Mikegerber.com: Do you like Kurt Vonnegut as much as I do?

Longtime readers may be noticing that the frequency of posts to this blog is slowing. Well, that's because I'm working on a new site, and writing/reading up a storm. So all is well. And trust me, my quotidian adventures are only getting less interesting as I get older.

I was moved to post, however, by Jon's pointing me to this recent interview with author Kurt Vonnegut, one of my absolute favorites. In it, he's quoted as saying "There's nothing funny about...the assassinations of Martin Luther King and John Kennedy..." I see his point, but I think I disagree. Any human folly can be turned into comedy; the scale of the tradegy only darkens the humor.

Here's a piece that I wrote a while back, for a proposed (but never published) history of America. In it, a football coach is trying to rally his players, the country, on the afternoon of November 22, 1963.

[SCENE: A dingy locker room reeking of sweat, mildew, and disinfectant. A dejected group of football players, smeared with grass, mud and blood sit in various postures of utter defeat. The COACH, a florid, beefy guy in a star-spangled windbreaker, strides to the middle of the room; after blowing his whistle to get everybody’s attention, he speaks.]

COACH: All right, everybody! Listen up! Okay. Well, we had a rough day out there. We did some things wrong, and got some bad breaks. It’s always tough when the quarterback gets shot in the head.

But teams have lost quarterbacks before. They got through it, and we’re gonna get through it, too. Hell, some of ‘em even made it to the Super Bowl, and if Lyndon plays like we all expect him to, we just might do that! But that’s not what I’m worried about. What I’m worried about is us staying together as a team.

‘Cause I’m telling you, it’s already happening. People—reporters, the knuckleheads on sports radio—they’re already starting with the questions, like, “Who the frig shot the quarterback?” And, “Why the frig did they shoot the quarterback?” And, “How the frig can we keep the quarterback from getting shot again?”

But you know what, gentlemen? That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t—friggin’—matter. What matters is next week’s game, not what happened this week. So I suggest you all just put it out of your mind, and move on. ‘Cause in this game, teams that live in the past, lose. Look at France.

Take a look around this room. These people are the only ones whose opinion matters a good goddamn. If you don’t stick together, we won’t have a chance, not next Sunday, or the one after that, or ever. We succeed together, or we don’t succeed at all. So everybody in this room—listen up, Malcolm—you gotta decide: which friggin’ side am I on? Am I on the team’s side, or am I on the side of the nobodies sitting in the cheap seats? Martin, Bobby—shut the frig up and listen.

If you guys stick together, I’m gonna make you a promise: nobody’s gonna get cut from the team. Everybody did their goddamn level best out there—J. Edgar, you Dulles boys, I saw you busting your asses—and I’m not planning on making any changes. Sometimes things just happen, and if you start turning a team upside-down just because the quarterback gets shot in the head, you’re screwed.

‘Cause we’re not in charge of Results, gentlemen. That’s not our Department. Our Department is Effort, that’s our Department. Somebody getting shot in the head, that’s a Result. Only one guy is in the Results Department, and that’s God. Giancana, you know what I'm talking about, I know you go to Church, paesan.

Here’s the hard truth: Next week somebody else may get shot. Maybe Malcolm’ll get shot. And then a game or so after that, maybe Martin will get shot in the face or something. I don’t know, it might happen. It’s possible. And then maybe Bobby’ll get shot in the same friggin’ game!

My point is, you don’t know. That’s just the way this game is. People are going to get shot. And as much as the reporters and fans and all the people who’ve never played a goddamn minute of football in their lives bitch and moan, there's no point in asking “Why?” or “Who let the quarterback ride in an open motorcade?” or “Can't you see that if you don't get to the bottom of this, sooner or later the fans will lose faith in the team and get pissed off, and maybe not even show up?” Now, that’s one thing I’m not worried about—the fans’ll come. They gotta come. What other choice do they have, not voting? What do you think would happen if we did whatever the fans told us to? It’d be anarchy, that’s what would happen. Plus, we’d all be out of jobs!
So, starting at practice tomorrow, we’re gonna all pretend like this didn’t happen. We’re not gonna study film—we all saw it, we don’t need friggin’ Zapruder to remind us. We’re just gonna start preparing for next week. Moving on.

That’s what Jack would want. Do you think he cares who shot him? Not where he is now. And we shouldn’t either…Now, shower up and we’ll get ‘em next week.