The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Down at the docks beside the marina’s Pilot Lounge a few fishing boats were puttering back in after a long day of fishing, mostly without much luck. The boyz hauled their AlumaCrafts and C-Dory’s up onto their trailers and hauled them into the parking lot before joining us layabouts in the Lounge for a few bottle bass before going home to the mizzus empty handed and empty headed. Just another Sunday on the South End….

Well, not quite. Mueller’s report had hit the press Friday and Attorney General Barr had just released a 4 page summary which was the News Flash between the college basketball games on the Lounge’s big screen TV in the back. Big Walter was pounding a table when the crawler read: No Evidence of Trump Collusion with the Russians. Jerry’s glass spilled ale onto the formica table top and Freddie grabbed a handful of napkins to capture the foamy mess before it reached his lap. “Aw, for cripe sakes, Walt,” he yowled, but Big Walter was hollering in full vindication. “Witch hunt, witch hunt, nothing but a damn witch hunt, what I been saying for two years!!”

Two Toke had moved his own glass off the soaked pulpit and removed himself to an adjoining table out of range from the Richter rumblings but not Walter’s booming exultations. “I wouldn’t crow too soon, Walt,” he cautioned, carefully sipping his salvaged beer. “You won’t see your boy impeached, looks like, but don’t figure he’s off the hook.” A couple tables over a foursome of sports pointed to the next crawler under the Washington – North Carolina game: No Exoneration on Obstruction of Justice … and started a mild cheer, clicking glasses and high fiving one another. Two Toke smirked and raised his glass to Walter who kept repeating No Collusion No Collusion.

No Exoneration. No Collusion. The Lounge began to take sides, some stood up, others shook their fists, the new fishermen entering through the front door must have thought a brawl was about to start. They looked hesitant to enter, but Harold, the weekend bartender snapped off the ballgame with a remote held in his hand like a gun and the joint instantly became quiet. “Let’s have some order here, gentlemen,” he demanded, pointing his weapon in Walter’s general direction, “or we’ll have no ballgame. This is a drinking establishment, not a debating society!”

Of course we could have debated that premise as well, but the boyz, chastened by Harold’s edict, settled down meekly and the TV snapped back on. No Collusion, No Exoneration, the crawler scrolled beneath the fourth quarter game. Two Toke took a heavy draw on his glass and said, loud enough for everyone in the place to hear, “No conclusion either.” I parked next to TT and ordered another round for both of us. “Two more,” I said to Harold. “Beers or years?” he asked. “Both,” I replied sadly, “both”.

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