My Past Is Disappearing Fast

A Beginning Sidebar

I was new at the company when my sheep‑head boss (I had so many) used an expression I had never heard before. I had told him that another manager didn’t like his idea, and he exclaimed:

“Wilson doesn’t know his a$$ from a hole in the ground!”

I found the expression rather tacky. Even a severely handicapped person knows the difference — one is attached to you and needed for a bodily function, while the other can be easily seen, doesn’t follow you around, and usually doesn’t smell that bad.

The expression was born in early 20th‑century rural America. No one takes credit for it because it is so stupid. The only reason it caught on is that it uses the word a$$. Unfortunately, my boss used it frequently. I have never used it, but it came to mind as I started thinking about this topic -

My past is literally disappearing …… 

First My School

My high school was a great school. Despite being located in the blue‑collar section of the city and not receiving the financial support of the upper‑echelon and lower‑echelon schools, if you studied and worked hard, you received a quality education.

We had graduates go on to Harvard and other prestigious universities. They became doctors, lawyers, scientists, etc. While my college degree and career were less impressive, my claim to fame was being quoted multiple times in the Wall Street Journal.

But at some point, the school administration lowered its standards. There were violent acts in the building, and the quality of education plummeted. So many students escaped to alternative schools that the administration claimed they had to close the school. No, they didn’t close the school — they killed it.

They combined the few remaining students with students in an adjacent district to form a new joint $hi++y school. They built a brand-new, shiny school building as a result, and now have a bigger, brighter $hi++y school to conduct their $hi++y classes. The $hi++y  school after a President who was shot dead – just like they killed education in this city. It’s now a fluke to get any impressive graduate out of that $hi++y school, and more likely that students there will end up quoted in the prison newsletter than anywhere else.

They demolished my old high school. Now …

I can’t tell my past from a hole in the ground. 

Then My Church

It was the first church I ever attended. I went there only to play in the junior basketball league, but soon after found Jesus. At one point, the church touted itself as the largest in the world.

It was a great place, great people, great programs, great services. That church helped thousands of people and was a community institution. I have so many cherished memories of events in that building.

One of the best happened in the church gymnasium. By that time, I had graduated to the men’s basketball league. In my first season, we were the best team in the league. I was a mere role player, averaging just four points a game. However, in the league championship game, I played the best basketball game of my life. In the second half, our best player had to sit out due to foul trouble, and the opposition quickly cut our 11‑point lead down to three. In the next ten minutes of the game, I scored 17 points. To put that into perspective, if I scored at that rate for an entire game, I would have scored 68 points. I finished with 23 points and earned the game's Most Valuable Player award.

But then someone made a disastrous decision regarding leadership succession. This was followed by a series of bad decisions, resulting in the church's closure, the building's abandonment, and its decay over several years. Finally, they tore down the entire structure, including the gym. Now,

I can’t tell my past from a hole in the ground. 

Finally, My Tennis Courts

They were the first tennis courts I ever played on. They were very basic courts at the local park, black asphalt with only the lines painted. One summer, I basically lived on those courts — I wore out two pairs of tennis shoes that year. 

My old tennis court 

I made the tennis team in my senior year of high school and played second doubles. It was on these courts that we battled North High for second place in the city series, which was the best we could ever accomplish since yuppie Firestone High would finish first every year with their second team.

The contest came down to the second doubles match. Both teams and coaches watched, cheering on every point. My partner and I easily took set one, but North rallied to take set two. The third set was tight the entire way and went to a tiebreaker. Fifty years later, I can still remember the easy shot at the net I had to win the match — except I flubbed and hit the ball into the net. Fortunately, we won the match two points later, and a massive celebration ensued.

But I recently found out they are ripping up the tennis courts. (The photo is days before demolition) My first thought was, “But where is the tennis team going to practice and play?” Then I sadly realized that wasn’t an issue because there is no longer a tennis team, since there is no longer a high school. Now:

I can’t tell my past from a hole in the ground. 

The Replacements

On the school site, a shiny new elementary school and arts building is being built. I’m sure the teachers will try hard, but eventually these students will end up at that $hi++y high school across town. At least some of the fat kids will learn to play the tuba at the arts school.

On the church site, a huge warehouse for that giant retailer Megazon is being built. A church building where people were cautioned against consuming too much is being replaced by a structure that encourages people to consume too much. There is no better example of our cultural decline than this. Now, people who should be in church on Sunday morning can get deliveries of crap on Sunday morning.

The tennis courts will be replaced by skateboard ramps. Yes, the ramps will be used more than the tennis courts — but nobody ever broke their arm on the tennis court — so good luck to you, whippersnappers! 

Yeah, I’m Old

Change is difficult - even more difficult when they rip up your past. It’s becoming challenging to understand this crazy world. I get confused so easily. And now:

I can’t tell my past from a hole in the ground.

 

This Sport Won’t Curl Your Toes

Once you reach a certain age, you feel entitled—ah, enlightened—uh, justified… okay, you just don’t know when to keep your opinion to yourself. You start telling younger people when they’re wasting their lives.

Of course, I have never, ever done anything worthless and have lived a totally fulfilling, enriching life with no regrets whatsoever. That must be why, since retiring, I’ve felt the need to recommence teaching college classes, resume performing standup comedy, and continue writing and selling books—all at the same time—in an attempt to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of the remaining bits of life I have left. And how is the retirement‑induced joy going? I’ll let you know when I feel some.

Regardless, I know time‑wasting when I see it. And one of the worst examples of young people wasting their lives is the sport of curling. The Olympics have brought this ridiculous spectacle back into the public domain—and onto my big‑screen TV. Thank goodness this happens only once every four years. The only reason anyone, especially the participants, cares is that at the end of the competition, Olympic medals—some of them even gold—will be awarded.

But getting a gold medal for sweeping well is not as prestigious as other Olympic sports, and I’m sure the other athletes look down on the curlers. “I got my gold medal by risking my life ripping down the giant slalom. How did you get yours?” “Uh… I use a broom really well.”  

Curling has to be the lamest sport ever. It originated in 16th‑century Scotland, where people started sliding hunks of granite across the ice for fun. The game basically resembled shuffleboard on ice. Everything changed the day some idiot decided to take a broom, sweep the ice, and redirect the granite. This had to be a blatant violation of the existing rules, but soon everyone was sweeping the ice, and the modern game was born. It’s called curling because after you watch it for ten minutes, you want to curl up in a little ball and sleep until the brain-numbing match is over.

My wife has become a fan of the sport, so I’ve been “forced” to endure these matches if I’m parked in the living room at the time. How bad is it? I think women’s basketball or even chick soccer is more interesting. You can argue for the sport, but if it’s legitimate, why is it only on television every four years at the Olympics? Even horseshoes and cornhole appear more often on ESPN.

And yet, in this Olympics, the competitors are taking the sport more seriously than ever. A men’s match between Canada and Sweden ended with players swearing at each other—you don’t hear bilingual profanity very often. A Swedish player accused a Canadian player of “double‑touching” his stones, which I admit would upset me. I remember being accused of double-touching a cheerleader in high school. I was cleared when I claimed the contact was inadvertent due to the tuck rule. But come on! Getting that upset over a curling match? Guys, don’t get your brooms in an uproar. And you do realize that when you swear at a foreigner in your native tongue, they have no idea what you’re saying?

I have no idea how curling ever made it into the Olympics, and I think I have the perfect replacement. Roller derby on ice skates—Slider Derby—would be ten times more exciting to watch. I’m a big roller derby fan; who doesn’t enjoy ladies in tight pants and fishnets beating the heck out of each other? It would be way wilder than roller derby—once you throw sharp blades and the possibility of blood into the mix, the whole thing suddenly feels riskier, faster, and more chaotic in the best way. And let’s face it—the Olympics could use more fishnets to go along with those slinky figure‑skating outfits.

I was, however, impressed by how the women curlers handle those brooms. Their sweeping ability is tremendous. So, single guys, the hot curlers in this Olympiad are worth pursuing. When I asked ChatGPT who the hottest curler was, it said beauty is subjective and accused me of being a sexist pig—ha! Artificial intelligence can be so wrong. It still wouldn’t answer me when I asked which curler had the biggest rocks.

A woman’s ability to use a broom is an underrated skill. Therefore, I would consider Selina from the Swiss team to be a superior catch to Sydney Sweeney. While Sydney might be superior in the boudoir, Selina can do it there, in the kitchen, in the living room, the bathroom, the hallway, and even the garage. By “doing it,” I mean sweeping it sparkling clean. Exceptionally clean—spotless even. As the curling commentators said, even a piece of lint could cause a problem when sweeping the sheet. And let’s face it, these ladies are experts in handling and positioning of stones—’nuf said.

Fortunately, all this mad sweeping has come to an end, and the Good Housekeeping Awards have been granted. Now we don’t have to pretend to be interested in curling until the next Olympiad and can return to being bored by watching NBA basketball—oh look, another long 3-point attempt.