Being a modest man, when I checked into my hotel on a recent trip, I said to the lady at the registration desk …
“I hope the porn channel in my room is disabled.”
To which she replied, “No, it’s just regular porn…….. you sick bastard.”

(Thanks, Ron!)

—————-
Now playing: Seven Mary Three – Cumbersome
via FoxyTunes

Yeah, we all know them. Referees. They are blind, stupid homers, right? And its only been in the last few years that its been so bad, right? Well…..

I was going through my Mom’s stuff with three of my brothers when we moved her from her senior living apartment to the nursing home where she is now. One thing I came across was rather interesting. It was a program from the 1945 Iowa Boys State Basketball Tournament. My Mom graduated from Muscatine High School in 1945. The teams involved in the state tournament that year were: Storm Lake, Dowling (West Des Moines), Ottumwa, Muscatine, Geneseo Township (Buckingham), Sioux City Central, Ames and Waverly. Muscatine ended up losing to Ames in the championship game 35-33.

But something else in that program really caught my eye. It was a poem by R.J. Finn of Harlan, IA, called “Foul Play, or, Soul in Agony”. Here it is:

I think that I shall never see
A fairly treated referee.
He has to be o.k.’d by all,
To work a game of basketball.
His shirt must be in prison stripes,
To furnish gags for people’s gripes.
He nods and smiles to show he’s square,
To act too wise – he wouldn’t dare.
The game begins and all is set,
He hasn’t called a foul as yet.
But soon a boy has charged or blocked,
And for that foul he then is socked.
This time the crowd is full of joy,
Because it’s not a home town boy.
The game gets warm, the pace is hot,
Our whistle tooter’s on the spot.
Right underneath the home town’s goal,
Someone has pushed – and bless my soul -
Our striped friend, with whistle shrill,
Has called a foul on our star, Bill.
And fans go mad – they’re all agog,
And shout, “You need your seeing dog,”
“Where are the other two blind mice?”
“You’re not a louse – you’re almost lice.”
The ball drops in, the score is tied,
The heat’s on full, he’s being fried.
Now up the court, now back with speed,
The boys, all moving fast indeed.
To watch their feet, their hands, their hips,
And toot that whistle in his lips
Is one big job – at last – the bell,
The half-way mark it’s surely – well,
He needs a rest perhaps a smoke,
To referee is not a joke.
The coaches seek him out to say,
“Watch that big boy” or “Watch that play.”
He says, “O.K.,” but thinks, “You dope!
At home I could have heard Bob Hope.”
Three minutes more – the die is cast,
He vows this game will be his last.
The second half now starts, twelve all,
For just a minute there’s a pall,
That settles o’er the entire crowd,
That soon will be in cheering loud.
Up goes the ball, the tension’s high,
The ball is watched by every eye.
Of course each line of vision true,
Is not the same for me and you.
The guy downstairs, he hollers, “Boo!”
The guy upstairs says, “Give him two.”
The fan at one end hollers, “No!
He hit the ball, I’ll betcha dough.”
While at the other end afar,
Some fan explodes, “A thief you are.”
And in the middle of the gym,
Sit mammas, papas, fat and slim.
They gasp, they scowl, they frown, they shout,
“He roughed my Johnnie – put him out.”
And on the bench across the hall
The coaches scowl, the players call,
“Why don’t you call ‘em? Now see there!”
Some wave their arms, some shout and swear.
The ball is changing hands so fast,
‘Tis hard to tell who had it last.
It’s nip and tuck and nip,
Two points far out, two in by tip.
The score is tied, now in it goes,
The crowd is standing on its toes.
A long shot hits the net – Oh gee!
It’s tied again, two three, two three.
The time is getting short, ’tis now
A foul called would cause a row.
One minute left – but now, “Time out.”
That poor official – scared no doubt!
I don’t believe I’ll stay to see
Who wins this game – it’s clear to me,
That our poor man in stripes so bright,
Is really in for one bad night.
Just think it o’er – if this were you -
Hell if you don’t hell if you do.
He’s out here trying, hoping too,
Some boy gets hot to see him through.
Perhaps he’s having one bad night,
We all have them and well we might.
For games are worked by men like ME,
Quite as fallible as You and HE.

—————-
Now playing: Halestorm – It’s Not You
via FoxyTunes

Happy Birthday, Austin!

Happy New Year!!