I realized today that the time is right for me to seize control of this country and uproot the political system. Why, you may ask? The answer is simple. People are stupid.

I am a registered Republican. I consider myself to be conservative for the most part, though I do not count myself a Republican. This may seem strange to you. The purpose of registering for any political party is so that you may vote in the corresponding primary elections. Because I believe the chances of my voting for the Republican candidate rather than the Democratic in a given election are greater, I would rather have a vote in the Republican primary.

That seems fairly simple me. I guess that makes me different. I am noticing a trend of judgments that arise from the R next to my name. People who do not know me make assumptions that I agree with every policy that any Republican has proposed. I get the "You're a Republican, right Scott? I guess you think we should kill all homosexuals and animals." Well, of course I think that, but that isn't the point.

The problem comes in holding me accountable for some stupid thing some stupid politician said. I disagree with every policy any politician makes because the motivation for those decisions are never pure. There are innumerable controversial issues raging in debates across this country. What would possibly delude you to think that there are only two possible tickets of responses, those of the Republicans and the Democrats?

But no, you choose to draw conclusions when you are not fit to make them. You could try to ask me my opinion on an issue rather than telling me my stance and then asking for me to accept it. Maybe you can only think in partisanship, in black and white. Maybe you don't realize that half of the time, I say things just to make you mad for my own amusement (for example, if you gasped when I said I want to kill homosexuals and animals, you do not understand me). Whatever the case, I know you have your opinions on issues, the same as I do. I don't believe that because a Democrat had an affair in office you are immoral. So do not believe that the opinion of another is, by default, mine. By all means, enjoy your idealistic monotony in the footsteps of every other liberalized student. Just let me alone.

Despite the year being so near its close, I ended up with another project involving the Canterbury Tales. An aspect of that project was a sort of creative writing. I decided to write an epilogue for the tale that was assigned to me, the Shipman's Tale. And since I know all of my fans are dying to get their hands on my work - I discovered this today when I was told I received the superlative for the Most Likely To Write a New York Times' Best-seller in my school newspaper - I thought I would publish it on here. After all, I still plan on retiring out of college and it could never hurt to have a few readers. Chaucer wishes he had my rhyming skills.


Lousy luck upon that monk, indeed, answered the man of the sea,
But the tale is not quite over, for short-lived was his glee.
Sir John proceeded home, quite satisfied with his deed,
For he had lounged in the merchant’s house, fed on his feed,
For a handful of days; and not only that, he had a loan
Both taken and repaid with no cost of his own.
He did manage a substantial gain, more even than a free meal and stay.
He took up the place where the merchant would usually lay,
Alongside the wife, with whom Sir John enjoyed the evening.
She knew not her error until after his leaving.
Back at the monastery, the events slipped from his mind
For a winter or two. What he did not realize, but would be quick to find,
Is that a cousin from the same town is difficult to evade.
There soon came a message that an impressive wealth would be paid
As inheritance to an uncle’s closest male heir
And asked Sir John to attend the ceremony in St Denys fair
In a matter of weeks. Well it was no secret that in the past
Sir John would give quite a tip for as small as a flask.
Thinking that good fortune was smiling upon him,
He lived in extravagance, spent his money at a whim.
So it was no surprise that he had nary a penny,
When in two weeks he set out to St Denys.
He had proceeded down the road a ways,
And despite the sun, no heat could faze
His chipper mood. He began to wonder if he knew
Who the deceased uncle was. In fact, he had no clue.
But it mattered little. It was best to leave the unknown
Out of mind. He began to whistle with his happy-go-lucky tone,
For soon he would be rich man, richer even
Than some wealthy merchant or thieving heathen.
Those happy thoughts kept him content until entering town,
When he had to focus, for a certain building must be found.
The address sounded oddly familiar, on the tip of his tongue,
As was the building on whose sign the address was hung.
He walked through the gardens with an odd sense of deja vous.
He had been here before, and this he now knew.
He went through the entrance and what a surprise.
He was staring into his merchant cousin’s eyes.
“Ah, Sir John,” greeted the merchant. “How good to see you.
I would love to stay and chat, but I must say ado.
We have just read the will, not knowing of your arrival.
It seems that our uncle left all his property to a rival
Family that also shared his relation. So much
For good fortunes, I guess we should have stayed in touch
More often. But I really must be going. It is soon late.
I do not want to keep my lady too long in wait.”
“Wait, please, good cousin. My ears must deceive me.
It is so unexpected, I can barely believe thee.
I do entreat, and have sympathy upon me, to ask a favor.
Thinking I was the heir, I spent on company and wine to savor.
I see that I was wrong, but it was an error not of my making.
I need to borrow some francs, just a few hundred I’d be taking
To rebuild my life that I mistakenly whisked away.”
“Well since you were so trustworthy the last time you did stay
At my house, repaying my loan in full back to my wife;
I cannot say no or deny you in strife.
But I’ve come upon hard times of my own.
My own savings are a little low, so I don’t have much to loan.
So here is what I propose. I will lend you what you need
If you give me one and a half times that amount in return. Agreed?
Then it is settled. Oh, and one last thing. Please do not
Let our deal be known. I would not want to be caught
By the church. For some reason they do not respect
An innocent business transaction. Your lips are sealed? Perfect.”
The exchange was made and the merchant set off again,
And because there is no love lost between Sir John and his kin;
The first thing he did was retell the story to a magistrate.
His affairs now in order and the hour not yet late,
He set out to return home. Forgetful of his own guilt,
He considered the confession to be just comeuppance dealt
For the merchant committing usury, cousin or not.
Thinking the ordeal to be over, the events passed out of thought.
He returned to the monastery, the borrowed money as his reward.
Things reverted to normal and the seasons proceeded forward.
And then one day he saw a man in a simple church gown
On the road, approaching from what must have been the town.
Sir John rushed to the door to meet him with a smile
For he must have news of his cousin’s arrest on account of his guile.
“Welcome, sir. I expect you have dealt with my cousin
And came to relate it. I must congratulate you on your apprehension.”
“We’d like to thank you for your assistance,” the summoner proclaimed.
“If such sinners were to be ignored, the church would be defamed.”
And with that, Sir John was taken before he could even protest.
An adulterous affair was the offense, and he was under arrest.

I suppose it has been a while since I last wrote in here. I've noticed that it is much more difficult to vent my grievances when I have none. But even those three months have produced drastic changes in me. My outlook has changed. I no longer am as quick-tempered as I once was, nor as stubborn. I no longer twist reality with cynicism. My taste in music has changed. I no longer identify with that "happy" music. But the most unexpected change came in the way I spend my free time. I used to build worlds for myself, worlds in which I was stronger, wiser, and bound to some great purpose or fate. I still enjoy a good book and movie, but find myself seeking that escape less often than ever. I suppose I'm beginning to like my reality. Imagine that.

I wouldn't wait with baited breath for another update. Not like I would even if I wrote with frequency.

I have no doubt who it is that has given me the strength I have needed of late. But how is it that that strength has transcended from my mental outlook to my physical self?

I have had little free time with which I could think. Yet my mind goes rampant. My daydreams are ever more invasive. I have all of this pent up energy. But from what? How do I release it?

I would question my sanity if I weren't thinking so clearly and with such precision. I cannot describe it. It is as if I'm bombarded with so many emotions that I cannot discern one from the other. I feel nothing, but that nothingness is swirling madly within me. I am in a frenzy with no source and no direction.

So I have a mountain of work before me. That is nothing new. It is so familiar that I am driven by routine. I have no anxiety from its magnitude. I have already finished much of it, and I am able to stay within the moment.

I have no other "problems" either. My future is set, and even if I no longer seek it with ambition, I do not dread or fear it. I am impartial. My friends do not seem to tire of me, despite how annoying I'm sure I am. Circumstances are no different than ever, except that I am more socially active. But that is an improvement, if anything.

I wonder what is wrong with me. If therapy weren't so worthless, I'd say I need it. I thought writing would help, but I cannot find a target. If I knew what I were up against, maybe I could fight back.

Sports has and always will play such an integral part in my life. As I lack the skills necesarry to participate in such contests myself, sports becomes my avenue to competition. Unfortunately, it is the Spratt tradition to follow the underdogs. I have the misfortune of being a Red Sox fan; I think that says enough in itself without my listing the rest of the teams I pull for.

I've been witness to some of the greatest games over my brief lifetime. For me, it gets no better than watching Game 7 of the ALCS, Sox and Yankees, with Pedro on the mound. That game had the Red Sox take the lead and hold it through the majority of the game, before Little left his star in when Martinez himself requested to stay. He promptly gave up the lead, but we held on to force extra innings. Our bullpen remained clutch as it had throughout the series, but that deep in the series and that deep in the game, we had to resort to other pitchers -- actually, our starting pitchers. Tim Wakefield had been the hero of the series thusfar, but I was just thinking to myself that the knuckleball is prone to homeruns when Aaron Boone officially made himself a Yankee and I my season ended officially, yet again with heartbreak.

The point I am trying to make is that I've been a part of great games, but I've never been on the winning side (a curse of a Southerner I would think if I weren't pulling for a New England team). I can no longer say that after today.

It looked like another heartbreak when I witnessed the Panthers blow an 11-point 4th quarter lead; thanks to a marginal defensive pass interference on our goal line stand, Marshall Faulk, a successful two-point conversion, Marshall Faulk, the onside-kick from hell (no Panther touched the ball, which actually bounced before the KICKER recovered), and, let's not forget, Marshall Faulk. If not for Priest Holmes and Ray Lewis, there is no doubt that he is the best football player in the league.

All wasn't lost when Martz pulled another jeanyus coaching move by letting the clock die and kicking a field goal, when they had just marched up field and would have scored a touchdown to win easily. In fact, I actually thought we might pull it out, despite the constant penalties (those tend to favor the home team, anyone else noticed?) and left upright from 53 yards. But of course it wouldn't be that easy. As clutch as always, Kasay split the uprights from 40 (it would have been good from 60, even if the posts were 5 foot wide). Panthers are going to the NFC Championship.

But have no fear, the game couldn't end in victory as long as my family wants it to happen. Some idiot let the play clock expire before the ball was snapped for the kick.

After I was finished shouting the dumbest ever over and over again (after reflecting, it was the second dumbest next to the Giants quarterback Joe Piescarci fumbling a handoff -- he could have taken a knee and won -- that let the Eagles Herm Edwards score the winning touchdown), I tried to calm myself. I thought to myself, Kasay is clutch, and 45 is still nothing for him. The Panthers handed the ball off twice for a net of 1 yard, and more importantly, losing ball position to a little offcentered to the right. Kasay, not that I blame him, hooked the kick about 2 yard too far.

I was convinced that we would lose, in the worst of ways, as usually happened. The Rams marched downfield, but the Panthers defense gathered themselves and made the stop around the 38 yard line, allowing Wilkens to attempt a 53-yard kick. I was hyperventalating by this point, but I survived, and probably jumped and screamed, when his kick came up no less than 2 yards short of center cut, good.

The Panthers made it back near field goal range, and then yielded to a penalty and a sack, forcing a punt. I was still feeling a bit confident when the Rams had to begin their offense inside of their 15, but I guess I had forgotten that Marshall Faulk plays on their team. Again they got in a long field goal range, and I resigned to a loss. But no, against all odds, Ricky Manning Jr. wrestled a pass away from Torry Holt with his left hand while completely out of position. It was an interception. Give that guy a raise. I might send him a fruit basket.

I no longer knew what to think. No matter which team lost, they would have blown many opportunities to win and would be kicking themselves for 6 months. As long as those series of events lasted, the game ended suddenly. It was Aaron Boone's walkoff in the bottom of the 11th. But for the first time in my memory, he was playing for my team. Steve Smith, despite being the most dispicable of the Panthers now that most of our criminals are incarcerated, reeled off a 65 yard touchdown reception. For the time being, I forgive him.

As usual, I experienced such a wide range of emotions that I would only find in a sports playoff game. Only this time, I lacked despair. Hey, I could get used to this. Then again, we have two more chances to write the typical script. And nothing hurts worse than to make it to the end, only to fall short. I would know.