Yours truly has never been politically correct and never will be. In my opinion, that's a pseudo language for the wimpy people that are afraid to face the literal truth. But to do that, one must also be able to apply it to them self.
That patch on the back of my head doesn't represent a follicly challenged gene I inherited from my father. It's a bald spot.
I'm not in my twilight or golden years. I'm getting old. Considering all the stupid things I did over the years, it's probably a miracle I lived this long. Many of my smarter friends weren't so fortunate.
There's a reason why this author is about 20 pounds overweight. It's called too much food and not enough exercise. Forget all the magical diet solutions over the years that shysters have made millions from by preying on the lazy people. That's what it's always boiled down to. Which brings me to.....
The NCAA women's hoops game between Washington and Syracuse. There was WAY too much fat going on.
Did you see that girl on the Washington team? She went way beyond "Huskie" -- and more resembled a tank rumbling up and down the floor. Might have weighed about the same too. Whatever it is she's been eating needs to come in much smaller portions. You could time her in the 40 with a sundial. The poor thing couldn't even jump. Most tanks can't. That raises a question. How in the world did such a Washington team make it to the Final Four? They were terrible and rightly got drubbed by 29 points against what looked to be a slightly better than average Syracuse team.
Oh my. Check out the size of that breathless on-court reporter catching a quickie interview with a coach or player during the game. No wonder she was breathless. We're talking some serious fat here. This is the kind of person that strikes terror in the hearts of all-you-can-eat restaurants if they can manage to squeeze through the front door and start chowing down once their girthness has found a seating arrangement that can accommodate them.
Hey, I don't want to hear about "altitudinally challenged" people. They're short. Forget "sightless". It's blind. And spare me the whiny lecture regarding those that are ever-so-slightly consciously impaired. Bull. There ain't no fixing stupid any more than there is getting politicians to put their self-serving partisanship aside and work for the greater good of the American people. It just is what it is.
On another note, one Scottie Pippen needs to shut up. We remember Scottie as being on the Chicago Bulls' teams that won so many championships back in the 90s. Now the Pipster has come out and said his former Bulls team would sweep the current Golden State Warriors that are challenging their all-time best regular season record. Maybe. Or maybe it would go the other way.
That's the way it seems to be with retired jocks. They always think their old-time version of whatever game they played was the best. But they couldn't be more wrong. Every generation of players is better than the last, let alone those from decades ago. Tiger was better than Jack -- just for not as long. Novac Djokovic would obliterate Bjorn Borg, much less Rod Laver in their primes. Lebron's a far superior player than Jordan ever was. How do you think Chris Evert would have fared against Serena Williams? Hockey legend Gordie Howe likely wouldn't even make it onto an NHL roster these days. Too slow. Big time boxers of yesteryear would get carved up like Thanksgiving turkeys in the ring in modern times by vastly superior pugilists. Once upon a time an NFL player weighing over 300 pounds was a rarity. Nowadays, it's almost a minimum requirement for any offensive lineman. And many of these guys can run faster than running backs could in days long past.
Bigger, stronger, faster, and with much more sophisticated training and coaching regimens than in the past. They're just better. And the next generation will be better yet.
So Scottie needs to give us a break and shut up. Like Tiger Woods, he and the Bulls had their years of dominance, but it's irrelevant today. It's over. The current Warriors (and Spurs) would take his best team(s) from the past, chew them up and spit them out like a purebred dog would a rancid milk bone. It's not even a close call. He sounds like a little mouse that gnawed on sour grapes and is belly-aching accordingly. Dare we call him a -- Pip-squeak?
And BTW, in case I was a bit vague in the examples mentioned above -- fat always was and will be exactly that.
Fat.
Period.
No comments:
Post a Comment