Since Jimmie Jones was kind enough to send me 150 photos on a USB via snailmail, I ought at least offer him a place of honor on this blog, so here he is . . . playing foosball.
I'd have to take to drankin' before I'd have the courage to face Jimmie in this game. I can see from his intent expression that he is a master of the sport. He had that same intent expression on his face when going for his unerring set shot in basketball. I had to play him close up, or he'd make that shot!
He's playing a match (foosball, not basketball) with his wife, while Nancy Daley (née White) looks on, pool cue at ready . . . ready for what, I don't know. But Nancy was always full of surprises. She used to have a ventriloquism act that she started way back in elementary school. And she was good at chess.
As for that bottle full of red somethin' or other, I don't know what in perdition it signifies, other than maybe the instability of all human endeavor. Much as that little bottle nearly teeters on the brink of the foosball table, so are the days of our lives. No! Wait! I meant to say, much as that little bottle nearly teeters on the brink of the foosball table, so is it as the world turns. Aw, sh*t! That ain't it! I meant to say, much as that little bottle nearly teeters on the brink of the foosball table, so play we our little games on the edge of eternity . . . finally!