29.June.1996

ReHash #21  O'Bryonville at the Brick Yard

Hare:  Jim Cree

This is the city.  While hundreds of thousands of others seek refuge from the heat and humidity of an early summer’s afternoon, a brave, relentless few of us came together to hash.  I’m one of those people.  Vice is the name, Anal Vice.

Our instructions called for assembly near the Brick Yard in O'Bryonville on Saturday 29.June at 2:30 p.m.  I arrived about 2:15 to find a virgin wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood (that's what happens when you're a virgin and you come first). The virgin's handle was Jeff.  Close behind me, Dog‑in‑Drag and Tight Lips arrived armed with chalk and flour in case lack‑of‑hare necessitated impromptu trail‑blazing. However, next to come was Phil, who ‑ though also a virgin ‑ assured us that the hare was, in fact, working on the trail and would arrive shortly.  (By the way, what happened to Phil after the run?  Why wasn't he present for his down‑down?)  Next came Tight Sphincter, Procto Man, Spewing Reptile and Tight Grip ‑ we were all delighted to see the three Tight sisters together!  Red Hot Chili Pecker and Nameless Bitch arrived, but Red Hot had babysitting duties, so would not be running ‑ besides, he'd "forgotten" and had already put in his ten miles for the day.  Pussy Foot was last to come, and Susanne and Sorin who had been waiting inconspicuously on the side donned their running attire and joined us (more virgins, also friends of the hare, signed  in as Turtle and Frog), though they were wondering if they had been ill‑advised regarding how to spend a Saturday afternoon.

The hare, Jim, sped up in his Bronco(?) at the last minute, and amended the already‑in‑progress chalk talk with a spatter of paint patter ‑ as he'd brought a paint pellet gun and green paint pellets with which to mark the trail.  This was the beginning.  Being astute individuals, we should have realized that a paint gun and Hyde Park were elements that would produce an unstable combination.  But, no.

So, with our good wishes and solemn promise of the full requested 15 minute head start, off went the hare trotting north on Madison Road, paint pellet gun and chalk in hands.  The pack proceeded to pass the time discussing the anticipated ease of following the trail ‑ green paint on green grass, green paint on green trees, etc., and managed to settle unanimously on a name for the hare: Little Green Balls.  Ah, what little we knew of the circumstances befalling our poor hare even as we discussed what we supposed would be his fate!

We'd just received the two‑minute warning (and were about to cut to the chase anyway), when a pair of CINCINNATI'S FINEST began approaching us.  Their expressions held dire concern and unwavering holier‑than‑thou attitudes.

          "That guy that left here carrying the gun," they said knowingly, as they had been stealthily observing us from a nearby street construction site, "do you know his name?"  We, being true‑to‑life hashers, acted completely addled, and responded very nearly in unison, "Jim!"  Of course, when pressed further, we didn't have the foggiest idea what his surname might have been.

          "Okay, you can tell us here or you can tell us up at the justice center," let us know that these guys weren't fresh out of the academy.  Nosiree, Bob.  We were singlet‑to‑badge with Joe Friday and/or Maxwell Smart.

Anyway, after an explanation of the "sport" of hashing and the techniques involved, and further explanation why Jim had chosen the paint ball gun over flour (I think we made up that part) ‑ not to mention some exchange of very official police radio communications ‑we were informed that we might want to delay our hunt, as it would be unusually easy to catch the hare, since he had been (GASP) arrested!!  Apparently, according to Joe and Max, our innocent hare had taken to shooting car windows ‑ and the occupants of a certain Volvo, thinking they'd been hit with a "real" bullet, were less than amused.

What to do, what to do?  After clarifying to the virgins that this was Standard Operating Procedure, and that our hares traditionally attempt to commit as many heinous crimes as possible, we decided that Jim would certainly be on his merry way again by that time, and departed the parking lot with whistles and bugles blaring amid shouts of "ON‑ON!"  Joe and Max, brows ever furrowed, continued to talk on their radios.

As expected, running north on Madison yielded little ‑ only one visible paint splatter shortly after leaving the lot.  Fortunately an occasional chalk arrow kept us on trail.  The first check of any difficulty was at Vista.  One paint ball had been splattered on a nearby dumpster at an apartment/condo complex, but there was no other sign of trail.  Phil ran as far north as Observatory, Vista was checked to the west, and several of the pack were (undoubtedly) annoying residents by checking the yard to the rear of the complex.  AV (yours truly) eventually spotted an "on‑on" arrow in the lower parking lot.  With a connection through another apartment's lot, we soon found ourselves running east on Observatory ‑ and posing for photographs by Sorin, who obviously wants the memories of this outing to be more than fleeting.  (Surely there's hash in France.  But is it this much fun??)

The next check was on Observatory at Menlo.  And the pack once again entered a clue‑free environment.  We checked on down Observatory, we checked up Menlo, we  checked down Berry ‑ a YBF was located on Observatory at Stettinius/Handasyde, but nothing else.  Phil recalled that the hare had promised "a tour of the finest neighbor‑hoods in Hyde Park" ‑ aha!  With that in mind, we knew we wanted to be south of Observatory, so most of the pack took off up Menlo, I followed Phil up Handasyde (despite the YBF).  Our first clue that we were on trail ‑ or at least close ‑was another YBF facing opposite the direction we were running.  Our second clue ‑ and the clencher ‑ was the pair of police cruisers at the crest of the hill on Handasyde ‑ one of which, as expected, displayed a paint pellet gun on the trunk and the hare caged in the back seat!

Shrill whistles brought the pack to the "scene" ‑ chalk and paint balls strewn violently about the ground.  Seems there actually had been a struggle ‑ the officers, of course, couldn't tell the difference between a paint ball gun and an Uzi, so, WITH REVOLVERS DRAWN, had tackled our hapless hare, wrestled him to the ground, cuffed him, and placed him oh‑not‑so‑gently into the back of the cruiser.  By the time the pack arrived, the officers had apparently come to terms with the genteel nature of our intent ‑ either via explanation from the hare, or via communication with Joe and Max ‑ and had let Jim free of his cuffs.

Nevertheless, the pack was left to wait out the official writing of citations. This proved to be a great photo‑op, with the pack posing 'round the arresting cruiser (enlargements will be available from Sorin), a chance to discuss business ‑ was this an official hare‑snare and, if so, should we de‑pants the hare now or later??  We also found time to revise the name to which we'd previously agreed for the hare. 

After a good half hour of  loitering about, the citations were finally complete ‑ in addition to disorderly conduct, it turns out that there was an outstanding parking violation or two ‑ tsk, tsk.  Needless to say, the remainder of the run was calmer.  The hare led us to the BN, where we generously gave him ANOTHER head start.  The pack carried the paint pellet gun, just to protect the hare from himself.  (Ya never know when he's gonna start pelting Volvos again...  though he claims that the hit in question was a mere ricochet.)

Tours of the Rookwood and other upscale(!) neighborhoods eventually led us back to Madison Road in O'Bryonville and to the ON‑IN at Foley's

Red Hot (dutifully babysitting at the pub) joined us, and after a short

rehydration period, has business was quick to ensue:

.    The hare did a down‑down for the trail, not to mention for his antics.

.    The hare did another down‑down because he wore his hat for the first down‑down.

.  And, of course, the hare was named.  After some discussion, an excellent suggestion from RHCP, and a decisive vote, Jim shall henceforth be called Shackle‑My‑Balls.  The third down‑down went as easily as the first two.

.    The virgins ‑ Jeff, Susanne, and Sorin (where DID Phil go?) ‑ were duly addressed in song and earned their down‑down.  Jeff gets the award for the slowest ever successful down‑down.

.    With some fanfare, Procto Man was renamed.  Apparently, "Procto" just hasn't caught on, and was a result of close‑proximity and/or guilt‑by‑association at Tight Sphincter's naming.  So, based on an appropriate (or inappropriate?) sweat pattern at Friday evening's race, Procto shall henceforth be called Wet Spot.  Down‑downs and hearty congratulations were in order.

.    Speaking of Tight Sphincter, she was awarded a down‑down for the hash crime of not wanting to reset her watch because she hadn't ANALyzed last night's race. Whining sealed her fate.

General drinking, merriment, and good conversation followed, during which, whether intended or not, some official mismanagement was conducted.  REALLY, NO KIDDING, PAY ATTENTION, THIS IS IMPORTANT STUFF.

.    SCHEDULE OF HASHES.  After extended (a minute or so) discussion, we decided that hashes will, for the time being, remain on the 2nd Thursday and 4th Saturday of each month.  SATURDAY HASH TIME MOVES TO 4:30 P.M. beginning with the 27.July hash.

.    HASH CASH.  HASH CASH IS INCREASING TO $5.00 effective with the next run 11.July. Many people have been chucking in extra money anyway, and we expect that this will help keep the hare from getting stiffed for so much of the beer tab.  $4 will go for the beer and $1 will go to a fledgling has cash stash (perhaps a hare legal defense fund?).

.    Anal Vice and Tight Lips reminded everyone that Run #22 is coming up 11.July at 6:30 p.m. at the Blue Ash Thriftway parking lot.  Since this is the BLUE hASH, it'll be a crime to not wear your best blue.

.    Tight Sphincter announced that Run #23 (27.July at 4:30 p.m.) will be at French Park in Amberly Village.  This will be a HIGH SOCK RUN ‑ you know what that means.

.    WE NEED HARES!!  We need hares for August and September runs!  Wanna Hare?

   Call:  SCH4 HOTLINE at 793‑3816 (aka Anal Vice, aka Carl, aka Fred)

                        (the number is now active, the message will be set by 05.July) or

                        Kenny at 398‑5573  or

                        Brian at 851‑0459.

More general beer consumption and conversation were followed by an early adjournment so that we could all go home and peaceably contemplate the day's events and gain the wisdom to be found therein.

The events you have just read are true.  It was too much bother to change the name to protect the innocent (innocent?).  Shackle‑My‑Balls is now serving time only in the sense that he must come to grips with his subconscious disdain for Volvos.

Join us next time for another true story ‑ from the city where hash never

sleeps.

ON‑ON.

   A.V.