Yo, Adrian!

Indentured servant?

Adrian Peterson is one of the shiniest pennies to plop into the Minnesota Vikings' lap in a long time.  He seemed immaculately untarnished.  He had never been pulled from circulation, reinstalled, pulled, reinstalled--you get the idea.

When his legs pound and he clings to the ball, he makes defenses look silly.  Not Barry Sanders, but one of the finest to ever wear purple.

Then he opened his mouth.

As if the NFL strike wasn't already the hands down winner for the Worst-Timed Power Play in the last three hundred years, AP compares working for NFL honors to slavery and thereby wins Most Over-the-Top Hyperbole of All Time.

'Squeeze me?  Does that young man not have a processor or some filter to strain what proceeds from his brain to his mouth?  Slavery?!

Let's try a little NFL vs. SLAVERY one-on-one:

• Salary:  Gajillion dollars above the national average vs. zero (just enough food to get you out of bed the next day.
• Work hours:  Two-a-days during the pre-season (maybe even three-a-days), a couple hours in the weightroom, and the grueling film review and playbook study vs. backbreaking pre-dawn to post-dusk field work so that someone else will be blessed by the fruit of your labor.
• Punishments:  During practice there might be sprints and for really nasty, mid-season infractions there's a tiny fine fileted off their gajillion dollar salary vs. whippings, rapings, and lynchings.
• Dangers inherent in the workplace:  Concussions, broken bones, destroyed knees vs. concussions, broken bones, destroyed knees, severed limbs, flayed backs, burned skin, gouged eyes, lost teeth, emasculation, rape.
• OVERALL:  Playing a child's game for a gajillion dollars because you chose to vs. toiling from the time you could walk until they laid you in the grave for just enough food to subsist upon because other human beings considered you their property.

Perhaps we should set aside the chaos in the Middle East, the fact that our state governments can't pay their debts (much less the country), the inflated gas prices, and that tiny crisis in East Asia and focus our attention on those poor, maligned NFL players and owners.  If this keeps up, I will be disappointed if the two sides ever come to terms.

Dick Cheney, Part II

This one's not about the VP. It's about his name.

Do you know anyone under the age of, oh, sixty named "Dick?" That's too bad. No, it's tragic. Our culture has slimed a great name. Dick Van Dyke! Dick Tracy (I always loved his last name). Dick Van Patten (sorry, that's a bit on the girlie-side). Dick Sergeant (can you name his series without a Google search?). "Moby Dick," a classic, they say. Dick Butkus (I wonder how many broken noses he gave before dudes shut their traps). Dick Clark. I suspect in our life time we'll not hear of another Tom, Dick or Harry named "Dick." That's sad.

I remember a guy I worked with whose last name was "Gray." Except it really wasn't "Gray." It was "Gay." He had tired of the disgusting humor because of his last name and didn't want his children to have to bear that. And so he changed his name. His family's name. No more "Gay." I couldn't even find the name "Gay" for boys or girls on "Wikiname." But what about Gay Brewer. Gay Talese. The Enola Gay. The "Gay Nineties." Oh, to be gay of heart. No more. That's sad.

I hate to hear what "Keith" has become synonomous with in fifty years. And your opinions don't count!