I mean, you have these big Taj Mahal structures sucking down untold millions every year stuck smack in the middle of no frigging where in Tunica County, Mississippi. There is a cotton field right next to Hollywood. You don't see that in Vegas.
Inside, nestled in an absolutely noxious cloud of tobacco smoke, people sit, drink alcoholic beverages dispensed for the most part by homely cocktail waitresses and put money into slot machines and other games of chance. They sit. They sip. They pull. For the most part nothing happens. At least nothing profitable. Playing slot machines is a perfect example of Einstein's observation that the definition of madness is to do the same thing repeatedly without success in hopes of eventually obtaining a different result.
The inner Diane Arbus in me has historically been fascinated with these goings ons. But around lunchtime I started feeling a little depressed. And,like I said, then it hit me. The difference between Tunica and,say, Shreveport is that at Tunica there is no escaping the casinos once you are there. Sure, you can go play golf. (Actually, the course I wanted to play was closed until March and I'll be damned if I am going to pay 60 bucks to get on at a dormant Tunica National). But at least there's other stuff to do in Shreveport. My buddy PM grew up there. While he raised his eyebrows at this observation over breakfast today, he concedes the larger general proposition that there is more stuff to do in Shreveport than in Robinsonville, Mississippi. You can go get a pizza in Shreveport. Just try that in Robinsonville.
The noise. The flashing lights. The bad food (There are nice restaurants at these joints. But I refuse to spend over 40 bucks on a meal unless I accompanied by someone in heels. I'm funny that way). And the damn smoke. Everywhere. As my excellent friend J said this morning of the lack of non-smoking facilities in the Magnolia State, " You would think they grow tobacco in Mississippi." You would think.
So it was good to come home, just as it is always good to come home. The drive back was pleasant enough. I thought of the road I was on and how if you take 49 to State Highway 315 (I think) you can save time getting to Oxford. It helps to know these things.
The Delta is kind of pretty at dusk. A couple of friends called me on the cell which helped pass the time. And yes, I use a Bluetooth in order to keep both hand hands affixed to the wheel. There was a high school basketball game going on in Brinkley. If I weren't so tired I might have stopped in. While stopped at a red light down the street from Brinkley High School, I could see a barber in an old weather beaten shop give a customer a shave. I hadn't seen a man get a shave in a barber shop since I was a little boy. I wondered why a man would get a barber shave at 6pm. For some reason visions of a funeral popped into my head.
Maybe I was still suffering some residual Tunica-induced depression.
Even though I enjoyed getting the opportunity to get away from both Little Rock and the office, I was glad to be home. It is always good to get back into your familiar space. While it is good to do different things there is a real comfort level to knowing that there are things back home that never change. A little house with an oak and two spindly dogwoods in the front. A comfortable chair. A cold martini. And another completely idiotic column by Wally Hall.
I about choked on an olive when I read this observation as I caught up with the erroneously named "Like It Is" column in Thursday's sports page: "Let's see if we have the facts here. Barry Bonds is innocent but his attorney argued that urine and blood tests should not be admissible. Hmmm, aren't those the only ways to test for steroids?"
No, as usual we do not have the facts here. Bonds has pleaded not guilty to lying to a grand jury about using steroids. (Basically.) Innocence is not a term of art. One is either guilty or not. The burden is on the state to prove a defendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Bonds doesn't have to prove that he is "innocent." And just because he claims to be "innocent" is not inconsistent with vigorously testing the evidence sought to be introduced against him contrary to Wally's insinuation to the contrary.
The Feds obviously will attempt to introduce certain forensic evidence to prove Bonds perjured himself. The defense has moved to suppress certain of this evidence for the reason that-as I understand it-they contend that the Feds haven't proven a chain of custody linking the forensics to Bonds.
Get this. Here is the part of the story Wally didn't tell you. According to the AP wire story that I read-and believe you me that is where Wally is getting his information as well-the United States District Judge presiding over the case indicated during a hearing last week that she was likely to suppress the evidence in question. In other words, and when discussing a Wally Hall column one can usually come up with other words fairly quickly, the more interesting part of this story is not that Bonds is a hypocrite as Wally seems to suggest, although he certainly is but not for reasons attached to this issue. It's that some of the sexier evidence-the cotton balls and needles bearing Bonds' DNA hoarded all these years by his "trainer"-may not get in. Which means this case may be blowing up.
So while Bonds may not be "innocent" as Wally suggests as he finds apparent irony in Barry's lawyers putting up a fight. But he may well be acquitted. That's the story irrespective of Wally's snarky thoughts about an "innocent" man putting up a defense.
Ahhhhhhh. It's good to be home. There is comfort in knowing that some things never change. Even if one of those things is that Wally Hall can be counted on for producing such stupid and irrelevant observations about the world of sports. And get paid for it.
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