Guaranteed to Satisfy

Qualitative Bullets: UGA Edition

2009-11-15T10:26:00.004-05:00

There's no sense in trying to muster a self-centered narrative about my feelings on the game. It was frustrating. So, bullet me.

-After the first drive, didn't it feel like Auburn would lay half a hundred on the scoreboard? Give credit where credit is due: Willie Martinez. UGA fans everywhere just buried their head in their hands.

-I haven't seen it in print anywhere, but have thought this all year. Chris Todd has extremely odd body mechanics when throwing. His back leg collapses, and it gives the appearance that he throws off his back foot. Many times this year he's done it, I cringe, yet he completes the pass.

-Lee Ziemba: you're an elite talent on the offensive line. Act like it. On the last drive, I can't believe he didn't know the snap count. Therefore it follows that he jumped out of his stance early in fear of getting beat by the end. This has happened too often. Trust yourself Mr. Ziemba.

-These procedural penalties are getting old. Kodi's 3rd down pass to Zachery worked like magic, except for the yellow laundry that negated the play. I know Malzahn reps these pseudo trick plays--I use the modifier because in Malzahn's offense, nothing is really a trick, because it's sort of all a trick, I swear that made sense in my head--so the procedural penalties that accompany them is tiresome to say the least.

-Relatedly, down 14-17, 3rd and 3, Malzahn calls the formation with Lee Ziemba split out wide. I know, I know. It probably wasn't executed correctly, and Georgia got tremendous pressure on Todd. But really, would a draw to Tate, swing pass to Fannin, b uck sweep, or even speed sweep to McCalebb have been so bad? My 9th grade English teacher used to tell us KISS. Keep It Simple Stupid. I'm still firmly aboard the Malzahn bandwagon, and will probably never get off, but that was a huge missed opportunity.

-Wes Byrum, thank you for the Groza-esque performance this year. We missed you last year. Great to have you back.

-My memory could be betraying me, but it seems like Neiko Thorpe has been burnt deep badly in the last few weeks. One Joe Cox throw into the end zone that went incomplete saw Thorpe trailing his man, the incompletion was not a result of Thorpe's coverage. And the 3rd and 16 catch by Tavarres King cannot be overestimated in terms of importance. If not for the depleted depth--NOT ELTORO TOO--I might even advocate putting Demond Washington in over Thorpe.

-Georgia's front four really played well in the second half, pressuring Todd more and saving their secondary's hindquarters. In the first half, Todd carved up the UGA secondary. The second half was different because of Georgia's d-line play.

-Can a fanbase feel more strange about a victory? Not only did UGA win, but Willie Martinez acquitted himself well in the Bumbling Fool (Martinez) v. Mad Scientist (Malzahn) matchup.

-After yet another botched punt catch, I was all for Donald Trumping Demond Washington and enlisting Trooper Taylor himself to catch punts. Then, Washington exploded on that kickoff return. Keep him back there, he's the most explosive and competent option.

-Joe Cox passed the eye test. I know his completion percentage wasn't great, but he made plays at key moments and that deep ball on the aforementioned 3rd and 16 play was beautiful.

-Washaun Ealey=stud.

-Kodi Burns has thrown, run for, and now caught a TD. Count me as someone that thought the whole, "Kodi will still have a role in this offense" was a PR thing. Glad he's made a tangible impact this year.

-On Todd's 2 picks. Unfortunately, football is football and the law of averages catches up to you after a while. His arm getting hit on one play was tough. The route miscommunication between him and Darvin Adams was bad too. Sadly, these things happen in football and they are less a referendum on Todd's ability than random occurrences that are bound to happen as the sample size gets larger. Anyone jumping on the 'start Neil Caudle bandwagon' following this game needs to have their head checked.

-That being said, the pick in the 4th quarter when driving to go up 31-24 was crippling. Duh.

-Mario, the crossing pattern was a tough catch. But you are the designated tough guy for this team. That's why the coaches called that play, because they trust you to make the grab. Tough play that needs to be made.

-Bacarri Rambo, all good thoughts and wishes your way. Heal quickly, you're a stud.

-UGA won the 'explosive play' contest which was almost as important as winning the turnover battle. Which, if you missed it--I'm sure you didn't--UGA won 2 to 0.

War Eagle. Maybe some quantitative bullets will follow.

The Times, They Have A-Changed

2009-11-12T10:09:00.005-05:00

Suck it, UGA (the mascot, not the school)

I grew up in Georgia, and while by no means I lived on the banks of the Okefenokee, I still dealt with a fair share of good ole boys. The sidewalk alumni, as many of my Auburn brethren like to label Bama' fans, permeated every level of education I pursued before college. Most of my cohorts loved UGA football for little reason beyond their friends doing so. Ridicule followed me whenever I sported the Auburn emblem and questions like, 'Why not love the Dawgs'?' rung in my ears like the terrible Wilson Phillips songs my sister insisted on blaring in the car. My attitude towards UGA gradually escalated from general indifference, to mild dislike, to out and out hatred. The out and out hatred was illustrated best in 2002 watching Michael Johnson rip my heart out and seething in a hotel lobby for 20 minutes to myself. I had seen one play in the game. That one. To this day I ask you Horace Willis, why did you not jump? The number of phone calls I received immediately after that play cannot be quantified. In those moments, my hatred was set in stone.

Through college, my attitude changed for a few reasons.

1)Athens is actually a pretty great town. This is a fact, not an opinion.

2)The phone calls after the 2003 game, weren't nearly as plentiful as the 2002 game. I credit this to losing contact with many people that never attended the school, and the majority of UGA students/grads being fairly reasonable people.

3)Actually experiencing the Iron Bowl, and especially the hooha over Nick Saban, made me loathe, despise, and hate everything about the University of Alabama.

Now, this game holds less importance for me. It's no longer an indefensible loss as I don't have to face the unintelligent masses barking (literally) at me for 3 days after the game.

But, what of the 2009 contest? Last year's game should have been a gimme for UGA. Their offense averaged 6.8 yards per play for the year; Auburn's averaged 4.5. In short, there's no way it should have been the slug fest it turned out to be. All signs this year point to an OK Corral Massacre of Defenses. UGA fans hope for this because:

A)They believe this can result in a victory

B)Auburn's offense could drive another nail in the seemingly impregnable coffin of Willie Martinez by hanging a big number on the Sanford Stadium scoreboard.

Assumptions:

1)UGA's defense will not allow Auburn's offense to average more than 5.5 yards per play. UGA's defense has laid 2 eggs. First, against Arkansas, where the egg was not nearly as large as the 7.4 (!) yards per play allowed against that offensive destroyer of worlds, Tennessee. Exclude those games and they have allowed no more than 5.2 yards per play to any team they've played including Florida. Even the 37 points South Carolina laid on them was more a product of them running 83 plays than giving up an inordinate amount of yardage.

2)Auburn's defense cannot suck the way it did against LSU. I know Ted Roof said, "Well here's what happened. They had five plays for about an average of 32 yards a play, and they had 61 plays for about 3 yards a play." Well Ted, that's kind of like Ralph Branca saying if he hadn't thrown the certain pitch he did to Bobby Thompson, the Giants would not have won the pennant. The parallels between the LSU game and this one are closer than you think. It's a road game in a large, loud environment. There is cautious optimism about the result. There is a large amount of talent on both sides of the ball for the opponent. UGA's offense is above average. What exactly will this translate to against an average-at-best Auburn defense? Who knows. As far as anything of substance, I hope Richt gets itchy and plays Logan Gray. QB contain hasn't been Auburn's strongest point, but I'll say I'd be more worried if Aaron Murray jogs out onto the field* than if I see Gray lining up under center.

3)Auburn's offense must own. No Kentucky like no show will work. Auburn's sporting a 5.68 yard per play metric against SEC teams. This is somewhat skewed by the 8.3 monster put up against Miss. State, so remove that and you've got a 5.15 number to look at. Somewhere in the middle is what to expect. What to want? Well obviously more.

4)UGA needs A.J. Green is dominate. I don't have any cool stat or thought on this. He's just damn good.

I know the yards per play thing has dominated this post, but if you go back and look game by game at Auburn's season, it passes the eye test.

Auburn-Miss State: The American Muscle (Auburn) dusted the cheesy Import (Miss St.). (8.3 to 6.2)

Auburn-West Va: Veronica (West Va) is smokin' hot, how did Melissa (Auburn) win Prom Queen? (5.4 to 6.4)

Auburn-UT: She(Auburn) let herself go towards the end. (5.5 to 5.6)

Auburn-Arkansas: Wait, how close was it? (5.9 to 6.0)

Auburn-Kentucky: Captain Obvious (4.3 to 5.0)

Auburn-LSU: Kind of like the back and forth between Chris Farley and Adam Sandler in Billy Madison. "No you didn't" (7.5(!) to 4.1)

Auburn-Ole Miss: Well, that looks exactly what I thought it'd look like. (6.0 to 5.3)

Hopefully that provides enough evidence to represent my enjoyment of the per play metric. If not, I frankly don't care. Just win, Auburn

War Damn Eagle.

*I'm fully aware the likelihood of this happening is somewhere between George W. Bush saying 'nuclear' correctly, and Mark Richt birthing a child at halftime.

Tex Winter and the Zen Paradox

2009-10-28T14:08:00.004-04:00

Mr. Winter, meet the readers. Both of them.

I caught this little nugget this morning from a J.A. Adande article:

"You are only a success at the moment that you do a successful act."

The quote is attributed to Tex Winter, the legendary Triangle offense architect. Did Phil Jackson get his Zen leanings from Winter, Winter from Jackson, or some blend of the in-between? Interesting question and I'm sure the answer is out there in some Jacksonian piece of media, but I digress.

The quote is infinitely fascinating for a number of reasons. The fact that Jackson and Winter have injected this Zen-lite, ethereal philosophy into the largely reactive minds of professional basketball players for nearly two decades is astounding. If you want to be a cynic, I'll point you to this picture. As they say, the proof is in the pudding. How much of that pudding comes from philosophical lectures? Probably not a lot. My real fascination with this quote is two-fold.

First, in sports, performances are scrutinized, conceptualized, and deified more quickly, deftly (sometimes), and sardonically than any other professional vehicle. Trends, stats, and scouting reports are distributed and formulated based on hours of study and labor. The adjectives good, great, and transcendent are routinely bestowed on individuals based not on the single success as Winter references here, but repeated successes. It's how a player's value is gauged, money is made, and victories are attained. In the ego-centric culture of the NBA, Winter and Jackson have persistently fed this way of thought to athletes.

Secondly, the paradox. Being a success in limited action and in the context of Winter's quote seemingly negates the notion of long term success, and accordingly greatness. Skill is illusory, success exists only in glimpses, and for that reason trends should not be paid attention and statistics are rendered meaningless. Damn the torpedoes! Josh Smith, hoist another ill-advised outside jumper! Chris Todd, throw another deep ball into triple coverage! Bobby Cox, put Greg Norton in once more to prove his worth in the late innings! Hyperbole, the preceding few sentences. I understand the context of the quote. You are nowhere but where you are on every play and can only exceed expectations insofar as that moment allows. A career of transcendence is a myth, transcend hundreds of moments, and then you'll grasp greatness. As a motivational tactic, I can how Winter's quote succeeds. As a philosophy though, it's just mind numbing.

Now that I've devolved far enough, I'll come to the point. For all the Zen touting Phil Jackson has done over the years, it has little to do with his success. Ten championships--SEE! SUCCESS IS THE SUM OF EXPERIENCES!!--have come largely due to two factors. Stellar basketball acumen and superior talent. True, Jackson played a part in equipping Jordan, Shaq, and Kobe, but surely that had more to do with court time than motivational quips. The moniker of 'Zen Master' is the most annoying nickname in the history of sports. That is all.

War Eagle Now, War Eagle Tomorrow, War Eagle Forever

2009-09-04T15:06:00.002-04:00

Thanks for those words Mr. Wallace

It's here. Months of mystery will be replaced by four hours of answers. The questions are endless, so much so that it's virtually impossible to have them all answered. Is Todd's arm really better? Will we see the same vanilla 1st game offense as with the old coaching staff? Will the defense have to pull kids out of the student section to play linebacker? And most importantly, will we win?

This game reminds me a lot of Tuberville's first game as a head coach. App State was a competent, smaller team. The Good Ole Boys' I shared the upper deck with thought we should've hung half a hundred on them, but we simply weren't that good, and they simply weren't that bad. Ask Michigan about the App State program for clarification. I believe, undoubtedly, we'll win. But, I greet this game with cautious pessimism. A walkover it won't be. La Tech is legit. They aren't afraid, and they are old. With their senior laden team, it's easy to draw the parallel to the George Mason Final Four team. A large majority of their team has played together for 3 years, and have played in atmospheres similar to Jordan-Hare. Intimidated, they won't be. On another hand, our offense will be better than the 08' debacle. How do I know? I used a very scientific method called, "I Watch A Lot of Football, and Offense is Not Nearly As Difficult as Auburn 08' Made It Appear". Translation: it really can't be any worse. Apathy has been replaced by zeal. Confusion replaced by clarity. The results will translate accordingly.

The defense will have a handful of bad plays. That will happen with the dearth of healthy individuals, an offense that aims to play Usain Bolt style, and a dash of inexperience. But, at the end of the day the gladiators named Coleman, Bynes, and McFadden will be unfazed at the trash being thrown at them by the Techie's. 4-3, Nickel, Dime: it matters not which defense Auburn chooses, at some point talent wins out. La Tech isn't a middling team with a Deandre Brown playing wide out. They'll be solid, but not spectacular. They'll mount a challenge, a la 99' App State. But at the end of the day, they'll fail. War Eagle.

Auburn-27 La Tech-13

Crickets...

2009-08-14T11:02:00.004-04:00

I guess it's ok.

It ended with a maddening thud. After all the hoo-ha about the quarterback competition and all the potential excitement you could glean from the monotone coachspeak regarding said competition, we're left with Chris Todd. Chris Todd. Let that marinate for a second. I've let it sit for a few hours, and still come to the same conclusion. Chris Todd as Auburn's quarterback is about as exciting as watching the pig contest at the fair.

The competition had so much promise. Even if I professed my preference for Caudle, I still could have been every bit as excited about 2009: The Renaissance of Kodi Burns. Now, we'll be treated to Will It or Won't It: The Odyssey of Chris Todd's Shoulder. The theme for this offseason has been Dr. Malzahn or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying About Auburn's Quarterback Situation, and to be clear I'm not worried. Gus Malzahn has forgotten more football than I know. The guy walks around with an IV of the blackest coffee in the southeast and probably takes more caffeine pills than Jessie Spano. Malzahn is on edge, on point, and in control. He's intelligent, measured, and most importantly, not Tony Franklin. That alone gives me confidence. But to meet this news with anything more than a shrug of the shoulders is to possess the positive outlook gene in spades.

Now we sit, a paltry 20 something days from kickoff. Alumni are making their plans to visit the Plains, freshman still can't believe they just saw Ben Tate on campus, and people are getting ready to smoke some meat. On September 5th, Chris Todd will be Auburn's quarterback. In three weeks, I'll have moved past the acceptance phase and will actually exhibit some passion when arguing about his competency as a quarterback. The excitement will be there when they kick-off. The crickets, will be drowned out.

Subliminal Messages by the Black Eyed Peas

2009-07-28T13:14:00.003-04:00

That's the only logical explanation for, "I Gotta Feeling," being a top 40 song. You know when you read an article in the paper and think, "wow, I now feeling less intelligent." That's this song. Fortunately, I'm unable to embed it.

I gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night
that tonight’s gonna be a good night
that tonight’s gonna be a good good night (x4) !4 times!

Tonight’s the night night
Let’s live it up
I got my money
Let’s spend it up

Go out and smash it
like Oh My God
Jump off that sofa
Let’s get get OFF

I know that we’ll have a ball
if we get down
and go out
and just loose it all

I feel stressed out
I wanna let it go
Lets go way out spaced out
and loosing all control

Fill up my cup
Mazal tov
Look at her dancing
just take it off

Lets paint the town
We’ll shut it down
Let’s burn the roof
and then we’ll do it again

Lets Do it (x3)
and live it up

i gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night
that tonight’s gonna be a good night
that tonight’s gonna be a good good night (x2)

Simply stunning.

They Said It On The Radio...

2009-07-20T09:20:00.002-04:00

"Tim McGraw's new single, 'It's a Business Doing Pleasure With You,' was co-written by Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger. As if Tim needed any more credibility." -nameless DJ on 94.9 the Bull

Ice Cream Paint Job

2009-07-07T21:43:00.002-04:00

I like rap. Warren G, the Wu Tang Clan, Dr. Dre, and the Notorious B.I.G. were more a part of my formative years than the Eagles, Chicago, and Three Dog Night. Still, it's hard to label modern day rap as anything more than a sideshow. Pioneers have the benefit of being original. Tribe Called Quest, Grandmaster Flash, and Run DMC broke new ground. They were the original gangsta's. (Too much? I think so. No suburban white kid should use the term "original gangsta's" in any serious context) Now, we're left without any mesmerizing, or even polarizing figures within the rap world. In short, there are no icons, which leads to the persistent publishing of poorly put-together lyrics such as the ones in this song:

Don't get me wrong, the chorus is catchy. I spent a lot of last weekend listening, and re-listening to this song and laughing the whole time. I even had a good time listening to it, laughing with my friends as we attempted to dissect (first mistake) the song itself. Therein lies the problem, rap now is nothing more than fodder for its listeners. It's pure junk food. High in saturated lyrics and low in any sustaining value. Another problem is the recycled content. It's the same theme, the same message over and over again.** Rinse, lather, repeat. Churn out another top 40 commercial hit. Is there any current rap song I will listen to 20 years from now?* Clearly not. On the flip side, there's a whole new generation of 10 year olds that listen to the Hot 97.5's of the world and will forever feel thick nostalgia when they hear certain rap songs on their mp3 players 10 years from now. And maybe that's where I make a mistake. Labeling any rap music as timeless is perhaps irresponsible. I'm sure there are salient points to support that argument. But thanks to that era of music, rap has risen to dominate airwaves across America. If that's not influential, then my name's not John Beatty.

*The Chronic came out nearly 20 years ago and I still listen to 'Nuthin But a G Thang' once a week.

**I don't think I have to rigorously explain the major themes of rap music today.

Another Season...

2009-06-12T15:36:00.005-04:00

Russian, I think

Every year, I have to come up with new ways to make weddings--more accurately the build up to the wedding--interesting. My first season, at the ripe age of 20, I felt it necessary to be as pompous as possible to all my relatives. As funny as I thought this was, it did not end well with my various aunts, uncles, and cousins. All that bravado and false sense of pride didn't work on them. They remembered me being the awkward 12 year old at Christmas. Suffice it to say, the first year was a failure.

The next two years were all about people watching. The perks of being a wallflower include knowing everything about both families and understanding how much the families love or hate their new family member. In this stage I learned a lot about people, and how much families enjoy talking about their black sheep when they get together.

Starting last year, I decided to be that guy. You know when that joke was really funny, yet simple. Everyone got a kick out of it.

Joe Everyman: "Easy on that fruit punch Harold, you don't want to be that guy." Hyuck, hyuck.

Harold Random: "Hey man, I live to be that guy!" (cue the uproarious laughter)

Aside from that exchange you heard around 34215 times in 2005, I still wanted to be this mythical guy. Frankly, I wanted to be Vince Vaughn's character from Wedding Crashers. I'm still not sure what I'm going to go for this season. I'll have to decide soon, since opening day is tomorrow.

But anyway, back to the people watching. After years of observation and exercises in the anthropology of white middle class men and women, I decided grouping people was the best use of my escapades. Without further ado, these are the various groups that make up weddings (plus or minus depending on the prevalence of booze at the reception)

The AngrywhyamIhereIhaventseenthispersonin10years group: Pretty straight forward right? These folks are either distant relatives, friends of the brides mother, or childhood friends that have decided to read nothing but Kurt Vonnegut, and listen to nothing but the Talking Heads. Not saying there's anything wrong with that, but it really narrows the scope of conversations.

The DUDEITSBEENTOOLONG group: You know these people well. They typically head straight for the sauce at the reception and then begin to make their rounds. They're masters at the hand shake-straight into the man embrace and speak entirely too loud, directly in your ear. These people are usually the fringe college aged friends that had to be invited because of some shared experience with either the bride or groom.

The wearefamily group: Perhaps the most prominent grouping at any wedding. If you're remotely connected to the wedding party, you've never seen any of these people. They have preferred seating at the reception, and they always have a loud uncle that invariably has too much to drink and passes out before the garter gets tossed. Outside of him, they're a pretty mundane group content with discussing the 5 year plan of the new couple.

The letspickupchicks group: Could be the groomsmen, could be an old boyfriend of the bride that she just had to invite to rub it in. Regardless, this group comes to weddings for one reason: women. If they deem the environment to be low on potential targets, their language begins to get deteriorate and they start planning their escape before they get through the buffet line.

The Icantbelievetheyhavealcohol group: I'm sure this is heightened due to my close friendships with many Southern Baptists, but these folks really look disheartened at the reception. Wishing prohibition was never repealed, they mope at their tables after feverishly feasting on the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and macaroni they were so happy about upon arrival. If it's a night wedding, the odds are even that this group calls it quits by 8:30.

The centerofattention group: They dance, they sing, they toast for far too long. You know them, you love to hate them. This guy (or girl) dances with grandma's, tries to dance with the flower girl (come on man, every girl out there has seen Wedding Crashers) and shows anyone that doesn't already know it the most complicated dances the DJ throws out there. These are including, but not limited to the Cupid Shuffle, the Cha Cha Slide, and the Electric Slide.

And lastly...the crying group: Bridesmaids, mothers, and sometimes adolescent girls make up the bulk of this group. Not believing that their friend (or daugther, or son) has finally tied the knot, they simply cannot hold back their tears when giving their toast. They fan their eyes, they ask for time, and they tell you how special she or he is. You can't make any fun of them, because for this one day the cynicism needs to stop.

So there you have it. The groups at all the weddings. Depending on your perception, the MVP can come out of any of these groups. Just remember to tell them, wedding season is a marathon not a sprint.

A Season of Faith's Perfections

2009-06-10T21:32:00.004-04:00

20 bucks if you name the movie that title's from.

Lists and movies. The two are synonymous. Top 10 this week at the box office, Top 10 'summer popcorn' movies of all time, AFI's Top 100 of...everything. The list of lists goes on and on. Being that I'm an avid lister--is there a better way to compare things?--and movie watcher, I couldn't believe the good fortune when I discovered Flickchart. The premise of the site is simple enough. It's a battle royale of movies; Wedding Crashers or Gone With the Wind? The Prestige or Gattaca? The Chronicles of Narnia or Basic Instinct? You pick, they rank for you. The drawback? Well, the earlier you rank movies the more likely they are to be ranked higher. For example, the first comparison offered: Zoolander or Predator. Now, much as I like vintage Ahnold I'm afraid I went with Zoolander. For the next 50 comparisons--Zoolander wasn't compared to another movie for that long--I was stuck with Zoolander as my #1 movie of all time. After 1000 comparisons, my top 5 is fairly respectable. However, movies like Tombstone are currently in the 200's while cinematic masterpieces like Point Break sit in the 100's. The greatest inequity to date: my favorite movie of all is languishing near the 300's.

"If you build it, he will come." The words stand out as bright lights 20 years after its original release. The phrase is undeniable, the voice unmistakable. "Go the distance." Everytime I hear the voice I get goosebumps. "Ease his pain." How is Ray supposed to ease Shoeless Joe's pain? Those diabolical Hollywood screenwriters get you with that in the end. It's safe to say, Field of Dreams is to baseball cinema as Hoosiers is to basketball cinema. In the movie, you have the movie superduperstar of his day (Costner), the one man you'd want to deliver your eulogy (James Earl Jones), and an actor that peaked young and now can't find work doing voiceover for Kroger commercials (Ray Liotta). If that sterling description isn't enough to garner your attention, I'm not sure what will. What leaves the most indelible mark on my mind is not the catch scene, where every man watching is crying or obstinately holding back tears; no, it's scene that Archie Graham nearly gets killed. The fact that he was technically already dead doesn't matter, what matters is the wink, the knock down fastball, and the subsequent exchange between Graham and Shoeless Joe.

Shoeless Joe Jackson: The first two were high and tight, so where do you think the next one's gonna be?
Archie Graham: Well, either low and away, or in my ear.
Shoeless Joe Jackson: He's not gonna wanna load the bases, so look low and away.
Archie Graham: Right.
Shoeless Joe Jackson: But watch out for in your ear.

As it goes Archie hits a sac fly and doffs his cap to the raucous crowd of 3. This scene is absolute brilliance in its presentation of the dichotomy between rookie and veteran.

Now, the point of all that meaningless rambling. Field of Dreams presents the reasons baseball matters. It's easier to argue that baseball is trucking to Turner Field, checking out the women, buying 7 dollar hot dogs and 6 dollar beers. It's the classic if....then...argument. If baseball is best presented on a commercial scale with a 100 foot HD jumbotron, then why would it matter anywhere else. Pundits blather on and on about purity of the game as they reminisce about the good ole days. (see Morgan, Joe) But they do so within their familiar contexts. Like most people, they see a small segment of the larger picture. Baseball is a tapestry of experiences, as illustrated best by Field of Dreams. It's Fenway Park on a summer night. It's hitting moon balls to your buddy and seeing if he can catch them. It's knowing Shoeless Joe's career batting average. It's knowing what a southpaw is. It's following your favorite team season after season hoping for faith's perfections. It's being inconsolable when an old stadium is torn down, even if it was a dump. And perhaps, most importantly, it's playing catch with your dad. Baseball. It's Americana.

Why I Don't Care

2009-06-02T13:43:00.005-04:00

I'm a glutton for punishment. That's the only reasonable explanation behind my continued listenership of 680 The Fan. Chuck and Chernoff are the worst. Their mind numbing generalities are enough to make Hitler doubt Mein Kampf. What's worse is, Chuck Oliver is an Auburn alum. I know, in the spirit of Urban Meyer and his now infamous "you're either a Gator or you're not" rant you shouldn't attack your own. But wow, the guy knows as much about sports as I know about stealing cars (read:nothing). Ashamedly, I admit I agreed with something Chernoff said last week and not coincidentally it had nothing to do with sports. They were discussing your wife (or girlfriend) making more money than you. Male ego and pride is a powerful and funny thing. The majority of men would rather their lady not make more than them. This made little sense to Chernoff and finally we had something we agreed on.

I'm well aware of human frailties, physical and psychological. Men have the provider gene embedded in their DNA. For most of us, it's as constant as our desire for red meat and college football. In that same vein, men are inherently competitive and competing requires something tangible. Hello salaries! Undercover competition exists everywhere between passive aggressive statements and new pristine sunglasses. Why compete? The better question is why not? Competition breeds success and self-improvement. Why are smart kids placed in classes with other smart kids? Because competition breeds success. I know I'm not breaking any ground here, but stating the obvious is necessary in understanding pride and ego.

What do you want for yourself, for your family? Success. Ask 10 out of 10 people if they want to be successful and you'll receive 10 affirmatives. It follows that you want your spouse to be successful, but just how successful? Successful to a point? Really successful, but only if that means they're a little bit less successful than me? No, and no. Our society routinely bases success on monetary compensation. It's easy, broad, and requires little more than the ability to read in order to discern. But why? My mother stayed at home her entire life, does that mean she's less successful than the woman wearing the power suit and keeping up in corporate America? Of course not. Sure, I have some personal bias there but I believe the point stands. If my (hypothetical) wife makes one and a half times what I make, would it bother me? No.* Why would it? Marriage is a symbiotic relationship where both parties mutally benefit from the others individual happiness. If it makes my wife happy to make a ton of money, then great. Her success is well worth the additional fulfillment she derives from making said money. I desire success for my (hypothetical) wife above all else. This is why I absolutely do not care if she makes more money than me.

*I realize I am killing the hypothetical constructs here, but this is stream of consciousness at its worst people.

Go Ahead, Pee in the Pool

2009-05-22T14:33:00.004-04:00

Cannonball eh?

I wish I could take credit for this brilliant idea. When I was 8, I knew a kid who hatched an ingenious scheme. Farting was still embarrassing, unless you were the gross kid that didn't shower, overtly ate his boogers--seriously, everyone ate their boogers at least once--and generally sought attention by outrage since they weren't good at much else. The scheme was this: fart right when you jumped in the pool. The logic was flawless. If you're wading in the pool and a couple of stray bubbles rose out of the nothingness of chlorine infested water, it was clear you had just farted. Nobody wanted the embarrassment that accompanied the dreaded pool fart. When you jump in the pool, all sorts of bubbles materialized and the perfect time to fart presented itself.

It's Memorial Day Weekend, the unofficial start of summer. Kids are out of school and neighborhood pools across suburbia will open up today. Lifeguards have been trained-- sort of--sunscreen purchased and tanning beds abandoned as the D-Day for Homeowner's Associations has finally arrived. I remember how important this day was because I remember being out of school meant spending all day at the pool. There were several rites of passage that each coming pool season represented.

At the age of 5, you're ready for the deep end. 6 full feet of water to immerse yourself in meant a safe haven from babies in their floaties. It also meant a great barrier existed between you and the urine soaked waters of the shallow end. Finally, you didn't have to swim amongst that festering disease. Secretly, you still peed in the pool. Don't feel too bad, Michael Phelps pees in the pool too. But finally, games like sharks and menos and Star had added significance as walking from station to station was out of the question. This was survival of the fittest. A true test of will.

At 11, you were challenged to do your first front flip into the water. After a couple of reddening back flops, you landed the 3rd front flip. The lifeguard whistled at you and ordered you to stop. Why, you thought, didn't she ask when you had your back maimed by the unforgiving water the two previous times? It didn't really matter, because now you were one of the misbehaving guys, and only the misbehaving guys got sat out right beside the obscenely hot, 17 year old lifeguard.

At 14, the day had finally come. You no longer needed parental supervision to get into the pool. Score! Not only that, but you were consistently the oldest person at the pool, and consequently your alpha dog status was unquestioned. You and your friends were on top of the world. You won every game, you did flips into the water, and the other guys even dove in. Adult swim? Yea, we're old enough for that now. How do you feel about that lifeguard? As your age got closer to that of the lifeguard, obeying their rules seemed more and more useless.

Finally, the last milestone. You're about to be a senior in high school, and you've never learned to dive. Multiple attempts to do so have only resulted in ridicule and embarrassment. At a small pool, with 2 people watching, you try again. Over and over and over you try; but you consistently bail out. Finally, the execution is complete. You rise out of the water triumphant, only to realize your bathing suit is at the bottom of the pool. Diving wins again, it always does.

Have fun at your pool this summer, and hopefully this doesn't happen to your pool this summer.

Who Is Barack Obama?

2009-05-18T23:08:00.003-04:00

"It's simple. He's Cliff Huxtable."

The Case for Caudle

2009-04-28T16:41:00.005-04:00

Quarterback? Anyone?

Quarterback A is a four star recruit out of high school, was recruited nationally and in an intense recruiting battle with a traditional power ultimately chose Auburn. Similarly, Quarterback B was a consensus four star recruit complete with recruiting guru approval and truck loads of potential. Quarterback B was put on the fast track, somewhat necessitated by a crippled offensive line while Quarterback A was pushed to the background to languish in obscurity. It doesn't take an Auburn engineering degree to figure out the identities of Quarterback A and Quarterback B. Neil Caudle and Kodi Burns. They're time on the Plains bear little resemblance to one another, save for the lack of positive reinforcement they received last year. If Tony Franklin were Pavlov, Caudle would've been the control dog, while Burns would have drooled uncontrollably after every dazzling play he made with his feet, only to have come up empty when searching for affirmation.*

"Kodi, Kodi, Kodi!" The cheers rained down on him, while he had not little to earn them. As a gimmick player in his freshman season, Kodi Burns the quarterback had matured little since his Arkansas high school days. Nonetheless, the cheers persisted, and into his sophomore year no one could understand why he wasn't the guy. Finally, once the Franklin regime was overthrown, Kodi got his chances. It was supposed to be vindication. "Sweet mercy," the collective Auburn fandom thought, "Kodi's playing, Chris Todd is out, good times are here again." Then, a funny thing happened. Most everyone realized that Kodi wasn't much of a quarterback. To be fair, Kodi is not the sole perpetrator in his lack of development. Having no redshirt year, he was never able to reconstruct and perfect his throwing mechanics, especially as a tailback in quarterback's clothing. Into his sophomore year, he never received the consistent reps necessary to become comfortable. Combine those two truths, and you're left with an inescapable horror--Kodi Burns is not a good quarterback.

Neil Caudle is as anonyomous as an Auburn football player can be. Normally celebrities on campus, Caudle meanders through the throngs of students unnoticable amongst his fellow good ole' boys, while his verbose teammates stand out. In much the same way, Caudle has listlessly existed on the Auburn football team. Redshirting his first year and eating his proverbial football vegetables, fans hoped Caudle would be the heir apparent to Brandon Cox. Cox and Caudle were somewhat analogous--both from the Birmingham area, same styles, similar pedigree. Somewhere along the line, Caudle went bad. What other conclusion can you make of a guy that was an Elite 11 QB in high school and had offers from across the nation? You can believe that, if you choose to digest the vitriol spewed about him. Or, you can believe a good quarterback still exists somewhere in Caudle.

The issue comes to a singular point--empirical evidence. We have a very comprehensive body of work on one side (Kodi) compared to a blank slate on the other (Caudle). We have seen Kodi's happy feet under pressure when he needs to hit his safety valve. We have seen the deer in headlights look when the Alabama defender stuffed him to the ground as he flail helplessly. We have seen him, time and again, not go through his progression and run after his initial read was not open. I'd be amiss if I didn't also mention Kodi's incredible moments. The run at Florida, the game winner against Clemson, his good play in the first half against West Virginia last year were all great. That being said, I don't believe it's anything you can hang your hat on and be satisfied with Kodi as your starting quarterback. Caudle, on the other hand, is a complete unknown with some worthwhile credentials. Other than being bad mouthed by Franklin--a man of undeniable credibility--,being prone to picks in practice--a truth corroborated by beat bloggers--, and having the former staff talk up Barrett Trotter instead of giving him any kind of look, you have nothing. The point of that horrible run on sentence is this--at best you have educated opinions, and at worst you have nothing but hearsay. Let's be clear, I am not casting Caudle as Pat Sullivan, or even Reggie Slack incarnate. What am I saying should be very clear by now: Caudle deserves a chance. In the face of all we saw last year, he cannot represent a downgrade in our quarterback play. When you're in the basement, it's difficult to go any lower. He deserves a chance to bring the Auburn quarterbacks out of the basement. We're not expecting the penthouse, but an improvement over last year has to be possible.

The lack of symmetry between the two is palpable. Burns is charismatic and confident with reporters. Perhaps a reflection of spending two years in the spotlight. Quotes like, "Being a leader is what I'm doing best. When I walk out there on the field, the offensive guys look me in the face and know we can get it done," leave little to the imagination. Caudle, in contrast, is more sheepish. Maybe it's a reflection of his personality, or it could be a product of his relative anonymity. Whatever it is, the polarization of the two is interesting, but Kodi's swagger belies the truth. Taking the known is acceptable if the known is quality. In this case, I'll take the unknown.

*For a comprehensive explanation of this analogy click here.

Unintended Consequences

2009-04-21T08:58:00.003-04:00

How good and pleasant it is
when brothers live together in unity!
It is like precious oil poured on the head,
running down on the beard,
running down on Aaron's beard,
down upon the collar of his robes.
It is as if the dew of Hermon
were falling on Mount Zion.
For there the Lord bestows his blessing,
even life forevermore.

-Psalm 133

I'm not a fan of buzz words. I'm not entirely sure where this comes from, but in my sometimes cynical and over-thinking mind, a disdain for buzz words has developed. I think it has something to do with a lack of creativity. Too often, a lack of creativity is buoyed by a lack of intelligence. In high school Sunday School you're constantly told 'there is no right answer', yet those that speak the most--and in turn receive a healthy dose of affirmation--consistently say the same fews words. Herein lies the difference between convergence and divergence. Phrases like, 'I have a praise!', or 'God really laid it on my heart to bring this up' merely scratch the surface of cliched jargon which would be acceptable if you worked in an IT department. But, for something as amazing as grace (cliche alert!), one would think more than a handful of phrases could be conjured. In college, this overall negativity towards run of the mill words and sayings within the sub-culture of southern Christianity were centered on a single word--community.

Among buzz words, community walks the fine line of uber-Christian and somewhat hip. While not quite on the level of 'guard your heart'--which I believe many people spout about not knowing the full verse out of Proverbs, 'above all else guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life'--it was close. The tight jeaned worship leaders waxed eloquent about the virtues of community. Small groups changed their names to community groups. In the buzz book of 2005, Donald Miller devoted entire chapters in Blue Like Jazz to the benefits of community. By the time I was a junior in college, the word 'community' had permeated my life in a way unseen since the word 'no' dominated my life as a 4 year old.

For the record, I'm not against community by definition. Clearly, the benefits of living with one another outweigh those of living isolated. I have seen this in others. I have lived this myself. However, the convergence upon one term to describe this annoys me. I know, who cares, it's just the opinion of some hack guy in front of a monitor and keyboard. But hey, this is self-indulgence at its finest (save for maybe Twitter) and I believe people are smart enough to come up with new ways of description.

I started reading Outliers a few weeks ago. At worst, the book is interesting. At best, it is fascinating. Malcolm Gladwell weaves the stories of 20th century giants through a combination of preparation and opportunity. He brands what we'd typically call coincidence into the very opposite. For instance, there's a very real reason why the magnates of computer enterprise were all born in the same 5-6 year period. In evaluating luck, we often think of lottery winners. Men like Bill Gates are not lucky. They had a unique opportunity, coupled with unique preparation at a unique period in history that enabled them to become what they are. Expanding your thinking. That's Gladwell's goal.

The introductory chapter tells a story of Italian immigrants. They settle in a non-descript area in Pennslyvania, sandwiched between two distinct towns of other European immigrants. After some time, the town (relatively) booms and a Main Street with a church, eateries, and bars pop up. The Italians are blue-collar, hard working people. After some time, a medical researcher arrives after hearing reports that in some indeterminable amount of time (I can't remember because I don't have the book in front of me, so let's call it 50 years) no one in this town has had a heart attack of heart disease. As with most science, the researcher looks doggedly for a physical explanation. Surely, being Italian, these people cooked with olive oils and ate healthier than their immigrant neighbors. Not the case, as the Italians had changed to cooking with lard, and loaded their pizzas with sauce and meats. Well, it must have been genetic, as most of the residents had to be slender and in shape as demanded by their blue collar trade. Also wrong. Many of the town residents were overweight and in poor physical condition. What then, was the explanation? After spending an indeterminable amount of time (again, no book, so let's say 3 months) he begins to see what makes these Italians healthy. Community. They cooked with each other, had large gatherings that included multiple families with multiple generations, and stopped in with friends after a long day of work. That community, that connectivity to one another, granted that town more vitality than any medicine or doctor could. In a succinct explanation of his book title, Gladwell writes about the medical researcher's conclusion. In the medical arena, the town was an outlier.

Community grants vitality. That's a statement most people can get behind, save for the truly introverted. Happiness is directly correlational to vitality. You see it all the time; when people come home from work they kneel down to greet their pet, or where an artist breathes a sigh of satisfaction after completing their version of the Sistine Chapel. But the idea that being in the presence of those you care about will improve your health is incredible, but not revolutionary. It's just like the Psalmist said, "How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity!" Word.

Jim Nantz Reads This Blog

2009-04-09T12:28:00.005-04:00

Don't expect creativity.

With that in mind, I thought I'd give him a few ideas on what to say Sunday at Augusta.

"Hear him roar! Tiger Woods wins the Masters."

"His Goosen is cooked! Retief Goosen is your Masters Champion!"

"We're not in New Orleans, but the Big Easy Ernie Els has won the Masters!"

"It's never too early to start! Young Anthony Kim is your 2009 Masters Champion!"

"Wake up the ghosts, a man named Boo has done it! Boo Weekley, winner of the 2009 Masters!"

"He used the right bait! Ross Fisher is your Masters Champion!"

"Thrice as nice! Padraig Harrington with his 3rd major in a row!"

"Vijay means victory for Mr. Singh!"

"The Serge is over! Sergio Garcia has finally done it!"

"Touched by an Angel Cabrera!"

Name That Speaker

2009-04-08T09:41:00.001-04:00

The erosion of our confidence in the future is threatening to destroy the social and the political fabric of America.

The confidence that we have always had as a people is not simply some romantic dream or a proverb in a dusty book that we read just on the Fourth of July.

It is the idea which founded our nation and has guided our development as a people. Confidence in the future has supported everything else -- public institutions and private enterprise, our own families, and the very Constitution of the United States. Confidence has defined our course and has served as a link between generations. We've always believed in something called progress. We've always had a faith that the days of our children would be better than our own.

Our people are losing that faith, not only in government itself but in the ability as citizens to serve as the ultimate rulers and shapers of our democracy. As a people we know our past and we are proud of it. Our progress has been part of the living history of America, even the world. We always believed that we were part of a great movement of humanity itself called democracy, involved in the search for freedom, and that belief has always strengthened us in our purpose. But just as we are losing our confidence in the future, we are also beginning to close the door on our past.

In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities, and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns. But we've discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning. We've learned that piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.

The symptoms of this crisis of the American spirit are all around us. For the first time in the history of our country a majority of our people believe that the next five years will be worse than the past five years. Two-thirds of our people do not even vote. The productivity of American workers is actually dropping, and the willingness of Americans to save for the future has fallen below that of all other people in the Western world.

Take Your Medicine

2009-04-02T14:00:00.003-04:00

Fore!

It never failed. As an 11 year old and first year golfer, I was always late to the course. If my tee time was at 8 AM, I didn't get there until 8:15. Since driving myself wasn't an option, I had the convenient luxury of blaming my slow-driving, unaggressive parents. This did not take into account the fact that a 7:30 AM wake up call on a Saturday, for an 11 year old, was preposterous. But, playing at 8 AM afforded more opportunity for a full Saturday. So there we were, freed of the prison that was Matt Power's backyard, dirt infested, root protruding, makeshift green ready to hit the real thing.

I always came in last. Golf required patience, standing still, and a lot of downtime between shots. None of this played to my strengths. At the time, my example to follow in golf was my uncle. As an amateur, he had played in a handful of tournaments in and around Columbus and had even made the paper on occasion. Since he made the paper, he might as well have been Tom Watson (Tiger Woods had yet to win the 97 Masters when I was 11). When my uncle offered me a better set of clubs, I pounced on the opportunity. If nothing else, Ping irons made me look a lot more legitimate than the Trident off brand clubs I had been hitting since I started. Even better than the irons, he gave me my first titanium driver. Nothing beat that momentary satisfaction after striking the ball and hearing the high pitched noise of the 21st century Golf Gods. Who cares if the ball careened 15 yards into the woods? If someone wasn't watching, they'd have thought that noise produced a 300 yard killed drive down the center of the fairway. They'd do a double take when they saw an 11 year old boy, standing 5'7'' and weighing 120 pounds soaking wet had just crushed that ball off the tee.

On the first golf outing with my newfound technology and confidence that came with, I watched in awe as my uncle pounded his 1st hole tee shot up the right side of the dog leg right at Maple Ridge Golf Club, a mere 120 yards from the green. "Good way to start", he said meekly. I set my tee up and took a couple of non-chalant practice swings. Trying to look as cool as possible, I strode to the ball and purposely set up to take advantage of my now patented slice. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing?" asked the sage of all things golf. "Listen Uncle Dave, I slice the ball when I use the driver. So I'm setting up to use my slice and put myself in the fairway." I had prepared and anticipated this exchange. If I was nervous before, I was obscenely nervous now. "Alright, let's see it." My uncle combined a dismissive tone with a hint of assurance. Feeling slightly more affirmed, I again began the purposeful stride to that Titleist x-out I had found on the range. I addressed the ball, and started my swing. Swinging as hard as possible, and apparently pulling my head off the ball far too early, I came up completely empty. "Wow, son. You really got a hold of that one." Red faced and embarrassed, I took another hack and promptly heard that sound that all golfers yearn for. The ball sliced, further than I had planned for, and I'd find myself sifting through pine trees and gum balls looking for it.

"Better just go ahead and take your medicine." I looked at my uncle, puzzled. In the mind of an 11 year old, that statement implies taking Robitussin or Sudafed. Apparently my non-verbal communication skills were already sharp at this young age, as my uncle waxed poetic about Jack Nicklaus and his use of the apparent golf maxim. "If you find your ball in the woods, just punch out and hit your next shot. Don't go making it worse by trying to hit some Macgyver shot." I was happy that my uncle actually thought I might be able to hit a Macgyver shot. Clearly, that 'take your medicine' line is some sort of metaphor for life. I don't remember thinking that at the time, I'm not sure I even knew what a metaphor was at 11 as Ms. Schell's 5th grade class was more focused on 4 square than academics.

Reluctantly, I took the advice. I really thought I could squeeze the ball through the foot wide gap between the pine tree and the pine tree, but my uncle had been in the paper before. For golf. So, I couldn't not take his advice. The punch out successful, I set up to take my 3rd shot on the par 4. Hitting the best (read:luckiest) shot of my young golf career, the ball rested 6 feet from the hole, begging to be returned home. His bags were packed, he was waiting at the airport, so I obliged and sent him home for my first career par. "Not bad son." I'm not a fan of being called son, but that one was ok.

Unfortunately, that miraculous par was not a sign of things to come. The proverbial wheels fell off quickly, and I snailed my way to a sterling score of 128. The next Casey Martin, I was not (You know, because he got to play professionally and ride in a cart). But, taking my medicine was worth it. It seemed like a concession, but the results played out better than the alternative. Hopefully, I'll take my medicine more often.

Need a Mint?

2009-03-31T22:23:00.002-04:00

"I'm smarter than you."

In fairness to Clark Howard, I don't think he's vain enough to actually say that out loud. That doesn't change the fact that it's true. A few months ago, I decided it was time to man up and create a budget. Because of my newfound proficency with Excel spreadsheets, I settled on making a run of the mill sheet with merged cells and elementary use of the formula function. Choosing this route meant personal responsibility (to stay within said budget) and saving my receipts in order to transfer the data into the aforementioned spreadsheet. You know the ending; like a house of cards, it failed. Awesome, looks like I'm destined to bleed more money than is necessary while saving as little as possible.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I'm cutting through traffic on I-20 listening to talk radio. At this point, I would have rather had a spinal tap than listen to one more observation about Matt Stafford's Pro Day that every male in the Greater Atlanta area, save for me, seemed to be interested in. After I pressed the 2 preset on my AM station, Clark Howard's brilliant, if sometimes annoying voice came on. Some poor woman was in the middle of a monologue detailing how Verizon had screwed her out of thousands of dollars. Even with flippant callers, Howard knows his bread and butter is being smart, steady, and thorough in the face of angry consumers. He calmly told the woman to settle down and laid out a multi-pronged process that she could utilize in hopes of rectifying the situation.

It goes without saying that Clark Howard's word is as good as gold in my book. If the man said owning my own ice cream truck was responsible and could potentially yield fiscal benefits, I'd do it in a heart beat. So, following his solution to the Verizon problem he started into an endorsement of a new budgeting/finance management web site he thought was stellar. Mint.com sounded more like a tea recipe website than a credible money management website. But, since Clark Howard is the sage of all things monetary, I had to take him at his word. And, since I had failed miserably at managing my own finances, this seemed to be the perfect remedy. Someone else did all the work and all I had to do was set a monthly budget. Sick. This thing was better than that time I shanked Amy Durrence on the Silver Comet Trail in 10th grade, only this time I don't have to deal with getting punched in the shoulder repeatedly. So after a full month using Mint, I fully believe you should Mint yourself. No, that's not innuendo.

On Monotony

2009-03-31T15:00:00.001-04:00

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." -Emerson

Cliche's are funny. They lack creativity and originality and for that are denigrated to the point that their value becomes nil. Worse, if you steadily spout cliche's you can quickly find yourself in a cataclysmic abyss where everyone thinks you're unintelligent, uncreative, and worst of all uncool. But why? Cliche's only become cliche's because they typically true, succinct, and easy to recall. Still, the thinking goes, most cliche's are not applicable to me or this situation. If they didn't hold any water, how would they have become cliche's in the first place?*

The definition of insanity is repeating an action in hopes of a different outcome. There's your applicable cliche. There's a reason people and their humanity melt away over time. Monotony. Trapped in a life where every day looks the same and the faces you see blur and blend into one hand shake after another, people lose what makes them people. Excitement, freshness, and challenges become a morose reminder that little in life has the dynamic that your rose colored glasses once showed you. The standard lines (works sucks, worn down by life and the grind) are not strong enough. These excuses are tantamount to surrender.

Depression era children (The Greatest Generation) had no false optimism or hopes of a dream job. The term, 'dream job', was as foreign to them as aluminum canned Coke, 10 dollar movie tickets, and 2 dollar gas. "Find a job you love, and you'll never have to work a day in your life."** Things like this weren't said or even thought about. Depression era children found solace in work, in the routine. This romantic ideal of dream jobs didn't exist because any job was a dream job. Monotony was to be embraced, and was not necessarily pejorative in nature. Now, you hear the word monotony and immediately you think drudgery. It doesn't have to be that way.

Emerson and the Transcendentalists of his ilk constantly spoke of the positive aspects of life and the triumph of the human spirit. Goals and aspirations weren't lofty and unapproachable, they were tangible and worth expending energy for. Thoreau relates this point well by saying,

"I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances
confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he had imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."

In combating monotony and drudgery, the answer to those ailments is a steady, dynamic dose of adventure. In the interest of sounding as little like John Eldredge as possible, it is not necessarily about feeling dangerous and rafting up and down rivers. Maintaining connection and interaction with the people you love is only part of the process. Maintaining and supplementing the connection with the things--read:activities-- you love is also a large part of the process.

*I apologize for this entire paragraph as I don't think I punctuated cliche correctly nor did I figure out how to put the accent mark over the e in cliche.

**That's cliche*** #2 for those of you counting.

***Still no accent mark over the e.

What Was Don Mclean Thinking?

2009-03-30T16:39:00.001-04:00

Watch more Megavideo videos on AOL Video

I Think, Therefore War Eagle

2009-03-26T10:47:00.004-04:00

This is what Descartes had in mind.

Ingrained: deep-rooted: (used especially of ideas or principles) deeply rooted; firmly fixed or held. There are fews things that I don't remember. I can recall with remarkable accuracy what I got for my 4th birthday--a blue Tonka truck and the full set of He-Man action figures--and the shirt I was wearing on my first day of 5th grade. I remember the first Auburn football game I ever went to. Sitting in a sea of intoxicated Florida State fans as a 5 year old, I watched in horror as the gladiators in blue couldn't shut up those moronic men that were fond of an Indian chant and motioning their arm back and forth. In a dose of irony, the next year I too would become fond of that motion as the Tomahawk Chop became the sole reason the Braves made the World Series. Remember, this is in the mind of a 6 year old. Being that I remember such superfluous details, one would wager that I'd remember the exact moment I became an Auburn fan. I don't. Some things are too ingrained within your conscience to remember their beginning.

I know the first shirt I had as a baby had the classic Aubie logo emblazoned on the front. I remember the 1988 Sugar Bowl where Auburn kicked the field goal to tie the game rather than go for the win. But, for the life of me I cannot remember the genesis of my fandom. Going to games as a kid, everything is overwhelming. Your senses are assaulted with foreign noises, words, smells, and people. The college people were intimidating, but imitable at the same time. I said my first four letter word at an Auburn game which cost me a week outside, but was well worth it because I was like the big boys. Running through the ampitheater, you felt transformed to an older version of yourself. You always claimed Pat Sullivan or Bo Jackson in the pick up football games with the other kids. And if you really wanted to show off, you'd go with Terry Beasley, or Tucker Fredrickson. The other kids would stare and ask 'who's that?', and you knew then you were the smartest one in the game. In the absence of being the most athletic, being the smartest sufficed. It didn't matter that college was still over a decade away, being at the games made you believe you'd be there one day. It was as certain as the rising sun.

'Where are you going to apply?' My high school guidance counselor was a huge fan of diversification. 'I'll apply to Auburn. I don't need a back up school.' I'm fairly certain I frustrated the hell out of that guidance counselor. None of my friends were going there, but it didn't matter. I was Auburn. Going anywhere else, applying anywhere else would be criminal. There wasn't a choice, just a fulfillment of that awestruck child's mind from years earlier. It was Auburn. Major? Who cares, I'll major in Auburn. From the first day of Camp War Eagle where my phone rang with the Auburn fight song and I got a few 'who is this guy' looks, to the day of graduation where responsibility loomed ominously over the precedings; college was a prophecy fulfilled.

When I wake up in the morning, I know a few things to be true. These things were true years ago, months ago, weeks ago, and days ago. They'll be true tomorrow and forever. God loves me more than I know, my family loves me immeasurably, and I'll always love Auburn.

I think, therefore War Eagle.

Into the Sunset

2009-03-25T15:45:00.001-04:00

Phillies Phorever

You ever see those guys that seem like they don't belong? You know what I'm talking about. You're out to eat with some friends, and in strolls a guy with a gelled up mullet and black jeans on, you look at your friend and say, 'the 80's called they want their style back.' Sidebar: if you still use that format for jokes, it's time to get a little more creative. That was always Curt Schilling. In the era of political correctness and bland media speak, Schilling was always ready to speak his mind and ruffle feathers in the process. Many would call him divisive, attention hungry, and egotistical. Maybe that's all true, but none of that detracted from his swagger on the field or off. Schilling belonged in the Old West. He belonged in gun fights where after vanquishing his adversary, he'd stride on over and kick him to make sure he was dead. How many hitters left the batter's box feeling that way after Schilling victimized them? Countless.

Despite his fame and popularity as the man responsible for resuscitating the Red Sox nation, I'll always remember as a Phillie. In 1993, the Braves finally had the team to win the World Series. They'd acquired Fred McGriff at the trade deadline and held off the Giants to win the division by a game. Even better than that, the Giants were the second best team in the National League, and the Braves could seemingly coast past the Phillies into the World Series. Fate, and Curt Schilling, would have none of this 8 year old's misguided optimism. Despite not recording a win in either of his starts, Schilling threw 16 innings and gave up 3 earned runs earning him the MVP of the NLCS and ending my hopes of skipping school for the World Series parade. It is because of those 2 games, those 16 innings that Schilling will always be a Phillie in my mind.

In later years, Schilling gained fame as the co-ace for the D'Backs as they shattered the Yankees World Series aspirations in 2001. Atypically, the Yankees had become the sympathetic choice that year as the attacks of September 11 were still fresh in the conscience of America. Schilling and Randy Johnson were the dynamic duo; almost incapable of losing. In Game 7, Schilling nearly lost that aura of invincibility. It's funny to think about; as a pitcher Schilling's greatness is inextricably linked to his prowess in big games. If Luis Gonzalez hadn't blooped a single off Mariano Rivera to win the game, would Schilling still possess that same winning aura so often attributed to him? Probably, but it would not be so iron clad that you could immediately put him in the Hall of Fame. (I think given his accomplishments you do, no question, 1st ballot)

In the latter (Boston) stage of his career, Schilling was a lightning rod for the media, fans, and opposing players. He made no secret of his disdain for the Yankees, steroids, and Bob Ryan. During this time, he started his blog where he could freely express his opinion and in turn become increasingly questioned by the media. 'He's egotistical.' 'Curt Schilling cares about Curt Schilling'. 'Why does a professional athlete need to tell everyone their opinions?' The critics universally panned Schilling and his use of a blog. Why? Because he stole their thunder. The media loathed him so much, that in the wake of the bloody sock game, they questioned the validity of his injury. That position may garner some consideration if you're talking about another, but not Schilling. The man is many things, but dishonest is not one of them. He reeks of integrity, and no that's not a new cologne. We're talking about a guy who threw his support behind John McCain before the primaries. That wasn't foresight, it was honesty. In the locker room after the Red Sox had won their first World Series since 1918, Schilling toasted his teammates exclaiming, "To the greatest Red Sox team ever!" Athletes are notorious for their hyperbole, but this exclamation was indicative Schilling's accomplished goal. He came to Boston to win, and anything less than a World Series was a failure. Schilling, it appears, is not a fan of failure.

In the coming weeks, sports radio, ESPN, and countless news services will debate the merits of Schilling's career. The statheads will talk about his career line. They'll say he didn't win quite enough games, his ERA wasn't great, and historically he was only an above average pitcher in the context of his contemporaries. Let the record show, that I'm one of these stat heads. Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine have better credentials. Schilling's borderline in the Hall at best right? No way, he's a first ballot guy. Because the thing that transcends stats is the moment. We see it all the time: a guy has shot 2 for 15 but hits a three at the buzzer to win the game; a corner has been burned thrice in the end zone, but wins the game with a late pick. Schilling may not have the best numbers, but give me one pitcher in the last 15 years to win a game and I take Schilling. Not Clemens (pre or post steroid), not Randy Johnson, not Greg Maddux, none of them. I want Curt Schilling. If that's not greatness, then what is?

My Favorite Game

2009-03-19T13:42:00.005-04:00

Simon says...

In March of 1997, I was 12 years old and a longtime veteran of NCAA Tournament office pools. At 7, I entered my dad's office pool using the 20 dollars that had taken me six months to procure confident that I could take the grown men's money. Miraculously, I predicted the final correctly and drew the ire of several middle aged men. And, had Michigan scored another 15 points, I would have won the big prize. My point total for the final (a typical overall points tiebreaker for you office pool neophytes) was 140. The man I was tied with chose a more conservative 125. Duke won 71-51, for a total of 122. I was devastated and received only the consolation prize of getting my hard earned 20 dollars back. Nonetheless, my obsession with the Tournament was born. Born out of an office pool. What's more American than that?

Five years later, I had yet to duplicate the success of the first year. I attribute that to actually paying attention to games, looking up stats, and attempting to piece together a coherent methodology to picking the proper teams. Notice how little you hear the term 'coherent methodology' in picking brackets. There's a reason John Doe regularly bests the 'experts' at ESPN. Undaunted by my previous failures, I picked a Final Four of UNC, Kansas, Kentucky, and UCLA. Kansas was winning it all against Kentucky. Picking the Jayhawks gave me satisfaction on multiple levels. For one, I liked Roy Williams. For another, picking Kansas meant picking them to beat Duke and Kentucky, from which I would derive a healthy helping of satisfaction. Alas, none of that came to pass.

In 1997, prior to the very mass exodus of young players, a team made up of no upper classmen had little chance to do much in the tournament. Experience, that completely tangible cliche that every announcer and pundit spat, won out over talent more often than not. You can have your 5th year senior, give me the stud freshman. Enter the Arizona Wildcats. Mike Bibby was the stud freshman. Miles Simon was the unorthodox 2 guard. Michael Dickerson was the talent. Bennett Davison was the athlete. A.J. Bramlett was the guy that took up space. And Jason Terry was the super sub. They went, they saw, they upset, they won.

After dispatching the two most talented teams in the field--Kansas and Paul Piece, Jacque Vaughn, Raef Lafrentz in the Sweet 16, then UNC with Vince Carter, Antawn Jamison, and Shammond Williams--Arizona faced Kentucky. What do you remember about Kentucky's team in 1997? Not Ron Mercer. Not Derek Anderson's knee going kaput. No, I remember Wayne Turner's ridiculous jump shot. Few things have ever appeared as Quasimodo-esque as that jumper. The jumper not withstanding, Kentucky mowed down their competition heading into the final game with a cocky edge.

On a Monday night when I could finally stay up with my parents blessing--it was Spring Break--I set my VCR to record the game. Regardless of the outcome, I wanted to have a tape of this game, if for nothing else but the 'One Shining Moment' montage. (Sidenote- has anyone else noticed how much better the old Luther Vandross version was?) Bibby and Simon dictated from the start. Simon altered the way countless unathletic, suburban white kids (read: me) played the game of basketball. Jim Nantz and Billy Packer attempted to ruin the game with their bland generalizations. Packer in particular, repeatedly gave Ron Mercer a built in excuse for his poor showing saying, "It really looks like Mercer's legs are dead from Saturday night's physical game against Minnesota." Billy, we got the point. It didn't take you drilling the point ad nauseum for us to understand your man crush for the game was Ron Mercer.

As the game spilled into overtime, the feeling was Arizona was going to outlast Kentucky. Wayne Turner had fouled out. Despite his horrendously ugly jump shot, he had been a steady and calming influence on the Kentucky offense. That moved ole' Anthony Epps to the point (more on him later) and took him out of the more comfortable 2 guard slot. Those two things coupled with the fact that Simon had been the best player on the floor all game made it believable that Arizona was going to win. And then, magically, it actually happened. Arizona had won. Outplaying Kentucky in overtime, and outscoring them 10-5, it was over. 84-79. "Simon says championship!" Thanks to Jim Nantz for that. Does anyone else picture Jim Nantz sitting in front of the mirror for hours at a time rehearsing possible parting shots?

In a game that became my favorite more because of the symbolism of the underdog slaying 3 Goliath's through the tournament than actual substance, the substance was stellar. Bibby and Turner played great. Scott Padgett gamely kept Kentucky in the game. And Miles Simon, well like I said before, gave hope to the unathletic people of the world. Lasting images from the game include Anthony Epps crying vociferously, Bennett Davison messing up Lute Olson's hair, and Mike Bibby tapping his head after hitting a big 3. Ah, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat.

Good luck with your bracket.

Imagine...

2009-03-16T13:11:00.004-04:00

Bring your body armor dude.

Think about this scenario. Game 5 of the 2009 NBA Finals featuring the Lakers and the Celtics. Two hated rivals complete with a passionate disdain for the antagonistic Kobe Bryant from the Celtic faithful. The Celtics have had trouble in this series and find themselves in a 3-1 hole thanks in large part to the efforts of Mr. Bryant. Just to add fuel to the fire, Kobe hit a buzzer beater in Game 3 and promptly jumped atop the scorer's table at TD Banknort Garden, popped his jersey, and repeatedly beat his chest.

The game Celtics fought back in Game 4 to win 102-88, but find themselves in a hole as Bryant and Pau Gasol have dissected the vaunted Celtics defense. In the 4th quarter, Paul Pierce and the unlikely hero Leon Powe champion a last gasp comeback. Pierce is 8 of 10 from the field for the quarter and Powe has 3 Offensive putbacks. The Celtics seize the lead in the waning seconds thanks to a daring, yet typical drive from Rajon Rondo. 89-88 reads the scoreboard at the Garden with 13.7 seconds left. The Lakers promptly called time out after Rondo put the men in green ahead, and will in-bound the ball at half court. Everyone in the gym knows what's coming and who's taking the shot. After a botched screen from Lamar Odom fails to free Bryant, he pushes off Pierce to get the ball. Patiently dribbling the clock down to 8,7,6 Bryant begins to drive. Chants of "Beat L.A." are reigning down in ear splitting decibel levels. Bryant stops on a dime at the left elbow and Pierce falls down. Bryant smirks patently, rises to release the inevitable ending everyone sees coming....yet before he can reach the zenith, he collapses. The crowd behind the goal has scattered. Chaos ensues amidst screaming and flying appendages. A lunatic has shot Bryant in the head before he could give the Lakers the win.

As far fetched and ridiculous as this sounds, apparently something remarkably similar to what I just described happened at a soccer game south of Baghdad on Sunday. Ridiculous, unbelievable, outlandish. I love sports as much as the next red blooded male, but that is shocking.

The Grind

2009-03-16T09:32:00.008-04:00

The Daily Grind?

Word association: what comes to your mind when you read that title? If you said the critically acclaimed mid 90's dance show on MTV, then we are on the same wavelength. Being a mere 10 years old at the height of its popularity, combined with having a restrictive TV viewing lens (I was also banned from Seinfeld, the Simpsons, NYPD Blue and the like) I didn't watch much of "The Grind", but after watching this video, why would I have wanted to? The best thing going in that video is the abundance of jean shorts. I'm sure I'm in the minority, but jean shorts need to make a come back. Quickly.

I recently read an article postulating the 20 hour work week. The theory is, with the advent and continued emergence of digital devices increasing individual connectivity, the well defined line between work and home that the baby boomers experience(d) has become increasingly dull. If you brought this up to a boomer that has worked their whole life under a certain system, it's probable you'd be given a dead panned stare and a categorical dismissal. A diatribe centered on the lack of monitoring productivity for telecommuters might follow from the more ardent adherents to the 40+ hour work week. This is a valid point to be sure, but how much weight does it carry in an ever-evolving world? That answer likely is subjective based on the respondent.

40 hour work weeks are supposed to become more exciting over time says popular wisdom. If this means developing an equilbrium with your surroundings and the drudgery of day to day life, then I'd agree. The 20 hour work week is interesting in the fact that it is completely atypical of the life we've (read: Gen X'ers, that's me right?) seen growing up. Dad (and sometimes Mom) worked all day, came home, had their requisite 30 minute decompression time, and then emerged ready to conversate and break bread. Imagine the eliminated wasted time, the increase in sleep-- which sounds funny, but is a major contributing factor to day to day demeanor--, and the improvement of the family unit. It's an interesting concept, and at the very least positing the possible consequences makes for great water cooler talk.

Hodge Podge

2009-03-12T16:03:00.002-04:00

This is what a Hodge Podge looks like.

So in the absence of any creativity, what is a hack blogger to do? Post links? Ok.

Economy blues: Clark Howard, the Sultan of All Things Practical, offers what to do if you lose your job aptly titled, "What to do if you're laid off". Other, more ominous news has 45% of the world's wealth gone. Yikes. If you hadn't heard, print media is on the struggle. And lastly, the good news. Go Wall Street!

Google Earth: A sensational application (though it does make you wonder how true Enemy of the State was, minus Seth Green and Jack Black as NSA employees of course) clearly has some opposition. I agree, it's a little invasive, but it's also pretty awesome. Embrace the paradox.

Entertainment: I just don't really care if Chris Brown and Rihanna are back together or not. Or whatever else is going on in the non-real world of entertainment. Go to the grocery and pick up one of those trash magazines if you're interested.

Sports: Auburn is knocking on the door of the NCAA's, but the smart money is still on the NIT. Vot Barber gets some pub. The Braves are chugging along in Spring Training. Derek Lowe had a stellar outing against the Astros going perfect through 4. Tommy Hanson looks destined for Gwinnett (if they get the stadium done in time) where it will cost me much less to see him pitch. This is still difficult to stomach. And this happened, which is kind of cool.

We Will Barack You: Clever? No? Sorry, best I could come up with. Democrat comes with the dreaded Jimmy Carter comparison already. Low blow. Isn't that sort of like a promising actor being compared to Paul Walker? Hello! This picture is still amazing. I especially like the Europe angel (?) following his lead. Not particularly good press coming out of Washington today, but hey even Mickey Mantle struck out 4 times in a game right?? OnFaith brings the heat on the stem cell research deal.

Lastly, I thought the ticker in this video was fairly funny, but the video itself? Not so much.

"People will come Ray."

2009-03-11T22:13:00.002-04:00

The Audacity of Thought

2009-03-04T15:24:00.014-05:00

This is normal, right?

"We elected a man because he was good looking and eloquent" -Neil Boortz, conservative talk radio host and part time comedian

In Ms. Calland's kindergarten class life lessons could be found in every corner. Not good at art? Work on your addition. Suck at math? That's ok, you'll probably be dominant in the lunch room. Don't eat a lot? Hey there's always recess. Hurt yourself easily? Well, we still have nap time. All those things were learned, and learned well. However, being a first year student, after the first week I grew tired of school and told my mother I'd had enough. When she told me I had to keep going, I cried, and it worked. I missed around 35 days of school that year, including the day where religion and politics were brought up. See, apparently everyone learns at a young age to not discuss these two issues at dinner or in the blogosphere. Ms. Calland didn't have the foresight to see the coming Internet revolution. Al Gore, she was not. The lecture that day went something like this:

Ms. Calland: Ok boys and girls, today we're going to talk about religion and politics.

Tanner: What's politics? Is that the stuff my mommy puts in her hair?

Grace: I know religion! It's the name of the road I live on!

Ms. Calland: No, that's it boys and girls. I want to tell you today that you never talk about those two things at the dinner table. Is that understood?

All: Yes Ms. Calland.

See, everything you really need to know you learn in kindergarten. Since missing that day, I never got the memo later on in life to avoid these two issues like the plague. Consequently, I lost nap time privileges for the next week for asking what politics smells like.

President Obama has been in office roughly two months now, and for his part has excelled at managing expectations. Once elected, people viewed him in a messianic light that put an obscene amount of pressure on him. Weeks ago, I read an interview with a local sports talking head where he referenced Obama. "There's only been one man who's never screwed up, Jesus. Well, him and President Obama." Hm. Searching for the way to respond to that.........still searching.......really? This statement is indicative of the mountain of expectations placed on the shoulders of a man that puts his pants on one leg at a time and to my knowledge, never rose from the grave. I see why so many have invested so much hope in this man. He is brilliant, eloquent and cognizant of the world's view of America. But manifestly, he is only a man. If he were a man of limitless power (in the political sphere) maybe he'd be worthy of the limitless expectations placed upon his administration. However, as he has been quick to temper expectations, so too should we be quick to temper ours. This speaks to both sides of the political aisle as mainstream conservatives and pastoral blogs uniformly denounce the new administration. Why not create a dialogue, where discussion can take the place of immediate dismissal? Free thinking, it seems, is not in the repertiore of the far left and far right. A big problem of the critics is their view of the world. They view the world in black and white, but life is more often lived in the gray.

Going to a Southern Baptist church in high school, you learn a few things. First, abortion is evil. Ok, you can get behind that right? You better, because it's a litmus issue. Second, the term 'liberal' is synonymous with Satanic. More and more, growing through adolescence, the consensus seemed to be, "believe exactly what we believe", instead of "use Scripture as a basis to develop your own values". You want to be audacious enough to evaluate and digest what you're told? Well that's just downright heresy. Instead of growing as a body, the church's growth was stunted, in what I often viewed as a limited atonement within the politcal sphere. Why? Why were you not able to consider rape of the mother when looking at abortion? Why should we be the world's watchdog and proliferate weapons and war so readily? Why should we not ask these questions? Maybe the church doesn't handle the last question particularly well, as often people are answered with a matter of fact, "because". Having your values limit your thinking is an injustice. Values should empower, not hinder.

Counter perspectives are fantastic measuring sticks in terms of what you belive and how strongly you believe it. The truth is sometimes nebulous, but belief in the fact that its out there is not some misguided hope of nailing down the intangible. Truth is tangible, and thinking will lead there. Chesteron once wrote:

"The theory of free speech, that truth is so much larger and stranger and more many-sided than we know of, that it is very much better at all costs to hear everyone’s account of it, is a theory which has been justified on the whole by experiment, but which remains a very daring and even a very surprising theory. It is really one of the great discoveries of the modern time."

Word, G.K. Word.

The outlandish assertions by the Rush Limbaugh's, the Sean Hannity's, and the Ann Coulter's are not going away. They'll continue to dominate the airwaves and moan about the Fairness Doctrine. They'll say liberals are out to get them and are ready to take them off the air. At the same time men like James Carville and Keith Olbermann will spew their rhetoric in much the same way. When strongly opinionated and educated people feel so strongly about something, you want to agree. Before we do that, hopefully we'll do something more outlandish than all these personalities combined. Hopefully, we'll think.

That's a Good 'un

2009-03-04T09:47:00.007-05:00

Well, how bout' that?

Beating Bama is never a bad thing. In fact, it is the best of good things. Its value is intrinsic, lying within its very nature. It's sort of like watching Wedding Crashers for the 78th time, or eating the same pimento cheese sandwich ever week; it's good. Under no circumstances is beating Bama, in anything, bad. That's why last night's basketball game was so satisfying. Witnessing the incessant gnashing of teeth from the Bama student section was worth subtracting an hour and a half from my slumber. They thought we were done. Like Judge Smails on the 18th green at Bushwood, victory was certain. Sorry, wrong. The result, while great in itself, was enhanced by the nature of the victory.

Auburn found itself down 10 at the half, and frankly it should have been worse. The Tide's ineptitude at the free throw line turned what should've been a 15 point deficit into a mere 10 point hole. After shooting an anemic 30% from the field in the first half, 10 points down felt like nirvana. The offense looked unsettled, disjointed, and awkward for much of the half. For real, Benjamin Braddock looked more comfortable than our offense. Auburn's quickness was not being utilized and our guards were not getting to the rim. Motion on offense was limited to dribble, drive, sometimes kick, sometimes throw the ball at the hoop. It was, in a word, discouraging. Conversely, Bama looked ready to play. They had a clear cut game plan to work inside out, and for the most part (except for the horrendous free throw shooting) it was working. Defensively, Auburn allowed the Tide to shoot a high percentage and seemed unable to push JaMychal Green and friends out of the paint and off the block. Giving up 39 points in a half is wholly unacceptable. The bright spot? Vot. The guy is an absolute Greek God on the glass. 8 boards in the first half only foreshadowed what would be another blue collar performance in the paint. Aside from that, my guarded optimism at the start of the game was replaced by doom and gloom and the Lilliputian lineup struggled to get anything going.

It can't get any worse right? There's no way we shoot that poorly in the second half. Those were the stand-by cliche's I repeated to myself as the second half opened. Sure enough, the gap closed. Slowly, surely, the buckets came and the air began to escape Coleman Coliseum. Every shot of the student section showed anger and fear. Sporting that criminally creative houndstooth, the patrons of the game slowly began to realize the inevitable: "...they are better than us. We're going to lose." When that cold, sobering reality slaps you across the face, there's nothing to do but sulk, curse, and blame Mark Gottfried. Rasheem Barrett, sleeves and all, blew by Alonzo Gee. And apparently, it wasn't his quickness that allowed him to do it. Per ESPN, it was the strength of his shoulders. ESPN also dropped the oft-repeated, never tangible "2nd or 3rd toughtest team I've seen" line on Auburn. Wow, thanks for being so decisive about something than can never be proven anyway, but I digress. Lucas Hargrove proved too athletic to be guarded. Frankie Sullivan sealed the game with the blow by and finish at the rim. And Vot, the Vot, owned the glass like Jimmy Chitwood owned that non-descript guy at the end of Hoosiers. 16 rebounds. 16 rebounds. I had to type it twice to give it enough weight. Victory is stellar.

When the buzzer sounded and the deflated Bammers made their way back to their shanty's, it was with great joy that I let out an unapologetic "War Eagle!" to no one in particular. Where did you escape to Euphoria? It is great to have found you again. Meeting you while Despair finds its way to Tuscaloosa will always be the most archetypal satisfaction.

War Eagle.

I'm a Name Dropper

2009-02-27T11:21:00.004-05:00

Micah Dalton, I have failed you. As a self-confessed name dropper, I have squandered multiple opportunities to promote your music while enhancing my rep as an edgy, indy music scene connoisseur. For the record, that rep is currently non-existent and I'm vainly using this blog post to subliminally implant it. Is it working? Didn't think so. Aside from being a good friend, Micah is a stellar musician and a refreshing departure from Kicks 101.5, 95.5 The Beat, and Q100. Now let it be known that I know little about musical textures, chords, or keys; but I know I like fresh and new, and that's what Micah is. I don't like his music because he's my friend--otherwise I would just buy his records and let them collect proverbial dust and cobwebs in my iTunes library--I like it because well, I like it. John's blog, where esoteric explanations abound! Micah offers philosophical conversation about faith that I rarely get other places. His book recommendations of No Man Is An Island and Bob Dylan's Chronicles still rank in the top 5 of that category. He's a true friend, and good human being.

With that as a primer, I'll tell you I name drop Micah steadily. If someone I perceive to be more musically inclined/more indy than I am engages me in a conversation about their preferred musical stylings my response is usually, "...wow that's awesome. Have you ever heard of Micah Dalton?" They typically respond with a no. I then get the chance to extol Micah's virtues as a musician while incurring the intended consequence of making myself seem more edgy and thus anti-mainstream. Boothankyouverymuch-yah! This scenario plays out similarly with me substituting Nathan Angelo's name for Micah's. Yet another name drop. Awesome. As self-serving as this may seem, I feel no remorse for it because I feel fulfilled for seemingly helping a couple of friends out. Ok, maybe that's a stretch but it's my logic and I'm standing by it. To that end, go to http://www.rebuiltstore.com/ and http://www.nathanangelo.com/ and buy their stuff. I feel better about my narcissism already.

The evil stepchild of symbiotic name dropping is the parasitic name dropping I participate in from time to time. The conversation usually goes something like this:

Me: You ever heard of Morris Almond?
Random person: Uh, no can't say I have.
Me: Come on, plays for the Jazz. Was a D-League All-Star last year. Anyway, I used to sit next to him in Calculus.
RP: Wow, awesome.
Me: Yea, him and Josh Smith played at my high school.
RP: Oh man, Josh Smith? He won the dunk contest a few years ago. Do you know him really well?
Me: No, I asked him for ice cream money once. He said no.
RP: Oh, well cool man. Nice to meet you.

And....credibility gone. For the record, that exact conversation has never occurred, it is merely bit and pieces of conversations coalesced. The moral of the story is clear. If you're going to name drop, name drop the people you have an actual connection to. Symbiotic name dropping is clearly the way to go. Note to all: this entire last paragraph is directed at me, not to any of you.

Enjoy your Friday.

Stephen Curry, Part Deux

2009-02-24T09:44:00.010-05:00

One Shining Moment

Spent the majority of the weekend lounging in front of the TV digesting basketball, and it was awesome. Got a chance to watch the Bracketbusters game between Davidson and Butler. Good synopsis here, if you care. Full disclaimer: I'm a sports nerd and if you care nothing about basketball you can stop reading right here.

I really like Stephen Curry. Last year as he carved up the Jayhawks and Brandon Rush's supposed lock down defense, (seriously, Rush guarded Kevin Durant and got owned by that guy?) the intrigue behind young Steph built. I thought he should have gone pro because really, the guy is a 2, not a 1 and his draft stock was at an all-time high. I know nostalgia probably was involved, as was a good family unit, but looking at it objectively from a business standpoint the play was to head to the money.

Fast forward a year, and Curry has been unmasked. He's a frail bodied 2 guard trapped in a frail bodied point guard's body. Seriously, what do you think Deron Williams would do to this guy? Curry struggles to create his own shot and has trouble getting to the rim as he's not the quickest guy in the world. That's why he was money coming off picks and in catch and shoot scenarios. The long and short of it is he misses Jason Richards, last year's NCAA leader in assists. Curry can absolutely shoot the lights out, when he gets good looks at the basket. I've now watched him in three high profile games; Purdue, Duke, and Butler and come away with the same conclusion every time. If he went to a Duke or a Kansas, he's a 15 ppg sniper/zone buster. It astonished me how few good looks were available to Davidson against Butler. The inefficiency was unreal. It looked the same against Purdue and Duke. It further astonished me how many bad shots Curry took. In fairness to Curry, he has zero post help and very little perimeter help. It's also true he dazzled in the NCAA's last year, as a 2. He ran off screens like Rip Hamilton and had maybe half as much responsibility handling the ball. Not to belabor the point, but he misses Jason Richards. I know, he still leads the nation in scoring so there's reason to call this year an aberration. His assist to turnover ratio is up to 1.6 from 1.1 so that's encouraging. What's not encouraging is the drop from ~44% 3pt made to ~38% 3pt made. The 3 is his bread and butter. What happens when the bread gets moldy?

What does this say about his future? I don't know. As a 2, he would get destroyed in the NBA because he is neither strong enough to back them down nor quick enough to get by the defender. As a 1, he is not quick enough to get by the Chris Paul's of the world. He also doesn't seem to initiate the offense very well, and his passing/vision is passable, but not otherworldly. His lone skill that separates him is his shot. The release is devastatingly quick and he needs little separation to get his shot off. Look at other recent shooters from the college ranks and how they've translated to the NBA. J.J. Redick, Jason Kapono- barely rotation players. It appears he'll be a niche type player. Who is a comparable college player at the same point in life? I settled on Acie Law who had a great final year at A&M, but now can't get off the bench for the Hawks.

I want to agree with Dick Vitale who claims, "Curry will be a starter in the league." I want to see Curry through rose colored glasses. I want to because, like everyone else, I was mesmerized by him last March. Here's to hoping he proves me wrong.

Give It A Listen

2009-02-20T09:40:00.001-05:00

Hope Springs Eternal

2009-02-18T11:45:00.009-05:00

The mustache is awesome.

I can tell you the first time I heard the above phrase. I was watching this video, and Ernie Harwell said “hope springs eternal for these Braves and these Twins.” Naturally, I thought he was referencing spring training, and the hope that every team has for the upcoming season. I was wrong, but only in regards to pigeon holing the phrase to baseball only. It turns out, I would make this mistake again.

Casey at the Bat is easily one of my favorite poems due in large part to it being completely about baseball. Mudville, if we are to glean meaning from the name of the city, is a downtrodden city holding onto a thread that is the city’s baseball team. Casey is the hero, the Ruthian character who will surely save the day and grant the city respite from its day to day grunge. We all know the cataclysmic end,—or at least I hope you do—Casey fails. He strikes out and we are left to wonder the reaction of the Mudville people. Did they riot? Did they meander out of the ball park and solemnly commute back to their homes? Who knows, but I like to think the latter is true. The last stanza is ominous, sad.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville— mighty Casey has struck out.

I think I teared up the first time I read that. Casey was supposed to hit a walk off bomb, not strike out. Unfortunately, this foreshadowed my reaction to every Auburn football loss until I turned 12. Yea, losing sucks.

Armed with that perspective on Casey at the Bat, I now give you the second time I read the phrase, “hope springs eternal”.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville Nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

The second stanza doesn’t read well without the first. Again, the phrase is flanked with baseball. Understand that at the age of 8 everything in life had to be about sports or pro wrestling. Yes, the two are mutually exclusive. Maybe Ernest Thayer included the line about hope because he, like most of us, clings to the hope that against all odds our favorite team always has a shot. Or, maybe the whole poem was a satire of the very person that I just purported Thayer to be. Who knows, but I like speculating. The point here is the inextricable link between hope and life, and sometimes baseball.

I thought about this quote because I always think about it when Spring Training gets in full swing. At this point, the Braves may or may not have signed Griffey, the Yankees are in full damage control with A-Rod’s self-destruction, and John Smoltz is wearing a different hat. All that being said, hope abounds as everyone starts out the same. I finally took the time to Google “hope springs eternal”, and found the origin.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Alexander Pope wrote that in An Essay on Man. Pope was an optimist by nature, but he couldn’t have had any idea the impact such a small snippet would have. “Hope springs eternal” has seeped into countless arenas of culture. Seriously, Google the quote if you need convincing. It seems in our cynical, moribund culture people like having a shot of hope with their dinner of skepticism.

I speak not from a high horse of eternal optimism, but from the doldrums of cynicism like most. If only I could more readily apply the hope to life as I do to baseball. Or football. Or basketball. Maybe that’s why I’m enamored with games; apparently it’s much easier to hope there than it is in life. Why is that? I had a friend tell me recently, “You have no reason to be cynical. You have the hope of Jesus.” I thought that was pretty awesome, simple, poignant, and unequivocally true. Hope is our sword against the cynicism and jadedness that exists in our lives. It’s really very simple. You can float through, spiritually and thoughtfully bankrupt; or, you can invest in hope. Hope in each other, hope in tomorrow, hope in the Braves, hope in Auburn (War Eagle), and hope in the Lord. I think I’ll choose hope.

Yes, please.

2009-02-17T12:01:00.004-05:00

EDIT: YES!!!

EDIT to the EDIT: Well crap.

The People You Meet

2009-02-16T20:50:00.011-05:00

When I started this blog, I vowed to myself to never share any personal stories or write ridiculous critiques about my own life. I'm breaking that vow here, now. Don't worry, I won't write a critique about my life, but I do want to write about something that happened to me today at lunch.

I went to Tommy's Sandwich Shop today because, well, they have great pimento cheese sandwiches. Yes, I'm a big advocate of pimento cheese and yes, I'm younger than 70. As I'm sitting there imbibing all the smells the pimento cheese sandwich has to offer, an elderly woman gets behind me in line and immediately strikes up a conversation. "How do you know about this place?" She asked with inquisitive defiance, as only a member of the greatest generation can do. I replied I grew up around the area and had been eating here since I was a teenager. Satisfied with that answer, she then engaged me in small talk down the sandwich assembly line up until the register bell tolled. As she paid I began to give my goodbye spiel and was interrupted as the words welled up in my throat.

"Are you eating here?" I reflexively uttered a yes ma'am. "You eat with us." And that was that. I was about to eat lunch with a woman my grandmother's age and her son who had not yet arrived. Stellar. Lunch had just become an opportunity of limitless awkwardness. When her son--a man roughly my dad's age-- walked in, he glanced at me with puzzled bemusement. It was like he thought, "oh mom got another one". At this point, I didn't mind talking with her. Conversation had become comfortable in a sense. Imagine that, comfortable conversation after 5 minutes. In the course of our dialogue, I learned she had lost her husband in September. She told me she had great neighbors, and they took care of her well. I told her how I passed her house on Frank Kirk Road every week on my way to Younglife club. She was very curious about Younglife. After a few sentences of explanation, she wanted to move on. I guess curiosity only goes so far. We talked for the 15 minutes that I ate with never any more than 5 or 10 seconds silence. It was refreshing.

I share this story because I thought about it most of the day. I thought about how this woman's social anxiety was non-existent. I thought about how pro-active she was in talking to me. I thought how maybe I made her day. I thought about the life she had lived. Clearly, it's been a full life. Too often, we want to see the finished product. The work to reach that point is difficult and cumbersome. Just give us the desired outcome, don't complicate things with the incidentals. I believe the way the Lord teaches is via a process. There has rarely, if ever, been some great epiphany when I just knew. It's not an easy thing to accept, but eating lunch with that woman today reinforced the notion of the process. Having a connection to others, like that woman at lunch today helps that process to be more tangible. Having a connection to other strengthens our faith in others. It becomes increasingly easier to by cynical and skeptical of others motives as you grow older. But this woman, she was not the least bit skeptical of me. She wanted to break bread. She wanted to conversate. She wanted to establish a connection. God help us to maintain that connection.

As I walked out, I turned around and waved goodbye to the woman and her son. I sat in my car, flipped on my ipod and immediately realized something. I hadn't even asked her name.

Homer

2009-02-11T09:55:00.012-05:00

Relax, I'm not talking about this Homer or this Homer; I'm talking about homerism. The definition of homerism is as follows: a debilitating disease which typically hinders vision and therefore hinders conclusions about one's favorite team. There is also, unfortunately, an extreme version of this disease. In this extreme version a complete lack of intellect permeates the mind leading to clouded and outright stupid suppositions. Given those definitions, I give you examples of both.

Bill Simmons. The Ultimate Homer, but not an extreme homer. He loves all things Boston as I love most things Atlanta (sorry Thrashers). Simmons is not above picking against his beloved Celtics, as he did in last year's NBA Finals(just kidding). After famously writing about the Pats undefeated season prior to its completion, I had hoped his homer convictions would have altered. No such luck, but his homerism is at least muted by the fact that he A)watches games and B)has some informed opinions.

Now, to the crux of the matter. This post was brought on by listening to that paragon for sporting integrity 680 The Fan. Home to the notoriously neutral Buck Belue of the handing off to Herschel Walker fame and several other intelligent personalities, 680 is unfortunately the best sports radio in Atlanta. The morning program, The Rude Awakening, recently added the rocker himself Leo Mazzone. Instant credibility upshoot. This morning I tuned in with guarded optimism, surely they had improved with Leo now a part of the trio. Well, no no and no. Four months ago, Perry Laurentino talked about how Acie Law would be a great back up point guard this year and was primed for a "breakout year"*. Acie Law is averaging an astonishing 3.3 points per game. Great prognostication, but you can only lay so much blame at the feet on the extreme homer. This morning, Perry struck again. Exclaiming, "The Hawks can pass the Magic. The Magic lost Jameer Nelson, they're going to tank. I know they've gone 2-1 since he got hurt, but I don't see them keeping that up!" In case you forgot, this is the same guy who claimed Acie Law was Earl Monroe coming again. The Magic currently sit at 38-12 with the Hawks 30-21. With 31 games to go, that means the Hawks will pick up 3 games per every 10 games remaining on the schedule. I could see how that could happen, if Stan Van Gundy laced em' up and inserted himself at point guard. These guys are paid to be knowledgeable, not to be objective. But, when their lack of knowledge directly influences their decreasing objectivity, it reeks of stupidity.

It's ok to be a homer. Actually, be a homer. Tell your friends how good your team is going to be this year or next. Tell them the apparent deficiencies they see are masquerades. But don't be an idiot. The good news? If you are an idiot, at least you're not getting paid for it. So thanks Perry, Chris, and Leo; looks like it's back to NPR in the mornings.

*One of the most overused phrases in sports along with but not limited to: gamer, toughness, instincts, feel for the game, and basketball IQ.

They Nominated What?

2009-02-09T13:10:00.006-05:00

I apologize to the faithful followers (read: six of you) of this blog. I have failed you. I'll hopefully write something worthwhile later this week, but for now I'll offer some commentary on American pop culture. Kid Rock's timeless classic "All Summer Long" was nominated for a Grammy. Now I'm no music snob, but are they really to the point of rewarding an artist that ripped off not one,

but two

songs you consistently hear on classic rock stations across the nation. Originality it seems is not in the criteria. Now if this is not an indictment of music as a whole, I'm not sure what is. Tip of the cap to you Kid Rock; you did next to nothing yet earned a Grammy nomination for your efforts. Fannnnnnntastic.

Stephen Curry

2009-01-29T15:19:00.002-05:00

If there was any doubt of his status as man amongst boys in the SoCon, I think you can remove it after watching this.

Marc Driscoll

2009-01-29T10:37:00.006-05:00

"I'm gonna knock you out!"

I really like biographies. Jim Rayburn's biography was equal parts inspiring and sad. James Blake's (auto)biography provided an interesting view of unique challenges presented to athletes. The creme de la creme of all biographies delves into a man, myth, and legend and how he became who he is. Interesting people often have books written about them. Less interesting people with a sense of entitlement often write books about themselves. I'm not yet sure what category Marc Driscoll will fall into, but I do think, given his polarizing effect on the Christian community, that he will have a biography on shelves sooner than later.

I was introduced to Driscoll a few month's ago during 'The Shack' controversy. A couple of friends suggested I listen to his message about the book and I obliged. If you're interested, you can watch it here. After watching it, I formed my typical knee-jerk opinion of him and decided he was whiner. "The book projects a graven imageeeeeee of God." He made that statement and I cringed; dude, why do you sound like a 5 year old begging the teacher to let you go to the bathroom? I told my friends that I had not read The Shack, but could take some basic conclusions based off of reading about it and reading reactions to it. The author is not trying to re-write the Gospels, nor is he positing a new worldview on Jesus and God. It is meant to be illustrative (to an extent) and inspirational. After making that conclusion, and watching Driscoll's rant, I mean message, I resolved to not watch or listen to him again.

Several weeks went by, and I again caught wind of Driscoll. Friends of mine lauded his bluntness and intelligence, and given my respect for their opinions, I decided to read more about him and his ministry. I initially read a snippet from his book, "The Radical Reformission". In the snippet, Driscoll points out a failure of the parachurch is too often the lack of connection with a church. I have spent years as a leader with Younglife, one of the parachurch organizations Driscoll mentions, and found this to be pertinent. Lack of connection to a church and the larger body of Christ (read: people outside of particular peer group) will often lead to a lost connection to faith. I agree with that, but disagree with his conclusion that the parachurch is a failure and a hole in contemporary Christianity. The answer is not to condemn the parachurch, but to encourage and mandate connection to churches. I found his conclusion here to be trite, and a little self-serving.

"Who Would Jesus Smack Down" profiles Driscoll further than any piece since well, this one. I caution you, both are pretty lengthy but equally insightful. In the NYT piece Driscoll calls the Jesus perpetuated by the mainstream church, "queer...hippie...neutered...and limp-wristed". In a Relevant Magazine article Driscoll is quoted as follows:

"There is a strong drift toward the hard theological left. Some emergent types [want] to recast Jesus as a limp-wrist hippie in a dress with a lot of product in His hair, who drank decaf and made pithy Zen statements about life while shopping for the perfect pair of shoes. In Revelation, Jesus is a prize fighter with a tattoo down His leg, a sword in His hand and the commitment to make someone bleed. That is a guy I can worship. I cannot worship the hippie, diaper, halo Christ because I cannot worship a guy I can beat up. I fear some are becoming more cultural than Christian, and without a big Jesus who has authority and hates sin as revealed in the Bible, we will have less and less Christians, and more and more confused, spiritually self-righteous blogger critics of Christianity."

Crap, I'm confused. Am I one of the "spiritually self-righteous blogger critics of Christianity"? I sure hope not, I really crave this guy's approval. I guess the question of whether or not I could beat up Jesus never crossed my mind. I suppose I am more preoccupied with the man who transcended and rose above the human condition. But you know, whatever. I can just envision how a conversation Driscoll and I would go:

Me: I've never been in a fist fight.

MD: Get in one now.

Me: I actually don't really like UFC, I'd rather watch basketball.

MD: Basketball is for queers.

Me: Well I think that's a ridiculous opinion.

MD: Cool let's fight. After I beat the hell out of you, I'll forcibly apply a tattoo to your leg because real men have body art on their body.

Me: Did you just say body art on their body? Little redundant, don't you thi....(this is where I get punched in the face)

This mythical conversation, while satirical, may not be too far off as Driscoll once invited pastors on stage to punch him in the face. So much for evolved sensibilities. I guess we're back to the biggest bad ass being the most awesome guy in the room. King of the Mountain, adult style! Look, I have no problem with confrontation, it just appears with Driscoll that he not only loves confrontation, he seeks it out. Now, I'm not out to deify Rob Bell, but Driscoll's words and actions here seem to represent a poignant narcissism. In other words, he likes the spotlight. A lot. This self-serving proposition of seeking confrontation does not lend much to his credence as a pastor but does support the notion that he likes attention. The fact is, Driscoll is remarkably intelligent and captivating. He has affected change for many in an apathetic generation. But, his insistence for confrontation is his scarlet letter. If something happens repeatedly it is no longer a trend, but a constant. Driscoll's constant is a stain on his brilliance.

We Got Him!!!

2009-01-28T15:55:00.004-05:00

Every college football fan has said that fateful sentence at least once. "We got Hotshot Stud out of Clearwater, FL. He runs a 4.0, or maybe that's his GPA, but whatever, and Rivals and Scout ranks him a 7 star! He's going to lead us to the Promised Land!"

Look, I won't lie and say I wasn't excited that we* got Tyrik Rollison to commit yesterday. If anything it makes me more excited about what this staff can do in terms of getting talent on the Plains. I have to be honest though, I'm sick of hearing about recruiting. This has nothing to do with Auburn's ineptitude this year-- though we have moved up to #19 after yesterday-- as it has more to do with the entire lack of fulfillment. I realize the recruiting season gets most fans from bowl games to spring practice, but the amount of money generated from this once back room sub-culture is insane.

I don't own any premium subscriptions, nor do I ever plan to purchase one. The people employed by these sites come from the same ilk as sports agents. They are slimy and their moral compasses rarely point north. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to the future Scott Boras' and Drew Rosenhaus' of the world! Seriously, this practice is invasive and demeaning. Sure, a 18 year old likes the attention to his extent, but the lack of privacy is appalling. I know some families relish the spotlight, but that minority does not justify an entire industry created out of a small niche of athletics.

The science--if you can call it that--is inexact. If it was precise, Colt McCoy and Sam Bradford would have been home watching film on December 13th instead of in New York for the Heisman Trophy presentation. I know, I know what about Jason Campbell? Wasn't he a 5 star recruit that led Auburn to an undefeated season? Yes, but do you remember what quarterback was rated above him? If you guessed Brock Berlin then you were correct. Now, say to yourself Brock Berlin?!?!? Yes, the Brock Berlin who was beaten out by Rex Grossman at Florida, and the Brock Berlin that transferred to Miami and became an average quarterback. The point is simple--and for my purposes limited to Auburn--for every Jason Campbell, Carnell Williams, and Ronnie Brown, there is a Lamarcus Rowell, Neil Caudle**, and Deandre Green. Fans of other schools all have similar stories.

This recruiting business is an impressive entity now. It is a large and an almost inelastic good. Prices will go up as sites employ more people and their overhead increases. There exists no end to it, but only more expansion as the world continues to grow smaller and 5 year olds have camera phones. The recruiting season drags on and a craving for something better lingers.

*I, like most people from the South, refer to Auburn's football team as we.
**Though I'm saddened to do it, I'm labeling him a full on bust. I hope he proves me wrong this year.

Bill Simmons and Dogs

2009-01-26T10:20:00.003-05:00

My opinion of Bill Simmons has evolved through the years. At one point, I thought he was a homer of the highest degree (which is true) and at another point, I considered him the most passionate NBA writer out there. Single handedly, Simmons re-ignited my love for professional hoops. Now that the Celtics are back, he has returned to being an annoying homer of sorts, but he's still the most fun to read of all the NBA writers. Let's just say it's hard to derive consistent and significant excitement from John Hollinger's persistent pumping of PER.

With that being said, Simmons wrote a must read for anyone that has ever owned a dog. Pretty good stuff I must say.

Julius Caesar

2009-01-23T08:29:00.005-05:00

Et tu James Willis?

If you haven't heard the news count yourself among the lucky. This, is a sucker punch. Honestly, you can't get angry with Saban no more than you can get mad at an ant for biting your index finger. That is who he is; Saban is not a good human being. I know, I know, the coaching world is cutthroat and Chizik would not hesitate to do something similar. As a matter of fact, he did something as reprehensible, but that's another topic for another day. One expects this from Nick Saban, that great mercenary to the west, but James Willis you are better than this.

I racked my brain for applicable literary references to this situation. I wanted to go really dramatic with Oedipus Rex, but I really couldn't justify comparing James Willis' departure from his home and family to marrying your mother, unwittingly I might add. I also stopped short of comparing him to Judas Iscariot as this is just football, not the betrayal of the Son of God. It seems, the most analogous story is Julius Caesar. Betrayed by his friend, his brother, a part of his family, Caesar is slain. The comparisons end there, as the Auburn Family will recover from this, and we are no where close to death. If anything, this tempers the rejuvenation process a bit, but nothing more. The question remains, why James Willis? You are a Pat Dye man, twenty years an Auburn man, someone who has poured their heart in soul into Auburn, and you become mesmerized by the dark side. My rational side tells me, you're just a linebacker coach. You were an Auburn man, but now I believe that status has been, at the least, temporarily revoked. Three days ago, you sat in the living room of a recruit extolling Auburn's virtues and demeaning the state school to the west. You lied. There's no sugar coating the situation, and your integrity is stained. Hopefully, the coaches and parents in the state of Alabama ask you hard questions out on the recruiting trail. Hopefully, you tell them the truth; it must be the money.

Without question, the past year has been dark for Auburn football players and fans. Current players had James Willis to link them to their formative years on the Plains; maybe he was a safety blanket of sorts, maybe he was a source of comfort. That comfort is gone, and a greater unknown awaits Auburn's players. My rational side again tells me, you're just a linebackers coach. You're easily replaceable, James Willis. But, the sting of this will not subside for some time. You were an Auburn man, you were supposed to believe and purport truth. "I believe in honesty and truthfulness, without which I cannot win the respect and confidence of my fellow men." George Petrie just rolled over in his grave. James Willis, what you did was irresponsible, negligent, and sinister. I wish you well in your future endeavors, but hope you never forget the day you sold your integrity to the highest bidder.

War Eagle.

Two Sides to Every Story

2009-01-21T10:33:00.005-05:00

I listened to a lot of rap as a kid. Prohibited from buying the albums with the dreaded Parental Advisory label, I was left with two options:

1) Buy the tapes from Wal-Mart
2) Go to houses where the explicit lyrics were allowed.

Naturally, being a rebellious kid, I went with the second option. My childhood was filled with Regulators, Nuthin’ But a G Thang, and Westside Connection blaring on a premium sound system that was not my own. To this day I can still recite, word for word, songs from Ready to Die and other much more obscure rap albums of the mid 90’s.

I was initially skeptical of Notorious, the recent biopic, not to be confused with the rapper or the 1946 Alfred Hitchcock film. Too soon I thought; it’s only been a little over a decade since he died. The last two seminal biographical movies based off musicians had the benefit of being multiple decades removed from the events depicted. The advantage of that time gap is the gaining of perspective. These movies had perspective on the impact their music had on people at large and perspective on the protagonists lives in general. The counter argument to that point says the closer a biographical account is released—especially one based off a deceased person—insures greater detail and accuracy. I believe I’d agree with that point, except for the fact that the executive producer—and one of the main characters—is a greedy, image conscious, business savvy individual who has a lot to gain from the financial success of said movie. Armed with this preconception, I went to see the movie anyway. I had to.

This isn’t a movie review. I thought Jamal Woolard did a good job portraying B.I.G. My only real problem with him came when he was recording Juicy in the studio. The voice inflection wasn’t the same, his voice was much deeper than the upbeat and jubilant sounding original, but I digress. The movie goes to great pains the absolve B.I.G., Combs, and Bad Boy Records of any blame in the infamous East/West rap quarrel. Granted, I agree to some extent that Death Row and their constituents did more to play up the feud, but to blame them and the media is biased and short sighted. Of particular interest to me was the character of Combs*. If we are to believe the movie, the guy is a pacifist. Contrary to these reports, I guess. There are multiple scenes wherein Combs is the voice of reason, but none are more poignant than the Sacramento scene. B.I.G. is rapping in a club at the height of the coastal feud and his audience is showing their disdain for all things Bad Boy. B.I.G. wants to go with a song that Tupac and the West Coast at large find offensive. Combs pleas with him not to, but the decision is made as a meek and distraught Combs looks on. I have no idea if it happened that way, as I clearly was not there. But this scene is a microcosm of the entire movie. Combs has a proverbial halo over his head throughout. It would be much easier to accept this view if he was not intimately involved in the production of the movie and had so much to gain from its success.

I wanted to like this movie, as I am very nostalgic** about my childhood. I really couldn’t get behind the movie, and hopefully will never see it again.

*I refuse to call him Puff Daddy, P. Diddy, Diddy, or Puffy.

**That’s right, I just linked myself.

Tim Tebow is Cheesy

2009-01-19T11:13:00.006-05:00

I'm all jacked up on Third Day!

I get it. The guy gels his hair with Elmer’s Glue, circumcises natives in the Philippines and does prison ministry in the off-season. He wears Phil 4:13 on his eye black. He wears seven bracelets on his wrist during every game. Seven! The guy is a whole bag of tools, right? He’s a huge cheesy edifice of tools, right? At worst, he has to be a much bigger tool than this guy* right? Right?!?!?

To be clear, I’m not going Gary Danielson on you. I’m not going to harvest Tim Tebow sweatbands. I’m not going to steal locks of Tebow hair in order to create a Tebow army that takes over the world. For an illustration of Danielson’s man crush(more?) watch the following:

Verne Lundquist wants a little of Tebow too, but Danielson is the alpha male and won’t let it happen. The announcer worship of this guy borders on deification. Point made, moving on.

After sifting through that satirical/sarcastic introduction, the question is this: why is Tim Tebow cheesy? The Bible verses displayed on his face (Philippians 4:13, John 3:16, et. al.) convey the simple yet profound truth of God’s love. Is it Ecclesiastes 4:12? No, but I’m not sure Tebow is thinking about his own triple cord, nor does the lay person watching want to flip through their Bible to find that verse. Plus, could you even fit Ecclesiastes on the eye black? Probably not. I like Tebow. He’s a great athlete and a great ambassador for Christianity. Is he cheesy? A little bit, sure. Even so, I’m not quite ready to indict him as the scourge of humanity.

Tim Tebow is cheesy because it’s an easy label. In our cynical society, we want prominent figures to be edgy. He listens to Michael W. Smith before games; he really should listen to T.I. He goes to the Philippines for Spring Break, he really should try Cancun. He goes inside prisons to preach, he really should get out to the bars more. He should enjoy the college experience. I couldn’t agree more. But, he should enjoy his college experience, not the one we had. Life is, among countless other things, experiential. And while our friendships and relationships are largely based on shared experiences, much of who we are as people comes from the individual decisions we make throughout our lives. He is an individual in a time when it’s easier to blend in. Shouldn’t he be applauded for that? He certainly shouldn’t be the victim of diatribes against his manhood because of it.

In a scenario where Tebow wears the Auburn helmet, yells ‘War Eagle’ to every ear within shouting distance, and leads Auburn to a National Championship, I love him. I’d venture to say that most college football fans would feel the same, even those from Tallahassee and Athens. Unfortunately, we like our athletes like we like our churches: quotable, edgy, angsty, and filled with soul patches. So forgive me if I believe you’re distaste for all things Tebow is rooted in the results of your schools results against his teams. In the end, most rational fans want him taking snaps for their team. Jealousy it seems is somewhat powerful. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods.” Eloquent in its brevity.

EDIT: Another good footnote to consider: people like Tim Tebow only come along once in a generation. I mean, when will Florida ever have another overtly Christian, Heisman Trophy Winner lead them to a National Championship? I bet it's never happened before, and will never happen again. What's that? You say this guy played at Florida a little over a decade ago? Well, that means Gary Danielson has to wait another 10 years to say things like, "talk to Tim Tebow for 10 minutes, and you'll feel like a better person."

*I don’t think Stafford is a complete tool. In fact, if he had started the last 3 years at Auburn, I’d probably like him.

Did someone say Wonder?

2009-01-16T10:35:00.004-05:00

Please make this movie.

John Smoltz's Eulogy

2009-01-15T14:06:00.004-05:00

Nostalgia, your name is Smoltz.

I’ve hesitated to write this for a while, as I did not want to accept the reality and finality of it. See, John Smoltz is my hero, my idol. As a 6 year old, I happily attended games with the Powers family as Matt’s dad was a Winn Dixie big wig and Michael was too young to go to games. It didn’t matter that Smoltz was 2-11 before the All-Star game. Nor did it matter that he seemed to be a shadow of his 1990 self; all that matter was Smoltz’s mustache. That, I thought, represented true masculinity and the seeds of my idolization were sewn.

I didn’t know he was good. Really, how much can you know as a 6 year old? Until I watched "The Miracle Season" I had no concept of the Braves decade long predestination --the cellar-- in the old NL West. Armed with that and The 1991 World Series video I learned three inescapable and timeless axioms:

1) That mustache guy I liked was a really good pitcher.
2) Jack Morris is to John Smoltz as Darth Vader is to Luke Skywalker.
3) Kent Hrbek is the embodiment of evil.

I have wondered for roughly 18 years now, how Smoltz’s legacy would be enhanced if Lonnie Smith hadn’t let a rookie (Chuck Knoblauch) and a cagy veteran shortstop (Greg Gagne) dupe him into believing they were turning a double play. He’s already seen as the Braves best postseason pitcher, but having him as the guy that won it all as opposed to Tom Glavine (reference to his sterling performance in Game 6 of the 95 World Series) would have only served to galvanize the strength of my already strong hero worship. No, he wasn’t the ‘Baby-Faced Assassin’ Steve Avery. He was Smoltz, the closer. He pitched the complete game against the Astros to clinch the pennant. He shut out the Pirates to win the NLCS, and if the aforementioned Lonnie Smith scores from first on that double in the top of the 8th, Game 7 looks different, and he would have clinched the World Series. Try that for a trifecta.

As the years passed his role changed, evolved, and reverted. As he came full circle as a pitcher, my admiration only grew. When he was the dominant closer, Thunderstruck was the greatest sound to hear while at a game. As he strode from the bullpen to the mound in the 9th inning with the exorbitant SMOLTZ emblazoned on the big screen, the issue (see: game) was no longer in doubt. When he came back as a starter, he was still a bad a. His resilience didn’t hurt either, nor did his adoption of the knuckleball for a far too brief period of time. But now, those things, those memories are just that. Memories, as we won’t see Smoltz with a Braves hat on again until he goes to Cooperstown.

He spoke at a Wild Game Banquet at a local church my junior year of high school. I had a track meet and couldn’t go. Not coincidentally, I quit track later that year. What sacrilege, what horror; I missed the chance to meet my hero. That still stings. At the time, he was at the height of his considerable powers as a closer. His career and legacy was intact, while still being etched in memory. Now, as they say, the past is prologue. All that remains is the epilogue. To be clear, I am not eulogizing Smoltz’s career, I am merely writing about him riding off into the sunset out of the Valley of John Beatty’s Heroes. In case you were wondering, he is the last inhabitant. I’m a 24 year old man, a functioning member of society with a big boy job and big boy bills. It is wholly outlandish to take part in hero worship of college freshman and rookie pitchers younger than myself. Sorry to Kodi Burns, Mario Fannin, Eltoro Freeman, Jason Heyward, and Tommy Hanson; I cannot have you be my heroes; I will only live vicariously through you. I’m sure you’re crushed. I’m not the same 4 year old sitting in front of the TV hoping Reggie Slack, James Joseph, and Stacy Danley ward off the loathsome Crimson Tide. I’m not the 6 year old getting out of school early to go to the Braves parade. The heroes of my childhood have faded into relative obscurity, save for John Smoltz. So I will tune in to every Sox game he pitches. I will diligently keep up with his ERA and WHIP. He is my last hero, one of the last links to my youth, and that is worth holding onto.

Johnny Utah and Shane Falco

2009-01-15T13:41:00.000-05:00

Whoa. This is weird, I know. But there is a point, bear with me. If you’ll recall Keanu was cast as a displaced quarterback not once,

but twice.

The point being, if you can buy him as a once star quarterback-- maybe you did, maybe you didn't-- then perhaps you can buy me as a hack blogger.