I’m back in the boneyard today. It’s been a while, but things are swirling around in my mind and I have to shuck some of them off or I’ll go crazy, although some say I am already there. So my sometimes senseless thoughts are going to be thrown out here, and we’ll see what that all means to any of us.
You got to read Jason Whitlock’s latest column at msn.foxsports.com. Whitlock is my favorite go-to-guy because he writes things that have meaning and make you think. And if a writer can make you think seriously about a subject, that is all good. That is what this country is all about, the freedom to write and to muse over the writing without being thrown in the hoosegow, the slammer, or the Greybar Hotel. Which may not be the case, by the way, in Egypt.
Whitlock’s latest splash is to say Aaron Hernandez is a reflection of our times, not an aberration. And he’s right. We used to idolize our athletic heroes – Mickey Mantle, Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, Johnny Unitas, Joe Louis, Rocky Maricano, The Galloping Ghost, Red Grange, Walter Payton, Bill Russell, Jackie Robinson, Bob Cousy, Jerry West, Elgin Baylor, Michael Jordan, Joe DiMaggio and all of the rest for all the right reasons, even if some of them were not as perfect as we would have liked.
Now, Whitlock insists, we glorify the rapper culture and our hero worship of athletes who represent that. Whitlock writes in part: “like Allen Iverson and an endless plethora of fatherless and directionless modern athletes since the end of Michael Jordan’s reign, Hernandez saw his athletic gifts as a platform to represent where he was from, not where he hoped to go.”
So we shouldn’t be surprised when guys like Hernandez do the things he has been allegded to do.
For me, the symbol of where we have gone in our culture is tattoos. I hate tattoos. To me they represent at least the rebel in us and at the worse the drug culture that is so prevalent in our society today. My grandson, his dad and mom, all have tattoos. I think it’s horrible, but have to keep my mouth shut. Our two young teenagers, though, know without a doubt my feeling on them.
Tattoos alone don’t fire guns. But, to me, it’s a troubling sign. I couldn’t image Hank Aaron having one. Or do the things a lot of our hero athletes do, like hanging out at clubs, strip joints and to be part of the street cred that is so popular. That invites trouble and it seems to be more and more the case that our athletes either carry firearms or those around them has them and when trouble comes, and it always does, gunfire is not far behind.
Hernandez allegedly took the street cred a step further and just plain shot people or had them shot execution style. But that does not surprise me, either.
Are there good athletes out there? Sure. But the popular culture is a big money maker with the professional teams who are more than willing to sell you anything. You will have noticed by now that the Boston Patriots have already offered to trade your Hernandez jersey for another team jersey. I would be curious how many take the team up on that. I bet many will opt to keep their Hernandez jersey – which they paid plenty for – because he still represents popular culture and by wearing it is way of joining in – without the gunfire, I hope.
Anyway, read Whitlock’s piece. He says it better than I do.
This past weekend, Mary and I took off for Seattle for two days just to get away from the stress of our everyday life. It had been a while since we hunkered down in a hotel and we both found it amusing that this Sea-Tac hovel has a price for about everything. And the prices were not cheap.
Did we dare turn on the TV? What would be the price for that innocent act?
Were the towels extra?
And, please, don’t dare use the phone. That would cost an arm and leg.
We began to wonder if our breathing was being monitored, and if we did too much that would be extra also.
Despite that, we did find some good things. We went to the ACT Theater and saw “An Evening with Groucho”, a one-man show starring Frank Ferrante. I got to tell you, the guy was good and the show was excellent.
The 50-year-old Ferrante involves the audience in his 90-minute act, and I knew he would eventually target me. I was an easy target and sure enough in the second act he raked me over the coals a couple times. But, hey, it was fun.
I only wish I could do the things he did. Ferrante jumped over set furniture with the greatest of ease and never missed a beat in the show, which was a good imitation of the famed Groucho Marx, who starred in movies like Horse Feathers with his zany brothers.
At the end, Ferrante recounts a show he did and in the audience was George Fenneman, who was the announcer on the show “You Bet Your Life” hosted by Groucho that ran on TV from 1947-61.
Ferrante was genuinely honored to have Fenneman there, and after the show Fenneman came into his dressing room and told him a story about Groucho’s last days. Groucho could not walk (this was 1977 when he died at the age of 86) and Fenneman was visiting him. Fenneman was asked to help him get in bed. Ferrante said Fenneman reached down, hugged Groucho and lifted him out of his wheelchair.
Fenneman then swished Groucho back and forth across the floor and as he neared the bed there came this deep voice, “George, you always were a bad dancer.”
Groucho died not too long after.
Before we went to see Ferrante, Mary and I looked for a place to eat, and found a good one in the Cheesecake Factory on Pike St. just across from the Convention Center in downtown Seattle (ACT Theatre is in the baseman of the Convention Center). The food was good, reasonably priced for the large portions served, and a good atmosphere.
We also found a good Greek restaurant just off Capital Hill, so it was a good two-day respite from our hectic life. We put a wrap on the two days by going to Sea-Tac Airport late at night to pick up our teenage daughter, who had been on a mission trip to Puerto Rico. She talked all the way home, so I know she thoroughly enjoyed it.
So I guess it’s mostly good, although this week all our grown kids will be here, bringing a total of 11 people and four dogs together in what is guaranteed to be a very chaotic week. I’m determined, however, to have fun.
On a sad note, my brother Ray’s wife Peggy is now in a hospital in Buffalo, N.Y. Today (July 1) is her 79th birthday and all 14 of their children are coming in from around the country to surprise her. They are going to have to make a correction in the big party planned, but I’m sure they will make it work, and hopefully Peggy will get better fast.
As for me, I got to figure out how to lose weight. I’m slowly killing myself and can’t seem to get the weight off. I need to drop 35 pounds or I might wind up like Groucho, or like the Mariners. They can’t seem to win for losing. It’s becoming a yearly tradition. I don’t have any answers, but it looks from this seat it’s going to take at least another two years before this youth movement the team is on will likely show any positive results.
In the meantime, the team continues to make money and build value to the franchise. So maybe it is good to lose. Just as long as it’s not at the end of a pistol.
Be well pal.
Take care of yourself.
Have a great day.
You are loved.
