“Game As Microcosm”

(February 3, 2019)

all the ‘know-its*’ say

and say and, well, say again:

just movin’ air ’round!

*(When I was a paid media whore my biggest argument with ‘the brass’ was some of them wanted me to do a “predictions” column. I did not exactly decline more than just ignored the “suggestdemands” since I already did a predictions “column” of sorts each and every game and each and every sport…football, cross-country, basketball, volleyball, swimming and diving, soccer, wrestling, baseball, softball, track-and-field, pentathlon, decathlon, golf, tennis, and of course drinking-and-not-driving Sunday morning Over-Forty Softball. My predicts came about fifteen minutes – sometimes seconds – before gametime after I had had a chance to warm up my eyeballs and ear-mits, walked the field (hey! someone either stupidly or deliberately left the water running in the left-side of the East endzone so it’s near ankle-deep over there! St. Augustine High.) so I got my predicts at the only – to me at least- possible time they might come close to being right. Another – prior to the three-point exodus the rule was two-points a minute can be made up rather easily if you’re good enough and play defense during the fourth quarter of just about any basketball game ever played. And a six- or nine-point barrier in the last minute – or less – is broachable as well. All the rest of the couch-sitter manure-spreading is just designed to get you to the Cheeze-its commercial. I had a horrid record as a prognosticator in all but football and basketball, and that only at the games at which I was allowed free rein to walk both sidelines and the endzone deliniations as well throughout both pre- and post-games. The spot reserved for me in the pressbox – high school, college and pro – almost always had a stack of statistics and play-by-play sheets (in college and pro ball – and even more at Daytona (Beach! dammit!) International Speedway: not so much at Bithlo or Samsula or Barberville. The press – and not just sports press – is so pampered a news story would half to slap ’em in the face silly thrice before they’d (mostly) notice. Sorry: Rant ran on a mite.)

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