Mercy Sakes Alive, Sportface Caravan Has Itself a Convoy

Mercy Sakes Alive, Sportface Caravan Has Itself a Convoy

The caravan of vehicles — some 12 strong and growing each day — heads south on I-65 towards New Orleans.

Their destiny:  Sports Gras, a world-altering, unparalleled celebration of Tom Brady winning another playoff game, this time against the New Orleans Saints, on his warpath to his unprecedented seventh Super Bowl title.

It’s late in the evening, past midnight when the cars and 100s of runners led by Forrest Gump hit the outskirts of Mobile Alabama.

The whole traveling group then sees something none of them has ever seen before.

From here to over yonder and back behind them 18-wheeler trucks are lined up. Trucks over there. Trucks over here. Trucks behind. Trucks ahead. Trucks high and low, east and west.

As the caravan whizzes by, Sammy Sportface notices that the trucks are falling in line with the caravan.

“Where you guys headed?” asks Sportface to the driver of the first truck whose name is Truck.

“Sports Gras, we’ve been reading about it on the Sammy Sportface blog and seeing previews on NBC, CBS, and CNN. Word is it’s going to be bigger and more wild gathering than Sports Stock and Woodstock put together. Truckers can’t pass up a party like that.”

“How many trucks are coming?” asks Sportface.

“Several hundred from here in Mobile are joining you now,” said Truck. “But word has spread at the speed of light all over the United States in the trucker community. Every guy who drives a truck is headed to Sports Gras. That could be thousands or hundreds of thousands of trucks.”

“Mercy sakes alive, we’ve got ourselves a convoy,” says Sportface.

All the cars and trucks simultaneously play this song in their vehicles:


“I mean, this just couldn’t get any better,” says John Madden. “All these truckers and trucks. I betcha Brett Favre could drive one of those trucks and he’d drive it faster than anyone has ever driven a truck because he’s Brett Favre.”

On they roll hell-bent on Sports Gras.

The caravan’s grillmaster, George Foreman Senior, is busy reading up on Sportface’s food website what he should be grilling for the Sports Gras tailgate.

He’s thinking crawfish will be the main entree accentuated by some spicy turtle soup, Jambalaya, snapper, gumbo, and dirty rice.

“Let’s stop at McDonald’s,” says Stephen A. “Damnit it, I’m hungry. If Sportface gets to be a hog at McDonald’s, so can Stephen A and I’m not kiddin’ ‘round. Take me to McDonald’s, damnit.”

“Sure Stephen A.,” says Sportface. “I’m up for Macdees.”

Stephen A and Sportface order mounds of food.

“We’re boys, Stephen A.,” says Sportface.

“No we ain’t,” says Stephen A.

On the caravan goes, cruising into the outlying areas of Bourbon Street. It’s almost sunrise. Sports Gras is about to launch. It’s almost game time.

Then on all the radios in all the cars blare this Fez song. It soothes their souls. They all feel chills running up their spines as they envision what’s going to happen that will transform them spiritually during Sports Gras.


To be continued…

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Sammy Sportface
Sammy Sportface
Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here:

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