For those of you who read me for soccer only - who hate the politics, hate the other stuff - and who've bookmarked or blogrolled or readered me at the DCU category level, I've moved HERE and set up a label DCU so you can do the same there.
Long story short: typepad can't do what blogger does re: make blogging easier for me. I'm selfish this way. Thanks in advance for tagging along.
I'm amused and fascinated by the firestorm in the NFL over players, who are taught from pee-wee to high school to college to the pros that spectacular hits are the road to getting paid, suddenly being told they can't do what they've been trained and coached and paid to do (there's profit in those spectator hits) and worse, having the characters impugned by the very owners who pay them for (and profit by) the spectacular hits. It’s as if the viciousness the league has inculcated and marketed for decades is suddenly endangered by its own reckless success; it’s not surprising the owners seek to punish the players for the players' moral failure in carrying out the orders of the owners.
The NFL owners and its players union after this season will almost certainly have a labor stoppage, probably an owners' lockout, and I've heard predictions that the owners' insistence that the players give back every single penny of debt the owners racked up themselves on stupid contracts and debt service will result in the cancellation of the entire season. The owners who today cry about helmet-to-helmet hits will in the next sentence extol the benefit of an 18 game schedule on 16 game pay. Concern with labor's problems runs that deep.
Fine metaphors abound! DC afternoon rush, local sports radio, the Conservative of the two hosts, on issue after issue between the players and the owners, agrees with motherfucking me! If it was the teachers union, if it was coal-miners, if it was the union that cleans his hotel room while he's on location at the Super Bowl, guess which side he's on. Janitors don't entertain him.
Watching the NFL owners fuck up one of the few money-making cash cows left in Bubbleville will be as educational as enjoyable. Watch, listen: an empire imploding, America in a terrarium.
We saw Connecticut College in bright daylight, not dismal downpour like the first time last Spring. It's a beautiful, compact campus. Planet has a friend who's a freshman, so she took a student's eye tour with him while Earthgirl and I walked the paths of the college's arboretum. Apparently New England's summer was a drought and the leaves are dull versus the usual New England fabulous, but the arboretum was still beautiful, and if I was a Conn College student, I know where I'd be studying whenever the weather is warm.
Bowdoin, not as pretty as Conn College in sunlight much less in a downpour like Friday, Planet interviewing for more than an hour with an actual admissions officer, versus Conn College in brilliant sunshine on a perfect fall day, Planet interviewing for twenty awkward minutes with some ditzy senior?
Bowdoin, which can choose any student it wants, goes to greater effort in making prospective students (and their parents) feel wanted than Conn College, which makes its profit on the kids Bowdoin rejects. Of all the ways I find metaphors to celebrate my complicity, and I find them everywhere, including this paragraph, this is the best stinger I've discovered since the last one and until the next.
I believe I've succeeded at pissing off everyone sufficiently that neither place are being read, but if you're Kind and so inclined, please adjust your bookmarks, blogrolls, and/or readers to the new place. I recognize it's a pain-in-the-ass, and thank you accordingly.