T. GAMBLE: These days, we’re playing it too safe

We are now in the midst of raising the biggest bunch of wimps in the history of America. It is difficult to even breathe now without some warning, or safety device, being thrust upon us.

It is impossible to purchase even the simplest of garden tools without it being laden with safety devises to protect the imbeciles of the world from themselves.

Daniel Boone would never have blazed a trail through Kentucky if his hatchet were saddled with a blade guard because, heaven forbid, he might accidentally cut his finger.

The British would have overrun us at Bunker Hill as our general pronounced, “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes” because we’d all be fumbling with the trigger guards designed to make sure we didn’t shoot ourselves.

Wagon trains would never have made it to California, as all the passengers would be killed by Indians — without a shot being fired — as they spent two hours trying to unbuckle the kids from the three-layer car seats.

So, there I was last week, trying to simply pour gas in my lawn mower from a newly purchased gas can. It used to be that a gas can had two openings — one small with a spout on the end and the other larger where you filled it up, or poured it out real fast if you so desired.

This thing could not be penetrated.

The spout was protected by all sorts of vents and handles and God knows what. You could turn it upside down and beat it with a sledge hammer and nothing would come out of the spout. I have no idea how you refill the thing. I guess it is disposable.

You see, a few idiots did things like pour gas on an open fire from a similar type can without all the safety features, sued and won, so now we all pay the price for the stupidity of a few. Now, you can’t pour gas from the can onto a fire. You also can’t pour it into a lawn mower gas tank.

I struggled for a bit and then just cut the top off of the spout. Now it has a rag as a cap on that end, which I am certain is very safe, but it pours quite nicely, thank you, and I can pour it on a fire, or an ant bed, or on whoever in the world decided we needed all that safety crap on it to begin with.

I grew up on a farm and the first thing we did upon buying new equipment was remove all the safety guards. It saved a lot of time. Now, we did have a lot of people working for us named Stumpy and Lefty and Three Fingers, but, by God, we got things done. When I had a belt that jumped off a combine every 15 minutes because I was too stupid to know how to put it back on right, I didn’t have time to keep taking off, and putting back on, a safety guard.

But now I see where there is a movement afoot to put a safety net from foul pole to foul pole in all major league stadiums so some idiot will not get hit by a foul ball. A class action lawsuit has been filed by Gail Payne, because I guess she got hit by a ball at a game. I’d suggest paying attention to the game, but that’s just me.

Listen, the magic of a pro game is the chance to catch a foul ball. Growing up a Braves fan in the ’70s, it was the only excitement I could hope for. Don’t take that away because some addled-minded fool was not looking when Buster Posey popped one up on the third base side. If she wants protection let her come to the game in a full coverage helmet and leave me alone.

If you don’t want to run the risk of being hit, stay home or get a seat in the upper deck. Leave me and Three Fingers alone while we ride to the game in the back of the truck on the wheel well and playing with scissors.

Email columnist T. Gamble at [email protected].