7 & 7

Last week, former Jacksonville Jaguar Byron Leftwich was signed by the Atlanta Falcons to be one of their back-up quarterbacks. Many analysts (football analysts, not Freudian psychoanalysts) believe that Lord Byron will eventually take over the starting role for the struggling Falcons. Let me just say that I think it would be hilariously ironic to see the large, lumbering Leftwich try to orchestrate an offense that was designed around the fastest QB in the history of the NFL.

Speaking of the departed and soon to be imprisoned Michael Vick, many who read my page (okay, so it’s just my dad and a few of my friends!) want to know my take on the whole Michael Vick situation since sports and animal rights are a couple of topics that I touch on quite a bit on this page. Well, of course I find the actions of Vick horrific and detestable. This cold-hearted, murdering idiot should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. If it were up to me, he’d be smothered in artificial bacon grease and thrown to a vicious pack of pissed off, rabid Chihuahua’s who have been temporarily taken away from their mother’s purse and pumped up with steroids, growth hormone, and PCP.

I still think that before we go pointing fingers at this obviously sick individual, we take a look at the slab of meat on our own dinner plates. From an animal’s perspective, is this really any better?

My Proud Polish Heritage: Known for Underachieving and Drinking!

I am so thrilled. I have finally found a Polish beer that I can purchase here in Jacksonville, FL. It is the most internationally popular of the Polish born brews and it is called Zywiec (figures, huh?). It can be purchased at ABC Liquor. Sorry I can’t plug an independent liquor store here…trust me, I LOOKED!

For those who didn’t know, a large percentage of my heritage is Polish (which may explain a lot of things). For some reason, people tend to like alcohols that most closely match those that are associated with their heritage. Genetically speaking, I suppose that makes perfect sense. So, you may not like Zywiec unless your last name has a bunch of superfluous consonants and phonetically makes no sense. But, for what it’s worth, I think the beer tastes fantastic and I recommend you give it a try, regardless of background.

You could even play a fun drinking game on NFL Sunday and chug an entire Zywiec each time The Oakland Raiders’ Polish kicker Sebastian Janikowski misses a field goal. You’re sure to be fucking wasted by halftime. “Seabass,” who somehow graduated from FSU after nearly being deported back to Poland for criminal activity, missed three field goals in last week’s game alone…but his fatass did make a tackle on a kick returner, however.

Although, if you’re a true Pole, you don’t need a game as motivation to drink…you’ll be drinking to suppress your demons.

So, go out and enjoy a Zywiec this weekend my friends!

Damn, if you combine this blog with the blog two entries ago, this site is starting to look like one big advertisement…

Movie Review: “We Are Marshall”

With this week’s announcement of the Sept. 18, 2007 release date for the DVD of “We Are Marshall” from Warner Home Video, I have decided to post an unedited version of my Folio Weekly review of the movie, which was originally published around the time that the movie debuted in theaters around the country last December 22nd. So, if you’re debating whether or not to rent this one…

We Are Marshall

Over the decades, sports-themed movies have given us a myriad of mediocrity. Whether it’s comedic takes on the genre such as “Major League,” serious dramas like “Remember the Titans,” or inspirational, underdog-makes-it-big films like “Rudy,” sports movies, much like comic book movies, never quite seem to live up to all of the hype surrounding them. It’s not that the climax of these films are not entertaining, it’s just that a movie filled with the musings of athletes at its focus is about as stimulating as watching, well, a post-game press conference with the musings of athletes at its focus.
“We Are Marshall” is comprised of the things you’ve grown to expect from a formulaic sports movie: lots of back-against-the wall struggles and mistake laden practices backed by a ‘jock jam’ of some sort, with plenty of well timed catch phrases and an awe inspiring speech or two thrown in for good measure. Anything more or less and it wouldn’t really be a sports movie. With that disclaimer in mind, “We Are Marshall” is actually an entertaining movie. Filmed by a director who goes only by McG (“Charlie’s Angels” and TV’s “The O.C.”), the movie uses as its premise the true story of the aftermath of the 1970 plane crash that tragically ended the lives of nearly the entire Marshall University “Thundering Herd” football team. It begins by showing the final game of said team, a rough loss that was not taken lightly, before they board that fatal flight. It portrays that team as strictly managed under the tutelage of a disciplinarian of a coach. Intensely angry after the loss, the coach goes ‘Bill Cower’ (ape-shit) on his team in the locker room and unapologetically declares that “winning is everything” and how they “play the game” means absolutely nothing.
The home of the Marshall Thundering Herd, Huntington, West Virginia, is revealed in the movie to be a town that lives and breathes football. Adults obsessively talk 3-4 defenses and Power-I formations over steaks and drinks in various diners around town while uniformed school children sneak off to listen to the game on their transistor radios in between classes (a nice touch that really dates the movie). So it stands to reason that the loss of the team affects more than just those directly related to team members. Rather than trying to depict the horror that must have ensued inside the plane as the team rapidly descended to their demise, director McG tastefully chooses to subtly imply the plane crash with the screen suddenly going pitch black after a jolt to the aircraft before skipping to the fiery carnage.
Capturing the essence of the grief stricken, 1970’s town of Huntington is where McG does his best work. With a slightly grainy haze over the film that gives it a genuine 1970’s feel, McG utilizes songs by Gordon Lightfoot, America, CCR and Cat Stevens to perfection. Giving virtually every character long sideburns may have been a slight overkill, however—it’s the 70’s, we get it. Some of the intimate moments amongst the townspeople may drag, but you can forgive that given the sensitive subject matter of the reality based film and respect that the director didn’t just quickly brush aside the deaths to get to the action, keeping in mind that many family members of those who were killed in the actual plane crash will most likely be watching the film.
After the period of mourning elapses, a guilt stricken player who missed the flight due to injury, backed by a legion of other Marshall students, successfully urges a reluctant University President Dedmon (an eerie name given the circumstances) to patch something together in time to field a team for the 1971 season. After convincing the NCAA to allow them to play freshman, Dedmon, played by David Straithairn, triumphantly sets the wheels in motion in order to get a 1971 Marshall ready for the upcoming collegiate season. One of the following scenes features a trip to Florida State University, where Mike Pniewski as a young(er) coach Bobby Bowden will most likely be viewed as a travesty by hardcore FSU fans.
It is while assembling this born again Marshall program that Dedmon brings in Coach Jack Lengyel, brilliantly played by Matthew McConaughey. While many other actors could have easily turned this good ol’ boy coach with a 9-33 career record into a caricature, McCaughey was born for roles such as this. McConaughey makes it look natural with simple, aw shucks lines like “maybe I can help” in response to President Dedmon asking him why he would want to coach the devastated Marshall program in the first place. The quirky McConaughey could have pulled off this role in his sleep–think a slightly more mature reprise of his loveable character in Dazed and Confused–and his performance in this movie alone is worth the price of admission. McConaughey’s Coach Lengyel quickly gets to work, rebuilding the Marshall football program, recruiting players one by one and preparing the team for a return to competition. Lengyel’s almost lackadaisical, devil may care approach to coaching is in stark contrast to that of the previous coaching regime, and that appears to be just what the program needed during a period when football may have not have been paramount in minds of the students.
The refreshing aspect of We Are Marshall is that it is not about a team overcoming adversity to win a championship before the obligatory hoisting of the coach on their shoulders (this movie predates Gatorade bucket dousing). After all, this Marshall team only won 2 total games in the 1971 season. Rather, “We Are Marshall” is about a town that came together to cope the best way they new how–making a difficult decision to create a “new” Marshall team while making sure they respected the previous one. In the end, football is less important than it was in the beginning. Sure, the climax of the movie is seeing Marshall win for the first time against Xavier University, but this movie is about a melancholy town rising from the ashes to enjoy themselves and their beloved game once again while putting wins and losses in proper perspective, realizing and almost embracing the fact that they would inevitably be an embarrassment on game day—they lost more games in the 70’s than any other college football team. “We Are Marshall” fully captures the idea that, even in a world overly preoccupied with sports, you don’t need a slew of wins and a trophy to root for something and rejoice as a community; making this movie enjoyable for sports nuts and those not-so-nuts about sports.

For those of you who thought I was invincible, meet Beth Westberry

I had no idea that the number one female arm wrestler in America resided right here in Jacksonville. Meet Beth Westberry. Westberry currently holds the number one title in the U.S for women competing in the World Armwrestling Federation. She is going on to represent team USA in the World Armwrestling Championship held in Veliko Turnovo, Bulgaria.

Westberry recently had a competition table set up at a Female Roller Derby event I was covering as part of my freelance work. I decided to take her on myself. Okay, let’s just say that the final results did not hedge in my favor. Okay, let’s just say that I didn’t win. Okay, let’s just say that she defeated me within a fraction of a second.

Be looking for my “Five Questions” segment with Westberry in the pages of Folio Weekly in the coming weeks.

Here is the humiliating visual evidence of Westberry making quick work of me.

For all of the women who have ever hated me, please enjoy…

Belaboring the Point

Today, The United States, the same country whose government tries it’s damnedest to render unions powerless, celebrates “Labor Day”. Isn’t it ironic, don’tcha think? I just love how staunch conservatives (AKA Rush Limbaugh clones) claim that unions are “anti-capitalism”. Using the rules established by our supposedly capitalistic free market, I see nothing wrong with a pool of working using their collective bargaining power to stop production as a way of negotiating higher wages and increased benefits. If an owner doesn’t want to meet their demands, then fine, said owner’s widget doesn’t get manufactured and sold. Of course, I also support the owner’s right to fire the whole lot of them if he/she thinks that the demands are outrageous. Somewhere in the middle there will be a compromise. That compromise is usually the point where it becomes less expensive for an employer to hire and train a new force of employees than to give into the demands of the union. On the flip side, for the workers, that compromise is usually the point that it becomes more beneficial to meet the owner’s demands than to find a new job. That sounds an awful lot to me like business as usual in an economy based on supply and demand.

The next argument against the formation of unions is that they are “corrupt”. Of course, I agree, some are corrupt–very corrupt, in fact. There are some absolutely detestable, selfishly motivated unions that stunt a worker’s progression, to be sure. But are we to judge and regulate every union based on those few bad apples? That would be like judging every corporation based on the discretions of the likes of Enron (this is usually where the liberals step in). That logic is flawed as well. The government should not stop the creation of something just because there is a chance that it could become corrupt (can you tell that I’m a registered Libertarian yet?).

Unions are an important part of our workforce that helped save the backbone of American from having to work in wretched, indentured servant-like conditions until the end of time. They should not be done away with. I am even proud of the Major League Baseball Players Association. That’s right–fuck the owners. I watch baseball because of the players, not because of some crusty old fuck sitting up in a Plexiglas-coated booth, crying poormouth while at the same time refusing to disclose his financial records. If said owner is so bad of a businessman that he can’t succeed financially while owning a business that operates as part of the only legalized monopoly in the United States (see: Major League Baseball’s Antitrust Exemption), then he deserves to drown in his own poor decisions. He does not need the government to step in and bail him out. The owners are replaceable, the players are not–as has been shown time and time again through the hiring of the hilarious “replacement players”. Who can really blame the players for squeezing these shady owners for everything they are worth? Just remember, when it boils down to it, these baseball players are basically just you and me with a little more leverage.

So, on this Labor Day, September 3rd of 2007, I will do my part by proudly endorsing the right of American workers to form a union.

Is this gonna put me on some sort of Black List???

Maddening

The 2008 edition of John Madden Football was released this past Monday. Is it me or has the Madden football video game series gotten a bit too convoluted over the recent years? It seems that, in Electronic Art’s attempt to make the games more detail oriented and lifelike, they forgot to make them, you know, fun. First of all, I don’t want the gameplay to be too realistic. I am a video game player, not an actual football player/coach. Second of all, I don’t want the players to look more like the real humans that they are attempting to emulate—that’s just creepy. Who wants to really control Warren Sapp’s bulbous head as he jaunts around the ol’ high-def, trash talking in digital form? Lastly, in the recent years, they have added a new feature to the game where you can create your own players by choosing their parents and then actually manipulating their DNA. Excuse me, but…what the fuck?!?! I didn’t buy John Madden Football to pretend to be Gregor Mendel in his pea garden. I bought John Madden Football to mash buttons and score touchdowns and embarrass my good friends while giving them a relentless ass-beating. And whose idea was it to place sorry, overrated Vince Young’s ugly mug on the cover of the game this year?

I miss the old Madden games. You know, the ones where the players were bi color blobs and passes could be caught through the backs of said players’ heads courtesy of a good, old-fashioned glitch in the game. You know, the ones where a computerized Pat Summerall (actually, that may have just been his actual voice) droned out the play-by-play alongside John Madden’s redundant “color” commentary, which consisted of only about a dozen rotating comments such as “boom” and the always-funny, “hey, where’d that truck come from?” While playing these old games, you would actually get so sick of hearing those same few comments that you literally wanted to smash the game console over the head of the guy you were playing against. But it didn’t matter. And who could foget the cheesy, digital songs that would play every time you scored a touchdown. There was something very gratifying about making your opponent listen to that silly ass song every time you scored on him. The ambulance running over all of the other players on the field to get to an injured player was the final golden touch to these classic games.

Give me the flawed, graphically obsolete, outdated Madden of yesteryear over these new renditions any day. And the the only pictures that ever graced the covers of those old games were of John Madden himself–as it should be! Another thing I’m tired of is hearing people whine about the Madden Cover Jinx. You want to get rid of the Madden Curse? Start putting Madden’s fat ass back on the cover where he belongs!

Of course, this is coming from a guy who gets motion sickness when he plays three-dimensional RPG’s. Perhaps video games have just finally passed me by.

Stock in Bonds

As many of you are well aware, San Francisco Outfielder Barry Bonds is set to break the holy grail of sports records: Hank Aaron’s all-time record of 755 Major League home runs. A lot of fans believe that his record shouldn’t count because he supposedly used steroids, although he’s never failed a drug test. Some call steroids a performance enhancing drug, which to me is a misnomer. There simply is not enough scientific data to support the notion that steroids actually enhance your ability to hit a ball at the Major League level. The evidence is simply not there. It’s an assumption. Just as many people have failed while using steroids. Anyone follow Jose Canseco’s career trajectory (or is it dejectory)? Even if Bonds did use steroids, you couldn’t shoot enough of the stuff in your ass to make you do what he has done. If there was, don’t you think that EVERYONE would be taking it? I guess that would mean that everyone would be hitting 70+ home runs every year then, right? See how stupid that sounds? Just take a look at Bonds career stats and see how much better his OPS (On Base plus Slugging Percentage) is than the next best guy’s. And this is from a guy who is rarely ever pitched to, has no protection in the line-up, and plays against pitchers who are supposedly ‘roided up. If anyone benefited from steroid usage it was American heroes Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Those two guys just stood up there and swung a bat until wood coincided with ball, plate discipline be damned—and everyboy loved those swing-and-miss Neanderthals. No, Bonds is a craftsman who works deep counts to his advantage and if you factor in his 514 stolen bases and eight Gold Glove Awards–with all apologies to Henry Aaron and George Herman Ruth–he is quite possibly the best player in the history of Major League Baseball. I love Barry Bonds. And the more people hate him, the more I love him.

One of those haters is none other than Sports Illustrated writer Rick Reilly. The popular magazine’s backpage editorial columnist has actually asked fans to ignore Bonds as he usurps the record previously held by Aaron, suggesting the following things to do instead of watch Bonds break the record:

“Clean out your gutters, change your tires, knit sweaters out of your belly button lint… don’t watch this guy because what he did was wrong. He cheated to do this.” – SI’s Rick Reilly

Yeah, I’ll be sure to have a copy of Mr. Reilly’s article near by while I’m watching Giants games so that I can wipe my ass with it while I watch Bond’s record shattering 756th home run splash into McCovey Cove.

End it, like, Beckham

British soccer phenom David Beckham recently signed a contract with the Los Angeles Galaxy of the MLS for a whopping $250 million in salary and commercial endorsements—breaking down into about $1 million a week. The “biggest contract in sports history” was made by the MLS in an attempt to attract more Americans to the sport. Really? Are you telling me that football, baseball, basketball, hockey, golf, boxing, NASCAR, tennis, bowling, skating, poker, American Idol and beer league softball aren’t enough? Do we really need to be convinced of taking in yet another mindless spectacle to obsess over while avoiding work and ignoring our family?

Rather than David Beckham, perhaps we should bring Stephen Hawking over here from England in an attempt to get more fucking Americans interested in science. Of course, no one is going to give him $250 million because he can’t kick a ball.

Take your ball and go home, soccer. We don’t need another boring sport.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go draft my fantasy baseball team…