Finding humor on bus trips

Some were as a player but all were as a fledgling journalist, reporting for the then EVENING OBSERVER, the campus newspaper The Leader and working in publicity for the FSUC Athletic Department.

Without fail, immediately after venturing off campus onto Central Avenue, Brigham Road or Temple Street, a player would loudly ask, “Are we there yet, coach?” to scattered laughter.

It invariably broke the tension of the dreaded, hours-long road trips that often proved incredibly boring and tedious in the years before smartphones and the Internet.

There was little studying accomplished on the bus. Napping and games, usually card games, occupied the majority of our time. Gambling was banned, even for pennies. Hearts, Pinochle, War, Euchre, Slap Jack and more occupied our abundant free time.

Coaches rarely mounted strategy sessions while we drove, unless it was a short trip to Jamestown, Erie or Buffalo.

There was ample time for storytelling and recounting past athletic triumphs, disasters and funny or embarrassing incidents, some even true.

One of my earliest trips was with the soccer team on a trip across the state. After a while, things got pretty quiet. The only one at all animated was the team’s lone freshman starter, let’s call him Joe Mama.

Joe was excited beyond belief because we were nearing his hometown. He couldn’t stop talking.

He was the top scoring threat on a low-scoring team that won with defense. He was fast, skilled and universally liked by his older teammates.

Back in the late ’60s, when this tale is set, long distance phone charges were avoided religiously.

Joe had not talked to his family since they dropped him off before Labor Day. There had been a letter or two, but Joe was desperately homesick.

His family had circled the date for the team’s arrival for the game and had planned a grand homecoming event.

And we were hearing all about it. He was set to call home once we got to our motel and he had obtained permission to be picked up with a couple of teammates and treated to a homemade meal. We were all thrilled for him.

His family couldn’t wait to see their youngest son and would be anxiously awaiting his call.

Everyone was happy for Joe and after we all piled into the motel lobby, we crowded around the phone booth as he dialed home.

We could only hear Joe’s voice when someone quickly picked up.

“HI, MOM. IT WAS A LONG TRIP, BUT WE MADE IT!”

He was yelling. We were shamelessly eavesdropping.

We were expecting something like Paul Simon’s “A Mother and Child Reunion” but unexpectedly got a fake telephone comedy album bit from the late, so great, Bob Newhart or equally entertaining Shelley Berman.

Yeah, I know I’m dating myself. Heck, the phone booth he was comfortably sitting in had wooden walls and a phone book.

But I digress.

“IT’S ME,” Joe then excitedly blurted.

Silence.

“IT’S JOE!” He was still loud but now a little confused.

There was another pause as he listened and then said with a trace of annoyance, “IT’S YOUR JOE!”

We were now starting to giggle.

Another pause as he struggled mightily to connect.

“JOE MAMA,” he now explained, more than a tad frustratedly, forced to use his last name as a last resort.

We were openly laughing now and Joe shushed us. We didn’t know if there was a poor connection, a lot of noise at his house or she was just hard of hearing. We just knew it was funny. So much for the big, wildly anticipated homecoming.

This “failure to communicate” was much funnier than in its “Cool Hand Luke” big screen origin just a year earlier.

Finally, he gave it his best shot at identifying who was calling.

“JOE MAMA, YOUR SON!” he said sadly before he was drowned out by a room full of his friends now howling with laughter.

The teasing that weekend was relentless. Teammates can be cruel. And hilarious.

“Joe Mama who?”

“Did your voice finally change at college?”

“How many Joe Mamas are there in your family?”

“Did your mom name any of her other kids Joe?”

“Do you have a twin sister named Josephine?”

“Will the REAL Joe Mama PLEASE stand up and phone home?”

Poor Joe. If that was his real name.

Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER Sports Editor who spent more than 50 years as a sports official.

Cutline:

SUNY Fredonia sports teams spend many hours driving to games on bus trips.