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Sunday Blues for Football Fans Waiting for the Strike to End

October 03, 1987

For the first fall Sunday in many a year, I found myself without the day-long benefit of professional football to assist me in avoiding the threat to my emotional tranquility and general morale that is usually posed by the hosts and guests who regularly dispense their messages of doom and reality on the various TV talk and news shows. My continued existence as a socially unconscious, totally smug, self-centered, self-indulgent, insolvent, credit-card sustained American thus is gravely menanced.

I must assume that I am not alone in this tragic predicament. Certainly, my kind did not vote for Ronald Reagan in the expectation that he would permit such an outrageous denial of personal rights and privileges as is now being perpetrated against his loyal supporters under his very nose.

Further, it is well known that professional football plays an indispensable role in the internal security of this nation as it provides an outlet for the smoldering resentments and jealousies of our less fortunate masses.

It does so by allowing the lower classes the weekly opportunity to relieve their pent-up emotions and frustrations by experiencing the ecstasy induced by watching moneyed illiterates commit assorted acts of legal mayhem while being whipped to greater and greater heights of brutish frenzy by the raunchy antics of a bunch of semi-nude mud-wrestling school dropouts.

The club owners pile up more treasure in one short season than the infamous Bluebeard or Long John Silver would have ever dreamed existed when plotting their most wildly ambitious schemes for sacking and plundering. The players pull in more loot for a few weeks play (labor) each fall than most of their fans get for a decade of economically useful work.

A plague on both their houses.


Rancho Palos Verdes

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