The year is 1974. It's Friday night at 8:00 (7:00 Central). That means only one thing, as far as I'm concerned.
It's time for The Brady Bunch!Here's the story, of a lovely lady. Who was bringing up three very lovely, okay, I have a confession to make. I am a Bradyphile. I am 44 years old, and I can tell you virtually anything you want to know about Mike, Carol and the kids. Alice too. And I don't mean the obvious stuff like the dog's name (Tiger) or the name of the family next door (the Ditmeyers). I mean, not only can I tell you who broke Mom's favorite vase (Peter), how he did it (playing ball in the house), or how, after a botched sibling-assisted coverup, he was eventually punished (missed a camping trip), I can also tell you the name of the parent who came to pick him up for the trip (Doug Kramer).
Sure, everyone knows what happened to Marcia when she got hit with the football (broken nose), maybe even why the football stud broke their date (something suddenly came up). But do you know the name of that BMOC?
Doug Simpson.
That's right, biatch.
I don't know whether to be proud of this, or ashamed. It is what it is.
Oddly enough, I had no interest in the Partridge Family when I was a kid, and that came on right after the Bradys. Maybe it's because Marcia Brady was scorchingly hot and Laurie Partridge looked kinda creepy and anorexic (not that we knew what that was in the 70's). But if we're being completely truthful here, when I happen to catch the odd rerun? It's Florence Henderson who was the hottest Brady babe, make no mistake about it ("something suddenly came up" indeed). At any rate, during the 70's, the Bradys seemed like the perfect family. They treated each other with respect (usually), they were always reasonable, and when push came to shove, Mike could always be counted on for a few timely words of wisdom.
As an aside, I happened to meet Robert Reed back in my working-at-the-movie-theater days. He showered me with a few more words of wisdom, specifically, "Are you going to turn the fucking sound down in there or are we all going to go fucking deaf?"
Oh, Mr. Brady. You never would've talked to Greg that way.
So yeah, I watched a lot of Brady Bunch. No matter who you were as a kid, there was just the right Brady for you to relate to. If you were a good athlete and a chick magnet, you had Greg. If you were whiny and jealous, there was Jan. Personally, I always related to Peter. Kind of a joker, always quick with the witty retort. My favorite was the episode when Greg met Don Drysdale (episode title: "The Dropout"). Greg gets a bit too large for his trousers, and when he gets lit up by the opposing Little League team, Peter says, "He couldn't get anyone out. He gave up ten runs in the first inning and then the coach gave Greg the hook." The sarcasm was perfect. And of course, who can forget Pete's flawless Humphrey Bogart impression? "Pork chops, and applesauce. That's swell." (Episode title: "The Personality Kid").
They just don't write 'em like that anymore. I miss the good times and mayhem with Mike, Carol, Greg, Peter, Bobby, Marcia, Jan and Cindy. Screw cousin Oliver though, that owl-faced little douche. And never forget dear ol' Alice (last name: Nelson). Remember her boyfriend, the butcher? His name, as I'm sure you'll recall, was Sam.
Sam Franklin.
That's right, biatch.
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