From the City that Always Sweeps

BY ART KUMBALEK

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? It’s September, finally, the autumn leaves are about to fall, and as I’ve said before, for a guy like me that can only mean that the summertime is soon to crumble and about time for crying out loud, what with the heat, humidity/dewpoint, noisy racket and outdoor insects that seem to find their way inside. Can’t use it, I kid you not.

So listen, right now I’m on hold with the billing department of some kind of health insurance outfit. It’s been at least about a day and a focking half by now and the hell if I’m going to put the phone down and maybe lose my well-earned place in line; so I’ll have to peck away at this essay one-handed. Could take some time, not to mention that the repetitive “hold music” is making me more than a bit queasy. I wonder if they ever tried this tactic with the terrorists down by the Guantanamo. Cripes, at this point I’ll confess/accept anything just to bring this ordeal to a close, what the fock.

And September marks the return of the Lord Football and circled on my calendar is Sunday, Sept. 18, when our beloved Green & Gold are scheduled to demolish those Bears out of Chicago, and which just happens to be the late great movie icon Greta Garbo’s 117th birthday; so I would bet the under on the Bears gaining more than 117 yards on offense that evening, 7:20pm, NBC, just so you know.

Speaking of the Packers versus those Bears, the Green/Gold now hold an advantage of 103 victories to the Bears’ 95, with six ties, during a rivalry of about a hunnerd years, and so I’m reminded of a little story:

So this family of pro football fans from Chicago heads out one Saturday to do their Christmas shopping. While in the sports store, the young son picks up an Aaron Rodgers Green Bay Packers jersey and says to his older sister, “Hey Sis, I’ve decided to become a Packer fan and I’d really like this for Christmas.” She can’t believe it, smacks him on the head and says, “You better go talk with mom.” And off he goes with the Packer jersey in hand and says to his mother, “Hey Mom, I’ve decided I’m going to be a Packer fan, and I’d really like this jersey for Christmas.” The mother is outraged, smacks him on the head and says, “Go see your father.”

So the young lad finds his father and says, “Dad, guess what? I’m going to be a Packer fan, and I’d really like this Aaron Rodgers jersey for Christmas.” The father is so beside himself that he whacks his son on the head and says, “No son of mine is ever going to be seen in THAT piece of crap!”

About a half-hour later they’re all back in the car heading toward home. The dad turns to the boy and says, “Son, I hope you’ve learned something today.” The son says, “Yes pop, I have. I’ve only been a Packer fan for about an hour, and already I’ve learned to hate you Illinois sons-ofbitches.” Ba-ding! There is one downside to September for me, which is when I hear the words “back to school,” to this day I still get the heebie-jeebies. And I’m a guy who hardly went to focking school even when I was going to school back at Our Lady In Pain Because You Kids Are Going Straight To Hell But Not Soon Enough. I believe it’s called Back-To-School-Syndrome, and it’s not uncommon among veteran survivors of the old-school parochial school system, I kid you not.

I’ve been told that a symptom of the syndrome is an overwhelming urge to skip out of doing something you don’t feel like doing. I brought this up to my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine who set me straight and eased my mind. He said, “Artie, I’ll bet you a buck two-eighty that this need to skip out of stuff is some kind of misguided attempt to recapture the temporary joy you experienced as a lad whenever you skipped goddamn school. Yes, you were partaking in at-risk behavior, in that you could’ve been run over by a school bus while attempting to duck the truant officer. But big focking deal. Life is temporary. At least you would’ve died doing what you loved best—focking off.” Thank you, Jimmy.

So I’m still on hold with the health insurance shysters, so let’s wrap up with a little story:

Guy goes to see his doctor for a checkup (a “checkup”—those were the days, ain’a?). “So Doc, think I can live to be a hundred?” Doctor says, “Well sir, do you smoke or drink?”

“Neither done either one,” the guy says. The doctor continues, “Do you gamble, drive fast cars, fool around with loose women?” The guy says, “Never done any of those things, either.”

“Well sir,” doctor says, “why the hell do you want to live to a hundred for?” Ba-ding!

Okey-doke, and as the song says, “When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame,” I hope these precious days serve you well, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.