has wound through all of his other passions was to meet and date women, looking for that one special person that he loved as much as he did all of his other passions. My grandmother Miner had a favorite saying, “There’s never a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit.”