I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream.
An old commercial that probably ran during breaks in afternoon episodes of Gilligan’s Island in syndication.
Nowadays I scream – that’s right, I walk to a secluded spot, preferrably on a hill, at sundown, and just scream the frustration away – for sporting events with people there. I understand the need for caution. Folks have got to stop getting sick and start getting well. Then we can have nice things.
At the moment, all we’ve got are 4 percent of the population and 20 percent of the world’s infections.
I love sports even at the most basic of levels, which is what we’ve got, if at all. I also love people cheering, bands playing and what the late Rodney Dangerfield called “those fuzz balls you cheer with.”
Pompons. Honest to gosh, that’s the preferred spelling, even though it’s pronounced “pom-poms.” Go figure. English language. Can’t live with it. Can’t live without it.
Pompons swishing. Flags waving. Fight songs. The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat. The human drama of athletic competition. I want the sports world to be wide again.
I’d prefer not to sit in empty or near-empty gyms, listening to piped-in crowd noise streaming from speakers in the rafters.
“Good to see you, man.”
“Same here. It’s been artificial.”
I’m thankful to have sports to watch, describe and snap pictures of, but vicarious life is hindered by the restrictor plates of vacancy.
I’m wearing my mask, believe you me. I’m washing my hands so much I’m prone to scratching them. I’m swallowing a zinc tablet every day, along with prescribed medication. I want a vaccination. Two of them. I’m good with the folks who need ’em going first, though. Let’s ramp up the production and distribution.
Then maybe fans can gather in parking lots again. Concession stands can open. Players from both teams can shake hands. Coaches can hold court and testify about “stomp-down good ’uns” who “love to get a’ter it” because they’ve got “a nose for the football” and they’re all “super kids.”
In about the strangest move since an army last invaded Russia in the winter, college football is being played in the late winter and spring. On March 6, Presbyterian College is scheduled to play at Gardner-Webb. The Blue Hose are to have two football seasons in 2021.
If COVID-19 will let them swing it, that is. When sports returns to some semblance of normality, it will be over a novel coronavirus’s dead body.
There’s a steal that needs to stop.
It’s not over. Was it over when the Germans* bombed Pearl Harbor?