Having recently returned from helping our own Patrick “Pretty-boy-o’-Physics” Crumley and his manager and gal-pal “Darlin” Dee-Dee Spradlin down to their new digs in Austin, TX. I returned home with some stories and a brave new goal.

I want to be a national champion of the sport “Hoover-Ball”.

And god help me, my chance (and yours) has finally arrived.

As a born-son of the the rich state of Iowa (pronounced Io-way to insiders*) I feel it’s my duty to become an expert at all things natural to the state. To note:

I am an excellent corn on the cob eater.

I have farmed extensively in the summers of my childhood.

I hate whales.

See? I’m totally awesome at being an Iowan. But I am not a champion at being an Iowan. SHARP DISTINCTION, friends. But lo, on the winds come words of a grand tournament. One that will declare you and I kings for many a year to come!

HOOVERBALL

Them’s the rules. Now here’s the chance of a lifetime (or for a year). This August (in about 2 weeks to be exact) we have the chance to become gods. I put before you: HOOVERFEST.

Many of us Shamby! played this in gym as kids. Mind you, it was with a volleyball and not Hooverball’s regulation medicine ball, but nevertheless, this sounds like a lot of fun to me. Our team would consist of five grizzled and ready to rock Hoover-super stars.

Anyone in for becoming a rag-tag team of champions? I wanna.

*It’s never been pronounced like that by anyone, except in the classic musical “the Music Man”. They sure had a lot of troubles in River City.