motorman

This evening I went to the fridge to retrieve a snack and I saw some of that great flashback from youth (i.e. oh the comforts of youth). It is the grand processed American cheese – individually wrapped for your traveling pleasure. I grabbed a slice; okay two. As I have grown older I have developed a deadly appreciation for cheese. Motivation to saddle up on the bike, I guess. Unfortunately there is a bigger problem to the universe than simply the threat of premature coronary embolism, I regret to have to announce it here at motorman, where we work for, and assume, the intelligence of the human race, okay at least the minimal intelligence of Americans. For goodness sake – IT IS AMERICAN CHEESE.

Continuing to digress a bit, we Americans have a namesake cheese that for aficionados is (1) bland, (2) over processed, and (3) has yellow that does not appear naturally in the cheese world and maybe only in the world of Crayola.

I pull this slippery slice out off the stack turn it over and see imprinted on the packaging “OPEN HERE 2”.

I pause. Let’s all pause.

Okay, has life become that complicated that we need direction to open the cheese singles? Come on, I mean it was never that difficult. As I think about it I blame the lawyers for this new symbol of American culture. I know most of you think I should blame the schools. But you are wrong. Here is why – don’t matter how dumb you be, if you need to eat, you get the cheese open.

The way I see it, someone allegedly fractured a bone, lost sight, became deaf, or contracted Alzheimer’s due to the lack of proper instruction on the cheese packet. Some juris doctor recognized this travesty and acted. In addition to a payment for suffering clearer directions must occur on the package.

Well we have a newly improved national symbol, cheese baby.

This evening in the State of Minnesota we are taking a moment to remember Number 34. For those outside of the state, I am referring to Kirby Puckett. Kirby was pro sports to me as I grew up. He personified the hero in a uniform to a young kid. He put the team on his back to win the game. He stood at the line to sign every autograph that the fans needed. He acted as the face of an organization that was beloved in the state but was far from a premier league when he arrived. In true hero status he changed that status.

I grew up at Minneapolis where we have to endure baseball in the Metrodome. For those who have not graced the interior of this facility it is the most horrible venue for baseball, maybe any sport. However, going indoors in one of the coldest states in the lower 48 during a precious summer to watch baseball is insane until the PA announcer Bob Casey call out “Now batting the Centerfielder, Kirbyyyyy Puckettt!” Then it was worth the sacrifice.

Regardless of other events in his life I will always remember the baseball parts. Rest well Kirby!