Things You Won't Watch on Espn Essay

I’m having this momentary brilliant thought, a scintillation on the cerebral hemisphere that will be gone in a flash, like lightning across the dark sky. I’m struggling to write it all down before my mind goes instantly, irreversibly blank. My literary juices are flowing… I’m gripped with the feel that this could be my big break! My heart’s pounding. This story has got it, all the elements; the plot, the characters, witty dialogue… Yes, I am in the zone! Nothing can stop me now…

“Honey, the commode won’t flush!”

Sigh! I bet Hemingway never heard that one!

A commentator intones in the background… “The crowd is hushed. There’s total silence in the stadium as he approaches the keyboard. Look at that perfect stance. I think he’s about to sit now. Yes!”

Commentator #2: “Congratulations Brian, for that incredibly brilliant analyses.” -rolling his eyes. “Yes! There’s certainly a palpable tension in the air. I tell you, it’s electric! He’s typing away furiously now. What great form! Wait! He’s paused… he appears to be thinking.”

Commentator #1: “That’s certainly an odd expression on his face… he must be having a brilliant idea!”

Commentator #2: “…or he could just be constipated? Should we applaud or toss him a bottle of Kaopectate?”

Commentator #1: “This is defintely a higher level of competition that we’ve ever seen before on this network. I’m speechless!”

Commentator #2: “Brian, We can only hope so!”

Suddenly a man bolts from the crowd, darting onto the field. The crowd gasps out loud in unison. Before anyone can react, the stranger whacks our player with a slush-pile of unsolicited manuscripts!

Commentator #1: “Bob, we just witnessed a brutal display of unsportsmanlike conduct, one that has numbed the entire crowd! The ref just blew the whistle, looks like they’re gonna’ call him for unnecessary roughness.”

Commentator #2: “Let’s go live with our on-the-field reporter as she tries to find out what just happened. We’re now joining Blogga Lott on the field for her timely analyses. Blogga, what say you?”

Blogga: “I can’t verify yet but my sources indicate this was no random stranger but rather a publisher. My gut tells me those must have been …unsolicited manuscripts! Of course, this lack of hard evidence in no way impugns my journalistic integrity as I arbitrarily just make stuff up. Back to you, Brian.”

Commentator #1: “Thank you, Blogga. However, I’m not really sure for what. Ok, the ref is signalling for an instant replay, they’re reviewing the tape. No! it’s going to be illegal contact against the writer!”

The crowd gasps!

Commentator #2: “Ohhhh! He’s grimmacing in pain. It must be a bad case of writer’s block. They’re bringing the staff psychologist onto the field now. This could be it for him tonight (pause for dramatic effect) …out with a severe case of brain strain.”

Commentator #1: “What a shame! That could be career-ending!”

Click, click, click…

It’s the sound of thousands of remotes simultaneously changing channels, tuning in to re-runs of Celebrity Rehab!

The Neilson ratings for Full-contact Writers is still plummeting!

…and that is why writing will probably never be a spectator sport!

On a lazy Saturday afternoon, I’m fading out of consciousness with the TV blaring unintelligibly in the background. One eye slowly opens, then begins to fall shut… I’m not sure what’s on, I think it’s some kind of a sports show. Looks boring. Ugh! They’ve got commentators. I hate commentators! I guess they’ll put any kind of mind-rot on TV as long as we keep watching it.