years earlier
whawasit eleventhirty quartertahtwelve
hed have had black coffee donuts
before the game started maybe two beers
a shot of Jack by now
he could already hear the rasp
the coming rawness in his throat as he berated tacklers Wrap up Take his legs
at linemen lunging at the dropback quarterback Get your fuckin hands upUP later that night he sounded like
he smoked three packs of cigarettes
hed have a cigar before the late
game with a tall sippin Jack as he barbecued steak or seasoned chicken halves whole
onions and green peppers munch Dutch pretzels hot spicy pork rinds yank
chaws off black licorice sticks and turn them like a pen on his fingertips using
them as emphasis while discussing earlier games and bonehead calls
his Bears took it on the chin ad nauseum
but Chicago had a dependable
market a fools market that withstood halfass teams that made their living off once great and
touted proto-protean Bear teams covered
in George Halas spunk there was Luckman Lujack Baugh Butkus Ditka Sayers then stand-all-alone-by-himself
Sweetness ahSweetness Forever Sweetness the
markets association with these greats the folklore was their lifes blood their Memory they wouldnt allow to be pithed or lobotomized
playing on grass fuck artificial turf
stop protecting whiney
quarterbacks He touched meHe touched me You saw Throw the flag
how many times did Bradshaw
withstand unflagged helmet spears in the
back
part of the game if you wanna
play real ball muthafuckerHitting its part of the game
not bullet-proof radio-synched
helmets
skyboxes
bring the damn coaches back onto the
sidelines
lose the overhead cameras
play the fuckin game the way it
was meant to be played
let the dirty players get beat for their cheapshots
leave the headslaps the clotheslines and chops
football was fast now
effete
lose the military the football field-sized flags the flyovers the mechanised bullshit
lose the jumbotrons the
choreographed end zone dances
get the ball in and
shake ass to the sideline
thats your job thats what your
paid to do
you didnt get in by yourself
your team got you there
the team remember
youre on a team
. . . but that was years earlier
now Sundays he didnt bother
if he caught a game he still didnt sit
he still yanked his shorts up off
his thighs
how could you possibly sit on
your ass watching ball
it was a participatory game
you banged on other watchers
pounded backs slapped shoulders
you banged your fists on table
tops
you howled and bawled
you berated people cheering
against your team
he did
effete watchers
what hole did they crawl out of
Yah he was referring to that hole
hed stuff them back into their
mothers womb if he had his crazed football
ways
NAH
those days were dead and gone
that game was gone
it was militarised
AMERICAs pride
AMNESIACed
GREEDY
greed on phony turf
where was the mud
Sundays he took his coffee
outside on the porch overlooking his backyard trees and plants
he watched the birds arch and
wind leaving trails in their wakes
the air wheedled with their words and
symbols
many many words pleas and
demands
too many words to be read
too much wanted to be said for
too long
then they exploded a conflagrate
their contrails collapsed
the words broke their letters
fell
the symbols scrapped themselves
he stood to get another cup of
coffee and standing he paused for a moment to listen to the brief muted hollers
inside homes and remembered when he watched ball his windows were thrown open so
he might insult someones team outside his doors were open so he didnt break them
going out to get the hell away from horseshit plays and miserable callsWhat the
fuck were you thinking
even then he got glimpses of birdwritings
scribblings in the sky
they werent TV tracers in his eyes
turning a bottle of beer up to
finish it he saw
now on Sundays he had time to scrutinise
them and think what he might
it wasnt a terrible trade off
at least not when he considered
what he wasnt missing
1934, Saturday,
22 10. 16
1059, Twosday,
25 10. 16
