Reflecting on Hookie Day, and having too much mundane work to do... I wasted the morning writing for fun. I rationalize this as an exercise to keep the ol' gray matter sharp. The mundane certainly doesn't fill the bill.
So Steve... How many days until St. Patty's?
An Ode to Hookie Day
Somewhere around Y-2-K,
Boatmasters held appreciation day.
Before you know, it gained some steam,
As word got out, of this Friday scheme.
An excuse in truth, to get out and play,
Soon “Hookie” -- became the official day.
Next you know, water meet-ups and such,
It became known, the “delta lunch bunch.”
The morning would start, something like this,
Meet at Orwood, a cocktail not miss.
Launch, tie up, five deep on the dock,
It’s started already, the racing talk.
A grand parade, of fine hardware,
Whacker smoke, lumpy cams, all fill the air.
Run for 30 to Union Point,
Another dock-side watering joint.
Driving a boat must make for great thirst,
Better go 90 to get there first.
Raft up again, five deep on the dock,
First to arrive, the shortest bar walk.
It’s been an hour, now time to go,
Who’s the leader, we do not know.
Heading north, to the S – J – R,
Tell me it’s not, to another bar.
A sandy beach, all rides nose in,
Warm air, flat water, all share a grin.
Some just can’t sit, and out they go,
High speed passes, flying low.
Strip those seats, out of your boat!
Loose a race, Winspeed won’t.
Drink a beer, soak up the sun,
Boat talk and cheering, all good fun.
Car boats you can hear, a mile a way,
High rev’s turning, rod bolts ok?
Load up! Let’s go, we’re out of brew,
Next stop, Rusty Porthole B-B-Q.
Round the corner, Frank’s Tract is glass,
Air it out now, stay above the grass.
What the heck?! Mud hens are dumb,
An early demise, just meant for some.
Raft up again, run for the well,
Now I’m hungry, that B-B-Q smell.
Eat, drink, more boat chit chat,
A day on the Delta, no better than that.
The sun is low, the needle on “E”,
The die-hards now, ski beach will see.
A full day for sure, lots of fun
Hookie Day, the Delta, a dlb run.