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Friday, March 1, 2019

NOT JUST THE ALOOF BILLIONAIRE AMERICAN SPORTS OWNER, AND NOT JUST THE OVERPRICED AMERICAN ATHLETE, BUT THE UNCLEAR ROLE OF THE AMERICAN COACH: COMPLAINT.



Here come the American Sportsmen? Great!
They will pay Bryce Harper $300 million? Great!
Has Bryce won a World Series? No? Great!
Basically, he stinks? And he gets the highest paycheck? Great!
There’s hope, then, for everybody who stinks? Great!
Hey, let’s get that haircut? With the swoosh? Brilliant!
What’s the Bryce Harper go-to styling gel? Oh yeah? Great!

So my team sucks an organic, cage-free egg? Great!
Do we get relegated to a lower league? No? Great!
We get the top draft pick? No kidding? Great!
Maybe we should suck for four-score and twenty years? Great!
We’d get four-score and twenty No. 1 draft picks? Great!
Who’s responsible for these lack of consequences? Owners? Brilliant!
That’s them? In the sky box? Sipping champagne? Great!

The more money you have, the better person you are? Great!
New York is the wealthiest American sports city? Great!
The Knickerbockers have a lot of money? Right? Great!
The New York Football Giants have cash? Great!
The Rangers have dough? And the Nets and the Jets? Great!
And the Yankees are loaded of course? Brilliant!
How many titles did these teams win last year? None? Great!

The coach is in charge at all times? As it should be? Great!
He calls time outs? He sends players out there? Great!
We’re losing? Who’s to blame? The players? Great!
They fired the coach? Now? During the game? Great!
There’s a new coach? But we’re still losing? Great!
They fired the second coach? How quickly? Brilliant!
The players still stink? We’ve fired three coaches? Great!

We now turn to our panel of experts – Fluffy, Sausages, and The Machine – which is advising this blog during Complaint Week 2019.
            “How do I pronounce Gekas?” says Fluffy. “Theo-fanis Gekas. Theo-fanis Gekas. Theofanis Gekas! Theofanis Gekas! Theofanis Gekas!”
            “…the king…,” says Sausages, “…out there…, hocking his watch…”
            “Coaches,” writes The Machine. “Why do these fuckers get paid big dollars to help young men run around on fields?”




Thank you, gentlemen. Yes, let’s stick with the coach, for now. There’s a fundamental example here. Let’s say it’s a basketball game. The coach calls timeout. His team is losing by two, late in the game. He diagrams a basket-scoring play on his little dry erase board that duplicates the court, with a three point line, a charity stripe, and so forth. He’s really going at it, with X’s and O’s, and his little purple pen. The bench players are paying attention, but of course, they’re not going to execute the play. Neither are the players who are playing. They know that the star player will just change the play the minute the ball is inbounded. On the other bench, the other coach is diagramming an offensive play, too. Why? you ask. Because there is no defense anymore. Offense is defense. You defend by planning to score. Both coaches, scribbling away furiously in purple dry-erase ink, while the players send text messages, or practice their handshakes. Once the play actually begins, none of the scribbling matters anymore. The play unfolds as the players see fit, with both teams—simultaneously—on offense. The coach is red in the face, he runs up and down the court, he gesticulates like an imbecile, but nobody is listening. But that’s not the complaint, no. Both teams are filthy-wealthy, and both teams SUCK. (Complaint!)




blood and gutstein complaint week 2019: no solutions—just gripes
monday: democrats
tuesday: education
wednesday: poetry
thursday: beer
friday: sports


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