Sunday, August 09, 2015

Sitting around this morning, drinking coffee (which they tell me contributes to memory loss in later life) I started thinking about history and was weaving it into a long running story line I’m using for muse.

I was also watching, with the aid of a very active clicker, any number of channels on the tube. I settled for a bit on the NFL Channel, a current events thing. They were running the top 100 year picks. So I changed to ESPN 2, and they were running a re-hash of some years NFL draft.

I was struck by the number of black faces in both programs – not surprised, mind. Just impressed by the sheer numbers.

All the faces were apprehensive, worried, eager, and various numbers of emotions. Some of the faces had their backgrounds hyped. One in particular had played peewee ball, high school ball, three years of JUCO ball, and four years of college ball, BEFORE entering the draft.

That was impressive.

Who knows how many years he spent preparing for the draft? Him? His family? Coach’s?

For what? A direct shot to a team? No. No, simply for a chance to compete against others in a four week trial, for an opportunity to make a team.

That’s a hard road.

The development period for a rookie player is two years beyond that. And every year after making a team is a trial period again.

Then the ESPN Channels program showed a huge hall. Many of the faces filling that hall were black. Women, the mothers, fathers and players, all eagerly/apprehensively, emotionally following the activities on stage and along the rooms to the sides where the announcements came from and they were afforded the selections from the teams –

The majority of the folks pictured in the rooms and on the announcement podium and in various administrative positions were White.

All of that coupled with my in-dwelling mind of my story building conjured mental pictures of slave barn auctions.

These black faces willingly work years and years of manual labor to be selected willingly in an auction process involving servitude to  a highest bidder, to a minimum, really, of two years to see a raise in pay or even have their desires listened too.

Ah. The human condition, and its ever flexible mind.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey 

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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