Saturday, September 04, 2004

 

Sufis 10, Everyone Else 0

Coming on the heels of Dr. Podesta's resignation, some good news from the world of sports, as sent to us by the omniscient Hank Balgood, our man on the scene:

Who kicked a goddam giant catfish into my backyard? Buddha, the Enlightened One, wondered as he surveyed the damage to his Zen garden. The fish had torn quite a path through the bonsai and carefully placed rocks. Its bloated corpse now lay on top of where the contemplative bench once had stood. A bootprint was visible on its rear flank. The fence separating Buddha's carefully groomed yard from that pigsty of a yard next door, Thor's, had been knocked down. The Enlightened One could see Thor's sagging back porch, and his crushed barbecue grill, the scattered cattle bones and beer cans, and soon enough spotted his neighbor headed over, walking quickly and angrily. He wore only some leather shorts and his great horned helmet of gold. He had a bolt of lightning in his hand, and it shook as he strode quickly to confront Buddha. He reeked of beer.

"Why'd you knock down my fence, you bald-headed goober? Now my dogs are loose and I had a barbecue planned for tonight..." He gestured at the crumbled bricks and bent grill with the lightning bolt. And then he saw the catfish. "Holy Balls of Wodin! Is that a giant catfish?"

"Yes," the Buddha said very calmly. "Someone or something kicked it through the goalposts over there at Heaven High, and it landed here, destroying your barbecue and the fence and my garden. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful? Wonderful? Are you friggin nuts? Don't you know what it means when a giant catfish is kicked through the heavenly goalposts? It means their team is up by ten points, that's what!" Thor sputtered through his blond mustache. "The Sufis are up by ten!"

"Ah," said the Buddha quietly. "I see. It is a game. We are playing a game."

"You are a dipshit, you know that, Buddha? A real dipshit. Of course it's a game! And whoever kicked that goal is plain on FIRE, man."

"I must contemplate this," The Buddha said. "I will find my old jersey and cleats, and I will meditate on this game."

"Yeah, well, you do whatever, pal. Me, I'm going to go get my fish-and-sea-mammal-kicking gear and score some points. Real, big, fat, overtime points." And Thor ran back into his house, coming out moments later wearing a helmet with horns and a faceguard, boots with cleats, and a jersey that said THOR between the shoulder blades and 56 in big print below. His jodphurs were emblazoned with zig zags of lightning. Over his shoulder he carried a huge fishing pole and a spear, and in his hand was a bait bucket with one human leg in it. The leg appeared to be in the process of being eaten by maggots.

Buddha sat, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. He remembered his glory days as a halfback tar on the seal-clubbing team back at Sufi U. God, how the cheerleaders swamped him. He got laid almost every night, sometimes four or five times in one night. And then he entered a deep trance...




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