The Fall Ya’ll
Didn’t Shakespeare say “In the Fall football ruleth all”. Well, no he didn’t but if Stratford boy had been born in 20th century America you know he’d have rhapsodized the pigskin.
TV leaves me cold but in the season when the game is afoot I’m pretty much beached recliner-wise before the hallowed ground. I’m also stone cold sold on all Things College, which makes four days a week (now that Thursdays have been designated game night) that I can gorge on my gladiatorial vice.
These days my bragging rights are kept sorely in check and split down the middle via support that favors one miracle and an unmitigated disaster.
Since the early 70’s when John Madden prowled the sidelines in his double knits popping blood vessels and channeling Foghorn Leghorn I’ve been a dyed in the wool paid up subscriber of the Raider Nation. I’ve been thrilled, exhilarated and bought to tears. I’ve traveled the glory road and witnessed so many great moments when the pirate ethic and rebel spirit that encompassed the silver and black made you believe that “Just win baby” weren’t just idle words.
I’m by no means a fair-weather fan and I’ve stuck with my guys through thick and thin. I’ve bitten the bullet; I’ve felt the shame but always kept the faith. Man, I’ve got Black Hole pride pumping in my veins but what in the name of Lyle Alzado is going on in Oakland these days. We’ve got like the two best kickers in the NFL and little else. We’ve got a 6ft 5 quarterback with a charisma lobotomy who guaranteed can throw the ball fine, just not to our receivers and we’re picking up coaches at garage sales.
Yea we’ve had the odd gifted guy drifting in and out of the roster but hell they either get traded because they’re sick of not winning (great attitude Randy Moss) or they just get traded period (Jeff Garcia, Duh!) Where are the charismatic hellions that once struck fear in the hearts of lesser mortals? Tatum, Stabler, Long, Allen and the ultimate blueprint Mighty John Matuszak, now that was a Raider, eat your heart out Robert Gallery.
It’s time Al and my respect for you runs deep but dude you need to hang it up and turn over the power vice to fresh blood. As long as you maintain your strangle hold on these guys and continue living with dreams of yesteryear we’re in the crapper for sure.
Now on the other hand there’s the Gators the most electrifying band of brothers congregating together for the sole purpose of whipping the butts of every Saturday gathering goon squad in the SEC.
It’s a beautiful thing this orange and blue and I’m sure happy to be on board the Tebow Express. I owe this fanaticism to one close at hand who has justly instilled in me an undying love for Albert and the gang.
Made a pilgrimage to the Swamp recently and their in the silence of the empty stadium you could just feel the electricity hovering in the air as if the faithful left it behind to be picked up the following week.
Dam if we could just clone Urban Meyer and ship one out to Oakland who knows what greatness could be recovered. Sure the NFL is a different animal but some Gator bite and the camaraderie it commands, the pure sense of confidence you feel in their drive, well you know what, right now anything would be an improvement on the Cable Guy.
Hey you know what they say, Superman wears Tim Tebow pajamas.
Some good news for the folk, country blues is the re-release of Jesse Fuller’s “Move On Down The Line” Lovely stuff from his 50’s and 60’s output from a genuine American troubadour.
Can’t remember if it did a lick o’ bizness or not but I forgot to say how much I loved the Rick Ruben produced Jakob Dylan album “Seeing Things” Masterful songwriting and beautiful imagiary.
Cardio goes real well I might add with Lou Reed’s "New York City." A rediscovered gem that I’d forgotten about, great guitars, real muscular, gritty and soooo NY.
Reading Thomas Pynchon’s “Inherent Vice”. Entertaining enough, kind of a change in direction for the old recluse. Sort of a psychedelic Sam Spade, worth checking out I guess.
And so the world turns and some things get stranger, life gets insaner, we all search for enlightenment but beauty, logic and wonderment still fight for space against nihilism and negativity. Direct TV drops Versus because of a catfight and 8 million people lose the opportunity to see my buddies in the PBR do honorable battle (complain, complain, complain.) Meanwhile “American Idol” apparently still steamrolls like a juggernaut Godzilla spewing up karaoke flotsam to abuse our catalogue with too much vibrato, Michael Boltenesque bombast and zero soul. Is there no show for people with real talent that write their own songs and don’t mimic what’s already been done till it’s so saturated it comes across like diluted fat flung on a grey wall. TV should be ashamed of its mindless reality based shows that create morbid curiosity and vacuous personalities. Am I the Grinch that stole Fall? You betcha. Open your windows, lean out and say I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore. Amen.