Dear Tony, My wife and I managed to enjoy the first eight years of our marriage without the aid of cell phones. I don’t know how we survived all that time without the ability to check up on each other, as we went our separate ways during the day, to classes first and later to work. There were days where we did not speak to one another for eight or nine hours, until later in the evening. Now, we text and email each other religiously—even chatting on Facebook throughout the day. We have yet to experiment with online gaming while at work, and I hope we never get to that point. But, I have to admit, it’s nice to get an “I love you” after lunch with an appropriately chosen emoticon. Still, has it made our relationship stronger? I don’t know. I think we initially bought cell phones because we finally gave in to the pressure. Friends would say to us, “C’mon, guys. It’s 2008. Get with the times.” As though somehow the year itself were moral justification enough for being technologically progressive. I imagine in a few years those same friends will criticize our unwillingness to get fitted with telecommunication biochips. Meanwhile, my students make their way through life, and especially class, with prosthetic Androids and iPhones that have replaced a variety of verbal and critical thinking amputations. My classroom has turned into a rather sophisticated triage. Truth be told, I’m a fan of the old ways, which seem much more intimate and meaningful. What ever happened to smoke signals and pigeons? Do people still pen letters with actual ink? Well, you know my feelings about letters, but if you ever want to text, let me know. I’m just glad that you and Da’ Boys have revived the telegraph. What a neat form of communication. It speaks to how bad the Bears defense is, and how good the O-Line and Murray are, that you could line up, again and again, in obvious run formations, and still gain significant yardage. From my vantage point, it looked as if you were actually communicating to the Bears, “Hey, we’re going to run the ball again. No, really, we’re going to run for the seventh consecutive time. And we’re going to give it to Murray. He’s probably going to go up the middle and cut against the grain. He might swing to the outside, but it’s going to be a run play.” Quarterbacks get scolded all the time for telegraphing passes. But last night, with the run, it absolutely didn’t matter. Keep telegraphing that run, Tony. It’s going to be the reason you wind up in the playoffs. I just hope that the rest of the offense is okay with Murray getting all the touches. That can be tough on the ego of other offensive contributors. I know. I played 5th grade basketball with a kid named Jimmy Flurry, and my job as point guard was to bring the ball up and pass to Jimmy. Every single time. And Jimmy would shoot, every single time, and usually make it. The rest of us would stand around, picking our noses with the kind of unfettered abandon you only see in the animal kingdom. I hated Jimmy then, and I still hate him now. I hate whale tongue, too, Tony, and I’m so glad you didn’t play like it. You are, quite simply, a beast, and my hero. No matter what those humpback fans of the Eagles, Redskins, and Giants say, you are one tough football player. Punctured lung, broken back, cracked ribs—if you can walk, you play. I respect that. (On the other hand, your counterpart last night played through even more injuries: fractured pride, bruised ego, broken game, to name just a few.) Well, finish strong. I’d really like to write a “Dear Tony” during the playoffs. Nostalgically, Frank
Posted on: Sat, 06 Dec 2014 03:37:10 +0000
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