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Still haven’t found myself this week, which was my intent when I announced last week I was taking the summer off from being Sammy Sportface.
Been wandering around at the beach hunting for answers. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I dug for sand crabs and when I got a few in my hand I asked who I was and what my purpose was and they said nothing. Sandcrabs never have anything to add to anything.
Stared at the ocean and was reminded it was all unknowable, the haunted world under the sea. Took a bike ride over to Sleepy Joe Biden’s neighborhood wanting to ask him what it all meant but he was sleeping. Dude wasn’t helpful.
Yesterday went to the Rusty Rudder for Happy Hour and a glass of birch beer on ice, staring at Rehoboth Bay and the jetskiiers and listening to a man play his guitar and sing into a microphone.
It’s been an odd week. Lost my blog to an imposter named Sally Sportface who is off the rails writing about her reverence for Angel Reese and unloading on me personally about all my foibles, exposing the darkness within my soul. She wrote a blog yesterday about the 10 Worst Things About Sammy Sportface and I have to say she knows me pretty well.
It’s a little scary. Who is this Sally Sportface? Why would any members of the Baby Boomer Brotherhood be interested in what she thinks? All she does is insult men and praise women and eat junk food and act all uppity and annoying. Unbearable is the right description.
There’s something amiss. Everything feels off. Time ticks. Whit is still Whit, unfortunately.
I spent most of this soul-searching week binge-watching the “Housewives of Delaware” reruns and came away thinking that those women bicker a lot; not as much as New Jersey and New York but still. It’s riveting theatre and I got pulled into the shallowness.
Shallowness sells. Remember the movie “Shallow Hal”? How great was that? Jack Black being superficial in all his relationships, not committing to anyone. Not admirable but amusing.
This coming week I plan to watch “The View” and while watching send an email to Whoopi Goldberg telling her I want to whoop it up as a guest on the show so I can tell them what I’ve been learning about the hell-raising housewives of Delaware. But I’m starting to worry she’ll rebuff me and instead invite Sally Sportface to be on the show because she’s new and Sammy Sportface is an old tale told long ago.
I’m getting bothered by Sally Sportface. She seems to think she can write anything she wants to the Baby Boomer Brotherhood with no fallout. How brash of her.
I happen to know her. She’s moody and acts like she’s all erudite and wise but underneath it all she’s living a quiet life, alone, eating junk food which is appalling, staring at pictures of men with hair plugs which she has a thing for.
This morning — yes this morning — I saw her at Starbucks typing a blog about Bayou Barbie and thought to myself: Why is she doing this? Why did she bring up Shakespeare with Angel? Is she trying to find herself? Does she secretly have a crush on Sammy Sportface? What are her intentions?
What is going on?
I am no closer to finding myself than three days ago when I announced I was lurching forward to find that answer. Now I’m sitting in a Starbucks as Sammy Sportface writing about Sally Sportface who is also here and it’s getting confusing. Who is she? Who am I? Is this shallow?
And what does any of this have to do with the Baby Boomer Brotherhood, you guys? Where are you in all of this? Are you feeling rudder-less?
Can’t overthink this. Never works. Off to the beach to stare at the sea still unsure, wondering and grasping, thrashing about, whiffing the air.
Searching for another day.
Like all of you.
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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:
Sammy Sportface Has a Vision -- Check It Out
Sammy Sportface -- The Baby Boomer Brotherhood Blog -- Facebook Page
