Adam Karon To petition against street
sweeping or to treat Karon to lunch in the dorms, e-mail him at
gianthater@yahoo.com.
Click Here for more articles by Adam Karon
Last Thursday I awoke with a start, a mix of adrenaline and
anxiety blitzing through my veins. I fell six feet out of my loft
bed, landing flat on my bony butt. Clad only in my 1994 UCLA
Rose Bowl boxers, I made Casper jealous as I streaked full speed
towards my pickup truck. Sure enough, there, stuck behind the left
windshield wiper was a little kiss of death.
More powerful than a pink slip, more terrifying than a term
paper, the note attached to my windshield told me all I needed to
know. It was street sweeping day, and I had blown it again.
Those of you who live in the Village know what it’s like
to be tagged by the parking police for failure to move a car on
designated street sweeping days. Those who don’t know
about this thorn in our collective side obviously live in the
dorms, and I’d be happy to explain the phenomenon over a free
lunch in the dining halls.
Few things anger me as much as a street sweeping
ticket. Why in the name of John Wooden do we sweep the
streets? That makes about as much sense as patching up Lambeau
Field in between timeouts during a Packers game in
December. It is just going to get ruined two minutes
later.
Street sweepers are the John Rockers of the neighborhood. Plain
and simple, nobody likes them. They wake us up in the morning,
spray dirt and grime on our cars, and probably provide Parking
Services with enough revenue (generated from our tickets) to buy an
entire fleet of meter maid mobiles.
If you’re still reading this, you are probably worked up
into a fitful lather, ready to march on the Parking Services
building. Either that or you just have a lot of time to kill
before your $10 on-campus bikini wax and figured you’d build
up to the pain by reading my ramblings. In any case, close
your eyes and try to think of sports entities that make as little
sense as streetsweeping. The following is a short list of things
within the sports world that I neither understand nor like.
“¢bull; Four-on-four flag football: This year the intramural
department had its hands bound by the destruction of its precious
field. I emphasize that they had no option, but those involved in
IM football were forced to play four-on-four football. That’s
like having two-on-two IM basketball, or one-on-one IM volleyball.
Maybe we can switch to five-on-five softball, three-on-three
soccer. Heck, we can go the other way and play six-on-six
tennis. Again, the IM department is doing everything within
its power, but the results are still frustrating and the new game
is not football.
“¢bull; Soccer players going for an Oscar: Despite the lack of
scoring, goofy haircuts, weird drinking songs, stadium riots and
impossible-to-pronounce names, there is really only one reason why
I can’t watch professional soccer. The athletes are some
of the toughest people in the world, and yet if a stiff wind blows
them over during a breakaway, they drop to the ground, grab the
nearest joint and writhe in pain. The referee invariably blows
his whistle while rolling his eyes like a Buffalo Bill fan of the
early ’90s, as if to say, “Here we go again.”
I’d rather watch Monica Seles grunting and groaning like a
pig. I’d rather watch the WWF.
“¢bull; A whole lot of stuff about baseball:Â Pete Rose
outside the walls of the Hall of Fame. The designated
hitter. Astroturf, sideways hats (see Pokey Reese),
interleague play and Barry Bonds as home run king. Bud Selig,
botched double plays and of course, corked bats.
“¢bull; The NBA, period, even with Michael back.
“¢bull; Going to a sporting event and sitting behind a couple
who are more interested in counting each other’s teeth
(making out) than counting the home team’s hits. Going to a
game and sitting in front of a guy who’s had too many
watered-down Budweisers, only to find out the hard way he’s
consumed more hot dogs than beer. Going to a night game at the Rose
Bowl and realizing they don’t have lights in the parking lot
to help you find your car.
“¢bull; Arena-level seating at UCLA basketball games: it is
still hard to understand why they restrict the area where students
sit in the lower level of Pauley Pavilion. The advantage that
increased student seating would provide the team is
immeasurable. Sure the school stands to make more money from
selling those seats to alumni. But you will never see silver-haired
boosters shaking noisemakers, heckling Luke AND Bill Walton and
shedding tears together when Baron Davis and Earl Watson play their
last games at home.
“¢bull; Bashing Steve Lavin:Â While we’re on the topic
of men’s basketball, I would like to file a grievance against
all “fans” who rag on the man who’s kept this
program among the nation’s elite for the last four years.
I’m sick of you, the players are sick of you, and about the
only person who can probably put up with another year of harassment
is Lavin himself.
Just as in life, there are things in sports that we may never
comprehend. The preceding sports entities probably won’t pick
your pocketbook like a street sweeping infraction, but they
make as little sense as that tiny ticket to depression we find on
our windshields on a Thursday or Friday morning.