Free-floating hostility

You know what irritates me?  On certain days, a whole lot of things. 

This has been one of those weeks, a cross-section of my most recent irritations:

Leftside walkers

Can we all just get in agreement right now that in confined or crowded spaces, we’ll walk how we drive?

If you find yourself on a sidewalk or in a hallway, keep to the righthand side.  We call all get where we’re going reasonably quickly, and with minimal confusion about which party is going to zig while the other one zags. If you’re a small child, elderly, or from a foreign country, fine, we’ll let that slide.  But if you are a fully formed, adult American who’s been driving an automobile for more than a year, please just apply the rules of the road to your pedestrian meanderings and this will go much more smoothly.

I will never understand why this elementary concept never seems to occur to a lot of people, there may be no lanes on the ground, but you're still dealing with many spaces which only allow two lanes of traffic.  If you've got a better system, I'm all ears, but until you figure that out, let's just go with what's kept us moving along on the roadways this far in life.

Yet it never fails, walk around some a public space for awhile, and you'll encounter someone wandering absentmindedly toward a head-on collision like they’re channeling their inner-Brit. Happens everywhere you go; supermarkets, malls, work, the gym, there might only be two people in the entire hallway, yet some have the innate skill of angling themselves into your path from 50 feet away like you’re a goddamn human tractor beam.  I know I'm cuddly, but contain yourself, I have places to be

Soon, I may just snap, and start approaching this situation like a drunk or a fool has wandered into the passing lane. Right-of-way my friend, and you’re in the wrong, be prepared to get run down like a deer stepping in front of a semi. No warning, just chunks of bloody carnage littering the salad dressing aisle. All because you were too busy pondering whether to go with the light balsamic vinaigrette or spoil yourself with avocado ranch.

Cleanup in aisle 7 boys, cleanup in aisle 7.

Bitchy restaurant reviewers

Online reviews of restaurants can be quite useful at times, particularly in identifying an exceptional dish to try, good time of day to visit, or other trick of the trade. But for every blurb of value, there’s 2 or 3 angry screeds decrying lousy food, terrible atmosphere and waitstaff with attitudes. Also featured prominently are snobby comparisons made by too-cool-for-school hipsters on how a place “used to be cool, but ever since the new ownership took over” and blah, blah, blah.

It’s not unreasonable for the customer to make their voice heard. But once you pass paragraph #3 in your scathing critique of a local pub’s take on a Rueben sandwich, you’re no longer trying to convey info, and certainly not trying to help, you’re just being a self-important f*ckwit. A good rule of thumb is that if a place has 50something reviews that average a 3.75 rating, you may want to throttle back the anger on the zero you just gave them. I don’t need to be Guy Fieri to recognize that this is most likely a “You” problem.

Take the following first line of a review I read while checking out an Irish bar I was heading to for the first time. Let me repeat, this was an Irish bar, a drinking establishment first and foremost, keep that in mind.

We tried this place one evening for dinner. Our waitress was less than stellar. I had to ask for cream after she brought my coffee. Most disappointing was the food. I got the irish beef stew which tasted like something out of a can and loaded with salt.

This was just the opening, it goes on for awhile afterward, but this was really all the info required.

Let me translate for you:

Our waitress was less than stellar.– I did not feel that I got the requisite attention befitting my stature, don’t these people understand who I am?

I had to ask for cream after she brought my coffee –First off, I’m drinking coffee, so I either walked in here pissed off because I’m the designated driver, pissed off because I hate beer and would rather be at a wine bar, or pissed off in general because I’m the type of person who’s too uptight to have a drink during an evening out. Not to mention that I had to ask for something. From a waitress! The nerve of some people! Again, DON’T THEY KNOW WHO THE F*CK I AM!!!!!!!

Most disappointing was the food – I have never heard the joke: What are the three shortest books in the world? French War Heroes, Irish Cuisine and the Amish phonebook.

I got the irish beef stew which tasted like something out of a can and loaded with salt – Not only do I over-punctuate to a staggering degree, including periods where none are called for, I can’t even find the time to capitalize the ‘I’ in Irish. This must mean that while I demand the requisite attention be paid to anything prepared for my consumption, I won’t even do any potential readers the courtesy of reaching over for half a moment to hold down the ‘Shift’ key. In other words, this is like the crappy beef stew of reviews.

As always, we here at Loserville advocate voting with your dollars, or at least having the stones to tell whoever runs the joint your complaints in person. The problem is never with the sentiment, it’s how the strength of that sentiment and vitriol in it’s worded seem to grow twentyfold from behind the security of a keyboard. What we really need to do is come up with some that makes these people put their money where their mouth is. Hammer away online all you want, but once you do, you’re 86ed from the place, permanently.

Would it stop some people? Probably not, but you know there’d be more than a handful…

The Vikings stadium debate

In the words of the immortal Marlo Stanfield: "Either do it or don't do it, but I got someplace to be."

Gym lingerers

A distant cousin of the walking dolts these people show the same capacity for obstruction, only without that pesky mobility part.

Like most men, I tend to look at certain establishments as necessary evils.  Supermarkets, malls, gyms, all come with the idea that speed is of the essence.  You do what needs to get done, and you get out as fast as possible.  Now that we're finally getting into the warm weather and people can go outdoors for their exercise, workout conditions have finally relaxed a bit.  Far fewer people cluttering up the place, staring agape at a piece of equipment like it just spoke Farsi to them, it's been grand.

But one species of annoyance is year-round, in the form of those guys who just can't seem to figure out that someone else might be interested in using the piece of community equipment they're currently monopolizing.  Nobody is ever going to mistake me for a fitness model (or for that matter, a guy who goes to the gym with any regularlity) but at least I have the common courtesy to move things the hell along at a reasonable rate.

Yet these jerkoffs exist as if they're in their own little world, hauling equipment to the other side of the place and leaving it there, pausing to have a 15-minute conversation with a passing acquaintance while sitting on a bench press.  Hey chief, sorry for stumbling into your rec room, mind if we get a bit of work in while you're catching up?!?!?!  Honestly, it's enough to make you want to coldcock him with a 25-pound dumbell.

But then you start thinking about how much fun it would be to navigate the weight room in prison, and that reels you back in pretty quick.

Insurance commercials

I'm at a loss on something here.

Insurance companies claim to be all about saving me money.

Each insurance company runs approximately six million commercials a day (give or take) across every conceivable form of media.

Commercials cost money.

Doesn't it stand to reason that they could probably save me a lot more money if they didn't run commercials constantly?  I know you need to attract customers, but this is ridiculous.  Ever since bin Laden got taken out, that Flo from Progressive has been solidly in the Top 5 on my "People Who Need To Be Taken Out" list, and might crack the top spot before the year is out.  The guy who does the Gecko voiceovers is on the radar as well.  Dennis Haysbert, we're cool, you were Pedro Cerrano and President Palmer, much respect.

Commercials for three products dominate American mass media: Cars, insurance, and alcohol. 

A conspiracy theorist might look at this situation and say first they sell you the car, then the insurance to drive the car, then the alcohol to make you crash the car, leaving you in need of a new car and new (undoubtedly more expensive) insurance.  It's a clever game.

Everyone's going out of their way to convince you that they want to give you the cheapest possible insurance, but if insurance wasn't a highly lucrative business, why chase market share so hard with all these damn commercials?  Seems to me that despite the sweetheart deals being handed out, the margins of these companies must be holding up nicely, certainly don't seem to have any trouble maintaining healthy marketing budgets.

And just because it came up obliquely in the alcohol conversation: Clamato, give it up!

Nobody's ever taken a sip of a glass of tomato juice and said "Hey, you know what this could use, some clam juice!"  Just like nobody over the age of 16 has ever said "Man, I really feel like a glass of amaretto tonight!"  Now you and those ridiculous DiSaranno commercials, go back to whoever thought you were the centerpiece of an ad campaign and tell them they do not have the pulse on the American drinker. 

The only good thing to ever come from Clamato's was a joke I made up years ago: What do you get when you mix half a Bloody Mary with half a Bloody Ceasar? 

A Bloody Jesus.

Thanks, I'll be here all week.  Don't forget to tip your waiter, or at least don't bitch about him online.

Twilight of a career and a nemesis

Wow, a lot has happened since I last posted something, time to recap the goings on of the last week:

An open letter to the 2013 version of myself

The main reason for the current hiatus is because after events of last weekend, it took a few days to get the buzzing in my head to subside and regain the will to live. Every year I tell myself I’m going to take it easy, then every year something amazing happens that causes large numbers of people (chiefly me) to lose their minds. The last thing that I wanted to do this past Saturday was return myself to the city that had beaten the tar out of me for the previous 48 hours, but promises had been made and needed to be kept.

Since suffering through what may have been the worst Sunday of my life, I’ve been saying that next year is going to be different. But since no one believes me, and I don’t completely believe myself, that needs to go down on paper for posterity’s sake.


From: The 2012 Mayor
To: The 2013 Mayor

RE: Saturday, March 16th 2013

Mr. Mayor,

This letter is being written to request that you cease-and-desist from any excursion within the borders of St. Paul, Minnesota on Saturday the 16th of March, two-thousand and thirteen. As you know, this will be the last Final Five Saturday in history, and also likely the observance of the St. Patrick’s Day holiday, since the Pope does not like drunks stealing his thunder. Frankly, after consulting with some affected parties, most notably yourself this past Sunday thru Tuesday, we simply do not believe you have the wherewithal to handle three days of extreme mirth back-to-back-to-back.

Now, before you protest, it should be pointed out that this is a fair offer, still allowing full participation on both Thursday and Friday. It’s time to face the fact that you simply can’t handle the rigor of this schedule. Your simply too old for this kind of thing, and frankly, have some impulse-control issues that don’t jibe well with the environment. As evidence of this, we offer the following:

At 1 PM Sunday, you checked your back account balance, and would’ve wept openly, had you not been such a stoic and virile man.

At 11 AM Sunday, you remarked to a friend “Next year we need to plan ahead and get some cyanide capsules, would make for an easier morning” and were only half-kidding.

At 11:30 PM Saturday, you stepped away from a conversation with several strangers to locate a group of friends who’d just been there “15 minutes ago” in your estimation. Actual time of departure: 8:30 PM.

Between 10-11 PM Saturday, we have unconfirmed reports of you dancing to country music.

From approximately 7-8 PM Saturday, you traded rounds and engaged in a discussion with an individual who’s number you entered into your phone under “Jameson”. You’re not sure whether this is because his actually name was Jameson (unlikely), he bought you a glass of Jameson, or he worked for Jameson in some capacity. I think we’d both agree that this is a poor system if any sort of follow-up is intended.

Around 5 PM, you looked at the patrons surrounding you in a bar and wondered how all these high school kids had gotten in. Then the logic hit that they all must be 21 or over, and along with it, the realization that you could possibly be closer to one of their parents age than their own. This is unlikely (hopefully), but possible, and that bummed you out.

But I didn’t have to tell you this, because I happen to know for a fact that last week you heard “Pour Some Sugar On Me” on the oldies station and came to this conclusion yourself. You don’t go to bars that play thumping music and are filled with guys in Affliction t-shirts, stop trying to hang with the 20-somethings on St. Paddy’s!

Listen, there’s no shame in admitting you've slowed down, every great wide receiver eventually lost a step, every dominant pitcher a few miles off his fastball. You’ve had a great career, hold your head high, not Hall of Fame worthy, but definitely multiple All-Star appearances. No Pedro in his prime, but Johan? Potentially. Not to mention, you’ve got some years as a crafty veteran left in you, just gotta pick your spots and keep that ice bucket handy. Surround yourself with the right team, you might even get that title that’s eluded you so far.

However, should you choose to ignore this warning, you do so at your own peril. The next letter that I dash off will be to the 2030 Mayor, instructing him that if you did venture to St. Paul on St. Patrick’s Day 2013, he should travel back in time, take a hair sample from your junior-high self, go to wherever in time the have viable cloning techniques, create 3 or 4 copies of you, bring them back to next March 16th and beat the holy hell out of you. If time travel is not available yet, then he’s to figure out a way to post the message forward to a future point when it is, he should be able to handle that, it’s 2030 after all.

I know all this sounds complicated, but trust me, it’s foolproof, test me if you don’t believe.

Kind regards,

The 2012 Mayor


Tebow-Jack
The other thing I had to bring up this week was the demotion of my two least favorite NFL QBs from starter to backup, within mere days of each other!

On October 24th of last year, I named Tim Tebow the Official Nemesis of Loserville.  Obviously, that had a powerful impact, as nothing's quite gone right for him ever since (sarcasm!).  But that position was only vacant in the first place because Tarvaris Jackson, who'd been ruining my football life for several years, was no longer wearing a Vikings uniform.

Now I'll cop to the fact that I had a few moments of "how in the world is this happening" enjoyment courtesy of Timmy Two T's, but in general his success just royally pissed me off.  Never more than when he beat the Steelers in the playoffs, then predictably got killed in New England, robbing the football watching public of a chance at a good playoff game, because he could not throw a forward pass.

Tarvaris never really did anything noteworthy, much less miraculous, his only crime was quarterbacking the NFL team I rooted for.  He was picked too early and thrust into a situation he wasn't ready for, by an arrogant alleged QB guru, who probably thought he could teach a ham sanndwich to run a successful two-minute drill.

T-Bow is a star, T-Jack is a nonymous, but when you think about it, they're pretty much the same guy.  They can do some things here and there that make you think "this guy might be a player", but then you actually take a good look and realize that on a long enough timeline, it will never work out.  The running part is okay, the throwing part is ugly, and most of all, nobody but the most deluded fan would truly believe that either is a long-term answer.  Even their career stats are pretty similar:

Jackson: 38 TD, 35 INT, 77.7 QB rating
Tebow: 17 TD, 9 INT, 75.1 QB rating

(And let's be honest, Tebow's TD/INT ratio was inflated by a complete refusal to pass, to put this in perspective, you and I both have zero career interceptions, think about it)

The Broncos and Seahawks confirmed what everyone already knew this week, when they signed Peyton Manning and Matt Flynn, respectively, to be their new quarterbacks.  The Flynn signing is especially satisfying to us Vikings fans.  It not only gets a capable backup out of Green Bay, but also pokes holes in the ridiculous comments coming out of Seattle about Jackson never really getting a chance in his time as a Vikings.  That one perked up the ears of the state with a collective "Oh yeah?  Well, we shall see about that."  In my NFL preview post last September comparing teams to movies, I wrote this for the Seahawks:

Seattle (5-11) / “Pulp Fiction” – Not the whole movie, just the pawn shop basement scene playing on a loop, since every Seahawks fan will be feeling like Marcellus Wallace by the time this year is over

And yes, in case you were wondering, in that analogy, Tarvaris is Zed.

Now T-Jack can dust off his clipboard, and Tebow his all-Wildcat playbook, just the ways things ought to be.  I must say, life without T-BowJack playing QB for NFL teams sounds good to me, and feels like a bit of a victory over poorly-throw wobblers into the turf everywhere.  Although I am not completely ready to put a stake in the heart of Tebowmania just yet (great idea to put that guy breathing down Sanchez' neck, how could that backfire?), it does seem to be over.

Now, onto the important business of picking a new nemesis, a position of that stature cannot be wasted on a backup quarterback.

Hoops, hockey and hooch: The 2012 Final Five

Every year, on Thursday during the third week in March, I do something at work that a lot of people would probably consider rather bizarre.  Sitting at my desk, I construct a chain of 52 paper clips and hang it from a hook on the side of my cabinet.  Like a kid anticipating Christmas, I remove one each subsequent Thursday throughout the year, arriving at today, when I get to take down the final link in the chain, and toss it into the drawer with it's brothers.

In addition to some compulsion that I should probably discuss with a mental health professional, this ritual should convey exactly how much I love the WCHA Final Five.

Last year at this time, I ran down why this is the greatest weekend of the year, and my personal memories of this tourney.  Since I wrote that, my favorite team win another tournament title in riveting fashion, and we all found out that college hockey's best league (and postseason tournament) has an expiration date.  Suffice to say, none of that has made this weekend hasn't smaller in my mind.  To the contrary in fact, because after what seems like an eternity, the Minnesota Golden Gophers have finally returned.  And as any opposing fan will tell you, things are always a bit bigger when they're involved.

First off, a bit of housekeeping for the Maroon-clad masses: The Xcel Energy Center is located in St. Paul, Minnesota at the corner of Kellog Blvd and West 7th St.  We know it's been awhile since you've had occasion to make the trip, so here are some handy directions from Mariucci Arena, which we know (most of) you are able to find.  Safe travels, and we'll see you at the game!

But that's the last ribbing you'll get out of me, because frankly I've always been really lousy at talking trash.  Always end up getting far more steamed than the opposition, probably because they're just having fun and I'm taking it seriously.  In any case, it's hard to have much in the way of bravado when you always expect to lose.  In fact the superstitious side of me feels it's bad karma to get haughty before a game, so forget I even brought this up.

But you do have to admit, it's been a weird couple of years.  To go from a stretch of time when I started attending Final Fives and the Gophers kept breaking my heart, to back-to-back years when they weren't even present?  Well that was just downright odd.  Not that us North Dakota fans minded of course, winning has a way of making you ignore those formalities.  It'd be like the Twins winning a playoff series and being pissed that they didn't play the Yankees, just take the 'W' and move on.

So here we are on the cusp of a new chapter, and things couldn't have worked out better.  Sure, NoDak could've found it's way into 3rd place, saving the showdown for Saturday night, but at this point Friday will work just fine.  The slate of teams couldn't be better, with the league's top four teams, local drawing card St. Cloud, and the appearance of the much-maligned Michigan Tech Huskies for only the second time in the last decade.  The Tech pep band (official band of the Final Five) always does a nice job in St. Paul, even with the team sitting at home in Houghton, can't wait to see what they bust out now that they're also making the trip.

I could go on and on about how great this weekend is going to be (provided we beat St. Cloud on Thursday night, you've gotta gimme that, COME ON!), but again, there's really not much to say that wasn't in the post from last year.  What did strike me though, was what if I had to distill it down to the ten things I most loved about this weekend, what would that list look like?

So away we go...

1) March Madness coinciding
At this point, you're probably saying "Duh", and it's true that the opening weekend of the Madness is a totally obvious choice that millions of people love, but you still have to marvel at the timing.  The fact that these two events are intertwined throughout the same weekend is just marvelous, and insures that you will not have minute one of boredom from 11 AM until midnight.  One weekend before or after, and this doesn't happen, it's quite serendipitous.  Makes me feel like I did something right in a past life or something.  Of course the rest of the Minnesota sports scene feels like punishment for being a Stalin-esque dictator, so perhaps there's nothing to that.

2) St. Patrick's Day coinciding
Again, duh, but it's just another piece of the puzzle that needs to be considered by any fool who'd try to stack another weekend up against this one.  It's true that sometimes the crowds can get unwieldy, particularly when the weather doesn't cooperate.  But in general, the presence of St. Paul's huge St. Paddy's crowds bring in another great element (not to mention scantily-clad women) and push things to the next level.  Last year was a might aggressive, since it fell on Thursday, and that's a rough way to start your weekend.  If this weekend is a marathon, then kicking it off with St. Patrick's Day is like a marathon with a plastic bag over your head; maybe you can do it, but it won't be pleasant and you might just perish on the way.  I'm also not a huge fan of the Friday STP Day experience, since leaving for the 2 PM semifinal always costs you hard-fought bar real estate that can never be recaptured.

This year it's on Saturday, which is perfect. Sure you won't feel like popping out of bed and beelining it for McGovern's at 8 AM to lock down tables after two days spent F-5ing yourself (which would also be rather aggressive given the 7 PM game time), but the holiday does provide a nice excuse to drink off your hangover without pesky thoughts of alcoholism creeping in. After all, who doesn't drink on St. Paddy's? Squares, that's who, and I could never be a square, cause I like to get a-Round!

My advice? Take a more leisurely tack. A little breakfast at one of the fine establishments on Cathedral Hill, couple of cocktails to ease that feeling of nails being pounded into your forehead, and a nice stroll down to West 7th when you feel ready to re-enter the fray. The weather this year will be perfect, both for the walk, and ensuring a hospitable conditions in the many outdoor tents scattered across the city. Erin go Bragh.

3) Alary's
It's a bar, check it out.

4) Carnage
This one might seem a tad more mean-spirited and dangerous, but three days of heavy drinking brings with it the promise of some epic physical comedy. 

Some things I feel bad for laughing at, like the time a friend related the story of a man being knocked unconcisous by a vehicle (and losing his shoes!) on West 7th, then walking away as if nothing had happened.  Picked up his cell conversation right where he left off and everything.  Of course, I don't feel bad enough about it to keep from laughing.

Some things I don't feel bad for laughing about, just regret that I didn't see them in person.  Like the buddy  who tried to slide down one of the railings at the arena, made it about two feet, then unintentionally dismounted on his head in a rather indelicate fashion.

Some things I did see, and laugh when recalling to this day.  Like another member of the group who was two steps in front of me descending a flight of stairs, lost his balance when he turned to make a smartass comment and went face first into a brick wall, opening up a cosmetic, but hilarious (and very visible at work on Monday) gash on his forehead.

Some things will forever be unexplained.  Like another buddy who disappeared for hours one evening, the returned hours later with his face covered in mud and a couple broken ribs.  I would pay $200 to learn the tale of his evening, but alas, it's forever lost to us, just another piece of Final Five lore.  Don't feel too bad for broken ribs guy either, because he witnessed the railing thing, and laughs uproariously every time he re-tells it.

The moral of the story, you know those funny video shows they used to have on TV and still play once in awhile at bars?  Some of that stuff looks like it might be painful, right?  But you laugh all the same, because carnage is hilarious?  Well, this is just that in real life.  I'll tell you one thing though, it always strikes me as ironic whenever I see a kid wearing a bike helmet after this weekend, perhaps we should take a cue.

5) Eagle St. Grille
When I read stuff online about people making Final Five plans, a lot of great bars get tossed out: McGovern's, Reid's, The Liffey.  But this one, my particular favorite, is absent from most conversations.  Perhaps that's because it's the closest to the arena, and usually fairly hopping, if not outright packed, but it's been a staple of our trips since day one and has witnessed more great Final Five moments than anywhere.  ESG started with the Xcel Center, as just a little shoebox of a place with a single bar and one-person bathrooms.  Since then, it's slowly morphed into a true gem of a bar, acquiring neighboring space on it's slow march to occupy the better part of a city block.  The staff is great, the food is great, the patio is great, the owners are the kind of people you want to see succeed and obviously, the location kicks ass.

You might be saying "Come on, it's just a bar".  But when you're fighting you're way through a throng of patrons, make eye contact with a bartender across a line 10 people deep, and receive your beverage in an unspoken transaction that took mere moments?  Well then, you are not at a bar my friend, you're home.

6) The people
From the excellent crew of buddies that shows up, to the old college friends you bump into, to the out-of-town fans you strike up conversations with, this is just a fantastic collection of great people.  Not that there aren't plenty of other good groups out there, but for my money, you can't beat hockey fans.

7) The shots
Of course, nothing helps grease the skids on forging new friendships like a few drinks.  While it's often been said that you shouldn't need alcohol to have a good time, I'd like to think that you don't know how good a time you could potentially be having if you're not drinking alcohol.  There's a tipping point to each day of festivities, and it's usually about 10 minutes after the phrase "Let's have a shot".  The official shots of the Final Five are Irish Car Bombs (St. Paddy's) and Rumpleminze (otherwise). 

Car Bombs you've probably had, they taste like chocolate milk, and were most likely invented to "soothe" young Irish children when they were being too rambunctious late in the evening.  Rumplemize is a simpler spirit, it's basically the Fourth Reich.  A minty draught that ends with a kick resembling rubbing alcohol, I can only imagine how many combined bathtubs across Germany it takes to churn out a steady supply of the stuff.  If you're confused as to why we actually drink it, well so am I, but that doesn't mean I'm passing...especially if you're buying.

8) The pics
One member of our group is quite the photog, and Final Five picture reviews, both before and after the event, are an absolute staple.  The process of dawning realization that accompanies seeing yourself in a photo is truly priceless.  It's a sort of "when were we, wait a minute, oh yeah!" feeling that both amuses and makes you pause to consider what else might've happened that you're not totally clear on.

9) The numbers game
Sometimes, a matchup of teams just isn't that intriguing, but in that event, we've got the perfect fallback plan, it's called Numbers (or The Clock Game, according to some people).  The concept is simple, you have a group of people, at max 10, and assign them each a number.  When there's a stoppage in play, the person with the number corresponding to the seconds shown on the clock (meaning if 4:35 remains, the person with '5' wins) receives a dollar from everyone else.  Goals on your number pay double, OT game-winners are $5 apiece, and penalties mean you own everyone a buck.  Sometimes, you come up a person or two short, but that is easily remedied by having everyone throw a dollar to the pot, which is paid out at the next goal.

It's quite simple really, but always entertaining.  With all the whistles in a hockey game, the sums of money changing hands can actually get quite substantial.  Better than winning though, is conning your opponents out of thier winnings, which happens whenever they fail to notice they won before the puck drops on the next faceoff.  Since the players have typically known each other over a period of years, they know just what conversation topics to strike up that will distract the winner long enough to screw him out of his dough.  One particularly unfortunate friend of ours likes both soccer and drag racing, so one question about Manchester United will result in him going on a tangent that doesn't end until everyone busts out laughing because the clock just re-started.  Point being, if someone starts acting interested in something they typically mock you for, you're being set up.  Works more often than you'd think.

10) The hockey
Because that's pretty sweet too!

Beware the (almost) Ides of March

On October 9th, 2010, the Minnesota Twins lost Game 3 of the American League Division Series to the New York Yankees 6-1. That game put the final touches on another quick playoff exit at the hand of the Bombers, and had frustrated Twins fans wondering if they were ever going to see the day their club would get over the postseason hump. As it turns out, they should have been reveling in simply seeing the playoffs in the first place.

It is now March 2012, five hundred and twenty days have passed since that last playoff contest involving one of this state’s four major professional sports teams. If you’d like, we can throw in major college football and basketball as well, because the only things “major” about those two programs during that same time span has been the level of disappointment they’ve created. Among the 12 cities in this country with teams in each pro sport, this run of futility is currently unmatched. Most not only have recent championships, but also teams with buzz and upside; if not already contenders, they soon will be, Miami, Phoenix and DC are the only three cities approaching the futility of Minnesota in more than one sport, and even each of them has at least one current playoff team. Not to mention, the weather in Miami and Phoenix.

The one bright spot on the horizon for the fans in this accursed burgh was the ascension of the Timberwolves over the past couple months from laughingstock to playoff contenders. They were the punch in the turdbowl that is our local sports scene. Now, sadly, that hope has been snuffed out, snapped in an instant like the ligament it hinged on. I’m not going to tell you that the Wolves are my favorite team, or the NBA my favorite league. To be honest, if ranking title priorities, they’d be a distant fourth. But with that said, I love compelling sporting events, love going to, or just heading out to the bar to watch, big games, love feeling the buzz in the city when something crosses over from “everyday event” to “big effing deal”. There hasn’t been much of that lately, and over the past 520, there’s been exactly zero. When Ricky Rubio fell to the floor on Friday, clutching the torn ACL in his knee, our best shot at that changing any time soon went down with him. Had a nice angry screed prepared in response, but after 48 hours of marinating, there’s no fire left, I’m just pretty bummed.

Because it wasn’t just the chance to break our current drought that went out the window on Friday, but all of the momentum of a franchise trying to put its dreadful history behind it as well. The lottery balls have never fallen right, the players signed never quite fit, and now that things had begun to look promising, fate has once again dealt a cruel blow. One can turn to the Los Angeles Clippers for a glimmer of hope, having witnessed the excellent comeback of Blake Griffin following his devastating injury. The problem is, despite successful precedents that can be cited, no one knows how this is going to play out. Even if everything goes perfectly, a player never seems quite right after an ACL until a full year has elapsed. Some need even more time. That means the Wolves have not only lost a chance to polish their stretch run and postseason chops this season, but perhaps next as well, if several months of less-than-100% Rubio leave them behind the 8-ball in the standings.

Everything not going perfectly is not a scenario that I will permit myself to consider at the moment, because the thought of losing another star in the making is too troubling. While basketball may not be my favorite sport, it’s still one that I enjoy immensely, and none of its charms are above great point guard play, the kind Rubio was delivering in spades. I know all about the deficiencies in his game, but he was immensely fun to watch, and had been a huge part in making Wolves basketball fun to watch once again. The idea that he may not come back the same, just when we were settling into the possibility of seeing him grow over the next decade, is beyond the pale.

I know the difference between sports tragedy and the genuine article, honestly. Nobody died here, there’s no terrible injustice, it doesn’t approach the level of a hundred truly horrible stories that you can find in any given week, I’ve got that. But that still doesn’t change the fact that a big steaming turd has been dumped in our laps here, and it didn’t have to happen. If you’re keeping score out there, we’ve now seen two former AL MVPs, the NFL’s best running back, the best Gopher hoops player, half the NHL team and a charismatic, up-and-coming point guard fall victim to catastrophic, lingering and/or career-threatening injuries during the past year. It’s sports, injuries happen, but at some point you start to wonder, is this run of bad luck ever going to end?

Looking toward the future, it’s hard to envision a scenario in which that end comes anytime soon. The NHL team is six feet under, the NBA team just got one of its legs taken out from under it (literally), the NFL team is in full rebuilding mode and the ballclub is chock full of holes. The run of futility looked to be in jeopardy just a few shorts days ago, but now? Going another 520 seems likelier than not.

On a weekend of positivity, that was not the way things needed to start. But as always, time to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and continue plugging away here in Loserville.

WCHA Playoffs, Limerick Style!

Hocktopia 2012 officially got underway in St. Paul on Wednesday with the kickoff of the high school tourney.  Today marks the start of the next chapter, the first round of the WCHA playoffs, which will determine who moves on to pen the final chapter back at the X next week.

It's been an interesting season in my favorite college hockey league, with no shortage of twists and turns.  Minnesota looked unstoppable early, then faltered a bit down the stretch.  Duluth was unbeaten for a long portion of the schedule, but has looked anything but the past few weeks.  Denver came into the year down their #1 goalie, but now has him back and may be hitting their stride at the right time.  North Dakota has once again been better in the second half after an atrocious start, but near-constant injuries have taken their toll.  Wisconsin has generally sucked, but can safely be called the most dangerous 10-seed in league history.

My WCHA preview from last October was a mixed bag.  After several years of severely overestimating the Gophers, I severely underestimated them this time around.  Same with Duluth, who I figured had lost too much to contend for the league title.  CC in 2nd place was well off the mark, thought the Schwartz brothers would be more of a force on offense than they turned out to be.  I had no idea where Michigan Tech came from, but then again, neither did anyone else.

Beyond that, I'm feeling pretty good about things.  NoDak, Omaha, St. Cloud, Bemidji, Wisconsin and Mankato were all within a place of their actual finish, and in a very tight league, half right ain't half bad.  Now the playoffs start, and I have an odd feeling that this season of parity is going to do odd things...I just hope it's not at my favorite team's expense.

If the chips fall correctly, we should have a fun batch of squads making the trip to St. Paul next weekend.  The top 6 seeds winning would probably make for the most entertaining weekend, given the skill and fanbases they'd bring.  But there feels like an upset or two brewing, particularly given the Badgers history in Denver, and the fact that Omaha and St. Cloud are both very tough to peg.  I'm not going to bother writing previews of the series', as other places do it better, such as right here.  Just going to say Go Sio...er, North Dakota, and leave it at that.

And of course, come up with a limerick for each WCHA city:

There once was a man from Anchorage, come playoffs, the home whites went in storage.
The occasional blips, followed quickly by slips, never did much to encourage.


There once was a man from Mankato, the Gophers he'd pretend to hate-o.
For two weekends a year, but then don Maroon gear, once the Mavericks were shown the gate-o.


There once was a man from Mad-town, who in St. Paul was nowhere to be found.
"Keep your ice and your puck, cause we don't give a f*ck, the hoops team is Final Four bound!"


There once was a man from Bemidji, who found out that it's impossible to rhyme anything with Bemidji.


There once was a man from Houghton, who's location you're probably doubtin.
But it's unlikely he cares, after years of despair, the Huskies have finally got people shoutin.


There once was a man from Omaha, the Final Five he had never saw.
Now time's running short, for the best tourney in sport, as conference alignments redraw.


There once was a man from St. Cloud, who walked around overly proud.
For his team wasn't near, in fact far second-tier, behind fans who deserve to boast loud.


There once was a man from the Springs, saying "Titles? What are these things?"
Often tops in the game, they just can't attain, those pesky championship rings.


There once was a man from NoDak, who cheered on a team full of hacks.
He'd blindly defend, to most outrageous ends, even handshake line attacks.


There once were some fans from Denver, if any showed up here, we'd remember.
For such a good team, the attendance is lean, this fanbase's fire is just embers.


There once was a man from Duluth, who'd lately been acting uncouth.
One title is sweet, but doesn't make you elite, sorry if you can't handle the truth.


There once was a man from Dinkytown, who the last few years wore a frown.
But this fact he forgets, as he puffs out his chest, "We're always the best game in town!"


Yeah, I cheated a bit on a couple of those, Sioux me :)

2012 State of the Ville: The Minnesota Twins

A lot of how we view things in life hinges on what our expectations were going in.  For instance, I might be the only person on Earth who thought The Hangover was lame. It generally seemed to meander from one stupid joke to the next, with no real plot, consistency or cleverness. A random slew of occurrences tacked on one after another, each dumber than the last. This isn’t pulling the highbrow routine either, you’re talking to a guy who’d rank Spaceballs among the more humorous films of all time. If you happen to disagree with that opinion, all I can say is “What’s a matter Colonel Sanders, chicken?”  Sometimes a bit of cleverness can go a long way.

On the other side of the coin in this discussion is Zombieland, a movie I’ve watched at least a few minutes of somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 times over the past couple years. I knew nothing about this film going in, believe it started as 15 minutes of throwaway TV late one Friday night. Instead, it only took 15 minutes to decide it was going to the DVR (right about this scene), and it’s been safely there ever since.

But does either movie truly deserve those extremes? Is one truly a waste of 90 minutes, while the other is worth pausing on each and every time it’s scrolled past? Probably not, but that’s the roles they occupy for me. Taste accounts for some of that, things will always strike people differently, but the bigger issue has always seemed to be expectations going in. If ten people even insinuate that something should be in the “best of all time” conversation in a given category, it had better be amazing as a prerequisite, or it’ll be torn apart.

If, on the other hand, you expect nothing, simply feeling like your time hasn’t been wasted is all you need.  Not to mention, if you’re like me and have a neurotic streak, the effect here can be powerful enough to make you avoid certain popular things entirely, if too much has already been said. (Yes, I’m talking to you Moneyball, got all I needed from the book and the movie screwing up the ending to the Twins-As ALDS game would be too much to take, already know that going in.)

So be careful with your hype, judicious in doling out praise and damn near unwilling to utter the phrase “best ever” in regard to what you see and do in life. I’d rather hear a spoiler, than be lured into a subpar dining/watching/reading experience under false pretense. At least the spoiler hasn’t robbed me of my time. Personally, the only thing I feel comfortable in tagging with the “best” label these days is the Best Sports Weekend Of the Year, but we’ll be discussing that in greater depth shortly. If you doubt me, come to St. Paul next weekend and I’ll prove it.

All this expectations talk is currently front of mind because I watched a ballgame a couple nights. Not just any ballgame, but my first Minnesota Twins game of the spring. It was poorly played, some players looked out of sorts, there was just a general “WTF?” air to the whole thing. But it did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm about the impending start of baseball season, for three reasons:

Going to ballgames is fun.

Things have gotta be better than last year.

I’m just not expecting very much.

There’s no accompanying detailed breakdown to back up the feeling that we’re dealing with a fair-to-middling ballclub this year, just the recent body of work of the guys on the roster. Some statgeek could probably craft a plausible argument for the potential of a Twins playoff berth, but take it from me, it’s just not going to happen. By the way, I do not use the term “geek” in a derogatory fashion, as I’m no stranger to getting my geek on when the opportunity arises. For years I thought I was a nerd, but as this handy Venn diagram points out only falling into geek territory, as the requisite social awkwardness isn’t present. Well, at least not unless there are girls around. Good news finding that out, the family might finally invite me back to Thanksgiving dinner now that I've shed that stigma.

So I'm good with the geek community, and love a lot of the work they've done with the numbers.  Some of it is a little out there, but in a year featuring Tim Tebow, Jeremy Lin and a Super Bowl champion who lost two games to the Redskins, should we really be counting anything out?  The answer, in the case of the Twins, is yes, and there's only one number you need to know: Three.

As in the Theory Of the Three "Ifs", something I just made up, but seems perfectly plausible after 10 minutes of noodling it over.  It's a simple premise, when you find yourself trying to convince your own brain that something is going to work out, make sure you don't have more than three contingencies that need to be met in order for that to happen.  I don't care if we're talking about being on time for a flight ("If I can get out of the office 30 minutes early"/"If traffic isn't too bad"/"If the security line is moving") or getting away with killing a drifter ("If I wasn't caught on the security cameras at that gas station"/"If there are no traces of DNA in the car"/"If I can burn these bloody clothes without the neighbors noticing") the Three "If" tipping point is not something you want to mess with.  We're not talking in absolutes here, any theory that doesn't have to do with physics has exceptions, just general trends of probability to serve as signposts on our way.

Take the question of, "Can the Wild make the playoffs?" we asked a few months ago.  While trying to delude ourselves into thinking it was possible, we went down a path that sounded something like:

"If we can get lights out goaltending"
"If Heatley can get back to being an elite scorer"
"If Koivu can make the leap to a 30-goal guy"
"If Bouchard and Latandresse can stay healthy"
"If the young defenseman can develop"

That's five already and we're barely past the first line.  All those "Ifs" are what had most of the world thinking a 10-12th place finish was in store.  Sure they shined us on for a few months, looking like they'd pull it off, but that's the thing about the "Ifs" over the course of a long season.  They're hard to sustain, and the chances of failure increase exponential with each one you add.

Where the wiggle room comes in on Three "If" Theory is the statments you're making.  Crazy and unexpected things happen in life, but at some point the question becomes how crazy is too crazy?  Say my statment about Heatley's season had been "If Dany Heatley scores 100 goals this season"?  Well then you're probably good with that "If" alone, maybe one more, and it's time to start printing postseason tickets...but you're also delusional.  "If I lost 20 pounds" and "If I won the Powerball" could be the criteria for my getting a date with Kate Upton, but that's a requirement that's nigh impossible (by that I mean the 20 pounds, it is March after all).

Point being, unreasonable "Ifs" are like cheating at golf, you can do it, but you're only fooling yourself.  You'll look ridiculous telling people you're a scratch golfer, then duffing one off the first tee, but no more that you would by uttering the phrase "If Ponder can just throw 40 TDs, the Vikes will be in the playoffs".  No sh*t Sherlock.

There are however, many borderline situations that deserves scrutiny in this regard.  Consider this season's Timberwolves team, and these Three "Ifs" about contending for the playoffs:

"If Ricky Rubio lives up to the hype."
"If Kevin Love takes the next step from All-Star to superstar."
"If Rick Adelman does an amazing coaching job."

Borderline plausible, but kind of getting out there on the edge, right?  I admit to being more negative than most, but assuming Love would be the best power forward in the game, Rubio would turn in a season of Top 10 PG play and Adelman would be in the coach of the year conversation?  That's not quite delusional homerism, but it is homerism writ large.  Change the question to making the playoffs and all of the sudden you're tossing "If Nikola Pekovic is a good NBA center" into the mix, and you've found a big time exception to the theory.  But as I said, these are just tea leaves, not absolutes.

In roundabout fashion, we return to where this whole post was supposed to be going, the Twins, and their laundry list of "Ifs".  By my count, the tally so far:

"If Mauer and Morneau can stay healthy and productive" (Being charitable by lumping those into one)
"If Pavano and Liriano can regain their 2010 form" (Ditto)
"If Scott Baker can put together a full season of what we've only seen from him a few months at a time"
"If Nick Blackburn can resemble a capable major league pitcher on a regular basis"
"If Denard Span's concussions and Ben Revere's arm don't derail our hopes for capable outfield play"
"If the 38-year old/Japanese free agent bust/perennially-hyped underachiever can offer something at short"
"If whoever these guys in the bullpen are can find a way to get the job done"
"If Matt Capps doesn't make me feel homocidal 2-3 times a week"
"If the Yankees, Red Sox, Tigers and Angels all don't win 95-100 games"

Now that, my friends, is far too many "Ifs" to offer much in the way of hope.

But you know what?  It doesn't really matter.  Sure we'd all like to see a winner, and the Twins have pulled rabbits out of the hat before (albeit against weaker division opponents), but even if they don't make the playoffs, are we really that bad off?

I know that I'm not supposed to admit this, and perhaps it makes me a poor fan, but I'd rather watch a bad Twins team play at Target Field than a good one at the Metrodome.  Having a winning team to boot would be the best of both worlds, but at least if they're lousy, it won't be too tough to deal.

A day at the ballpark is once again fun around these parts and, at the risk of sounding like a Cubs fan, I'm going to enjoy mine win or lose.  But if it's not too much to ask, staying about .500 through the end of July would be appreciated.  Like I said, expectations.

The 2012 Minnesota Twins: Expect Mediocrity, Deal With Success!

If they want to use that slogan, I won't even charge them.

Happy New Year!

Fellow Midwesterners, our long regional nightmare is over, praise the Lord and pass the Pabst, because March is finally here.

It was a rough start to the week for me.  Following a riotously good time at my sister's wedding in Arizona, I was forced to depart 75 degrees and sun for 25 degrees and an impending snowstorm.  Woke up on Tuesday to deal with a 90-minute commute, courtesy of the inclement weather, which was immediately followed by my favorite high school hockey team having it's state tourney hopes extinguished on Wednesday evening.  This was February's final 'Eff you', and it was a good one.  But none of that matters now, because the new year is upon us, and the past was only prelude.
I know, you probably think January 1st the start of a new year, and most calendars would agree.  But once upon a time, when the world was centered around agrarian thinking, the 1st of March marked the beginning of a new cycle.  As discussed a few weeks ago, our current first two months were pretty much just filler, a few cycles of the moon spent waiting around, drinking and trying to keep warm, before the interesting activities started up again.  In other words, exactly the same as it is today.

Because we're all farmers in our own way, only instead of corn or soybeans, I'm harvesting fun, and every year is a bumper crop.  Forget about spring, summer, fall, etc. as well, (all arbitrary designations that convey little reliable meaning) and let's re-tool the seasons into something that actually makes sense:

Bracket Season: March 1st - April 30th 
In my estimaton, the currency of life is events, and the secret to it is trying to maximize the number of fun ones you're involved in.  This is why we all try to surround ourselves with interesting people who have stuff going on and (if you're any kind of decent human being) bring interesting things to the table ourself.  As the saying goes, "Shoot me, stab me, kill me, just don't bore me".  That's why this time of year rules, it brings events in spades.

Consulting the Offical Loserville List Of Reasons It's Acceptable To Drink Before Noon shows what I'm talking about:

1) Haven’t gone to sleep yet
2) On vacation*
3) Killing time in an airport**
4) Tailgating
5) Sunday brunch
6) Attending a sports championship game or tournament***
7) Viewing any sporting event that starts at or before 1 PM EST
8) Hunting/Fishing
9) Holidays (Thanksgiving, St Paddy’s, etc.)
10) Personal events/Celebrations (Weddings, funerals, birthdays)
11) More than 100 miles from home
12) Within the city limits of Las Vegas or any college town^
13) Participating in a leisure sports tourney (Golf, bowling, billiards, darts, etc.)
14) Killing a mean hangover^^
15) Divorce #
16) Job loss ##
17) Being diagnosed with a terminal illness
18) Armageddon (Over 6" of snow in less than 24 hours counts)
19) The Minnesota Vikings

*Must be actual traveling vacation, standard days off do not qualify.
**Void if traveling for business, drinking after noon still permissible.
***Full day qualifies, even if event starts after noon
^Applies to non-residents only, likely redundant to #11, but sometimes only one applies and you need to be covered
^^Void if required to work in fewer than 8 hours; 24 hours for airline pilots
#Valid for the longer of one week or two days for every 10% of wealth lost
##Valid for one week, then get your lazy butt up and find something new

Not only does this period feature two of the greatest sports tournaments known to man, it's also got Spring Break, St. Patrick's Day, Opening Day and myriad other events that could fall in somewhere on the list.  That's why it should be the lidlifter on any decently run calendar.

Patio Season: May 1st - June 30th
This one should be fairly self-explanatory, given that there are only 3 exceptional months (May, June, September) in this part of the country for outdoor dining and drinks.  Sure, you can do it at other times, but you run the risk of rain (April), suffocating humidity (July, August), unanticipated cold (October) and just general unpleasantness (other).  Not to mention that September is football season, and who has time for things like dining in areas without televisions during football season?  Best to maximize your patio time during this stretch.

Baseball/Cabin/Golf Season: July 1st - August 31st
It's hot, there's not much happening in sports, even the crappy network TV is on re-runs.  There are only three acceptable ways to spend a Saturday during these two months: On the course, at the ballpark or on a boat.  Frankly, given the fact that the option to travel and play golf in warmer climes exists much of the year, a trip to the lake should be everyone's first priority.  Minnesota and Wisconsin may get (deservedly) maligned for their terrible winters, but there is a little secret called lake living that, to my knowledge, can't quite be duplicated elsewhere.  As a matter of fact, I might have to amend the list to include "Trips to the lake", because it's sort of a vacation, but it's more a way of life.

Football Season: September 1st - October 31st
Nuff said.

Holiday Season: November 1st - December 31st
More football, gatherings with family and friends, eggnog, Patmas, the pre-homocidal urge part of winter, bulky clothing leaving one free to engage in gluttonous behavior, baskets of snacks showing up via UPS, neighbors dropping off trays of cookies, a bunch of days off from work, chesnuts, open fires, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, all capped off with gifts.  People who hate the holidays, just add puppies, hamburgers and breathing to your list, because it's over.  You may hate the mall, you may hate the crowds, but you may not hate the holidays.

The Rest: Do The Math
Skiing?  Snowmobiling?  Ice sculpting?  There are some ways to enjoy it, but every time it leaves, I'm glad it won't be back for another 10 months.

Now, let's get to the good stuff.