About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Let's Get Nuts!


Been a rough patch lately, as that my golden shoes (I almost typed slippers, but then y'all would questions if I was on the gay side of the force) are about to turn back into those beat up sneakers I use to mow our weeds (as that the only grass that hangs around our yard is the kind smoked by the local children).

Anywho, as that I don't have much to turn to these days, I was rather pumped when baseball season started recently. Now, I've been a huge Yankee fan since Reggie Jackson was throwing down with Billy Martin in the dugout. It is a grand sport, and while it doesn't hold the appeal for most as football (whenever the hell that comes back...here's a query: what do you call a bunch of millionaire and billionaires who can't divide 9 Billion Dollars. Fucking mind numbingly pathetically "McWhatthefrigiswrongwithyou" stupid. Not funny, but accurate) the drama of a tight ball game offers a welcome distraction from what has been a disappointing trip I call my life so far (with the exception of the family, of course. I gotta be careful; ever so often my wife reads this stuff).

Watching a game recently (I don't catch too many Yankee games based on where I live in the US these days)ever so often the camera crew (who I am sure just do that because they are either tying their shoes, accidentally bumping the camera, then saying "shit, I can't go back to work at Taco Bell!" and flips back to the game) will divert their camera's eye to the crowd. Now, sports fans are an interesting bunch.

Actually, they are friggin' nuts.

It's an obsession with a lot of folks; mostly guys stereotypically, but there are a fair number of ladies who will be just as nuts as any dude, and can quote you stats faster than they can their kid's birthdays.

(I always found that interesting and sexy, actually; it is one of the reasons I married my wife in the first place. The woman once hung a teddy bear in effigy when her basketball team lost in the championship round. That's a hot ass chick to me).

Sports fans will miss weddings and funerals ("Mother Fucker shouldn't of died before Game 7. He'll still be there when it's over"), not speak to their mamas for weeks because they like the rival team ("Shit, I don't have a mama; don't care if it's Mother's Day...fuck her!)and paint themselves in toxic material just to show support for their team ("What do you mean, doctor, that my penis will never come back out again?"). It's an escape, an addiction, a salve, a way for folks, for once, to actually friggin' get along for a couple of hours...

...all for a couple hundred bucks. Loan officers are on site to take your applications before and after the game for the next time we can fleece you of your hard earn money.

But for me, sitting at home when I can to watch a game, even when I know this year's version of the Yankees have no chance to make the playoffs (old age is a miserly beeyotch)let's me forget the things that are wrong in my world for a little bit. I tend to drift back to my childhood, when me and my best friend AP (gotta use the initials; he may be in super secret squirrel mission, and I don't want him smoked by his enemies) would battle on weekends and summer days for supremacy of the neighborhood(note, I think he had a slight lead in our win/loss record when we were done...something like 5-1000, with him having the 1000 wins. But I won in the "broken bats in sheer frustrating cuz I sucked" categories). Being a fan (short for fanatic, which means all sports are eligible to be committed) let me yell, scream, throw stuff, and forget about the simple fact...

...that things simply didn't work out the way I would of liked.

So I toast the sport fan, as I play the appropriate "Let's Go Crazy" (Extended edition, of course) as I finish this up, as well as sports in general. Yeah, watching a bunch of spoiled rich folks say "I gotta feed my 14 illegitimate babies by 6 baby mamas, and I can't live on 10 million" gets a little stale, but for a couple of hours, one can jump in their bodies and get that single pitch, driving it out of the park, and run around the bases, as if God is saying "OK, I'm gonna put you back into your misery, but since I'm in a good mood, I'll give you a few seconds of heaven."

Well, at least that is what I hope was the plan. He (the Lord, that is) always had a generally warped sense of humor.

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