It started, for me, with the Columbine High School massacre. Up until then, I don’t fully remember the previous mass school shootings, but I’m sure we had them.
I wasn’t afraid to walk into a high school after that.
The club shooting in Florida?
For a musician and performing artist, I am not afraid to go into bars and clubs to entertain. I am not in fear of some loose cannon pulling out his (or her, let’s not discriminate) gun and shooting the place up indiscriminately.
Shootings at high school football games.
A precursor to this brewing caldron of violence could be found at, of all places, a Pee-Wee Pop Warner football game between seven and eight year-olds. Here’s how it rolled out:
A player from an all-black team gave a cheap shot to one of the all-white teams’ players. The referee did not see the elbow to the head, but the fans saw what happened. The next thing you know, there are at least five separate fights going on the football field.
Not the players.
My team wasn’t even playing yet, scheduled for a later time slot, so here I am, trying to settle the situation down, and I end up wrestling on the field with some irate parents.
It sucked, because the police were called in, the rest of the scheduled games were cancelled (including ours), and the kids were the ones made to suffer for the fucking role-model parents who ruined the rest of the day.
There were no guns pulled that day, but it still left a stain on our league and every players’ season.
I cannot imagine the horror that so many have endured as their existence on this planet was truncated prematurely by some douchebag.
And so young…
Check out this shorty about a football team hearing it from their frustrated Head Coach:
The first half could not have gone any worse for the Spartans. They were on the receiving end of an all-out ass-whipping at the hands of the Tigers. The score was 35-0 but it could have been much worse. The players filed into the locker room and you could hear a pin drop when the coach followed them in and slammed the door behind him.
“You are the worst excuse for a football team I have ever seen! Don’t you have any pride? You are playing like a bunch of losers! Are you losers? By the looks of this first half, I would say absolutely yes. You are the most pathetic group of losers I have ever coached. You make me sick. No blocking, no tackling, and no energy. Why don’t you just fucking quit?”
“Bill, what a stupid play you made giving up that touchdown when you could have just wrapped their halfback up in the backfield. You’re slow, stupid, and a waste of skin! Pat, you call yourself a quarterback? My dog shits better quarterbacks than you! Henry, I hope you jack off better than you block, or you are in for a shitty life. Richard, I wouldn’t cross the street to piss on you if you were on fire. You’re not worth my, or any of the other coaches’ time. Quit fucking around and run the football like we taught you. Gentlemen get your heads out of your asses, or I’ll kick your heads up so far, you’ll never be able to pull them out. Your play in the first half makes me want to puke.”
The coach looked at his starting linebacker Matt Johnson who also had a rough first half.
Matt raised his hand.
“Don’t you fucking move Matt. You are a pussy. My own daughter can hit harder than you. You are a piece of shit. Now I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You are going to play hard in the second half and don’t even think about quitting! I will run you into the ground at practice on Monday and if you don’t show up, consider that your resignation from this football team. Now get your fucking lazy asses back out there.”
As the players sulked their way back to the slaughter, linebackers coach Ed Steen approached the head coach.
“Coach, pretty rough halftime speech. Think it might’ve been a little too much?”
“Not rough enough in my opinion, Coach. Why?”
“Well, because this is Pop Warner and they’re only eight years old.”
I don’t fear people with guns.
I worry about stupid people with guns.