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At the Intersection of Sports and Culture

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How To Talk To Your Children About The Pope

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“How To Talk To Your Children About The Pope”

Daddy, who’s Pope Francis?

Pope Francis is the head of the Catholic Church.

And why is he in America?

Because, there are millions of Catholics living in the United States and the upcoming United Nations General Assembly in NYC presented a global platform for the popular Pontifex to share his progressive thoughts on climate change, income inequality and immigration.

Then why are so many people saying that the Pope should stay out politics?

Because in this country we have a way of politicizing issues that have little to do with Republicans or Democrats. And with an election on the horizon in 2016 there are opportunists out there who seek to create division where none exists.

Is it true that over a million people listened to the Pope speak in Philadelphia?

Yes, it’s true. Just goes to show you how popular and powerful Pope Francis is.

If he’s so powerful then why is he driving a Fiat?

Well, this Pope prides himself on being one with with the people and it’s hard to convey empathy for the proletariat when riding around in the back of an armored Mercedes-Benz SUV. Plus, the Italian made Fiat is better on gas than most European made cars.

Even Volkswagen?

Yes, even Volkswagen.

 

 

 

 

The Stone of Tomorrow: Intro and Chapter 1

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I wrote/am in the process of writing a novel for young adults. Frustrated by my inability to bust down the gates of a, or any, reputable publishing house I have decided to post chapters here to my website. Like it, share it, do with what you please. If it sucks, lacks an experienced editor’s voice and/or you’d prefer I stop disseminating, tell me that too. Your feedback may very well determine the fate of this folly.

-JL

SUMMARY/INTRO

The Stone of Tomorrow is about Wheelie, a 12 year old boy who following his parents’ divorce moves with his mother to her hometown in rural New Hampshire where they will care for the boy’s grandfather who is confined to a wheelchair after suffering a stroke. The expansive farmhouse where the grandfather lives has been in the family for generations going back to before the Revolutionary War and includes a massive stone fireplace that was part of the original foundation.

One night the grandfather goes missing and when the curious boy investigates he uncovers the magical powers of the farmhouse. Transported back in time through the fireplace the boy encounters an evil officer in the British Army and a mysterious man who may very well know the whereabouts of the boy’s missing grandfather.

Joined by a young neighborhood girl who is equally lonely and desperate for adventure, the friends travel back and forth through time hoping to stop a chain of events that threaten to rewrite the course of history and eliminate the very existence of the boy’s family.

Chapter 1

UNDER A DARK MOON

The dark figure lurched over the lifeless mason’s body and began making its way up the side of the rocky slope towards the entrance to the quarry. It had stopped raining and the clouds had opened up just enough to allow the full moon to shine through giving the mysterious man plenty of light to see as he navigated his lanky frame over and around large boulders of limestone and granite.

When he reached the top of the hill he looked back down the steep slope one final time to see if he was being followed. The mason’s arms and legs remained splayed out over the rocks. The man smiled. Confident that he was alone he drew the bloody stone axe out from beneath his red coat and started his descent down the rope ladder and into the cave below where his date with destiny awaited. [Read more…]

Our Guilty Pleasure

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We say we don’t care. But we do.

We say we won’t watch. But we will.

We say that the final score doesn’t matter. But it does.

We say it’s not our night to put the kids to bed. But it is.

We say that we won’t leave the dishes in the sink over night. But we forget.

We say that air pressure is overrated. But it isn’t.

We say that all teams cheat. But we know better.

We say that Tom Brady wouldn’t vote for Donald Trump. But he might.

We say that nobody’s perfect. But we lie.

We say that the Steelers will cover the spread. But we’ve been down this road before.

We say that none of this matters because at the end of the day it’s still just a bunch a nihilistic neanderthals causing CTE. But we can’t help ourselves.

 

 

 

September, September

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September, September how I long for you so. With your much cooler temperatures and your skies so blue.

September, September how I loathe you so. For ending our summers and postponing our dreams of new adventures and old friends.

September, September how I admire you so. Your classrooms bursting with optimism and your trees full of change.

September, September how I fear you so. The tic toc of the office clock never stops as an omnipresent indication of the indefatigable passing of time.

September, September how I enjoy you. Indoors or outdoors, on sofas or mountains, you account for vices both pure and idle.

September, September how I hate you so. For lost weekends of football, weddings and back to school events.

September, September how I love you so. With beauty and grace you offer fresh starts and moments of reflection and appreciation. For all that we want. All that we miss. And all that we have.

 

 

 

A Heart of Saturday Darkness

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Saturdays in the fall are supposed to be spent outside under a canopy of colorful foliage not indoors on the sofa staring at hypnotically pixelated images of swamps and groves.

Look up at the screen long enough and soon the son of God will appear, arms held high above his golden dome, imploring you to join him on his quest for eternal Saturday salvation.

And remember this, there is not a house big enough on this temporal plain to contain all the lost souls traveling from rocky top to rose bowl searching for that ever elusive answer to weekend.

Incidentally, how many death valleys can one stomach stand before the belly overflows with enough BBQ tailgating goodness to feed an army of ancient warriors marching towards the colosseum?

It’s not too late however to embrace mother nature before father time takes its toll and you’re no longer able to tell the difference between blue sky and blue turf.