Bill's Notes

Apparently some of the Piskies are onto the Vast International Conspiracy. Chris Johnson writes:

And it's not like the Vast Conservative Anglican Conspiracy has ever actually, you know, stopped anything. Women's ordination, garbage prayer book, politically correct hymnal, Gene Robinson. The Vast International Roman Catholic Conspiracy guys just laugh at us these days and they wouldn't invite us to their last Vast International Conspiracy softball tournament. They claimed our invitations got lost in the mail but I could hear them giggling before they hung up the phone.

Oh no, they're onto us! Fortunately, they don't know that we know they know. That's our advantage.

The Cleveland Cavaliers, in all likelihood, are going to win the city's first championship in 43 years when they beat the San Antonio Spurs for the NBA Championship. The Cavaliers have never been in the NBA Finals.

The last Cleveland champion was the 1964 Cleveland Browns, back when Jim Brown was still playing. The Tribe (baseball's Cleveland Indians) last won in 1948, when they beat the BOSTON (not Milwaukee, not Atlanta) Braves back when the league was almost entirely segregated. There is no hockey team in Cleveland; I have no idea why.

And we think we have it bad in Philadelphia -- we have a comparable embarassment of riches: We won a pair of Stanley Cups in the mid-70s (back when the game was played by toothless men carrying clubs), the 1983 Philadelphia 76ers, who went 11-1 in the playoffs in 1983 and also had a great championship run in the mid-60s, the hapless Phillies, who nonetheless won a World Series in 1980, that is, in living memory to those who still have their original teeth, and even the Friggin' Iggles ... actually, the Feebles last won the NFL Championship in Franklin Field back in 1960, defeating the Green Bay Packers, about the same time as those dominant Browns teams. Plus, Joe Frazier was heavyweight champion of the world in the 1970s and kicked Cassius Clay's ass.

However, Cleveland's championship drought will soon change, as Cleveland will almost certainly beat up on the Spurs. San Antonio has won three championships in the past nine years, so I don't feel bad if they lose this one.

And we Philadelphians will wonder what we did to cause such a delay ... those I should note that I'm not actually a "first fan" of any Philadelphia team. My teams are the Lakers, who have won about 70 championships in my living memory, the Jets, who won only one, but it was the best one, the Bruins, who haven't won in 35 years, but seriously, who gives a shit about hockey?, and the Reds, who won in 75-76 and 1990. It also helps that I have a "second favorite team," which is the Steelers (five Super Bowls).

Plus, it further helps that in baseball, I can always root for anyone who plays the Yankees and Mets, which often can be satisfying. In football, as long as the Loathsome Dullness Cowpokes lost, I'm okay. In basketball, I don't care who wins, since the game is so deteriorated that it's an embarrassment (except the Lebron James and the Spurs). And hockey, as long as the Rangers lose, no problem.

You could read Ted Williams' classic hitting text, Hitting. Or you could follow the more popular Zen technique, "See ball hit ball."

I don't know I'm saying this. For some reason, "See ball hit ball" sounds tremendously profound.

So it's been 25 years this week that I got out of high school. Here's what I've been doing since then. First of all, on or abouts June 6, 1982 I got really, really drunk. Sometimes around September 1988 I woke up with a really bad hangover that lasted for several months. Sometimes around New Year's in 1989, my mind finally cleared up, and I asked the people around me, none of whom I recognized, where I was and who they were.

"I'm Debbie," said my roommate. "I'm your girlfriend."

"Really" I said. "Where did we meet?"

"In the seventh grade," she said.

"I thought you looked familiar," I replied. "But now we seem to be living together. Your breasts are also bigger than they were then."

"We are and they are," she said.

"I see," I said awkwardly, not sure what to say. "Um, is it still the 80s."

"Barely," she said.

"How were they?" I asked.

"They were okay," she said. "Better than the 70s."

"That's a relief," I said. "Um, what have I been up to?"

"Well, you finished high school and went to college," she said.

"College?!" I said, quite pleased. "I have always wanted to go to college."

"You already went," she said. "You've graduated."

"I suppose I am a CFO or well on my way," I said. "I remember something about being a Finance major."

"Um, I have some bad news, and you may want to sit down," she said. "You transferred into journalism."

"No!" I said. "Had I no friends?"

"You had friends, yes," she said. "Better ones than you deserved. But they weren't any more sober than you."

"Well, they must have been more aware of things because none of them transferred into journalism," I said. "I mean, it's one of the few ways smart people who work hard can remain poor."

"Indeed," she said.

"Did at least I had fun?" I asked.

"I dunno," she said. "Most of the time you wander around in a drooling, drunken stupor, muttering about how things suck, except to stare every once in a while at a female and go, 'boobies.'"

"Well that's not very mature," I said. "Are you sure I wasn't referring to blue-footed boobies?"

"Quite positive," she said.

"Hmm...," I said. "Well, I suppose the 90s will be better."

*****
Seven years later, I was sitting on a couch, leg broken, talking to a complete stranger.

"Apparently, I've spent the last seven years in grad school or traveling or working for non-profits," I said. "I clearly am trying to be poor."

"That's what we say."

"I better get a job," I said. "What do I do for a living again?"

"Who knows?" he said.

"Hey, this editing thing looks good, I'll try that."

Got the job. Been working ever since.

*****

So that's it. That's my last 25 years. Or at least all I can remember considering I haven't slept much the past week. (Work-related.) Heigh-ho.

*****