Monday, May 12, 2014


One day, not so very long ago, the Lord decided to visit his assembly line to personally check on heavenly quality control. After all, his work product inevitably reflected on his preferences and ability to stay with the times which he was consistently adjusting, hopefully for the better.

What caught his eye was something He didn't see. The male species, although not wanting completely,nevertheless lacked an " oomph", something really special, something, that when seen, would prompt a proclamation of his own talent, such as an uncontrollable response of "oh. my God." So, he decided to get involved, just this one time.

His chief angels provided him with a luxurious drawing board, without paint brushes if you please, for his fingers would do the talking. And the Lord set himself to the task of creating a perfect man, of whom he could be proud and to whom he could point with satisfaction as an illustration of his work product.

He made this man handsome in an unique way. That is, he made him look so gorgeous that he would not just look good but would outshine whatever his surroundings might be at any time or in any place. The face would be more than just noble; it would reflect and perfectly blend in with a dash of cuteness and an ample touch of royalty. His features would pass the test of being viewed from all angles, in dim light or bright, while making sure that none of this would be adversely effected by his wardrobe. He would make women drool and men shiver with envy regardless of what he wore. He would be the epitome of classism.

The hair was important. The Lord had to admit to being frustrated by the way men groomed their hair. It was almost as if it were a crime to bring brush or comb into the ritual of toilette. The more unkempt the better seemed to be the the preferred fashion, with hair finger-formed into a slept-in mess drawing raves. Having the hair pointed straight down to and over the eyes was also something the Lord rejected. So---what did he do? He made his creation so handsome that whichever hairdo he chose, mohawk or shoulder length, on any occasion, only magnified his beauty.

He endowed his creation with success and the confidence to handle everything with extreme aplomb, causing the world to look up to him further still. He granted him the ability to always say the right thing at the right time. And, for the ultimate finishing touch, he provided him with an extraordinary woman whose beauty and success almost rivaled his.

And when the Lord pushed back to observe his work, he was very pleased with himself--if he did say so himself. For he had created a man as close to perfection as one man could be. He was charming and classy at the same time; never to be overly-ostentacious but rather to attract people who would become instant followers. He seemed to have everything but in an oh-so-winning way. An inevitable candidate for Mount Rushmore

He had created Tom Brady.

Sunday, May 11, 2014


This was not good. He was afraid of the unknown and now was very frightened. The pain was excruciating and escalating, from his chest down and through his left arm. He was not a stupid man and realized he could be facing the end.

Oh, no. Not now. Age be damned, he was not ready. Too many things yet to do. He had the capacity to recall all aspects of his life, the good times and the bad, and there were plenty of both. Wrong turns and wave crests. He would have handled so many things so differently.

A sense of a state of slow motion, suspended from everything. He began screaming out.

"I need more time; a second chance with the wisdom of benefitting from mistakes. I would see things  more clearly. I'd be less naive, less afraid, more able to say "stop" and not be fearful of the consequences. To hell with being driven by the opinions of others, I'd do the right thing and know what that was. But it's too soon for me. I need more time."

Who was he talking to?

He was about to pass out from the pain as millions of thoughts flashed through his brain. He should have been more religious, less uncertain on the question of a deity. He had not, necessarily, been blasphemous but rather inconsistent. In good times, he believed; when bad things happened, a swirl of rejection. But he had never ignored the covenant of faith, which is the relationship between God and man, and had accepted the covenant of destiny, which is what men make of themselves. And that's why he needed more time.

He heard his name being called out. Over and over. An echo at first, then increasingly steadier. He opened his eyes and immediately took heed that the pain was gone. He had come through it but felt differently. Newly calibrated. He had been given an extension.

Was this really a second chance? No matter. He would make it so.

The opportunity of more time, but not to tarry.