In Every Amoeba, There’s A Joe Six-Pack Trying To Get Out

Originally posted by O Ceallaigh on the discontinued blog Felloffatruck Publications, 26 January 2007. Reposted here in support of a retrospective currently ongoing at the Dude & Dude site.

I am a man.  At least, I was last time I looked.  And I look, well, often enough.  So I think I’m reasonably up to date here.

This is not the statement of the obvious that it might appear to be at first glance.  I mean, I’ve been blogging for just over a year now, and I’m guessing that regular readers think of me as a him.  “O Ceallaigh.  Who??  Oh, yeah.  Him.”  Though for all you know, I’m an Alpha Centaurian hermaphrodite masquerading as an asexual protozoon.  At least I’m not passing myself off as a bimbo.  Or would that be a jimbo?  Welcome to the virtual Emerald City, and you’re not supposed to be looking at the creature behind the curtain.

No.  Long before there was a blogosphere, people were questioning my Y chromosome.  I mean, even as a kid I grew flowers, for crying out loud.  And read books.  I lacked sufficient dedication to the things that make for a man.  Spitting.  Swearing.  Pinball; that would be video games, these days.  Tit jokes.  Beer.


Hey, I try to like sports.  I’ve been known to live and die (and die, and die, and die) with the Boston Red Sox.  I’ve done the football-couch-potato thing on New Year’s Day, when you sit down to watch the games starting in the early afternoon and don’t move for nothin’ until the last bowl game’s over at midnight.  I grew up with Havlicek stole the ball!! and Jesus saves! But Esposito scores on the rebound!!  I even play golf!  Or at least I did, back when I still remembered what a dollar looked like.

But it’s getting harder and harder.  I mean, the commercials they’re running on sporting events these days.  Or is it the sporting events they’re running in the breaks between commercials.  You do know that most of the times out in football, basketball and hockey games are called, not by the teams, but by the TV people?

And the sports news.  Really.  One story from the arena and three from the police blotter.  Eh?  What’s that you said?  “This is different from Kevin Federline how?”  C’mon, give me a break.  I’m trying to whinge about athletics here.  Don’t distract me.

Take yesterday, for example.  Please.  I’m driving to Brunswick for a band rehearsal and listening to sports radio, mostly ’cause it’s raucous enough to keep me from nodding off at the wheel.  Sorry, but National Public Radio, fine as it is, is a recipe for a nap, and a fundamental disagreement between my car and a telephone pole.

News item comes on.  Reggie Bush, now a running back for the New Orleans Saints, is accused of taking money from an agent while playing for the University of Southern California.  Big no-no.  Amateur ball players do not take money from agents.  Or anyone else, except what the athletic fee-for-service scholarship covers.  Could cost the USC football program big time, if the story is proved true.  The announcer is all over it.  Call in, everybody, he says.  Tell me what should happen here.

Glad to, dude.  You have the damned gall to persist in calling major college sports “amateur”, you’re going to get what you deserve.

The NCAA, and the people who watch college sports, not to mention the people who make their money (loads of it) off college sports, need to end the hypocrisy.

Either declare the games professional – in which case every participating university should have its tax breaks and other vestiges of “charitable institution” status unceremoniously yanked, so it can contribute to the community’s tax base just like any other for-profit enterprise – or make them fully amateur.

No more athletic scholarships.  No more illiterate mercenaries taking kindergarten classes so they can stay “academically eligible”.  No more football head coaches who make more money in salary than entire history departments.  College can’t survive without an advertising arm in helmets and pads, it should close.  End of story.

You want to do these things, I might get interested in Reggie Bush’s saber dance with the agent.  Otherwise, just leave me alone.

But the announcer jock won’t let up.  And neither will the sports news.  Next item: the trials and tribulations of the fellow who prosecuted the Duke lacrosse students.  Seems like he went to trial without having all his evidence ducks in a row, and if, as accused, he withheld some of that evidence from the defense, he could get himself disbarred.  Or tossed in jail.  Serious stuff.

And the announcer is piling on.  Mean, corrupt prosecutor going after those innocent boys.  For the sake of a whore.  A black whore, no less.  And shame on those stupid PC university administrators for not sticking up for their students!


I don’t care where that stripper had been before she hit the Duke lacrosse party.  I don’t care if none of the 742 samples from this person matched a Duke white boy.  She had no business being at a lacrosse team function, and the team and its leaders, students and staff, had no business permitting her to be thereEnd of story.  These persons should be paying a penalty (dismissal from the university), not be lionized as martyrs.

But they will be lionized.  I smell money.  The rich will look after the rich, and the scions of the rich.  Scandal makes headlines.  ka-CHING!!  And lacrosse is an up-and-coming revenue sport for the NCAA.  One that is not yet ruled by tats and bling.  Gotta have it.  Especially when Duke’s good at lacrosse – and its football team has lost 200 games in a row.

Dad?  I’m sorry.  I see it all now.  You were right.  There ain’t no money in Doctor of Philosophy.  If somebody waves a wand and we get to do this over, the books and the orchids and my mother can go screw themselves.  You and I are going out with baseballs, footballs, ice skates, and lacrosse rackets.  And we need to get us a stripper.

 – O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2007 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.


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