Now that "Tiger Slam" is part of the vernacular, the inevitable comparisons arise. Was Tiger Woods' four consecutive major golf tourney wins greater than Byron Nelson's 11 consecutive Tour victories a half century ago?
I find such hypothetical musings as amusing as the next gal, but I'm really piqued by why we are compelled initially to make such assessments.
This phenomenon seems to touch the sports world most. Who's the greatest athlete of all time: Jim Thorpe, Babe Ruth, Wayne Gretsky, Michael Jordan, or Tiger Woods?
Questions like this one are especially fun. How in the world does one compare an early 20th century impoverished track and football standout to a hyperwealthy kid playing a passive and leisurely country club game designed to inflict more punishment on a passive, inert ball than the player?
Why don't we compare everyday greatness? Is the intermittent windshield wiper better than the Veg-o-Matic? Does the availability of self-serve soda fountain drinks dwarf the fledgling space tourism industry?
And can anyone think of a better invention than those nippled rubber circles that assist hungry aging and arthritic patrons in opening pickle jars quicker and easier?
Nature has a lot to offer, too. Is the reflective view off the placid pond superior to the flowery fragrance of honeysuckle in the warm, wafting evening breeze?
How about that oversized orange disk of a moon on the horizon or the incredible Space Shuttle contrail espied a hundred miles from the launching pad?
There's a ton of good stuff all around us. Some of it is our doing, some is not.
What are those teeny-weeny green frogs thinking when they're stuck on my glass front door, peering into my living room? They're probably asking themselves how can any living thing exist in such a close, sterile environment. Frogs are notoriously critical creatures in case you didn't know.
Today at McDonald's I heard two birds having a very animated discussion. What were they saying? I scanned the grounds, parking lot, and trees. As best as I could tell, the conversation went something like this.
Bird 1: "Do you believe it? All these people and no food for us."
Bird 2: "I've been perched here for an hour and what do I have to show for it? A sore stomach."
Bird 1: "Me too. I scrounged up two measly french fries and wouldn't you know it. They were cold. Stone cold!"
Bird 2: "These restaurants don't keep food as hot as they used to."
Bird 1: "You can say that again. This place has really gone to the birds."
I'm bombarded by so much greatness everyday that I don't usually notice it. Taking things for granted. That's the operative phrase.
Don't forget our too big stand-bys: TV and radio. Whether we're at home or in our cars -- hey, they're great, too, although a tad expensive to drive these days -- we can receive our fill of amusement and entertainment by merely sitting on our duffs and lapping up the broadcasts. Our only challenge is picking the best station or network, which is becoming increasingly difficult.
With so much greatness around us, why don't we honor it more? Too often we notice the bumps in the roads and fail to thank the road builders for getting us from Point A to Point B.
As your friendly chronicler, commentator and occasional philosopher, I easily get swept into the vortex of broken dreams and squandered opportunities.
No doubt we have our share of failings and areas needing improvement. There's no shortage of human reclamation projects. But over the thousands of years we've been here, we haven't done too badly, especially if you can imagine life in the 1400's versus today.
We can fly around the world, take a dip in the ocean, go to a game at one of those modern, retro ballparks, get liposuction to remove unsightly pounds, or even amble around with the sounds of our favorite orchestra, rapper, or rocker piped directly into our inner ears.
What a great life! Celebrate.
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Fred W. Apelquist, III, M.Ed.
Approximately 670 words.
(C) 2001