Tuesday and I'm rambling

5 easy miles. Pretty tired, lethargic. The 12 miles yesterday beat me up a little even though they were EZ, I guess. 5 was fine in that I want to get some quality tomorrow. We'll see.

I love that Cliff Lee signed with the Phillies. That along with the Jeter negotiations speak volumes about the state of the Yanks.

I hope a few members of the Jets' coaching staff lose their jobs. That team is circling the drain. Sure they could rise-up and make a run, but it looks like karma is once again rearing its head. Too much talk going in.

I watched part of a Premier league game between Chelsea and Tottham. A Brazilian on Tottham went down and did the typical writhing-in-pain routine. I have no idea if leagues are implementing rules to deal with these pathetic thespians, but this guy (I watched closely) revealed the anatomy of his lie as his hurt knee became his shin, became his ankle or foot (who knows). The camera started to cut back and forth from personnel on the sideline who began to gather the stretcher and probably a first-aid kit of some kind to the thespian, pounding the ground to express his pain, twisting, showing-off his teeth. Someone had already been dispatched to the fallen Brazilian who you knew wasn't that hurt (I played the sport, but anyone should be able to discern a "real" threatening tackle, etc., from a "glance" or non-threatening one); then he started to get up, but this guy was really playing it out. He was really milking this one; it's such a piece of shit, that strategy (make no mistake, it is a strategy).

Suddenly another player was getting warm, getting instructions from the coach. They were going to replace the "injured" player! This was good. Back to the action on the field, the stretcher was no where to be found. The fallen Brazilian was being helped up, and being escorted. Maybe he really was hurt (I wasn't falling for it; and I wasn't buying the new rule theory either. This guy was just plain narcissistic).

And the replacement started toward the field: Yes!

And the injured Brazilian started to walk and then jog back toward the pitch: Piece of shit!

So what happened? The manager who was helping the Brazilian nudged him toward the bench (you're done), and the look on the player's face said he was upset that he'd been pulled, grimacing as he jogged back to the bench.

That along with Chelsea's big stud, Drogba, missing a penalty kick made the whole affair pretty embarrassing. The sport is no fun. Americans don't like it because it's marred by too much finesse. What's too much finesse? Soft. Of course, we have other words for too much finesse, but need less to say, the sport is "out of our league." And despite being a former player and now getting my son involved, I concur with the majority of Americans. It's a bad show.

Enough sports talk. I hope to start railing against American wealth once I can wrap my brain around a good conceptual approach to my fight against an immorality that plagues this country (world for that matter).

I want to start a campaign: Run for the middle-class (and working class, too). But the middle-class is so critical to the perceived and real definition of this country, of democracy. That is going to be a monster to get off my chest.

I hate wealth.