"When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears nor all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper which should have been gold, are a token of honor -- your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money." ~ Ayn Rand
The Real Nation--Free of the Curse
Symbolic (or literal) shots of Tennessee Jack Black for 8 straight games.
Hair styles that would send barbers into fits, were barbers so inclined.
Styles of dress that had MTV fans shaking their heads in rank disapproval.
A boss who joined in. Owners who looked only at results of the efforts.
Opponents who will spend a winter shaking their heads wondering what happened.
Folks--welcome to the wacky world of the World Champion Boston Red Sox--the newest anarchists on the block. Like all anarchists, they have played second fiddle to the establishment (read that "the Yankees and whatever National League opponent) for 86 years. They did everything the wrong way to win the right thing..
But they won. Down 3-0 to the Almighty Govt . . . er . . . I mean the Yanks . . . they collectively found their bootstraps and won the day, the week, the month, the year, the hearts of all. The poor Cardinals--the establishment team of the National League, never knew what hit them after the Sox mowed down the Yanks. The Sox embody what lies deep within us all--to hit the top--free of all curses--free of all constraints--free of all the crap heaped upon them for so long.
'Cause this bunch didn't give a damn what others said. They just kept doing what came natural.
That is the sheer essence of freedom, Sports Fans. Be you--be yourself--refuse to let someone else tell you who you are supposed to be.
"Hell, JB," you might say, "It's just a game with a bunch of pampered millionaires who get you to spend your dough to watch them play and whine."
Yeppers! I wholeheartedly agree. You are exactly right . . . they are men with one certain talent who marketed themselves according to their talent, and made a bundle of dollars for which millions upon millions were willing (key word--willing) to spend. And to watch those millionaires dance around the field like young schoolboys with too many hormones for their systems, is to understand what the unrestricted joy of freedom is all about.
Contrast that with the somber mood, the charges and counter charges of fraud, the bitterness and the envy of today--election day. Which would you prefer--a pub in Boston, or voting?
A free man or woman understands immediately what I am trying to say, or convey. Hell, there are 25 very individual individuals in the Red Sox clubhouse, but every one of them understands what it means to be free . . . free of the curse(s) of the past.
If only the American electorate, busy performing slave labor this very day pulling levers and finger-tipping/tapping computer screens to vote for their candidate of choice to rule their lives, would take a hint from the pile of Red Sox players squirming with delight several nights ago in Busch Stadium.
Being free of whatever has bound oneself is beyond verbal expression. It is like breathing--a part of all things natural.
The Red Sox finally learned that to break the curse--they did what no one thought possible.
Voters of America . . . those of you who wasted time at the polls today . . . Learn from the Red Sox Nation. Be free from the curse. Throw of the shackles of politics and politicians. Do what no one thought possible.
Tell them all . . .
For once, in the immortal words of Al Davis, a notrious maverick of Oakland Raider infamy . . .
"Just win, Baby!"