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History’s never been my thing.
A billion years ago the Incas ruled in China or somewhere in Asia. The Ottoman Empire in England or somewhere in Europe had a good run. But they were not related to no double zero Jim Otto, Hall of Fame Center for the Oakland Raiders in the 70s, and that’s the only Ottoman I’ve ever really cared about.
The Vikings ruled for a few centuries and sported sweet metal helmets and sharp swords. Rome ruled and fell. So did Germany. And Tiger Woods. And Japan (in car manufacturing for a while). And America. And Sammy Sportface. Nothing new there, nor surprising.
Shakespearan tragedies all.
Two World Wars dominated the 20th Century. America won, which is why we’re all alive today. Have gratitude. Nixon lied his ass off and resigned. The next morning in the charcoal hours before sunrise I heaved the Washington Post to some peoples’ doorsteps who may or may not have been subscribers.
The Brady Bunch went to Hawaii. Riggo went around left end for a TD that won the first Super Bowl for the Redskins. And Larry Bird came was born in French Lick, Indiana. Basketball history from the on transmogrified like a caterpillar into a butterfly.
But aside from these historical milestones, I don’t know much else about what has happened other than:
- me making a shot at the buzzer in 1981 to beat DeMatha in high school hoops when they were ranked number 1 in D.C.
- and me making a buzzer beater in 1977 to beat Lester Lyles and Matt the Catt Lewis of elitist St. Albans in D.C. where Al Gore went to high school and eventually invented DARPA Net. Lester went on to star at cornerback for the New York Jets but couldn’t beat Sammy Sportface in grade school hoops
- and me earning 14 MVP awards over Rudy before the age of 15 before getting cheated on by my high school girlfriend at least a half dozen times literally and in other episodes in her fantasies.
Beyond this there’s very little more about history I remember or care to. Everybody’s college histories are R- rated. It would be personal-brand-damaging and therefore unwise to resuscitate now.
My abject ignorance of history intensified during my sophomore year in high school when my history teacher, a beady-eyed, Mick Jagger-thin and bushy mustached Jerry Jerkface, drilled us in fiery and rant-riddled lectures about long-ago history the way he tortured our school’s swim team at after-school practices as the head coach.
History class with him was like being an Army plebe enduring shrapnel of verbal abuse. The teacher didn’t want us to learn history; he wanted us to be killed by it.
It didn’t help that every topic he discussed occurred at least 10,000 years ago. I couldn’t get up for that; too hard to empathize, nothing to grab onto.
Who were those people? Did they play basketball? Who won all the MVPs back then? Were they as clutch as I was with the game on the line? Did they even know who Sammy Sportface? Did men and women get along? Were there waffle irons? Did McDonalds serve Hi-C Orange?
Overwhelmed with other classes, I needed to take one off and always chose history because it never aroused me. We had to read textbooks and I didn’t like reading anything because it was hard to understand what I read. Textbooks were as boring as office printers.
There were no cool pictures like there were in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. So I didn’t read about history, nor listen in class, nor study for tests. Never got a good grade in history. Never cared. Probably hurt my career potential. Too late now. Regrets – we’re are saddled with them.
While I’m not proud of being a history ignoramus, I’m not embarrassed about it either. If I knew more history, would I be any more gleeful or despondent or self-absorbed than I am now? You know the answer. What happened is in the past. It doesn’t matter. It’s like yesterday’s plumbing.
We can’t keep going back to our former lives and what others did before us and comparing ourselves to them, trying to clean up their messes and emotional and psychological grievances and mistakes. There’s no point to it. We must always look forward.
Think of it this way: The paragraphs above are now history. They’re of no consequence to anyone except writers of history textbooks. Everything we do, once it’s done, should be flushed away.
History is for people who are bored and want to escape the present and not plan for the future. History is like a dead fish that smells. History is the done-with waste basket for has-beens and navel-gazers, not forward-leaning, ever-rising, card-carrying members of the Baby Boomer Brotherhood.
History had its day. Leave it that way.
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Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here:
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