Occasionally, Roy can be quite thoughtful, which generally comes as a shock to me. We like to joke that he’s a robot, or that he’s dead inside, but on occasion, he remembers the other people around him like a reminder of his humanity. Or, in this case, his sense of humor.
In all my years of baseball and softball I’ve been fortunate to not pull any particularly wide splits. But, when diving into bags feet first, especially on the defensive side of the ball, it’s an unfortunate inevitability.
For what it’s worth, the opposing shortstop was fine.
When we’re out doing the convention scene – all two of them – it’s often hard to gauge who may or may not be a potential Roy’s Boys reader. Sometimes a dispersed flyer will incite a brief chuckle, or even the occasional guffaw. However, once in a while, there is surprise and disgust; and in this case, they were not mutually exclusive.
First, I feel like I must address drawing myself for a third consecutive week without a shirt. Actually, I got nothing, other than enjoying the fine rendering of my Zangief patch of chest hair.
Okay, as for the comic itself, this is one of those strips where I didn’t take much artistic license. This happened, exactly as such. Sometimes I make bad choices in the heat of the moment. I’m human, but I can live with it.
When I learned early on at college that Roy had never learned how to swim, I was shocked, appalled even. Swimming was such a normal part of my childhood that I couldn’t believe anyone my age didn’t know how to do it – I’ve since met other non-swimmers.
I’ve never actually attempted to properly instruct Roy how to swim, though I certainly had the itch once I got him in a shallow pool in Seattle. Over the years friends of ours have attempted to teach him, but his reluctance/apathy create a non-ideal learning environment. Roy claims, without fail, each and every instance he’s sunk like a rock.
I have no reason to doubt him.
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