save me joe lewis! save me joe lewis! save me!!
he [cassius clay] brought the showmanship of professional wrestling to boxing in 1962, losing his money hand over fist, alone in this world save the love of his wife belinda, there is that history as well. it's an absolute joy speaking with those who were a part of those struggles, before title nine. young girls who are involved in sports, studies have shown, have reformed the quality of life for women, are less likely to abuse drugs or alcohol in their teenage years.... why is so much time and energy spent keeping the sports fan ignorant to the politics inherent to make athletes into brands, what belongs where, who should like or dislike who? look at the philadelphia flyers and sarah palin--was that a good idea? sports owners, professional league team owners, are so far to the right of most people in this country. it is almost this conscious effort to change the patrimony of the culture and other engendered practicums. the washington redskins? i won't go there.
-david zirin's A People's History of Sports in the United States
***
once the daily weight of having to go to work has been lain, it is somehow less cumbersome than it was when i first awoke. sometime between the morning piss and the third cup of coffee, my perspective has been reframed and i no longer feel that there is this need to make false excuses, or hatch harebrained ideas of escape. but i've done that before, don't get me wrong. perhaps after getting good and drugged up, it matters less and i've found some sort of refuge in escapist pursuits while high on coffee. because, really, you get high on yourself--essentially--for five or six hours. now, who dislikes that?
i sure don't harbor any grievance. i will take that to the bank. i will go home tonight, only after stopping by common grounds, and hurdle into bed with some kind of wondrous enthusiasm harvested in the latin american pacific coast region, later buoyed by the finest fermented grains in america. when you need somebody, this is how it goes. oh so slowly, majestically, grimily.
-david zirin's A People's History of Sports in the United States
***
once the daily weight of having to go to work has been lain, it is somehow less cumbersome than it was when i first awoke. sometime between the morning piss and the third cup of coffee, my perspective has been reframed and i no longer feel that there is this need to make false excuses, or hatch harebrained ideas of escape. but i've done that before, don't get me wrong. perhaps after getting good and drugged up, it matters less and i've found some sort of refuge in escapist pursuits while high on coffee. because, really, you get high on yourself--essentially--for five or six hours. now, who dislikes that?
i sure don't harbor any grievance. i will take that to the bank. i will go home tonight, only after stopping by common grounds, and hurdle into bed with some kind of wondrous enthusiasm harvested in the latin american pacific coast region, later buoyed by the finest fermented grains in america. when you need somebody, this is how it goes. oh so slowly, majestically, grimily.