Arlo and Janis by Jimmy Johnson for January 17, 2016

I don’t like basketball. At all. There, I said it.

I don’t like basketball, football, baseball, soccer, hockey, etc., etc. Believe me….it’s a long list. LOL

I miss the Patriots game yesterday! :( All the others don’t count.

worth repeating “Basketball is so painful to watch snakes shut their eyes!!” :-)

Now if this had been football, it would have been spooky, with GB/AZ doing exactly that last night….

The pro season is way too long and too many players are lacking the basic skills.

Janis looks kind of seductive in panel 2. Sort of like David’s Madam Recamier.

I am forced to pay for a couple dozen sports channels I never watch. When browsing through to find what I want, never once have I seen a croquet game on. That, I would watch.

The last time I was interested in watching basketball was back in the early 80’s when Larry Bird and Dr. J were in their prime.

I get the impression Janis is less impressed than Arlo. She’s also either choking or suffocating, I’m not sure which.

When breaking the rules becomes part of the strategy, there is a problem.

A quick search tells me that the median golf course in the US spends $1.2 million a year on course maintenance. That usually includes some nasty chemicals, sometimes a lot of water, and always a lot of mowing. That kind of budget makes it a rich man’s game. The original was probably two peasants with sticks and rocks in a sheep meadow. I call that “flog”. If I set up a flog course when I retire, the bottom of each hole will have a flat rock with a flip-top bottle of homebrewed ale in a hole under it, a different style for each hole. I’ll have to start distilling to load the last hole.

Sure brought out the sport haters today. But the other 85% of us could care less what they don’t like.

I don’t know if Janis can survive another 12 minutes.

NG, Nope, there is definately hate there. . . . . . . Dani, and if the grass grows too fast, beat it with a club. . . . . . I enjoyed the poem and poor Janis.

This really tickled me. Only a college basketball freak (like me) could so perfectly capture that feeling of dying a slow death, followed by ecstasy.

That was a darn good poem!