Wacky in the membrane

By Harvey McGuffin
I remember when ...

A man can’t trust anyone in this world anymore. Not even the bum on the corner who tells you he’ll work for food but when you offer to feed him, he takes your wallet, your keys, and your recent grocery purchase that includes a half gallon of milk and a box of condoms. You think you know people? You think you know the order of things? You’re wrong, asshole, and it’s probably your fault.

I remember when I knew who I could trust. The National Football League, with its parity and drunk Sunday mornings and occasional cases of paralysis was the rock in my life. It has been the linchpin of a generation, without any hint of "breakdown in labor discussions" or other pending signs of work stoppage. Major League Baseball, meanwhile, was the little bitch in the sports family, with its canceled World Series ruining the hopes of my beloved Montreal Expos and spring training with replacement players showing how unreliable and wrong the sport had become.

Good lord I miss the Expos. Vlad, Pedro and Delino, you will always be Los Habitons.

I remember when NFL was good and MLB was bad. Light and dark, white and black, Theo Epstein and George Steinbrenner. Things have changed since I was a lad, or at least since 1994, when this was the way of the world. Now I don’t know where to turn. I’m like the confused old man who accidentally got onto the freeway and doesn’t understand why everyone is driving so goddamned FAST.

Paul Tagliabue, who reminds me of this German fella I once shot in the war, gave his league an extension to get some peace between the players’ association and the owners before all hell breaks loose, and teams begin cutting players left and right without knowing the specifications of the salary cap, which everyone figured would be higher with a deal. I say cut them all if they can’t reach a deal. That will teach them a thing or two about disorganizing my universe.

Meanwhile, baseball has become a universal supergiant, with its precious World Baseball Classic getting underway at a ridiculous hour on my television set, and fans flocking to the games as if their hearts weren’t ripped out, stepped upon, torn to shreds, fed to wolves, digested improperly and pooed out 15 minutes later slightly more than a decade ago. I haven’t forgotten, baseball. I still hate you, while the NFL was my Abel and you were Cain. You’ve ruined the bible, football. The damn BIBLE!

Perhaps that German fella can save the game after all, and I will once again sit in my reclining chair and reflect on the world as it should be, with everyone hating baseball and loving football. Without the first part. But if he can’t, I will be forced to dwell in the deepest depths of despair, and what sport shall I watch?

Did someone say NASCAR? I remember when we called you people "white trash," instead of "NASCAR fans." Go find a cow to tip.