In one of those odd coincidences that happen on occasion, not unlike the time I bumped in to Mark Smith at a rugby game in Hong Kong, I came across a guy from Pocatello at a bar in Cleveland Friday night. I was out for FNM and our bartender turned out to be a Pocatello lad. We eventually found some common friends and one of those was none other than Katie Carlson. One thing led to another and I find it is today Katie’s 30th birthday.
This picture was taken at a bar somewhere between Pocatello and Spokane–where we had stopped the team bus for drinks. I don’t remember why Lowell thought it made sense to take along a manikin dressed in a PVRFC jersey. But he did. I remember Abel could not make that trip and Lowell thought the manikin resembled Abel. So perhaps that was his way of bringing Abel along.
We won that tournament, on a cold and muddy Sunday morning. Another story.
In my book, I recalled the day Katie was born as I remembered it.
Katie was born on a cold day in early spring, which also happened to be the day of our first full contact scrimmage on the practice pitch down the street from the hospital. The pitch was muddy as the snow had just melted and there was a light rain coming down. I wound up on the wrong side of our divided team and had to tackle Dwight all afternoon, which is never fun, and then try to avoid the punishing tackles of Smasher and Underwood when my side was on offense. We always beat the hell out of each other in the early scrimmages—I guess we were bored and full of energy after the long winter. After the scrimmage we were all covered in mud and blood, but we went directly to the hospital and walked in the front door like we belonged there. Over the protests of the nurses and doctors, and leaving a trail of mud behind us, we walked into Maria’s room to give her a hug and make sure she was okay. It was a major outrage at the hospital, but in the end they let us visit for a few minutes before shooing us off. I remember that moment and Katie must be 15 or so now.