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7/22/2011:
Poor Dasher Hatfield. I cannot help but pity an adversary so desperate for acceptance from CHIKARA’s crème de la crème
that, when pitted against him, his only response is to shower said crème with compliments. Has the
once-notoriously-quarrelsome Hatfield family fallen so far that this is their mightiest heir? My only hope is that
the McCoys have fared better.
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How would history have remembered David had he stood across the field of battle from the Philistines,
slingshot in hand, lauding over Goliath’s fair complexion and olive coloring? Imagine Dr. Watson dramatically
rushing back to Reichenbach Falls at the end of "The Final Problem" to find Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty
doting over one another.
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The attempted flattery in question took place only hours ago when the sad-sack Mr. Hatfield called me, Archibald
Peck, and my lovely bandmate, Veronica, “pansies” in some sordid internet television transmission. A simple
dictionary inquiry into the term yielded the following result:
Pan•sy noun \'pan-ze\: a garden plant (Viola wittrockiana) derived chiefly from the hybridization of the
European Johnny-jump-up (Viola tricolor) with other wild violets; also: its flower.
As an indubitable gentleman, I must first thank Mr. Hatfield on behalf of both Veronica and myself. While I refute
certain nuances of the assertion, I appreciate the sentiment. Further, I can understand how the mind of a simpleton
might identify the base resemblances between March Madness and pansies. Both are adorned in striking violet hues and
smell of a spring garden. (Indeed, one popular soap manufacturer is currently developing the new scent “Peckpourri.”
Be on the lookout for this and other exciting March Madness toiletries, soon to be at a general store near you!)
But, between the two of us, Veronica is much more the pansy than I – beautiful and innocent. My floral analogue is
more a rose in full bloom – beauteous and ambrosial but obstreperous to any gardener with a hoe to grind. For his
own sake, I suggest Mr. Hatfield approaches our forthcoming encounter heeding the words of modern-day sage, Bret
Michaels:
7/22/2011:
Poor Dasher Hatfield. I cannot help but pity an adversary so desperate for acceptance from CHIKARA’s crème de la crème
that, when pitted against him, his only response is to shower said crème with compliments. Has the
once-notoriously-quarrelsome Hatfield family fallen so far that this is their mightiest heir? My only hope is that
the McCoys have fared better.
