Sorry I've been missing in action, my friends.
I've been too busy
watching the entire sports world implode all around me. It seems that
every day brings a new smear on the world of professional
sports. Whenever I pick up the sports page these days, there's so much bad news that my head starts
spinning like Linda Blair in the "The Exorcist." Things are so bad
that I almost want to turn to the front page of the paper.
Now, I'm not one of those guys whose lives revolve around sports, watching sports, and talking about sports. I realize that in the giant piñata of life on this planet, sports is like the stale Tootsie Roll that falls underneath the couch. It's mush. It's entertainment. Like watching Access Hollywood to see what crazy shit Britney has done lately.
But there's a big part of me that desperately wants to retain my childlike view of professional sports as being played by heroes on a field of dreams. As kids, we saw our favorite athletes as being the noblest of all warriors. They stayed with us through good and bad. They didn't hold out for more money and we didn't withhold our adulation.
Maybe it was because I was looking at life through my Charlie Brown ViewMaster lenses but there seemed to be an innocent arc to the life of a professional athlete. Young man works hard, plays fair, becomes hero, gives back to fans, marries hometown sweetheart, and rides off into the sunset.
Nowadays, young man shoots steroids up his ass, dopes his blood, gives the finger to fans, sexually assaults women, becomes felon, and drives Porsche off to the Sunset Strip.
Of course, I'm probably being a little naive about the whole state of sports. After all, at the end of the day, pro athletes are just young men with a bag of faults covering the whole spectrum of human frailty. You don't have to look far to see many of our other fellow citizens participating in equally abhorrent behavior. Hell, a lot of them are in Congress.
My point is that I think we've finally reached a breaking point where pro athletes simply have to be seen for what they really are---a bunch of rich assholes who play a game so they can get paid by even richer assholes while a bunch of even dumber assholes sit on our couches and watch them.
As Hall of Fame basketball player Charles Barkley famously stated, "I am not a role model ...parents should be role models."
Amen, Sir Charles, amen!
Speaking of sports...
It's a given that I will do anything for the Peanut. This little kid has me wrapped around her little finger like a freaking yo-yo. These days, the Peanut is into three things: Cinderella, fire trucks, and horses. So whenever we have the opportunity to see any of those things, I'll do anything in my power to see her face light up like a Christmas tree.
This past weekend, I sucked up my bourgeois pride and took my daughter to the Mercedes-Benz Polo Challenge at the Bridgehampton Polo Club. Close friends know how much the Peanut loves horses so they invited us to their private tent replete with catering and a personal bartender.
Honestly, BossLady and I both felt like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman." In fact, when nobody was looking, BossLady would turn to me, pump her fists in the air, and yell, "Woo, Woo, Woo!" Then, I'd reply back in my Eddie Murphy voice, "Shit, man! Growing up, if we wanted a jacuzzi, we had to fart in the tub!" (call the movie!)
But the Peanut had the time of her life. She had a front-row seat of the field and she couldn't take her eyes off the beautiful horses. Everytime one galloped by, she'd start clapping and yelling with glee. At halftime, she even ran out onto the field to help stomp out the divots.
Four days later and she's still talking non-stop about the horsies. And apparently she's showing an early predilection for polo. Why do I think this?
Because when I came home the other day, she was riding the dog and trying to hit a golf ball with an inflatable pump.
Dude, if she asks me for a pony, I'm fucked!