That’s Spanish for “sports.”
What kind of sports shall we play, then? Hunt ’em all down and fling ’em all out? Even the only President we’ve got is realistic enough to understand that there’s not enough manpower to track down and deport all illegal (undocumented) aliens and so is concentrating instead on weeding out those who have committed real crimes while here. Not to mention that we need all those law-abiding fruit pickers, roofers et al even though they may not have gone through “proper” immigration channels. Fair enough, but not enough fair to allay the fears of the decent and hard-working, even though technically illegal, immigrants. More demonstrations! I wish I’d invested in companies that produce sign-making materials.
Going through such official channels, one quickly comes to suspect that the Gummint is making sport of those who want to immigrate the “right” way. Endless hurdles to jump, long waits to endure, massive fees to pay, etc.. My wifeperson finally got scheduled for an interview with a real live immigration official just before we moved from Texas to Washington. Fortunately, said official liked us, or at least took pity on us. Although there was, inevitably, one more form to be filled out, she (the official) said that she would retain our file for a month and that we should mail the completed form to her at the Dallas office. If we sent it to our new “local” office in Seattle, she said, it would go – you guessed it – straight to the bottom of their heap.
The governments on this continent do love their silly border games. Consider the case of Point Roberts, a tiny bit of the USA that should really be part of Canada. A perfect example of what happens when borders are established with a map, a straightedge and a whole lot of ignorance, Point Roberts just happens to be south of the 49th parallel, which makes the residents thereof ‘Murricans. The distinction was generally ignored until “Homeland Security” (how Balkan that sounds!) became fashionable, at which time all the local roads were barricaded and an official border crossing station established. Oh, those local roads are all still there, blocked only by some large chunks of concrete placed across them. Presumably, children from both sides of the divide still play together. But are they being black-marked by doing so? True, last time I was there I didn’t see any machine gun towers or CCTV cameras, no armed drones circling overhead, but then “they” are getting ever better at hiding such things. Kiddies, play at your peril! Could that ball be a bomb?
Adults wishing to cross the border with food items have to play the “guess what’s banned this week” game. At one time, Canadian beef was not allowed. Last time I checked, beef was OK but lamb wasn’t. Sorry, but I’m not up to the strain of keeping track of what’s what with fruits and vegetables. At least I’ve never (yet) been detained when bringing a box of doughnuts home from Tim Horton’s, a Canadian purveyor of calorific treats (says he, drooling on keyboard).
Word games. Suppose we add an “e” to “deportes,” making it an English word, “deportees.” I can never hear that word without remembering a story. Back when I was still working, I was lucky enough to have a temporary office worker assigned to my department. Her last previous assignment had been with a bus company that had the regional contract for hauling deported Mexicans back to Mexico. She told me that one of the bus company’s regular employees was a Mexican-American lady who took a shine to one of those awaiting deportation. When she told him how unfortunate she felt their circumstances, he replied that she shouldn’t worry, that he’d be back the following week.
I, too, will be back (cue: evil laughter).