As Super Tuesday approaches, and another Democratic debate is set to take place tonight in Las Vegas, we are steadily becoming closer to discovering which two douchebags will compete in the final race for the White House. In the midst of all the presidential hoopla, I find myself enjoying more and more the sanctuary that is sports.
Give me a ballgame and a beer, I say. I want fastbreaks and grand slams. Hail Marys and highlight reels. This is what keeps me sane. This is the antidote to the morose mentality of awareness.
Not because it’s free of controversy, or because it’s some sort of welcome distraction to the political issues of the day. No, I welcome sports as an absolute and ongoing alternative to the harsh reality of our world.
Why would I want to overwhelm my senses with the latest he said/she said spat between Hillary and Barack? Why would I spend time trying to discern the differences in rhetoric from one candidate to the next? Perhaps most importantly, why would I want to inundate my brain with the intricacies of any pertinent issue?
Seriously, we know already – give it a rest. Millions of Americans don’t have health care, there’s a war in Iraq, the planet will self-destruct sometime within the next 50 years – what the hell do you want me to do about it? Hopefully nothing that requires me to miss a first pitch, a tip-off or a coin toss. If that’s the case, we’re all in trouble.
What can I say? Do I care about the needs of others? Yes. Do I want the world to be a better place? Of course. Do I have the time and energy to worry about anything outside the lines of an athletic playing field? Absolutely not.
It’s hard enough to deal with the Seahawks defensive line turning into a training sled at Lambeau Field. Or Richie Sexon striking out looking with the bases loaded. Why would I want to compound my misery by adding the desperate fortunes of an entire nation to my concerns? Let alone the fate of our planet? Who needs the aggravation?
I got enough to worry about between the Super Bowl, spring training and the upcoming NFL draft. How am I supposed to fit in starving babies, illiterate Americans, easily accessible firearms or for God’s sake distinguish the moment a fertilized egg becomes a human being? I got too much on my mind, man.
The Patriots are marching their way to perfection. Brett Favre is playing football like he’s 25 all over again. The Celtics are chasing Michael and the Bulls’ 72-win season. Rocket Roger Clemens is defending his dominant place in history as well as the substances he instructed a trainer to shoot into his ass. Speaking of asses, Bud Selig is holding court before Congress. Pitchers and catchers are a month away from reporting to spring training. The PGA Tour is back in full swing. Tennis’ first grand slam of the season has begun Down Under. The NHL is in midseason. BCS commissioners are discussing the possibility of a playoff. Conference play has arrived in NCAA basketball, with March Madness barely two months away. … And I’m supposed to carve out time to worry about the trivial concerns of society? Give me a break. Who has the time for such eccentricities?
In the multiple-choice world of presidential politics, I choose none of the above. Sure, it’s apathy cloaked in ignorance (or perhaps the other way around), but thankfully I find both of them to be bliss.