Taylor Swift, AKA one half of Traylor, cheering on her new favorite team, the Kansas City Chiefs in a private box at the Chiefs’ famous Arrowhead Stadium – soon to be rebranded with its new name, “The Swift Nest.”
In recent weeks, social media has been blowing up over reported Traylor sightings. That’s the term people are using as shorthand for Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. (Some people prefer the term “Tavis” or “Swelce.”) In case you don’t’ know who Taylor Swift is, what is your problem? Your kids must be ashamed to have you as their parent. Tell me, what’s it like to have been living under a rock these past 19 years?
Taylor Swift is currently the most famous music superstar on the planet – arguably the biggest pop music phenomenon since Elvis or the Beatles. On the other hand, you’d be forgiven if you didn’t immediately recognize the name of Travis Kelce, the Super Bowl-winning elite tight end for the Kansas City Chiefs. If you drew a blank, I’m guessing you’re not a football fan. No worries. Neither is my wife. She’s never heard of Travis Kelce either. Still, I made a vow to love her till death do us part, so I’m working hard to find it in my heart to forgive her over her egregious ignorance on such an important issue.
After paparazzi snapped photos of Traylor, rumors quickly sprang up that the two of them were dating. It appears to be true, since Taylor has been spotted at several Kansas City Chiefs games sitting next to Kelce’s mom. She’s often been accompanied in the private box by several other high-profile celebrities, including Ryan Reynolds, Blake Lively, Hugh Jackman, Stephen Colbert, and Tim Jones. (Okay, I may have lied just slightly. Taylor has yet to invite Stephen Colbert to join her at a game.)
Just the fact that Taylor Swift is in attendance (home and away) has resulted in a huge spike in nationwide viewership of Chiefs games. An October Kansas City Chiefs – New York Jets game was the most-watched Sunday TV show of any kind since last February’s Super Bowl – in part because the cameraman (who clearly has a thing for Taylor), points the camera her way at least 15 times a game.
According to preliminary Nielsen viewership data, the biggest demographic gains were among girls ages 12 to 17, women ages 18 to 24, and college-educated men ages 50 to 69 who wish they were thirty years younger so they could ask Taylor for a date – or at least her autograph. It appears that Swifties, as Taylor Swift’s legion of adoring fans are known, are suddenly becoming rabid football fans – anxiously watching for the moment the TV zooms in for another close-up of Taylor cheering in her Chiefs jersey.
The ratings boom caused by Taylor Swift’s presence has not gone unnoticed by the NFL or the Chiefs’ ownership team. That’s why, in a stunning decision, Kansas City Chiefs Director of Communications, Spike Puntington, announced the team is officially changing the name it’s had since it first entered the league in 1960 from the Kansa City Chiefs to its new name, the Kansas City Swifties.
When asked about the name change, Puntington explained, “We’ve received numerous complaints over the years that the name ‘Chiefs’ was offensive to Native Americans. But the name Taylor Swift, from our extensive research, is not offensive to anyone – other than a few cranky Billie Eilish fans who seem to have a problem with all the attention Taylor’s been getting lately.”
LEFT: The former design for the former NFL’s Kansas City Chiefs football helmet. RIGHT: The fresh new design of the Kansas City Swifties helmet. Sales of the new helmet, jersey & tote bag are expected to skyrocket. Other NFL teams are reportedly furious about the move, but the Kanas City Swifties plan to just “Shake It Off.”
The helmet’s iconic arrowhead logo will be replaced by the sultry outline of Taylor Swift’s head. The Chiefs plan to launch a blockbuster PR campaign to promote the team’s name change, including renaming the team bus the “Taylor Trailer,” complete with a giant photo montage of Taylor in concert on the side of the bus. We’ve been assured it will be very understated.
The football stadium, formerly known as Arrowhead Stadium, will undergo a name change, as well. Original plans were for the new name to be “The Taylor Dome.” However, one astute observer pointed out that it’s an open-air stadium, so not really a dome at all. Therefore, the new name will be “The Swift Nest.”
At the concession stands throughout the stadium, fans will soon be able to buy a unique microbrew invented by the singer herself, which she has named “Taylor-Made Blonde Ale” – sold only at the Chiefs stadium, plus 150,000 select bars, liquor stores, and grocery outlets throughout America, not to mention Amazon.com.
Before each game, God Bless America will be replaced each week by whatever Taylor Swift song the fans in the stadium select. Each fan will vote by swiping their song choice using the Taylor Swift music app (called the Swiftie Swipe) installed on their phone as they enter the stadium. Personally, I’m hoping they’ll play her 2009 classic, You Belong With Me. What can I say? I’m a sucker for her old stuff.
The Chiefs’ Director of Football Operations, David Dollarseinz, is excited about the upcoming changes. However, the team’s head coach, Andy Reid, was a bit more muted in his assessment, asking, “What’s next? Will we start having Taylor Swift call into the huddle to suggest plays?” In response, Mr. Dollarseinz replied, “Love that idea.Do you think she’d be open to that, coach?”
Tight end Travis Kelce seen here looking at his helmet, annoyed to see that it doesn’t have Taylor’s face on it. “Hey, Coach Reid, what gives? And you forgot to get it signed by Taylor. What’s up with that, dude?”
One thing many people know about Taylor Swift is her extensive history of short-term relationships with famous celebrities, most ending in under 4 months – and in the case of actor Zac Efron, in 3 days, 11 hours and 17 minutes. When asked whether he had any concerns that Taylor might break up with Travis up after just a couple months, Chiefs Director of Communications, Spike Puntington, paused before saying, “Um, I wish you’d mentioned this before we’d painted SWIFT NEST on the stadium in 50 ft. tall gold leaf lettering. But, hey, if they break up, I’ll just introduce her to Patrick Mahomes. He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
Good luck, Traylor. Or Swelce. Or whatever you guys prefer to be called. And Taylor, I’d love to join you at half-time at an upcoming game. I’m your biggest fan.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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Black smoke emerges again from the Capitol’s chimney – a sign that a new Speaker has not yet been chosen.
For the past several weeks, the U.S. House of Representatives has been a House Divided. That’s because a group of representatives voted to remove Kevin McCarthy as Speaker. This had never happened before in the 247 years of our nation’s existence. The mutiny came from the far-right “Freedom Caucus,” led by Florida Congressman Matt Gaetz (unanimously selected by his colleagues to spearhead the one-person You Can’t Sit With Us Caucus)
Republicans are desperately searching for someone – anyone – whom the entire caucus can rally around. But so far, their efforts have floundered. Conservative pundits had expected the Speaker’s mantle would be passed to the longtime Trump ally / attack dog, Ohio Congressman Jim Jordan. But after three rounds of balloting, it became clear that Mr. Charisma was not going to meet the required 217 vote threshold. This was caused in part by the fact several moderate Republican colleagues considered Jordan to be – how can we put this delicately – an arrogant, pompous, bullying, narcissistic horse’s ass.
Prior to his defeat, most conservative House members gave Jordan high marks for his steadfast refusal ever to vote in support of any piece of legislation proposed by any Democrat. His record of refusing to work across the aisle is unrivaled.
Jordan achieved a well-earned reputation for his unyielding loyalty to the 45th president, as demonstrated by his tireless work to help Trump attempt to overturn the 2020 election. But perhaps most importantly, Jordan had won plaudits from his ardent constituents for his unwavering unwillingness to bow to pressure from disgruntled Democrats who chided him to “please put on a Goddamn jacket for once in your life.”
For the moment, the House continues to be Speakerless. Because of the crisis, House Republicans have officially changed the name of their caucus to the “Chaos Caucus.” With Jordan now officially out of the running, Republicans, also affectionately known as the “The Coup Clutz Clan,” have expanded their search for a possible speaker. In the past few days, several surprising names have surfaced to take Kevin McCarthy’s place:
Kevin McCarthy: Several House members have suggested simply going back to the previous speaker. On the positive side, he has more experience as Speaker than any of the other names being floated. On the downside, he’s Kevin McCarthy.
Donald Trump: The ex-president’s name has been frequently circulated on social media. His favorables include widespread name recognition and the helpful fact that every Republican Congressperson is terrified of pissing him off. One possible minor drawback to his candidacy is figuring out how he would oversee House proceedings from his jail cell. Supporters are furiously raising donations to ensure he has a good phone plan in prison, one with unlimited texting and data.
The effort to find a Speaker of the House to replace Kevin McCarthy has devolved into a chaotic, messy, contentious fight that has torn apart the Republican Party. On the plus side, the government has completely shut down, which is one of the key goals of many Republican members of Congress.
George Santos: Admittedly one of the more controversial characters in the Republican party, Santos threw his hat in the ring despite being under a 23-count federal indictment – or maybe because of it. While his felony count total pales in comparison to the 45th president, many MAGA Republicans point out that it’s an excellent start, given his short time in office. A dark horse candidate for sure, don’t count him out just yet, thanks in part to the Purple Heart he says he was posthumously awarded for courageously serving on the front lines in Ukraine’s battle for freedom, and because he is the first man ever to walk on Mars.
Abraham Lincoln: On the plus side, Honest Abe, the first Republican ever to win the White House, is probably the most universally admired president in American history. He held our union together in its darkest hours during the Civil War. One significant drawback to his candidacy may be the fact he’s been dead for 158 years. However, nearly 40% of likely Republican primary voters believe Abe is still alive and should run on a unity ticket for president with JFK. However, Lincoln was not known to be a supporter of building the wall to keep out the Mexicans, so that could hurt his chances slightly,
Jesus Christ: Although our Savior, like Lincoln, is widely believed to be dead, there have been countless claims of Jesus sightings year after year. My neighbor Bert Higgins is fairly sure he saw him coming out of a 7-Eleven in South Philly. Still, Christ’s notorious tendency to provide handouts to the poor and needy, along with his leftist radical clothing choices, along with his hippielike affinity for long hair and a beard, may cement JC in the minds of key Republican voters as too woke and a socialist who’s soft on crime. He was also reportedly once Jewish, which won’t help his chances in the Bible Belt.
Vladimir Putin: As Marjorie Taylor Greene recently pointed out, the Constitution is silent about whether the Speaker must be an American citizen (unless you count that ambiguous text in Article I, Section 2, Clause 2, which reads, “No Person shall be a Representative who shall not have …been seven Years a Citizen of the United States”]. Trump, an ardent admirer of his Russian boss, has highlighted that Putin is way smarter than Biden and someone he’d emulate if he is ever restored to his rightful throne (he means presidency). Also, have you seen Putin on a horse without his shirt on? Talk about sexy!
Elmer Fudd: Admittedly a longshot, this TV celebrity checks off several important boxes the Trump base looks for in a candidate: white, male, good ole boy from the deep south, and a strident PRO GUN advocate. A favorite of the NRA. Fudd has long taken a no-nonsense stance against crime (especially any mischief caused by wascally wabbits). He supports building the wall to keep out Mexicans and other rodents.
Some Republicans have raised the idea of selecting this Roomba robot vacuum cleaner to be the next speaker. Because one of its wheels fell off, it ONLY goes to the RIGHT – something most R’s see as a big plus.
Commander: Some members of the Clown Car Party, as Republicans have come to be known, have suggested thinking further outside the box. A few have even floated the name of Commander, President Biden’s German Shepherd. It appears Commander, while for the most part unapologetically apolitical, holds strong views on defense (of his toys). As a bonus, he’s reportedly bit President Biden and several prominent Democrats on multiple occasions, which the Republican base argues proves he wants to Make America Great Again. The only question at this point is whether he’s had his shots.
So, who will come out on top in the race for Speaker of the House? Well-respected members of the newly named “House of Cards” say it’s too soon to tell. But they continue to be optimistic that a unifying candidate will eventually emerge.
And as soon as that person pounds the Speaker’s gavel, their first order of business will be to shut down the government once and for all – until the Democrats finally acquiesce to their very reasonable demand to reinstate Trump as president and overlord.
Personally, my money is on Commander. Everybody loves dogs.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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When I reached the age of 60, my body started requiring several new replacement parts. So, recently, I’ve endured some of the unique joys of aging: knee replacement surgery, colonoscopies, and most recently, cataract surgery. And they call these the Golden Years? Yeah, right!
I’ve never claimed to be the bravest man in the world. I never served in combat zones like both my parents did. That said, I’d like to point out I did attend an all-boys’ military school (grades 7 – 12) in which I had to march with a gun in several parades. So, that’s on par with serving in ‘Nam or Iraq, don’t you think?
I’m pretty sure I’ll never win the Pulitzer Prize in Courage. (Or is it the Nobel Prize? I always get those two confused.) For decades, I’ve struggled with two longstanding crippling phobias. First, there’s my chronic fear of snakes. If you want to know why, just read my article called I HATE SNAKES.
But my single greatest fear is my morbid anxiety about anything – or anyone – possibly slicing into one of my eyeballs. Okay, make that my second greatest fear. I just remembered my terrifying fear that Trump might actually get re-elected for a second term. But a close second has to be my eyeball phobia. In fact, just typing the word “eyeball” makes me a little queasy.
How severe is my phobia? I’ve worn glasses for the past 25 years. In all that time not once did I ever consider switching to contacts. Just the thought of peeling contact lenses off my eyes grosses me out. To this day, I still can’t go anywhere near a pier where people are fishing for fear someone will cast their line and somehow hook my eyeball.
Recently, it all came to a head – make that an eyeball. That’s because ten years ago, my ophthalmologist told me I had early stage cataracts in both eyes. Eventually I was going to require surgery. If you’re curious as to exactly what happens during cataract surgery, don’t ask me. Go look it up yourself. I don’t have the stomach to read the graphic details of what actually happens during this procedure. I’d probably faint before I reached the third paragraph.
On the cover of the eyecare firm’s brochure it shows a smiling older woman supposedly happy to have regained her youthful eyesight. But tucked away towards the far back is a section with the header “MAJOR RISKS OF CATARACT SURGERY” (these exact words). These include swelling, infection, double vision, droopy eyelids, something called ghost images – the list of possible adverse side effects and complications goes on for several paragraphs. And then the copy sneaks in at the end, “and in rare instances, blindness or even death.” Holy crap! What did I just sign up for?
I am so squeamish about anything dealing with my eyes that I even have trouble looking at a Magic 8 Ball toy – because it reminds me too much of a human eyeball. I know, something’s wrong with me.
For weeks leading up to my surgery, several supportive friends told me they’d had the same procedure, that it was a breeze, and how glad they are that they did it. I learned the typical cataract surgery only takes 20 to 45 minutes – so, roughly the same amount of time it takes Domino’s to deliver my cheese-stuffed pizza.
I want to thank all the kind people who gave me calming words of encouragement. This list, however, does NOT include my racquetball buddy Raymond, who told me – and I’m not making this up – “I hope your doctor isn’t Dr. Witherspoon. He lost his license after he caused several people to go blind as a result of his botched surgeries.” Raymond decided he’d share this traumatizing story precisely one day before I went in for my operation. Thanks, buddy.
Here’s a fun fact sure to keep you awake at night if you’re contemplating cataract surgery: You’re CONSCIOUS during the entire procedure as they slice into your eyeball. Well, sort of. You’re sedated, but technically you’re still awake. That’s because they need to keep you conscious in order to ask you important questions like, “Are you feeling any pain?” and “Which eye did you want us to remove today?” and “Did you remember to sign the liability release form when you checked in today in the off chance Dr. Witherspoon is still hungover and things take a turn for the worse during the procedure?” At least that’s what Raymond told me.
Every year since that initial diagnosis, my eye doctor has reminded me the dreaded day was coming. Last week, after ten years, that frightful day finally arrived. I went in for cataract surgery on my right eye. And in two weeks – assuming I haven’t gone blind, died, or fled the area in a panic – I’m scheduled to go in for the other eye.
You should see what I did to the other guy! Uh, no, not really. This is a selfie I took the next morning after my cataract surgery. I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking: “Tim, I’ve never seen you look better.” Um, thanks.
Thankfully, they drugged me up so much that I had no idea what was going on during my procedure. But just to be on the safe side, as they prepped me, I described my extreme anxiety to the attending anesthesiologist and asked her to administer the maximum “knockout” dosage medically permitted. If it might accidentally cause me to lose my memory of all events that occurred since the year 2016, I told her I was totally okay with that.
I would now like to describe in gory, graphic detail exactly what they did to me in that operating room… but I can’t. Because I don’t remember a thing. Later that day, other than a very mild achiness around my eye, I felt totally fine. The doctor was a miracle worker.
He told me afterwards that I should not lift anything over 25 pounds or extend any significant physical effort for the next two weeks. Of course, I relayed to my wife that the doctor said to avoid any unpleasant physical labor for the next six months. So, it looks like this husband just got out of having to change the cat litter boxes and take out the trash for the foreseeable future – out of an abundance of precaution, mind you.
I just emailed my ophthalmologist to ask him if he could write a letter indicating it’s also not medically safe for me to empty the dishwasher, rake the leaves, make the bed, or assemble the gas grill during this time. I’d just hate for anything to set back my recovery.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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Most Canadians carry grudges for a long time. This is a scene from the War of 1812, fought near Montreal, in which the US navy kicked their butt. Canadians still hold a grudge because the Americans won this battle – and didn’t pick up their trash.
For years, people have screamed BUILD THAT WALL! Ever since Donald Trump became our nation’s Grifter-In-Chief in 2016, millions of Americans have been in a constant state of panic that our country’s borders were being overrun by Mexicans – or worse yet – Liberals. But they’ve all been looking the wrong direction. The region we most desperately need to secure is not our southern border. It’s our northern one – with Canada.
Oh sure, at first blush Canadians seem like nice, friendly, even-tempered folk. It’s all a ruse. Don’t fall for it. I should know. I made the egregious mistake of marrying a Canadian. We’ve been married for 36 years – and I still don’t trust her. At night she steals most of the covers and the next morning acts like she has no idea how that happened. Sure, sweetie. Sure…
Did you know that, at over 5,500 miles in length, the USA – Canada border is the longest unprotected border in the world? For the vast majority of this stretch, there is nothing separating the two nations other than a few thousand well-maintained Canadian backyard hedges to block their nefarious attack on our sacred soil.
Here’s a fact that should terrify you: In the past 250 years, more than 90% of Canada’s population has quietly amassed within 100 miles of the American border. Why is it that they’re all huddled so close to us? The answer’s obvious: They’re all freezing to death. They plan to invade the USA mainly to get warm – and to erect Tim Horton’s Donut Shoppes all over this once great land.
You may say I’m overreacting. I say you haven’t been paying close enough attention. One day soon you might discover that your innocent young child is being taught in school that the proper spelling is “colour” and “labour” and “theatre.” And they’ll tell you it’s 9 degrees outside. But that’s Celsius, so who really knows how cold it is? Do you want that for your children’s future?
Do me a favour, I mean, favor, and WAKE UP – before it’s too late. Canadians have long been jealous of Americans. They resent us for having more money, better football teams, and better beer. Okay, I’ve just been informed by my Canadian wife that Canada has better beer. But I’m not going to apologize for my error by saying, “Sorry, eh?” That’s what Canadians do all the time. Apologize. Canucks are annoyingly polite.
Canadians are highly skilled at curling. This is a curling stone. It could also be used as a weapon in hand-to-hand combat. If you’ve ever been hit in the head by one of these stones, you’d never forget it. The pain is excruciating.
Make no mistake. Our northern neighbors are preparing to invade us. Okay, I hear you countering with, “Hey, but didn’t Canada outlaw the sale of handguns and assault weapons? So won’t we have far superior weapons to defend ourselves?” Okay, so technically, you’re right about that. But in Canada, they have nine months of winter. As a result, they have accumulated the world’s largest stockpile of unregistered snowballs. And their Zamboni ice rink machines will crush you if you don’t get out of their way as they saunter towards you at 3 miles per hour.
Don’t think the Canadians won’t do it. They’re still pissed about the War of 1812, between Great Britain and the young United States – I forget which year it took place. Much of the war was fought on Canadian soil, and frankly, the American soldiers made a mess of several Canadian towns and villages and refused to pick up their litter. Most Canadians have not forgotten. And earlier this year, the USA women’s hockey team defeated the Canadian women’s team 6-3 in the 2023 Women’s World Hockey Championship. Our women beat theirs in their national pastime. So, yeah, Canadians have an axe to grind with Americans. It’s time to keep your kids safe inside your home because the invasion could be imminent.
Where exactly might the first wave of Canadian Mounties mount their attack? Experts have several theories. Perhaps, they might try a sneak attack by way of Niagara Falls. Personally, I doubt it, because it’s extremely hard to fit a Mounty into one of those wooden barrels, let alone their horse.
My best guess? Point Roberts, Washington State. Never heard of it? Neither had I until recently. Turns out Point Roberts is an exclave – the ONLY place in the entire lower 48 states where in order for an American to get there, they must travel through Canada. That’s because it sits at the bottom of a tiny appendage of land jutting out from Canada just below the 49th parallel. [See map below.] With no airport or ferry service, you can only get there from the rest of Washington state by car – which requires you to drive through British Columbia before re-entering a USA border crossing at Point Roberts.
See that sliver of land hanging down from Canada? That’s Point Roberts, WA. Canadians feel the border was drawn wrong and that the USA ripped them off by stealing this chunk of their land. And they’re itching to get it back.
I recently visited Point Roberts. I have to say, our border security there is non-existent. The most meaningful barrier to entry from Canada into Point Roberts is a trampoline set in Harriet Wilson’s backyard. Its side netting is very tall. Otherwise, you literally can walk right through the border, about as easily as my annoying neighbor Bert Higgins can meander into my backyard to let his dog take a crap on my lawn.
Point Roberts is a tiny sliver of American soil, not even five square miles in size. Only 1,100 people live there. A sleepy, tranquil, mostly forested peninsula with only one grocery store, one restaurant, and for reasons I don’t understand, three bowling alleys. But in my extensive research for this article (which consisted of googling “facts about Point Roberts”), to my shock and horror, I learned that Canadians own 75 percent of the properties in Point Roberts, USA. They’re pissed that the USA grabbed this miniscule slice of Canada and they want it back – but they are quick to point out they’re in no hurry, America. Canadians are every bit as patient as they are polite.
Not to alarm you further, but the invasion has already begun. Most American news networks have refused to cover this story. But before long, Canadians will quietly, politely be buying up property in border states like Washington, Wisconsin, Montana, Maine, Minnesota and Michigan – pretty much any state beginning with the letters M or W. But it won’t end with those letters, I assure you. I’m talking to you, Vermont!
This is an actual photo of the border between Point Roberts, USA (left) and Tsawwassen, Canada (right). It is literally divided by just this ten-inch concrete barrier. Totally impenetrable – if you were a tortoise or a clam.
While millions of MAGA hatters keep screaming about building a wall to keep out the Mexicans and LGBTQ+ supporters, Canadians will sneakily be pouring over our northern border riding astride their pet moose or polar bears. And then one morning you’ll wake up to learn that our national meal of pizza has been replaced by something called poutine, a fattening French Canadian meal of French Fries, cheese curds, and gravy. Disgusting.
It’s high time we built that high wall to keep out the ravenous Canadian horde. Don’t worry, we’ll make them pay for it. And since the Canadian dollar is worth only 76 cents US, it won’t cost them nearly as much to build. So, a win-win.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
Recently I competed in a pickleball tournament. That’s me on the far right. As you can plainly see, I WON A MEDAL. Admittedly, mine was for 25th place, but my wife doesn’t need to know that. If she asks you, back up my story that I took FIRST PLACE.
Recently, I signed up for my very first pickleball tournament. Previous to that the last time I participated in a formal athletic competition of any kind, Richard Nixon was our nation’s Commander-in-Chief. In case you’re curious what that previous sporting event was, it was a high school swim meet. I did the backstroke. I came in fourth, barely missing establishing a new school record for fastest time in the 100-meter backstroke by a mere 57 seconds. That was fifty years ago.
I signed up for our local pickleball association’s Labor Day Pickleball Tournament. I decided to throw my hat into the ring in part because in the official promotion on the website I read that several winners would win a new CAR. It was only after I arrived at the tournament that on a closer re-read, I discovered that I had misread the part about “several players will win a new CAP.” I’m starting to think I might be slightly dyslexic, I’m not sure.
The entry fee was only $20 – an extremely reasonable price for the opportunity to spend three and a half hours being repeatedly reminded how much I suck at pickleball. The doubles tournament format was Round Robin, which means for each new game you’re paired with a different partner. This afforded me the chance to meet lots of new people, not to mention enjoy playing seven different matches against a wide variety of competitors who took turns demonstrating how far superior they were at this sport than I was. Thanks, everybody! You all taught me the greatest sports lesson of all – humility.
At first, I felt pretty good about my chances. I was returning almost every shot my opponents sent my way. But then I was informed that this was just the pre-game warm-up, when people were supposed to gently dink the ball over the net. Once the games officially got underway, I was caught off guard by how hard the other players routinely hit the ball at me. It was almost as if all my opponents deliberately wanted me to lose. That’s not very sportsmanlike, if you ask me.
This may come as a shock to some of my regular readers, but, as with most sports, I’m not that good at pickleball. Over time, I’ve concluded that my primary role in just about any match I play in any sport is to make my opponent feel much better about their own athletic prowess. I am very good at this. So, no, I didn’t win the tournament. My dreams of winning a cap, much less a car, vanished quickly.
In my defense, the only reason I did not don the King’s Crown – or Queen’s Crown (just trying to avoid accusations of coming across as sexist) – as the tournament champion at the conclusion of the event was my relative lack of speed, power, accuracy, endurance, or any semblance of a strategy. Personally, I feel I more than made up for my severe athletic deficiencies with my above-average penmanship, good posture, and noteworthy personal hygiene. But apparently the judges didn’t take any of these into consideration in awarding the crown. So unfair.
In retrospect, I’m confident I would have fared better in the final rankings had I only remembered to stop at the bank beforehand to take out cash to bribe the judges. I believe I could have swayed at least a couple of them to alter the results had I just slipped a couple of crisp Andrew Jackson’s into their pockets.
This is me during one of the seven matches I played in this round robin doubles event. I remember that at this moment I was thinking, “I sure hope they serve ice cream at this event.” My partner was probably thinking, “How did I get paired with this loser?”
I’m pleased to report that in this tourney, everyone was a winner. Even me! Every participant was awarded a medal. In my case, I believe mine must have been for “perfect attendance.” That’s the only plausible explanation I can come up with for how I earned a medal. Of course, when I got home, and my wife saw the medal around my neck, I may have slightly exaggerated when I told her my medal was for First Place. For the first time in a long time, she was actually proud of me. Please don’t tell her I lied, okay? I’d hate to disappoint her.
“Then does this mean you won the new car you told me about in the brochure?” she asked excitedly. I didn’t have the heart to deflate her enthusiasm by explaining that I had misread the word “cap” as “car.” So, I told her, “Yes, that’s right, honey. It should arrive in four to six weeks.” By then I’m sure she will have forgotten all about it. Problem avoided.
I learned several valuable lessons from my first official sport competition since I began shaving back in 1973. First, it’s not just about winning. It’s about showing up and participating. Second, if I ever enter another pickleball tournament, I probably should take a few lessons to improve my game. And third, I should know better than to insult the judges by trying to pay them off with $20 bills. I’ll need to step up my game and offer them a few Benjamin’s instead. Those judges aren’t cheap.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
