All energy flows according to the Great Magnet. What a fool I
was to defy Him.”
Some broke and peyote-mad Shaman Prince in goat leggings and a
Viking helmet told me this at the roulette wheel in an American
Indian casino somewhere in New Mexico. And I was half-inclined to
believe him, to take the wisdom for what it was … until he
continued:
“Never cross the Great Magnet. I have understood this,
“¦ and with this understanding comes a sense of
almost-terminal relief.”
Terminal relief? What kind of rabies-injected wisdom was this
fiend spouting? Stuck in the middle of an era which will be
remembered only for its willing entrance into the ugliest, murkiest
perpetual war this planet may ever see, his words felt like I’d
been gnawing on tinfoil for the past two hours. The wisdom was
rotten and could not remain undisputed.
"Now is not the time for relief," I said to him in a too-loud
voice that haunted the other patrons, "terminal or otherwise."
The man’s Viking helmet was cracked and dirty, but the leggings
were in near-mint condition. So I kicked the Shaman Prince in the
throat and stole them from him. Now they’re hanging from the
eastern wall of my cave and I can see them glowing in the firelight
as I’m typing this.
Ah, memories. But now — back to task!
Totally, if there is one shred of wisdom I can hand off to
anyone in this universe, it is this: As journalists, we come from a
long line of martyrs and madmen, and we didn’t get where we
are now by going with the flow. So take those rules and shove them,
bub, even if you insist on calling it good all-American
patriotism.
I know these are dark days for our kind. People like Jayson
Blair and Howell Raines and Gerald Boyd will forever taint our
sacred order. Like puberty or the common cold, there is no avoiding
it. But a well-timed and properly placed judo-chop can always hold
it off if necessary. And believe me, it will be.
But enough violence for a moment. It is an ugly vice and should
only be saved for those special moments where no other option
remains, or if you’re out to impress a cute, young thing who
might not want to give it up on the first date. It’s more
important to understand that no journalism is ever objective in its
purest form. Just make sure when capturing your next golden thread
you plan on hanging your Pulitzer with that you break the right
rules for the right reasons.
That’s right, kids, here’s the heart of the matter:
Villians and fools are remembered for the mistakes they make.
Heroes for those reasons behind them.
OK, for now, I’m sure that is everything you will ever
need to know. That’s enough heady wisdom from this corner.
But tomorrow “¦ good luck.
Ad astra per aspera.
Cobb was an Arts and Entertainment columnist.