Bingo Blues
by
© smells_like_fried_bread
My name is Bertha and just recently, I’ve come to realise that I have an addiction to bingo; in fact, I fell in love with a bingo caller once. Ooh he was handsome. The public in my area has grown quite fond of calling me Bingo Bertha. You know, throughout my travels across Turtle Island, I’ve heard many good stories about what has fast become Anishinabe tradishun. In fact, I’ve known people who’d miss a good pow wow to instead dab fruitlessly under the B… 3, and N… 36. It surprises me that I’ve never heard a pow wow song about bingo. I bet bingo extremists would take of charging to the next pow wow if there ever was a song. My bingo compadres should be here soon, but before they get here, I just wanna say one more thing. Bingo is a sport. It sure is! I’ve seen many Ojibwe and Cree ladies with endurance, co-ordination, precision, and speed that far surpass the triathlon runner, or the heavy weight boxer. If bingo was ever to be recognised as an Olympic sport, you’d see that stadium just overwhelmed with Ojibwes and Crees and their reservations would gladly sponsor them. Miss Bingo Champion of the world would be carried off in a flurry of dabbers, bingo cards, and lucky souvenirs
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