Of course, we read the comics page because every so often we see ourself there, so plain and exposed and idiotic that we can’t help but laugh out loud.
The lovely and providentially patient Norma Yvonne well knows by now that when we climb upon our high hobbyhorse and begin declaiming and bemoaning the state of sports in America, and the tawdry way that it demeans everything decent and healthy about physical competition, uses, misuses and discards the lives of millions of young Americans, and keeps racial minorities at the bottom by luring their youths away from the classroom with fey dreams of glory and gelt, it must mean that one of our teams, the Sox, Celtics, Revs, or Pats has been eliminated from their respective professional leagues.
The sad truth is that becoming a sports fan is akin to signing away your soul to the Prince of Darkness (the original, not Dick Cheney). In the dark night of the sporting soul, what wouldn’t the true fan trade away for that one magic, championship consummated winning streak?
We may be cognizant of the crass commercialism, flagrant drug abuse, blatant hypocracy and rampant racism rife throughout professional sports, but when one of our teams takes the field, they are chivalrous knights in shining armor, defending the honor of team, town and nation.
What else but this deal with the devil can explain Barry Bonds fiendish popularity in San Francisco? The rest of the league unanimously recognizes him as the craven cheater and low-life he is, but in the City by the Bay you could bottle his farts and sell them as air freshener. They tell us that in the rest of the league Manny Ramirez is seen as stuck-up, idiotic flake, but here, hell, with 11 RBIs in 7 post season games this year he could probably get appointed President of UMass if he wanted the job. Meanwhile, J.D. Drew, who couldn’t hit the floor if he fell off a step ladder, should be tarred and feathered and run out of Beantown on a rail.
We could go on and on about how the local pro teams are business boondoggles owned by cynical capitalists and the athletes are pampered head cases, drug addicts and self-centered prima donnas, but that hometown hero J.D. Drew just hit a home run in the first inning of game six, and the crowd at Fenway is going nuts. Gotta go……