Burning Ground

I am acquainted with a neurophysicist who maintains that it is breezingly easy, when reading brain scans, to determine which images reflect the skull-mush of a homo-sapien female, as compared to the skull-mush of a homo-sapien male.

This is because, so says the neurophysicist, scans of the female brain reveal many folds: folds being the way information in the brain is stored. And human females are interested in many things. Thus: many folds.

But scans of the male brain, so says the neurophysicist, they reveal but two folds. Because there are only two types of information in which human males are interested. Sports. And porn.

This is an article about the sports fold.

At the present time on this planet any and all sports are perfectly useless except insofar as they provide positive incontrovertible proof of the existence of multiple infinite universes.

Such proof is indeed occasionally provided. Because homo-sapien males—as they are more inclined to shoot and strafe and stab and slit than homo-sapien females—are on this ape-planet Dominant, and thus they Can and Do ensure that their Networks broadcast at all and every hour footage of men playing with their balls. And, very occasionally, in amongst these countless millions upon millions upon millions of obsessively filmed hours, of what men do with their balls, can be seen windows into other worlds.

To wit, this window:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BXvGN-OICk]

The above is from a game called "baseball."

The goal of the man throwing the ball is to throw it over the little white triangle called the "plate." The man in the video above seemingly failed—wildly—to attain this goal.

And many Sports Men thus proceeded to laugh rudely at the man throwing the ball—a brown person named Felix Doubront . . . and it is of course always easier, here in America, if, when you're laughing, you're laughing at a brown person. In fact, the only thing easier, here in America, than laughing at a brown person, is to laugh at a black person.

But anyway. The Laughers. They just didn't understand. For, you see, what happened, Really, is that as Doubront prepared to deliver his pitch, a window into an alternative universe winked in. Doubront perceived the "plate" in that alternative universe—which was located some measurable distance from the plate in "this" one. Doubront heaved the ball towards the plate he perceived: the one he saw. In fact, in that alternative universe, the pitch was a "strike." He did his job. He threw the ball where he was supposed to. He, in fact, Succeeded.

You may not see any of this, see the alternative universe—complete with plate and batter and umpire and hot dogs and popcorn and everything—there in the vid, because it all winked in and out so quickly. And because winking alternative universes are not always apparent to everybody. Some see ’em; some don’t. But—nonetheless—they’re Real.

Many various Sports Men, upon viewing the Doubront-heave rendered above, immediately concluded that the brown man had thrown as he did because his mind had been apprehended by foreign substances.

This is understandable.

Because more than any sport in the history of the United States, baseball has been bedevlied by men who loaded up their bodies and minds with forbidden pleasures. The very American League was founded, back in the 19th Century, by players who needed to funnel whiskey down their throats all of the day and all of the nght—a practice then forbidden by the National League, which permitted deep drunkenness only at night. Many of the sport's founding titans—Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Grover Cleveland Alexander—commonly expelled from their bodies such high concentrations of alcohol that their mere reeling stumbling passage would set hotel corridors on fire. Mickey Mantle more or less founded ampehetamines, and Willie Mays before each game would gobble more bennies than blew out Neal Cassady's heart down there in Mexico. At the sunset of the 1960s a pitcher named Dock Ellis ate him some LSD and then proceeded to throw a no-hitter—said "no-hitter" the highest attainment of a baseball pitcher—though through most of the game he was unable to focus on the "plate": there seemed, to him, to be nine, or nine hundred thousand, "plates." In the late 1970s the Pittsburgh Pirates methodically constructed a raft of cocaine and then wide-eyed lip-licking sailed it into the World Series. In the 1990s many many many baseball men shrunk their testicles down to the size of pistachios while bulking the rest of their bodies up to alarmingly farm-animal proportions: so fucked-up on steroids and HGH and etc., were they, that occasionally Mark McGwire would moo, or Bobby Bonds bleat, while awaiting at the plate a pitch from the similarly juiced Roger Clemens, or Eric Gagne, them latter men heehawing like mules.

And this continues, more or less, today. Take, for example, Tim Lincecum. Born of Hippie v2.0 parents—raised with a bong welded to his lips. But "da kind," it only got him so far. The last several years—a pitcher—his fastball has limped into something the building-shouter on the corner might impotently hurl. So—desperate—he is shoving Whatever, into his being. Below we see what Happened when Lincecum last month decided to gobble great gobs of quaaludes, before taking the mound.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcuzHIEE5eQ]

The horror. The horror.

Anybody who's like me and has been trying to get out of journalism for the past 490 years will immediately leap as onto the spike a news-name like Sepp Blatter—which immediately, in our magpie minds, translates into Seep Bladder.

Piss, leaking down a leg.

Of course Seep's a howling embarrassment, a freaking geek, like something out of Avery Brundage, the goosestepper who wrecked the Olympics for fucking forty years, hugging Hitler to his breast in Munich in 1936, and then kicking dead Jews to the curb in 1972, vowing even knee-deep in the blood of the Olympic Village that "the show must go on." These mastodons that are allowed to preside for decades over sporting associations always reveal themselves to be gibbering knuckle-dragging ur-humans.

Seep is a stupid corrupt motherfucker, but then he's presiding over a sport that is based, worldwide, on the most atavistic of "sports": that is, cutting off your enemy's head, and then kicking the shit out of it, all up and down the line.

Yeehaw.

Apparently there is a Theory that the US went wild and papered Seep people wth indictments as some sort of Plot to deprive Russia of the head-kicking Big Orgy in 2018.

If this is so, it indicates that American policymakers are so deeply deluded they should be consigned to a Home.

For nothing truly disturbs these international sporting events. Jimmy Carter can in 1980 wave his limp peanut and Vow the US won't go to Russkieland for the Olympics that year, and whatever corpse was running the Soviet Union four years later can Vow that the men of the women's East German teams won't go to Los Angeles for the 1984 Olympics, but the siting itself, once settled, that will never change. We know this from 1936. When the nations of the world duly trudged to Berlin, even knowing that, at that time, the Nazis, they were rendering Jews into liquid. And so: it doesn't matter that thousands of human beings may have already died so that people can kick heads around Qatar in 2022. The show will go on!

I have nothing to suggest about the deep dumbness of soccer. Kicking the heads around. I do, however, have a suggestion for the Olympics.

The Olympics were invented by the Greeks. And apparently the Greeks, in these the present days, are currently in some sort of turmoil about money. It appears that big, lumbering, exceedingly unattractive, Germans, they claim the Greeks should Pay Them.

Bollocks. The Greeks were founding Western Civilization before any German was even a German, before, even, there even was money—money just a nonsense, invented by the Lydians, somewhere around the 7th Century BCE.

The Greeks, they have never really been about money. They have always been more about history, science, philosophy, drama, oracles, fate, the Olympics, burning cars in the street rather than paying taxes, and pederasty.

Today, roughly half of the money in Greece, is currently buried in the ground.

True "underground" economy.

But if the planet is going to continue to go barking mad about "money," I say site the Olympics, at once and forever, in Greece. Permanent site. Once and forever. Every four years, human beings, not the phantasm of "countries," but themselves, can go there. To compete. And, as it was in the beginning, they shall compete naked.

I don't think it should be broadcast, these Real Olympics. But, if they are, in this, the curious world in which you all live, that should retire Greece's "debt," in no time at all.

just take the jute
and throw him down

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HWQYqjLVzI]

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string theory, gonads, sports doping and naked Greek Olympics, this explains Einstein's unified field theory. It also explains swinging dick foreign policy that has the world in the shape it's in, not to mention my musings from last week about male naked high school swimming class, it's a brain fold thing. Thanks hecate.

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hecate's picture

always, all, connected.

Even down to the "Cheese Cheeks." ; )

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Big Al's picture

in the Baseball Hall of Fame. To do that in a major league game in front of people is pretty amazing.

And at this point, yes on Greece as a permanent spot. It's getting tiring seeing all this money being thrown
to host games while the common people's houses get bulldozed and the common people get relocated so the rich people can have
their Games.

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hecate's picture

just nuts, throwing up whole new Potemkin mini-cities, somewhere on the globe, every two years, so flag-bedecked humans can run in a circle, or get busy with a ball. Not to mention the governments that, to prepare for the Olympics, feel compelled to machine-gun people off the streets, as in Mexico in 1968, or herd into cages Bad Elements who might mouth forbidden words like "Tibet" or "Tiananmen," as in China in 2008.

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NCTim's picture

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The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself. - Friedrich Nietzsche -

shaharazade's picture

thanks hecate.

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Pluto's Republic's picture

Uniform colors for home and away, the PSI inflation of balls, and the inevitable brain damage that comes from American-style football (the only nation that plays a sport that guarantees a high likelihood of Parkinson Disease and other neurological catastrophes).

Of late, however, I've run down the rabbit hole of Haka.

If your not familiar with the word, Haka, you've probably seen it, since just about every highschool sports team in the US is performing a Haka ritual before games. They are getting in touch with their inner beast.

Haka is a taunting chant of battlefield grunts and gestures. It is used in all sports, even basketball and swim teams, but the first sports team to introduce and perfect it was the New Zealand national rugby union team, officially nicknamed the All Blacks.

[video:https://youtu.be/QC5w6wopmpg width:500]

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____________________

The political system is what it is because the People are who they are. — Plato
shaharazade's picture

the whole of life these days in America is about the brute force win for our team. Makes no difference what winning entails we just need to kick some ass This could be a Monty Python skit unfortunately it's real life This team looks pretty damn white to be called the All Blacks. How bizarre to live through history running backwards. the art of war run amok.

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Pluto's Republic's picture

ESPN even televises Haka instructions. I've also seen it done at US swim meets.

I expect to see it at the Republican Presidential Debates, this year.

[video:https://youtu.be/HdhrUKRdKM8 width:500]

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____________________

The political system is what it is because the People are who they are. — Plato
shaharazade's picture

I look forward to the fake candidates doing these absurd facial contortions. I have to say Hillary already seems to be doing this on most clips I see where she is looking crazy as a loon. Big fun wheeee....

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hecate's picture

seen this movie. ; )

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wstIBq2H0z8]

Fast-forward a couple million years, to fans of two Russian football teams meeting to kick each other's heads around the snow.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t4vRuRFcIE]

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NCTim's picture

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The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself. - Friedrich Nietzsche -

hecate's picture

that is deeply disturbed. So is the video below. Which I nominate for the new national anthem. Of the entire planet.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8CQuAiTess]

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NCTim's picture

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The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself. - Friedrich Nietzsche -

hecate's picture

once witnessed a duet involving a man learning to play the bagpipes, and a man learning to play the accordion. It occured on a remote hillside, so the police were not summoned. But I needed Medicine.

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NCTim's picture

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The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself. - Friedrich Nietzsche -

hecate's picture

forgot to mention that in the alternate universe where Felix Doubront's pitch was right on target, a strike, George W. Bush never entered politics. He instead, there, makes a modest living as a primitivist portrait painter. He also never got into the booze; instead, he smokes opium. Similarly, in that universe, Vladimir Putin too never fell into the trap of politics. He lives quietly on a small farm outside St. Petersburg, where he raises horses, with his husband Sergei.

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