I asked my mother, a retired teacher, what the teachers' union had done for her.
She laughed, her facial expression showing me all the years of no raises that the union was so helpful in negotiating on her behalf.
What, then, is a players' union for, if, say, a team like the Ravens lets its namesake (sort of), E. A. Poe, see his museum close due to lack of funds that the millionaire players could easily have funded if they really cared about the meaning behind their teamname's existence?
Prove to me the worth of a CEO or a union and I'll listen carefully. Otherwise, business and labour are labels hardly worth putting on a tackling dummy for fun offseason practice.
At least Gaelic football players know the rules they live by on and off the field.
Like secret Chinese military bases disguised as entertainment centers under construction on Caribbean islands, we all gotta eat and play somewhere.
Maybe I'll buy an oud and play a sad love song, lamenting the loss of people in North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula who've given their lives in the name of [are you listening, Barack?] d-e-m-o-c-r-a-c-y.
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