We here at Blogagaard have plunged fully into sporting madness this past week as the NFL season kicked off, with a brief political madness interlude as Bill Clinton and the Obama Super Couple gave a slew of thunderous speeches at the DNC. The crowning madness event of our personal sporting week was the Vikings game, which we attended with our cousin Steve and involved a heart dropping near loss that turned into a miraculous 16 second recovery that will forever be burned into our retinas. I'll spare you the sporting details, but there is nothing quite the dizzying highs and lows one suffers with 50,000 fellow fans inside a giant Teflon bubble.
We also wrapped up the second leg of softball season last night, playing well into the dusky bitter cool windy sandy glow of twilight, and have a nice little arm scrape to show for our flailing around the third base area. I shall not name names, but why is it so damn funny to watch an outfielder circle around in desperation, stick his glove out, miss badly, and then collapse backward into a heap of flailing limbs? Good grief, Charlie Brown.
Of course, everything related to football these days spells inevitable physical harm and so we question ourselves, and our love for football, and wonder if we should not love it so much. But why develop scruples now? We love to eat meat and we fully realize not all the animals we're feasting upon A) were treated all that well and B) probably didn't want to die that much. If we can stomach poor little chickens trapped in cages where they can't even turn the fuck around, we can watch a bunch of millionaires beat the daylights out of each other and chalk it up to an ultimately meaningless universe.