That long, long last two minutes of the game
Having watched professional sports on TV, I have a healthy respect for the “elastic clock”. That’s where two teams are close in point count, and the timer shows, for example, two minutes remaining. In the time it takes to play through to the final whistle, I can get my laundry started, prepare supper and convince the dog that our walk really should be delayed.
I’m playing the analogy game here; that US election is going to take place in just under seven days. Between now and the final tally, I fear that the world is going to lose patience. Right now, the game is “too close to call”, but there shouldn’t be any overtime played. Sudden death? I sincerely hope not. Too many hotheaded partisans with constitutionally approved arms…
Will the television be on, this time next week? I think that’s what sports fans call a “safe bet”. At least, barring a shutdown of the public broadcast system. And the Internet. I have a vision of Twitter in overload.
Found an archive of recorded humour (sic); what my kids favoured, close to two decades ago. Now to get copies onto their desktops, so they can revisit their childhood. I’m from a different era, obviously, and seeking out old footage of Red Skelton or Wayne and Schuster doesn’t seem like a worthwhile quest; I know the punch line to the best jokes already.
Unlike music, comedy routines don’t age particularly well. Nor do they bear up to analysis, after living as a functioning adult for long periods of time.
