's far-from-charitable, scathing, but nonetheless often dead-on (and funny)
skewering of some local Philadelphia color.
It is the time of year where punk/twit sweepers come out to the river
with their shiny fresh new spandex emblazoned with their school colors.
Side by side they stand on race day in matching uniforms looking like so
many inbred puppies. Rowing in boats the Old Men Sculler Alumni bought
Why, young punk/twit sweepers, must you clog the launching and landing
docks, sloppily carrying your boat like drunken pallbearers?
"Jessica, quick, can you get our shoes?? OK, Monica, great race!!!"
And we endure your interminable Punky Brewster/Blossom chitchat with
grim faces. This is why Old Men Scullers get ulcers.
On practice days, the dick in the coaching launch barrels past us and
wakes us out to catch up with your crew, limping up the river so
pathetically, even the dolts on the shore don't bother to yell their
land-lubbing taunt "Stroke, stroke, stroke" at you. They can tell it
And after Coach Clueless jets one hundred yards up to you, we pass you
anyway doing steady state. This embarrasses your coach, even though he
doesn't let on. In the pit of his stomach, he knows you blow chunks. And
to add insult to his injury, one of you geniuses setting up the boat
catches a crab while we're looking at you. The smiles on our faces turn
your coach red-faced and inside....he's crying.
And then Assistant Coach Tweedledumber comes out in his launch. He's got
less horsepower of course (they all sit around back at the boathouse and
compare horsepower size...) and it's strapped to the junker launch
that steers badly. On top of that, one of you punk/twits put in the
wrong fuel mixture, so it sounds like a sputtering six-year-old making
race-car sounds in the 25-cent ride outside the town drug store.
Well, he barrels past us too, not realizing he went right past you in
the darkness 'cause you didn't have any lights on your shell. Maybe you
should get your NCAA Varsity Women's program to buy some for you with
all of that money we hear is being doled out....So then he wakes us out
again going back down to find you.
Then you've got the two of them hounding you up the river, throwing up
monster wakes because the launches don't pitch right at anything below
full speed. Meanwhile you and your fellow boatmates have all the timing
and grace of SNL's Ed Grimley. I often wonder, is there irrefutable
evidence that two numbskulls coaching you is better than one?
But wait, the morning's not over yet, young punk/twit sweepers. Here
come all the boats full of people who have rowed for ten, twenty, even
thirty years. And what do you do? That's right, my little
stomach-acid-generators, you turn your boats in front of them at the
last possible minute...blocking the bridge arch. Nicely done. Don't
worry, the alumni will just buy a brand new JESBLOWME eight when you
wreck that one...
My only advice is this: when it takes you 35 minutes to get your
uncoordinated asses actually in the boat and on the water, you should
realize that you will not get any faster with a grueling workout in
the remaining 20 minutes you actually have for rowing. Go back inside
and play on the erg until April.