The Stranger's Eli Sanders recently wrote an absorbing feature on the San Francisco alt-weekly debacle that's been escalating since 1995 when Phoenix's New Times (now of Village Voice Media fame) decided to pit its recent purchase, SF Weekly, against the San Francisco Bay Guardian for absolute bay area supremacy. As you begin plodding through the sprawling column (weighing in at around 11,000 words), it becomes evident whom Sanders is siding with. His allegiance is obviously with the Guardian, which was founded in 1966 and has since been locked arm-in-arm with the ever-burgeoning city through decades of both progression and controversy. Whether you interpret it as such or not, Sanders reveres the Guardian as a San Francisco institution that quite frankly deserves better than to be undercut by a brash, uneducated entity with its eyes set on extinction, not coexistence. I agree with him.
The Chicago Reader (my alt-weekly and employer) has gone through similar trials and tribulations since 2007 when it was bought by Creative Loafing, a small alt-weekly chain owned by Ben Eason that attempted to branch out by purchasing both the Reader and the Washington City Paper and ultimately failed (well, Eason failed when he went straight bankrupt). Creative Loafing is still in tact, however, minus the Eason clan and is now owned by its once largest creditor, Atalaya Capital Management. The Creative Loafing alt-weekly chain consists of papers in Chicago, Washington D.C., Atlanta, Tampa Bay, Charlotte, and Sarasota. Since Atalaya won the chain in an auction in August of 2009, Creative Loafing has been an ever-changing beast, adding and subtracting publishers, marketing gurus, and CEOs.
Sounds pretty confusing and boring, huh? Well, maybe it is, but the parallel I'm trying to draw between Sanders' column is that these institutions (and mind you, the Reader is a 40-year-old Chicago institution) are beginning to get undercut, regardless of their reputations. Is it right? No. Do these fluff-driven, chain-building conglomerates give a shit? No. Whether it's internal or external, it's damn frightening and the publishing industry is weak and cracked enough to let them weasel in. The fight may come, but it often means taking a few good pops to the jaw.
Make sure to read The Great West Coast Newspaper War by Eli Sanders. It's fantastic.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
This One Isn't About Sports.
I know you don't read my sports posts. I know you don't care that I find sports to be the epitome of physical competition, infinitely fascinating, and a blanket solution to social disruption and prejudice. I know this. It's cool. So for this post, I think I'll recap my trip to California (mainly in photo form). Nothing too over-the-top. You know, just a nice and quick non-sports-related post with pretty photos. Everyone loves pretty photos, right?
Last weekend (March 3-7), Michael Short (Shorty) and I journeyed to San Francisco, California for a long overdue vacation chocked-full of fancy hotels, sunshine, staring at crackheads, good eating and drinking, scenic drives up California Route 1, Alcatraz visits, and solid hangouts with San Fran friends. It really was a delightful time. Emily Williams, an accommodating ex-girlfriend-turned-good-friend (a rarity, I know), played the part of "This is where we should eat because it's delicious, and I love it" for the trip. She pretty much ruled and directed us to little nooks of the city that I had never visited before. She gets a gold star.
Other friends harassed on the trip included Ryan Garrett, who turned 29 during our stay and valiantly took it upon himself each night to drink 47 gin and tonics and hit on anything that appeared to have breasts. He's swell and entertaining. And although the hangouts were sadly limited, we also enjoyed time with one Jason Crase and a true Cincinnati westsider in Jennifer Paff.
Anyway, here are some of my favorite photos from the trip, along with a little commentary (none of which has anything to do with sports):
Emily and Jason on the first night we got there. We ate at Katana-Ya and then headed to this endearingly shit dive joint called the Nite Cap. Emily knew the bartender who upon being told that she had friends in town asked, "Why the fuck did you bring them here?"
That lighting was completely by accident, but let's just act like I did it on purpose anyway. The other gentleman in the photo is Emily's boyfriend, Graham. Everyone is watching these dudes:
Phantogram. Decent shit electro-duo with a doofusy, aging scenester who found his golden ticket when he enlisted a dreamy, hipper-than-thou female singer. Heard this story before? Artsy projection and light show guaranteed.
The next series of photos was taken during my and Shorty's drive up the much-gushed-about California Route 1 on Thursday. You know what I'm talking about, that curvy road along the Pacific Ocean that shows up in every Audi and Mercedes commercial. I was definitely most apprehensive about this part of the trip because I'm the one that really pushed to do it. I mapped it all out, rented the car, and everything. Given, Shorty's about as easy going as they come, but I was still relatively nervous about the day crapping out. Luckily, the weather ruled, and so did I for planning such a spectacular day of touristy bullshit (commentary unnecessary).
During the day on Friday we visited this heap:
Alcatraz! I mentioned Sean Connery (The Rock) and Clint Eastwood (Escape From Alcatraz) at least three separate times because I think I'm fucking hilarious. Probably the most touristy thing we did, but who gives a shit? It's goddamn Alcatraz. Audio tour highly recommended.
Photos from what became a marathon of a Friday night, including a Nobunny show.
Saturday included some shopping, burritos, and music, but to be honest, I got tired of taking photos and decided to ditch my fancy new camera at the hotel. We did however check out what remains of Sutro Baths.
And there you have it. Definitely one of my better vacations. Now, I get to prep myself for Justin's five-day solo visit beginning this Wednesday. Oh, goodness gracious is it ever going to be a romp. I plan on having my camera in hand throughout much of it, so expect another photo blog very soon. I know everyone loves those.
Last weekend (March 3-7), Michael Short (Shorty) and I journeyed to San Francisco, California for a long overdue vacation chocked-full of fancy hotels, sunshine, staring at crackheads, good eating and drinking, scenic drives up California Route 1, Alcatraz visits, and solid hangouts with San Fran friends. It really was a delightful time. Emily Williams, an accommodating ex-girlfriend-turned-good-friend (a rarity, I know), played the part of "This is where we should eat because it's delicious, and I love it" for the trip. She pretty much ruled and directed us to little nooks of the city that I had never visited before. She gets a gold star.
Other friends harassed on the trip included Ryan Garrett, who turned 29 during our stay and valiantly took it upon himself each night to drink 47 gin and tonics and hit on anything that appeared to have breasts. He's swell and entertaining. And although the hangouts were sadly limited, we also enjoyed time with one Jason Crase and a true Cincinnati westsider in Jennifer Paff.
Anyway, here are some of my favorite photos from the trip, along with a little commentary (none of which has anything to do with sports):
Emily and Jason on the first night we got there. We ate at Katana-Ya and then headed to this endearingly shit dive joint called the Nite Cap. Emily knew the bartender who upon being told that she had friends in town asked, "Why the fuck did you bring them here?"
That lighting was completely by accident, but let's just act like I did it on purpose anyway. The other gentleman in the photo is Emily's boyfriend, Graham. Everyone is watching these dudes:
Phantogram. Decent shit electro-duo with a doofusy, aging scenester who found his golden ticket when he enlisted a dreamy, hipper-than-thou female singer. Heard this story before? Artsy projection and light show guaranteed.The next series of photos was taken during my and Shorty's drive up the much-gushed-about California Route 1 on Thursday. You know what I'm talking about, that curvy road along the Pacific Ocean that shows up in every Audi and Mercedes commercial. I was definitely most apprehensive about this part of the trip because I'm the one that really pushed to do it. I mapped it all out, rented the car, and everything. Given, Shorty's about as easy going as they come, but I was still relatively nervous about the day crapping out. Luckily, the weather ruled, and so did I for planning such a spectacular day of touristy bullshit (commentary unnecessary).
During the day on Friday we visited this heap:
Alcatraz! I mentioned Sean Connery (The Rock) and Clint Eastwood (Escape From Alcatraz) at least three separate times because I think I'm fucking hilarious. Probably the most touristy thing we did, but who gives a shit? It's goddamn Alcatraz. Audio tour highly recommended.
Photos from what became a marathon of a Friday night, including a Nobunny show.
Saturday included some shopping, burritos, and music, but to be honest, I got tired of taking photos and decided to ditch my fancy new camera at the hotel. We did however check out what remains of Sutro Baths.And there you have it. Definitely one of my better vacations. Now, I get to prep myself for Justin's five-day solo visit beginning this Wednesday. Oh, goodness gracious is it ever going to be a romp. I plan on having my camera in hand throughout much of it, so expect another photo blog very soon. I know everyone loves those.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Hockey and the Olympics: A Conversation.
Well, the Olympics are over. Another host city is left with a crippling debt, and NBC has likely lost millions and millions of dollars over the span of a mere two weeks. Similar to every other Olympics I've endured, I basically maintained partial interest throughout. The Olympics are a channel-surfing compromise.
Now, I'm not saying that the Olympics as a whole are obscenely uninteresting. For instance, I was actually somewhat riveted by cross-country skiing and figure skating. Yeah, you heard me right, I said figure skating. And aside from the idiotic move not to broadcast the first USA vs. Canada hockey game on network television, I'm not poopooing NBC's exhaustive coverage either. Simply put, it's hard to maintain a wholehearted interest in such a sprawling escapade of sports, many of which you don't really see but once every four years.
That being said, I did manage to get loosely wrapped up in hockey mania. It was kind of like being confined to a straitjacket, but having one arm free. I could have escaped if I had really felt like it, but it was kind of entertaining and funny to play along. So, that's what I did. It also helped that Canadians are excited about two things in life: hockey and syrup, in that order. The whole country was obviously abuzz, thus adding to an already throttling intensity. Canada probably would have spontaneously combusted if its hockey team had loss to the U.S. twice in the same Olympics. I mean let's face it, everyone hates us. Can you blame them?
Therefore, due to the unabated hysteria of the USA vs. Canada gold medal hockey match, Justin Bragg and I had the brilliant idea to conduct a live chat during the culmination of the Olympics. Throughout the game, we took unwarranted cheap shots at each other, displayed our overall lack of hockey knowledge, and maybe even cracked a joke here and there.
This is a real conversation that took place on Sunday, February 28 between two adult males in their late 20s. It's rather long and not for the faint of heart.
The chat begins at 3:02 PM EST.
Justin: What are the chances that the USA vs. Mexico will happen in World Cup this summer?
Kevin: Zero chance. Let the hockey live chat begin!
Justin: They said the same thing about USA in the finals of the Winter Olympics.
Kevin: Hockey!
Justin: I believe in miracles.
Kevin: That's why they have Al Michaels on.
Justin: Good point. Did you hear that tickets for this game were running 5k +?
Kevin: Dear god. The Canadian police were shutting down liquor stores and shit or something. That Canadian beer is potent. I just can't imagine a riot in Canada.
Justin: A riot in Canada would include mass-consumption of round bacon discs and the excessive pouring of maple syrup on pancakes. Wild stuff.
Kevin: Excellent. When I played this fest in Toronto, we were hanging out with some Vancouver kids and all they did was talk shit about American beer and say how great Canadian beer was.
Justin: Something has been bothering me this whole Olympics. Where is Torino?
Kevin: Italy! You're dumb.
Justin: I'm surprised that Canadian kids would talk shit on anything American. Don't they know that everything they do is weaker than anything we do?
Kevin: But the beer is more potent. That's probably why they were so pompous about it.
Justin: What, a Molson is more potent than a Miller? Who cares?
Kevin: Haha! God, they're still talking about 1980!
Justin: I should have watched Strange Brew in preparation for this chat/viewing of hockey, so I could have boned up on my Canada knowledge.
Kevin: Please end the flashbacks!
Justin: We have a time machine and can go back to one moment in time . . . should we go back to 1980 and watch that hockey game?
Kevin: No way.
This is in reference to the U.S. win over the heavily favored Russian hockey team in the 1980 Olympics. It's as if we abolished Communism with the win or something. Anyway, these Olympics commemorate the 30th anniversary of the historic game and the media has had a collective boner over it for about a month. The stories pretty much got old forever ago.
(3:12 PM) Justin: Where would you go in our time machine? Back to 1990 for the last time the Reds were good?
Kevin: The Reds went to the playoffs in '95. I may go back to the 1991 World Series. Twins and Braves. Best series I've ever seen. Jack Morris near perfection in game seven. You?
Justin: The day I met you. Best day of my life
Kevin: That's true. Is there a way I could go back and meet myself? The euphoria would be indescribable.
Justin: I feel like you would be disappointed.
Kevin: Prediction before the game starts? I say Canada 4-2.
Justin: You would pick Canada. You would dodge the draft if there was another war too, wouldn't you?
Kevin: Yes, I would. I'm not allowing my pride to step in front of my common sense. I mean, I assume that since I'm picking Canada, the U.S. will win. I'm terrible at picking games. See what I'm doing here, Justin?
Justin: Brian says "If USA scores first, they win. If not, they lose." Heart says 4-3 USA. Brian says 4-1 Canada. My prediction: US 2-1.
First off, I am terrible at picking games. I actually really enjoy gambling but am terrible at it. Pretty smart, right? Anyway, Justin crushed me at betting and picking games throughout the football season, so I'm trying to use a reverse jinx here. Justin just doesn't recognize it because he's a dimwit.
Secondly, "Brian" refers to Justin's good friend Brian Kazarian who works for the Dallas Stars, a real life hockey team. Brian actually knows what he's talking about with hockey, so you'll see his name pop up regularly.
(3:19 PM) Kevin: That's stupid, Justin. There'll be at least five goals scored. Fights?
Justin: Why? That's the stupidest thing you have ever said.
Kevin: I say two fights. Three goals? You don't know you're hockey. Not like me.
Justin: You don't know "your" grammar. Not like me. Burn!!!!
Kevin: Bah! I want them to bring the pink-hockey-puck-dot back for this game. Marketing genius!
Back in the mid-90s, NBC (I think) had the brilliant idea to shadow the puck with a pink dot so the television audience could see it better (think the yellow first down line in football, only dumb and pointless).
(3:21 PM) Justin: I seriously can't see the puck at all. My glasses are in the car, and I can't see shit.
Kevin: Man, you'll be 30 soon. It becomes more and more evident each day I talk to you.
Justin: I just texted Brian, "Hockey would be a lot better if it was basketball." That will piss him off. I love making fun of hockey with him.
Kevin: I'm getting excited for the NBA playoffs. Wait, did I just say that? I'm rooting for the Nuggets. Fuck you.
Justin: Me too. I've been catching some more games here and there lately. Watched the whole second half of Hawks vs. Warriors the other night and enjoyed it.
Kevin: I'm starting to become disinterested in college basketball and more engaged with the NBA. I have no problem with this development.
Justin: I've been there for a long time. Aside from the tournament, which is only good a the beginning because you get to watch all the surprises, it's a vastly inferior product.
Kevin: It's true. Play-by-play hockey announcers remind me of the Micro Machines Man.
Justin: Ha! That's awesome. Great comment. You take the early lead in "cleverest and coolest things said today."
Kevin: Would you live in Canada? I'd have no problem with it at all. I kind of think it'd be awesome.
Justin: Never. I have no intention of moving any further away from Mexico than I already am.
Kevin: But it's full of manly things. Like trees, lumberjacks, Sasquatch, hockey, and beards. You're not manly?
Justin often has bouts of manliness with a few of our good friends. This often involves doing pushups, eating raunchy amounts of meat, or growing beards (see above).
(3:30 PM) Justin: How dare you. I could live in Canada with no problem, I just choose not to.
Kevin: Haha . . .
Justin: Your description of Canada was a perfect description of my hometown . . . aside from the hockey.
Kevin: Sasquatch?
Justin: You bet. Bigfoot is huge up there.
Kevin: Really? Oh man . . .
Justin: Willow Creek is the area with the most "sightings" of Bigfoot in the U.S.
Kevin: One of my favorite mythic figures. That and Sarah Palin.
Justin: Bigfoot museums, Bigfoot tree sculptures, Bigfoot t-shirts. All over the place up there. Sarah Palin . . . look at you making political jokes all casual-like.
Kevin: Politics! Okay, back to sports and obscure pop culture references where I belong.
Justin: So is the U.S. team all the guys with last names like "Miller" and "Johnson," and the Canadians are all the strange names I can't understand.
Kevin: Precisely. I was just thinking the same thing. They just said that the U.S. is the home team. This is nonsensical.
Justin: Higher seed. It's like dugouts in Little League. It doesn't matter.
Because the U.S. went into the game undefeated, including a preliminary game against Canada, they were designated the home team. I found this to be both understandable and strange.
(3:37 PM) Kevin: I get it. It's just weird. Wouldn't you say that pretzels are generally mediocre? I eat them all the time because they're not fattening, but I rarely enjoy them. And I'm not talking about spiced exotic pretzels. Just plain old whatever ones. Hockey makes me want to eat pretzels.
Justin: That's because hockey is pretzels. Generally mediocre.
Kevin: Canada scores!
Justin: Uh oh. It's all over now.
Kevin: That's what Brian said right?
Justin: It is. And he actually knows stuff.
Kevin: Brian works in hockey. How could he be wrong?
Justin: I'm okay with Canada winning . . .
Kevin: Shut up!
Justin: It doesn't matter what the U.S. does in this game . . .
Kevin: You're such a turncoat. I refuse to let you give me shit for picking Canada and then change your mind and choose them too.
Justin: Either way, it will be talked about for two days in the U.S., and then everyone will go back to forgetting that hockey exists . . .
Kevin: Act American proud.
Justin: But this will make 2010 for Canada if they win, and destroy them if they lose. The USA just doesn't care.
Kevin: This is my whole point. Get off my coattails.
Justin: Which actually makes me want USA to win all the more. I take back my Canada winning sentiment. I want to humiliate them and embarrass them.
Kevin: You'd rather see a county ruined, right? That makes you a true American.
Justin: Me to Brian, "So it's over now right? Do I have to watch anymore?" Brian to me, "Yes, you can watch The Karate Kid, Part III now."
If you have any knowledge of either one of our blogs, you're more than aware that Justin and I hold a strong affinity for the Karate Kid franchise. It just so happens that ABC family was plowing through the epic tail at the same time we were having this chat. Inspiring? Fuck yes.
(3:45 PM) Kevin: Haha! I don't know what offsides mean in hockey. And I played a lot of NHL '94 growing up. I always turned offsides off.
Justin: Oh yeah. That's the best part in all of Swingers.
Kevin: I don't know what you're talking about.
Justin: You've never seen Swingers?
Kevin: I saw it . . . like ten years ago.
Justin: They play NHL '94 (or '95?) all the time in that movie. Vince Vaughn says, "I'm going to make Wayne Gretzky's head bleed." Those scenes are the best parts of the whole movie.
Kevin: NHL '94 is notorious for being the only year of the game that fighting isn't included. Cam Neely, Ray Bourque, Adam Oates. These are the Boston Bruins of '94.
Justin: I know. And the fact that Jon Favreau included that in the movie is fantastic.
Kevin: That's the extent of my NHL knowledge. Too bad he's a hack now.
Justin: Chris Chelios. Jeremy Roenick.
Kevin: Yzerman.
Justin: Jaromir Jagr.
Kevin: Lemieux.
Justin: Curtis Joseph (Cu-Jo).
Kevin: Whoa!
Justin: Brett Hull
Kevin: I can't think of any others.
Justin: I'm running out quickly now.
Kevin: Ummm . . .
Justin: Ha.
Kevin: The Detroit Red Wings were unbeatable. Who else was on that team?
Justin: Messier!
Kevin: Messier!
Justin: Not on that team, but another name.
Kevin: Hahahaha! He was on the Rangers.
Justin: Gordie Howe?
Kevin: Hmmmm . . . I really enjoyed it when we name random players off of baseball teams from the 90s.
We've done this several times sitting around on warm summer evenings guzzling cans of Budweiser. We just pick a sports team (mainly baseball) circa any year and start rattling off names of players. It's even more enjoyable than it sounds.
(3:51 PM) Justin: Sergei Federov (more recent, but he's been around for a while). Moises Alou.
Kevin: Federov is a good one. The Expos! Andre Dawson. Pedro.
Justin: Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd.
Kevin: Tim Raines. Fight!
Some hockey ruffians just started hitting each other in the face. Shit's bound to happen at some point.
(3:52 PM) Justin: I need to do exercises like this regularly to keep my mind sharp . . . now that I'm almost 30.
Kevin: That's number one for fights.
Justin: How many did you say? I didn't make a guess.
Kevin: I said two.
Justin: Are the Special Olympics only every four years? Are there Winter Special Olympics?
Kevin: I have no idea. I do know they're not called the Special Olympics anymore, though.
Justin: What are they called?
Kevin: Nevermind . . . they are. Sorry. I thought it was changed for political correctness reasons. "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." That's the motto. Okay, we should probably back out of this topic before we say something stupid and offensive.
Justin: Agreed.
Kevin: What do you think Ralph Macchio is doing right now?
Justin: I think he hangs out at the Playboy mansion a lot now. I don't know why I think that. It has something to do with Adam Carolla or something.
Kevin: You think he's gonna show up in the Karate Kid remake? Why wouldn't he?
Justin: Apparently he shows up in Ugly Betty episodes from time to time and has a Law & Order: Criminal Intent coming up soon.
Kevin: I'd rather he be doing nothing other than wallowing in a gutter somewhere.
Justin: He has a family to support.
Kevin: I wonder what that's like. Seems too expensive.
Justin: I feel like USA is doing nothing that remotely resembles anything close to scoring a goal. I could be wrong because I have no idea what is going on.
Kevin: My interest is waning. I assume I'll be engaged again in the last five minutes of the third quarter.
Justin: Hockey should just be one period. Or three periods of five minutes. That would be enough.
Kevin: Would I care more if I had an NHL team to follow? Probably.
Justin: I guess. I've never had success in trying to care.
Kevin: This shit is toast! How could they lose?
Canada scored again.
(4:16 PM) Justin: Yeah, USA has no heart. Canada is finally getting us back for stealing Gretzky.
Kevin: So, that's what this is all about? I get it now.
Justin: Time to settle the score. Brian just told me that these refs are terrible. I have no idea what he is talking about. Do you?
Kevin: Absolutely not. Hockey has refs?
Justin: Ha.
Kevin: Power play!
Justin: USA scores on this power play.
Kevin: Have they had one shot on goal all match? Doesn't seem like it.
Justin: I don't think so. Does the U.S. still have most medals and most golds in Olympics? That's all I care about.
Kevin: Not the most golds. If Canada wins this, I think they have the most golds.
Justin: Dang. That's what is most important as far as I'm concerned. I believe No Fear said it best, "Second place is the first loser."
The U.S. ended up with the most overall medals (37), but Canada had five more gold medals (14-9).
(4:25 PM) Kevin: Hahahaha! I miss football.
Justin: If the Malone on the USA team was Karl, we might have a chance to win this thing.
Kevin: I like what you did there, but Karl Malone was a perpetual loser. Jerry Sloan's been the coach of the Jazz for 75 years but hasn't ever won shit. Utah seems content with being adequate. The entire state seems content.
Justin: The only thing Utah has to offer is a strange lake with too high of a salt content. Is that even a good thing? I doubt it. How did Salt Lake City get an Olympics?
Kevin: Ohhhhh! Score! Patrick Kane! He plays for the Blackhawks. I feel like I had something to do with that goal.
Justin: How did you have anything to do with that? You were making fun of Utah.
Kevin: Because I live in Chicago and know that he plays for the Blackhawks.
Justin: Oh, I can't believe I didn't make that connection . . . it's so obvious and logical.
Kevin: Exactly. Thank you for recognizing.
Justin: Patrick Roy. Can't believe we forgot that one.
Kevin: He was around in '94?
Justin: I don't know. But he played hockey
Kevin: Very good, Justin.
Justin: If you publish this, are you going to correct my capitalization and grammar?
Kevin: Yes, yes I am. I can't help it.
Justin: You are ridiculous.
Kevin: I can't help it. I need the uniformity.
Justin: I will capitalize any comments that I think will be funny from now on.
Kevin: Hahaha.
Justin: Do you have an opinion on this issue the NHL is raising about whether to allow the players to be in Olympics in 2014?
Kevin: I think it's disgusting not to allow the best players in the world to represent their countries. Doesn't that go against the whole idea of the Olympics?
Justin: It would be good for Cincinnati Cyclones hockey. Maybe some of those guys would get a chance, and more of the world would be introduced to Twister.
Kevin: That comment was definitely capitalized.
Justin: It wasn't too long ago that pros didn't play in basketball. And they still don't in baseball, right?
Kevin: What are you talking about, dude? The World Baseball Classic! That's what it's all about.
Justin: The WBC doesn't even get the best players. I'm worried about Heidi coming home soon and taking the computer away from me. No way she lets me control the Internet and the TV. It just doesn't work like that around here.
The looming fear that Justin's delightful wife, Heidi, would come home and steal him away from an even more delightful chat about a sport she doesn't care about at all began making us a little uneasy.
(4:39 PM) Kevin: You're gonna miss the third quarter?
Justin: Umm, it's third period you jackass. Your stupidity has lowered the reliability and validity of our commentary.
Kevin: Yes, yes it is. That's as dumb as getting sick. And showing your vulnerability. Like a weakling.
The same man that once proclaimed his blood could cure AIDS has been sickly for an extended period of time. The only acceptable reaction from his friends should be incessant ridicule.
(4:42 PM) Justin: What if people figure out that we don't know anything about hockey? It would ruin the whole thing. By the way, I'm sending you a letter right now. And yes, it's laced with Anthrax. We will see how "tough" you are when you get Anthrax.
Kevin: Well, at least I won't be telling jokes relating to something that happened five years ago. Maybe seven years.
Justin: Anthrax is timeless. Are you getting this World Equestrian Games commercial? Apparently it takes place in KY. I might go.
Kevin: What are you talking about?
Justin: The World Equestrian Games. Did that commercial play in Chicago?
Kevin: No. Why would it?
Justin: Because it's the World Equestrian Games. It's kind of a big deal.
Kevin: It's not a big deal at all, and you don't really care about it, do you?
Justin: No, no I don't.
Kevin: Kentucky just seems like a wrong fit for you. Chicago's more manly and bustling. More your style. You should probably move here. What do you think?
If you were unaware, Justin and Heidi are in fact moving to Chicago this summer.
(4:50 PM) Justin: We will see what happens. Can I fish and hunt in Chicago? That might be a deal-breaker.
Kevin: Uhhh . . . Wisconsin is a mere hop, skip, and jump away. I'm going to a shooting range soon. To shoot shit with guns.
Justin: Awesome. Nothing better than shooting guns.
Kevin: Hockey would be more interesting if crossbows were involved.
Justin: Is the entire state of Wisconsin just a frozen tundra of wildlife and nature?
Kevin: Wisconsin rules.
Justin: How are you going to get crossbows involved in hockey?
Kevin: How could I not get crossbows involved in hockey? Stupid, Justin.
Justin: Eh. Sounds pretty far-fetched. Not nearly as practical and interesting as adding guns to bobsled.
Kevin: That's true. Shooting targets as your barreling down a sheet of ice? Great idea. You know how many random Sasquatch will probably be killed due to stray bullets?
Justin: Sasquatches (Sasquatchi?).
Kevin: Sasquatchen. Like oxen.
Justin: And mousen.
Kevin: Nah...that one is meese. Like geese. How do you not know this? Canada's full of caribou, right? Caribou are the ferocious human-eating cousin to the moose right?
Justin: Caribou are the weak, effeminate, distant relative of the elk.
Kevin: I'm pretty sure they eat humans.
Justin: You have your large game beasts all mixed up. Icing!
Kevin: No, they eat humans and woolly mammoths. I know what icing is! It's one of the few rules I get.
Justin: I don't. But don't explain it to me, because I don't care.
Kevin: Will do.
Justin: Momentum left the U.S.
Kevin: I'm cool with not scoring until five minutes left when the intensity rises ten-fold.
Justin: As long as it isn't 3-1 or worse by then.
Kevin: No TV timeouts is the best thing ever.
Justin: True. Football is the worst for that.
Kevin: Just terrible.
Justin: Crosby has been nowhere this whole game. Isn't he supposed to be good, or something?
Kevin: I suppose. I like Alexander Ovechkin. He seems fiery.
We tried acting hockey-intelligent for a second by throwing out names of current NHL superstars. It didn't work.
(5:05 PM) Justin: I am told that he is fiery, but I have never witnessed it.
Kevin: He's fiery. Can you ice skate?
Justin: Not a chance. I can't roller skate, so there is no way I would even get on the ice
Kevin: I'd call you "old stiff legs" if I saw you rollerskating.
Justin: No you wouldn't.
Kevin: The announcer makes me want to pump my fist. He's great and intense as fuck.
Justin: It's getting furious. Can you feel the pressure building?
Kevin: I sure can. This may be the point when we include exclamation points with every message so that we can translate the intensity. Like this!
Justin: I don't like that idea!
Kevin: Fair enough!
Justin: Now I am just laughing out loud!
Kevin: I've been sitting on this extremely uncomfortable couch for far too long!
Justin: So have I! My ass and lower back are throbbing!
Kevin: I'm developing blood clots in my legs!
Justin: I am getting testicular cancer from holding this laptop over my junk for so long!
Kevin: You topped me! Five minutes left!
Justin: Offsides halts momentum! I love that horn!
Kevin: I want to play sports in the cold so it's acceptable for me to blow snot rockets on camera!
Justin: I want to play baseball so it's acceptable for me to adjust my scrotum on camera!
Kevin: Icing!
Justin: Put the puck in the back of the net is great innuendo!
Kevin: It really is! Crosby sucks!
Justin: Crosby chokes! AHAHAHAH!
Kevin: THE INTENSITY HAS NOW CONVERTED TO ALL CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS! TWO MINUTES LEFT!
Justin: ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS?!
Kevin: No I changed my mind. All caps is terrible!
Justin: Save it for the really big moments!
Kevin: I'm freaking out over here! Pull the goalie! This is for the gold medal!
Justin: Pull the goalies! That's great! Get in a fight!
Kevin: Do you think the American coaches speak English and the Canadian coaches speak Canadian?!
Justin: Break the glass surrounding the rink with the puck!
Kevin: Maul the fans!
Justin: They squeak and honk like geese! EMPTY NET!
Kevin: EMPTY NET! Time to step it up!
Justin: APOCALYPSE!
Kevin: Damn, all these timeouts are killing the momentum!
Justin: TIME OUT!
Kevin: Damn! I want crackhead-like intensity!
Justin: The timeouts are my favorite part of hockey! Face Off! Travolta! Cage! SCORE SCORE SCORE!
Kevin: Oh man!!!!! SCORE SCORE SCORE! Bedlam! Do you think they're rioting in the DC streets yet!?!
Already in an outright frenzy, the U.S. scored to tie things up. Shit was intense.
(5:28 PM) Justin: Overtime!
Kevin: I'm not in the mood!
Justin: All of the sudden I'm getting all these texts from people who I didn't even know were watching!
Kevin: Me too! Shorty and Russ! They're the worst!
Unbeknown to us, we had other friends wrapped up in hockey mania. Wild, right?
(5:33 PM) Justin: Shorty probably thinks it is soccer, and Russ is just drunk and watching Full House reruns!
Kevin: Russ is probably just watching a Law & Order episode, and he just figured out who the real killer is! Should we kill the exclamation points!?
Justin: Most likely. Especially when the game is not on.
Kevin: Phew . . . I'm exhausted. Jeremy Roenick is being a little too excited.
Justin: Next he is going to flash a metal sign. Heidi will be home in five minutes. I can't get kicked off now.
Kevin: This is the commercial I was talking about! It's awesome. Nike commercial.
Justin: What band is this? LT! LA!
I got really way too excited about a new Nike commercial I like a bunch. Justin's referring to LaDainian Tomlinson and Lance Armstrong, who both show up in the commercial.
(5:39 PM) Kevin: I don't know who the band that is, but the commercial rules. The fact that LT is in it is a disgrace. What a whiny bitch. Please don't let Heidi kick you off the Internet. That'd be a travesty.
Justin: What about Lance Armstrong? That's even worse.
Kevin: What? Lance Armstrong has accomplished a ton of things. Say what you want about his personality, but the dude's a winner.
Justin: You mean whiner.
Kevin: Good one. LT was amazing . . . was. Now he can go away and stop thinking he's worth a shit anymore.
Justin: Leave him alone. At least he has balls.
Kevin: Lance has one. I think.
Justin: I think the band in that commercial is the Hours.
Kevin: They're playing "The Final Countdown" over the speakers at the arena.
Justin: The song is called "All in the Jungle" and is from their 2007 release, "Narcissus."
Kevin: Thank you for that, Justin. I feel like the U.S. wins this thing now. Canada's gonna play tight.
Justin: I told you. Too bad you're a traitor.
Kevin: You're the worst.
Justin: I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free.
Kevin: Yeah, Canada's like Iran.
Justin: Have fun in Canada. Brian says this thing will end this period. I don't know why.
Kevin: Someone's gonna score.
Justin: That comment would have been better with an exclamation point: "Someone's gonna score!"
Kevin: I'd have multiple heart attacks if I was a goalie!
Justin: We could never do it!
Kevin: I was a goalie in soccer and couldn't hack it!
Justin: I never played soccer!
Kevin: Whoa!
Canada's golden boy, Sidney Crosby, scored the winning goal. Game over: Canada wins 3-2.
(5:53 PM) Justin: Of course.
Kevin: Well, there you have it!
Justin: Should have seen that coming.
Kevin: Of course it was Crosby. It looked like a fluke.
Justin: That kid's legacy is going to just keep growing.
Kevin: Okay, so we beat them once and they beat us once. Best out of three right?
Justin: This crowd seems to be enjoying this
Kevin: Yes they do. I'd enjoy a replay of the goal.
Justin: Well, you got what you wanted. Congratulations. It should be two of three. What a dumb rule. We beat them a few days ago.
Kevin: But that was a "preliminary" game. Whatever that means.
Justin: Single elimination is the only way a tournament should be played. So, I guess that's about it. Perfect timing.
Kevin: Bye bye! I should have this up on Monday or something.
Justin: I just watched an entire hockey game! With overtime! I feel very proud of myself.
The end. I hope you enjoyed the Olympics as much as we acted like we did.
Now, I'm not saying that the Olympics as a whole are obscenely uninteresting. For instance, I was actually somewhat riveted by cross-country skiing and figure skating. Yeah, you heard me right, I said figure skating. And aside from the idiotic move not to broadcast the first USA vs. Canada hockey game on network television, I'm not poopooing NBC's exhaustive coverage either. Simply put, it's hard to maintain a wholehearted interest in such a sprawling escapade of sports, many of which you don't really see but once every four years.
That being said, I did manage to get loosely wrapped up in hockey mania. It was kind of like being confined to a straitjacket, but having one arm free. I could have escaped if I had really felt like it, but it was kind of entertaining and funny to play along. So, that's what I did. It also helped that Canadians are excited about two things in life: hockey and syrup, in that order. The whole country was obviously abuzz, thus adding to an already throttling intensity. Canada probably would have spontaneously combusted if its hockey team had loss to the U.S. twice in the same Olympics. I mean let's face it, everyone hates us. Can you blame them?
Therefore, due to the unabated hysteria of the USA vs. Canada gold medal hockey match, Justin Bragg and I had the brilliant idea to conduct a live chat during the culmination of the Olympics. Throughout the game, we took unwarranted cheap shots at each other, displayed our overall lack of hockey knowledge, and maybe even cracked a joke here and there.
This is a real conversation that took place on Sunday, February 28 between two adult males in their late 20s. It's rather long and not for the faint of heart.
The chat begins at 3:02 PM EST.
Justin: What are the chances that the USA vs. Mexico will happen in World Cup this summer?
Kevin: Zero chance. Let the hockey live chat begin!
Justin: They said the same thing about USA in the finals of the Winter Olympics.
Kevin: Hockey!
Justin: I believe in miracles.
Kevin: That's why they have Al Michaels on.
Justin: Good point. Did you hear that tickets for this game were running 5k +?
Kevin: Dear god. The Canadian police were shutting down liquor stores and shit or something. That Canadian beer is potent. I just can't imagine a riot in Canada.
Justin: A riot in Canada would include mass-consumption of round bacon discs and the excessive pouring of maple syrup on pancakes. Wild stuff.
Kevin: Excellent. When I played this fest in Toronto, we were hanging out with some Vancouver kids and all they did was talk shit about American beer and say how great Canadian beer was.
Justin: Something has been bothering me this whole Olympics. Where is Torino?
Kevin: Italy! You're dumb.
Justin: I'm surprised that Canadian kids would talk shit on anything American. Don't they know that everything they do is weaker than anything we do?
Kevin: But the beer is more potent. That's probably why they were so pompous about it.
Justin: What, a Molson is more potent than a Miller? Who cares?
Kevin: Haha! God, they're still talking about 1980!
Justin: I should have watched Strange Brew in preparation for this chat/viewing of hockey, so I could have boned up on my Canada knowledge.
Kevin: Please end the flashbacks!
Justin: We have a time machine and can go back to one moment in time . . . should we go back to 1980 and watch that hockey game?
Kevin: No way.
This is in reference to the U.S. win over the heavily favored Russian hockey team in the 1980 Olympics. It's as if we abolished Communism with the win or something. Anyway, these Olympics commemorate the 30th anniversary of the historic game and the media has had a collective boner over it for about a month. The stories pretty much got old forever ago.
(3:12 PM) Justin: Where would you go in our time machine? Back to 1990 for the last time the Reds were good?
Kevin: The Reds went to the playoffs in '95. I may go back to the 1991 World Series. Twins and Braves. Best series I've ever seen. Jack Morris near perfection in game seven. You?
Justin: The day I met you. Best day of my life
Kevin: That's true. Is there a way I could go back and meet myself? The euphoria would be indescribable.
Justin: I feel like you would be disappointed.
Kevin: Prediction before the game starts? I say Canada 4-2.
Justin: You would pick Canada. You would dodge the draft if there was another war too, wouldn't you?
Kevin: Yes, I would. I'm not allowing my pride to step in front of my common sense. I mean, I assume that since I'm picking Canada, the U.S. will win. I'm terrible at picking games. See what I'm doing here, Justin?
Justin: Brian says "If USA scores first, they win. If not, they lose." Heart says 4-3 USA. Brian says 4-1 Canada. My prediction: US 2-1.
First off, I am terrible at picking games. I actually really enjoy gambling but am terrible at it. Pretty smart, right? Anyway, Justin crushed me at betting and picking games throughout the football season, so I'm trying to use a reverse jinx here. Justin just doesn't recognize it because he's a dimwit.
Secondly, "Brian" refers to Justin's good friend Brian Kazarian who works for the Dallas Stars, a real life hockey team. Brian actually knows what he's talking about with hockey, so you'll see his name pop up regularly.
(3:19 PM) Kevin: That's stupid, Justin. There'll be at least five goals scored. Fights?
Justin: Why? That's the stupidest thing you have ever said.
Kevin: I say two fights. Three goals? You don't know you're hockey. Not like me.
Justin: You don't know "your" grammar. Not like me. Burn!!!!
Kevin: Bah! I want them to bring the pink-hockey-puck-dot back for this game. Marketing genius!
Back in the mid-90s, NBC (I think) had the brilliant idea to shadow the puck with a pink dot so the television audience could see it better (think the yellow first down line in football, only dumb and pointless).
(3:21 PM) Justin: I seriously can't see the puck at all. My glasses are in the car, and I can't see shit.
Kevin: Man, you'll be 30 soon. It becomes more and more evident each day I talk to you.
Justin: I just texted Brian, "Hockey would be a lot better if it was basketball." That will piss him off. I love making fun of hockey with him.
Kevin: I'm getting excited for the NBA playoffs. Wait, did I just say that? I'm rooting for the Nuggets. Fuck you.
Justin: Me too. I've been catching some more games here and there lately. Watched the whole second half of Hawks vs. Warriors the other night and enjoyed it.
Kevin: I'm starting to become disinterested in college basketball and more engaged with the NBA. I have no problem with this development.
Justin: I've been there for a long time. Aside from the tournament, which is only good a the beginning because you get to watch all the surprises, it's a vastly inferior product.
Kevin: It's true. Play-by-play hockey announcers remind me of the Micro Machines Man.
Justin: Ha! That's awesome. Great comment. You take the early lead in "cleverest and coolest things said today."
Kevin: Would you live in Canada? I'd have no problem with it at all. I kind of think it'd be awesome.
Justin: Never. I have no intention of moving any further away from Mexico than I already am.
Kevin: But it's full of manly things. Like trees, lumberjacks, Sasquatch, hockey, and beards. You're not manly?
Justin often has bouts of manliness with a few of our good friends. This often involves doing pushups, eating raunchy amounts of meat, or growing beards (see above).
(3:30 PM) Justin: How dare you. I could live in Canada with no problem, I just choose not to.
Kevin: Haha . . .
Justin: Your description of Canada was a perfect description of my hometown . . . aside from the hockey.
Kevin: Sasquatch?
Justin: You bet. Bigfoot is huge up there.
Kevin: Really? Oh man . . .
Justin: Willow Creek is the area with the most "sightings" of Bigfoot in the U.S.
Kevin: One of my favorite mythic figures. That and Sarah Palin.
Justin: Bigfoot museums, Bigfoot tree sculptures, Bigfoot t-shirts. All over the place up there. Sarah Palin . . . look at you making political jokes all casual-like.
Kevin: Politics! Okay, back to sports and obscure pop culture references where I belong.
Justin: So is the U.S. team all the guys with last names like "Miller" and "Johnson," and the Canadians are all the strange names I can't understand.
Kevin: Precisely. I was just thinking the same thing. They just said that the U.S. is the home team. This is nonsensical.
Justin: Higher seed. It's like dugouts in Little League. It doesn't matter.
Because the U.S. went into the game undefeated, including a preliminary game against Canada, they were designated the home team. I found this to be both understandable and strange.
(3:37 PM) Kevin: I get it. It's just weird. Wouldn't you say that pretzels are generally mediocre? I eat them all the time because they're not fattening, but I rarely enjoy them. And I'm not talking about spiced exotic pretzels. Just plain old whatever ones. Hockey makes me want to eat pretzels.
Justin: That's because hockey is pretzels. Generally mediocre.
Kevin: Canada scores!
Justin: Uh oh. It's all over now.
Kevin: That's what Brian said right?
Justin: It is. And he actually knows stuff.
Kevin: Brian works in hockey. How could he be wrong?
Justin: I'm okay with Canada winning . . .
Kevin: Shut up!
Justin: It doesn't matter what the U.S. does in this game . . .
Kevin: You're such a turncoat. I refuse to let you give me shit for picking Canada and then change your mind and choose them too.
Justin: Either way, it will be talked about for two days in the U.S., and then everyone will go back to forgetting that hockey exists . . .
Kevin: Act American proud.
Justin: But this will make 2010 for Canada if they win, and destroy them if they lose. The USA just doesn't care.
Kevin: This is my whole point. Get off my coattails.
Justin: Which actually makes me want USA to win all the more. I take back my Canada winning sentiment. I want to humiliate them and embarrass them.
Kevin: You'd rather see a county ruined, right? That makes you a true American.
Justin: Me to Brian, "So it's over now right? Do I have to watch anymore?" Brian to me, "Yes, you can watch The Karate Kid, Part III now."
If you have any knowledge of either one of our blogs, you're more than aware that Justin and I hold a strong affinity for the Karate Kid franchise. It just so happens that ABC family was plowing through the epic tail at the same time we were having this chat. Inspiring? Fuck yes.
(3:45 PM) Kevin: Haha! I don't know what offsides mean in hockey. And I played a lot of NHL '94 growing up. I always turned offsides off.
Justin: Oh yeah. That's the best part in all of Swingers.
Kevin: I don't know what you're talking about.
Justin: You've never seen Swingers?
Kevin: I saw it . . . like ten years ago.
Justin: They play NHL '94 (or '95?) all the time in that movie. Vince Vaughn says, "I'm going to make Wayne Gretzky's head bleed." Those scenes are the best parts of the whole movie.
Kevin: NHL '94 is notorious for being the only year of the game that fighting isn't included. Cam Neely, Ray Bourque, Adam Oates. These are the Boston Bruins of '94.
Justin: I know. And the fact that Jon Favreau included that in the movie is fantastic.
Kevin: That's the extent of my NHL knowledge. Too bad he's a hack now.
Justin: Chris Chelios. Jeremy Roenick.
Kevin: Yzerman.
Justin: Jaromir Jagr.
Kevin: Lemieux.
Justin: Curtis Joseph (Cu-Jo).
Kevin: Whoa!
Justin: Brett Hull
Kevin: I can't think of any others.
Justin: I'm running out quickly now.
Kevin: Ummm . . .
Justin: Ha.
Kevin: The Detroit Red Wings were unbeatable. Who else was on that team?
Justin: Messier!
Kevin: Messier!
Justin: Not on that team, but another name.
Kevin: Hahahaha! He was on the Rangers.
Justin: Gordie Howe?
Kevin: Hmmmm . . . I really enjoyed it when we name random players off of baseball teams from the 90s.
We've done this several times sitting around on warm summer evenings guzzling cans of Budweiser. We just pick a sports team (mainly baseball) circa any year and start rattling off names of players. It's even more enjoyable than it sounds.
(3:51 PM) Justin: Sergei Federov (more recent, but he's been around for a while). Moises Alou.
Kevin: Federov is a good one. The Expos! Andre Dawson. Pedro.
Justin: Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd.
Kevin: Tim Raines. Fight!
Some hockey ruffians just started hitting each other in the face. Shit's bound to happen at some point.
(3:52 PM) Justin: I need to do exercises like this regularly to keep my mind sharp . . . now that I'm almost 30.
Kevin: That's number one for fights.
Justin: How many did you say? I didn't make a guess.
Kevin: I said two.
Justin: Are the Special Olympics only every four years? Are there Winter Special Olympics?
Kevin: I have no idea. I do know they're not called the Special Olympics anymore, though.
Justin: What are they called?
Kevin: Nevermind . . . they are. Sorry. I thought it was changed for political correctness reasons. "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." That's the motto. Okay, we should probably back out of this topic before we say something stupid and offensive.
Justin: Agreed.
Kevin: What do you think Ralph Macchio is doing right now?
Justin: I think he hangs out at the Playboy mansion a lot now. I don't know why I think that. It has something to do with Adam Carolla or something.
Kevin: You think he's gonna show up in the Karate Kid remake? Why wouldn't he?
Justin: Apparently he shows up in Ugly Betty episodes from time to time and has a Law & Order: Criminal Intent coming up soon.
Kevin: I'd rather he be doing nothing other than wallowing in a gutter somewhere.
Justin: He has a family to support.
Kevin: I wonder what that's like. Seems too expensive.
Justin: I feel like USA is doing nothing that remotely resembles anything close to scoring a goal. I could be wrong because I have no idea what is going on.
Kevin: My interest is waning. I assume I'll be engaged again in the last five minutes of the third quarter.
Justin: Hockey should just be one period. Or three periods of five minutes. That would be enough.
Kevin: Would I care more if I had an NHL team to follow? Probably.
Justin: I guess. I've never had success in trying to care.
Kevin: This shit is toast! How could they lose?
Canada scored again.
(4:16 PM) Justin: Yeah, USA has no heart. Canada is finally getting us back for stealing Gretzky.
Kevin: So, that's what this is all about? I get it now.
Justin: Time to settle the score. Brian just told me that these refs are terrible. I have no idea what he is talking about. Do you?
Kevin: Absolutely not. Hockey has refs?
Justin: Ha.
Kevin: Power play!
Justin: USA scores on this power play.
Kevin: Have they had one shot on goal all match? Doesn't seem like it.
Justin: I don't think so. Does the U.S. still have most medals and most golds in Olympics? That's all I care about.
Kevin: Not the most golds. If Canada wins this, I think they have the most golds.
Justin: Dang. That's what is most important as far as I'm concerned. I believe No Fear said it best, "Second place is the first loser."
The U.S. ended up with the most overall medals (37), but Canada had five more gold medals (14-9).
(4:25 PM) Kevin: Hahahaha! I miss football.
Justin: If the Malone on the USA team was Karl, we might have a chance to win this thing.
Kevin: I like what you did there, but Karl Malone was a perpetual loser. Jerry Sloan's been the coach of the Jazz for 75 years but hasn't ever won shit. Utah seems content with being adequate. The entire state seems content.
Justin: The only thing Utah has to offer is a strange lake with too high of a salt content. Is that even a good thing? I doubt it. How did Salt Lake City get an Olympics?
Kevin: Ohhhhh! Score! Patrick Kane! He plays for the Blackhawks. I feel like I had something to do with that goal.
Justin: How did you have anything to do with that? You were making fun of Utah.
Kevin: Because I live in Chicago and know that he plays for the Blackhawks.
Justin: Oh, I can't believe I didn't make that connection . . . it's so obvious and logical.
Kevin: Exactly. Thank you for recognizing.
Justin: Patrick Roy. Can't believe we forgot that one.
Kevin: He was around in '94?
Justin: I don't know. But he played hockey
Kevin: Very good, Justin.
Justin: If you publish this, are you going to correct my capitalization and grammar?
Kevin: Yes, yes I am. I can't help it.
Justin: You are ridiculous.
Kevin: I can't help it. I need the uniformity.
Justin: I will capitalize any comments that I think will be funny from now on.
Kevin: Hahaha.
Justin: Do you have an opinion on this issue the NHL is raising about whether to allow the players to be in Olympics in 2014?
Kevin: I think it's disgusting not to allow the best players in the world to represent their countries. Doesn't that go against the whole idea of the Olympics?
Justin: It would be good for Cincinnati Cyclones hockey. Maybe some of those guys would get a chance, and more of the world would be introduced to Twister.
Kevin: That comment was definitely capitalized.
Justin: It wasn't too long ago that pros didn't play in basketball. And they still don't in baseball, right?
Kevin: What are you talking about, dude? The World Baseball Classic! That's what it's all about.
Justin: The WBC doesn't even get the best players. I'm worried about Heidi coming home soon and taking the computer away from me. No way she lets me control the Internet and the TV. It just doesn't work like that around here.
The looming fear that Justin's delightful wife, Heidi, would come home and steal him away from an even more delightful chat about a sport she doesn't care about at all began making us a little uneasy.
(4:39 PM) Kevin: You're gonna miss the third quarter?
Justin: Umm, it's third period you jackass. Your stupidity has lowered the reliability and validity of our commentary.
Kevin: Yes, yes it is. That's as dumb as getting sick. And showing your vulnerability. Like a weakling.
The same man that once proclaimed his blood could cure AIDS has been sickly for an extended period of time. The only acceptable reaction from his friends should be incessant ridicule.
(4:42 PM) Justin: What if people figure out that we don't know anything about hockey? It would ruin the whole thing. By the way, I'm sending you a letter right now. And yes, it's laced with Anthrax. We will see how "tough" you are when you get Anthrax.
Kevin: Well, at least I won't be telling jokes relating to something that happened five years ago. Maybe seven years.
Justin: Anthrax is timeless. Are you getting this World Equestrian Games commercial? Apparently it takes place in KY. I might go.
Kevin: What are you talking about?
Justin: The World Equestrian Games. Did that commercial play in Chicago?
Kevin: No. Why would it?
Justin: Because it's the World Equestrian Games. It's kind of a big deal.
Kevin: It's not a big deal at all, and you don't really care about it, do you?
Justin: No, no I don't.
Kevin: Kentucky just seems like a wrong fit for you. Chicago's more manly and bustling. More your style. You should probably move here. What do you think?
If you were unaware, Justin and Heidi are in fact moving to Chicago this summer.
(4:50 PM) Justin: We will see what happens. Can I fish and hunt in Chicago? That might be a deal-breaker.
Kevin: Uhhh . . . Wisconsin is a mere hop, skip, and jump away. I'm going to a shooting range soon. To shoot shit with guns.
Justin: Awesome. Nothing better than shooting guns.
Kevin: Hockey would be more interesting if crossbows were involved.
Justin: Is the entire state of Wisconsin just a frozen tundra of wildlife and nature?
Kevin: Wisconsin rules.
Justin: How are you going to get crossbows involved in hockey?
Kevin: How could I not get crossbows involved in hockey? Stupid, Justin.
Justin: Eh. Sounds pretty far-fetched. Not nearly as practical and interesting as adding guns to bobsled.
Kevin: That's true. Shooting targets as your barreling down a sheet of ice? Great idea. You know how many random Sasquatch will probably be killed due to stray bullets?
Justin: Sasquatches (Sasquatchi?).
Kevin: Sasquatchen. Like oxen.
Justin: And mousen.
Kevin: Nah...that one is meese. Like geese. How do you not know this? Canada's full of caribou, right? Caribou are the ferocious human-eating cousin to the moose right?
Justin: Caribou are the weak, effeminate, distant relative of the elk.
Kevin: I'm pretty sure they eat humans.
Justin: You have your large game beasts all mixed up. Icing!
Kevin: No, they eat humans and woolly mammoths. I know what icing is! It's one of the few rules I get.
Justin: I don't. But don't explain it to me, because I don't care.
Kevin: Will do.
Justin: Momentum left the U.S.
Kevin: I'm cool with not scoring until five minutes left when the intensity rises ten-fold.
Justin: As long as it isn't 3-1 or worse by then.
Kevin: No TV timeouts is the best thing ever.
Justin: True. Football is the worst for that.
Kevin: Just terrible.
Justin: Crosby has been nowhere this whole game. Isn't he supposed to be good, or something?
Kevin: I suppose. I like Alexander Ovechkin. He seems fiery.
We tried acting hockey-intelligent for a second by throwing out names of current NHL superstars. It didn't work.
(5:05 PM) Justin: I am told that he is fiery, but I have never witnessed it.
Kevin: He's fiery. Can you ice skate?
Justin: Not a chance. I can't roller skate, so there is no way I would even get on the ice
Kevin: I'd call you "old stiff legs" if I saw you rollerskating.
Justin: No you wouldn't.
Kevin: The announcer makes me want to pump my fist. He's great and intense as fuck.
Justin: It's getting furious. Can you feel the pressure building?
Kevin: I sure can. This may be the point when we include exclamation points with every message so that we can translate the intensity. Like this!
Justin: I don't like that idea!
Kevin: Fair enough!
Justin: Now I am just laughing out loud!
Kevin: I've been sitting on this extremely uncomfortable couch for far too long!
Justin: So have I! My ass and lower back are throbbing!
Kevin: I'm developing blood clots in my legs!
Justin: I am getting testicular cancer from holding this laptop over my junk for so long!
Kevin: You topped me! Five minutes left!
Justin: Offsides halts momentum! I love that horn!
Kevin: I want to play sports in the cold so it's acceptable for me to blow snot rockets on camera!
Justin: I want to play baseball so it's acceptable for me to adjust my scrotum on camera!
Kevin: Icing!
Justin: Put the puck in the back of the net is great innuendo!
Kevin: It really is! Crosby sucks!
Justin: Crosby chokes! AHAHAHAH!
Kevin: THE INTENSITY HAS NOW CONVERTED TO ALL CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS! TWO MINUTES LEFT!
Justin: ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS?!
Kevin: No I changed my mind. All caps is terrible!
Justin: Save it for the really big moments!
Kevin: I'm freaking out over here! Pull the goalie! This is for the gold medal!
Justin: Pull the goalies! That's great! Get in a fight!
Kevin: Do you think the American coaches speak English and the Canadian coaches speak Canadian?!
Justin: Break the glass surrounding the rink with the puck!
Kevin: Maul the fans!
Justin: They squeak and honk like geese! EMPTY NET!
Kevin: EMPTY NET! Time to step it up!
Justin: APOCALYPSE!
Kevin: Damn, all these timeouts are killing the momentum!
Justin: TIME OUT!
Kevin: Damn! I want crackhead-like intensity!
Justin: The timeouts are my favorite part of hockey! Face Off! Travolta! Cage! SCORE SCORE SCORE!
Kevin: Oh man!!!!! SCORE SCORE SCORE! Bedlam! Do you think they're rioting in the DC streets yet!?!
Already in an outright frenzy, the U.S. scored to tie things up. Shit was intense.
(5:28 PM) Justin: Overtime!
Kevin: I'm not in the mood!
Justin: All of the sudden I'm getting all these texts from people who I didn't even know were watching!
Kevin: Me too! Shorty and Russ! They're the worst!
Unbeknown to us, we had other friends wrapped up in hockey mania. Wild, right?
(5:33 PM) Justin: Shorty probably thinks it is soccer, and Russ is just drunk and watching Full House reruns!
Kevin: Russ is probably just watching a Law & Order episode, and he just figured out who the real killer is! Should we kill the exclamation points!?
Justin: Most likely. Especially when the game is not on.
Kevin: Phew . . . I'm exhausted. Jeremy Roenick is being a little too excited.
Justin: Next he is going to flash a metal sign. Heidi will be home in five minutes. I can't get kicked off now.
Kevin: This is the commercial I was talking about! It's awesome. Nike commercial.
Justin: What band is this? LT! LA!
I got really way too excited about a new Nike commercial I like a bunch. Justin's referring to LaDainian Tomlinson and Lance Armstrong, who both show up in the commercial.
(5:39 PM) Kevin: I don't know who the band that is, but the commercial rules. The fact that LT is in it is a disgrace. What a whiny bitch. Please don't let Heidi kick you off the Internet. That'd be a travesty.
Justin: What about Lance Armstrong? That's even worse.
Kevin: What? Lance Armstrong has accomplished a ton of things. Say what you want about his personality, but the dude's a winner.
Justin: You mean whiner.
Kevin: Good one. LT was amazing . . . was. Now he can go away and stop thinking he's worth a shit anymore.
Justin: Leave him alone. At least he has balls.
Kevin: Lance has one. I think.
Justin: I think the band in that commercial is the Hours.
Kevin: They're playing "The Final Countdown" over the speakers at the arena.
Justin: The song is called "All in the Jungle" and is from their 2007 release, "Narcissus."
Kevin: Thank you for that, Justin. I feel like the U.S. wins this thing now. Canada's gonna play tight.
Justin: I told you. Too bad you're a traitor.
Kevin: You're the worst.
Justin: I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free.
Kevin: Yeah, Canada's like Iran.
Justin: Have fun in Canada. Brian says this thing will end this period. I don't know why.
Kevin: Someone's gonna score.
Justin: That comment would have been better with an exclamation point: "Someone's gonna score!"
Kevin: I'd have multiple heart attacks if I was a goalie!
Justin: We could never do it!
Kevin: I was a goalie in soccer and couldn't hack it!
Justin: I never played soccer!
Kevin: Whoa!
Canada's golden boy, Sidney Crosby, scored the winning goal. Game over: Canada wins 3-2.
(5:53 PM) Justin: Of course.
Kevin: Well, there you have it!
Justin: Should have seen that coming.
Kevin: Of course it was Crosby. It looked like a fluke.
Justin: That kid's legacy is going to just keep growing.
Kevin: Okay, so we beat them once and they beat us once. Best out of three right?
Justin: This crowd seems to be enjoying this
Kevin: Yes they do. I'd enjoy a replay of the goal.
Justin: Well, you got what you wanted. Congratulations. It should be two of three. What a dumb rule. We beat them a few days ago.
Kevin: But that was a "preliminary" game. Whatever that means.
Justin: Single elimination is the only way a tournament should be played. So, I guess that's about it. Perfect timing.
Kevin: Bye bye! I should have this up on Monday or something.
Justin: I just watched an entire hockey game! With overtime! I feel very proud of myself.
The end. I hope you enjoyed the Olympics as much as we acted like we did.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Peyton and Jack: A Couple of Heroic Letdowns?
It's crucial to note that I initially conjured the clever idea to compare the strengths of two of television's greatest and most powerful figures, Indianapolis Colts quarterback Peyton Manning and fictional Lost hero and heartthrob Dr. Jack Shephard. The much-anticipated premiere of Lost's final season was this last Tuesday and the Super Bowl was this past Sunday. A pair of television firecrackers stuffed into the same week? Count me the fuck in.
There was one problem, though. Everyone (myself included) thought the Colts couldn't lose. The former mild-mannered Colts coach, Tony Dungy, went as far as to say that "[Peyton's] going to have those rings Sunday night. I don't think it's going to be close." Guess what, Tony? Peyton threw maybe the most crucial interception in Super Bowl history, thus sealing the game for the upstart New Orleans Saints. Final score: New Orleans 31 and the Indianapolis Colts 17
Now, I'll forever be near the front of the Peyton Manning fanboy line. Those who know me well have undoubtedly heard me say, "Best quarterback you've ever seen in your life" at least a couple of times when referring to Peyton. However, when the game's big and the pressure's on, Peyton has had an incessant and uncanny knack for crippling letdowns.
Let me take this moment to address Justin Bragg specifically. You see, Justin's a hater and doesn't fully recognize the brilliance and innovation of Peyton Manning. He was privileged to be raised a 49ers fan who consequently basked in the good fortune of stellar teams with a great quarterback. As a bitter lifelong Bengals fan, I obviously think Justin's an ass.
Anyway, he repeatedly refuses to acknowledge that Manning single-handedly carried a Colts team on his back for seven years, until they were able to concoct some semblance of a defense. He's afraid that Manning will surpass Montana or Young, even though we all know he's already leaps and bounds better than Young ever was and is more than on the heels of Montana.
Listen, Justin, I'm only having a slight lapse in faith right now. My acknowledgment of Manning's imperfections should not be taken as literal defamation. It's more about me being upset that the Super Bowl ruined a perfectly brilliant juxtaposition of two of the nation's most heroic characters.
Needless to say, the second half of the Super Bowl was a bit of a chore to endure (primarily because I was forced to scarf down my own words). The Colts took the game on in a stiff-like, stuffy manner while the Saints exuded passion and guts. I was left with nothing to cheer for but a stomach full of beer, chili dip, and pizza. The holiday was over, and I had failed at another week of football. Good thing I get to type this because I don't know how I would ever even mouth the words, "Peyton let me down."
Therefore, I've elected to change gears and focus instead on the few weaknesses shared between Peyton Manning and Lost's primary protagonist, Jack Shephard. If you're unfamiliar with Lost, well then you've missed out on five full seasons of riveting mystery, meticulous character development, love triangles, general creepiness, an absurd amount of conjecture, fantastical settings, and time travel (that's about as general as I can make it). It's a brilliant television series and will undoubtedly go down as one of the most intriguing of all time. I urge you to get into it.
Unlike many other Lost connoisseurs, I like Jack's character, and while we're at it, I even like Kate a little too (so suck on that). Maybe I'll get hated on because Jack can be such a goddamn polarizing character. But when it's all said and done, he is crucial to so many plot lines that I feel like I know him better than anyone on the show. His stubbornness and/or intelligence never surprise me, his actions are almost always altruistic, and he's the obvious leader of the Oceanic flight's passengers, without question. Sounds pretty similar to Manning's roles (quarterback, offensive coordinator, captain, generally nice guy).
Like Peyton Manning, though, he's obsessive and a notorious over-thinker. He rarely seems satisfied with a result and has a tendency to go on benders, like the drunken pill-popping rampages he embarked on following the Oceanic Six's return to Los Angeles from the island ("We have to go baaaack, Kate! We have to go baaaack"). Jack often tries to do too much, pushing himself to the brink of absolute exhaustion. As a spinal surgeon, the fact that he thinks "nothing is irreversible" (an obvious omen in season six) is so detrimental to his psyche, causing him to fall apart with each whiff at perfection. The best way to control Jack is by not allowing him to be a factor. For instance, one of his lowest and most helpless points in the series (not eating, making maniacal escape attempts) occurred when he was caught by the Others and locked in the aquarium. He had no control.
Similarly, the Saints did the wisest thing possible during the Super Bowl. They didn't allow Peyton Manning to beat them. Instead of trying to defend him, they kept him off the field. The onside kick to open the second half is a prime example of the outrageously loony balls Saints' coach Sean Payton showed during the game. In any other situation, that call is a fucking abomination, but because it was Peyton Manning who was sitting on the sideline plotting an inevitable touchdown drive, the call bordered on brilliance. Peyton barely existed in the second half, and it showed. He lost control of the game and spiraled into oblivion, which was painfully evident with the two interceptions he almost threw right before the heart-wrenching, pull-your-hair-out pick six.
Where's the compromise? Often, I feel like it's either all or nothing from each one of these "characters" (while Jack Shephard is an obvious fictional character and Manning is an obvious real person, the fact that I've never met Peyton and the fact that he is often beheld as a little more-than-human quarterback-wise allows me to view him as fictitious, in a sense. Oh, and it also helps me perpetuate this comparison). Plainly stated, I'm sticking to my guns. Despite their weaknesses, I will forever remain an avid Peyton Manning fan and always loyal to Jack Shepard. I'd rather put my trust in an obsessive, over-analyzer than a schitzy, nutjob of a character with very few redeeming qualities (i.e. Brett Favre or Hurley).
So, I'll see you next season, Peyton, and I'll see you next episode, Jack. And I'll undoubtedly be in your corner, rooting away.
There was one problem, though. Everyone (myself included) thought the Colts couldn't lose. The former mild-mannered Colts coach, Tony Dungy, went as far as to say that "[Peyton's] going to have those rings Sunday night. I don't think it's going to be close." Guess what, Tony? Peyton threw maybe the most crucial interception in Super Bowl history, thus sealing the game for the upstart New Orleans Saints. Final score: New Orleans 31 and the Indianapolis Colts 17
Now, I'll forever be near the front of the Peyton Manning fanboy line. Those who know me well have undoubtedly heard me say, "Best quarterback you've ever seen in your life" at least a couple of times when referring to Peyton. However, when the game's big and the pressure's on, Peyton has had an incessant and uncanny knack for crippling letdowns.
Let me take this moment to address Justin Bragg specifically. You see, Justin's a hater and doesn't fully recognize the brilliance and innovation of Peyton Manning. He was privileged to be raised a 49ers fan who consequently basked in the good fortune of stellar teams with a great quarterback. As a bitter lifelong Bengals fan, I obviously think Justin's an ass.
Anyway, he repeatedly refuses to acknowledge that Manning single-handedly carried a Colts team on his back for seven years, until they were able to concoct some semblance of a defense. He's afraid that Manning will surpass Montana or Young, even though we all know he's already leaps and bounds better than Young ever was and is more than on the heels of Montana.
Listen, Justin, I'm only having a slight lapse in faith right now. My acknowledgment of Manning's imperfections should not be taken as literal defamation. It's more about me being upset that the Super Bowl ruined a perfectly brilliant juxtaposition of two of the nation's most heroic characters.
Needless to say, the second half of the Super Bowl was a bit of a chore to endure (primarily because I was forced to scarf down my own words). The Colts took the game on in a stiff-like, stuffy manner while the Saints exuded passion and guts. I was left with nothing to cheer for but a stomach full of beer, chili dip, and pizza. The holiday was over, and I had failed at another week of football. Good thing I get to type this because I don't know how I would ever even mouth the words, "Peyton let me down."
Therefore, I've elected to change gears and focus instead on the few weaknesses shared between Peyton Manning and Lost's primary protagonist, Jack Shephard. If you're unfamiliar with Lost, well then you've missed out on five full seasons of riveting mystery, meticulous character development, love triangles, general creepiness, an absurd amount of conjecture, fantastical settings, and time travel (that's about as general as I can make it). It's a brilliant television series and will undoubtedly go down as one of the most intriguing of all time. I urge you to get into it.
Unlike many other Lost connoisseurs, I like Jack's character, and while we're at it, I even like Kate a little too (so suck on that). Maybe I'll get hated on because Jack can be such a goddamn polarizing character. But when it's all said and done, he is crucial to so many plot lines that I feel like I know him better than anyone on the show. His stubbornness and/or intelligence never surprise me, his actions are almost always altruistic, and he's the obvious leader of the Oceanic flight's passengers, without question. Sounds pretty similar to Manning's roles (quarterback, offensive coordinator, captain, generally nice guy).
Like Peyton Manning, though, he's obsessive and a notorious over-thinker. He rarely seems satisfied with a result and has a tendency to go on benders, like the drunken pill-popping rampages he embarked on following the Oceanic Six's return to Los Angeles from the island ("We have to go baaaack, Kate! We have to go baaaack"). Jack often tries to do too much, pushing himself to the brink of absolute exhaustion. As a spinal surgeon, the fact that he thinks "nothing is irreversible" (an obvious omen in season six) is so detrimental to his psyche, causing him to fall apart with each whiff at perfection. The best way to control Jack is by not allowing him to be a factor. For instance, one of his lowest and most helpless points in the series (not eating, making maniacal escape attempts) occurred when he was caught by the Others and locked in the aquarium. He had no control.
Similarly, the Saints did the wisest thing possible during the Super Bowl. They didn't allow Peyton Manning to beat them. Instead of trying to defend him, they kept him off the field. The onside kick to open the second half is a prime example of the outrageously loony balls Saints' coach Sean Payton showed during the game. In any other situation, that call is a fucking abomination, but because it was Peyton Manning who was sitting on the sideline plotting an inevitable touchdown drive, the call bordered on brilliance. Peyton barely existed in the second half, and it showed. He lost control of the game and spiraled into oblivion, which was painfully evident with the two interceptions he almost threw right before the heart-wrenching, pull-your-hair-out pick six.
Where's the compromise? Often, I feel like it's either all or nothing from each one of these "characters" (while Jack Shephard is an obvious fictional character and Manning is an obvious real person, the fact that I've never met Peyton and the fact that he is often beheld as a little more-than-human quarterback-wise allows me to view him as fictitious, in a sense. Oh, and it also helps me perpetuate this comparison). Plainly stated, I'm sticking to my guns. Despite their weaknesses, I will forever remain an avid Peyton Manning fan and always loyal to Jack Shepard. I'd rather put my trust in an obsessive, over-analyzer than a schitzy, nutjob of a character with very few redeeming qualities (i.e. Brett Favre or Hurley).
So, I'll see you next season, Peyton, and I'll see you next episode, Jack. And I'll undoubtedly be in your corner, rooting away.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The "Mystique" of Brett Favre.
It's been a tough decade thus far. One flake of snow becomes a small mound, then becomes a massive snowball, and before you know it, you have a mutating monstrosity hurling down a hill picking up more and more steam with each subsequent yard covered. That's kind of how January was for me. The month limped in the door with the heart-wrenching Bengals season flopping in the playoffs (check out my bitter analysis for more) and progressively had larger and larger dumps taken on it in the form of a towed car, blown muffler, general sickliness, ever-present relationship problems, and heaps of money lost, among other delights. With the NFC and AFC championship weekend, though, the world finally seemed to be righting itself and leveling off into a euphoric wonderland of congruity. Why did this happen? What possible explanation could there be for such a sudden turn of events? It's surprisingly simple. Brett Favre fucked up again.
Now, this is going to seem insignificant to the casual Brett Favre voyeur. I mean, how could the well-being of an entire month and even a fledgling decade be contingent on whether or not a 40-year old, Wrangler-slinging quarterback fucks up or not? Again, I have an easy answer. Brett Favre is a fuckup. He's not the 33 touchdown and seven interception quarterback you saw all season. He's not the 107.2 quarterback rating. He's not the fiery yet lovable leader of a multi-talented Minnesota Vikings team. Favre is a walking mistake, and he proved it again in the NFC championship game last weekend.
Throughout much of the second half of the Minnesota Vikings vs. New Orleans Saints championship game, I was Internet-ing with the one-and-only Justin Bragg (you may remember him from such hilarity as our Karate Kid text-a-thon). Justin and I both carry a heavy disdain for Brett Favre, which I'll get to in a bit. Anyway, with the score tied at 28 and time winding down, Favre seemed to be driving the Vikings down the field for a shot at a winning field goal (they got as close as the Saints 33-yard-line). As the suspense mounted and Justin and I fetched razors from our medicine cabinets to slit our wrists with, we began toying with the idea of Favre throwing an interception and the Saints running it back for a touchdown. We figured that such a wondrous moment would result in both of our heads exploding from sheer elation and each member of the collective Vikings fan base vomiting simultaneously.
You see, Favre had a good season. As much as it pains me to say that, he did. He was placed in the perfect situation, supported by a well-oiled offensive juggernaut. This is no secret. Favre was a definitive cog in the operation but not the ignition key. It appeared as if he recognized this. For the most part, he shut his mouth and wielded his tools (Peterson, Rice, Berrian, Taylor, Harvin), while reaping the benefits in wins, stats, and media adoration. However, when the game was on the line, Favre felt like he was the one to make the play. He was the reason they were going to win. He was the team. And that's why the Vikings lost.
The interception was vintage Favre. Justin and I were being about as prophetic as we could be, calling a fumble or interception with each approaching play. But on third-and-15 from the 38-yard-line, the stars aligned. Under pressure, Favre rolled right and threw across his body into the middle of the field where he was picked off by the Saints' Tracy Porter. A sweeter and more predictable moment in sports, these eyes have never seen. I could listen to the KFAN play-by-play of the interception until my ears fell off. Paul Allen's reaction is absolutely priceless. For Justin and me, the entire season of badmouthing Favre had been salvaged because he did what he does best. Favre fucked up.
I'm often asked why I harbor such hostility for Brett Favre. Since starting this blog in late 2007, I've devoted several posts to him (check the archive), each revolving around his supposed retirement announcement and subsequent abduction of the football world's attention. Favre has loitered around the league in order to collect all of the quarterbacking records, including interceptions (done), give a middle finger to the Packers by succeeding with the Vikings (done), and win another Super Bowl (fail). He's been to the Super Bowl twice (1996-97), with the only title coming against Drew Bledsoe's New England Patriots over 13 years ago in '96. It's time for the old man to realize that when the playoffs roll around, he's much more the problem than he is the answer.
Favre is a notorious choker, which becomes more and more apparent each year as he chokes on following through with his retirement. The "gunslinger" mentality that has garnered so much lovable press just doesn't translate to championships. The media's enamored with the mindset because it can admiringly call him the "definition of a football player" and point out how much he seems to love the game, but it will always work against him, as this past NFC championship game illustrated so beautifully. Favre can put on the mask of a team player and supposedly respect the fact that he's part of the circus rather than the ringleader, but when the moment counts, he will feel the need to take over, and he will fuck up.
So, I guess I owe Brett Favre a huge thank you. When I levitated from my couch in some sort of loony ecstasy following the interception, I knew that all was right in the world again. The shitstorm that had enveloped the month of January had subsided, and I was able to sleep peacefully again knowing that Brett Favre fucked up. I can hardly wait to see the disaster again next season.
Now, this is going to seem insignificant to the casual Brett Favre voyeur. I mean, how could the well-being of an entire month and even a fledgling decade be contingent on whether or not a 40-year old, Wrangler-slinging quarterback fucks up or not? Again, I have an easy answer. Brett Favre is a fuckup. He's not the 33 touchdown and seven interception quarterback you saw all season. He's not the 107.2 quarterback rating. He's not the fiery yet lovable leader of a multi-talented Minnesota Vikings team. Favre is a walking mistake, and he proved it again in the NFC championship game last weekend.
Throughout much of the second half of the Minnesota Vikings vs. New Orleans Saints championship game, I was Internet-ing with the one-and-only Justin Bragg (you may remember him from such hilarity as our Karate Kid text-a-thon). Justin and I both carry a heavy disdain for Brett Favre, which I'll get to in a bit. Anyway, with the score tied at 28 and time winding down, Favre seemed to be driving the Vikings down the field for a shot at a winning field goal (they got as close as the Saints 33-yard-line). As the suspense mounted and Justin and I fetched razors from our medicine cabinets to slit our wrists with, we began toying with the idea of Favre throwing an interception and the Saints running it back for a touchdown. We figured that such a wondrous moment would result in both of our heads exploding from sheer elation and each member of the collective Vikings fan base vomiting simultaneously.
You see, Favre had a good season. As much as it pains me to say that, he did. He was placed in the perfect situation, supported by a well-oiled offensive juggernaut. This is no secret. Favre was a definitive cog in the operation but not the ignition key. It appeared as if he recognized this. For the most part, he shut his mouth and wielded his tools (Peterson, Rice, Berrian, Taylor, Harvin), while reaping the benefits in wins, stats, and media adoration. However, when the game was on the line, Favre felt like he was the one to make the play. He was the reason they were going to win. He was the team. And that's why the Vikings lost.
The interception was vintage Favre. Justin and I were being about as prophetic as we could be, calling a fumble or interception with each approaching play. But on third-and-15 from the 38-yard-line, the stars aligned. Under pressure, Favre rolled right and threw across his body into the middle of the field where he was picked off by the Saints' Tracy Porter. A sweeter and more predictable moment in sports, these eyes have never seen. I could listen to the KFAN play-by-play of the interception until my ears fell off. Paul Allen's reaction is absolutely priceless. For Justin and me, the entire season of badmouthing Favre had been salvaged because he did what he does best. Favre fucked up.
I'm often asked why I harbor such hostility for Brett Favre. Since starting this blog in late 2007, I've devoted several posts to him (check the archive), each revolving around his supposed retirement announcement and subsequent abduction of the football world's attention. Favre has loitered around the league in order to collect all of the quarterbacking records, including interceptions (done), give a middle finger to the Packers by succeeding with the Vikings (done), and win another Super Bowl (fail). He's been to the Super Bowl twice (1996-97), with the only title coming against Drew Bledsoe's New England Patriots over 13 years ago in '96. It's time for the old man to realize that when the playoffs roll around, he's much more the problem than he is the answer.
Favre is a notorious choker, which becomes more and more apparent each year as he chokes on following through with his retirement. The "gunslinger" mentality that has garnered so much lovable press just doesn't translate to championships. The media's enamored with the mindset because it can admiringly call him the "definition of a football player" and point out how much he seems to love the game, but it will always work against him, as this past NFC championship game illustrated so beautifully. Favre can put on the mask of a team player and supposedly respect the fact that he's part of the circus rather than the ringleader, but when the moment counts, he will feel the need to take over, and he will fuck up.
So, I guess I owe Brett Favre a huge thank you. When I levitated from my couch in some sort of loony ecstasy following the interception, I knew that all was right in the world again. The shitstorm that had enveloped the month of January had subsided, and I was able to sleep peacefully again knowing that Brett Favre fucked up. I can hardly wait to see the disaster again next season.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Text-a-Thon: The Karate Kid (Part II)
Yesterday morning, I woke up poorly rested and a bit hungover. Instead of retreating back to my bed, I did a quick channel surf and landed upon VH1, generally a channel with garbage programming. However, the think tank over at MTV's shitty little brother recently decided to show classic 80s movies from time to time. Today's choice: The Karate Kid. Now, I've blogged about The Karate Kid before. It's one of the most re-watchable movies ever (in a pretty close foot race with Hoosiers), and let's be honest, it probably has the best 80s movie montages (Rocky IV runs a close second).
Anyway, my first inclination was to immediately text my good friend Justin Bragg. No doubt he'd be awake channel surfing as well, basically killing time until the day's slate of NFL playoffs started. Much to my surprise (or not really at all), Justin had already texted to notify me about VH1's showing of The Karate Kid. Feeling a bit down in the dumps as it was, I made no real attempt to get my day going. Instead, Justin and I took part in a biting commentary on the nuances of The Karate Kid, one that no doubt made each of us laugh out loud repeatedly and one that may not be found humorous by anyone else. We're fine with that, though. Trust me.
Justin went to painstaking and tedious measures to transcribe the conversation in its entirety (with pieces of his own commentary added in), and I'd feel dirtier and cheaper than usual if I ripped off his text to post on my own blog. Therefore, I'm going to have to ask everyone to take a trip to Justin Bragg's blog, This Is Jeopardy, and read a juvenile conversation between two morons about a movie made 25 years ago.
I also feel like it's worth mentioning that neither Justin or I own magic space phones that do everything but cook you dinner and wipe your ass. The transcription of this conversation involved probably way more time than it was worth, and the often hurried texting process involved several misspellings and more than a fair share of punctuation and grammar mistakes (Justin probably doesn't care about noting this, but I certainly do).
THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION.
Anyway, my first inclination was to immediately text my good friend Justin Bragg. No doubt he'd be awake channel surfing as well, basically killing time until the day's slate of NFL playoffs started. Much to my surprise (or not really at all), Justin had already texted to notify me about VH1's showing of The Karate Kid. Feeling a bit down in the dumps as it was, I made no real attempt to get my day going. Instead, Justin and I took part in a biting commentary on the nuances of The Karate Kid, one that no doubt made each of us laugh out loud repeatedly and one that may not be found humorous by anyone else. We're fine with that, though. Trust me.
Justin went to painstaking and tedious measures to transcribe the conversation in its entirety (with pieces of his own commentary added in), and I'd feel dirtier and cheaper than usual if I ripped off his text to post on my own blog. Therefore, I'm going to have to ask everyone to take a trip to Justin Bragg's blog, This Is Jeopardy, and read a juvenile conversation between two morons about a movie made 25 years ago.
I also feel like it's worth mentioning that neither Justin or I own magic space phones that do everything but cook you dinner and wipe your ass. The transcription of this conversation involved probably way more time than it was worth, and the often hurried texting process involved several misspellings and more than a fair share of punctuation and grammar mistakes (Justin probably doesn't care about noting this, but I certainly do).
THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Worst Bengals Season of My Life.
Back in 2005, a streaking 4-1 Bengals team met an overmatched 2-3 Texans team. The Texans were a team mired in mediocrity, never having found their way since entering the league in 2002. The Bengals were a team on the rise with a dynamic offense headed up by soon-to-be Pro Bowler Carson Palmer and surrounded by an outspoken and talented receiving core. Things were meshing for the Bengals, aside from their defense of course. Still trying to find its way under "defensive mastermind" Marvin Lewis, the defense basically relied on the offense to outscore opponents. As we all know, that didn't quite work out, albeit a solid effort. The season ended with the Bengals limping into the playoffs, and Carson eventually boarding the infamous shame-mobile and being carted off the field with a shredded ACL. Only two plays into the playoffs, and the offensive juggernaut and season were shut down.
So, why am I bringing up that Texans game, anyway? Well, I vividly remembering watching that Texans game and being hopelessly frustrated the entire time. Sure, the defense was playing well enough, but the offense was sputtering and not putting an inferior team away. Final score: Bengals 16 Texans 10. Yes, we won. That's all fine and dandy, but there's no reason a punchline like the Texans should've hung around like that. I've watched what seems like 43 trillion games in which the Bengals were the punchline, and the opponent impolitely put its cleat on our team's collective throat. However, this game was an exception to what proved to be a season of potent scoring and lackluster defense. Which would you prefer?
So, who was really confident going into the playoffs this season? I suppose several of us, myself included, were foolishly confident. Big mistake. The team scored over 20 points in only six games during the regular season. They didn't score a second half touchdown in six consecutive games (unreal). Carson threw for over 300 yards once all season (a loss to the Chargers in which our offense looked semi-competent and the game was actually entertaining). Awful teams like Kansas City, Detroit, Cleveland, and Oakland stuck around in games and in Oakland's case, actually won. Wins are wins, and I understand that, but the frustration and anxiety expended by the possibility of having to watch shit teams attempt onside kicks at the ends of games is unforgivable. Finally, the fact that the Bengals had to wait until the end of overtime to beat the worst team in the NFL at the moment (Browns) is straight disgusting. That game made me want to dropkick the TV.
Everything came to a head in the Jets game last Saturday. The Bengals had been sliding along the floor on their asses for the majority of the season and barely eeking out games. They deserved to lose and we, the Bengals supporting public, were appropriately left unsatisfied by the game, the season, and the team as a whole. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather watch a viscous offensive stallion rampage teams and leave it up to an okay defense to hold its ground. If it doesn't happen, that sucks, but at least I got to watch a goddamn entertaining football game. Those were few and far between this season. Just fucking entertain me. That should be your business. Being content can be a dangerous thing. AFC North champs? Big whoop. Hosting a playoff game? Pffffft. Yeah, you best believe I'm still bitter.
Suck it, Bengals.
Rant over.
So, why am I bringing up that Texans game, anyway? Well, I vividly remembering watching that Texans game and being hopelessly frustrated the entire time. Sure, the defense was playing well enough, but the offense was sputtering and not putting an inferior team away. Final score: Bengals 16 Texans 10. Yes, we won. That's all fine and dandy, but there's no reason a punchline like the Texans should've hung around like that. I've watched what seems like 43 trillion games in which the Bengals were the punchline, and the opponent impolitely put its cleat on our team's collective throat. However, this game was an exception to what proved to be a season of potent scoring and lackluster defense. Which would you prefer?
So, who was really confident going into the playoffs this season? I suppose several of us, myself included, were foolishly confident. Big mistake. The team scored over 20 points in only six games during the regular season. They didn't score a second half touchdown in six consecutive games (unreal). Carson threw for over 300 yards once all season (a loss to the Chargers in which our offense looked semi-competent and the game was actually entertaining). Awful teams like Kansas City, Detroit, Cleveland, and Oakland stuck around in games and in Oakland's case, actually won. Wins are wins, and I understand that, but the frustration and anxiety expended by the possibility of having to watch shit teams attempt onside kicks at the ends of games is unforgivable. Finally, the fact that the Bengals had to wait until the end of overtime to beat the worst team in the NFL at the moment (Browns) is straight disgusting. That game made me want to dropkick the TV.
Everything came to a head in the Jets game last Saturday. The Bengals had been sliding along the floor on their asses for the majority of the season and barely eeking out games. They deserved to lose and we, the Bengals supporting public, were appropriately left unsatisfied by the game, the season, and the team as a whole. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather watch a viscous offensive stallion rampage teams and leave it up to an okay defense to hold its ground. If it doesn't happen, that sucks, but at least I got to watch a goddamn entertaining football game. Those were few and far between this season. Just fucking entertain me. That should be your business. Being content can be a dangerous thing. AFC North champs? Big whoop. Hosting a playoff game? Pffffft. Yeah, you best believe I'm still bitter.
Suck it, Bengals.
Rant over.
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