for 4 SEP 06: THREE AND OUT

The dream officially died Sunday morning, at about 9:45. The dream died on Interstate 85, just south of the Union City Shannon Mall interchange. And as the dream died, the car in front of me in the exit ramp had a Bob Poydasheff reelection bumper sticker on it. Make of that what you will....

We were driving toward Athens for Round 3 of Power Frisbee of Georgia - when one of our tires blew out on the highway. For the second Sunday in a row, on the way to a match. I wound up making my third trip to a Wal-Mart for tire repair in as many Sundays. Now I can relate to the women who feel like it's their second home.

The first blowout occurred last Sunday on Highway 520, just south of Richland. I limped the car back there, and a passing family kindly offered me a working jack to put on a spare. Neither of my jacks works - one because I lifted it too high a few years ago, and the other because the hydraulic knob you're supposed to turn apparently needs a hydraulic wrench to move it.

My first tire problem was with the left rear tire, on a Sunday where I could afford to have trouble [21 Aug]. The Richland blowout was with the right front tire. Sunday on Interstate 85, the left front tire blew up. So I had TWO tires changed at Wal-Mart - because as I told the attendant, I didn't want to hit the quadrella.

I thought the Richland blowout might have occurred because I was in the right lane of Highway 520, and drove too close to the "loose stuff" along the side. So this time, I drove down the center lane of Interstate 85 near Union City - but a tire blew up again. And the Power Frisbee budget simply did NOT allow for renting limousines to matches every week.

But thankfully, the left front tire blew up a half-mile from the Union City interchange - and with the right lane open, I steered the car to the shoulder and limped it up the exit ramp and down the hill to Wal-Mart at about 15 miles per hour. Bits of chopped rubber bounced up as I did, with a few bouncing off my windshield. It was sort of like a chunky version of a "fountain city."

I faced a decision as I steered toward Wal-Mart. Do I stop completely to have the tire fixed -- or have the spare tire put on, hurrying on to Athens from there? Given the Sunday trend of recent weeks, I chose to stop completely. If I had plowed on, Someone bigger than me might have decided to teach me a lesson and blow up the right rear tire as well.

Wal-Marts on Sunday mornings have lines of people needing various kinds of car repair - so it was almost two hours before my humble Honda was hobbled into the bay for service. I'd timed the trip to reach Athens around 12:00 noon, for open Power Frisbee tryouts at 12:30. At this point, part of me wished another stadium custodian might be delayed.

A two-hour wait provided plenty of time for strolling around the Wal-Mart SuperCenter. The Union City store had something I'd never seen before - women wearing Muslim scarves over their heads, swinging children's baseball bats in the aisle.

That Wal-Mart also had something Columbus area stores did not - the end of my long search for a pair of burgundy socks. It's a thin dressy pair, found in a row with colors of pink and purple. In other words, they're perfect for wearing to a C.M.E. church service.

My two passes through the Wal-Mart store also seemed to have messages aimed directly at me, through the public address system. The first trip had Fats Domino singing, "I'm Walkin'" -- which for a while I was. The second time, I heard The Silhouettes' big hit from 1958: "Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip, boom boom boom boom boom boom, Get a Job."

(I actually made a prediction about a third song I was going to hear during the day - but it turns out I never heard Boyz 2 Men sing, "The End of the Road.")

I realized as soon as the blowout occurred that my Power Frisbee dream was dead - but the two-hour wait allowed me plenty of time to consider what might have gone wrong. Was I too consigned to defeat, after how the first two rounds went? Did I sin in some way Saturday, to disqualify me from a blessing Sunday? And was this how Jeff Gordon started in stock car racing?

In an unusual move for me, I actually brought up my situation with a woman next to me on car repair waiting area. "It's no fun when your dream dies," I told her.

"I know," she replied -- perhaps wondering if I was leading up to an early Sunday brunch date.

At a few minutes after 12:00 noon, the "two-tire stop" was complete and I could hit the road again. I wound up with four new tires in 15 days -- but it's no fun getting four the hard way.

Some people might have surrendered at this point, turned around and headed home. But I had to keep going to Athens -- because the stadium custodian was opening the gate at 12:00 noon, and he was being paid by the hour along with a security person. First came the tire trial, now a time trial....

After hurrying through Atlanta on Interstate 85, I seemed to hit almost every red light on Highway 316 between Lawrenceville and Athens. When you stop for a splash of gas on the way, and the pump tells you the credit card receipt is waiting inside, it's simply not your day.

Add one wrong turn for not understanding my Google Maps directions, and I finally arrived at the Athens stadium at 2:05 p.m. The gate was open, all right - but there really was no gate at all leading to the football field. The only things in the way were a car and a truck parked on the sidewalk. And the pickup would have only stopped teenagers used to borrowing their parents' Buicks.

The stadium custodian and security person were NOT on hand, but I decided to wait for their return. After all, they probably had waited on me for two hours. If I had to wait two hours on them, it was only fair - and besides, I was "paying my fine" on the spot in the form of checks.

By the way, no one else was visible at the Athens stadium. No throwers who wanted to try out. No fans who wanted to watch Power Frisbee. Even the umpires hired to officiate the match had left - so at least they didn't assess me a penalty for delay of the game.

After about 30 minutes, two men walked out of a clubhouse. They turned out to be Clarke Central High School's head football coach and defensive coordinator. Apparently they were plotting strategy for next Friday night's game - because I can't imagine they were watching Andre Agassi's final tennis match on TV.

One of the coaches called the custodian on a cell phone, explained who I was, then agreed to accept the three checks I had to write: stadium rental, custodian and security. The umpires are being paid through an association in metro Atlanta - as I pay the officials, so the players don't feel they have to do it.

"Hang in there," the defensive coordinator said to encourage me. "Don't let a blown tire stop your dream." But he didn't realize it was a combination of things -- two blown tires, four winning throwers who apparently didn't want to play more than one week, and hundreds of dollars for radio commercials without even a station announcer showing up.

I appreciated the words of encouragement, but knew the end of Power Frisbee had occurred. In fact, the previous Sunday I remembered the longtime nickname of Clarke Central High School's football stadium - Death Valley.

Here's hoping YOUR Labor Day weekend is going much better than mine. To borrow from two intersections on Highway 316 in Gwinnett County, may it be Hi-Hope Road.... and not Hurricane Shoals.

(BLOGGER'S NOTE: Because of our mourning over the end of Power Frisbee, the item we promised would be next instead will be addressed on Tuesday.)

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