The DEFEND Cleveland Show

A is for Arbitrary, B is for Benign, C is for (in)Consequential

Who-Cares

 

(…D is for Daft, E is for Empty, F is for Facade, G is for Giving up…) I am delighted to find two completely separate levels of exhaustion. Last week I huddled together a tired mass of suicide notes, tendered them to sleep as if I were counting sheep, most of them ending in ‘because fuck it who cares’ or some variation on the idea. The rapier loss to the Pats being what it was, I was in no mood of grand gesture to try and amuse you while the blood leaked from my side, urine from my man, so many fathoms deep, until the fiction bug tickled my balls.

(…H is for Helpless, I is for Inane, J is for Jejune, K is for Kill…) But now, no, as the sun grinds behind the winter wall of cloud and the holidays approach and there is always breakfast tomorrow I brought this attitude to the game with me. Lest I let it come to me in large billowing sadness and on its own terms—never again. Where before I knew that there was exhaustion and that it was caused by many things, now I know that it comes in different genomes as well.

(…L is for Lackadaisical, M is for Monotony, N is for Neurosis, O is for On and On and On…) For instance there is The Exhaustion of the Copious and Numerous Amounts of Degenerative Loss Types, which was last week, and there is The Exhaustion Preempting the Actuality of the Game Based Solely on Lack of Interest Due to Who Knows, this week,  because fuck it who cares we’re all gonna die anyway.

(…P is for Puerile, Q is for Quinine, R is for RnR, S is for Sedated…) Maybe I cared less this week and it felt nice to not scream and beam even with a lead that we humped out of sight. Maybe we’re the second youngest roster in the NBA (see what I did there? no, you didn’t, because I didn’t do anything) Maybe being a mostly pastoral poet I should have drawn you a picture of a chicken.

(…T is for Tranquility, U is for Urine, V is for Vapid, W is for Waning…) The point is that there really is no point, especially to sport.

(…X is for Xray—always has been, Y is for Yawn, Z is for Zzzzz…) All that shit you read, what Chomsky has to say, is true and sport is one big salt lick designed to keep us from thinking about the important things like the advancement of capitalism and democracy to unrecognizable states as evinced by the slowly unravelling thread of privacy, the first to go in the nation state, or the fact that FUCK IT WHO CARES WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE ANYWAY. Have you ever typed those nine words in a row? It feels great. It doesn’t feel great to have to go back and count those words to form a sentence informing readers on the thralls of sports writing. I could name this piece, can you sense the general exhaustion, Rail to the Readers or Browns v Board of Education or I could not write it at all because…
 
 
-Jon Conley
 
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Posted by on Dec 16 2013. Filed under Featured, Show Reports. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry

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