Some of you, knowing how devoted I am to baseball, probably assume I’ve been so distracted by the playoffs that I’ve stopped paying attention to the rest of you. No such luck. It so happens I have several bones to pick.
Some of you, knowing how devoted I am to baseball, probably assume I’ve been so distracted by the playoffs that I’ve stopped paying attention to the rest of you. No such luck. It so happens I have several bones to pick.
For instance, why do so many of you insist on pretending football coaches are geniuses? Aside from having to master speaking non-stop in clichés, what is it you think is so hard about their jobs? The ball is hiked to the quarterback who then either throws it to one of three guys or he hands it off to his running back. It’s not brain surgery. Come to think of it, brain surgery probably isn’t brain surgery so long as you’re not overly squeamish.
The hype surrounding football coaches has succeeded in making them millionaires. In the pros, let one of them win a Super Bowl, and he can write his own ticket. And, so, off he goes to greener pastures, where, more times than not, the genius winds up with mediocre players and, suddenly, he’s not a genius anymore. But he is rich, and some other oaf who wears a whistle to work gets to be this year’s genius. In the college ranks, the adoration is even more stomach-turning, thanks mainly to alumni who will kill for a winning team. A coach who breaks all the recruiting rules in pursuit of a national championship suffers no repercussions. If the NCAA hounds sniff out the infractions, it’s the college that gets penalized. The coach, like his professional counterpart, merely moves on to a better-paying gig.
The same holds true for basketball. A fellow like Phil Jackson is hailed for winning NBA titles. But, considering that in Chicago he had Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen, and in L.A. he had Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant, my granny could have won titles – and, unlike Jackson, she wouldn’t have bored you with a lot of second-hand Zen.
Next on the agenda, I’d like someone to explain why we have a double standard in this country when it comes to separation of church and state. Let a white minister such as Pat Robertson run for office, and the liberals run around like headless chickens. But nary a peep when the reverends Sharpton and Jackson throw their hats in the ring. And when a white Catholic bishop says that a Catholic presidential candidate who says he’s Pro-Choice should not receive holy communion, these same liberals go berserk. But they have no problem with black ministers throwing open their church doors for every Democrat looking to give a hallelujah speech.
How is it that people keep asking President Bush to fess up to his three biggest mistakes, but nobody asks Sen. Kerry? I do have a theory. I suspect that the Republicans know that if they put the question to him, he would respond in that constipated tone of his, “Yes, indeed I have made three grave mistakes in my life….and, my fellow Americans, I have three Purple Hearts to show for it.”
Speaking of people who have way too much money, how is it that companies are willing to fork over bloody fortunes to motivational speakers? The idea is that you bring in one of these silver-tongued devils and the next thing you know, your work force is all revved up and raring to go. For no more than $15,000, I’d be willing to come out and address your employees. My speech would be short and sweet. Just three little words: rent, food, clothes. If that’s not enough to get their engines running, I don’t see how a pep talk from an overpaid cheerleader is going to do the job. Besides, I always thought the greatest motivator was the fear of being fired.
Moving right along, I have often wondered why American parents mortgage their homes and their futures in order to send their offspring off to college to receive liberal arts degrees; especially when, these days, on most campuses there is so much more emphasis on liberals than on arts. But I am even more surprised that there are parents out there who are spending good money so that their children can wind up being seismologists. Grow up to study earthquakes?! Hey, I never took a single course and I’m a seismologist. After all, I’ve actually seen the San Andreas Fault with my own eyes. I’ve studied the aftermath of many quakes, doing so as I’ve swept up broken glass and moved furniture back where it belonged. And, furthermore, I can predict with all the authority of the mugs with the diplomas on their wall that we haven’t seen the last of them. Not by a long shot!
Continuing on, I would like to know why there is one major exception to the law that states a person can not profit from the commission of a crime. Shoot your uncle, you don’t get to inherit his yacht. Poison your husband, you don’t get to collect his life insurance. But sneak into the U.S. and have a baby, and he’s an American citizen. And, for all intents and purposes, so are you, senor.
Next, I’d like to be the first person to lay a lot of the blame for what’s terribly wrong with the media at the feet of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. It used to be that young people aspired to be journalists because Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, guys with hair on their chest, had made the life seem so colorful in “Front Page.” Kids wanted to grow up to smoke, drink and make funny wisecracks. All worthy, if not noble, ambitions. But ever since Watergate, only the most boring, self-righteous, humorless, unbearable louts are attracted to the fourth estate. They all want to bring down presidents, at least so long as they’re Republican. And for all their lofty goals, they wind up serving as flacks for the Democrats, beating the drums for the likes of John Kerry, John Edwards and Howard Dean. On top of all that, they also want to wind up filthy rich doing it, just like Bob and Carl.
Finally, I’ve noticed that in TV programming and advertising, meanness has become a selling tool. Although I make it a point of honor not to actually watch so-called reality shows, it’s impossible to avoid all the promos. Shows with titles such as “The Bachelor,” “The Apprentice” and “My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss,” are all predicated on the assumption that millions of you will tune in for the express purpose of seeing young men and women being fooled and humiliated by the vilest of the vile. And, by gum, you do!
The trend has, oddly enough, even had an effect on commercials. In a recent one, a good-natured, obviously loving, father comes home, hands his two young daughters new cell phones, and proudly announces that now the entire family can stay in touch. The girls greet the news as if he’d told them that Ralph, their pet hamster, had just died. Quickly, the all-wise mother steps in to save the day. She tells the little brats that they’ll be able to stay in touch with their friends. That delights the girls no end, and they throw their arms around mom. Dad, happy to see his loved ones so rapturous, moves in, his arms open wide. “Group hug,” he says. But they’re too fast for the poor boob. His three damsels vanish around the corner.
The product happens to be Verizon Wireless. And, dads of America, my closing thought is this: If Verizon is going to glorify ten-year-old ingrates and denigrate their fathers, I say let Verizon try selling their %#*&^* cell phones to the little twerps!
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©2004 Burt Prelutsky
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