The following is something I posted on March 1st of last year, when a scrappy Burnsville High hockey team was about to face off against the evil empire of Edina in the Section 2AA championship game. As luck (or bad luck, if you're using recent history as a guide) would have it, we find ourselves back in the exact same place today.
Tomorrow night marks the third meeting in five years between these teams with a state tournament berth on the line. Edina has won the last two, both of those games have gone to OT, and both ended up going the wrong direction in the eyes of this fan. Tomorrow night marks our shot at redemption, and chance to see our boys skate in St. Paul next week. Will the 3rd time be the charm? I sure hope so.
This one's for all the Old Dutch Rip-L chips
Another titanic struggle is brewing tomorrow evening, this time in the world of high school hockey. I don't want to oversell it, but in a world where protesting union workers can compare the govenor of Wisconsin to a totalitarian Egyptian dictator without even the slightest realization of how ridiculous they sound, I'd say Edina vs. Burnsville ranks somewhere between USA v. USSR and Blazin wings v. bowels on the rivalry scale. That's not intended as a comment on politics, but rather a comment on the proliferating use of hyperbole.
We all strive to make the things we love as epic as possible, look no further than any UFC poster. A mechanic and personal trainer squaring off and they're trying to sell it like it's Ali-Fraizer III. But hey, that's what generates buzz, so I'll just say that the people of Edina are pure evil. Pretty sure they caused the housing market to crash so they could bulldoze the foreclosed home in neighboring communities for tennis course (2012 note: This Strib story is backing me up! Sorta.) That hasn't been substantiated yet, but I got it from the same guy who told me Derek Jeter is on steroids, so fairly solid. And oh yeah, if there are any kids reading, Edina people make stew out of puppies and once kidnapped Santa Claus. Thankfully Chuck Norris freed him, can't remember if that was Delta Force 2 or 3.
Contrast this with the hard working, salt-of-the-Earth folks in Burnsville, and the right way to root should be pretty obvious. South-of-the-river is where the Real America starts, sure a lot of us only have two-car garages and neither side holds a Lexus, but we're a simple and honest folk who would give you the shirt off our back...provided that it wasn't below freezing. Edina is the land of boutiques, gallerias and restaurants named Salut, all centered around (wait for it) France Avenue. Can't make it up. Your high school nickname is the Hornets? Might as well be the Frogs. Bloomington is the buffer between us, the front lines if you will, and what do you find intersecting France as soon as you cross over 494 from Edina? That's right, AMERICAN BOULEVARD! USA! USA! USA!
Edina kids are like those silver spoon pricks from Harvard or Yale who end up being your boss. Matter of fact, if your boss is a prick, he's probably from Edina. If he's not, then he probably grew up there, but moved away when his trust fund got pulled for not being pretentious enough. Their hockey team is full of guys with first names like Anders and Marshall and J. Watkins Blowhard III. I only made one of those up.
Order a vodka tonic in an Edina bar, they'll put a parasol in it, order a Budweiser and they'll ask you to leave. Sure, they may have the pedigree, but we've got the toughness and determination, the Braves (they will always be the Braves to me) are due! I watched them play in this same semifinal, at the same arena, 3 years ago, and it went to OT before the bad guys won. It's time for history to turn in the other direction and send the black-and-gold on their way to St. Paul!
Was trying to come up with a sign idea for a game, it's not going so well. The first few rejects:
The South (Suburban Conference) shall rise again!
The Blaze are flaming!
It Burns when we PP!
(2012 note: A friend I was standing next to at the game actually yelled this one after Burnsville scored a tying power play goal during last year's game. We got some looks. It was awkward)
Your players may be Hornets, but your cheerleaders are Hors
Tell your mom to quit calling me, what happens at Redstone stays at Redstone
Yes, Edina fan, I spit in the sandwich I served you for lunch. Don't ask what was in the soup
To finish things off, a bit of extra motivation, I know this one's been done to death, but it fits so perfectly!
Go get em boys.
BURNS-VILLE! BURNS-VILLE! (clap clap clap-clap-clap)
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
What's in a name?
Driving around the other day, I saw a restaurant named “Frankie’s”. This got me thinking about the names of things, and what they imply, because certain names only work for certain things. I mean, “Frankie’s” may be a fine name for a restaurant, but wouldn’t work nearly as well for a florist. This was further confirmed later in the evening when I mentioned the restaurant to a friend in passing, and he replied “that place had to be in a strip mall”. Indeed it was. Sometimes, you just know.
There have got to be thousands of businesses in the world that start with people’s names. Bars and restaurants are definitely the most common, seeming to be followed closely by auto mechanics and hair salons. But in truth, you can probably think of an example for just about anything. Last names are easy, if told you need to blindly choose between a meal at Pineida’s or Romano’s, you can probably figure out the type of fare served at each with no further information. First names are trickier, some fit and some don’t, depending on what type of commerce we’re talking about. Unless you live in South Boston or the Bronx, it’s doubtful you’ll be encountering Frankie’s Hair Salon anytime soon, and if you do, Frankie will likely be a large woman with garish fingernails and way too much makeup. At least that’s how I’m picturing her.
A lot of subtlety exists here, take one of America’s best known crafts stores, Michael’s. Would anyone stop in to buy glitter and other assorted cutesy items if the place was named Mike’s? Of course not, that would be ridiculous, Mike’s is the name of a hardware store, or if you want to irritate people, a bike shop. Michael’s Crafts? Well obviously. Mike’s Crafts? We’d better be talking about boats. Incidentally, this theory was almost blown up by the existence of Frank’s Nursery & Crafts, but the placement of the word ‘nursery’ there is key. This conjures an image of Frank, the old retiree who lives nextdoor and likes to work in his garden, seems to fit. I have a tougher time picturing Frank scrapbooking. Without the nursery, they would’ve had to name the place Frances’ Crafts, and a guy named Frances is a scrapbooker if ever there was one.
This phenomenon is perhaps best illustrated by the Joe/Joseph duality. Joe’s Crab Shack has paper placemats and goes for a beach-type feel. Joseph’s House of Crabs would have white tablecloths and a bathroom attendant. Would anyone ever consider buying a Joe Abboud suit at Joe A. Banks? Highly doubtful. But change them both to Joseph and you’re in business. Perhaps this resonates more with me because of my androgynous name, Pat. In fact the reason I know the meaning of the word ‘androgynous’ in the first place is because of that damned “It’s Pat” Saturday Night Live skit, which incidentally caused me to add a second ‘T’ to the end of my first name during the 3rd grade, in an attempt to masculinize it. That’s right, my first name was Patt for a few years there, even had it stitched on a jacket or two. To this day, I still have one friend who will greet me as “Paddie Two T’s”. In retrospect, I should’ve just gone with Patrick, but guys named Pat only get called that by family members and significant others. Seems cumbersome, and why should I have to give up my monosyllabic status because of a stupid, un-funny SNL skit that decided to bastardize my name at the worst possible time? I can still hear them at recess, “What’s that? It’s Pat.” Let’s move on before I start getting angry.
Admittedly, much of this post is a bit of a ripoff from this great George Carlin bit (apologies for the language, or if you happen to have one of the names mentioned), but thinking about businesses also makes it a bit different. Trying to recall odd combinations and perfect fits over the last day or so, the first that sprung to mind was my favorite breakfast restaurant, Fat Nat’s. I have never met Nat, so I cannot attest to him being fat, but I do know that if you ate there every day, you would be. The other side of the coin is Vincent A Restaurant, which by some accounts has Minneapolis’ best hamburger. Now it’s a great burger, that’s not the debate, and Vincent A is a fine name for a restaurant. It’s just that if you were playing word association, burger isn’t what would pop up when you see the name “Vincent A Restaurant”. Matt’s Bar on the other hand? Well there you go.
Two more quick name-related thoughts, as I’m not quite sure where this ramble is leading:
After attending the Minnesota Wild game last night, their name should be changed to the Minnesota Mild, not just for the alliteration, but because that’s what they truly are. Lately they lose a lot of shootouts, the ultimate “well, we lost, but I guess it’s not that bad” sorta moment. In other words, meh.
I was shocked to learn that Newt Gingrich was born in Pennsylvania, as Newt just seems like a quintessential Southern name. Then again, Mitt Romney sounds like a 19th-century baseball player, so maybe it’s best not to read too much into it.
As you can probably tell, the lack of entertainment from the sports teams in this town are causing my mind to wander further afield these days.
Happy Friday.
There have got to be thousands of businesses in the world that start with people’s names. Bars and restaurants are definitely the most common, seeming to be followed closely by auto mechanics and hair salons. But in truth, you can probably think of an example for just about anything. Last names are easy, if told you need to blindly choose between a meal at Pineida’s or Romano’s, you can probably figure out the type of fare served at each with no further information. First names are trickier, some fit and some don’t, depending on what type of commerce we’re talking about. Unless you live in South Boston or the Bronx, it’s doubtful you’ll be encountering Frankie’s Hair Salon anytime soon, and if you do, Frankie will likely be a large woman with garish fingernails and way too much makeup. At least that’s how I’m picturing her.
A lot of subtlety exists here, take one of America’s best known crafts stores, Michael’s. Would anyone stop in to buy glitter and other assorted cutesy items if the place was named Mike’s? Of course not, that would be ridiculous, Mike’s is the name of a hardware store, or if you want to irritate people, a bike shop. Michael’s Crafts? Well obviously. Mike’s Crafts? We’d better be talking about boats. Incidentally, this theory was almost blown up by the existence of Frank’s Nursery & Crafts, but the placement of the word ‘nursery’ there is key. This conjures an image of Frank, the old retiree who lives nextdoor and likes to work in his garden, seems to fit. I have a tougher time picturing Frank scrapbooking. Without the nursery, they would’ve had to name the place Frances’ Crafts, and a guy named Frances is a scrapbooker if ever there was one.
This phenomenon is perhaps best illustrated by the Joe/Joseph duality. Joe’s Crab Shack has paper placemats and goes for a beach-type feel. Joseph’s House of Crabs would have white tablecloths and a bathroom attendant. Would anyone ever consider buying a Joe Abboud suit at Joe A. Banks? Highly doubtful. But change them both to Joseph and you’re in business. Perhaps this resonates more with me because of my androgynous name, Pat. In fact the reason I know the meaning of the word ‘androgynous’ in the first place is because of that damned “It’s Pat” Saturday Night Live skit, which incidentally caused me to add a second ‘T’ to the end of my first name during the 3rd grade, in an attempt to masculinize it. That’s right, my first name was Patt for a few years there, even had it stitched on a jacket or two. To this day, I still have one friend who will greet me as “Paddie Two T’s”. In retrospect, I should’ve just gone with Patrick, but guys named Pat only get called that by family members and significant others. Seems cumbersome, and why should I have to give up my monosyllabic status because of a stupid, un-funny SNL skit that decided to bastardize my name at the worst possible time? I can still hear them at recess, “What’s that? It’s Pat.” Let’s move on before I start getting angry.
Admittedly, much of this post is a bit of a ripoff from this great George Carlin bit (apologies for the language, or if you happen to have one of the names mentioned), but thinking about businesses also makes it a bit different. Trying to recall odd combinations and perfect fits over the last day or so, the first that sprung to mind was my favorite breakfast restaurant, Fat Nat’s. I have never met Nat, so I cannot attest to him being fat, but I do know that if you ate there every day, you would be. The other side of the coin is Vincent A Restaurant, which by some accounts has Minneapolis’ best hamburger. Now it’s a great burger, that’s not the debate, and Vincent A is a fine name for a restaurant. It’s just that if you were playing word association, burger isn’t what would pop up when you see the name “Vincent A Restaurant”. Matt’s Bar on the other hand? Well there you go.
Two more quick name-related thoughts, as I’m not quite sure where this ramble is leading:
After attending the Minnesota Wild game last night, their name should be changed to the Minnesota Mild, not just for the alliteration, but because that’s what they truly are. Lately they lose a lot of shootouts, the ultimate “well, we lost, but I guess it’s not that bad” sorta moment. In other words, meh.
I was shocked to learn that Newt Gingrich was born in Pennsylvania, as Newt just seems like a quintessential Southern name. Then again, Mitt Romney sounds like a 19th-century baseball player, so maybe it’s best not to read too much into it.
As you can probably tell, the lack of entertainment from the sports teams in this town are causing my mind to wander further afield these days.
Happy Friday.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Shut up and play ball
So today is Valentine's Day, or as I like to refer to it, The Day Single People Sit Around Bars Staring At Each Other And Wondering What The Fatal Flaw Is. It's almost like walking around a prison yard.
"What are you in for?"
"I get blackout drunk and start throwing things. You?"
"Insecure narcissist, rare combination, fatal to personal lives."
Make no mistake, if you're sitting someplace alone tonight, then you're doing life wrong.
The problem is, there are a whole host of other things that also indicate you're doing it wrong, but ironically these are the very things you need to do to ensure you're not alone on V-Day. Going to a church instead of watching football, sitting through any show featuring singing, dancing or the word "housewives" and being spoken to as if you were a small, slow child are a few that can make solitude the preferable choice. Matter of fact, depending on who you're dealing with, a swift kick in the nuts might be the preferable choice.
Not that any of these things are a constant part of a relationship, but odds are you will have to them, or things like them, on a regular basis should you hope to maintain one. The great myth of the world is that men are somehow running things; spend a day with any couple and that notion becomes laughable. Not that this is a bad thing, often times unsupervised men are a fairly self-destructive bunch. Sure we've got some nice things on our resume, killing mammoths, building stuff, curing disease (not to mention all the mice and spider issues solved over the years), but generally seem to need that female GPS to keep things pointed in the right direction.
Take the Panama Canal, for example. If left to their own devices, all the guys contracted to build it would've got down to Panama, started effing off, enjoying the warm weather, drinking, and nothing would've been accomplished. Only the thought of their wife's reaction to them returning home after 6 months with no paycheck kept them on task, if not for that, no Canal. You can see it on a small scale every day, I'd wager that 90% of the intelligent decisions men make are centered around making or keeping a woman happy. The other 10% are based on the desire to afford a faster car or larger television.
Laugh if you want, but I'd bet anything the guy who ends up curing cancer is finally kicking it in the ass to finish medical school this semester because he needs to buy a wedding ring, or risk the woman he lives with walking. That Evolution of Man painting should have a woman standing on the right side with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. Again, I don't bring up this point to cause offense, paint women as shrewish, any of that. Only to highlight an evolution is my own way of thinking, which is to say, the stuff I used to mock guys for doing doesn't sound so intolerable any more. At least not when you consider the alternative.
Valentine's Day is a perfect example of the type of thing I used to rail against. While you have to tip your cap to the savvy businesspeople who've marketed the concept, it is, by and large, a scam. Prescribing a certain date on which tokens of affection are required to be exchanged is the perfect way to ensure you could jack the price up at exactly the right moment. If Hallmark and Russel Stover throwing huge marketing budgets behind a hyped up "holiday" make it required, then Guiness and Jameson should do the same for St. Paddy's. Unfortunately I don't think Car Bombs are ever going to be afforded the same mandatory status as roses (but I can dream!).
Sure, you can argue that it's a nice show of appreciation for your significant other, but isn't that what an anniversary is supposed to be for? If you're an inconsiderate f*ck the majority of the year, do flowers and a nice dinner on a Tuesday in February tilt the scales?
In truth, this day means little in the big picture, but the options have been laid out quite clearly: Shut up and play ball, or protest and perish. In the past, I've taken a stand on principle and gone the second route; I probably don't have to explain just how poorly this has served me.
Now it's time for fresh tactics. All that I ask is when you see me at a Farmer's Market some fall Sunday, holding a purse, with that glazed/stifled irritation expression that most men perfected much earlier in life, take it easy. Just smirk and nod, we'll both know I'm a fraud, be content in that knowledge.
But not the Housewive show, some things are too far beyond the pale, if forced to watch that, it's the black pill and don't look back.
"What are you in for?"
"I get blackout drunk and start throwing things. You?"
"Insecure narcissist, rare combination, fatal to personal lives."
Make no mistake, if you're sitting someplace alone tonight, then you're doing life wrong.
The problem is, there are a whole host of other things that also indicate you're doing it wrong, but ironically these are the very things you need to do to ensure you're not alone on V-Day. Going to a church instead of watching football, sitting through any show featuring singing, dancing or the word "housewives" and being spoken to as if you were a small, slow child are a few that can make solitude the preferable choice. Matter of fact, depending on who you're dealing with, a swift kick in the nuts might be the preferable choice.
Not that any of these things are a constant part of a relationship, but odds are you will have to them, or things like them, on a regular basis should you hope to maintain one. The great myth of the world is that men are somehow running things; spend a day with any couple and that notion becomes laughable. Not that this is a bad thing, often times unsupervised men are a fairly self-destructive bunch. Sure we've got some nice things on our resume, killing mammoths, building stuff, curing disease (not to mention all the mice and spider issues solved over the years), but generally seem to need that female GPS to keep things pointed in the right direction.
Take the Panama Canal, for example. If left to their own devices, all the guys contracted to build it would've got down to Panama, started effing off, enjoying the warm weather, drinking, and nothing would've been accomplished. Only the thought of their wife's reaction to them returning home after 6 months with no paycheck kept them on task, if not for that, no Canal. You can see it on a small scale every day, I'd wager that 90% of the intelligent decisions men make are centered around making or keeping a woman happy. The other 10% are based on the desire to afford a faster car or larger television.
Laugh if you want, but I'd bet anything the guy who ends up curing cancer is finally kicking it in the ass to finish medical school this semester because he needs to buy a wedding ring, or risk the woman he lives with walking. That Evolution of Man painting should have a woman standing on the right side with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. Again, I don't bring up this point to cause offense, paint women as shrewish, any of that. Only to highlight an evolution is my own way of thinking, which is to say, the stuff I used to mock guys for doing doesn't sound so intolerable any more. At least not when you consider the alternative.
Valentine's Day is a perfect example of the type of thing I used to rail against. While you have to tip your cap to the savvy businesspeople who've marketed the concept, it is, by and large, a scam. Prescribing a certain date on which tokens of affection are required to be exchanged is the perfect way to ensure you could jack the price up at exactly the right moment. If Hallmark and Russel Stover throwing huge marketing budgets behind a hyped up "holiday" make it required, then Guiness and Jameson should do the same for St. Paddy's. Unfortunately I don't think Car Bombs are ever going to be afforded the same mandatory status as roses (but I can dream!).
Sure, you can argue that it's a nice show of appreciation for your significant other, but isn't that what an anniversary is supposed to be for? If you're an inconsiderate f*ck the majority of the year, do flowers and a nice dinner on a Tuesday in February tilt the scales?
In truth, this day means little in the big picture, but the options have been laid out quite clearly: Shut up and play ball, or protest and perish. In the past, I've taken a stand on principle and gone the second route; I probably don't have to explain just how poorly this has served me.
Now it's time for fresh tactics. All that I ask is when you see me at a Farmer's Market some fall Sunday, holding a purse, with that glazed/stifled irritation expression that most men perfected much earlier in life, take it easy. Just smirk and nod, we'll both know I'm a fraud, be content in that knowledge.
But not the Housewive show, some things are too far beyond the pale, if forced to watch that, it's the black pill and don't look back.
Friday, February 10, 2012
No fight left in me
Here I was, all set to dive into a great weekend of college hockey matchups, when once again, the Fighting Sioux controversy had to rear its ugly head. Instead of hearing about the pivotal weekend hockey series coming up with Duluth, the whole week has been a stream of angry bickering over something that appeared to be over and done. I can’t even remember how long this has been going on, is it year 6? Year 7? Regardless of the particulars, there is only one answer needed: Far too long.
Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve loved to see the name stay, and think the whole thing has been handled unfairly, but when is enough enough? Anyone who’s been paying attention knows that the NCAA is completely full of sh*t as an organization, that’s never been up for debate. But then again, so is Congress, and they run the country, so why is the idea of an inept and unresponsive governing body such a shock? Incidentally, the NCAA may be the only organization with a lower approval rating.
Did they tweak the rules from day one to exempt bowl games, their greatest cash cow, hiding behind the definition of a “NCAA sanctioned postseason”? Yes. Did they stir up fake morality to make it appear as though they cared, in order to take the focus off players committing crimes on campuses, coaches making a mockery of recruiting rules, the fact that they make billions off of unpaid laborers and the lack of a football tournament? Probably. But as your parents used to tell you, life isn’t fair, it’s called power, and they have it all in this situation. Get used to it, or take your ball and go home.
While it’s unfortunate that the second tribe required to give approval has never been allowed to vote, there isn’t much that can be done there. I’d like to give even then most ardent nickname supporter the benefit of the doubt, and assume that if the majority of the Sioux people felt it was an insult, rather than an honor, they’d agree to retire it yesterday, and move on. That would’ve been the easiest way to end the debate years ago, but for some reason it hasn’t happened. A cynic would say that is because the powers that be wouldn’t like the result. It’s a bit underhanded, and once again draws to mind our lawmakers, refusing to bring a motion to the floor, for fear they may have to take a firm opinion. But once again, them’s the rules, life isn’t fair, move on.
At this late date, after formally giving the name up once already, you’re making everyone associated with the University of North Dakota look dumb. I know you have an emotional connection to the nickname, I know it’s tough to hear Bison and Gopher fans mock you with the “Fighting Whioux?” jabs, but for the greater good of things, let this go. I can honestly say that I’ve done so. Even passed a man outside of Englestad Arena a few weeks ago who was gathering signatures for his petition without a moment’s thought of signing. Walking into the game with the two biggest UND fans I know, the shared sentiment was: Why can’t people just let this go?
I’m not a purveyor of perspective, or an ocean of calm, when it comes to sports. I flip my lid sometimes, get mad and act stupidly, I’m well aware of my shortcomings. But when it comes to taking the inconsequential to far, I cannot hold a candle to this crowd. The University of North Dakota is about more than a logo and a nickname, and acting like those two things are so important marginalizes everything else associated with it. The name was great, and worthy of the love you have for it, but the school itself is too, and what’s happening here is going to hurt it in the long run.
Be pissed if you want, withhold donations, scream and yell and stomp your feet. But get out of the way, it’s time to move forward.
Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve loved to see the name stay, and think the whole thing has been handled unfairly, but when is enough enough? Anyone who’s been paying attention knows that the NCAA is completely full of sh*t as an organization, that’s never been up for debate. But then again, so is Congress, and they run the country, so why is the idea of an inept and unresponsive governing body such a shock? Incidentally, the NCAA may be the only organization with a lower approval rating.
Did they tweak the rules from day one to exempt bowl games, their greatest cash cow, hiding behind the definition of a “NCAA sanctioned postseason”? Yes. Did they stir up fake morality to make it appear as though they cared, in order to take the focus off players committing crimes on campuses, coaches making a mockery of recruiting rules, the fact that they make billions off of unpaid laborers and the lack of a football tournament? Probably. But as your parents used to tell you, life isn’t fair, it’s called power, and they have it all in this situation. Get used to it, or take your ball and go home.
While it’s unfortunate that the second tribe required to give approval has never been allowed to vote, there isn’t much that can be done there. I’d like to give even then most ardent nickname supporter the benefit of the doubt, and assume that if the majority of the Sioux people felt it was an insult, rather than an honor, they’d agree to retire it yesterday, and move on. That would’ve been the easiest way to end the debate years ago, but for some reason it hasn’t happened. A cynic would say that is because the powers that be wouldn’t like the result. It’s a bit underhanded, and once again draws to mind our lawmakers, refusing to bring a motion to the floor, for fear they may have to take a firm opinion. But once again, them’s the rules, life isn’t fair, move on.
At this late date, after formally giving the name up once already, you’re making everyone associated with the University of North Dakota look dumb. I know you have an emotional connection to the nickname, I know it’s tough to hear Bison and Gopher fans mock you with the “Fighting Whioux?” jabs, but for the greater good of things, let this go. I can honestly say that I’ve done so. Even passed a man outside of Englestad Arena a few weeks ago who was gathering signatures for his petition without a moment’s thought of signing. Walking into the game with the two biggest UND fans I know, the shared sentiment was: Why can’t people just let this go?
I’m not a purveyor of perspective, or an ocean of calm, when it comes to sports. I flip my lid sometimes, get mad and act stupidly, I’m well aware of my shortcomings. But when it comes to taking the inconsequential to far, I cannot hold a candle to this crowd. The University of North Dakota is about more than a logo and a nickname, and acting like those two things are so important marginalizes everything else associated with it. The name was great, and worthy of the love you have for it, but the school itself is too, and what’s happening here is going to hurt it in the long run.
Be pissed if you want, withhold donations, scream and yell and stomp your feet. But get out of the way, it’s time to move forward.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Super thoughts
First of, they've gotta either move the Super Bowl to a Saturday, or declare the Monday following it a national holiday, it would be way more fun.
Was it really the unbelievable game a lot of people are saying it was? Close game, good game, for sure, but unbelievable? If the Pats rally back to win, then we’re in unbelievable territory, as of now, it was just a good game, and that’s about it.
I’m still a bit conflicted about the safety to open the game, guess I can go with it because there really wasn’t a receiver close, but something about it still seemed kind of weak. Not to mention, it’s a different game if the Giants are down 4, instead of 2, late in the game. That called played a bigger role in the game than I would've liked.
Speaking of the final moments, New England should’ve let them score much earlier. They eventually did, but it was too late to make a difference, and they burned a timeout in the process. Just let a guy run free behind the secondary with two minutes left and I bet they win, a field goal was inevitable at that point anyway, Billy Cundiff doesn’t kick for the Giants.
Where was Peyton Manning hiding during the game? Bunker someplace? I was astonished to not see 50 different shots of him at various points, guessing the producer of the game felt the same way, quite the chunk of time to fill.
Commercials featuring dogs are winners. There were a whole lot of crappy commercials yesterday, but every one that featured a dog was gold, take note advertising people. The Fiat commercial with the hot Italian broad seemed like a winner, until they showed the car. In order to properly equate things, she should’ve been a of hobbit-sized proportions like the guy she was slapping around.
Vikings, please do not give Mario Manningham a 4-year, $20 million contract this offseason. I know you want to, because you're desperate at WR, but DO NOT DO IT! He is what he is, a nice 2nd or 3rd option who makes some plays, gets hurt too often, and won’t be nearly as effective if asked to be The Guy. In other words, Bernard Berrian 2.0
How many times can a team fumble without the opponent falling on one of them? I’m not sure, but the Giants looked like they wanted to find out. Uncomfortable flashbacks to Fumblaya (aka, the 2010 NFC Championship game) there.
With the Packers winning last year, and the Giants this season, the NFL regular season is officially rendered mostly moot. Not totally, since you do have to at least qualify for the playoffs, and there still are fantasy championships to be decided, but winning more than 10 games is meaningless. Get in the playoffs and you can win the title, pure and simple.
Reading through all the prop bets before the game makes me furious I can’t legally bet on sports in one of the many nearby casinos. I wanted to throw $10 on a safety being the first score of the game at 16-to-1, but it needs to be in person, gambling on the internet just isn’t the same. And yes, one season of being able to legally gamble on football would likely make me furious that local casinos allow it.
The official glass half-empty/half-full thought of the week: It will be seven months before another football game happens, but pitchers and catchers report in two weeks, the Final Five happens in six weeks and the NHL playoffs are a scant two months away!
Was it really the unbelievable game a lot of people are saying it was? Close game, good game, for sure, but unbelievable? If the Pats rally back to win, then we’re in unbelievable territory, as of now, it was just a good game, and that’s about it.
I’m still a bit conflicted about the safety to open the game, guess I can go with it because there really wasn’t a receiver close, but something about it still seemed kind of weak. Not to mention, it’s a different game if the Giants are down 4, instead of 2, late in the game. That called played a bigger role in the game than I would've liked.
Speaking of the final moments, New England should’ve let them score much earlier. They eventually did, but it was too late to make a difference, and they burned a timeout in the process. Just let a guy run free behind the secondary with two minutes left and I bet they win, a field goal was inevitable at that point anyway, Billy Cundiff doesn’t kick for the Giants.
Where was Peyton Manning hiding during the game? Bunker someplace? I was astonished to not see 50 different shots of him at various points, guessing the producer of the game felt the same way, quite the chunk of time to fill.
Commercials featuring dogs are winners. There were a whole lot of crappy commercials yesterday, but every one that featured a dog was gold, take note advertising people. The Fiat commercial with the hot Italian broad seemed like a winner, until they showed the car. In order to properly equate things, she should’ve been a of hobbit-sized proportions like the guy she was slapping around.
Vikings, please do not give Mario Manningham a 4-year, $20 million contract this offseason. I know you want to, because you're desperate at WR, but DO NOT DO IT! He is what he is, a nice 2nd or 3rd option who makes some plays, gets hurt too often, and won’t be nearly as effective if asked to be The Guy. In other words, Bernard Berrian 2.0
How many times can a team fumble without the opponent falling on one of them? I’m not sure, but the Giants looked like they wanted to find out. Uncomfortable flashbacks to Fumblaya (aka, the 2010 NFC Championship game) there.
With the Packers winning last year, and the Giants this season, the NFL regular season is officially rendered mostly moot. Not totally, since you do have to at least qualify for the playoffs, and there still are fantasy championships to be decided, but winning more than 10 games is meaningless. Get in the playoffs and you can win the title, pure and simple.
Reading through all the prop bets before the game makes me furious I can’t legally bet on sports in one of the many nearby casinos. I wanted to throw $10 on a safety being the first score of the game at 16-to-1, but it needs to be in person, gambling on the internet just isn’t the same. And yes, one season of being able to legally gamble on football would likely make me furious that local casinos allow it.
The official glass half-empty/half-full thought of the week: It will be seven months before another football game happens, but pitchers and catchers report in two weeks, the Final Five happens in six weeks and the NHL playoffs are a scant two months away!
Friday, January 27, 2012
A scattershot Friday
Some days, my brain is more of a shotgun than a rifle. This is one of those days…
“Gotcha boss, how about a circle? Like that classic Roman fighting pit sort of look?”
“Circles have been done to death Johnson, and how is an announcer going to sound saying it? This is their first time meeting in the circle? Sounds like the neighborhood kids getting together for a game of hide-n-seek”
“Good point as always sir. Pentagon is already taken, what about a hexagon?”
“Hexagon? Are you ----ing nuts? Who the hell is going to take us seriously with a hexagon???”
“Sorry, don’t know what I was thinking there.”
“You could be onto something though with the extra sides, how about an octagon? Step inside the octagon, I like that, take it to the focus groups and see how it tests”
“Excellent call sir, should we throw decagon in there to get a comparison as well”
“Don’t ever try to one-up me again Johnson”
Happy Friday
- Watching football last weekend, they kept playing this McDonald’s commercial talking about how great the Egg McMuffin is. If you haven’t seen it, the gist was people saying “it’s the Egg McMuffin of cars” or “the Egg McMuffin of beach days”, the same way you’d say “it’s the Cadillac of hemorrhoid creams” or “the Rolls-Royce of body hair trimmers”. But here’s what I don’t get, if the Egg McMuffin is so great, why is my favorite breakfast item called a Sausage McMuffin with Egg? Shouldn’t it be an Egg McMuffin with Sausage? If not, then why is a regular Egg McMuffin not an Egg McMuffin with Canadian Bacon? Are we supposed to assume Canadian Bacon is implied in our breakfast foods? Seems a bit odd, given that this is America, if anything, regular Bacon should be implied. On a semi-related note, if you really want to piss off a Canadian, offer them some Canadian Bacon. 9 times out of 10, they will respond by angrily yelling “We just call it ham!”. High comedy.
- Do you ever get cut off in rush hour traffic by some idiot who thinks he’s going to weave his way out of ever having to stop? When that happens, do you ever root for the traffic in front of you to grind to a halt, adding to your own commute, but screwing over the self-important a-hole in front of you in the process? I do, in fact I also hope the lane next to us that he just merged out of starts flying along at the same time. Sure, I’m not getting where I’m going, but at least I get the enjoyment of thinking “well what do you know jackass, you’re no more important than the rest of us, now stop treating this freeway like an Olympic slalom course and eventually we’ll all get where we’re going”. You might think that’s dumb, but remember, a Pyrrhic victory is still a victory.
- A couple weeks ago, I was in the passenger seat of a car, driving back from an out-of-town hockey game, when the window next to me spontaneously shattered. There was no warning or explanation for this, it just shattered and fell into my lap as we were driving along the interstate. Sounded like a gunshot and scared the heck out of me, but beyond that there was no harm done. We jury rigged a solution, drove the last couple hours home, and now it’s just an amusing anecdote. It did however bring to mind a previous traumatic experience in an automobile, when I was driving and got stung just below the eye by a bee who flew through the window. That hurt like hell, had to pull over for a few minutes and collect my wits. Obviously that bee had some sort of personal vendetta, or was an insect assassin. I bring this up because I can’t decide which is the better pun, should it be referred to a Kamikaz-bee or a Bee-had?
- Who came up with the octagon for MMA fights? Was the thought process as simple as “we’ll market it as twice as good as boxing” or was it more nuanced? I like to picture it as being a sort of roundtable discussion:
“Gotcha boss, how about a circle? Like that classic Roman fighting pit sort of look?”
“Circles have been done to death Johnson, and how is an announcer going to sound saying it? This is their first time meeting in the circle? Sounds like the neighborhood kids getting together for a game of hide-n-seek”
“Good point as always sir. Pentagon is already taken, what about a hexagon?”
“Hexagon? Are you ----ing nuts? Who the hell is going to take us seriously with a hexagon???”
“Sorry, don’t know what I was thinking there.”
“You could be onto something though with the extra sides, how about an octagon? Step inside the octagon, I like that, take it to the focus groups and see how it tests”
“Excellent call sir, should we throw decagon in there to get a comparison as well”
“Don’t ever try to one-up me again Johnson”
- Cheez-Its are my favorite snack food, and my favorite Cheez-It is the slightly burnt one. They have roughly 73 different varieties of Cheez-Its available now, which begs the question: Why can’t I get a whole box of slighty burnt Cheez-Its?
- Last week, the punt returner for the San Francisco Forty-Niners dropped a couple of punts and began receiving death threats on Twitter. Later on, a guy who had posted one of these classy remarks claimed his account had been hacked. This got me thinking, how far away are we from someone threatening the life of the President on Twitter, then claiming they were hacked once the Secret Service shows up at their door? Has this already happened? I want details if it does, if only to hold the moron responsible up to scorn and ridicule. The lesson, as always, the internet is the death knell of civility.
- I like to imagine really good quarterbacks as being total jerks, even if they aren’t. It just makes watching football more fun for me to think that after some rookie drops a pass and jogs back to the huddle, Tom Brady turns to Wes Welker and says “Wes, please inform wide receiver #5 that one more play like that is going to land him back in the paint department at Home Depot. Also let him know that I will be addressing him as wide receiver #5 until he gives me a compelling reason to learn his actual name.” I dunno why, thinking about it just makes me chuckle.
- The other day at the grocery store, I witnessed someone returning produce. This seemed like the height of stupid customer behavior to me, taking the time to return a 79 cent cucumber that did not meet your rigorous quality standards. Sure we’ve all been burned by the avocado with the “Ready to Eat” sticker that was about a week away from actual ripeness, but it’s hard to fathom being compelled enough to return to the store for reparations. In addition, the situation I saw appeared to be an actual refund, not a simple exchange for a new cucumber. It was enough to make me consider walking over and clarifying the situation. Did the offended party stop liking cucumbers since the purchase was made? Did they simply change dinner plans? Or was it that they no longer trusted the stock in the produce department or that particular store? A tougher issue, what if you’d never had some type of fruit, say a pomegranate, purchased one to try it and discovered it wasn’t to your taste? Is the store obligated to accept an perfectly sound item that you rolled the dice on liking, just because it doesn’t agree with your palate? Caveat emptor, I say, but then I’ve never been a very discerning consumer.
Happy Friday
Monday, January 23, 2012
A sad tale that will make you want to shake your head in disgust
Watching two conference championship games wrap up yesterday in stunningly disappointing fashion, I was overcome by one thought: Thank goodness the Vikings weren’t playing today.
If they had been, is there any possible way they don’t come out on the short end? The simple fact that Billy Cundiff was wearing purple when he shanked a 32-yard tying field goal was enough to send a shudder down my spine. Had the Vikings been there, they would’ve played that role, or the one of San Francisco, inexplicably losing on two muffed punt returns. However the particulars work out, some teams win, and some teams break your heart, the way it actually unfolds is just details. But as both games unraveled, you couldn't help but think, that is EXACTLY how we would've lost those games.
In a twisted way, that can make you sort of happy. Rather than spending today dejectedly staring into space, we can simply offer condolences to the shattered Ravens and Niners fans out there who deserved better, but ended up with what they got. Of course not all of them deserved better, in fact I know of one Niner “fan” who deserves only ridicule and scorn. To protect his anonymity, we’ll just call him Fraudboy, as it’s an appropriate moniker, given how things went down.
Fraudboy is a friend of mine who I’ve been watching football with for many years. He’s a dedicated antagonist of Minnesota sports teams, even going so far as cheering lustily following some of the more crushing losses in state sporting history. Obviously this has put us at odds on several occasions, even resulting in some isolated incidents of physical violence. Nothing too serious, no bloodshed, just the general sort fisticuffs that are the natural consequence of acting like a d-bag. Sometimes you gotta tell somebody what time it is.
At any rate, Fraudboy enjoys sports as much as I do, even if his loyalties are confounding. Despite living his whole life in Minnesota, he hates hockey, loves basketball and counts the Niners and Lakers as his favorite teams. Despite living his whole life in America, he also despises baseball. So while the rest of us sit and root on the Twins on a May Sunday, he will carp and whine about the fact that playoff basketball is being missed.
Now I’m not saying that everyone needs to fall in lock-step with the local teams of the town they grew up in. But if you don’t, then you’d better have a damn good reason, and above all, you’d better be consistent. I’ve never gotten much in the way of good reasons from this fellow, and I seem to recall periods during which other teams topped his list. But since the past decade has been one of solid affiliations, I was willing to mlet it go. Then yesterday happened.
As is our custom, we headed out to a bar for the early game, looking to grab a bite to eat and a couple beers before retiring to the couch. Fraudboy spent the majority of the time haranguing the rest of us for incorrectly predicting that New Orleans would end the 49ers season the previous weekend. Fine. He also loudly proclaimed that his squad would win the late game and advance to the Super Bowl, because, to quote “this isn’t the Vikings we’re talking about here”. Fine again. He was throwing back beers, having a grand old time, king of the world, holding court from his barstool. And it was fine.
What wasn’t fine was that, after all the talk, all the bravado, harassments and insults, Fraudboy took a seat on the couch…AND FELL THE F*CK ASLEEP!!! (Some may say passed out, but I’m being charitable here) Now I’ll grant you he made it through the first half just fine, and many of us have dozed off during a football game before, but to fall asleep when your favorite team is playing in a conference championship game? Floored would not be a strong enough word. Aghast comes to mind, as does disgusted. I know of no other fan who would ever let something like this happen. I even tried to wake him up by trying to land Cheez-Its in his mouth from across the room, scored a couple direct hits to the nose, but nothing.
Just know that I could fly overseas, eat a Thanksgiving dinner, down a bottle of NyQuil and listen to one of those white noise machines on the ‘Babbling Brook’ setting. If the Vikings were playing a playoff game, I can guarantee you, wide awake. I don’t bring this up because it makes me special, it’s a trait that every other fan in America shares, how does something like this happen?!?!?!?
This moment will never be lived down, and I do mean never. I managed to text just about everyone that Fraudboy has ever watched football with, complete with photos to prove my point. Next season, and for every season the rest of his life, any time Fraudboy utters a “we need to get the Niners game on”, it will be met with a stinging “Why? You feeling like a nap?”
The only question is, how to hammer the point home more completely?
A pillow, or better yet, one of those sleep masks, embroidered with the 49er logo?
Setting a bottle of No-Doz on the table at the bar every Sunday next football season?
Text messages at 7 PM every Saturday night reminding him to go home and get rested up so he can make it through the afternoon?
All I know is, when you open your mouth, you also open yourself up to all sorts of people just looking to throw those boasts back in your face. With eight months to plan, you can bet I’ll have something nefarious cooked up for all 17 weeks of next season.
Fraudboy, you’ve made a critical error my friend.
If they had been, is there any possible way they don’t come out on the short end? The simple fact that Billy Cundiff was wearing purple when he shanked a 32-yard tying field goal was enough to send a shudder down my spine. Had the Vikings been there, they would’ve played that role, or the one of San Francisco, inexplicably losing on two muffed punt returns. However the particulars work out, some teams win, and some teams break your heart, the way it actually unfolds is just details. But as both games unraveled, you couldn't help but think, that is EXACTLY how we would've lost those games.
In a twisted way, that can make you sort of happy. Rather than spending today dejectedly staring into space, we can simply offer condolences to the shattered Ravens and Niners fans out there who deserved better, but ended up with what they got. Of course not all of them deserved better, in fact I know of one Niner “fan” who deserves only ridicule and scorn. To protect his anonymity, we’ll just call him Fraudboy, as it’s an appropriate moniker, given how things went down.
Fraudboy is a friend of mine who I’ve been watching football with for many years. He’s a dedicated antagonist of Minnesota sports teams, even going so far as cheering lustily following some of the more crushing losses in state sporting history. Obviously this has put us at odds on several occasions, even resulting in some isolated incidents of physical violence. Nothing too serious, no bloodshed, just the general sort fisticuffs that are the natural consequence of acting like a d-bag. Sometimes you gotta tell somebody what time it is.
At any rate, Fraudboy enjoys sports as much as I do, even if his loyalties are confounding. Despite living his whole life in Minnesota, he hates hockey, loves basketball and counts the Niners and Lakers as his favorite teams. Despite living his whole life in America, he also despises baseball. So while the rest of us sit and root on the Twins on a May Sunday, he will carp and whine about the fact that playoff basketball is being missed.
Now I’m not saying that everyone needs to fall in lock-step with the local teams of the town they grew up in. But if you don’t, then you’d better have a damn good reason, and above all, you’d better be consistent. I’ve never gotten much in the way of good reasons from this fellow, and I seem to recall periods during which other teams topped his list. But since the past decade has been one of solid affiliations, I was willing to mlet it go. Then yesterday happened.
As is our custom, we headed out to a bar for the early game, looking to grab a bite to eat and a couple beers before retiring to the couch. Fraudboy spent the majority of the time haranguing the rest of us for incorrectly predicting that New Orleans would end the 49ers season the previous weekend. Fine. He also loudly proclaimed that his squad would win the late game and advance to the Super Bowl, because, to quote “this isn’t the Vikings we’re talking about here”. Fine again. He was throwing back beers, having a grand old time, king of the world, holding court from his barstool. And it was fine.
What wasn’t fine was that, after all the talk, all the bravado, harassments and insults, Fraudboy took a seat on the couch…AND FELL THE F*CK ASLEEP!!! (Some may say passed out, but I’m being charitable here) Now I’ll grant you he made it through the first half just fine, and many of us have dozed off during a football game before, but to fall asleep when your favorite team is playing in a conference championship game? Floored would not be a strong enough word. Aghast comes to mind, as does disgusted. I know of no other fan who would ever let something like this happen. I even tried to wake him up by trying to land Cheez-Its in his mouth from across the room, scored a couple direct hits to the nose, but nothing.
Just know that I could fly overseas, eat a Thanksgiving dinner, down a bottle of NyQuil and listen to one of those white noise machines on the ‘Babbling Brook’ setting. If the Vikings were playing a playoff game, I can guarantee you, wide awake. I don’t bring this up because it makes me special, it’s a trait that every other fan in America shares, how does something like this happen?!?!?!?
This moment will never be lived down, and I do mean never. I managed to text just about everyone that Fraudboy has ever watched football with, complete with photos to prove my point. Next season, and for every season the rest of his life, any time Fraudboy utters a “we need to get the Niners game on”, it will be met with a stinging “Why? You feeling like a nap?”
The only question is, how to hammer the point home more completely?
A pillow, or better yet, one of those sleep masks, embroidered with the 49er logo?
Setting a bottle of No-Doz on the table at the bar every Sunday next football season?
Text messages at 7 PM every Saturday night reminding him to go home and get rested up so he can make it through the afternoon?
All I know is, when you open your mouth, you also open yourself up to all sorts of people just looking to throw those boasts back in your face. With eight months to plan, you can bet I’ll have something nefarious cooked up for all 17 weeks of next season.
Fraudboy, you’ve made a critical error my friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)