What Would Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Do?

I spent the latter half of my Saturday night after dinner and took in a long walk to the campus of Northwestern University, not far from my pad. Other than the hundreds of females I saw marching toward the student union as I was leaving, not a whole heck of a lot was going on there, other than movie night. After catching my breath and looking at the lovely artwork within the union, I’d have to say it was relatively dead night at the union.

During my brief sojourn there I noticed an upcoming event for today, which was centered on the celebration of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a national holiday in the United States.

Lots was happening at Northwestern University, the usual stuff, like speakers, films and other activities that concurred with the *legacy* of Dr. King, yet it got me to thinking; what would Dr. King do today if he saw violence on the upswing in sports? And not just the major leagues either? What would he think about the fact that there’s violence on the field and off the courts?

Dr. King aside for a moment here; the very idea of violence in sports on the upswing is alarming. Something must be done to quell the thirst of violence in sports once and for all, period.

Of the four major sports, baseball, football, basketball & hockey, hockey by far is the most violent, what with constant fighting game after game, blood splashed on the ice, broken noses, black eyes, fistfights, but the fans eat it up, strangely enough.

Then there’s baseball; all it takes is a baseball thrown by a pitcher at the opposing player’s body to cause a fight. A few punches are thrown, both team benches clear and voila! A good old-fashioned fight ensues. By the time it’s over, a few players are ejected from the game, suspended, and fined and that’s about it.

Although football and basketball are seemingly the least violent of the four major sports, that’s starting to slowly change and it’s not necessarily the players who are initiating the fights either.

Enter the fan; the end-all instigator of the newly-renewed violence in sports facilities, especially at baseball and basketball games. Often times the fan will taunt the players anyway they can. That’s nothing new, but to actually taunt the players with malicious intent, including and not limited to jumping on the court or field, showering the athletes with debris or inflict bodily harm, well, that’s just uncalled for.

But the violence doesn’t end there, oh no! The big leagues have passed the savings onto the little leagues too, especially when parents take a swing at a coach, an umpire, another parent or even another child. It’s outrageous!

Just because their offspring didn’t make the cut or are bench-warmers or a call wasn’t made in their favor. Parents’ responsibility should be that of support, not the role of beast-slayer; that’s what coaches are for and always have been for.

Violence does not belong anywhere near sports, period!

What would Dr. King do? Unlike today where sit-ins and demonstrations seem to do little, other than make the evening news in a five-second clip, with an equally effective sound bite, probably nothing.

After all, you can’t hypothetically play guessing games when you’re dead.

New American Yarnprose>Frankenstein Boy Wonder Emerges With New Screw-On Wrists

There are some feelings you try to fight off like a bad cold & you struggle hard to be rid of those germs, but sometimes they never escape you & you come under viral attack in many varied ways.

I’ve been wondering lately where I belong, who I belong to, why I belong, what do I belong for & when I can stop belonging. Thinking too much gives me headaches. Crying too much gives me sadness and frustration & lately I’m full of that.

I’ve been trying to unload a rather old home full of baggage lately, but it’s been frustrating when roots get in the way. The trouble with roots is that they cling to you, like the way vines cling to walls & sometimes pulling these roots out can really hurt, especially if it’s not done correctly.

Within a circle of destiny, there are places I tried to get into, but they were never available; there were opportunities made for me, but I never took advantage of them; there were so many initiatives I tried to make on my own, but I failed, failed miserably & so I withdrew.

And I kept withdrawing. Withdrawing was much easier than facing the world. As I found myself withdrawing more, I discovered a whole new world within myself, but along with that I also found half a dozen other vices that just about ruined me.

Still, everyone needs a fix & lord knows that I have tried every legal fix there is, but it’s only quick & temporary, leaving me desiring more. Those fixes made me sick, putting me into strangleholds I didn’t want to be in, dug holes so deep & wide, that I wondered if I would manage to climb my way out alive.

The strangleholds are harder to slip out of though, because you can strangle yourself for the longest period of time & not even realize what you’re doing, until someone takes you by the hand, stands you next to them & forces you to look into the mirror & shows you how your reflection has become jaded & cracked.

You need new blood. Perhaps a transfusion or an injection of some kind, a shot in the arm that will make you a new person is what they tell you, like say Frankenstein Boy Wonder, a positive, passionate, peculiar person, who might energize an aging skeptical nation full of amazement, ready to take on anything he is handed.

Time is on his side, sometimes, but often as the Frankenstein Boy Wonder gets his feet wet, there are plenty of wolfmen, phantoms and bitter old Draculas, just waiting to take a bite out of him, a him who tries his best to be all positive and happy, because they themselves cannot have those desires and are determined to bring them down to their level, just like a fallen house of cards.

Frankenstein Boy Wonder knows that situations happen for a reason; that success is not overnight & that working out the kinks is far better than taking everything handed to him as is.

There are one thousand, million, billion, zillion, gazillion other Frankenstein Boy Wonders out there, all roaming around, trying to accomplish the same darn thing, with the same darn results, but they fail, due to lack of originality.

And they try to ape him, but can’t.

And he’s so darned glad.

Do The Oz! Do The Oz! Do The Oz! An Occupational Hazard>Act 35

Disclaimer: We become innocent when we are unfortunate. In innocence there is no strength against evil, but there is strength in it for good. What can innocence hope for; when such as sit her judges are corrupted! O God, keep me innocent; make others great! Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that if powers divine our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then their mind of innocence consciousness laughs at the lies of rumor.

Do The Oz! Do The Oz! Do The Oz! Sadly, as the shouts rang out in and around the execution chambers recently here on Devil’s Island, it seems as if the execution chambers have been reactivated in the most jovial of spirits.

To listen to The Ozman tell his story just moments before he was led away in shackles amid shouts and cheers of “Do The Oz!” you’d swear they were executing an innocent man.

The Ozman came to Devil’s Island long ago and far away on a trumped up charge of perjury, back in the day when such issues were one-sided and rarely checked, so he was sent up the river for a spell.

The Ozman developed a likeable personality everywhere he stepped, trotted and walked in and around Devil’s Island; that is to everyone except The Most Devine Heart, whom never did see eye-to-eye, rather going for each other’s throats many years ago at the annual Devil’s Island’s Prisoner Men vs. Prisoner Women Softball Charity Game, whose proceeds went to lining the pockets of the most finest of thieves in and around Devil’s Island.

It seems that The Ozman who managed the men’s team, disagreed with a game call made by the game umpire, The Most Divine Heart. At first the disagreement was light, then it became heated; mostly cursive in nature by The Most Divine Heart.

Apparently the play the two were disagreeing about was a deliberate pitch from Lugsy McTurk that turned out to be a bean ball against the head of Danceman Daryl, which knocked him down to the ground flat! That cleared the bench and a brawl ensued.

As Lugsy McTurk was led off the prisoner field, The Toothless Terrorist & Broadcast Betty could be seen moving in and around the crowded field, interviewing other prisoners, who of course were potential witnesses full of details and that always pulled in the attention of The Toothless Terrorist & Broadcast Betty.

In the meantime, the argument became more heated & cursive, when suddenly, The Ozman was ejected from the game. As The Ozman slowly walked off the Devil’s Island prisoner field, he said to himself that “enough was enough,” took a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear, scaled the turned-off Devil’s Island electronic fence and walked free.

During his brief time on the lam, The Ozman worked odd jobs; fixed cars, pumped gas, washed dishes, walked dogs, swept streets and shined shoes, until one day someone recognized him from a “Most Wanted” poster placed on a bulletin board at a local post office near the shop where he shined shoes.

Devil’s Island Upper Prison Brass was notified and The Ozman was promptly arrested, taken back into custody and placed straight back into solitary confinement for several months, until it was deemed he was safe enough to be placed back into the prisoner population once more.

The Ozman turned out to be a model prisoner, kept to himself, but made a few friends along the way, but when the snap decision came down to execute The Ozman quite suddenly, no one was able to stop it.

As The Ozman was escorted down to the execution chambers, prisoners shouted, “Do The Oz!” “Do The Oz!” “Do The Oz!” from every corridor possible, thereby forcing The Most Divine Heart to hear the love of the innocence about to die wrongfully.

When asked if he had any last words, The Ozman turned directly toward The Most Divine Heart, as he was preparing the execution chamber emotionlessly. The Ozman looked at him square in the face and said, “Yeah man, as a matter of fact, I do! Do The Oz! Do The Oz! Do The Oz!”

An innocent man he was.

A Quick Happy New Year Note From The MishegasMaster

It's a reasonable assumption that I haven't been writing that much in the last 17 days, mostly since I have been trying to tie up loose ends from the previous year and it's been rather difficult these past three weeks between sickness and the recent death of a friend's spouse, so before I get carried away with another one of my essays, I'd like to step away from the messy entanglements and wish all of you, my dear readers, a very, healthy & prosperous new year.

In the coming days there will be a few last minute leftovers from the previous year and then from there, on we shove off into the new year, with lots of new stories to share, plus a few new features here in this very space.

Until then, see you soon, gang!

The MishegasMaster