Saudi Arabia: Our Dear, Dear Friend

by Stephanie Anderson

I'm going to say this quietly, and give you a moment to digest. Saudi Arabia is not our friend. I realize they have not made either list of terror and so this cannot be true. But they have not made the lists for one reason: they're FAKING. Isn't it obvious? "Sure, America, we'll help you find Al'Qaeda, sure, you can keep troops here." Then, on the side, "Here, Bin Laden, have some funding, go train more minions of evil, and make sure that they kill Americans." Even I can spot the incongruency.

But we are friends with the Saudis. We came at their beckon call in the Gulf War, and they were grateful to see us. That's why they are so much help now, when we need them.

Excuse me, but what help? Saudi Arabia is about as good of an ally as that friend you ask to come help you move. The couch seems a lot heavier on your end but your friend insists, "I'm lifting, I'm lifting!" and holds his breath so that his face gets red as evidence. Saudi Arabia is not lifting! Nor will they. They don't like us and they are about as loyal as Black Widow spiders.
The tragedy is that we are so willing to link arms with a government that not only supports international terror, but treats at least 50% of their own population like second class furniture. Women need to be at least as covered as that ratty easy chair and should speak less. Treating a government that gives women no education, no freedom, and no rights to protection from abuse as legitimate is sickening.

As soon as they are in a position to, whether or not the blatant policy differences have yet dawned on the US Government, Saudi Arabia will turn on us full force. When Crown Prince Abdullah shows up at the next BBQ at the Bush's ranch and pisses on the grill, even Mr. Powell will find it difficult to keep them in the "maybe" section of wedding invites.

I realize it's popular now to think that Saudi Arabia is trying to help, one would even cite their efforts to negotiate peace in Israel. They just want Palestinians to have free roam in the occupied territories and absolute right of return. What was that quiet mumbled part at the end, Mr. Crown Prince? 'Absolute Right of Return'? What's that? Oh, you mean for all of the Palestinians to come back and all of the Israelis to give up the whole of Israel? Well that's a terrific peace plan, let's call up Sharon. There is political chess to be played, but I pray that President Bush moves the queen before the Saudis have the US in check.

No worries though, when the president checks Re: Whatever for his next intell briefing, he'll be all squared away.

The Day Major League Baseball Sold its Last Corrupted Morsel of a Soul to a Whore Named Tie

by JCaleb

Baseball is a game as golden as the summer days spent playing it. It is a truly American game which little kids with sticks and tape balls playing every night until their mom's call them in for supper. In the hours from the last school bell to the first hearty helping of meatloaf, they imagine one day becoming the heroes whose cards they collect and whose lives they live in after-dinner dreams of the future. It is life shortened and magnified. A poetry wherein the triumphs and defeats of this sport called life are laid bare before us all.

Or so the story goes.

This of course was the supposed definition of the game at some point in the distant past, long before the years of strikes, including the one that superceded the playing of the World Series, before steroid testing for our 'heroes', before playing professional baseball was so much more than just a good career move.

"So, who won the All-Star Game?" someone naive enough to still have faith in this old definition might ask.

No one. After 11 innings of play, the two teams, representing the best of the best in professional ball and hand-selected by their devoted fans, called the game a tie. Apparently they had run out of players willing to play.

Color me confused.

"The game's just an exhibition, you see, and they didn't want the pitchers to hurt themselves by pitching too long." a friend offered as explanation to help me get past my confusion.

But aren't all professional sports competitions some form of exhibition? I mean, it's not as if these guys are out there curing cancer and keeping them up too late at night might hurt their chances of nailing out the immunity during next week's game. The entire purpose of their jobs is to entertain us.

I'm not entertained.

It comes down to the fact that being paid the paltry sum of money that will only buy you the Mediterranean's smaller islands isn't quite enough for these poor guys to risk injury playing in any more innings than stipulated by their contract. And it certainly isn't enough money for them to feign any nonsensical 'love for the game' that might make them play until they were through.

With this sort of attitude, the players will probably yet again strike before the end of the season, and this travesty of an 'All-Star Game' will remain just one more punch line in the ongoing joke that is Major League Baseball.