What Ever Happened To […] #1015

 

[So, in response to probably what nobody ever asked–like, what ever happened to What Ever Happened To?–What Ever Happened To is back. Which reminds me of an old “English Major” joke: Punctuate the following so that it makes perfect sense: John while Jim had had had had had had had had had had had been the right answer. No, DON’T feel like I’m challenging y’all to solve the puzzle. Just settle back this Marathon (all over the country, it seems!) Weekend and enjoy the return of whatever the heck this is that’s being returned to. And no, I don’t know whatever happened to the Garritson kids either (a little inside joke) but I’ll bet they’re probably running the Chicago Marathon on Sunday just like about half the known world’s population is! Oh yeah, and welcome to BJF (Bad Joke Friday) as well!]

The Carter Administraction Presents…

WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO [white fuzzy headbands] ?

Indeed, what the heck happened to ’em? When yours troubly started running, such things like sweatbands and headbands and wristbands were de rigeur. You couldn’t even BE a self-respecting runner in a self-respecting footrace unless you stood there at the start line dressed like Cochise.

Indians. Native Americans. Dark-skinned peeps comin’ right out of the nineteenth century dressed for the war dance. Complete, sometimes, with those globs of black warpaint smeared under the eye sockets to protect from the glares of the sun. Or, the stares of the spectators. Maybe it was due to a generation raised on Disney, black-and-white TV, Fess Parker, John Wayne, and Hawkeye–and NOT that wiseguy surgeon on M*A*S*H. No, this was some television dufus with the musket and the faithful Indian companion.

For some weird reason, the entire newfound world of “JOGGING” and 5Ks and whatnot all wanted to look like faithful Indian companions. And that’s how the white fuzzy headband was born.

What ever happened to that? And for that matter, what ever happened to jogging? And, worse, Native Americans themselves–who, as I recall, were all trying to live up to, or in, the white man’s whirled and NONE of ’em ever wore headbands. Unless, of course, there was money to be made at tourist traps from white families on vacation watching Indian shows, who expected to see REDmen wearing headbands, carrying tomahawks, and riding stallions–instead of simply darker humans wearing Hawaiian shirts and driving Cadillacs. Like in Wisconsin Dells.

I’ll never forget my first experience as a child on a family vacation to Wisconsin Dells, sitting in the bleachers at the sunsetting “Wild West Indian Show” (or whatever they called it) and watching the STAR OF THE SHOW show up in a Fleetwood convertible. He leapt out, slapped on the bootblack, whipped out a hatchet, and started the war dance.

Whatever happened to the war dance? Or, for that matter, Fleetwoods?

Hey-yah hey-ya hey-ya-hey… hey-yah. Hey! Seriously! And why don’t today’s Native American tribes sponsor footraces? Or run in them? Are they feeling, like, “Screw the white-eyes. WE got the cash cows now!” (I.e., casinos; hey, on federal lands protected from wicked state governments… like Blagojevich’s. And, hey, ain’t HE now on protected federal land? VERY protected.)

So, white-eye stole the land, the ceremony, the clothing, the leather, the feather, and the head-strap. He made it out of terrycloth (no offense to nice folks named Terry) gave it a little elastic and sold it at all major Expos. Sometimes running clubs would sell them, too. I got my first one from the Park Forest Running & Pancake Club. Probably after the same race after which I ate my first short stack of non-IHOPs-with-nuts-in-’em.

What happened? Did suddenly all the poofy white headbands get soiled? Sweat-soaked beyond still being solid matter? Filthy dirty? And did they all suddenly–en masse–dissolve in a million washing machines? What? What if I wanted to wear a sweat-protective (ha ha) headband while running today? Do running clubs still have them? Can I buy one tomorrow at LE GRANDE EXPO inside the hugest square-footage building in the City of Chicago? ‘Bama-Town? That little “my kinda” place on the prairie waiting over two thousand years for Emanuel to come? Guess what. He came. Oh brother, did he ever. And HE doesn’t even wear a sweatband anymore. Guess why? He doesn’t sweat!

Whatever happened to headbands? I’ll tell you what happened–and right here in Chi-Town, too! Da Bears’ old “Punky QB” happened along one day and started selling advertising space. Yup! Remember THAT? Right there on the sidelines, right there in Soldier Field, right there on his head in (magic marker) black on (fuzzy) white: “THIS SPACE FOR SALE.”

Yes, that was the beginning of the end. No companies–or other egomaniacs–ever bought the space, shrunk down their corporate logos, or paid the man what he felt he deserved. And lately? Hah! He’s suing the NFL for damages… to his head!!

Actually what’s happened is, running’s just too poor a sport. Basketball, say for example, has become much more lucrative. And so guess where those spiffy fuzzy headbands have realigned themselves now? Weren’t you watching the Olympics? Yup. To the biggest egomaniac now on the hardwoods ever to appear within the courts of London–upon whose nappy head now rides the very whitest, rich, poofy, sweat-protectingest headband of all… without any need whatsoever to advertise anything other than the ego that’s under it.

( O_O )

Yours troubly,

The Troubadour
“your runnin’ (for his life now!) mid-evil lute-plucking fuzzycloth-loving sweaty-dood who used to jog every Saturday first past the Coliseum, then the jousting arena, and finally this above-mentioned Soldier Field”

Yankee Folly of the Day:
Well, hey, some young running man *did* just recently proclaim to the racing universe that he’d be showing up at some race sometime soon, wearing–I kid you not–“a plastic sweattube” around his head! Imagine that. So, again, HOW does a tube made of plastic absorb any sweat? Any at all??