Yup, it is. The season of Podiatric Sex. Yup, it's football time again. Uooga booga. Our gang gonna beat down your gang take all your food and females. Drat. Not that I mind the boys out knocking heads, what the whale, the young bucks do the same thing out in the woods. You know, lock horns and wrestle so the does can decide who gets to father next year's fawn. That's pretty stock stuff in nature. But (you knew there was going to be a but…) what is not found in nature are the freaking fragging f*ing fans living on reflected glory, those identity challenged idiots flooding into town every other weekend or so hauling in mock malice and seasonally adjusted profits. The next four months are gonna suck… manic traffic, overcrowded everything, gas prices bouncing like bra-less whore on a trotting horse, drunk children of all ages howling at the midnight moon to show their politically prescribed loyalty to the tribe, the pack, the team. What a needless nuisance. Drat. Double drat and damn. It's football season again.
Yeah. :( And I've noticed that lots of sport fans may be able to quote stats and names and history till we're fed up to eye level, but have never played on any level. Classical music fans, on the other hand, have often played instruments (at least piano!) or sung in choirs; especially the sort of fans that enjoy music "outside the mainstream" such as Medieval or Renaissance music or challenging contemporary composers like Elliott Carter.
ReplyDeleteAnd of course, football is ritualized combat...as near to a blood sport as anything we have now...
Maybe it's time for some more Anti-Porn stories!
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