|REFLECTIONS ON A GAME NOT PLAYED|
|What I want to know is, what the hell is wrong with people's priorities? Man goes to work in the salt mines pretty much every friggin' day of his adult life, staggers home, puts the kids to bed, pays the bills, self medicates with a couple of beers and does it all again the next day. One lousy day a week*, for maybe ninety paltry minutes, he gets to give expression to his higher aspirations - physical striving, teamwork, the glorious arc of the disc sailing through the air, which mirrors the arc of the ideally lived life - and somehow the sentiment merchants (your Hallmarks, your established religions, your mothers-in-law) can contrive to yank it all away from him. Well, maybe they can make us put on a tie and jacket, and maybe they can make us sit down in front of that "Easter Dinner", but they can't make us like it.
My Brothers (and Martha): I will be with you in spirit two days hence, even as vast forces conspire to deny us a physical communion.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away...
~ William Wordsworth
* Not counting Wednesday and Friday mornings, acknowledgement of which would serve to greatly dissipate the force of my argument.