The Streets of St. Louis Hunger for More Spheres
“Spheeeres,” they whisper softly into the night.
Spheres, spheres, spheres!
Who could possibly forget the moment they discovered this wondrous shape? I recall becoming acquainted with the peerless sphere as a young boy of 25 when I rescued a geometry textbook from a burning barn. And while reading such devil’s words as “hypotenuse” and “rhombus” filled me with unspeakable fright, I felt instant comfort once my gaze fell upon the round perfection that is the sphere.
So imagine my delight when I first spotted throngs of spheres gathering around various intersections in St. Louis! I do not know why these spheres are here nor where they came from, but of this I am certain: I love the spheres with my life and long to see them everywhere. Whether they’re lined along streets, stacked on sidewalks, or piled on top of buildings — I say we get some spheres up in here, folks!
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Mike, you are obviously a renegade sage operating on the bleeding edges of what science defines as reality, a madman in his own age but a prophet in any other. So tell me, sphere seeker, does not St. Louis already possess a patron shape in the form of the Gateway Arch?”
Although this monument on the Mississippi casts quite a shadow indeed, surely there is enough room in our community for both the humming orbs of Pythagoras and Saarinen’s shimmering catenary to coexist in harmony.
I mean, just think of how many spheres we could shove under that thing. 50, at least. Maybe even a thousand of ’em. Hot damn, so many spheres.
Let me assure you, valued reader, that my love for this shape is genuine and true. In fact, spheres consistently claim one of the top spots in my Biannual Hierarchy of Stuff I Treasure. (As of this writing, they rank above contrabassoons but slightly below the renowned hat retailer Lids.) So for any filthy creeps out there who would dare pollute my innocent appreciation with gutter thoughts, I’ll tell you the same thing I told my talking Internet robot: No, Alexa, my fascination with spheres is not sexual.
Of course, the elegance of the sphere has enchanted humanity long before I hopped in a hot tub to write this piece. One of the earliest champions of the shape was Diplocides, a Greek mathematician who served the Roman emperor Majorus Lazerus. In his landmark work Πονδεφλόρια (Pondefloria, “Ponderings”), he commands humanity to “turn around, stick it out, show the world you got a [tremendously proportional sphere],” as the closest available translation reads.
Flash forward to the present and the sphere-obsessed world of video gaming, surely the modern equivalent to those wise academies of old. The early ’80s saw Nintendo introduce its iconic character Donkey Kong in the poorly received Orb Ape while gamers got their first glimpse of the lovable Kirby in 1990’s Round Cloud Eating Loud. Perhaps the most celebrated title of the genre is Sphere Saga 17: The Humbling of Ayuko, a controversial RPG in which a cranky spheremage transforms a teenager’s dog into a toilet.
Then you got honest St. Louisans like myself who adore a ding dong sphere and can’t wait to see more of ’em thrown all the hell around town. One of these exceptional individuals has taken to decorating the spheres in snail attire, evoking a sort of Through the Looking Glass aesthetic that is simultaneously charming and troubling. Lately I have found solace in naming these noble snails, with Untonger Beaudreaux, Hunk Hilly Ron, and Judas being only a few examples. I consider them my sons.
But like many things we love in this cruel and crooked world, they too shall one day be consumed by the thrice-headed hydra of time, fate, and a very real but unseen sphere-devouring monster. In conclusion, I hope my article has successfully conveyed how the streets of St. Louis literally hunger for spheres and depend on them for survival. I believe streets gotta eat, and these freak streets eat spheres. That was the whole point of this.
Spheres, spheres, spheres!
