A trampoline is for rebounding. An NBA center is for rebounding.
You remember George W. Bush, even if you’ve tried hard to forget him.
When he left the White House, the populace — even many Republicans — was shaking its collective head in derision.
Bush was viewed as one of the worst presidents in history, down there with fellow bottom feeders Filmore, Pierce, Buchanan and Harding.
Well, history apparently doesn’t last forever and things change. Next we’ll find out that Washington lied his butt off, Lincoln was secretly rooting for the South, Grant was a sober genius, the buck didn’t stop with Truman, Eisenhower wasn’t bald, Kennedy was up to his wavy locks in fidelity and Nixon never was tricky.
Now comes the incredible speculation that George W.’s reputation is ready for a rebound.
Talk about a tale that’s improbable at its very roots.
And totally unbridled from reality.
If you believe in luck, you probably bring your own fake money printing press to the racetrack.
Luck seldom is a lady. They may call horseracing the sport of kings, but it really is the passion of paupers.
And why the rant on luck on this sun-splashed luscious spring day?
Because the favorite in Saturday’s 136th running of the Kentucky Derby is named Lookin At Lucky.
It’s a dandy name for a Derby favorite. Certainly a notch ahead of Slow As Molasses or Dead Turtle Walking
Then again, what’s in a name?
Lookin At Lucky evidently has no luck. Luck may not be a lady but irony can be a cruel mistress.
The colt drew the dreaded No. 1 stall in the starting gate, which is more of a kiss of death than if the Grand Reaper had smooched him wetly on the lips.
“He just can’t catch a break,” lamented trainer Bob Baffert.
Just a hunch, but I wouldn’t bet the mortgage and your kids’ Harvard tuition money on Lookin At Lucky.
It’s a catastrophe terrible enough to make the mothers of oilmen and environmentalists cry.
Brothers and sisters, that’s indeed Terrible with a capital T.
The Obama administration now is pulling out all the sponges and mops it can muster to help minimize the enormous environmental consequences of having that monumental oil spill wash ashore in the Mississippi Delta Friday.
And the feds are going to bill BP, the operator of the sunken rig that caused the leak, for the astronomical cleanup costs.
Then again, the federal government is not a last resort in an event of such magnitude. God’s infinite mercy is a last resort. Even fish in the Gulf of Mexico reportedly were seen clutching rosary beads today.
Of course, the administration rejected suggestions the federal government was guilty of a One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi, Three-Mississippi delay before dealing with the spill.
Rather, the feds expressed frustration with BP’s inability to seal the ruptured wellhead, which is spewing a whopping 5,000 barrels of oil a day into the water. Such a waste of oil when the Indy 500 folks are just revving up their engines.
Apparently the spill could have been prevented by a simple remote “off” switch, which the rig lacked. Hence, BP is under heavy fire from environmentalists, the media and the government.
Still, character assassination seldom draws blood.
Life everywhere, which includes Berks County, means different strokes for different folks.
Tuesday night in Berks graphically demonstrated the disparity.
You found dimpled grins here. Fixed scowls there. The dramatic difference was strung so tight you could hang wash on it.
The promise of a wondrous life bloomed abundantly here. Two dead bodies lay growing cold there … the life in them snuffed out for eternity … whatever hopes they once had for life growing cold with them.
At FirstEnergy Stadium, Stephen Strasburg was riding his rocket of a right arm once again to future stratospheric glory in the major leagues. The Harrisburg Senators’ fabulous phenom pitched five hitless innings and knocked in the only run to beat our Reading Phillies.
Life’s possibilities seem enormous for Strasburg. He obviously can’t wait for the Earth to turn again and see what tomorrow brings.
Meanwhile, two women were found slain in the office of the Hillside Motel along Route 422 in Amity Township.
The DA last night would not divulge anything about them except to say were two deceased females. Whoever they were … whatever they did in life … however they died and why they died … all would have to wait for another day. Of course, for them, another spin of Earth’s axis is a moot point. They’re now part of a different plane somewhere.
I guess this merely points out that life is what we make it — with a heavy dependence on benevolent genetics, choices and circumstances.
I don’t know if it really was a better world when everybody smoked cigarettes and emptied distilleries. Perhaps it just seemed so.
Not to be a pop philosopher, but I imagine that when it comes to life we only get a single roll of the dice. Just like when trying to defuse a nuclear missile.
I know democracy still is relatively new to Eastern Europe, which had been under the thumb of the Soviet Union for decades.
The growing pains were quite evident when the Ukraine parliament somewhat thumbed its nose at political protocol today.
In a scene straight out of the Marx (Groucho, not Karl) Brothers, opposition lawmakers hurled eggs and smoke bombs inside parliament as the chamber approved a 25-year extension to the Russian Black Sea fleet’s base in Crimea.
Many Ukrainians loathe the Russians, apparently fearful they could still beat them like egg yolks someday.
Eventually democracy there should evolve into the majestically mature model we have in the States, where lawmakers are merely content to verbally assault each other — sans the foreign objects.
Arizona Governor Jan Brewer has signed Senate Bill 1070 into law, morphing Arizona into the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany with the stroke of a pen.
God, that old cliché about the pen being mightier than the sword stills holds true in the digital age. Who would have thunk it?
Well, Arizonians should be radish red with embarrassment over this fascist, draconian and likely unconstitutional anti-immigration law.
Granted, illegal immigration is a terrible problem, especially in Arizona. There are an estimated 11 million illegal immigrants in this country, nearly half a million of whom are in Arizona. Obviously California and Texas have a bunch of them and Reading certainly has its fair share.
But unlike Arizona, you can’t fight the dragon any way you can.
Its new immigration law is darker than Johnny Cash’s closet was.
The Arizona law empowers the police to stop a person if there is a “reasonable suspicion” that he is an illegal immigrant, and to detain him if he doesn’t have on him the documentation to prove that he has the right to be in America. If you are a legal immigrant but on the streets without your papers, the onus will be on you to prove your legality.
It even creates a private right of action that allows anyone, from an ordinary citizen to the Minutemen, to file suit against individual law enforcement officers who they believe are refusing to enforce the new act.
The new law makes anyone with brown skin, anyone who looks like he might be from Eastern Europe or the Middle East, anyone with an accent or speaking a foreign language — anyone who looks the least bit like they might be an immigrant — subject to the demand: “Papers please.”
That horrible phrase — “papers please” — is something the authorities once chillingly asked people with knocking knees in the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany.
It’s as un-American as the German Wehrmacht goose step.
The onus will be on the courts to be raising Arizona back to democracy and making sure the state turns its back on Big Brother.
Stephen Hawking is light years smarter than you or me. This guy’s brain is so scientific he only dines at the periodic table of chemical elements.
Hawking says there is almost certainly life elsewhere in the universe.
With 100 billion galaxies populating the universe, he figures you don’t need Las Vegas to calculate the odds that somewhere out there in deep space some extraterrestrial life forms have evolved past mere amino acids, organic molecules, microbes, talking plants equipped with ray guns, the Chicago Cubs, and slimy salamanders who can be brewed into teabaggers if the atmospheric conditions are just right.
Hawking also says humanity should be scared witless of making contact with aliens, who could bully us, abduct us, brainwash us, mate with us, conquer us and kill us as well as dominate the top selections in the NFL draft.
After all, considering the human condition since the dawn of time on Earth, the human species can hardly be the brightest bulb in the universal string.
As Hawking points out, “If aliens ever visit us, I think the outcome would be much as when Christopher Columbus first landed in America — which didn’t turn out very well for the Native Americans.”
That’s enough to make all of us scream Geronimo.
You can’t make stuff like this up, even if you’re William Shakespeare.
Apparently while the economy began going totally bearish in 2008, high-level and high-paid regulators at the Securities and Exchange Commission were going totally bullish on online porn.
Evidently one slimeball spent eight hours a day accessing porn from his office computer. No word if he lunched at his desk.
It’s a shame the SEC wasn’t surfing for financial troubles instead of surfing for skin. Otherwise all our wallets would not have been stripped naked by the economic collapse.
I wonder if the SEC will force these folks to undergo sex addiction rehab or make them kick-start the economy by burning through a lot of dollar bills at strip clubs.
As you may or may not know, the NFL held its annual meat market in prime time for the first time last night. At least the marquee first round, anyway. To draftniks, and their ranks have swollen like a blowfish in recent years, this was a really big deal. Trust me. Even bigger than National Pickle Day.
God forbid, the enchanting extravaganza of the NFL draft now is aired on two (count ’em) networks — if you count the NFL Network as an authentic network despite being anchored by career hack Rich Eisen.
ESPN vs. the NFL Network. Mel Kiper Jr. vs. Deion Sanders. The Hair vs. The Tonsils. In high definition, no less. Please hide the women and children in locked basements without TV sets.
Sam Bradford, the sweet throwing (with a twice repaired shoulder) quarterback, went No. 1 to the St. Louis Rams. We’ve all know we would meet him in St. Looey ever since his pristine passing on his pro day.
Once upon a time, the Rams were the Greatest Show on Turf when Kurt Warner was flingleader of an astonishing aerial circus. Last year they were about as airborne as a pack of elephants.
Now Bradford has to pull this miracle off surrounded by stiffs and coming from a spread offense where he was spared the basics of reading defenses and taking snaps from center. Bradford will be doing a lot of Play It Again Sam until he hones his NFL mechanics … if he stays in one piece and doesn’t have various body parts strewn across NFL stadiums.
Granted, the delicious drama that was giving all of us enough indigestion to stock an entire Tums factory last night was wondering if Tim Tebow would go in the first round and if so, what idiot would take him.
Well, God’s right-hand man (even if he is left-handed) went to Denver. And the nut ball rolling the dice was Denver head coach Josh McDaniels, who previously been content with trading away all his stars (i.e. Jay Cutler, Brandon Marshall). By the time Tebow develops into a passable NFL quarterback, McDaniels likely will be selling avalanche insurance to Eskimos.
Of course, since the closest franchise to Reading is the rebuilding (they claim they’re reloading) Philadelphia Eagles, please note they traded up from the 24th pick to the 13th to pluck defensive end Brandon Graham.
The Birds are in a big rush to upgrade their pass pressure because opponents last season passed them more dizzy than Kate Gosselin on a dance floor.
But their choice of Graham left some pundits wondering why they hadn’t opted for such defensive ends as Derrick Morgan or Jason Pierre-Paul. Or better yet, stud Earl Thomas, a one-man safety patrol. After all, all of Philadelphia still suffers from an agonizing Brian Dawkins void.
Hopefully the Eagles’ selection of Graham proves to be a Lucky 13th. Kid GM Howie Roseman had better hope so or it’s back to ambulance chasing for him.
By the way, that 24th pick the Birds swapped to Denver wound up pinballing to New England to Dallas in less than an hour. And with the 24th, the Cowboys drafted troubled but talented wideout Dez Bryant. Just so you know if you’re keeping score at home. And if you catch Bryant spiking the ball in an end zone at the Linc three or four times this season.
I don’t know if Jeffrey Scott Shapiro ever played football without a helmet.
I don’t know if Jeffrey Scott Shapiro ever was hit on top of the head by a piano falling from a 37th-floor window.
I don’t know if Jeffrey Scott Shapiro ever had his psyche scrambled by a Freud impersonator tripping over his id, ego and superego.
But I do know Jeffrey Scott Shapiro apparently has lost his mind.
Jeffrey Scott Shapiro thinks George W. Bush walked on water in concrete loafers while president.
And Shapiro wants everybody else to think George W. sparkled more incandescently than fireworks in a catacomb while he was in the White House.
Shapiro has founded Honor Freedom, a nonprofit group that intends to teach (brainwash?) Americans into believing George W. Bush was actually a great president and an even better man.
Never mind that Bush’s end-of-term approval rating was a record-low 22 percent. Bush was so low at that point he didn’t even have to bend backwards to go under a limbo stick.
Granted, rewriting history is what keeps historians employed. If nobody had to stay current with history, it simply would be yesterday’s news.
Still, I sincerely doubt that rehabbing Bush’s tarnished image through the prism of time’s perspective will gather much grassroots support, even among Republicans.
The GOP is looking ahead.
After all, can you blame Republicans for not looking back when George W. Bush is in their rearview mirror?