Gloria

.could only think of one thing to do...
.apologies...
.only had a few issues to figure out...
.please...
.regardless of time or circumstance...
.modern...
.gloria is heard as one unified sound...
.backbeat...
.avoiding the light in the shakedown...
.shadows...
.life defined and already determined...
.expectations...
.calm usually exists near distractions...
.smooth...

The Hall Of Fame Games

...this business about this hall of fame.  The one that cannot bring itself to induct Drew Pearson or Cliff Harris.  The one that is a hall of fame only in name, what a shame, what a shame, so lame, so lame.  These two individuals who defined football on offense and defense, especially for dallas cowboy observers.  Harris, an early balder, tough as dirt, gave more than he got, and he got plenty.  No doubt he paid the price for his induction.  Won multiple Super Bowls, played in more, was always in Hawaii for the pro bowl, accolades upon accolades.  Played 10 years for the same team as they reached the heights of success.  Pearson, the dude, the cool operator with the superafro, the slick, the sideline artist, the class and with class, the original 88.  Before Irvin, before the first Bryant, before Dez.  The Hail Mary!  Swann and Stallworth are both in.  It's disgusting.  For both players, the career numbers are entirely sufficient.  Theoretical explanations and hypothetical understandings are futile.  The pure envy involved, the absolute transparency of the situation.  Both first team all decade for the 1970s, as voted on by the hall of political games itself.  But this is not a pitch or debate, this is an expression.  There are others too.  Harvey.  Everson.  Too Tall went 7-0 as a professional heavyweight boxer!  An expression of peace, only once the turmoil is tamed.  But the expression only validates and makes conviction stronger.  There is worry about the safety Darren Woodson, who was always the best player on the field when he played.  Obvious, it was.  Perhaps the best all around special teams player of his era as well.  Was probably the emergency QB, Kicker, Punter, deep Snapper, Tight End, and MLB.  One of those players.  Of course, it is universally known and remembered.  Darren Woodson.  Mainly, the therapeutical benefit of this expression is real.  Life can continue the predictable and unpredictable.  Controllable and uncontrollable should be determined.  All emotions should be indulged in moderately.  Decisions should be decisive, after appropriate consideration.  Finally, exhibit class.  In all it's forms.  These two men, Cliff and Drew, have too much class to point out the obvious.  Other priorities have risen above the slight.  The wrong must be made right by others.  They have moved on.  The 70s was a long time ago.  Ain't that the truth.  Both went on to productive lives, quietly and content with what they, and the team, accomplished on the field.  The accolades, memories, and championships.  Plural.  It was all there.  Another thing, why does one state, Ohio, get the Pro Football Hall of Fame and the a Rock and Roll Hall of a Fame?  Tripping Daisy and the Swinging Ds will probably get screwed too.

Tripped By Mentalities

.a decending of sorts.
.back to the farm.
.bit by reality.
.didn't bite back.

.a pleading of course.
.stacked in the barn.
.hit by finality.
.caught in the act.

.a year maybe more.
.since she was born.
.lit by mortality.
.checked the facts.

.a cleansing endorsed.
.the maps been torn.
.tripped by mentalities.
.got off track.

.a pretending by choice.
.hacked and harmed.
.hid from neutrality.
.refused to take sides.

.a resending of noise.
.sound the alarm.
.content with my melody.
.nothing to hide.

CDx2
CG
DG

Five Hour Window

   
     The wreckage of KOtC4 is just being swept off the pavement.  Traffic was jammed for miles.  But no one gets through before the King.  Re-introducing--King The Todd.  In a test of resolve, faith, and understanding, King The Todd slid the best on the wet surface, King The Todd ignored the wind and hit the most perfect shots, King The Todd broke the will of even the finest competitors.  Cushman The Kid, wanted another shot at him from the morning session but had his own battle in the Duke division, where the tournament administrator, and co-founder of the Isner Scoring Method, became a royal.  That's right, Duke Keck.  The Prince was claimed by the mysterious Mir sub, Victor Coronado.  A seemingly proud man, he'll be an honorable Prince, but he clearly has his eye on the throne.  Prince Coronado will get his chance at King The Todd in the summer KOtC5.  Bulldog Bobby saw his game firsthand as he clawed his way into the Prince division.  His demo days are over.   Vito Nyguyn claimed the Earl from Leo Escario after an epic, and historic, 20 game winner take all mahut.  The Royal Escario no more, his familiar cackle and grit, his marathonian conditioning.  Nope, it's Vito The Earl.  This royal court, in perhaps the finest field ever assembled, on perhaps the severest court conditions possible, endured.  They showed.  King The Todd, Prince Victor Coronado, Duke Keck, and Vito The Earl.  They are royal.

     The early morning hour was dreary, Keck ignoring forecasters predicting 100% chance of rain and trusting Delkus, who foresaw a 5 hour window of dry conditions weirdly aligned directly with our tournament time frame.  All the players must have thought Keck mad when he sent out the prearranged, early morning green light.  A pouring rain was covering the whole metroplex at that point. Frank Friday roddicked, which seemed a reasonable thing to do, but surprising from him.  He was the only one.  Player by player they showed, leery to be sure, but inspired by the faith of the tournament administrator.  When King James instructed everyone to ditch the squeegees and get used to the footing, KOtC4 was bonafide.  The overcast skies lit a bit, the wind picked up and partially dried the courts.  The rain had stopped.  There was trepidation, there was doubt, there was suggestions, there was anxiety.  Puddles were still all over, it was slick!  Reports of massive USTA event cancellations and alterations only added to the whispers and mumbling.  Keck understanding the significance of the moment, called the group together, explained the format for the benefit of new players, and officially started the morning session of KOtC4.  Rain came and went a few times, but progressively the weather improved.  The sun even peeked though briefly.  It was almost muggy as the players shed the pullovers and got down to business.

     Because my morning group had an unsubbed roddick, I had a chance to check out the early action.  Usually, idle time is very minimal during the event, but unavoidable in this scenario.  The players were clearly adjusting to the footing.  Deliberate ground strokes and patient footwork overcame the conditions and points were being wildly contested.  King James was playing Sellers, who had his menacing dog chained to the net post.  King James was dominating, but Sellers was scrappy and took a game as I watched.  He got to everything and kept the pressure on with slicing shots of varying distance.  His dog growled and whined.  King James seemed vulnerable, perhaps a foreshadowing of the events to follow in the afternoon King Division.  New player JD Miles took King James down 6-4 in the afternoon before calling it a day at 1-6 in his mahut with King The Todd.  He then sped off in his sports car, cursing at the King and promising revenge.  New player Huffman rounded out the King Division in the finest field ever assembled for the format.  Incredibly, he went off to play more tennis, indoors of course, after KOtC.  He expressed shock at the 5 hour window.  Later, at the post tournament drinking table, Sellers had incorporated Isner terminology with complete understanding, commoner James predicted we burned 5000 calories, and Duke Keck continued to preach and explain the benefits of the format.  Sellers even had suggestions for improvement.  Almost Prince Bobby moved slower after some idle time and my back and plantar fascia needed a hot tub.  King The Todd, on his own, implemented the even game changeover.  A kaizenian spirit.  He'll go to the Southern Hemisphere early next year and learn from Australians and New Zealanders.  He will leave them with well wishes and peace.  A King for the good times.

   Due to the Frank Friday roddick, my morning group only had 3 players.  The flexibility of the format automatically adjusts to this eventuality by not sending anyone to fight for the Earl in the afternoon.  I was grouped with two former college players, Kirsch and Huffman.  Both new to the format, I felt an obligation to explain some of the nuances and benefits.  They looked at me somewhat strangely, but I knew they would know later.  It must be experienced for true understanding.  I went 3-7 against both. The huge German Kirsch hitting backhands from extreme angles and the relentless Huffman hitting nonreturnable serves.  His game was too much for Kirsch too as he destroyed him 8-2.  As they were playing each other I asked the score.  "0-6," bellowed Kirsch as he pointed at Huffman.  They looked at me strangely again as I explained the moulette.  To remind:  moulette is the French word for skunk and is incorporated as ISM terminology in honor of the Frenchman Nicolas Mahut, one of the survivors of the incredible 2010 Wimbledon match that went on for days, when the American John Isner finally won the 5th set 70-68.  Overall, I was pleased with my play and understood my place in the tennis galaxy. The Duke was highly contested.  Up 4-1 on Joe Vita, he came back and been me 6-4 in our mahut.  I fell apart after he complimented my play.  Keck, noticeably motivated, took me down 7-3 and Cushman The Kid made me feel my age in front of his mom.  Keck's destruction of Joe and the Kid made it official--Keck was royal.  His early morning leadership and optimism only solidified his worthiness.  As he sat drinking Newcastles at the post tournament gathering he was beaming.  By that time the skies released the promised heavy rain.  It was like God had affirmed our influence on the tennis culture.  First time players were amazed.  And understood.  Mardy Feldman, who roddicked for unavoidable reasons, had clearly succumbed to the pressure of USTA sanctioned play. But 'cancelled play due to the treat of rain' was what he got.  His feeble last minute offer to step in for Frank Friday was too late. 
   

Styrofoam

Styrofoam, styrofoam, all over my home.
All I've ever known, styrofoam, styrofoam.

Parking lot, parking lot, gonna come to a stop.
Might like it or not, parking lot, parking lot.

New York nights, New York nights, think we just might.
Get on the plan and fly, New York nights, New York nights.

Love is true, love is true, what you gonna do.
The cure for my blues, love is true, love is true.

Styrofoam, styrofoam, don't wanna be alone.
You'll find me at my home, styrofoam, styrofoam.

Heavy Air

 
   Being put in charge of trophies for King Of the Court 4 is a massive responsibility and a massive challenge.  Previously, the standard had been raised and the trophies I devised for KOtC1 seemed inadequate.  Keck told me his expectations were high and that I must deliver.  Like the future of the tournament, and possibly the sport of tennis, was at stake.  I felt the full weight of his trust and finally settled on my plan.  Possibly the most coveted, certainly the most valuable, and absolutely appropriate.  Their unveiling at the check in card table will inspire the field.  The best field to date.  16 players ready and committed.  2 Isner round robin sessions, 6 opponents each, 60 total games each.  For the tournament, 96 total mahuts, 960 total games, a King, a Prince, a Duke, and an Earl.  All in about 5 hours.  The trophies must be nice and significant, and will be.
     Do not envy Keck.  Yes, he is an incredible tennis artist.  Yes, he knows Billie Jean King.  Yes, he is a metal head.  Yes, he no longer has to be a cowboy fan.  But save your envy.  Keck is in charge of assessing weather conditions for KOtC4, and will ultimately decide to postpone or play through the elements.  It is 6:30 am now.  Surely he is up, walking the streets of his neighborhood, kicking the pavement with his backup pair of tennis shoes, listening for the right squeak.  It is a huge burden and the ramifications of his actions will reverberate and reverberate.  The second guessers.  The know it alls.  The Delkus wanna Bes.  He will make the right call, either way, after anguish and woe.  In this he must be trusted, not envied.
     Overcoming the usual dropouts, we will move forward.  An impressive self replacement culture has evolved.  The Todd's brother, Mardy, and Mir both getting subs when unavoidable events required them to roddick.  The kid from last year replaced by a new kid.  Organic ethics are developing.  Keck's communication processes, the familiar "Mahut!" as the server begins each mahut, the determination to continuously adjust the format.  This year we could try the even game changeover.  Or possibly the 5 game changeover.  Talk of a royal doubles finale mahut pitting the King and Earl vs. the Prince and Duke is likely too ambitious.  The crowds would love it, but the players might revolt.  Best to keep the focus on the tennis, not the crowds.
     The mist is covering everything.  It is strangely muggy.  Steady rains and lightening are a 100% certainty if weather professionals are believed.  Clouds and fog of pure vapor are all over as the sun is giving glow to the overcast sky.  Heavy air.  It will be a tough call for Keck, but I wanna slide like Novak, I wanna serve the spitball, I wanna fight like Isner, I wanna be the King!  In truth, I'd be thrilled to be the Duke and proud to be the Earl.  Just wanna be a royal.

Hang On The Vowels

...looking out for some meteorites...in the northeastern sky...early birds still in the nest...feathers wrapped tightly...almost made a mockery of the whole situation...unreportable problems of rationing and calculation errors...add up the numbers, you get what you get...emotional meldowns and claims of insanity...physical wreckage of the painful kind...the tv tube has gone lame...they are all flat and aware of time...its constant beat...the deep bass like your family...the parade of backup singers...the keys put the squeeze on my knees...and the lead like a warrior...keeping rhythm and framing the song...stories of facts and fiction...hang on the vowels...