JW,
As you know, and as our readers have begun to guess, I’m a man of many contradictions. A (rebel) flag-waving Southerner, I dislike most Southern states. A college-educated twenty-something, I detest Barack Obama. A hearty fan of the political invention that was good ole’ boy George W. Bush, I roll my eyes at legitimate good ole’ boy Brett Favre.
Why the attitude? Perhaps it’s due to the potential ending of the Favre news-cycle-that-wouldn’t-die, a culture-defining moment on par with the lunar landing. Now that Favre seems ready to fade into the Mississippi sunset, I’m ready to declare something shocking. Excellence aside, I don’t particularly like the guy.
Hard to believe, isn’t it? Disliking Favre is like disliking fireworks: You’re okay 364 days a years, but once every July you’re just an a--hole. Here’s the thing, though. Favre is one of those guys whose legend has so far outpaced his actual accomplishments, they’re barely visible in the rear-view mirror. Yes, he’s great. Perhaps he’s even in the discussion for best ever. But he’s disgustingly, almost religiously admired by all, and he’s been the subject of waaaaay too much sports journalism. In the end, doesn’t that outweigh the good?
Look, I know the overexposure isn’t all Favre’s fault. Al Michaels, John Madden, and the rest of the fawning cretins who’ve covered him for the past eighteen years are largely to blame, as are the ESPN producers whose Favre-watch marathons have turned the guy into the sports equivalent of Chandra Levy. He practically has his own Sportscenter logo, for heaven’s sake! All joking aside, you’ve got to admit that sportscasters’ love of Favre is the most self-referential love the world has seen since George Foreman named his sons. Consider, for example, the following praise, edited for clarity:
“Favre hasn’t missed a start in all this time [that I’ve been covering the league].”
“I just love [talking about] that guy [for money].”
“He’s such an ambassador for the game [because he’s always in the news].”
“Everyone’s going to miss him [until Tom Brady’s first game back].”
I could go on, but I’d only be contributing to the problem, adding to the trillion words that will be written about the man between now and his inevitable 2010-2011 comeback. So perhaps I’ll leave it at this. Favre will be remembered not for his records (many of which Peyton Manning will surpass) but for his endless, dreadful waffling. For someone who did everything on the field but over-think things, that’s pretty sad.
-GM
GM,
How much can one really like a professional athlete anyway? You might watch a guy and say, "Man, I love the way he hustles," or, "His athleticism is unbelievable," or, "I'd love to just sit down and have a few beers with him." In those ways, I suppose it's possible to like LeBron James, or Phil Mickelson, or Manny Ramirez, or Brett Favre. When it comes down to it, though, we know very little about these guys as people--well, individually at least. Collectively, though, we can all assume they suck. Think about it. These are people who have had their egos stroked and fed since they were children. Few societies offer social rewards like ours to athletes. Right now, there are thousands of high school quarterbacks who are being given every possible indication that they're better than their peers, and most of them won't even play in college. Imagine a kid with pro potential! Is there any way he's not being shaped into the most arrogant bastard in his county?!
So what's to like about Brett Favre? Well, he wears Wrangler jeans (the FTC requires spokespersons to actually use the product they endorse), has a Southern accent (which seems to go well with football), appears to have fun playing the game, is not a criminal, and looks like he's actually trying to answer questions candidly when the media ask them. These things alone have caused many to love the man. They have caused me to assume he possesses higher character than most of his league mates. But I never doubted that he thought a lot of himself--even enough to make entire cities hold their breaths while he took his time. To be honest, I'm going to miss the drama. It was the only saving grace for ESPN programming in July last year. No offense, Title Town, USA.
-JW
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A Return to Vicksburg
GM,
Positively nothing gets me giddier about sports than NFL drama. A friend called me the morning the Terrell Owens “suicide attempt” story broke, and I was so overwhelmed with exhilaration that I could only squeak out four words: “I’m not working today.” I’m not saying I like it when Junior Seau makes borderline racist comments about LaDainian Tomlinson, when Bill Belichick cheats, when Plaxico Burress shoots himself, or when Brett Favre agonizes over the retirement decision for months on end, but I am saying these things make the world’s greatest league and sport that much better.
And as long as my team isn’t the victim of bad quarterback play—don’t worry; it has been… go Dolphins—I really enjoy the controversy it can deliver. This brings us to what should have been the lead: Michael Vick. No need to go into the history of why he’s been on the shelf, except to remind you that it’s almost been a thousand days since he last took a snap! And even then, his contribution to his team was questionable at best, harmful at worst. ESPN’s Sean Salisbury once insisted that Vick would eventually throw for 4,000 yards and run for 1,000 yards in the same season. This is just to remind you of the outrageous hype that surrounded Vick before the dog-fighting stuff broke. He was Superman to those who wanted to believe, the NFL’s version of Allen Iverson to those who knew better. And now, I get to sit back and watch as a few quarterback-desperate teams who don’t know better vie for the formerly highest-paid player in the game.
My top-four runners up are the Raiders, Jets, 49ers, and Buccaneers. These guys could use somebody. Unfortunately, while we would all squeal uncontrollably if Vick went to the Raiders, it won’t happen, as Al Davis considers JaMarcus Russell a franchise QB. The Jets seem to be content—not necessarily happy—with Kellen Clemens. I don’t think Mike Singletary has the patience for someone like Vick. As for the Bucs, I couldn’t tell you their head coach or QB situation with a gun to my head, so I’ll assume that’s a possibility. But there’s only one place that Michael Vick must end up: Buffalo.
Buffalo, New York! “They have football there?!” I assume some guys have been saying that because Trent Edwards keeps talking about how the media are actually covering the team now. Edwards, who won the title for “Worst QB Performance Ever Without Getting Benched” on a Monday night against Cleveland last year, will already have to deal with the aforementioned T.O. And I don’t have any particular disdain for Edwards—he really is terrible, though—but I doubt I’d be the only one praying that Vick and Owens wind up on the field together. “Abandon the running game early because you want to, late because you have to. It’s the V.T.O. Show, fellas.” It’ll look something like this when done correctly: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVh0n03DnjQ. The rest of the highlights will come from the locker room and sidelines. I can’t wait.
-JW
JW,
You're right, of course, about Buffalo, though for comedic value, O-Town can't be beat. Just imagine the Moss jersey's urban appeal and multiply it by a million. Forget the mean streets of East Oakland. Gangstas will be wearing this s--t to the electric chair!
I'm surprised, by the way, that you neglected to mention T.O. rolling out the red carpet for Vick earlier this week, an overture that must have coincided with his realization that Trent Edwards is indeed his quarterback. Put yourself in 81's place for a moment and you'll see where this is going. Edwards' wild lobs could potentially be caught by a T.O. still in his prime, but nobody's catching Vick's bounce passes, and Owens knows that blame will be handed out accordingly.
See, that's the thing about the invention of the forward pass. A damnable nuisance, to be sure, it tends to limit those players whose throwing motion propels the ball downward. As things stand, T.O. likes to complain when he doesn't get enough touches. How's he going to feel when no one gets touches? Except for Vick, of course. And the turf. And the other team's safeties.
As far as I'm concerned, now is the time for Roger Goodell to declare that a Vick/Owens pairing is outside the best interest of the league. We're making up the story, for heaven's sake, and I'm already sick of hearing about it! Furthermore, why waste Vick on a washed-up brat like Owens when a washed-up fellow criminal like Marvin Harrison is just waiting for the opportunity?
Can't you just see it? Vick slinging rocks to Harrison as a tearful Tony Dungy looks on from the sideline and fans cower in their seats? Let's make it happen!
By the way, I'd forgotten about the Vick/Owens commercial, so thanks for the link. I wonder, does Vick's jersey really light up when he's about to throw a reckless pass? If so, can we use that information for gambling purposes?
-GM
Positively nothing gets me giddier about sports than NFL drama. A friend called me the morning the Terrell Owens “suicide attempt” story broke, and I was so overwhelmed with exhilaration that I could only squeak out four words: “I’m not working today.” I’m not saying I like it when Junior Seau makes borderline racist comments about LaDainian Tomlinson, when Bill Belichick cheats, when Plaxico Burress shoots himself, or when Brett Favre agonizes over the retirement decision for months on end, but I am saying these things make the world’s greatest league and sport that much better.
And as long as my team isn’t the victim of bad quarterback play—don’t worry; it has been… go Dolphins—I really enjoy the controversy it can deliver. This brings us to what should have been the lead: Michael Vick. No need to go into the history of why he’s been on the shelf, except to remind you that it’s almost been a thousand days since he last took a snap! And even then, his contribution to his team was questionable at best, harmful at worst. ESPN’s Sean Salisbury once insisted that Vick would eventually throw for 4,000 yards and run for 1,000 yards in the same season. This is just to remind you of the outrageous hype that surrounded Vick before the dog-fighting stuff broke. He was Superman to those who wanted to believe, the NFL’s version of Allen Iverson to those who knew better. And now, I get to sit back and watch as a few quarterback-desperate teams who don’t know better vie for the formerly highest-paid player in the game.
My top-four runners up are the Raiders, Jets, 49ers, and Buccaneers. These guys could use somebody. Unfortunately, while we would all squeal uncontrollably if Vick went to the Raiders, it won’t happen, as Al Davis considers JaMarcus Russell a franchise QB. The Jets seem to be content—not necessarily happy—with Kellen Clemens. I don’t think Mike Singletary has the patience for someone like Vick. As for the Bucs, I couldn’t tell you their head coach or QB situation with a gun to my head, so I’ll assume that’s a possibility. But there’s only one place that Michael Vick must end up: Buffalo.
Buffalo, New York! “They have football there?!” I assume some guys have been saying that because Trent Edwards keeps talking about how the media are actually covering the team now. Edwards, who won the title for “Worst QB Performance Ever Without Getting Benched” on a Monday night against Cleveland last year, will already have to deal with the aforementioned T.O. And I don’t have any particular disdain for Edwards—he really is terrible, though—but I doubt I’d be the only one praying that Vick and Owens wind up on the field together. “Abandon the running game early because you want to, late because you have to. It’s the V.T.O. Show, fellas.” It’ll look something like this when done correctly: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVh0n03DnjQ. The rest of the highlights will come from the locker room and sidelines. I can’t wait.
-JW
JW,
You're right, of course, about Buffalo, though for comedic value, O-Town can't be beat. Just imagine the Moss jersey's urban appeal and multiply it by a million. Forget the mean streets of East Oakland. Gangstas will be wearing this s--t to the electric chair!
I'm surprised, by the way, that you neglected to mention T.O. rolling out the red carpet for Vick earlier this week, an overture that must have coincided with his realization that Trent Edwards is indeed his quarterback. Put yourself in 81's place for a moment and you'll see where this is going. Edwards' wild lobs could potentially be caught by a T.O. still in his prime, but nobody's catching Vick's bounce passes, and Owens knows that blame will be handed out accordingly.
See, that's the thing about the invention of the forward pass. A damnable nuisance, to be sure, it tends to limit those players whose throwing motion propels the ball downward. As things stand, T.O. likes to complain when he doesn't get enough touches. How's he going to feel when no one gets touches? Except for Vick, of course. And the turf. And the other team's safeties.
As far as I'm concerned, now is the time for Roger Goodell to declare that a Vick/Owens pairing is outside the best interest of the league. We're making up the story, for heaven's sake, and I'm already sick of hearing about it! Furthermore, why waste Vick on a washed-up brat like Owens when a washed-up fellow criminal like Marvin Harrison is just waiting for the opportunity?
Can't you just see it? Vick slinging rocks to Harrison as a tearful Tony Dungy looks on from the sideline and fans cower in their seats? Let's make it happen!
By the way, I'd forgotten about the Vick/Owens commercial, so thanks for the link. I wonder, does Vick's jersey really light up when he's about to throw a reckless pass? If so, can we use that information for gambling purposes?
-GM
Monday, July 27, 2009
All Over Again . . . And Again . . . And Again
JW,
Today’s sentiment is simple: Screw you, Yogi Berra.
That’s right, one of the most beloved imbeciles of all time has finally chapped my ass a smidge too red. His weapon? “De ja vu all over again,” a loathsome bit of malapropistic nonsense that jumped from the ESPN studio to the college classroom a few years ago and has now shown up in the online column of Stanley Fish (!) writing for the New York Times (!!). Believe me, I like fake wryness as much as the next guy, but there’s a limit to what one man can Berra. As my mother used to say, the first time’s funny, the second time’s silly, and the third time’s a spanking.
Here’s the thing about stupid phrases. Sure, they’re good for irony, but abuse them and they revert to stupid. The sophisticate’s task is constant vigilance, lest the expression reach its tipping point without his knowing it. With apologies to Fish, I’m pretty sure we’re there.
Consider, for example, my Google search, which shows roughly 15 million hits for “de ja vu” and 2 trillion for “de ja vu all over again”! (Okay, it’s half a million, but that’s still a big number. Damn big.) An actual phenomenon that spans languages and cultures is only thirty times more popular than a made-up piece of idiocy! It should be a thousand!
Won’t you join me in boycotting any television program, column, or person who uses this phrase ever again? It’ll be a loss, I know, but not an unbearable one. After all, Yogi got one thing right. If the world was perfect, it wouldn’t be.
-GM
GM,
For me, such a boycott would reduce my television watching--for a few days at least--to Comedy Central. And considering its affinity for one-season wonders (see Michael & Michael, Con, and The Naked Trucker and T-Bone Show), I would be forced to limit my viewing "pleasure" to Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and South Park reruns. If ESPN and ESPN2 actually thought the third time was worthy of a spanking, then you wouldn't be the only one with a beet-red posterior. Chris Berman, Dick Vitale, Stuart Scott, Josh Elliot, Trey Wingo--the list of people who use this phrase goes on and on, and I have reason to believe Berman and Vitale actually fail to understand the joke. The redundancy of "De ja vu all over again" differs slightly from that of John Clayton and Magic Johnson's beloved "and also too" to start a sentence, and it's not quite as overplayed as the sarcastic, Wingo-crafted (I think) "And oh, by the way" or "This just in." It does, however, strike a certain nerve, especially when it's so overdone.
This is why ESPN2's First Take, while miserable from a standpoint of quality sports programming, is actually brilliant for those who enjoy watching Jay Crawford and Dana Jacobson attempt to overcome the awkwardness of what I can only assume is their own writing. And if you think the word "practice" can even be mentioned on that show without an Allen Iverson impression, you clearly haven't watched. Some people just don't understand that a joke depreciates in value. Try telling that to the "That's what she said" crowd. I was attempting (and failing) to convince people that joke had worn thin two and a half years ago!
GM, I would love to jump on your bandwagon and say "No more!" to mindless cliches and trite humor, but I already have to scroll through the Guide whenever I want to watch an NFL game on NBC, an NBA game on TNT, or any college football game that's not on ESPN because I simply don't know the channel numbers. My dependence on ESPN exceeds my irritation with it. Speaking of dependence and ESPN irritation, do you remember SportsCenter anchor Fred Hickman? He was actually the worst sports anchor I've ever seen outside of a student broadcast. Here's an incredibly interesting story about the guy: http://deadspin.com/5100372/the-curious-case-of-fred-hickman.
-JW
Today’s sentiment is simple: Screw you, Yogi Berra.
That’s right, one of the most beloved imbeciles of all time has finally chapped my ass a smidge too red. His weapon? “De ja vu all over again,” a loathsome bit of malapropistic nonsense that jumped from the ESPN studio to the college classroom a few years ago and has now shown up in the online column of Stanley Fish (!) writing for the New York Times (!!). Believe me, I like fake wryness as much as the next guy, but there’s a limit to what one man can Berra. As my mother used to say, the first time’s funny, the second time’s silly, and the third time’s a spanking.
Here’s the thing about stupid phrases. Sure, they’re good for irony, but abuse them and they revert to stupid. The sophisticate’s task is constant vigilance, lest the expression reach its tipping point without his knowing it. With apologies to Fish, I’m pretty sure we’re there.
Consider, for example, my Google search, which shows roughly 15 million hits for “de ja vu” and 2 trillion for “de ja vu all over again”! (Okay, it’s half a million, but that’s still a big number. Damn big.) An actual phenomenon that spans languages and cultures is only thirty times more popular than a made-up piece of idiocy! It should be a thousand!
Won’t you join me in boycotting any television program, column, or person who uses this phrase ever again? It’ll be a loss, I know, but not an unbearable one. After all, Yogi got one thing right. If the world was perfect, it wouldn’t be.
-GM
GM,
For me, such a boycott would reduce my television watching--for a few days at least--to Comedy Central. And considering its affinity for one-season wonders (see Michael & Michael, Con, and The Naked Trucker and T-Bone Show), I would be forced to limit my viewing "pleasure" to Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and South Park reruns. If ESPN and ESPN2 actually thought the third time was worthy of a spanking, then you wouldn't be the only one with a beet-red posterior. Chris Berman, Dick Vitale, Stuart Scott, Josh Elliot, Trey Wingo--the list of people who use this phrase goes on and on, and I have reason to believe Berman and Vitale actually fail to understand the joke. The redundancy of "De ja vu all over again" differs slightly from that of John Clayton and Magic Johnson's beloved "and also too" to start a sentence, and it's not quite as overplayed as the sarcastic, Wingo-crafted (I think) "And oh, by the way" or "This just in." It does, however, strike a certain nerve, especially when it's so overdone.
This is why ESPN2's First Take, while miserable from a standpoint of quality sports programming, is actually brilliant for those who enjoy watching Jay Crawford and Dana Jacobson attempt to overcome the awkwardness of what I can only assume is their own writing. And if you think the word "practice" can even be mentioned on that show without an Allen Iverson impression, you clearly haven't watched. Some people just don't understand that a joke depreciates in value. Try telling that to the "That's what she said" crowd. I was attempting (and failing) to convince people that joke had worn thin two and a half years ago!
GM, I would love to jump on your bandwagon and say "No more!" to mindless cliches and trite humor, but I already have to scroll through the Guide whenever I want to watch an NFL game on NBC, an NBA game on TNT, or any college football game that's not on ESPN because I simply don't know the channel numbers. My dependence on ESPN exceeds my irritation with it. Speaking of dependence and ESPN irritation, do you remember SportsCenter anchor Fred Hickman? He was actually the worst sports anchor I've ever seen outside of a student broadcast. Here's an incredibly interesting story about the guy: http://deadspin.com/5100372/the-curious-case-of-fred-hickman.
-JW
Friday, July 24, 2009
Regular Season Baseball . . . Just Perfect!
JW,
I love regular season baseball. Mind you, I don't watch it particularly often, but the idea of it pleases me a great deal. There's something comforting about the summer-long battle of attrition that is the 162-game stretch. I like knowing that pitchers are winding up and batters swinging all around me, even if I have no interest in them. In a sense, regular season baseball is like really good elevator music. It's made to be ignored, but every so often a good riff catches your attention.
Such was the case yesterday, when Mark Buehrle pitched only the sixteenth perfect game of the modern era (distinguished from the pre-modern era by the fact that today's players don't work in the fields between games). I heard about the game the same way everyone else did--an ESPN ticker told me about it after the fact--and I spent the evening looking for highlights. Having found them, I'm ready to make a pronouncement about perfect games, and I hope you'll agree with it.
Perfect games, JW, are largely a matter of luck, and that's one of the reasons why we care about them. I've said it before, but most people care very little about effort. What we're interested in is that strange combination of skill and luck that makes great plays. Yes, DeWayne Wise's catch was ridiculous, but Wise would have been helpless if Gabe Kapler's potential home run had sailed three more inches. Three inches, and we'd already have forgotten the game, just like everyone but Expos fans and Nelson de la Rosa forgot within a week that Pedro Martinez pitched a perfect nine in '95 before Bip Roberts popped him for a double in the tenth. Free baseball? I think not.
So what are we to make of a sporting accomplishment so fickle, so dependant on the bounce of the ball and the competence of teammates? If only they depended also on pitchers' accomplishments in previous seasons, we could rename them the NBA MVP award.
-GM
GM,
There was a time I actually watched regular-season baseball. Well, two times. The first came when I was a small child and my parents wouldn't spring for cable. As a 7-year-old, I would check the TV schedule every week to see which network would be willing to show a Saturday or Sunday ballgame because I loved watching the pros so much--probably because my coach-pitch games were riddled with embarrassing strikeouts and errors. Granted, I didn't have much else to do at that age, but I actually planned around televised regular-season baseball games. Then we got cable, and then the strike came, and then I got some semblance of a life, and then we were only watching games to see if Mark McGwire would break the record. The height of this generation's baseball controversy, steroids, plagued the headlines and leads for the next few years, and SportsCenter became a pretty good way to keep up with the "juicy" stories without having to endure a 16-9 Yankees/Rangers slugout.
Then I started working in sports, and I thought it was my duty to try to learn as much about baseball as baseball geeks know. After five years of pretty solid effort, I realized I wasn't up to the task. Too much free agency. Too many names I struggled to pronounce. Too many games. I actually met Gabe Kapler, though. The Red Sox offered him a one-year deal in 2007, and he turned it down to be the manager of their Single-A team, the Greenville Drive in South Carolina. I had a brief conversation with him and thought: "What's this guy doing?! He traded a major league salary, team jet rides, and baseball groupies for a minor league manager's salary, long bus trips, and, ummm, slightly less attractive baseball groupies?!" And if Kapler is married and happens to be one of the few guys in professional sports who practices fidelity, forget the last part, although it's still nice to know they're interested, right?
I will agree that the perfect game does involve quite a bit of luck. Roger Clemens never had one. Nolan Ryan, despite seven no-hitters, never had one. It's a good list to be on, but let's just say David Wells probably won't be in the Hall of Fame unless several more big-time steroids stories leave Cooperstown in need of filling spots. Now, the cycle, that's fluky. I once hit for the cycle in an intramural softball game, and Willie Mays hasn't even done that!
-JW
I love regular season baseball. Mind you, I don't watch it particularly often, but the idea of it pleases me a great deal. There's something comforting about the summer-long battle of attrition that is the 162-game stretch. I like knowing that pitchers are winding up and batters swinging all around me, even if I have no interest in them. In a sense, regular season baseball is like really good elevator music. It's made to be ignored, but every so often a good riff catches your attention.
Such was the case yesterday, when Mark Buehrle pitched only the sixteenth perfect game of the modern era (distinguished from the pre-modern era by the fact that today's players don't work in the fields between games). I heard about the game the same way everyone else did--an ESPN ticker told me about it after the fact--and I spent the evening looking for highlights. Having found them, I'm ready to make a pronouncement about perfect games, and I hope you'll agree with it.
Perfect games, JW, are largely a matter of luck, and that's one of the reasons why we care about them. I've said it before, but most people care very little about effort. What we're interested in is that strange combination of skill and luck that makes great plays. Yes, DeWayne Wise's catch was ridiculous, but Wise would have been helpless if Gabe Kapler's potential home run had sailed three more inches. Three inches, and we'd already have forgotten the game, just like everyone but Expos fans and Nelson de la Rosa forgot within a week that Pedro Martinez pitched a perfect nine in '95 before Bip Roberts popped him for a double in the tenth. Free baseball? I think not.
So what are we to make of a sporting accomplishment so fickle, so dependant on the bounce of the ball and the competence of teammates? If only they depended also on pitchers' accomplishments in previous seasons, we could rename them the NBA MVP award.
-GM
GM,
There was a time I actually watched regular-season baseball. Well, two times. The first came when I was a small child and my parents wouldn't spring for cable. As a 7-year-old, I would check the TV schedule every week to see which network would be willing to show a Saturday or Sunday ballgame because I loved watching the pros so much--probably because my coach-pitch games were riddled with embarrassing strikeouts and errors. Granted, I didn't have much else to do at that age, but I actually planned around televised regular-season baseball games. Then we got cable, and then the strike came, and then I got some semblance of a life, and then we were only watching games to see if Mark McGwire would break the record. The height of this generation's baseball controversy, steroids, plagued the headlines and leads for the next few years, and SportsCenter became a pretty good way to keep up with the "juicy" stories without having to endure a 16-9 Yankees/Rangers slugout.
Then I started working in sports, and I thought it was my duty to try to learn as much about baseball as baseball geeks know. After five years of pretty solid effort, I realized I wasn't up to the task. Too much free agency. Too many names I struggled to pronounce. Too many games. I actually met Gabe Kapler, though. The Red Sox offered him a one-year deal in 2007, and he turned it down to be the manager of their Single-A team, the Greenville Drive in South Carolina. I had a brief conversation with him and thought: "What's this guy doing?! He traded a major league salary, team jet rides, and baseball groupies for a minor league manager's salary, long bus trips, and, ummm, slightly less attractive baseball groupies?!" And if Kapler is married and happens to be one of the few guys in professional sports who practices fidelity, forget the last part, although it's still nice to know they're interested, right?
I will agree that the perfect game does involve quite a bit of luck. Roger Clemens never had one. Nolan Ryan, despite seven no-hitters, never had one. It's a good list to be on, but let's just say David Wells probably won't be in the Hall of Fame unless several more big-time steroids stories leave Cooperstown in need of filling spots. Now, the cycle, that's fluky. I once hit for the cycle in an intramural softball game, and Willie Mays hasn't even done that!
-JW
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A New Hero For a New South
JW,
Driving through a major Southern city this morning, I came across a fellow who had fashioned a pair of testicles out of tennis balls and socks. They were swinging from the trailer hitch of his Chevy pickup, nearly brushing the ground as he maneuvered through traffic. Seeing this display, I realized anew that Obama's attempts to remake this country in the image of socialist Europe cannot be wholly successful. Not while testicle guy lives. Not while he's still out there.
To be honest, I haven't been this proud to be a Southerner since the time I saw a University of Georgia fan teasing a South Carolina fan for liking cocks . . . in front of his granddaughter. Seeing this Chevy was like the first night of Shiloh. We've cleared the field, and the Northern aggressors are fleeing into the Tennessee.
Unfortunately, Obama's press conference tonight promises to be the political equivalent of the arrival of Buell's reinforcements. I know that we've reached the point of destroying our own televisions to rid ourselves of the very sight of the guy, but for some reason, the rest of the nation still seems to enjoy the dithering. Personally, I'm expecting a hearty session of what I've come to recognize as the "Hem and Haw Fillibuster." Receiving a question of any depth from his minions in the press room, Obama will proceed to say the word "um" seventeen times in a row while staring at the left hand corner of the ceiling. The assembled press, astonished by the president's eloquence, will fall into a respectful silence, and the question will pass unanswered. Just you watch.
As for me, let's just say that my evening will consist of the purchasing of some cotton footwear. I've got the tennis gear already. Join me?
-GM
GM,
I also spent some time driving through the South yesterday, and I saw a guy who embodied our vision for America even more. See, he too was driving a Chevy pickup (fittingly, my very next rest stop involved hearing John Mellencamp's "This Is Our Country" while using the urinal). But my guy didn't find an old pair of gym socks and steal a couple of tennis balls from his dog's play area to capture the desired effect (we know your guy doesn't play tennis). My guy actually stimulated the free market by purchasing the testicles from someone who had the balls (yes, literally) to make a business out of it. These things actually have a brand name--probably a few actually--but a quick Google search led me to http://www.bumpernuts.com/. I have little doubt that the person who runs this site makes more money than both of us combined. And that's the greatness that is "Our Country." What isn't "Our Country" is the parental attempt to outlaw BumperNuts and products of the like. Hey, I think testicle guy is a buffoon, and I can't decide if it's a testosterone excess or deficiency, or just a poor sense of humor, that drives someone to "genderize" his truck. But I can't condone any effort to outlaw truck genitalia until BumperNuts includes the entire male reproductive organ. As I just heard Obama say in his speech, let's keep it to a "single-pair system."
What I mainly don't understand is the confusion that automobile owners have expressed over the years when it comes to naming their vehicles. I thought cars and trucks were exclusively female. Perhaps there's a certain poetry to testicle guy's testicular statement. Maybe he wasn't even a guy! Maybe it was a feminist who wanted to draw similarities between GM's historical product development and the typically stubborn man. "A Chevy truck must be a man!" If that's the case, I'll give the devil her due.
-JW
Driving through a major Southern city this morning, I came across a fellow who had fashioned a pair of testicles out of tennis balls and socks. They were swinging from the trailer hitch of his Chevy pickup, nearly brushing the ground as he maneuvered through traffic. Seeing this display, I realized anew that Obama's attempts to remake this country in the image of socialist Europe cannot be wholly successful. Not while testicle guy lives. Not while he's still out there.
To be honest, I haven't been this proud to be a Southerner since the time I saw a University of Georgia fan teasing a South Carolina fan for liking cocks . . . in front of his granddaughter. Seeing this Chevy was like the first night of Shiloh. We've cleared the field, and the Northern aggressors are fleeing into the Tennessee.
Unfortunately, Obama's press conference tonight promises to be the political equivalent of the arrival of Buell's reinforcements. I know that we've reached the point of destroying our own televisions to rid ourselves of the very sight of the guy, but for some reason, the rest of the nation still seems to enjoy the dithering. Personally, I'm expecting a hearty session of what I've come to recognize as the "Hem and Haw Fillibuster." Receiving a question of any depth from his minions in the press room, Obama will proceed to say the word "um" seventeen times in a row while staring at the left hand corner of the ceiling. The assembled press, astonished by the president's eloquence, will fall into a respectful silence, and the question will pass unanswered. Just you watch.
As for me, let's just say that my evening will consist of the purchasing of some cotton footwear. I've got the tennis gear already. Join me?
-GM
GM,
I also spent some time driving through the South yesterday, and I saw a guy who embodied our vision for America even more. See, he too was driving a Chevy pickup (fittingly, my very next rest stop involved hearing John Mellencamp's "This Is Our Country" while using the urinal). But my guy didn't find an old pair of gym socks and steal a couple of tennis balls from his dog's play area to capture the desired effect (we know your guy doesn't play tennis). My guy actually stimulated the free market by purchasing the testicles from someone who had the balls (yes, literally) to make a business out of it. These things actually have a brand name--probably a few actually--but a quick Google search led me to http://www.bumpernuts.com/. I have little doubt that the person who runs this site makes more money than both of us combined. And that's the greatness that is "Our Country." What isn't "Our Country" is the parental attempt to outlaw BumperNuts and products of the like. Hey, I think testicle guy is a buffoon, and I can't decide if it's a testosterone excess or deficiency, or just a poor sense of humor, that drives someone to "genderize" his truck. But I can't condone any effort to outlaw truck genitalia until BumperNuts includes the entire male reproductive organ. As I just heard Obama say in his speech, let's keep it to a "single-pair system."
What I mainly don't understand is the confusion that automobile owners have expressed over the years when it comes to naming their vehicles. I thought cars and trucks were exclusively female. Perhaps there's a certain poetry to testicle guy's testicular statement. Maybe he wasn't even a guy! Maybe it was a feminist who wanted to draw similarities between GM's historical product development and the typically stubborn man. "A Chevy truck must be a man!" If that's the case, I'll give the devil her due.
-JW
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