Sunday, May 04, 2008
Sports, "Hunt's Grunts"
Mama’s Boy
Mother’s Day is approaching...
CREDIT: Courtesy of Hunt Archbold
The Super Secret Struggle Bunny (left) with Mayor Shirley Franklin (center)
By Hunt Archbold
Mother’s Day is approaching. I won’t see my mama on said day, but I will a few weeks later, when our family convenes for my cousin’s wedding in Louisville. But my heart and my thoughts will be with mi madre, Mary Vaillancourt, come Sunday as she is truly a hero of mine. And a pretty good athlete in her day, as well. She grew up riding horses across the fields of middle Tennessee, later was a standout high school basketball player and still later a stellar ALTA tennis player here in Atlanta. She turns 70 this summer, still keeps in fantastic shape and within the last few months told me about working out alongside footballers Pac Man Jones and Albert Haynesworth at her local YMCA. Love that mama!
The mother of all injustices occurred last week as to the surprise of no one, the BCS commissioners rejected a proposal to include a one-game playoff to their already screwed-up postseason format. But don’t blame the SEC, as conference commissioner Mike Slive presented a plan in which the top four BCS-ranked teams would meet in a mini-playoff. To the chagrin of say, college football fans everywhere, the other conferences decided that things were just fine the way they were, meaning we’re stuck with the current BCS procedure through the 2013 season. You gotta be mother frickin’ kidding me!
My mom rarely missed an opportunity to watch her two sons play athletics as we grew up. Only with my older brother, Thom, she sometimes had to keep her presence at games hidden, as he went through stage where he forbade her to come watch him play. He also went through a stage where he would crack my head open every spring with a baseball bat. Always accidentally, he said.
I remember one time—I’m pretty certain it was the second occasion in which he had taken a Louisville Slugger to my noodle (22 stitches!)—she wouldn’t let me in the house for fear that blood would be spilled all over her new carpet. She contends still that she doesn’t feel bad about that. She does, however, feel guilty about the time we were at Cherokee Country Club watching the great tennis champ Margaret Court put on an exhibition, and she didn’t believe me when I told her a bee had flown into my ear and was buzzing there. Several weeks later, when the doctor dug his tweezers deep into my eardrum and removed a perfectly formed (but shrunken due to ear wax) yellow jacket, she sniffled and apologized profusely for calling me a fibber.
Talk about concealing the truth—what about Mayor Shirley Franklin’s daughter Kai? I briefly met the mayor following the recent Inman Park Festival parade, where I again tossed all dignity down the drain in as I passed out candy (kids) and condoms (adults) as the Super Secret Struggle Bunny. Yes, my mom has had reasons to shudder over the years (not a fan of my tattoos is Mom), but she hasn’t, as the mayor has, had to deflect questions about her child pleading guilty to money laundering in federal court, as Franklin’s daughter did this past year.
Many years ago, when I was 13, my mom wrote me an excuse to get out of school early so we could play a round of golf at Bobby Jones on my birthday. It was the first round of golf I ever played, and I couldn’t have asked for a better playing partner. She also baked me a chocolate icebox cake that day. Man, I love my mama. Speaking of such women, was there ever as bad a sitcom that ran for as long as “Mama’s Family” (130 episodes)? Vicki Lawrence may have topped the charts with “The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia,’’ but that ill-conceived comedy starring Carol Burnett’s second banana should never have been green-lighted.
There’s a light about my mother that shines on just about everyone she comes into contact with. She cares for the elderly, cooks for Meals on Wheels and visits women in prison to give them spiritual guidance. And oh, how she loves her grandsons. She also regularly writes me notes of encouragement, and every February she sends me $10 to treat me to a pizza and asks if I’ll be her Valentine. And I always answer yes.
Happy times … and man, do I love my mama. SP