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We all start somewhere. This is where I start. With Concrete Charlie in 1960. Which may well have been the high point of my generation’s life.

If you ever feel seriously insecure–and I mean seriously–you can always idolize Chuck Bednarik. No ambiguity. No subtlety. Just one tough mf saying I won this game, now do something about it. If you are an old white guy from Philly, born when Truman was President, it is a satisfying feeling. All black and white. Don’t think too hard. The game is over. And, we–I–won. And these days, I rarely have the chance to say that.

Over the next few months, weeks, years, God knows, I plan to write about anything that pleases me. That includes current events, economics, the Meaning of Life, and anything else I please. I know the world doesn’t need another blogger. But, honestly, I need to talk–like Joan Rivers. Can we talk? You wake up one morning and look around and say, Lord, this is no longer my country, my world, my generation, my anything. And you feel the need to talk. To anyone who will listen. It is either creativity or sheer desperation. Is there a difference? I don’t know.

I set a few rules for myself. No swearing. No profanity (this is hard for me). No personal attacks on anyone other than public figures. Whom I identify by their presence in newspapers of record. There may be some shop talk, but that’s because I have no one to bore. Feel free to ignore. And I expect most will.

Right now, I’m not even sure this will go online. We’ll see.

I am informed that the page is visible. Mirabile visu