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February 17, 2009February 19, 2009 - 2 Comments

Sorry Seems To Be The Easiest Word

“I’m sorry, so sorry, that I was such a fool………” warbled country singer Brenda Lee, way back in those good old fifties and sixties when Saturday night was “boppin’ night” down the local church hall or youth club.

That little five letter word appears to have made something of a comeback of late, though hardly due to unrequited love, as was the case in Brenda Lee’s smash hit.

We’ve heard the word, “sorry,” a number of times in the last few weeks. Perhaps most prominent was the apology of Kaing Guek Eav, or “Duch” as he was notoriously known, whose trial for Khmer Rouge atrocities opened today in the Cambodian capitol, Phnom Penh.^[1]

Olympic record holder, Michael Phelps, was quick to cry, “Sorry,” after being caught on camera inhaling marijuana smoke through a glass bong while out partying recently.^[2]

Today, Madonna’s ex-lover and baseball star, Alex Rodriguez, bemoaned the immaturity that caused him to turn to steroid use – while ignoring all those similarly-aged players who didn’t – and begged America to forgive him.^[3]

For Phelps and Rodriguez, all they’re sorry for is being found out. The abject apologies to the American people have more to do with preserving their standing in the sports they represent, than any genuine sense of regret over what they did.

Oddly, only one of these penitents who can be taken seriously. Kaing Guek Eav, at 66, has nothing to gain from his contrition. He will surely go to prison for life. As a born-again Christian, however, it is likely his remorse is sincere.

In two weeks time the trial for perjury of baseball star, Barry Bonds, will commence.^[4] Bonds, unlike his fellow American sports cheats, chose to deny he ever used drugs, rather than seek absolution. No doubt, he hopes not to be proved wrong.

Time will tell, though with the prosecution set to call as many as 39 witnesses to testify against Bonds, before too long we may well experience yet another American sportsman weeping openly and begging his countrymen’s forgiveness.

^{[1] “Landmark Khmer Rouge trial starts” BBC, February 17th 2009}

^{[2] “Here’s A Riddle” Sparrow Chat, February 1st 2009}

^{[3] “Alex Rodriguez press conference live blog” USA Today, February 17th 2009}

^{[4] “Feds: Estalella said Bonds admitted steroid use” SFGate, February 14th 2009}

Filed under: And what about those bankers, then?

February 16, 2009February 16, 2009 - 3 Comments

A Bit Of Anglo-French Entente Cordiale?

This is the Atlantic Ocean:

It’s large. In fact, it’s very, very, large. The Atlantic Ocean covers over 41 million square miles of the Earth’s surface.

This is the Atlantic Ocean with a nuclear-armed submarine highlighted.

Even though it may be on the surface, cruising at about eighteen knots, unfortunately, you won’t actually be able to see it. It’s way, way, too small.

This is an image of the Earth, showing rather a lot of orbiting satellites, put there specifically to aid communications and navigation.

Despite the Atlantic Ocean being so very, very, large, and even though a nuclear submarine is really very tiny by comparison; notwithstanding 17,000 satellites zooming around above our heads designed to prevent it happening, earlier this month, this……

……managed to collide with, this……

……in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.^[1]

And neither even knew the other was there.

Given the payload carried by both vessels, it does little to inspire confidence.

^{[1] “Nuclear subs collide in Atlantic” BBC, February 16th 2009}

Filed under: Left a bit, no, right a bit

February 13, 2009March 21, 2009 - 3 Comments

Valentine’s Day Massacre

Only the four younger members of the Roberts’ family still ride School Bus 13. Cordell Roberts and his three older brothers were banned by the school principal a few weeks ago, after a fight erupted between them while on the way home one afternoon, causing the bus driver to turn his vehicle around and return to the school.

The cause of the fracas was never established, though according to the other kids, Oakley Canton was the prime suspect. Oakley refused to incriminate herself, hitched up her cushion-stuffed brassiere and sat staring vacantly into space from the long bench outside the school building where sat the busload of kids, squirming as the driver harangued them on the correct behavior of young people when commuting in a moving bus, and how he’d been in zoos where the inmates displayed better manners.

Eventually, the school principal summoned the Roberts’ family parents to collect the offenders, innocents were allowed to re-board the vehicle, and the journey home was completed without further disaster. Apart, that is, from one little second-grader, Selena Astlik, who accidentally emptied a whole bottle of bright red nail varnish onto the seat occupied by Nicholas Lilly, just as he was leaning across the aisle, attempting to deprive Quinton Long of his yo-yo.

Nicholas, bully-boy tactics rewarded, played happily in his seat with the yo-yo, until, on reaching his stop he attempted to alight from the bus. The driver, aware of the boy’s penchant for vacant amnesia, yelled at him to hurry up, but Nicholas continued to sit with a puzzled expression on his face, making occasional wriggling motions with his hips.

Following another tirade from the driver, and dire threats of referrals if Nicholas didn’t “shift yourself”, the lad wrenched himself free from the offending nail varnish, leaving a bright red stain and a goodly portion of trouser behind him.

Today was the last day of school prior to Valentine’s Day and a four day holiday weekend. Over and above the usual cacophony of shrieks, insults, and occasional foul language – “Any more of THAT, Jethro, and it’ll be a referral for you, lad!” – was a buzz of expectation, as today was the school’s Valentine’s Day party. The bus groaned with a ton of goodies packed in thirty-odd Wal-Mart carrier bags. Each parent had recklessly endeavored to outdo every other parent, and kids staggered onto the bus laden down with enough sugar to keep Anheuser-Busch in business for the next twelve months.

The driver made a mental note to stock up on sick bags between shifts.

The afternoon home run was pandemonium. Even without the elder Roberts’s, and Oakley Canton – who’d been suspended for three days for calling Jethro Roberts a name his mother wouldn’t recognize – thirty-odd sugar-crazed kids high on artificial additives, are any driver’s nightmare.

Finally, the last kid was dropped off, the last schoolbag flung out the door at the child who had forgotten it, and the driver could return the bus to the depot and clean up the plethora of semi-chewed candy and trodden-in cookies that littered the floor; the assortment of multicolored, half-licked, lollipops by now firmly adhered to seatbacks and cushions.

Ah, well, the four day break would be welcome. And, after all, they were only kids.

^{For those who missed them, earlier tales of “School Bus 13” are available HERE [The Saga Of School Bus 13] and HERE [All For The Want Of A Child’s Handkerchief].}

Filed under: School bus