Fa•nat•ic:
n. Someone filled with excessive or extreme zeal especially for religious or political causes [or sports].
It is no coincidence that those who are worshipped are wealthy, while those who do the worshipping are not. After all, that is why both groups exist. It balances the cosmic scales: those who love to take are on one side, and those who love to be taken are on the other. There is nothing fair or just or equal in that arrangement. It is just one of those pre-karma things. Sooner or later the universe is going to fix the issue and there will be some serious ass-kicking taking place. Meanwhile, those of us who are mere observers and writers about such matters can only observe, write, and wait. It’s only fair, however, that I identify those who actually occupy both pans in that cosmic scale just in case there are any doubts among the brethren.
I am going to limit my comments today to the sports arena. I find it obscene that a golfer is paid $100 million per year, and more than $1 billion before his career is even half over. The same is true for footballers, baseballers, basketballers, and all other ballers. I get doubly sick when I hear that all those thousands who work as “volunteers” at such events are paid nothing when their efforts actually amount to work that accomplishes something. Divots, cleat marks, and broken back boards are not evidence of accomplishments. They are the remnants of those who play. And most of us pay for the privilege. In contrast, the team owners, the club owners, the TV executives, announcers, and more are all paid sums up there in the million dollar portion of the universe. Ultimately, the money for all those high paid salaries comes from you, the fans, when you fork over your dollars in admission fees, and when you buy all those overpriced products from the so-called sponsors. Innocent citizens are also involuntarily sucked into the payee pan when they are stripped of their tax dollars and forced to pay for those pay-for-play stadiums now costing nearly a billion dollars.
Not me. I am not anyone’s fan except for a few really good singers, musicians, and dancers—and I do favor those of the female persuasion. And that brings me to the focus of my concerns today—to the cheerleaders.
I recently discovered (but was not surprised to learn) that the Oakland Raiders cheerleaders (the Raiderettes) are paid well below the minimum wage. Think about that. Even the worst among them looks a helluva lot better than any player on the field. She smiles, she kicks, she makes you feel good, and she is probably in better shape than any of them. In fact I can’t think of a single activity in which I would prefer having a ball player on my team over any of the NFL cheerleaders. And that includes being foxhole buddies in combat. Especially that.
Now let’s look at how much each is paid. In past seasons, Raiderettes earned $125 per game for 10 games, and virtually nothing for the hundreds of hours they put in for mandatory practices, rehearsals and public appearances. That came to $1,250 per season. After a lawsuit each is destined to receive $3,150 starting next season, which amounts to a raise from $3.57 per hour to $9 per hour. Somehow I cannot visualize any of them jumping with joy and singing “Hallelujah” with that enormous raise.
In contrast, the Raiders kicker, Sebastian Janikowski, pulls down $15,100,000 in total pay. He must keep his toes in shape. He can’t run, pass, tackle, block, catch, or even spike the ball. But he is paid more in 15 minutes than the entire group of 40 Raiderettes makes in the entire season. Yeah, I did the math.
I will not let this essay fall into the depths of a discussion about “supply and demand.” I spent too many hours (years?) of my life bogged down in that gloomy subject. This discussion is about greed, the takers and the takees, cosmic equilibration, and the fireworks in store for viewing by the enlightened when karma comes back to explode upon the scene.
There is a distinction to be made between class and crud, right and wrong, good and bad. It’s a distinction worthy of more fans. It’s as simple as that.
Meanwhile, the next time you feel the urge to watch little boys playing with their balls, instead turn to a nice piano rendition of Clair de Lune, or to Rebecca Luker singing “All the things you are,” or just watch the Radio City Rockettes if you want to see some real ass kickers in action. Just stay away from balls and boys. Karma is coming.
I was looking forward to your story when I discovered that you have written this wonderful and revealing article. When I read recently about the cheerleader strike and what they were paid, I was shocked. I can't understand why it was not revealed long ago. I always thought that they were well paid performers, not eye candy wage slaves of the rich and powerful. I've had my picture taken with two beauties from the Texans cheerleader squad. I would've tipped them generously if I've known what they were getting for working that promotional gig.
I am totally with you for the obnoxious pay some so-called sports "stars" are paid. While I occasionally watch some events on TV, I never have gone to games, become a "fan" or bought overpriced memorabilia. If everyone was like you and I, there would be no professional sports at all. University coaches would be paid for their teaching ability and college "stars" would not get any scholarships or perks for their "athletic" prowess.
Maybe the Aztecs had it right, what with uppercrust ball players literally killing themselves to be gloriously (and bloodily) sacrificed to their priesthood's love of gore. And it was the winners who got to be thrown down the steps! Talk about brain washing. Actually it probably was just a way to thin out royal families - and the peasants were shown oh-so graphically that they did not want to aspire to anything beyond willing witness. Good one, Edward.
"I can resist anything except temptation"...of witty
words that produce a truly sagacious short story...just
like your other writing...sometimes puzzling...Yet with
an engaging effect...giving your reader the option to step
into the playground of drama-think-laugh-smile...enjoy the
Clair de Lune wooing sound...
Completely agree with you Edward...there is a need for
improvement and urgency to make the world a better place.
Kudos!
PS: Keeping the spirit of oxymoron alive...may I say
to Ingeborg...I find you missing for a while...but now
I'm sooooooooooooo happy to see you back.
Many Blessings! to both of you.
Reading your short story put a smile on my face because you used your great sense of humor but inwardly I was gritting my teeth because you hit the nail on the head. Has life ever been other than a paradox? Did you look into what some so called speakers get for telling you a bunch of lies? It is not easy trying to remain calm right now living among all this hypocrisy. But it does not hurt to write about it, it frees you soul a bit, well for a little while.
Ron Coyote, Man of La Mangia is adult literature featuring adult humor and content. The work is a satire/parody on Miguel Cervantes' Don Quixote, published in 1605. Under its humorous surface, the novel is a funny but important analysis of the declin
Fa•nat•ic:
