Iowa.
I hate Iowa. I’ve hated Iowa since before I can remember. I’m not even sure why. Maybe it goes back to 1981. Nebraska started 1-2 that year. Lost to Iowa at the beginning of the season, beat Florida State, then lost to Penn State.
That’s not it. That’s not the source of the hate.
Sometimes you just ask yourself, “What the fuck am I doing?”
You go and sit on the back deck and you wonder. You wonder. Then you wonder some more.
You realize that the best of your dreams haven’t yet come, but you also know you don’t want to just settle for average.
Average.
Average is what everybody does. You know what I’m talking about, fellow 50-year old guys, you can just sit there and drink yourselves to death. You can coast, mostly, in the right situation. You can just sit there and survey the world and get angry when someone says, “OK, boomer” even though you’re not 100% sure what it means.
Seems to be okay with a fair amount of people, a whole bunch contained in damned near a whole state, a place called “Iowa.”
Yes, they are average. They got no gumption to get better than that. They seem content. Good for them.
Me, I want to go somewhere. Get better. Get off my ass. Challenge myself. Get out of the house. Take chances. Shoot some sports with