Knock That Shit In The Creek

(The earliest draft of this never-published piece was written several years, ago, but most of 2025, I’ve pondered what I with pent-up energy that  grows with each encounter with a news headline, )

I’ve noticed that nearly all promotional, motivational  and political content, that is based  on sports metaphors, is….offensive. 

That is, they refer to things like home runs, touchdowns, knockout punches, or other terms that are about scoring points.

Rarely do you hear defense-oriented phrases about catching a fly ball at the outfield wall before it leaves the park, stopping a running back  short of  the goal line, or dodging a haymaker in the boxing ring. 

However, sports teams, businesses and constituents  are reliant on defense as well as offense. You play more defense in your work and life  than you probably realize.

Why haven’t defensive sports metaphors permeated the vocabulary of business and political  clichés? 

A few of my college friends have been using one for decades. We frequently played pickup  basketball a few blocks from our  apartment building. On the court’s  western edge, the concrete was bordered by a 6-ft fence. In the wooded area behind that there was a small trickle of flowing water.

A picture of a basketball court, with concrete surfaces. There is an iron-bar fence in front of the backboard in the fore ground, in the background is the the other backboard, and there is a dense treelike

Depot Avenue Courts, Gainesville, Florida

Whenever a player attempted a shot, somebody on defense  would issue this call to action:

“Knock that shit in the creek.”

During a game, if a player blocked a shot with authority, their teammates would shout, “He knocked that shit in the creek!”

If a player dribbled toward the basket, a defender would yell, “C’mon, bring it this way and I’ll knock that shit in the creek!”


In the years since my friends and I have constantly used variation of that phrase to describe our responses to (depending on our professions): a business challenge, a news interview, or a dissertation defense…

As you write a response to a request-for-proposal, or field challenging question from an audience, or draft a letter to your US Representative or Senator, you are not in a position for a metaphorical slam dunk, though visualize knocking that shit in the creek.

 

 

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What Would Strom Thurmond Do?

(I wrote this originally wrote a draft of this post in February of 2025, several weeks before Senator Cory Booker’s 25-hour floor speech).

You know who would hate  DEI? Former US Representative and Senator, Strom Thurmond.

Thurmond was so incensed by President Truman’s 1948 Executive Order integrating the US military, that he ran for president as a member of the segregationist Dixiecrats party.  You can see Confederate flags in photos of the party convention and campaign rallies. Thurmond won 39 electoral votes in the 1948 election.

Later, he held the Senate floor for over 24 hours in his filibuster of the Civil Rights Act of 1957.

A few years later he fought against the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and then the  Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Oh, and a he had  a Black daughter. At age 23, he got his parents’ housekeeper pregnant.

SHE WAS 15.

Governments, corporations, and other organizations are going to do what they will do with their laws and corporate policies, etc. and I have pretty close to  zero control over that.

Though I like to think there would be contexts where I’d ask  “What Would Strom Thurmond Do?” that I would strive to do something diametrically opposed to that.

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Tired

I am so tired of waiting,
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two –
And see what worms are eating
At the rind.

 

The above is the poem “Tired” by Langston Hughes. My first encounter with Hughes was in 7th grade. That year my English teacher announced that we all had to memorize and recite a poem with at least 20 lines.

Many of the boys in the class defied Mrs. Vogel’s “no running” directive and sprinted to the bookshelves and began counting lines.

A few days later, Mrs Vogel called me to her desk and this conversation ensued:

Mrs. V: What poem did you choose, Scott?

Me: Uh….”Mother To Son” by Langston Hughes

Mrs. V: It’s interesting that so many of the boys in my classes picked that. Why did you choose that poem?

Me: Uh…um… it was the only poem I found that had exactly 20 lines. I didn’t want to memorize more than I had to.

Mrs. V (chuckling): Thanks for confirming my suspicions. 

 

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Peak Performance

I realize I am late to the party, but here is my obligatory David Lynch-related post.

I think that Blue Velvet is the only one of his films that I’d seen, so I’m not as knowledgeable about him as many people are. Though his work intersected with my work in the 20th century.

In 1991, I had a walk-on (uncredited) role in the Human Genome Project when a DC-area temp agency assigned me to Craig Venter’s NIH lab.

A protein chemist–who also oversaw the health and well-being of all the lab’s computers– tasked me with finding clip art that matched the names of the Macs that controlled the sequencers.

The computers were named for characters and landmarks in the “Twin Peaks” series. I didn’t recognize any of the names because I’d only seen a few minutes of the show.

After some inquiry (“Who is Dale?”) I was able to find icons browsing Apple’s Hypercard stacks (showing my age, I know.)

Occasionally, one of the scientists would pour themselves a cuppa joe near my desk and comment “Damn good coffee.” I had no idea that was a Twin Peaks reference until just a few years ago.

 

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