Not for rose. But what’s in a name?

A shadow vaults a fortress wall then steals silently through a forbidden grove to the castle of his enemy. On a moonlit balcony unaware, a fair maiden appears. She speaks:

“O Melvin, Melvin, wherefore art thou Melvin?”  ^{Melvin & Juliet – Scene 2 Act 2}

Of course, Shakespearean purists will be quick to critique: Juliet wasn’t asking where Melvin was but why he was.

Melvin.

…which he wasn’t.

“To thine own self be true…”  but his one true love hated his name though not him, or so she claimed. So, was it any wonder that her romantic misplay “Refuse thy name!” ended in tragedy.

What’s in a name? Well, if a rose were an elephant, would you really want a dozen? What if they were Redskins? or Moses supposes his toes were roses… ♬

Would an overall’d farm lad straw hat and cap gun, sneak into a Saturday matinee double-play featuring Marion Morrison in Soggy Oatmeal followed by Not Jane Russell and the Rather Harmless Man?

Not likely.

Opinions ain’t sonnets n’roses. In a free society, “All the world’s a stage…” and offending someone is inevitable, maybe necessary. The First Amendment not only protects free speech, but guarantees unpopular speech.

Cultural arsonists and some new to our shores ignorantly deny the downright declarations inked in the Bill of Rights, insisting on stuff like… you can’t yell “Fire!” in a crowded theater. But what if there is a fire in the theater? or worse, what if there are…

“Redskins!”

Or what if you just need some devious diversion to rescue other hapless husbands from an evening worse than shakesperean death (…which might be preferable once they’re all discovered down at Mel’s Grill & Ale with a wench in one hand and a pint in the other.)

Amendment XXVIII: What Right doth Thou have to be Offended?

But with a charred wonderbra in one hand and a nutcracker in the other, Juliet and her pink pussyhats set out to cancel everything that offends them – everything that is not them:

Columbus day
Chik-Fil-A
The Dukes of Hazzard

And without the consent of the fans of Major League Baseball, the Cleveland (no longer the…) Injuns now suit up as dreaded Guardians – door-t’door insurance salesmen striking fear in the hearts of harried housewives everywhere.

What a bunch of pussies we’ve become.

But blinded by their own unhinged contempt, society’s Juliets failed to also censor the home locale of the franchise formerly known as the Redskins (a name which is actually older than the team itself) which honors the original white male himself – the one and only redskin-fighting Father of our Nation.

Guess now they’ll hafta move.

The Cowboys will be rebranded next – soon to be The Beta Male Livestock Managers, followed by the Tampa Bay Semi-Aquatic Wealth Redistributors.

Approved rules package for the new season:

• No tackling without permission
• Quarterbacks will be uniformed in pastel pleated mini-skirts
• Half of winning score differentials credited to each losing un-winning team

…resulting in – that’s right! you guessed it (and fractions).

The NFL ought to just recoin all their teams adhering to the fantasy league protocols of backroom bars and poolhalls. Something like…

Flaming Rat Breath Snot Nosed Puss Picking Belly-Button Lint Lickers.

This is football: Wear a helmet!

If changing your name doesn’t change your identity but you change your identity anyway, maybe you should just go ahead and change your name: The National Hm-hmm League – yet another Shakesperean tragedy.

Yeah… the truth hurts.
The truth nobody wants to hear is hate.

But names don’t hate. Hate is not a logo, a monument, or a flag. Hate is heart issue – yours. You are what you see in others. And when everything is hate, hate is everything.

So there can be no Redskins, no Dilbert, no Blazing Saddles – not until the closed fist is replaced by an open heart…

The Golden Rule
a few Beatitudes
and Love thy Neighbor

The ground is level at the foot of the cross.

Juliet may have been right about one thing: The Redskins by any other name will still be smelly.

X is for Christmas
If your neighbors accused you of being a Jesus freak, would there be enough evidence in your seasonal display to convict?

Dear Diary
Day 1: Hello, I must be going! I cannot stay, I came to say, I must be going… ♬