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Betts, Patriots, cats

Tuesday 10/10/23

There are times in the regular season when Mookie Betts is the best all-around player in the world--especially when he's also seeing significant time in the infield--but as I wrote in this journal back in fall 2018, he is a dreadful postseason performer who clearly cannot handle the pressure of the moment.

Apparently the Patriots aren't going to do anything. They may not even sit Jones. Good thinking. I'm sure it will all work itself out in no time. I saw some stat that said something like they've scored the second fewest amount of points through five games in the last ten years of the league. I'm not optimistic that they beat the Raiders next Sunday. I suppose they have an advantage in that the Raiders played last night. You have an ex-Patriots coach and an ex-Patriots QB leading the Raiders. That tends to make for extra motivation against the old team.

I'm not singling out women because of course there is a high percentage of weak-kneed men--especially in Brooklyn in publishing--whose closest companions are their cats, but has there ever been a time in human history when there were more crazy, broken, self-medicated cat women? On a dating site, there won't be a woman with a single thing to say, let alone anything intelligent. If there are words, it will be that they're easy going, laid back, and they want someone to "compliment" them because none of them are smart enough to know the word "complement" exists. This is not a female thing. It's just what I see, being a straight male. I understand that twenty-first century men are lower intellectually than cavemen. These women are very likely in the ten words they do write--and that's the most loquacious of them--to tell you how important their cats are. You can't throw a yarn ball in these matters, so to speak, without hitting a cat.

Today a woman said that she loves her cats more than anything and they are named Dusty and Chicken Nugget. I just can't. I can't be having conversations about your cat named Chicken Nugget. Can you even imagine me inquiring if Chicken Nugget had gotten over his cold yet? I'm embarrassed just saying this thing that I saw.

There is no intelligent life out there. And an intelligent person who is also stable? Because when you do encounter the rare person who is a little smarter, they are likely to be so unbalanced as a person on account of having been "different" for so long and not part of the pack. Then you have to decide if you're willing to roll with instability, which I have learned is never worth it. You might think you'll have a stabilizing effect, but you won't. It's better not to get started. But for an intelligent person of depth who is well-adjusted, there is virtually nothing, option-wise. Then you throw fitness into it, as in desiring this stable, smart person to be in shape? Good luck. You'll go years and years before you encounter anyone who you might have a conversation with because it's even vaguely possible at the outset that they might, as if by some miracle, hit those three marks.

If I was that cat, disgusting beast that I was as a cat--and this is coming from the person who has written the best, most moving, most joyous story about a cat there has ever been--I'd be thinking, "Why the hell do I have this idiotic name when you gave this asshole here a normal one?"


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