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11/06/08 - (1)
Fear
Last night, a balmy, breezy November evening, I attended a sectional-round game Of Missouri's Class 4 high-school-football playoffs, Between the Normandy Vikings and the MICDS Rams, On a neutral field not a mile from my apartment.
A stark distinction immediately greeted me And every spectator in the packed stadium bleachers: The Vikings, to a man, were black; The Rams, with a few African-American exceptions, Consisted of white players.
Call it social myopia, deeply ingrained bias Rising from my youth, fifty, sixty years ago. I confess that, as I assessed Normandy's squad, One immediate reflex blindsided me: fear — Dark, ominous, monstrously large, dangerous specters.
The game was, to my delight, surprisingly evenly matched, Tightly fought — 7–7, at halftime. At the beginning of the third quarter, The Vikings struck first, as they had early in the game, Only to be matched, again, by the Rams.
With five minutes left, MICDS scored. Normandy strove, ferociously, to tie the contest But failed to force an overtime. Both teams filed past each other, shaking hands — Red- and white-uniformed boys honoring their struggle. As I watched, all I could think of was Barack Obama, The night before, thanking America, For having given him the extraordinary mandate To lead it from the bondage of its tortured heritage, Out of a place dark, ominous, monstrously large, dangerous.
11/06/08 - (1)
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