Popes, Presents, and Nebulas

Pope John Paul dropped a bomb on the 2024 presidential race, stating that the American voter "is facing a choice between the lesser of two evils... one candidate chases away the migrants, the other one wants to kill children." 

A billion people worldwide devoutly follow this leader of the Catholic Church; tens of millions in America alone. His message delves deeper than the mere threats and cajoling of politicians. There are no monies, armies, or weaponry driving his point - simply his conscience and ours. 

Have we ever heard a pope say such a thing out loud - "the lesser of two evils" - on the eve of an American presidential election? I've been listening since the early '60s, and have never heard the like. Will his words tip the scales one way or the other? In such a tight race, who knows?

This is certain: Democrats in America are much too gung-ho over abortions when they should be showing more grace.  

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The present is about the past and the future. We experience the present and think about how it came to be. We wonder what will happen to it at any moment.  

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Nothing is cooler than a nebula, those galactic cloud formations fully light-years in breadth - the Eagle Nebula, the Horseshoe Nebula, the Crab Nebula... "Pillars of Creation." They are the place where stars are born. What is cooler than that.  

Where Do You Go, Little Ones

What happens to their little souls

Those multitudes of babies aborted?

Might there be a realm

Where they go to grow into men and women

Where they can live out forever

    in some earthly bliss?

Do we truly believe in God

Is he not capable of such immense consolation

    for souls of such immense innocence?

There must be something for those 

Whose only chance at life was snuffed out

By those who thought too much of themselves.

Could not God retrieve their tossed spirits

Reclaim and refurbish their stolen breaths

Give it over to them

This wonderful place we would destroy

That they might become inheritors of Earth

    and give back to her the love she deserves?

Damned this slaughter of innocents!

Lest we pay eternity for this beastly sin.  

She Breaches!

Say what you will about the National Basketball Association, but those men do what no one else on Earth can do. (It would take demi-gods to surpass them.) That is why the NBA exists - to showcase such talent. 

So, why does the Women's National Basketball Association exist? What those women do - Taurasi, Wilson, Stewart, Griner - millions of men worldwide, and boys as young as 15 and 16, can do. What does their league have to do with athletic excellence, which is what professional sports is supposed to be about? 

The obvious answer is sex and politics. Because they are women, they get a sports league just like the men. It is an extension of Title IX - that government legislation passed back in the 90s that assures girls are entitled to every sports opportunity boys receive. Title IX says nothing about athletic excellence. It speaks only of "opportunity." 

Today, the teams in the WNBA would have a hard time defeating a boy's junior varsity team. The women there would be hard-pressed to compete with the size, strength, and speed of 16-year-old boys. The boys would steal the ball from them, grab 80% of the rebounds, block many of their shots, and throw down dunks repeatedly upon their heads, (which would be very debilitating, considering the ladies, without lift, could not dunk back.)

The WNBA's viability as a sports league seems dependent upon the powers that be - the media, politicians, and sponsors - to create a biosphere that dispels truths, and replaces them with notions of equality that simply do not exist in the real world. And, many of us fall for it, the way we fall for Hollywood - the way we gladly suspend our disbelief for the chance to swoon over cinematic stars. 

But, let's not get this twisted: These ladies of the WNBA are not actors. They play their hearts out every night. Watch them, and you will come to love them. (I think I just answered my own question.)

She breaches! 

Winning

Lebron James has released a new commercial that declares, "Being a winner is a curse. Once you win, you have to win again, and again..."

That, Lebron, is called "greed." Greed is a curse. It leaves us forever unsatisfied. It is a sin.

Winning, in itself, is not a curse. It is a concept, and by its nature, ethereal. What you have attached to your pursuit of winning, besides greed, are two other deadly sins - vanity and pride. They are your curse. 

Besides, winning and victory are separate issues. You've achieved victory, but that is not enough. Victory, to you, is merely an early destination. Winning holds what you crave most - glory. Seems you have not heard: "All glory is fleeting." 

Chicken

I think the Democrats have out-smarted the Republicans. Everyone agreed that the only candidate Trump could beat was Biden, and the only candidate Biden could beat was Trump. So, both parties, to America's chagrin, called the other's bluff, jumped into their "hot-rods" like a couple of brainless teens, and charged full-bore at each other in that dangerous game of "chicken." (I know the game. On a summer's night in 1971, I was one of the brainless ones, jousting with my '64 Impala at full-throttle, daring a friend to come die, or be "chicken.")

Both parties went all-in, nominating their old warhorses, and cheering them on. Then, at the last minute, before the fated crash, Joe pulled off to the side of the road, leaving Trump to barrel on into the night where now awaits him a young and vigorous opponent. 

The Republicans had premonitions of this hellscape, and tried to shed Trump over and over - '16, '20, and now, at their most desperate moment, in '24. But, Trump is as stubborn as a barnacle clinging to the hull of a ship. (Could that explain that strange assassination attempt - a last-ditch effort by the Republicans to change horses, (a la the Democrats" in midstream? Or, is this too much conspiracy theory?)

Either way, the die is cast. As the French would say, "Il faut queue jeunesse see passe" - (Youth will be served.) It is an age-old truth that is arsenic to all geezers. 

Down with Trump! Kamala rules.  

We Are Superhuman

While busying herself in her kitchen, 57-year-old Angela Cavollo, a suburban housewife, heard a commotion in her garage. She ran outside to find her son pinned beneath a 3000-pound car. She lifted that car with her bare hands, and held it up until three neighborhood youths, responding to her cries, ran into the garage and pulled her son to safety. They call that "hysterical strength."

In 1973, while mowing the grass at High Rollaway Park for the Newaygo County Road Commission, the 786-pound tractor I rode tipped over, and proceeded to land on top of me. Before it could drive me into the ground, I had already planted my feet into the floorboards. At the instant of contact with the Earth - with a singular motion - I extended my limbs, hoisted the machine, and tossed it over my head.  

I do not compare myself to Mrs. Cavollo, who held that 3000-pound car aloft for a full five minutes while she waited for help to come. No. Like it was a red-hot stove, I let that Wheel-horse tractor go the moment I wrenched it away from me. 

These things happen, folks; usually they don't. Most often, people simply die. Wish for such an extraordinary moment - yearn for a supernatural experience - and you will probably, most certainly, die. 

I fancy, it is the electricity of the moment that saves us from tragedy. In a microsecond, shock releases the "Kraken" - that superhuman spirit that exists in us all. It is like a secret we either have never been told about, or if told, we would no sooner believe in than we would believe in Peter Pan. 

Kiss Me, Kate

Forget about Joe Biden and Donald Trump for a moment. They are two old men vying to see which one can piss pass his toes. What about Dr. Jill?

Jill Biden reminds me of Doc Holiday's "Kate". Jill told Joe Biden, in from of a post-debate audience, "You did great, Joe! You answered every question, and he certainly did not do great." In today's parlance, we would call Jill, an "enabler." 

Some say what Dr. Jill is doing to Joe is elderly abuse, or if you will, "animal abuse" - like exhorting a tired horse to run faster when he no longer can. 

Jill reminds me of "Kate", the infamous moll of the legendary "Doc Holiday" in the western "Tombstone.," At one point, a bed-ridden Holiday, suffering from a severe case of tuberculosis, is advised by his doctor to and his drinking, smoking, and gambling ways, or he will soon be dead. When the doctor leaves, Kate, who depends upon Holiday for her extravagant lifestyle, turns to him and says, "You're fine, Doc." Then, she sticks a lit cigarette into his mouth. 

Jill Biden is intoxicated by the power "First Lady" bestows upon her. No way will she let one decrepit old man piss that power away. She will ride that poor horse into the ground, first.