He, of course, says it much more humorously and eloquently than I do, but the point is the same. Basically, at this point Apple could give us phones that were built-in to the back of our hands that never needed recharging and could monitor your vital signs while playing back YouTube clips, and people would still complain about the orientation of the screen or bitch about the auto-complete feature.
Now that Progressive Boink and the Dugout have moved on to greener (read: money-producing and read by more than 3 people) pastures, Jon Bois and Brandon Stroud's unique sense of humor is finding its way into more and more Internet articles. And to that, I say, huzzah.
Case in point - "Sports Cards for Insane People - The Awesome 1880's Athletes of the World" on SB Nation is the perfect blend of niche, well written, over-the-top, hit-the-nail-on-the-head-of-whatever-it-is-you're-trying-to-describe writing style that makes for what I think is a new genre of comedy writing.
Are there genres of comedy writing?
Anyway, the piece describes a bunch of sports cards from the 1880's hilariously and brilliantly, like this blurb describing "Daniel O'Leary, Heel and Toe Pedestrian":
Daniel O'Leary, champion of the pavement, did walk 200 metres through the streets of London without so much as a speck of goat, sheep, pig, cow, or human feces bespoiling.
His figure, a feat described by the Daily Mail at the time as "the preeminentathletic feat of our century, and more surprising still that O'Leary, and Irishman, did it all in what was a straight line indicating sobriety, and condition previously thought impossible among the people of the Emerald Isle." O'Leary fell into an open sewer at the 201st meter, but his record walk and unique technique lived on for years in the lore of London as "O'Leary's Walk."
I'm not sure how to describe that other than a Victorian-era newspaper clipping. It made me laugh, and it should make you laugh too, damn it.
But really, I think I'm the only one out there who really gets this stuff.
There are so many great media slayings of LeBron James out there today, but I think this one from ESPN takes the cake:
Left threadbare, all James could do was deploy his defense mechanisms.
“All the people that were rooting me on to fail, at the end of the day they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life they had before,” James said. “They have the same personal problems they had to today. I’m going to continue to live the way I want to live and continue to do the things that I want with me and my family and be happy with that.”
Yes, James could leave in his Bentley or Rolls Royce or Maybach or whatever vehicle he chose to drive. He could, indeed, go home to his mansion where his personal chef might have a five-star meal waiting. Then off to his plush bed with 1,500-thread-count sheets. In a few days, it’ll be off on a private jet for a needed vacation.
The vast majority of those who toasted his defeat will wake up and go to work on Monday morning.
Craig Calcaterra over at Hardball Talk had a good idea today which I am going to completely rip off: in doing his weekly baseball power rankings, he decided that instead of explaining their rankings, he would just list his favorite players from each franchise. And that, my friends, is right up my alley.
Without further ado, my favorite players from each franchise:
Cardinals: Ozzie Smith
yankees: Don Mattingly - A tough pick as I despise the yankees, but I've always secretly loved Mattingly.
Rangers: Nolan Ryan - Probably says a lot about my age, but I remember Ryan as a Ranger.
red sox: Tim Wakefield - Not even remotely close to being anyone else.
Giants: Tim Lincecum/Will Clark - I stole Craig's idea on this one, but it's true: I loved Will Clark growing up because he was kinda a NL version of Cal Ripken (at least I thought so at the time. Probably because he was white and played hard with those flip-up sunglasses). But I have to say Tim the Enchanter may have overtaken him.
Brewers: George Bamberger - I know this makes no sense. I just wanted an excuse to post a picture of one of my most-loved baseball cards from my youth: ---------------------------------------->
Why can I recall that card so vividly when I can't remember what my first girlfriend looked like?
o well
Indians: Jim Thome/Kenny Lofton - I can cheat. This is my blog.
Diamondbacks: Justin Upton - First really tough choice as there aren't many options. Craig Counsell and his extremely nerdy team photos come in second.
Blue Jays: Roberto Alomar
Tigers: Cecil Fielder
Marlins: Charlie Hough - I love how this guy played until he was almost 50 but somehow managed to look even older than that while playing.
Rays: Casey Fossum - I have to respect any man who tries to make the Eephus Pitch work in the Major Leagues. And create a sweet nickname for it, as well. (The aptly-named Fossum Flop)
Mariners: Ichiro - With Jr. Griffey followed extremely close behind.
Angels: Jim Abbott - Because, well, he had one freaking arm and pitched a no-hitter.Let's see you do that.
Pirates: Andy Van Slyke - Most difficult pick yet.I literally have no memories of the Pirates in my youth, which is a same as that was probably the only time in my life that they have been good.
Rockies: Andres Gallaraga - The Big Cat wins it with an awesome nickname.
Mets: Mookie Wilson - My next door neighbor as a kid was an older guy who collected baseball cards.One day he asked me who my favorite player was, and for reasons that are still unclear to me, I said Mookie Wilson.From there forward, every Mookie Wilson double he ever got was given to me.I still have no idea why I said that, because even then I liked Darryl Strawberry and Gary Carter more. But give a Mookie his due.
Dodgers: Orel Herschiser - Incredible for like 3 seasons and blah for the rest.Always looked like a nerd on the hill with those glasses. I loved that.
White Sox: Frank Thomas
Athletics: Dennis Eckersley - Simply because of my penchant for weird pitchers who are successful. Rickey is very, very close behind.
Orioles: Cal Ripken, Jr. - My hero, a gentleman, and a legend.
Nationals/Expos: Tim Raines - But if you're pressing me to come up with a National, Mike Morse because he is seriously helping my fantasy team this year.
Padres: Tony Gwynn
Royals: George Brett
Cubs: Ryne Sandberg - Again, an awesome nickname wins it for Ryhno.
Astros: ? - Can I say Nolan Ryan again?
Twins: Kirby Puckett - And I can damn well guarantee you that 95% of 29 year-old males would say the same thing.
Turns out most of my favorite players were from my youth, and players that I had either a good baseball card or an action figure of. Life was tough before SportsCenter and MLB.TV. Who are your favorite players?
That's right - over the past week my post about Richard Thompson has received 11 more views than my post about cats and their musician owners. Those additional 11 views, inconsequential as they may seem, do unfortunately sound the death knell for feline-related articles on this page for the foreseeable future.
While I have had designs of filling the pages of this blog with an intriguing and hopefully unique collection of my slanted views on life, Baltimore, the Orioles, baseball, and music, displaying for my devoted readership a smattering of interesting and thought-provoking links, and perhaps providing a forum for general community discussion in the interest of furthering the human experience, my wife really thinks that I should write about cats.
I must have been 16 - maybe 15 - when I first followed the lead of every teenager to ever live through the mid-80s to late-90s and signed up for Columbia House. For those poor spoilt kids who did not grow up in an era when every CD you've ever wanted was not at your fingertips, Columbia Music House was a mail-order service wherein you got a catalog full of
music albums (presumably by artists signed to Columbia), picked the few that you were yearning for, spent your hard-earned lawn mowing money, mailed the card back, and waited 4 - 6 weeks for your CD's to arrive.
In retrospect, I find it absolutely incredible that I was able to wait that long for a CD I wanted. I mean, it's not like there weren't music stores around. There was just something about the process that was appealing, I guess.
The thing about Columbia and BMG and all of the other music mail-order clubs, was that they were forever offering us poor teenagers absolutely ridiculous introductory offers to join the club. Basically they were along the lines of, "JOIN TODAY AND GET 25 FREE CDS FOR 1 PENNY! ABSOLUTELY NO COMMITMENT!*"
*Of course there is a commitment, you stupid 15 year old fool
Anyway, of course this ripe temptation proved too much for even my hardened adolescent sense of prudence. I mean, 25 free CDs! I didn't even have 25 CDs in my entire collection! So I signed up. And let me tell you, the sense of profound freedom that you feel once you have crossed the mental Rubicon of submitting to these record company tycoons must be similar to what folks feel when they sell their soul to the devil for a donut or whatever. I'm pretty sure I signed the contract in blood.
But then I was faced with an even greater dilemma: having caught my Eric Clapton catalog up to date, and Hootie's newest album* confidently marked down in #2 pencil on the little form, the choices in what heretofore seemed like an oasis of music kinda...dried up.
*Fairweather Johnson, of course
I mean, I suppose now I could find 25 albums I would like to have for free pretty easily, but when you're 15 in Waynesboro, PA, you don't exactly have the musical depth of John Cusak. Unless it was Foghat, Skynyrd, or Garth Brooks, I couldn't be sure of what I was getting. And believe me, these were important choices; I certainly wasn't going to actually buy any CDs once the promotion was up*. When you don't have any money and someone is giving you something for free, it tends to take on a certain level of import. So I wanted my picks to count, but I was running out of sure things.
**Wrong
Which is when mine eyes did gaze upon a promotional spot for a guy named Richard Thompson and his brand-new album, "Mock Tudor".
"Richard Thompson combines the fiery guitar work of Eric Clapton with the lyrical genius of Bob Dylan"
That's good, said I.
"He's British"
Oh, splendid!, said I.
And I carefully filled in the album number in the mail-in form, eventually found some other stuff I thought I would like, mailed it out, and proceeded to wait 4 - 6 weeks for my CDs to arrive.
I can still remember when the package came vividly - it was huge. Not those puny 2-3 CD boxes my sister got - filled with drivel like Wilson Philips and Whitney Houston - no, this was a massive thing, and filled with a brilliant and extremely methodically thought-out selection of music. This was something to behold, and something that would take some time to wade through.
I'm sure it probably took me at least a night to get through everything.
Everything, that is, except for my diamond in the rough - Mock Tudor. I had taken the gift of a free CD and spent it on a total unknown. It was akin to being given a compensation first-round draft pick and spending it on someone you've never scouted because you like their name and the cut o' their jib. But I was hopeful - he came so highly recommended, whole quarter-page ad and all - I mean, they compared him to Eric Clapton! They (those honest record company advertisers) would certainly never exaggerate such a claim! So with all the faith in the world, I slammed the CD in my stereo and hit play.
To say I was underwhelmed would be...well, I suppose it would be wrong. I just wasn't interested. It didn't grab me at all. I didn't like the guy's voice. His guitar playing sounded nothing like Clapton. The songs sounded really.....gay. And besides, I had Fairweather Johnson! Who needs this crumpet?
And there Mr. Thompson went, underneath a stack of free CDs, to live for quite some time.
It would also be wrong for me to say that I didn't go back to listen to that album every once in a while over the next few years. I did. There was something about that damn ad in that catalog that just intrigued me. They were so confident that he was an absolute musical genius, a unique wizard on the guitar, and someone that guitar players, above all, should absolutely worship. I wanted to like the album, but it just never came together for me. In addition to all this, I kept hearing his name mentioned in passing - never a full album review or a TV special dedicated to him or anything like that - by magazines that I liked and by musicians that I really liked. Everyone basically had the same things to say about him:
"He's like Dylan. If Dylan wrote really really really dark songs about loneliness all the time."
"He was such an incredible influence on me - on all of us, really. No, really!"
"He has the respect of the entire rock and folk music community."
"His guitar tone sounds like running rusty razor blades over Brillo pads."
All of which only served to fuel my interest in this crazy guy. Here was a musician (and an old musician at that) that people like Bono and Michael Stipe and Mark Knopfler and Bonnie Raitt and (yes) Dylan and John Prine were absolutely falling over themselves to compliment and call an absolute genius, who not only never had a #1, Top Ten, Top 100 or probably Top 300 hit in his life, and of whom none - absolutely none - of my friends, musician or otherwise, had ever heard. And not just that, "Oh yeah, I've heard of him - I have to check him out", or "Yeah, I guess I've heard some of his stuff - not for me" business. Nobody had ever heard of him.
And I think - just a theory - that this is when I began to absolutely fall in love with the idea of Richard Thompson.
That's probably also when I first heard the song "1952 Vincent Black Lightning".
I remember downloading it on Napster (lol) in my dorm at the University of Maryland because I had seen his name - again - in a Guitar Player magazine list of the 100 Greatest Solos of All Time. That's right, right next to Prince's Little Red Corvette intro and Slash's Purple Rain outro was his name touting his acoustic finger-style acumen as well as his love for drop-D tuning. So once again I spent exactly $0.00 on Richard Thompson and downloaded the song.
I was stunned.
It is a magnificent song, and a magnificent recording. It is simply a man singing and playing acoustic guitar. Except it sounds like there are two guitars - one playing rhythm and one playing the melody. The two lines interact and overlap and somehow he's able to solo over his own bass line on a simple acoustic guitar. It is a simple vocal melody, but it fits his voice like a glove, and I've never since heard anyone cover it and do it any kind of justice. The story he unfolds is also a simple one:
1. Guy on motorcycle meets girl; is tough
2. Girl seems to take a shine to this fellow
3. Guy warns girl that he is tough
4. Girl says she likes that kind of thing
5. Guy and girl ride around together on motorcycle; have enjoyable experiences
6. Guy tries to rob some place (he's tough); gets shot in the chest with a shotgun
7. Girl finds out - rushes to his side
8. Guy, in one final, heartbreaking, poignant, brilliant verse, reveals that there is nothing in this world/[that] beats a '52 Lightning and a red-headed girl (sob)
9. Guy dies and gives girl keys to his motorcycle with instructions to ride on without him
The lyrics are so beautifully poetic, so perfectly timed, so brilliantly constructed, that it's hard to believe that it isn't a classic English folk song. Save for the motorcycle and shotgun, it probably could be - just substitute them for a chariot and crossbow or whatever Chaucer got around on.
It was a perfect song for Thompson - even I don't think he's ever written better - and probably the song that he's most famous for and associated with today. But he wrote it in 1991 - almost 20 years after he first started his solo career and 25 years after he started playing music with Fairport Convention. And that thought alone gave me pause and gave me hope. This dude toiled - and I do mean toiled - for twenty years of his life as a 'professional' musician, going through three record labels and countless contracts, a divorce, and a religious conversion, before recording what could possibly be known as his 'hit'. Except it wasn't a hit at all, and you've probably never heard of it. But you should.
Go on, take a break and enjoy:
What "1952 VBL" did for me was not only prove all of these things people were saying about him being a brilliant guitarist and songwriter, it also gave me a song to play for other musicians to introduce him to them. And the best part was, they had never heard of him and they were always amazed at both how great the song was and that they had never heard of him. He became for me, the most uncool of music snobs - the Classic Rock Music Snob - the Artist That I Found and Was Into Way Before You. While my roommate was trying to get me into this cool new band the White Stripes before anyone had heard of them, I was trying to get everyone into a 55 year-old obscure ex-electric folk rocker with no hit songs and who wore a stupid Kangol hat everywhere.
Such is life.
At any rate, I've always been up for a challenge and typically, the more obscure the better for me, so I began to really dig into his catalog. I went the whole way back to his Island Music days, with songs like "Hokey Pokey", "The Great Valerio", "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight", and "Calvary Cross". I really got into his middle period, culminating in the somehow groundbreaking and important and yet unknown album "Shoot Out the Lights", which was kinda sorta maybe written about, but absolutely written during, his divorce from his long-time wife and musical partner, Linda. I started to make headway into some of his newer stuff like "Rumour and Sigh", and "Hand of Kindness". And then I went to see him live.
Oh, to see Richard Thompson live. It is a very, very bizarre experience to be a twenty-something RT fan at one of his shows. First of all, RT fans have all had the exact same experience of being obsessed with a strange musician that nobody else is really into. And they've gotten used to it, since most RT fans are about his age and have been following him for his entire career. So to just be in a crowd of other people who not only know this man and his music but are as into it as they are is a bit of a strange situation to begin with. When you add to the mix a member of the 'younger' generation, someone who looks remarkably what their kids would look like if the spoilt brats liked REAL music gotdammit, and who appears to be there of his own accord, appears to have spent his own money on tickets, and appears to be enjoying himself is almost too much for them to bear.
It usually happens after the show. I'll get a few strange looks and maybe an arched eyebrow or two before and during the performance, but afterwards when they've had one or two wine spritzers they will, without fail, literally line up to tell me how happy they are that someone my age actually likes their hero. "Of course", I say, "what's not to like?" And they will look at me with the eyes of someone who has thought that exact thought their entire lives but has
never found the approval from their peers that they know in their heart of hearts they should have received long ago. Or maybe they're just drunk - hard to say.
Either way, I would have been wise to read into the wisdom of those jaded eyes and simply given up on the guy. I should have never started to try to get my friends to understand the genius of RT. I mean, the proof is in the pudding, right? If he was really that great, he would be famous, right? A musician can't stick around for 25 years doing nothing but music without one popular and recognizable song, right? Even Tom Cochrane had a hit. And RT has never had one, so he can't be good, right?
The problem is, he is. He's incredible. He's smart, funny, guarded, outspoken, brilliant, worldly, an excellent writer*, an incredibly inventive musician, and just an all-around great guy. Genius? Maybe, maybe not. But he's been an incredible source of inspiration and I list him as one of my top five favorite guitarists.
* He has written a 25-part epic fictional story about being hired by Arnold Schwarzenneger and his now ex-wife shortly after being elected the Governator to teach him 'proper' English and do a bit of gardening that can be found on his web site. Really.
His guitar playing is legendary stuff. Basically, his guitar style is the very bizarre love child of Mark Knopfler, Steve Cropper, Marc Ribot, John Fahey, and your college English professor. You can't really understand the brilliance of what he does until you see him live, so look up some videos on YouTube - you'll get it. He plays dual-line acoustic finger-style songs in a style all his own, and then for good measure he straps on an electric guitar and blows your mind in a completely different style, again all his own. His electric solos are what I gravitate to and what I attempt to emulate: a beautiful mix of controlled chaos, dischordant clashing two-string bends, noise, piercing icepick notes waaay up the fretboard, all with a thorough and learned understanding of jazz progressions and modality. He really attacks his solos in a way that speaks to me in a profound way - I hope I kick as much ass at 60 as he does.
So I've found in the last 10 years of attempting to be a Richard Thompson evangelist that people will generally agree with me that he's an interesting guitarist and that he plays some killer solos live and that "1952 Vincent Black Lightning" is a pretty fantastic song. But that's really about it. I have been very unsuccessful in attempting to convert anyone else into the true fanatic that I am. Here are the main criticisms that I hear when trying to get someone into RT:
1. Man, I can't stand his voice
2. His voice doesn't really sound right, does it?
3. What the hell is he talking about when he mentions (insert obscure British literary reference here)
4. That song sounds really gay
5. Soprano sax accompaniment? Seriously? Plus, his sidekick looks like a total nerd/pedophile (John Zorn. True.)
6. Why doesn't he have any hits? Oh.
7. Is his guitar in tune?
8. Man - that voice - it just...I mean...um....it...just...sounds....not - right?
9. Why do all of his songs make me want to kill myself?
Or, my favorite, mentioned unsolicited by my wife (and the inspiration for this blog):
10. Well, why the hell should I like a rock star who loves to sing madrigals and is obsessed with perfect fifths?
I have to give her credit for that one - pretty spot on ======>
And, to be honest, I can't really deny any of the above charges. His voice does take some getting used to. Some of his songs sound really gay.* Some of his instrumentation and album production choices have been a bit questionable. He is a nerd. You really need to have a working history of pre- and post-Industrial English society and literature to get the depth of some of his more obscure lyrics. Okay, a lot of his lyrics. And yes, he can be a bit bleak and most of his songs deal with the darker side of life and humanity.
*Tear-Stained Letter intro, I'm looking in your direction...
But I don't care. He has given me a lifetime of his music - and quite unselfishly, I might add - and two lifetimes worth of musical inspiration. Every time I think that I'm too old or too nerdy or too uncool or have too weird of a singing voice, I think of Richard Thompson and how he has overcome all of those obstacles, and probably didn't even think twice about it. He is completely unapologetic and completely non-pandering. I've mentioned a couple of times that he's never had a hit. It's not because his producers and record companies have never tried; it's that he always fucks up their program by making the song about lunatic rapists or puts an atonal guitar/synth solo in the middle of it.
I wear my RT badge proudly. I no longer really try to make anyone into a fan - that ship has sailed. I've become the jaded ex-folkie RT fans that look confusedly at me at his concerts. Even if no one else in the entire world - and it will sound cliche but I mean this completely - if no one else in the entire world believed in and loved Richard Thompson, I still would. His music, his passion, and his personality mean too much to me. He has, for me, the perfect mix of pride, confidence, and humility, and he is what I strive to emulate as a performer.
He has made a lifetime career out of being his own man and his own musician, and for that he has the respect of a great number of the musical community. For that of course he has my respect, but he also has my eternal gratitude.
Sorry for the lack of O's Notes for the first 3 games of the year. Truth is, I was out of town for my bachelor party this weekend and lacked both the sports nerdiness and the sobriety to watch a baseball game in the casinos, so I figured I would be better off to wait until I had seen a full game before running my mouth about it.
Great win on an absolutely gorgeous Opening Day. The middle innings were shaky with some shoddy defense and poor hitting, but B-Rob's three-run homer put us on top to stay. Relief was great and Wieters went 2-3 with a walk. What's not to like?
Notes:
- Markakis looks absolutely locked in and is really driving the ball.
- Vlad is just about the exact opposite of Nick at this point. He looks terrible at the plate, chasing everything and displaying very little patience.
- Arrieta, despite the good result, still needs to work on his control and putting batters away. It seemed like he got in a ton of 0-2 counts that ended up as walks or hits. Starts like this don't often end up like this - the Tigers were hitting it right at our fielders, and hard.
- Adam Jones looks like he's pressing badly - and three fly balls and a strikeout attest to that.
- Derrick Lee looks awesome at first base - very solid.
I know the 4-0 start won't last, but it is really exciting to see so many fans enjoying Orioles baseball. It really does seem like we've turned a corner.
Every time I think Tim Lincecum can't get any more awesome, he somehow goes out there and shows me that, YES HE CAN. According to MLB.com beat writer extraordinaire (I'm sure) John Schlegel, "Giants Ace Tim Lincecum is Chewing up Hitters, Food at a Hefty Pace" (yuk yuk yuk).
The two cool points: apparently Tim has topped out at a bulky 168 lbs., and his typical order from In and Out Burger (his favorite eatery after a Spring Training start) is as follows:
Three double-doubles, two orders of fries and a half-chocolate, half-strawberry shake.
When questioned about the nutritional validity of that diet, Tim responds, "That's probably not the best form of nutrients but I've always kind of just eaten what I've wanted to and worried about it later...Nothing's affected me now, so I'll stick to it."
Which is, of course, exactly the kind of thing that a 26-year old stoner says. Go get 'em, Tim!
Sometimes, I just don't know what to say. The long-time reader of my blog will remember when I posted last year about Scott Stapp writing a 'song' about the Florida Marlins. When I showed it to a number of my friends, many of them made the comment that they thought it was a joke or a well-done parody of some kind. I knew better - it was so perfectly Scott Stapp and so perfectly bad that it had to be real.
And then something like this comes along:
What is that? What the fuck is that?
I mean - that has to be a joke, right? No one would rap that poorly about a baseball team with as short a history and as poor a fan base as the Florida (soon to be Miami) Marlins and make a video of it in real life, right? Why would anyone produce this video? Who is this guy? And my biggest question - why do the Florida Marlins have not one, but TWO completely retarded and poorly made, cliche-ridden songs made about them?
My guess is that the Marlins must have some twenty-something ironic hipster Public Relations guy who hires these no-talent assclowns to produce these crappy videos so that he can post them on YouTube under the guise of being a 'promotional video' when in reality he's just laughing his ass off confusing the hell out of guys like me.
My boy Ryan 'Heartbreaker' Adams continued his solid Spring Training for the Orioles last night, crushing a two-run homer off Pirates' closer Joel Hanrahan. He did not Go Easy, rather he hit a Firecracker that rung Hanrahan's Answering Bell.
I think it's time to start the Ryan Adams watch - I'll try to keep his stats updated as we go through the season. He'll probably spend most of the year at AAA, so this will be a labor of love. Just remember Love is Hell.
One of the things that I both love and hate about the world is that nothing is ever as simple or as complex as it seems. Nothing is black and white. Personalities, leaders, and politicians love to reduce issues to black and white, as they become much easier to deal with at that level, but simply casting aside facts or ignoring findings in order to reach a conclusion is not a stance that enhances the human condition - it just get things done.
Steroids are a perfect example. Journalists and talking heads love to throw down a hard line about steroids - immediately scapegoating anyone unlucky enough to have been associated with them. But it's stories like this that make it impossible for me to take such a stance.
Basically, the story makes the case that people (including athletes) have been known to test positive for the steroid clanbuterol after eating beef from cows that have been injected with the substance. This is a fairly common practice in places like China, Mexico, and most of South America. So maybe some of the Latin players who have tested positive in the past actually didn't knowingly inject steroids. Really.
Sure, the guy probably actually did take steroids. But it's stories like this that have to at least put the seed of some doubt in any rational head. It wouldn't be fair to punish a player who tested positive if they had a false positive from eating the wrong steak. Would it?
I'm sure some people will say that yes, it is fair. You have to draw the line somewhere, and the person that tested positive is on the wrong side. That's not a line I'm going to be responsible for drawing.
I just have to say - I'm not sure how I got so lucky, but goddamn I'm glad that the Internet has brought together so many baseball-loving twenty-something stat nerds who love the 80's, pop culture, are funny, anti-establishment, and who write well.
I mean, it's all of my favorite things, rolled into one. Thank you, Brandon Stroud (the Dugout). Thank you, FireJoeMorgan.com. Thank you, Craig Calcaterra. Thank you, people of Camden
Chat.
But these days, it's mostly thank you, Carson Cistulli and the brilliant team at NotGraphs.
Well. Let me just say, in the immortal words of Mr. Buck O'Neill - baseball.
It was back last night on the TV, the Orioles taking on the Yankees in an evening Spring Training exhibition game. I watched every single pitch, and even though the game was extremely uneventful, a tad anticlimactic and ended in a 0-0 tie, it was glorious. My fiancee and I enjoyed ice-cold 16oz Coors Lights and those crab-flavored crackers. After enduring what seems like one of the most dreadful winters I've ever experienced, to kick back and watch the new O's play some baseball was exactly what I needed.
All of which leads me nicely to what will become the new feature of this blog, at least for this baseball season. I'm a big fan of Craig Calcaterra and his Hardball Talk blog, and one of the best components of his page is his "...And That Happened" daily post, in which he gives a two or three sentence blurb about each game from the previous night. It's a really nice way to catch up on what happened last night in a completely non-SportsCenter type way. I'm not going to do that for all of the games throughout MLB, but I'm going to post my notes and comments from the Orioles game the night before. Or at least I'm going to try. Or try to try. For a while.
Zach Britton works fast - very fast. Jim Palmer and Gary Thorne simply couldn't keep up - especially in the first inning. It was like they had sheets and sheets of notes that they had been working on all off-season that they were so excited to use, but they kept getting cut off by that jerk on the mound who wanted to keep pounding strikes.
Britton: 3 first pitch strikes in the first inning. Second and Third innings? Not so much.
What in god's name is Brian Roberts doing bunting for hits? That's been one of the things I love so much about B-Rob - he has bunt-for-hits speed and smarts, but he's smart enough to use his great contact and power to drive the ball for hits and doubles - he's not Juan Pierre, damn it.
And more importantly, what is B-Rob doing sliding into first? In the first inning???! In a split-squad Spring Training game!!!!!!!!@#$!#@$!#%!@! You're not competing against anyone for a spot, Brian...I think you have it locked up IF YOU CAN JUST NOT GET INJURED BY MAKING BONEHEAD SLIDES INTO FIRST(*#&(#@*&_#(@)*)#!
Luke Scott is now sporting the backwoods goatee....in fact most of the players have some sort of facial hair they didn't have last year...maybe facial hair rules are relaxed during the Spring?
Sergio Mitre is far more intimidating in video game form.
Was Matt Wieters wearing a vintage O's batting helmet while he was catching?
Jeremy Accardo has one of the most violent right hand deliveries I've ever seen - but he was effective.
This O's club will not lead the league in walks. In fact, I'm going to go ahead and say it right now - I bet we lead the league in strikeouts. By a significant margin.
Ryan 'Heartbreaker' Adams struck out - saw it a mile away. So sad - I want him to succeed simply because of his name but I just can't see it right now.
Don't you just love seeing young guys in Spring Training games when they come up to bat in the 8th and 9th innings? They look so small and wiry compared to most major leaguers, and they always make them wear those retarded double-flap batting helmets that make them look like they're in the Little League World Series or something. Love it.
So there you have it - it will be something like that each morning after an O's game. Or something else. Or nothing at all - you'll just have to wait and see.
I haven't written a blog post in a good while. The last two posts that I wrote were long-ish diatribes on my feelings toward art, the artistic process, and songwriting. I used phrases like 'Artistic Intuition'. All of which leads me to my next blog post which is on, of course, gum!
As we get caught up in the day-to-day stresses and anxieties of our normal lives, it is easy to lose sight of 'the now'. It's much easier to look back on past eras and say, 'man, wasn't it nice when...' or look to the future and say, 'man, won't it be nice when...'. It's human nature. But every once in a while, we need to step back and recognize the world that we live in for what it is now. And let me tell you, we live in pretty good times.
I've mentioned it in previous posts, but the technological era that we currently live in is really pretty impressive. It may not be the electrical hover-crafts and hologram TV's that Isaac Asimov talked about in that Boy's Life article from 1989, but we do have video chat, portable hand-held computers, and 3d TV. But that's not the half of it. I am convinced that we are currently living in......
THE GOLDEN AGE OF GUM!!!1
When I was a kid (as I recall), there were a few gum options available to you: Juicy Fruit, Big Red, Extra, Big League Chew, Bazooka, etc. The big boys. They typically came in stick format and were nearly always packaged in that rectangular foil wrapper. You had a few flavor options; spearmint, peppermint, fruit, or...that standard 'gum' flavor that Bazooka and Dubble Bubble had. Life was fine. We didn't know any better....but my god, have things changed.
Take a look at Trident gum's product webpage: http://www.tridentgum.com/#/products/. I count 32 individual SKU's. 32 different types of gum! From Trident alone! And not only do you have a bunch of different flavors, you have five different styles:
- Trident Standard
- Trident Splash
- Trident White
- Trident Xtra Care
- Trident Layers
And look at the long-standing gum and candy magnate Wrigley: they offer no less than 11 brands of gum, including:
- Eclipse (which provides "incredibly fresh breath solutions for people whose on-the-go lifestyle demands a breath freshener that delivers.")
- 5 ("Stimulate your Senses")
- Big Red
- Doublemint
- Extra
- Freedent
- Hubba Bubba (its somehow very reassuring that Hubba Bubba is still being produced)
- Juicy Fruit
- Orbit (including regular Orbit, Orbit Mist, and Orbit White)
- Spearmint
- Winterfresh
Really take a look the next time you're in a gas station - the choice of gum in even the worst, cheapest Exxon station is mind-boggling. And that doesn't even touch how cool some of the new packaging is. The aforementioned "5" brand from Wrigley actually uses it's packaging as it's main selling point:
"5 is a groundbreaking sugar-free stick gum product. The mouth-freshening gum delivers long-lasting flavor and a unique experience. The sleek 5 envelope created the next great packaging enhancement for stick gum. Each distinctive envelope has an eye-catching design and holds 15 sticks. Now available in the new Prism flavor.(!)"
The gum that got me thinking about this post, however, is the newest offering from Trident, Trident Vitality. It was just released, and it comes in three styles:
- Vigorate, which is enhanced with Vitamin C
- Rejuve, which contains white tea
- Awaken, with a "dash" of ginseng
Check out this press release for a taste of how crazy the gum market has become. I actually picked up a pack of the 'Awaken' gum yesterday. The box alone had me sold - it is truly a piece of work. It's a full cardboard box with a recloseable lid - none of this wrap-around nonsense that Dentyne and Eclipse have been using - the damn thing is like Fort Knox. In a word, it's awesome. I mean, the gum still tastes like, well, gum, but the packaging - wow!
So the next time you open a cool new package of Dentyne Ice (Now FLAVOR Charged), take a moment to reflect how things once were and where we are today. We are no longer starved for flavor options. If we want a strawberry-orange layered sugarfree stick that whitens our teeth, it is readily available. We are truly living in a golden age.
music albums (presumably by artists signed to Columbia), picked the few that you were yearning for, spent your hard-earned lawn mowing money, mailed the card back, and waited 4 - 6 weeks for your CD's to arrive.
