April 23, 2016

Curt Schilling, he of the bloody sock in the World Series, a game that earned him entry into the Pantheon of American sports, was fired by ESPN for saying that men should urinate in urinals in men’s rooms and that women should urinate in toilets in ladies’ rooms.

It was an Orwellian moment.

Orwell, in between warning us of the Fatal Conceit that afflicts men who believe they know what is best for everyone, said “the obvious and true have to be defended. Stones are hard. Water is wet.”

And for this Schilling got the chop?

My Texas ladies, Caitlin, Caroline, Julia, and Courtenay, their Mom, will be here in June to see the beach trees. Texas only has pictures of them. For a variety of reasons, their age, my age, the sands of time, Fortuna, some blood tests, and the old order always changes, this will probably be the last time we will all be here together.

Since all my capital is tied up in debt and since I am in “perpetual disfavor with fortune and men’s eyes” the box will be empty when the will is read. 

There are several things I can give them.

#1 – Their “fair share” of Western Civilization.

#2 – Their “fair share” of all the stuff those generations of DWEMs has amassed.

#3 – The right to privacy, the one so loved by modern American Liberals, shall be enforced by me for their benefit.

When a group of men are sitting around a table in a public place and one of them has to go the John he stands up and says, “I have to go to the John.” He seeks neither the assent nor the approbation of the others. He gets up; he goes to the John; he goes; he returns.

When a group of ladies are sitting around a table in a public place individual micturation becomes a group activity, one replete with its own rules and rubrics. It is perhaps an example of, as Chesterton remarked, “God’s sense of mirth”, that such things fill up our senses.

The “Let’s reach and cross the horizon” goal of gender equity in bodily functions, a goal that can never be reached, is hampered by empirical toilet traits. I don’t think I ever objected to the herd activity of group urination. Commented on, of course, Objected to, never. Period.

Now it appears that this too will be verboten.

My goal is to make the 6:00 PM News. Hopefully, nationally.

If I am with my Ladies and they decide to gather in the WC I shall be on guard.

If someone wearing a peacock feather festooned flop hat with a vibrant cape and boots to his knees focusing attention on his multi-colored – I dare say motley colored and kaleidoscopic would apply – codpiece attempts to enter the Ladies” room I shall prevent him. No nonsense about LGBTQU rights. He just ain’t getting in. Period.

If someone who uses mayonnaise as a substitute for shampoo who is wearing a Colombo raincoat 6 sizes too big for him tries to get in I will beat him senseless. Period.

I shall gladly bear the wrath of Bruce Springsteen, a fellow Jerseyite. who, now that he is safely in the 1/10^th of the 1%, has easily forgotten the rules enforced at the diners he frequented on Route 9. Imagine the reaction in the Stone Pony if Patrick followed Patricia into the Ladies’ Loo around the time Born to Run had just come out.

I am an old guy with 3 titanium joints, a pacemaker, a scleral buckle, and last week, a bit too much chemo. I am leaving a few things out because young adults may be reading. Allow me to date myself. There was a phrase used by Wall Street types way back when. “Clock a ticket”. It meant something was going to happen. 

I shall be like brave Horatius at the bridge.

I shall “face fearful odds” willingly. The tour guides to Avernus must be confronted. Alas, if they include the government, so be it. 

For 25 centuries we have celebrated Antigone. The conflict of rights is never over. Whether it be her versus Creon, the Little Sisters of the Poor versus Leviathan, or a curmudgeonly grandfather who knows what his duty is it goes on.

Any volunteers for this Crusade?

Meanwhile, good on you, Curt.

KEVIN SMITH

WARRIORBARDIT @BELLSOUTH.NET