Thanks, Clarity. Bullies are Insecure: They Hurt and/or Kill Others from their Hubris

    This blog post should make sense. Let me know if you have trouble believing or understanding what I am going to explain.

    Nicole Simpson, the abused then murdered ex-wife of Orenthal Simpson, aka The Juice, was beaten lengthily and persistently for a long time until she was brutally butchered by the father of her children. A famous, and quite successful fellow. Problem was, he was a bully, a tyrant, a coward, and full of himself to pyschotic degrees. Much like the current commander-in-chief, Donald J. Trump.

    One beat and killed with his hands and fists and brute strength, and eventually a knife; the second kills with his callous sense of humanity and mendacious self-aggrandrizing and idiocy. Is he racist? No. I do not think so. He simply does not value human life that much. Was O.J. racist? I do not think so. A maniacal abuser and killer? Yep. 

    Sadly, a two time president has killed (and abused) a lot more innocent victims than the former Buffalo Bill great. That could be reason for impeachment, in my opinion. Turn off the medicines to thousands and it makes you a killer. If at all avoidable, we do not let any innocent people suffer and die. I mean to speak of true blue Americans that realize that we should help people live, even at a cost or sacrifice to our time or pocketbooks.

    This is America. Home of the brave, free, and magnanimously generous. We preserve and save others, we do not igorantly or purposefully let them die.

    Come to find out or more fully realize decades later, OJ would basically torture his wife many, many times. Did he hate white people? Women? I do not think so. Did he hate himself? Probably. Some self-loathers hide their insecurities and hatred pretty well. They prance, they preen, they brag, they gas light, they puff themselves up, they narcissustically fancy themselves the victim.

    Sound about right? OJ? Your ghost? Donald? Your huge ego? Both will reckon with God, as we all will. Sure, I am casting a few heavy stones here. I am not past my own faults. But I am not a bully. I am secure and brave enough to call out bullies and cowards and killers as they are.

    Simpson. You were awful. 

    Donald. How can you look at yourself as a grand or great American leader? You are fired, sir.

    Which U.S. president was responsible for the most deaths of the sick and dying in Africa? Perhaps 15 countries, likely more. Blame Elon Musk for his lack of humanity or knowledge of how clinics and life-saving medicine and treatment works? Not good enough.

    No. Our twice elected leader cut off the aid to hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of desperate and underprivileged sick and needy. More or less overnight. No planning, no forethought. Maybe even less afterthought.

    That is why guys like me are around. We count the losses, the gains. We analyze. And we do not shut our eyes or turn off our brains or memories.

    Once a killer, I think you are always a killer. Truth.

    What are some names of those who died? I can find out.

    On September 11, we memorialize or commemorate the names of the poor souls vanquished on that awful day in 2001. I was thirty years old with a small baby. OJ was maybe locked up, with his two kids pushing adulthood. Donald was in his 50s, on his second or third wife, with his collection of kids, some adults, maybe. Others can do the math.

    Here is my math. OJ killed two. Nicole, and ill fated Ron Goldman.

    Donald (via Elon and the DOGE)? Some say 700,000. Was that the first year after his second inauguration? We have people dying right this second in 2026 because of lack of previous clinics, some of Ebola that might have been combatted otherwise...

    Okay. Pause for now. Do I have holes in my argument?

    Please tell me. Let me know where I am wrong.

    Killers are bullies, and bullies are insecure. How can they not hate themselves? Unless the psychosis is complete.

    Good night and good day, America. I will strive to protect us all: the weak, the lame, the poor, the sick. All of us.

    Lady Liberty is so much more a New Yorker than Trump, whose name gets more revolting the more that I think about it. Mudd seems innocently bland to me now.

    My parents were inspired by a former U.S. president (who was rich AND served heroically in the military and war) and went to Africa, Sierra Leone and Togo, to save lives. Ove. r two years of their lives to help the needy. Those with less. Losers? My folks or their patients and clients? Hardly. Heroes.

    Whom do I admire and acknowledge as champions and saviors and protectors?

    Thank God for the real heroes.

    Love you. 

Things I Am Not Good At. The List Lengthens. With Age, Perspective, Experience

    This afternoon I was thinking about a few of those things that I am not very good at. There is a healthy list, I would say.

    I was invited to a work dance thing. Part of the wellness for the office workers and company. I have had some less than stellar dance experiences lately, perhaps some of them are working on my psyche or my ego, or my pride or self-perception. A few other things.

    I can embarrass myself with some of it; over the last few years it gets a bit worse. I am not as strong, maybe I have lost a step or two or I do not have the rhythm that I thought I might of had.

    There are indicators that I do not have to divulge here. But it might be looks, or laughs, or reactions. From me and others.

    Then there is singing. Whoo, some poor experiences with that here and there. Sometimes being too loud, that is not good. Loud can mean bad. I had a few moments here and there that likely did not turn out well. In the Caribbean, the Middle East. International less-than-great performances. Maybe at that French  karaoke. Or that night in California...

    What else? Writing. That can be a dangerous downward slope. There are indicators. I do not need to list them here. I could be, or would be, more driven. More wanted. More enjoyed. Just more organized or prolific.

    What else? Cooking. Not me, really. 

    Gardening. Mowing. Home upkeep. I am not that domestic, or pushed to work the home front. I do help in a few ways. Not great. I am not that good at it.

    Making money. Nah, not that great.

    Working out. Nope. It is hard to do all that. Perhaps age and pains have something to do with it.

    Work in general. Perhaps too lazy.

    Exressing better things. Case in point: what I write right now. Not better, huh?

    Sometimes I am not that great at expressing better things.

    Asking better questions.

    Caring more.

    Staving off the apathy, or laziness. Sloth. Flojitis.

    Eating right. Avoiding the fatties or the sweets.

    Drinking correctly. More water? Healthy beverages?

    Memorizing things.

    Yeah, verbatim stuff and me do not get along. With age likely worse.

    Keeping cool all the time when driving. I lose my patience enough.

    I commit driving errors.

    Okay.

    Enough for now.

    There is more for later.

    Getting emotional, sad, and crying too much? Not always at the same time, but still.

    You get it.

    Okay, there.

    Blog that, Fox Sports folks, you 2006 to 2009 blog killers...

    I hold grudges over time!!!

    Yet another.

 Most Poetry Does not Rhyme

    Either way, I have difficulties with poetry.

    When I hear it, I have things in it that I do not understand or hear right.

    Some things sound wrong or I object to what I think I understood.

    It happened Sunday morning when I heard my wife read Billy Collins' poem about poetry.

    Meta-poetic. 

    Putting a "hive to your ear"; that got me. I was stuck. Then other parts of the poem, my beautiful spouse across from me, recanting, reciting, the Poem of the Laureate.

    Me, stuck in the silly hive on the ear. A bee hive? What? 

    Is that poetry? Foolish stings and pain to the face?

    No, I declaim!

    I am thinking that diacritically I maybe am a semi-colon and an interrogative.

    Not a period, not an exclamation. Point.

    Not a full colon.

    Diacritics.

    Within the languages of poetry.

    Poetry in Chinese and Sanskrit.

    Persian, Farsi, or Amharic. What else in Ethiopia?

    All the languages, the native American ones dying off.

    Or perhaps the weird ones of Papua New Guinea.

    What do they speak in the Andamans?

    It is not written, they are truly savages, in the non-racist sense. 

    The Andaman islanders do not welcome the rest of us.

    Almost poetic, really.

    Kit Marlowe or William Shakespeare? The son of the cobbler or the son of the glover?

    Did the real bard die by age twenty-nine? Perhaps he was skewered by Skeres.

    Rodney Bolt is so hard to read.

    But I do it.

    Prose about poets.

    "History Play."

    And none of that rhymed.

    And this, my friends, is not normal poetry.

    Barnes and Noble does not have it.

    But maybe someday.

    This poetry might sing.

    What?

    Billy Collins is all right. Maybe it is me.

    Me and the oratory tradition. 

    Prose, too. I have issues with listening.

    I see it on paper, on a screen, and I can understand it better.

    Then, there is other languages.

    Oof.

    I can do pretty well in Spanish. Portuguese, not bad, really.

    French/ It 

First Week of October 2026. 14 (Fourteen) Undefeated Teams Left. My Two (three) among Them.

    IU crushes Rutgers in Piscataway. 5-0. Nebraska next, in their place of worship. Cornie Huskerers.

    Brigham Young holds on to beat the Christian Horned Frogs Who knew those funny amphibians professed a religion? Cougars are obvious Latter-day Saints: Book of Mormon is all about Western Hemisphere wildcats and felines of prey!

    Who else? The Catholics of South Bend, of our Lady of the Immaculate Conception of her mother Anne. Jesus came later. True story, true believers.

    Then there is the Bible Bashing south. Texas, Georgia, Alabama. Even Missouri. James Madison, North Dakota State... 

    Ummm... Miami. Nebraska, next up for the Hoosiers. All the rest of the Big Ten is undefeated. USC, Oregon, and Ohio State have one loss each. Ha! Penn State and MEECHAGUN have two each! Ha! Ha! HAHHHHHH!

    Wow, the world is upside down. We love it.

    Who else is among the 14 left? Not to say the others, like one-loss LSU cannot get to the 12 part CFP. Likely not Oklahoma State. 

    Oh, I had one. Texas Tech. Anyone else?

    I had to re-read the above, (or imagine it), and take a leak (pardon, relieve myself in the powder room) and think of:

    Pittsburgh! Very lucky to remain lossless as poor Virginia Tech blew the 36 yard field goal. When I fell asleep last Friday or Thursday night. In Blacksburg! Oh, enter light, exit light. Indeed. 

    Did I get them all? Hawai'i is racked with losses. Sorry, sports magazine as I consider going out to the local grocery store to get the basketball magazine. Not too late...

    See ya!

    

    

Pale Hose! We Got This! Counting my Chickens: Yankees or Rays?

Da White Sox rally to win 4-3 over hometown homies Guardians. Yay! I watched much of the game! Yay! I had not seen them visually most or much of the season. They look compact and good. Even though, despite their hitters who barely are hitting .200 plus. Even one below the Mendoza line... One of the Montgomerys... I think the short stop. Forgivable with great defense and clutch hitting and running.

    Poor Padres. Blew it last night to the Brewers, now trailing 2-0 out of five.Oh, well. Brew crew are all right, my fourth favorite hope. Or fifth? 1. White Sox, two: Padres. Three Rays. Four Brewers. Okay.

    I hope we play the Rays. That way, and "we" are the White Sox, a never-been will have a chance. Best case, Padres versus the... Braves. Tired of the Braves and Dodgers. Yeesh. Yankees last won in 2009, but too much of them, too.

    Blog it.

Poetry of the IU Football Champions

    Many of us long suffering Hoosier fans are older than me

    They saw many more seasons, of futility, embarrassment.

    None of the 1945 champion fans or players are living to talk about that team anymore, right?

    Maybe someone born in 1930 or 1938 remembers them, still alive.

    I hope so. In the Hoosier heartland, or perhaps transferred to California or Florida. Or even Georgia.

    Hoosier fans. A rarer breed back in the day. 

    I was one, proudly, by 1980, at least.

    

    After the 1979 crazy Corso bowl win agains the up and coming BYU Cougars. 

    Another team to wax poetic about. For another verse.

    I am a Hoosier fan! (Sorry, Tom Bell. Former Cougar lineman.)

    They are my home and secular love. 

    Was it 1983 that I really started to track them? By radio and newspaper.

    The signal emissions on my transistor at home, my long beloved clock radion, or from whichever car that I found myself in... 

    Returning home from a campout with the Scouts.

    Maybe later that day on the way to dinner with my family.

    The occasional televised game. 

    ESPN opened up the channels ever more. Beyond the ubiquitous NBC, CBS, ABC.

    Then later Fox.

    Over time the love, the attention, the nostalgia and lore grew.

    Mallory. Cameron. Lynch. Who else? Oh yeah, Wilson! Then Allen, who lead to:

    THE. CURT. CIGNETTI. We must love Italy and Italian-Americans.

    We have Googled him.

    He is the champion of champs.

    Wow. Quite the guy.

    A legend of epic proportions, building up over his decades of lifetime into the last two years.

    Indiana is a power.

    Sold out games. Expensive tickets.

    

    Is this poetry? I am not Billy Collins.

    Even AI me from my online footprints is not good enough to capture it, it seems.

    Now we sport our national champion shirts. Hats, caps, tooks or beanies. 

    Oh, and why not candy striped pants or overalls? 

    Penn State fans and followers (as I have seen them at all games everyhwere), the magnificent former victors of national acclaim, squirm and cower when we mention

    the catch  (the Catch!) in the end zone by an inch to preserve the unblemished wonder that was last season, 2025.

    2025. Maybe two huge wins more in January of 2026. 

    We know of Oklahoma, Army, Notre Dame, Michigan, Ohio State, Alabama, Georgia, Clemson.

    Even Brigham Young, from the auspicious year of the Orwellian 1984.

    And yes, the the Florida schools, all the big three.

    We are little old southern Indiana hick IU, with the little stadium simply named Memorial, with the howitzers or some type of World War II cannons ensconced on the west side. 

    We won that war, and we win on the grid iron of the pig skin. After well over a hundred years of losing and laughter, mocking directed at us. Even by the Purdue fans! Or, especially them.

    Ha! He who laughs first...

    Hang the banners in the rafters, from roof tops, from bumper stickers and placards.

    Wear the championship status with pride!

    Indiana Hoosiers. 

    We are the best.

    We have been the worst.

    Google it.

IU Comes out of Piscataway with 100 yard Earners, Uninjured, We Hope

    Indiana scored quickly and well, up 30-0 at halftime. The weather was pleasant and the atmosphere was cool. By the end of the game the Scarlet Knights scores a couple touchdowns. I think the Knights had seven or so injury breaks. Indiana? None. Beebe and Richard ran for a lot, Marshall and Becker caught for a lot, and I think we are better prepped for Nebraska next week. They are undefeated? Should be interesting.

    Michigan lost again! Ha! Go Gophers! Haha, former BYU grad and player Whittingham who dissed the Cougars too many years while the Ute coach.

    Ahh, my memories do not allow me forget the passed offenses against my Provo alma mater.

    Washington lost to USC. No total loss; that guy Rick at Camp Marmal can eat crow, or pie, or his own lordship against my Cougars.

    What else? BYU held on to rival TCU in Dallas.

    Hmmm...

    Missouri might be good. Florida might not be that good. Alabama could be good again. The SEC might be great again. But Texas... Oh yeah, SEC now. The world has changed, ever bit slightly.

    Meanwhile, I felt at home surrounded by hundreds of Hoosiers with their colors and championship shirts.

    Craziness. 800,000 plus IU almumni bopping around the world.

    Indiana with some 21 wins in a row.

    See you next Saturday, Cornhuskers. Maybe not personally, but it may just work out.