November 18, 2008

still The One

Turns out I'm not a fan of college football. President-elect Obama so decreed, in no uncertain terms, on 60 Minutes. Anyone who disagrees with his desire to create a college football playoff is "no serious fan."

Wow, was I ever mistaken. I thought it was my favorite sport. I am chagrined. Dismissed. Humiliated. I'm going to toss all those ticket stubs from the two dozen college football stadiums and two championship games I've visited.

I don't know what I'll do on Saturdays, now. I guess I'll cling to some guns and pray for the price of arugula to drop.

posted by john at 06:44 AM  •  solamente

November 14, 2008

and with this, my shitty week redeems itself

I have no idea how Dan Rooney scraped up half a billion bucks, but news that the Steelers won't be sold outside the family that created them is great news indeed.

And thus will there be no cheerleaders anytime soon. Thank the Maker.

posted by john at 06:03 PM  •  solamente

September 22, 2008

the quotable troll

Longtime Stank troll (and fellow Steelers fan) John, who wants you to know that working with flowers all day doesn't make him any less of a heterosexual, said the following of the Steelers' performance yesterday:

The offensive line sucked so bad, they created a vacuum that drew the opposing D linemen through the holes.

posted by john at 12:10 PM  •  solamente

September 17, 2008

used trojans

I went to the Ohio State/USC game Saturday, the ticket for which I bought long ago, before it became clear what a lousy game it would be. Sigh. On the upside, I changed over Sarah's New Year's Eve plane ticket in order to fly there, so there's still some level of satisfaction.

USC has a great football program, and its star players' parents' free houses are second to none, but what a lousy gameday experience. I couldn't find a parking lot within two miles of the stadium. Not a parking space, mind you. A lot. Not even a full lot. And thus did I drive through gridlock for two hours and end up at the Staples Center, where I waited for a half hour for a free shuttle, which dropped me off a mile from the stadium, where I stood in line for another half hour, jockeying with 95,000 drunks to enter through one of two gates. It's as if Cal Poly suddenly had 95,000 people attend a game. They would be totally unprepared for it. I'm not sure what USC's excuse is.

Not surprisingly given the parking situation, the tailgating is bush league. The USC band is pathetic. The fans have no traditions and are utter football illiterates. ("Go Stanford!" yelled a Buckeye fan. "GO LSU!" a Trojan fan yelled back to applause, because losing to a great LSU team in the championship game is clearly worse than losing to pathetic Stanford at home.) The stadium is woeful. Therein they proudly claim to have won LSU's 2003 national championship, about which, if I were LSU, I would file an injunction. But at least they retired an enormous orange AT&T logo right next to where they retired O.J. Simpson's huge orange number, so at least there's a touch of class.

Oh, and the free shuttle that was to take me back to my car? Never showed up.

posted by john at 12:41 PM  •  solamente

September 01, 2008

happy breakup day

It started as a coincidence. When I broke up with Steph, it was my second Labor Day breakup in a row. Then it became three. And then last year, I set a secret Labor Day deadline when it came to my waiting for Sarah.

Labor Day has become my dumping day. But why? The traditional end of summer? School being back in session? A salute to trade unions? Allowing her a third day for listing my faults?

It could be any of those things, I suppose. But as I watched Ohio State's football opener Saturday, I wondered if my heart simply doesn't belong to another.

posted by john at 09:09 AM  •  solamente

August 25, 2008

the dumbest generation

Did anyone else notice that during the post-event interviews of Olympic medalists, the American athletes sounded unfathomably inarticulate compared to their peers from around the world?

As soon as a microphone was shoved into a Yank's face, my thoughts returned to what I thought when my mom tried to be "cool" around my friends: please don't say anything please don't say anything please don't say anything shut up shut up shut up shut up.

posted by john at 11:26 AM  •  solamente

August 18, 2008

olympic spoilers

I've pretty much given up watching the Olympics; have you? Between the time difference with Beijing, the time difference with New York, and the time difference between when an event occurs and when it actually airs, my margin of error for turning on the TV at the correct time is is +/- 2 days. And a half-day before my event airs, I accidentally read the results online.

Click.

posted by john at 08:43 AM  •  solamente

July 10, 2008

i have nothing for you people

So watch this instead. It's been cheering me up all week.

posted by john at 08:11 AM  •  solamente

June 13, 2008

kobe beef

Remember when Michael Jordan, playing at home, allowed the visiting team to come back from 24 points down in the NBA Finals? No? Me neither. In fact, it's unimaginable.

May we kindly, pretty please, officially stop mentioning Kobe in the same breath as Jordan now?

posted by john at 06:27 AM  •  solamente

May 27, 2008

fratricide: cheap shots i have thrown, part v

I received a last-minute phone call that a pickup soccer game needed players. And so I drove the haul to Chillicothe, OH, and I inserted myself at right fullback. We were a full half-hour into the game before the ball came into my hemisphere. The other team's left wing looked familiar. Really familiar. Wow, what a coincidence.

If you ever meet my brother, Russ, you will come away with the impression that when I was, say, 8 and he was 17, I beat the crap out of him and not vice-versa. The fact is that there were exactly five times I ever got the best of him. This is the story of the last.

He was surprised, too. And then we realized the significance of the moment: this was the first time we would ever compete against each other as adults. This man was once the boy who drove tomato stakes into the back yard so that I could practice ball-handling by weaving through them. Now, he was weaving through me.

He beat me badly the first time. Completely pantsed me and got an easy goal. And then I got a couple of stops. But in the scintillating scoring system that is soccer's, one goal is an enormous lead, and as such Russ could claim to be leading our personal contest. Another goal and he would achieve immortal bragging rights.

To aid his quest for immortality, his team started funneling him the ball on every advance. Eventually, inevitably, he got behind me again. I slipped. He drove toward the goal. The goalie slipped. Russ drove to point-blank range and stopped. He was going to make the net really billow. This was for immortality! And so my showboating brother selected his shot, cocked back his leg, and...

He doesn't remember what happened next, but I do. I hit him so hard from behind that I knocked him a few yards out of bounds. His skinny body made a wet celery sound. The ball remained where he'd left it. I was yellow-carded, of course, and he was awarded a penalty shot. He staggered to the ball and weakly kicked a roller. The goalie had no problem stopping it. Russ took himself out of the game and remained out for the next, oh, 15 years.

He blames me for the end of his glorious career. And for his subsequent battles with back pain. I may or may not be responsible, but what I will not concede is that I had somehow made an improper play.

"YOU TOOK ME OFF THE BALL, JOHN!" he'll snarl angrily.

"I'm sorry, did you score?"

I'd show more of the conversation, but those are essentially the only two sentences we've spoken for the last 15 years.

posted by john at 07:39 AM  •  solamente

May 22, 2008

dirkicide: cheap shots i have thrown, part iv

When one enforcer type happens upon another, no matter the sport, it becomes a game within a game. Actually, that's a lie. The larger game—the one with teammates and a score—ceases to matter. It becomes a primal battle. It becomes you against him. It becomes, in a word, stupid.

Dirk was the other goon in my neighborhood. He was built roughly like a washing machine. And frankly, I'd rather hit the latter. We got along fine outside of the field of play, but once the first hip-check was thrown, it was balls-out.

I threw the first hip-check during a pickup basketball game, knocking a sprinting Dirk ass-over-teakettle into some empty risers beside the court. Unlike mortal men, he gathered himself and returned to the game. He didn't even attempt to stop bleeding first. He only paused to pull a long, thin shard of steel out of his arm. It was like the end of a Terminator movie.

I was a dead man walking.

Dirk could touch the rim, which is pretty amazing feat for someone 5'6" and 225 pounds. I don't know if he could dunk. I couldn't take the chance. ("No one has ever dunked on me," I still stupidly boast.) When Dirk came charging down the court toward me looking for all the world like he intended to dunk, I defended him. He leapt into the air, knees up, toward me and, roughly, the basket. He drove one knee into my throat and the other into my nose.

I do not know if he made the shot. The next thing I remember was waking up face-down on the court, my nose broken and the game continuing at the other end. Thoughtful.

posted by john at 08:15 AM  •  solamente

May 21, 2008

phuongocide: cheap shots i have thrown, part iii

Because it wasn't game-related, this is perhaps my worst ethical infraction. You have been warned.

The scene: gym class in high school. In that I had previously seen a soccer ball, I was arguably the best player on the field. A Korean exchange student, Phuong (pronounced "Foong"), was modestly talented but figured that when it came to soccer, he was culturally and genetically better equipped than Americans. He played with an aggression that exceeded his talents. He hogged every ball, took every shot, and lectured us about strategy and rules.

He also cut Stephanie down. Steph was a friend, a sweet girl and talented athlete who happened to get caught between Phuong and glory. When I was serving my time as goalie, she was playing fullback and had the temerity to impede Phuong's progress toward the goal. He tackled her hard, clamping his legs around hers and wrenching her knee perversely—and bloodying her face when she kicked her own lip. We had to help her off the field. As we did, she asked us for a favor. She asked for a little playground justice.

She needn't have asked. I was very much in the mood for a little Korean.

I inserted myself at center fullback. I cleaned the dirt off my cleats. Nothing would impede their progress. And Phuong came. And I checked him brutally, not even making a pretense of legality. And no one helped him off the field as blood erupted out of the two perfect holes in his calf.

I saw him a few years later, and he still had noticeably symmetrical scars there. He didn't speak to me. Bonus.

posted by john at 10:10 AM  •  solamente

May 20, 2008

patricide: cheap shots i have thrown, part ii

I was about 19. I was playing in a pickup basketball game in my father's neighborhood when, for the first time in my life, he decided to attend one of my games. Sigh. It would have to be in basketball.

Still, I appreciated his encouragement. "Move your ass, John! Jesus Christ, it's like you're running through sand! Stop passing, you pussy! Shoot! Shoot! Ha ha ha. What a brick."

After 20 minutes of such scintillating wit, we lost several players. I pointed to my 50 year old father, standing on the baseline. "Him." Everyone agreed.

Because everyone but Dad knew what was coming. (Perhaps if you had come to one of my games, Dad, you too would have known better than to whip off your shirt and trot on to the court without a care in the world.) He insisted on guarding me, naturally, and it wasn't long before I was going up for a rebound and felt him trying to go up my back.

"MY EYE!" he screamed, cupping his face like his eye might fall out of its socket. "MY FUCKING EYE!"

In his haste to leave, he left his mangled eyeglasses lying on the court. My elbow felt better the next day. His glasses and cracked eye socket, not so much.

Dad never went to one of my games again.

posted by john at 08:49 AM  •  solamente

May 19, 2008

cheap shots i have thrown, part i

On any playground, I was always about the fourth guy picked. There were always more talented athletes, and those guys went first. But after that, we dogsbodies were allocated. I was a top-drawer enforcer. I never thought I was a particularly dirty player; I simply thrived in contact sports. I loved being able to use my physical "gifts" to jar a more talented athlete off the ball. Toughness is part of sports, or so I told myself, and my efforts were usually within the rules.

Venture outside the rules once in a while, though, and a merely aggressive player gets a "dirty" tag. This was me. And it was a different era. I'd be taking a rest on the sideline of a soccer game, and some uppity opposing player would start shredding our defense, and our coach would glare at me. "Get in there and maim that motherfucker."

One minute (and a legal slide into the ball) later, the player was helped off the field. A different era, indeed. And for my accumulated efforts, I earned a reputation. Where some kids made All-State, I got yellow-carded at the pre-game handshake.

This week, I shall chronicle the worst cheap shots I ever dispensed.

posted by john at 08:39 AM  •  solamente

April 16, 2008

the beautiful game

"I could never date a sports fan."
—Lilly, Seattle native

• • •

Seatards are very proudly not sports fans. You're just not a local until you whine endlessly about the public funding of the football stadium. That the "public" part of the stadium's funding comes exclusively from taxes on sports stuff is immaterial. We're good electric-bus loving liberals here, and the utter imbecility of our argument is immaterial, too.

Sports taxes paying for sports? Poppycock. That Seahawk jersey surcharge could be better spent on biofuels.

At work, at dinner, at parties, on the street, pretty much everywhere but in the stadiums, you have to hear these preening twits hold forth about the immorality of sports. There is one especially irritating exception.

"I only watch soccer," they sniff with superiority, as if they're reading Tolstoy to my Dave Barry. "It's a beautiful game."

"Name two players. Any in the world will do," I reply.

It's a good thing no one's ever tried to answer, 'cause I sure wouldn't know if they were lying.

posted by john at 06:53 AM  •  solamente

April 04, 2008

the week in whining

Now that the Colts and Giants have each been crowned, it's time to revisit three Super Bowls ago.

I once called Seahawk fans "spiteful, whiney bitches." I stand corrected.

posted by john at 06:56 AM  •  solamente

March 24, 2008

the champ

I was peripherally aware of them. There was the guy who got into dental school at Case Western, the guy who was a stud running back in high school, the guy who might have slept with a local celebrity, the guy who was going to be heavyweight terror Mike Tyson's next bum-of-the-week. I didn't meet any of these neighborhood guys, but I heard plenty about them on the basketball court. Mostly, I heard their modest claims-to-fame mocked by their friends.

"Interest in this fight is so intense," they said of the impending Tyson beat-down, "They had to move it from Trinidad to Japan."

I wasn't even sure when the fight was. Judging by the increasing intensity of the sneering, I figured it was soon.

One morning, I groggily opened the front door and looked down for my newspaper. There between my feet, in 4-inch type generally reserved for headlines like "CONGRESS DECLARES WAR," was instead this headline:

BUSTER'S THE CHAMP!

"No. Way."

And wow, did Buster ever have a lot of friends in the neighborhood. Stories about the man they'd not-long-ago called "Meat" suddenly abounded. He's one of us. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. We were best friends in grade school. He dated my sister. Say, how much you think he'll get paid for his title defense?

I only met him once, a month or so after Buster shocked the world but still a few months before he would vanish into obscurity. It turns out we had the same favorite nearby restaurant, Cooker's, and the same favorite dish, the meatloaf with drop-biscuits. We nodded to one another—I'm not one who bothers celebrities when they're eating—and for the rest of the evening I stole glances at a man eating his way out of the championship of the world.

posted by john at 07:07 AM  •  solamente

March 04, 2008

funeral for a friend

I remember the moment that Favre became Favre for me. I was aware of the Green Bay quarterback with the cannon arm and unspellable name, and I'd seen him play, but he hadn't yet blown me away. It was 1995, and my Super Bowl-bound Steelers were closing out their season in a meaningless game against Fahv-rah's Packers. The Packers were overmatched. The Steelers pounded Favre in a way that no QB could ever survive. Just pummeled him. Yet time and again, this guy got up off the turf, shook the sod out of his ear-holes, and fired away into the teeth of my defense. By the third quarter, blood poured forth from his face and his jersey turned a dark maroon. Jesus Christ, I said to Allie. This guy has seen "Rocky" a few hundred too many times.

And then he won the game.

And his hulking lineman leapt into his arms, in celebration.

And from then on, I watched him as often as I could, fearing that if I didn't, I would miss something that I'd never seen before and would never see again.

And now he's gone. Retired.

And the game I love most, I love less.

posted by john at 11:55 AM  •  solamente

February 06, 2008

reader mail: the golden boy

Distinguished Stank troll Amit writes of a Super Bowl experience far worse than a "we-ing" girlfriend.

I was watching the big game the other day at a friend's house when I realized something that may interest you--all the girls in the room were rooting for the Patriots because Tom Brady was "so cute" and "dreamy" and "a hunk" where all the guys were going for the Giants b/c the Patriots were cheaters and Tom Brady is a douchebag that (probably) cheats on his girlfriend and leaves her for a supermodel when said girlfriend gets pregnant. The girls looked right past these obvious flaws. It was quite an interesting dichotomy, one I wonder if was present at Super Bowl parties across the country.

Amen on the cheater douchebags, Amit. Meanwhile, did anyone else find this repugnance to be true? I'd call it ugly gender stereotyping except that I've seen it more often than not at Super Bowl parties.

Not to mention that the day a woman is actually attracted to the virtues that she says she's attracted to, I'll feel bolts of pain in my left arm and keel over. Sorry, ladies, it's the one gender bias to which I subscribe. Oh, there's two: I don't think most women should have jobs where they have to make announcements into a cheap P.A. system, either. Absolutely piercing. But that's it.

posted by john at 06:56 AM  •  solamente

February 05, 2008

we

I am, like most, delighted that the Giants spoiled the smug Patriots' tainted bid for perfection. It's God's work they did.

I was explaining the nature of the Pats' evil to Sarah when, resigned, she uttered, "I don't think I'll ever be the fan of a team. I'm just not wired that way."

Then we talked about the nature of developing fandom. She suggested that people don't start following a team at her age. I disagreed. As a challenge, she asked how I'd feel if she suddenly became a Steelers fan. I chuckled. There is no such thing, I said. You can suddenly start watching games. You can suddenly wear a lot of team-themed crap. You can suddenly start using "we" to refer to the team, as in "We won big today." But none of that makes you a fan. Girlfriends, especially, have seem predisposed to that route; I've always looked away in utter disgust.

"When they break you heart and you come back for more, and then they break it again and you come back for thirds, and then they break it again and you come back for fourths, then maybe you can use 'we.' Until you suffer, until you put in your time, not so much." I said. On the other hand, when they're good and advance deep into the post-season, you don't much enjoy that either. It's just nauseating, really.

She didn't see the upside. Smart.

posted by john at 07:09 AM  •  solamente

December 13, 2007

things i learned from reading jerome bettis' book

1. Books seem less heavy if you lower your arms below the surface in the hot tub.
2. If you're on page 12 and you grab 45 pages and turn them all at once, you avoid a bunch of really boring crap.
3. For someone who doesn't mean offense, Bettis sure says "No offense to so-and-so" a lot.
4. Bettis set a Super Bowl record for bear hugs given and received.
5. Books seem even less heavy if you lower them into the water altogether.

posted by john at 08:24 AM  •  solamente

November 28, 2007

no, really, it’s okay!

Spittake-inducing lead from an article in the Pittsburgh Trib:

Steelers apologize for skipping anthem
By Karen Price

The Steelers apologized Tuesday for omitting a performance of the national anthem by Motley Crue lead singer Vince Neil before the nationally televised game against the Miami Dolphins at Heinz Field.

Yep. That's my team.

posted by john at 05:21 PM  •  solamente

November 19, 2007

what’s wrong in this picture?

Now that's blocking. Thanks go to longtime Stank troll Amit for the screen capture.

posted by john at 09:35 AM  •  solamente

November 17, 2007

goodbye, lloyd

We here at Stank would like to graciously congratulate the Michigan Wolverines for cracking 90 yards of total offense today.

posted by john at 04:34 PM  •  solamente

November 06, 2007

squish

The modern age is a queer thing. Here I sit in my Seattle home, my Terrible Towel hanging next to me, drying from the rains in Pittsburgh last night/this morning.

Rain notwithstanding, the evening was pure bliss. Another person might have wished for a more competitive game. A better person, specifically.

In other news, if all goes as planned, d'Andre returns home tomorrow to find, God willing, my underwear stashed at the foot of his bed.

posted by john at 12:40 PM  •  solamente

October 28, 2007

classless, defined

As I type this, the Patriots lead the Redskins 38-0 in the fourth quarter. Not only are the Pats still playing all their starters, but they just went for it on 4th and 1.

Touchdown. 44-0 now. They should definitely go for two.

posted by john at 03:41 PM  •  solamente

October 08, 2007

steelers 21
seahawks 0

Oh heavenly father,

Today, I praise your name. I thank you for my many blessings. Like, when my team committed stupid penalties, their having the mettle to stop the Seahawks from scoring anyway. I thank you, too, that when questionable penalties were called, the Steelers had the wisdom to convert 3rd and long instead of whining to the media, that they quietly mounted a 110 yard drive from their own 20. Thank you for rewarding the virtuous and smiting the deserving. Thank you for providing me a team about which I can be proud and not ashamed. Thou art most wise.

xxoo,
john

posted by john at 09:47 AM  •  solamente

September 28, 2007

count 'em, twelve

When I was a kid, I tried to explain to a 7 year old that buying a group of ten candy bars for $4.00 would in fact be cheaper than his practice of buying 10 individual candy bars for 50 cents each. But he dug in his heels. He was insistent his way was the less expensive, for 50 cents was a lot less than $4. He was defensive. He was absolutely sure that he was correct. We were both flabbergasted by the other's stupidity. And only one of us was right.

• • •

"Wow. That's...stupid," Amy said after I pointed out the "12th Fan" flag hanging in a Seattle bar. She also seemed surprised to hear that in the couple years since she'd left Seattle, the locals had reinvented themselves into The Best Fans in Football. Just ask them. When she was here, you see, Seahawk games were still being blacked out because of poor attendance.

"What do they say when you point out they got the whole 12th Man thing wrong?"

Nothing. They say nothing. There is no conception of what the convention really is or why their error is hilarious to outsiders. They dig in their heels, absolutely sure that they are right. We are both flabbergasted by the other's stupidity. And only one of us is right.

posted by john at 07:01 AM  •  solamente

September 07, 2007

alma matters

Much as I, in a fit of gratitude, posted the Appalachian State fight song after they beat Michigan, so too are my brethren in Columbus loving the Mountaineers this week.

And talk about your bad fits. Here, the former university President complains about Ohio State's art scene. "When you win a game, you riot. When you lose a game, you riot. When spring comes, you riot. African-American Heritage Festival weekend, you riot."

Just outrageous. Let's go flip the bitch's car and set it on fire.

posted by john at 08:09 AM  •  solamente

September 01, 2007

holy. crap.
and thus does football season get off to the best imaginable start

You know the words! Sing with me now...

Hi-Hi-y-ike-us
Nobody like us,
We are the
mountaineers,
mountaineers,
mountaineers,
Always a-winning
Always a-grinning
Always a-feeling fine
You bet, hey
Go Apps!
Fight Apps!
Go, fight, kick ass!

#5 Michigan lost their tuneup game. At home. To a I-AA school. I can die now.

Michigan might not be the Princeton of the midwest, but I'll be damned if they didn't play like it.

posted by john at 04:00 PM  •  solamente

August 31, 2007

vote ozzie in 2008

I'm not a baseball guy, but anyone with co-workers can appreciate the White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen's gasket-blowing before the media after his underachieving club lost yet another game. Of his team, he said:

"They're killing me. They're killing my family. They're killing my coaching staff. Killing the White Sox fans. They kill the owner. They kill everyone. I hope they feel the same way we feel. I hope somebody out there cares the way we care. Good guys or nice guys finish fucking last. I'm tired of seeing that shit, day in and day out. And I don't want to spend a miserable September seeing the same shit. If I have to see the same shit, I told Kenny, 'Bring somebody up. Fuck it.' If it's my fault, I should be moving out of here then. If it's my fault, fucking fire my ass and I'll be fine. I have the job to do, and I get paid a lot of fucking money to make this club work, but it's not easy to work with people like that. It's not easy."

At a press conference. Lovely, just lovely. Sir Charles can be his Secretary of State.

posted by john at 07:05 AM  •  solamente

August 29, 2007

jesus still has some seriously heavy lifting to do

One of my greatest regrets in this history of this page occurred yesterday, when my laziness denied me an "I told you so."

Over the weekend, I'd intended to predict that Michael Vick would soon, and very publicly, find Jesus. It's on page two of the Millionaire Athlete Revealed to Be an Irredeemable Piece of Shit Playbook, right after claiming victimhood and right before crying racism. And yesterday, he did just that. Yes, kids, Jesus recently helped Vick realize that his torturing, drowning, and electrocuting dogs on an ongoing basis for at least seven years was an "immature act," a "mistake."

Spin, spin, spin. Jesus has a lot more work to do.

And why does Jesus only appear after your friends have ratted you out to the government, anyway? He's the ambulance-chaser of deities.

posted by john at 09:33 AM  •  solamente

August 20, 2007

foresight defined

News of Michael Vick's imminent jail time makes me think back to 2001, when the San Diego Chargers had the foresight to trade away his rights for a second round pick, a third round pick, Tim Dwight, and someone I like to call LaDainian Tomlinson. And then they snagged Drew Brees in the second round.

Best trade ever.

posted by john at 07:11 PM  •  solamente

no race mixing

I first noticed it at the Seahawks game in Chicago last year. The number "54" was being burned into my retinas. "Is there some law that every last white Bears fan has to wear Urlacher's jersey?" I wondered, looking for the telltale placard.

All Bears fans must wear the jersey of someone who's the same color they are. - Mayor Richard M. Daley

I could find no exceptions, black or white. This fascinated me. I've since kept an eye on this.

Seattle fans are overwhelmingly white, of course, and they wear the jerseys of one of the three Seahawks players they've heard of: Hasselbeck (white), Alexander (black), or Tatupu (Samoan). I can't recall ever seeing black fans in the stands in Seattle, but I'm sure they'd wear something ultra-defensive. In Atlanta, white folks wore black folks' jerseys—especially Vick's—but there aren't exactly a lot of white stars on the Falcons. And apparently there haven't been for 21 years, as I did see Steve Bartkowski's jersey several times. Black fans uniformly stuck to black players' jerseys. Ditto in Charlotte.

It was in Charlotte that I saw the trend broken. Seated in front of us was an entire family from Pittsburgh. They were cloyingly all dressed alike. Mom, Dad, son, and toddler all wore Roethlisberger's jersey. They were black. Roethlisberger is white. I was surprised by how surprised I was.

A quick scan of the 20,000 Steeler fans who'd made the trip revealed no pattern whatsoever to jersey selection. Oh, a few more fans wore white tight end Heath Miller's jersey than his production merits, but I attribute this to political protest more than racial insight. The Steelers never throw to their tight end.

I remembered tailgating in Pittsburgh. There are the usual Pittsburgh demographics present: Italians, blacks, Irish, and especially Poles. I remembered no racial clustering, though, outside of families. The only other place I've tailgated in an integrated fashion is Oakland. Everywhere else, complete segregation.

During a long drive yesterday, I listened to a podcast from Pittsburgh. I was struck by how this black fan integrated a dreadful, Steelers-themed polka into his broadcast. And I was struck by how oddly affirming I find that.

posted by john at 06:54 AM  •  solamente

August 07, 2007

i got yer steely mcbeam. i got yer steely mcbeam right here.

First, I thought it couldn't get any worse than the Steelers naming their ugly new stadium "Heinz Field." Then they added the moronic ketchup bottles, and I stood corrected. But now, I thought, surely the worst is behind us.

I was wrong. They decided to get a mascot. Now it couldn't get any worse, right? But I was wrong again. The new mascot would look like Satan's childhood rapist. Now it couldn't possibly get any worse.

Today, they announced the thing's name: Steely McBeam. We have officially bottomed out. Until they hire cheerleaders.

posted by john at 02:22 PM  •  solamente

July 27, 2007

burgh humor

Much as with the mental collateral damage inflicted by girlfriends, thanks to Steelers fans, I know way, way too much about the Pirates. I don't care about the Pirates. I don't really care about baseball, for that matter. Yet there they are, taking up increasingly rare neurons.

I've come to appreciate the gallows humor with which Pittsburghers regard their truly lousy baseball team. The start of football training camp in July is annually hailed as the end of baseball season. On a report from training camp the other day, a reporter spoke of the scrimmage that the Steelers would hold in a local high school stadium. There's going to be a fireworks display afterward, he said, "And you don't even have to watch a Pirates game to see it."

The day before that, the Pittsburgh sports channel had about 20 minutes of coverage of the Steelers' camp in Latrobe, went to commercial, and then came back. The anchor's transition: "And now it's the part in the show where we must discuss the Pirates and their nine-game losing streak. But we don't want to, so let's go back to Latrobe."

posted by john at 06:36 AM  •  solamente

July 09, 2007

invincible

During my Week of Phlegm, I used up my personal stash of unwatched DVDs and forged on to the video store. There, among other things, I rented "Invincible." I knew that it starred Marky Mark and was about football, and that's about where my bar was, so I grabbed it. Had I noticed that it was yet another Disney sports movie, however, I would have passed. I've already seen it. Many times.

Our hero is generous, kind, beloved. He is nevertheless dumped on by society. He's too poor, too old, too black, too something. His life is systematically reduced to rubble before our eyes. He's left with only his dream. His dream involves sports. At first, he gets no respect. People mock him. Only a good woman believes in this loser. She is improbably hot. He thinks about quitting, but he doesn't, because the dream is all he has left. And wouldn't you know, he succeeds. In a brilliant musical montage, he earns his detractors' respect play by play. His onetime critics hoist him up on their shoulders.* Fans cheer. Our hero basks in applause, his good woman by his side. We learn in the American Graffiti–style end titles that they lived happily ever after.

Unwatchable.

*If our hero is black, this is replaced by "One-time hate-spewing racists, suddenly seeing the light, now cuddle him."

posted by john at 06:22 AM  •  solamente

April 10, 2007

tressel hayes

Finally, a miraculous baby.

posted by john at 06:33 AM  •  solamente

April 02, 2007

rematch!

You heard it here first, on December 3:

"Ohio State and Florida are 1 and 2 in football and 3 and 4 in basketball, so a rematch in March is even possible."

I suspect that my boys are in for another butt-kicking at the hands of the Gators tonight, but ya never know. I've been waiting for them to lose all tournament, and they outlasted 63 other teams. At one point, I had them at 1-2 in the tourney. Quite the feat.

posted by john at 07:50 AM  •  solamente

March 30, 2007

higher lerning

posted by john at 07:01 PM  •  solamente

March 16, 2007

experiment

It's always amazed me how the same post can offend seemingly opposing groups. Why, it's almost like people troll the Internet for offense, viewing words through the prism of their own biases!

So I decided to do an experiment.

In my post two days ago, I took care not to mention Kobe's legal troubles or the fact that the league seems to be targeting him alone. I stated no thesis. I didn't say the league was targeting the guy because he elbowed white players. Nor did I say Kobe was racist for elbowing 'em. Yet somehow, readers saw both arguments. They eviscerated Kobe, the NBA, me, all for the hobgoblins of their own imaginations.

Fascinating.

posted by john at 10:27 AM  •  solamente

March 14, 2007

kobe beef

A funny thing happened while I was listening to Phil Jackson defend Kobe Bryant. They showed clips of Bryant throwing his elbows into three different faces, acts for which he was suspended. They looked flagrant enough to me, but they could have just as easily been no-calls. What really caught my eye, though, was that it was three white guys' faces. If I remember probability theory correctly, the odds of that happening are 82-1. Same odds as getting Ace-King before the flop in a single hold'em hand. Or of Cleveland winning Super Bowl XLII.

Fascinating.

posted by john at 05:09 PM  •  solamente

February 22, 2007

rest in peace, d.j.

See: Stuff that apparently only I like

posted by john at 03:04 PM  •  solamente

February 09, 2007

why i don’t watch the nba anymore

Participating in the slam-dunk competition next weekend: Gerald Green, Dwight Howard, Nate Robinson, and Tyrus "I'm just going to go out there, get my check and call it a day. I'm just into the free money. That's it. I'll just do whatever when I get out there." Thomas.

Judging the contest: Dr. J., Dominique Wilkins, Vince Carter, Kobe Bryant, and Michael Jordan.

Attention, judges—please bring white-soled shoes.

posted by john at 12:34 AM  •  solamente

February 06, 2007

super bowl notes

The media, God bless 'em, waited until the second question after his Super Bowl victory to ask Tony Dungy how it felt to be black. I'd feel worse for him if his response wasn't basically That's not important. What's important is that we're the first Christian team to win it. And as you can see in the final score, the Lord took care of his own. How graspingly sad. How tasteful. I'm sure the non-Christians on his team appreciate it.

I think last year's suckfest has skewed perceptions. This wasn't a particularly good game. Stop saying it was. While I typed this sentence, three more balls hit the ground.

In the BCS championship and Super Bowl this year, both the opening kickoffs were returned for touchdowns. Both teams eventually lost.

Rain good.

I congratulated an Indiana native friend yesterday. "Thanks," he said sheepishly. "I sure could have done without all the jesusing, though."

If Philly fans want Garcia over McNabb so much, I can think of a team on Lake Michigan that could really, really use McNabb.

posted by john at 08:24 AM  •  solamente

February 02, 2007

company loves misery

I'm a little ashamed. It's not like me to take eleven years to notice that people are steaming sacks o' crap. But here we are.

When my Steelers lost Super Bowl XXX, I heard from everyone. E-v-e-r-y-o-n-e. Acquaintances and a ex-girlfriends came out of the woodwork to say they'd watched the game and thought of me, and I must be really miserable, huh?

Cut to:

When my Buckeyes won the championship in 2003, I heard from no one.

Cut to:

When the Steelers finally won in 2006, I heard from no one.

Cut to:

Present day. It's been almost a month, yet several times a week, some dimwit from some peripheral crevice of my life will go out of his way to remind me that the Buckeyes just got thumped.

"I don't even watch football," says the ninth-place trophy wife instead of taking my order. "And I was all, like, 'GOD, they SUCK!'"

"Ha, ha. Thanks."

Yesterday, it was the UPS guy. He spotted the Ohio State decal on my Jeep.

"Ohio State?!?" he said incredulously. "Ohio State?!?"

I nodded. "I'm an alum."

"Whoa!" He shook his head gravely, yet his tone bordered on delight. "They just got their asses kicked!"

I glared at him. Is this because I didn't tip at Christmas?

"Really? I hadn't heard. Say, where did you go to school?"

The answer was both mumbled and untypically complicated. He petered out and backed toward his truck.

I grabbed my box and went inside to seethe. Enjoy backing down my driveway, motherfucker.

posted by john at 07:13 AM  •  solamente

January 24, 2007

picking a horse

As I was munching popcorn and watching the excellent AFC championship game, I couldn't help but note how much more I enjoy football when my team's been eliminated. It's the difference between your wife and your mistress. Yeah, you love your wife, but on the other hand you never have to hold a bucket for your mistress when she's got the stomach flu. She's just about the quickie. Meaningless, yes, but pleasant.

So says the man with neither wife nor mistress.

With the evil teams having been dispatched, I really didn't have a rooting interest in the final four. So is it with the final two.

So here's my case for rooting for Indianapolis.

• Tony Dungy is a long-suffering member of the Steeler family tree, and he finally made it to the Show as a coach.
• Mouthy Mike Vanderjagt is sitting at home while Peyton and Dungy, now liberated from "Shank" Vanderjagt, finally got to the Super Bowl. Coincidence?
• People said KC would shred the Colts' running defense, and KC got stuffed.
• People said that the Ravens' physical defense would pound the "soft" Colts, and the Colts didn't flinch.
• People said that Manning's longtime nemisis Belichick would, as always, get in Manning's head. Manning prevailed.

And here's the case for the Bears:

• Every football whore for whom I have no respect is rooting for Indianapolis.

Go Bears.

posted by john at 08:39 AM  •  solamente

January 21, 2007

my sporting world in a nutshell

Looking for news of the Steelers' coach search, I went to Steelers.com today.

Noticing with approval a large photo of unglamourous offensive lineman Alan Faneca on the home page, I chuckled smugly and went to see whether the Seahawks' home page featured their quarterback or their running back.

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

It features Chantale.

She did four years of high school cheerleading, she loves the eliptical machine, and when asked what she likes best about being a SeaGal, she replied "Everything!"

Gotta respect the twelve fans.

posted by john at 12:07 PM  •  solamente

January 18, 2007

trade ya my ohio state diploma for a six pack. and it doesn't even have to be cold.

Historically, I'm of one school of thought when it comes to NFL halftime shows. Three words: frisbee catchin' dogs. I don't need anything else. I don't want anything else. Frisbee catchin' dogs. Sadly, they seem to have fallen out of fashion. Perhaps the dogs unionized.

On Football Weekend this year, in Indy, they fielded something quite close in entertainment value. While the Colts and Bengals retired to the locker rooms, various mascots from around the league played a quick game of football. While in full costume. There's something oddly thrilling about a guy in a giant foam dolphin head catching a 10 yard slant and getting laid out by someone in a foam bronco costume. Yes, this feels good. It feels right.

I had the opposite feeling at the BCS championship game last week. Normally, I enjoy watching Ohio State's band humiliate the other team's, but this time it was me who was hanging my head in shame. You tell me. They set up a lean-to along the sideline, about 120 feet long and 20 feet wide. It had waves painted on it. The band, meanwhile, was out on the field playing the theme from "Titanic"—how hilarious is that bit of foreshadowing?—and forming a giant outline of the ship, which "floated" on the water lean-to. Okay. Stupid, but okay. But then the ship split in two, and we watched first one, then the other section disappear under the lean-to.

We sat speechless in our seats. Finally I gagged out "Um. People. We just re-enacted the deaths of 1500 people as halftime entertainment."

I was utterly appalled and embarrassed. What do you have in mind for an encore, Ohio State?

"The Hindenburg Follies"

"Oh, Guyana!"

"A George Gershwin Salute to the World Trade Center Collapse"

The mind reels.

posted by john at 06:55 AM  •  solamente

January 10, 2007

fan DOs and DONT’s

Even when Ohio State still led—hence before I was questioning my very birth, let alone why I was at the championship game—I wondered if I should really be attending games in person anymore. The bigger the game, the more deplorable fan conduct is becoming. I spent most of the Super Bowl and BCS championship wishing I could see the game. Thanks to my fellow fans and their underdeveloped senses of consideration, I would guess I saw maybe 70% of the Super Bowl and 40% of the BCS. When you're shelling out this kind of bank, those percentages inspire murderous daydreams. Visions of shivs, specifically.

Because of the overwhelming evidence that football fans are not born with this knowledge, I hereby bequeath to fandom this primer.

DO	DON'T
Stand and jeer when the opposing team is on offense, especially on third down.	Stand the whole time. See the fans behind you? See how some of them are short, old, handicapped, or lazy? They cannot see through you. While you're still turned around, please also note the nice seat the team provided for your use. See how they didn't provide risers?
Stand and cheer after great plays.	Leap up in the middle of the great play. I'd like to see how it turns out, thanks.
Get front row seats. I sure wish I had.	Inexplicably stand up so that the 5000 dominoes behind you all must do likewise.
Sit the fuck down. Seriously.	Argue with people when you're politely asked to sit down. For example, "It's the Super Bowl!" is not really a compelling argument for impeding a crippled 70 year old's view of the Super Bowl. (True story. He'd just had knee surgery and was on crutches, yet he was told off for very nicely asking someone to sit down.)
Proudly wear your team's colors.	Wear an oversized rainbow afro that completely eclipses your neighbors' view of the field. If you must get on TV, paint your chest like a man.
Proudly wear your team's colors.	Wear those asinine "ladies' versions." Your team's colors almost certainly do not include pink.
Make comments to your neighbors. That's what fandom is all about.	Yell comments to players and coaches 2000 feet and 40,000 fans away. Amazingly enough, they cannot hear you.
Bitch about our mutual team. That's really what fandom is about.	Attribute player/coach failings to race, sexual orientation, etc. I didn't shell out good money to be slimed, thanks.
Participate in team chants. Here we go, Stillers, here we go!	Drunkenly inform your fellow fans that they suck because they don't join your theatrics. Double-penalty for ignoring the game in order to lecture "inferior" fans.
Say hi to friends at the game.	Call them on your cell phone, stand up, and wave. See "shiv," above.
Good naturedly needle opposing fans. Buy them a beer, while you're at it. We're all one fraternity.	Ruin the game for them and everyone else. The right to unleash your pent-up hostilities and ruin someone else's good time is not included in the price of your ticket.
Root for your team at road games.	Clamor for everyone's attention. This is about the game, not about you.
Bring signs	Hold them overhead during plays. This really needs to be said? Jesus Christ, people. And by "during plays," I don't mean "lower it a millisecond before the snap." To those of us without rainbow afros and "Romo is a homo" signs, watching pre-snap shifts is an integral part of the game.
Urinate as needed.	Walk in front of me during a play. During a 3 hour football game, there are 2 hours and 48 minutes of down time. Use that.

posted by john at 02:07 PM  •  solamente

conjuring a silver lining

Many thanks to Allie, who thoughtfully calculates that on my BCS trip I spent $28.90 for every yard of offense Ohio State mustered. I suppose I should be grateful not to have gone to the Michigan game, which at that rate would have cost me $14,037.

posted by john at 09:41 AM  •  solamente

January 08, 2007

not that i’m saying they phoned it in...

A sign at the championship game:

Alternate headline: Tell them I'm not here.

• • •

As much as I'd like to do a satire of Hurricane and Seahawk fans' bitter ungraciousness in defeat, I liked the Florida fans too much to shit on their moment. Fact is, their team earned it. We didn't. And to win both basketball and football championships in the same year...wow. I applaud.

posted by john at 10:05 PM  •  solamente

gak and double gak!

GLENDALE, AZ - The Fiesta Bowl and championship game were moved this year from Arizona State's Sun Devil Stadium in Tempe to the Cardinals' new stadium in Glendale. I haven't been inside the latter yet, but I already miss Tempe. Its shops and restaurants cluster around the stadium, providing a lovely and natural meeting place for fans. In Glendale, not so much. Not even desert surrounds the ghastly stadium exterior. Only dirt. The stadium itself is Kingdome-quality ugly. A big, featureless gray pimple on mud flats.

I've seen thousands of Ohio State fans, which is no surprise. I've also seen thousands of Florida fans, which is a welcome treat after the dozen or so Miami fans who showed four years ago. There's no animosity between the schools, so the fans are mixing amicably. There's none of that nonsense I saw at the Super Bowl, with punk-ass fans looking for fights. We Buckeyes are more playful about it, often breaking into song. The Florida fans and local media are amazed at how quickly we devised (and all learned) songs like "We Don't Give a Damn for the Whole State of Florida," not realizing, of course, that all we did was substitute "Florida" for "Michigan." In Ohio, our mothers sing us that song at cribside.

The superstition survives: my game ticket is in my 2003 championship sleve, with my 2003 and Super Bowl tickets.

posted by john at 08:23 AM  •  solamente

January 06, 2007

hail no

Stank Troll Jim baits me with news that the University of Michigan marching band greeted the arrival of President Ford's corpse with a rousing rendition of "Hail to the Victors."

I have no comment. This situation is sufficiently self-mocking.

posted by john at 04:47 PM  •  solamente

January 05, 2007

immortal

Maybe the sexiest thing I've ever seen. In 11 months, anyway.

It's starting to dawn on me that in my dotage, I'm going to remember these last eleven months as a golden year. In February, I traveled to Detroit to watch my boys win the Super Bowl. This weekend, I travel to Phoenix to watch my other, younger boys play for a championship of their own. In between those momentous trips, I took in football games in Iowa City, Chicago, Indianapolis, Atlanta, Charlotte and Seattle. Hell, I even saw two Gonzaga home basketball games.

Every once in a while, you're blessed to know that you're in the good old days while you're still in 'em. For the rest of my life, I'll never come close to duplicating this year. I won't even try.

Good feeling.

posted by john at 11:29 AM  •  solamente

December 27, 2006

football weekend xi rollup

I can't believe anyone cares, but for the purpose of completeness, here it is.

SEATTLE
The weekend started in a downpour, but we didn't much mind. Donning his Seahawks jersey, Bubba met me at Qwest Field, where we watched the Seahawks continue their ungraceful moonwalk into the playoffs, against the 49ers. Qwest is easily the loudest stadium of this or any weekend. Attribute that to canny fans and an even cannier architecture. Imagine two Sydney Opera Houses pointed at one another with a field in the middle, and you have Qwest. Even an idly chattering, one-third capacity crowd can reach a distorted din. A full crowd during the opponent's third down? Otherworldly.

Quest is among my favorite stadiums. Architecturally, it's magnificent and unique. The seating's comfortable, the sight-lines are perfect, the excellent food's distinctive (local restaurants, chowder, etc.) and the giant scoreboard is visible to most. Major demerits for navigation, though—up the stairs, down the stairs, up the stairs, down the stairs, you don't need signs, do you?—and for a lack of tables at which to eat the $9 hot dogs. We ate off a trash can. Even Spokane Arena has tables.

During the course of the game the guy behind me, to illustrate how much he hates the 49ers, said that he hates only the Steelers worse. They should be ashamed of themselves for "paying off the refs and buying a championship," he said to no one in particular. The weight of his evidence and sagacity of his argument made be feel very ashamed indeed.

"I wish I had a camera" Award: with the Seahawks ten points and six minutes away from winning their division, thousands upon thousands of fans filed out, right under the enormous "HOME OF THE TWELFTH MAN" sign.

ATLANTA
"Now I know why they put the South so far South," I grumbled as I drove from mall to mall the week before Christmas, trying to find a Verizon store employee who knew how to issue me a replacement phone. It's a testament to how hectic this FBW was that neither Bubba nor I ever had a chance to stop at a cigar store or liquor store. Thanks to the hurricane-force windstorm in Seattle, we were in damage-control mode almost the entire trip. His Canadian flight landed in Atlanta a few minutes before kickoff, and he joined me at our seats, first taking a moment to wriggle into his Falcons jersey. We watched a very impressive Dallas team trade blows with Atlanta. Michael Vick continued to not impress me. Terrell Owens spat in DeAngelo Hall's face. The usual. The Georgia Dome is merely okay. Good sound, good displays, but oversized and its seats are much too far from the field. Ludacris performed at halftime, including my favorite in his library, "Move Bitch," which when sanitized for a family venue is really not much of a song at all.

After the game, we ate burgers at the Varsity, then chased Bubba's luggage to his parents' house in SC on our way to Charlotte. We checked into our Charlotte motel at 5:30am.

"I wish I had a camera" Award: After I dealt with the exceedingly useless employees at the Verizon store in the North Dekalb Mall, I blundered into the office of one of my personal heroes: Rep. Cynthia "The Capitol Police stopped me when I didn't have an ID because they're racist" McKinney. I asked if she was there. She wasn't. Can you guess how many non-blacks she employs? Can you? Can you?

CHARLOTTE
After four hours' sleep, we sped to another of my favorite stadiums, now called Bank of America Stadium. It's only a matter of time before two stadiums in two different cities go by the same name, isn't it? BofA is ten years older, now, and it needs some updating. The video and sound systems are subpar. The actual experience in the seats, however, is second to none. What a lovely, intimate setting. Not a bad seat in the house, and the sight-lines are utterly perfect.

Flying a Steelers flag on my side of the rental car and a Panthers flag on Bubba's, we managed to gag down some tailgate in the spare hour before the game, and Bubba, wearing his Panthers jersey, even swung a brats-for-beer trade that required that he down three beers in rapid succession. So he was fairly useless as company during the game. That didn't matter, though, because some 10,000 Steelers fans showed up to keep me company and root the good guys to a ludicrously one-sided victory. The Panthers fans, true to their rep, were lethargic from word go.

Bonus points to the Panthers for not hanging lame "Division Champions" banners everywhere like they did in the other three venues. Nothing screams "Losers" quite like a banner attesting to your one-time also-ran status. It's the sports equivalent to bragging that your buddy let you sniff his sister's panties. It's just sad.

INDIANAPOLIS
We landed at the Indy airport in the same concourse from which I departed for Washington 14 years ago. I quietly regarded the very spot from which Maddie had watched me board my plane, ending our life together. We hopped in a cab, and I instructed the cabbie to take us to our hotel by way of the White Castle's drive through. I ended up buying the cabbie lunch there; Bubba, perhaps still reeling from his gas station experience a year before, declined. And so we sat in our room watching ESPN highlights of Sunday's games, me eating sliders and him eating boiled peanuts left over from Charlotte. That was fitting. For the record, having tried Crystal's hamburgers while in Atlanta, I can say that they're similar in size only. White Castles are steamed and, to my palette, tastier.

We left for the district surrounding the RCA Dome, where a bartender told a craving Bubba, now wearing a Colts jersey, where he could find a Scottish egg. The bar was five blocks away, we were told, a fact made significant by a mysterious and quite painful injury to my toe that was causing it to bleed. I mention this only because the walk ended up being 14 blocks. I wish an excruciating death upon that bartender. The Scottish egg, however, was quite fantastic, and if you ever find yourself in Indy, before you run screaming for the airport, I highly recommend MacNiven's scottish pub.

With all due respect to the Meadowlands, the RCA Dome is the worst venue in the NFL. Hideous, narrow concrete tunnels pass for a concourse. Half the seating is on aluminum bleachers. The jumbotron was apparently made around the time of the league merger. The worst seats are absurdly high. I could go on, but since they're replacing that upholstered toilet, I see no point. The Bengals did not show, and Peyton and Marvin put on an absolute clinic.

The Colts fans were distinctive in one regard: whereas the stadiums in Seattle, Atlanta and Charlotte were sterile and corporate and utterly interchangeable, the Colts' stadium looked like the Colts' stadium. Hand-made signs were draped from seats, each supporting a favorite player or exhorting the team to victory. After the franchise-produced, professionally made, utterly hollow signs ("Hasselbeck's Heroes," "Stevens' Soldiers," etc.) at the prior three venues, it was refreshing to see the genuine article.

"I wish I had a camera" Award: The best sign of the weekend was in Indy and directed at the Bengals' Chad Johnson: "OCHO CINCO MUCHO STINKO."

posted by john at 11:24 AM  •  solamente

December 14, 2006

football weekend xi

Tonight, Football Weekend begins its second decade. Unfathomable. What began as a mere one-off, my conspiracy to rescue a buddy from his raving psychosis of a wife, has become a tradition that's outlived both relationships. As it should be.

Logistics are such that FBWs must be selected well in advance, and these games are evidence of that. Consider, for example, how good Carolina-Pittsburgh and Cincy-Indy looked five months ago. Let us not speak of how much we paid for those Carolina tickets. Rounding out the weekend are Seattle-San Francisco and Atlanta-Dallas. Not bad, but not a great slate either. At least the Monday night game will feature two desperate teams. As for tonight, if you have the NFL Network, tune it in. They're forecasting 100 mph wind gusts. I'll be the guy in the stands.

Thanks go to Jen and Jeff, who will squat in my house and watch Ed's increasingly bizarre leg-kicking antics in my absence.

posted by john at 06:08 AM  •  solamente

December 03, 2006

mailbag: gridiron edition

Far too many Trolls have written me to ask a variation on this question: "I haven't seen any Steelers games this year. What happened? I mean, seriously, what the fuck?"

My standard answer: "Nothing that a heart transplant wouldn't fix."

Sometimes your team isn't very good, and you learn to live with that. This year is something new, though. At the midpoint of the season, the Steelers were 2-6 and the only team ranked in the top six in the league in both offense and defense. This cannot happen without serious stupidity, bad luck, or bad breaks, and the Steelers had plenty of each. The way they were losing games was no less epic than the way they won them last year. They routinely outplayed opponents, then gifted them the game in the most moronic way imaginable. Even if you tried to predict the worst possible outcome of a crucial play, they'd snap the ball and show you how much more imaginative than you they are. Picks for touchdowns, ricochets for touchdowns, fumbles for touchdowns, penalties that nullified touchdowns. Roethlesberger had three interceptions that bounced off receivers' hands in one half, two of them returned for touchdowns. That stuff happens in football, yes, but not every week, and every game is turning on some such fluke. Their concentration is poor, the coaching ineffective. Theories about causes abound, from Roethlesberger's offseason accident and surgeries, to a lame duck coach, to a Super Bowl hangover. I believe them all. The team is an embarrassment to themselves. They play with no pride. Heart donors wanted.

• • •

Stank Troll Gretchen asks if I wanted a rematch with Michigan in the championship game. Hell yes. We can't beat Michigan enough. Alas, now I'll be rooting for them to eviscerate USC in the Rose Bowl. For once, the Wolverines are on the side of good and light.

A hearty congratulations to the University of Florida, who won a much-deserved shot at my Buckeyes in the championship game. I wish their fans luck finding tickets. Tempe is going to be quite scarlet. Florida, meanwhile, has a chance at doing something that I don't think has been done in my lifetime: championships in football and basketball in the same year. (Further, OSU and UF are 1 and 2 in football and 3 and 4 in basketball, so a "rematch" in March is even possible.) Ohio State, meanwhile, already the only team in history to have beaten two #2 teams in a season, will now try to beat a third. History will be made either way.

Which, I might add, is two more #2 teams than USC and its media sweethearts have faced in their three-year "dynasty" period. Yes, yes, I know, they had to face the mighty Cal-Berkeley every year. Truly terrifying, they. They should start calling that game "The granddaddy of them all."

As much as I would have liked to have seen Ohio State paste USC 55-3, I'm delighted that the media conspiracy to hype them into another undeserved championship scenario was thwarted by (chortle) UCLA. I watched the ending of that game over and over, just to see the look on Pete Carroll's face. "Fire my publicist!" the look said.

posted by john at 06:18 PM  •  solamente

November 26, 2006

how to make your tv lower-def for only a few thousand dollars

Enough people have asked me about this, so I might as well post about it—knowing what I know now, would I switch to HDTV again? No, I wouldn't. It's little bang for a considerable buck, but worse, the net result is that I watch the vast majority of programming in lower definition than before.

Actual high def programming looks, of course, spectacular. Football is utterly gorgeous. When teams line up to kick a field goal, I can make out the facial expressions of the crowd in the stands. Unfortunately, this constitutes a small fraction of the programming I watch. Most of the shows on the major networks aren't available in high def, and the cable networks? Forget about 'em. You're watching low-def shows on a high-def display, which looks slightly worse than it does on your low-def TV.

Worse, though, is the aspect ratio. You're forever dicking with it. Most programming requires vertical letterboxing, so you have black bars on either side of the picture. But since the bars will permanently burn into a plasma display, you have to distort the picture such that it takes up the whole screen. What was 1 pixel is now smeared across several. Yeah, this is why you drop a few grand on HD: to distort the picture and make it even lower def.

• • •

The Cocksucker of the Year award (and I mean that in the non-gay-slur way, thank you very much) goes to DirecTv. They charge me $10 a month for HD programming. They charge me $250 for the NFL package. And when the season started and I went to turn on the Steelers game, I was denied access to their HD channel. "Oh, you have to pay another $100 to get NFL games in HD," DirectTv helpfully said.

Already several billion dollars invested, I cursed and paid the extortion money. And then the next week, I looked for the Steelers on HD, and they weren't among the selections. "Not all of the games are available in HD," DirecTv helpfully said.

It's happened three times now. Fills me with all sorts of warm tinglies inside.

posted by john at 07:15 AM  •  solamente

November 18, 2006

embarrassment of riches

If you need to find me January 8, I'll be in the fourth row behind the south goal post.

This has been quite a year for me, sports-wise. After the Super Bowl and this, I'm not sure where I can possibly go from here. Oh! Yeah! Ohio State's basketball team is ranked #4!

posted by john at 04:54 PM  •  solamente

postscript

Thanks to Stank troll Dana for this link. The band does intend to break up.

posted by john at 11:30 AM  •  solamente

dead schembechlers

"Dead Schembechlers" is the longtime name of a Columbus band, paying homage, of sorts, to the now-late Michigan coach Bo Schembechler. It was amusing enough in life, but can the band's name possibly survive Bo's death?

In a game that's too close to call any year, Bo's dying yesterday is the real x-factor. Word from Columbus is that there's a pall over the whole town. If this translates into a subdued crowd, that negates a considerable advantage. It also remains to be seen what effect Bo's death will have on the Michigan players. Will they be defeated and flat? Inspired? Do they even care about this guy who coached before they were born?

My prediction two days ago was that Michigan's defensive front would be strong early, then fade by game's end due to OSU's running quarterback and rotating offensive lines. I guess I'll stick with that.

• • •

Further proof, as if further proof were needed, that 1) there is a God and 2) He hates me: with scant hours to go before kickoff, I got a call that orcas were heading toward Metamuville. "How many?" I asked. "All of them," she replied.

This has never before happened.

Chained to the TV like on no other day of the year, I glumly watched them through my binoculars instead of from the boat. But I blared my Ohio State CD while I did. It was perversely thrilling to watch orcas breach and cartwheel to the strains of "Le Regiment" and "Buckeye Battle Cry."

posted by john at 09:57 AM  •  solamente

November 17, 2006

one last shot

A random sign at last year's Fiesta Bowl game between Ohio State and Notre Dame

posted by john at 09:11 AM  •  solamente

November 16, 2006

musings at the urinal in the johannesburg of michigan

Men do not typically converse when standing at urinals. The same is not true at urinal troughs, however. The ritual blending of excrement serves to break down otherwise insurmountable social barriers. Urinal troughs are rare in modern times, having been replaced by the more distinguished personal urinal and indoor plumbing. Except at Michigan Stadium, of course, which is where this story took place last year.

The man attending to his business beside me was about my age and wearing Ohio State colors, complete with a 5-foot buckeye necklace that put my own to shame. I asked him when he attended; we were there for some of the same years. We joked about OSU, but we saved our real venom for the Michigan fans. He asked me if I'd noticed anything about the racial composition of the crowd.

Of course not. White guys are oblivious to such sensitivities. I hadn't noticed the racial composition of a crowd since I was lost in in East St. Louis in 1999. "Check it out," said my black fellow buckeye. "It's like you're at the opera in Scandinavia. And we're what, 30 miles from Detroit?"

Michigan fans, lily white all, just stared at us, not knowing quite how to refute this.

Let's take another look at the photo from the other day, shall we? It'll be like "Where's Waldo?" only with uncomfortable these-people-just-voted-to-ban-affirmative-action? overtones. See if you can find the black guy a half hour from Detroit.

posted by john at 07:30 AM  •  solamente

November 14, 2006

an especially clever sign at the oxford of the americas

At last year's game in Ann Arbor.

Can someone explain this to me? It afraid it sailed right over my head.

posted by john at 06:43 AM  •  solamente

November 13, 2006

Harvard, Stanford slapped with restraining order

ANN ARBOR, MI  (Stank Press) - This weekend, University of Michigan president Delores LeChanel filed a restraining order against Stanford University and Harvard University. "As president, I must protect our brand," LeChanel said in a statement. "While we're flattered that these institutions and their alumni are referring to themselves as the Michigan of their respective coasts, it ultimately diminishes the value of a Michigan diploma and creates confusion in the consumer's mind."

Michiganders are quick to point out they're not heartless and that she's not asking for a total ban. "Harvard and Stanford can confuse black recruits all they want," said Cooter P. McNugget, leader of the recently-passed Michigan initiative to ban affirmative action. "Go Blue!"

 

posted by john at 08:48 AM  •  solamente

November 12, 2006

michigan week

Always a big week, Michigan Week is on steroids this year, as for the first time in history #1 and #2 will meet in their last game of the regular season. Time to get my game-finger on.

posted by john at 02:30 PM  •  solamente

October 30, 2006

sports bigamists

An old girlfriend had a system in roulette. It primarily consisted of her sitting at the table and looking beautiful until some rich dolt tried to ply his way into her pants by placing an enormous bet on her behalf.

"Dinner's on me!" she'd say later, clutching fistfuls of cash.

Until the dolt materialized, she had another system. She bet on everything. For any given spin, she'd have a dozen stacks of chips out there. Some on odd numbers, some on numbers outright, some straddling numbers, some on rows of numbers. The idea, she explained, was to hedge her losses by betting on as many outcomes as possible. She never won big, but it also took her a long time to go bankrupt. And she had the satisfaction of winning on nearly every spin.

I think of her whenever someone tells me that they're a Seahawks fan and a Rams fan, with a side bet on the Dolphins, and they grew up a Colts fan, so they claim them too, especially when they're winning. This fan, too, is someone who bets on as many outcomes as possible. This fan wants to win on nearly every spin.

Bubba is like that. He's a sports polygamist. A renaissance fan. This Football Weekend, we're seeing no less than four teams he claims as his very own: the Seahawks, 49ers, Falcons, and Panthers. I wanted to get window flags for our rental car. My window would fly the Steelers' colors, of course, but I had no idea what to get for his side. Does the whole NFC conference have a flag?

I don't get it, and he doesn't get my not getting it.

Those of us who marry a team during childhood—and stand by them faithfully, for better and (mostly) worse—have little regard for sports bigamists. We're content to let them exist as inconsequential background noise, but invariably, these people want to talk trash. When the Steelers lose, the gloating mail comes in.

This is exactly as meaningful as a guy who pays for hookers, then brags—to someone married for 30 years—about how much he gets laid. Um, yeah, that's kinda what hookers do. Congratulations on getting laid and all, but what about this transaction entitles you to call the hooker "my girlfriend?"

posted by john at 08:09 AM  •  solamente

speaking of calling a fig a fig...

I'm embarrassed by Steelers owner Dan Rooney's alarming Mike Holmgren impersonation after the Steelers' recent loss to Atlanta. Critical to the loss were an unending streak of crucial penalties, about which Rooney later held forth to the media, concluding his tirade with "these officials should be ashamed of themselves."

I was feeling a lot of shame myself after that game, but it had little to do with the officiating. I was ashamed of each of three fumbles that resulted in Atlanta TDs. I was ashamed of the celebration penalty, which gave Atlanta a short field, which resulted in another TD. I was ashamed of atrocious special teams, which sucked all day and led to the kicker's very necessary tripping penalty, a call Rooney inexplicably derided. I was ashamed of a right guard wearing a welcome mat as a cape. I was ashamed of Washington's illegal motion that put the game into overtime. And now I'm ashamed of Rooney for being a whiney-ass bitch.

Thanks, Dan. I was running low on shame there for a second.

posted by john at 07:47 AM  •  solamente

October 19, 2006

truth in slogans

Commenting late last season on the expertise level of instant Seahawks fans (by which we were suddenly surrounded), Bob made a joke about "Hasselhoff" being their favorite player.

That was satire. The following, delightfully, is not.

When football fans want to celebrate their own vainglory, they often call themselves the team's "12th man." Football teams are composed of 11 players—get it? Similarly, baseball fans call themselves the "10th man."

In this as in all things football, these Hawks fans don't quite understand. It's been my enormous guilty pleasure to see the following evidence perpetuate around town in and on local media, t-shirts, signs and conversation.

Um. People. The Texas A&M registered trademark you're trying to infringe is "12th man." What the hell is "12th fan" supposed to mean? Perhaps there were only 12 fans in 2002, but certainly no longer; after the Super Bowl trip, there are at least a baker's dozen.

posted by john at 08:42 AM  •  solamente

October 16, 2006

monday morning practice-squad long-snapper

"Monday morning quarterback" just isn't appropriate for someone of my skill level.

It occurs to me that if Ohio State wins the championship, they'll have defeated three #2 teams. Has anyone done that before, I wonder?

posted by john at 11:46 AM  •  solamente

worst. mail. ever.

Esteemed Stank troll and Chicago Bears fan Shelley writes to say: enough about the stadium and parking, what did I think of the Bears game and fans? My reply:

The Bears fans were fantastic. Very knowledgeable and respectful, passionate and loud. The knew more about the Hawks than I did. They're very studious fans. And yeah, it was electric. There was an aura of "pinch me, we're better than we'd dared dream!" to that crowd. The Stillers aside, I'm pulling for da Bears this year. They're most deserving.

And how did Shelly repay my kindness? By telling me that she found my site by googling her teenage crush. She writes:

Yep. Mike Tomczak. Your “unspeakable bastard” was my 15-year-old-hormone-riddled-brain, cute football quarterback fantasy. Hey. I will admit that he was LESS than spectacular as a quarterback, but you have to admit to a 15 year old girl he was ever so cute. He was a model for god’s sake.

I don't have to do nothin' but stay white and die. There will be no such admission. And doesn't the Bible teach us that the antichrist will be handsome? That would make sense, 'cause it's suddenly feeling like the end times.

posted by john at 07:52 AM  •  solamente

October 15, 2006

the Year of Nausea continues unabated

It turns out there's something worse for my stomach lining than Ohio State being #1.

Sorry, Tempe, but the national championship game will be played in Columbus this year.

You heard it here first: the winner will play Texas.

posted by john at 12:17 PM  •  solamente

October 09, 2006

yankees, media fail

DETROIT (Stank Press) - The New York Yankees failed to win their opening round series against an unknown opponent this weekend.

"We suck," Alex Rodriquez read from a 3x5 card. "Sometimes I have to look in the mirror and admit that we suck."

The Yankees' failure to advance has led to speculation about the fate of manager Joe Torre, who had one less hit in the series than the .071-hitting Rodriquez. It's also led to speculation about what the media will do if the New York Mets, too, fail to win the championship.

"We have a contingency plan," said an evil media magnate on condition of anonymity. "I can't say what the plan is, but let's just say that there's no way the World Series will fall to a small market. It would be unconscionable for the championship to not go to a major media center."

USC football coach (and noted Calvinball ace) Pete Carroll stopped short of denying that the media might award his team an imaginary share of the World Series title. "That's interesting to think about, and one could certainly argue that there's a precedent for a retroactive split championship, but it would be unseemly for me to campaign for it," he said. "Hint, hint."

posted by john at 09:27 AM  •  solamente

October 04, 2006

natural selection

CHICAGO - When you leave a game in Seattle or New York, you have 1) your car within a half-mile or 2) buses immediately outside the stadium, waiting to shuttle you directly to your car or train station. In my travels to 37 different stadiums, those were the best transit experiences.

The worst is Soldier Field in Chicago. Nothing else comes close. Forget parking; there are only a few thousand spaces. You must take some form of mass transit. Cabs, trains and buses may come no closer than two miles to the stadium, so as a reward for walking two miles to the game, after the game, you and 65,000 of your closest friends trek two miles, en masse, to the same corner, where you compete for a ride. It's as fun as it sounds, especially in a thunderstorm.

So to summarize: and fuck you as well, Chicago.

• • •

The new Soldier Field is an abomination. Who thought combining these architectural styles was a good idea?

You know you ruined it when your National Historical Landmark status is being taken away.

• • •

I'd previously observed that Raiders fans in Oakland bore no resemblance to Raiders fans I'd previously met in other cities. Whereas the Raiders fans I'd met in Ohio and Washington were uniformly boisterous cretins spoiling for fights, the fans in Oakland were all kind to me. Sweet, even. I'm seeing a similar effect with Seahawks fans, but from the opposite angle. I have no problem with the fans who attend games in Seattle; however, the fans who make road stops are singularly boorish. In Chicago as in Detroit, traveling Hawks fans made a point of obnoxiously antagonizing other fans.

Some of that always goes on, of course, but it's not so uniformly hostile. When I went to Michigan last year, for instance, I wore my Ohio State colors proudly. But I also befriended the Wolverines fans around me, shaking their hands and wishing for a good game. I cheered. They cheered. I razzed. They razzed. Any conflict between us amounted to good-natured ribbing amongst sports relatives, and frankly, it made the game more enjoyable. When the good guys won, they grudgingly congratulated me.

I'm thinking that these Hawks fans, in their pristine new jerseys and hats, are new to the playground and have no idea what the rules are. They want acknowledgement, and they'll go to any length to get it. They scream in people's ears. When the other fans scream back, the Hawks fans instantly escalate into profanity and even shoving. It's a scene from middle school. When before the game, you inject yourself into a group of singing Bears fans—minding their own business and ignoring you, which is of course an insult to your sensibilities—and you start pointing to your jersey and screaming "CHICAGO FUCKING SUCKS," you should expect to get your ass handed to you. Which is what happened, much as in Detroit. I suppose that eventually, these morons will be weeded out and the problem will take care of itself. May it happen soon and before they procreate.

posted by john at 11:38 AM  •  solamente

October 02, 2006

that snapping sound this morning was all my friends doing a double-take at once

Got many emails about this headline in today's paper: Man wanted in shooting at Ohio football game arrested in Washington

posted by john at 02:43 PM  •  solamente

hi, i'm nobody of any consequence whatsoever

CHICAGO - Dirt Glazowski and I are wrapping up our Midwest swing. On Saturday, we descended upon tiny Iowa City for the Ohio State/Iowa game. It dredged up a lot of torment for both of us. Although we've chosen to live elsewhere, we both pine for the midwest every single day. I'm not gonna turn this into another Seattle rant, so let's just say it's been melancholy.

Dirt was a captain on Iowa's football team long ago, and as such, his experience at home games is nothing I recognized. Everyone knows him. Everyone feeds and houses him. Women 20 years his junior draped themselves on him, or tried to. Me, I shook hands with so many 300+ pound, testosterone-laden NFL players that I reinjured my elbow.

When I was shoving a bratwurst into my mouth and watching the early games on a plasma literally coat-hangered to the side of an RV, a random guy strolled up to say hi. "Hi, I'm Jay Hilgenburg," he said unnecessarily, torquing my elbow ligaments into paste.

"Where's your ring?" I managed not to reply, even though my every cell wanted to.

Dirt chimed in like he would a hundred times that day. He told me a player's Iowa credentials and concluded with "And John here went to Ohio State. He tutored Alonzo Spellman."

The players were even less impressed than you are. Some commented that given Spellman's mental breakdown that ended with him running around naked in the streets, I'd done a particularly impressive job.

Dirt skewered me thusly all day long, but I didn't mind, 'cause it's not often you drink with All Pros, All Americans, and world champs. The day concluded as I knew it would, with the good guys quieting the drunken Iowa crowd in short order.

Like all fans, Iowa folks think they're the best in football. They're certainly top tier in enthusiasm, but they leave a lot to be desired when it comes to actually watching the game. When Iowa held Ohio State to only four yards on 1st and 10, they cheered. When Iowa passed for 8 yards on third and 15, they cheered. When Iowa was driving for a score, the players repeatedly had to tell the crowd to shut up. Got the idea? Throw in that drunks formed human pyramids on the bleachers and that I saw, in fact, maybe six plays the first half, and you have a pretty irritating experience. After considering, at length, how to make a shiv out of my polarizer lens, I left at halftime to go watch the game on TV.

Not seeing the first half and watching the second half on TV in Iowa instead of in my living room cost me $1500. Good times.

posted by john at 07:57 AM  •  solamente

September 27, 2006

go away. go far away.

With as much as I bust the chops of the droves of instant Seahawk fans—who, with television blackouts due to poor attendance still a fresh memory, now celebrate themselves as the best fans in football—I can't let this one go. The Steelers now top the "Americans' favorite team" polls. Ick.

If there's an upside to starting 1-2, it'll be shaking these dregs from our ranks. If you didn't suffer the Stoudt/Woodley/Malone/Brister/Tomczak/Stewart years, you're not wanted. Beat it. Scram.

Everybody wants to get into heaven, but no one wants to die.

posted by john at 07:40 AM  •  solamente

go away. go far away.
part ii

Terrell Owens hospitalized after suicide attempt

Do five pills even give you a buzz?

posted by john at 07:35 AM  •  solamente

September 07, 2006

the sport of kings, better than diamond rings

In honor of football's illustrious return, I give you my favorite Football Weekend trivia questions. Click and drag over the text to see the answers. (And in honor of Charlie Batch's start, I've reset my football counter at right.)

What two-sport athlete is accredited with inventing bump-and-run coverage?

NBA hall of Famer KC Jones

Who caught Brett Favre's first NFL pass?

Brett Favre. A defensive player batted it back to him, and the play went for a huge loss.

As players, what do Peyton Manning and I have in common?

We've both won championships at every level except Pop Warner, little league, high school, college and the pros.

In what championship game did a former NFC team play a former AFC team?

Super Bowl XL, Seahawks vs. Steelers

And finally, the question no Steeler fan has ever been able to answer correctly: who caught Terry Bradshaw's last touchdown pass?

Calvin Sweeney

posted by john at 07:09 AM  •  solamente

August 31, 2006

the last super bowl post ever

I keep a list of topic ideas for this page. As time has passed, I've plucked out all the easy ones. Remaining are ideas like "write a post about your history with profanity, but don't use any profanity in the post" that seemed like a good idea at the time, that I've even attempted to write, but that have never made it to this page. Among those dregs is one last Super Bowl post. It ain't exactly getting more topical, so lemme slip it in before the next season begins.

• • •

Even before kickoff, the Super Bowl was my worst time ever at a football game. I missed the fans. The people of Detroit were lovely, but they weren't there to cheer for their team. Yeah, there were scads of visiting fans, but it's not the same. They didn't tailgate. They didn't focus on any traditional hubs. With nowhere to go, they hung out in the dozen or so downtown bars. For five days. If you were lucky enough to get a table, maybe it was fun, but I was never so lucky.

Worse, the fans were outnumbered by merchants and media. Think about the effect of that on pre-game buzz. They didn't care about us or the game; their focus was elsewhere. There was little atmosphere, nothing that suggested that even a high school game was about to be be played, let alone the biggest game in American sports.

I went to the NFL's main event, FanFest. I paid $15 admission and waited outside for an hour, only to discover that most of the exhibits inside were merely selling memorabilia. (Thanks. Most of the people outside are doing that, too.)

On game day, I got to my seat early because I wanted to see the ballyhooed Stevie Wonder/Joss Stone pregame concert. And there they were, standing around the 40 yard line. They stood there for a good 20 minutes, chatting with Teamsters. Strangest concert entrance ever. And then suddenly some music started, and they were introduced by the TV announcer, and they took to the stage to frantically play one song. The one song. When the one song was over, they abruptly stopped and strolled off the field as the Teamsters tore down the stage used for the one song. There was no applause from the 70,000 people present, nor did it seem like there should be. We were not there. It was a strange sensation, being ignored, but there was no denying that we were merely onlookers, an incidental audience at best.

When the game ended, the Teamsters rushed out on the field and constructed a celebration podium. 50 yards away from it, massive amounts of confetti soon fell from the ceiling. "Good planning," I thought. And then I saw the result on TV, and I thought it was the perfect microcosm of my experience being at the Super Bowl.

What I saw in the stadium:

How it looked on TV:

Moral: if you want to be a part of the experience, stay home and watch the Super Bowl on TV.

posted by john at 07:38 AM  •  solamente

August 26, 2006

oy vey, maria

I humbly submit that Maria Sharapova forfeited the right to make proud substance-over-style commercials the day she covered herself with sand and posed with her elbows back for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Pity poor, misunderstood Maria. Truly a victim of us all.

Not that this ad can't be made—it just can't be made by an athlete who's shilled her own prettiness in Maxim. Michelle Wie or Sue Bird comes to mind.

Plus the kid in the elevator creeps me the hell out.

posted by john at 10:26 AM  •  solamente

August 24, 2006

i completely forgot this travesty

No list of things I dislike about the Steelers could be complete without their hideous, asinine scoreboard. First of all, just look at the thing. That might look like the side of a Hoboken League race car, but it's a giant rectangular jumbotron, surrounded and dwarfed by ads. This colossal eyesore dominates the stadium.

It gets worse. Much worse. See the stupid ketchup bottles? Whenever the Steelers cross the 20 yard line, the bottles' caps open, the bottles tilt, and "ketchup" "pours" into the jumbotron, which fills with red and welcomes you to the "Heinz Red Zone."

Egad. Someone posted a clip of it.

posted by john at 06:23 PM  •  solamente

August 21, 2006

who’s on first?

It started with an innocent question. She asked me why the announcer had referred to a player as a "nickel back."

"Well, on defense there's ordinarily four guys in the backfield, which is what we call the players who cover the other team's receivers. In situations where they figure the other team is going to pass the ball, they'll often add a fifth guy to the backfield. That's called a 'nickel' defense, and we call him the 'nickel' back. Five...nickel...get it?"

She got it.

"So a 'dime' defense is 10 players in the backfield?"

"No, no, they never play 10. A 'dime' defense is 6 guys. And a 'quarter' defense is 7 defensive backs."

"That makes no sense."

No, I suppose it doesn't. "So anyway, the sixth guy is called the 'dime back.'"

"Right. And the seventh guy is called the 'quarter back.'"

"No, he's only on offense. The seventh guy is just called the seventh defensive back."

"The nickel and dime backs are on defense, but the quarterback's just on offense?"

"Right. Entirely different position."

"That makes no sense. The quarterback's not in the backfield?"

"Yes, but he's in the offensive backfield, with the halfback and the fullback."

She sighed. I braced for the inevitable. "Is the halfback half as big as the fullback and twice the size of the quarterback?"

She's right. This makes no sense.

posted by john at 08:39 AM  •  solamente

August 07, 2006

offseason conditioning

While football teams have sweated in training camp, I've begun my own conditioning for the season. Coach John is unmerciful. "Even though the Steelers won it all last year," he tells himself, "They were more hot than good. They didn't even win their division. They had to win four games at the end of the year just to get into the playoffs. Hell, even at 11-5, they still needed Kansas City to lose. And then once they were there, they won two games on two plays—Carson Palmer's knee injury and Mike Vanderjagt's slice."

"You don't know that Carson Palmer would have helped. The Steelers thumped Cincinnati on the road earlier in the year. And Vanderjagt never should have been kicking that field goal."

"Shut up, Logical John. There is no room for you here. Anyway, like I was saying, with Kimo and El and Hope and Bettis all gone, this marginal team didn't exactly get better. And everyone else in the division did. Face it. There's no reason to expect the Steelers to even make the playoffs. Start lowering expectations. Way low. Brace for them to break your heart."

I told Katrina about my preseason thought process.

"You're psychotic," she snarled. I find that Seahawks fans, especially, aren't receptive to my whiney-assed kvetching.

So after spending Thursday night tossing and turning and mercilessly lowering my own expectations for my pro team's prospects, Friday morning I spied my alma mater on the cover of USA Today:

"OHIO STATE FAVORED TO WIN NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP."

No. No no no no no no no. I can so not deal with this season. Paxil might help. Maybe striknyne. Yeah, striknyne.

posted by john at 09:41 AM  •  solamente

August 06, 2006

hall of fame

Certain things please me far more than they should. Like when I'm racing down rural Metamuville Road and glance at my Seattle traffic gauge and I see all the blockages my friends are dealing with—that pleases me enormously. Whenever Brian Griese breaks a metatarsal by simply walking down his driveway. Pure gold. When my former boss Ernest's wife leaves him and he starts to go blind. Money. When trolls write to tell me that I'm stupid, and they manage to misspell the insult. Thanks for that.

This list has a new member. When John Madden was being inducted into the football Hall of Fame, right before he was to be introduced, he and everyone else had to watch a clip of the Immaculate Reception. My grin was so huge, it was audible.

• • •

I was also struck by the contrast between two moments. When Raiders owner and all-around asshole Al Davis was introducing Madden, he boasted about how Madden and the Raiders were "color-blind." It didn't matter what color you were. "The Raid-ahs are about winning! And we wanted the best play-ahs!" Clap. Clap. Clap. Yay, you! Clear a spot on your mantle for an NAACP Image award.

Meanwhile, when former Giants linebacker Harry Carson gave his induction speech, he did something I've never seen before: he thanked an owner other than his own. Specifically, he thanked Steelers owner Dan Rooney for his efforts to make the league more diverse.

The contrast in substance and egoism was striking. (Just in case Al Davis googles his own name and finds this: egoism is when morality stems from self-interest.)

posted by john at 09:02 AM  •  solamente

July 23, 2006

“twin” ain’t bad, either

I'm not a golf guy. The only thing less appealing to me than standing in a field and baking in the sun all weekend is watching other people bake on TV. Besides, there's something vaguely disturbing about a sport in which fans applaud missed shots.

"Whoo-hoo! His degree of failure is marginally less than the other guy's!"

Here's how I watch golf. For majors, I'll skim the headlines on Thursday and Friday. Maybe. Saturday night, I'll check the leader board. If Tiger or a renowned choker is in the mix, on Sunday morning I'll try to catch the back nine. By about the 14th hole my interest will really flag, and I'll start browsing the phone book in order to help pass the time. As I keep one eye on the TV, here's my thought process:

Tiger, not Tiger, not Tiger, not Tiger, choker, not Tiger, Tiger, Tiger's wife, what's the hotter trait—Swedish, twin, or au pair?—not Tiger, not Tiger, not Tiger, choker choked right on schedule, Tiger, Tiger won.

Au pair. Definitely au pair.

posted by john at 11:22 AM  •  solamente

July 16, 2006

right now is my favorite part of football season

This belated pic is dedicated to Bob, who has rooted for the Colts and Colts alone for each of his four decades on Earth, who had Minette IM me that "Wow, the Steelers really suck" during the first Steelers/Colts game last year.

• • •
I'm presently eatin' pizza and listening to the radio broadcast of the Steelers/Indy playoff game. Life is good. I'm enjoying it a helluva lot more than I did the first time. No one enjoys winning in the post-season less than I do.

My Seattle friends generally react with confusion or amusement to this. I find late-season football to be utterly nerve-wracking. And the better my team does, the more frayed my nerves become. I never want them to lose, mind you, but winning streaks make me positively twitchy with anxiety. The longer they win, the longer I'm living with the certainty that they're about to break my heart again. Which they will.

"Jeez," someone will doubtlessly write. "Ohio State and the Steelers have each won a championship in the last three years. Shut up already." True enough. But before those championships, they went a combined 61 years without one, and I remember all 61 disappointments. In sports as in love, heartbreak is cumulative. As the Steelers advanced last year, friends would call and offer a shoulder. "I'm sorry your team won. I can only imagine how rough it must be for you."

"Gah!" I would reply.

But right now, things are all still pleasant promise. Only 54 days until the ulcers kick off.

posted by john at 02:03 PM  •  solamente

July 15, 2006

perhaps we’d watch if soccer were played by puppies

I don't care about horse racing. You don't care. Two months ago, I'd never even heard of Barbaro, and I still haven't seen him race. But like many, I'm keeping one eye on his condition. It's amazing to me that networks do live broadcasts of press confe