Flush in her prescience of picking an ugly 1-0 win last week, Rodney decided to take a bit of a break. Honestly, my life is devoid of meaning without my hens. I just can’t take being apart from them. So, I began searching for San Julius. Last night, I had heard some crazy sounds from her henhouse (it’s been expanded and many accoutrements added, including a well-appointed wet bar, by a surprisingly handy Uncle Tony P). I looked inside and found her looking a little worse for the wear.
I gave here some of my freshly brewed, 100% shade grown, ethically sourced, living wage paid, Tanzania Peaberry coffee which was brewed to give me strength for the day. It never ceases to amaze me that my hens can tell the difference between my Tanzanian and Ethiopian grown beans. But, here we are.
After a few cups of said joe, San Julius looked at me with a gaze I’ve seen before: she wanted a history lesson. Always eager to pamper my hens and filled with a desire to inspire current and future generations with a shared love of history, I obliged.
I felt San Julius’ knowledge about our nation’s fair capital was sorely lacking. Off I went. Bypassing its early history as a swamp, I went right to an enlightening talk on the People’s House itself, the White House.
San Julius didn’t move but kept her gaze upon me. I knew I hit paydirt, so I leaned into its history. I expounded on its Irish architect, James Hoban, and how he drew inspiration from Leinster House in Dublin, Ireland.
Not wanting to be a one note pony, I decided a new historical tack was needed. So, I went into a more modern history of DC. I began to recount the initial history of the MLS and how DC United was one of the originals. Much of their success was due to the finest mullet in MLS history. Behold: Marco Etcheverry.
Playing in historic RFK stadium, they had much success. But, it wasn’t all greatness. Their facilities were a bit of a cross between the worst of American multiuse stadia and Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. I began to wonder aloud who was the Marlin Perkins and who was the Jim Fowler of the stadium staff.
As I was beginning to drone on about the architectural marvels of Audi Field, I looked at San Julius. She slow blinked me.
Walking away, she hopped once to left and once to right. She then entered her well-appointed henhouse, went to lie down on her bed which was covered in a throw made of the fabric of our lives.
It was then I realized I had been tricked. She didn’t want a lecture. She wanted a bedtime story after a hard night. But, remembering her movements, I, a well-trained augur, knew that, although she was tired, she had revealed to me tomorrow’s score:
El FC—1
DC United—1
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.