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We Had A Gathering Of The Cult This Weekend

Yes I’m referring to major league baseball, but it could be any sport or religious activity, such as a showing of art at a temple also known as a gallery or museum.

I was in a recovery hospital last year and there was a golf fanatic who could no longer walk. He wore all the golf gear, sat generally silent and disapproving as he invaded and occupied our ‘movies only’ table then switched the channel to some sports fuckery. He was joined by the two resident whales, 350 lb+ in motorized wheelchairs, urine bags hanging down from their catheters to emphasize their victimness as covert narcissists tend to do.
I reminded the golf Nazi that there was lounge for sports fans and this wasn’t it. He said, “You don’t golf?” incredulously. I was ill and bitchy on several kinds of opiated pain meds and ended up taking the bait. “I also don’t fuck men” was my response. I mean in my defense you can’t negotiate with a fanatic so you might as well go to war. He turned bright red as involuntary celibates do when anything sexual is mentioned and shut down, scowling disapprovingly while retaining control of the remote, cranking the volume.
The whales cheered him on by criticizing me for speaking up. It seems the table in the movie lounge was better suited for consuming their supplementary diet: a daily fast food delivery to the hospital, so they had no plans of watching a cultural event like a popular movie when they could consume their sports addiction along with their vo·lu·mi·nous fast food and high fructose corn syrup drinks.
My empathy said no one visited them and since the handibus couldn’t take their rolling tanks on board anymore (outgrew it) they couldn’t fulfill the gambling addiction by going to bingo; they ate and ate and ate to medicate the pain. My analytical self said that this was all performance art to get narcissist feed; attention in any form, any port in a storm sailor.
I don’t remember what followed, I think I left the room to choose peace and find some other way to spend my six months in hospital.
So  this weekend I found myself watching bits and pieces of the baseball I used to enjoy as a child. It turned out that I have the hand eye of an Olympic athlete which I used to get into art school later in life. As a virtual orphan there was no money for baseball gloves; it all went to the narcissist parent, no competition for attention was allowed.



 

 

Jerald is a Canadian visual artist, educator and essayist with a focus on personal history through the lens of REBT, rational emotive behavioural therapy, the work of Dr. Albert Ellis. After a debilitating stroke in 2017, he re-tuned his studio to write and explore creating/editing time based art. He has since published 12 books of personal essays and photo-based artwork, the most recent published title Intimate Writings A Living Autobiography “Warning, confidential matters will be discussed.”was released in the winter 2024. His website is jeraldblackstock.ca

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