tom, you are well en dow-ed, or, barry bondage vs. king george

i'm thinking of two men. one has lied about trying to bring freedom to far away lands. he has lied about certain countries having weapons of mass destruction. he has stood by while poor people have been ravaged by "natural disasters." he sat reading a book to children while certain tall buildings collapsed, then used this tragedy to blow up buildings in other countries in the name of defending america. in short, he has killed millions, and hurt/injured millions more with his policies. for this, he faces no penalties, no jail time. he is a free man.
the other man has hit more home runs than any one in baseball history. he is the best baseball player of the last 30 odd years. he may have lied about using steroids. for this, he is facing up to 30 years in jail. he has been attacked by the press, villified by the media. one reporter said he should be hung. fans have yelled for pitchers to throw at his head, to hit him in the knee, to end his career. these same fans have argued that none of this is motivated by racism, although the treatment echoes what hamerin hank went through in 1974 when he was chasing babe ruth. he too received death threats, threatening letters, boos from fans. now, hank is a hero, thirty odd years after the fact, as jesus, abe lincoln, jfk, martin malcolm and others are also heroes, after the fact.
one of these men are white, the other black. one is a president of the united states, and therefore, an automatic war criminal, as all our presidents have been. this president said yesterday was a sad day for baseball. this man who has given us 7 sad years of war and increased poverty and low paying jobs and on and on. this man sheds tears for baseball.
and the bombs continue to fall. and not one minute of jail time for the ultimate policy maker.
i'll say this for him: he hasn't taken steroids. plenty of cocaine and alcohol in his past, but no steroids it appears.
so, barry faces the possibility of a life in bondage. his u.s. bonds may lose their value, and he will not be able to run home to evade the enveloping persecution. they are busting his balls, and he is not able to strike back, and even though i am going to bat for him, it appears they will park his ass in jail. willie mays recall this story differently, but i wouldn't banks on it, ernie.
and so, i mourn, with a picture of bonds on my mickey mantle. if ever a manny has been villified, it is bonds. how lowell can this attack go? is there no cora for this disease of hate? i feel terrybull that they may drive this man into an early fran coma. you can dresser this up anyway you like, but the fax are the same. the machine is out to get him, and when your number is up, there is nothing left but to wait for the ordeal. i can't recall a time when so many phonies have been on the attack, ready to pounce, deleon. it makes me want to pack up and move to columbus, but de soto is in the shop and won't be ready for a couple of weeks. so, you amerigo your way, and i'll go mine, and let's get away from it all.
our students have just completed a retake of the mcas. we did what we could, short of giving them the answers, to help. invariably, they get nervous, they sweat, they curse their fate, they question their intelligence. and we administer the exam, year after year, for that is our job. we could be punished if we did not give it to them. we all know it's wrong, as many of us know the war is wrong, that poverty is wrong, that racism is wrong, as many in germany must have known that ovens of human flesh were wrong. so, we compromise. we point out mistakes they made, our fingers linger sliently over correct answers, hoping the students will catch our not so subtle hints. we used arched eye brows, glares, pats on the back. we tell them they are doing well, and give them extra long breaks to catch their collective breathes. we hope they pass. we mumble the "mcas sucks" but hand it out, read the instructions, give them pencils, hand out calculators. we play along.
for we need the money. the rent doesn't ask how you got the money. the electric company doesn't want to hear of your moral quandries, and the supermarket could care less about your alienated state. the oil company knows nothing about the wounds of your soul.
M-O-N-E-Y. That's all they want. That is what makes you a success to the mindless followers chasing the dream.
today, we had a lockdown drill. the principal came on the loudspeaker to tell us. we turned off the lights, put a red flag on the door, locked the door, turned off the lights (i would have lit a candle, but i didn't have one) and sat quietly in the back of the room, under the desks. we did everything but duck and cover. i, for one, am made serene by our doing this. it is good to know that if someone decides to fly a plane into our school, we will be safe, quietly content in the dark, silently sitting. for, you see, 9/11 changed everything. brookline high could be attacked at any moment. in the meanwhile, our military bombs schools in iraq. no amount of drills will save these children. duck and cover does them no good.
the kids came through during the drill. they sat quietly. i held in a shit, which was no fun. i so wanted to run out the room, drop my pants, and plant feces into the nearest john. but, i didn't. once again, i showed my maturity by not doing the one thing i most wanted to do. ohh, the wonders of being an adult.
until the next drill, we will try to stay safe. we will watch closely anyone with a beard who is mumbling into a cell phone. we must protect our institutions of learning from the bad ones. save the children. let them have a gaye childhood. so, we will keep drilling them, for you never know when tragedy may strike.
better safe than sorry. so, waive them flags and drop them bombs.
and keep wondering why they hate us.
some mystery, huh?