ESPN's JoePalooza coverage yesterday haunted me the rest of the day. The footage of the Great Abuse Enabler's temple -- sorry, home -- with a few people holding vigil outside. The sideline shots and sympathetic cooing over the most famous quarterbacks coach ever, son Jay. Poetic, self-congratulatory waxing about the power of sport to bring people together, to make everything OK again. Musings about the poor man's state of mind. Wondering where he was during the game, whether he was watching it, what he was thinking.
As I went to sleep, I had this vision of Paterno watching the game -- a scene eerily like that creepy video of Osama watching TV -- Joe Pa rocking slightly as he sat on the floor, Nittany Lion shawl draped over his shoulder.
What's worse, I woke up this morning with that Willy Wonka song in my head, God help me:
Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadee doo
I've got another puzzle for you
Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadah dee
If you are wise you'll listen to me
What do you get when you shelter a perv?
An end to your kingdom; damn, they have some nerve
Why, or why, didn't you call in the law?
Were you too busy basking in all of that awe?
Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadee dee
These boys have some gall dumping on your legacy
Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadah doo
Oh, it's your lawyer, calling on line 2
I'm sorry. That's inappropriate, isn't it? Especially since everyone from Penn State's president and coach to ESPN yakkers to my local sports page tells us "the healing process" has begun. Thank God. I mean it's been a week since we all found out about this, though granted some have been living with it longer. But this is America. A football game was played. Why, coaches and players even prayed together. It's time to heal, for chrissake.
Except for the people who have real wounds to heal, of course. They're becoming a real buzzkill on this story of redemption, aren't they?
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