“So if you got the guts mister…”
Dateline: Joe Sancho
All my heroes, ain’t cowboys.
All my heroes, ain’t celebrities.
All my heroes, ain’t Kings and Queens.
All my heroes, are average Joes.
Regular Joes, who transcend regular things. History is filled with these guys, the working stiffs behind the Kings.
Take, for instance, Tom Watson, dude was a carpenter/machinist that helped Alexander Graham Bell build the first telephone…you think Alex built the box the phone was in, my guess is that first phone call, “Mr. Watson, come here…” was the first ever call for a handyman.
Take, for instance, Clarence Dally, a Jersey glassblower…how far do you think Edison would have gotten without Clarence working in his Incandescent Lamp shop…without Clarence, Edison would have been a candle maker.
Henry Ford got all the credit and cash, but it was the regular Joes on the line that made the whole thing work, not to mention the dude at the end of that line who pumped the fuel into the new-fangled machine so it drove out the door.
We need to celebrate the Joes.
If you are in a crash, if your house is on fire, it will be a regular Joe who will come for you, carry you out.
Pretty much everything in your life was built by a regular Joe, driven to the store so you could buy it by a regular Joe, sold to you by a regular Joe.
Take the regular Joes out of our lives, and we’re screwed.
Kings won’t fix your leaky sink.
Queens won’t plow your street in a blizzard.
I believe in my soul that sports, all sports, were invented by regular Joes.
Trust me when I say this, a rich dude in a suit didn’t fill up a pig’s bladder, tuck it under his arm and run through a muddy field so other rich guys in suits could jump on him.
But it is sports that allow regular Joes, to become Kings.
“…yeah, if you got the balls…”