If a man watches 3 football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead. The reason women don’t play football is because 11 of them would never wear the same outfit in public. No one in football should be called a genius. A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein. And meanwhile, I am having a breakdown…

I am not absolutely certain, but I think I am having another breakdown… which I am sure doesn’t come as a surprise to any of my exes. Undoubtedly, they figure I broke down years back – especially after I tied and handcuffed that scarecrow to a tree in our tiny, bricked-in backyard.

Was trying to get somebody – anybody! — to stick around and listen to me.

Hmm…

Funny thing is I think my last breakdown occurred about this very same time last year. And another one the year before that. Also about the same time.

Go figure. With all that’s really and truly going on in a world-without-end-amen I guess I am continually flabbergasted that people seem to leap further and further into the abyss of vertigo — the ‘Dizzyworld’ of make-believe.

We actually make-believe that football really matters.

I mean, this is in America where a recent poll revealed that nearly 15% of us have decided that we’d rather have a meteorite destroy our civilization than vote for either Clinton or Trump. Where 20 American veterans are committing suicide every day. Where American Indian sacred burial grounds are being desecrated by Big Oil… again. Where overpriced college campuses are afraid to challenge their mentally fragile students. Where disability rights groups want to prevent a soon-to-die 14-year-girl, racked with horrendous pain of an incurable disease, from ceasing her medical treatment in order to die a little sooner than later.

And let’s not even talk about ISIS everywhere, as well as back in New York. Or that the other day a group of Muslims and Pro-Palestinians in France (77 years after Kristallnacht’s ‘Night of Broken Glass’ in Nazi Germany) ransacked and burned the stores of Jewish merchants while chanting ‘Kill the Jews!’

And of course, let’s not forget our puritans dumbfounded by unisex bathrooms.

Hmm…

And meanwhile… meanwhile… back on the gridiron we have 17 f-king instant replays to decide whether the f-king end caught the f-king football in-bounds. And a Supreme Court of referees trying to figure out if a football has enough hot air blown up its under-inflated and over-bloated pig’s skin ass.

All this wasted energy going into something that is supposed to be nuttin’-honey more than entertainment.

And, as someone recently pointed out in talking about wasting energy, did you know that a single Dallas Cowboys football game uses up as much electricity as the entire nation of Liberia in those same three hours. No bloody wonder the globe, if looked at from a certain height, is a cluster of lights surrounded by enormous patches of ‘dark ages.’

Now ain’t dat a ‘clustering’ of deep, dismal melancholy. Like too many asses in a saddle.

Look, I am not here to bad-mouth a national mania where at least 50 percent of the players – just like our doctors, by duh way – graduate in the bottom half of their classes – even underwater basket weaving. In fact there are certain aspects of the aggression and ‘controlled’ violence that makes it seem so much more sane – if not more cerebral — than car racin’ and Australian rugby… and armored knights clashing lances for a fair lady’s kerchief.

I mean you just gotta love the after-clash antics of the concussed acting more stoopeed than indicted Brazilian politicians… not to mention those Palestinian Hamas who always miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.

Hmm… And I’m not just talking about the fools in the stands who rip their shirts off during January games in Buffalo blizzards. Or those regular idiots on radio sports talk. For them there are only 2 seasons: Football… and eating urinal cakes until the next draft.

Who I am talking about is all ‘us’ damn overzealous acolytes in a country that is obsessed with a game that ain’t just a game no more. Just like the Grand Canyon ain’t just a hole in Arizona. Football has become another religion that sets people to praying overtime… even though I have, discovered, over time, that prayers work best when you have bigger and faster players.

Hmm…

The game also sets us to twisted thinking that reduces life to the glory and the despair of a bloodless sort of war — with jets soaring overhead and the teams marching in like armies with banners.

And we get to thinking that life should be like football where we bang, push and shove folks around. Even run over them. What-duh-hell-what-duh-heck it is a wonderful way to get rid of our hostilities… without going to jail for it.

Look, I’ve been married. I understand football. Not every season goes perfectly. It’s a game that doesn’t so much build character as ‘reveals’ it. Just like my marriages.

And I’m not going to over-analyze our love for these blood-sports and all their violence. It’s no secret that people have loved to watch these caveman-bites-Tyrannosaurus-Rex flesh gorging feasts since long before the gladiators of ancient Rome.

But something is more than a tad weird to me. Some people deny that we’re evolved from apes. Yet how else do you explain football, then?

So why am I having a breakdown about all of this?

It’s simple.

The NFL (not including its minor leagues of the college NCAA) is a $10 billion a year industry where players (and their owners) get well rewarded for transgressions and misconducts that only politicians, the police and Home Security seem to get away with these days.

(Do I need to talk about Sandra Bland and all the rest of those dead, often black people? And Bill and Hillary’s pay-to-play Foundation? And The Donald’s not paying his subcontractors? And Edward Snowden’s absolutely true NSA revelations?)

Really now.

Pro football is like nuclear warfare—there are no winners, only survivors. If the sport even fundamentally cared about the safety of its athletes it would be banned… right after boxing.

And now we come to San Francisco quarterback Colin Kaepernick. And his not standing up for the national anthem in protest to the way his fellow blacks and minorities are mistreated in America.

And some raucous people, who don’t want the conventions and traditions of their games interrupted, are protesting Kaepernick’s protest. You know, the same shit by the same hard hats who told us Vietnam protestors to ‘love-it-or-leave-it.’ Even after it was revealed that the reason we were napalming and killing in Vietnam was a bloody damn egregious, venal, vile lie.

You know, follow duh money, stupid!

Sooo, everybody has already talked up and bleated a shit storm about the rights and wrongs about Kaepernick’s right to kneel down. It’s not really going to change anything. That is, until all the athlete’s unite and refuse to play the game that makes them AND America millions and billions of dollars.

And that ain’t gonna happen. After all, commitment is what changes a promise, a protest, a premise into a reality. But in America, our commitments are like our memories – shorter than our dicks. And we all can be bought for a few pieces of silver.

And, anyway, depending on the economics, eventually everything changes… and nothing changes.

But all I am going to mention about this and that was a video I saw recently of a lecturing matronly white professor. She asked her amphitheater classroom of 150 mostly lily white students to raise their hands if they were willing to trade their lives and trade places with a black person. You know, step permanently into another person’s skin.

No one raised a hand. So she repeated the question. An undercurrent of discomfort permeated. And still no one raised a hand.

“What this tells me,” lectured the professor, “is that you already really know what’s going on. You know the truth. And yet you deny it. Or refuse to accept it. It has become too uncomfortable…”

But of course, which is why I am having another breakdown. Because the games must go on. They always do. And most of us prefer to live a lie rather than endure the pain of truth.

I mean, in time of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act. What we want is the good times: Duh beer. Duh broads. Duh cars. Duh football. Duh touchdowns!

What we don’t want is the headaches. The concussions. The damaged goods. In other words: The truth.

Hmmm… and meanwhile, the band plays on… as always. After all, in life, as in football, you don’t go far, you don’t score, you don’t reap the glory unless you know where the ‘goldposts’ are.

And dats yDrewIS on dis penal colony…

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