By John Burtis
Wednesday, august 16, 2006
In
view of the latest plans for another attack on america, it's time again to get
serious in our so called war on terror, where we are continually hobbled by the
Democratic "soccer" outlook long attached to the fray.
Look,
I know I'm going to get a few notes from the hand wringers and schmaltz tossers
saying that I've misunderstood the sheer physical intensity involved in the art
of soccer. Look, I've watched
soccer games and spoken with soccer players and I don't think so.
But
I have played some football and there are some decided differences.
awhile
ago in the state that just turned its back on Old Joe Lieberman, who dared to
suggest that the survival of the United States trumped all other concerns,
including all manner of health care plans and income averaging, the Nut Meggers
grew rather concerned about the deleterious affects that lopsided football game
scores might have on the fragile eggshell psyches of their youth.
Oh,
deary dear, they grumbled, both high and low, little Johnny and smaller Herman
will never become the well rounded and utterly malleable progressive leaders of
the left which a liberal america requires if they are exposed at an early age
to being absolutely trounced on the playing field - oh my no.
These
poor suffering parents seem to forget those sudden and most unfair batterings
of life - those times when moral and physical toughness equate to personal
resilience. They forget the
circumstances when business opponents steal your place in line and grab your
contracts – deals you were promised just last night, but disappeared when
you missed an appointment by only 10 minutes - when burglars greet you in your
hallway at home, or when carjackers jostle you for your own automobile on a
street in your own hometown and catch you unarmed, with nothing on except a
frown, a swift exit, and fleeting whispered calls for the death penalty. The latter, of course, decreases over
time, especially after a chat with local Democratic ward heelers, who chastise
you for your deviationist thoughts and offer you a signed photo of Ned Lamont
in partial payment for your prolonged troubles and persistent nightmares.
Soccer, however - where form, persistence, small flags, a score as close to zero as possible is the ideal, cute outfits, natty and totally clean officials, upscale autos filling the lots, where tailgating features canaps and Beaujolais, cheerleaders feature the finest in plastic surgery and tailored get ups, players sport high end coiffures, helmets just aren't worn, sportsmanship is supposed to be paramount, fighting is dclass, personal enmity and the Gipper are laughed off as artifacts of the peasantry – mirrors the snooty modern Democrat to a T.
Don't
believe me? Look at who's watching
from the stands.
Oh,
yes, what about the physical prowess evidenced by the head butt tossed off by
the Mighty Zidane? Just show
boating for cameras, his groupies, and for the folks back home. But remember, one small spurt of
meaningless violence is ok by Democratic standards. Go ask Bill Clinton about his ruthless carpet bombing of
targets of no military value.
See
how this tepid sort of a pushing around and insipid stalling of a "game"
matches the lukewarm avoidance of a conflict the Democrats are always railing
on about in the Senate and the House when it comes to terror, where dishonorable
retreat has morphed into the definition of victory in the ringing words of
those grandees of the soft turf bed of the soccer field – Honest John
Murtha, John "Live Shot" Kerry, Russ "No Fighting" Feingold, Barbara "No
Injuries" Boxer, Ted "Call Retreat" Kennedy, Harry "No Tickee, No Fightee"
Reid, and the rest of the rank senatorial appeasers and fractious blow hards.
Nope,
we need to play some football with the purveyors of terror and knock out a few
teeth, blacken a few eyes, destroy a few knees, break a wrist or two, ruin a
couple shoulders and elbows, stomp on a few feet, crush some toes, crush a
larynx, bust up some noses, loosen a few teeth, and knock some folks out cold.
We
need to play to win and in order to do it we have kick some people around, in good
weather, in the rain, and in the mud and snow. Sure we're going to take some hits. But we have fewer injuries the harder
we dish it out. and we must hit
them from behind, in front and from the side – as hard we possibly can
every single time we hit them.
I
had a coach once who told me to, "always stomp on every hand and foot sticking
out of the pile – they might belong to the other team." and he meant it. and he meant to win.
During
one particularly tough game I suffered a cracked larynx. When I ran to the sidelines to tell the
coach that something was wrong in a hoarse voice, he exclaimed, "What do you
need to talk for, you're a lineman, now get back in there and fight." So much for the sympathy angle. I croaked for about three weeks and
nobody cared.
I
guess I'm sort of tired of pussy footing around with folks intent on killing
us. They're not going to change their
attitude, so it's time to change ours.
There was an old saw on the football field called mind over matter. The coaches don't mind and we don't matter.
Today
it reminds me of the Democrats and their view of the common citizenry when it
comes to the terror war, even after the latest series of aircraft hijinx in
England, where they blame President Bush, and fall back on the ports, the 9/11
Commission, and accuse the Republicans of political posturing for mentioning
this dastardly plot as part of the continuing campaign on terror – the
horror of facts. They don't mind
and we sure don't matter.
It's
time to play some football and inflict some real injuries on terror's boyos, at
home and abroad, and put a sock in the Democrats' litany of complaints.
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