YES! JOIN FOR FREE!
Enter your address below to receive free email alerts when a new comic or a blog post is published:
You may unsubscribe easily at any time & your email will never be shared with anyone!
SHARE
FOLLOW
SEARCH
EAGANBLOG ARCHIVE
Explore the current collection.

Category: Culture

Rooting Posture
“Root, root, root for the home team
If they don’t win, it’s a shame…”

The Philadelphia Phillies are a fine team. They have a proud tradition, and their rivalry with my San Francisco Giants is spirited without being unfriendly. My problem is with their fans.

Phillies fans, like fans from many East Coast cities, often get credit for being “knowledgeable.” That is code, of course, for “abusive.” They regularly booed the greatest player in Philly history, hometown boy and first ballot Hall of Famer Mike Schmidt. That is only the most famous example of their scoliotic rooting posture.

As a sports fan, there’s not a whole lot you can do to affect the outcome on the field. Scream, cheer, stamp your feet, boo, pray. You want to think it will help your team, but it would be hard to prove that any of that makes a difference. Very rarely do players pay attention to anyone in the stands; they are rightly focused on the ball, their own execution, and the actions of other players.

If you are at home, your connection to the action is even more remote, and your participation in the web of causality even more imaginary. Often, no one can see you, much less hear your shouts and moans. It would only be natural to feel that your rooting counts for nothing and that you are powerless to help your team.

I reject this notion of helplessness. In doing so, I rely on no less an authority than the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. For our purposes, that principle holds that mere observation of phenomena, no matter from what distance, can affect it.

On a quantum level we are not only at the game, but we are actively participating in it in a meaningful way just by paying attention to it. In fact, we are members of the quantum team we root for.

I’ll admit that, under the Heisenberg Principle, we are also members of the other team, a face in the crowd at the game, part of the umpiring crew, and also intimately connected to every blade of grass on the field. Even so, I think we are bound to have the greatest effect on the things we pay the closest attention to: the play on the field, and particularly, the thoughts and actions of our (quantum) teammates.

It is important, therefore, for us to be good teammates by adopting an appropriate rooting posture — a positive one. A team riven by backbiting, finger pointing, and dissension is not a team but a collection of losers. I’m talking to you, Phillies fans.

But no hard feelings, Phillies — whatever your quantum status. Bottom line, it’s hard to bear ill will against a team that the Giants regularly thump with such gusto in the playoffs.
The Future Is Bright
And hot, and really crowded, too, thanks to us and our technology. But climate change doesn’t have to be a bummer, even if we do have to give up some of the things we love:

Like meat. Animals are just too inefficient as food sources, requiring way too much water and space per ounce of nourishment provided. Plus all that fat is bad for us, and cow farts contribute mightily to global warming.

No more war, either. It’s always been painfully obvious that, if we really want to save humanity, we should probably stop blowing each other up. Now it’s become a necessity; even if the bombs don’t get us, the massive release of greenhouse gases would eventually finish us off.

No more privacy, of course, but you already know that; I can tell by the look on your face.

All of this is inconvenient, but look at the unexpected benefits. Earth, it appears, will be inhabited by healthy, peaceful vegetarians who have to be open and honest with each other.

And they’ll need to be. All six billion of them will be living together in Antarctica.
Guns
I’m not going to tell you that guns should be outlawed. It will never happen anyway, not in this country. They have been and will be a part of all our lives.

My father owned two guns, both .38s. One, which he had bought from a co-worker, had the regulation long barrel, and the other was a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson “Chief’s Special.” He kept them in the top, right-hand drawer of his dresser, right next to his keys, his wallet, and his badge.

As a cop, he was required to own a gun. The rest of us don’t have to, but under the Second Amendment to the Constitution, we do have the right to “keep and bear arms.” This right was further clarified by the Supreme Court in 2010 in District of Columbia v. Heller, a decision in which the Court shot down the proposition that such a right had to be connected to the owner’s service in a militia. They did so even though militias are specifically mentioned in the single declarative sentence that comprises the amendment. I think that was a bad decision made by one of the most conservative Courts in American history. That said, we can’t ignore the fact that guns are right there in the founding document.

Even if you like Heller, it’s obvious that the framers, given their reference to militias, were probably thinking about keeping guns in citizens’ hands so that they might rise up against another tyrant, some future version of George III. I can imagine that tyrant being a military junta, or a cabal of corporate interests, or simply a duly elected government gone bad. Taken that way, the Second Amendment isn’t so stupid after all.

Still, it’s a can of worms. Once you specifically allow guns as a last line of defense against tyranny, the door is open for them to become much more than that in our culture. Back in the day, the guns were mostly flintlocks. You’d take a shot, then spend a minute reloading before shooting again. Today, a simple handgun is not so different from a bomb. Pull the trigger on a Glock and hold it down, and you can fire 33 rounds in a second or two. Dozens of people could die, virtually in an instant.

The can of worms has been opened, and the worms have evolved into something truly frightening. A congressman recently said that a 100-round ammunition clip is constitutionally protected. I wonder where he would draw the line? Are bazookas okay? Battleships? Tactical nukes?

Maybe the problem isn’t so much the guns as our attitude toward them. My father would occasionally take us to the firing range. The Patrol required that he practice with his weapon once a month, and he saw this as an opportunity to familiarize my brother and me with the basics of firearms. He taught us to be careful with them and offered some tips on proper shooting technique.

I don’t recall that there was much emotional content in any of these lessons. There was no pride, no bravado, no anger, no humor. We tried to hit the target, and I suppose we got some satisfaction in hitting the areas of the dark human silhouette that were marked with a 9, the highest score. I can’t say that my brother and I got very competitive about it, though, or that Dad ever expressed any particular satisfaction about his own scores. It was an interesting experience, but the setting was all very matter-of-fact and serious.

Perhaps that’s why I feel a little embarrassed for people who are full, all-the-lights-on gun enthusiasts. I’m a little taken aback by so much reverence and devotion for an instrument of death. No matter; I’ll grant that it is a perfectly legitimate hobby, like stamp collecting, though the Benjamin Franklin Z Grill will never blow away a family of four.

If reverence and devotion were the only feelings people had toward guns, however, there wouldn’t be a problem. It is when we find a place next to guns for pride, or bravado, or self-righteousness, or revenge, or wanton viciousness that I worry.

We have a problem. The cacophony of dark emotions reflected back at us by our media and culture tells us something troubling and dangerous about ourselves. In the midst of that din, weapons proliferate and become more deadly. And yet, given the honored place of guns in our law and history, we will not banish them. What chance do good people have in such a world?

My only thought is that for all of us, the imperative remains what it has always been: try to exercise some self-control, especially around the kids, and hang on tight to your humanity. It’s our last line of defense against the darkness.

My Olympics
Later this summer in London, proud Olympic champions will hold up their medals for the world to see. Parents will beam; whole countries will celebrate the achievements of their sons and daughters. People everywhere will rejoice in the fellowship and unity found in the simple purity of sport.

Sadly, I will not be joining them. Not because I begrudge them their pride and feelings of brotherhood, but because the modern Olympic Games have abandoned that purity of sport in favor of a misguided notion of inclusion. Pastimes that have no business being on the same level as, for instance, the hundred-yard dash, have been elevated to that status simply because somebody somewhere likes to play them. Does anyone really believe that the ropes, hoops, and ribbons of rhythmic gymnastics belong on the same podium with javelins and shot puts?

Synchronized swimming, diving, boxing, gymnastics: none of these would be included in My Olympics. Why? Because, to win these competitions, a judge must vote for you. How did voting get to be a part of sport? Give me a measurement, a clocking, a score fairly earned by the athlete; save the secret ballots for Homecoming Queen.

I take my inspiration from the original Greek games. There were very few events then, and for the most part, the scoring was straightforward. Fastest, highest, farthest, strongest: these simple achievements won the day. Let us return to those times, at least for the Olympics.

Any event using complicated equipment of any kind will be looked upon with suspicion at My Olympics. Shooting in any form is banned outright, and I got your Second Amendment right here, pal. Furthermore, fencing, archery, biking, tennis, and croquet will lead the list of sports which will have to prove that their gear doesn’t play too large a part in the outcome. No sport is exempt from scrutiny. The pole vault, for instance, and all ball-related games will be closely examined for compliance. As always, purity of sport will be the standard for all determinations.

And no animals, please. All equestrian events and the modern pentathlon are out. Here, the ancient Greeks were not entirely without fault themselves. In a moment of weakness, they added chariot racing, and it all but killed the original Games. This is supposed to be about humans; Old Paint is welcome to try out for the Kentucky Derby.

There will be no winter games in My Olympics. I’m sorry, but it’s just all too strange: the subjective scoring, the rifles, the puffy clothing, the cold, the high death rate. There has never been skiing in Greece, not even on Mt. Olympus, so let’s save ourselves the anguish of pretending we care about the luge.

Finally, there will be no clothes in My Olympics. All athletes compete in the buff, the way the Greeks did. The Greeks also rubbed themselves down with olive oil, but I will not require that. Canola is fine, and so is corn oil, although most fragrant oils would be banned. They might add an unseemly dimension to some events.

For those athletes who would miss out on a chance to win gold because of these strictures, please find your sports immortality elsewhere. There are other venues for you to prove yourself to your family and your nation. You are certainly welcome to attend as a spectator — just as I would welcome people without any athletic ability at all. But leave your hoops and ribbons at home; your sport just isn’t pure enough for My Olympics.
first  previous  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  next  last
image
No "new normal" for me, this shit ain't normal.
~ MS, Truckee