Does Mom Chew Your Food?

An advertisement played on the radio this afternoon.  The local soccer association is trying to drum up interest in kids joining a soccer league.  The announcer in the ad spoke of professionals who will teach your kids on how to play soccer.  I thought to myself, "Jeez.  How stupid are your kids that they can't figure out how soccer is played?  Does your mom chew your food for you, too?" 😂 

Here's a ball.  There's a field.  Now run and kick that spotted ball that way (👉 indicate which end of the field is the opponents goal.)  Kick the ball into that obnoxiously oversized goal.  Repeat.  "You can touch the ball however you like, just not with your hands.  You can lick the ball for all I care, just don't lay a hand on it."

Soccer really is a stupid game.  Based solely on it's simplicity.  Run. Kick. Run some more.  And what's up with that damned net?  It's the size of a barn, yet the scores are so god damned low.  I reckon it's the size of the field.  They run and run and run, up and down that enormous field.  I imagine the scores are so low, because everyone is tuckered the f*ck out.  I betcha that the goals were human sized, once upon a time, but the field was SO BIG, that no one was scoring at all.  So instead of making the field smaller, the genius' made the goal net BIGGER and still the f*cking scores are miniscule.

Only thing worse than the game of soccer, are the fans.  NOT all of them.  There's bound to be some normals among the bunch.  I'm talking about the sociopaths who go ape shit out of team loyalty.  I believe when I was a kid, I heard a story about some Brazilian player who f*cked up and the fans went to his house, drug him outside and murdered him.  What the f*ck?  That's f*cking insane.  That's like if I wore a Saskatchewan Roughrider jersey and someone came up to me wearing a Winnipeg Blue Bomber shirt, then they f*cking murdered me.

I wrote a blog many many years ago, on another platform, I believe, where I addressed the stupidness of soccer, citing how this tribe in Africa really wanted to play the game of soccer, but couldn't afford the equipment (the ball).  So they formed their own soccer balls out of dried manure.  It was quite a sight, watching a video of these young African teens running, chasing and kicking these dried shitballs. 😂 I laughed, commenting, "See?  Further proof that soccer is a shit-game."

If I'm not mistaken, somehow I got a lot of soccer-related web accounts (FB, Twitter, etc.) tagging me and following me.  Had to block them all, because... Well.  It's soccer. 🤨

Brain Washed

I've been having a lot of strange dreams as of late.  Maybe it's the stress of a new job and trying to impress the higher ups that I can perform my duties the way they intend them to be or maybe it's the overall exhaustion I've been experiencing in the last few weeks.  I can't say for sure, but the dream I had in the wee hours of the morning, today, unlocked a memory that was otherwise forgotten because of the TBI that I had a few years ago.

Many many years ago, and we're talking decades, now, I had a job with a local company called GM Marketing.  It's a company that is long since gone and, probably, for good reason.  On the surface, it was an advertising company that sold $20 discount cards for different businesses.  We did cards for Petro-Canada, Wendy's, Subway, Blockbuster Video (when that was still a thing) and even did a campaign for the Saskatchewan Roughriders.  The discount card was usually $20, $21.40 with tax and offered savings upwards of $200 to $500, if used to completion.  They were a great savings, if you were prone to eating out a lot or renting movies or taking in a ballgame or two.  "Use it just once," we say as part of our pitch, "And you'll already earn your money back."

We'd go door-to-door, ringing doorbells and pitching people our schtick.  Some would take us up on it, some wouldn't.  Some would even get violent, as opposed to simply passing on our offer. 

It was all good fun, on the surface, but looking back now, it was actually a cult or cult-like experience.  From the initial meeting for your job interview, the con was in.  They'd greet you with a series of smoke and mirrors and it wasn't until you were neck deep in the shit, that you realized that you were f*cked.

Initially, you'd meet the owner/manager of the company, in this case, Wade.  Wade was a gregarious twenty-something year old man with an expensive suit, a gold ring and necklace and a flashy red sports car, like the one pictured here, parked by the front door of the business.  He'd tell you that YOU, TOO could be a success at an early age.  That you could be driving an expensive sports car, too. He'd give you all the bells and whistles and to a vulnerable young person, they believe that bullshit.  I believed that bullshit.

Once in their clutches, they'd have morning meetings to build up your self esteem.  Tell stories about Pandora's Box and other tales that were designed to make you more successful.  They'd tell you shit like, people who worked 9-to-5, 40-hour a week jobs, were just sheep.  They were following the herd and putting in the motions to make little or no money, while we were going to make up to $200 per day, and get paid daily as opposed to every two weeks.  Blah, blah, blah, lots of money, lots of opportunity, lots of blah, blah, blah.  And I believed that bullshit.  When my parents would tell me to quit, I was convinced that they didn't know what the f*ck they were talking about, because they were the mindless sheep that I was told about at work.

Wade mostly stayed in his office, rarely coming out to mingle with the workers who were lining his pockets with cash, but once in awhile, Wade would grace us with his presence and he'd joke and toss out a few bucks here and there to show his "appreciation", but it was all just a ruse.  A way to show-off a big wad of cash that "we could also have some day".

We were expected to be in the office by 7:30am, every morning.  Out of the office by eight and in the field long before 9am, knocking on doors and pitching our wares.  We would have to work the entire day, until about 7:30pm or 8 o'clock, then return to cash out our daily earnings.  Then, instead of being paid daily, like we were told, we were encouraged to "bank" our money, with the office, rather than keep it all to ourselves.  The money would be safe in their "bank", and you could get it whenever you wanted it, although when you'd attempt to get your money, they'd put up a helluva fight to give it up.  Not to mention, that the money you left in "the bank" never earned any f*cking interest.

They convinced us that our parents and society were mindless drones forced to work 40-hour work weeks, but in reality, it was us, working many more hours per day, six days a week.  Our families worked for a paycheck every two weeks and received the full amount earned, while we, the mindless brain-washed drones, easily worked roughly sixty hours per week, sometimes not earning anything more than a few bucks per day.  If you were working in the city, it was one thing, but if you were working out of town, that $7 that you earned that day, had to go towards paying for your hotel room, food and gas.  It shows how f*cking brain-washed we were, to accept these terms.

My breaking point was having a car accident.  The car I was driving, was rear ended on a road trip to Regina.  The drive home, I had to sit sideways in my seat, because I had severe whiplash and my head was stuck looking to the right.  I saw a doctor who recommended that I take some time off to heal, but when I went to the office to request the time off, they threatened to fire me, instead.  I beat them to the punch, telling them to "GO F*CK YOURSELVES, THEN!!"

I was in pain, but truthfully, I never felt better in my life.  I'd go on to get one of those mindless 40-hour a week jobs and when I received my first check, I kissed it and wanted to frame it.

I can't recall what the dream was, that I had this morning, regarding this terrible chapter of my life, but it reminded me of how good I have it now.  Things could have been a f*ck of a lot worse.

Double Digits - Ten Years of "Loud 'n' Proud"

It was New Year's Day 2006, when I received the phone call that my friend, Darcy Corrigan, had passed away unexpectedly.  After only twenty-eight years on this mortal coil, his shining light was extinguished, but not forgotten from the hearts of all who knew and loved him.

Darcy was a generous, funny, smart, no bullshit kind of guy and though I wasn't as close to him as some, having known this amazing fella, has influenced my life in more ways than I could even know.  His generosity, alone, was more than I could fathom.  One story sticks out particularly.  It occurred just a little over a month before his passing.  It was my birthday and there were lots of people taking me out for dinner followed by some drunken karaoke.  A common practice for a few of us, at the time.  Darcy was living and working out of town, at the time, so I never expected to see him show up for my little soiree, but he did.  Despite working all that Saturday and having to open his store up the following Sunday morning, Darcy traveled the two-and-a-half-PLUS distance, following his shift, to pick me up from my house, take me to where everyone was meeting for supper, then on to the karaoke bar, doing in all with the often seen, rarely photographed smile on his face, as observed in the photograph above.

I think of Darcy everyday.  I have a tattoo on my left forearm, as a memoriam to Darcy, of a lone woman in a red dress.  "Why such an obscure tattoo?", you ask.  On one of the many occasions that we had gone out for a rousing night of drink and song, a friend and I thought it'd be funny if we signed up our usually silent cohorts for a song.  The first was "Funky Town" for the normally reserved Boyd, who performed to song stunningly.  So good he was, in fact, that months later when another friend attempted the song, he got up to instruct them.  For Darcy, however, we decided to tame things down for him and requested "Lady In Red" by Chris de Burgh.  My friend and I were waiting to chuckle when he bombed, but there were nothing but the sweetest notes coming from his breath.  So memorable was his performance, that every time I've heard that song on the radio, since, I am reminded of Darcy.

It was nine years ago, New Year's Day, when I answered the phone and received the heartbreaking news.  I never cried at the death of my father in the same way that I did with Darcy's passing.  Maybe it was because of how unexpected it was.  At the funeral, I met Darcy's family for the first time.  It was no wonder that Darcy grew into the incredible man that he was, surrounded by such a loving family as this.  It was a time where it was beneficial to be a wallflower.  To sit back and listen to all the amazing stories where Darcy was a main focal point.  I got to see and live his life via some sort of magic in those couple of days and in the years since.

Every year, beginning in the summer of 2006, a mass conglomeration of family treks from the recesses of western Canada, migrating to Regina for a Saskatchewan Roughrider game, in what has come to be known as: The Darcy Corrigan Memorial Game Weekend.  The numbers have dwindled some, from that initial game, but given how tough life has been getting for people, I can't blame them.  I've fallen on tough financial times in the last five-plus years, but as tough as I see it, I think of how Darcy traveled all that distance to spend a few hours with me and friends on my birthday, only to race home again to open his store for the morning traffic.  That kind of generosity, boggles my mind, to this day.  I go to the Memorial Weekend, just for that reason.  That and I love his family.  More so than my own, in some instances, if I gotta be honest.

Darcy's been absent from this world of a little over nine years, but he's remained LOUD 'n' PROUD in our hearts and minds for TEN years.  So this weekend, whether you knew Darcy or not, I hope you'll raise your glass in his memory, anyway.  R.I.P. Darcy Corrigan.  I can't wait to meet up with you on the other side.

Are You Kidding Me? There Can Only Be One.

In doing some light reading, I've come to learn that before Christianity swept over the land, however many ions ago that was, one of the dominant religions was known as Ásatrú.  Asatru (Icelandic, "Æsir faith") has been highlighted, as of late, in the Marvel Comic theatrical releases of the superhero THOR.  Although the religion itself, whose actual founding date seems to pre-date any known calendar, was all but obliterated from the annuls of time, has been steadily been revived (and returning to popularity) since the 1970s.

Ásatrú is an Old Norse word consisting of Ása, referring to the Norse gods, and trú, which loosely translates to "troth" or "faith". Thus, Ásatrú means "religion of the Æsir."  Synonymously, terms for Asatru include Germanic Neopaganism, Germanic Heathenism, Odinism, or Heathenry.  The original, ancient form of Norse religion is usually referred to as Germanic paganism, or Norse mythology.

Those who choose to follow this religion, do so by following the teachings of (1) Odin (Germanic Woden), who is the god of magic, poetry, riches and the dead; ruler of Valhalla (Wednesday is a derivative of his name, although I wonder how he'd feel knowing that this is also known as Hump Day?);  (2) Thor, who is the sky god who wields a big hammer, able to control the weather, and enforces the law and the community (Thursday is derived from his name, and rightfully so.  If the movies are any indication, he kicks ass, just as Thursday, my wrestling day [TNA Impact - SpikeTV]).  There's also (3) Freyr, who is the fertility god, also represented with a phallic statue and seen as the founder of the Swedish royal dynasty.  (Yeah, I kinda doubt it too...); and (4) Freyja (sister to Freyr and also Odin's hot wife), fertility goddess of love and beauty and sister to Freyr, known by many names (including Frigg) and patron of families, her name is a derivative of Friday)... (TGIF).

So what is my point to all this?  I don't know.  I kind of found it fascinating.  Fascinating in the sense that although it'd replaced by bible-thumping Christianity freaks in the first have of the millennia (1st Century AD, the 4th Century AD & the 7th Century AD), that the religion been steadily making a comeback.  Ásatrú, the modern attempt to revive the old Norse faith, was founded by the Icelandic farmer Sveinbjörn Beinteinsson (1924–1993). Beinteinsson was a sheep farmer and a priest in the religion, who published a book of rímur (Icelandic rhymed epic poetry) in 1945. In 1972 he petitioned the Icelandic government to recognize the "Icelandic fellowship of Æsir faith" as a recognized religious body and it was done so in 1973.   Denmark and Norway have since followed.

There are other deities related to the faith, of course.  There's Njord, who is the father of Freyr and Freyja,  who is the god of ships, seas and lakes; Tyr (Germanic Tiu), also a derivative of Tuesday, (or as I like to call it, Cheap Night at the Movies) - god of battle, sacrifice and justice;  Ullr, the god of death, winter, and hunting.  (It's also nice to have a name to attach to the blame for all this shitty-ass cold weather we've been experiencing...); and last, but not least, Loki, who is referred to as "the trickster", but as the movie has shown us, he's also the guy with the really bad taste in head wear.  (Hee hee hee, the best part of that Avengers movie..: "Hulk Smash Loki", hilarious!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2fVdNBGTTo).

So is this a viable religion?  To me, it seems to mirror that of the Gods of the Greek Mythology.  One God to overlook one or two things, be it the sea and lakes, or fertility among mankind, or a God for poetry and magic.  Whatever.  If Christianity has taught me anything, it's that they're lazy as f*ck, conjoining everything into one lump sum, and having one God oversee it all.  Ya wonder why your prayers go unanswered?  Because your God doesn't know how to delegate.  He's got too much shit on his plate already, therefore your desire for a new bike or for your sports team to win,  just isn't a priority.  And why are you bothering him with a request for a new bike, ya dumb shit?  As for sports teams, everyone knows that God is a Saskatchewan Roughrider (CFL).  

Is it silly to follow Odin, Thor and alike?  Sure it is!  But no more silly than following Christianity.  I know it's likely that I may catch a little fall out for making that comment, but do I really give two shits about what people who pray to an invisible man who lives in the clouds, think?  I mean, a Virgin Birth?  If anyone tried to pass that shit off, nowadays, they'd be committed to the first available rubber room, complete with a canvass jacket that ties up in the back.

However, given how the ladies all swoon and croon over that bloke, Chris Hemsworth, I think the argument for praising the Norse Gods, really is gaining popularity.  I don't see, myself.  If anyone should be crooned and swooned upon, it should be Kat Dennings.  Now there is a true Goddess.  Meeyow.