The Terrorists Have Won

Special Correspondent Luke Scott checks in with a startling turn of events.

That's a line that people often say after something trivial to try and sound funny. Not here. Not today. Today, we're effed in the a.

Superman—Super-man—has renounced his United States citizenship. "Truth, Justice and the....Global Way?" Seriously, guys: This is a problem. It's bad enough we are shipping all our jobs internationally, now our superheros, too?

I blame Obama. Since day one, day one, he's been trying to form an international government. Which makes sense—the guy's not even born here. What better way to legitimize your illegal power than by making it irrelevant? Seriously. we've got guys here standing up and saying they stand for the American Dream, or the American People AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN FROM AMERICA! Hell, this guys not even from the hemisphere, he might as well be from Mars!

So, to keep his power, Obama's been trying to dissolve the United States of America and create the International Nations of the Universe or something. Well, congrats, buddy! You're killing America and Superman is just the beginning.

Actually, you know what? I bet you it's a conspiracy. I bet you that snake got some dirt on Supe and made him do it. Can't imagine what, though. Guy's an institution.  Whatever it is,  with Superman out of the way, he can now move forward with his plan to completely destroy the United States and all it stands for. And besides, does it really surprise you that a guy like Obama would blackmail Superman? Of course not. How do you think he got where he is?

First its the United States. Then it's the States themselves. Then we'll have a government with a bunch of Frenchies telling us where to buy our sodas.

The terrorists have won and they've been inside the house the whole movie!

...Thanks, Luke.

If You Wanna Find Hell With Me

Mother's Day is around the corner. Usually, I think this holiday is bullshit and annoying for a couple of reasons. One, my Mom's birthday is also in May (the day after mine—take that, God's Gift Achiuwa!) so you get jammed up with presents in a short period of time and two, it's bullshit.

This year is a little different for me, though. My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a double mastectomy last August. She's finished up chemo and is starting radiation soon and seems to be well on her way to the full recovery that every person I know predicted because they knew someone who "went through the same thing and it was a tough year but blah blah blah."

So I've been a bit pensive recently and it made me think of one of the most mortifying (at the time) and seriously awesome and hilarious (in hindsight) moments of my life.

Back in grammar school (elementary school, whatever), I was not the coolest dude on the planet. I was a wimpy little kid in new balances, high socks and even higher shorts. I tried my damnedest to be cool though. I started doing that thing where you rolled up your jeans and tucked them into your socks and everything. I didn't get the Jordan III's, but I had the Hare Jordan's. You get the picture.

Anyway, so I was smaller than a lot of people in school and not very confident so I got picked on. I wasn't really bothered by it other than that it was just a monumental pain in the ass. So, this one time I have my bootleg skateboard with straight up plastic wheels, side rails and tail guard and I was skating with my neighbor at school, even though he had a half pipe at his house. Guess we were cruising for chicks.

While we were there, my Bully showed up, also skating, and was really giving me a hard time. Unfortunately for him, however, my Mom was picking me up. Unawares to me, she must have seen the roughhousing or teasing or whatever (honestly I forget what actually happened because of the striking nature of what followed it).

So, having presumably seen the bullying, she walks up to us, rips my Bully's skateboard out of his hands and, I swear to fucking god, Bo Jackson'd it. She snapped that thing right over her knee like it was balsa wood. I was completely dumbstruck. So was everyone else. Jaws hit the pavement. I was so pissed off. In that moment, I saw all the "needs mommy to fight his battles for him, what a wussy" taunts that were sure to follow. And honestly, they probably did but I can't remember them. Because, holy shit, she owned that kid.

Looking back, it's one of the coolest things I can remember. Without saying a word she said "Fuck off, you insignificant shit. Nobody messes with my kid." It is legend in my family now and, who knows, maybe his, too.

It's unfortunate that there is no reciprocal move I can do for her now, but I guess that's what makes Moms great. They apparently don't need it. Happy (early) Mother's Day.

"Somewhere In this Building...Is Our Talent"

Ugh. I just spent the last hour writing an absolute piece of garbage about Mariano Rivera. I got about 80 percent finished, read a little of it and felt like I had just given him the best verbal blow job ever.

He's great and I'm going to miss him when he's gone. That's basically what I wanted to say. Except I found myself talking about mystical "feelings" and "[other shit]."

Lately I am hating everything I write. So, I haven't written much. I'm in a pretty major slump and pretty bored with almost everything. It's a bummer, too, because its Spring and everything is reawakening. Hopefully me, at some point.

I always forget about Spring in my list of Top Four Favorite Seasons, too. Fall gets all the glory because it's just an awesome time of  year all around in the Northeast. Sports, aesthetics—everything. But Spring is pretty sweet, too. There's a smell about it. Once all the rain clears and you get those crisp breezes. Kinda like Fall, but not as dry. It's one of those "something in the air" things, I guess.

...Jesus. Not that this is necessarily my talent, but some good posts have got to be in here somewhere. I hope.

Cinema Night

So, this past weekend SpikeTV was running a marathon of the Star Wars films. The originals, not the disgraceful pre-quels. I decided I'd invite my buddy Vinny* over to watch since he had never seen them before. It took a little while, but I think he got into them.

I was excited for Vinny to see the opening sequences because they are so iconic; the music really gets me jazzed to start watching.

OH! we gotta read fuckin' subtitles?!

Ok, misfired on the first one. But, I was sure he'd get into it. I mean it's Star Wars for crying out loud. Cowboys and Indians. In space. After I explain that there won't be any reading involved other than the first couple seconds,  we settle in for a good time.

Now, as you all know, the rebellion is...rebelling against the Empire, but they need help.

Oh!, She's gonna blow the garbage can guy?!
Obviously, I calmly explained to Vinny that Leia was not going to blow R2-D2, a droid, not a garbage can. Rather, she was providing him with data regarding the Empire's space station (Death Star would have been too much for him to handle at that point) and sending him on a mission to find...someone.

We later learn that R2 and C3PO (This fuckin' guy, what is he, the fuckin butlah?!) has been sent to find Obi-Wan Kenobi. Before finding Obi-Wan, of course, they find Luke Skywalker (Bro, I love this music, it's the Yankees' song!). Sigh. So, we hyperdrive past a few scenes and finally the decision has been made to help the Rebellion.

"Mos Eisley Spaceport. You will never find a
more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Snookies panties, right!? 
He almost broke my hand with his exuberant high-five.  Yet, I soldier on. As do our heroes. They meet Han Solo and Chewbacca (Looks like my fuckin Aunt, bro.) and begin their flight to Alderon. While on the flight, Obi Wan begins to teach young Luke the ways of The Force. Han, ever the skeptic, doesn't buy into all the hogwash and Luke gets a little salty at his failure to believe in The Force.

Fuck this guy! I got a brother on The Force and he's got to deal with all these fucking brothers all the time. 

 Oh! What'd I fuckin' tell ya?! These fuckin' guys! And, he's got the Red Sox music?! Fuck. This. Guy.
Vinny would calm down eventually after our heroes made their daring escape and eventually blow up the Death Star (That's some serious shit right there, bro.).

Little did he know, it was about to get real dark, real quick for our heroes. I'll see if I have the energy or desire to finish detailing the trilogy, but right here seems like a good place to stop for the time being.

(* h/t to Eddie Murphy and Stev D for inspiration)

Flies, Pop Flies and Statistics

That header makes no sense, but go with it.

I was chatting with my dad the other day about sports. He is relatively progressive in his thinking, given his generation, but every once in a while has his "wins are a good way to judge a pitcher's performance" moments. So we were talking about...probably the Bonds trial I guess, and this lead to a larger commentary on sports, specifically why no on cares about steroids in football but are on suicide alert when it comes to baseball.

His conclusion, and many others of course, was this: No one cares about statistics in football. No one knows who the all time receptions, TD's or sacks leaders is/are/were. Everyone, however, knew who the home run king was and what the number was.

(Assuming, for the sake of argument, that no one knows or cares about football stats) This presumption made me think: I had no idea who the home run king was. Like, none. I probably knew Hank Aaron's name, but that's about it. I remember when this all cropped up with the steroids and Bonds and everything else I had a huge "Huh!" moment when I first learned who it was. Even now, honestly, I couldn't tell you what the number is without looking it up.

Looking back, it's not really crazy for me to not have known, I guess. I grew up watching baseball in the eighties. My first memories of baseball involve Don Mattingly and the Yankees seemingly always playing the Kansas City Royals around my birthday. There was really no reason for Phil Rizzuto or Bobby Mercer to mention Hank Aaron or how many homeruns he hit and I wasn't going to the library and reading about baseball. I was too busy playing it poorly.

So, I think the "everyone knew it" reason is kind of bullshit. I think, shockingly, that Baseball is, as always, a victim of its own Ken Burns cottage industry, cultivated over the decades. People know who hold records because they are singular. There is, usually, only one person with the most home runs, touchdowns, goals etc. It's easy to know and remember. Maybe we know these numbers in a vacuum, but often, people put them in a context for us. Baseball, unlike any other sport has been mythologized and tortured into an allegory for America by the people who have covered it. The home run, the people who hit home runs, and the number of home runs hit are the Titans of the myths.

Once Barry Bonds, Sosa, McGuire, et al., pulled the curtain aside and revealed baseball's dark shriveled secret, those same myth makers freaked the fuck out. "Sullied the game!" "These stats meant something once!"

What is left unsaid is that it meant something once because "we gave it meaning. We constructed this Matrix for the sake of good copy and now you are trying to tear it apart."


So, three people who read this, feel free to call me an uneducated fan for not knowing Hank Aaron hit the most home runs in baseball before Barry Bonds. But who cares, wasn't he just a compiler anyway?