At View from the Bleachers, we take the safety of our readers very seriously. Read the extreme measures we’ve implemented to ensure every VFTB article is 100% safe and guaranteed never to inflict contagious laughter.
Dear valued View from the Bleachers reader,
It has just come to my attention this morning that there is widespread alarm, anxiety and fear throughout the country. No, I’m not talking about the fact that the universally panned film Cats is now available for home rental.
If you’ve not heard the news, let me be the first to inform you. There is this thing called the Coronavirus, also known by medical experts like me as the COVID-19 pandemic. This contagion is dramatically impacting how we all live, work, and in the case of millennials, engage in unprotected sex.
This is Dr. Timothy Jones. I’m Chairman, CEO and Executive Chef at View from the Bleachers – a non-profit organization (mainly because I suck at business). Perhaps at one time or another you’ve errantly read one of my blog posts. If so, please accept my humblest apology.
I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time out from reading the 400+ emails you’ve received in the past week from Petco, Walmart, Costco, Kroger, AT&T, the YMCA, and your local parks & recreation department – telling you how committed they are to your safety – so that you can read this message from View from the Bleachers telling you how committed we are to your safety. Oh, and AT&T belatedly wishes to apologize for their former advertising slogan, Reach out and touch someone. Please don’t follow their advice, okay?
Here at View from the Bleachers, I, along with the dozens of illegal immigrants that work here and mow my lawn, take the health and safety of each reader seriously – all eleven of you. That’s why I wanted to share the extraordinary precautionary measures we’re implementing here at VFTB (as we’re known by the Pulitzer Prize Committee).
First, I’m making sure to get at least 11 hours of sleep a night. Technically, this has nothing to do with the Coronavirus outbreak. I’m just not a morning person.
Second, I’m practicing safe social distancing. In fact, my wife takes this so seriously that she asked me to move into our garage – just to avoid the risk of being exposed to me – or having to talk to me – or make accidental eye contact.
As I write this heartfelt plea for donations, I mean, this update, I’m wearing three pairs of surgical gloves, two pairs of sweatpants, a snorkel mask and ski boots, all out of an abundance of caution. Admittedly, I’m sweating like a pig right now, but that’s the kind of sacrifice I’m willing to make to ensure each post I write is thoroughly devoid of any infectious germs – or humor.
To make sure my readers are protected, I wipe the keyboard with a disposable sanitary wipe after every paragraph. I also made the difficult but selfless decision to switch from my preferred Calibri font to Helvetica – widely believed to be the safest font in use today. I’ve even gone so far as to eliminate the use of filthy words from my posts, to protect my readers from being exposed to potentially pernicious language. If you ask me, that’s a big fucking deal. Oops. Sorry.
As a result of these safety measures, I am pleased to report that there have been absolutely zero known cases of any individuals dying from coming into contact with this humor blog. However, there have been isolated instances of unsuspecting people experiencing mild migraines or nausea from unintended exposure. Fortunately, most symptoms appear to fade once the reader closes their web browser – with the exception of a lingering sensation they’ve wasted valuable time they can never get back.
Finally, before we publish any article, each one goes through a four-step deep-cleaning high-pressure wash and spell-check, to ensure every post contains no residual bacteria or dangling participles. I consider this extreme measure worth it to protect my team of researchers and bail bondsmen.
As a reader, there are some basic steps you can take to protect yourself from possible infection from this website. First, keep at least six feet from your computer when checking your email. If you accidentally open an email that appears to have been sent from View from the Bleacher, press the DELETE key immediately and wash your hands for twenty minutes with soap and a new Brillo pad.
If you accidentally click on a link that takes you directly to a VFTB article like this – say you were drunk and had no idea what you were doing – don’t panic. Simply unplug your computer and quickly dispose of it into the nearest bio-hazard trash receptacle, douse it with lighter fluid and set it ablaze – preferably not in the living room or anywhere near pets.
Several readers (by which I mean my wife) have written to me personally, expressing their fears and offering their sincerest hopes and prayers that this contagion will be over soon. I eventually figured out they were talking about View from the Bleachers – and were worried about their own mental and emotional well-being.
I want to assure all my readers that, while there are no immediate plans to discontinue publication, I promise that none of you will die as a result of reading this column, at least not from laughter.
One final word. I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. But if you go around like my nephew Nathan doing stupid stuff like licking the handle of your grocery store shopping cart or shaking hands with everybody waiting in line for a refill at the pharmacy, that’s on you. Don’t come whining to me if you end up getting sick – ya’ hear me, Nathan?
Stay safe. And avoid my nephew Nathan.
Tim Jones
Chairman, CEO and Executive Chef, MD, JD, MBA, BFD, IDK, OMG, WTF
View from the Bleachers Enterprises, Inc.
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The Coronavirus doesn’t mean an end to sports. It just means taking a few common-sense precautions for your safety. Take this striker for Arsenal Soccer. He can continue to play with no worries – just so long as his helmet doesn’t fog up.
Welcome back to Eyewitness News. It’s time for a check on sports with our sports anchor, Tim Jones. Tim, what’s happening in your world?
Thanks, Tina. Love your purple medical mask, by the way. Matches your shoes.
Howdy, everybody. A lot to get to in today’s jam-packed look at sports. Just because, thanks to the Coronavirus, there’s no baseball, basketball, hockey, football, NASCAR, Olympics, soccer, golf, horse racing, track & field, boxing, volleyball, rugby, cycling, bowling, gymnastics, figure skating, badminton, or Australian Rules shuffleboard happening – which have all been cancelled through August 2023 – that doesn’t mean there’s no sports to report. So, let’s get started!
In tennis, 47-year-old Arnold Schwimmer defeated 53-year-old Ben Dankleworth of Westerville, OH, 6-3, 6-2, in their weekly tennis outing. Ben attributed his disappointing performance to a whopping hangover. “Being trapped at home for 24 hours at a time, I have only two choices: talk with my wife or drink. Guess what one I picked?”
I want to wish Ben the best of luck in his rematch next week – unless his wife confines him to quarters, in which case, I might suggest Ben test his skills in his second favorite sport, beer pong.
Speaking of pong, 52-year-old Bart Mathers lost to his 25-year-old son Nathan in ping pong, 21-4, 21-3. After the match, the elder Mathers complained that his opponent displayed extremely poor sportsmanship by “never easing up on his old man.” The champ snapped back, “I could have beaten that boomer blindfolded.” In the subsequent rematch, Nathan did just that.
In an open grassy field in Bulls Gap, Tennessee, the finals of the Frisbee Toss Invitational pitted newcomer Joshua Klein against college roommate Micky Sullivan, the heavily favored reigning champion. Though held before a disappointing crowd of one – Josh’s dog Archie – it was an exhilarating dog-eat-dog clash. In a shocking upset, Josh claimed the win. However, his victory was not without controversy. In the final minute, just as Micky dove to make an incredible game-winning catch, Archie leapt from the sidelines, snagged the frisbee, and ran off with it. A formal protest has been filed. When interviewed, Joshua refused to comment, as did Archie.
Due to the Covid-19 pandemic, several sporting events were moved indoors to home venues. In Parkersburg, WV, Ralph Romano squared off against his 7-year-old daughter Lily, for the Romano Family World Championship of Jump Roping. Lily completed an impressive personal best of 32 jumps without a misstep. Her dad, on the other hand, fell way short of her mark, succumbing after only 5 rope revolutions. Somehow, he got tangled in the rope and did a face plant into the family room coffee table. I regret to report that the lava lamp suffered a direct hit and could not be salvaged.
This elderly woman is staying indoors and enjoying her sports safely. See how she’s holding a Nintendo Wii game controller. Unfortunately she thinks it’s a TV remote, and she can’t figure out how to change from bowling to her favorite quilting show.
In fishing news, longtime angler Harley Dickinson from Moose Lake, MN went trawling with his buddy Herb. His wife Agnes cautioned them to practice safe social distancing in light of the pandemic. “We’ll be fine,” Harley insisted. “We’ll sit back-to-back in the boat.” It appeared that Harley might break the record for the largest fish ever caught on Moose Lake Lake, as he prepared to reel in a 6-foot, 200-pound sturgeon. That is, until the sturgeon tugged back and hauled Harley overboard.
Harley is recovering quietly on a cot in the garage (the sturgeon bit his leg). Agnes is not speaking to him. When asked for her thoughts about the near-tragic incident, Agnes merely muttered, “Idiot.”
Checking out hoops news, 13-year-old Wilbur Douglas, playing for Duke, beat his twin brother Orville, representing Kentucky, in the living room finals of the National Nerf Basketball Tournament. Duke had a comfortable lead of 37-21 at halftime but threw it away as Kentucky blazed ahead in the second half to triumph 59-57, thanks to a last second buzzer beater by the Wildcat’s star player, Orville.
Duke then challenged Kentucky to a slam dunk contest, which was promptly terminated by an official (dad) after Wilbur, attempting a difficult skyhook shot, swung from the chandelier and brought it crashing to the floor. In a first for a major collegiate basketball program, Duke was grounded for a week.
In a surprising announcement, the 2020 Tokyo Summer Olympics will indeed go on. Okay, technically, the Tokyo 2020Olympic PlayStation 4 video game version. This year, 11-year-old Eamon Whittaker from Monroeville, PA competes against highly respected challengers from six countries, including the always formidable 13-year-old Victor Müller from Düsseldorf, Germany.
In Day One, Eamon was slightly in the lead in the medal count with 4 golds, 2 silvers and a bronze until his mother told him he had to, and I quote, “turn off the damn computer and come to dinner this instant or you’ll be doing dishes for a month.” He tried to go for another gold under the table using his iPhone, but was busted when he leaped up shouting, GOOOOOOOLD! The IOC president (Eamon’s mom) has banned him for future competition for testing positive for stupid.
Despite the ban on most non-essential outdoor activities, President Trump continues to ignore safety guidelines. Experts all agree, what he’s doing is dangerous. Oh, and he should probably stop golfing, too.
Martha Gladstone of Bozeman, MT, competing in a sport that has skyrocketed in popularity lately, defeated 17 other challengers in the Kroger Inaugural Toilet Paper Aisle Sprint. Martha reached the register tape with six bags of two-ply tissues just 1.7 seconds before her nearest rival, Thelma Vandenburg. Martha’s victory was marred slightly when she realized she’d raced right past the Purell and disinfecting wipes without thinking to grab any – a costly error. She was later disqualified for exceeding the limit of 3 bags per customer. On hearing the news, Thelma took a victory lap down the frozen foods aisle.
That’s it for sports. Join me again at 11:00 for highlights of the Miller family’s backyard horseshoe toss competition, along with an update on Lenny Davidson’s courageous quest for a personal best at the NordicTrack recumbent stationary bike challenge. You won’t want to miss it. Back to you, Tina.
Thanks, Tim. We’ll return with more news, including, When will it be safe to drink Corona beer? And more on the Governor’s new Coronavirus policy on social distancing, making it a crime to commit eye contact.
But first, this commercial message from the makers of Purell.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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Experts worry that Trump may be exposing thousands to the Coronavirus, as he continues to pump flesh everywhere he goes. Other scholars argue that millions of unsuspecting Americans have already been deeply infected by Trump. They’re easy to spot. They’re the ones wearing the red baseball caps.
Washington, D.C. – In recent weeks, millions of Americans have become increasingly anxious as endless streams of news reports warn about a nasty, contaminating, virulent malignancy that cannot be contained. But Donald Trump isn’t the only thing they’re worried about.
They’re also a tad on edge about the Coronavirus, officially known as COVID-19. Even more frightening than a reality show host having access to nuclear launch codes, there are alarming indications the President himself may have contracted the Coronavirus.
Dr. David Britton, Chief of Immunology and Infectious Diseases at The Mayo Clinic, said, “There are several obvious signs the President has been exposed to COVID-19. Just look at his facial discoloration. What normal healthy human being has a face the color of Doritos?” Dr. Britton noted that in Trump’s recent Oval Office Address, “He appeared to be breathing very heavily throughout the speech, a major symptom of the Coronavirus.”
Medical authorities concur that Trump fits the profile of individuals most vulnerable. As Dr. Margaret Chen, Chief of Epidemiology at New York’s Presbyterian Hospital, explained it: “Look at the man. He’s practically the textbook definition of a high risk candidate: He’s over 70 years old, has extremely poor dietary habits, is morbidly overweight, and is a complete idiot. He’s a walking time bomb.”
The Center For Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has listed numerous warning signs that all appear present in President Trump: He exhibits shortness of breath, coughs a lot, demonstrates obvious mental decline, is easily agitated, has an inability to tell the truth, tends to be vindictive and hold grudges, exhibits patterns of xenophobia and racism, and possesses surprisingly small hands for an adult.
In a recent Oval Office address to the nation, doctors, advisers, and even children noticed Trump’s chronic excessively heavy breathing – a clear sign he might be infected – and really sucks at delivering speeches with a tele-prompter.
For weeks, healthcare professionals have been advising Americans to avoid large crowds and physical contact with others, especially shaking hands. And yet, there is one American who, for reasons unknown, continues to ignore the advice of the medical community: Donald Trump.
Trump, who famously does not believe in science, continues to shake hands wherever he is: at Mar-a-Lago dinner parties, in rope lines, at rallies, and even the White House Rose Garden. He explains his invincibility, stating, “I’m a very stable genius”, making it abundantly clear that he is “smarter than the medical professionals” – not to mention the generals. He has successfully calmed the nation’s worries by assuring us that he has a hunch: “This will all miraculously go away in April when the weather warms up.”
The President has made repeated assurances that he’s AOK and doesn’t need to be tested because this entire crisis is a “fake news” hoax fabricated by Democrats to hurt his re-election chances. Nevertheless, CDC officials are not quite as confident as the Genius-in-Chief. And they’re not nearly as optimistic that “warm weather” is the cure for this pandemic.
Researchers have used computer modelling to predict that, unless drastic efforts are implemented quickly, between 70 and 200 million Americans could eventually contract COVID-19. That’s why they are urging all Americans to keep a safe distance – from President Trump. In fact, as a precautionary measure, First Lady Melania has taken great strides to keep a safe distance from the President at all times – going back to the start of his administration, adding, “Why would I want to be exposed to someone that toxic?”
There is a palpable unease that because the President appears to be afflicted with this pernicious pathogen, he might infect countless others – including millions of unwitting (by which we mean witless) Fox News viewers as they literally absorb every word and movement of their Hero in Chief as reported by Sean Hannity, Laura Ingraham, and other suspected carriers.
Many of the world’s most renown scientists fear that Trump could spread his contagious physical (and mental) illness to many of his fervent supporters. “If you want my advice,” said Dr. Edwin Templeton, spokesperson for the World Health Organization, “every patriotic American who supports President Trump should avoid any Trump rallies – or voting booths – at least until after the first Tuesday in November. Just to be on the safe side.”
If Trump has the Coronavirus, the most important task is to prevent it from spreading. Here is a most innovative idea for how to contain Trump’s disease and MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN.
The President’s personal physician suggested certain prophylactic measures to his patient, but Trump protested, “I will not use a condom!”
Communicable disease experts are considering defensive steps to help prevent the spread of Trump’s contagion. One recommendation is that Trump be quarantined immediately – perhaps by building an impenetrable wall around the Oval Office – a big, beautiful wall. Upon hearing this proposal, Mexico’s president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, told reporters, “Mexico will gladly pay for the wall.”
Medical scholars across the country familiar with the progression of the Coronavirus argue that it has already significantly diminished Trump’s cognitive abilities. They point to his great difficulty spelling commonly used words including “honered”, “presedent”, “Caronavirus:, “Melanie”, and “kat.” They further speculate that, given his advanced age and diminished mental capacity, there could soon come a point at which Trump may have to step down, as the malady overtakes him completely.
On the bright side, if the Coronavirus has indeed infected Trump and he soon becomes so incapacitated that he is forced to abdicate, medical authorities express confidence that the mental and emotional health of millions of Americans may dramatically improve overnight just at the thought of anyone other than Trump sitting in the Oval Office.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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Recently, I survived a horrible ordeal. I went in for knee replacement surgery. Oh sure, I was unconscious, so I didn’t feel a thing. But what made it so traumatic was that the doctor replaced my elbow instead.
When it comes to health matters, I ’m a very private person. I almost never air what’s ailing me – unless I’m talking to an immediate family member, close personal friends, neighbors, second cousins, co-workers, or a stranger lucky enough to be standing next to me in the grocery store checkout.
That’s why it’s challenging for me to share with my readers the details of my most recent medical ordeal. But I’ll try – just this once (and perhaps in parts 2, 3, and 4 of this multi-part essay).
Recently, I underwent knee replacement surgery. My doctor said I was one in a million, which made me feel very proud of my achievement and grateful that I’d beaten the odds – until I realized he meant that easily a million others had endured this procedure this past year as well.
The day of reckoning was inevitable. I had been diagnosed with “bone-on-bone” advanced osteo arthritis in both knees eons ago. I’d long since accepted the harsh reality that the Olympics were not in my future – mostly due to my deteriorating knees (and perhaps in part because coaches said I lacked the requisite speed, strength, endurance, and talent). Rationalizing that it made economic sense to postpone this surgery until I reached Medicare age, I have earned martyrdom for pounding the pavement many years beyond the expiration date of my knees. This past January I turned 65. Time to face the music. Thanks to Medicare, the whole procedure cost me only slightly more than a KFC Family Meal.
The doctor broke the news that the odds of a full recovery were barely 999 out of a thousand. But I decided to laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper and boldly go where no man has gone before. “Let’s do it, Doc!” We’ll skip the pre-game show (checking in, changing into a backless gown, propositioning the doctor as the anesthesia took hold) and go to the actual slicing and dicing. I won’t lie. The experience was brutal. I now can relate to those brave Civil War soldiers who, in the heat of battle and bleeding profusely, were carried on stretchers, barely reaching the medical tent and a medic wielding a rusty saw, with nothing to dull their searing pain but a shot of whiskey and a stick to bite on.
My experience was eerily similar – except for the fact I had no gushing blood, was unconscious the entire time of the surgery, and when I woke up, I was lying in a comfy adjustable bed in a sterile hospital with a stunning view of the Olympic Mountains, and was offered all the ice cream I could scarf down. That being said, not one of the four nurses waiting on me hand and foot offered me a shot of whiskey. (I may file a complaint.) So, I had to gut it out the hard way – with morphine.
As I came to from the anesthesia, there was a bright light glowing all around me. I sadly mused that I was not among the 999 – that the brilliant rays of Heaven were beckoning. But why was this angel wearing a white uniform and stethoscope? It turns out that the bright light was not the rays of Heaven welcoming me home but a nurse opening up the curtains in my earthly recovery room. It was incredibly sunny out.
People have kindly asked how I’ve been feeling in the days and weeks post-op. If I had to summarize it in one word (without using a thesaurus), I’d say: “OOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!” – followed by a flurry of expletives that my editor censored, in case kids are reading this.
I’m home now, recovering. I’m determined to tough it out – in quiet desperation, all alone in my man cave, since my wife abandoned me after only 12 hours of my whining. Frankly, I would rather not dwell on the devastating pain I’ve withstood hour after hour, minute after minute… but if you insist, here goes…
Every day throughout this never-ending saga (it’s been three whole weeks) I go through the same torturous routine: it starts with encasing my knee in an ice wrap, then lying in the recliner, elevating my knee, and reaching for the remote. I am trapped in a living hell every second of every day, with nothing to do but watch movies on Amazon Prime (or Netflix or Hulu or HBO), pat a kitty, or stare at the incredible scenery outside my window, with a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream – or an occasional slice of pizza. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll be okay – even though I’ve already powered through Season 3 of Mrs. Maisel, and Season 4 doesn’t come out for another 9 months.
Here I am back home, recuperating on the couch, with my walker, ice machine and thigh-length compression socks. Feelin’ sexy. Growwwl.
For a full month after surgery, I’m not allowed to drive – partly due to the powerful meds and also because my doctor said I’m a terrible driver. And because my right knee currently has the strength of a hamster – who has just had knee replacement surgery. Despite my misery – or perhaps because of it – my wife and I are much closer, often right next to each other in the car, as she drives me from my doctor’s appointment to PT to Burger King and anywhere else I fancy.
I try to show my appreciation by calling her “Sweetie” at least forty times a day, as in “Sweetie, can you get me another slice of cake?” or “Sweetie, can you pick up my phone? It’s fallen and it can’t get up.”
Any time I ring the bell, she’s right there at my side. Whenever I start to feel a tad guilty that perhaps I’m imposing on my kind-hearted wife, I remind myself, “Hey, I’m the one confined to the recliner” and then I ring the bell again, because I’m in the mood for a grilled cheese sandwich – and she obviously loves cooking for me, as evidenced by the fry pan always in her hand when she appears.
While it’s been arduous, I won’t let it break me. Just last night, in my darkest moment (stuck in the closest with my walker, unable to locate the light switch) I looked deep within my soul and said to myself – and to anybody checking my hourly Facebook updates – that as God as my witness, someday – I don’t know when – I WILL drive a golf cart again!
That’s the view from my recliner. Perhaps I’m off base.
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Recently I turned 35 years old, and by recently, I mean 30 years ago. But more recently, I turned 65 – this past January. When you turn 65, you start asking yourself uncomfortable questions like, “How long has that mole been there?” You ponder your own mortality and your legacy and how is it that AARP got your mailing address so quickly.
Lately I’ve begun asking myself challenging questions: What have I done with my life? What do I want to do with the limited time I have left on this planet? Did I have breakfast yet? Where did I leave my car keys?
I wonder about the impact I’ve had on the people in my life. What might these people say about me if they spoke at my funeral? It got me to imagining, which got me to worrying…. a lot…. about what they might have to say:
My earliest childhood friend, Danny: Yeah, Timmy and I were tight – until he destroyed my purple bicycle. I loved that bike. You son of a bitch. When you rode it into that pond and wrecked the frame beyond repair, from that moment on, you were dead to me. You hear that, Timmy? You’re DEAD TO ME!
My first grade teacher, Miss Kelly: I remember Timothy, yes I do. He was a rather chatty young lad. An unhealthy need for approval, if you ask me. As I recall, he had the worst penmanship and he was a very slow reader. Took him forever to get through the book Fun with Dick and Jane. And every crayon drawing he ever did always included a rainbow. I privately wondered whether he might be gay. (more…)
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