Which of course doesn’t have the ring of “Millerman-Time.”

…and…uh, don’t want to quibble over tindersticks here, but just to be fair to the legacy of your legendarily-eponymous-in-his-own-right older brother, i believe the term in question was “pulling a JOSH Wilker.”

But hey, just as Bobby Hull practically owns the mortage on Boom-Boom Geffrion’s slap shot…
well…
I feel that over the ensuing decades I have perfected this act of somehow connecting with ‘someones’ and ‘somethings’ out of my league to the extent that the brief glorious shelf-life of this sort of situation’s “grace-period,” be it a week, a year, or a mayfly’s lifespan, could conceivably be dubbed “Millerman -Time.”

Ken Reitz? The Big Zamboni? Stay tuned . . . (note: it might take a while to get to him but I will, eventually, if I stay in a non-ash state long enough, anyway)

16 : The importance of stretching beforehand can not be overstated.

Whew. After reading that first paragraph I thought this was going to be a much more depressing post.

Anyway, traces. When I was in fifth grade there was an essay contest for the local schools in Lafayette, IN. The subject was “What will things be like in 100 years.” The winners would have their submissions placed in a time capsule in the corner stone of a city building.

I wrote a poem. It was good enough to be one of the final two selected from my school. As a class, we voted on which of the two we were going to submit to the city to enter. I still have vivid memories of the vote. The teacher made us put our heads down, probably so that no one would be influenced by who was voting for which. She even mentioned, before we took the vote, “Remember that this is an essay contest.”

My poem won anyway, by one vote, despite these poor instructions to the jury from the teacher. I voted for myself. I felt kind of bad about that at the time. Was I being selfish? I usually didn’t do something like that-vote for myself-when the polite thing would have been to defer to someone else. But this other girl’s essay was boring…something about eating Space Krispies for breakfast. Maybe I just wanted to win something, so I ended up voting for my submission. Looking back, I’m actually glad I did.

The city’s review committee ended up picking my entry from among all the fifth grade submissions. My “reward” was to read it out loud over the PA system to the entire school. Presumably, it was put into this time capsule in a city building in Lafayette.

So, in about 75 years, if someone gets around to opening up that time capsule, the poem of a fifth grader will be among its contents. I sincerely doubt that the actual world will resemble the contents of my poem.

Somehow it just needed to be Griffithed.

Some life