Tahoe Pine Nuts: That’s what friends are for | SierraSun.com

Tahoe Pine Nuts: That’s what friends are for

Isn’t it funny how an embarrassing episode can hide away in the recesses of your mind and sit there in the dark for twenty or thirty years, then surface like a Russian submarine. This happened to me yesterday while communing with my buddy, Bummer, over hot bean dip and draft beer at El Charro. Of course I had to share it with him or die from trying to keep it inside…

The year was 1979. I was working in radio on Cape Cod, and was assigned to cover a holiday backgammon tournament at a swanky resort in Hyannis. I didn’t know how to play backgammon, but I fired up my remote broadcast equipment and commenced to interview backgammon contestants live on WOCB. To tell the truth, I was bored out of my mind, and then I saw her. She had long, dark hair that hung in ringlets onto a fuzzy yellow sweater, and her eyes were simply pools of love…deep pools of love, and over the falls I went without a barrel…

I asked her politely if I could interview her on the radio. She laughed a melliferous laugh and started to object, but I placed the mic in front of her before she could finish her protest and asked her to introduce herself. Reluctantly, she told me a little about herself and then she took over the interview, for I was spellbound. She was trying her best to rescue me, but I was terminally tongue-tied.

Now here’s where it gets embarrassing. We went out for coffee a few days later and I thought maybe she liked me well enough to ask her out to dinner, so I asked. But she had accepted an invitation to go to a Bruins game on that particular Monday night. Devastated, I went to my regular Monday Night Football gathering, and told my pigskin palls that she had ditched me to go to the Bruins game, which also happened to be on TV that night.

Well, they sympathized with me, and while I was out back working the grill I heard, “Hey! McAvoy, get in here!” I ran inside and got a hero’s welcome. “Oh, Man, you missed it, this beautiful girl at the Bruins game stood up and held up a sign that said, “I Love You, McAvoy!”

Well, I was just young enough and green enough to believe this, so the next afternoon I walked into the dress shop where she worked, gave her my best Marlon Brando look, leaned on the counter and said, “The boys told me what you did last night at the Bruins game.” She returned a quizzical stare, so I waded in deeper; “That was really something, what you did.” Still, I got a vacant look from her that told me something was rotten in Denmark, and a dim light went off in my head that I had been sold.

A wisp of steam started to leak out from under my collar as I excused myself and burst out onto the sidewalk with the solitary goal in life to make enough money to stand trial, then murder all of my Monday Night pigskin pals.

Of course by Monday night I had forgiven them, and they greeted me with slaps on the back and asked me how our “relationship” was coming along…

Well, that’s what friends are for I guess … to keep us humble.

Learn more about McAvoy Layne at http://www.ghostoftwain.com.

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