From the inception of this blog a year-and-a-half ago, posting has been a contest of will, as in will I or won’t I write about a certain subject. My hesitancy to enter this modern-day fray and interruptions in scheduled weekly postings caused by living life—the latest a brief trip to Colorado—have only exacerbated my ambiguity.
As stated in my first entry in August 2013, my intent was to limit the subject matter to writing, music, history, politics, and the tawdry underbelly, while avoiding Twitter-esque, personal prattle.
Yes, I thought, I will rise above the egotistical revelation of daily events, directing my thoughts to the examination of significant and weighty issues of the day.
That noble commitment faded rapidly, and today, as I struggled to focus on a singular pithy issue, I found myself toying with a shotgun array of topics ranging from the substantive to self. Torn with indecision, I’m ceding to the evil of Twitter-type blasts:
* Black History month just ended, and yesterday we recognized International Women’s Day. In drawing singular, calendar focus to the substance underlying these designations, do we demean their import by relegating them to Valentine’s Day status?
* Archie Manning was a chump and his youngest son, Eli, a whiny little turd, when they joined to intercede in the NFL draft by demanding special treatment in the 2004 draft. Yes, I’m still pissed about that, but wouldn’t you be if it meant forcing a trade for Ryan Leaf?
* It’s time to get over my decade of disgust with everything Manning and admit that Peyton has been a great quarterback. Hmm. Maybe the Manning’s milkman made the difference one morning when Archie was leading New Orléans nowhere.
* It’s a pleasure to see how hockey on the west coast has matured since the Kings snagged Gretzky. This past month, we had the pleasure of enjoying an AHL Gulls game in San Diego before venturing to Fort Collins, where we took in an ECHL Colorado Eagles contest. What a pleasant and far cry from when the Warwick Brothers—think Slap Shot’s Hansons—roared into the Spokane Coliseum wrecking havoc with sticks and fists.
* Finally, I can’t imagine this country being led by a “President Trump” but, as a journalist, my mouth is watering. It’s like having a ring-side seat to an inevitable train wreck.