SNYDERMANIA: Say it Ain't So, Ken

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Say it Ain't So, Ken

I have some bad news for my fellow Ken Mink fans. It is with immeasurable anguish that I come to grips with the fact that my new personal hero, seventy-three year old Ken Mink has flunked Spanish and been declared ineligible. He will not suit up for the Roane College basketball team in this season’s home finale. Ken was planning to dress out in a 1950’s uniform and perform a rap song. Perhaps it’s for the best. Did anyone really want to hear a seventy-three year old man perform a rap song or see him dressed out in Daisy Duke shorts? I think not. Not in this life time.

I’m still inspired. F in Spanish or no F in Spanish, Ken Mink is a stud.

2 comments:

Rick Rivers said...: Yeah sad. But It might have been worse if he'd gotten an "F" in English? Was he going to play for a Hispanic team?; February 25, 2009 at 10:58 AM
#167 Dad said...: I hear he's trying out for a team down in Morelos.; February 25, 2009 at 4:36 PM

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?