The dog days of COVID

We are now in week 112 of the sports lockdown and there are no sports to write about, which also means I am in week 113 of having a heck of a time dreaming up subject matter. (Yes, I know, not that it will make much difference, right?) I mean, there's writer's block, and then there's trying-to-imitate-a-legitimate-writer-who-has-writer's-block writer's block. I'll spare you the suspense and tell you up-front I'm in the latter category (like you didn't already know that).

Yes, I exaggerated – slightly – about the length of time COVID-19 has disrupted the sports scene in Believeland, but seriously gang, writing about sports when there are none is as about as difficult for me as finding something good to say about Jimmy Haslam. (If that doesn't put it in perspective for you then nothing will). Now I know why Dr. Acton decided to get out of Dodge: Nothing to report!

I was thinking the other day (only for a few moments though, as thinking typically gives me a headache) about how the world will view the "COVID Crisis" in, oh, I don't know, maybe 50 years from now. Let's close our eyes, hop into our modified DeLorean, wait for a thunderstorm like we had the other night to give us 1.21 gigawatts of electricity, hit the accelerator, and, well waddya know, it's 2070!

There's a remake of a popular 1940s Orson Welles film now showing called "Citizen Kovid." It's a real tearjerker because the lead character makes references throughout the film about something called "Nosebud." Only later do we find out that "Nosebud" was his pet name for one of his favorite face masks. You really feel for the poor guy. Oops, I guess I should have issued a "spoiler alert" earlier, shouldn't I? That's on me ... my bad. (I'll bet right about now you're wishing the Observer issued spoiler alerts for columns such as this...)

As we walk out of the theater, there's a tribute band of The Knack on the radio and we hear them belting out a tune called "My Corona." Gotta tell ya, it brought tears to my eyes (similar to what this column is doing to you). I'm too emotional to continue listening to that song, so I change the station and wait! What's that I hear? It sounds like an old Michael Jackson song about a COVID-19 vaccine, called "Treat It." It makes me want to start moon-walking on the spot, but since I'm a newbie to 2070, I opt out. They might throw you in the pokey for something like that.

Now wasn't that fun? Who needs real sports (or real sportswriters) when we have our imaginations? Rhetorical question, smarty-pants.

Now that I think about it, maybe all I really need is for the Donald to throw me more stimulus money and I'll become far more productive. Yeah, right ... I'm pretty sure that's called fraud!