Never ending streams of year end recaps are put forth by various media sources paying tribute to recent historical events that range from the sublime to the mundane. Some worthy of note which we should remember and savor, others will be quickly dismissed as mental offal. Often we care so little about our past and the effect if has on the direction we’re heading. America has become a culture which demands immediate gratification. We are not a society of waiters. Waiting means patience, a virtuous trait that has been on the wane for many years now. We cannot wait to see what potential outcomes might be. If we only slowed down and recalled historical events we can get a good idea of what the future has in store for us. With that being said, and keeping with the spirit of year end summaries, let’s take a prognosticatory look at the events of 2009.
In the world of sports, Texas will secede from the United States; rename it “Little America,” so the Dallas Cowboys can remain, in some form, America’s Team.
In March, the BCS will declare the New York Yankees World Series Champions.
Mormons consider certain forms of music to be against their faith. Under heavy religious pressure from the Church of Latter Day Saints, the Utah Jazz will change its name to the Utah Tabernacle Choir. Sales of new jerseys skyrocket.
In keeping with the spirit of rewarding mediocrity, all National Hockey League teams will qualify for the playoffs. At the conclusion of said playoffs, each team will be given replicas of the Stanley Cup Trophy. This way no one feels bad about themselves. Kids who Do Not make their schools honor roll receive free tickets to games by showing a copy of their report cards.
American football will universally be known as soccer, eliminating all the confusion.
Also in the NSL, formally known as the National Football League, a rule is passed declaring all uniform colors must be either earth tones or pastels so as not to create anymore fun than absolutely necessary. All unbridled joy is abolished.
A move to speed up Major League games is implemented. Pitchers will now be able to remove themselves from the game without the manager making the requisite trips to the mound. The pitcher who removes himself will also be allowed to summon his replacement.
Also, a coalition made up entirely of Caucasians, in a attempt to expand political correctness, petitions the Major Leagues to force Atlanta and Cleveland to change their names from Braves and Indians respectively, to “Native Americans.” Both team logos must now resemble Charles Eastman in a suit and tie. All tribes in America poke fun at the asshole white men.
In the National Basketball association, in an effort to increase scoring, a new 15 second clock is used, and 4 points will be awarded to anyone who makes a shot from beyond half court. Antoine Walker's career is rejuvenated.
At the high school level, any parent heard harassing coaches, referees, umpires or their own children; or professes to have any knowledge of a particular sport but clearly does not, shall be arrested.
At the recreational level, any parent or coach that does not take their charges out for ice cream after a game is also to be arrested. Behavior of adults improves dramatically.
On the political front, public outcry commences after Barack Obama does not completely change everything within the first 100 days in office. Impeachment proceedings begin after Congress resumes after the summer recess.
Sarah Palin, upset over Texas’ secession, orders the entire state to be moved off the coast of Alaska so she can keep on eye on it along with Russia for telltale signs of aggression. In her living will, she leaves her brain to science, all universities and medical research centers respectfully decline.
Marijuana is legalized. The tax rate on the drug is higher than that of alcoholic beverages and tobacco products. Farmers no longer need to receive government subsidies, taxpayer funded prisons see their populations dwindle, and organized crime activity reaches an all time low. The DEA budget is slashed by 80%. The government deficit is expected to be eradicated within 2 years. There is no longer a foreign trade imbalance. However, employee absenteeism is rampant.
2009 saw the Middle East’s potable fresh water supply dwindle to dangerously low levels. The U.S. comes to their aid offering to exchange barrels of fresh water for crude oil, driving the price per barrel to an all-time low of $12.00. However, gas prices never go below $1.00. Irate consumers demand an explanation. Oil companies and the American government unrepentantly cite “unadulterated greed” as the reason.
All Americans of legal driving age are issued handicapped parking stickers. Physicians universally agree that all Americans suffer some physical malady that hinders their ability to walk anywhere. This eliminates all the jealousies and sniping toward truly handicapped individuals.
The entertainment world has its share of surprises as well.
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, in their continuing attempt to rid the world of all ills, adopt the entire island country of Madagascar.
During a particular down spring movie season, MGM releases a film of Will Smith sitting on the toilet reading the Sunday New York Times. It grosses $11 million in its first weekend.
To make television news appear a little less grave, a Whoopee Cushion is installed in Katie Couric’s anchor chair. CBS’s ratings soar.
Lewis Black is named the head of CNN.
Alas, things that affect us directly remain dormant. Our cable and satellite television still won’t work in inclement weather. Telecommunications companies allude to “shitty technology and apathy” for continued poor reception. Monthly rates increase.
A new Iphone is introduced; it’s a combination microcomputer/GPS/Ipod/Wii/taser. All functions work perfectly. However, phone service is spotty at best. Cellular service providers acknowledge this “snag” but admit “we really don’t care.” Monthly rates increase.
But the top story for 2009; McDonald’s Corporation, due to the legalization of marijuana, is no longer able to staff franchises. They ask for and receive a substantial taxpayer funded government bailout. The government points to the absolute need for Americans to remain fat, lazy and in poor health. No one raises an eyebrow.
Have a Happy New Year.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Twas the Night before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, and all around the earth
Everyone was bitching and moaning, there were no thoughts of mirth. Long hours working, for those who had jobs, then it’s off to trim trees,
string lights, and go shopping with the rest of the mob.
After cursing the traffic on the way home, you load up the mini-van, crying children in tow. This is a misguided notion of quality time, when if you left them with a sitter, all would be fine.
Last minute gifts are the cause for this trek, while accumulated stuff lay dormant on the porch and the deck. If not stuff that we crave, it’s a much bigger house. That means a much bigger mortgage, hell, it’s no wonder we regularly go and get soused.
The worries of money, and our boss who’s a jerk; we can’t quit now, one more year before the really great perks. So we endure and we toil, whilst the essentials go wanting; that’d be our kids and our friends, we find personal relationships too time consuming and daunting.
After a fight with the wife, and bedding down of the brood; we go through the motions wrapping gifts and getting Santa’s faux food.
“Don’t want to disappoint the kids” you say to yourself, while it’s already too late you unjolly elf.
You’ve frittered away their most valuable years, preoccupied with investments and those fucking assholes the Jones. It’s been hard to keep up, but you’ve done it, through stock scams and short loans. Looks like you’ve passed them if that’s what you’re after; they’ve filed for bankruptcy, moved out, their life’s a disaster.
This train of thought is broken, by a noise before dawn. You throw open the front door and scream “Get off of my lawn!” “Through spring and summer I sodded and weeded and mowed, don’t you ruin my handiwork, I’ll call the cops and have that freakin’ sleigh towed!”
“I know the mayor,”and each councilman by name, on Liebman, and Goldberg, Hernandez and Smythe; on Bennett and Jenkins…” who cares, get a life. Can’t you be kind if just for one day? You add, “I’m also the president of my HOA!”
The neighbors you ignore all the year long, have all left their homes to witness this outburst. You rant and you rave, your behavior’s the worst. The man in the red suit shakes his head in disgust, where did it all go wrong he wonders, this visit’s a bust. Self-absorbed and conceited, they think their entitled, to what I don’t know, when they act so infantile.
The man in the red suit continues to muse; they’re in a big rush, honk horns, and give the finger to whoever they choose. They don’t need bigger garages to hold stuff so bigger cars will not fit. Let’s simplify, like George Carlin once said, be nicer to each other and don’t steal shit.
Let’s take a step back, so we can see the glass is half full; call a friend or a relative, go chat with those neighbors this Yule. Let’s try to stay that way all the year through; to hell with promotions and one-upping each other, make it a point to be better fathers and mothers.
I long for the day Santa’s bag is of little weight, the things Christmas should stand for, take up a space that’s much, much too great. If we can get our heads out of our asses, and hands out of wallets, we’d understand that we’ve got what we need, and stop being so callous.
The neighborhood residents look gloomy, no presents for them. Things will be different they swear if it means happiness for they and their kin.
The man in red has brought a gift for the irate jerkoff nevertheless, he hands over an envelope, and say “you’ve been served by the IRS.”
Everyone was bitching and moaning, there were no thoughts of mirth. Long hours working, for those who had jobs, then it’s off to trim trees,
string lights, and go shopping with the rest of the mob.
After cursing the traffic on the way home, you load up the mini-van, crying children in tow. This is a misguided notion of quality time, when if you left them with a sitter, all would be fine.
Last minute gifts are the cause for this trek, while accumulated stuff lay dormant on the porch and the deck. If not stuff that we crave, it’s a much bigger house. That means a much bigger mortgage, hell, it’s no wonder we regularly go and get soused.
The worries of money, and our boss who’s a jerk; we can’t quit now, one more year before the really great perks. So we endure and we toil, whilst the essentials go wanting; that’d be our kids and our friends, we find personal relationships too time consuming and daunting.
After a fight with the wife, and bedding down of the brood; we go through the motions wrapping gifts and getting Santa’s faux food.
“Don’t want to disappoint the kids” you say to yourself, while it’s already too late you unjolly elf.
You’ve frittered away their most valuable years, preoccupied with investments and those fucking assholes the Jones. It’s been hard to keep up, but you’ve done it, through stock scams and short loans. Looks like you’ve passed them if that’s what you’re after; they’ve filed for bankruptcy, moved out, their life’s a disaster.
This train of thought is broken, by a noise before dawn. You throw open the front door and scream “Get off of my lawn!” “Through spring and summer I sodded and weeded and mowed, don’t you ruin my handiwork, I’ll call the cops and have that freakin’ sleigh towed!”
“I know the mayor,”and each councilman by name, on Liebman, and Goldberg, Hernandez and Smythe; on Bennett and Jenkins…” who cares, get a life. Can’t you be kind if just for one day? You add, “I’m also the president of my HOA!”
The neighbors you ignore all the year long, have all left their homes to witness this outburst. You rant and you rave, your behavior’s the worst. The man in the red suit shakes his head in disgust, where did it all go wrong he wonders, this visit’s a bust. Self-absorbed and conceited, they think their entitled, to what I don’t know, when they act so infantile.
The man in the red suit continues to muse; they’re in a big rush, honk horns, and give the finger to whoever they choose. They don’t need bigger garages to hold stuff so bigger cars will not fit. Let’s simplify, like George Carlin once said, be nicer to each other and don’t steal shit.
Let’s take a step back, so we can see the glass is half full; call a friend or a relative, go chat with those neighbors this Yule. Let’s try to stay that way all the year through; to hell with promotions and one-upping each other, make it a point to be better fathers and mothers.
I long for the day Santa’s bag is of little weight, the things Christmas should stand for, take up a space that’s much, much too great. If we can get our heads out of our asses, and hands out of wallets, we’d understand that we’ve got what we need, and stop being so callous.
The neighborhood residents look gloomy, no presents for them. Things will be different they swear if it means happiness for they and their kin.
The man in red has brought a gift for the irate jerkoff nevertheless, he hands over an envelope, and say “you’ve been served by the IRS.”
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
“And the Winner Is…”
Over the last couple of months, numerous accolades have been doled out in many segments of what our culture deems entertainment. Those things we can’t get enough of; sports, movies, “reality” television.
Baseball concluded its season with the annual sports writer anointment of the best of the best. Each league had a MVP, a Cy Young, a Rookie of the year. Each also had its Silver Sluggers, Golden Glovers, and Bronze Jock Strappers. Hall of Fame ballots have gone out for this year’s class of honoree hopefuls. Shamefully, Pete Rose isn’t on it.
College Football is concluding the season with the Heisman, the Lombardi, the Butkus, the Maxwell, the Walter Camp, the Davey O’ Brien, All-Conference, All-American; not to mention the upcoming All-Star games. The Shrine game, The Hula Bowl, The Senior Bowl, The Blue-Gray Game, The Black and Blue Game, the I’m Singing the Blues Game. For you non-sport folk, the last two are made up…I think. There are more, need I go on? Yes I must!
The nominees have been announced for possible induction into the Professional Football Hall of Fame. The voting is in for the NFL Pro Bowl. You know that one, it’s the game at the end of the year, yes, even after the Super Bowl; the one that no one gives a shit about the outcome. The one many of the players eschew, even though it’s played in Hawaii…in February, which shows you how over football a lot of these guys are by then. Hell, many players have incentive clauses in their contracts which pay them sizable bonuses if elected to the team, and they still don’t go.
The Golden Globes recently checked in with their nominations on the finest the movie industry has to offer, whether the public concurs with them or not. The actors, directors, et al, all will tell you what an honor it is to be recognized for their work. The bottom line is what the hype will do for the movie at the box office. Before you know it, the Oscar nominations will be announced, and television entertainment news magazines will finally have endless mindless crap to talk about. Oh, they already do that.
In television, we now know who the best celebrity dancer is, and the winner of the Amazing Race. Three “experts,” one a former Los Angeles Laker cheerleader, told us what who the next American Idol will be. If anybody, she should know! We will soon find out who the Biggest Loser is, not the viewer for watching, but the person who lost the most weight. Let’s all hold our collective breaths ok? Lastly, we finally get to know who won Survivor- Journey to the Center of the Earth. What is it, the46th installment of that franchise? Maybe it only seems like it’s been that many. Man, I thought that show jumped the shark long ago. When is the public going to realize that the participant’s behavior is no longer spontaneous? You can’t really think the contestants never saw the show before and everything they do is original. As long as it continues to get ratings, and there are picturesque shitholes on the planet to go, the show will regretfully endure. Maybe the next one can be Survivor-Space Station. Let’s see how long the competitors can stand each other in close quarters. I’d watch that.
Who are the decision makers of the majority of the aforementioned distinctive achievements? For the sports realm, I n some cases it’s the coaches. For the most part, it’s the sports writers. The same people who occasionally lambaste and vilify the individuals nominated for the awards. In addition, the criteria on which they base their votes vary...widely, dependent upon what’s in vogue at the time. For the Golden Globes and the Oscars, who cares? Two sport awards that warrant further scrutiny here are Major League baseball’s MVP award, and College Football’s Heisman Trophy.
In 1941, Joe DiMaggio of the New York Yankees bested Ted Williams of the Boston Red Sox for the American League MVP. DiMaggio had his 56 game hitting streak; Williams became the last man to hit .400, both memorable accomplishments. Is one more feat momentous than the other? It’s hard to say. However, one writer left Williams completely off his ballot, unconscionable. Though, Williams’ relationship with members of the press was rocky at best. So how much you kiss the sports writers ass is taken into account? I thought it was all about what was accomplished between the white lines that mattered. (Pete Rose would beg to differ) In addition, DiMaggio’s Yankees won the pennant that year, and that should count for something, but sometimes it doesn’t.
In 1987, Andre Dawson won the award as a member of the last place Chicago Cubs. They could’ve finished in last place without him, so how valuable could he have really been? But his on field performance was significantly superior to that of his peers. So does it matter where your team finishes in the standings? Sometimes, if the wind is right, just ask Albert Pujols. His team didn’t even win their division, and he won the National League MVP this year. Outcry has been minimal due to Pujols’ amicable disposition, and humble demeanor. (Pete Rose should read Dale Carnegie’s book) Okay, I get it now. If you’re a really good guy, and even though the team you play for didn’t reach their goals, then you can still win because the writers like you. That sounds fair… not. The Heisman voting is no less suspect with its own share of intangibles.
In 1987, Charles Woodson of the University of Michigan, became the first primarily defensive player to win the prestigious Heisman Trophy. He intercepted passes, he returned punts, and he returned kickoffs, he could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Against archrival Ohio State, he intercepted two passes, returned a punt for a touchdown, and even caught a 37 yard pass while on offense that led to Michigan’s lone offensive touchdown. Wow! What a valuable player. But the Heisman is not given to the most valuable player; it’s given to the best player. Woodson finished ahead of Peyton Manning in the voting, but light years behind statiscally. The previous year, Woodson did not moon a female assistant athletic trainer, Manning did. When did sportswriters become the moral entrepreneurs of American society, and when did behavior have bearing on voting, or should it have any bearing at all?
Thank goodness the moral fiber has been above reproach for those up for the award in 2008. For the most part, it’s about gaudy numbers (not in 1987 obviously); except if you lose a big game down the stretch like Graham Harrell, the quarterback of Texas Tech did. And he had his worst game of the year against Heisman winner Sam Bradford’s Oklahoma squad. Harrell’s statistics matched up with the three finalists that made the trip to New York. But Sam Bradford and Tim Tebow team’s won their conference championship game. Colt McCoy’s Texas team was excluded from the conference championship because of the BSC ranking tie-breaker rule. All were deserving of the award. None of them ever pissed off anybody in the press, unless there’s a penalty for being too upstanding, and not one of them dropped trou in front of a young lady.
I wonder if any of those Heisman voters cast their ballots for O.J. Simpson when he won the award in 1968.
Baseball concluded its season with the annual sports writer anointment of the best of the best. Each league had a MVP, a Cy Young, a Rookie of the year. Each also had its Silver Sluggers, Golden Glovers, and Bronze Jock Strappers. Hall of Fame ballots have gone out for this year’s class of honoree hopefuls. Shamefully, Pete Rose isn’t on it.
College Football is concluding the season with the Heisman, the Lombardi, the Butkus, the Maxwell, the Walter Camp, the Davey O’ Brien, All-Conference, All-American; not to mention the upcoming All-Star games. The Shrine game, The Hula Bowl, The Senior Bowl, The Blue-Gray Game, The Black and Blue Game, the I’m Singing the Blues Game. For you non-sport folk, the last two are made up…I think. There are more, need I go on? Yes I must!
The nominees have been announced for possible induction into the Professional Football Hall of Fame. The voting is in for the NFL Pro Bowl. You know that one, it’s the game at the end of the year, yes, even after the Super Bowl; the one that no one gives a shit about the outcome. The one many of the players eschew, even though it’s played in Hawaii…in February, which shows you how over football a lot of these guys are by then. Hell, many players have incentive clauses in their contracts which pay them sizable bonuses if elected to the team, and they still don’t go.
The Golden Globes recently checked in with their nominations on the finest the movie industry has to offer, whether the public concurs with them or not. The actors, directors, et al, all will tell you what an honor it is to be recognized for their work. The bottom line is what the hype will do for the movie at the box office. Before you know it, the Oscar nominations will be announced, and television entertainment news magazines will finally have endless mindless crap to talk about. Oh, they already do that.
In television, we now know who the best celebrity dancer is, and the winner of the Amazing Race. Three “experts,” one a former Los Angeles Laker cheerleader, told us what who the next American Idol will be. If anybody, she should know! We will soon find out who the Biggest Loser is, not the viewer for watching, but the person who lost the most weight. Let’s all hold our collective breaths ok? Lastly, we finally get to know who won Survivor- Journey to the Center of the Earth. What is it, the46th installment of that franchise? Maybe it only seems like it’s been that many. Man, I thought that show jumped the shark long ago. When is the public going to realize that the participant’s behavior is no longer spontaneous? You can’t really think the contestants never saw the show before and everything they do is original. As long as it continues to get ratings, and there are picturesque shitholes on the planet to go, the show will regretfully endure. Maybe the next one can be Survivor-Space Station. Let’s see how long the competitors can stand each other in close quarters. I’d watch that.
Who are the decision makers of the majority of the aforementioned distinctive achievements? For the sports realm, I n some cases it’s the coaches. For the most part, it’s the sports writers. The same people who occasionally lambaste and vilify the individuals nominated for the awards. In addition, the criteria on which they base their votes vary...widely, dependent upon what’s in vogue at the time. For the Golden Globes and the Oscars, who cares? Two sport awards that warrant further scrutiny here are Major League baseball’s MVP award, and College Football’s Heisman Trophy.
In 1941, Joe DiMaggio of the New York Yankees bested Ted Williams of the Boston Red Sox for the American League MVP. DiMaggio had his 56 game hitting streak; Williams became the last man to hit .400, both memorable accomplishments. Is one more feat momentous than the other? It’s hard to say. However, one writer left Williams completely off his ballot, unconscionable. Though, Williams’ relationship with members of the press was rocky at best. So how much you kiss the sports writers ass is taken into account? I thought it was all about what was accomplished between the white lines that mattered. (Pete Rose would beg to differ) In addition, DiMaggio’s Yankees won the pennant that year, and that should count for something, but sometimes it doesn’t.
In 1987, Andre Dawson won the award as a member of the last place Chicago Cubs. They could’ve finished in last place without him, so how valuable could he have really been? But his on field performance was significantly superior to that of his peers. So does it matter where your team finishes in the standings? Sometimes, if the wind is right, just ask Albert Pujols. His team didn’t even win their division, and he won the National League MVP this year. Outcry has been minimal due to Pujols’ amicable disposition, and humble demeanor. (Pete Rose should read Dale Carnegie’s book) Okay, I get it now. If you’re a really good guy, and even though the team you play for didn’t reach their goals, then you can still win because the writers like you. That sounds fair… not. The Heisman voting is no less suspect with its own share of intangibles.
In 1987, Charles Woodson of the University of Michigan, became the first primarily defensive player to win the prestigious Heisman Trophy. He intercepted passes, he returned punts, and he returned kickoffs, he could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Against archrival Ohio State, he intercepted two passes, returned a punt for a touchdown, and even caught a 37 yard pass while on offense that led to Michigan’s lone offensive touchdown. Wow! What a valuable player. But the Heisman is not given to the most valuable player; it’s given to the best player. Woodson finished ahead of Peyton Manning in the voting, but light years behind statiscally. The previous year, Woodson did not moon a female assistant athletic trainer, Manning did. When did sportswriters become the moral entrepreneurs of American society, and when did behavior have bearing on voting, or should it have any bearing at all?
Thank goodness the moral fiber has been above reproach for those up for the award in 2008. For the most part, it’s about gaudy numbers (not in 1987 obviously); except if you lose a big game down the stretch like Graham Harrell, the quarterback of Texas Tech did. And he had his worst game of the year against Heisman winner Sam Bradford’s Oklahoma squad. Harrell’s statistics matched up with the three finalists that made the trip to New York. But Sam Bradford and Tim Tebow team’s won their conference championship game. Colt McCoy’s Texas team was excluded from the conference championship because of the BSC ranking tie-breaker rule. All were deserving of the award. None of them ever pissed off anybody in the press, unless there’s a penalty for being too upstanding, and not one of them dropped trou in front of a young lady.
I wonder if any of those Heisman voters cast their ballots for O.J. Simpson when he won the award in 1968.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Simple Pleasures for Simple Minds
The country is mired in economic doldrums the likes we’ve never seen according to all the Chicken Little’s in the media. Massive industry cutbacks and layoffs accompany the corporate begging for Washington’s dollars. The real estate market sucks and the stock market blows, or is it the other way around? It doesn’t really matter; both markets are in the toilet. The only things that are going up are the U.S. debt and unemployment. We’ve just elected our first bi-racial President, who has just inherited this huge pile of fiscal fecal matter. Enough! I say. Let’s broach a subject that is completely frivolous, chewing gum, specifically, bubble gum. More specific yet, Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum. Insert angelic harmonies here.
You know how every once in awhile a product comes along that is infinitely better than anything else on the market. It knows no peer. The competition pales in comparison. Charmin Plus with Aloe toilet paper falls into this category. Never have I ever met anyone that declares that toilet paper is toilet paper. Sure, under duress, we’ve all used crude substitutions; either when camping, or on a desolate highway while on an alcohol fueled roadtrip. Anything will do in a pinch; no pun intended.
Many of our parents did not put a premium on TP. This was an area that one could be frugal when shopping. My mother was a Scott 1000 sheet roll woman, and she bought them in bulk. Who cared that it wasn’t eco-friendly; that you used twice the amount of the one-ply sandpaper facsimile. Hell, it was 10 for a $1.00 or some shit, again, no pun intended. Our generation obviously felt quite the contrary. We did not underestimate the importance of comfortable toilet tissue. You peruse the supermarket paper product aisle and you’ll find a wide array of bathroom tissue, many of the brands coming out in the last 25 years or so. Charmin alone has 5 or 6 different types for the truly discernable shopper. We were no longer relegated to the flimsy school TP, the grainy office TP, and the dreaded industrially abrasive brown Gas Station TP. We demanded more for our bungholes, and we got it by god! We spared no expense when it came to a more pleasurable bathroom experience. This new wave of toilet tissue became the cornerstone for this revolutionary step forward in premium potty time. Charmin Plus with Aloe is my personal fave, but not everyone concurs. Not so concerning Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum. There’s those angels’ singing again.
Walter E Diemer, an accountant, should be nominated for sainthood as far as I’m concerned. In 1928, after his boss Gilbert Mustin gave up the ghost; Mr. Diemer picked up where Mr. Mustin left off in his quest for a suitable gum base. Neither man had any chemistry background. It was Mr. Mustin’s search for a better gum, and Mr. Diemer’s curiosity and never say die attitude, and a little dumb luck, that resulted in the invention of bubble gum. Chewing gum had been around for the better part of eight hundred years before someone attempted to not only make chewing gum satisfying, but fun as well.
Diemer claimed the bubbles were an accident. The men set out to make a gum that wouldn’t stick. But once the gum was found to be stable enough as to not fall apart, Mr. Diemer added the only food coloring available, pink, and came up with a batch of gum with greater elasticity than gums on the market at the time. When chewed, this new gum didn’t fall apart, and as an added bonus, stretched enough to produce bubbles. Those angels are becoming really annoying.
Walter happened to be an accountant for the Fleer Chewing Gum Company. They christened this new gum Dubble Bubble. Fleer sold $1.5 million dollars of the stuff in the first year alone. Walter eventually rose to the position of executive vice-president, but received no royalties for his ground-breaking invention. Soon, Bazooka and Topps vied with Fleer for bubble gum supremacy. It would be nearly fifty years after that first bubble was blown that the world would be introduced to Bubble Yum.
Bubble Yum was the brain child of the Lifesavers Candy Company. For nearly 5 years Bubble Yum was only available in the diabetic coma inducing sugar laden version. Sugarless bubble gum was for sissies. Sugarless versions were only offered by unheard of off-brands. No self-respecting bubble gum company thought a profitable market for the sugarless variety existed. However, as America became more health conscious, a large selection of low-calorie items dotted grocery store shelves. In 1980, Bubble Yum produced a gum that was easy on the waistline, and didn’t promote tooth decay.
Two years later, Hubba Bubba and Bubblicious joined in the fray of super bubble producing gums. In an effort to gain an additional share in the ever expanding market, Bubble Yum came out with a flavored adaptation of Sugarless Bubble Yum. Peppermint was their choice for this new venture. I’m eternally grateful.
A long time bubble gum chewer, I’d found my Holy Grail of gums. This product remained soft for extended periods of time unmatched by any gum I’d previously sampled. In addition, the minty flavor lasted long after lesser gums had lost taste appeal. Could this be the perfect gum? I never settled for anything less ever again.
I once sent a fellow employee on a mission to locate me a pack of the prized concoction. He was not to return without it. My cohorts must join me in this celebration of the mouth. Each and every person that tried Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum from that day on agreed; it truly was the “best gum.” Excitedly, individuals I shared my bounty with, approached me over an hour later to tell me that the softness and flavor did indeed hold true. But as the years wore on, the gum of gums became more elusive.
In 1993, I moved to Florida. I was tickled to find that several merchants carried the gum that knew no equal. Alas, after the Hershey chocolate company acquired the Bubble Yum brand, the vendor numbers dwindled. I would often travel from store to store and buy what remained of the precious booty. I bought boxes at a time, often at per pack price. It didn’t matter. I got to enlist new waves of Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum disciples with each pack I opened. Several months ago, my love affair with the “best gum” ever, came to an abrupt end.
My wife and I went from CVS to CVS, the last of the dying breed of appreciators of the finest gum I had ever encountered. After a near futile search of 5 stores unearthed only 3 packs, we inquired as to this tragedy. We were told Hershey was discontinuing the brand. Devastated, I returned home to see if the Internet could fill the impending void.
Several sites offered regular flavor Bubble Yum Sugarless Bubble Gum; a weak and inferior product that didn’t tickle my senses the way the peppermint variety did; my search continued. Eureka! Was it true? Did my eyes deceive me? After so many confectioner web site visits, 1, one, uno, solo, lone web site had a box of MY gum….at $3.00 per pack plus shipping. I had my limits. The gum did not provide any sexual pleasure, and I felt this should be included at that price. I was stymied, stonewalled, my Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum days had come to an end. I was relegated to a barely passable replacement. But my fortunes were soon to change.
My friend Gregg, recently invited me a local theater production. As was the custom, I offered him gum. Gregg, who long ago had been introduced to the gum industries crown jewel, asked if it was the “good gum.” Downtrodden, I gave him the sad news. I no longer possessed, or had access to, any more good gum. Unbeknownst to me, he became a man on a mission.
Last night, I received a call. Gregg was on the other end. He informed me that he gotten me a Christmas present. We had ceased exchanging gifts several years ago. I was humbly taken aback. He told me I was now the owner of an entire box of fresh, Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum! Hallelujahs and Hosannas reigned! I suspected that Gregg, he of more means than I, did not balk at the pricey outlet I came across on the Internet. I was surprised at his resourcefulness. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was the father of two young girls and he couldn’t imagine them growing up without ever had the opportunity to sample the finest gum, bar none, ever made. Whatever the reason, I was thrilled, my exuberance was palpable. Like an unsuspecting reunion with a lost love, I am to be reunited. Fate and Gregg had brought us together again. I wonder if Barack Obama would like a piece. He sure could use some good something right now.
You know how every once in awhile a product comes along that is infinitely better than anything else on the market. It knows no peer. The competition pales in comparison. Charmin Plus with Aloe toilet paper falls into this category. Never have I ever met anyone that declares that toilet paper is toilet paper. Sure, under duress, we’ve all used crude substitutions; either when camping, or on a desolate highway while on an alcohol fueled roadtrip. Anything will do in a pinch; no pun intended.
Many of our parents did not put a premium on TP. This was an area that one could be frugal when shopping. My mother was a Scott 1000 sheet roll woman, and she bought them in bulk. Who cared that it wasn’t eco-friendly; that you used twice the amount of the one-ply sandpaper facsimile. Hell, it was 10 for a $1.00 or some shit, again, no pun intended. Our generation obviously felt quite the contrary. We did not underestimate the importance of comfortable toilet tissue. You peruse the supermarket paper product aisle and you’ll find a wide array of bathroom tissue, many of the brands coming out in the last 25 years or so. Charmin alone has 5 or 6 different types for the truly discernable shopper. We were no longer relegated to the flimsy school TP, the grainy office TP, and the dreaded industrially abrasive brown Gas Station TP. We demanded more for our bungholes, and we got it by god! We spared no expense when it came to a more pleasurable bathroom experience. This new wave of toilet tissue became the cornerstone for this revolutionary step forward in premium potty time. Charmin Plus with Aloe is my personal fave, but not everyone concurs. Not so concerning Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum. There’s those angels’ singing again.
Walter E Diemer, an accountant, should be nominated for sainthood as far as I’m concerned. In 1928, after his boss Gilbert Mustin gave up the ghost; Mr. Diemer picked up where Mr. Mustin left off in his quest for a suitable gum base. Neither man had any chemistry background. It was Mr. Mustin’s search for a better gum, and Mr. Diemer’s curiosity and never say die attitude, and a little dumb luck, that resulted in the invention of bubble gum. Chewing gum had been around for the better part of eight hundred years before someone attempted to not only make chewing gum satisfying, but fun as well.
Diemer claimed the bubbles were an accident. The men set out to make a gum that wouldn’t stick. But once the gum was found to be stable enough as to not fall apart, Mr. Diemer added the only food coloring available, pink, and came up with a batch of gum with greater elasticity than gums on the market at the time. When chewed, this new gum didn’t fall apart, and as an added bonus, stretched enough to produce bubbles. Those angels are becoming really annoying.
Walter happened to be an accountant for the Fleer Chewing Gum Company. They christened this new gum Dubble Bubble. Fleer sold $1.5 million dollars of the stuff in the first year alone. Walter eventually rose to the position of executive vice-president, but received no royalties for his ground-breaking invention. Soon, Bazooka and Topps vied with Fleer for bubble gum supremacy. It would be nearly fifty years after that first bubble was blown that the world would be introduced to Bubble Yum.
Bubble Yum was the brain child of the Lifesavers Candy Company. For nearly 5 years Bubble Yum was only available in the diabetic coma inducing sugar laden version. Sugarless bubble gum was for sissies. Sugarless versions were only offered by unheard of off-brands. No self-respecting bubble gum company thought a profitable market for the sugarless variety existed. However, as America became more health conscious, a large selection of low-calorie items dotted grocery store shelves. In 1980, Bubble Yum produced a gum that was easy on the waistline, and didn’t promote tooth decay.
Two years later, Hubba Bubba and Bubblicious joined in the fray of super bubble producing gums. In an effort to gain an additional share in the ever expanding market, Bubble Yum came out with a flavored adaptation of Sugarless Bubble Yum. Peppermint was their choice for this new venture. I’m eternally grateful.
A long time bubble gum chewer, I’d found my Holy Grail of gums. This product remained soft for extended periods of time unmatched by any gum I’d previously sampled. In addition, the minty flavor lasted long after lesser gums had lost taste appeal. Could this be the perfect gum? I never settled for anything less ever again.
I once sent a fellow employee on a mission to locate me a pack of the prized concoction. He was not to return without it. My cohorts must join me in this celebration of the mouth. Each and every person that tried Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum from that day on agreed; it truly was the “best gum.” Excitedly, individuals I shared my bounty with, approached me over an hour later to tell me that the softness and flavor did indeed hold true. But as the years wore on, the gum of gums became more elusive.
In 1993, I moved to Florida. I was tickled to find that several merchants carried the gum that knew no equal. Alas, after the Hershey chocolate company acquired the Bubble Yum brand, the vendor numbers dwindled. I would often travel from store to store and buy what remained of the precious booty. I bought boxes at a time, often at per pack price. It didn’t matter. I got to enlist new waves of Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum disciples with each pack I opened. Several months ago, my love affair with the “best gum” ever, came to an abrupt end.
My wife and I went from CVS to CVS, the last of the dying breed of appreciators of the finest gum I had ever encountered. After a near futile search of 5 stores unearthed only 3 packs, we inquired as to this tragedy. We were told Hershey was discontinuing the brand. Devastated, I returned home to see if the Internet could fill the impending void.
Several sites offered regular flavor Bubble Yum Sugarless Bubble Gum; a weak and inferior product that didn’t tickle my senses the way the peppermint variety did; my search continued. Eureka! Was it true? Did my eyes deceive me? After so many confectioner web site visits, 1, one, uno, solo, lone web site had a box of MY gum….at $3.00 per pack plus shipping. I had my limits. The gum did not provide any sexual pleasure, and I felt this should be included at that price. I was stymied, stonewalled, my Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum days had come to an end. I was relegated to a barely passable replacement. But my fortunes were soon to change.
My friend Gregg, recently invited me a local theater production. As was the custom, I offered him gum. Gregg, who long ago had been introduced to the gum industries crown jewel, asked if it was the “good gum.” Downtrodden, I gave him the sad news. I no longer possessed, or had access to, any more good gum. Unbeknownst to me, he became a man on a mission.
Last night, I received a call. Gregg was on the other end. He informed me that he gotten me a Christmas present. We had ceased exchanging gifts several years ago. I was humbly taken aback. He told me I was now the owner of an entire box of fresh, Bubble Yum Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Gum! Hallelujahs and Hosannas reigned! I suspected that Gregg, he of more means than I, did not balk at the pricey outlet I came across on the Internet. I was surprised at his resourcefulness. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was the father of two young girls and he couldn’t imagine them growing up without ever had the opportunity to sample the finest gum, bar none, ever made. Whatever the reason, I was thrilled, my exuberance was palpable. Like an unsuspecting reunion with a lost love, I am to be reunited. Fate and Gregg had brought us together again. I wonder if Barack Obama would like a piece. He sure could use some good something right now.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Other People’s Money
A Congressional committee is currently hearing from the CEO’s of the not so Big Three from the automobile industry. It seems they too, are in need of financial assistance. Then again, aren’t we all. Unless you find yourself among that elite class of “ten-per centers,” you’ve probably taken a hit in the ol’ wallet. Are we allowed to go before Congress and plead our cases so the government will help us remain solvent? Noooooo! Maybe it’s time for the auto industry to man up, and bite the bullet. If they don’t want to bite the bullet, let them chew on this for awhile.
In an unprecedented appeal for government funds, five huge corporations have asked for, and received government fiscal dispensation. There have been only eight other requests between 1970, and 2001, with mixed results. And now the 3 largest American automobile manufacturers want to add their names to the ever growing list…again, for 2008. How soon we forget.
In May of 1970, the Penn Central Railroad needed a bailout of $3.2 billion dollars. President Nixon and the Federal Reserve supported the financial assistance. Congress said nay, and Penn Central filed for bankruptcy the following month, absolving Penn Central from its commercial paper obligations. How nice! On top of that, to counteract the aftershocks to the money market, the Fed provided the funds to commercial banks to meet the credit needs of its customers. Sound familiar? It just so happens that 5 other railroads were in the shitter as well, so they all got together to form ConRail. The government dumped $19.7 billion into the consortium. It took 11 years, but ConRail started to turn a profit. In 1987, the government sold ConRail for $3.1 billion. In addition, the Treasury received a $579 million dividend from the railway. Seventeen years it took for the government to get their money back. I’m glad I wasn’t hanging by my balls waiting for that ship to come in.
The government also bailed out Lockheed in 1971. That turned out really well for the good old U.S. of A. Not so for the Franklin National Bank bailout. We, -I say "we" because the government finances some of this stuff with taxpayer money- didn’t fair so well on that one, mostly to due corporate corruption and lack of legislation. If this piece was a game of “hide and seek” we’d be getting warm about now.
The NYC bailout in 1975, and the Chrysler bailout in 1980, netted the government some serious coin. In 1984, the Continental Illinois National Bank and Trust got a helping hand from Uncle Sam, but they picked their figurative nose before they took it. The FDIC took a $1.8 billion loss on that one; same for the Savings and Loan fiasco in 1989. John Q. Public got bit for $178.56 billion there. Do you sense a trend with these banking industry shitheads?
Believe or not, the government made money on the airline industry bailout. Profits were reportedly to be somewhere in the neighborhood of $141.7 million to $327 million. Big fucking neighborhood if you ask me. The government only did that well because Eastern Airlines, Pan Am, Braniff, National, and TWA to name a few, had the good graces to file for bankruptcy prior to 2001. The government had to step in to save the rest or we’d all be taking trains again. Or, we could start driving everywhere again, and make good use of our massive interstate highway system that is in such disrepair. But then, the ever profitable oil companies would start raising gas prices so the even more elite "one per centers" can keep garnering those huge dividends. Oh, we can’t repair the roads anyway, that would take tax dollars, and we’re too busy using them to bailout unregulated, mismanaged, greedy corporations that have spread themselves too thin.
So who heads the list of least likely to succeed for 2008? Lending institutions. These are the same guys the U.S. government has bet on in the past and lost. Of the-now here’s a big fucking number-$1,352,500,000,000.00 (yes, trillion) in government bailout monies so far, $1,327,500,000,000.00 went to Bear Stearns, Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac, A.I.G. and their credit default swaps bullshit, Troubled Asset Relief Program (Wall Street, and their credit default swaps bullshit), and Citigroup. The other measly $25 billion went to; yup you guessed it, the auto industry.
What’s ironic is that both General Motors, the biggest of the “getting smaller all the time 3,” and Citigroup, are on the Dow Jones. No wonder the damn average is behaving like a hummingbird with ADHD. Let’s remove these two slackers, replace them with profitable, stable companies, and see if things don’t mellow out a little. That’s what’s been done throughout the years.
The original Dow was comprised of only 11 companies; 9 railroads, a steamship firm, and Western Union. The last time the name of a railroad appeared on the Dow was 1927, the last year before the list of companies was expanded from 20 to 30. Since the expansion, companies have come and gone, some have lasted longer than others. Sear Roebuck & Company was added to the short list in January, 1924, and held its place until November, 1999. The huge retailer Woolworth came along in May of ’24, but was replaced by Wal-Mart in March of 1997. Woolworth not only was removed from the Dow, it went out of business altogether. How fast and far the mighty have fallen.
US Steel and Bethlehem Steel no longer share the distinction of making up the Dow Industrials along with Hudson Motors, Chrysler, and Studebaker. Studebaker hung around a little longer by merging with Nash, but they too have fallen by the wayside, and it's been quite awhile at that.
In The Godfather, Hyman Roth declared to Michael Corleone in 1959 that organized crime was bigger than US Steel. That’s nothing to brag about today. Some folks say that unions were the cause of US Steel’s woes, and that’s what’s ailing the automobile industry. That’s not entirely true. There was a need for unions for the coal miners and steel workers back in the 19th century. The premise was a good one; protect workers from greedy management in an unregulated industry. Things changed little over the years until unions became greedy, mismanaged, and unregulated. When union negotiations became versions of “Can You Top This” in the 1960’s, corporations didn’t count on worker life expectancies increasing exponentially. Now the auto industry is paying the price for their lack of foresight. Back when union deals were struck affecting individuals who are now living well into their 70’s, the average life expectancy was 62. That’s over ten more years of pensions and healthcare benefits.
So many things automakers didn’t count on; foreign competition, costs of doing business escalating, mismanagement, and the always popular, greed; the very same components that fueled the downfall of the steel industry in this country.
One thing that the rogue’s gallery of government titsuckers can count on is that the economy is cyclical. Every 14 years or so, it corrects itself. The fiscal elevator stops at all the floors on the way up, and on the way down, as they are becoming painfully aware. Those on this year’s ever expanding bailout list must not employ economists. Hasn’t history taught us anything? Doesn’t any of these overpaid upper management (is that an oxymoron?) wastoids, or Congress for that matter, pay attention to it?
Or maybe what it all boils down to is the acceptance of the rampant mediocrity that has permeated every aspect of our society. But that's a blog for another day... or several.
In 1907, J.P. Morgan bailed out the U.S. government due to unregulated stock speculations. Who is going to bail out the government when they’re done doling out trillions to failing industries? Maybe Bill Gates and Warren Buffet can pool their resources in case of emergency. Oh, that’s right they only make sound investments in adeptly run corporations that turn a profit, and none of those names on the 2008 government bailout list qualify.
In an unprecedented appeal for government funds, five huge corporations have asked for, and received government fiscal dispensation. There have been only eight other requests between 1970, and 2001, with mixed results. And now the 3 largest American automobile manufacturers want to add their names to the ever growing list…again, for 2008. How soon we forget.
In May of 1970, the Penn Central Railroad needed a bailout of $3.2 billion dollars. President Nixon and the Federal Reserve supported the financial assistance. Congress said nay, and Penn Central filed for bankruptcy the following month, absolving Penn Central from its commercial paper obligations. How nice! On top of that, to counteract the aftershocks to the money market, the Fed provided the funds to commercial banks to meet the credit needs of its customers. Sound familiar? It just so happens that 5 other railroads were in the shitter as well, so they all got together to form ConRail. The government dumped $19.7 billion into the consortium. It took 11 years, but ConRail started to turn a profit. In 1987, the government sold ConRail for $3.1 billion. In addition, the Treasury received a $579 million dividend from the railway. Seventeen years it took for the government to get their money back. I’m glad I wasn’t hanging by my balls waiting for that ship to come in.
The government also bailed out Lockheed in 1971. That turned out really well for the good old U.S. of A. Not so for the Franklin National Bank bailout. We, -I say "we" because the government finances some of this stuff with taxpayer money- didn’t fair so well on that one, mostly to due corporate corruption and lack of legislation. If this piece was a game of “hide and seek” we’d be getting warm about now.
The NYC bailout in 1975, and the Chrysler bailout in 1980, netted the government some serious coin. In 1984, the Continental Illinois National Bank and Trust got a helping hand from Uncle Sam, but they picked their figurative nose before they took it. The FDIC took a $1.8 billion loss on that one; same for the Savings and Loan fiasco in 1989. John Q. Public got bit for $178.56 billion there. Do you sense a trend with these banking industry shitheads?
Believe or not, the government made money on the airline industry bailout. Profits were reportedly to be somewhere in the neighborhood of $141.7 million to $327 million. Big fucking neighborhood if you ask me. The government only did that well because Eastern Airlines, Pan Am, Braniff, National, and TWA to name a few, had the good graces to file for bankruptcy prior to 2001. The government had to step in to save the rest or we’d all be taking trains again. Or, we could start driving everywhere again, and make good use of our massive interstate highway system that is in such disrepair. But then, the ever profitable oil companies would start raising gas prices so the even more elite "one per centers" can keep garnering those huge dividends. Oh, we can’t repair the roads anyway, that would take tax dollars, and we’re too busy using them to bailout unregulated, mismanaged, greedy corporations that have spread themselves too thin.
So who heads the list of least likely to succeed for 2008? Lending institutions. These are the same guys the U.S. government has bet on in the past and lost. Of the-now here’s a big fucking number-$1,352,500,000,000.00 (yes, trillion) in government bailout monies so far, $1,327,500,000,000.00 went to Bear Stearns, Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac, A.I.G. and their credit default swaps bullshit, Troubled Asset Relief Program (Wall Street, and their credit default swaps bullshit), and Citigroup. The other measly $25 billion went to; yup you guessed it, the auto industry.
What’s ironic is that both General Motors, the biggest of the “getting smaller all the time 3,” and Citigroup, are on the Dow Jones. No wonder the damn average is behaving like a hummingbird with ADHD. Let’s remove these two slackers, replace them with profitable, stable companies, and see if things don’t mellow out a little. That’s what’s been done throughout the years.
The original Dow was comprised of only 11 companies; 9 railroads, a steamship firm, and Western Union. The last time the name of a railroad appeared on the Dow was 1927, the last year before the list of companies was expanded from 20 to 30. Since the expansion, companies have come and gone, some have lasted longer than others. Sear Roebuck & Company was added to the short list in January, 1924, and held its place until November, 1999. The huge retailer Woolworth came along in May of ’24, but was replaced by Wal-Mart in March of 1997. Woolworth not only was removed from the Dow, it went out of business altogether. How fast and far the mighty have fallen.
US Steel and Bethlehem Steel no longer share the distinction of making up the Dow Industrials along with Hudson Motors, Chrysler, and Studebaker. Studebaker hung around a little longer by merging with Nash, but they too have fallen by the wayside, and it's been quite awhile at that.
In The Godfather, Hyman Roth declared to Michael Corleone in 1959 that organized crime was bigger than US Steel. That’s nothing to brag about today. Some folks say that unions were the cause of US Steel’s woes, and that’s what’s ailing the automobile industry. That’s not entirely true. There was a need for unions for the coal miners and steel workers back in the 19th century. The premise was a good one; protect workers from greedy management in an unregulated industry. Things changed little over the years until unions became greedy, mismanaged, and unregulated. When union negotiations became versions of “Can You Top This” in the 1960’s, corporations didn’t count on worker life expectancies increasing exponentially. Now the auto industry is paying the price for their lack of foresight. Back when union deals were struck affecting individuals who are now living well into their 70’s, the average life expectancy was 62. That’s over ten more years of pensions and healthcare benefits.
So many things automakers didn’t count on; foreign competition, costs of doing business escalating, mismanagement, and the always popular, greed; the very same components that fueled the downfall of the steel industry in this country.
One thing that the rogue’s gallery of government titsuckers can count on is that the economy is cyclical. Every 14 years or so, it corrects itself. The fiscal elevator stops at all the floors on the way up, and on the way down, as they are becoming painfully aware. Those on this year’s ever expanding bailout list must not employ economists. Hasn’t history taught us anything? Doesn’t any of these overpaid upper management (is that an oxymoron?) wastoids, or Congress for that matter, pay attention to it?
Or maybe what it all boils down to is the acceptance of the rampant mediocrity that has permeated every aspect of our society. But that's a blog for another day... or several.
In 1907, J.P. Morgan bailed out the U.S. government due to unregulated stock speculations. Who is going to bail out the government when they’re done doling out trillions to failing industries? Maybe Bill Gates and Warren Buffet can pool their resources in case of emergency. Oh, that’s right they only make sound investments in adeptly run corporations that turn a profit, and none of those names on the 2008 government bailout list qualify.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
What if they held a sporting event and nobody cared?
Miller beer has been running an ad campaign that centers on “Wendel,” a large “everyman” beer driver admonishing folks who aren’t worthy of selling the “High-Life.” These transgressors range from snooty, up scale grocery stores, to pretentious night clubs, to skybox occupiers-“located in section La De Da”- at a baseball game. “Wendel” bursts through the door of the inner sanctum, and loudly poses the question, “Alright, who can tell me what inning we’re in?” The dozen or so revelers, too busy trying to impress one another, immediately go mute. Their collective eyes glaze over as if someone had reached in their skulls and simultaneously removed their brains. With that, “Wendel” confiscates the Miller High Life, too much pomposity for him and his product. These seat fillers are becoming more and more prevalent for several reasons, and there isn’t a goddamn thing anyone can do about it; because money, not loyalty or avid support makes the world go ‘round. Sadly, I’ve witnessed this type of pseudo fan behavior first hand, on more than one occasion, at different sporting events. But it wasn’t always like this.
As a child I attended a New York Yankee game with my friend Tom. My father had procured the Eastern Airlines box seats. We sat behind Mitch Miller of Sing-A-Long With fame. He and his companion cheered with the best of them. He was undeterred by the behavior of giddy, annoying adolescence boys. It was all part of the game experience back then. Then something changed.
In 1984, my friend Gregg and I attended a New York Mets game. When we arrived, we bought the cheapest tickets available. I planned to employ the same scam I used dozens of times at Yankee Stadium, we’d tip the usher to let us in the field level seats. The subterfuge went off without a hitch. The kind, gruff gentleman escorted us to two seats located behind home plate near the field, to my friend’s delight. There was one proviso we were not prepared for. The “fans” located in our vicinity did not cheer a fine play. Nor did a timely extra base hit provide enough impetus to raise them out of their seats. While we nearly shouted ourselves horse, we were gazed upon with one collective stink eye. I was perplexed, what was the root cause for such sedate decorum? Gregg summed it up. “They were too rich, and to private” to behave in such an uninhibited manner. I thought “Why the fuck did you come then?” They could have stayed home and been stuffy and uptight.
Over the years this type of behavior became more ubiquitous. In 2005, my beloved Cincinnati Bengals, after many years of futility, reached the AFC playoffs for the first time in sixteen seasons. My son Cory and I made the trek from Florida to Cincinnati. We obtained handicapped seats half way up the lower bowl of Paul Brown Stadium. We were seated directly in front of a season ticket holder’s skybox. Thousands of long suffering fans were whipped into a frenzied state. Everyone was on their feet. Cory had commented about the fever pitch of the ear splitting decibel level. …and those occupying the box behind us wanted us to be seated so they could view the game (when they decided to watch) unimpeded without having to stand. I turned and addressed them. I questioned their loyalty. Cory inquired about what kind of fans were they after waiting so many years of ineptitude, to remain so impassive. I told Cory that they weren’t fans, but people who want to show other people how successful they are by purchasing a skybox. “Look at me, I’m in a skybox, aren’t I great!?” Who’s winning? Who cares, as long as everyone knows I’m wealthy, and I’m here. It shouldn’t be an issue. Real fans should want to stand as opposed to feeling they shouldn’t have to because they paid for the privilege not to; and those that do stand are annoyances to their exclusivity. “How dare those peons show their support in such a demonstrative way! Don’t they know who we are and how gauche they are?” These are the type of folk who now frequently inhabit our hallowed arenas of sport; and it’s only going to get worse. Sure, some of them like Spike Lee, like him or not, are real fans. They aren’t always the most knowledgeable, but you can’t beat their enthusiasm. However, they are the minority and not the majority.
Elite season tickets at Yankee Stadium will run you around $100,000 per seat for eighty-one games. A step down will still cost you nearly $45,000. Courtside seats to a Lakers game will run you around $2500 per. Face value of 2008 Super Bowl ticket prices were between $700 and $900. Those same tickets commanded a $4000 resale price as offered by brokers. Oral favors not withstanding, the average loyal fan that doles out 20% of their gross pay for eight games worth of support, might be hesitant to shell out half a kidney to see their team through to the bitter end; and now there are seat licensing fees to boot. It’s no better for the World Series. After corporate execs, celebrities wanting to be seen, and other assorted rich and maybe famous get theirs, so does Mr. or Mrs. Lifetime Rooter, except it’s not a ticket they get.
People who wouldn’t know a baseball from a ballsac, have some sort of insatiable need to attend sporting events. The least they can do is be excited about what’s going on. They don’t even have to know what’s going on, just act like it. Make your fucking deals on the golf course where they belong. Maybe “Wendel’s” next commercial can show him whacking a Miller High Life bottle over a “non-fans” head. That’d garner some face time.
As a child I attended a New York Yankee game with my friend Tom. My father had procured the Eastern Airlines box seats. We sat behind Mitch Miller of Sing-A-Long With fame. He and his companion cheered with the best of them. He was undeterred by the behavior of giddy, annoying adolescence boys. It was all part of the game experience back then. Then something changed.
In 1984, my friend Gregg and I attended a New York Mets game. When we arrived, we bought the cheapest tickets available. I planned to employ the same scam I used dozens of times at Yankee Stadium, we’d tip the usher to let us in the field level seats. The subterfuge went off without a hitch. The kind, gruff gentleman escorted us to two seats located behind home plate near the field, to my friend’s delight. There was one proviso we were not prepared for. The “fans” located in our vicinity did not cheer a fine play. Nor did a timely extra base hit provide enough impetus to raise them out of their seats. While we nearly shouted ourselves horse, we were gazed upon with one collective stink eye. I was perplexed, what was the root cause for such sedate decorum? Gregg summed it up. “They were too rich, and to private” to behave in such an uninhibited manner. I thought “Why the fuck did you come then?” They could have stayed home and been stuffy and uptight.
Over the years this type of behavior became more ubiquitous. In 2005, my beloved Cincinnati Bengals, after many years of futility, reached the AFC playoffs for the first time in sixteen seasons. My son Cory and I made the trek from Florida to Cincinnati. We obtained handicapped seats half way up the lower bowl of Paul Brown Stadium. We were seated directly in front of a season ticket holder’s skybox. Thousands of long suffering fans were whipped into a frenzied state. Everyone was on their feet. Cory had commented about the fever pitch of the ear splitting decibel level. …and those occupying the box behind us wanted us to be seated so they could view the game (when they decided to watch) unimpeded without having to stand. I turned and addressed them. I questioned their loyalty. Cory inquired about what kind of fans were they after waiting so many years of ineptitude, to remain so impassive. I told Cory that they weren’t fans, but people who want to show other people how successful they are by purchasing a skybox. “Look at me, I’m in a skybox, aren’t I great!?” Who’s winning? Who cares, as long as everyone knows I’m wealthy, and I’m here. It shouldn’t be an issue. Real fans should want to stand as opposed to feeling they shouldn’t have to because they paid for the privilege not to; and those that do stand are annoyances to their exclusivity. “How dare those peons show their support in such a demonstrative way! Don’t they know who we are and how gauche they are?” These are the type of folk who now frequently inhabit our hallowed arenas of sport; and it’s only going to get worse. Sure, some of them like Spike Lee, like him or not, are real fans. They aren’t always the most knowledgeable, but you can’t beat their enthusiasm. However, they are the minority and not the majority.
Elite season tickets at Yankee Stadium will run you around $100,000 per seat for eighty-one games. A step down will still cost you nearly $45,000. Courtside seats to a Lakers game will run you around $2500 per. Face value of 2008 Super Bowl ticket prices were between $700 and $900. Those same tickets commanded a $4000 resale price as offered by brokers. Oral favors not withstanding, the average loyal fan that doles out 20% of their gross pay for eight games worth of support, might be hesitant to shell out half a kidney to see their team through to the bitter end; and now there are seat licensing fees to boot. It’s no better for the World Series. After corporate execs, celebrities wanting to be seen, and other assorted rich and maybe famous get theirs, so does Mr. or Mrs. Lifetime Rooter, except it’s not a ticket they get.
People who wouldn’t know a baseball from a ballsac, have some sort of insatiable need to attend sporting events. The least they can do is be excited about what’s going on. They don’t even have to know what’s going on, just act like it. Make your fucking deals on the golf course where they belong. Maybe “Wendel’s” next commercial can show him whacking a Miller High Life bottle over a “non-fans” head. That’d garner some face time.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Life in the Slow Lane
An historic event capped off another thrilling season of men driving rapidly in circles in cars that look similar to the ones we can buy save the Andy Warhol paint schemes. Jimmy Johnson, not to be confused with Junior Johnson, or Howard Johnson (the baseball player not the motel) for that matter; won his third consecutive Sprint, (the cellular phone company not the lesser race car circuit) Cup. It used to be called the Winston Cup until the suits (hard puffing race fans included) decided that smoking was bad for us and a cigarette brand was considered poor PR to be the primary sponsor of a sport that used countless amounts of the world’s most precious and valued resource. Also, the carbon monoxide from the exhaust fumes produced is sufficient enough to cause cancer in the hundreds of thousands of race fans attending each and every event anyway. Why make matters worse.
Jimmie Johnson’s accomplishment far outshines that of James Frank Kotera a.k.a. JFK, who recently surpassed Francis (not Frank) Johnson (no relation to any of the Johnson’s previously mentioned) after 30 years, for amassing the world’s largest ball of twine.
Ironically, it had been thirty years since Cale (with a “C” not with a “K” like the vegetable) Yarborough won his third straight NASCAR Championship. An eerie coincidence don’t you think? Sadly, either twine gatherer received neither the adulation nor financial reward Jimmie Johnson has garnered. And I know why, sponsorship!
Each NASCAR team has about $120 million in revenue. 75% of that comes from sponsorship. Primary sponsors contribute $20 million on the average. The primary sponsor gets to have their name festooned on the hood of the car they back. The primary sponsor also gets to plaster its name on the helmets and fire suits of the driver and the pit crew. And when the race is over, each individual can be counted upon to don a cap proclaiming their loyalty.
But don’t you fret none for the lowly secondary sponsor, who get to have their name on the rear quarter panel of the car. They only have to contribute about $10 million for the privilege. An agreement with the primary sponsor allows for the secondary sponsor to have the drivers and pit crews wear apparel bedecked with the little guys logo a couple of races every year. This does not go unnoticed by NASCAR, or the France family who run NASCAR, (you can readily substitute one name for the other). It’s similar to the NFL allowing teams to have multiple regulation jerseys. They’ll tell you it’s to liven things up a bit. But the No Fun League encourages the practice so fans will have another reason to buy more shit. Race fans, who already own tons of merchandise with the primary sponsor insignia, can run out and get the “limited edition” merchandise with the secondary sponsor’s logo on whatever it is that they buy, and they buy a lot.
According to Forbes, each team cleared about $12.3 million in profit last year. NASCAR showed a profit of over $3 billion. So in addition to television rights, the near 200,000 attending each event are buying a lot of stuff.
The South wanted a sport that was uniquely theirs, and Bill France Sr. gave it to them. I’m sure he did not envision the monolith that was to spring from that first race he organized along Daytona Beach in 1947. Hats off to Mr. France and everything NASCAR has accomplished. That’s some family business. I’m just not that into it. Before you cry out “sacrilege!” let me explain.
As a kid, I sat with my grandfather, (he was a Ford man) and watched stock car racing when it was aired on ABC’s Wide World of Sports. Each Memorial Day, or around Memorial Day when ratings became more important than tradition, I watched the Indianapolis 500. That is until the IRL, or Indy Racing League, and CART, or Championship Auto Racing Teams got into a pissing contest and the ill feeling diluted the sport and divided the drivers. I have attended stock car races at Nazareth Speedway in Pennsylvania, at Flemington Race track in New Jersey, and a Busch race at Homestead Speedway in Florida. The engine noise alone raises my testosterone level. I try every year to make it a point to watch the Daytona 500, the event that ranks only behind the Super Bowl in terms of monetary value. A happening so enthralling, that it’s on my list of things to do before I die; experience the Daytona 500 in person.
With that being said, I must say the idea of men making a perpetual series of left turns at high speed for hours is not something I want to devote my limited free time to each weekend. I’m already frittering away my valuable leisure time watching baseball, football, basketball, and golf. Hey, maybe I should give up watching some of those sports and…. start a ball of twine instead of following NASCAR. They both go round and round.
Jimmie Johnson’s accomplishment far outshines that of James Frank Kotera a.k.a. JFK, who recently surpassed Francis (not Frank) Johnson (no relation to any of the Johnson’s previously mentioned) after 30 years, for amassing the world’s largest ball of twine.
Ironically, it had been thirty years since Cale (with a “C” not with a “K” like the vegetable) Yarborough won his third straight NASCAR Championship. An eerie coincidence don’t you think? Sadly, either twine gatherer received neither the adulation nor financial reward Jimmie Johnson has garnered. And I know why, sponsorship!
Each NASCAR team has about $120 million in revenue. 75% of that comes from sponsorship. Primary sponsors contribute $20 million on the average. The primary sponsor gets to have their name festooned on the hood of the car they back. The primary sponsor also gets to plaster its name on the helmets and fire suits of the driver and the pit crew. And when the race is over, each individual can be counted upon to don a cap proclaiming their loyalty.
But don’t you fret none for the lowly secondary sponsor, who get to have their name on the rear quarter panel of the car. They only have to contribute about $10 million for the privilege. An agreement with the primary sponsor allows for the secondary sponsor to have the drivers and pit crews wear apparel bedecked with the little guys logo a couple of races every year. This does not go unnoticed by NASCAR, or the France family who run NASCAR, (you can readily substitute one name for the other). It’s similar to the NFL allowing teams to have multiple regulation jerseys. They’ll tell you it’s to liven things up a bit. But the No Fun League encourages the practice so fans will have another reason to buy more shit. Race fans, who already own tons of merchandise with the primary sponsor insignia, can run out and get the “limited edition” merchandise with the secondary sponsor’s logo on whatever it is that they buy, and they buy a lot.
According to Forbes, each team cleared about $12.3 million in profit last year. NASCAR showed a profit of over $3 billion. So in addition to television rights, the near 200,000 attending each event are buying a lot of stuff.
The South wanted a sport that was uniquely theirs, and Bill France Sr. gave it to them. I’m sure he did not envision the monolith that was to spring from that first race he organized along Daytona Beach in 1947. Hats off to Mr. France and everything NASCAR has accomplished. That’s some family business. I’m just not that into it. Before you cry out “sacrilege!” let me explain.
As a kid, I sat with my grandfather, (he was a Ford man) and watched stock car racing when it was aired on ABC’s Wide World of Sports. Each Memorial Day, or around Memorial Day when ratings became more important than tradition, I watched the Indianapolis 500. That is until the IRL, or Indy Racing League, and CART, or Championship Auto Racing Teams got into a pissing contest and the ill feeling diluted the sport and divided the drivers. I have attended stock car races at Nazareth Speedway in Pennsylvania, at Flemington Race track in New Jersey, and a Busch race at Homestead Speedway in Florida. The engine noise alone raises my testosterone level. I try every year to make it a point to watch the Daytona 500, the event that ranks only behind the Super Bowl in terms of monetary value. A happening so enthralling, that it’s on my list of things to do before I die; experience the Daytona 500 in person.
With that being said, I must say the idea of men making a perpetual series of left turns at high speed for hours is not something I want to devote my limited free time to each weekend. I’m already frittering away my valuable leisure time watching baseball, football, basketball, and golf. Hey, maybe I should give up watching some of those sports and…. start a ball of twine instead of following NASCAR. They both go round and round.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
For the rabid sports fan, late October, early November, is when the when the sun is at its apex above the sports landscape. The symmetry of alignment for all followers of the games men play is unequaled at any other time of the year. The Major League baseball season comes to a close with the crowning of a new champion. The NBA and the NHL launch their schedules, where each team has a renewed sense of hope and promise. College basketball kicks off with midnight madness. The NFL has reached its half-way point, and the playoff picture starts to come into focus. Not so in college football. This time of year brings with it deliberation and consternation. To playoff or not to playoff that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of the BCS, or to take arms against the pollsters, and by opposing end them.
I fear this year there is a heightened sense of discourse relating to a college playoff format. No other than our newly elected President has fanned the flames of debate with an ill wind.
On the eve of the Presidential election, ESPN broadcaster Chris Berman, during the nationally televised Monday Night Football game, posed a question to both candidates. If they could change one thing about sports, what would it be? Like the true Republican that he is, John McCain wanted to rid sports of drugs. Lets give a shout out to Nancy Reagan. Since sports are a microcosm of society, his answer was a well meaning pipe dream. Barack Obama’s desire was no less daunting, but it's his timing that was timely. Obama would bring some sort of playoff system to college football. Does this mean the system as it is should undergo more finite scrutiny than past years just because our new President considers it a pressing sports issue? I don’t know how much more heated the argument for or against can rage.
Football is the only sport that NCAA Division I does not have a championship for. The BCS or Bowl Championship Series is a byproduct of the FBS, or Football Bowl Subdivision. The BCS was created to settle the matter of which team is the “real” champion because no selecting organization could ever reach a consensus; even though the NCAA declares, prior to the formation of the BCS, that there have been 49 Consensus National Champions from 1950 to 2003. The definition of consensus is a “general agreement.” But in 16 of those years previously stated, there were multiple teams “generally agreed upon” as National Champions. 2003 was a curious year since the BCS already existed and acknowledged LSU to be the National Champion, but the “consensus” champs were USC. Huh? You got all that? Yeah, me either.
In 1926,Illinois economics professor Frank G. Dickinson, devised a mathematical formula to, once and for all, determine a definitive National Champion. The “Dickinson System” was used as the “be all, end all” until 1936 when the Associated Press decided who was the country’s premier collegiate football. After 1949, the “consensus” system was implemented, even though each year up to five different governing bodies, (AP, UPI, FWAA, NFF, USA/CNN, USA/ESPN) weighed in with their results. That’s quite a consensus.
The blackest eye to the system(s) occurred in 1984, when the lightly regarded Mountain West Conference, anointed Brigham Young University its champion. They ended their less than daunting season with a Holiday Bowl win over a less than stellar Michigan team. BYU was the nation’s only undefeated team, though it didn’t qualify for any of the major bowl games. Almost by default, the NCAA in their infinite wisdom, made BYU National Champion. There was great unrest on several college campuses around the country. And look at the strides we made. Georgia was odd man out last year, and this year the BCS/NCAA could find themselves amid another conundrum.
Some teams have three games left, some have two. Some have conference championships, some don’t. The BCS can’t take more than two teams from any one conference for their bowl games. Somebody somewhere is going to be pissed. Utah, Boise State, and Ball State, if they finish the season undefeated, will cry foul, that no one gives them the respect they deserve, and that they merit consideration for the National title; wah, wah, wah; and the beat goes on.
Barack Obama may not be aware of the Pandora’s Box he unwittingly (or maybe not), has good naturedly put under the collegiate football microscope. How hard WOULD it be to rid sports of all drugs anyway?
I fear this year there is a heightened sense of discourse relating to a college playoff format. No other than our newly elected President has fanned the flames of debate with an ill wind.
On the eve of the Presidential election, ESPN broadcaster Chris Berman, during the nationally televised Monday Night Football game, posed a question to both candidates. If they could change one thing about sports, what would it be? Like the true Republican that he is, John McCain wanted to rid sports of drugs. Lets give a shout out to Nancy Reagan. Since sports are a microcosm of society, his answer was a well meaning pipe dream. Barack Obama’s desire was no less daunting, but it's his timing that was timely. Obama would bring some sort of playoff system to college football. Does this mean the system as it is should undergo more finite scrutiny than past years just because our new President considers it a pressing sports issue? I don’t know how much more heated the argument for or against can rage.
Football is the only sport that NCAA Division I does not have a championship for. The BCS or Bowl Championship Series is a byproduct of the FBS, or Football Bowl Subdivision. The BCS was created to settle the matter of which team is the “real” champion because no selecting organization could ever reach a consensus; even though the NCAA declares, prior to the formation of the BCS, that there have been 49 Consensus National Champions from 1950 to 2003. The definition of consensus is a “general agreement.” But in 16 of those years previously stated, there were multiple teams “generally agreed upon” as National Champions. 2003 was a curious year since the BCS already existed and acknowledged LSU to be the National Champion, but the “consensus” champs were USC. Huh? You got all that? Yeah, me either.
In 1926,Illinois economics professor Frank G. Dickinson, devised a mathematical formula to, once and for all, determine a definitive National Champion. The “Dickinson System” was used as the “be all, end all” until 1936 when the Associated Press decided who was the country’s premier collegiate football. After 1949, the “consensus” system was implemented, even though each year up to five different governing bodies, (AP, UPI, FWAA, NFF, USA/CNN, USA/ESPN) weighed in with their results. That’s quite a consensus.
The blackest eye to the system(s) occurred in 1984, when the lightly regarded Mountain West Conference, anointed Brigham Young University its champion. They ended their less than daunting season with a Holiday Bowl win over a less than stellar Michigan team. BYU was the nation’s only undefeated team, though it didn’t qualify for any of the major bowl games. Almost by default, the NCAA in their infinite wisdom, made BYU National Champion. There was great unrest on several college campuses around the country. And look at the strides we made. Georgia was odd man out last year, and this year the BCS/NCAA could find themselves amid another conundrum.
Some teams have three games left, some have two. Some have conference championships, some don’t. The BCS can’t take more than two teams from any one conference for their bowl games. Somebody somewhere is going to be pissed. Utah, Boise State, and Ball State, if they finish the season undefeated, will cry foul, that no one gives them the respect they deserve, and that they merit consideration for the National title; wah, wah, wah; and the beat goes on.
Barack Obama may not be aware of the Pandora’s Box he unwittingly (or maybe not), has good naturedly put under the collegiate football microscope. How hard WOULD it be to rid sports of all drugs anyway?
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
It’s Been a Long Time Coming
Yesterday I arose early to go get in line to vote. I arrived at the polls for my voting district in Pembroke Pines, Florida at 6:30. There were perhaps fifty people in front of me. By the time the polls opened at 7:00, there was an additional fifty behind me. The line proceeded quickly and efficiently. When I entered the building, an African-American woman donning a yellow “Yes We Can” t-shirt was picking up a “My Vote Counted” sticker. Several tears gently rolled down her cheeks. Did her tears stem from reflecting about how far our society has come since the days it saddled itself with the “peculiar institution” that was the scar that marred the face of American democracy? I did not speak to her about what she was feeling at that very moment. However, her tears triggered in me thoughts of an historical nature.
I wonder if she knew that prior to the Sahara Desert becoming too vast to cross easily that there was no racial prejudice. The African civilization of Kush traded and interacted with the other cultures over three millenium ago until the Nubians became isolated due the deserts huge expanse.
I wonder if this woman was aware that until the German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hagel proposed his theory behind racial superiority in the early nineteenth century, that all races were on equal footing.
I wonder if she knew of the strides that freed slaves made during reconstruction were abruptly ceased following a trade off between North and South to decide the 1876 Presidential election.
I wonder if she knew how many African Americans lost their lives trying to gain voter rights. Right here in her home state, the town of Rosewood which was included in the 1920 census was not in 1930 due to a racial hatred so severe that the town no longer existed. Similar racial atrocities occurred in the towns of Ocoee and Micanopy as well. I always cringe a little when I see their exit signs when traveling through central and northern Florida.
I wonder if she knew that 83% of American born African-Americans are, to some degree, of mixed blood.
I’m pretty sure she must be aware Barack Obama was born of a white mother. Barack Obama is not America’s first African-American President regardless of what Katie Couric, Wolf Blitzer, and scores of other election night analysts seem intent on reinforcing. The lone beacon of clarity was Sharee Williams of CBS4 local news. She correctly declared upon hearing of the deciding electoral projections, that “America has elected their first bi-racial President.” Personally, I don’t care about his or anybody else’s racial or ethnic heritage. But I don’t understand the constant need to label individuals. It would make sense that if the talking heads downplayed race and ethnicity, eventually no one would give a shit, save the diehard bigots.
The media declared Tiger Woods African-American, though his mother is Thai, and he is also of European and Native-American extraction. Derek Jeter, as far as the sports media is concerned, is African-American, while his genealogy is mixed. The same goes for Mariah Carey and many others. Doesn’t it make sense to just say “bi-racial?” This topic could probably fuel blogs for many weeks to come.
I wonder if the teary eyed women thought of all the people who came before Barack Obama who made his quest for the country’s highest political office possible.
W.E.B. DuBois, the first man of African-American lineage to receive a Phd. from Harvard, and a founding member of the NAACP. Booker T. Washington, a philosophical rival of Dubois’ who once dined at the White House with President Theodore Roosevelt; Marcus Garvey, The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, or Malcolm X, Carl Stokes, Shirley Chisholm, Julian Bond, Andrew Young, all paved the way for yesterday’s moment in history. No less historic was where Barack Obama delivered his victory speech.
I wonder if the woman knew what occurred forty years ago at Grant Park in Chicago, where an enormous throng of well-wishers enthusiastically roared their approval of the new President-elect. In 1968, hundreds of protesters disenchanted with the state of their country, were beaten and arrested. The crowd last night was no less discontented with the current state of affairs. The election of Barack Obama allayed their frustration temporarily, his compelling four minute address gave hope to the multitudes present, and those watching at home.
Following John McCain’s gracious concession speech to a not so gracious audience, Barack Obama addressed the gathered masses armed with words overseen by his twenty-six year old head speech writer.
Not since Abraham Lincoln has someone said so much with so little. He even paid homage to the 16th President. By the time he concluded the inspiring and poignant tale of one hundred and six year old Atlanta voter Ann Nixon Cooper; the trials and tribulations she witnessed, and in many cases he cited, endured; for the first time since 9/11, I felt truly proud to be an American. I wonder if the lady in the “Yes We Can” t-shirt knew I too could be moved to tears.
I wonder if she knew that prior to the Sahara Desert becoming too vast to cross easily that there was no racial prejudice. The African civilization of Kush traded and interacted with the other cultures over three millenium ago until the Nubians became isolated due the deserts huge expanse.
I wonder if this woman was aware that until the German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hagel proposed his theory behind racial superiority in the early nineteenth century, that all races were on equal footing.
I wonder if she knew of the strides that freed slaves made during reconstruction were abruptly ceased following a trade off between North and South to decide the 1876 Presidential election.
I wonder if she knew how many African Americans lost their lives trying to gain voter rights. Right here in her home state, the town of Rosewood which was included in the 1920 census was not in 1930 due to a racial hatred so severe that the town no longer existed. Similar racial atrocities occurred in the towns of Ocoee and Micanopy as well. I always cringe a little when I see their exit signs when traveling through central and northern Florida.
I wonder if she knew that 83% of American born African-Americans are, to some degree, of mixed blood.
I’m pretty sure she must be aware Barack Obama was born of a white mother. Barack Obama is not America’s first African-American President regardless of what Katie Couric, Wolf Blitzer, and scores of other election night analysts seem intent on reinforcing. The lone beacon of clarity was Sharee Williams of CBS4 local news. She correctly declared upon hearing of the deciding electoral projections, that “America has elected their first bi-racial President.” Personally, I don’t care about his or anybody else’s racial or ethnic heritage. But I don’t understand the constant need to label individuals. It would make sense that if the talking heads downplayed race and ethnicity, eventually no one would give a shit, save the diehard bigots.
The media declared Tiger Woods African-American, though his mother is Thai, and he is also of European and Native-American extraction. Derek Jeter, as far as the sports media is concerned, is African-American, while his genealogy is mixed. The same goes for Mariah Carey and many others. Doesn’t it make sense to just say “bi-racial?” This topic could probably fuel blogs for many weeks to come.
I wonder if the teary eyed women thought of all the people who came before Barack Obama who made his quest for the country’s highest political office possible.
W.E.B. DuBois, the first man of African-American lineage to receive a Phd. from Harvard, and a founding member of the NAACP. Booker T. Washington, a philosophical rival of Dubois’ who once dined at the White House with President Theodore Roosevelt; Marcus Garvey, The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, or Malcolm X, Carl Stokes, Shirley Chisholm, Julian Bond, Andrew Young, all paved the way for yesterday’s moment in history. No less historic was where Barack Obama delivered his victory speech.
I wonder if the woman knew what occurred forty years ago at Grant Park in Chicago, where an enormous throng of well-wishers enthusiastically roared their approval of the new President-elect. In 1968, hundreds of protesters disenchanted with the state of their country, were beaten and arrested. The crowd last night was no less discontented with the current state of affairs. The election of Barack Obama allayed their frustration temporarily, his compelling four minute address gave hope to the multitudes present, and those watching at home.
Following John McCain’s gracious concession speech to a not so gracious audience, Barack Obama addressed the gathered masses armed with words overseen by his twenty-six year old head speech writer.
Not since Abraham Lincoln has someone said so much with so little. He even paid homage to the 16th President. By the time he concluded the inspiring and poignant tale of one hundred and six year old Atlanta voter Ann Nixon Cooper; the trials and tribulations she witnessed, and in many cases he cited, endured; for the first time since 9/11, I felt truly proud to be an American. I wonder if the lady in the “Yes We Can” t-shirt knew I too could be moved to tears.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
In Praise of Sport
A big thank you goes out to Andrew Jackson, our 7th President of the United States. You all know him, his picture is on the twenty dollar bill. What did he do so great that his portrait should adorn our currency you may ask? Even if you don’t ask, I’m going to tell you in a roundabout way why the Treasury made a wise choice.
Oh, you might say “Old Hickory” distinguished himself during the War of 1812 at the Battle of New Orleans, securing victory, after which Johnny Horton immortalized him in song. Well, I hate to be the bearing of bad tidings; but that battle was fought after the Treaty of Ghent had already been signed, signifying the war’s end. You may say he was the first President elected for all intents and purposes, by popular vote, breaking the stranglehold of the elite class and their occupation of the office. A good and just guess, but my reason is a little simpler. Jackson laid the foundation to the skyscraper of sport that exists today whose shadow stretches across the American landscape. He was the first to manufacture the textile of sport that has become so interwoven into fabric of culture. However, this is not about Andrew Jackson, it’s about what provoked this unusual acknowledgement. I recently attended the ribbon cutting ceremony for the new alumni center at Florida Atlantic University. How are the two connected? I’ll tell you.
Hunting and fishing were the two sporting activities rich folk did in their leisure time back prior to Andrew Jackson becoming President in 1828. At Jackson’s inauguration, he opened the White House to all who felt so inclined to join in the festivities. The “common man” could rub elbows with Washington D.C’s movers and shakers of the period. There was much drinking and carousing a stone’s throw from the Oval office which was about to be occupied by a most uncommon “common man.” In short, people trashed the joint.
Jackson won the election by “stumping” from small town to small town. He represented the interests of the majority of Americans, not the handful of select landowners and powerbrokers. He also fancied himself to be quite a horseman, and was known to lay a wager or two to prove his point. It mattered little to Jackson who owned the horse he raced against, as long as he had the opportunity to show his mettle and make a few dollars in the process. Horse Racing is known today as the Sport of Kings. Up until Jackson became President it was only Kings or America’s version of them, who engaged in the activity. Jackson brought his love for horse racing with him to the White House, and everyone that voted for him fell in love with the sport as well. If you farmed only enough acreage to feed and clothe your family, but owned a fast horse, you could race right along side plantation owners with a stable of horses. The line separating classes had been crossed, and as a nation we haven’t looked back since.
Within the decade after Jackson leaving office, the first baseball game was played at Elysian Field in Hoboken, New Jersey. That sport too tried to keep out all but the educated elite, to no avail. By 1869, the Industrial Revolution was off and running and baseball had become a profession incorporating all classes of individuals. Waves of immigrant factory workers found baseball to be a way to assimilate into American life. Soon many of them eschewed factory work for work in the ball fields. The institution of professional baseball prided itself as a means of social mobility. Football would soon follow suit. Sadly, the segregationist racial attitudes of the era were reflected in sports. It would be many years before that line of inequality was breached.
For well over a century fathers of all races, religions and classes, have spent quality time with their children playing catch, shooting hoops, or tossing the football around; but the role of sport and its influence reaches far beyond the realm of the playing field.
Educators and legislators often bemoan the feasibility of collegiate athletic programs without looking at the big picture. Only a handful of universities across the country have gained notoriety for their academics. The Ivy League schools and the military academies, Stanford and MIT top the short list. I’ve left off the University of Chicago because under the direction of famed coach Amos Alonzo Stagg, their football program put the school on the proverbial map. Producing the first Heisman trophy winner Jay Berwanger, who later became the first draft choice for the newly formed National Football League. The argument exists that the majority of college sports programs lose money. True, most do, but there are others, like the University of Florida who occasionally share their wealth with other campus departments that are suffering financially. However, the collateral benefits reaped from collegiate sports know no bounds.
Gatorade was developed because of the football program, and look at the windfall those residuals have brought to the school, the science department in particular. At Florida Atlantic University the benefits have not been as high profile, but no less noteworthy.
The school is only in its 45th year, an infant in the world of academia. The football program is in only its 8th year and 4th at the Division I level. Last year, the team won its conference title and its first ever bowl game (on national television), the youngest program in NCAA history to do so. Articles on the team appeared in national publications. With those milestones, 100,000 diplomas became more valuable. FAU alum living in Oregon can apply for jobs there and their alma mater will be recognized because some young men won a football game.
Harold and Marleen Forkas, who did not attend Florida Atlantic, were two of the first 100 season ticket holders for football 8 years ago. They adopted the University after retiring and moving to Boca Raton, Florida from Long Island, New York. The ribbon cutting ceremony that I spoke of earlier was at the Marleen and Harold Forkas Alumni Center. Their generosity and affection for Florida Atlantic came in the form of $1,100,000 (that’s a lot of Andrew Jacksons) for construction of said center; all because they bought football season tickets.
Thank you Andrew Jackson for introducing America to the ways of sport, and how everyone can embrace them no matter who they are or what socio-economic class they occupy. We’re all the better for it.
Oh, you might say “Old Hickory” distinguished himself during the War of 1812 at the Battle of New Orleans, securing victory, after which Johnny Horton immortalized him in song. Well, I hate to be the bearing of bad tidings; but that battle was fought after the Treaty of Ghent had already been signed, signifying the war’s end. You may say he was the first President elected for all intents and purposes, by popular vote, breaking the stranglehold of the elite class and their occupation of the office. A good and just guess, but my reason is a little simpler. Jackson laid the foundation to the skyscraper of sport that exists today whose shadow stretches across the American landscape. He was the first to manufacture the textile of sport that has become so interwoven into fabric of culture. However, this is not about Andrew Jackson, it’s about what provoked this unusual acknowledgement. I recently attended the ribbon cutting ceremony for the new alumni center at Florida Atlantic University. How are the two connected? I’ll tell you.
Hunting and fishing were the two sporting activities rich folk did in their leisure time back prior to Andrew Jackson becoming President in 1828. At Jackson’s inauguration, he opened the White House to all who felt so inclined to join in the festivities. The “common man” could rub elbows with Washington D.C’s movers and shakers of the period. There was much drinking and carousing a stone’s throw from the Oval office which was about to be occupied by a most uncommon “common man.” In short, people trashed the joint.
Jackson won the election by “stumping” from small town to small town. He represented the interests of the majority of Americans, not the handful of select landowners and powerbrokers. He also fancied himself to be quite a horseman, and was known to lay a wager or two to prove his point. It mattered little to Jackson who owned the horse he raced against, as long as he had the opportunity to show his mettle and make a few dollars in the process. Horse Racing is known today as the Sport of Kings. Up until Jackson became President it was only Kings or America’s version of them, who engaged in the activity. Jackson brought his love for horse racing with him to the White House, and everyone that voted for him fell in love with the sport as well. If you farmed only enough acreage to feed and clothe your family, but owned a fast horse, you could race right along side plantation owners with a stable of horses. The line separating classes had been crossed, and as a nation we haven’t looked back since.
Within the decade after Jackson leaving office, the first baseball game was played at Elysian Field in Hoboken, New Jersey. That sport too tried to keep out all but the educated elite, to no avail. By 1869, the Industrial Revolution was off and running and baseball had become a profession incorporating all classes of individuals. Waves of immigrant factory workers found baseball to be a way to assimilate into American life. Soon many of them eschewed factory work for work in the ball fields. The institution of professional baseball prided itself as a means of social mobility. Football would soon follow suit. Sadly, the segregationist racial attitudes of the era were reflected in sports. It would be many years before that line of inequality was breached.
For well over a century fathers of all races, religions and classes, have spent quality time with their children playing catch, shooting hoops, or tossing the football around; but the role of sport and its influence reaches far beyond the realm of the playing field.
Educators and legislators often bemoan the feasibility of collegiate athletic programs without looking at the big picture. Only a handful of universities across the country have gained notoriety for their academics. The Ivy League schools and the military academies, Stanford and MIT top the short list. I’ve left off the University of Chicago because under the direction of famed coach Amos Alonzo Stagg, their football program put the school on the proverbial map. Producing the first Heisman trophy winner Jay Berwanger, who later became the first draft choice for the newly formed National Football League. The argument exists that the majority of college sports programs lose money. True, most do, but there are others, like the University of Florida who occasionally share their wealth with other campus departments that are suffering financially. However, the collateral benefits reaped from collegiate sports know no bounds.
Gatorade was developed because of the football program, and look at the windfall those residuals have brought to the school, the science department in particular. At Florida Atlantic University the benefits have not been as high profile, but no less noteworthy.
The school is only in its 45th year, an infant in the world of academia. The football program is in only its 8th year and 4th at the Division I level. Last year, the team won its conference title and its first ever bowl game (on national television), the youngest program in NCAA history to do so. Articles on the team appeared in national publications. With those milestones, 100,000 diplomas became more valuable. FAU alum living in Oregon can apply for jobs there and their alma mater will be recognized because some young men won a football game.
Harold and Marleen Forkas, who did not attend Florida Atlantic, were two of the first 100 season ticket holders for football 8 years ago. They adopted the University after retiring and moving to Boca Raton, Florida from Long Island, New York. The ribbon cutting ceremony that I spoke of earlier was at the Marleen and Harold Forkas Alumni Center. Their generosity and affection for Florida Atlantic came in the form of $1,100,000 (that’s a lot of Andrew Jacksons) for construction of said center; all because they bought football season tickets.
Thank you Andrew Jackson for introducing America to the ways of sport, and how everyone can embrace them no matter who they are or what socio-economic class they occupy. We’re all the better for it.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Wake Me When It’s Over
Well boys and girls, the calendar tells us that Election Day is almost here. Yippee! Hurrah! Be still my palpitating heart! Has it really been just two years since a couple of dozen sadomasochistic men and women decided to throw their hats into the proverbial Presidential ring? It seems like an eon. Time sure flies when you’re having fun eh? We’ve been fed a steady diet of hyperbolical politispeak for the past twenty-four months. (Spelling the time frame out is much more impressive than just the number 24.) We’ve weeded out the also-rans, and now there are two. Now that we’re in the home stretch you can turn on your television anytime of the day or night, and if you watch network programming for more than twenty-five minutes at a clip you’re bound to be treated to an advertisement touting Barack Obama (or a snipe at McCain); and with any luck you’ll get the double whammy and get a John McCain (or anti-Obama) ad for good measure. Maybe even back to back! Isn’t that exciting! I don’t know about you, but I’m over it, Finis, kaput, done, fried. Can we please move on?
Let’s cover the positive aspect of this overblown, overstated, overindulgent hoopla. Since the target audience is the same, and they air during the same broadcasts; all these political ads have taken valuable airtime away from pharmaceutical companies touting their never ending stream of things we MUST ask our doctors about. Our high cholesterol, high blood pressure, our obesity (you know who you are), our erectile dysfunction, depression (if you are male wouldn’t those two go hand in hand?), our restless leg syndrome, allergies, diabetes, chronic dry eye, acid reflux, insomnia, brittle bones, low calcium, and the all important benign prostatic hypertrophy.
These ads offer a multitude of things we can take to alleviate any of the aforementioned maladies, and some that weren’t mentioned. Pharmaceutical giants shill everything from Avodart and Flomax for our plumbing, Lipitor, Crestor, Zetia, and Zocor will assuage our heart and cholesterol concerns. Astilin and Zyrtec will allow us to breathe easier so to speak. Prevacid, Nexium, Tagamet, and Prilosec bombard our gullets, and Viagra, Cialis, and Levitra keep us erect, unless it’s for more than four hours, then we get thee to a nunnery, I mean doctor. See, due to the final campaign crunch we can be thankful we’re granted a diversion from what should be ailing all of us. Just substituting one craneal poison for another I guess.
Personally, I can truly relate to Malcolm McDowell’s character in A Clockwork Orange when he’s forced to watch television hours on end. Is there a real need for all these campaign ads? After all these months of nightly news coverage of the two candidates, innumerable sources of measured, pertinent information on the issues; is there a voter out there that needs to see just one more political advertisement to persuade him to vote one way or the other? If there is I don’t want that asshole canceling out my carefully researched and thought through vote. Yet there is no medication to help me stomach the eternal political drivel.
Why can’t the candidates say something profound? Something that makes us take pause like JFK’s “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country;” or FDR’s “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” That’s shit that you can rally around. It’s immaterial that speechwriters probably came up with both of those gems; they were lines that you could sink your teeth into. What do we get?
We get Sarah Palin’s response to a third graders question concerning the duties of the Vice-President. She informed her audience that in addition to supporting the policies of the President, the Vice-President “is in charge of the Senate.” Interesting. Maybe she looked that up on Wilkipedia, before someone corrected that erroneous entry. From what I understand, the Vice-President serves as President of the Senate, formally presiding over Senate deliberations. The role is so limited that the Vice-President rarely comes to the chamber, unless there is a tie vote on bills and resolutions, and then the Vice-President gets to cast the deciding vote. To me that’s a far cry from “in charge of the Senate.” Someday, further along in that child’s educational process perhaps he/she will be enlightened as to the real role the Vice-President plays in regard to the Senate. For now, that child should file Palin’s answer somewhere in the darkest recess of their mind, never to be summoned forth when queried. Palin should heed the advice of Abraham Lincoln, “ ‘tis better to remain silent and thought a fool, than speak and remove all doubt.”
Barack Obama can’t seem to grab that elusive brass ring of quotable wisdom either. He recently stirred a crowd when referencing the current economic crisis by saying “Times like these call for the best ideas and the brightest minds…” like we need to be reminded of that. Really? No, we want dipshits and halfwits to tackle the fiscal woes the country is mired in.
So come on all you “fence-sitters,” let’s watch more TV! They’ll be running campaign ads for the next two weeks! This is your last chance to be persuaded. Is there a pill for constipation of the brain?
Let’s cover the positive aspect of this overblown, overstated, overindulgent hoopla. Since the target audience is the same, and they air during the same broadcasts; all these political ads have taken valuable airtime away from pharmaceutical companies touting their never ending stream of things we MUST ask our doctors about. Our high cholesterol, high blood pressure, our obesity (you know who you are), our erectile dysfunction, depression (if you are male wouldn’t those two go hand in hand?), our restless leg syndrome, allergies, diabetes, chronic dry eye, acid reflux, insomnia, brittle bones, low calcium, and the all important benign prostatic hypertrophy.
These ads offer a multitude of things we can take to alleviate any of the aforementioned maladies, and some that weren’t mentioned. Pharmaceutical giants shill everything from Avodart and Flomax for our plumbing, Lipitor, Crestor, Zetia, and Zocor will assuage our heart and cholesterol concerns. Astilin and Zyrtec will allow us to breathe easier so to speak. Prevacid, Nexium, Tagamet, and Prilosec bombard our gullets, and Viagra, Cialis, and Levitra keep us erect, unless it’s for more than four hours, then we get thee to a nunnery, I mean doctor. See, due to the final campaign crunch we can be thankful we’re granted a diversion from what should be ailing all of us. Just substituting one craneal poison for another I guess.
Personally, I can truly relate to Malcolm McDowell’s character in A Clockwork Orange when he’s forced to watch television hours on end. Is there a real need for all these campaign ads? After all these months of nightly news coverage of the two candidates, innumerable sources of measured, pertinent information on the issues; is there a voter out there that needs to see just one more political advertisement to persuade him to vote one way or the other? If there is I don’t want that asshole canceling out my carefully researched and thought through vote. Yet there is no medication to help me stomach the eternal political drivel.
Why can’t the candidates say something profound? Something that makes us take pause like JFK’s “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country;” or FDR’s “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” That’s shit that you can rally around. It’s immaterial that speechwriters probably came up with both of those gems; they were lines that you could sink your teeth into. What do we get?
We get Sarah Palin’s response to a third graders question concerning the duties of the Vice-President. She informed her audience that in addition to supporting the policies of the President, the Vice-President “is in charge of the Senate.” Interesting. Maybe she looked that up on Wilkipedia, before someone corrected that erroneous entry. From what I understand, the Vice-President serves as President of the Senate, formally presiding over Senate deliberations. The role is so limited that the Vice-President rarely comes to the chamber, unless there is a tie vote on bills and resolutions, and then the Vice-President gets to cast the deciding vote. To me that’s a far cry from “in charge of the Senate.” Someday, further along in that child’s educational process perhaps he/she will be enlightened as to the real role the Vice-President plays in regard to the Senate. For now, that child should file Palin’s answer somewhere in the darkest recess of their mind, never to be summoned forth when queried. Palin should heed the advice of Abraham Lincoln, “ ‘tis better to remain silent and thought a fool, than speak and remove all doubt.”
Barack Obama can’t seem to grab that elusive brass ring of quotable wisdom either. He recently stirred a crowd when referencing the current economic crisis by saying “Times like these call for the best ideas and the brightest minds…” like we need to be reminded of that. Really? No, we want dipshits and halfwits to tackle the fiscal woes the country is mired in.
So come on all you “fence-sitters,” let’s watch more TV! They’ll be running campaign ads for the next two weeks! This is your last chance to be persuaded. Is there a pill for constipation of the brain?
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Event
I’m switching gears this week to examine what some of the populace believe is the lighter side of our culture, sports. If you have any sense of humor, I can’t fathom anything more entertaining than the Presidential campaign. However, there was nothing “light” about the college football game I attended this past weekend. Everything that transpired heightened my awareness of how important sports are to our society. This is why they have their own section of the newspaper, radio and television stations devote 24 hour coverage; all because of the import we put on them. When an event of such magnitude occurs, clocks stop; the work week is forgotten, the economy, the argument with the wife or girlfriend, all in the name of sport.
There are several such happenings that the entire sporting community elevates to said event status. The Super Bowl, where the game itself is rarely super, The Daytona 500, The Kentucky Derby, the World Series, even though only teams from America play in it. There are a couple of college football rivalries that are annual events. Ohio State-Michigan, Harvard-Yale, California-Stanford, are always games of note despite won-lost records that may indicate otherwise. Then there is the special game that occurs because the stars have aligned just right. Two happened on this fall Saturday in October, Texas versus Oklahoma, and Florida versus LSU. I was fortunate enough to experience all of the hoopla of the latter.
Each fall for the past five years I have attended a football game at the University of Florida. It’s the annual rite of father and son bonding. My son graduated from UF last May, and is now a graduate student there. Past opponents were Arkansas, Kentucky, Vanderbilt, Alabama, and last year the Gators squared off against my alma mater Florida Atlantic University; noble foes all, but lacking elite status. This year was different. Just a week ago Florida suffered a most ignominious loss at home at the hands of the University of Mississippi, their first defeat of the season. The Polls now ranked UF 11th. LSU on the other hand was undefeated and ranked 4th. This game would have SEC and National Championship implications. I was so excited I could barely contain myself.
Normally I get to Gainesville early Friday afternoon. However, I had business in Orlando on Thursday, so I got to campus a day early. Each and every subsequent activity after my arrival was significant in some way, shape or form.
Thursday night for the first time since I gave up consuming alcoholic beverages, I closed a bar. My metabolism severely out of whack due to the copious amounts of Diet Coke I consumed. While my son and his friends continued to slay brain cells somewhere else, I retreated to my motel room to count the popcorn on the ceiling. This was just a prelude of what was in store.
Friday I arose relatively early considering what time I had retired the previous evening. I made my way to my son’s house to check my e-mail for a pending appointment with an administrator at the University Athletic Association. I found Cory in a state of ill-repair due to a lack of sleep and a slight overindulgence of libations. After confirmation of my appointment, Cory was none too pleased that he needed to get his shit together for a 10:30 meeting. Like the champ that he is, he made a strategic phone call to find out the building location where the meeting would be taking place. We made our way to campus amid the bustle of students going to and from class. There were no signs of the storm that was approaching the university grounds.
Once my obligations were completed, with splendid results I might add, we went to the new football offices. Only authorized personnel were granted access to the upstairs, Cory fell into this category. After perusing the lobby where the BCS Championship trophies and Heisman awards of past winners, I made my way into the inner sanctum of UF football. Verne Lundquist and Gary Danielson of CBS sports were there in preparation for the following evenings broadcast. Cory introduced me to no less than a dozen of his co-workers. I tried mightily to remember their names, but there would be dozens more such introductions as the weekend wore on, and to remember them all would be a feat indeed. As we made our way past coach’s offices, and meeting rooms, yes there is more than one, we were greeted by Head football coach Urban Meyer. My weekend certainly was starting off in grand fashion. Cory’s supervisor offered us bracelets which granted us access to the pizza party football staff luncheon, we accepted graciously. At this point I’m feeling truly grateful to be Cory’s father. He really knows how to show someone a good time.
The preparations for the following day’s festivities began in earnest with the purchase of alcoholic beverages to be put on ice. Exhausted from lack of sleep, coupled with all the walking that morning, I felt a need for a little game I like to call “Checking my Eyelids for Cracks.” Cory agreed. I returned to my motel. Only I didn’t sleep as hoped. Cory requested that I return to his house around 5:30. To give myself plenty of time to travel the 4.5 miles, I left at 5:00. The first signs that something was brewing on the horizon was the storm surge of humanity converging on Gainesville. Every traffic light was sufficiently backed up that waiting for three cycles of change was not uncommon. I called to say I’d be late. My voice must have sounded giddy, because the electricity in the air was palpable. I could hardly contain my excitement. Again, Cory and I made our way to mid-town this time with several newly arrived out of town friends in tow. The sole reason for this influx was THE GAME. The bars were jammed beyond capacity because of THE GAME. Streets were impassible because of THE GAME. Television news crews were out in force because of THE GAME. I’d never seen anything quite like it. Under normal circumstances I’d have felt a might uncomfortable, but now I basked in the ebb and flow of human closeness.
I had planned on waking early the morning of the game. I got my wish via 2 dozen unruly pubescent football players and their equally inconsiderate parental supervisors. Outside my door a din of screaming and shouting shattered my slumber. Though this did not alter my jovial mood for it was GAMEDAY!! LSU vs. Florida, 4 vs. 11, SEC West meets SEC East, on national television, 12 hours from now, and I was summoned to tailgate, making a pit stop for gas, ice and a coffee for my son first.
Like animals readying for the oncoming deluge; vendors, students, and alumni scurried to and fro to make final preparations for what was about to occur. When I arrived at the predetermined designated area, several canopies had already been erected, some LSU revelers and some Florida fans. This ratio would eventually become extremely one sided. Good times were had by all. Cold drinks and hot women were the order of the day. Trash talking was at a minimum. Comparisons were made over what form of suicide or outbursts of anarchy were to occur if the Gators lost. However, no sooner were the projected laments over, then just as quickly calls for what type of celebration would accompany a Gator win. This manic see-saw of emotion was understandable but nerve-racking. In twenty minutes the game would start.
Like Noah’s animals making their way to the Ark, waves of humanity made their way to Ben Hill Griffin Stadium. The buzz in the air could only be compared to high tension wires anticipating an impending downpour. After making our way to our seats, or really “stands” since no one sat for the entire game, the noise reached a crescendo for kickoff. The energy behind it had been building for days, and now it was time to set it free. The howling wind of this storm was replaced by the clamor of rabid Gator fans. The first pass play set the tone for the evening, a tipped aerial to Percy Harvin for the first of many UF scores.
When proposed outcomes were discussed prior to the game, a Gator blowout of LSU was not one of them. Maybe that’s what made this victory so utter and complete. The final score of 51-21 was the culmination of a concentrated force that seemed to will the team to victory, an event of which I was fortunate enough to be part of.
There are several such happenings that the entire sporting community elevates to said event status. The Super Bowl, where the game itself is rarely super, The Daytona 500, The Kentucky Derby, the World Series, even though only teams from America play in it. There are a couple of college football rivalries that are annual events. Ohio State-Michigan, Harvard-Yale, California-Stanford, are always games of note despite won-lost records that may indicate otherwise. Then there is the special game that occurs because the stars have aligned just right. Two happened on this fall Saturday in October, Texas versus Oklahoma, and Florida versus LSU. I was fortunate enough to experience all of the hoopla of the latter.
Each fall for the past five years I have attended a football game at the University of Florida. It’s the annual rite of father and son bonding. My son graduated from UF last May, and is now a graduate student there. Past opponents were Arkansas, Kentucky, Vanderbilt, Alabama, and last year the Gators squared off against my alma mater Florida Atlantic University; noble foes all, but lacking elite status. This year was different. Just a week ago Florida suffered a most ignominious loss at home at the hands of the University of Mississippi, their first defeat of the season. The Polls now ranked UF 11th. LSU on the other hand was undefeated and ranked 4th. This game would have SEC and National Championship implications. I was so excited I could barely contain myself.
Normally I get to Gainesville early Friday afternoon. However, I had business in Orlando on Thursday, so I got to campus a day early. Each and every subsequent activity after my arrival was significant in some way, shape or form.
Thursday night for the first time since I gave up consuming alcoholic beverages, I closed a bar. My metabolism severely out of whack due to the copious amounts of Diet Coke I consumed. While my son and his friends continued to slay brain cells somewhere else, I retreated to my motel room to count the popcorn on the ceiling. This was just a prelude of what was in store.
Friday I arose relatively early considering what time I had retired the previous evening. I made my way to my son’s house to check my e-mail for a pending appointment with an administrator at the University Athletic Association. I found Cory in a state of ill-repair due to a lack of sleep and a slight overindulgence of libations. After confirmation of my appointment, Cory was none too pleased that he needed to get his shit together for a 10:30 meeting. Like the champ that he is, he made a strategic phone call to find out the building location where the meeting would be taking place. We made our way to campus amid the bustle of students going to and from class. There were no signs of the storm that was approaching the university grounds.
Once my obligations were completed, with splendid results I might add, we went to the new football offices. Only authorized personnel were granted access to the upstairs, Cory fell into this category. After perusing the lobby where the BCS Championship trophies and Heisman awards of past winners, I made my way into the inner sanctum of UF football. Verne Lundquist and Gary Danielson of CBS sports were there in preparation for the following evenings broadcast. Cory introduced me to no less than a dozen of his co-workers. I tried mightily to remember their names, but there would be dozens more such introductions as the weekend wore on, and to remember them all would be a feat indeed. As we made our way past coach’s offices, and meeting rooms, yes there is more than one, we were greeted by Head football coach Urban Meyer. My weekend certainly was starting off in grand fashion. Cory’s supervisor offered us bracelets which granted us access to the pizza party football staff luncheon, we accepted graciously. At this point I’m feeling truly grateful to be Cory’s father. He really knows how to show someone a good time.
The preparations for the following day’s festivities began in earnest with the purchase of alcoholic beverages to be put on ice. Exhausted from lack of sleep, coupled with all the walking that morning, I felt a need for a little game I like to call “Checking my Eyelids for Cracks.” Cory agreed. I returned to my motel. Only I didn’t sleep as hoped. Cory requested that I return to his house around 5:30. To give myself plenty of time to travel the 4.5 miles, I left at 5:00. The first signs that something was brewing on the horizon was the storm surge of humanity converging on Gainesville. Every traffic light was sufficiently backed up that waiting for three cycles of change was not uncommon. I called to say I’d be late. My voice must have sounded giddy, because the electricity in the air was palpable. I could hardly contain my excitement. Again, Cory and I made our way to mid-town this time with several newly arrived out of town friends in tow. The sole reason for this influx was THE GAME. The bars were jammed beyond capacity because of THE GAME. Streets were impassible because of THE GAME. Television news crews were out in force because of THE GAME. I’d never seen anything quite like it. Under normal circumstances I’d have felt a might uncomfortable, but now I basked in the ebb and flow of human closeness.
I had planned on waking early the morning of the game. I got my wish via 2 dozen unruly pubescent football players and their equally inconsiderate parental supervisors. Outside my door a din of screaming and shouting shattered my slumber. Though this did not alter my jovial mood for it was GAMEDAY!! LSU vs. Florida, 4 vs. 11, SEC West meets SEC East, on national television, 12 hours from now, and I was summoned to tailgate, making a pit stop for gas, ice and a coffee for my son first.
Like animals readying for the oncoming deluge; vendors, students, and alumni scurried to and fro to make final preparations for what was about to occur. When I arrived at the predetermined designated area, several canopies had already been erected, some LSU revelers and some Florida fans. This ratio would eventually become extremely one sided. Good times were had by all. Cold drinks and hot women were the order of the day. Trash talking was at a minimum. Comparisons were made over what form of suicide or outbursts of anarchy were to occur if the Gators lost. However, no sooner were the projected laments over, then just as quickly calls for what type of celebration would accompany a Gator win. This manic see-saw of emotion was understandable but nerve-racking. In twenty minutes the game would start.
Like Noah’s animals making their way to the Ark, waves of humanity made their way to Ben Hill Griffin Stadium. The buzz in the air could only be compared to high tension wires anticipating an impending downpour. After making our way to our seats, or really “stands” since no one sat for the entire game, the noise reached a crescendo for kickoff. The energy behind it had been building for days, and now it was time to set it free. The howling wind of this storm was replaced by the clamor of rabid Gator fans. The first pass play set the tone for the evening, a tipped aerial to Percy Harvin for the first of many UF scores.
When proposed outcomes were discussed prior to the game, a Gator blowout of LSU was not one of them. Maybe that’s what made this victory so utter and complete. The final score of 51-21 was the culmination of a concentrated force that seemed to will the team to victory, an event of which I was fortunate enough to be part of.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Giving the Devil Her Due
I fully intended to share my woeful four day period of sports catastrophe, but after last week’s blog, I must give the devil her due. The sports lamentation will have to wait.
I am a registered Republican. I once belonged to the Young Republicans Club of Morris County New Jersey. I have never voted across party lines for a Presidential election since 1976, when I became eligible for the privilege. However, these last few years have taken a severe toll on my political loyalties. I feel the same way as Ronald Reagan did when he switched sides; “I didn’t leave the Republican Party, the Republican Party left me.” So as I sat down in my chair and a half to watch the Vice-Presidential debate last Thursday, I was armed for bear, or moose if you will. Readied with a bag of popcorn and a bottle of G2, I settled in for what I thought would be the 21st century version of the Christians versus the lions, except we get to watch on live television. I was rudely disappointed. Much to my chagrin, Sarah Palin did not completely embarrass herself and her party...only partially.
Ms., “golly gee” I hope she doesn’t take offense that I use the politically correct title, even though she quite obviously would rather be called missus, setting the women’s movement back further than their inability to get the ERA amendment ratified; Ms. Palin addressed the questions posed with confidence, no matter how vague and ramblin’ and off topic they may have been. She did not stammer, she did not flinch, and she did not wilt. Good for her. However, let’s look at what may have caused some of her pearls of wisdom to be a little off the mark “dadgummit.”
First, let’s be clear about politicians. They are spin doctors of the nth degree. And “jiminy,” they have a tendency to be a might loquacious. This results in an extremely beneficial symbiotic relationship between these two aspects of one’s persona. This debate had plenty of both characteristics on display. Good thing “Gwen” the moderator kept time. Senator Biden and “Gwen” were obviously close since “Joe,” frequently addressed her by this moniker. Biden, who is admittedly longwinded, had a field day flauntin’ the time constraints. Governor Palin not once protested, perhaps due to the fact she never lifted her head from whatever it was she was scribblin’ while Biden orated. What was she writin’ anyway, it was much more than takin’ notes? It seemed as though she was takin’ an oral exam on the fly and forgot to study. It’s a “heckuva” good thing her pen didn’t run out of ink. (Insert homey symbolic wink here.)
It’s a given both participants made accusations that stretched the truth. What I’d like to discuss are some things that annoyed me.
Joe Biden's hair irks me because I’m also losin’ mine and I’m unable to achieve such an attractive arrangement of limited growth.
My wife made the observation that the debate didn’t sound like a debate at all. It sounded like campaignin’, I concur. Sometimes both participants ventured so far off the beaten path that they could have used a GPS system and still not found their way back to the question that “Gwen” asked.
Buzz words make me vomit. I still don’t understand the purpose they serve. If you insert them into your blather do you get into a special club that gives airline miles the more you use them? “Maverick” and “Reform” were used so often that they no longer make any sense to me.
Governor Palin and Senator Biden had a penchant for beating the livin’ shit out of an issue, as if you didn’t get their pointless points after the fifth time you heard it. Did you know that Alaska was an energy producin’ state? I heard the same crap so frequently that I was reminded of the Bugs Bunny episode Hare Brush, where “My name is Elmer Fudd. I’m a millionaire, and I own a mansion and a yacht” is a main punchline because it’s uttered so many times.
I grew weary of the competition to see who was more “middle class” in an effort to relate to “Joe Six-Pack.” Both references offended me. According to John McCain, if your household income is less than $60,000, you are now considered lower middle class. If that’s the new criteria, neither nominee can relate to me. Let me give a “shout out” (see how hip I am) to all my “peeps” in the same boat. Also, as an alcoholic, I am insulted they think all I can put away is a six-pack. I used to drink that before I left the house in the mornin’. Out of the loop again!
Some random observations if I may be so bold. Several political pundits said that Biden and Palin “sparred” with each other. If so, they did with those oversized boxin’ gloves that you see at kids birthday parties.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but are we trying to “conserve our hydrocarbons?” I thought a hydrocarbon was an organic compound found in fossil fuels.
I did not realize “visitations in hospitals” were to be considered when same sex relationships were concerned about work related benefits.
Was Biden or Palin aware that we had a financial crisis that accompanied the last real estate boom and bust in the late ‘80s when my house was foreclosed on?
I certainly hope class rank does not determine your ability to “knowing how to win a war.” Custer finished last in his class at West Point and his ability to defeat the Sioux proved grossly inadequate. Maybe fifth from the bottom is substantially more adept at determining which plan of action to pursue.
What exactly are “National Security Freedoms?” Isn’t that an oxymoron? I sure am thankful that our government makes me feel “free” by tappin' my phone.
Wasn’t this a Vice-Presidential debate; and if so why did take an hour and five minutes before the first Dick Chaney reference? He’s still alive isn’t he? I don’t know anymore. His sightings are less frequent than UFOs.
I was pleased to see Governor Palin give “props” to her “homeboy” (am I relatin’ to everyone?) Ronald Reagan, for America being the “City on the Hill,” quote. It’s good to see it’s not just the sports journalists who seem to believe everything began in 1980. The quote should have been attributed to John Winthrop, the first elected Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1629, only missed the authenticity by 379 years. But hey, they were both elected governors once.
Did I drop enough “g”s in this piece to allow me to “sit around your kitchen table?”
No? Okay, Let me state what I have stated previously so I can state what needs to be stated time and again though no one seems to understand why any of this isn’t stated more often; or is it because it has been stated so frequently that we lose sight of the fact that it hasn’t been stated enough? What was the question again?
I am a registered Republican. I once belonged to the Young Republicans Club of Morris County New Jersey. I have never voted across party lines for a Presidential election since 1976, when I became eligible for the privilege. However, these last few years have taken a severe toll on my political loyalties. I feel the same way as Ronald Reagan did when he switched sides; “I didn’t leave the Republican Party, the Republican Party left me.” So as I sat down in my chair and a half to watch the Vice-Presidential debate last Thursday, I was armed for bear, or moose if you will. Readied with a bag of popcorn and a bottle of G2, I settled in for what I thought would be the 21st century version of the Christians versus the lions, except we get to watch on live television. I was rudely disappointed. Much to my chagrin, Sarah Palin did not completely embarrass herself and her party...only partially.
Ms., “golly gee” I hope she doesn’t take offense that I use the politically correct title, even though she quite obviously would rather be called missus, setting the women’s movement back further than their inability to get the ERA amendment ratified; Ms. Palin addressed the questions posed with confidence, no matter how vague and ramblin’ and off topic they may have been. She did not stammer, she did not flinch, and she did not wilt. Good for her. However, let’s look at what may have caused some of her pearls of wisdom to be a little off the mark “dadgummit.”
First, let’s be clear about politicians. They are spin doctors of the nth degree. And “jiminy,” they have a tendency to be a might loquacious. This results in an extremely beneficial symbiotic relationship between these two aspects of one’s persona. This debate had plenty of both characteristics on display. Good thing “Gwen” the moderator kept time. Senator Biden and “Gwen” were obviously close since “Joe,” frequently addressed her by this moniker. Biden, who is admittedly longwinded, had a field day flauntin’ the time constraints. Governor Palin not once protested, perhaps due to the fact she never lifted her head from whatever it was she was scribblin’ while Biden orated. What was she writin’ anyway, it was much more than takin’ notes? It seemed as though she was takin’ an oral exam on the fly and forgot to study. It’s a “heckuva” good thing her pen didn’t run out of ink. (Insert homey symbolic wink here.)
It’s a given both participants made accusations that stretched the truth. What I’d like to discuss are some things that annoyed me.
Joe Biden's hair irks me because I’m also losin’ mine and I’m unable to achieve such an attractive arrangement of limited growth.
My wife made the observation that the debate didn’t sound like a debate at all. It sounded like campaignin’, I concur. Sometimes both participants ventured so far off the beaten path that they could have used a GPS system and still not found their way back to the question that “Gwen” asked.
Buzz words make me vomit. I still don’t understand the purpose they serve. If you insert them into your blather do you get into a special club that gives airline miles the more you use them? “Maverick” and “Reform” were used so often that they no longer make any sense to me.
Governor Palin and Senator Biden had a penchant for beating the livin’ shit out of an issue, as if you didn’t get their pointless points after the fifth time you heard it. Did you know that Alaska was an energy producin’ state? I heard the same crap so frequently that I was reminded of the Bugs Bunny episode Hare Brush, where “My name is Elmer Fudd. I’m a millionaire, and I own a mansion and a yacht” is a main punchline because it’s uttered so many times.
I grew weary of the competition to see who was more “middle class” in an effort to relate to “Joe Six-Pack.” Both references offended me. According to John McCain, if your household income is less than $60,000, you are now considered lower middle class. If that’s the new criteria, neither nominee can relate to me. Let me give a “shout out” (see how hip I am) to all my “peeps” in the same boat. Also, as an alcoholic, I am insulted they think all I can put away is a six-pack. I used to drink that before I left the house in the mornin’. Out of the loop again!
Some random observations if I may be so bold. Several political pundits said that Biden and Palin “sparred” with each other. If so, they did with those oversized boxin’ gloves that you see at kids birthday parties.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but are we trying to “conserve our hydrocarbons?” I thought a hydrocarbon was an organic compound found in fossil fuels.
I did not realize “visitations in hospitals” were to be considered when same sex relationships were concerned about work related benefits.
Was Biden or Palin aware that we had a financial crisis that accompanied the last real estate boom and bust in the late ‘80s when my house was foreclosed on?
I certainly hope class rank does not determine your ability to “knowing how to win a war.” Custer finished last in his class at West Point and his ability to defeat the Sioux proved grossly inadequate. Maybe fifth from the bottom is substantially more adept at determining which plan of action to pursue.
What exactly are “National Security Freedoms?” Isn’t that an oxymoron? I sure am thankful that our government makes me feel “free” by tappin' my phone.
Wasn’t this a Vice-Presidential debate; and if so why did take an hour and five minutes before the first Dick Chaney reference? He’s still alive isn’t he? I don’t know anymore. His sightings are less frequent than UFOs.
I was pleased to see Governor Palin give “props” to her “homeboy” (am I relatin’ to everyone?) Ronald Reagan, for America being the “City on the Hill,” quote. It’s good to see it’s not just the sports journalists who seem to believe everything began in 1980. The quote should have been attributed to John Winthrop, the first elected Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1629, only missed the authenticity by 379 years. But hey, they were both elected governors once.
Did I drop enough “g”s in this piece to allow me to “sit around your kitchen table?”
No? Okay, Let me state what I have stated previously so I can state what needs to be stated time and again though no one seems to understand why any of this isn’t stated more often; or is it because it has been stated so frequently that we lose sight of the fact that it hasn’t been stated enough? What was the question again?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
"Stupid is as Stupid Does"
For those of you who’ve been living on another planet these last ten years; the title is a line of dialogue from the movie Forrest Gump. The Tom Hanks vehicle adapted from the Winston Groom novelette about a dimwitted young man and his uncanny ability to be in the right place and the right time. Instead of his below average intelligence holding him back, it’s overcome by his unbridled innocence which propels him to achieve great things. The movie is quite heartwarming; epitomizing the fine wondrous lemonade made out of a life of lemons. Not knowing any better can be charming to a point.
In real life, idiocy begets more idiocy, not the bed of roses experienced by Mr. Gump. We are bombarded daily by acts of stupidity so profound it’s no wonder America has fallen in love with reality programming. Local television news journalists seem to go out of their way to find the individuals with the least amount of firing neurons, and ask their opinions on the pertinent news of the day. Most sporting event venues boast huge monitors on which at any given moment show people willing to behave in a fashion, that under normal circumstances, these same individuals would find appalling if they did these very same things in the privacy of their own home. And if the camera espies someone who thought it would be a good idea to bring their infant to said event; they’d stop just short of throwing their kid on the field, court, ice, whatever, just for a chance to be seen on the Jumbotron. With any luck at all, these same folks can be found in the background waving and giggling manically during the news journalist’s man on the street opinion pieces. These members of the populace sadly are the majority and not the minority. They are everyday men and women who obviously have been shortchanged at the intellectual cash register. We should pray for them and their offspring, if God forbid they continue to breed. However, they’ve now infiltrated mainstream American consciousness, and I’m not talking about those who continue to publicly embarrass themselves on the never ending diet of schlock television. I’m talking about the national news!
CBS has been airing excerpts of Katie Couric’s exclusive interview with vice-presidential candidate Britany Spears. Oops! I meant Sarah Palin, it’s hard to distinguish the two when you’re not looking at the screen and only have their voices to go by. She should be wearing black framed glasses out of respect for her dead brain.
This is the person John McCain and his brain trust, so to speak, thought or not, to be the best choice for the second in command of our country. Really! Is this what we’ve come to? The last time convoluted answers were this painful to listen to? At the 2007 Miss Teen America Pageant, Miss South Carolina was attempting to explain why fifteen percent of Americans couldn’t read a map.
Confucius believed that the smartest individuals should run government. That’s why he developed the most rigorous civil service examination ever devised. Well ladies and gentlemen; he’s flipping in his grave as we speak. Isn’t it bad enough we’ve had a “C” student running the zoo; I mean country, for the last eight years?
For an extra added attraction John McCain, he of the Joan Rivers smile, joined Ms. Palin for the Couric interview. It was reminiscent of an Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy routine except McCain’s hand wasn’t up the back of Palin’s jacket.
This Thursday Sarah Palin will square off in the first battle of political wits with frenetic senator Joe Biden and she is unarmed. This is true reality programming for all the masses who find those shows so enthralling. Jeff Foxworthy will be mediating this grown up version of Are you Smarter Than a Fifth Grader, well are you Ms. Palin? If there is an anabolic steroid for increasing one’s brain capacity, she’s going to need it. Unlike Tom Hanks' character, Palin finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. She inspires the reality show watching couch potatoes across the country into believing “Hey! Maybe I should get into politics. If she can do it, I can too!” Let’s hope not. In the paraphrased words of Mr. Gump, “Stupid is as …well, never mind, it’s just stupid.”
In real life, idiocy begets more idiocy, not the bed of roses experienced by Mr. Gump. We are bombarded daily by acts of stupidity so profound it’s no wonder America has fallen in love with reality programming. Local television news journalists seem to go out of their way to find the individuals with the least amount of firing neurons, and ask their opinions on the pertinent news of the day. Most sporting event venues boast huge monitors on which at any given moment show people willing to behave in a fashion, that under normal circumstances, these same individuals would find appalling if they did these very same things in the privacy of their own home. And if the camera espies someone who thought it would be a good idea to bring their infant to said event; they’d stop just short of throwing their kid on the field, court, ice, whatever, just for a chance to be seen on the Jumbotron. With any luck at all, these same folks can be found in the background waving and giggling manically during the news journalist’s man on the street opinion pieces. These members of the populace sadly are the majority and not the minority. They are everyday men and women who obviously have been shortchanged at the intellectual cash register. We should pray for them and their offspring, if God forbid they continue to breed. However, they’ve now infiltrated mainstream American consciousness, and I’m not talking about those who continue to publicly embarrass themselves on the never ending diet of schlock television. I’m talking about the national news!
CBS has been airing excerpts of Katie Couric’s exclusive interview with vice-presidential candidate Britany Spears. Oops! I meant Sarah Palin, it’s hard to distinguish the two when you’re not looking at the screen and only have their voices to go by. She should be wearing black framed glasses out of respect for her dead brain.
This is the person John McCain and his brain trust, so to speak, thought or not, to be the best choice for the second in command of our country. Really! Is this what we’ve come to? The last time convoluted answers were this painful to listen to? At the 2007 Miss Teen America Pageant, Miss South Carolina was attempting to explain why fifteen percent of Americans couldn’t read a map.
Confucius believed that the smartest individuals should run government. That’s why he developed the most rigorous civil service examination ever devised. Well ladies and gentlemen; he’s flipping in his grave as we speak. Isn’t it bad enough we’ve had a “C” student running the zoo; I mean country, for the last eight years?
For an extra added attraction John McCain, he of the Joan Rivers smile, joined Ms. Palin for the Couric interview. It was reminiscent of an Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy routine except McCain’s hand wasn’t up the back of Palin’s jacket.
This Thursday Sarah Palin will square off in the first battle of political wits with frenetic senator Joe Biden and she is unarmed. This is true reality programming for all the masses who find those shows so enthralling. Jeff Foxworthy will be mediating this grown up version of Are you Smarter Than a Fifth Grader, well are you Ms. Palin? If there is an anabolic steroid for increasing one’s brain capacity, she’s going to need it. Unlike Tom Hanks' character, Palin finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. She inspires the reality show watching couch potatoes across the country into believing “Hey! Maybe I should get into politics. If she can do it, I can too!” Let’s hope not. In the paraphrased words of Mr. Gump, “Stupid is as …well, never mind, it’s just stupid.”
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