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We have always been obsessed with last words, the final utterances of the human mind right before death. Some have religious significance, such as Jesus saying “It is finished” from the cross. (In the original Greek it is “Tetelestai,” a legal term which translates more accurately into “Paid in full.”)




I think my favorite line about the controversy of the San Francisco Giants pitchers who “defaced” their gay rainbow caps with a Bible reference came from the person who wrote (sorry, I forget who), “Major League Baseball is run by a group of HR women from Connecticut.”

Americans get a lot of flak for calling the World Cup game “soccer.” Jabs come for a variety of reasons. A nearly forgotten charge implied arrogance: how dare we abrogate the name “football” for our domestic favorite when there are so many other games—rugby, Australian rules, soccer, Gaelic—under the umbrella. That one never landed. We call ourselves Americans at Mexican and Canadian expense, so we aren’t about to get the vapors over a ball game. Now the world calls soccer “football” so that one’s more or less forgotten.
Several years ago, not long before my dear Auntie Pat died, she sent a few things (at great expense) through the mail, for me to hold onto, or distribute, among the small contingent of family that’s here in the US. One of those items was a very old copy of 

