Recently Written 01/13/08
The Games Reflecting, this Sunday twilight, I realize I've spent the entire weekend dropping out, Watching the NFL quarter-final playoffs,
Sharing, vicariously, in the uncontainably intense passion Of athletes my age and younger Performing mystifying feats of physical legerdemain
And running at, crashing into, each other, With complete disregard for their fragile bones, As though the sheer momentum of collective epic battle
Were all that really mattered, Proving they were up to the herculean rigors Of going beyond their limits, to defeat mortality.
And now, at this empty hour, After Saturday's and Sunday's decisive games Have winnowed down the eight surviving teams to four,
Who will play, in next week's two contests, For the championship of each conference, I ask myself what possible lasting value
Could accrue to me, from my passive participation, The assault of those ads, truncating the action, The insipid "color" commentary between plays, And I come up woefully inadequate At satisfying a deep need to account for my decision To stay in front of the TV, two whole days.
So why, then, am I already anticipating, craving The coming Saturday and Sunday, When four teams will be notched down to two,
Who will be rewarded with a rest week, Before taking to the roll-out grass, deafening decibels, To determine the "best of the best" — Super Bowl champ?
Could it be that I'm just a couch-spud glutton For other people's punishment, And that tuning in is how I turn on and drop out?
01/13/08
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