There are surprises in sports, there are upsets and shocking upsets. And then there is Vanderbilt beating Alabama Saturday 40-35. Is there a descriptor for that? Bama was fresh off its win over powerhouse Georgia and ranked #1. They owned Vandy. They had beaten them 23 consecutive times, more than any Alabama victim. They were 22.5-point favorites. Vandy had never beaten a top-five team. Ever. Sh*t, are they even a real team? — they’re called the Commodores. What the hell is that? A bar-mitzvah band? And Bama of course is the Crimson Tide, a red tsunami. But when it was all over, the scoreboard read Vandy 40, Alabama 35. QB Pavia summed things up in his on-field interview after the game:
That interview was conducted by Alyssa Lang and it wasn’t easy for her to get a hold of him. The NYT said Lang was the only one who stopped him all day.
Later, of course, in front of the press, Pavia was much calmer and gave a lot of the credit to God for the win. These players who credit God — assuming arguendo that God exists — do they really think God favored them over their opponent? Does it take deep reflection to realize how absurd that is? Back in 2010, Buffalo Bills wide receiver Stevie Johnson blamed God for his (Johnson’s) dropping a game-winning touchdown pass. (“I praise you 24/7, and this how you do me!!”) I’m sorry to go off on this God tangent and distract from Vandy’s historic win — but you started it Pavia.
Crack Owl Chatter photographer Phil was at the game, but only got this one shot for us before passing out. Thanks, Philly! Good work.
Just a short note now to let you know that my old ass is wonderful.
Wait, what?
Oh, no — let me restate that: The movie “My Old Ass” with Aubrey Plaza and no one else I heard of is wonderful. Even though it takes place on a cranberry farm in Canada, it never gets bogged down. (Hi Carl!)
The male lead, Percy Hynes White, has an electric charm. It’s the first role for Maisy Stella, the young actress who plays the lead character with the sexy name of Elliott, and she’s good too. Let’s have a look at them, below. Then, when you all go to see it, 92% of you will like it, according to Rotten Tomatoes. It’s about what it means to be young. In case you forgot.
This “Tiny Love Story” is from yesterday’s NYT. It’s by Phyllis Sheerin Ross.
Earl and I were introduced in January 1961. As we sat in a darkened movie theater in April watching a rescreening of “An American in Paris,” he leaned forward and whispered, “I think I love you.” I replied, “Please let me know when you do.” He did, and we married in October. Over the next 46 happy years until Earl passed, he would occasionally lean forward and whisper, “I think I love you.” And yes, I would then lean forward and whisper, “Please let me know when you do.”
A local TV station in Texas (WFAA) keeps “a running list” of pastors in their heavily-churched area who have been involved in scandals, mostly sex scandals, we are happy to note. There are 17 so far this year, including five that include criminal charges. It’s enough to earn a front-page story in the Times. “It’s like the unbuckling of the Bible Belt,” said one church founder. [OC note: Wish I had come up with that.]
We all have our favorites, of course, and mine is Robert Morris, the founder of the Gateway Church, one of the largest in the area. Morris was also a “faith advisor” in the Trump administration. This man of God engaged in the sexual abuse of a girl dozens and dozens of times over a four-year period. I know what you’re thinking — a pastor sexually abusing a child — why is that even news anymore? It would be more newsworthy to find one who hasn’t. [Have I shared this joke? A cop stops a car with two priests in it. “We’re looking for a child molester,” the cop says. One of the priest answers: “We can do it.”]
In the case of Robert Morris, it was his defense that caught my eye. Let’s have a look. First, here’s Cindy Clemishire. It was she who was abused by Morris when she was 12 and finally went public.
Morris was 21 when it started, married with a child. He traveled the country spreading the word of Jesus. As NBC News put it, “Clemishire was 12, dressed in flowery pink pajamas, and still liked to play with Barbie dolls. It was Christmas, 1982, and Morris was staying with the Clemishires. He told Cindy to come see him in his room before bed, and she was the type of girl who listened to instructions from trusted adults. He molested her repeatedly.”
It took a while, but 25 years later, Clemishire hired an attorney and advised Morris she was suing him for the abuse. Now comes my favorite part. Morris retained a sharp lawyer. Well, let me rephrase that — he retained a lawyer named Sharpe.
“It was your client,” wrote Sharpe, referring to Clemishire at age 12, “who initiated inappropriate behavior by coming into my client’s bedroom and getting in bed with him.”
Aha! The “She started it!” defense!
It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode in which Kramer got into a fight with a monkey at the zoo. (They were throwing things at each other through the bars.) When he was called into the zookeeper’s office and upbraided for his actions, Kramer said, “Well, he started it!”
Sharpe denied knowing Clemishire was only 12, but when offered to see the correspondence that clearly stated the fact he said he did not have time to read it. Fair enough. Busy is busy.
Clemishire said the abuse lasted for years and involved over 100 incidents far more intimate and abusive than the “kissing and petting” Morris admitted. Morris also said the number was only a “fraction” of the number of times she claimed. He did not make it clear what size fraction should be considered okay.
Clemishire’s father found out about the abuse in 1987 and called the senior pastor in a rage demanding Morris be removed from the Church.
This part’s good too.
Clemishire remembers getting a call from Morris’ wife, Debbie, a few days later. Debbie told her, “I forgive you.”
“I’ll never forget that,” Clemishire said. “They wanted me to believe that I — me, the child — was responsible for what happened. And they’ve never stopped trying to make me believe that.”
I like to think there’s a special place in Hell for these schmucks, but I doubt there’s enough room down there for them all.
Yuck. Those stories make me feel like I need a shower. Either a shower OR! a visit to the Dull Men’s Club (UK).
Member Andy Spragg shared the following: This morning I made three slices of toast for my breakfast, from a loaf type we don’t usually buy (Jasons Sourdough 400gm; it was a reduced bargain at Tesco Express). Imagine my dull delight when I realised how nicely they conformed to the outline of the fish plate when suitably arranged.
Mike Woodward-Gregg asked: How did you manage to corale the upper left dollop of chilli crisp into the shape of a cockerel?
I know what he meant to ask — that upper left dollop of jelly (or whatever) looks like a cockerel. But what does “corale” mean? I inquired but have yet to receive a response.
Elaine Dixon noted it was her favorite bread. And Clarissa Vincent had this story for us: I buy two Jason’s at once because I get through a loaf quickly. Yesterday the huge Tesco was heaving and in the busyness the teller only charged me £2. I thought it was BOGOF but on my receipt only one had been charged.
I like to participate when I can, so I chimed in with: “I live for when things like that happen.”
Then things got a bit ugly. Karen Bearns-Donnelly asked: Why can’t you spread to the edges?
Spragg replied: it’s crunchy peanut butter; it’s not infinitely spreadable. Why is it a big deal?
Karen: I didn’t say it was a big deal. Just don’t see the point of having naked toast.
Spragg: you didn’t say it was a big deal, but you did say “can’t” rather than “don’t,” like it was some fundamental disability on my part rather than just a conscious choice.
Karen: Jaysus
Spragg: Why can’t you spell Jesus properly?
Karen: if I’d meant Jesus that’s what I’d have put.
[It seems to have ended there. Could you plotz?]
See you tomorrow Chatterheads!
The Wellington Files 