So Michael Phelps got caught doing a bong hit. So a 14-time Olympic Gold Medalist with more pressure on him than the scale on “Biggest Loser” took a hit of weed during a four-month break from swimming. So maybe the guy who graces Wheaties boxes would be more at home fronting “Weedies – Wake and Bake of Champions.” So what?! Yes, that’s right. So what! Like you have any idea what it is to cope with being Michael Phelps. Like you have any idea how to wind up that machine to do what it does against all comers, and win, and then keep yourself human while winding it down. Like you’ve never smoked weed. If you’re reading this, you’re high right now.
The fact that Phelps even apologized for his "youthful behavior," almost strikes me as strange. Smoking weed should not be "youthful behavior," but rather "adult behavior." He's 23. He's an adult. If he wants to do a hit of weed, he should be allowed to do a hit of weed. It's doubtful Phelps is a regular pot-head, and more likely that he only smoked during his four-month break from swimming. He won EIGHT FREAKING GOLD MEDALS at the Beijing Olympics, and now it's time to relax -- just a little?! And say he does smoke weed all the time. SO WHAT? Marijuana is certainly not a performance-enhancing drug. On the contrary, any pot head who gets up the steam necessary to turn off Hogan's Heroes (even if it's just to switch over to Robot Chicken - dude, that show is so high!) to do anything else, let alone swim more races faster than any human in history -- in front of the entire planet -- in a Speedo has my respect. If I'm another swimmer, I'm saying "Thank you, Michael! Take another hit. Anything to let one of the rest of us have a freaking chance at beating you for once -- I'm all for it!"
Let's be honest. Smoking weed is nearly a victimless crime. The only people in danger because of weed are those who suffer the wrath of drug traffickers who must operate in illegality. All the more reason to legalize it. Then, production, distribution and sales all become regulated and as safe as a walked-in run.
And here's more truth: Speedo, Omega, Hilton Hotels, Kellogg's, General Foods, Visa, Power Bar, AT&T, Rosetta Stone, Pure Sport and Swim Room all get this simple fact: no one thinks doing one hit of weed is all that bad. It doesn't tarnish Phelps' image or the image of the sponsor. Answer this: are you more likely, less likely or as likely as you were two weeks ago to purchase any of the products Phelps endorses? I'm betting you are probably saying "as likely as you were two weeks ago," although the truth is that this press is that sort of "any press is good press" press, and Phelps has done nothing more than what those companies want him to do: create a little buzz.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Cardinals Should Have Won That Game
An anti-climactic headline, perhaps, but it's true. The day after Super Bowl XLIII, I'm left thinking two things, the first of which is, "Man, the Cardinals looked like the Eagles out there," and when one thinks that one has seen the Eagles, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, one is usually also left thinking, "Wow, they should have won that game!"
How did the Cardinals look like the Eagles? With an effective defense that was able to keep them in the game, and a sputtering offense that failed to appear for the first 25 minutes of the game, and then committed cardinal errors (pun totally intended!) at the absolute worst times, like, say on first and goal from the two with 18 seconds remaining in the half, and then again with fifteen seconds left in the game, when the Cardinal front line simply did not protect their man.
On top of that, the officiating crew may well have ended the game on an incomplete pass. You don't take two minutes to review the last meaningful play of the SUPER BOWL?! If I'm the commissioner, I tell the crew: do not end the game on a judgement call. Let the players settle it. If it's close, err on the side of play.
I'm not blaming Kurt Warner; there's not a lot more he could have done -- and yeah, yeah, "Hall of Fame quarterback, blah, blah, blah." But it was a terrible decision by Warner to throw that ball straight into the arms of James Harrison. (Hats off to James Harrison, who I'm told, has overcome great adversity. I looked it up and I have to agree: being the first president to die in office can be a set-back to one's Super Bowl aspirations. Good work, James!) And not a great decision by Warner to allow himself to be playfully cast aside on the run-back of said errant throw. As my friend Marc aptly said, "That's a 14-point turnaround. If the Cardinals score on that series, they go into halftime up 14-10" and receiving the ball in the third quarter, I'll add. And add to that: first and goal from the two with 18 seconds! You've got three plays at least -- and there's no way you want to come away (an underdog, mind you) with less than a field goal in this situation. Awful play. Cost the game.
Of course, both my and Marc's expert analysis came at game's end, too late to do any good. Oh, and I also hear, too late, that it was William Harrison who did the Oval Office Deep Six, contrary to James' Tampa Bay Pick Six, for which he'll reap returns during contract negotiations to rival those of the not-so-famous McKinley Tax Act, enacted by William's grand-son, president Benjamin Harrison. But I digress.
The Cardinals should have won that game!
Like the Eagles in the NFC Championship Game, the Cards failed to show for the first half. See, that could be another headline:
CARDS FAIL TO SHOW
And it's apt because it may have been the Cardinals plan to "hide" Larry Fitzgerald during the first half, and then surprise the Steelers with him in the second half. Now, I can't believe Arizona would do that -- that's just stupid. But the Eagles do stupid stuff, like not double-covering Larry Fitzgerald; if the Cardinals are impersonating the Eagles, maybe they do stupid stuff, too! Either way, Fitzgerald was almost the MVP of this game, and definitely appears to be on his way down a long road to Canton if he continues to play the way he did this season. And he appeared fully ready, when the ball was thrown his way, to single-handedly take this game away from the Pittsburgh Steelers. Instead, a final-seconds interception left that dream unfulfilled.
Cardinals should have won that game.
Not to take anything away, of course, from the SIXTH TIME NFL SUPER BOWL CHAMPION, PITTSBURGH STEELERS. Ben Roethlisberger was stellar. A big man, who carried the team's destiny on his shoulders. Santonio Holmes' catch to put the Steelers ahead for good was a Lynn Swan caliber moment. His headline could be:
HOLMES DELIVERS K.O. BLOW
STEELERS WIN RECORD SIXTH SUPER BOWL
Here are some other potential headlines that crossed the shallow waters of my stream of consciousness:
If you're in Phoenix:
STEEL CURTAIN CALL FOR WARNER
Cards QB loses encore Super Bowl
If you're in Pittsburgh:
BEN AGAIN!
Steelers Win Second Super Bowl in Four Years Behind Roethlisberger
If you're me:
EAGLES FAIL TO WIN SUPER BOWL BY FAILING TO BEAT THE CARDINALS IN NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME
or, simply:
CARDINALS SHOULDA WON THAT GAME
How did the Cardinals look like the Eagles? With an effective defense that was able to keep them in the game, and a sputtering offense that failed to appear for the first 25 minutes of the game, and then committed cardinal errors (pun totally intended!) at the absolute worst times, like, say on first and goal from the two with 18 seconds remaining in the half, and then again with fifteen seconds left in the game, when the Cardinal front line simply did not protect their man.
On top of that, the officiating crew may well have ended the game on an incomplete pass. You don't take two minutes to review the last meaningful play of the SUPER BOWL?! If I'm the commissioner, I tell the crew: do not end the game on a judgement call. Let the players settle it. If it's close, err on the side of play.
I'm not blaming Kurt Warner; there's not a lot more he could have done -- and yeah, yeah, "Hall of Fame quarterback, blah, blah, blah." But it was a terrible decision by Warner to throw that ball straight into the arms of James Harrison. (Hats off to James Harrison, who I'm told, has overcome great adversity. I looked it up and I have to agree: being the first president to die in office can be a set-back to one's Super Bowl aspirations. Good work, James!) And not a great decision by Warner to allow himself to be playfully cast aside on the run-back of said errant throw. As my friend Marc aptly said, "That's a 14-point turnaround. If the Cardinals score on that series, they go into halftime up 14-10" and receiving the ball in the third quarter, I'll add. And add to that: first and goal from the two with 18 seconds! You've got three plays at least -- and there's no way you want to come away (an underdog, mind you) with less than a field goal in this situation. Awful play. Cost the game.
Of course, both my and Marc's expert analysis came at game's end, too late to do any good. Oh, and I also hear, too late, that it was William Harrison who did the Oval Office Deep Six, contrary to James' Tampa Bay Pick Six, for which he'll reap returns during contract negotiations to rival those of the not-so-famous McKinley Tax Act, enacted by William's grand-son, president Benjamin Harrison. But I digress.
The Cardinals should have won that game!
Like the Eagles in the NFC Championship Game, the Cards failed to show for the first half. See, that could be another headline:
CARDS FAIL TO SHOW
And it's apt because it may have been the Cardinals plan to "hide" Larry Fitzgerald during the first half, and then surprise the Steelers with him in the second half. Now, I can't believe Arizona would do that -- that's just stupid. But the Eagles do stupid stuff, like not double-covering Larry Fitzgerald; if the Cardinals are impersonating the Eagles, maybe they do stupid stuff, too! Either way, Fitzgerald was almost the MVP of this game, and definitely appears to be on his way down a long road to Canton if he continues to play the way he did this season. And he appeared fully ready, when the ball was thrown his way, to single-handedly take this game away from the Pittsburgh Steelers. Instead, a final-seconds interception left that dream unfulfilled.
Cardinals should have won that game.
Not to take anything away, of course, from the SIXTH TIME NFL SUPER BOWL CHAMPION, PITTSBURGH STEELERS. Ben Roethlisberger was stellar. A big man, who carried the team's destiny on his shoulders. Santonio Holmes' catch to put the Steelers ahead for good was a Lynn Swan caliber moment. His headline could be:
HOLMES DELIVERS K.O. BLOW
STEELERS WIN RECORD SIXTH SUPER BOWL
Here are some other potential headlines that crossed the shallow waters of my stream of consciousness:
If you're in Phoenix:
STEEL CURTAIN CALL FOR WARNER
Cards QB loses encore Super Bowl
If you're in Pittsburgh:
BEN AGAIN!
Steelers Win Second Super Bowl in Four Years Behind Roethlisberger
If you're me:
EAGLES FAIL TO WIN SUPER BOWL BY FAILING TO BEAT THE CARDINALS IN NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME
or, simply:
CARDINALS SHOULDA WON THAT GAME
Thursday, January 22, 2009
A Day for Greatness
cdn.necn.com/files/ 2009/01/20/vlcsnap-3912159.jpg
It is a new day, following eight years of darkness, during which the vision of America seemed nearly lost. But look at that field of spangled night, and you will see the brightness of those who peer through it, toward the dawn. And see those stripes that are the many paths by which we have all come to be here, and they are too, the lines that divide history's challenges and achievements. A Great one has been added on this day. Together, we are here. Together, we have overcome. Together, we will succeed.
I'm not usually very impressed by these schmaltzy, multi-pop-star, pre-fab melba-tunes -- but this one spoke to me. See if you don't feel something when you watch it. Could the out-goers have inspired anything like this? (Although, I admit that without them, there would never have been a "Team America.")
It is a new day, following eight years of darkness, during which the vision of America seemed nearly lost. But look at that field of spangled night, and you will see the brightness of those who peer through it, toward the dawn. And see those stripes that are the many paths by which we have all come to be here, and they are too, the lines that divide history's challenges and achievements. A Great one has been added on this day. Together, we are here. Together, we have overcome. Together, we will succeed.
I'm not usually very impressed by these schmaltzy, multi-pop-star, pre-fab melba-tunes -- but this one spoke to me. See if you don't feel something when you watch it. Could the out-goers have inspired anything like this? (Although, I admit that without them, there would never have been a "Team America.")
Monday, January 19, 2009
My Thoughts on the NFC Championship Game
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Okay, as a Philly fan, that is my first thought. As a guy with a blog to write, I guess I have to come up with more. Here goes.
“Now THAT’S Philadelphia for ya!” This paraphrasing of some of my Dad’s deathbed words (I heard him say during a dementia-induced moment of clarity) will surely echo more frequently than others. But Dad – now that you’ve gone to the 700-Level in the Sky – and undoubtedly in some greater control of things down here, how could you let this happen? How could you not pull a “Dadus Ex Machina” and redirect a couple of those 30 or 40 bad Donovan McNabb passes, or make one of the several targets of the same catch one – or one of the defensive backs catch one of those three or four missed interceptions, or heck, maybe make the Eagles defense try double covering THE ONLY pass weapon on Arizona’s roster in Larry Fitzgerald?
Were you still too euphoric over the Phillies World Series title to focus on the moment here? Or was it some beyond the grave sense of fairness: the Cards beat the Eagles in 1947, the Eagles beat the Cardinals in 1948, and now, here we are 61 years later, and you can only think, “It’s the Cardinals’ turn”? Sounds like you, but doesn’t sound like you. But now those words I hear: “That’s Philadelphia for ya!” Sounds like you, Dad. Sounds like the pain of a guy whose been through this bullshit before.
Did I jinx it?
I gave away my Mamula jersey years ago. Maybe I should have burned it (but I wouldn’t release chemical toxins, and the bad karma into the ether). After years of trial and error (mostly error), I approached this game with a unique support-strategy: I wore no Eagles gear – only a black John LeClair Flyers sweater. Figured that would fan the flame without getting singed. Maybe the only culpable parties were the ones actually wearing the Eagles uniforms. There are some things for which I’ll take credit – I’ll discuss those next. The ones who appeared unaware of the game’s 12pm start time, and who allowed the Cardinals (the Cardinals – you know, the guys the Eagles just beat 144-3 a month or so ago?) to take a 24-6 lead into the locker room.
Error of Inclusion?!
Maybe it’s that I didn’t watch the game in my own home on my own TV! Maybe it’s Colin Campbell’s fault!
Yeah, that’s it! He invites me over to watch the game on his Downtown-Hong-Kong-Sized plasma screen with the HD and the TiVo and the grilled sausages, and the – (WAIT! Did I say “grilled sausages?” What about cheese-steaks? So he toiled, so he slaved over a hot grill, so a provided a bounty of carbonated beverages worthy of it’s own drive-thru, I shoulda brought my own cheesesteak!)
Nah. That wasn’t it. The food was great. And one more cheesesteak glutting my gullet wouldn’t have straightened out Donovan McNabb’s errant arm. And the people around me weren’t the problem. Colin is not an “Iggles fan” per se, but he was there to support in all facets of the game-watching enterprise. Plus, Jae and Kylie were there to help me keep me from bursting an artery in the event the Eagles, well, did what they did. And it wasn’t until my friend Blayne showed up (with his lovely little girl, Gainna) and started rooting for the Cardinals that the Eagles actually did anything – so I might even say that the Eagles lost because Blayne didn’t root hard enough for the Cardinals. (You see what kind of psychological seven-level cats-in-the-cradle we Philly fans go through?)
No, none of these things are to blame. So where do I point my foam-finger of failure?
For once, my argument is not with Andy Reid’s play-calling. It’s not even with McNabb and his aloof clock-management style. But at the risk of being castigated, I JUST NEVER UNDERSTOOD HOW THE IRREPROACHABLE JIM JOHNSON AND HIS EAGLE DEFENSE COULD TAKE ABSOLUTELY ZERO ACTIVE MEASURES TO ADDRESS LARRY FITZGERALD.
Aw-ficially, the aw-ficiating was awful.
“Now THAT’S Philadelphia for ya!” This paraphrasing of some of my Dad’s deathbed words (I heard him say during a dementia-induced moment of clarity) will surely echo more frequently than others. But Dad – now that you’ve gone to the 700-Level in the Sky – and undoubtedly in some greater control of things down here, how could you let this happen? How could you not pull a “Dadus Ex Machina” and redirect a couple of those 30 or 40 bad Donovan McNabb passes, or make one of the several targets of the same catch one – or one of the defensive backs catch one of those three or four missed interceptions, or heck, maybe make the Eagles defense try double covering THE ONLY pass weapon on Arizona’s roster in Larry Fitzgerald?
Were you still too euphoric over the Phillies World Series title to focus on the moment here? Or was it some beyond the grave sense of fairness: the Cards beat the Eagles in 1947, the Eagles beat the Cardinals in 1948, and now, here we are 61 years later, and you can only think, “It’s the Cardinals’ turn”? Sounds like you, but doesn’t sound like you. But now those words I hear: “That’s Philadelphia for ya!” Sounds like you, Dad. Sounds like the pain of a guy whose been through this bullshit before.
Did I jinx it?
I gave away my Mamula jersey years ago. Maybe I should have burned it (but I wouldn’t release chemical toxins, and the bad karma into the ether). After years of trial and error (mostly error), I approached this game with a unique support-strategy: I wore no Eagles gear – only a black John LeClair Flyers sweater. Figured that would fan the flame without getting singed. Maybe the only culpable parties were the ones actually wearing the Eagles uniforms. There are some things for which I’ll take credit – I’ll discuss those next. The ones who appeared unaware of the game’s 12pm start time, and who allowed the Cardinals (the Cardinals – you know, the guys the Eagles just beat 144-3 a month or so ago?) to take a 24-6 lead into the locker room.
Error of Inclusion?!
Maybe it’s that I didn’t watch the game in my own home on my own TV! Maybe it’s Colin Campbell’s fault!
Yeah, that’s it! He invites me over to watch the game on his Downtown-Hong-Kong-Sized plasma screen with the HD and the TiVo and the grilled sausages, and the – (WAIT! Did I say “grilled sausages?” What about cheese-steaks? So he toiled, so he slaved over a hot grill, so a provided a bounty of carbonated beverages worthy of it’s own drive-thru, I shoulda brought my own cheesesteak!)
Nah. That wasn’t it. The food was great. And one more cheesesteak glutting my gullet wouldn’t have straightened out Donovan McNabb’s errant arm. And the people around me weren’t the problem. Colin is not an “Iggles fan” per se, but he was there to support in all facets of the game-watching enterprise. Plus, Jae and Kylie were there to help me keep me from bursting an artery in the event the Eagles, well, did what they did. And it wasn’t until my friend Blayne showed up (with his lovely little girl, Gainna) and started rooting for the Cardinals that the Eagles actually did anything – so I might even say that the Eagles lost because Blayne didn’t root hard enough for the Cardinals. (You see what kind of psychological seven-level cats-in-the-cradle we Philly fans go through?)
No, none of these things are to blame. So where do I point my foam-finger of failure?
For once, my argument is not with Andy Reid’s play-calling. It’s not even with McNabb and his aloof clock-management style. But at the risk of being castigated, I JUST NEVER UNDERSTOOD HOW THE IRREPROACHABLE JIM JOHNSON AND HIS EAGLE DEFENSE COULD TAKE ABSOLUTELY ZERO ACTIVE MEASURES TO ADDRESS LARRY FITZGERALD.
Aw-ficially, the aw-ficiating was awful.
But on both sides of the ball. I was as angry at the kick-off called out of bounds (recovered by the Cardinals, but wrongly given to the Eagles) as I was in the fourth-and-ten missed pass interference that should have gone against the Cardinals in dragging down Kevin Curtis.
And in the same way that the play that has become the “tuck rule” play did not lose the 2002 AFC Divisional Playoff game for the Raiders (many don’t recall that the play only allowed the Patriots to retain possession, and kick a field goal to tie the game and force overtime, during which the Raiders did not score, but allowed another Adam Vinatieri FG to win it for the Pats. The Raiders also muffed downing their own punt at the goal line – mistaking the goal line for the five yard line, and allowing the ball to bounce into the end zone) so no one single play lost it for the Eagles. Rather, it was an entire first half of absentee-football, and a too-little-too-late second half full of missed opportunities (I read someone say regarding Kevin Curtis 4th-and-10 incompletion, “[David] Tyree makes that catch.” Well, he did once; if he’s so great, why were the Eagles in the NFC Championship Game and the Giants taking their mothers to see “Wicked?” Now, you’ll excuse me while I continue talking about a football team that actually played on this day. Actually, I’ll let Dad say it.) “Hey. The Iggles should never have had 4th and 10!” But they were, and they failed to convert, and failed to win the NFC Championship game for the fourth time in five appearances since 1991. And that, as has been said, “is Philadelphia for ya.”
Definition of Igg-sanity.
Today, I read that neither Reid nor McNabb will be among the changes the Eagles expect to make during the off-season. Jae, who knows less about football than Perez Hilton, has said for years, “The Eagles will never win the Super Bowl with Donovan McNabb.” If my four decades as a Philly fan have taught me anything, it’s that, as Lew Wasserman said, “Nobody knows anything.”
I do know this though: Tre Thomas, Jon Runyan, Correll (the General) Buckhalter, and L.J. Smith are among the Eagles’ free agents, and I believe “L.J.” stands for “long journey.”
CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN!
As I watched the most important game of my football year, I knew that only a few channels away were much more important events: early celebrations marking the inauguration of Barak Obama as the 44th President of the United States.
The Eagles have gone since 1960 since winning an NFL title. Black Americans have waited a little longer for this day. Make that ALL AMERICANS. I have hope for next year with my Eagles. But as I watched Kylie and Gianna run around the room full of life and possibility, have such a greater sense of hope for them, for our great nation, and the world.
And in the same way that the play that has become the “tuck rule” play did not lose the 2002 AFC Divisional Playoff game for the Raiders (many don’t recall that the play only allowed the Patriots to retain possession, and kick a field goal to tie the game and force overtime, during which the Raiders did not score, but allowed another Adam Vinatieri FG to win it for the Pats. The Raiders also muffed downing their own punt at the goal line – mistaking the goal line for the five yard line, and allowing the ball to bounce into the end zone) so no one single play lost it for the Eagles. Rather, it was an entire first half of absentee-football, and a too-little-too-late second half full of missed opportunities (I read someone say regarding Kevin Curtis 4th-and-10 incompletion, “[David] Tyree makes that catch.” Well, he did once; if he’s so great, why were the Eagles in the NFC Championship Game and the Giants taking their mothers to see “Wicked?” Now, you’ll excuse me while I continue talking about a football team that actually played on this day. Actually, I’ll let Dad say it.) “Hey. The Iggles should never have had 4th and 10!” But they were, and they failed to convert, and failed to win the NFC Championship game for the fourth time in five appearances since 1991. And that, as has been said, “is Philadelphia for ya.”
Definition of Igg-sanity.
Today, I read that neither Reid nor McNabb will be among the changes the Eagles expect to make during the off-season. Jae, who knows less about football than Perez Hilton, has said for years, “The Eagles will never win the Super Bowl with Donovan McNabb.” If my four decades as a Philly fan have taught me anything, it’s that, as Lew Wasserman said, “Nobody knows anything.”
I do know this though: Tre Thomas, Jon Runyan, Correll (the General) Buckhalter, and L.J. Smith are among the Eagles’ free agents, and I believe “L.J.” stands for “long journey.”
CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN!
As I watched the most important game of my football year, I knew that only a few channels away were much more important events: early celebrations marking the inauguration of Barak Obama as the 44th President of the United States.
The Eagles have gone since 1960 since winning an NFL title. Black Americans have waited a little longer for this day. Make that ALL AMERICANS. I have hope for next year with my Eagles. But as I watched Kylie and Gianna run around the room full of life and possibility, have such a greater sense of hope for them, for our great nation, and the world.
Things I will take (at least partial) credit for:
Thing 1: Growing up, I had never heard the Eagles called the "Iggles" anywhere around the Philadelphia area (I grew up in Delaware, and that's the way a lot of people said it there). After moving to Los Angeles, I did a bit in a commercial for the NFL (I think it was in 1995) in which I and others, gave brief testimonials about our "favorite NFL memories." One guy talked about how his father would say to him, "Hey, ya wanna go see Joe Namath?" and some girl said that she had always thought someone from Kansas City was hot (personally, I cannot recall who she was referring to, and frankly, I'm hard-pressed to think of any member of the Kansas City Chiefs who could lay claim to the title of "hottie" during the 1970s or '80s. Sorry, Lenny Dawson.) During my audition, I talked about Philly favorite "The Voice of God," John Facenda, and re-enacted radio great Merrill Reese's call of the "Miracle in the Meadowlands" ("I don't believe it! I don't believe it!") and they said they loved it and wanted me to do it again for the spot. So shoot day, I show up at some mansion in Pasadena; picturesque place. They dress us all in cool NFL clothing (that we got to keep -- so I took home a gorgeous kelly green jacket with "Eagles" written across the back and the Eagles' double winged eagle flying with a football logo on the arms. The following year, the Eagles would drastically change their colors, font and logo, leaving my coat a but a sartorial anachronism, not unlike Adolph Hitler's T.O. jersey, for those who have seen the brilliant You-Tube piece.) Time comes for me to do my bit, and I get into it, talking about my "Iggles," and then ad libbing, "In Philly, we don't say 'EEE-guls,' it's 'IGG-uls." When I saw the final spot, that was the only part of my two minutes that they used. But the spot ran on Monday Night Football and on Sundays for the better part of that season. It was cool. And it was only after that commercial ran that I ever heard Al Michaels or John Madden or anyone in sports media refer to the Philadelphia Eagles as the "Iggles." I'm not taking credit for it, but that's my story about that. At least that's how it appears (I would say if I were completely self-indulgent and corn-ballish) "in the Cox Section."
Thing 2: I was back in Delaware for the holidays a few weeks back when the Iggles were playing the Cowboys (and going on to crush them 44-6; God, that was a great game!) I was sitting in the home of my old friend, Rob Powell, eating a cheesesteak (as I likely should have been doing this weekend!) and when Eagle back-up running back Correll Buckhalter came on screen, I said to Rob, "I can't believe Chris Berman never calls him 'The General' and says 'Klink, you ee-dee-ot!'" Rob chuckled. Chortled. Snickered? Next day Rob called. "Dude, I've got to hand it to you, you called it! I was just watching ESPN, and Chris Berman just came on and during a highlight of Buckhalter, Berman called him 'the General' and then said 'Klink, you ee-dee-ot!'" Weird. Can't take credit for it though. I don't really talk to Berman much. Okay, at all. But it felt good to be of a like mind with the likes of him, especially in front of my old friend, Rob. And it's nice to know that as fast as the fastest three minutes in television can be, The Cox Section was a full 24-hours faster!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Angry Old American
Today, I turn 45. Clearly on the back 9. Thoughts from today:
Driving home from the dog park, L.A. radio station "Indie 103" announced it is going off the air, and will begin "broadcasting" over the Internet exclusively because the station didn't want to "play the corporate radio game." The station went off the air with "Anarchy in the U.K.," an apropos, if not archaic anthem. The announcement claimed it didn't want to play "Brittney or Puffy -- music that was neither new nor cutting edge." I'll agree, "Anarchy in the U.K." was, at one time, both, but today is as "neither" as the other music the station condemns. But as an old guy, still, give me the Pistols. They still kick the ass of anything coming out today. On the one hand, I see Indie's passing as a milestone that marks the path into my long goodnight; on the other hand, I am refreshed to feel the same teen-angst anger-at-the-man-for-killing-all-that-is-true-and-beautiful that I felt during late adolescence.
At the dog park, I met a beautiful, young Polish woman named Magdalena, with her four-month-old husky puppy, Leia. At some point the conversation turned to "Poles and other Europeans' view of Americans, particularly over the past eight years, and how this may have changed with the election of Barak Obama." She said that people in her country love America, but hate Bush. I offered that Americans who live closer to the coasts encounter people of other cultures more frequently and travel abroad more often, while Americans in the interior of the country don't. That, I suggested, means that more people on the coasts accept the good that other cultures have to share, and through travel may learn that, but for the luck of the stars, they could have been born anywhere else in the world, such as Somalia or Afghanistan. Too many American, I said, feel entitled to the greatness of America and immune to fault, not because they do anything to keep this country great, but just because they believe it is providentially so. And if the people of Poland or any other country think that this is a great country, it's because we were lucky enough to have a collection of geniuses found the place and establish the Constitution that governs it, and great enough to live up to the vision it set forth. It's because of the U.S. Constitution that we have a great country -- and to the extent we truly uphold and defend it, we are great; to the extent we ignore it, or brutalize it, we fail. These guys, I said, have trampled it. Have treated it like dirt. They've used it to support their lies and ignored it when it stood in their way.
"Not to get all philosophical here in the dog park, but here you have this group, this Republican Party, that has aligned itself with religious zealots who claim to have all this faith in a being that they cannot see, yet they feel that they cannot extend that same faith to their fellow human being," I said. (In God they trust, but if YOU step out of line, brother, off to Gitmo you go! That may be a slight exaggeration, but it does reflect the ideology.) She seemed intrigued by that comment; clearly she hadn't heard anyone say that before, neither have I, but it does seem accurate. We talked more about Polish food (my grandmother was Polish) and motocross (that's how she and her husband met, in Milan; they were both involved in the motocross industry). Then we had to go. Workmen were putting down new white lines along the road that passes by the dog-park, and we had to move our cars.
Later, my mind came back to our conversation, and I thought: that's the thing about this new administration, the Obama administration, historically sweeping into office next Tuesday. It offers us hope that America will once again strive to live up to its original vision. It will embrace faith in whatever God you imagine, but mostly in our capacity to live God-like lives. And charity. What about charity? Once again, may we offer charity to those who require it, in the U.S., in the countries upon the backs of which multinational corporations grow in might, and to the planet herself; her whimper having grown under Bush into a desperate scream.
I did not say this, but I'll say it now that my advanced age permits me the liberty of waxing wise: Let us fly the Gadsden flag with its "Don't Tread on Me" slogan on the lips of every brave American. But in our hearts, let us carry the call of the truly great: not for how I may beat you, but how I may bear you."
Third thought: Kylie is truly an awesome little being. She is kind and generous, and cute as all heck. And her mother is as captivating as she is. Jae is a marvelous mom, and if I ever figure out how she puts up with me, I'll have to start a whole new blog just to sell the system!
Final thought: Today is the three year anniversary of my father's funeral. I'll add more to this tonight. For now: G'night, Dad. Go, Iggles!
Monday, January 12, 2009
Today's Proof That I Am Old
After showering this morning, I felt an itch on my back. Couldn't quite reach it; it was just in that spot that you have a hard time reaching, just at the bottom of my right wing-stub. But now that I'm old, that's no problem! My skin is loose and malleable. It's like wearing a suit made out of "Silly Putty." "Silly Skin!" I was able to just grab a handful of flesh right at my shoulder and give it a good yank -- and VOILA!, the itchy spot came up and over my shoulder, and I scratched that itch no sweat. Loose skin, tight muscles; these are the hallmarks of one's 40's. Next blog entry: the time I actually pulled a hamstring in the shower -- a story that sounds like it should be so much more interesting than it unfortunately is.(Me: file photo)
Monday, November 3, 2008
That's Philadelphia For Ya Phightin' Phils Phinish Phirst!
For the first time in 100 seasons, a professional sports team from the City of Brotherly Losers has been crowned a champion. On Wednesday, October 29, 2008, the Fightin' Phillies, who hadn't won the World Series since 1980, beat the Tampa Bay Rays to the relieph of millions of phrustrated phans.
(Okay, I already feel the "ph" thing has gone too ph^%*ing phar. Enuph!)
The Rays' 2008 campaign had been a sudden beam of sunshine that burst through ten years of stormy seasons, but came to a soggy end in a game that had been suspended the night before due to a horrendous downpour -- an omen that we Philly fans have learned to interpret two ways.
Was it the spiritual cleansing of 100 losing seasons (and 10,000 Ls); the gods' great catharsis before this long-awaited rebirth?
Or, as many liphers worried (okay, that's the last one. Promise. It's just that for many, being born into this world with some form of "P" on one's head can sometimes feel feels like a life-sentence.)
on the city's miserable sports record - or crying out tears of joy at the prospect that this team, any team that made its home on Broad Street, might possibly wind up a winner? Either way, this was rain so dense that no Ray could penetrate its purposeful hammering -- except, of course, for Carlos Pena driving in BJ Upton in the sixth inning of game five, leaving the Phillies faithful (yeah, that whole "ph" thing went on way to ph#%*ing long) feeling a little under the win-column weather, as the lead, and perhaps the momentum slid through their soaked fingertips.
It's happened before, to the Red Sox, the Cubs, and others who got within pitches of Series championships only to be disappointed. Why not the Phils? They seemed born to play that role. Indeed, it was in the year of my birth, 1964, that the Phillies blew a six and a half game lead with ten games to go, throwing a perfect gutter ball to and the year.
Let me offer a little testimony.
I grew up watching the Phils, Sixers, Eagles and Flyers of the 70's, who, if not for them, I might have "traded up" to being a Baltimore fan, with their equally feckless Bullets and Colts (this was long after the Unitas era), and only kept rooting for them because I was the biggest fan of their biggest fan, my dad.
He cussed and swore at a great lineage of RCAs while I was under his tutelage.
Three years ago, next month, I was in his hospital room, while Dad fought his ultimate fight, against cancer. One of the side effects of his drug treatment was, unfortunately, dementia. Dad would convulse and gesture through the night, and occasionally blurt out something mostly unintelligible. Then, I guess it was about three a.m., he raised up a bit from his reclined position and threw out his hands in a gesture of apparent disgust, and he just said, "That's Philadelphia for ya!"
It would be just like his Phils to wait until he had his own seat above the 700-level to give him something worth watching.
I'm sure he saw it all. And I'm sure that rain was no less than tears of joy pouring out from him, and countless other Phillies fans like him who couldn't seem to stay on earth long enough to witness a World Series Championship.
I'm glad he saw it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
