Steve Dilbeck - California Knucklehead

For want of anything intelligent to say or simply a genetic disposition to boorishness,  Steve Dilbeck of the LA Times calls Arizonans "knuckleheads," a reckless generalization.   Los Angeles may have Clayton Kershaw, a fine pitcher who's never been to college.   Arizona has Roger Angel. 

Firstly, to paraphrase Russell Baker,  people become journalists because they are mathematically challenged, need an occupation less intellectually demanding than engineering or medicine, and aren't motivated enough to get up early in the morning to do something productive like work on a farm.  Of these, the most marginal are left to babble about sports.

Next, California would be better served if its babblers toned down the babble and urged the knuckleheads in their state to stop killing each other over baseball games.   Aping the public bad behavior of its brawling sports teams.  Arizona is the least of California's problems.

Last, Mr. Dilbeck's defense of boorish behavior by Dodgers baseball players, i.e., urinating in a public swimming pool and bragging about it, is substantive evidence that its newspapers employ individuals with a genetic disposition for boorishness and who are very much a part of fueling the mayhem in California.

But perhaps I'm mistaken.   Mr. Dilbeck, being one, is probably California's foremost authority on knuckleheads.

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How sad for you and Mr. Dilbeck if you think Dr. Angel is a sportswriter.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roger_Angel

Lower Expectations

We've attended the Arizona Opera for many years.   So did my wife's friend, the priest who baptized my son and his longtime friend and opera date.    The priest's opera buddy was very much unknown back then and we were the only people the priest and his date had to talk to during intermissions.   After the opera we'd escort them back to the diocese parking lot where they parked their car.   I was the closest thing they had to a security detail.   Back in those days I was more than enough to drive off the stray homeless guy who tried to ask the priest's opera buddy for a date.    This little convoy went on for years until the priest's opera date won an election earning her a limo and a better parking space and bodyguard than me.

Years later sitting in the airport waiting for a ride back from grandma's house in Boston I look up and who do you think is sitting right next us?    Our opera buddy and her new bodyguard.   I leave "celebrities" alone.   She never got around to acknowledging us.   I admit that I'm pretty forgettable, but my wife isn't.   And what Arizona politician would pass up the opportunity to kiss an Arizona baby.