RIDERFAN'S ARTIE RIFFS ON DILKE LORE WITHOUT THE GORE

Depending on the outcome of the pending CFLPA strike mandate; the Society will soon weigh in.

A quick plea to fans. 

Now's the time, to consider the broad context of the CFL as a Canadian institution and

the current exploitation-- of the majority of it's players-- by selling silly, grossly under paid, soggy, french fry dreams. And please fans, exercise both independent thought and the capacity for critical analysis.... particularily in view of the player's position. 

This dispute is unique to any other Canadian labour situation.

Coincidence that both CFL Commissionaire Cohon AND Ronald McDonald speak with FORKED TONGUES?

Nuff said on that, for now.

Both Betty and Carl suggested this-- as an ideal time to lighten things up with some, "DILKE LORE". 

Our pal, "Artie from Woody Creek"-- a modern day, RIDER NATION, W.O. Mitchell/ John Steinbeck-- offers stellar prairie vignettes.  

So, set yourselves in the armchair for two to curl up in and pour some tall one's. 

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1st, the genesis of the The Dilke Debate & O-Line Critique Society.

We used to have a Debate Society in Dilke with monthly get togethers at the Church. 

They were delightful affairs. 

Scrumptious sweets, tea and dainty sandwiches all courtesy of Mrs. Haversham and the ladies of The Smilers Club*. Always an enchanting evening of lively debate, civility and good manners. 

Then we moved it to The Country Squire in The Fort. Became the Rant Society-- skulling Pilsners and going off on RIDER RANTS. Some lucid, some not. The rants continue until completely incomprehensible-- drunken slurs-- really. 

Then the fists fly. 

Can't call it an enchanting evening but guess you could call it an evening, if it was the evening, but we usually have them in the afternoon.

But that's the Squire ah?

WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU.... SOME OF ARTIE'S FINEST.....

I've had more than my share of weekends in Dilke, waking up late in the morning in a blinding rush of pain and nausea, unsure of the previous nights events....  hell, unsure even where I was when I woke up, at least until Elmer's big Shepherd cross decided my face needed a wash, or the scent of Elmer's old lady's $8/gallon perfume comes wafting up the stairs as she gets on her "goin' out dress"....  the same damn cloth these bedroom curtains are made from, only faded out from years of Monday washings.

Anyway, having spent so many of these days, I have managed a better-than-most ability to understand Elmer, even with his teeth out, which is an accomplishment that earns me regular accolades at the Dilke bar, especially once we hit the fun side of midnight, and the pickled eggs start looking tasty....

Where I'm going with all of this, in very Elmer-ish fashion, I'll admit, is that I can interpret Elmer, and what he said was this:

Technique is king, and #??'s technique, right now, ain't great. That does not mean he doesn't try hard. It also doesn't mean he doesn't have good plays or even good games.

But technique is an absolute limiting factor at the OL position at this level. Long term, you can't compensate for technique by effort, strength or even god-given football instinct. 

So what Elmer is saying is don't look at the result of the play, or even the result of the match-up of #?? and his DL opponent on the play as the basis of whether he's playing well. Look at the technique, and judge based on that.

Think of blackjack - you can play horrible blackjack strategy and still win - a particular, single hand. But you cannot play horrible blackjack strategy and win long term. 

We've all been to those stupid Christmas parties where they have the "fun" casino night, and Jane from accounting is a little tipsy, and decides to throw caution to the wind and hit on 18, and pull a three for 21. Yes, she won the hand, but it was still done wrong. And over 100 hands....1,000 hands, the error of that will be proven out, and she will never be truly good, until she....  wait for it....  learns the proper technique.

That's what Elmer is sayin'.

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I'm the funny one, right? 

And not just because I can make the Mrs. giggle so hard she snorts sweet tea out of her nose, has to wipe it in the checkered red apron she always wears, and TRIES to be angry with me. But even with her eyes narrowed and she assumes that coquettishly aloof stance that must have dropped the boys in her day, I know she can't hold a grudge.

And, sure enough, whenever there's an odd number of cookies, fried chicken pieces, flapjacks, or any food-thing to distribute, more often than not, the extra finds its way onto my plate.

Always a nice feeling knowing you never have to count drumsticks as they come out of the pan.....

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I once asked Elmer about political correctness and he said to me "Son.... "[we're not that different in age, but when Elmer gets to preachifyin' he calls everyone "son" or "little girl", as circumstances warrant].  Anyway he says to me, "Son, to me politically incorrect is when you hop in the truck to go to the Co-op board meetin' and you somehow turn up at the Credit Union board meetin' instead. Mostly the same people, and the same bad coffee sittin in that tin urn at the back of the room on that card table with the one rickety leg we used to square up with a matchbook, the one with the cigarette burns along the edges of it from old George Hapscombe, who was the only person in Dilke allowed to smoke indoors after 1985, on account of his bum leg from the war and all. And.... now what was your question?"

That's Elmer.

Yep, he wore a fifteen-pound beard of bees for that woman, too, but it wasn't enough...

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If memory serves, Thursday's are rug-pounding days in Dilke. 

Mostly it's just an excuse for the women-folk to gossip and take out their frustrations on an old, threadbare 8x10 "heirloom", but any men caught within eyesight get drafted into hauling rugs in and out, fetching lemonade, new beatin' sticks and the like. 

So Elmer, like the rest of the Dilke men, tend to make themselves scarce until around dusk, when the pounding is over and the smell of cooking cabbage wafting over the prairie air draws them back....

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And nary a mention of Artie Lange. 

I figured at least my stopping by to give Betty that bone-in ham and magnum of baby duck right 'round the new year would have garnered some attention, but perhaps there was a little too much wine drinkin' and not enough ham eatin', and my visit was forever lost in the fog of drunkenness you can only really create on those cold winter nights where no one leaves the kitchen except to pee or puke. 

And I seen Betty's mutt Jingles cartin' around that ham the next morning, and there seemed to be less than a little bit of meat left on, so it might appear that both Elmer AND Jingles were taking some liberties that night, and that's something that never happens to Betty until she's well past drunk and speeding by blackout stage. She'll still whup you in Kaiser even when she's no longer capable of speech, but the ol' knee-hinges seem to get a little looser on those nights. 

There's an old saying in Dilke - you wanna know the state of someone's sex life? Hang around the Sarcan bottle return depot. I never understood it until I helped Elmer cart over a box of empty wine bottles one Saturday morning. He was wearing last night's flannels, misbuttoned, greener than a grinch from the drink, but smilin' like old Jingles was over that half-eaten ham.

Elmer, hope things are well in Dilke. I'll be by 'round when seeding starts. Your turn to buy the wine.

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Artie... pal.... thanks for your contribution. The absolute best Dilke, Saskatchewan lore we've stumbled upon, EVER!  Delightful reading.

WE BOW TO YOUR LITERARY PROWESS.

Seedin's 'bout half done and Señora El Rumpo Grande says she's got her a hankerin' for another bone-in..... "ham". 

There'll be no wine this time.... we got us sumthin' better.... much better--  potato mash so smooth it'll numb yer tonsils goin' down an' back up again. 

Backdoor Betty and that sad bastard "Coke Bottles" Carl, insisted we throw in a Society re-visit while we're at it.

The revisionist, historically accurate, truth about the verbage-- "MANG".

KID FROST-- "La Familla"

"Mang" means Man but pronounced with a heavy Mexican accent. Not to be confused with pendejo, pinche cabrone or puta madre.

It's first documented use was right here in Dilke in the early 1900's. "Ey mang wuz happnin?"-- has been the customary greeting since before our grandfathers time.

Where the perception became distorted was in the late 60's-- in East Los Angles-- at the time, when the Mexican population of California el grande burrito-ed due to liberalized welfare statutes. 

Local legend has it, that a "certain" Dilke dignitary-- en route to a Tijuana donkey show-- took a wrong turn on a LA freeway and instead found himself asking for directions at the hangout of Chicano lowrider gang members armed with more than menacing stares and bad intentions. 

Fortuitously, at the journey's inception the noble mayor of Dilke insisted our dignitary accept a slab of 24 Old Style Pil as a token. Now, faced with a most dangerous and tenuous situation, our man from Dilke cooly reached to the ice chest in the back seat and pulled out some stubbies. 

Of course, they all became fast friends over the rich, smooth taste of Pilsner. Long story short.... our Cholo lowriding, gangbanging friends loved our Dilke howdy so much they made it their own and the rest.... as they say, "IS HISTORY".


* credit Hiway 61

Gratuitous Saskatchewan Sunset. 

Credit to however took this pretty, pretty picture. We grabbed it off google.

Should be good for at least a fitty or some kind of special grant from Sask. Tourism.... according to Carl, eneways.