Coach Mann

I can’t get enough of Coach Mann’s classroom. He hasn’t touched the required text once. He is channeling the narrative-inflection of history. He passes out copies of Machiavelli’s PRINCE and tells us we are to read it for life lessons. He mentions the word Visigoth. We are talking about Ben Franklin being eccentric and taking air baths in a Parisian Brothel. We are talking about Hannibal fleet of elephants. The next second he is talking about the Magna Carta. The next the Hammurabi Code.

“The state requires that I teach from the book so we will have a quiz over the vocab words also know what  happened on the following dates.

Kids who won’t have the balls to comment in Mrs. Peabody’s mathematics for masochist class talk while Coach Mann is lecturing. They pass origami notes configured like birds.

Coach Mann talks about the Punic wars which Eric Brushman monikers the “pubic wars” coercing as blushing smile on several cheerleaders face.

The back of the classroom just won’t shut up. Mr. Mann is my reprieve.  Sandwhiched between two classes that  our anchoring GPA I am devouring his lectures. I am curious about the time and place. He makes an analogy to Heraclitus about War being the Father of All Good things and then looks at the Freshman football players, reminding them to memorize that mantra when they hit the field tomorrow afternoon.

History is viable and pulsating and we pulsate with it.

“After All, if you take the scientific approach of the world being 4 billion years old we were just studying in caves cosmic seconds ago."

 

I am a Christian. The world is only 6000 years old.

                                          

On the seventh day God created mankind and then plucked out his rib because he was somehow lonely even in paradise.