Jets 48, Lions 17.
What an epic Monday Night Football game to start our season!
Long suffering NY Jets like my wife and I have been waiting since Ed Koch was Mayor of New York for the second coming of Joe Namath.
Last night’s game — an inspiring rout of the Lions that was undiminished by memories of Bella Abzug and the weird intonations in the play-by-play announcing of ESPN’s Beth Mowins — might turn out to be a hint of awesomeness to come.
But if life goes on, so does morte.
Smokey died this weekend; he lived for many years in the town adjacent to where we seethe.
Burt Reynolds was a football player before he became an actor, and many have stopped by his house in the last few days to leave flowers.
I liked him, as did most people, and was quite influenced by the movie Deliverance, back in the day.
But life does go on.
It’s less than a week now before we decamp for Tavira, Portugal.
This coming Sunday, the Jets play the Fins; it’ll be a home game for the Jets, but since Miami is in-market for us, we’ll get to watch Gang Green for the second time in a week!
Then, no NFL for a month straight.
Cold turkey just as the season is getting started.
How are we going to survive in Portugal without Sam there to give us hope that Life has a meaning?
Well, for one thing, I’m truly intrigued by the history of the Moorish conquest and rule of the Iberian peninsula.
I look forward to reading about it in some depth while in Portugal.
I never fully realized till recently the parallels between the Reconquista and the concerted efforts since 9-11 — the grim anniversary of which is today — to marginalize Muslims in Europe and America .
We’ve all been to this rodeo before, as it turns out.
That aside, we hope to meet up a week from tomorrow with a few American expats who live in or near Tavira.
We’ve made plans to meet at the Casa Simao.
Frankly, I’m rather intrigued by the “Wild Boar” stew that’s on the menu, so we might have to go back on a Thursday, even though my wife has said she’s not particularly, er, game for that entree.
What is it?
Is it something as small (or big, depending or your perspective) as deciding to leave the country in order not to be subjected to any more Trumpian crapola?
Or is there more to it than straight-up detrumpification?
I’ll go for the easy solution to a problem that has bedeviled humanity since the dawn of Time.
I’m going to download Head Space, which Sam Darnold uses to chill before a game.
I often have blinders on because I’m usually trapped by a suffocating obsession with myself.
I need to meditate, man, on the meaning of it all — and the relative insignificance of moi in the big picture of things.
A quiet manner that bespeaks vast reserves of inner strength.
Headspace will virtually deliver it all.
I just hope I’ll have enough time in between taking selfies and achieving enlightened inner peace to actually notice what’s going on in the Algarve.
After all, isn’t that sort of thing that real writers do?
That is to say, watch everyone carefully, like a mongoose circling the cobra, and being skillfull enough to succinctly capture the telling detail.
Deliverance is being free from everything except that which is absolutely necessary.