Most folks have goals, a
goal or two, semblances
of them, maybe a sem
blance of one, but as
the song says (and
who doesn’t remem
ber this one), there’s
gonna be a heartache
tonight. Go ahead,
look at the lady or
gentleman you’ve
probably never met
in the seat to your
right or to your
left (I checked
and most of you
are onesies, so
don’t even sidle
me a lip-pursed
glance). We
cannot, each
and every one
of us, remain
so incessantly
contrite about
the structures
of our senten
ces. Leniency
will not be tol
erated ladies
and gentlemen.
And that’s no
pun intended,
I’m as serious
as cancer, and
I’ve been led to
believe that
cancer can be
pretty darned
serious. But
so can winning
the lottery, as
each of you in
this room has
the experience
to live and tell.
So, it’s your turn
now. What’s your
beef? What’s
this lady’s
cause for
concern?
Doesn’t
each and
every one
of us rec
ognize fail
ure well e
nough to
have the
word con
stantly on
the tips of
our tongues?
As a lovely
case in point
why don’t we
all grab that
tongue-tip
of ours and
in unison
say as loud
and clear as
we must (
let’s forget
about will
or won’t or
yearning for
the high or
the low
roads
for just
a moment)
and say—all
at once now—
PHILANTHROPY.
So what are
we going to
do? I’ll tell
you what
we’re going
to do. We’re
going to get
up, walk out
those doors,
and start cut
ting out the
vast majority
of human
tongues.
If that won’t
end the strug
gle, let me
assure you
that we’re
all goners.
What have
we got to
lose, any
how? A
bunch of
worthless
tongues?
Who’s
keep
ing
score?
he laughs
to himself.
Nobody!
he sudden-
ly turns
to address
his devot-
ees. Be-
cause we’ve
already won
the game to
end all others.
