fear and loathing in san diego
I always thought the decision to have Hunter S. Thompson write a sports column was a bid odd. Still I read. And still, it gets odder by the column.
Now, I don't know if Hunter forgot to drop his acid today, or if he has just finally crossed that line between insanity and man-who-thinks-he-is-a-genius, but today's blatherings are blink worthy, even for a man of Hunter's offbeat way of thinking.
Satire? Comedy? The incoherent ramblings of a man who spent a little too much time drinking the Ted Rall flavored kool-aid?
So we should all take a nice long look at the Big Game on Sunday in San Diego -- because it may be the last one we'll see for a while, at least until the War ends ... Ho ho. That is a nasty thought, as thoughts go, but it is the melancholy truth. Certainly it will be the last peacetime Super Bowl for another five years, maybe more ... But by then we will all be wearing uniforms, of one kind or another, and only the "Trusted Travelers" among us will be allowed to come and go as we please -- within reasonable military limits, of course, as long as we don't make waves and never gather in groups of more than three, and don't spit.
From there it descends into something about leeches and the Raiders and military tribunals.
I can't figure out right now if I found that amusing or frightening or just incomprehensible. All I know is that tonight I will probably dream about leeches and pirates waging a fight to the death, winner-take-all-war at the Superbowl.