What exactly is a “best friend,” anyway? That’s a term we hear often.
One criteria I apply to someone I consider a best friend — and there have been a few of them — is that neither of us has killed the other, in spite of all the provocations, and we still hang out together.
Some of us once teamed up to chase girls, but not any more. If we had caught anywhere near the number of girls we chased, we’d have been sorry individuals indeed — and we were sorry enough as it was.
One man who has been a best friend for decades is now happily married, and he has learned to drink Scotch. Neither of those things can be said about me.
I dated a girl for a while, and then she took me to The Landfill of Love. After a discreet amount of time passed, one of my buddies took up with her. Didn’t bother me any, because another of our friends had dated her before I did — and a fourth guy went out with her after she dumped No. 3.
We have collectively come to decide that just as we passed them around, they also passed us around.
Another term that’s in common usage is “The Kiss Of Death,” but what is it?
I came to realize that every time I heard one particular friend say, “Hey, Jimmy? I think that girl really likes you,” that was The Kiss Of Death.
Here’s how it worked:
Our wolfpack used to make the circuit of dance halls, one of which was the old Knights of Columbus home on Christie Road.
Two girls were sitting by themselves at a table, and my “Hey, Jimmy?” best friend and I asked them to dance. I got to their table first and asked the one who was cuter. She was really cute, too.
Both of them agreed. After the song was over, they remained on the floor and began to talk to us. (We saw this as what frequently is referred to as “A Glimmer Of Hope.”)
The girls were sisters and invited the two of us to visit them at their home on such-and-such an evening. We said we could do that.
At the appointed time, my buddy picked me up in his car, and we set off to meet our fate.
He said, “Hey, Jimmy? I think that girl really likes you.”
That’s when things started not to go smoothly.
We had the address, but after making several orbits of what we thought was the right street, we were unable to find a house with a number that matched.
Turns out we were on one of those screwy Cumberland streets that comes to what you think is a dead end, only it isn’t. You have to go around a zigzag that takes you across another street with a different name in order to find the rest of it. This has happened to me at least three times.
Upon arriving, we found a party in full swing. Being young, dumb and befuddled, we asked what was going on.
My buddy’s potential target of opportunity pointed to her sister — my potential target of opportunity (the really cute one) — and said, “Her old boyfriend called her today from Florida and asked her to marry him, and she said ‘Yes.’ We’re having a party to celebrate!”
It was at this point that my best friend reached under the seat of his car, pulled out a brown paper bag and held it up, telling the girls:
“But we brought these two bottles of wine!”
I did the only reasonable thing I could have done under the circumstances.
I swatted him across his right shoulder with the back of my left hand and hollered, “Whattinthehell’s the matter with you? Let’s get outta here!”
Froggie went a-courtin’, and he did ride ... as fast as he could away from that place. We went to The Famous North End Tavern and wound up having a better time than we probably would have otherwise.
One of my best friends asked if I would help him coach a Rec League baseball team. I told him I hadn’t played baseball since ninth grade — but neither had he.
Slow-pitch softball, yes, but not baseball, and there is a world of difference. In baseball you have to run farther to get from one base to another, and the ball comes at you faster and is smaller and harder to hit. Softball is far more user-friendly for older guys who smoke, drink, eat too much and have bad knees.
We actually did OK. It was fun, and every now and then we meet some of the other Rec League coaches from that era for lunch. It’s almost like a class reunion.
My buddy and I were mid-twenty-somethings coaching high school kids, a couple of whom were pretty good ballplayers who realized we needed some help and provided it as discreetly as possible.
One was a heck of a nice young fellow who was a bit on the shy side. He showed up for a game displaying a crop of what appeared to be ... let’s see ... I know what we used to call them.
Scattered around his neck and the nape of his neck was evidence of a ... a close encounter: spectacular red, orange and purple examples of collateral damage inflicted with what must have been great enthusiasm by someone other than himself.
“Boy,” I said to him, “you got any idea how lucky you are? Any closer, and one’a them bullets would’a taken your head clean off!” He turned as red as our team ballcaps.
My coach-buddy and the other players took up where I left off and rode his (beast of burden) unmercifully — a mass demonstration of envy, more than anything else.
A few days later, we played our next game. After it was over, and all of our players had left, my coach-buddy asked me:
“How come you got your shirt collar buttoned all the way up, and you never did that before?”
“Probably for the same reason,” I replied, “that you’ve got yours buttoned all the way up.”
Apparently, none of our players had noticed anything was out of the ordinary with us. Or maybe they did notice, but didn’t say anything. Young people back then seemed to have more respect for their elders than they do today.
Goldy’s Rule 128: Your best friends are those who give you reasons to smile and laugh that will remain with you for the rest of your days.
What exactly is a “best friend,” anyway? That’s a term we hear often.
- Jim Goldsworthy - Anything and Everything
He means well, and this time they spared his life
Our pal Phil is the only re-enactor certified in writing by both the Lee and Custis families to portray Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee (whose wife was Mary Anna Custis Lee). When he’s in uniform, he generally stops at the bottom of the path that leads to the summit of Little Round Top, salutes Capt. Gary and First Sgt. Goldy and asks permission to join us. (Get it? Generally ... General Lee?) We always return his salute and grant him permission, in part because he’s our friend and also because the real Lee never got to see what it really looks like from up there. (Get it? Grant ... Grant? U.S. Grant? Real Lee ... really? OK. I hear you. That’s enough. Seriouslee.) Phil gets a kick out of being able to sneak up on us while we’re distracted by tourists.
They’d have fallen like Autumn leaves
So there we were, minding our own business (at least momentarily), leaning against the cannon at Little Round Top.
Better read that french fry before you eat it
People give me otherwise-insignificant items they hope will amuse or inspire me. I appreciate this. I’m always glad for free entertainment, which as Goldy’s Rule 33 says is everywhere. All you have to do is wait and it will come to you. Also, I have been writing columns for 37 years and embrace inspiration anywhere I can find it.
The moose is loose, and it’s coming for you
So how would you like to look out your kitchen door window onto your porch and see a moose looking back at you from close range?
There are some debts you can never repay
Today’s column will be relatively short, as my columns go, for reasons that should become apparent, and I thought long and hard before writing it.
It could have saved the county a lot of money
Random thoughts sometimes occur to me when I least expect it, usually when my brain has become tired.
When I voice these thoughts at work or in other places, people may tell me, “Goldy? It’s time for you to go home.” Yes, ma’am.
Here are two random thoughts of recent vintage:
• If Bugs Bunny were an Emergency Medical Technician, would that make him a MedicHare?
• If Daisy Duck got a job driving for United Parcel Service, would she be an UPS-a-Daisy?
I wouldn’t blame you if you think that sounds Goofy — or Daffy.
These two were part of the Not Top Ten
Occasionally, at this time of year, I see reference to a “class orator” or a “class speaker.”
Nothing wrong with that — people can call such things whatever they want, as far as I’m concerned — but it makes me wonder. Have “valedictorian” and “salutatorian” become politically incorrect, and I didn’t notice? It may come as a surprise to you, but I really have not kept up with what is politically correct or incorrect. That’s what people tell me, anyway. With some of them, it actually seems to be a compliment.
Coming soon to a highway near you?
People say to me, “Goldy? Can I ask you a stupid question?”
In theory — and theory only — the correct response is: “The only stupid question is the one you don’t ask.” Not so much. There ARE stupid questions, some of them so stupid that to call them stupid is to damn them with faint praise. Other questions are — on the face of it — legitimate questions, but shouldn’t be treated as such ... not if you subscribe to the same philosophy that I do: Free entertainment is everywhere; all you have to do is wait, and it will come to you.
This was a skill that proved very useful
The Belmont Park stewards have decided to let California Chrome wear his nasal strip during the Run for the Carnations. Nasal strips usually are worn by people who snore and may have saved numerous marriages. It helps the Triple Crown hopeful to breathe, and some twolegged athletes wear nasal strips for the same reason. In this case, Chrome’s nasal strip may keep him from (wait for it) ... losing by a nose.
He made a big splash by asking this question
“I don’t know who you were talking to last night,” said Capt. Gary, “but you were talking and moaning in your sleep. Never heard you do that before.” Neither has anyone else, I said. Besides, I had told him not to be surprised if we had visitors. I wasn’t at the top of my game for a couple of days, and he said some of our friends asked him if I was all right. It’s not the first time for this, so now I’ll know to watch out for it. It can affect you and is not something to play around with — as our friend Cathy found out.
- More Jim Goldsworthy - Anything and Everything Headlines
- He means well, and this time they spared his life