This morning, on our Indians’ game weekend, we went to Jack Flaps, a breakfast/lunch joint in one of the arcades on Euclid Avenue. I got the Jack B. Flaps platter, which consists of two pancakes, butter, whiskey brown sugar syrup, whipped cream, and — and this was interesting — puffed corn. With a side of savory country sausage and a good cup of freshly brewed coffee, it was an exceptional way to start the day. I can now say I’m ready to sit on my butt for a few hours and watch athletes perform.
At last night’s game we got a free Edwin Encarnacion jersey. It’s the traditional design, in a size large enough to comfortably fit most reasonably sized people, and looks pretty sharp. The jersey features that “press-on” type lettering, however — which means I’ll be giving it kid glove treatment.
I first learned this important life lesson in 1973, when I used my Big Bear bag boy earnings to buy a cool orange Eric Clapton t-shirt with a press-on picture of the Guitar God on the front. (I know . . . “cool” and “orange t-shirt” are rarely used in the same sent, but you must remember it was the ’70s.) I wore it, put it in the laundry basket for Mom to wash, and got back a fundamentally changed garment. The shirt had shrunk about five sizes and the picture of Clapton had become a cracked, crumbling, unrecognizable mess. Gah! But, because I paid for it with my own money, I continued to use it as one of the t-shirts I wore under my jeans shirt — and avoided buying press-on t-shirts thereafter.
It may be that press-on technology has improved in the last 45 years, but I’m not taking any chances. The EE jersey won’t be seeing the washer, ever.