The morning meeting had all the usual issues of the editorial process colliding with the dull sensibilities of a Saturday morning. Loma was blurry, for predictable reasons after starting his weekend at Belmont Farms Happy-Hour to Hip-Flask celebration. Rocket was anything but explosive in his limp approach to the matter since he rode along to the distillery in the Farm’s battered F-150 truck. DeMille was attempting to make up for the lassitude while occasional moaning from down at the fence-line indicated Splash was manfully attempting to contribute to the session.

“What do we have in the can that will meet Level One dissemination standards? Something that won’t be interpreted as a micro-whatever and allow us to start full-bore total immersion for Saturday afternoon. We would like to produce something fun and breezy, since many regular readers have other things to accomplish this morning and we want to help. Suggestions?”

There followed a series of remarks that- at best- could be considered Level 3, suitable only for laughter around the circle. No one picked up a pen to attempt to punch them together. Rocket stirred, the effort at laughter having moved him closer to lucidity. “Why don’t we do a sports story? That couldn’t be construed as anything partisan. It would be a quick up-beat tale about the team’s players, the coaching staff, the large crowd gathered together in whatever garb they choose and seated as close as they want. It could be inspirational.”

Loma scowled. “They might be chanting something unflattering. That would upset some people who think everything is getting back to normal.”

The banter began to accelerate as consciousness returned to the group. Personally, I try to stay out of the way until the group is actually awake, since there is a lot more stuff that could verge on “unflattering,” but this one got me going. I played football from 1959 until the cops had to break up our game against a group from a protected class in 1974. That is fifteen years of getting beat nearly senseless on every series of plays in the Fall adventure. Things to talk about? We care about the quality of play, and the old rivalries against other pretty good programs. We all had the same general feeling, until the teams we supported all seemed to be calling us inadvertent Buckeyes.

That was one of the surprising things about all the changes that swept over us with the pandemic. It had little to do with anything partisan until the professional teams got Woke. There is a flat screen down in the bunk house, but it has gone unused this season. We don’t know if it is part of “Get Woke, go Broke,” but we have not been able to watch the professional game since it started changing.

There has been grumbling about some of it for years, but when they decided the Washington Football Team couldn’t have the name they used for most of a century, our passion ebbed. We had disagreement about that, as well. It didn’t make much sense for the League to assault the largest component of the people willing to pay for it. In other words, it was fairly obvious that most of the financial support came from the viewing segment that apparently invented involuntary servitude never before known in the world though we do not recall doing it.

And in one of those ironies that abound these days, in reaction to falling revenue, the League decided they needed more exposure, and now there is a “Thursday Night” featured game.”

“I didn’t watch it either,” said DeMille. “Thursday used to be the day before the Friday night Follies. It was a down night to get prepared for the weekly game.”

I was interested in what political slogans could be worn on the helmets these days. They are professionally produced, and we could not determine whether the players or their personal managers got to pick them out.

“Apparently they won on a last second field goal. It would have been exciting if we knew who they were playing.”

“Or what the crowd was chanting.” Loma threw the remains of a cigarette in the general direction of the fire ring. “The whole thing is nuts. I was trying to follow my college team but gave up when the Student Council President tweeted out “Death to America.”

“We used to say that about Ohio State, and how could anyone disagree with that?” I muttered.

“See? That is when things only called for the destruction of an educational institution’s sports program. Nothing partisan at all, except for the destruction of citizens of another state.”

I was going to say something about the people in the family who fought for the Buckeye State in the American Civil War and both the big ones in the last century. For our side, whichever that was. But I have found that being able to speak a few languages is not nearly as important as being able to keep my mouth shut in all of them.

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com