SNYDERMANIA: May 4, 2009

Monday, May 4, 2009

Swine Flu and Mine That Bird

SWINE FLU

The powers that be have decided to send my kids back to school tomorrow. The kids aren’t very happy about it. On the other hand, my wife is ecstatic. It turns out the Swine Flu isn’t as dangerous as they thought. Anybody else feeling manipulated here? Last week the local newspaper reported over a hundred Mexican deaths attributed to the Swine Flu; talk radio hosts were screaming for the head of Janet Napolitano because she didn’t close down the Mexican border. According to yesterday’s paper, there have been less than twenty swine flu related Mexican deaths. What gives? I can’t help but wonder if the drug companies didn’t make a few extra bucks from last week’s panic.

MINE THAT BIRD

The Year of the Seemingly Impossible Dream continues. Note to underdogs: there’s always a chance. A fifty to one underdog by the name of Mine That Bird came from behind to win the 2009 Kentucky Derby. Man, I love fifty to one underdogs.

STEVE MCQUEEN REPORT

Bet you didn't know Steve McQueen held a patent for a bucket seat. It's all about keeping people informed, baby...

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NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?