This is fantastic on many levels, but it assumes that any Steeler Fan is thin enough to have sex. Somewhat NSFW, and I'm disappointed that they didn't get into the smaller Asian sizes popularized for Hines Ward. Do not miss.
The awkwardness of certain sports expressions is one of those chicken-egg moments. Were our sports always laced with codewords for various subcultures, or have those subcultures simply tried to become more mainstream by co-opting sports phrases?
Well, far be it for me to answer these questions of metaphysical linguistics, especially when more and more of you (every day) are looking for some help in putting your league mates off their game.
Besides, let's face it... Is there really a limit that you aren't prepared to go to for league supremacy? If it puts your fellow league mates off their oats, shake your naming moneymaker, girlfriend. (As always, these should fit in Yahoo leagues.)
Needle Buddies
Designated Hitters
Albert's Belle Boys
Lefty Specialists
Platoon Pals
Utility Players
Bush League Call Up
Head First
Warning Tracks
Juiced Bats
Rafael's Palmeiro
Turning Two
Hot Corners
Loaded Bullpen
Power and Speed
Splash Hits
3 True Outcomes
Double Moves
Clutch Performers
Took in the new film with the Five Tool Ninja last night. Here's some quick thoughts on a good, though very mixed bag. Wait, maybe that's not the right word. Anyway...
"Watchmen" is nearly three hours long, and that's just a dang long time to sit in a theater. It's also a little too loud a little too often, and the violence is over-amped enough to be a bit wearying. Finally, it's a (very) serious story based around a fear (nuclear annihilation) that people have, for the most part, put in the back burner for the past 20 years, ever since the Soviet Union stopped being the Big Bad. So it's got some challenges that any director would have had issues with, which is part of the reason why the damned thing hasn't been made for 20 years, despite any number of efforts.
It also suffers from some highly curious decisions from "300" director Zach Snyder. (I know, I know, it's startling to think that a guy who made "THIS! IS! SPARTA!" the go-to phrase of 2006 could make some bad decisions. And I loved "300".)
The first and most unavoidable is his treatment of Dr. Manhattan, a physicist who become a Superman stand-in after a horrific accident. He also, well, spends most of the movie naked, with a visible penis.
Now, I get *why* Snyder did this; Manhattan's nakedness is reflective of the character's distance from humanity. Since that relates highly on the plot, it's the truest character costuming available. When Manhattan wears clothes in the film, it's always part of a set scene, where he's making an effort; most of the film, he doesn't. It's also an R-rated movie where we get some titty, so hey, fair's fair.
But, and here's the killer thing -- it just takes you out of the movie. Along with the tittering of the crowd, because, well, your eyes never quite get used to the fact that hey, you can see his schlong. In a sci-fi fantasy film that's doing what it can to get you into an alternate world, getting taken out of the movie is not helpful. (A similar though lesser issue creeps up from the film's use of well-known classic rock songs to set a mood, and real-world political mannequins like Richard Nixon, John McLaughlin, Pat Buchanan and Eleanor Clift.)
Next, Malin Akerman is Laurie Jupiter in this, and the principal female character in this movie, and while she's easy enough on the eyes... well, not so much on the brain. Maybe the role is badly written, and maybe I'm just expecting too much from a movie that I'm invested in, having loved the book.
Or maybe, just maybe, she's just a wooden and highly limited actress, and Snyder was too wrapped up in how the movie looks to notice this. (Who would I have rather seen? Any member from the Joss Whedon stable, with Summer Glau being perhaps the best choice, because damn, I love me some Summer Glau. But I digress. Moving on.)
Having gotten the bad news out of the way, let's get to the good. It's smart. It's effective. The effects are terrific and inventive, in ways that actually serve the story. Snyder stayed very faithful to the book. The cast is mostly made up of people who you haven't seen in a million movies, so they actually act their parts. Jackie Earle Haley is Rorschach in every possible way; there is no better human available to play that part. Billy Crudup does similar great work with Dr. Manhattan. It moves well, despite the length. Most of the stuff that you love in the book is here. Realistically, I couldn't have hoped for a better movie, and when it comes out on DVD, I'll probably pick it up, just for the extras.
But damn -- had they just given us less Blue Man and a better actress...
The top image today is a real live report from a student who didn't do the homework, but did contribute a moment of genius. Click on it to get a bigger image that you can actually read, kind of. He's got a three-film deal with Fox Searchlight now.
McNugget Denial inspires three calls to 911. You will be amazed to learn that this opinion was cited in the schlong of America, the state that gave us George Bush. Saw it off!
Barney Frank wants to legalize sports gambling. Many of the people reading this site, for the first time, want to kiss Barney Frank. Chastely, of course, until he delivers. After that, it's Campaign Contribution Time. (Cue the funky '70s riff.)
They are camels. They are angry. They are in a car. And yes, the camel's people already have a 3-picture deal with DreamWorks, with a merchandising tie-in that's making the cigarette people giddy. (What, you thought the camels were that mean naturally?)
Snooty film critic disses comic book readers in the midst of dissing the movie that the comic book readers might like. Blogger then takes snooty film critic to task for, well, taking a cheap swipe at the audience, rather than focusing on the freaking movie. Rest of world wonders when film critics became less geeky than comic book readers. And all-snarky sports blogger sits back, comfortable in his Man Space, secure in the knowledge that while these numbnuts are in the real-life equivalent of the AV Club, we're hanging in the school newspaper office, where we have our own desk and everything.
I know for a fact that Will worked like a dog on these MLB previews for the Fanhouse for you ingrates. The least that you monsters can do is read them, and tell him that he looks cute in that apron. Is that so much to ask? WELL? IS IT?
I'm not prepared to live in a world where Stephon Marbury is kind of likable and doing improv with a blogger. But then again, he's got the money to buy a personality.
Quick Hit with the story of a drunk hockey fan winning a couple of million for a severed leg from a subway running over him. The blogger sees it as a clear case of drunk idiot gets paid, but personally, as a guy who rides the subway, I'm a little happy to hear that the train driver is actually supposed to watch for bodies on the tracks. Because I ride those rails, and sometimes you see neat stuff down there...
Is Ned Flanders the sexiest animated character on television? Some things that are clicked cannot be unclicked.
What Hugo Chavez watches when he's not big on the WBC; the man's big on those Georgia Dawgs. Included here just to make one regular reader's head explode, and to impress my fellow socialists by having a 2 Hugo Week. (Best week ever? Yes.) This also counts as my state-mandated one college football link per year.
Oh, rich children of sports owners. When will you stop having your hair set on fire by your abusive lesbian girlfriends? H/t to the great Pacman Jonesin' blog on this one. But on the plus side, it's making me feel self-righteous about my own parenting. Sure, the J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS owner may be able to buy and sell me hundreds of times over, but unlike him, my daughters haven't been set on fire. So there! (Oh, and a quick Google search of the name of the ex shows that she's the daughter of some rich Yahoo guy. So Woody's little girl is the gold digger in this coupling, and deserves what she gets. I feel dirty now.)
On the off chance that my NFL playoff picks aren't good enough for you, you ungrateful bastards, the nice people over at Doc Sports are also offering up some NFL Picks, along with the NFL Line and the NFL Playoff Brackets. Such a public service!
Awful Announcing, your go-to site for, well, what it's called, examines the indefensible TNT move to replace Charles Barkley with a short and mostly sane white man. I'm thinking the visitors will notice the difference.
Global Sports Fraternity makes with more funny, though your average degenerate fantasy football player wouldn't last a night on the streets. He'd be selling his body for outdated annuals in hours.
Number 6, 80 years of age, finally escapes for good. Be seeing you. And let's close with my favorite car and television series in the world, because if you, Dear Reader, just show up here enough and all tell 1000 of your friends, the banner ads will get me my Lotus Super Seven in just a few decades...
On the off chance that you've missed the early front runner in the Blogfrica Story of the Year, go here. But you might want to do it many hours after eating.
11. Did Isiah Thomas call Curry to offer his congratulation, perhaps with a moving slow clap?
10. Will college basketball honks blame Curry's conduct on going straight to the pros from high school?
9. Given how regrettable he is as a player, will the gay community shove him back into the closet?
8. How does the chauffeur not get out of the way when Curry (allegedly) drops trou, since everyone who plays in the NBA has shown no trouble in moving past him?
7. When the driver asserts the Curry "put moves on me", was it the one where he drops and kicks the ball (ouch!), or the one where he shuffles his feet while someone whistles?
6. As the man has a history of heart issues, can we be sure that he's also, well, something of an INXS fan?
5. Doesn't the driver's story seem unrealistic, since it shows Curry giving an effort?
4. Is Curry's new status as Instant Talk Radio Manna good enough to make Steven A. Smith now value him as worth more than a bag of Cheez Doodles?
3. What will Tyson Chandler now do to raise the bar?
2. Given that, at this writing, he's played three minutes for the Knicks this year and sparked a hilarious sex scandal for just under $9 million a year in salary, when will the Knicks give him a raise?
1. Will opposing fans greet Curry with chants of "Touch / It / Touch / It", "Look At Me", or, sadly and more likely, something that rhymes with "Romo"?
All over my Internets tonight, nothing but Human Cock Fighting. And heavy on the cock, really.
I get that people like to see people beat the crap out of each other; hence the big "Woo!" noises when a safety lays out a receiver, independent of the outcome of the play. I'm not above watching a good boxing match myself, especially if the fighters either have some personal venom in it, or there's some historical merit to the proceedings: Ali-Frazier fascinates me on a near Trickster Mythos level.
But really, are we all so immune to the charms of The Association (or non-March college basketball) that we're rather watch two guys in shorts wrap their legs around each other's necks until one of them says Hello, Sailor?
Tonight in hoop, there were two double-overtime classics, with the Spurs outlasting the very game Grizzlies and the Rockets taking out the Jazz. The Grizz took the elder statesmen of the league to the limit at home, with rookie OJ Mayo looking like the game's next great player; only a very hot Tony Parker could save them. The Rockets rode Ron Artest (!) to 28 points to win despite missing Tracy McGrady; the Jazz are missing Carlos Boozer, Mehmet Okur and Ronnie Milsap.
This, from a league with perhaps the biggest talent base of any sport outside of soccer, and the only thing I've done in the last two paragraphs is make 70% of the readers bent that I'm talking hoop again.
But anyway, back to the human cockfightery.
There's something going on here, and it's not just the Nature Abhors A Vacuum moment of boxing opening the door wide for a competing thrill. It's that, with the utter abandonment of the playing field by pro wrestling for safe bloodsport thrills, and the increasing pussification of the NFL (don't hit the quarterback in 40% of his body, don't pull the ball carrier down from behind by grabbing inside the shoulder pads from behind, don't hit the ball carrier out of bounds even if it's damn near impossible to pull up on the off chance that he cuts it back inside)...
Plus, with the Web's always-on and always-available fountain of video goodness that used to make us feel bad, until seeing so very much of it made us all lose whatever shame we still had around...
Well, maybe I'm just old school for not being more into Human Cockfighting. But, um, still. This is, really, what you want to watch?
It's called "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" and it works for rain only because the guitar strums reminds me of the Velvet Underground's "All Tomorrow Parties." Definitely something I should have written back in the All The Songs Are About The Dog phase.
Just because, well, what's the end of the work week without a sissy pipe wrench fight?
A fun little list for a fun little guy tonight, folks. And rather than give you a dour little image of the Hitlerian second sacker, I went with a great little guitar tune. We can't be seen together, indeed.
Here's your link, and for heaven's sake, I'd like to see a single baseball brouhaha that actually resulted in some honest-to-goodness Real Violence. Seriously, you are in more danger of actual fisticuffs in the presence of children. Small children. Wearing pillows.
I'm going to clean up some loose ends that have been rattling around in my pending post file. Which means that it's time for all of you to put up with my esoteric leanings. (Hey, I gave you an Alyssa Milano image below. If I don't cockblock you here with some London Review of Books-inspired work, I lose all cred as a wildly unpopular sports blogger.)
"Public facts" is a concept that economists and financial analysts use to determine the veracity of a market. If everyone knows something (say, for instance, the raising or lowering of an interest rate), it's a public fact. If the rate will be changed but only a portion of the market knows, that's a private fact. Markets depend on the swift dissemination of public facts, because if you don't have them, you've got a rigged game, and you won't get fresh money or investors.
Here's another point from reading too many esoteric book reviews... when you think about life among the ancient Greeks, assuming you ever think of such things, you probably think that they are relatively tolerant of gays, given that there's been any number of pieces of art that depict such things.
But when you dig into how people actually lived back there, it really wasn't that way. Sure, among military and aristocratic elites, such things were tolerated, but for the most part, the orientation was regarded the same way that it was throughout most of the ancient world -- with suspicion or derision, because, dammit, when life expectancies and infant mortality is what it was back then, you need all the spawn you can get.
So a false perception of reality is maintained due to the existence of noteworthy art: the pots have survived more than the writing, so voila, Greek Love means what it means.
Now, how does this roll back into sports, since that's what I do? It's all relevant to MLB, this year, this moment.
The public facts about steroid and HGH use among players is still far from known, and not just from the obvious aspects of 500 foot home runs and the track records of various MVPs, Cy Young winners and the whole rogues gallery of users.
We don't know, for instance, how many older players were kept in the game, or had their prime years extended, from the use of the junk. We also do not know, and will never know, how many players are now hitting a hard wall that the needle and pills might have prevented, at least for a little while longer.
But since MLB isn't a traditional market, the failure of public facts has not been a detriment to financial interest. (Compare and contrast this to, say, what's happening with home values right now. Or, better yet, don't, because if you are like me and bought in before the market went south, it'll just make you very, very sad.)
Now, to the Greeks. When you hear people talk about parity, it's almost always in disgust; it means a confederacy of mediocres, with the era being little-known, nor long-remembered. Especially in baseball, people talk about the Yankee Dynasties or the Braves always winning the NL East as being meaningful and memorable... but when you look at the attendance figures, the numbers don't back it up. People like to watch teams that are actually competitive, and more competitive teams equals more stadiums that have filled seats. The existence of the art -- be it pottery or pennant -- does not reflect the reality of what it was like to be there.
Oh, and this also makes fans of MLB+ franchises complete perverts that shouldn't be allowed to marry, and a threat to our traditional values. And that's a Public Fact.
For the better part of a month, I've been sitting on this Yahoo story from the Reuters wire, in which "Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men's penises."
I'll wait here while you go check it out.
So where do you go with something like this, really? Do you go with Mike D'Antoni taking the Knicks money to go coach a roster that is singularly mismatched to his talents? Or maybe talk about how every non-Danica Patrick participant in the upcoming Indy 500 means nothing? Or how the PGA Tour sans Tiger Woods has achieved near NHL levels of sports irrelevance?
All I really know is that this thing has been in my bookmark list for weeks now, and it's bigger than me. I fold my tent. It's up to you now.
This is the most popular link in Yahoo today.
So, a word of advice for any teen or pre-teen who gets caught rubbing one out, or for anyone who has gone for that mid-day quickie in the bathroom at work? I admire your commitment to good prostate health. But no, I'm not going to shake your hand over it.
I went long over at the Carnival today, and managed to get through it without a single center/quarterback joke.
Then again, that's what the comments page is for, really...
At some point, Unintentional Comedy will, I am sure, provoke a massive and violent public backlash. Irony and sarcasm will be exposed for the intellectual shorthand and zero-sum end game. Craft will come back, and maybe even earnestness.
And on that day, I'll stop throwing these little grenades your way.
But until then, um, enjoy. Yes, that's the verb I was looking for.
And since I'm going this far into the public service of providing media that is best used in case you have a very limited time left on this earth, and want to make each moment seem like an eternity... well, let's just roll out that favorite of my first wife. (No, I'm not kidding. She had issues.)
Now, that's comedy!
By the numbers, there are well over 1,000 professional athletes in the three major US sporting leagues -- MLB, NBA and NFL.
If you believe the old adage of 1 in 10, or even a dramatically smaller idea of 1 in 100... well, that makes anywhere from 10 to 100 men who are, not to put too fine a point on it, gay.
It also strains the point of credibility to imagine that of all of the people who have played in the past, there has only been a handful -- John Amaechi is the only one that comes to mind -- that have had That Persuasion in the past.
Clearly, the last great closet in the US is sports. And it's going to go away, not just in our lifetimes, but probably in the next 5 to 10 years.
Here's why.
1) Same-sex marriage is an idea whose acceptance is growing rapidly, if you look at the polling numbers and the states that are becoming more accepting of it. What looked like a 20-year slam dunk for conservatives to run against just a few years back has lost a lot of steam.
2) Once it's accepted, you will have an athlete's spouse that will want the security of a long-term relationship -- both from a commitment standpoint, as well as from a financial one. To wit, alimony is a powerful force.
3) Independent of the likelihood of a state-sanctioned relationship for a gay athlete, there's also this -- endorsement dollars. For gay-friendly businesses, a player will be a natural choice for their courage in being the first out. Jackie Robinson may have put up with a lot, but so did Monte Irvin -- and Robinson, if such a role was happening today, would have had a much better deal from the sponsors.
4) The book deal. If Amaechi can get paid for being an unknown NBA center, what are the dynamics for a player who's active, known, and dare we say it, promiscuous?
Now, having said that, there are roles that won't work for a pioneer. (Note that I'm not saying that they can't do it, I'm just saying it's not the role for the first over the breech.)
1) Line play. Way too many opportunities for sudden and exceptional violence from a homophobe.
2) Quarterback or Running Back. Too much scrutiny and screening in earlier levels. Plus, the dirty little secret of both roles is that, unless you've got really exceptional physical gifts, you're pretty replaceable... and if your fullback doesn't want you to live, you won't.
3) Closer. A job in a fishbowl gets even more intense... and once again, it's a very replaceable job.
4) Power forward. Kind of the basketball equivalent of line play, and adding to the fun is that the point guard can freeze you out. They'd stay quiet.
5) Shortstop or Center Field. Usually the best athlete coming up in high school and college, and the role that's most likely to interact strongly with teammates -- second base for the former, the other outfielders for the latter. This position has had eyes on the money prize for a long time, and would do little to jeopardize the payday.
Now, the five roles were I could see a pioneer breaking out of the closet...
1) Punter or kicker. More or less on an island already, and while they might know they are disposable, they also have a certain amount of job security from just having numbers.
2) Wide receiver. The role already has a wide latitude in behavior, and if you've got numbers, you'll keep the gig.
3) Left field. Historically, the position with some of the greatest iconoclasts in the game, as well as the place where you'll find some of the biggest numbers. To wit, if Manny Ramirez came out tomorrow for the Red Sox, they'd probably think that was a win, because it wouldn't be another trade request.
4) Point guard. If you're good, your teammates love you no matter what... and if they don't, you can freeze them out and directly destroy their numbers. If you're a pass-first type in today's NBA, your big man will stand up for you if you were Al-Qaeda, let alone gay.
5) Left-handed reliever. Heck, you don't even have to be good to keep the gig. You get people out, the world will beat a path to your door -- even if that door's in a certain part of town.
Add your wild speculation in the comments...
to hold out for Top 10 Draft Pick Money. (The image is from Kissing Suzy Kolber's reader Dan V.)
All kidding aside, if you had to play for the Browns, wouldn't you be looking for as much money as possible?
