A worthy gridiron rival recently shamed alma mater on national television. That’s great. It’s just the sort of trip/fall/lose-that-ball pie in the face which should prompt donations from already alligator-armed fellow alums.
Eh. Probably not.
What resulted fell into the tiger pit of unintended consequences and receiving just desserts. Prestige game as it was, if Arizona administration had treated outside forces with less deference and considered the homefolks above mammon, it may’ve improved the squad’s chances of victory. Surely less embarrassment would’ve ensued.
My school went for the cash. The do-re-mi, baby. A major sports network dangled a big bag of money before the accountants who today determine the athletic department’s direction. Bottom-line nabobs as they are lucre trumped the old virtues. Any old virtues. No one even bothered with lip service about “the fans.”
So making greed is good palatable, that Saturday also became an opportunity to promote the university’s “brand.” Just the sort of fresh-scented aerosol which ought have allayed most of the unsavory stink. Continue reading Sometimes a Quaint Notion
The first two weekends of September were prime times to observe a Las Vegas peculiarity.
During workweeks the city hosts conventions which attract the expense account crowd. There will be other visitors as well, of course, however business people predominate.
Weekends, though, the focus shifts away from serious travelers. Las Vegas becomes the purview and playground of “Vegas for Vegas!” types. Young coastal Californians account for the greatest portion of these hordes.
No doubt the overwhelming majority of these youthful adults comport themselves inconspicuously. But this isn’t about them. This is about the oblivious boobs and braying cheapskates jamming Las Vegas Boulevard when they’re not cutting the fool inside the thoroughfare’s establishments.
I don’t know what service personnel and hoteliers call them, but I see them as chumps and busters. Continue reading Chumps & Busters
While rummaging and discarding, I came across photos of Chantal. We met what must’ve been a whole ‘nother lifetime ago.
Ours was the most casual of fleeting acquaintances. In 2006, I attended a World Cup soccer match in Germany. Or eventually intended reaching Germany in order to watch Ukraine against Switzerland. To say I detoured stretches the phrase “taking the long way.”
First into London, then through the Chunnel into Belgium and a dogleg into Holland which would finally funnel me into Germany. The trip was, after all, for pleasure. In early June when Old Europe remained temperate to American skin and this Yankee had no need to insist every interior to be airy and artificial.
Frankly I’d forgotten Chantal. We’d been one another’s one-night stands. Or, she’d certainly been my one-nighter, while I suppose I sufficed as her any port in a storm. Continue reading At the Philosopher Hotel