Game Day

September 30, 2014
Game Day

Another of those days when I imagine calling in sick: monthly team meeting. Gathered around the wood-grain table in the conference room, smelling of coffee dust and various shades of cologne, oh, how we shall marshal our arguments, darkly whistling at windy length about the little we’ve managed to accomplish in September. These will be followed by longer range planning, the almost-speeches like so many dresses hanging in young, fall closets before next year’s May prom - in case we’re invited. Then, paint notes on the easel: these are the great things we are going to do in the meantime, at least as the time becomes ripe. Right now, of course, this week, we are so busy we can’t imagine when that will be. But, let it be soon. The road has many twists and turns, furrows and mounds, but . . . . Then:

          Big-head Henry will bring up someone like "Camus," because it is absurd to think (whatever the prophet Isaiah might say) that the rutted road will be repaired. The mountains will not be depressed, the valleys will not be elevated, the uneven places will not be made level, the rough places will not become smooth by divine action or at all. But we will persevere, because we must: we can never escape (esquiver - he'll use the French) the absurd but real present into an ideal but uncertain future. I suspect your team meetings have a similar tone to them.

          “Henry has a point,” furrow-browed Bob will say. I will not ask how in the world he describes there can be such a thing.

l