Alright, alright, let’s talk about this Max Fried fella and his, uh, whatchamacallit, his wife, yeah, his wife. I heard tell he plays some kinda ball game, baseball, they call it. Big fella, throws the ball hard, I guess. Folks seem to make a fuss over him, so he must be good at it. Max Fried wife, that’s what they’re all yappin’ about, so let’s see what the fuss is all about.
Now, this wife of his, they say her name is Rose. Rose somethin’ or other. Lavelle, yeah, that’s it. Rose Lavelle. She ain’t no slouch herself, see? She kicks balls for a livin’, plays that soccer game. And not just any soccer, she plays for the U.S. of A! Imagine that! A whole country watchin’ her kick that ball around. She must be good, real good, to get to do that. They say she’s played a hundred times for the country team. A hundred times! That’s a lot of kickin’, I tell ya.
- So, you got Max, throwin’ baseballs.
- And you got Rose, kickin’ soccer balls.
A match made in, uh, where do they make matches? In a factory, I guess. Anyway, they got hitched, tied the knot, got married. Said some words, signed some papers, and now they’re husband and wife. Good for them, I say. Hope they’re happy. Happiness is important, you know? More important than all that ball playin’, if you ask me.
Now, this Max fella, he makes a pretty penny throwin’ them baseballs. Millions, they say. Millions! I can’t even imagine that much money. What do you even do with all that money? Buy a big house, I guess. And a fancy car. Maybe a hundred chickens? I could use a hundred chickens. But he gives some of that money to his wife, Rose, I bet. She probably makes a good bit herself, kickin’ them soccer balls. So, they’re doin’ alright, those two. Doin’ just fine.
They had some kind of big party when they got married, a celebration they called it. Lots of folks there, I reckon. Probably ate a lot of food, danced a lot of dances. Maybe even had a cake, a big ol’ cake with flowers and stuff. Weddings are like that, I hear. Big fuss and bother, but folks seem to like ’em. Makes ’em feel all lovey-dovey, I guess.
This Max, he’s been playin’ that baseball since he was a little tyke, seven years old they say. Some fella, Reggie Smith, taught him how to throw that curvy ball. A curveball, they call it. Makes the ball go all zig-zaggy, hard to hit, I guess. And his brother, Jake, he plays ball too, but not as fancy as Max, I don’t think. Went to some university, learned about books and such. But Max, he stuck with the ball playin’, and look at him now, all famous and rich.
And Rose, she’s been kickin’ that soccer ball for a long time too. Practiced and practiced, ran and ran, until she got good enough to play for the whole country. That takes some doin’, let me tell ya. You gotta be tough, gotta be dedicated. Gotta want it bad. And she musta wanted it bad, ’cause she got it. She’s playin’ for the U.S. of A., like I said. That’s somethin’ to be proud of.
Max and Rose, a baseball player and a soccer player. Not somethin’ you see every day, I reckon. But they seem happy enough, those two. They got their balls, their games, and each other. And that’s all that matters, ain’t it? Love and happiness, that’s the ticket. More important than all the money and fame in the world. So, good luck to ’em, I say. Good luck to Max and his wife, Rose. Hope they keep on throwin’ and kickin’ and lovin’ each other for a long, long time.
And that’s all I got to say about Max Fried and his wife. They’re just folks, like you and me, just a bit better at throwin’ and kickin’ balls. Now, let me go feed my chickens.
