If you watched any professional football this Sunday, you probably saw the New England Patriots playing the Tennessee Titans in a blowing snow storm at Gillette stadium in Foxborough.
I watched the first three minutes (three minutes more than I usually watch) and saw two players get their knee and shoulder filleted and then helped off the field. Don’t get me started on professional sports. I think they all are concussive numbskulls calling assault and battery a “hard hit”. Shane! Shane! Come back, Shane! The Wild West wears athletic supporters, though. God forbid something should happen to THAT region of their cranium.
The stadium is fifteen minutes south of where I live and the storm started out as rain and by mid-afternoon was snow, flakes-the-size-of-quarters-snow, and some even larger.
Nothing tells me summer is over more than snow at the beach and the weekly publication of those on the Disabled List and, my personal favorite category: those listed as “Questionable”. I think Pixar should make a movie called, “The Questionables”, don’t you?
The superhero would be on crutches, arm in a sling, and head wrapped in bandages talking about respect.
Oh, yeah, and talking about how he’s questionable for next week’s game.
And, double-oh-yeah: talkin’ respect and questionables ONLY IF the coach allows him to speak at all, which come to think of it- oh-yeah the third time–that last one about free speech?
This constitutional right insures that Pixar’s superhero shall not be on the New England Patriots.
Belichick world (coach of the Patriots) is well known for operating without the First Amendment.
That’s not even a questionable.
It’s a fact–along with playing football in a snow storm is slippery.
©Pat Coakley 2009
PHOTOGRAPHY CANNOT BE USED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION
©Pat Coakley 2009
Snow? Surely you made that picture up… I’m not a sports fan and don’t really know the patriots from the hedgehogs, but I do sense a certain tragic quality to the athletes. They sacrifice their bodies and their future for the fame and riches of the present — and often squander those, too. Of course they are not allowed to talk. It might affect the profits, which after all is what pro sports are all about.
LOL My ex-husband used to play professional football. I have seen more professional sports than any human person should ever have to in one lifetime. I just say “no” now. I spent time in many a bus filled with stinky men traveling so let me just assure you Im not a fan.
The photo is amazing. Snow on the beach always makes me stare. Like a miracle it could ever happen at all. Being from California, it practically is a miracle.
P.S. My ex-husband? He has had the knee surgeries to prove his pro-football days….. lol
Now that’s an image that communicates!
I felt cold as soon as I saw it and I felt fear at the thought of slipping. Well done!
One of the big issues I have with professional sports is that it creates a false history for people to think about instead of real history. How many knuckle-heads know all about their team’s stats and nothing about the rest of the world or world history?
How much of the daily news programs are taken up with sports results instead of real news about what is happening in the rest of the world?
Juvenal (2nd century AD) once said:
Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses
I love this!
As I sit here in my shorts with the windows open letting in the sun’s warmth and light, snow still seems like a distant memory and not a future concern yet.
I like razzbuffnik’s comment.
I seem to record “circuses” on my VCR/DVD more often than history though.
this is amazing
Snow! Oh dear. Perhaps not kind to mention that I was in Jamaica last week, enjoying 80+ temperatures and getting a fab tan …
Lovely photo, and your take on the Questionables mirrors my own. My darling nephew is one of these massively padded young men taking to the field every weekend, terrifying the living crap out of me as he is pursued up and down the field by equally massive young men trying to take him down. He loves it. I cringe. I acknowledge and appreciate that his skill is paying for his private high school education, but that doesn’t make me enjoy the brutality of the sport he loves.