Good

The world is a cold, dark unforgiving place. The rays of light are so few and far between that when you see one, you want to grab it and hold on for dear life.

When I was a child, the hit cartoon show was The Super Friends. Batman, Superman, The Flash, Aquaman, Wonder Woman, and other DC comics staples got together each week,. and saved the world from another supervillain. My good buddy in Atlanta, Carrie, snarkily chronicles the Superfriends’ career on her award winning blog: http://www.cannibalisticnerd.com/

I don’t think this is possible today. With agents, publicists, hair stylists, wardrobe people, and other hanger ons, no more than two people can get together at a time.

Bono does a fine job of saving the planet. I’ve forgiven Cameroon for the twenty bucks they borrowed from me in 1998. Yet, The lead singer of U2 is but 1 man, and he’s aging.

Brangelina aka Brad Pitt and Angie Jolie are doing good work in New Orleans, and in other countries. The problem is, Jolie’s this close to being the old lady that lived in a shoe. Plus, they are Hollywood. They’ll be divorced soon. They’re kind of arrogant and douchey. There’s not a lot of Jesus pressuring them to be a real couple.

I have THE answer to solving the world’s problems.

Sports and pop culture can be our saviors. We just have to convince the Prince and Princess of Good, Denver Broncos “quarterback” Tim Tebow, and “pop-country star”, Taylor Swift, to be together.

Imagine how quickly and thoroughly crime, hunger, war, pestilence, and snarky hipsters could be eradicated. As my friend John aka @juan_samuel has already tweeted : Tim Tebow is the Taylor Swift of football. They’re not very good at what they do but people worship them. You put all that earnest together and they’d be unstoppable. Think about the perfect little good kids they’d make (having sex only to procreate, of course).  When she saved a country or cured cancer, she could respond with surprise and bewilderment. When he prevented India and Pakistan from blowing up the planet and got them to play some touch football they could all giggle at his throwing motion. This has to happen.

As much as I love edgy, dark, complicated and nuanced, goodness needs a place in my life. My teenager’s walls are already postered with Taylor Swift’s face, song “lyrics”, and accessories. I could probably talk my tomboyish 8 yr old into getting Tebow gear. Plus, Swift already has a hit song called “15″ which is Tim Tebow’s number.

What the world needs for survival and prosperity is a new Superhero. Where are you Taybow!???

Today’s song is from New Orleans band Better than Ezra. It’s the Taybow theme song.It’s about mediocrity and settling in a  relationship—TAYBOW.  Well, we cant have Swift doing the theme. Here’s Good…

Twenty Killer Hurts

He grimaces as he plants his fingers into the ground and mud oozes over his purpled knuckles. Out of the three point stance he listens for the third “hut” and bounds towards the football, held by his teammate. Two larger boys in uniforms of a different color than his, meet him violently. He thuds into the ground. Hurt surges over his band and shoulders. A timeout is called.

He refuses to take a knee like his teammates because getting up would be too painful. Someone hands him a waterbottle. He pours warm liquid in his mouth and spits it aout, along with blood from his cut lips. He glances at the blue and black bruises on his arms. Someone next to him speaks.

“This is it. The last play of our football lives. Thank God it’s over.”

He smirks at the mixture of sentiment and sarcasm, then assumes the position. His hand in the ground, eyes straight ahead, the hut sounds and he takes a pitched football a few feet from his teammate. He sees the stadium lights dance between players and runs toward it with reckless abandon. An opponent hits him in his left thigh with their helmet. He cringes but stays upright. Everything begins to move in slow motion as jerseys blur, body parts merge, and he’s hit again. He falls to the grass in a heap of hurt.

It’s over. His vision is dazed by pain. He sees the scoreboard clock tick to zero. His team lost 14-7. No one helps him up. He rolls to his right side and slowly rises.

Cold November air chills the warm sweat streaking his face. Blood trickles from a wound below his right bicep and collects inside his elbow. The roar of thousands of small town high school football fans is muffled by the stark reality that he would never do this again. He went through the motions of shaking hands with his celebrating opponents. Deliberately, he walks off the field, and heads up the field house corridor. He turns around, takes off his helmet and looks over everything he’s leaving. In a perverse sense of relief and wonder, he accepts he’s a football player, no longer.

****blogger’s note****

This is a fictionalized version of my last night playing high school football in 1987. It is part of the writing assignment from Write On Edge’s Red Writing Hood: 400 words or less where athleticism features prominently.

http://writeonedge.com/2011/10/red-writing-hood-athleticism/

Today’s song was one of my favorites in November 1987. I had a thing for the group Gene Love Jezebel in the late 80s. This song leapt to mind when I saw the Write On Edge prompt. Here’s Twenty Killer Hurts.