Photos by master1305 and FotografieLink - Getty Images
Art Kumbalek football player running
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, good lord, “the days grow short when you reach September.” September, already? What the fock. Seems to me like it was just August, and now out of nowhere we’re into the ninth month of the year? (Although, through a tad of research, I found this: As to the “Old English from Latin: the seventh (month) according to the original calendar of ancient Rome, from septem seven.” That means that September, technically, ought to be the seventh month of the year and not the ninth. Jesus H. Christ, my head spinneth, forsooth.
Either way you number the month of this time of year, the autumn leaves are scheduled soon to fall as all the songs say, and 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.
September’s upsides? Let me tell you’s.
You got your Labor Day, a Monday holiday when we honor the workingman by pissing the day away drinking somebody else’s beer in some in-law’s backyard or a picnic park somewheres. Hey, how ’bout next year instead we pay tribute to our blue-collar people by working twice as hard and twice as long that day? Huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Yes sir, we got the last extended weekend of the summer; and just so’s you know, I happen to believe that if your free-will choice involved the secluded spectacle of outdoor camping out in the boon-focking-docks to celebrate summertime’s denouement, that is a notion that not only flies to the face of the natural course of human evolution but may also be some kind of unnamed perversion to boot, just so you know.
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Another upside, perhaps? Lord Football kicks-off another interminable pigskin season that will grind its way into February 2025, we should live so long. Our beloved Green & Gold begins their slog versus the Phila-focking-delphia Eagles on Friday, Sept. 6. Where? In Corinthians Arena which happens to be located in São Paulo, Brazil. Brazil? Yeah, that’s where. Talk about an “away” game. Oí.
O sim! São Paulo, reportedly known for “air pollution, near-constant traffic congestions, crime, and extreme poverty” what the fock, they couldn’t have played that game in Chicago instead?
So yeah yeah, us cheeseheads, world-known to “travel well” as a fan base, boy-oh, but we got a long-ass driving trip ahead of us. São Paulo ain’t exactly a jaunt to Detroit. No sir, the distance from Green Bay to this south-of-the-border city covers ’round about 5,376 miles. If you haven’t already packed up the SUV including Mom, Buddy and Sis and started driving southward, forget about being in time to sing along with some kind of national anthem.
Cripes, the National Football League, on its march for sports global domination, it can only be true that in 2025 a first-week game will take place on the North Pole so’s to dip into the hopefully lucrative Inuit market. A new “Ice Bowl” to be sure, if there’s any ice left by then.
A September downside?
There is one, when I hear the words “back to school.” To this ever-loving day I still get the heebie-jeebies from way back in time when I was to be sentenced to another stint to be served 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 amongst us veteran survivors of the old-school parochial school system, I kid you not.
I’ve heard 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.
Okey-doke, Genug ist genug, and as the song says, “When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame,” I hope these precious days serve you well, today, tomorrow and forward, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
