by cheri block sabraw
Maybe because Judge Blah’s job gathers so many unhappy people together in a legal centrifuge, whirls them around with the spectre of a bad trial outcome, and flattens them in conference rooms, wrung out and raw…maybe that is why he tends to view the mass of humanity negatively.
Then why do his eyes moisten every time he watches Casablanca?
And why do tears fall when he reads a certain passage from Willa Cather’s My Antonia?
I know the answers to these questions.
The divide between what is and what we would like it to be seems to grow wider as we age. The creek we jumped over as a child has taken on Grand Canyon proportions.
Every week I cheerlead in my unrelenting desire to keep Judge Blah focused on the good.
Did I tell you all that I was a professional cheerleading instructor?
No, I haven’t divulged that piece of juicy information.
This post is the first time I have had the confidence to share this with you because I was sure you would judge me. Aren’t all cheerleaders flaky airheads with breast implants, collagen lips, and 108 I.Q.’s?
As is customary every September with the start of a new school year, I am optimistic about my job, the people in my life, and the prospect for goodness.
Despite the usual challenges that running a business, managing people, and teaching grammar and writing to already overloaded teenagers can create, I choose to see the humor of it all.
I remind myself that this is my life. Go for it. Get up and get out. Have fun. Enjoy.
Thun-der, Thun-der, Thun-der-a-tion,
We’re the War-rior, Del-e-gat-ion, ( a Nietzscheian reference for sure!)
When we fight, it’s Con-fla-gra-tion,
Blah, Blah Blah..some-thing that rhymes with tion.
I forgot the rest of the cheer.
Life is full of colors and possibility.
Stay with that thought.
The little Cape Cod style house I lived in as a young child is much bigger in my nostalgia than it really was. Casablanca was on just the other night. But I recorded (then watched) “A Night to Remember” with Loretta Young.
My favorite high school cheerleader was Greek, no collagen (definitely no breast implants), and smarter than me. I miss Annie sometimes.
Thun-der, Thun-der, Thun-der-a-tion,
We’re the War-rior, Del-e-gat-ion,
When we fight, it’s Con-fla-gra-tion,
When we love, it’s flagellation.
When I cook, it’s immolation.
When we leave, it’s emigration.
Denver Bronco’s? Change the station.
Shall we talk football?
OK.. you have me in the fight song spirit.
Here is my high school fight song:
Onward you warriors fight!
For the honor of the green and white.
Keep your spirits high, your head toward the sky,
Bring victory home, we know that you’ll try.
Vanquish the foe tonight,
Show them all your courage and might,
For the warriors who fight,
For the green and white
of Mission San Joseeeyeeee!
And yours?
Sheesh. I think the only one I ever bothered to learn (by force) was the USAFA Fight Song. Off we go, into the wild blue yonder. At’em boys…
I just like to to make rhymes with conflagration; Send a check for your donation. Calculus is integration. Goats eat weeds and vegetation.
I commend your cheerleading, but Judge Blah of course has it basically … right.
Of course?
Of course of course. Am I off course?
To Humanity (courtesy of the old Stanford Indians before they became the Trees):
Give em the Axe, the Axe, the Axe,
Right in the Neck, the Neck, the Neck
I concede to Judge Blah here (and you), that man is motivated entirely by self-interest and greed.
It’s all so coarse.