The Boys of Summer
I love August. It's one of the most beautiful times of the year. FYI, my chirren, it's not because SF has such beautiful weather out here. I don't know what it means to change seasons. We usually have only one season. Winter.
It's beautiful because it's when football and baseball collide. It's when soccer boys are kickin' it at my school. It's freakin' ESPN heaven. FOX Sports Nirvana. Sports Center Alleluia. Bow down to the altars of Saint Stuart Scott. Saint Rich Eisen. And all those other wonderful wonderful sports announcers that repeat shows four or five times a day. God love 'em.
I like sports not only because for the most part, the athletes really do it for me, no. It's because I admire athletes as a whole, ugly or not, they have an almost unhealthy obsession for playing sports. They work out, they struggle, they sweat up a storm. Pull up their shirts when they make a goal, I'm in freakin' love, baby. I love strategy and watching the game unfold. I dig getting stressed out if my team is going to pull a quick one and win in the bottom of the ninth.
But in August, every channel has some sport splashing across the screen, and I drool at the prospect of watching two teams battle it out. Picture in picture was made for girls like me. Watch two sports. Maybe Food Network if Iron Chef or Emeril is on. At any rate, welcome August, I missed you lots.
Now gimme my remote.
Voodoo
Wednesday, August 01, 2001
I like long walks, especially when they're taken by people who annoy me. ~Fred Allen
Voodoo is del.icio.us
If I haven't already said it, thanks for stopping by.
<< Home