Sports Talk

“Sorry to be a Monday morning quarterback,” my Aunt Toogie said as she sipped a gin and tonic. “But you swung for the fences and struck out.”

 

She was offering some post-game commentary following an incident that can be best described only as a shutout, a laugher, a one-sided drubbing.

 

It began, innocently enough, with an attempt to assist my lovely wife, Grace, in the kitchen. Now I believe food preparation and cleanup are certainly not her job alone and I do try to help with both. But with my background in executive management, I had observed several situations that could benefit from a little process improvement. Take for example, the spice drawers. These two drawers contained a rather random-looking assortment of small bottles and jars. It struck me: Wouldn’t it be more efficient and orderly if these items were all arranged alphabetically?  

 

So when Grace left for her Wednesday Senior Day shopping run to Publix, I seized the opportunity to both impress and surprise her. In retrospect, I was half right, but that’s getting ahead of the story. Toogie watched as I began grabbing spice containers and lining them up on the kitchen counter in alphabetical order.

 

“What are you doing there, rookie?” she inquired with a sly grin.

 

After I explained my strategy, she chuckled, “I won’t pull any punches. That is a gusty call on your part, especially since the kitchen is not your home turf.” Before I could reply, she added, “What I can tell you for sure is that this place will be bedlam when Grace arrives in the house.”

 

I asked Toogie if she wanted to lend a hand in my project. She declined, saying she wanted to grab her cell phone and “get this on Tik Tok. It will be one for the ages.”

 

Taking that as a compliment, I hastily reassembled all the spices in good order – from allspice, anise, basil, and bay leaves all the way to tarragon, thyme, and tumeric – finishing just as Grace arrived home. When she heard the door open from the garage, Toogie whispered, “Crunch time.”

 

Grace entered with a bag of groceries and asked me to retrieve two more from her car. In the short time it took me to do that, Toogie must have revealed my organizational game plan. Grace was standing with her arms crossed looking at the contents of the rearranged spice drawers. 

 

Pointing at one bottle, Grace asked somewhat sharply, “What is the cinnamon doing here?” This gave me a perfect opening to illustrate my new system as I explained how cinnamon, starting with the letter “c,” fit perfectly between black garlic and dill weed. In an instant, I was back on my heels and out of rhythm as Grace took over command of the game and lectured me how she had all the savoy spices in one drawer and the sweet baking spices in another. She continued explaining how the items used most often were in the front while

less-frequently used ones were stored behind. As Grace enumerated these ground rules, I think I heard Toogie whisper, “Boom goes the dynamite.” Putting the cinnamon bottle in the wrong team locker room was more than an unforced error. It was game, set and match point!

 

Adhering to Grace’s close supervision, I returned all the bottles and jars to their original lineup. After that I was relieved and sent to the shower. 

 

Later that afternoon, sitting on the back porch sipping a gin and tonic, I reflected on how I had dropped the ball. That is when Toogie joined me, similar drink in hand and launched into her analysis. 

 

“You gave it a good try, Dalton. But Grace had her A game and she grabbed the momentum early.” Before I could respond, she continued. “I think you need to go back to the drawing board. Put this loss behind you and get back to basics. Remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

 

“Yeah,” I responded. “I think I was pressing too much.”

 

This launched an exchange. “It got out of hand quickly,” Toogie replied.

 

“I never had the right tempo.”

 

“You weren’t in the zone.”

 

“I need to eliminate the mental mistakes.”

 

“You need to dig deeper.”

 

“And give 110 percent.”

 

“It was all over but the shouting.”

 

The back door opened and Grace joined us on the porch. She thoughtfully brought drink refills for us along with her own refreshment.

 

“Toogie and I are going to a Library Society function tomorrow,” Grace announced. “Want to join us?”

 

“Can’t,” I answered. “Playing golf with Jim and Jerry.”

 

“That sounds like fun.” 

 

“Not lately,” I sighed.

 

“Why not? I thought you loved golf.”

 

“I’m having trouble putting,” I answered

 

“What kind of trouble?”

 

“I have been leaving them all short.”

 

“Well, as they say,” Grace smiled, “never up, never in.” 

 

“Yeah,” Toogie chipped in. “You got to hit it, Alice.”

 

“Just remember,” Grace added. “You drive for show, but you putt for dough.”

 

Before I could respond to their coaching, Grace proclaimed, “Speaking of dough, with Dalton’s new-found interest in the kitchen, I think he should fix dinner.”

 

“Home run!” Toogie exclaimed.

 

I pondered Grace’s suggestion. Knowing I couldn’t compete with her in home cooking, I called an audible, “How about we all go out for pizza?”

 

“That would be a hit with me,” Grace stated. “You and Toogie take these glasses to the kitchen and I’ll get my purse and a wrap.”

 

After Grace retreated to the house, Toogie sat back in her chair and inquired, “So, are you retiring from your culinary career?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I answered. “I decided to take one for the team. Grace is the GOAT in the kitchen and I’m happy to bat behind her.”

 

“Oh, I’d describe it more in the words of the great Ricky Bobby,” Toogie grinned. Leaning closer, she whispered, “If you ain’t first, you’re last!”