So I’ve got an idea I’d like you to consider, kind of run it up the flagpole and watch it hang there damply in the nonexistent breeze before you feebly wave at it and scurry back into the air conditioning.
This summer? The summer of 2016? Let’s just call the rest of it off.
Yep, just hit the old “Fast Forward” button and zip right through. Go down for a nap and not wake up until just before kickoff of the Louisiana Tech game. OK, maybe, the day before because, well, you’ve got to get ready for the tailgate.
Yes, yes, I know. Particularly at my age, we’re told you shouldn’t wish your time away. But if past performance is any indication of future results, this particular year we have successfully found an exception to that rule.
This summer stinks. On toast.
Look, I know. When winter apparently missed its flight and never showed up in Northwest Arkansas, we all had to pretty much understand that the bill was going to be coming due this summer. And yes, we accept it’s time to pay up.
But there appears to have been a fairly significant upcharge here that I think we’d all like to see the manager. Provided his office is air conditioned.
It’s hot out there. Tarzan hot. Surface of the Sun hot. Cook things outside by merely leaving them lying around hot. And not only is it hot, there’s that side order of humidity that pretty much tops things off. In a drippy, muggy, incredibly unpleasant way.
The worst of it is, that’s not the worst of it. Weather aside, this has all the makings of a sun-shiny, bird-chirpee, lake-splashy unmitigated disaster.
And I know a thing or two about bad summers. Any of us who lived through the Sixties and actually remember the Sixties, even if we were just kids, will tell anyone who’ll listen that we could turn on the television (to one of only three channels, not counting PBS) on any given night and play “Guess Which American City is Burning, Which Beloved National Figure Got Assassinated or What The Casualty Count in Vietnam Was Today?”
With that in mind, the one thing any of us who survived that time won’t say is, “gee, that was exciting! Let’s do it all again 56 years later.”
And on top of all the fun we’re definitely not having across the nation and globe, let’s toss in the fact that this is an election year and we’re in the heart of convention season.
But it’s not just any convention year. This particular election features two of the least liked candidates since the great Pestilence vs. Famine mayoral race of 1918 (a completely imaginary event, unlike the bad dream that is this election cycle).
Look, not every election can be a winner. Warren G. Harding and Benjamin Harrison were both president at one time. Not the same time, but you get the point. But at present we’re generating results that would have George Washington sharing that, “Hey guys, you know we sure went to a whole lot of trouble forging this ‘democracy’ thing, so a little more effort on your part would be greatly appreciated.”
And after the conventions, because sports are one of life’s great diversions, we’ve got an athletic competition featuring representatives from each nation competing in hazardous, sometimes unsanitary environments in an unstable city and country filled with dangerous insects. And it’s not even “The Hunger Games.”
I can imagine that, as a destination for a large event with lots of moving pieces, Brazil looked pretty good a few years ago. Now, it’s the exact reverse of the old “the older I get, the better I was” theory that usually applies to athletes.
So, we’ve got News, Weather and Sports, all in one hideous, nightly Newscast from the Netherworld package. Let’s face it, if this summer were a dog, we’d have gladly put it down several weeks ago.
Not too checked out on the technology involved (bend time and space, swap the polar magnetic fields, put freeze-dried coffee in a microwave, whatever), but if we can put a man on the moon and give you 300 TV channels, 275 of which appear to be infomercials, surely we can figure out a way to just skip a week or… six without disrupting too much.
All right, we’ll all be a little older, but just think of all the binge-watching opportunities. And if that doesn’t do it for you, go outside, walk around the yard for a few minutes, then come back in and turn on the TV.
Yep. I knew you’d come around.
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Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.