Ladies and gentlemen, as I sit here writing my latest dispatch to the internet in all hope and expectation that it will serve as yet another exercise in verbal brilliance performed and committed by no other than yours truly, I can’t help but to feel a biting tinge of remorse and lamentation about a sudden realization which barged its way into the confines of my first world security.
There was no cover. I just snuck them in there when no one was looking.
Ladies and gentlemen, as I live and breathe, I am convinced that the substances we have available to jam squarely into our collective pie holes which rival and surpass the palatability of these nuggets of warm (frozen) fuzzy (hopefully not) goodness can be counted on less than one standard human’s hand.
They are my crack.
Now that I’ve made a reference to one of the subjects outlined in the title of this piece, let’s move on.
The year was 1979. It was summer in the middle of the great plains of the American west and I was in the middle of a baseball game. Being short in stature, I had garnered a walk because my strike zone was immeasurable. That probably didn’t stop me from swinging at the high meatballs, but that’s another story for another time.
There I was on first base. There were two down and the kid up to bat had generated a full count. It was at that point that the first base coach leaned over to provided further destructions to yours truly on what to do on the next pitch. He leaned in real close so I could smell the alcohol on his… everything, and imparted some baseball brilliance on me. “Once the ball crosses the plate, you high tale it on over there to second.”
“Got it.” I responded. *sniff* *burp*
So the pitcher went into his wind up. At this point we weren’t stealing until the ball passed the plate, so the pitcher didn’t have to pitch from the stretch when there was a man on one. He then reared back, hucked it in there, and missed the plate all together.
As it crossed the plate (kinda), I beat hell to get about 60 feet west of my previous position. In the process of coming just short of creating a sonic boom from my imagined speed, a voice from the stands yelled out. “Way to go Flash!”
For those of you in the know, I didn’t really need to beat hell to 2nd base unless my teammate had hit the ball. It was nowhere near his strike zone, and he garnered a walk also. That made me look pretty stupid running all out on a walk.
The downstream impact was that the name “Flash” stuck with me for the next year or so until I went off to a different junior high school where no one knew me or any of my many nicknames.
For the record, the person who yelled out from the stands was good ole Dad.
Since then, I’ve always considered Flash to be one of my favorite super heroes. I don’t read the comics, but I do like a lot of the movies, and some of the TV shows inspired by the comics. As such, I’ve gotten into watching the latest offering about The Flash on The CW, of all places.
From here on out, my assorted rantings and ponderings will spoil things for you if you are watching this show, or have them stored on your DVR to watch all at once, or are waiting for them to land on Netflix.
You’ve been warned.
We’re just about to the end of the season, and shit’s getting intense with this whole story around the Reverse Flash.
Seriously people, why on God’s green Earth would you call this guy the Reverse Flash? Doesn’t that imply that his powers are in the reverse of The Flash, and as such he can run at incredibly slow speeds?
Big picture, I think this guy is called Professor Zoom in the comic world.
Anyway, based on my observations throughout the entire season, and what the current story line is alluding to, here’s a rundown of what has to happen.
At some point, Dr. Harrison “I’m a really awkward character when I’m playing the good guy scientist” Wells will be exposed as Eobar Thawn and revert back to his aged Hitler-youth appearance.
Thawn will don his yeller Flash outfit, and he and The Flash will get into some sort of foot race / fist fight in which they manage to run so fast that they travel back in time to the point where they both battle it out in front of a younger Barry and his parents.
Flash sees that his younger self is in the room and runs him on out of there a little faster than a slow 11 year old stealing 2nd base on a walk, and returns to the carnage where the yeller Flash proceeds to kill Mom.
Flash and yeller Flash then run away, Flash achieves time travel to what we assume to be back to the present. Thawn is unable to access the speedforce (or some comic book bullshit like that) and gets stuck in the past. He then finds the real Harrison Wells, kills him off and assumes his identity so as to advance some of the scientific work Wells is destined to do in an effort to get back to his own time some 200-300 years (or so) in the future.
Thawn most likely will then cause the STAR Labs accident on purpose, so that Barry can get hit by lightening while standing next to some chemicals, thus making him The Flash.
So Wells can somehow sponge off of The Flash’s abilities to get back to his own time period.
Well That’s Fantastic.
I need some more peanut butter cups.