A Beachfront Serenade

The autumn season is upon us. Time for hayrides, Count Chocula, and obsessive re-listening to Sufjan Steven's Illinois ablum.

Rugby World Cup 2015 is well under way. I suppose the biggest talking point would be Japan's shock victory over South Africa. I know superlatives and hyperbole are part and parcel with sports journalism these days, but you'd not be wrong to accept the punditry's claim that this is the biggest upset in rugby history.

This commentary actually occurred during a match yesterday:
C1: "He just saved France's bacon!"
C2: "Francis Bacon? I don't think he played rugby."

A little over a month ago, I got to travel to New England for work. One evening I was walking back to my vehicle after an impromptu stroll along a piece of  that good New Hampshire ocean front, when a voice called out from the darkness. I looked up to see an elderly couple sitting on a deck overlooking the beach and the man was gesturing for me to approach which I did. "Did you get in?" he asked in a thick New England accent. I smiled and informed him that I had only waded a little bit.

He eyed me suspiciously. "Where are you from?" I told him that I was from Indiana. He responded by bursting into a hoarse cackle.

"Indiana!? Nobody's from Indiana! I bet I know more about Indiana than you do! Do you know the Indiana state song?" I said that I did.

"Can you sing it?" he demanded. I told him that, sadly, I did not know all the words. With no further provocation, he burst into an impassioned rendition of On the Banks of the Wabash as his wife looked on with tired satisfaction.

-Ryan