Sportsball

I am NOT a fan of organized, high bucko sportsball. To get all specific and shit, I despise football – it’s nothing more than a violent (HELLo concussions and catastrophic injuries on high school to pro levels of play!), war game.

There are several differences between a football game and a revolution. There are usually more casualties in a football game.
~ Alfred Hitchcock

In particular, I hate my home team, the Patriots. Warum? Patriots owner, Robert Kraft, is a big booster of the brainless Hater in Chief, Preznint Racist Russian Plant 

…Kraft praised President Trump during an interview Friday on “Fox & Friends,” saying he was “working very hard to serve the best interests of the country.” (source)

 //SNORT// 
 
Bellichick and Brady? It’s complicated

I didn’t watch the BIG game last night. of course. And I didn’t intend to go off on a rant about the Cheezy Chickenhawk and his chums. No. RILLY!

Ya see, I had a vibrant dream last night. I was back in the days of Cleveland Circle Mutant baseball. We weren’t an organized team. NOPE! That was its beauty.

As Steve put it, in his memories of The Amazing Bob post:

We would show up and run around and hit the ball, catch the ball and throw the ball.  We never had any competition, but we always, absolutely always, had fun.

Back in the dream, I was in the outfield and Steve was at bat (TAB was pitching, OF COURSE – the man had a killer junk ball). Steve hit the ball hard and high – it was headed my way but well over my head. I pulled a Baseball Bugs move, leaping way up into the air, taking my mitt off and throwing it above my head. Yes, the ball, amazingly, landed in my glove AND I held onto it  (glove AND ball) as I, painlessly, filled with extreme exhilaration fell back to earth.

I shouted, I CAUGHT IT, I CAUGHT IT! and wondered, did anyone see that? I CAUGHT THE FUCKING BALL!

And then I woke, still thrilled down to microscopic bits that I CAUGHT THE FUCKING BALL!

What’s this nocturnal fancy mean? Beats the fuck outta me. Maybe I’m feeling like I’ve neatly accomplished something big? I suppose I have – surviving TAB’s two and a half years back, devastating exit stage left, this past surgery-a-thon year AND beginning again with the fabola Ten. Also, I’m still painting.
So…emmmm… I CAUGHT THE FUCKING BALL!

Now, I give you, once more, TAB’s paean to his most favorite of pasttimes.

Saturday Morning Baseball
We create baseball each Saturday morning
at Cleveland Circle where we gather
'round the diamond to hold
uglier realities at bat's length,
to suspend Time for a few innings
of innocent play,
with wood bats and well worn gloves
and balls mottled with
the tan of infield dirt,
stained green with outfield grass,
yellowed with use like old linoleum.

At game's end we beat the bush
for newer baseballs fouled and left
by players with a informs and umpires.
We play by the rules but the only nay
two rules are: Nobody gets hurt,
Everybody has fun.
So we play in the sun
On humid 100º days.
We play in the rain
and through the slush.

Here in New England the season begins
when we first find a large, plowed
parking lot and continues until
just before Christmas, when
for a half dozen Saturdays
we return to our parents
and lovers, to the world of schedules
and shopping and televised events.

In the off season,
we age.
8/88

Love is the most important thing in the world but baseball is pretty good, too.

 ~ Yogi Berra