SUMMER BRAIN SIZZLE

It went from a pleasant, spring-like 80 to a blistering 90 degrees in a day. Then, just in case the message was muddled, it hit 100. Hello sweltering summer, screw the calendar, and forget about the cosmic solstice timeline. It’s sizzling. My swamp cooler is roaring. I can barely touch the steering wheel in my car in the afternoon. I’ve already seen enough ugly toes and hairy feet in sandals and flip-flops to make me dread the next three sweaty months. 

The only vaguely satisfying ritual marking the arrival of summer is buying new, light, short-sleeved shirts (actually, that should read, “letting my dear sweetheart pick out stylish short-sleeved shirts”). We got good ones at The Toggery and Eastside Sports. 

A revelation arrived after venturing into Elevation in Lone Pine, thanks to the label on the very hip Sportiva shirt, designed in Italy. There were two sizes on the tag: US: Large. Europe: X-Large. That confirmed that Americans are lardasses compared to sleek and slender Europeans. Must be the free universal healthcare, locally sourced food, months of vacation time, ample parental and pregnancy leave, walkable cities, and all those other elements of a Democratic Socialist Paradise. 

Meanwhile, in the US most folks are working two jobs eating bologna and Big Macs.  

Thank you for reading my Ted Talk on global economics. 

Back to summer in the U.S. of A. The early arrival of flop sweat also enhances the “joy” of graduation season. Usually, I like to offer some thoughtful, soul-revealing advice to new graduates. But I’m out of material. 

I was thinking of what to say to the 5th grade graduates and could only come up with, “this is the lowest rung on the educational ladder, children, hope to God you haven’t peaked at age 10.” 

Then come the Junior High graduates: “don’t get too cocky, there’s really not much to celebrate here, kids, this will barely get you a job a McDonalds serving Big Macs.” 

As for high school graduates, there’s nothing to say that hasn’t been said by parents and family and friends ad nauseum on the positive side – “go live the rest of your best lives; you have unlimited potential and can do whatever you want; chase your dream; live your dream; watch out world; the possibilities are endless. Enjoy.”  

No one mentions the negative take on the end of high school and the start of adult life: fun’s over, time to get a job, slog away for the next 40 years doing something for money that leaves a small portion of your soul intact and only turns half your brain to mush. Enjoy.” 

Or move to Europe. 

Oops, got a little overheated. 

 

So it’s time for ice hockey, right? 

A random scroll through TV channels (the original time suck) and I landed on the NHL Stanley Cup games. To my delight, the first thing on the screen was a hockey fight. Grown men with missing teeth smashing each other in the head. Mixing violence and thuggery with the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat makes hockey unique. 

But times change. 

There used to be real hockey fights. No gloves. Bare-knuckle fistfights, resulting in bloody broken noses and gashes above the eyes. The real brawlers would pull the sweater (not jersey) over the opponent’s head and just hammer away with upper cuts and jabs. Excellent TV. Made up for the fact you could never actually see the puck during the game. 

This recent “fight” didn’t have any of that pugilistic mayhem. The players didn’t take off their helmets and face shields or their gloves. They were just pushing their padded gloves into each other’s faces and wrestling. No blood. No puck. No luck. No more hockey for me. Besides, when did ICE hockey put teams in winter sports hotspots, literally, like Las Vegas and Carolina? 

Next are the NBA finals. I never watch regular season pro basketball. Horrid games. Defense is like matadors waving the bulls through. On offense, it’s two passes, a screen and a three-point shot, or quick drive and kick-out for a three, or a lob pass and dunk. Snore. Only the flops are sort of entertaining. The regular season is like a make-work project for millionaire athletes. 

The playoffs are much better. They play defense, and body slam, and set screens like linebackers and use their elbows like weapons. Basically, they play hard all game long. 

The Knicks won the title. Whoopie. 

Now we can enjoy professional basketball players playing hard and fast with skill and precision and passion during regular season games by watching the WNBA. 

Jon Klusmire of Bishop will watch World Cup soccer because he can see the ball.