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A turkey deal, a ship in distress
9 October 2008

This is Officer Lee Groinman.

Washington’s Most Disgusted Cop, Part 5.

As of this time, it’s halftime of the Arizona game. I’m here alone, in my basement bunker. Even my Alaskan Malamutes, Eli and Elsie have abandoned camp. My mind won’t recall the score. I think it’s 31-7. I know we have the seven. That mind of mine, in what I think is an effort of self-preservation is recalling some happier times in the life of Groinman.

It was back in the day, back when I was in High School. You see we had an award, this award was awarded weekly by the team Captain.

I was that Captain, two years running. We used to play Grand Funk Railroad’s “I’m your Captain.” Before we made the award presentation...Actually the song was titled “Closer to Home,” but it was back in the Vietnam era, so nobody knew the difference. And we aren’t any closer to home than we were four years ago, but I am feelin’ a bit more like I do now than I did before...So I would start the song.

“I’m your Captain, I’m your Captain, though I’m feelin’ mighty sick.”

We then would adlib the rest of the lyrics, but we’re not gonna talk about any of those lyrics anytime soon...

The award?

“Turkey of the Week.”

It was a Dawg-awful plastic skinny chicken lookin’ thing. The last thing you wanted was for Captain Groinman to present you with this award, as it was presented to the one individual who I regarded as having the most piss-poor performance of the previous week. This ‘award’ would then hang from your locker for the next week, or until the next game. If your performance was again judged by Groinman to be of “Turkey of the Week” quality, you were then entitled to keep that award on your locker for the next week as well....

The advantage for winning the “Turkey Award” was that you were allowed to add something to the turkey. By mid-season this turkey looked like some cross-dresser uni-sex, or tri-sex freak. It was tattooed, pierced, wore a jock, a bra, panty hose, pumps, big hair, anything goes and did. It had boy parts, girl parts, alien parts...

Turkey was really becoming quite a piece of art. In fact Turkey actually made it to the Art class for a class portrait of himself, I still think this was one of Emmert’s class pranks. I think I already told ya’ that I went to High School with President Mark, still he won’t answer my emails, just my sisters. Emmert must be a ladies man. Well The Art instructor was quite impressed with Turkey, he was some kinda’ nut-job who felt that “We were amazingly in-touch with our inner selves, quite impressive for a bunch of rural boys...”

He meant farm boys...

But how I do digress...

So anyway, the big disadvantage to winning the “Turkey of the Week” award, was not only being the turkey, but...

You see, Turkey needed to be showered daily, by you and with you and your naked ass while the rest of team of the team watched and chanted.


There were many winners of the Turkey award. Nobody ever took the title two weeks in a row. You see as hideous as Turkey was, Turkey was one helluva motivator. If I felt the need, you, as winner of the weekly award maybe told to wear Turkey around your neck and wear Turkey to class. This trainin’ technique works well with dogs who kill chickens, seems it works for players too. I wonder if it might work for Washington’s ‘student-athletes who participate in sports.’ Well the guys would laugh, and the girls would giggle and treat you like a zit. You had no date when Turkey was your mate...

It was the biggest week of our careers. I wanted the win so bad I decided that we could no longer afford any more Turkeys. I awarded that turkey to myself on Thursday, after our last practice, with teammates watching, I marched that naked turkey into the shower....

And retired that hideous son’s-a-bitch!!

Come Friday, we kicked some serious ass, never trailed

Turkey was on the sidelines. The cheerleaders had rescued him, and had dressed Turkey in a Toga, the kind of a Toga that had the built-in rear trap door feature made famous by the Dennis the Menace cartoons. Turkey also now had lipstick, kinda’ like a Pit Bull. Turkey was the feature of the half-time performance by the marching band. Turkey was placed on a pedestal on the fifty-yard line. The band had also placed a torch on Turkey giving Turkey a Statue of Liberty look. Turkey was now gaining cult like status.

At the end of the half-time show, while Jimi Hendrix’s “Star Spangled Banner” was blarin’ over the loud speakers, Turkey, still on the fifty, had his trap door dropped, and his backside exposed. His backside was pointed to the visitors side of the field, Turkey then showed perfect musical timing with Jimi as Roman Candles shot out of his, ah well, his rear trap door, but hey, like I said, It was back in the Vietnam Era...

Emmert wasn’t seen after that game on Friday night, he missed school on Monday, had a note from mom saying he was sick. Conspiracy theories ruled the day...

When the season was over, as all teams do, we had our Awards Banquet. I’ll never forget Coach announcing our “Inspirational” Award winner. We’re all up there on the stage, huge crowd, all of our parents, girlfriends, cheerleaders, friends, even some press. Coach adjusts the microphone and eyes the crowd, clears his throat and announces, “This year’s ‘Most Inspirational’ award winner goes to....”

“Mr. TURKEY!” And there he was, placed on wheels and rolled out onto the stage, torch, toga, spare parts and all. Some sort of Mark Emmert prank I do believe, this time, minus the fireworks, after all, we were indoors and this was a formal affair for crapes sake. Time to show some class...However, not to be out done by his game day experience, Turkey came out with his Toga on backwards, trap door missing, waving the ‘Peace’ sign and wearing a Nixon mask, But hey, nobody’s perfect...

Like I said, it was during the Vietnam era...

Watching the Arizona game right now, we just got ripped up the gut again. It is now 48-7. Not enough Turkeys to go around.

I’ve grown a few more gray hairs this season. I worked today, and got off at 3:30. I had some time to run by Fred Meyer’s, so I picked up some munchies, some polish dogs and buns, and yes a six-pack just in case... I’m ready to pay for my stuff and damn if I don’t have this drop-dead, absolutely beautiful beauty of a checker gal, damn if she doesn’t look like Sarah Palin! Maybe she was on Saturday Night Live! Well I do believe that my pulse just kicked it up a notch. She’s smiling at me!  Well, I figure she’s gonna ask me for some ID for the beer. I once was a checker and this is an age-old trick to get the name, address and perhaps even the phone number of a person of interest. She probably thinks I’m HOT!

 “You need some help out with this sir?”

“Say what? Help out with this?”

Turkey checker chick!!

Must have been some kind of omen or something. But I don’t go for any of that premonition, omen type of crap, I’ll take my beatings straight up and one at a time, thank you very much...

Omen my eye. This team, can’t buy a play, can’t make a break, nobody steps up, they only step down. Dropped passes, poor kicks, poor decisons. Then you add in the timing of the screw-ups resulting in the lousy field position. In our first two drives Husky players made more brain-dead decisions and blown plays than most teams make in an entire game. We get injured at will. A Head Turkey and his flock! But your eyes are as good as mine...

Now I understand that this is Seattle, and we have to do that PC thang, ya’ know where we have to protect the children at all costs, can’t place any blame on the kida, can’t have the children to be held accountable, we just need to fix the blame on one guy, it’s easier for the Seattle mind that way. Oh wait, Gottlieb just scored from Fouch!


We’re comin’ back!!

And this week is a bye!!

Sonny and Cher once sang, “And The Beat Goes On.”

And the beatings go on...

Thanksgiving is coming and turkeys are nervous...

Time for Turkey to get the AXE!!

Kelley Stofferd, from VS TV just let us know that “Ty has not forgotten how to coach.” Thanks Kelley, maybe it’s just that this team has never learned how to win.

Maybe when turkeys learn to fly, and monkeys play the harmonica...

We are like a rudderless ship at sea, no direction, no real clue, no chart or course. Could the Captain be feelin’ mighty sick?

Keep your faith Dawgs! As one smart feller once said.

“This too, shall soon pass... 

Enjoy your bye, Dawgs. Treat it like a ‘mental health’ thang...

Hey Furball. Hang in there bud. Better times are comin’ soon!!



 Lee Groinman can be reached at malamute@4malamute.com

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