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What my musings are all about...

Blogging might well be the 21st century's form of journaling. As a writing teacher, I have always advised my students to keep a daily journal as a way of organizing their thoughts for future writing projects, a discipline I have unfortunately never consistently practiced myself. By blogging, I might finally be able to follow my own good advice.

The difference between journaling and blogging is that the blogger opens his or her writing to the public, something journal- writers are usually reluctant to do. I am not so reticent.

The trick for me will be to avoid cluttering the internet with more blather, something none of us need more of. If I stick to subjects I know: sports and literature, I believe I can avoid that pitfall. I can't promise that I'll not stray from time to time to comment on ancillary subjects, but I will make every attempt to be interesting and perhaps even insightful.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Super Sunday

If Irony (the difference between expectation and actuality) rules the world in the name of Justice, the Denver Broncos will defeat the Seattle Seahawks at MetLife Cathedral today. By justice I mean, Payton Manning will prove that his demise as anticipated by the Indianapolis Colts' ownership was premature. Easy going, deliberate, John Fox will out-coach high octane Pete Carroll. Cocky," look-at-me, look-at-me" corner back Richard Sherman will be unable to stop the Broncos' less vocal, more modest receiver corps. Coach Carroll, who left USC one step ahead of NCAA sanctions will not be rewarded with a win. The less publicized running back Knowshon Mareno will out play the "Beast Mode." Finally, the under-rated Bronco Defense will out-defend the supposedly superior Seahawk Defense.

I'm not necessarily against advertising, but does any company in its right mind believe its brand is getting its money's worth at $133,333 dollars a second for Super Bowl TV time? How many more Heinz ketsup, M&Ms, Pepsi, Toyotas, Anheuser Busch (Yuk!) beer will the public purchase to off set the expenditure? Perhaps companies don't really care? In which case they are like people who want to be seen at the right parties, right?  It's not about brand, but some exec's ego. Any one read The Emperor's New Clothes? Go Ad agencies for earning big bucks from children's lit.

You gotta be kidding me; a recitation of the Declaration of Independence by former players and firefighters? The New York's policemen should thank their lucky stars they were snubbed for this cockamamie idea.

 I'm looking forward to the feature on Vince Lombardi and the tribute to Pat Summerall.

One more "you gotta be kidding me": Terry Bradshaw and Joe Namath strolling down Broadway reminiscing? I'm holding my breath.

Lots of talk recently about eliminating the extra point after a touchdown that over the years has seemed increasingly pointless. It's been suggested that 7 pts be awarded for a touchdown. Okay, I'm fine with that. How about after a touchdown requiring a two point play from ten yards out? How about making field goals more interesting. Award 2 pts within 49 yards and 3 pts beyond 49 yards?

Here's a field goal kicker poem by WilliamMessner

The Kicker's Last Steps

      for Jack Driscoll

One point behind, ten seconds left,
I lunge forward

   a halo of gnats around my head
   I always thought field goal kicking
   should be easy,
   like pushing a word
   from my tongue into the air.
   But the goal posts
   move backward
   ten yards with each step.

   Am I alone on this field -
   only the yard lines like a ladder I've forgotten
   how to climb, the moon's floodlight
   like a stiff graduation gown,
   the empty avenues
   of bleachers?

   When night fog clutches my ankles
   like the pudgy hands of a linebacker,
   I try to think of anything but kicking
   (the river beyond the goal post,
   the blank scorecards of my parents' faces)
   try not to think that in an instant
   my toe must dive
   deep into leather
   as if it's in love with it.

From the sideline my approach must look
almost casual, as though I hardly care - 
in the silence of this last step
I hear the wings of three ducks above me
flying toward the creaking ice of the river





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