Tucker Reflects on Inaugural Season
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Stamps GM and island monarch Aaron Tucker reflected on his inaugural season in the Pondicherry Association today during a brunch meeting with several journalists.
“As you all know, Mr. Oakes is a clothed,” he began by way of introduction, referring to my collared-shirt, pants, shoes and socks. “He has not yet embraced our legacy of nudity. He does not yet understand it.”
The other journalists, all naked, chortled happily.
“When I look at you men and women of the press, I see goodwill,” noted Tucker as a nude waiter produced a cart of pastries and coffee tureens. “I don’t see, as Mr. Oakes undoubtedly does, mere flabby Mamma tits or engorged sacks or a series of voluminous cabooses, squeaking strangely, almost eerily against the poly-vinyl seating with each tiny, nigh-imperceptible bodily movement. No, this is the fundamental difference in our worldviews. This is why the worldview of Lankville is essentially a constructionist ontology that…”
I interrupt. “Can we move off the whole nudity thing?” I ask politely.
There is an awkward silence. Tucker suddenly shoves a pastry into his mouth and several Hoover Island scribes make notes.
Finished, Tucker discusses his expansion club, who finished 5th for the 2012-13 season.
“Many, most of our players are Lankvillians. As you all know, at the end of the campaign, we brought up a Hoover Island native– a man called Tuffet. Tuffet was viciously checked into the boards while nude during a morning skate and his sporting career, at that moment, was terminated. We recognize now that there will never be a nude player. There is a nudity line in the P.A. No one will cross it. We know that now.”
Several of the journalists look down at their laps. There is a moment of silence.
“Brave Tuffet,” Tucker comments. “He visited me at the palace recently. I gave him a lovely quartz medal. It was small and I think later he dropped it somewhere. It’s a shame.”
The journalists lower their heads again. I need a beer and a shot.
“What will you look to do during the summer?” I ask.
“To do?” Tucker asks incredulously. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Player transactions? Free-agent pickups, etc. Who are you looking at?”
Tucker turns to his seconds. “What is he? I don’t…I can’t…”
The seconds pat him on the back and take him gently away.
“Well, that’s it,” says one of the journalists. He stands up, revealing to the daylight a well-hung package. “He won’t come back now.”
Everyone disperses.
My plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow. I make a beeline for the main stretch. Figure I’ll check out the local talent
Dick Oakes’ examination of the local talent will continue in further issues.
LETTER SACK