Oh, The Christmas Carols!

Today, yet another installment – likely the last for the year – of Christmas carols updated for our times.

First: WE WISH YOU A MASKHOLE CHRISTMAS (Sung to the tune of We Wish You A Merry Christmas)

We wish you a maskhole Christmas

We wish you a maskhole Christmas

We wish you a maskhole Christmas and a terror-filled year

Though the great virus scare, was way overblown

We wish you a maskhole Christmas and a terror-filled year

Oh bring us more Fauci warnings

Oh bring us more Fauci warnings

Oh bring us more Fauci warnings

To turn up the fear

Though the great virus scare, was way overblown

We wish you a maskhole Christmas and a terror-filled year

They won’t stop until they get some

They won’t stop until they get some

They won’t stop until they get some

Surrender to fear

We wish you a maskhole Christmas and a terror-filled year

Second: LEFTIST TYPES ARE COMING TO TOWN (Sung to the tune of Santa Claus Is Coming To Town)

You better watch out

You better not rest

You better not pout

Just give it your best

Leftist creeps are coming to town

They’re making their lists

They’re checking them twice

They’re gonna make up who’s naughty or nice

Leftist creeps are coming to town

They spy when you are sleeping

And more when you’re awake

They take big notes on all your posts

So don’t post for goodness sake

Oh, you’d better watch out

You’d better get straight

Otherwise you’ll be branded with hate

Leftist creeps are coming to town

Memories Of Franco

My brother wanted to know why I hadn’t written anything about Franco Harris, who died earlier this week. Good question.

Didn’t you like him? he inquired.

It’s not that, it’s just being ill and tending to watching granddaughters and shoveling snow, etc., gives one limited time.

But, considering how almost everyone else in the world who ever as much as stood close to Franco has chimed in on the Hall of Fame running back’s death, why not me, too? Here goes.

One of the accidents of life allowed me to do Steelers coverage in the midst of their Super Seventies. I was a young sports writer at the Johnstown newspaper on a staff of older guys who didn’t want to travel for road trips – or drive to Pittsburgh for that matter.

Me and the other young staff guy of the moment – at first Bud Shaw, later Bob Gretz – split coverage of the Steelers, Pitt and Penn State in football season, as well as the Pirates in baseball season.

Amidst the comings and goings of the other young staff members, I ended up covering Pitt in the Tangerine Bowl vs. North Carolina State, Penn State vs. Alabama in the Sugar Bowl for the national title, and the Steelers in Super Bowl XIII, all in about a four-week span of late 1978, early 1979.

The Steelers beat Dallas in that Super Bowl, played in the aging Orange Bowl in Miami. You might recall Harris exploding up the middle on a 22-yard touchdown run that put the Steelers in command.

It was vintage Harris, a big moment in a big game. The man was huge for a running back of the times, standing 6-2, 230 pounds, but possessing a great straight-line burst of speed.

Harris rushed for 354 yards in four Super Bowl appearances, a record that still stands. Among a constellation of stars on those Steelers Super Bowl teams of the 1970s, Harris was a prominent point of light.

The franchise began winning when he arrived, and stopped for a time when he left.

My most vivid Harris memories are centered on Latrobe’s St. Vincent College, the preseason training home of the Steelers back in the day.

Harris was a relatively quiet man, not at all like the quote machine that was Terry Bradshaw. One day at training camp I got the OK from Steelers PR guy Joe Gordon to descend a few floors at Bonaventure Hall and interview Franco. He knew I was coming, Gordon said.

When I got to his room – back then players shared sparse door rooms and a communal bathroom for the floor – Harris was not there. I was directed to that bathroom.

When I arrived, Franco was brushing his teeth. I offered to wait. No, he said, let’s do it.

I tried, but gave up when the combination of his soft voice and the working toothbrush made it impossible to distinguish was he was saying.

Not that many years later, 1984 to be exact, Franco was holding out for a pay increase and in one of those post-practice sessions with head coach Chuck Noll at St. Vincent, the topic was broached.

“Franco who?” said Noll, perfectly understandable Grinch-like commentary if one knew Noll and his unwillingness to express emotion.

But the words reverberated. Harris was cut and eventually signed with Seattle for a brief-uneventful season before retiring.

Harris had been in the news a lot recently with the planned commemoration of his Immaculate Reception– considered the most iconic play in NFL history — and Steelers plans to retire his No. 32 jersey this weekend.

It is fittingly ironic that the low-profile Harris, who was 72 years of age, will be there only in spirit for this final honor.

Christmas Carols Addition

The song book is expanding with updated carols.

CAROL OF JEAN-PIERRE (Sung to the tune of It Came Upon A Midnight Clear)

Her name is Karine Jean-Pierre

Her job is to massage the facts

The White House line is what she spews

To all the media hacks

There was a time when they’d rebel

Against such spurious claims

But now they gladly consume the pap

Because it furthers their aims

And so the truth gets seldom told

Amidst a pack of lies

That Joe is sane and Jill is just

That’s how the bullspit flies

That in this post a liar now thrives

Speaks volumes about our times

Where once the goal was knowing truth

But now it’s partisan lies.

Yes, Another Christmas Carol Update

JOE B. THE SLOW MAN (Sung to the tune of Frosty The Snowman)

Joe B. the slow man

Is a clueless, mirthless, fool

With a 10-cent brain, a shrewish wife

And a son who is a tool

Joe B. the slow man

Should have never come our way

But the right all know though the man’s hollow

How he came to life that day

There must have been some magic in those extra votes they found

For when they ran them through the mill, Joe began to dance around

Joe B. the slow man

Likes to tell a lot of fibs

But they’re eaten up just like truth

At least among the libs

Oh, Joe B. the slow man

Is the boss of you and me

Though his brain is slow and he doesn’t know

He still runs this country

Thumpety thump thump, thumpety thump thump, hit me on the head.

Thumpety thump thump, thumpety thump thump, Joe fills me with great dread

Filling The NFL Helmet Decal Messaging Gap

While watching some NFL games Sunday to pass the time as I recover from illness, it struck me something was missing from the show.

No, I’m not talking offense on a level one might expect from professional teams. That’s nothing new. As analyst Troy Aikman observed during a recent broadcast, there are a lot of bad offenses in the NFL.

And certainly there was no absence of exaggerated celebration and self-congratulation over making a tackle (albeit 10 yards downfield) catching a pass (as if that were something special) or generally achieving minor success (even when the celebrating player’s team was getting creamed on the scoreboard).

But the Sunday prime time game between the Washington Commanders and the New York Giants transpired with neither team seeming to have social justice warrior slogans festooned on the white pads at the bottom rear of the helmets.

Washington’s players appeared merely to have “Washington” in that prime spot. New York’s helmets seemed to have blank white space.

How I missed the lecturing and virtue signalling of the NFL-approved decals.

To remind, those approved messages are: End Racism, Stop Hate, It Takes All of Us, Black Lives Matter, Inspire Change, Choose Love and Say Their Stories.

The field seemed to have the obligatory End Racism and It Takes All of Us stenciling, but the message-less helmets left a void.

Frequently during the broadcast it was noted that Washington running back Brian Robinson Jr. is playing mere months after having been shot in the knee a couple of times by a pair of D.C. area teenagers who were trying to rob him.

I’m thinking those gentle teens weren’t and won’t likely ever be moved to better behavior by some helmet stickers.

This raises the question of to whom these stickers are supposed to appeal, to mollify or even to prompt modification of bad behavior.

They are the 21st century version of Just Say No To Drugs, which we all know was something less than effective. But it sounded good and made for some orgies of self-congratulation among the elites akin to what NFL players unleash these days after making a first down.

These ridiculous helmet decals and field messages fall squarely under the category of don’t just stand there, do something. It doesn’t matter what is done, only that something is done that is demonstrative if not effective and can be pointed to with undeserved pride.

The wag in me awaits the day when a clever, politically incorrect equipment man with an X-Acto knife puts out some twisted helmet decal messaging.

Mixing and matching from approved text could produce such twists as End Black Lives Matter (now that the discredited organization has bought up enough prime real estate). How about Choose Hate, or Love Hate?

Inspire Love? Hate Change?

Hate Takes All of Us? Hate Love?

Love Their Stories?

Yes, such is absurd, but would it be any more absurd and insipid than the actual NFL-approved social justice messaging? I think not.

Yet More Updated Christmas Carols

Two more modern adjustments to yuletide standards.

First: DECK THE DEMS (Sung to the tune of Deck the Halls)

Deck the halls with Hunter’s scrotum

Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha

You will find it ‘neath his totem

Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha

Dems and all they soon be findin’

Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, ha ha ha.

Truth revealed by laptop Biden

Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha

Hunter is a curious creature

Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha

Mostly he is just a leacher

Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha

But ‘fore long he will discover

Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, ha ha ha

A last name’s not a foolproof cover

Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha

Second: JOY TO THE FOOL (Sung to the tune of Joy to the World)

Sam Bankman-Fried is quite the fool

At least that’s what he claims

This is his whole defense, to many an offense

It is all hard to buy

It is all hard to buy

It is, it is, so hard to buy

Then there’s his hair, ’tis quite the mess

His bookkeeping’s no less

The look of both, is sad and quite bad

His story it doth stink

His story it doth stink

His story, his story, yes it doth stink

Now is the word, Sam’s coming home

To seek a better cell

Let all the aggrieved, spit in his eye

This man deserves the worst

This man deserves the worst

This man, this man, deserves the worst.

More Updated Christmas Carols

Today, a twin spin of traditional Christmas carols updated for our times.

First: JINGLE CASH (Sung to the tune of Jingle Bells)

Blowing all your dough

In a leftist sort of way

O’er the budget we go

Laughing all the way

Critics make great points

That we’re buying votes

We don’t care just what they say

‘Cause we can print the notes, OHHHHHHH

Jingle cash, jingle cash

Jingle cash holds sway

The more we spend the more you vote

And most will come our way, hey!

Jingle cash, jingle cash

Jingle every day

We don’t care the nation’s broke

Or your future’s gone astray, hey!

Second: GOOD KING ELON MUSK (Sung to the tune of Good King Wenceslas)

Good King Elon Musk brought out

All the truth ’bout Twitter

How the censors did connive

To bury foes ‘neath litter

Did their best to lie and hide

All the truth ’twas posted

While the left was free to lie

But the right got ro-as-ted

Elon Musk, oh he did make

Twitter bums quite frantic

Posting truth just as he did

‘Bout their lying antics

It’s costing Musk a lot of cash

With the share price tanking

All his critics call him rash

But ’tis Musk we’re tha-nk-ing.

Bankman-Fried Looking Like Epstein II

Cryptocurrency bad boy Sam Bankman-Fried might want to read up on Jeffrey Epstein, now that SBF is in jail.

Bankman-Fried, who’s been making the media rounds painting himself as something of a clueless sort who didn’t intend, or abet, the theft of investors’ capital in his failed cryptocurrency exchange and affiliated hedge fund, ran out of rope this week. That’s just figuratively speaking about the rope.

Why should Bankman-Fried know about Epstein? Simple. Epstein was in prison for alleged sex trafficking involving minors and, so the story goes, a lot of big names were nervous about what his trial might reveal not only about Epstein, but about them.

It all came to a quick end when Epstein’s second suicide attempt in jail was successful. He used bedsheets, not a rope, to hang himself. That was Aug. 10, 2019, and the sighs of relief from Epstein’s fellow partyers on his pleasure island produced gale force winds.

How convenient, cynics thought, that this man who might have brought down so many, silenced himself. Either Epstein was, or wasn’t on suicide watch, according to conflicting reports. If he was, the guards apparently took it too literally and watched him commit suicide. Or not.

Of note, Epstein’s confidant and eventually co-defendant, Ghislaine Maxwell, reported threats on her by jail personnel in New York before she was transferred to the low security Florida prison where she is to serve her 20-year term for sex crimes involving minors.

Notably, Maxwell has stressed she is not suicidal, just in case anything happens to here while in prison.

In a curious intersection, Bankman-Fried reportedly has hired one of the lawyers who represented Maxwell.

The same skeptics who questioned Epstein’s reported suicide, observed that it was curious timing that Bankman-Fried would be nabbed just on the eve of him testifying before Congress and perhaps spilling some dirt on all the famous people he associated with while constructing his alleged fraud scheme.

Now he’s on ice, figuratively not literally.

Perhaps fearing he might commit “suicide,” Bankman-Fried is not agreeing to extradition from The Bahamas, where he was arrested on many charges of securities fraud. Bankman-Fried was denied bail as a flight risk.

Translation: Let’s keep him where we can reach him quickly, just in case he needs a hand tying the bedsheets and all that.

Were I Bankman-Fried, I’d be sleeping with one eye open and writing “I will not commit suicide” hundreds of times on the cell walls.

Here’s a novel idea to help investors get back some of the $6 billion they were said to have lost to Bankman-Fried. Allow them to take out short-term life insurance policies on SBF, valid until his scheduled Feb. 8 trial date.

They just have to be sure those policies are not invalidated by “suicide.”

Soccer Gives Us Yet More Political Football

Soccer’s World Cup has winnowed its field to the final four teams, with a display of world class political football along the way.

Argentina and Croatia meet in one semifinal game Tuesday. France and Morocco play their semifinal Wednesday.

You might have read an earlier post here about the histrionics regarding this World Cup, held in Qatar with its policy of not being gay friendly, among other sins.

As suggested then, and reiterated here, if people have a problem with any of this and feel it is an intolerable situation, do the right thing and refuse to play. Don’t show up wearing arm bands or T-shirts and think you are striking a blow for the oppressed while not sacrificing anything yourself.

More on this later.

Meanwhile, the English side took its pregame kneeling ceremony into the World Cup, ostensibly as a protest against racism. How this has any effect on racism, beyond the typical gobbledygook about raising awareness, is not clear.

What is clear is that the celebrated English team blew it against France. With France leading 1-0, a penalty kick was awarded and converted that got the English level.

France took a 2-1 lead and yet another penalty kick was given. Harry Kane, the notable English footballer who had converted the first try, kicked this second try into the low stratosphere instead of on goal.

If only he’d have taken the kick while kneeling, maybe it wouldn’t have gone so high over the net.

Historically – in warfare, not soccer – England tends to get the better of France. From the Plains of Abraham and the Battle of Quebec in 1759, to Waterloo in 1815, France lost the big ones and basically stopped trying against England.

The French also managed to fare badly in a couple of World Wars, and only survived due to the kindness of England and the United States.

It was only by teaming up with the United States in our Revolutionary War that the French were able to best the Brits.

France’s opponent, Morocco, becomes the first African team to advance this far in the World Cup.

In a historical repetition, they did it by besting Spain and then Portugal in knockout play, two countries from the Iberian Peninsula once overrun by Moors in 711 and ruled for about 800 years give or take.

Now, with each Moroccan win, riots ensue in European cities by emboldened Muslims. One social media influencer has proposed a bet with France President Emmanuel Macron to rescind that nation’s law against face coverings in public and “cease all that Islamophobia” should Morocco prevail.

And if Morocco should lose? No mention of that.

That’s the crux of being a social justice warrior, all potential gain and no downside – no personal skin in the game.

This brings us to the death of soccer reporter Grant Wahl. Wahl made news when he tried to cover a game wearing a rainbow T-shirt in support of gay rights and got detained by the Qatar authorities.

Wahl had been all over social media after that noting that he was working too hard, not getting enough sleep, and predictably had come down with bronchitis or something similar.

It turned tragic when Wahl collapsed while covering the Argentina-Netherlands game and, despite treatment, died

His gay brother, proclaiming himself to have been the reason for the rainbow T-shirt, rushed to social media to proclaim Grant Wahl had been murdered. The posting since has been taken private, but it was duly noted and recorded by people.

No word on whether the brother has been banned from social media for spreading unsubstantiated disinformation.

Historians would recall that the Moorish incursion of Europe ended when they tried to enter France and were repulsed by Charles Martel. Dare the French dream of history repeating on the soccer pitch?

I’m not sure what historical/political baggage the Croatians and Argentinians will carry into their game. But I’m sure some social media keyboard warriors will let us know after the fact.

Can’t we all just get along?

Not likely.

If Rudolph Were Packing

Scenes from Christmas-time:

Private guards armed with shotguns and semi-automatic rifles have been hired to patrol some Philadelphia gasoline stations as a response to out-of-control crime in Filthydelphia.

And, despite what the leftist media propagandists would have you believe, 93 percent of the respondents to an online survey on one city television station’s site approved of the armed guards.

It’s sort of like so many surveys have showed, contrary to the narrative, that the people who actually live in crime-infested neighborhoods don’t want the police de-funded.

Meanwhile, Clueless Joe Biden is too busy to be concerned with our out-of-control border with Mexico. He said so. Joe was devoting all his time to swapping an international criminal for Brittney Griner because she ticks all the boxes of the leftist Democratic electorate. Those would be she’s a flag-hating, black, lesbian, female.

Against this backdrop, I’m moved to initiate my annual offering of traditional Christmas carols updated for our times.

Today’s installment: Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer As Rambo

Rudolph the A-R owner, had a very potent gun,

And if the bad guys see it, they know that it’s time to run.

All of the leftist reindeer, used to give poor Rudolph grief,

They never dreamed his A-R, might someday save them from a thief.

Then one crime-ridden Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

Rudolph with your gun so right, won’t you guard my sleigh tonight?

Then all the hoods they feared him, and they shouted ‘midst their flee,

Rudolph the A-R owner, you cause us great misery.