Push 'Em Back, Way Back

Well, we're in late football season; basketball season must be around the corner. All "seasonal" sports are year-round now, of course.

"America" is the weekly newsmagazine published by the American Jesuit priests. Its October 20, 2008 issue contains a couple of the best thought-provoking short articles on sports which I've read in a while: "The Games of Tomorrow," a description of the negative influence of money, drugs, and arrogance on sports, by Dave Anderson, a Pulitzer Prize-winning sports columnist; and "Experiencing Life's Flow," a reflection on psychological wholesomeness and distortion in sports actions, by Patrick Kelly, S.J. of the Center for the Study of Sport and Exercise at Seattle University. (By the way, did you know that the Vatican has an Office for the Church and Sports in its Council [Department] on Culture?) But the most intellectually engaging analysis of the spiritual-moral-psychological corruption of sports in the United States remains, for me, the one chapter on this topic in Christopher Lasch's bestseller book of about fifteen years ago, "The Cult of Narcissism."

-Old Doc

Choke on Candy

The little woman forgot to collect our mail on her way home today (I think she does that to irk me). So I had to walk around the corner to our neighborhood mailboxes. It was dusk, and I was wearing my walking shorts, sneakers with high-top white socks, and my light-blue University of Vienna t-shirt. I passed two separate groups of kids who were beginning their trick-or-treat rounds. "Look, Mommy," they cried with apprehensive voices, "It's a Halloween monster!" Gimme a break, rugrats.

-Old Doc

Chance of a Lifetime

Look, it's too much for me alone to handle; I need help. Let's go ahead and create an Old Gargoyle Society or Fan Club. Become a Gargy. We can't, though, allow just anyone to be a member. So do this: Make sure the secret grip and password are followed to the "t". Extend your left hand, not the right, to the other person. Upon gripping, pump his or her hand up and down twice while saying with a mild degree of force, "Student!" He or she immediately must reply with "Remove that foreign object from your oral cavity." If he doesn't know the grip or password, quickly walk away---unless he wants to pay dues---in which case, send me 40 percent.

-Old Doc

Scarecrow in the Cemetery

Ah, All Saints Day! If I had to choose only five or six days of the year (what a pleasant thought) on which I could attend church, I would include All Saints Day. (Another day would be Saint Gemma Day. "Saint who?" you ask? Google her website. What a looker! I think I have an embarrassing crush on a dead saint.) What a day of cosmological and eschatological import! A day to remember the metaphysical communion of all the living and the dead. It's a day to be spent outside watching the clouds and visiting cemeteries.

And so when I worked for a church in Ohio, every year on November 1st I would walk to the cemetery behind the church. The graveyard was small and old, and it was adjacent to the street across from which was a shopping center. I would sit against the giant tree next to graves, sinking a foot into the pile of fallen autumn leaves, watching the moving clouds, thinking, praying. And then it would happen---every year the same thing. A police car would stop on the street sidewalk bordering the cemetery. Onto my wrists would the cop's handcuffs go---me, a bum dangerous looking and loitering on private property, at least according to any one of the store clerks across the street who would call the police upon spotting me squatted in the leaves. Following this would be my usual protest and the usual walk over to the church rectory where my pastor would vouch for my release. I wonder if that treatment by clerks and police qualify as a kind of martyrdom for my eventual canonization? "Saint Old Doc, patron of cemetery loiterers"---has a nice ring to it.

-Old Doc

Apology

I, who seldom apologize or say thank you, extend this apology to the two children who did the early round of Halloween trick-or-treating at my house and, of course, to their parents. The children apparently were brother and sister around ages 8 and 10; I think you know who you are. I apologize for throwing my buckets of candy at the kids' heads. I apologize for causing them to stumble and fall down my porch steps. I do apologize for screaming at them as they ran away. They were dressed as Wall Street executives. I'm keeping their golden parachutes.

-Old Doc

Notice

If you need to talk to me tonight, I'll be home watching "30 Rock" on t.v. On the way home this afternoon, I bought eight bags of Halloween candy and four bags of popcorn. So catch me before I eat and drink myself into a coma.

-Old Doc

Four Basic Food Groups

In response to reader Scorpio who wants me to give my favorite celebrity examples of the four hair colors of women, I submit: Denise, Frances, Sue, and Jennifer.

-Old Doc