Saddened this morning to see Johnny Manziel headlined in the sports section of an NYT article. For one, it moves the mind ahead to the mid- and late-summer build up to football season, I’m not ready to go there yet, anticipating excitement for Jim Harbaugh at Michigan and the Gators back in the game. For two, although I was happy to see Manziel leave TexA&M to get him out of the SEC and an ongoing threat to the teams I love which TexA&M is not one, it was clear when he declared for the draft that he was too immature to take on life as an adult, needed to stay in college and get it out of his system, finish his boyhood. Even an obnoxious spoiled brat needs a chance at life. Hope he hasn’t totally doomed his talent and promise, misdemeanor assault indictment for hitting his girlfriend, alcohol abuse and rehab, ruined, spoiled wasted opportunity with the Browns. What a shame. Pray he can pull life out of the hat after all.
A pro-football fan or enthusiast I am not in the least, but favorites from CFB keep popping up here and there, and he was one.
Up at four-thirty, shrimp boat plying StAndrewsBay for the squiggly things, often reminds me of the dawn knock at the rectory door in the nineteen eighties and nineties, a parishioner’s son who was a shrimper not an oysterman offering me the chance to buy some of his overnight catch, ice chests of delectable creatures with their feet still running along the bottom of Apalachicola Bay. It don’t git no fresher, that and mullet still flopping.
So what then. A 1931 Chrysler sedan and a 1933 Buick victoria coupe. What do they have to do with anything? Depends on where the heart is, I reckon.
DThos+
