Jerky Little Bastards

When I was assigned to Saint Mary’s in Elyria, Ohio, where Monsignor Newton was pastor, Catholics in that city had just built Elyria Catholic high school. Newton insisted that his curates teach religion classes in the high school a couple of times a week.  I also tried to attend the football and basketball games, which were usually played on Friday nights. 

One Friday evening, Elyria Catholic was playing a Catholic high school team in Tiffin, Ohio.  Joe Lehane, the priest director of the high school, was a good guy and a very rabid follower of the basketball team.  Our kids were enthusiastic players but not very good.  That was understandable because the school had only been in existence for a few years.  Surprisingly, they did rather well in the first half against the Tiffin team. Toward the end of the half, the refs called a couple of fouls on our team. I have to admit they were bad calls and our fans let the refs know they blew those calls.  Especially Joe Lehane, who was irate and let the refs know it.  Seeing Lehane so upset encouraged our fans to become even more vociferous.

At the half John Neary and I accompanied Lehane to a hallway where we could smoke.  Joe was still steaming.  While we were standing there, a freshman from the other team came up to Joe and said, “Hey, Fadder, you’re a poor loser.”

Joe looked at the kid and said, “Drop dead, you jerky little bastard.” The kid’s face registered shock and disbelief.  So did Neary’s face and mine.  We couldn’t believe what we had just heard.

Many years later, after I had left the active ministry, I told that story to my good friends Joe Mohar and Tony DiNardo, who howled with laughter.  We started playing cut throat racquet ball every Saturday morning in the racquet ball court in the Meridian Condominium where I live. We called ourselves “The Jerky Little Bastards.”

In the beginning I usually won because as a resident I had more court time.  But Mohar and DiNardo were quick learners and were soon very tough and competitive. One morning I broke my wrist going for a shot. The orthopedic doctor who put my wrist in a cast and ordered me to keep it there for six weeks suggested that it was an excellent time to end my racquet ball career.  Sadly, that was the end of the “Jerky Little Bastards.”

Posted October 28, 2010

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