Green girl smashes Ohio weightlifting marks

This headline came out of Franklin Furnace, Ohio, a village along the Ohio River just across from the ridiculously beautiful Commonwealth of Kentucky, and reminded me how complicated American life has become.

Between gender fluidity and identity politics, offending people is no longer a concern.

It’s a virtual certainty.

In this instance, “Green girl” and smashed weightlifting records are the worrisome terms.

In the good old days, i.e. last year, we would have all assumed that a young lady named Green, a young lady from Green, or a young lady who was sick to her stomach green, dominated a weightlifting competition.

Green Girl Power!

We would also assume she bested other estrogen-based humanoids formerly know as females, presumably grouped according to age, weight, or other criteria to provide a fair competition among peers.


Miss Green did it, in the weight room with the barbells.

In shattering records, Miss Green, the Miss from Green, or greenish Miss You-Don’t-Look-So-Good, would presumably have lifted more weight than others who had gone before in her age/weight/other classification.

Way to go, Greenie! Your records may stand until the Zombie Apocalypse!

End of story? Not so fast.

In the dawn of the American Age of Apology, all these assumptions are outrageous and fraught with social peril. Just think of the many ways I may have misspoken.

Is Miss Green a girl in the xx chromosome or some other sense of the word? Was Miss Green inadvertently born male, and is she transitioning from man buns to pony tails and from GI Joe to Babs?

Perhaps Miss Green was a male weightlifter of modest strength who for whatever reason now identifies as female, and as such is an instant Amazonian phenom.

Or, could Green be a new box to check for the Census Bureau (if the Supreme Court is ok with it)?

We have white caucasians, black African Americans, brown Hispanics, red Native Americans, yellow Asians, mixed race and rather-not-say. Why not green as a hip new racial identity bestowed on conjugal products of marriages, common-law marriages, civil unions, one-night stands and colorful trysts between folks with blue blood and yellow skin?

Am I sexist for positing that Miss Whatsus was competiting only against females, transitioning females and female wannabes? Maybe she beat a gaggle of raging testosterone-powered critters formerly known as boys. Who the hell am I to assume a girl can’t be the next Vasily Alexseyev?

We live in the blue-skies and smooth-sailing age of “If you can dream it you can do it.”

We encourage 5-foot-3 boys who want to take jobs away from Lebron James or Tom Brady. Just wait for that growth spurt, you’re only 23.

Sure, Harvard will like your 2.2 GPA. Just tell them you have high cheekbones like Auntie Liz and had a bad day on your ACT. After all, an ACT of 18 is kind of like golfers shooting their age, right?

Kids who can’t sing the lick off an ice cream cone are summarily jettisoned at auditions and shocked parents berate the judges. Hey Mom and Dad, don’t blame Simon Cowell for your kid’s cruddy vocal cords.

Why prepare kids for the real world when our society is so out of touch with reality that you can’t tell news from fake news, crimes from frame-ups, or a Constitutional crisis from a DNC or RNC platform?

I can think of only one reason. It will hedge your bets in case America comes to its PC senses before it fades into one-world mediocrity.

There’s no brilliant conclusion to be reached here. This is just food for thought and a cautionary note. But be careful what you say. The person you offend may be your cousin Claude, or Claudia, or both.

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