A loutish and insipic presentation of scurrilous incoherent ramblings and other dull tedious shite arranged in a convenient and affable chronological format.
“According to THIS book, someday you will publish a photo of us on the Internet.”
Sometimes I just get caught up in my own format. It becomes a trap from which I can barely escape. Hopefully, by recognizing that and bringing it to light, I can indeed effect an escape. Format. Perhaps I should explain, and as always, I will try not to allow the facts to get in the way of the truth.
I’ve been using a format for my blog that primarily involves a synergy and/or a resonance with current anime shows that I have been watching. As y’all should have guessed by now, I stay on top of all the new shows. And I use screencaps from those shows for various expositional or comedic effects, or both. Also, I will sometimes dredge up an older show and go off on that. Format. Yes. Now the concept of format actually comes from my old SF Fanzine publishing days back in the late 70’s and into the 80’s when I lived in Minneapolis and published a Hogu Award nominated fanzineINTERGALACTIC STARBARN and also published zines for the two local APAs (Amatuer Press Associations, for those among you who are mundane — hee!), MINNEAPA ((used various titles there, also published quite few zines ananomously there under the nom de plume of Mark Heifer)), and one for STIPPLE-APA, titled ZINE. I also published a zine, entitled MY ZINE TITLE for the Chicago fandom’s local APA, WINDYAPA….although my first zine published there was entitled The Johnny Callison Show which was written live from the Convention Suite of Minicon 17 on Saturday evening April 18, 1981, and then published in WINDYAPA #6.
Format. Typeface, Masthead, Colophon, Comments and the layout thereof. I would use a format for each of my apa-zines and try and stick to it consistently. It was a small little obsession that was, to varying degrees, shared with my fellow fans. It would prompt such comments, like my comment to Robin Beal in WINDYAPA 11 ((which btw features my cover drawing of myself and fellow Minneapolis fan, Mike Wood (the late Mike Wood, beloved by all in Minn-Stf and longtime editor of MINNEAPA) arriving in Chicago…Mike flying in in the guise of a wood-duck, and me sky-skiing over downtown Chicago being towed being a Northwest (Bozo)Orieinted Airlines DC-10)): “Well by golly, this format is a real wicked drug. [Hi Gretchen.] I like yours. real easy to read.”
The racing season has finally begun! I’ve been watching the Rolex 24 hours of Daytona and as I type this with about 2 hours and change to go, the #9 Action Express Porsche Riley team with Mike Rockenfeller currently at helm has the lead over Chip Gannasi’s #01 BMW Riley by about 1 minute 22 seconds with Justin Wilson guiding the sled. It’s setting up to being an exciting finish for the race, that for me, always kicks off the Racing Season. The NASCAR darlings are mired deep in the field for the most part. The #02 Gannasi car guided by Juan Pablo Montoya , Jaime McMurray, Dario Franchitti & Scott Dixon is out of the race…they blew an engine shortly after midnight on Juan Pablo’s watch. Jimmie Johnson the #99 GAISCO/Bob Stallings crew of Jimmy Vassar, Alex Gurney & John Fogarty are now 56 laps down essentially out of it. A.J. Allmedinger and the $6 Michael Shank Ford Riley crew of Brian Frisselle,
Mark Patterson, & Michael Valiante are only a lap down and still have a shot at it….Allmendinger is the hammer for the team will take the checkers.
On the GT side. Bobby Labonte’s #71 TRG Porsche GT3 crew somehow ran him out of gas and he actually had to be towed to the parking lot to get a splash of gas to get thim back to pit road. Very odd, yes? How could they let him run out of gas!? With Spencer Pumpelly at the wheel at the moment, they are currently 27 laps behind the current GT leader Nic Ham and the #70 Speedsource Mazda RX-8 team.
However, my enthusiasm is guarded and I’ll still not quite on board with the new NASCAR season just yet, even though Speedweeks is less than a week away. I haven’t resolved in my mind all the changes, both in terms of rules and team mergers. It think part of this also has to do with uncertainty over Matt Kenseth’s sponsorship for 2010. As soon as that gets resolved. I’ll most likely be all in.
But I did hear a rumour regarding some new Kenseth sponsorship last night….
The countdown clocks are ticking, ticking, inexorably ticking. Countdown to Daytona 500. Countdown to Rolex 24 Hours of Daytona. Countdown to F1 Practice in Bahrain. Countdown to the F2 Race at Silverstone. Time is running out and there is no hope left of stopping it. No hope of turning it back to the beauty and wonder that once filled its days and hours to the brim. No time to catch a breath of innocence and wonder, no time to hold it’s contemplative silence gently in one’s hands or heart. The clocks are ticking and they will not stop. There is no hope left.
A year ago, the ticking of the clocks was music to my ears. This time of the year was a-swirl with excitement and anticipation. Each tick of the countdown clock was bringing me closer to the excitement and exhilaration of a new season of racing. I couldn’t wait for the clocks to tick down to the respective zeroes and bask in the hallucenogenic roar of the engines as my favourite drivers and teams raced off into the on-rushing year with hope and determination with an almost psychedelic furor not to end until the final checkered flag is dropped at Homestead or Bahrain.
Now, in this terrible year of 2010, I’d like to stop all the clocks and chronometers. Not forever mind you. But for the moment. I’m not looking forward to anything or any of this and I’d like to stop the ticking ticking ticking for long enough to salvage some hope from what seems to be a hopeless world.
“And under the oppression of the silent fog
The tolling bell
Measures time not our time, rung by the unhurried
Ground swell, a time
Older than the time of chronometers, older
Than time counted by anxious worried women
Lying awake, calculating the future,
Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel
And piece together the past and the future,
Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception,
The future futureless, before the morning watch
When time stops and time is never ending;”
from “The Dry Salvages” by T.S. Eliot
Now don’t get me wrong. I want to feel this excitement again. I want to be looking forward to the new season of racing. But somehow, somewhy, I’m not. And I don’t know if it’s the racing and what it’s become, or me and what I’ve become, or both. But right now I want it all to stop so I can unweave, unwind, and unravel the mess that this has become.
Well, it’s hopeless I guess. The clocks are ticking. Daytona 500 is 21 days and change as I write this. Rolex 24 hours is 6 days and change. Bahrain is 46 days and change. Sao Paulo tees off on March 14th but IRL thankfully has no countdown clock. So you might as well join me. I have no choice in the matter. The clocks are ticking. So come along for the ride.
In keeping with the current theme and mood and mode of hopelessness and despair, it pains me greatly to report a VERY disturbing new development in the world of NASCAR, specifically in the Camping World Truck series. This is a development so shocking to me that I can barely find the right words to wrap around it…I would much rather poke at it with a stick from a great distance. This development is beyond the pale and so exemplary of what is wrong with this terrible new decade…and it is being rolled out in a manner that is mind-numbingly at odds with anything involving class, style, taste and dignity. And yes, I know that NASCAR is not the standard-bearer for anything involving class, style, dignity, taste, culture…etc…but even by NASCAR’s admittedly low-brow standards, this really plumbs depths that I never even knew existed.
As I begin to write this, there are 35 days and change to the start of the Daytona 500. Normally, I would be excited right now, anxious with the anticipation of a new season. I’d be a fountainhead of analysis regarding all the Silly Season changes and moves, directing poignant commentary like it were some NASCAR symphony orchestra. And I’d especially be all over the on-going Danica Patrick Saves NASCAR story, along with the on-going Jeremy Mayfield saga like a cheap polyester suit on an hot humid day.
But I’m missing the spark, I not feeling much of anything right now. Now admittedly, this has more to do with me and the great and terrible world we live in, than it has to do with NASCAR. But it disturbs me greatly when something I am passionate about, flickers like a little flame and then goes out. Imagine if you will when on Sunday, February 14th 2010, the Grand Marshall of the Daytona 500 steps up to the mike and utters those famous words, “Gentlemen, START YOU ENGINES!!!” Imagine instead of the nuclear roar of the engines, imagine instead a dead and utter silence, and silence so bitter, so penetrating, so piercing and numbing, that bit by bit and person by person, the world around you begins to deconstruct and you are left alone at the starting line, in ghostly echoes of the empty speedway, under a bright and terrible sky.
Yes, I know it’s the Holidays. Christmas, New Years and all that and I hope it’s happy. Also, it’s not only the end of the year, but also the end of the Decade. But if you’re expecting anything Holiday or Fin de Year/Decade related, or a sad parade of Top 10 Lists, well, best prepare yourself to be disappointed. Or at least, dispense with those expectations entirely and then you won’t be disappointed at all, and might, when all is said and done be somewhat pleasently surprised, albeit vaguely.
While having a beer at the Grumpy Troll this afternoon, I got to wondering about when, exactly men’s basketball shorts stopped being short. There had to be a moment, or a descending series of moments when that occurred. What got me thinking about that was that I was watching the replay of last night’s Wisconsin vs. UW-Milwaukee basketball game, and UW-Milwaukee has this big galoot trudging around out there, 6′7″ 310 pound (yes, you read that right) James Eayrs, who looks more like one of those Eastern Europeans sumo-wrestlers. Anyway, those basketball shorts on him looked especially ridiculous….you could’ve used them to wrap up a Minneapolis-Moline Tractor as a Christmas present. If fact, he looked like a Minnneapolis-Moline tractor. So it made me wonder…when did this goofy trend start.
Doing a little digging, I re-discovered my memories of University of Michigan Fab 5 from the 1991-92 season. The Fab 5: Juwan Howard, Jalen Rose, Chris Webber, Jimmy King and Ray Jackson bagn the 1991-92 season as freshman finished the season by winning the NCAA Championship. They popularized and propelled the trend towards baggier and longer basketball shorts. When they first hit the courts in their long baggy shorts, and black shoes and socks…they were like nothing anyone had ever seen…and they played like nothing anyone had ever seen. Long and baggy became cool and pretty soon College and then NBA player began adopting the new look. BUT…
The look didn’t start with the Fab 5 however. While I haven’t pinned this down to the exact moment…the actual origin of the look began with the Arkansas Razorbacks basketball team during the 1990-91 season. Back then, the Razorbacks were not nationally televised and though a pretty good team that made it to the Elite 8 that season under head coach Nolan Richardson, they weren’t poised on the brink, so to speak. They didn’t have the flair and the style that Michigan had the following year.
Early in the 1991 season, Michigan assistant coach Brian Dutcher noticed his players pulling their shorts down to their hips and wearing their jerseys untucked. Remembering seeing the Arkansas team wearing longer shorts the previous season, he ordered shorts for the Fab 5 to wear that were about 2 to 4 inches longer than average. Juwan Howard liked them, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Well…it really IS the end of the Noughties…and as much as it galls me to spit those words off my tongue, I guess there is no avoiding the reality of it. And a dreadful decade it was from a cultural, political, economic, social, emotional, ethical standpoint. If not for sports, the Noughts would have been even more a total miserable hell than it already was.
Sports survived it all. Even the Milwaukee Brewers were able to rise above by the end of the decade.
Ladies and Gentlemen, start your engines. Danicamania is here at last!! Yes, Evil Ones, Danica Patrick is finally here to save NASCAR. It’s real. It’s happening. It’s happening in the happening world. Scanalyze that name!! Christ, what an imagination I have!! There’s the obligatory GoDaddy.com video. Ditto!! She will be racing a part-time schedule in 2010 driving the #7 GoDaddy.com Chevrolet for JR Motorsports. Snappy!! Her first official stock car race will be the ARCA race at Daytona on Feb 6, 2010. Fabulous!! A smart move all the way around. A boost for NASCAR. Fuck that limp dick Drive For Diversity bullshit! It’s DANICAMANIA, Baby!! I can’t hardly wait!!
But I got to thinking about that news conference where they made the announcement with GoDaddy CEO Bob Parsons and Kelly Earnhardt from JR Motorsports. If you go watch that video again, it seemed rather forced, strained, and far less entertaining that what you’d expect from an over-the-top company like GoDaddy.com….not that I was expecting to see Danica Patrick and Kerry Earnhardt mud-wrestle naked and take a shower together mind you. But it seemed almost amatuerish, unexpectedly so. Like something a couple of interns threw together at the last minute. And I think one of the interns forgot to make the applause sign….I mean, how hard is THAT….what does it take…a big red magic marker and a chunk of poster board? After all, Bob Parsons has a video blog wtf!! Hmmmm…..I wonder what’s missing from this picture. Remind me to keep an eye on the emotional dynamics underlying this as the weeks and days roll merrily along.
What they REALLY should have done is had a press conference done up like an episode of Queen For A Day. With Bob Parsons as Jack Bailey, and Kelly Earnhardt as fashion commentator. And if they could have gotten Junior himself up to wearing those goofy glasses nerdy announcer Gene Baker wore…it would have been perfect!!
Bob Parsons: “Would YOU like to be Queen for a day?”
Danica Patrick: “Oh yes, Bob. I really REALLY would!”
Bob: “So…what would you like if you’re elected our Queen?”
Danica: “I want to win the Daytona 500 and the Sprint Cup Championship and the Indy 500 and the IRL Championship. And that…that meanie, Dan Wheldon is….such a BEANDOG!! “
((Pssst! Cue that Applause Meter, interns!!))
Bob: “I now crown you Queen Danica….Queen For A Day!!”
And as Danica Patrick and Kelly Earnhardt walk off together into a brave new future…while Bob Parsons posts on his video blog his NEW trademark slogan: “Make every woman a queen, for every single day!”…. it should be duly noted that there is also a new King that hath been crowned.
Like approximately 200 million other people world wide, I watched the FIFA World Cup 2010 Final Draw Show. And given the somewhat wacky and borderline surrealistic nature of the draw itself, it’s probably just as well that I watched the entire thing in Spanish on Univision at Taqueria Maldonado’s in Green Bay, Wisconsin. There was some spectacular entertainment that I happened to miss, like performances by Johnny Clegg and Angelique Kijou, but it was the Draw itself that was just about as strange as any sports program I’ve ever seen. (Note to NBA Commisioner David Stern: your NBA Draft Lottery Selection Show could take a page of out FIFA this book here.)
The stage for the draw was more like a set of for a big wacky game show. I’ll get to the hosts in a minute. Here comes the parade of contestants. What FIFA did, and actually it was pretty cool, was to use some of the top South African (and in one case, Ethiopian) athletes to do the actual picking for the draw. The athletes so honoured were: Olympic 10,000 metre gold medalist Haile Gebrsellassie from Ethiopia; South African cricketer Makhaya Ntini who was the first black to play for the South African cricket team; SA rugger John Smit who I originally thought was a soccer player from the Uruguay team; Matthew Booth from the South African men’s soccer team—when Matthew Booth was introduced and walked out, I thought at first it was Peter Garrett from Midnight Oil; and finally, South African women’s soccer star, Simphewe Dludlu, who wore a stunning mustard yellow evening dress and was completely bald. Since I was watching this in Spanish on a rather low-fidelity TV, I’ve gathered most of this info after the fact.
And now the hosts of the show. FIFA Secretary-General Jerome Valke could easily have passed for former NFL Commisioner Paul Tagliabue (a poor-man’s Paul Tagliabue, but none the less…). And then there was his congenial co-host….a stunning blonde in a red dress….and as I’m watching and eating my tacos de lengua, it dawns on me that she is not there just for eye candy…she’s….Actress Charlize Theron!! How the hell did SHE get thrown into this?? And then I realized, later, that she’s from South Africa as well.
But wait, there’s more! While I was marveling at the odd collection of folks on the stage, and wondering why the hell Peter Garrett from Midnight Oil was a part of this….none other than David Freaking Beckham strolls onto the stage looking more like a contestant from a realityshow. Yes, THAT David Beckham, and he’s got a focking FAUX-HAWK to boot. Why not a fahking hockey mullet, dude!!? Okay, now there’s David Beckham, Peter Garrett, a stunning bald short black woman in terrific gold/mustard dress, a soccer player from Uruguay, two African athletes, one dressed in a suit and the other dressed like a waiter at a Sun City resort, Charlize Theron, and a poor-man’s Paul Tagliabue. So let the games begin!
The Revolutionary War and the War of 1812 reenactments begin now!
Alright, on the set for the draw are a whole bunch of pots filled with little soccer balls filled with slips of paper. One of the athletes draws one ball for the country name, and another, in this case Beckham, draws one for where the country will be seeded in the group stage. The first 8 teams, who were the top 8 teams in the world ranking have been selected and placed in their respective groups. England is at the top of Group C. Haile Gebreselassie selected USA as for Group C. And Beckham just drew the ball containing C2, which means USA will be playing England and is probably thinking “Well bloody hell….Landon Donovan is gonna get a chance to kick my ass…” And everyone else is thinking, “Ha ha ha American Pig Dogs!! Beckham is gonna kick YOUR ass.”
Last Sunday at Homestead/Miami Speedway, history was made and despite all my season-long protestations to the contrary, I was on hand to watch it being made, albeit via television at my local brewpub, The Grumpy Troll. The fact that Denny Hamlin won the race in dominating fashion, leading 71 laps, including the one that counted…the fact that Denny Hamlin had a pretty darn good 2009 season winning 4 races and finishing 5th in the points…was overshadowed of course by the damned ability of the guy who finished 5th in the race, Jimmie Johnson.
What you saw Sunday night as Denny Hamlin took the checkered flag, was history being made. History that will most likely never repeat itself again. Jimmie Johnson joined a very special group of drivers by winning his 4th NASCAR championship, but what set it about from the championships of those who came before him (Richard Petty & Dale Earnhardt won 7 each; Jeff Gordon & Ron Hornaday Jr. have won 4 each). NONE of those drivers ever won 4 in a row. It’s remarkable accomplishment, and Jimmie Johnson is to be lauded and congratulated. But…
That’s just it. But… I have to put that in there. I can’t quite embrace the greatness of Jimmie Johnson the way I should. Since 2002 he’s been a dynasty unlike any other in motorsports. Or in just about any sports. Baseball hasn’t had a 4-peat since the 1953 New York Yankees did it (and the 1939 Yanks did a 5-peat before them). Hockey hasn’t seen one since the 1983 New York Islanders. In tennis, only Don Budge in 1938 and Rod Laver in 1962 & 1968 have done a Grand Slam is a single season. And in golf, not even Tiger Woods has done it in a single season (his slam of 4 in row was over two seasons). And just at the moment we should be applauding Jimmie Johnson and singing his praises to the heavens, the only thing I can honestly think of to say is ENOUGH ALREADY!! It’s a shame really that greatness can do this.
The main problem with greatness is that after awhile everyone, except the truly die-hard fan, tend to get sick of it. It’s fun for awhile, but then it gets tired and old. Unless you were a die-hard Patriots fan, you loved it when the New York Giants beat the undefeated New England Patriots in Super Bowl 42.
But don’t get me wrong, we love our dynasties. We prefer greatness over mediocrity. After all, I grew up during the glory years of the Green Bay Packers in the 60’s and was also a big fan of the Boston Celtics, who won 8 championships in a row from 1959 through 1966. But even during their glory years, the Packers could never muster more than 3 in a row. The next NFL dynasty, the great Steelers teams of the 70’s, while winning 4 Super Bowls, could never muster more than 2 in row.
So yes, Jimmie Johnson’s 4th NASCAR Championship in a row is all so pretty and beautiful, BUT….
Since a notorious NASCAR cheater is going to become a 4 time NASCAR Championship Crew Chief tomorrow, and since said crew chief and his evil mechanations have been punished in the past, it seems apropos to raise a few questions about cheating in the ultimate world of soccer, the World Cup.
Thursday’s match between Ireland and France ended with the French beating Ireland 2-1 on a goal by William Gallas at the 103 minute mark. This victory propelled France into the World Cup and eliminated Ireland from the competition. Ordinarily I would note this alacrity and a sigh and then move on to other things, such as the 4-0 ass-whipping my Chelsea Blues just put on the hapless Wolverhampton Wolves (or Wanderers, but I prefer to call them Wolves). Instead, I am more than dismayed as I write this that France gets to move on…in fact I am pig-biting mad. The game winning goal had an assist from France’s premier striker Thierry Henry—he had a hand in it, quite literally. He used his hand to deflect the ball to William Gallas. Against the rules, cheating, and he even admitted it after the game.
But unlike NASCAR, where he would no doubt be called to the hauler along with his coach for a few choice words with Mike Helton before the victory was disallowed and penalties and fines assessed for violation rule 12-4-A Actions Detrimental To Stock Car Auto Racing, in FIFA, there is no such recourse against cheating or a rules violation. The Swedish referee didn’t see the hands violation (allegedly). And unlike in the NFL, there is no instant replay in FIFA or any of the major soccer leagues. The Irish coach couldn’t throw out the challenge flag. There was no one in a replay booth, who could have called for a review….in the NFL, any scoring play can be challenged and reviewed.
And thus, the cheating French move on to South Africa in 2010. I hope we draw them in the first round so Landon Donovan can jam it up their ass.
No matter how great a player is, there is no excuse for cheating…in fact there is even LESS of an excuse. As much as Chad Knaus’s reputation as a cheater and rules-bender precedes him, he at least has paid severe penalties for his actions. Thierry Henry, on the other hand, will get off, as will his team-mates, pretty much scotfree.
Other than a little furious public relations hit, Thierry and his team-mates get to move on. And I’m sure they don’t give a rats ass about what the people or the government of Ireland or soccer fans worldwide might think or feel about this. And maybe the furor might have been less if Thierry had simply denied it. But he admitted to cheating on that play. After the game was over ofcourse. Even his former coach at Arsenal, Arsene Wegner (who is French, btw) thinks Thierry’s a pitiful loser for not admitting to the foul right away, in the game, when it happened, so something could have been done about it. But unfortunately, for the greater good, including his own reputation, nothing can and will be done about. It is already in the books. And I’m sure that even if the game was replayed, the French would have have won anyway. But it’s principle of the thing (or the lack thereof). And maybe the luck of the draw.
You know what they say about the luck of the Irish…
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“According to THIS book, someday you will publish a photo of us on the Internet.”
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