Wit and Wisdom

Here are a couple dozen bits of Wit and/or Wisdom. I know where about half of them came from and the other half could be from T-shirts. What appeals to you?



Humor is the anesthetic of the mind. (Trevor Noah)

There are only two seasons: Winter and Baseball. (Bill Veeck)

Love is how excited your dog gets when you come home.

If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention. (Ramsey Bolton, Game of Thrones)

I saw people through the window today. That’s enough social interaction.

The key to an 81 year marriage: “I always let him have my way.”

I tremble for my country when I realize God is just. (Thomas Jefferson)

Some people don’t only have issues; they have whole subscriptions.

Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to come.

Swing hard in case you hit it. (baseball advice)

If you are not outraged, you are not paying attention. (Time magazine)

I don’t care who dies in a movie, as long as the dog lives.

Women are only good for two things: bringing Life into the world, and making it worthwhile. (old TV show: Have Gun, Will Travel)

Humor always has a grain of truth. It may be the size of a grain of sand or a boulder.



I may not be flawless, but you know I have a diamond heart. (Lady Gaga)

It’s always darkest just before everything turns black. (Mark Shields)

I can’t make everyone happy. I’m not bacon.

Instead of “Have a Nice Day” I think I’ll start saying “Have the Day You Deserve.” You know, let Karma sort that out.

A crisis is never a crisis until it’s validated by a disaster. (Rev. William Sloane Coffin)

As someone said: If you can remember all of the 1960s, you weren’t there.

A well paid slave is still a slave. (Curt Flood)

When you grow up in Texas, you’re taught you’re a little bit bigger, a little bit better, a little bit tougher, and a little bit smarter than anybody else. It was rough on me when I got out in the world and found out I wasn’t. (Waylon Jennings)

Just because an idea is crazy doesn’t mean it’s wrong. (Voyager scientist)

Perhaps they are not Stars in the sky, but rather openings where our Loved Ones shine down to let us know They are happy.



About rcarmean

Two things... First, why have I decided to establish this blog? I like to put essays together. I research an idea or topic looking for information, statistics, stories, quotes, pictures, etc. I enjoy the process and seeing a finished product. I’m told that as I get older, new activities can help maintain energy and keep my brain alert. In other words, I am not doing this for money or fame. Second, regarding the gentleman in the collage of pictures above...it's not me. Those are photos of Christy Mathewson. Why him? When I was young, my primary activity was being sick. It took up much of my time. Eczema (a case so bad I was written up in a medical journal showing doctors what their patients COULD look like), asthma, and allergies. You know allergies: don’t eat this, don’t wear that, and, for Heaven’s sake, don’t touch any of these things (eg, dogs, cats, horses --I only saw horses in cowboy movies and TV shows, dust, swimming pools, my brother --OK, that’s an exaggeration, Rick was a fine brother). In my spare time between doctors' appointments, pills, and ointments, baseball kept me sane. In the 1940s and 1950s, when I grew up, pro footballI and basketball had not yet become extremely popular. Baseball truly was “the national pastime.” I listened to games on the radio (remember it? TV without the picture). I read magazines, books, and newspaper accounts of games. I collected baseball cards. I learned about the game’s history, as well as present. The same with its stars. One man stood out: Christy Mathewson. He was a great pitcher for the New York Giants in the early 20th century. But there was much more to him. At a time when professional athletes made little money (yes, there was such a time) and ball players were considered on the same level as actors, artists, and prostitutes, Mathewson stood out. One of his nicknames was: “The Christian Gentleman.” Most men is baseball drank, smoked, cursed, and fought —with other players, umpires, and fans. The fights were physical, not just verbal. Mathewson did none of these things. But he earned the respect of other players who did them all. Even Ty Cobb and John McGraw. There’s more. He was a college graduate (Bucknell University) when most men were lucky to have a high school diploma. He played other sports, including pro football which you wouldn’t recognize. He was handsome. He played in New York City, then as now, the largest city in the country. Excellence and popularity there meant fame and money. He dressed well. Today, his commercials would rival LeBron’s. And, finally, a hero’s life must have tragedy. After his playing career ended, WWI arrived. He suffered from influenza and was exposed to mustard gas. Chemical warfare. His lungs were damaged and he required treatment for the rest of his life. (Like my Grandfather who also fought in The Great War.) He died in 1925. He was 45 years old. I have his picture here because you need to know more about him than me. He was what an athlete could be. Players like him and their accomplishments got me through a sickly, painful childhood and can still sustain me in difficult times. *****
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