It's true. I don't have a Ferrari. I do have a Ford Mustang tho--you know, from a company that was fond of turning water hoses, and god knows what else, lose on hungry, out of work, laborers; yeah that company. It is also true that I, like most of you, have no idea what Thomas is really saying. Much like Woody Harrelson's character from White men can't Jump, I only listen to Thomas, very rarely, if ever, can I hear him. I'm assured by those in the "know" (Thomas himself) that what he says is prophetic, and therefore, I listen on.
So here (sigh), on this digital piece of paper, I admit the obvious, Thomas was lucky as hell. Lucky that Notre Dame Basketball did its best Notre Dame Football impersonation and choked away a golden (nice play on words, eh?) chance to thrash WSU, IU (stop laughing, it could happen. I'll put it like this, did you know that Knight Rider is back? If they can bring this show back, again; then yes, Virginia, Notre Dame could have won the National Championship in Basketball), and ultimately "BBQ" (my nickname for the Memphis Tigers).
So glory and this year's Bracket Challenge Trophy goes to Thomas (We need some sort of Trophy; maybe an upside down "hook 'em horns" hat?).
And yes, I am mad as hell that he has a Ferrari.
GJ)
50-48 #28: A BRIEF RESPONSE TO MESSR JENSEN, FULL AS HE IS OF THE COCKSURE GRACE OF YOUTH
You see folks? That's what I'm talking about. In the now-immortal words of Saul of Tarsus, beset as he was by the blinding light of God on the dusty road to Damascus, "It takes a big man to admit he's a small man."
In keeping with the full brunt of this metaphor, I will now declare myself God. Jensen gets to be Saul, which isn't a bad runner-up prize, since Saul, nee Paul, gets WAY more action in that New Testament than God could ever hope for. (Yes, I know I dangled a participle. Shut it.)
Though I must say I'm a bit discouraged that the divine message isn't getting through. While I appreciate that my apostles are taking the prophecy on faith, I--like those prophets who have come before me (David Koresh, Charles Manson, Doris Day, et al.)--wish it was sinking in a bit better. Pretty soon I'm going to have to burn down my compound, or kill a houseful of beautiful people, or star in a series of light-hearted, romantic comedy romps.
So brace yourselves. If we aren't careful, we all might be in for a hegira of one form or another.
50-48
Fuck Texas
WPS
[AUTHOR'S NOTE, PARTICULARLY AIMED AT THOSE WHO DO NOT LIVE IN LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA: No, I did not really get a Ferrari. That was part of what the art department would call the "picture plane." It was a contrivance to advance the magical fairy story that I concocted to demonstrate my dominance of Jensen. I did, however, manage to rent a choice Hyundai Elantra this weekend. Like a Ferrari, it has four wheels, a combustion engine, and a variety of doo-dads to keep a driver satisfactorily occupied. And chicks dig it. If you take nothing else away from this weekend's 50-48s, let it be this: Ladies love the Hyundai Elantra. It's like Old Spice and Oprah Winfrey all rolled into one.]
Good lord. How did I get from taunting Jensen to Oprah Winfrey? What route could I have possibly taken that would get me from THAT point A to THAT point B? Oh, wait. It was this one:
The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost, 1920)
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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