Mood:
suaveTopic: "College of the Shire"(6)
Homecoming 'Tis, and Frodo is nowhere in sight. Given all that has happened in recent months, many assumed that the Hobbit would find his way, even in an odd-numbered year, to partake of the home brew and taste the wine. Neither he nor Sam has an appetite for another trek in a motorcar and the prospect of plastic plants and decaf available in the lobby at all hours of day or night. Some things, it seems, will always negate the human moments of joy and/or despair.
The "Bulb," bald before his time, and a Chemistry Professor for many years, would be there, coaxing the Hobbit to cruise with him to Antarctica, to see a continent incontinent. Frances, one with whom the Hobbit always assumed he would someday sleep, yet fighting pancreatic and liver conclusions will be there, perhaps in body for the last time. The "Root" who seems to lose an appendage, or two, between those moments explained away to the Hobbit by one borne to teach. Patsy, Sam's closest friend, whose life revolves around an annual gathering, and sharing Frodo's love of one. Moments lost, with these, and so many other warriors, decorated for bravery in battles long-lost, or forgotten. Frodo will regret his unwillingness to cross the mountains, ford the streams, and to run the ridges.
The College of the Shire will kick the shit out of her opponent. Frodo is sure, but he will have to go to the magic of the Internet for assurance therein, since Division III sports do not count. It is said that the College of the Shire has 10,000 alumni all around the small blue planet, but the University of Tennessee has twice that number in Atlanta, alone.
Yeah, but none of them can read.
Gladiators, it seems, now get paid, but in Division III you get an extra half-pint of milk, and memories, of the best kind.
