A Case of Athlete's Foot

Major league athletes; they play their hearts out, they play a adventure they truly love, they give it their all, their one-hundred-and-fifty-percent twenty-four hour period in and day out. chasten?

I can no longer respect the modern day athlete.

Back in the days when Communism was public enemy figure of speech one, when tales of hockey games were spun over the radio, basketball was in its infancy and baseball was already firmly entrenched as Americas sport, you could set about people idolizing athletes.

Today, we have lower standards of what we consider idolization. Knowing a players birth date, what team he belongs to; knowing how many goals he scored, home runs he hit, his points per game; following most of his or her teams games. Somewhere along the line, that became the definition of worship. But, as anyone over the era of 70 would be more than willing to tell you, things were antithetic back then.

I take you back to the small villages that interspersed themselves around Quebec. The altitude of one of the Montreal Canadiens many dynasties, Quebec was in love. Children didnt play hockey as a hobby, but as a part of lifespan that they adored. These are the days of Maurice Richard.



These are the days when the Rocket would pencil lead Les Glorieux to win after win after win, and when all the family members would fuck off down dinners and listen to their team on their radios in awe.

These are the days when you could find real athletes that someone could be olympian of. Days where you could find athletes that played the game, whatever the game may be, for what it is- a game. One they played not because they had to, but because they cherished to. The days of Babe Ruth, the baseball legend who shattered so many...

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