Considering yesterday's post, let me first set the record straight about a few things. During the infamous foul shot shoot-off during fifth grade, I was wearing Hush Puppies, not Buster Browns. I had consciously, despite the objections of my dear mother, made the choice to switch from Buster Browns to Hush Puppies at the beginning of the third grade. Additionally, I was not "bald as a cueball" at the age of twenty-one, and I am not presently. I have an ample ring of hair around my head, so much so that I visit my barber every fortnight. I am an accountant; every entry on the ledger is important.
That said, the rest of Lou Ferragamo's version is credible. I'd like to think my hundredth shot that day traveled at least fourteen feet, by I couldn't swear by it in a court of law. Speaking of courts of law, I was surprised as anyone by Joey Flippant. Not surprised that he has been indicted on 52 counts of corruption, but that while out on bail awaiting trial he called me six weeks ago with his idea that Sister Mary Clyde and I meet in a rematch in order to raise money for Our Lady of Perpetual Chewing Gum's proposed Sister Mary Philpot Gymnasium. Understandably nervous that the phone call was being recorded and that this was yet another of Joey Flippant's schemes, I begged off, saying--truthfully--that I hadn't touched a basketball in more than thirty years and that I gave much of my time and a considerable amount of my money to Our Lady of Intermittent Rain, my beloved parish for twenty-eight years now. Joey just chuckled and said, "I'm not through with you yet, Rotini" and hung up. Obviously I feared for my life until three days later when Sister Mary Clyde herself called and explained to me that Joey was seemingly sincere in all of this and that the shoot-out would be great fun and the way Joey had proposed it sounded like it would raise a lot of money and Our Lady of Perpetual Chewing Gum really needed a new gym and wouldn't I reconsider. Nuns, you can never shake their hold on you. So I agreed, despite the fact that this was happening in the middle of tax time when I am not only busiest but when both my plantar fasciitis and psoriasis are at their worst. Like an accountant's, I guess, the Lord's work is never done. I agreed once again to take on a nun in a free throw shooting contest.
Luckily, as the chief collection basket counter at Our Lady of Intermittent Rain, I have an all-access key to the parish's facilities. For the past six weeks I have used what little time is available to me to go to the gym there and practice my free throws. Bursitis is imminent, but over time I have regained much of the form that made me that playground--if not CYO--legend. Four nights ago I made 289 out of 300 shots, and promptly went home and said a rosary, praying that I had not peaked a little too soon.
Say what you will about Joey Flippant--and in a less public forum than this, I could say plenty--but last night's fundraiser was quite the show, and quite successful. That old gym (and once I saw it I realized the need for a new one and so was happy to lend what help I could for the construction) was packed, not only with parishioners and alums (Jane Filibuster, nee Octave, still sets my heart aflutter, I confess) but also, owing to Joey Flippant's current status, a lot of media. There were raffles, silent auctions, hot dogs, the school band (I smiled fondly at the boy playing the French Horn, my old "axe"), cheerleaders, and Bingo. Sister Mary Clyde, clad smartly in an Our Lady of Perpetual Chewing Gum warm-up ensemble (which, naturally, I was forced to purchase; one for myself, not hers) was beaming. Yes, her hair is stark white, but she was as robust and energetic and kind as always. She greeted me with a big hug, which was a bit unsettling to me (having never made physical contact with a nun before, discounting Sister Mary Philpot's hands on my ears), but in time I chalked it all up to sincerity and not gamesmanship on Sister Mary Clyde's part.
Joey Flippant, of course, made a big speech, and then Sister Mary Clyde spoke. She made reference to Lou Ferragamo's much-read account of the original shoot-off, contradicting the stern way Sister Mary Philpot came off there and stating for the record that, "You'll never believe it looking at me now, but back in 1969, my hair was jet black, not a red hair at all." Paulie Flugle screamed out, "I'll make it any color you desire, Sister girl!" Say what you will about Paulie (I won't), but he and his partner Skip Epstein not only pledged a hundred dollars apiece for every shot both Sister Mary Clyde and I made, but also promised to donate half of their take from every parishioner's hair styled until construction is complete, and a lifetime supply of jump ropes.
"Ladies first," I again said, and we were off shooting. Sister Mary Clyde apparently had not devoted as much time to practicing for the evening as I had. Despite having the entire gym rooting for her, and the aid of some pretty swanky Nikes, Sister Mary Clyde, at the free throw line, looked very much like the pushing 70 woman she is. The contest was pretty much over by our third round of ten shots each. Certainly I was disappointed by my tally of 72 made shots; Sister Mary Clyde was ebullient that she made 53. Realistically, though, I don't think it mattered. If we had each made 100 of 100, I don't think it would have been possible to raise any more than the $82,537.92 our shots alone raised.
All in all, despite my reservations about the entire thing, I was happy to be involved. Happy to see old classmates. Happy to contribute to the building of a new gym (with more forgiving rims, I trust). Happy to have concluded the night by reciting, with the entire crowd, a rosary for all the Our Lady of Perpetual Chewing Gum's deceased parishioners and teachers. And happy, I cannot lie, to have won.
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