Poetry & Football: Together Again For The First Time

Poet Megan Grumbling:
Probably not a huge Seahawks fan.

Greg:

Look, I know that you've had it up to here (he said, indicating a latitude about 4'10" from the floor) with me going on and on about football. The season will be over as of the night of February 5th, so at least you may take some comfort in the fact that there will be no more fuel for my obsession. After the Super Bowl, my interests will no doubt return to the introspective - Buddhism, poetry, coffee, dysthymia - you know, the standard Pacific Northwest leisure pursuits.

Speaking of the Pacific Northwest, here are some quick notes on life in the Big Wet One:

• As of this morning, we are on our 27th consecutive day of rain. As of Friday, our annual precipitation is 4.10" above average, a fact that I find 99.9% less than ossum. We don't live in a state. We live in a leaky basement.
• Humorous sign seen on a house during a recent trip to Portland, OR: HIPPIES USE SIDE DOOR.

And speaking of hippies - Arrrrgh! Body - strong! But - will - weak! Must talk about football!! Jake Plummer, the quarterback of the Denver Broncos, has either ceased all forms of personal hygiene for the duration of the playoffs, or is appearing in an off-Broadway revival of Jesus Christ Superstar. His exceedingly beardacious and hair-riffic appearance caused me to dub him Jakus Christ Superstar while the Gunn household was enjoying the Patriots/Broncos game yesterday. By the way, Jakus Christ and the Broncs beat Tom CryBrady and the rest of Coach Bill Bitch-A-Lot's Patriots rather soundly - 27-13. Undoubtedly, the Patriots will attempt to file a nuisance suit in civil court claiming fraud, robbery and battery by a crazed band of hippies in tight white pants. ("We was only there to goes and does some skiin', which we hear is wicked nice in Colorader this time of yee-uh," the plaintiffs said.)

Which brings me to poetry. Had a rather nice discovery in the last issue of Poetry magazine. (Yeah, I'm a subscriber, so what? Shut up!) A poet with the unfortunate name of Megan Grumbling (adolescence must've been hell on her, no doubt obviating the career choice) has a book out titled Booker's Point, a series of poems written around and about an old Maine coot named Booker. Poetry magazine has a selection from it online, the poem Raking Near The Great Works. (Please go read it before they update the page and the link breaks.) It might remind you a lot of the autumns we had in Michigan. Now that I live in the Land Of Two Seasons (and those would be Unbearably Shitty and Fawking Gorgeous), I miss those true autumns something ferocious.

And one final note, since you probably haven't been following the playoffs much-if-at-all, the Seattle Seahawks won their first playoff game in 21 years. And they did it despite 3 turnovers and the loss of their NFL MVP running back in the second quarter - which of course prompted me to write the following truly awful (and probably the first) Seahawks football haiku:

You heard us knocking / Now the door is coming down / Cold pond overruns

Cheers, and give my best to Marie.

-Thaddeus