Monday, November 15, 2010
Right from the incredibly descriptive title and heart felt message, this one has been pulling at my heart strings all morning...
Let me tell you a few things Alexis... Your dad named you "Alex" as a compromise... For 9 long months he waited with his fingers crossed for an genetically gifted, athletic, super sperm of a boy, to redeem him from the torment of his 24 year lack of athletic accomplishments... While he may have been forced to give in on your gender.. You are forever destined to shitty tag lines, adrenaline rousing pep talks, and inspirational films like his latest gutsy masterpiece, "Alexis courage."
This brings up our next point.... Courage?....Sounds like a bold compliment given to a awe inspiring performance... Courageous?... Really? I know your dad always says, "Always give 110%".... and I don't even have to explain how that is physiologically and mathematically impossible. However, the way I see it, there were 10 hurdles, you made it over 3.... tragically tripped over 5.... slightly tapped another.... and said fuck off to the one in the middle... Do we really have to do the math, to know that someone didn't give it 100%?.... Since your father was so consumed by tearfully watching his Olympic spotlight dreams slip away with your knock out performance, let me be the asshole to point out a few important details..... First, you never even finished the race..... you missed a fucking hurdle. Shouldn't a courageous achievement maybe involve finishing the race? How the hell do you "courageously" run AROUND a hurdle, voluntarily?... Isn't that the GD point of the event? I'm no track and field expert but I think you are pretty much disqualified at that point.
Listen up Flo Jo... Here is the biggest tip of your young athletic career..... Anytime the word Courage is used after a Jr. High sporting event, it is NOT a good sign... Sure it's soothing, but let me translate what your parents really mean:
"We don't know what else to say to you because we are utterly agape, and dumbfounded, at how embarrassingly inept you just looked. Just like every one of the 23 other people at the track meet, we never, ever, want to witness another astonishingly miserable performance like the baby calf disaster in lane #1. We are just afraid that if we tell you the truth, you will destructively shrivel into a socially retarded stage crew groupy. Who will fall for the first guy in a trench coat, that pays you the slightest bit of attention. It's only because he needs a get-away driver as the final piece in his master plan to turn the middle school into a shooting gallery. After countless hours and thousands of dollars in therapy and antidepressants, you will end up living in our basement with a herd of fucked up looking cats. Only leaving the house twice a year for a Renaissance festival at the local park. Just counting the days until we die, so you and your feline followers can spend what remains of our meager family fortune on hot pockets and fancy feast. Gradually you will fill our house with feces covered news papers, half open cans and moldy pizza boxes until you are confined to one room that smells like cat urine mixed with what ever the fuck that smell is trapped under the second flesh roll above your knee. Forever destined to swell bigger and bigger, until the bedsheets you cried yourself to sleep in as an awkwardly galloping teen don't fit anymore as an improvised skirt, and the only exercise you get is swatting the flies that are collecting in your bed sores..."
....Come to think of it, maybe it is just easier to say, "Alexis Courage".
Sometimes failure is fatal... And the courage to continue actually doesn't mean shit.... Ask your dad how these sayings have worked out for him... Here he is, in his track suit, part timing junior high school highlight videos on his home computer, inserting floating text of stale inspirational bread crumbs and the same music track that he chose 20+ years ago for his incredible football highlight tape...
Ironically, maybe daddy is the one who needs a little courage.... and valiantly come to grips with the reality that there is no amount of annoyingly inspirational phrases and shitty late 80's rock music that can make up for sub par genetic contributions and lack of overall talent... Sometimes you just need to know when to let go.... Although you are a Dick, and probably named Rick.... You are not "Team Hoyt"...Quit the f*cking race. Time to move on.