the road to the Super Bowl is littered with good intentions
i was at the airport the other day to get a package from one of the public lockers and once again i heard that call.
“Reverend…Reverend, Please!”
deliberately i turned around. “my son, yes…”
“Reverend, you can see me, can’t you Reverend?”
i chuckled like a fat man. “why of course i can, my son.”
“Reverend, my family, my friends, they have all disowned me. Reverend, please. They walk by me…won’t look at me…my children shriek in horror when I walk into their room. My wife wails for my soul…she cries when I touch her. I’ve heard them say I am dead, Reverend…dead…some kind of monster, Reverend…a ghost, Reverend…WHAT AM I TO DO?”
“my son, i think you are not being straight with me. it seems to me you are wrapping the true meaning of your words in a veil. the dead walking? preposterous. surely…”
“Oh Not You! Not the Reverend! All of what I’ve said…you must believe me…it’s true…it’s true!”
“come, my son, to the airport lounge. there we will drink and cure what ails you.”
“Reverend, thank you. I was beginning to think…”
“easy…now, tell me, why do they say these things, my son? surely they see what i see…that you are flesh and bone, that you breathe of this air, walk on this earth. do they not see this as i do? does not your heart still beat inside your chest? does blood not still course through your veins? my son…this is most disturbing.”
“You’re tellin’ me, Reverend. They’ve held my funeral, sold my car, gave my clothes away. They’ve even shot my dog, Reverend. Oh, I am fortune’s fool…”
“stop this crying! it is womanish! BARKEEP,” i yelled, “i’ll have another, and bring one for my friend here.”
“sure thing.”
“see,” i told this poor soul, “you see…HE sees you, i see you. your reflection is in the glass there. you are Here. Alive. but i don’t think you are telling me the whole story, my son. Start. from the Beginning.”
he spoke like a rational man. he told me of football, and his love of the game. of his time spent on the field, of his time spent in front of the television. he told me of games won and lost. of newspapers and bookies and lines and over-unders. he told me of feeling high and living low. he had found the science, he claimed.
“So when I picked the Colts, it had nothing to do with loyalty. I like the Steelers well enough, I suppose, but I’m a business man…a thinking man…I was trying to Win,” he hissed, “You understand me, don’t you?”
of course i did. professional football has nothing to do with loyalty for a betting man, at least not a successful one anyway. he had wronged the local fans, for sure, and it was unfortunate his family and friends were among them, but this could all be made better. “make amends, my son,” i told him, “and your family will welcome you again with open arms.”
“Oh, Reverend, thank you…I just KNEW I was on the right path,” he gulped at his drink. “I’m on my way right now…to Vegas…gonna bet a ton on the Broncos. It’s a lock. And I promise, Reverend, to use the winnings for nothing but my family...” his voice trailed off in tears and ramblings about pearls and vacations and trust funds, new cars, furs and the like.
i stood up from the bar and clapped a hand on his shoulder. i felt satisfied to have helped another wayward soul along the path to righteousness.
“fare-thee-well, my son…”
“You got it Reverend…and thanks so much. I was a little worried about putting so much on the Broncos, but you sealed the deal. YES!!! Indeed you did…I mean, how could you not bet the farm? The Broncos will be wearing their blue jerseys, and if it’s one thing I know, it’s that the team with the stronger colors wins everytime.”
it was as if a thousand voices cried out at once and were instantly silenced.
“What’s wrong Reverend?”
i had to think fast. “hmmm? nothing. listen, can i get in on that action?”
“You mean on the game? Well, Hell Yes you can. It's the least I can do. I'll call my bookie right now on my cell phone. I can even front you the money…”
“nonsense…i’ve got 30 grand in small bills just around the bend. wait right here. i’ll be right back.”
“Alright Reverend, and THANK YOU!!! We about to be some...” he hollered, but i was already beyond the perimeter of the bar. i didn’t turn, just raised a fist into the air as i walked away.
when i came to the first armed guard, i stopped.
“officer,” i said, “do you take your law-enforcement seriously around here?”
“Are you kidding me?” he rolled up his sleeve and showed me a tattoo of president bush atop an American flag, with missles, guns, and bullets all around. i raised an eyebrow.
“good,” i said. “in the airport lounge, you’ll find him. real beady eyes, small fingers, smells like cabbage. hates the Steelers. said he voted democrat…and will never,” i grabbed him by the collar, “NEVER VOTE REPUBLICAN!!! slime like that isn’t fit for American shores.”
he eyed me with a steely resolve, “It’s people like you that make me proud to be an American.” he spit a big wad of chew onto the ground. “You’re a goddamm patriot, you know that.”
i nodded. “and officer,” i intoned, “i think he might be armed.”
“My God, I hope so!” he said, and rushed towards the bar, drawing his weapon.
“Reverend…Reverend, Please!”
deliberately i turned around. “my son, yes…”
“Reverend, you can see me, can’t you Reverend?”
i chuckled like a fat man. “why of course i can, my son.”
“Reverend, my family, my friends, they have all disowned me. Reverend, please. They walk by me…won’t look at me…my children shriek in horror when I walk into their room. My wife wails for my soul…she cries when I touch her. I’ve heard them say I am dead, Reverend…dead…some kind of monster, Reverend…a ghost, Reverend…WHAT AM I TO DO?”
“my son, i think you are not being straight with me. it seems to me you are wrapping the true meaning of your words in a veil. the dead walking? preposterous. surely…”
“Oh Not You! Not the Reverend! All of what I’ve said…you must believe me…it’s true…it’s true!”
“come, my son, to the airport lounge. there we will drink and cure what ails you.”
“Reverend, thank you. I was beginning to think…”
“easy…now, tell me, why do they say these things, my son? surely they see what i see…that you are flesh and bone, that you breathe of this air, walk on this earth. do they not see this as i do? does not your heart still beat inside your chest? does blood not still course through your veins? my son…this is most disturbing.”
“You’re tellin’ me, Reverend. They’ve held my funeral, sold my car, gave my clothes away. They’ve even shot my dog, Reverend. Oh, I am fortune’s fool…”
“stop this crying! it is womanish! BARKEEP,” i yelled, “i’ll have another, and bring one for my friend here.”
“sure thing.”
“see,” i told this poor soul, “you see…HE sees you, i see you. your reflection is in the glass there. you are Here. Alive. but i don’t think you are telling me the whole story, my son. Start. from the Beginning.”
he spoke like a rational man. he told me of football, and his love of the game. of his time spent on the field, of his time spent in front of the television. he told me of games won and lost. of newspapers and bookies and lines and over-unders. he told me of feeling high and living low. he had found the science, he claimed.
“So when I picked the Colts, it had nothing to do with loyalty. I like the Steelers well enough, I suppose, but I’m a business man…a thinking man…I was trying to Win,” he hissed, “You understand me, don’t you?”
of course i did. professional football has nothing to do with loyalty for a betting man, at least not a successful one anyway. he had wronged the local fans, for sure, and it was unfortunate his family and friends were among them, but this could all be made better. “make amends, my son,” i told him, “and your family will welcome you again with open arms.”
“Oh, Reverend, thank you…I just KNEW I was on the right path,” he gulped at his drink. “I’m on my way right now…to Vegas…gonna bet a ton on the Broncos. It’s a lock. And I promise, Reverend, to use the winnings for nothing but my family...” his voice trailed off in tears and ramblings about pearls and vacations and trust funds, new cars, furs and the like.
i stood up from the bar and clapped a hand on his shoulder. i felt satisfied to have helped another wayward soul along the path to righteousness.
“fare-thee-well, my son…”
“You got it Reverend…and thanks so much. I was a little worried about putting so much on the Broncos, but you sealed the deal. YES!!! Indeed you did…I mean, how could you not bet the farm? The Broncos will be wearing their blue jerseys, and if it’s one thing I know, it’s that the team with the stronger colors wins everytime.”
it was as if a thousand voices cried out at once and were instantly silenced.
“What’s wrong Reverend?”
i had to think fast. “hmmm? nothing. listen, can i get in on that action?”
“You mean on the game? Well, Hell Yes you can. It's the least I can do. I'll call my bookie right now on my cell phone. I can even front you the money…”
“nonsense…i’ve got 30 grand in small bills just around the bend. wait right here. i’ll be right back.”
“Alright Reverend, and THANK YOU!!! We about to be some...” he hollered, but i was already beyond the perimeter of the bar. i didn’t turn, just raised a fist into the air as i walked away.
when i came to the first armed guard, i stopped.
“officer,” i said, “do you take your law-enforcement seriously around here?”
“Are you kidding me?” he rolled up his sleeve and showed me a tattoo of president bush atop an American flag, with missles, guns, and bullets all around. i raised an eyebrow.
“good,” i said. “in the airport lounge, you’ll find him. real beady eyes, small fingers, smells like cabbage. hates the Steelers. said he voted democrat…and will never,” i grabbed him by the collar, “NEVER VOTE REPUBLICAN!!! slime like that isn’t fit for American shores.”
he eyed me with a steely resolve, “It’s people like you that make me proud to be an American.” he spit a big wad of chew onto the ground. “You’re a goddamm patriot, you know that.”
i nodded. “and officer,” i intoned, “i think he might be armed.”
“My God, I hope so!” he said, and rushed towards the bar, drawing his weapon.
Johnny St. Clair wuz here at 11:58 PM
3 Comments:
obi-wan st clair.
i like the sound of it.
like the biz, except NO SAMPLES cleared...
i think i also got shakespeare, the cannonball run, harlem nights, austin powers, and - of course - the spirit of Raoul Duke.
this shit is just like cover songs by a bar band or a p-diddy record.
`
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