Free I am America (and so can you!) by Stephen Colbert, Rich Dahm, Paul Dinello, Allison Silverman Page B

I’ll help the team of sinners instead because I love a good underdog. Plus that nudge might set them on the righteous path, or there could be a sick kid, or there’s some other factor... you know what? It’s complicated. You’d really have to be Everywhere.
    Oh, and let me say this—if I have money on a game, I never help either team. No exceptions.
    So, in regular life, why do I answer some prayers and not other prayers? Pretty much the same reasoning as sports. Do I return the runaway to her family, or do I get that guy his dream job? (Yes, I do pair up all prayers.)
    It’s not totally random. I have a system, although I can’t really explain it in a way that will make sense to someone without Ultimate Knowledge. Put it this way: If I’ve helped you find your car keys 20 times, don’t bother calling Me when you get a tumor. You guys in the USA don’t know how good you have it. Your nation is crazy blessed already. When the Dow breaks 14,000—that’s a mudslide in Guatemala. So, you know, try to keep it in perspective.
    And by the way, I always have money on the Super Bowl and the Kentucky Derby, so don’t waste your breath.

    FUN
ZONE
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    Part Two

MY AMERICAN ADOLESCENCE
    I was thirteen when we moved from the dirt road where I grew up to the big city of Charleston, where the rich kids lived—kids whose families had been there since it had been Charles Towne or, even earlier, Chuck Mound. My new school gave me an opportunity I never had before—getting beaten up every day. On those rare days when I was not beaten, the next morning I’d find a note in my locker: “Sorry we forgot to beat you yesterday. We’ll beat you twice as hard today.” No one can touch Southerners for manners. The daily beatings lost some of their intensity during the football season, when my jock tormentors were able to split their latent Homosexual Rage between my torso and their locker-room hijinks. This lull allowed my swelling to go down, and it turned out I had facial features. The girls noticed. Soon I was a regular on the debutante circuit where I tried scoring a few “touchdowns” of my own. The beatings began again. Some of those debs were pretty tough. When I left for college, I was determined never to be a victim again. I would take my lead from the Hollywood tough guys I had always looked up to: Charles Bronson, Clint Eastwood, Ned Beatty. So on Day One of my freshman year at Dartmouth, I walked into class and punched the first person I saw—my Ethics professor, Dr. Buneta. Judging by the grade he gave me, holding a grudge passes for “ethical” in the Ivy League. I don’t know what the big deal was. That beard had to absorb some of the impact.
    I include this coming-of-age tale because it encompasses the five big Ss of Adolescence:
    School, Sports, Sex, Sodomy, and the Silver Screen.
    Trust me, they’re all in there.
    69

    fig 7. S T E P H E N C O L B E R T
    C H A P T E R 5
S P O R T S
    “No time for losers, ’cause we are the Champions...of the World”
    –Freddy Mercury, Glam Rock God and sports queen
    GENERALLY SPEAKING, I’M NOT A
    NOW, BIG FAN OF SPORTS. IT’S A WASTE
    OF BOTH TESTOSTERONE AND
    BLIND, FERVENT ALLEGIANCE, BOTH
    OF WHICH WOULD BE BETTER DIRECTED TOWARDS OUR
    MILITARY. BUT THERE IS NO QUESTION THAT SPORTS IS
    A HUGE PART OF OUR CULTURE THESE DAYS. THERE ARE
    dozens of TV channels devoted exclusively to sports—channels you can’t remove from your cable package and stop paying for, even if you make it clear that’s what you want.
    Respond to my
    letters, Comcast!
    So, if I’m no