I think for hours on end about many of life's imponderable questions.
What is the sound of one hand clapping?
Is the Pope German?
If a bear craps in the woods and there's no one there to smell it, does it have a scent?
My mother and your mother hung out the clothes. My mother punched your mother right in the nose, what color was the BLOOD?
Even Who's on First and How Did the Chicken cross the road?
I've been able to answer most of them in the following way...Yes.
The others I've been able to answer R-E-D and he was stapled to the rooster.
Recently, I was presented the most imponderable of all imponderables by The Bleacher Report Community Leader Coordinator (a promotion from Chief Cook and Bottle Washer) Dave Morrison, when I petitioned to become the Community Leader of the WPS.
"If a Community has no members", I pondered. "Is it still a Community?
You see, The Women's Professional Soccer League has recently been hatched by the marketing geniuses who believe that their league can succeed where most have dared not tread. Only two weeks after the WPS gave birth to a bouncing baby league, seven teams from coast to coast find themselves with the daunting task of learning to run.
Like Susan B. Anthony, Harriet Tubman, and Sally Ride, these 100 plus women have put history upon their backs and are carrying the torch of the Women's Pro Soccer League.
Being a man who has had more than his share of experience in putting women on their backs (sorry, couldn't resist) I have decided to join them on their ride. I've decided to man the co-pilot seat on the bus they are riding.
And so, I ran (unopposed) in hopes of becoming the First Bleacher Report Community Leader in League History.
I waited on AIM for days, much like I was sitting in the Virtual Waiting Room prior to my children's births.
I chewed my nails and paced the floor of the kitchen in much the same way that Thomas Dewey did before he defeated Eisenhower.
And then it came. An email from the Coordinators of All Community Leaders, Big and Small. I was hand selected. Appointed. I am again One of the Chosen People.
I feel a bit like Latvia sitting next to China at the United Nations, but at least I'm not the former USSR. I exist. My Nation is recognized.
I set up my office and carefully positioned a folding card chair in front of my desk. On the door, I hung a sign which I crafted from tan construction paper and emblazoned with thick bold letters written in black magic marker.
It reads Todd M. Civin Community Leader of Women's Professional Soccer
It's lonely here. I have to admit.
I didn't realize the size of the chunk I had bitten off until I logged on this morning and saw the sign in big bold white letters.
"The Community Has 0 Members"
I looked at it and stared. I've always been an over achiever. After I ran my first 5K, I decided to run a marathon. And after I drove up Mtn Washington in my car, I decided to enter the 6.7 mile up hill race. Running.
And when asked to raise some money for Muscular Dystrophy I opted to sleep on a scaffolding for 48 hours outside of my Service Merchandise Store in an effort to shatter all previous records.
But now, I've decided to do something that seems so much more challenging. I've became ruler of a Nation that has no inhabitants. I feel a bit like Pat Paulsen did when he opted to run for the President of the United States for the first time.
I feel a little bit like a Yodeler standing on the edge of a canyon and shouting Hello...hello..hello...hello...hel...
I truly have the same feeling in my gut when I sitting Shiva after a death in the Jewish religion and waiting for a minion (See page 34 on Judaism 101...This is where I got the info).
I called my Mom and Dad to brag about my new appointment. "Hey Mommy and Daddy", I said still hoping for parental approval. "I was appointed...no named...no Elected by a jury of my peers to be Community Leader of the Women's Soccer Page on Bleacher Report."
I puffed my chest up big. I smiled ear to ear and I waited for Mom and Dad to respond.
I waited for Mom and Dad to respond.
I waited for Mom and Dad to respond.
"Good, Todd," they replied in unison. "And how much does this job pay?" they asked as if somehow being annoyed by my lack of employment.
"No pay. This is for exposure," I responded as all 6,000 of us Bleacher Report writers are brainwashed to respond...(Gotta Drink the Kool-Aid...Zander is God).
"Exposure?" Dad inquired in a mocking tone of voice. "Exposure and $2.19 will buy you a cup of Coffee at Dunkin Donuts", he added.
I slammed the phone down, as I do when my parents don't support my many career choices, and went back to my lap top with a sudden enhanced thirst to succeed.
And then I saw it. Again.
The Community Has 0 Members
And The Pope Is German...
And The Bear's Poop Has No Smell...
And Who is indeed the Name of the Guy on First Base...