Mr. Perrin Lovett -- Werewolves of Covington: The 2020 TPC Halloween Spooktacular *Brought to you by Diet LIME CHIP! Soda*

 

TPC Headquarters, Covington, Halloween 2020, as the sun sets…

A small host of costumed and MASKED children ambled lazily, listlessly, if cautiously incautious down the dark street. But, this year was different. The little ones were uncharacteristically quiet, in a near-silent way. One note of laughter - maniacal as could human voice might achieve - sounded from the shadows near the Confederate Monument. Laws, court orders, and history be damned! the Chairman thought, a sledgehammer in his sweaty hands. Outside, the wind blew a somber, haunting note through the barren trees. Inside, frantic last-minute preparations were underway.

‘Hand me another board,’ MB growled from atop the short ladder. 

‘We’re running low,’ Bess said with a tremble as she passed up a roughly-hewn one-by-six. ‘A few more and we’ll be out. And to think about the children. The children---’

‘It’ll be enough,’ MB gritted through the nails in his teeth. ‘Got the lower windows. Just a few boards up here, per pane, should do it. They say these things are big - too big to pass through a couple of flimsy boards. It’s not like a tiny virus slipping through the relatively miles-wide gaps in a cloth facemask.’ He stopped to admire his handiwork.

‘Did you remember the back door?’ Bess asked shakily. ‘No one has used it since the mob was here about Duke Marshula.’

‘I gotta chair up against it,’ MB replied. ‘Da used to make regular use of it. Anybody seen him lately?’

‘Not since the Braves washed out,’ Bess said, staring off into nothingness. ‘He put on his NBC suit and vanished. I hope … they haven’t got him too.’ She shuttered.

‘Nah, Da’s too tough for---’ MB broke short his contemplative ablations. He paused and gasped: ‘Was that a howl?!’

‘Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!’ Bess shouted hysterically, running in circles. ‘They’re here!’

‘Shotgun, Bess, shotgun!’ MB barked. There was, for the moment, no need.

‘Sorry, y’all!’ A friendly voice called out. It was Kayla. ‘That was my stomach growling. I need to review the new Chinese place. Need to get me a big dish of beef chow mein!’

‘God! Don’t do that,’ MB said, stepping off the desk where he’d jumped in a panic. ‘Have a Snicker, diva. Nobody eats out tonight. Maybe ever. Old Lee Ho picked the worst time to open a diner. I’d say he’s Fooked all-right.’

‘I’m afraid you’re correct,’ Bess said. ‘And, has anybody seen or heard from Ryan Ralston?’

‘Alas poor Ralston, I knew him well,’ Kayla whispered.

‘Not for an age,’ MB sighed. ‘First word of all this Amerikan, ginger-snapping, dog-soldiering, company of wolfen-man howling in Atlanta, and off he goes to confront ‘em. Carrying a Pop-Tart. Had those strange friends of his tagging along. You know? The duck and the cat or whatever? His grandfather told him not to, but yeah.’ He paused and then said with a grimace: ‘Pop-Tart. Cat. Chinese. Gettin’ a little hungry myself.’

‘Say, do you guys think Fred’s hungry?’ Bess asked with sudden maternalistic concern. ‘He’s been up there for three days. Only has a few two-liters of Diet Lime Chip.’

‘Fred?!’ MB called.

‘Door’s closed! I ain’t coming down! Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!’ Fred shouted through the ceiling. 

The gang made their way beneath the attic door, sealed tight from above. ‘If you’re not hungry, then you got any news?’ Kayla ventured. ‘About them?’

‘Hang on!’ Fred echoed through the water-stained drywall. A humming noise emanated from his (poorly) jerry-rigged short-wave radio. ‘Coming in, now! Dr. Fauci’s speaking. He says the CDC in Atlanta has been overrun. Everyone’s dead or infected. Says the quote-unquote test they have is reliable, even if it’s never been tested and is not really a test. He’s predicting six trillion of us will be … converted or eaten unless more people start wearing plastic bags over their masks. Says the trouble is heading east rapidly.’

‘That’s our direction!’ Bess cried.

‘Do we have the silver bullet?’ Kayla asked alarmedly.

‘Yeah,’ MB answered, ‘got some Coors in the cooler.’

‘GSP had a sighting on Twenty, near Oxford, before their team vanished.’ Fred trailed off for a moment. ‘I’d say they must be on us by now. On you. You downstairs people are on your own!’ With that, he and his radio went silent. 

‘Oh, no, no, no, no, no!’ Bess wailed, again circling the floor. ‘Children in C-Town! Won’t someone think of the werewolves?!’

‘I think those last kids on the street were just eaten alive,’ Kayla said ruefully. ‘Just a hunch, but I know this year we don’t need facts. I mean, if Dr. Fauci said they’re real, then they’re real.’

‘The wolf and the kid…’ Bess mumbled Aesopically.

‘Screw the kids!’ MB barked again, barkingly. ‘Uh, sorry, Bess. I mean bless those rugrats and whatnot. But, they’re on their own. They knew about the wolves. Same warning we all had. Now, I’ve got one last sash and three boards.’

‘Oh! The worst year,’ Bess said through tears. ‘First the economic coverup … I mean the virus. Then, the police state … I mean lockdown for safety. Next, we had all of the White Supremacy peaceful protests over the not-police killing of Cannon Hinnant. Russia planted that laptop for the Proud Boys - with the videos of everything except Big Floyd. And now, werewolves are coming. WEREWOLVES ARE COMING!’

‘We know they’re real because the deep state government and the totally-independent media that have both lied to us about everything ever say so,’ Kayla remarked.

‘They won’t get TPC!’ MB said defiantly while hammering a cigarette and trying to light a nail.

At that very moment, the sum of all their fears burst into violent reality. From down the stairs, there came a rattling sound, followed by a creaking and hoarse moaning.

‘Did anyone lock the front door?’ someone asked in vain.

‘Something’s snarling downstairs!’ Bess screamed.

‘It sounds hungry and crazy and overly curmudgeonly for its age! Kayla shrieked.

‘Tell me when it’s over!’ MB called down from his perch on the chandelier.

Bess leveled the double-barrel towards the blackness of the stairwell. Kayla stood by with the flashlight. MB swung pensively. In breathless terror, they waited. Heavy feet clomped up the steps. A shady, shaggy shadow crept forward out of the deeper darkness. There came the distinctive sound of a wild beast snapping, menacingly, nationalistically. At the last possible second, Kayla hit the light.

‘Get that out of my eyes!’ A perpetually-perturbed, none-too-local, and all-too-dialectic voice shouted. ‘Bess, put that blunderbuss away!’

A figure stumbled into the room.

‘Perrin!’ Bess cried. ‘We thought you’d been eaten by a werewolf!’

‘We thought you were a werewolf!’ Kayla chimed.

‘Little help up here,’ MB whispered from above.

‘Cheap soda socialists!’ came a rumor from the attic.

‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU NUTS GOING ON ABOUT?!’ Perrin demanded, demandingly.

‘Hello!’ Kayla hello’d. ‘Werewolves taking over? It’s all that’s on the news!’

‘They ate Da and Ryan and all the children,’ Bess said as she absent-mindedly ejected two previously fired shells from an ancient hammerless Nerf blaster.

‘Yeah, man. It’s like the pandemic, but completely more plausible,’ MB added before tumbling to the floor in a heap. ‘Go Dawgs…’ he muttered from behind the poorly-placed armoire.

‘Werewolves?!’ Perrin bellowed in typical cynicism. ‘That’s just another hoax! Won’t you people learn that everything everyone says at all times is a lie? That’s the truth, you know.’

‘But, even you said, It’s a monster! Grab the guns!’ MB remembered at the most or least opportune time. ‘Dude, like you’re even carrying a rifle, right now.’

‘I was talking about the ELECTION FALLOUT!’ Perrin boomed before wheezing pathetically, forced to lean on his newly, uh, appropriated .458 SOCOM for support. ‘The election! Civil War! Mass casualties! For the love of--- For the last time - like fake, unisolated viral hoaxes, werewolves don’t exist!’

Whilst the office party evaded the eyes of the literary scion of Floyd, not one of them noticed the disheveled carcass of Da, who had, unseen, followed Perrin in, tromp to the top stair step, right behind Perrin, standing, glaring at the assembly with wicked yellow eyes, his wild hair matted like that of an unkempt wild wolf, his chest heaving, fangs protruding, growling, like a man who, bitten by some demented demon wilderness canine - as part of a sentence that just drags on and on and on and on … and you get the point, I think - had himself been turned into a hairy beast, more creature than man, intent on revenge and mayhem, poised to pounce, claws out, et cetera, et cetera, etc, and so forth; behind a semicolon, far, far, far beyond the help of a definitely terminable punctuation mark (of any kind), and now issued forth a GggggrrrrrrrRRRRR!!!! sound that indicated that he was most likely considering his former co-workers as a meal - notwithstanding Fred, who was still safe up in the attic (and, let’s face it: attic doors embedded in, let’s say a nine or ten-foot ceiling would be a little difficult for even a “War-Wilf!” to reach, because I’m going with the idea that Tolkien knew what he was talking about when he said something to the effect that not even the wild wargs could climb trees [although, even if a collapsing, spring-loaded attic door isn’t the same as a tree, we can all freely speculate] and therefore, moving on) and furthermore, okay, okay, OK, I’m losing my place now … they finally noticed that which they almost hated to think might really be Da!

Looking over his shoulder, Perrin got off the group’s final pointless words: ‘Da, what big ears you- gggahafffff!!!!!!!’

And, somewhere between the cold street and the high, full moon, a shuttering, bellowing HOWL pierced the night!

...

Away, over on 441, driving north, unaware of the unfolding calamity - perhaps shielded from it by some vague disturbance in the continuum, Thomas Becket wondered aloud: ‘How the hell did a nice French teacher like me get roped into this third-rate tripe? Ah, well, maybe there’s an old Warren Zevon song on. Or, at least a cheap ripoff…’

I saw a politician with a crumpled paper in its paw,

Staggering through the Esoteric South in pain.

It was looking for the place called T-P-C!

Gonna get its fill of something lame.

Raooooooooo… ah, yeah...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN This Holiday Canceled By Order of Dr. Fauci.

- Perrin Lovett 

Jerry Jeff Walker is Dead & I Ain't Feelin' Too Good Myself

 I had to work up early this morning, this 24th Day of October of 2020. 

You see, it's my Daughter's Birthday Week, & we'd planned a get-together/grill out & I had some outstanding items to do on the ole Honey Do list.

I was up before 6am 

(Happy Wife, Happy Life) 

It was Jeff Hullinger's post - the first one on my news feed when I checked it this AM - that broke the news to me, and I'm glad it was. The post that'd told me one of the heroes of this country had gone home to Glory - that Jerry Jeff Walker had passed on. 

Jeff Hullinger is a dang American - and most certainly a Georgian - Treasure. Growing up w/ him on the news is definitely a factor for me saying that, but, again, I 'm glad it was him... 

For the record, Homeslice gave props to Ron Kimble a while back when Ron passed away. He was familiar w/ Hemmingway's back in the day.  

The fella's tied in, folks. 

He's All Georgia! 

And if not for his post, I would've never known about the Glanville/Atlanta Falcons tie-in. I knew about the UGA Basketball & the UGA Alumni Association connection back in the day, but never knew anything about that. 

Folks, it's as if JJW was some kind of Forrest Gump-type character (minus the mental retardation & all). 

*** 

My Dad introduced me to Ronald Crosby, AKA, Jerry Jeff Walker when I was twelve. 

We'd taken a family trip to the Louisiana Cajun Country - & eventually - the Arkansas Ozarks. 

Who plans a trip like that? Yeah, my Dad...he's something. 

When we'd been on the road for a few hours my Dad pulled out a cassette tape & pushed it into the tape player of the '86 Ford Bronco we were riding in. 

"Boys, check this out. This is the fella we've been telling you about that we've seen live a few times..." 

As I found out a few years later, they'd seen him in Athens, GA a few times, as well as Vail, CO, & apparently a few points in between. 

||||||

Jerry Jeff 

It's almost like a secret society, the folks that have this thing for Ronald Crosby (Jerry Jeff Walker). Or, maybe a club of sorts.

You into JJW?

Yeah, cool! 

Seeing the man live was always a true treat. Both times I saw him he was wearing shorts, cowboy boots & and cowboy hat. 

Truly the true consummate performer, some would even say a modern day minstrel of sorts, he was something else. 

But I think this is the rub: 

Without this Jewish boy from upstate New York who wound his way down to Key West, New Orleans & eventually Austin, TX, we'd likely not have had Willie Nelson as the Outlaw Country Troubadour he eventually became (vs  some forgotten Nashville songwriter burnout), & certainly not Jimmy Buffett, as he will usually tell anyone who asks. The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band? Without Mr. Bojangles, they probably don't become what they became. 

It's as if all roads led to Jerry Jeff Walker... 

### 

To pick a favorite song of mine would be a fool's errand, though I can definitely give a Top 10 (in no particular order; and this list includes original compositions as well as those genius covers he had a knack for). 

1. Don't It Want To Make You Dance 
2. Gettin' By 
3. Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother 
4. Old Five & Dimers Like Me 
5. Railroad Lady 
6. Mississippi, You're On My Mind 
7. Hill Country Rain 
8. Contrary to Ordinary 
9. It's a Good Night for Singing 
10. Pissin' in the Wind 

The beautiful thing is this - any other true Walker Enthusiast will give you that same list & it might have 3 or 4 of the same songs, the rest will be different. 

And so it goes... 

Rest in Peace & Ride High, Jerry Jeff Walker. You've earned your eternal rest. See you on the other side, my friend. 

- MB McCart 

Ellis Millsaps: I Remember, Mama

 I remember the hula hoop. I mean I remember when the hula hoop became a craze in 1958. I was in the first grade. Hula hoop contests were a big thing, something like the dance marathons of the 1930s. I never entered one because I have never been able to keep the thing going. Only recently did it occur to me that the hoop had anything to do with the hula, because when I first heard of the toy I had not heard of the dance.

 I remember Sputnik. I remember standing in the backyard with my brother-in-law Jack Bryson and my nephew David when he pointed out the star slowly moving across the clear night sky-- we had them in the 1950s-- and told us what it was. I was five years old.

 I remember Pittsburgh Pirate Bill Mazeroski’s home run in the bottom of the ninth to beat the Yankees in the 1960 World Series, still the only World Series 7th game walk-off homer, though the term hadn't been coined then. Games were played in the daytime then. Holly Springs Elementary School principal Mr. Settles let all eight grades out of class early to watch the game in the lunchroom. I was in the third grade. That happened sixty years ago tomorrow as I write, October 13, 1960.

 I remember when I could safely eat in a restaurant and nice young people would bring me food and drink at my request. Man, that was awesome.

I remember Cool Swap which for those of you who don't know was an outstanding Newton County rock band formed around guitarist Marshall McCart in I think 2005. They practiced at my house for years. I contributed a little to songwriting and production. They had a successful reunion show at Five O’clock last year but got no further because…

 I remember live music. We don't have it anymore in the Covid era which doesn't appear to me to be ending anytime soon. I said in an earlier piece that the things that have kept Americans constant during times of crisis are baseball and popular music. We've come through pretty well on baseball but we can't hear live music.

 Here's how I think we could do it. Shows will have to be outdoors, say at the fairgrounds or the Porterdale River Park. The audience needs to be roped off at a safe distance from the performers. Attendees should wear masks and be admitted in a small enough number to permit social distancing.

 Practices can't safely happen in the basement anymore. They also need to be held outdoors or in rooms large enough and ventilated enough to safely separate the musicians. Larger churches would be ideal. ( Baptists for Rock?) The Porterdale gym would be perfect.

- Ellis Millsaps

Perrin Lovett: By Process of Elimination

 No, this has nothing to do with last Saturday’s Georgia-Alabama game. I gave my advice in that regard, last fall; though perhaps I should have added the word “taller” in the description under point two. It matters little as it appears that my points were not heeded. No, this column is titled as it is because I wrestled with too many subjects, settling on none. In my defense, I’ve been a little busy with some other things lately and the prospects for this particular work were slightly speculative, even depressing. So! I decided to go with something safe and sound: education.

Rather, this is about IQ, which in turn, is extremely determinative of educational achievement. 

Well, shit, this is really a review of a book review, but bear with me.

Coming on October 29, 2020: In the Know: Debunking 35 Myths about Human Intelligence by Dr. Russell T. Warne. 

Read, if you will, James Thompson’s review preview at Unz. 

Warne is, like my old man was, an educational psychologist. His new book focuses on dispelling popular (and popularly deceptive) myths about psychometrics. That field was my father’s focus from around 1971 until 1989, with most of his major work published during the Seventies, before, I imagine, Warne was born. Some of Dad’s papers are still cited, with The Effect of Violating the Assumption of Equal Item Means in Estimating the Livingston Coefficient (1978) referenced this year (ThaiJo, Thailand, January 2020). Here’s hoping that In the Know enjoys similar longevity along with deeper penetration into the psycho-industrial complex and the surrounding culture. God knows we need it. 

As Dutton and Woodley demonstrated in At Our Wits’ End (2018), general intelligence in Western nations is collapsing. IQ being one of the three primary components of a stable, even recognizable society, this is just a wee bit important. Yet, in defiance of measured statistical reality, the usual suspects continue to parrot nonsense such as “g doesn’t exist,” or “it’s environmental, socio-economic,” or “IQ is a social construct.” Enough. It would be more accurate to say that society is an IQ construct. 

Warne’s attempt to correct the falsehoods is admirable. However, and I’m sure he’s aware, those misstatements are largely intentional. In fact, they are part and parcel with the overall scheme to destroy Western Civilization via mass deception, mass coercion, and mass demographic upheaval. One such lie is well addressed by a quick summary in Thompson’s article:

[Myth] 4 Intelligence Is a Western Concept that Does Not Apply to Non-Western Cultures

…

If intelligence really varies in character between different cultures, then it should be very difficult to extract the “Western” general factor, yet in 31 countries, and using a wide variety of tests, 94 of the 97 (96.9%) samples produced g either immediately or after a second factor analysis. Moreover, the g factor is about as strong in the non-Western samples as it is in typical Western samples. Most countries find “Western” intelligence tests very useful, once they have been translated and some language and specific knowledge items altered or removed. To cap it all, dogs, rats, mice, donkey and primates show g factors. It looks like an evolutionary adaptation.

This cultural apologist claptrap is akin to saying that gravity doesn’t apply in Africa because of Newton. As Warne correctly notes, IQ testing and the understanding of the testing process and the precision of the test results rank as the most mathematically-certain facet of psychology and, in fact, all of the social sciences. But, again, at the higher, motivated levels, the truth doesn’t matter. They know, they’re just pushing the devil’s agenda anyway.

They’re throwing out the tests - just like I did. When your father studied IQ statistics for a living and regularly reviewed, normed, or re-normed IQ tests, who do you think was usually the first test subject? This also goes for your father’s faculty colleagues and graduate students. Yeah. Having completed MORE THAN A FEW Wechsler and Stanford-Binet batteries, I know something about them. Having lived decades among the various-leveled denizens of the bell curve, I can attest to the inherent accuracy in the assessments; in the wild, I can sense it and almost see it. 

I had a small collection of various versions of the tests. I had them. During the … great restructuring, they became casualties like so many tools, books, furniture articles, and other weighty items. I feel poorly about it all, but I have an excuse. The globo educrats and warped SJWs, as part of the complete destruction of systemic education in the fading US, threw out (or, are throwing out) the testing process, without excuse or good cause. They know what they’re doing and I know why. We all do. If you’re out to wreck something like a university, but your useful hordes cannot on their own gain admission, then the first step is to replace reliable metrics with those more touchy and feely. Cue Carlin: “Pretty soon all you’ll need to get into college is a pencil.” That’s a battle for another book, or rather, that’s a battle for unschooling, homeschooling, and general autodidacticism.

At any rate, consider buying this book next week and reading it. Then, you can use the presented rebuttals, casually, with those who innocently share the misunderstandings. Every little helps. The ultimate fallback of the defenders of ignorance is always baseless name-calling. Be ready for that - rhetoric with rhetoric, when or where necessary.

And, the necessary when and where for next week, especially for the TPC crowd, will be some fall holiday-themed fiction! Just so you’re in the know: it’ll be spooky fun.

- Perrin Lovett

Editor of Freedom Prepper

CFF Feature Writer, The Piedmont Chronicles

[TPC REAL Politick] - T-Minus 15 Days: What's the Buzz; What's Happening?

By: MB McCart, Ed. 

Ciao, TPCers! 

So...gettin' down to the crunch time. What's the word on the Street? 

In re Sheriff

The county had a "viral" political moment last week w/ the whole Ezell Breaking State Law thing. The next day - & for the first time in years & years - the home city saw two NCSO Deputy cars - two of the new sleek, all-black-ones - patrolling the surface streets of C-town liked they owned it. Up & down Floyd St., w/ a least one pullover; hitting Emory, Pace, Usher & Conyers & all points in between. Some wondered if a message was being attempted to be sent. 

What message might that've been? Who knows? 

Interesting, though... 

To me, it's another sign of desperation. 

Looking more & more like Ken's gonna take this sucker! 

D.A. 

Folks, I'm proud to report that I'll be doing either an an in-person or phone interview w/ Destiny Bryant at some point in the next several days. 

So stay tuned for that. 

Odds & Ends 

- Maybe Dana Darby not going gentle into that good night after all? More & more it's looking as if both candidates in this race have baggage that they're carrying. This seems to be turning into a tight race. 

- Nothing new w/ any of the other races, as far as I can tell... 

Next week look for some limited commentary on state & federal. 

Okay for now, friends, 'til next time! 

- MB McCart 

Perrin Lovett | November 13th: Tragedy to Triumph - The Return of Tweetsie Railroad!!!

 Several times, over the years, I’ve written fondly of the magic and majesty that is Tweetsie Railroad. Somewhere, I even lamented my old pocket knife, lost forever due to centripetal jollification at my favorite little park. Ce la vie. Many years too late, this summer, I finally had the brilliant idea to contact the management about the little folding dirk. The gracious and lovely Meghan replied with the predictable and the obvious news along with heartfelt condolences. Not one to miss spinning a tall tale, I wrote what’s been called a “fun and refreshing” SHORT STORY that explains in most-plausible detail what happened to the blade.

However, there was something in an email from Tweetsie, about “those of us who are still here,” that got me thinking - always a dangerous proposition. Then I remembered! This is 2020, the chief year of insanity. As one might suspect, the park is closed!

And, I mean they’ve been closed most of the year. Yes, THAT issue, and a very heavy-handed government, intruded into the blissful reality and merrymaking like nothing else since the park opened in 1957. In mid-July, thinking the corona was clear, they braved a late opening, only to be shuttered again (by the State) a week later. 

No Thomas! No Ghost Train! No quiet pondering of how such small mice could have possibly run off such a large giant! No Hopper! No Porter! No Cowboys, Indians, Can-cans, deer park romps, thrills, or anything else!

Just when things were looking terminal, an announcement arrived: 

October 12, 2020

Tweetsie Railroad will be open every Friday, Saturday, and select weekday evenings from November 13 - December 31 for Tweetsie Christmas. Tickets are $44 for an Adult, $38 for a Child (age 3-12) and Free for Children age 2 and under. They will go on sale, Tuesday, October 13th.

Don’t wait! Call 877-894-3874, right this minute, or visit the website.

Tweetsie Christmas! Yes, in this most unusual year, the opening weekend also happens to be Masters Tournament Weekend. We’ll take what we can get, right? I’ve never been to Christmas at Tweetsie, but I can only imagine it’s like the following, but with snow:

Picture © by Perrin Lovett.

Hang on … it’s like this (maybe with snow):

Picture ©, courtesy of Tweetsie Press Room.

This is possibly the best news I’ve ever reported. So, mark your calendars! There’s no better escape from economic chaos, pandemics, riots, hoaxes, election fallout, and general mayhem like the North Carolina mountains. If you’ve never been, it’s the treat of a lifetime. If you’re an old hand, then it’s exactly like you remember it. Go make a memory. Salvage 2020 at Tweetsie.

- Perrin Lovett

Your Man on the Scene, MB: Roofing Business On Fire in C-Town; Traffic Confusion; Rob Fowler All In For Ezell

Greetings & Salutations, it's just your ole pal MB here. Hope everything's going everyone's way out there! 

So, we had that weather event/microburst/hail storm some time back right in the heart of the home city & as you may have noticed it looks as if just about every roof between Floyd & Conyers streets, in between Dearing & Church streets, has gotten replaced. I've also seen some outliers a bit further out pretty much in all directions. 

Now, certainly, that hail was pretty dang rough, and I know there was a lot of damage out there. I also know that anytime this happens a certain phenomenon occurs: 

The roofing companies start pounding the payment hard & the insurance companies are right there w/ 'em & only happy to help facilitate things in an efficient manner. While, sure, they'll be paying out a lot of claims, they also know that they'll make it up on the back end w/ the increased premiums.

The house always wins, people.

And remember -- TANSTAAFL: There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.

Somebody always pays... 

### 

Musical 4-Way Stops 

So first of last week the city did something that a fair number of folks in the home city have been calling for for years & this is they finally put a 4-Way Stop at the intersection of East St & Floyd St. 

All is well, right? 

In fact, Thursday morning, the city does an official Facebook post about it; however, less than 5 hours later & all of the sudden the stop sign is gone as well as the city's post.

I'm hearing a few different things about what really transpired, but here's the rub -- the city decided they would rather spend $100K of your money in order to do a "traffic study." Well, no doubt, this new edition of the city council has been all about spending taxpayer money on all manner of things (including for-profit skating rinks) here in 2020, though they were supposed to be a conservative group according the 2019 wE tOoK bAcK OuR cItY! election crew (you know who you are). 

For what it's worth, we do need that 4-way there to act as a traffic circuit of sorts coming into the square. Also, replace the lights at Usher & Pace as well as Elm & Floyd w/ 4-ways & all of our dreams will come true... 

***** 

As many may've already known, the infamous Rob Fowler is supporting Democrat Ezell Brown for Sheriff this fall; however, at least a few of these folks were not expecting a half-page ad touting this endorsement in this past weekend's Covington News (just in time for the first day of early voting). 

As some have wondered for years, I wonder if Ezell gets a break on advertising (or even free ads) by virtue of him being one of the 3 county constitutional officers that vote every year on legal organ status (the official "paper of record" as per state law, to publish all of the public notices [worth a lot of money] which, by the way, the Covington News is). 

So, apparently we can add Fowler to the Minister's Union/JC Henderson Machine/Wm "Tommy" Craig/Smiths political coalition. 

Interesting times, my friends, very interesting times. You know we'll be keeping an eye on it. 

- MB McCart 

Ellis Millsaps: Postseason

 This piece was called “Home Stretch” when I started it  with two games left in the season. I was finishing up Sunday morning before the last game when I somehow deleted the whole thing. That bummed me out so much it's taken me until today to redo it.

 I'm coming back to it again-- writing about baseball-- because it lets me think about things other than the virus, which is deadly, or our politics, which are dark and dire. Those things are uncertain and foreboding, but baseball is played in almost exactly the same manner that it was when Honus Wagner and Ty Cobb squared off-- if they ever did.

Now that the first round is over something odd about the way the seeding was set up that I thought could happen has in fact occurred. The Dodgers have by far the best regular season record and home field advantage through the World Series should they get there, but the Braves have an easier track to the NL championship. The Braves will start the next series against a team with a  .517 winning percentage, the Marlins, while the Dodgers will have to play the fourth seed, San Diego, which finished the season with the second best winning percentage .617.

 Assuming the Players Association agrees, the commissioner wants fans at the league championships and World Series--he says comparable to what NFL teams-- the ones that allow fans in attendance-- allow.  That could be from 10% of stadium capacity to 25%. Can you imagine what those tickets would sell for? There would be no working class in attendance. Who 

knows how or whether the president's illness will figure in that decision.

I said last time that how far the Braves could last in the playoffs depended on whether Cole Hamels, whom we paid 18 million for one seasons’ work, came off the injured list and proved to be a reliable starter. Well he tried and couldn't make it through the third inning. It wasn't his fault he wasn't able. It wasn't Liberty Media's. Shit happens, but if he has any decency about him he will sign with the Braves next year for one year at the major league minimum salary, which last I heard was a half million dollars a year. He owes us. Like 18 million he owes us. 

But having said that, something unforeseen and almost, for a Braves fan, magical has occurred. The Braves traded away loads of baseball talent a few years back for young pitching prospects. We paraded them out there and, except for Soroka and Fried, they got shelled and went back to Triple-A, but now they're clicking on all cylinders. Fried's a young Sandy Koufax-- Jewish, left-handed with high heat velocity and pinpoint command of four pitches. Ian Anderson is throwing blanks. and amazingly Kyle Wright, who has been thrown out there unsuccessfully so many times’ is pitching like Cy Maddux, Glavine and Smoltz. At the second round of this postseason, this is perhaps the best Braves team we've seen. 

 One more afterthought about the pandemic rule changes messing with baseball history. What if a player has a 54 game hitting streak coming down the home stretch and he has to play a 7-inning double-header? Same issue if you're 0 for 3 three going into the 10th inning and run into the man on second rule. DiMaggio's streak would have ended at 15 under those rules. I haven't researched Wee Willie Keeler. 

- Ellis Millsaps