Tuesday, March 7, 2017
XXX. MUHAMMAD ALI LED A PERFECT LIFE ...hen
Muhammad Ali led a perfect life... most people who watched his career won't agree but I guess he got his wish - after retirement, to devote himself towards knowing God. He said this in one of his interview. He was thankful for all the blessings he received in his early life, knowing that despite the millions of aspiring boxers who wanted to excel in the sport he, at least could lay claim to the title of being "the greatest." Very few experts and boxers could dispute that claim. He was well known and well loved in almost every part of the world, and it would take a long time for someone to be able to match the drama and excitement he generated in his generation.
When he was diagnosed with "Parkinson's Disease", he told the world that he should not be pitied for he had a life that very few had ever experienced. He never asked God why him - humbled and in bended knees he accepted the will of the Lord. He knew how it is to be loved and adored, and there is no denying that he was able to touch the lives of a lot people. He served as an inspiration to all aspiring athletes and championed the cause of the blacks' struggle for equality. He preached not only through words but also thru example - that of a willing servant to his Islamic faith.
Billy Crystal was able to comically sum up his life in a little less than 15 minutes but it goes far beyond that. He redefined boxing not as a mere brutal sport but also as a mind game where you not only try to out-muscle and out-hustle your opponent but also out-smart them. Three and a half years, he was not allowed to box and travel out of the US, robbing him of the glory he could have gained while in his prime. God must have willed it for it was the reason why he was universally accepted as the champion of black human rights movement in his era. With him as spokesman, the country had to listen, and it created ripples around the world. It could not be denied that most of the privileges enjoyed today by the blacks, they owed some from the Louisville Lips.
His loss to Joe Frazier and then to Ken Norton only heightened the drama of him regaining it from the almost invincible George Foreman. With the way Foreman was demolishing his contenders, he could have ruled the heavyweight division for decades,
But as faith would have it, it closed the door for George's boxing career and opened his heart to a new found faith. The 3 of them formed the most dramatic era of heavyweight boxing, never equaled to this day. Add to that the fact that the contenders, namely, Ken Norton, Ron Lyle, Ernie Shavers, Jimmy Young, Jerry Quarry and Joe Bugner were able protagonists. Ali regaining the crown also paved way to one of the greatest fight in the 20th century better known as the "Thrilla in Manila."
Ali's win over Leon Spinks cemented his legacy as the first heavyweight to win the title 3 times. Then followed his decline, so after losing consecutively against Larry Holmes and Trevor Berbick, he finally concluded his professional boxing career that spanned for 21 years. Ali then devoted his later life to religious and charitable works. A lot of issues surfaced about his not-so-friendly relationship with Joe Frazier, but George Foreman tried hard to shield the two rivals from squaring off for the fourth time.
Despite all the issues raised, I still believe that Ali led a perfect life, pre-designed and pre-arranged. Through his life, we have seen that dreams do come true, and defeats are not permanent unless you give up trying. Fate may have been hard on him the later part of his life but it proved that anyone, no matter how great, is but a speck in God's eyes. Anyone who had been down will tell you that in the darkest hour of our life, only our faith can bring back the light. I may not be able to explain it the way people can understand, but there's no better feeling than being able to see that life is not so bad after all.
Monday, March 6, 2017
Friday, March 3, 2017
XXIX. THE MAN WHO HATED DOG LOVERS
One of the most interesting person I met in our bookstore was a retiree who hated dog lovers. He spent more than half of his life working in Canada but decided to return home after his retirement at the age of 65. He was a voracious reader, buying at least 10 books per week, and usually was in a friendly mood unless he's talking about his neighbor who was raising and training dogs for a living. Most of his neighbors also have dogs, and so he would rather lock himself in his condo unit rather than acquaint himself with them.
He was used to having neighbors with pet dogs in Canada but he said they were clean and don't smell that bad. Dog owners there were not allowed to take their dogs for a walk without leash and they have to pick up their dog's droppings or be apprehended for littering. Since it was very cold out there, dogs too don't sweat that much so they don't smell that bad and dog owner usually treat them like kids, giving them bubble bath and brushing their fangs. Its not very unusual to visit homes with dogs sitting beside the children in their sofa, sometimes even in their beds.
Here it was really different. His condo unit is just a few blocks from our bookstore but he said that he fears walking the streets to our place. It was not because of thugs hanging on street corners but because he was careful on not stepping on dog shit on his morning walks. He could not understand why Barangay officials allow dog owners to have their dogs relieve themselves on the streets. Dog owners don't bother to pick up their dog's droppings where it get trampled by passing vehicles or stepped on by pedestrians. There are even dog owners who don't bother to put their dogs on leash posing danger to children and other passers by.
There were even neighbors who tie their dogs on the side walks, some in alleys, and some near their gates. They feed them with left-overs, and most of the the time lie on the pavements with their shit and piss smelling all over. Add to these the noise they make when they are hungry, or pleading to be led outside to relieve itself.
His other neighbor who breeds dogs, mostly pitbulls for dog fights, put the animals in cages. The smell of shit and urine goes up beyond their walls and he has to keep his windows closed so as not to smell them in the morning. And to think that his neighbor brag around how he love dogs as well as those who order them for pets.
After about a year, he decided to sell his condo unit and transfer to another place. When he said goodbye, I handed him a copy of " Old Yeller" from my personal collection. It was a book written by Fred Gipson and one of my old time favorites about a a boy who reluctantly took in a yellow dog which later proved its worth by saving the family in different occasions. He smiled and said that he doesn't really hate dogs, just the locals treat them. It was okay to hear people say they love dogs but found it hypocritical that they don't have regard for others who are affected by their "unsanitary" way of taking care of their pets. He moved to a new location downtown where pets were not allowed.
Well, as Mark Twain use to say, "If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man." And perhaps, Jerome K. Jerome got it right when he said - "People like dogs, because they never talk about themselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up the appearance of being interested in the conversation."
As for me, I have to see a dog who read books for they read people. They do everything to please their master, and even if you hit them, they don't take it against you. I enjoyed reading Old Yeller, Sounder by William Armstrong, The Incredible Journey by Sheils Burnford, and white Fang and Call of the Wild, both by Jack London. Also enjoyed "The Lassie TV Series", Hatchiko movie, and remember Rocky's dog Bumpus, but that it the farthest I am willing to go with dogs. You can't leave them with books, and you have to take care of them. I rather see them on the farm running after monitor lizards, protecting our hens and its chicks, and warning us of intruders. I rest my case ...
He was used to having neighbors with pet dogs in Canada but he said they were clean and don't smell that bad. Dog owners there were not allowed to take their dogs for a walk without leash and they have to pick up their dog's droppings or be apprehended for littering. Since it was very cold out there, dogs too don't sweat that much so they don't smell that bad and dog owner usually treat them like kids, giving them bubble bath and brushing their fangs. Its not very unusual to visit homes with dogs sitting beside the children in their sofa, sometimes even in their beds.
Here it was really different. His condo unit is just a few blocks from our bookstore but he said that he fears walking the streets to our place. It was not because of thugs hanging on street corners but because he was careful on not stepping on dog shit on his morning walks. He could not understand why Barangay officials allow dog owners to have their dogs relieve themselves on the streets. Dog owners don't bother to pick up their dog's droppings where it get trampled by passing vehicles or stepped on by pedestrians. There are even dog owners who don't bother to put their dogs on leash posing danger to children and other passers by.
There were even neighbors who tie their dogs on the side walks, some in alleys, and some near their gates. They feed them with left-overs, and most of the the time lie on the pavements with their shit and piss smelling all over. Add to these the noise they make when they are hungry, or pleading to be led outside to relieve itself.
His other neighbor who breeds dogs, mostly pitbulls for dog fights, put the animals in cages. The smell of shit and urine goes up beyond their walls and he has to keep his windows closed so as not to smell them in the morning. And to think that his neighbor brag around how he love dogs as well as those who order them for pets.
After about a year, he decided to sell his condo unit and transfer to another place. When he said goodbye, I handed him a copy of " Old Yeller" from my personal collection. It was a book written by Fred Gipson and one of my old time favorites about a a boy who reluctantly took in a yellow dog which later proved its worth by saving the family in different occasions. He smiled and said that he doesn't really hate dogs, just the locals treat them. It was okay to hear people say they love dogs but found it hypocritical that they don't have regard for others who are affected by their "unsanitary" way of taking care of their pets. He moved to a new location downtown where pets were not allowed.
Well, as Mark Twain use to say, "If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man." And perhaps, Jerome K. Jerome got it right when he said - "People like dogs, because they never talk about themselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up the appearance of being interested in the conversation."
As for me, I have to see a dog who read books for they read people. They do everything to please their master, and even if you hit them, they don't take it against you. I enjoyed reading Old Yeller, Sounder by William Armstrong, The Incredible Journey by Sheils Burnford, and white Fang and Call of the Wild, both by Jack London. Also enjoyed "The Lassie TV Series", Hatchiko movie, and remember Rocky's dog Bumpus, but that it the farthest I am willing to go with dogs. You can't leave them with books, and you have to take care of them. I rather see them on the farm running after monitor lizards, protecting our hens and its chicks, and warning us of intruders. I rest my case ...
Thursday, March 2, 2017
XXVIII. LIES MY FATHER TOLD ME
"Lies my Father Told Me" is a book written by Ted Allan in 1949, and was made into a movie in 1975. It tells the story of a 6-year old boy who was torn between the love for his grandfather and love-hate relationship with his father.
They say that children gets attached to their grandparents because they have a common enemy. Funny, but true, since grandparents have the tendency to spoil their grandchildren while parents have the harder time in disciplining them later. What you can't get from your parents, your grandparents give. And in a way, I found this out to be true. Spending my pre-school years with my grandparents, I have a big farm as playground. When I was to enroll in the first grade, my parents took me to the city and kept me in a room slightly bigger than our outhouse and I was not allowed to play outside. It was like a prison so what used to be a very obedient child to my grandparents became a hard-headed imp.
School became a haven and although my father took me to see movies on weekends, our father-son relationship never approximate my closeness to my grandfather. My elder sisters were not very fond of me, and I was usually confined at home doing houseworks and watching TV. They usually play outside, but once they are home they lord over what TV programs to see. I have to get up at 5 a.m. so I could watch Laurel and Hardy, The 3 Stooges, and My Favorite Martian, in that order before going to school.
Things changed a bit when we transferred to our own home after grade school. My mother, being the only child, was able to convince my grandparents to sell their farm so we could build our own apartment. They obliged, but living under one roof became intolerable with my grandfather always running into conflict with my father, that my grandparents later asked to live in one of the apartment units. I tried to get close to my father helping him with our fruit business but we never really blended well working together. Then one day, after graduating from high school, I decided not to go to college and instead found work in an aluminum manufacturing company.
I hated being at home, working overtime everyday including weekends so home was just a place for me to sleep. I avoided holidays with the family, doing overtime even on Christmas, New Year, and even on Lenten season. The more I work, the farther I feel away from home. When not working, I spend my time with my grandparents. I got to become furnace operator only after 6 months but remained one the next 18 months cause of my lack of education. So with no more promotion on site, I decided to go back to school and become an engineer.
My relationship with my father never really improved but this he tried to control his temper more so we got along just fine. I was the eldest of 5 brothers after 3 elder sisters, and I got more share of house works - cleaning, laundry, taking care of our business, and playing big brother to my two youngest brothers - the real go-to-guy at home. The arrangement was fine with me since I did like to always keep myself busy and I got spoiled a bit by my parents, and also my grandparents for running errands for them.
After my grandparents died, a few years after I graduated from college and then working for a government utility company, my parents, and 3 younger brothers migrated to Canada. Then later, another brother and a sister, with her family followed, leaving only me and my family in our home country. My mother fell ill due to renal failure and was pronounced to live only on borrowed time. I tried to apply for a visit but an "urgent" letter from my mother pleading the consul to allow me to visit her before she dies came six months too late. I could not answer the consul why it took that long for an urgent letter to arrive, so I got turned down. From then on, I decided to move on and worry no longer about setting my sight on a foreign soil.
My mother lived on for 8 more years, but my father could not wait for her, so 6 years into her illness he decided to pay me a visit to bridge the gap between us. It was just a short visit, we did not talk much for Dad has always have trouble finding words to say, but such little time with us endeared him to the kids and healed whatever what was between us. Her was unsure if there would be life for him after Mom dies and he just wanted some time with us.
Mom died 2 years after Dad's visit. He came back to fulfill the dying wish of my mother that her ashes be buried with her parents. He knew that life alone would be different without Mom and at his advanced age, he also knew that he would be a bother to my siblings. So he he sought for a younger bride, someone who would take of him once his health start to fail. But my elder sisters would have none of it. The arrangement with his bride failed and he now lives in a retirement condominium waiting for the inevitable.
I worry not for I know there is nothing I could do, not even maybe to visit him in his last moments. But I feel no regret - I have done more than my share of obligations as a son to them in my younger years. I may have been misunderstood for I feel that it would be better for me and them to bury my version of truth and leave things be as they are. No use rocking the boat when everybody else is enjoying the view, for one thing I am sure of, when Dad is gone, some ties will really be broken.
At least now I know, the harsh words he uttered then, were but lies that was only said 'cause of anger and misunderstanding. He was proud of having me as a son ...and it was all that mattered to me then.
They say that children gets attached to their grandparents because they have a common enemy. Funny, but true, since grandparents have the tendency to spoil their grandchildren while parents have the harder time in disciplining them later. What you can't get from your parents, your grandparents give. And in a way, I found this out to be true. Spending my pre-school years with my grandparents, I have a big farm as playground. When I was to enroll in the first grade, my parents took me to the city and kept me in a room slightly bigger than our outhouse and I was not allowed to play outside. It was like a prison so what used to be a very obedient child to my grandparents became a hard-headed imp.
School became a haven and although my father took me to see movies on weekends, our father-son relationship never approximate my closeness to my grandfather. My elder sisters were not very fond of me, and I was usually confined at home doing houseworks and watching TV. They usually play outside, but once they are home they lord over what TV programs to see. I have to get up at 5 a.m. so I could watch Laurel and Hardy, The 3 Stooges, and My Favorite Martian, in that order before going to school.
Things changed a bit when we transferred to our own home after grade school. My mother, being the only child, was able to convince my grandparents to sell their farm so we could build our own apartment. They obliged, but living under one roof became intolerable with my grandfather always running into conflict with my father, that my grandparents later asked to live in one of the apartment units. I tried to get close to my father helping him with our fruit business but we never really blended well working together. Then one day, after graduating from high school, I decided not to go to college and instead found work in an aluminum manufacturing company.
I hated being at home, working overtime everyday including weekends so home was just a place for me to sleep. I avoided holidays with the family, doing overtime even on Christmas, New Year, and even on Lenten season. The more I work, the farther I feel away from home. When not working, I spend my time with my grandparents. I got to become furnace operator only after 6 months but remained one the next 18 months cause of my lack of education. So with no more promotion on site, I decided to go back to school and become an engineer.
My relationship with my father never really improved but this he tried to control his temper more so we got along just fine. I was the eldest of 5 brothers after 3 elder sisters, and I got more share of house works - cleaning, laundry, taking care of our business, and playing big brother to my two youngest brothers - the real go-to-guy at home. The arrangement was fine with me since I did like to always keep myself busy and I got spoiled a bit by my parents, and also my grandparents for running errands for them.
After my grandparents died, a few years after I graduated from college and then working for a government utility company, my parents, and 3 younger brothers migrated to Canada. Then later, another brother and a sister, with her family followed, leaving only me and my family in our home country. My mother fell ill due to renal failure and was pronounced to live only on borrowed time. I tried to apply for a visit but an "urgent" letter from my mother pleading the consul to allow me to visit her before she dies came six months too late. I could not answer the consul why it took that long for an urgent letter to arrive, so I got turned down. From then on, I decided to move on and worry no longer about setting my sight on a foreign soil.
My mother lived on for 8 more years, but my father could not wait for her, so 6 years into her illness he decided to pay me a visit to bridge the gap between us. It was just a short visit, we did not talk much for Dad has always have trouble finding words to say, but such little time with us endeared him to the kids and healed whatever what was between us. Her was unsure if there would be life for him after Mom dies and he just wanted some time with us.
Mom died 2 years after Dad's visit. He came back to fulfill the dying wish of my mother that her ashes be buried with her parents. He knew that life alone would be different without Mom and at his advanced age, he also knew that he would be a bother to my siblings. So he he sought for a younger bride, someone who would take of him once his health start to fail. But my elder sisters would have none of it. The arrangement with his bride failed and he now lives in a retirement condominium waiting for the inevitable.
I worry not for I know there is nothing I could do, not even maybe to visit him in his last moments. But I feel no regret - I have done more than my share of obligations as a son to them in my younger years. I may have been misunderstood for I feel that it would be better for me and them to bury my version of truth and leave things be as they are. No use rocking the boat when everybody else is enjoying the view, for one thing I am sure of, when Dad is gone, some ties will really be broken.
At least now I know, the harsh words he uttered then, were but lies that was only said 'cause of anger and misunderstanding. He was proud of having me as a son ...and it was all that mattered to me then.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
XXVII. LESSONS FROM A STREET-SWEEPER
One of my customer was a street-sweeper. Always in a jolly mood, he comes to the store almost everyday to buy a book to read. Always smiling but never too eager to share his thoughts, he just say thank you after paying and leave whistling his favorite songs. He was just one of the usual customer, a familiar face whose life remained a mystery, until one day when he came to the store sullen and in a very sad mood.
He's been a customer for almost 3 years then, and we hardly exchanged pleasantries, just nods and sly smiles. That day was different, he looked sad, and finally broke ice with a story to share. He told me he was not actually sad but just unsure of what to do next. His son, whom he haven't spoken to for many years paid him a visit and invited him to attend his grandson's wedding. He was not actually broke that time but reluctant to attend the wedding, not because he has nothing to bring him with but because he'll get to see some faces he has not seen for many years.
He related that he was released from prison some three years ago, given a job as a street-sweeper by the son of one his former cellmate. Knowing that his former wife has already a new family, he decided to keep things quiet, visited their place not to meet them, but just to catch glimpse of her and their son who too had a family of his own. Thirty years have separated them and it was no surprise to him that nobody recognized him, though he had an idea who some of them were. That's one good thing in the city, people walk with blank stares, and not notice a lot of faces they come to meet on the streets.
He survived prison life by keeping his own private space, reading and praying most of the time. He was a frail and small in stature that gangs inside considered him a nobody and dismissed him as one harmless guy who would not be an asset as a gang member. So he was not forced to join any of them. He was very thankful that he was able to maintain his sanity and even gained some wisdom by keeping himself occupied with books, mostly given to him by visiting relatives of his cellmate-brothers in faith. He decided not to disrupt the life of his old family when he got out. His parents were both dead, and with no one else to go back to, he found a spot under the MRT station and called it home.
That day he was not actually sad, just unsure of what he would do next. The family of the guy he killed over three decades ago still reside in the community, and he was uneasy about facing them. His son, though maintaining a distance while they talked, seemed happy to see him. But he was unsure about his former wife, for he was but a burden to him then. His old drinking buddies were all dead except one, and some old relatives who were not actually very fond of him then. Surely, he was afraid of all the reactions he would receive.
I barely spoke a word for I know my advice to him won't matter much. I was probably the closest thing he could call a friend, and until then, I knew nothing about the guy. I handed him a book, " The Birdman of Alcatraz " - a true to life story of a notorious convict who actually died in Alcatraz prison but found redemption in treating bird ailments. He was called the "doctor of birds". I told him it was a gift, which he graciously thanked me for and told me he would return to tell me what happened after the wedding.
He returned a week later, happy about the outcome, how well he was received by his old friends and glad that he felt he was forgiven for his sins of the past. He decided not to accept the invitation for him to return to his old place not only because he fear that he might disrupt the "normal situation" they then enjoy. Somehow he got used to the situation of being alone, with books to keep him company. From then on, he came to ask me for feel-good books that I could recommend to him for reading, and everyday I set aside one for him. He continued coming to the store for a few more months, then I heard that he fell ill one day and was taken by his son. I never even got to know his name - we just call each other "pards".
I guess that one of the reason why I have stuck with books even when it is no longer as profitable as it was before. I've had a lot of unnamed friends with whom I got to share with some of the lessons we pick up from our everyday way of life. "Pards", the street-sweeper, found peace cleaning other people's mess, not bitter about how unconcerned they are with others, and just pick up what they throw away. He got dirtied but inside he felt clean, knowing that he has paid for the crime he had committed, and that the people who were hurt by his deeds no longer held those grudge against him. He was about five years older than I was, yet looked at me with respect, knowing that somehow our lives were connected. I learned something from him and I shared with him some of the goods I earned.
He's been a customer for almost 3 years then, and we hardly exchanged pleasantries, just nods and sly smiles. That day was different, he looked sad, and finally broke ice with a story to share. He told me he was not actually sad but just unsure of what to do next. His son, whom he haven't spoken to for many years paid him a visit and invited him to attend his grandson's wedding. He was not actually broke that time but reluctant to attend the wedding, not because he has nothing to bring him with but because he'll get to see some faces he has not seen for many years.
He related that he was released from prison some three years ago, given a job as a street-sweeper by the son of one his former cellmate. Knowing that his former wife has already a new family, he decided to keep things quiet, visited their place not to meet them, but just to catch glimpse of her and their son who too had a family of his own. Thirty years have separated them and it was no surprise to him that nobody recognized him, though he had an idea who some of them were. That's one good thing in the city, people walk with blank stares, and not notice a lot of faces they come to meet on the streets.
He survived prison life by keeping his own private space, reading and praying most of the time. He was a frail and small in stature that gangs inside considered him a nobody and dismissed him as one harmless guy who would not be an asset as a gang member. So he was not forced to join any of them. He was very thankful that he was able to maintain his sanity and even gained some wisdom by keeping himself occupied with books, mostly given to him by visiting relatives of his cellmate-brothers in faith. He decided not to disrupt the life of his old family when he got out. His parents were both dead, and with no one else to go back to, he found a spot under the MRT station and called it home.
That day he was not actually sad, just unsure of what he would do next. The family of the guy he killed over three decades ago still reside in the community, and he was uneasy about facing them. His son, though maintaining a distance while they talked, seemed happy to see him. But he was unsure about his former wife, for he was but a burden to him then. His old drinking buddies were all dead except one, and some old relatives who were not actually very fond of him then. Surely, he was afraid of all the reactions he would receive.
I barely spoke a word for I know my advice to him won't matter much. I was probably the closest thing he could call a friend, and until then, I knew nothing about the guy. I handed him a book, " The Birdman of Alcatraz " - a true to life story of a notorious convict who actually died in Alcatraz prison but found redemption in treating bird ailments. He was called the "doctor of birds". I told him it was a gift, which he graciously thanked me for and told me he would return to tell me what happened after the wedding.
He returned a week later, happy about the outcome, how well he was received by his old friends and glad that he felt he was forgiven for his sins of the past. He decided not to accept the invitation for him to return to his old place not only because he fear that he might disrupt the "normal situation" they then enjoy. Somehow he got used to the situation of being alone, with books to keep him company. From then on, he came to ask me for feel-good books that I could recommend to him for reading, and everyday I set aside one for him. He continued coming to the store for a few more months, then I heard that he fell ill one day and was taken by his son. I never even got to know his name - we just call each other "pards".
I guess that one of the reason why I have stuck with books even when it is no longer as profitable as it was before. I've had a lot of unnamed friends with whom I got to share with some of the lessons we pick up from our everyday way of life. "Pards", the street-sweeper, found peace cleaning other people's mess, not bitter about how unconcerned they are with others, and just pick up what they throw away. He got dirtied but inside he felt clean, knowing that he has paid for the crime he had committed, and that the people who were hurt by his deeds no longer held those grudge against him. He was about five years older than I was, yet looked at me with respect, knowing that somehow our lives were connected. I learned something from him and I shared with him some of the goods I earned.
XXVI. LESSONS FROM A GAMBLING MAN
" Son, I've made a life out reading people's faces
Knowing what the cards were by the way they held their eyes
So if you don't mind me sayin' I can see you're out of aces
For a taste of your whisky I'll give some advice
If you'll gonna play the game boy, you gotta play it right
You gotta know when to hold them, know when to fold them
Know when to walk away, know when to run
You never count your money while you're sitting at the table
There'll be time enough for counting when the deal is done
Every gambler knows that the secret to surviving
Is knowing what to throw away, knowing what to keep
'Cause every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser
And the best thing you can hope for is to die in your sleep
-- Lyrics from the song " The Gambler"
by Kenny Rogers
Knowing what the cards were by the way they held their eyes
So if you don't mind me sayin' I can see you're out of aces
For a taste of your whisky I'll give some advice
If you'll gonna play the game boy, you gotta play it right
You gotta know when to hold them, know when to fold them
Know when to walk away, know when to run
You never count your money while you're sitting at the table
There'll be time enough for counting when the deal is done
Every gambler knows that the secret to surviving
Is knowing what to throw away, knowing what to keep
'Cause every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser
And the best thing you can hope for is to die in your sleep
-- Lyrics from the song " The Gambler"
by Kenny Rogers
"A Deck Of Cards" Lyrics
During the North African Campagne,
a bunch of soldier boys had been on a long hike,
and they arrived in a little town callled Casino.
The next morning, being Sunday,several of the boys went to church.
A Sargent commanded the boys in church,
and after the chaplain had read the prayer,
the text was taken up next.
Those of the boys who had a prayer books took them out,
but, this one boyhad only a deck of cards,
and so he spread them out.
The Sargent saw the cards and said, "Soldier, put away those cards".
After the services were over, the soldier was taken prisoner,
and brought before the Provost Marshall.
The marshall said " Sergeant, why have you brought this man here?"
"For playing cards in church Sir."
"And what have you to say for yourself Son?"
"Much, Sir," replied the soldier.
The marshall said, " I hope so, for if not,
I shall punish you more than any man was ever punished."
The soldier said, "Sir, I have been on the march for about six days,
I have neither Bible nor prayerbook, but I hope to satisfy you, Sir,
with the purity of my intentions."
And with that, the boy started his story.
"You see sir, when I look at the Ace,
it reminds me that there is but one God,
and the deuce, reminds me that the bible is divided
into two parts, the old and the new testament.
When I see the trey, I think of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.
And when I see the four,I think of the four Evangelists who preached
the Gospel There was Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
And when I see the five, it reminds me of the five wise virgins
who trimmed their lamps, there were ten of them,
Five were wise and were saved, five were foolish,
and were shut out.
When I see the six, it reminds me that in six days,
God made this great Heaven and Earth.
When I see the seven, it reminds me that on the seventh day,
God rested from His great work.
And when I see the eight, I think of the eight rightous persons
God saved when he destroyed this Earth.
There was Noah, his wife, their three sons, and their wives.
And when I see the nine, I think of the lepers our Saviour cleansed,
and, nine out of the ten, didn't even thank him.
When I see the ten, I think of the ten commandments,
God handed down to Moses on a table of stone.
When I see the king, it reminds me that there is but one King of Heaven,
God Almighty.
And when I see the Queen, I think of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
Who is Queen of Heaven, and the Jack of Knaves is the Devil.
When I count the number of spots in a deck of cards,
I find 365, the number of days in a year.
There are 52 cards, the number of weeks in a year.
There are four suits, the number of weeks in a month.
There are twelve picture cards, the number of months in a year.
There are thirteen tricks, the number of weeks in a quarter.
So, you see Sir, my pack of cards serves me as a Bible,
an Almanac, and a prayerbook.
And Friends, the story is true, I know,
I was that soldier
a bunch of soldier boys had been on a long hike,
and they arrived in a little town callled Casino.
The next morning, being Sunday,several of the boys went to church.
A Sargent commanded the boys in church,
and after the chaplain had read the prayer,
the text was taken up next.
Those of the boys who had a prayer books took them out,
but, this one boyhad only a deck of cards,
and so he spread them out.
The Sargent saw the cards and said, "Soldier, put away those cards".
After the services were over, the soldier was taken prisoner,
and brought before the Provost Marshall.
The marshall said " Sergeant, why have you brought this man here?"
"For playing cards in church Sir."
"And what have you to say for yourself Son?"
"Much, Sir," replied the soldier.
The marshall said, " I hope so, for if not,
I shall punish you more than any man was ever punished."
The soldier said, "Sir, I have been on the march for about six days,
I have neither Bible nor prayerbook, but I hope to satisfy you, Sir,
with the purity of my intentions."
And with that, the boy started his story.
"You see sir, when I look at the Ace,
it reminds me that there is but one God,
and the deuce, reminds me that the bible is divided
into two parts, the old and the new testament.
When I see the trey, I think of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.
And when I see the four,I think of the four Evangelists who preached
the Gospel There was Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
And when I see the five, it reminds me of the five wise virgins
who trimmed their lamps, there were ten of them,
Five were wise and were saved, five were foolish,
and were shut out.
When I see the six, it reminds me that in six days,
God made this great Heaven and Earth.
When I see the seven, it reminds me that on the seventh day,
God rested from His great work.
And when I see the eight, I think of the eight rightous persons
God saved when he destroyed this Earth.
There was Noah, his wife, their three sons, and their wives.
And when I see the nine, I think of the lepers our Saviour cleansed,
and, nine out of the ten, didn't even thank him.
When I see the ten, I think of the ten commandments,
God handed down to Moses on a table of stone.
When I see the king, it reminds me that there is but one King of Heaven,
God Almighty.
And when I see the Queen, I think of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
Who is Queen of Heaven, and the Jack of Knaves is the Devil.
When I count the number of spots in a deck of cards,
I find 365, the number of days in a year.
There are 52 cards, the number of weeks in a year.
There are four suits, the number of weeks in a month.
There are twelve picture cards, the number of months in a year.
There are thirteen tricks, the number of weeks in a quarter.
So, you see Sir, my pack of cards serves me as a Bible,
an Almanac, and a prayerbook.
And Friends, the story is true, I know,
I was that soldier
In the 1960's, this song was very popular on the radio. I remembering listening to this narration by Johnny Paycheck as the introduction of our favorite AM Radio program " Lundagin Mo Baby" anchored by Johnny De Leon. At he time when nobody have yet to see a TV set in the barrio, the AM radio was king.
" Marriage is the only gamble where its either both of you win, or both of you loses."
" Surely, life is a gamble where one never really loses - its either you win or you learn a lesson."
" Gambling - a sure way of getting nothing from something." - David Meltzer
" Gambling promises the poor what property performs for the rich - something for nothing."
- George Bernard Shaw
- George Bernard Shaw
" There are three roads to ruin - women, gambling, and technicians. The most pleasant is women, the quickest is with gambling, and the surest is with technicians. "
I am no gambling man but I have no qualms for gamblers. I knew a lot of guys whose life was ruined because of compulsive gambling - gambling even their family's future just to get the "feel" that the game of chance brings. I also know how useless it is to give them advice for only them can cure the itch they feel each time they see a deck of cards, dice or cockfights. They would tell you how it has ruined their life ... but they keep on, promising themselves that they will quit as soon as they win enough to bring home.
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