Frank McCabe – Can I Be Frank & Crew?

REAL MEN: SLATTERY

As I have noted in previous REAL MEN columns, I only feel the inspiration to write them when I recognize the subject has made an indelible mark on me. A person – in this case – PERSONS that made an impact on my life in some way, shape or form. Most of the men I have chosen are my elders. Dear friends and family that have all guided me through my almost 50 years on this big, spinning, blue ball. However, this chapter is being dedicated to a large brood of kind, soulful, hysterical and 100% crazy men that I have been around for a very long time.

Hello Slatterys!

Yes, welcome to the Crazy Train indeed, folks.

Born, bred and proud Lowellians, the five Slattery Brothers are an army of awesome. With no disrespect to their solo sister, Kelly, this series is about men, but I am confident she could measure up to her kin in many, many ways (Apologies, Kelly. If I ever develop a ‘REAL WOMEN’ spin off, you will make the cut. God Bless you for tending to these screwballs for more than half of a century)

And now on to the boys and their individual accolades from this man’s perch.

Actually, let me back up for as second.

The Slatterys are a larger than life (literally and figuratively) Clan that have been causing mischief and mayhem around the Mill City for a long, long time. Educators, corrections officers, civil servants and (arguably the greatest) bartenders a plenty, these fellas do not f&$k around. Each and all have very storied and, somewhat epic, athletic histories taking them from the gridiron of Cawley Stadium to college stadiums across New England and beyond. A gifted brood of jocks that each appear to be a little better than the one in line in front of them. And while all of that is impressive and widely known, these cats are simply great dudes. Fun, fiery, loyal and wild. The epitome of a classic 20th century Irish American family.

Here are their stories (insert the Law and Order DAH DAH!!!).

In birth order, each hold a special spot with me for incredibly different reasons. (Jesus, I hope I don’t piss any of these monsters off. Here goes!)

Ted “Bubba” Slattery

Became friends with Teddy at a later age and have always been honored to call him that. It’s almost ironic he bears the name Teddy – because he truly is a Teddy Bear of a human. (Of course, I don’t recall knowing or owning a Teddy Bear that would rip your head off if you crossed him or his family. I digress.) Ted is actually a gentle, considerate, kind and awesome guy. The first guy to offer a handshake, a hug, or ice cold beverage. Most of the time I have spent with Teddy has been on a golf course or in a saloon. While we both suck at golf, we make up for it in the barroom. Our sessions are always fun and packed with laugher. We all could use a guy like Bubba in our corner.

Paul “Pipes” Slattery

Oh boy. Where do I begin with this 6’5, 250 pound mass of coolness? The Pipa is an absolute legend and a gift to us all. A hilarious, story-telling, drink-slinging gentleman of historic fame, Pipes, for lack of a better term, is just freaking fantastic. One of those people that you light up when you see because you know you are on the receiving end of an amazing story, joke or (likely exaggerated) tale. Paul was the pourer of my very first (illegal) alcoholic beverage. The now-defunct “KEG” pub, tucked over in Lowell’s Centralville section, was where one squeaky-voiced Frankie McCabe Jr. ordered his first beer at the tender age of SIXTEEN in 1991! Yes, really. Tagging along with some older cousins and buddies, I was a wreck. Paul asked for my identification. My stomach dropped on the spot but then he quickly followed with, “I’m “f%cking with you buddy, what do you need?”. The best. A single-handicap golfer, Pipes still remains the man around these city streets.

P.S. – Ask him to croon Springsteen’s Thunder Road if you bump in to him.

Kevin “Coach” Slattery

Kevin was on my high school football team’s coaching staff. While he was busy directly coaching the “biggins” and not us soft, little, delicate guys, he always made a point to know all of his players. Truly an intimidating figure, Kevin taught me a healthy amount of fear and respect for my superiors – which is highly lacking (and needed) in today’s world. Just prior to my senior season, Kevin decided to put a temporary hold on his coaching career; and that stung. I recall my Dad pulling him aside and virtually begging him to stay just one more year until I moved on and continue providing me direction. He was a powerful influence on a whole gaggle of punk teenage boys. A builder and leader of men, Kevin is a role model and a Real Man if you ever met one. Thanks Coach. You made a valued and important imprint on me.

James “Don’t you dare call me Jimmy” Slattery

Nope. No stories. No banter. Nuh uh. Not doing it. Ain’t no way on Turkey Day. Guy scares the shit out of 99.9% of the population (the only 0.1 % that are not scared are his brothers – maybe). Have a good day, sir. Sorry to trouble you. Carry on. God Bless.

“Administrator” David Slattery

Baby of the Slattery Clan. Arguably the craziest. Arguably the toughest. Arguably the sweetest. . Positively one of the best. David is closest in age to me and I consider him a dear friend. There are 10,000 David Slatts stories that I won’t bother to reference; except for one. At a very low point of my professional life, when I really needed a break, David was my guy. At a career-crossroads for yours truly, DS stepped up and offered me daylight to get me back on my feet. It turned out to be, perhaps, the most meaningful part of my working life and I owe that to him. And speaking of education, a University of Rhode Island football (and Lowell break dancing) legend, Dave will get the pleasure of my company at those Rhodie tailgate parties as my middle child is about to become a Ram for the next four years. Can’t wait, buddy!

And there it is. Hope I didn’t upset any of you big boys with these words, but if I did, I want you to know Shaun McCarty held a gun to my head and made me type this.

REAL MEN.

Frank McCabe, Uncategorized

REAL MEN: MCCABE

When my Dad passed last year I, almost immediately, had this REAL MEN project in mind. Stories of men that helped mold me.

Men of resolve and grit. Men like my father, my grandfather and his brothers and their sons.

The most daunting task was writing this chapter about the most powerful group of men in my world; The McCabes

The paternal side of my family tree makes me smile.

The McCabe men make me very proud.

Here is why…

The first McCabe man, Patrick, stepped foot on America’s soil in 1903 (thanks Jamie for the evidence). A proud and outlandish “Paddy”, Patrick was a railroad worker doing his very best for his children. Six boys and a girl (God bless you, Mary) fighting their way through the new world.

Great grandfather Patrick (who apparently went by “Pete”. Huh?) was, naturally a God-fearing and Protestant-hating Catholic. Apparently “Pete” would roam home on Friday nights after a long day and, with such built up anti-English anger, and punch out the pickets of his British neighbor’s fence. Of course, the other half of being a good Catholic is always feeling guilty, so Pat/Pete would wake up on Saturday morning with a slight hangover and insist his brood of boys fix the mistake he made just hours earlier.

The best part is…he performed this act of lunacy weekly.

Flash forward and the McCabe boys were off and running in America.

Firemen, clergy and funeral directors, the McCabe boys were making their mark in Lowell Massachusetts. Loyal Catholics and devout maniacs, these men were here to stay.

Eddie, my grandfather, was a certifiable whacko and the local undertaker. Kind to his core, Ed would fight the wind if he thought it blew in the wrong direction. When he wasn’t burying parishioners, you could find him yelling at my Dad or fishing. Good man. Scared me to death (see what I did there?)

Patrick, the baby of the clan, and the eventual deputy chief of the Lowell Fire Department was the true bad ass of the boys. The youngest, Pat was a wild man with the biggest heart and a bigger temper. Father of eight, Pat was the poster boy for the Irish American dream.

As for the rest, I hardly knew them. Priests and crazies I am told, but the McCabes had arrived by the middle of the 20th century.

Flash forward to our generation and I simply feel like a weakling in comparison. The OG McCabes, the off-the-boat McCabes…they were truly real men.

Legend has it my great grandfather punched out a horse on a $10 bet from the same English guy I referenced above. Really? I got a splinter a few weeks back and called in sick.

It doesn’t matter because, to be very candid, these type of men are extinct and just make me very proud be a part of their legacy.

They were not welcomed in this country.

They needed to forge their way and their future, like all immigrants.

“NO IRISH NEED APPLY”

Remember?

Today, more than 100 years since the first McCabe arrived in this nation, I am so very proud to be a part of this lineage.

I am proud to be an Irish American.

I am proud of this family.

I am proud to be a McCabe.

REAL MEN.

Can I Be Frank, Frank McCabe

Just go, Man

The world is weird right now.

Very weird.

Last I saw, our world is on standby. School. Work. Church. You name it. It’s all on hold for now. We are being told (forced?) to stay home.

Weird times.

That said….what a remarkable opportunity we have been presented. Right?. When, if ever, in our lifetime have we had a guilt-free period to simply “be”? Yes, there is a worrisome pandemic, but I would like to believe most of us will avoid and manage this scare with a bit of resolve and practicality.

And so, why not embrace this time?

Grab a book. Grab a board game. Grab a loved one.

Cook that recipe you have been afraid to attempt. Pick up that guitar you have been staring at. Take that long walk you always have in mind (with your dog or your significant other. No judging here). Love-the-one-you’re-with kind of vibe, kid!

Go!

Send that card to Nana. Mix that cocktail. Scoop that ice cream!

Just go man!

Why not?

I am the biggest, sarcastic hypocrite ever, but hey…let’s give it a shot.

Can I Be Frank, Food, Frank McCabe

A Tale of McNuggets: I’m Loving It

McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets, by definition:

“The Chicken McNugget is a small piece of processed chicken meat that is fried in batter and flash-frozen, then shipped out and sold at McDonald’s restaurants.

McDonald’s first executive chef, René Arend, created the Chicken McNuggets recipe in 1979. “The McNuggets were so well-received that every franchise wanted them”, said Arend in a 2009 interview. “There wasn’t a system to supply enough chicken”. Supply problems were solved by 1983, and Chicken McNuggets became available nationwide.

According to McDonald’s, the nuggets come in four shapes: the bell, the bow-tie, the ball and the boot. The reason for the four different shapes is to ensure consistent cooking times for food safety. Four shapes were chosen because McDonalds states “The 4 shapes we make Chicken McNuggets in was the perfect equilibrium of dipability and fun. 3 would’ve been too few. 5 would’ve been, like, wacky.”

Blah, blah, blah. I don’t give a crap about the invention of McNuggets nor their God-fearing nutricional UN-value. I don’t. And if you care to comment at this stage of this column I respectfully ask you to take your opinion to the nearest Wendy’s.

This is a story of McNugget Lore. A love story. A story of passion and poison. Gluttony and greed. It has all the elements of a Michael Douglas B-Rate thriller coupled with the spoiled-oil grease trap cooking these American legends across our great land. McNuggets are the Broad Stripes and Bright Stars. The Purple Mountain Magesty. The Amber Waves of Grain. Deep fried deliciousness.

OK, you get my stance.

And now to the long overdue story….

About a year ago….we will call in ‘Ought ’18, a few of my closest and dearest were enjoying some well-deserved Friday Beers over some conversation and comradery at one of our favorite watering holes in the mighty Mill City. In our spirited discussion, the wildly popular topic of food naturally arose. More specific? Fast Food. Despite the incredible pressure and political-correct-crapness to insist this cuisine is taboo and should never grace our pallets; lets be freakin’ honest for one Millennial second. If you are a child of the 1970s, 80s, and even 90s….you loved yourself some drive-thru. Of course you did. You wouldn’t be human or from the USA if you didn’t. One thing made you happier than anything else; The HAPPY Meal. And thence into beauty.

McDonalds, above all of the other gullet-stuffing, caloric-Titanic-disasters of the fast food chain made us all smile in a guilty but genuine glee.

As such, the gang and I all waxed poetic about the delicate decadence of the Chicken McNugget. Oohs and Ahhs quickly turned to bravado…

“How many McNuggets could you take down?,” one member of our crew shouted.

Insane mathematical impossibilities were exclaimed.

“40!”

“No way, I can do 60!”

“I got 100 in me on an empty stomach!‘ screamed the most clearly inebriated of the clan.

Arguments, fuzzy logic and Venn diagrams even appeared within this classroom of cocktails.

And then a calm and sober voice interceded. A leader amongst us. The proprietor of this famed Lowellian water hole.

“Hey….I’ll buy Nuggets and let’s give it a test run.‘

(Collective gulps).

He continued, “I saw a deal they (McDonald’s) are running right now on special. 40 nuggets for $10.”

The crowd now silenced like the spectators at the Roman Colliseum following a Gladiator death match.

Nods and hesitant (Boston accent) “Shahs” followed his proposal. And then, he was off like the childish Red and Yellow Clown Ronald himself.

Our bravado soon turned to healthy fear of a Weekend at BURN-ies with a side with a vomitous chicken collision.

I’d like to tell you how we had the greatest eat off since Lard Ass in the Pie Eating Contest in Stand By Me. I’d love to brag how eating giants Joey Chestnut and Kobayashi were weak shadows of greatness compared to what we were about to take in during this stomach stuffing for annals of history.

But, I can’t.

The real legend in this story is the Fearless Leader and Procurer of the above stated magnanimous amount of McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets.

He mosied in to the nearest Mickey D’s and laid it all down…and they didn’t know how to pick it up.

Calm and confident he stated his demands….

“Can I have 200 Chicken McNuggets, please?

Pimple-Face Paul on his first day at the Golden Arches nearly collapsed.

“One moment, sir,” Paul choked, “I need to see my Manager.”

“No problem,” our fearless faux-chicken-buying General responded.

As poor Paul raced to the back and tracked down Second Shift Manager Scotty, the hollow echoes across this grease pit began to stir. This was happening. The day this staff had all been preparing for since they launched this value-friendly coronary offer to the general public. Scotty attempted to compose himself and visited the counter to confirm this unprecedented request.

(stuttering and disheveled) “Hello, sir. Um, did my associate get that straight? You would like 200 Chicken McNuggets?

“Yeah, that’s right,” retorted our hero.

“OoooooK, then, ” Scotty replied in a shear state of disbelief and turned to head back to the kitchen to simply digest (giggle) this magnanimous confirmation.

Reluctantly, Scotty turned back to the counter made the mistake of asking…. “Do you want that for here? Or to go?”

And this is where this silly tale of processed meat became epic…

“I’m going to have it here.”

At this stage, every single employee, patron and bystander stood petrified in awe, amazement and fear.

And just when you thought our Champion could not make this scene any funnier, he uttered his final words before he let these Soldiers of Preservative-Filled Fortune off the hook with a laugh.

“Oh, and a small diet coke.”

History.

P.S. I knocked back 30 nuggs without breaking a (meat) sweat later that day.

Can I Be Frank, Frank McCabe, Sports

The Juice is Loose…on Twitter

Grab the popcorn, folks, cause this is gonna be fun.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Orenthal James “OJ” Simpson has joined Twitter. (ok, that was a link to my feed – just click “Follow” and we will move on)

To follow the REAL Juice, here it is TheRealOJ32

And faster that you can utter the phrase “If the glove don’t fit, you must….” OJ has over 600,000 followers!

Wow. What does that say about the world? Simple, we all want to be entertained and I have a hunch ol’ #32 will bring that to the ‘Sphere. So far, OJ has posted three short selfie videos. The very first one is most intriguing when he proclaims he’s “got a little getting even to do…”

And what do you mean by that does that mean, Mr. Simpson?

Also, how about the fact he makes this big announcement almost exactly 25 years to the day he was alleged (and I by alleged, we all know he did it) to have brutally murdered two people. We see what you are doing Juice.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t take a stab (oops) at mocking this new gift granted to our social media lives.

So let join in the revelry with some early ones I have heard,…

“OJ will be using Slashtags instead of Hashtags”

“Surprised he didn’t use the handle @IDidIt”

“His first follower was the LA Police Department.”

“Sure, OJ is on Twitter but that is not gonna drag me away from Judge Ito’s Instagram”

“OJ and Twitter go together like a hunting knife and leather gloves.”

And the jokes could go one forever. Won’t even begin the long line of Kardashian quips that could be made (yet).

So, highly suggest you give the 71 year old future Hell of Famer a follow. Its sure to be interesting.

Personally, I prefer to remember ‘the-pre-double-murder-silly-clumsy-Naked Gun Nordberg’ OJ Simpson

P.S. Imagine that fact that OJ isn’t even the worst guy in this picture?

P.P.S. My Dad said “he was a nice guy” when he met him earlier this year BUT I am also pretty sure OJ gave him cancer. Can’t prove it.

Can I Be Frank, Frank McCabe, Uncategorized

Happy New Year! We are all doomed!

And so as we close out half of this decade (am I the only one that thinks 1999 was like 3 years ago?) this evening, I thought I would offer a basic and easy-to-understand overview of the Presidential election landscape. Politics is really not my thing – at all – but is this not the most bizarre field of candidates you have seen? It’s more like a reality show than a run for the White House.

Anyway, here is a simple chapter and verse rundown of our future leader….

HILLARY CLINTON

Supporting Hillary is like supporting that stay-at-home, overbearing, bitchy PTO mom everyone hates but no one will say it even though she will ultimately screw you over and give half of those brownies you made away to the lunch lady for free at the annual bake sale.
BERNIE SANDERS

Supporting Bernie Sanders is like recreating Back to the Future. Doc Brown (Sanders) convinces naive Marty McFly (the American people) that stealing plutonium from Libyans in the name of scientific advancement could cost you your life. What does that mean? I don’t know either, but this guy is moon bat, shithouse crazy and needs a straight jacket.

DONALD TRUMP

Supporting Trump is basically sucking up to that snotty, pushy rich kid that had all the best toys, game and parties but you don’t really like him and he will inevitably screw you and everyone else over if given the chance. HUGE!

JEB BUSH

Supporting Jeb Bush is the equivalent of becoming buddies with the head coach’s son cause you know you will make the team and get some varsity action. Just go along with what Daddy says and everything will be fine for you even if the rest of the team suffers.

CHRIS CHRISTIE

Supporting Chris Christie is like supporting pizza. Always seems like a good idea til you eat the whole fucking thing alone and now find yourself filled with regret (not to mention pizza)

AND….

As for the rest of the field….might as well flip a fricken’ coin. Who “sucks less” in this race is what we have on our hands.

Insightful, I know.

Vote your conscience because logic and reason won’t help you in November.

USA!! USA!! USA!!

HAPPY 2016!

Good night and God Bless, suckas!