T.O. and the Millionaire Boys Club

As I sit in my great reclining golden throne here at the Center of the Universe, I enjoy watching all the frivolity that makes headlines on the great wide-screen of life. With all the problems throughout the universe; the wars, the famines, the brutallity, the natural disasters; what in the Big Guy's name are we doing giving any play to a whiny little BOY who wants more money. Yes, my fellows, that whiny little BOY goes by the letters T.O.

I call him and his like BOYS, and by that I mean no disrespect, I do mean it as a place in the greater view of things. These athletes play GAMES. BOYS play GAMES. These GAMES are nothing more than entertainment for the masses, masses that work hard to earn a living, to pay the bills, to feed a family, to clothe and shelter them, to give the children a handful of new toys for Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukka, and Birthdays, to take the family to a major sporting event to root for their heroes playing their GAMES. And these BOYS makes millions of dollars each year, sometimes playing as few as sixteen GAMES for those dollars. Their millions come in part from the very wallets of the masses who work themselves to exhaustion each and every week, 40, 50, 60 hours put in to make $35,000 a year. A pauper's pay compared to these BOYS.

For the most part, these gifted BOYS, and GIRLS, go about their lives of fame and fortune quietly. This quiet majority has a keen knowledge of their place in this universe. They remain humble to their fans, knowing that it is our adoration of their skills that puts that money into their accounts. It is only when that vocal, arrogant minority of BOYS open their whiny mouths do we, the masses, find out just how big of BABIES they can be. When one of these attention needy PLAYers feels that living on $9.5 million is just not acceptable to him any more, and he feels that $19 million is more to his liking, well, those of us making $13 an hour could not care less. And yet, they get in front of the cameras and nearly come to tears when they plead their case to us. They whine about how they are being treated poorly by their employers, with whom they made a contract with, mind you. How can they possibly live the life of a super star at only $9.5 million dollars a year? I weep for them all. Yeah, right I do.

It is too bad these arrogant PISS-ANTS can't come down to the level of the fans in the stands. They have absolutley no idea how to live paycheck to paycheck, when that paycheck it only $750 over two weeks. They all would crap themselves into a wrything, spit-flying, curled-up mass on the floor of their million-dollar homes if they got paid a miniscule $750 to PLAY their GAMES. The real world, with real problems and fears, it is completely outside of their ability to grasp, reguardless of their skills. Take away their Bentley's and Mercedes' and BMW's, hand them a bus pass, and see how fast they find themselves crying for their equally-arrogant sports agents/parasites to come hold their hands and take them home to mommy.

It is the way of the universe that all of these BOYS will eventually loose their abilities, their fame, and probably their fortunes. Ten years from now nobody will give a second thought to T.O., Allan, Barry, and their like. They will have begun to fade away into the stat-books of their lives, little more than a number for trival-pursuitists. We will have a whole new crop of BOYS to root for while playing their GAMES. And, as today, their will be that minority of PLAYers who do not remember the idiots who came before them, and will try to pass their tales of under-paid woe onto us via the ever-listening media, through the get-rich-quick-on-the-backs-of-others parasitical agents.

I leave you with that, my minions. Think it over the next time one of these BOYS shows his face on the boob-tube. Fare Well and Take Care.