Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Holy Smokes!
Marge Schott is Dead. Marge has gone around the bend. Meetin' up with Schottzie.
The Queen City must mourn their 'queen'.
I remember the only words Marge ever said to me.
A warm evening in June of 1990. I was selling beer by the bottle, lugging two cases through the blue seats at Riverfront Stadium. Lotsa families at the ballpark to see the Mighty Reds. I approached the seats where Marge usually sits, but the aisle was half filled with children waiting to pet Schottzie and get Marge's autograph. I hesitated to go down the aisle, but then Marge began to wave at me yelling "Hey sonny, come on down here. These folks need beer."
Balancing the cases of beer, I navigated around the tots sitting in the aisle. With cigarette dangling from her lips, Marge added, "Don't worry about these kids. They'll get out of your way. Heh, heh."
Marge Schott is Dead. Marge has gone around the bend. Meetin' up with Schottzie.
The Queen City must mourn their 'queen'.
I remember the only words Marge ever said to me.
A warm evening in June of 1990. I was selling beer by the bottle, lugging two cases through the blue seats at Riverfront Stadium. Lotsa families at the ballpark to see the Mighty Reds. I approached the seats where Marge usually sits, but the aisle was half filled with children waiting to pet Schottzie and get Marge's autograph. I hesitated to go down the aisle, but then Marge began to wave at me yelling "Hey sonny, come on down here. These folks need beer."
Balancing the cases of beer, I navigated around the tots sitting in the aisle. With cigarette dangling from her lips, Marge added, "Don't worry about these kids. They'll get out of your way. Heh, heh."
Comments:
Post a Comment
