Sunday, September 24, 2017
A History of High School
Unfortunately, although Randy had graduated in the following Crestview class, he quipped,“Panthers? THAT'S what we’re called?”
“We won State Basketball during your Sophomore year!”
“Bully for us!”
“You MUST remember The Watusi Pair!”
Black twins leading the scoring. He didn’t, but liked diversity generally.
“Brain Damage--pretty old fashioned. Shame! Ole Rand once THE Panther Sports TROVE!”-Chief Programmer later confides.
Gives him number of the Japanese man in Kobe who received Randy’s Panther circuits when things went South.
The translation program can barely keep up with his enthusiasm!
“Nineteen and Forty-nine, team best nation-country: two-hand set shot!”
“Don’t even see those anymore!”
“Then, lots. And all Jewboy team!”
Labels: black, high school, Jew, robotic circuits, Sports, sports statistics
Thursday, November 03, 2016
Defining Drama Queen
-We're more than a bit nervous,
but not Drama Queens.
-I don't like to be called anything
with Queen in it!
-Noted. Well then, let's coin a term:
Dramatics. Suitable for our sex,
and the fair one also.
-I feel like a Dramatic sometimes.
-All about you?
-I guess one likes to add color and
zip to the proceedings upon occasion.
-With a super dash of ego?
-That, too, of course.
-Life can get gray without Dramatics.
-So, let the worst of us overdraw it? Bully us
that way?
-In measure.
-It's...mostly gray now.
-Get more friends! Go to ballgames.
We live near Philly. Phillies,
Eagles, Sixers, Flyers form the
regional bellyache. Sports Radio
will extinguish your spare, lonely hours.
-Should...I marry again?
-Sixty-two percent. She'll bring problems,
but compensations.
-Must make sure she's not a Drama Queen!
-Dramatic.
-Oh, right. I'm glad we had this little chat.
It brought me absolutely nothing.
-What I'm here for.
Labels: Drama Queen, dramatic, Eagles, fair sex, Flyers, marriage, nervous, nervous males, Philadelphia, Phillies, Sixers, Sports, sports radio
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Witnessing Sport
Mark wedged the bitterness
of his favorite team losing
into Reggie. It felt wonderful!
But later, not so much. Thus he
apologized. Half a heart being
better than none.
But didn't she embrace her wound!
Water Works on disparate occasions,
faint once in a stupid line to a "historical"
chick-flick. Women make it stink!
Tides of Llamamour! Holy Christ!
Okay, the team is winning presently,
his love for her almost surpassing it.
And she forgets to be hurt. Cute in
an oversized jersey.
Labels: chick-flick, football, hurt, relationship, scapegoat, Sports, women
Saturday, May 25, 2013
“The Porch of the Maiden”
Named by my father, who was well-read,
especially for the neighborhood.
She sat there of summer evenings and
never wore a shirt. She had been our tomboy,
angry organizer at our pickup games, exhorter
to get us to play with some directed passion.
All that ended with her porch gig, which
meant nothing when she resembled a boy,
but soon the little breasts were baseball-sized.
Her family eventually prevailed as she
never appeared there without crossing her
arms in front of her chest.
Then, in course, wearing a t-shirt, brilliant
white. Florescent before summer storms.
Soon, quite a surprise as she joined the
other girls, actually the girlie-girlie
contingent talking endlessly of boys,
and trading movie magazines.
She fooled us, too, by going to Commercial High
for the secretarial course. She, and a few others
in the city, though, transforming girls’ basketball
by playing a quick-passing, even driving, game.
Again her path diverged, being given a basketball
scholarship by Syracuse in the degree field of
Sports Management.
But she threw her queasy family a final joker by eloping
in her freshman year with a new graduate of that program.
They lived in a lot of New York towns after that, he doing sports spots for radio stations.
When female twins arrived, he, fortunately,
took over the management of a small FM outlet.
By the time he handled sports for a major
New York TV station, she finished her degree
at Columbia. But in Social Work.
She now works for an organization encouraging
young women to enter the sciences.
A very womanly woman to be sure, but one thing
never changed. The fierce brow.
Named by my father, who was well-read,
especially for the neighborhood.
She sat there of summer evenings and
never wore a shirt. She had been our tomboy,
angry organizer at our pickup games, exhorter
to get us to play with some directed passion.
All that ended with her porch gig, which
meant nothing when she resembled a boy,
but soon the little breasts were baseball-sized.
Her family eventually prevailed as she
never appeared there without crossing her
arms in front of her chest.
Then, in course, wearing a t-shirt, brilliant
white. Florescent before summer storms.
Soon, quite a surprise as she joined the
other girls, actually the girlie-girlie
contingent talking endlessly of boys,
and trading movie magazines.
She fooled us, too, by going to Commercial High
for the secretarial course. She, and a few others
in the city, though, transforming girls’ basketball
by playing a quick-passing, even driving, game.
Again her path diverged, being given a basketball
scholarship by Syracuse in the degree field of
Sports Management.
But she threw her queasy family a final joker by eloping
in her freshman year with a new graduate of that program.
They lived in a lot of New York towns after that, he doing sports spots for radio stations.
When female twins arrived, he, fortunately,
took over the management of a small FM outlet.
By the time he handled sports for a major
New York TV station, she finished her degree
at Columbia. But in Social Work.
She now works for an organization encouraging
young women to enter the sciences.
A very womanly woman to be sure, but one thing
never changed. The fierce brow.
Labels: ambition, feminism, Porch of the Maidens, social work, Sports, Sports Management, tomboy, women's sports
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Alien Report
A possible
index for understanding the one type
is their
love of mock wars carried out on large
fields in
front of thousands like them.
These
spectators often brawl afterwards.
The other
type I call Shelf Persons. They go about
projecting
from the upper third.
There can be
no index explaining them, the
literature--such
as it is--replete with examples
decrying any
possibility of this whatsoever.
Labels: alien, football, future, men, Sports, women
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Profile in Courage
Consider the chap
on a business campus,
clutched by some in-
testinal horror.
Genial to the other drones,
even fun, he takes a post
lunch walk alone.
and in a copse, next to
a brook that burps
agreeably, folds.
Quite in half.
Back to talk of sports
or celebrity gossip so
inane it can hurt.
Still, of course, in pain. Per-
petually, midst men and
women at extracting work.
Labels: business, business campus, celebrity, courage, gossip, intestinal, pain, Sports, work
Monday, September 28, 2009
Bowing To The Man, Encore
Fox Sports expands turf,
includes Democrats with
lousy Washington teams.
Talking Points
travel far.
From HQ to low-
est mic serf.
