Tailgates Winding Down

So yesterday Mirta, my sister of another mister, came by bright and early, and, supplied with guava pastelitos and cookies from Pinecrest Bakery, got into my little girlie Caddy, and tooled up the Palmetto to Joe Robbie. It was the second to last Canes home game.

The weather was gorgeous, though as the party proceeded, some rain blew in, as it did throughout the game. But it was warm, and no one much cared.

Norman and HIS sister of another mister Maria were grilling away. Actually, Maria's husband Ramon was at the fire -- turning out burgers and dogs and shish kebab, and some of the most delicious sausages ever.

It was homecoming, and several of our friends wore their silly Indian jackets, the mark of Iron Arrow, the oldest UM honor society.  Dr. Barry was tapped in a few years ago, but he left his jacket at home -- he's too much of a populist and hater of BS to take it seriously. Dr. Eric and his sister Elissa are members, and asked why Barry wasn't participating. I wise ass joked that it was simple: when Eric was tapped in, Iron Arrow excluded women, and so Eric refused his entry. The next year they went co-ed, and Eric joined. I surmised that Barry was not protesting: he would only actually use his membership when Iron Arrow admitted regular schleppers...

The tailgate ended in the rain -- several of us huddled under the UM canopy, until the storm passed. Then Barry, his sister of another mister Debbie (lot of this dynamic going around lately), Mirta, and I made our way to our seats. As we entered the Club, there was a sad scene: an older man, on the floor outside of a skybox, in full cardiac arrest -- several Miami Dade cops and paramedics engaged in full on CPR.

Barry and Debbie walked in, telling a cop they were a doctor and nurse. The cop brusquely asked for their licenses, but before Barry and Debbie could produce them, the group stretchered the man away.  It was of course an unsettling scene -- especially for me. It brought back awful memories of my Dad in the barber shop where he died -- paramedics taking over from my futile attempts at CPS.

But as I thought about it, I became philosophical: for a Canes fan, there are worse places to die. I told Barry that if that happened to me, please dispense with the violent and usually futile CPR -- just carry my corpse to my seat, and let it experience my final Canes game -- then let the ambulance carry me away...

The game was fine -- Canes won big, although they played sloppily. They have a long, long way to go before they become even near elite again. But we joked, and laughed. The game ended, and Barry and Debbie, and Mirta and I lingered awhile as the stadium emptied. None of us had any pressing places to be -- it was lovely just to drink in the scene.

Mirta and I called Wifey, to plan dinner. Wifey was busy setting the table for next Friday -- D1's future family is coming over for a shabbat dinner. Wifey asked to bring in food instead, so Mirta and I stopped at DiNapoli, and did just that. We ate, and talked of Mirta's awesome grandkids, and how much pleasure they bring her. We hope to join that club sooner than later.

There's one home game left this season -- T Day Saturday. I've asked D2 if she wanted to go with me. She'll decide later on -- if she opts out, I told Mirta she can have my tickets to take whoever she wants. Precious time with D2 trumps all.

Speaking of Trumps -- the election is two days away. It really amazes me that a cartoon character like Trump might actually win.  But hey -- that's democracy -- there is no constitutional prohibition against being a dumb ass, and if that's what our population wants, so be it.

As a rich white guy, a Trump presidency will mean I'll have to suffer through lower taxes, and a return to a time when rich white guys were the only important members of American society. Screw the poor...

I guess we'll know soon enough.

Either way, the Canes will play on, and my friends and I will gather to enjoy our time together.