Thursday, May 24, 2012

Thursday Scramble!

Thursday Scramble! is when I take one post from one blog and put it on all my blogs.  This appeared first on Publicus Proventus, where I talk about politics and the Federalist Papers and why Citizens United wasn't such a bad thing, and the like:

Recall Walker! And meet the supporters who want him to increase taxes to fund billionaires' hobbies.

Pictured: Scott Walker Campaign HQ

I said yesterday I'd do anything I legally could do to try to Recall Scott ("Patsy") Walker, and I'm going to do my part.

So first, Jenni Dye, who most people know as @legaleagle, is asking people to make at least 10 phone calls from the online phone banks, reminding people to Vote for Barrett in the recall election. Find her post here, with links to the phone banks.

Second, as I did for autism research, we can speak directly to people who follow Gov. Patsy online; his ScottKWalker twitter feed has some 18,000 followers; tweeting to them about problems Gov. Patsy has may help the effort, too.  Education never hurts, and it's possible to educate people even at this late date.

Third, I'm going to post what I can to help that education, like today's post on Walker's meeting (?) with Joe Ricketts.  The Ed Show site reports, via John Nichols of The Nation and The Capitol Times, that Joe Ricketts gave $100,000 to Walker after a personal meeting with him.

I'm not in favor of campaign finance limits; I don't care if Ricketts gave $100,000,000 or more.  I'm in favor of information, though, about who's giving what, so here's some information about Ricketts, who wants Gov. Patsy to stay in power.

Ricketts made his money as the founder and CEO of Ameritrade, an online discount brokerage.  He also sold Bison meat and produced films, and eventually bought the Chicago Cubs.  Ricketts retired from Ameritrade in 2011 to be a "philanthropist," and the two highest-profile moves he's made in that regard so far were funding a Nebraska candidate in a Republican primary and a recently-announced campaign to spend millions to try to link Obama to Jeremiah Wright.  Ricketts had to distance himself from that latter campaign almost immediately. It's not clear whether the plan will still be tried.  It was commissioned by Rickett's group but apparently rejected.

Rickett also wants government money to pay 1/2 the cost -- or $150,000,000 -- for a new stadium for his Chicago Cubs, and part of his proposal for that payment is that the "amusement tax" he would increase would be shared, in perpetuity, with Rickett.

That is: A billionaire who owns a sports team and has money to spend on hateful campaigns wants a cut of government tax revenue.

I wonder what Gov. Patsy thinks about increasing taxes and giving some of the swag to billionaires? Has anyone asked him?

I wonder, too, what Rickett would do with the extra money he siphons off from increased government taxes to fund his hobbies? Probably not pay the Cubs' debts -- he's been noted by Major League Baseball to be in violation of league rules regarding debts, and that's true even though the Cubs had the highest average ticket price in baseball in 2010.  (Does Rickett, who is worth more than $1,000,000,000, enjoy soaking the middle class to fund his lifestyle? Only he knows!)

Sunday, May 20, 2012

I know exactly ONE story about Zeus. (Update on God!)

You know what they say: You can't spell Tebow without using J-E-S-U-S.

Wait, they say that, right? Someone must say that, otherwise Tim Tebow's lawyers wouldn't be filing a suit claiming that the use of Jesus' name on a Jets-style logo infringed on His Holy Copyrightness (a/k/a Tim Tebow.)

Here's the offending shirt and ad copy:

The shirt itself is green, or white, and while it makes no reference to Tebow himself, the ad copy surrounding it does rely on a lot on Tebow -- saying that now he's in New York, it's "Jets for Jesus" time, which, I'll note, is already a group on Facebook.

You know what group I look forward to seeing on Facebook?  "I Got Suckered into Buying Facebook Stock even though there's no real way to monetize that site and GM just pulled it's ads off it because nobody clicks ads on Facebook."


GM also, by the way, announced it won't run an ad in the 2013 Super Bowl broadcast, calling the ads "too expensive."

What do all these things have in common?  Let's do the math:

Obama was elected president +

The federal government then took over GM +

GM now won't advertise on Facebook and the Super Bowl, which are the two biggest things in the world that everyone pays attention to even though nobody really likes them and they're usually boring unless they involve Eli Manning +

Jesus is forced to raise money by selling t-shirts +

Lawyers threaten to sue Jesus over that =


Godless communism is ruining America because we elected a Kenyan president.

Math never lies, people.  Even though it's all based on unproveable assumptions.  In other Tebow-related news, just like his idol/Trademark infringing Savior, Tebow brings a lot to the table when it comes to inspiring people via meals.  Jesus had his Last Supper, Tebow has his New York sandwiches, the munching of which shows his clear leadership abilities to teammate Darrelle Revis:

"Some people have it and some guys don't," Revis [told reporters] "I just think the passion, it's the passion within, of him wanting to be a leader, wanting to win. You see it all the time - eating lunch you see it. Walking down the hallway you see it."

What is it, exactly, that you see?   The ability to hurl thunderbolts and/or turn into a swan, apparently.  Added Revis:

“He’s like that cartoon character Zeus."
 Which means that if Revis is right, we can look forward this scenario:  The Jets, in about game 3, trailing the opposing team by 14, have the fans getting restless after Sanchez hurls another interception.  As he trots off the field, we'll see Rex Ryan bellowing

That's right.  Just like Jesus is every superhero, now Tim Tebow is every God. 

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

There's lots of people who don't get parades, now that I think of it. (I Dreamt Of Pole-Vaulting)

I Dreamt Of Pole Vaulting is a new idea I'm trying out here:  essays about my own personal experiences with sports, whether as a fan or participant.  We'll see if it lasts.  Don't get too attached -- like avocadoes and fate, I can be fickle.)
I have always wanted to be a pole-vaulter.


Well, okay, maybe not always.  There was a time when I didn't dream of pole-vaulting, at all, but that time was when I was very young and had other dreams, like the dream of becoming an oceanographer

Admittedly, I was not the coolest of little kids.

The dream of pole-vaulting first came to me sometime in the beginning stages of high school.  High school, and pole-vaulting for that matter, were not things that I was suited for.  As far as I can tell in my life, I am more or less perfectly suited to be a middle-aged man, in that the things I do either seem normal for a middle-aged man to do (reading The New Yorker, not even just for the cartoons, having a receding hair line) or are things about which I no longer care if society approves of (wearing blue Crocs in public, writing sentences like "about which I no longer care").  But I was not suited for high school, where sustained happiness can be hard to come by if you are not rich, good-looking, or both.  Of the two, rich is better:  You could be, in my high school, rich and not good-looking, and still be part of the popular crowd, while there were good-looking people (some, anyway) who were not part of the popular crowd because they could not keep up, clothing- and car-having-wise.

(There were only a few of the good-looking who were not also popular, because part of what makes you good-looking is being popular; once you are popular people judge others' looks by you, or so I assume, having never been popular.)

And once you were popular, everything was open to you:  girls, parties, girls, and I'm sure there were other things that people cared about in high school.

In actuality, everything really was open to you once you were popular, while nothing was open to you if you were not popular, and that includes sports, but not just sports.  Unlike many high schools*

*Note: I only attended one high school and have no information about other real high schools, because my own kids limited the amount of information they shared about their own high school experiences to three categories:  1: How much their teachers hated students, in general, 2: How much their teachers hated them in particular which was why they were getting such bad grades, and 3: a category I can only refer to as "I don't want to talk about it," which was their answer to every other question I asked, including questions like "Do you think your teacher would like you more if you turned in the homework when it was due, rather than long after?"  The point is, my information about high schools in general comes from watching John Hughes movies.  Picture Ally Sheedy liberally throughout this story.  She was kind of hot, back then.
my own high school did not break into cliques based on activities, so much.  Instead, activities were the province of the popular kids who got to choose what they would do and whether the unpopular or barely-noticed (I was more of the latter than the former) would get to take part at all.

So Student Council, which is only supposed to be a kind-of popularity based thing: reserved for popular kids like Dave Weber, who ran for student council president against me and who won and who then organized a boycott of the hot lunches.  Student newspaper: even though nominally run by the journalism class, which I took, was reserved for popular kids.  Unpopulars got to write things like "movie reviews," which never got published.

Even the plays and Swing Choir were reserved for the popular, something that makes me snicker when I watch Glee, which I never do anymore because honestly that musical gimmick gets old after a while.  I'm as fond of fake high schoolers singing covers of songs I never heard of as the next guy is, which is not very.  In our high school, the glee club was called swing choir and you could only get on it if you were already popular, as I found out the time I tried out for it by singing a version of Wake Me Up Before You Go Go (this was 1986, after all) and never got a call back.

"Trying standing still while you're singing it," the choir director told me, because apparently I had shifted my feet.  I didn't make the cut.  They must not have needed a fat guy with a lazy eye and a vocal range of three notes.  But I wouldn't have made it anyway even if I was a better singer, because we were not rich and I was not popular. (See, e.g., "lazy eye," and "fat.")(Also, I played Dungeons and Dragons.)

The really odd thing is that sports were reserved (mostly) for the popular at my high school, too, a weird twist on the traditional route to popularity -- get good at sports, movies and TV shows and books tell us -- and you can become popular, or at least accepted.  Or so I've gathered from my muddled memories of sports in pop culture.  Didn't that dirtbike-riding kid in The Bad News Bears become popular because he could play baseball?  Didn't people like Englebert after he could play baseball, too, in that same movie?  Didn't they make any other movies about kids playing sports besides The Bad News Bears?

All good questions that deserve investigation.

At our school, football and baseball and soccer and basketball were the province of the cool, and you tried out for them at your peril, literally:  I tried out for the baseball team and I was actually pretty good in the tryouts: my lazy eye made me terrible as a fielder but I was okay as a batter and the kid who was trying out for pitcher wasn't very good at all, so in batting practice on day one I was up to bat and got about 7 hits in a row, hitting them pretty well out to the outfield, too.

That should have at least gotten me a shout-out from the coach and maybe one or two potential teammates, because who doesn't want a good hitter on their team?  But the practice was really quiet as pitch number 8 came in and I hit that one, too.

Then pitch number 9 came straight at my head.  Straight. At. It.

I tried to duck away but not in time and got caught on the temple, just at the edge of the helmet, and it didn't do much other than really rattle me and make my head ache just a bit because it made the helmet hit my head hard.  So I stepped out of the box for a second, and the coach said "Get back in there!" and I had to step back in and before I even raised my bat the pitch number 10 hit me in the leg.

"Next batter!" the coach yelled.  I waited for him to tell me where to go stand in the field, to shag flies, but he didn't say anything.

"Where should I go?" I asked.

"Better shake off those pitches," he said.

The pitcher looked at me and shook his head.  I sat around until tryouts ended and didn't go back the next day.

I can't prove that it was all intentional and done because I wasn't cool but I can't not prove it, either, and that's more or less the same thing, right?

The exception to the coolness requirement in sports was track: you could get on the track team even if you weren't cool, because nobody much wanted to be on the track team and also the track team needed lots of people and so if you were on the track team you were not taking a spot away from a cool kid, you were just on the team.  I'm sure that if you were not cool and you were on the track team and you beat a cool kid, there might be repercussions, but I never found out what those were as there was no chance that I might beat a cool kid. 

That accessibility might have been part of why I wanted to be a pole vaulter, but only part.  I wanted to be an athlete in high school, for obvious reasons: athletes are cool.  Even for a kid like me, who read comic books and Doonesbury and listened to the Violent Femmes and wrote short stories and liked the book Childhood's End when we read it in high school and once got a 108 on his British Literature essay exam, getting 8 points' extra credit when he hadn't even done the homework, even for that kid, sports held the allure of society's adulation and accomplishment.  Already, by ninth grade I'd been inculcated with how much people love athletes and how little they care for oceanographers: I'd seen my Mom, who hates sports, watching the Super Bowl, and we'd been dragged to the Little League All Star Game the year my older brother played in it, under the lights on the big baseball diamond at Nixon Park in Hartland, and all the kids played T-ball, even me, and the T-ball and Little League teams marched in the 4th of July parade, and our middle-school gym teacher, Mr Fry, was rumored to have once gotten a tryout as a kicker for the Denver Broncos, a legend that I was never able to verify but which shows just how little athletic accomplishment is necessary to elevate you above the pack.  I look back now and think:  Tryout? I think:  Kicker?  I think: DENVER BRONCOS? and I wonder why that was even worth repeating but repeated it was, year after year, as kids passed on the all-important information.

Sports trophies are displayed front and center in high schools.  You drive into towns and the Welcome signs have the local accomplishments on them, and those local accomplishments are always "Girls Volleyball Champions, 1991", and they never put on there "Three State Senators and a guy who started his own veterinary supply business lived here, back in the day."  The other day, listening to a story about some kids who took place in Mock Federal Reserve competition, which apparently is a thing, I heard the winner talk about the trophy they got to take back to their high school.  It would be displayed in the economics room, she said, because nobody else would probably care.

Imagine if you saw a sign that said Welcome to Middleton, Wisconsin -- home of the 2012 Mock Federal Reserve Champions!  You'd probably turn around.  The only thing that's not athletic at all but which regularly gets attention in a sort-of-comparable way to athletics is the spelling bee, which ESPN televises, now, but ESPN will put anything on the air to give the Sportscenter hosts a break to try to think up more stupid synonyms for home run ("Ryan Braun of the Brewers hits his third humdinger of the week, giving him 14 gnocchi-makers on the season and putting him on a pace to beat Hank Aaron's record for lifetime Breakin'2 Electric Boogaloos").

Study hard and get good grades, we're told as kids.  Brush your teeth and eat your vegetables, we're reminded.  But nobody gets put in the 4th of July parade for having finished off their broccoli and Hartland Meats, my old T-ball team, didn't sponsor kids' flossing.  Sports is where it's at, and especially when I was a kid, you were expected to be in sports.

Which, again: lazy eye.  Fat.  Comic books.  See where the problem might lie?

Which leads me to pole vaulting, and specifically how it fits into my life of sports, or sports attempts.  To reiterate:  the track team was at least potentially accessible to me, as a high school student -- I could try out for track without worrying about sustaining brain damage, or having to run against Dave Weber, or even having to think about not moving while I sang a song. 

And I had three friends on the track team:  Fred, Bob, and Eric, all skinny guys who were able to run, and so run they did: sprints and longer runs, and I think even hurdles, and Fred and Bob and Eric bonded over their track events, taking the bus to track meets and talking about practice and, I don't know, being skinny, which was a big allure for me, too, and so I decided that I would try out for the track team.

And I hit on pole vaulting as my event.

To this day, I can't exactly describe why pole vaulting.  Here is what I think of when I think of pole vaulting:  I imagine me, in track shorts and a tank top and cool track shoes and wristbands and a headband, holding a pole.

That song from Chariots of Fire starts.  (I think it's called Chariots of Fire.)

I grimace.  I know what a grimace is because (a) I looked up once why the Grimace was called the Grimace and (b) I wanted to grimace in this imagining, but I wasn't sure what to call it.

After grimacing, I begin to run.  (That music is still playing.)

I run for a really long time, pole in hand, probably in slow motion.  This entire time, you are looking at me from the front, head-on, and I am determined.  Also, I look really cool in that headband, so shut up.

The pole plants, at a part where the music is dramatic. (I don't actually remember the song Chariots of Fire all that well and sometimes get it confused with Music Box Dancer.)

Then you see me from below, and I am soaring, rising up and over the pole, which in my imagination is something like 30 feet in the air.  I let go of the pole. (Music Box Dancer gets more dramatic, still, probably with a tympani).

I fall into the big mat, and people cheer.  Do people cheer pole vaulting? They do when a suddenly-skinny guy with lazy eye sets a world record and brings it, probably saving the town from an oil baron or something.

Then I get a date for the prom, too.

So I decided to try out for the track team.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

I'm waiting for the commercial where a little kid dresses up as Jar Jar, and then stands around getting picked on. (Quotent Quotables.)

"But once you get drafted and shake hands with Darth Vader, your lives will diverge and you will be immersed fully in the identity of your new employers."

 -- Nate Jackson, former NFL player, in an "open letter" to then-future-draft-picks Robert Griffin III and Andrew Luck.

First of all, I hate open letters.  Open letters are among the worst literary devices, ranking right up there with opening a speech by saying "Webster's defines..." or combining anything with zombies and calling it a new work of fiction.  (I just had this idea:  Game Of Bones: It's "Game Of Thrones," only with zombies!)

But second of all, I heard this quote when Nate Jackson, whom I've never heard of*

*I'm 99% sure that I'm using whom correctly in that sentence, the rule being "use whom when you'd use him".  Since I'd say I never heard of him, it seems correct to say Whom I'd never heard of. The things you learn on podcasts!

was interviewed on NPR and read portions of the letter, and I really missed the point of the rest of the story or letter or whatever, because all I could think of was "Who is the Darth Vader of the NFL?"

I've never watched the draft, never, because I think if you watch the NFL draft you deserve to have some of your lifespan taken away like in those futuristic sci-fi books and movies (maybe like "Slipstream," by Michael Offutt?) and given to someone who deserves it.  That's my newest thing, ranking things that you definitely should not ever do, like "watching the draft."  If you feel that you've got enough time in your life to sit and watch the draft live, then perhaps someone else should get to use the time you're sucking up.

Time being a finite commodity, after all.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah: The Darth Vader of the NFL?  Who is that?  From what I can gather having seen news stories about the draft and clips of people getting drafted, you shake hands with Roger Goodell.  Is Goodell Darth Vader?  Lord knows I'm not a fan of the guy -- a half-season or less suspension for players who deliberately tried to hurt someone else for money?  -- but I wouldn't say he's Darth Vader.  I wouldn't even make him Darth Maul.  Or Grand Moff Tarkin.  And is the NFL even the Empire?    I'd say no.  The NFL would be more like Jabba The Hutt's organization.  Didn't they sponsor those pod races where people were always getting hurt and Muppets cackled evilly?

Bad metaphors and misguided Star Wars references are just more reasons why "open letters" from people you never heard of are stupid.

I believe the whole point of the letter is to emphasize that Luck and RGIII just lost their souls and that they can get it back only by focusing on football, to the exclusion of all else. After talking about how rich they'll be and the McMansions they'll live in (Jackson apparently watched Playmakers when it was on), he says:

With all of this pushing against you, the role of friends and family becomes very important. There are people in this world to whom you're just Andrew and Robert. Son, brother, lover, friend. You need to lean on these people when the Weirdos start to make sense. You need to run to the familiarity of genuine friendship. But even in this, there will be a loneliness, because, as a defense mechanism, you will have assumed a piece of your new identity, and your loved ones won’t understand it. Caught in between these two worlds you'll drift. You'll feast on the fruits of excess, and will only grow hungrier. You'll dine with familiar faces, and find you've lost the taste. And so you'll get in your Mercedes on your days off and drive to the facility and watch film. Ah yes. Football. That’s what this is all about. 

Then finishes up with:

And your ability to keep this all in perspective will determine how you perform on the field. Once the whistle blows on Sundays, you'll be released from captivity, and you'll be free for three hours to truly live your dreams on the grandest scale you can imagine, against the best athletes on the planet. You will win or you will lose, but then the football game will end. The NFL game never will. Godspeed, boys.

That is to say:  your ability to handle your new life will determine how well you play, and your ability to handle your new life depends entirely on how much you focus solely on football to the exclusion of everything else in your new life including friends and family.  It's football football football, boys, and then one day: BAM! Football's over.  Good luck!

In closing: The NFL Game will never end? I bet in 10 years the NFL won't be a big deal anymore, sooner if the league actually lets someone die on the field.  You can't have athletes shooting themselves in the chest because you valued your contract with a helmet supplier over the lives of your athletes and go on as a league.

Maybe that Darth Vader comparison was more apt than I thought?

Monday, May 14, 2012

It doesn't have to Armor ALL to keep me happy -- just Armoring one car is my goal.

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Armor All for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

I leave my car outside all the time.  Not by choice – our garage has space for two cars, but I’m not very good at cleaning up the half that I’m supposed to use for my car.

So my car sits outside, which is fine, as I’m not that big on stuff like “how my car looks” or “what people think of me” or “knowing how to make a blueberry pie because what’s the point when you can buy one at a bakery for like $5?”

(That last one is my Motto of the Week.)

But I am big on making sure my car lasts.  I don’t want to go buy a new car, so I decided, yesterday, that I need to start taking care of my car – which is why I was interested to learn about Armor All having a new Extreme Shield Wax that’s easy to use and helps protect your car.

If you’re like me, you haven’t waxed a car since 1988 when you took the Datsun you bought for $200 out into the driveway and waxed it, painstakingly, rubbing the wax on, letting it sit, then wiping it off.  That was hard to do and took a long time.  So I wasn’t crazy about the idea of waxing my car (and also, the Datsun didn’t look any better back then, so what was the point?)

But the new Armor All lets you just wipe it on and wipe it off, and it protects the car by repelling dirt and grim away, letting my car look better even though it sits outside in rain and sleet and all the other junk Wisconsin calls “weather” the 9 months of the year that this state is uninhabitable.

I was sold, and you should be, too – especially if you’ve got a car that already took a beating. See, Armor All is having a contest to give away a 2012 Camaro, and all you’ve got to do is send them a picture of your car.  It doesn’t have to be a junker or have taken a beating (although that might help?) – you just send them a picture through their Facebook page:

Then like Armor All on Facebook and you’re entered. 

I’ve done it – so you should, too, and then get out and protect your car. Or, if you’ve already protected yours, come over and help me with mine.  Armor All’s easy and all, but that doesn’t mean I want to take time away from my busy schedule of not cleaning my garage.ArmorAllnonsampleBlogCopy.doc

Visit Sponsor's Site

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

People who read "The New Yorker" also kind of know what sports are.

They learn about them at boarding school so they have something to talk about with the nanny's boyfriend, I assume.  (I don't know why I've got such a negative opinion about people who read The New Yorker.  After all, I read The New Yorker, but that's primarily for two reasons:

1.  Malcolm Gladwell writes for The New Yorker, but not often enough, and

2.  Angry Mommy articles sometimes appear in The New Yorker, but not often enough.)

(Also, I only began reading The New Yorker because it was the only magazine around one night while I waited in the ER for Sweetie to get done having her kidney stone.)

Anyhow, here's what The New Yorker readers think about sports this week:

Golf is funny:

 Although I'm not quite sure I get that one.  Is the caddy saying the guy doesn't have to think about it so much?  Is the joke in that the caddy used a decidely lowbrow, teenage monosyllable when golf is so hoity-toity?  Why is the caddy standing so close, anyway? 

Let's move on to:

Wrestling is for dumb people!

I assume that's what they're saying.  I don't know.  Again, I think the joke is lost on me.  If only I was an actual New Yorker it might make sense.  Is that Mixed Martial Tic-Tac-Toe?  I think it is. About which initially I thought "I would watch that" but then I remembered that Mixed Martial Arts is still Mixed Martial Arts, whether or not Tic Tac Toe is involved, and I'm opposed to Hobo Crotch Kicking being considered a "sport."

I think it's meant to be more pro wrestling, though.  So maybe the commentary is that both pro wrestling, and Tic Tac Toe are fake?

Being sophisticated is hard.

Friday, May 4, 2012

It's a THREEFER! Star Wars, sports, and politics, all together at once. (If only there was some sexy way to refer to such a thing...)

One show, one clip, relevant to three of my blogs in one day.  I love/am insanely jealous of Stephen Colbert.  But I'm also indebted to him, because he did this:

I don't like to just post stuff without having something to say about it; I don't just spit back pop culture at you for no reason and call it a day.  I also try to sell you products and get paid through the advertising...  I mean, I try to comment intelligently on the subject of the post.

So here are some comments:

1.  (Politics) Why are Republican women so stereotypically ditzy?  I used to be a Republican, and I know some women who are extremely conservative and yet are smart.  Despite that, whenever you see a Republican woman in public -- Michelle Bachmann, Wisconsin's for-now-Lieutenant Governor Rebecca Kleefisch, "Dee Dee" the Republican commentator in that clip -- she appears to be a Barbie doll, only slightly dumber/more lobotomized.

I think it's indicative of the attitudes of today's Republicans that they and FOX continue to put forth a slightly-less-sexualized June Cleaver as their ideal woman.  But why do women put up with that? As Jon Stewart has pointed out, that particularly stupid-seeming Gretchen woman on Fox has a degree from Stanford, but she insists on acting like an NFL Today weathergirl.  Are they that desperate to be on TV, that they'd hide their intelligence?

For the life of me, I will never understand anyone backing a group, party, or political movement that openly denigrates them and forces them to be something they're not really.  (Gay Republicans, I am also looking at you in that sentence.)

2.  Sports:  It's kind of sad that if Notre Dame-USC was ever a truly great rivalry (was it? I don't know) it no longer is.  Notre Dame hasn't mattered to football since... I'll say 1972, when they still played football in black and white (in my mind, that is.)  USC hasn't mattered to football since Pete Carroll decided he wanted to openly be able to pay players for their performance.

(USC's lack of mattering is indicative of the general weakness of the PAC-10 which is one of the reasons I think Andrew Luck may not actually be St. Peyton 2.0; everytime I say to someone what kind of competition did Luck face in college? Which good teams did he play? they look at me blankly and then mutter "Well he's really good," but what are you measuring that against?)

3.  Star Wars References:  Just to be clear: The Star Wars Reference category exists because Star Wars is the root of all Western culture and this clip shows that.  When he had to go to a film reference, Colbert immediately went for Star Wars; yes, there were other sci-fi shows mixed in, but the entire reference was built around Star Wars, because just as we all spring from DNA, or something, whatever, I'm not a scientist, culture all springs from Star Wars.

This is a joint post shared between Nonsportsmanlike Conduct!, The Best Of Everything, and Publicus Proventus.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Naked girls? Well, no, everything BUT them.

Friday, I'll be guest-posting on P.T. Dilloway's Tales Of The Scarlet Knight -- a real author asking me to write stuff! You'd think I'd have put some effort into it.  But if you thought that, you don't know me very well.

The post begins like this:

Everything In The World Except Naked Girls, or Something.

The other night, while listening to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly on ukulele,

Click here to go read the rest of this fascinating tale of ravioli, road trips, and interruptions!


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