By Scott Sullivan
Editor
Reuleaux
The Washington Football Team formerly known as Redskins and perennially as losers has a new nickname, and I’m offended. As a woke and sensitive soul, the last thing I need is steroid-fed giants wearing pistols and bling pretending they’re my “Commanders.”
I get “Redskins” was almost as offensive to Native Americans as Saugatuck’s “Indians,” who at least turned out decent teams. Now we blaze trails and have two logos: one with an abstract path leading to a sun in a Reuleaux triangle, the other a compass with orange “S” in it. Go south young man, woman, trans, whomever or go with the other logo.
A Reuleaux is a curved triangle linked to trail signs, not an overpriced watch. It is also the answer to a what has puzzled great minds forever: Other than a circle, what shape can you make a manhole cover so it cannot fall through the hole?
More-fitting nicknames nixed for our nation’s capitol were “Scum,” “Swamp” and “Politicians,” being either too accurate or synonymous. “Commanders” conjures images of some 6’10”, 380-pound tackle decked in black leather and wielding a bludgeon while team owner Dan Snyder tries to make D.C. A.C. (Almost Centsless) by demanding it build his for-profit team a new palace/stadium.
The good news is no one is lobbying Michigan yet on behalf of Lions defamed by whatever that circus act in Detroit is. The real King of the Beasts mauls prey; the King of the Leasts gets mauled by them. The good news is 12-year Lions quarterback Matt Stafford at last made the Super Bowl; the bad news he’s with the Rams now.
Meanwhile the Fords, who can afford it, say they’re again rebuilding a franchise they never built in the first place. But, hey, like Snyder they are billionaires. Who am I to question?
Synonyms for “Commander” include kingpin, top dog and big kahuna, the latter meaning a sorcerer for Hawaiians and for surfers a giant wave. Only the Lions could be tsunamied or hoodooed by Snyder’s teams.
Now the season is over for both, I headed for where the elite meet to eat and schmucks like me sink to drink, the Pullman Tavern. There sat the Fords and Snyder.
“Where do you get off,” I accused, “making billions peddling bad football teams?”
“It takes money to make money,” Snyder cackled.
“Takes no money to make less,” I countered.
“You call that advice?”
They walked out, leaving me the tab. In walked Stafford. “I thought you were playing in the Super Bowl,” I told him.
“The world’s richest hype fest in sunny southern California or Pullman Tavern in winter?” he asked. “Which would you pick?”
“I’m mourning,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because Hailey Bieber said ‘the media has always been a disgusting thing.’”
“She should know all about disgusting.”
“I work in media,” I said. “So I’m used to demeaning stereotypes from dolts we’ve built into celebrities, even ones who have never met me. But Hailey Bieber?”
“Her IQ is off the charts,” said Stafford. “It’s not even on them, actually.”
“I’m also offended by the ‘Skins’ new name, as I was their old name, as I am …”
“Bartender,” Stafford said, “bring this woke man an Old Milwaukee.”
“So why aren’t you out in Hollywood flipping footballs?” I asked.
“I was walking down Sunset and Vine when I fell down a manhole,” said the quarterback.
“Don’t tell me …”
“Yup, someone from Saugatuck had made off with the cover to paint a path to a sunset on it. When I came up I was here.”
“More than 2,000 miles away?”
“Alice fell down a hole and wound up someplace stranger,” said Stafford.
“That’s debatable.”
“Anyway, I’m here to recover the cover and understand it’s nearby.”
“All roads lead to Saugatuck,” I said. We looked outside and there was a whiteout.
“I thought I was done with this when I escaped Detroit,” moaned Stafford.
“Reuleaux,” I said. “We will blaze a trail.”
“How will we know where we’re going?”
“Every trail leads to a sunset here, wherever the trail is and no matter what time. Or a lighthouse. That or …” I pulled out my compass logo. “… South.”
“I thought Saugatuck was northwest of here.”
In walked a 6’10”, 380-pound tackle dispatched by Snyder to check up on me. “Pay the Commander’s bill yet?” he threatened.
“They ordered the most expensive thing on the menu!”
“Pigs in a blanket?”
Stafford scrambled but I’m not as swift. As the tackle walloped me in walked Hailey Bieber. “Disgusting,” she sniffed. “Hand me that bludgeon,” she told the tackle.
WHAM!
She, the tackle and Stafford took off in a snowmobile to recover the cover.
“I need to regather my wits,” I told the bartender.
“You didn’t have any in the first place. Plus they left you their bill as well.”
“Let’s see.” I scanned it. “Three pigs in blankets, 20 beers. a snowmobile rental and a guitar pick?”
“They left it for you,” said the bartender. “It’s shaped like a Reuleaux too.”
