THE NEW AMERICAN PAST-TIME

With the NFL lockout coming to a close and Conference Media Days is full bloom, it marks the end to a season for most sports fan. That is the end of baseball season……which was formerly known as America’s Past-time. We as Americans (outside of Boston and New York) have written off the MLB as nothing more than a stop-gap between the NFL draft and the start of fall practice. Just as we watch hideous, train-wrecks of reality TV until the new season of Modern Family is aired, we watch the MLB longing for something more to entertain us.

The question is “Why has the MLB become a mere footnote in most sports fans’ minds?”

I am sure the answers are varying and plentiful, but for me it is very simple………EXCITEMENT, or lack thereof.

Baseball has turned into this mind-numbing drama that rarely provides us with a fulfilling and exciting conclusion, instead we are exposed to managers strolling out to the field to make a pitching change every third batter in the later innings because their lollipop curveball throwing lefty can’t get a right-handed batter out. It has gone from a game a strategy to that of a torturous act similar to having to watch a Kathy Griffin show with your wife (which no man should be subjected to).

I say legalize steroids (or at minimum HGH), at least then we can start to enjoy pleasures of watching players launch 400’ rockets off pitchers that probably should still be in Double A ball, anyway. It would bring back the element that has been void of the game for the last several years…..EXCITEMENT.

I remember back in 1998 watching the race to 62 pitting Big Mac verse Sammy. It was an event that captivated the Country and kept us on the edge of our seats. Now we get nothing more than bloop hits or the ever exciting sacrifice fly to end games with.

I don’t care if it supposedly gives the hitter an unfair advantage (and it’s not like the pitchers weren’t on them either, Mr. Clemens), it would bring back interest to a game that has falling faster in popularity than the 2008 housing market. Let’s face it, “Everyone digs the longball” and we all know that if Heather Locklear likes it, can't be wrong.

So until then, I will continue to count the days until I can see the coaches take the podium to talk about their teams, which haven’t even begun to practice, and NFL players report to training camp because we all know that football is the NEW American Past-time.

- Tom Selleck's Mustache

What your facemask says about you

To the average fan, a facemask is just a simple method to protect a players eyes, nose and mouth from damage upon contact. In reality, the mask reveals a great deal about the player inside the helmet. A player doesn’t just choose his facemask, it chooses him…..just like the Hogwarts’ Sorting Hat.



 Joe Cool is a simple man. He wears socks with his Birkenstocks, and will roll into any event wearing the shirt he slept in. He wins Super Bowls and doesn’t have time for excessive bars distracting his vision.

Marino was a pure pocket QB, who was never a threat to move the chains with his feet. As such, the added weight of the deep chin bar typically used by blocking tight ends was never a concern for him. It may seem superfluous, but the extra bars did serve a purpose: to keep DE’s hands from coming near his nose, which at any moment had $50k of residue of Columbia’s finest exported product.

The half of the pony express that didn’t kill hookers tore through the league with lenses deemed too powerful for the Hubble telescope. If those spectacles broke, it would take 3 years for the Lenscrafters on Crenshaw Blvd to forge new ones. As such, added side bars were critical.






He may have been saddled with the greatest gay pornstar name ever, but tailbacks never laughed at his presence. Being a non-mortal, a standard issue facemask just wouldn’t do. Dick instead jettisoned a cattle guard from the steam engine train “Spirit of Des Moines”. An added benefit was the extra stamina he gained from chewing mid-west bovine carcass still lodged into the mask between plays.






An asshat of the highest order, nobody thought higher of themselves than this guy. 30 years after everyone not pretending to be a soccer player in pads moved from the single bar, this clown clung to the design solely to allow every fan to gaze upon his chiseled face. The payoff finally came when viewers across the country fine-tuned their rabbit ears and were rewarded with his full facial expression during the 452 slow motion replays of LT adjusting the thigh of #7.

Thank you God for my Smokin Hot Wife!

Now I've been to Paris 

and I've been to Rome

and I've gone to New York City, 

and sadly, I've been to Lebanon, TN

Well, maybe I'm using a little poetic license on this cover of a Counting Crows song, but I'm sure if Adam Duritz (Happy 47^th on Monday) had been to Lebanon before he wrote this song, it would have made it in.  Adam grew up Jewish, I Baptist.  Adam most probably is not kosher and I most assuredly do not ascribe to the dogma asserted on me by my Sunday-School teacher.  Don't get me wrong, I believe in God, but unlike my Southern Baptist brethren, I think if God didn't want us to drink or dance, he wouldn't have invented so many varieties of delicious Bourbon.  This brings me to Pastor Joe Nelms who seems to be a man after my own heart.

Now I'm no fan of NASCAR, but I, like every other red blooded, heterosexual, Southern man, appreciate the faster things in life.  And a man of the cloth that is confident enough to send God a little 'thank you' note—on national TV no less!—for all the foreign manufactured, American products that power "These Mighty Machines," is a preacher whose theology I would be intrigued to entertain.   So, Pastor Nelms I salute you and my new favorite post script for a prayer. 

34 Days until Football Season!
Boogadie Boogadie Boogadie, A-Men

~March Hare~

SOUTHERN SUPERIORITY PART 1

Not everything is better in the South.  To wit:

But most things are.  This includes food.  In the South we do not eat to live, we live to eat.  This explains, in part, the high heart disease numbers.  In many ways, most of us are still fighting the War of Northern Aggression in our (feeble and congested) hearts and minds, and that prohibits us from acknowledging Northern superiority in anything.  But sometimes, its just too dang easy.

Take fried fish for example.  In the North, the fish of choice is Cod. In the South, a "Cod" is decidedly not edible, as we have to be convinced that it is indeed a fish and not an "unmentionable".  This flaky white fish is prepared with a heavy, flavorless "beer" batter and (properly) deep fried and served with "chips" (fries).   The proper Yankee then douses this concoction with malt vinegar, ensuring the crispy fried goodness is appropriately soggy and allowing the crust to slowly drift away from the meat.  The Yankee then eats the clean white fish and then, with a spoon, scoops up the slurry that was once crust, that now sits in a pool of sour liquid.  This "comfort" food only provides comfort in the notion that, once again, the North has failed to top the South in one of the most basic and elemental food requirements.

That requirement of course, is flavor.  Start with the fish itself.  While the North goes with the sterile and flavorless Cod, the South's fish of choice is the Catfish.  We like to catch our catfish with a cane pole in the dankist of swamps, where you can't see the bottom.... where you don't want to see the bottom, but know that whatever is at the bottom of that ditch is what gives that catfish its unique flavor.  The catfish will eat anything (condom, cheetos, license plate) that is tossed into that squalid pond and same becomes a part of him.

After that whiskered rascal is secured and cleaned, Southern Man will add additional flavor.  We will soak him in buttermilk and cayenne pepper hot sauce.  Then we will use a southern bumper crop, corn, to coat him in and deep fry him.  It is best to utilize lard that has been used for similar purpose to fry other game.  The rich musk of the squirrel, for example, that was fried last week, will add much flavor to today's catfish. In the South, we waste not.  

And in that spirit, we use the left over corn flower, throw in an onion and buttermilk, and replace the "chips" with hush puppies.   Unlike malt vinegar, additional Crystal Hot Sauce can be applied to the whole platter and it is simply absorbed in the skin, allowing the crispy exterior to remain intact.  This hearty meal is the center piece for a "fais do do" or other various hoedowns and goes great with a pabst or sweet tea.

Might there be examples out there of a northern dish that is superior to a similar southern take?  Perhaps, but until one is presented, we will continue to point out northern failings as if they are a matter of course. Which of course, they are.

~Stan Gable ~

ESPN – The Book, the Hubris and the Demise of Gameday

What I expected from the book was what everyone expected: scandalous talk about Berman’s bar-fly exploits. However, “Those Guys Have All the Fun” did not really deliver. There were scant details of debauchery, just unbridled hate and self-promotion, something I should have expected. There is much to admire about the book, including the anecdote narrative-style that lends itself to short shitter-session perusing. However, as with everything ESPN, the book is simply too big….it is so unwieldy that it slides off the lap while on the shitter, collapsing on the ground, dust jacket flying.


Throughout the 700-page-plus-written-chest-thump, there are maybe 5 pages devoted to College Gameday, ESPN’s crowning achievement, and much of that allotment covers Erin Andrews’ err….hair brushing. Perhaps this omission is by design, as ESPN has done so much to destroy what should have been its flagship show over the last several years. Some of the demise of Gameday was inevitable, much of it not. In order to determine what has gone wrong, we must examine the current players with an eye toward their career arc.

Chris Fowler

– Probably the only unassailable member of the Gameday team. Fowler was there at the beginning, being sprung from the Scholastic Sports America hell to commandeer this traveling road-show. He only gets better with age. Perhaps the on-location set-up helps Fowler stay grounded. While his studio-bound NFL counter-part, Chris Berman, allows his ego to completely absorb the set, Fowler never lets himself become the story, always deferring (not always wisely) to his panel as he, himself, absorbs the campus atmosphere. We do want to be there beside him, talking college football. We want to smell what he smells, which is likely some bastard mix of urine, stale beer and burning Italian sausage. We want to know what he is chuckling about that only he, and his panel, witness from the unruly crowd. It is not a job to him, and we can tell.

Lee Corso

– Perhaps this critique is not fair, as we know that “something” happened to him that has not (to my knowledge) been disclosed. In his heyday he was the perfect foil and resident comedian. Today we are treated with decay instead of self-deprecation. There can be little rationale for continuing to roll Mr. Corso out when he clearly can do little more than squint at the teleprompter and squawk something incoherent. The daffy old coot will give you a crack analysis of the 1993 FSU vs. Notre Dame showdown, but cannot give you any insight into relevant matters. We now enjoy watching him for the same reasons we liked Paula Abdul on American Idol. Whatever pill-addled thing she slurs is better than the actual banter from the show. Such as it is with Corso, who went from actually providing some coherent analysis years ago to becoming a man-sized sock puppet for mascot heads.

Kirk Herbstreit

– Being a Gator fan, there is something about Herbie’s orange skin and blue eyes that is visually pleasing. And, even as a heterosexual of good standing, it is hard not to like him. As someone who has witnessed him working the college bars, he is certainly one to be envied. He does provide some analysis, but this “I am working the game so I can’t predict” nonsense grates on the nerves. Ever since he was slapped down by fans for carrying Michigan’s flag for the national championship game in 2006, only to capitulate after Florida spanked Ohio State, he has lacked credibility from college football fans. It was almost as if he was the last person to figure out Southern football superiority. His decreasing participation in ESPN college football programming has essentially informed viewers that, in reality, he is superfluous.

Erin Andrews

– Erin is certainly Heaven on a long stick. She was wonderful in small doses, but now that she has a prominent role on the show her limitations are evident. First, if you indeed are the girl-next-door who just likes sports then you don’t need to tell us that over and over again. We can SEE if you are indeed that girl and Erin is not. Girls-next-doors don’t date professional ballroom dancers who wouldn’t know a football from a luffa. The show would be better if she was either gone or back to the sideline….and if she was nude.





Desmond Howard

– Perhaps the biggest mistake was bringing in this character to fill in while Corso is in cognitive therapy. He eschews the Queen’s English and instead seeks to add new words to our vernacular. Think a college-football Emmitt Smith. We don’t ask for William F. Buckley when we watch football, but, dang, we need some standards. I know why he is there, as ESPN is always seeking to expand viewing interest. But, with Mark May you have the perfect diversity-interest placement. Certainly there is another Mark May out there who can hit the road as we need May’s continuing participation in ESPN’s peerless college football studio show. This guy, however, needs to go.  Moreover, we don't need two Big-Ten (12?) guys to over-analyze an irrelvent league.


Whatever-asshat-Country-Pop-Jimmy-Buffett-Wannabe-That-Provides-The-Music-This-Season-Guy

– First question: Why do we need another Jimmy Buffett if Jimmy Buffett is still alive? This trend has to stop or the WWL will be burned to the ground. Nothing enrages fans more than the contrived music-video it must endure before it gets its sports. WE LIKE THEME MUSIC. JUST ASK CBS!!! THEY DON’T DO THIS CRAP AND EVERYONE LOVES THEIR THEME!!! Forced watching of this annual dreck is enough to make Alex DeLarge join the priesthood. Just remember, Hank was forced on the Monday Night Football crowd and is only acceptable now because of longevity….and a wildly familiar tune.

While it is easy to criticize, I endeavor to suggest improvements. The first order of business is to get Corso out of there. In his place, you need someone unpredictable who still may have some knowledge. You only need to go to the bastion of southern football, Alabama, for two candidates: Joe Namath and Kenny Stabler:

Namath loses flavor now that he has apparently quit drinking in the aftermath of the Suzy Kolber affair, but think of the panty-race between he and Herbie on the road. Stabler, on the other hand, would be pure genius. Apparently not recognizing or acknowledging his drinking problem (as no good southern man would), he of the wafty white hair and spoiled liver would give instant gravitas to the proceedings. Also, it is long overdue for a network that (rightly) sold its soul to the S.E.C. to have a southerner on the panel.





Another change:

Dump Andrews and bring in Jill Arrington. I don’t care if you just make a cardboard cut-out of her and stick it on the sideline….she needs to be part of college football again.

Another change:

Shorten the dang show. Maybe this is my own limitation. I am no longer a hung-over college student who did not have anything better to do on a Saturday morning than stumble around, call the campus bookie, make bets, then eat the pizza that someone ordered at 2:30 a.m. but passed out before it arrived, and watch Gameday. No, sigh….no. I now have a wife, a home, an un-mowed yard, several kids and much, much less time to devote to Gameday. Give me an hour and a half of relevant coverage and END IT before leading into to Illinois v. Indiana at noon……or don’t, I really don’t care…..

    ~Stan Gable ~

Things I Miss: Chapter 1

I miss the split back offense.  For a period of time (during my impressionable youth) the split back offense was a major staple of Saturdays and Sundays, filtering down to lower divisions.  The vast majority of split back sets were running the Veer, or some variation of the Veer.  Not all teams needed a true option QB to be successful, since you could still get outside with a sweep IF both backs were good blockers.  The fact that you had two tailbacks on the field at once is probably the thing that I endeared most about the formation.   Of course, this is probably as good an explanation as any for the demise.  Few star recruits want to play in an offense where they not only have to split carries, but run block (gasp!) for a teammate.  The success that I-backs had in the 70's at USC, and in the 80's at Nebraska nailed the coffin shut on the split back set.  So, a toast to you old formation, may you live out your days in Jr Pee Wee in splendor!

 

  

~ Zorro ~

If you don't care for tea, you could at least make polite conversation!

The Doldrums of Summer Sports:

There seems no better way to start contributing to an unknown web-log devoted to documenting the experiences and observations of sports and life in the South, than to kick it off with a tired and overused cliché—fortunately for you, I can’t think of any.  Instead I’m sitting here, staring out my window, wondering what happened to sports in America.  No, I am not referring to corruption in collegiate athletics, doping (we can’t just limit this to baseball anymore), or Jen Sterger’s infatuation with Brett’s Favre.  If honesty is truly the best policy, then honestly, these drama filled soap operas are exactly what keep us tuned in when sports go stale.  But what about when sports move beyond stale and enter the realm of irrelevance?  You know, it’s that time between June and August when you find yourself being thoroughly entertained by a replay of the 2008 BCS Title Game.  Then, at some point between Ohio State sucking and Ohio State sucking even more, you realize you are more entertained now than when the game was broadcast live.  And that’s the exact moment you remember how boring summer sports really are.  Just like the mariners that braved the open seas sometime between oars and the advent of steam engines, you’ve found yourself stranded with no wind and no current to deliver you to your destination (football season).  Instead you find yourself drinking salt water and eating leather while feigning interest in the MLB all-star game—it’s okay to admit to this epic fandom faux pas; temporary insanity is a valid defense.  

I, being no mariner and choosing to only “sail” on “ships” with midnight buffets and a steady supply of whiskey (+tango), fear not these doldrums provided so graciously by Mother Nature.  Yet, the Doldrums of Summer Sports drive me absolutely mad.  And as the Mad Hatter (Les Miles, not Johnny Depp) says, “I think there are times that your mental energy is a little greased and ready to roll."  So let’s take a trip together and embrace the crazy; enjoying what we can before normalcy and real sports worth watching arrive in a few shortly lived long weeks.  Honestly, who needs contrived news on real sports when you could:

Take in a game of Quidditch? 

Is there anything better than a sport that requires magic?  Oh yes there is!  A sport based on a sport that requires actual magic and played by people who love reading about magic but have no tangible magical powers themselves.  Instead of using witchery agility in the air, these semi-pro sorcerers choose to run around holding a $2 broom between their legs while attempting to throw a ball through a hula hoop on a stick.  Holy Hermione Jean Granger this is Brilliant! (http://www.internationalquidditch.org/ )

Enjoy the strategy involved in underwater hockey?

Like the wise, former Alaskan gubna says, “When Al Gore gives you melted ice, play hockey underwater.”  And why not?  Certainly it makes sense to strap on a snorkel and goggles, doing your best dead man’s float waiting for just the right moment to slowly pounce onto the submerged puck and shovel it towards your opponents goal.  Just don’t drink the pink water or play with people who do!  (http://www.underwater-society.org/uwhockey.html)

Bask in the complexities of Bossaball?  

Imagine yourself as a European soccer fan (try harder dam-nam-it!) lying on a beach in the aftermath of the 2002 FIFA World Cup wondering what you would do for fun now.  You slowly but steadily take a long, warm breath into your lungs.  Eureka!  Your imagined imagination just created a basted sport, resulting from the ménage à trois of beach volleyball, soccer, and trampoline gymnastics (who let this guy in on the action?).  You will now be able to pass an endless summer frolicking on a bounce-house trampoline volleyball court.  Yeahhhh Boyyeeee that’s some good shizzle!  (http://www.bossaballsports.com/)

Shy away from the brutality of chess… and boxing… simultaneously? 

Nothing like exercising your mind and strengthening your concentration during a chess match, only to take a break with a round of boxing between moves—subsequently churning your brain into a sour mash destined for Parkinson’s disease and dementia.  Oh the possibilities for a Michael J. Fox Foundation charity event! (http://wcbo.org/content/index_en.html)

Get your pistons lubed with Lawn Mower Racing?

If there’s grass on the field… drink a beer and watch the necks race machines originally designed to cut grass but no longer serve a functional purpose.  Laziness truly is the father of all invention—productive and otherwise.  Hmmm… if the Mad Hatter’s grass slashing grill was removed, would he suddenly run faster? (http://www.letsmow.com/)

As we slowly, but most assuredly, make our way back out of this rabbit hole in which we find ourselves during the Doldrums of Summer Sports, it seems only fitting that we can take solace in the infinite wisdom of one Leslie Edwin Miles.  “When you are put in a position where it's a key down and distance, it's not inconceivable that that's a down and distance you can achieve."

35 Days until Football Season!

  

~March Hare~

Welcome

Mindless banter forthcoming...