I love having a day off in the middle of the week. It means that I have to work the upcoming weekend, but the tradeoff isn’t too bad. First off, everywhere that I go it’s just me. The stores and restaurants are empty, and I pretty much get my run of wherever I go…unless it’s the doctor’s office. I went to my yearly eye appointment and at the tender age of forty-six (actually forty-six and three quarters). I still do not require glasses, not even reading glasses. Doctor “Troy” actually told me that “it’d be a crime against humanity to cover a face like yours Rich” which is a great thing to hear about yourself but I felt real bad for the folks who heard that in the waiting room where we were standing. One man, close to my age, broke out into tears and ran to his car in the parking lot. Several administrative assistants were trying to talk him into returning to the clinic as I left. Yep…tough to believe; I think it’s all of the potato chips that I eat.
On another note…I have my third officiating class tonight. For those readers who are new to RICH RIPLEY INDUSTRIES I’ve decided to become a basketball official this fall. It involves around sixteen meetings, around 30-40 hours of training and learning the rules, rationale and case plays (no kidding…it’s real training) to get me and the other new officials ready to officiate. Per the instructions of one experienced official (who’s officiated high school and college games) I bought one short sleeved compression shirt to wear under my official’s shirt to stay warm. A compression shirt is like an Under Armor shirt. In two words it’s “form fitting”…like 90% polyester and 10% spandex form fitting. I tried mine on, looked in a full length mirror and found out that I looked like a bratwurst with nipples. Very. Form. Fitting. (actually I looked like a bratwurst with love handles, belly button and nipples). Those kinds of shirts probably aren’t for guys my age to wear so I’ll keep it under my black and white striped ref’s shirt for the future. However…I could tell that I’ve benefited from my last two months at the gym with my upper body showing some signs of life and have outpaced the girth that my midsection was threatening to rezone from “stomach” to “beer gut”.
I have to get back to reading the rule book, again. They’ve said that knowing the rules will save my ass more times than not with an angry coach and I doubt that they’d be distracted with my “hey coach…ever seen a bratwurst with nipples?” joke.