Wednesday, December 30, 2009

What is a Travis Pastrana and Why is it on my TV?

When you view the scrolling bar on the left of the screen and see the words "Travis Pastrana" preceding Da'Sean Butler's game-winner, you have an expectation. That expectation is that Travis Pastrana is dead.

Not so!

No, not dead. He's just going to do some crazy jump after he gets all totally amped on Red Bull--which is wicked gnarly.

Also--and this is unrelated--when that announcer yells, "LeBron James, with no regard for human life!" after that dunk a few years ago, yeah, that doesn't make sense. It would have made sense had LeBron, you know, heedlessly killed someone. Someone like Travis Pastrana.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A Welcomed Return - No TMZ Tiger?

Great job so far, but you've missed the boat on the whole Tiger development. I know it's been ground-down into pulp at this point, but does that mean you can idlily skip past the significance?
Tiger - from here on out I'll refer to him as ETW (Eldrick Tont Woods) as the common name in repetition just seems absurd (a la Chipper) - has been the most reserved sports hero in the last decade. The consummate professional, which media types fall all over themselves for wonderous quotes like, "I didn't bring my A game," or "I just didn't put it in when I had to."
Now the second quote is made up, and given the stories so far, he has "put it in" when it comes to VIP bottle-service girls and the assorted alike repeatedly and with a stern conviction. Today, these women are falling out of the woodwork like fucking roaches. But here's where the conversation falls off.
You are one of the highest paid professional athletes of all-time, you have constant exposure, but you hide yourself from the world. Behind the fascade of perfection, the measure of absolute appreciation, it lacks the real world connection, i.e. the fact that we all fuck-up - and we do it all, a lot! Yet, he has never transgressed to the world at large. His only exposure to true emotion is still tied to his profession - his father's passing. And while tragic, it still breeds lore to his professional dedication.
Here now is ETW, that never seemed to faulter, never seemed to fail, suddenly thrust into a limelight that reeks of frailty and common human error. Was his experience so different because he was married to a supermodel au pair? I guess when your worth $2.5 billion somethings will slide, but he is no different. And this is what the world jumps on, eats it like the fuckin' sweetest peep you've had. [Peeps are awful, but when you've never had a sweet treat before it is like you've died and gone to sugar heaven.] Only the dollar signs say otherwise. But this is in such dark contrast to the world he inhabited before. A world cloaked in separation from his and ours. A world, that with his missplaced sentax or varied verbiage becomes a piriah, or even more without communication, is caste even lower still.
In this short treatise I hope only to garner, not sympathy, but understanding that when all seems rotten in Denmark it usually is and always has been. I've lived in many places, but rotten is a place we can all call home at different times. ETW is as he always has been, but never seen. Let's absorb the comparison for as long as it lasts, for the peeps will never taste as sweet again...He is us and we are him.

Monday, December 28, 2009

In Memoriam

Well, Adrian Peterson just ran into the end zone, and all over my heart, and Cousin Brad's squad took home the first St. Xavier Faculty Fantasy trophy. And, in a sad way (both morose and pitiful), I'm gonna miss watching my guys every Sunday. So, since this is now my blog, I wanted to say a couple of things about all my guys:

Tony Romo: You are the best player on the Cowboys. Even when your team was losing, you were kicking ass. Only Peyton Manning has been playing better than you in the past four games, yet everyone hates you because you play for the Cowboys. Well, I don't; you rock.

Andre Johnson: You are the only player in 08-09 to have back-to-back 1,500 yard receiving seasons. You are a freak of nature, and it was an honor having you as my #1 pick.

Steve Smith: I chose you with my last pick because I remembered that you were good with USC, and then you started doing all this shit for the Giants, and I looked like a freaking genius. Thanks.

Frank Gore: Your coach is an idiot, Frank, and he thought he could win a lot of games letting Alex Smith go all Utah-spread offense. You were sorely misused, and you still produced. You scored the most points on the squad Championship Week (granted, against the Lions). You should have carried the ball 40 times a game. (PS: His highlight vid is to the tune "I'm on a Boat"...classic.)

Ray Rice: I traded Wes Fucking Welker for you, and you made me look like a genius. I loved when you ruined UL's season, and you continue to amaze me. Keep choppin'.

Dallas Clark: You are fucking awesome. No tight end (yes, Gene, even Celek) is even fucking close. Plus, you're from Iowa, and anyone who can thrive from that type of habitat (save, my wife) deserves props.

Ravens Defense: For some reason, you guys were available in my league, and I have no idea why, but you guys are awesome, and if I had to pick a favorite NFL team, you guys would be it. Or the Cowboys.

Finally, thanks to Steve Slaton for being the biggest pussy in the world. I hate you.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

'What in the wide world was that?'

I don't know, Tirico. I don't know.

I'm no coach, but:

1. How do you expect your punter, your PUNTER, to stand in on a rush that has three men against one, ONE, blocker?

2. Who in the hell was that pass to?

3. Why even send the kicker, the KICKER, in motion on that play?

I mean, how fucking excited were the three guys rushing the punter knowing that no one was going to block them? I'm guessing very excited. You dream of shit like that.

And Hunter Smith had to be lobbying against this steaming pile of shit-for-a-play. They actually lined up for this TWICE. The Giants gave them a chance to rethink it. But, noooooooooooooo, the Redskins wouldn't hear of it.

Oregon St. sucks Beaver dick, BTW.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Deadspin Does All My Work

Every time I want to describe a situation (like the pathetic tirade that was Brett Favre losing), Deaspin does it soooooo much better.

So, here it is:

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Brittnay Murphy Died

With all due respect, what the fuck is going on around here? She was my age!

We're BACK, Bitches!

So, I went to Radio Shack on Poplar Level on Friday to get a new cord for our laptop. Holy shit...expensive. So, this salesman gets me what I need, I leave, and the fucking bit on the end doesn't fit (TWSS). I go back, and as I pull up, the same salesman is outside, apparently about to smoke a Red.

So, I get out of my car, and he starts talking to me. So, I put the laptop on the hood of my car, and listen to him start talking about computers or some shit.

As he blathers on, some black dude pulls up in a Grand Cherokee looking for Bob's restaurant...he never found it. Well, that started this salesman on quite a torrent of Bischoffian tales.

REMEMBER: I just want to get a new tip for this wire.

He lights first cigarette and tells me:

1. He has set three world records for decibels broken in a car stereo system.
2. He has made three people vomit when listening to this system (that's good?)
3. He has broken three windshields with this super awesome system
4. Everyone in ST. FUCKING LOUIS knew who he was, his car being so sweet

He then finishes the ass end of his seemingly giant cigarette, I pick up my laptop, and he proceeds to get out a second fucking cigarette. And then it got weird.

1. He took four AK-47 bullets while in Iraq. Most humans do not survive one, mind you.
2. He is a second-degree black belt in karate
3. He has produced albums for Paul Wall
4. He beat up numerous black kids in his East St Louis high school because they messed with a white kid. But, he was never arrested because when the cops heard the story, they TOTALLY sided with him, right?
5. His cousin who has been in jail five times screwed him over last week (didn't get the deets on that one)
6. He is already the top-selling Radio Shack employee in the region (Southeast, Ohio Valley, Louisville, Eastern Parkway, no one knows)
7. He just cheated on his ex, because she sent him a bullshit text about hanging out with HER ex and wanting to take THEIR child to the movies. Drama.

When we got back inside, they didn't have the part I needed. Mother FUCK.

Friday, December 18, 2009

the true meaning of christmas

oh, wow...are we doin' THIS again???
hmmm...what to say?
Oh, i got it...Greatest Christmas Ever...
Mine was 1989.
'89 and '90 are the Magic and Bird of my childhood years. Everything great happened then. Tim Burton's Batman, Bobby Brown, BBD, a momentus victory in the OMOS Christmas Tournament, first trip to Wrigley. If i actually turn out to be Daniel Stern and i find myself narrating the story of my life to no one in particular, '89 and '90 will represent the best seasons where a disproprortionate amount of the good episodes would come from. '89 and '90 are to me, like '87 was to members of the wu tang was my favorite shit, son.
I got gifts lavished on me that year, way more so than in other years. I have no idea why. I am not shrewd enough an economist to point to a certain trend as to why my usually somewhat cash strapped parents had more money than in years past. All i know was it was awesome. The highlight list looked like this...

Nintendo Game Boy...two colors, gray and green, no back light (if ya wanted to play that bitch, you better turn on a flood light!), battery life of ten minutes even when ya packed it full of recharged AAs, and TETRIS...calculators these days can do more to stimulate a child...i mean it, and honest to goodness calculator...but to my little troglodyte mind it was something akin to when the caveman invented the cigarette lighter...the greatest technical marvel of my epoch was now held in the palm of my grubby little hand!

Tecmo this young age, i thought myself to be quite the football mind. Little did i know that i was actually just a dork, and the lifelong trend that was being established here was not a commitment to the game of football, always giving my all, play like a champion today...poo, poo, poo, it was more establishing the tradition of my greatest moments in life being achieved in a venue where the only ones to bear witness are a throng of poorly drawn, barely animated drones who seem to not even be watching the game.

Nike Air Trainer SC...the ever famous "Bo Jackson"...we all saw the commercials, we all bear witness to what he did in the all star game, what he did to bozworth... he scaled walls, he hit one handed home runs, he ran over linebackers and away from corners, (unfortunately not away from the pesky bengals defense)bill brasky wishes he was Bo. And i rocked the same shoes as that guy. I fell in line with all the myriad kids who hoped that just by donning a pair of(metaphorical) Chuck Taylor's that my set shot and chest pass (again, metaphors) would be somehow crisper. Of course, that turned out to be wrong. I hesitate to even use the term "flame out" when associated with anything athletic i have ever done, simply because it implies that there was once a spark there. But the hundred plus beans that my folks laid out for those kicks...boy they sure helped prolong the lie. Rockin a pair of Bo's made you feel like you had to be athletic. Like his big giant self would be waiting to throttle you if he caught you eating a Big Mac or playing your new game boy in HIS shoes.

so there it is, gang...anybody wanna chime in? what we are lookin for here is best Christmas gifts ever...gotta be from the same year...if any of you queefs out there have any reasons for loving a particular Christmas that are NOT shallow and materlialistic ( "My first Christmas with my wife" or "our child was born"or "we saved a village of orphans"), then fuck you...just presents that rocked and that shit story for your Charlie Brown friends, you blanket sucking, Linus-ass pantyliners.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

A Slight Eddie Moment

So, I was in the drive-thru at Sonoma this morning (their coffee sucks), and I was listening to 840 because I am an old person. Anywho, they discussed Devante Parker signing with UL (good get), and they mentioned he was the son of Anthony Shelman. I thought, "Holy shit, how old was Shelman when he had this kid? I remember when he transferred from Florida State!" Then I realized I was thinking of Eric Shelton.

Also, Dallas Clark just made an awesome TD catch. Machine.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Andre Ware kinda looks like Ken Rudolph

And Todd Blackledge looks like a cancer patient on HD. Kinda gross.

(I'm just gonna post random stuff from now on since nobody reads this anymore.)

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Outkast Is Still Awesome

I was cleaning out my inbox of e-mails from school, and Yochum sent me this a while back. Since I felt terrible about deleting something so awesome, I put it here because this blog apparently will NEVER die.

Via Pitchfork's Top Songs of the Decade:

1. OutKast
[LaFace/Arista; 2000]

So you've spent the past five days clicking through pages of this countdown only to find out that the best single of the 2000s was released just 10 months into the decade. (To the ensuing nine or so years of music: thanks for showing up.) And that it's the very same song that topped Pitchfork's Best Songs of 2000-2004 list from five years ago. Now you know how your parents feel when they tune into a long-weekend classic-rock radio countdown for the inevitable valedictory spin of "Stairway to Heaven".

But really, do we have any other choice? "B.O.B." is not just the song of the decade-- it is the decade. Appropriately, the contemporary hip-hop act most in tune with the Afro-Futurist philosophies of Sun Ra, George Clinton, and Afrika Bambaataa, wound up effectively crafting a fast-forwarded highlight-reel prophecy of what the next 10 years held in store. The title-- aka "Bombs Over Baghdad", a phrase that sounded oddly anachronistic in 2000, sadly ubiquitous two and a half years later-- is only the start of it. In "B.O.B"'s booty-bass blitzkrieg, we hear an obliteration of the boundaries separating hip-hop, metal, and electro, setting the stage for a decade of dance/rock crossovers. We hear a bloodthirsty gospel choir inaugurating a presidential administration of warmongering evangelicals. We hear André 3000 and Big Boi fire off a synapse-bursting stream of ripped-from-the-headlines buzzwords ("Cure for cancer/ Cure for AIDS"), personal anecdotes ("Got a son on the way by the name of Bamboo") and product placements ("Yo quiero Taco Bell") that read like the world's first Twitter feed. We hear four minutes of utter fucking chaos yielding to a joyously optimistic denouement (a point reinforced by the Stankonia cover's re-imagination of the American flag, which anticipates a White House set to be painted black).

Of course, there is a downside of being ahead of your time-- upon its release, "B.O.B." didn't even dent the Billboard Hot 100, and merely peaked at No. 69 on the Hip-Hop/R&B Chart. But unlike OutKast's subsequent number one singles ("Ms. Jackson" and "Hey Ya") "B.O.B." is too disorienting and exhausting an experience to ever succumb to over-saturation, and its majesty has never been diminished by ironic cover versions from cred-hungry rock bands. Because even after a decade that's seen the act of copying music become as easy as a mouse-click, and the process of performing simplified for toy video-game guitars, the future-shocked ferocity "B.O.B." is something that just cannot be duplicated. --Stuart Berman