The blossom of love has withered
The Pessimist stands idly by.
Now an orchestra of thorns to travail,
Piercing and prodding the Optimist
Lamenting her destiny.
Stability endures
Balance replaces blossom
Love is a hope
Happiness is a dream
Resignation
She’s earned sunshine and bloom
A golden, bright statue built of love
Yet the Optimist waits, huddled in grey
Hoping Pessimists aren't Perennials
And for less gloom next season.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Let's Use our Brains Against OPEC
BWB has found a second area in which it agrees with the President of the United States, and any other politician for that matter, when he says we must end our dependence on foreign oil. We should have done this yesterday; we should have done this in the 1970’s. Lamentably it isn’t that easy to get away from sweet baby crude; it has got a hold of us stronger than a junkie with his spoon.
The simple and undeniable truth is that OPEC is making a push to rule the world by controlling with an iron grip the one commodity the world’s infrastructure depends on, namely crude oil. The control the supply, and they aren’t releasing any greater value, they have said, which will send the price skyrocketing yet again. What will that mean for you? It will mean higher and higher gasoline prices yet again.
With this whole “green” push corporations, small businesses and the government seem to be making, perhaps the answer to combustibles is right around the corner. In fact, Reno got its first hydrogen docking station within the last month, so perhaps we are already on our way. Still, we need to counter OPEC, and release America from her shackles.
Trying to pin down any actual information on OPEC actually interacts with the eleven nations they represent is shockingly difficult, but most cartels prefer it that way. What we do know is that they are exceedingly effective in doing three things. First, they are quite deft at manipulating the supply of oil at a certain time of their choosing. Second, they are exceedingly swift at raising and lowering the price whenever they choose, as they race to the moon with their grand cities in the desert built on the blood of the economy.
What if, in the body, the heart played fast and loose with the blood, stockpiling and limiting its supply when it saw fit? Imagine if there was a blood commodities trade where each organ and body part had to bid on the price, raising the stakes and the cost of a pint of blood precipitously. The brain would be the United States, so desperate and dependent on the blood; it would literally buckle and bow to the extortion without a fight. The brain wouldn’t do that, of course, because the brain is smarter than the heart.
The brain would call up the bone marrow and tell them to create more blood, lessening the influence on the blood the heart was holding kidnapped against its will. If the supply of blood increased then the blood would be worth less. Besides, the brain, the organ which controls the body would never allow such a thing to happen to begin with. Why doesn’t America do the same; why can’t we call the bone marrow? Why can’t we drill on our own?
There is one and only one strategy which will work to diminish the power and influence of the Middle Eastern oil gangsters and their lackeys we refer to as terrorists. We need to develop alternative energies as fast as absolutely possible (which we are doing) and lift the moratoriums on drilling for twenty years, allowing us to access and harness our own resources until the next generation is ready, willing and able to support our society.
The simple and undeniable truth is that OPEC is making a push to rule the world by controlling with an iron grip the one commodity the world’s infrastructure depends on, namely crude oil. The control the supply, and they aren’t releasing any greater value, they have said, which will send the price skyrocketing yet again. What will that mean for you? It will mean higher and higher gasoline prices yet again.
With this whole “green” push corporations, small businesses and the government seem to be making, perhaps the answer to combustibles is right around the corner. In fact, Reno got its first hydrogen docking station within the last month, so perhaps we are already on our way. Still, we need to counter OPEC, and release America from her shackles.
Trying to pin down any actual information on OPEC actually interacts with the eleven nations they represent is shockingly difficult, but most cartels prefer it that way. What we do know is that they are exceedingly effective in doing three things. First, they are quite deft at manipulating the supply of oil at a certain time of their choosing. Second, they are exceedingly swift at raising and lowering the price whenever they choose, as they race to the moon with their grand cities in the desert built on the blood of the economy.
What if, in the body, the heart played fast and loose with the blood, stockpiling and limiting its supply when it saw fit? Imagine if there was a blood commodities trade where each organ and body part had to bid on the price, raising the stakes and the cost of a pint of blood precipitously. The brain would be the United States, so desperate and dependent on the blood; it would literally buckle and bow to the extortion without a fight. The brain wouldn’t do that, of course, because the brain is smarter than the heart.
The brain would call up the bone marrow and tell them to create more blood, lessening the influence on the blood the heart was holding kidnapped against its will. If the supply of blood increased then the blood would be worth less. Besides, the brain, the organ which controls the body would never allow such a thing to happen to begin with. Why doesn’t America do the same; why can’t we call the bone marrow? Why can’t we drill on our own?
There is one and only one strategy which will work to diminish the power and influence of the Middle Eastern oil gangsters and their lackeys we refer to as terrorists. We need to develop alternative energies as fast as absolutely possible (which we are doing) and lift the moratoriums on drilling for twenty years, allowing us to access and harness our own resources until the next generation is ready, willing and able to support our society.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Nation was the greatest on Earth, or so I learned in school. They reached the pinnacle not by accident, but because it was fate. It was created, some would say divinely, others would merely say divinely-inspired. It was the citizens of this great Nation which made it special; they were different, they were better, they understood it took more than living in within the borders to make themselves citizens—it had to be earned. The Nation spread itself from sea to shining sea; after all it was its destiny to do such.
The Nation grew and grew; it was the envy of the planet. All who heard of its riches and its majesty and its grand buildings and its elevated society and its prosperous times became enamored with the mythology; its own citizens included. Surrounded by opulence with more than enough for all, the Nation welcomed outsiders in, many who blended in quickly, many didn’t. The Nation didn’t mind about those who didn’t blend in, so long as they followed the general rules of the Nation; and as long as they performed services (like enlisting in the military, defending the Nation) for the Nation’s benefit.
The Nation came to rely on these foreigners, and began allowing more and more to come in. They provided a lower class for the citizens of the Nation to hire as farmhands, for menial jobs citizens were too proud to take (after all, why would a citizen of the Nation pick up garbage when we have all these non-citizens looking for jobs?) The non-citizen became a necessary working-class in the Nation, and the floodgates were opened.
The opening of the borders of the Nation to all who wanted to come in had unintended consequences, however. Along with those who wanted to come into the Nation and better themselves and their families with all the benefits they were surrounded by, many more gangs and hordes came in to pillage and destroy the Nation, robbing and killing the citizens, exploiting and using their own society against them.
It wasn’t long afterward this Nation fell; a Nation which stood for 1000 years; a Nation whose name represented civilization, progress, technology, strength, domination, and decadence. Rome was the greatest power in the world four times longer than the United States has existed. Roughly from 500 BC to 500 AD, Rome was the center of the world. Since at least 1945, America has held that distinction. We should be proud we have reached the apex of the world; we pat ourselves on the back enough, anyway.
Rome, like the United States had humble beginnings. Romans believed the Gods picked them to be the rulers of the world, as if they were the chosen people. How can Americans deny we believe, or at least believed, such things about our Nation? You hear the Glenn Beck types, hell you even hear normal people say things we, as in America, are “the shining city on a hill” or somehow propped up by God himself, as if God simply created the world so that Americans could exist to rule the world the same way the Romans had. Perhaps you now see my point.
I am not saying the flood of illegal immigration is what is killing this country; it is only a symptom of the larger problem. Akin to an AIDS patient who doesn’t die of the virus itself, but from the pneumonia he can’t fight off, illegal immigration, the vast, unending amounts of debt America has accrued, the social discord between factions now forming in this country is at a crescendo.
It might be illegal immigration that does us in, as it was with Rome. It might be the socialist apparatuses which are being created and have been created by this and previous administrations which we will crumble under the burden of supporting. It might be our outside investors finally calling in our debt or simply stating we can’t pay them back in worthless American dollars. It could be some terrorist event (domestic or otherwise) which brings us to our knees. Or maybe none of this happens.
Just as sure as I am the Jets will lose to the Patriots, Los Angeles will be hit with an earthquake, I will fall flat on my face as I attempt to ask out the Keva Juice girl, and the sun will rise tomorrow, I am positive the strongest Nation in the world will fall. And when they fall, they fall precipitously.
What happened to Rome? The same thing which happened to the civilization they replaced at the top of the heap, the Egyptians; they were invaded and taken over. China today as we know it, has risen, fallen, been invaded, invaded their neighbors, collapsed, and rebuilt itself like a Swiss watchmaker had set it. The sun never set on the British Empire, so they said. Now? I don’t think the sun ever rises over London.
I love America. I believe in America. I believe America and Americans to be special. I love the privileges bestowed upon me for being an American; the freedom to write this is but one example. I want America to be great; I want America to be the power I grew up believing it to be. It isn’t, and we all know it.
Rome still exists, so does Cairo. They are capitals of nations, nations which honor the heritage of their previous generations. Italy is unified, Egypt is a nation, their bloodlines exist, the memory remains. Washington, DC will still be on a map. New York City is far too important to collapse entirely. The land America will exist much longer than the Nation, I am sure of it. And in the long run, maybe that is enough. But for those who really love and appreciate the current society we live in, the current government we have, the current freedoms and culture, we have a lot of work to do.
The Nation grew and grew; it was the envy of the planet. All who heard of its riches and its majesty and its grand buildings and its elevated society and its prosperous times became enamored with the mythology; its own citizens included. Surrounded by opulence with more than enough for all, the Nation welcomed outsiders in, many who blended in quickly, many didn’t. The Nation didn’t mind about those who didn’t blend in, so long as they followed the general rules of the Nation; and as long as they performed services (like enlisting in the military, defending the Nation) for the Nation’s benefit.
The Nation came to rely on these foreigners, and began allowing more and more to come in. They provided a lower class for the citizens of the Nation to hire as farmhands, for menial jobs citizens were too proud to take (after all, why would a citizen of the Nation pick up garbage when we have all these non-citizens looking for jobs?) The non-citizen became a necessary working-class in the Nation, and the floodgates were opened.
The opening of the borders of the Nation to all who wanted to come in had unintended consequences, however. Along with those who wanted to come into the Nation and better themselves and their families with all the benefits they were surrounded by, many more gangs and hordes came in to pillage and destroy the Nation, robbing and killing the citizens, exploiting and using their own society against them.
It wasn’t long afterward this Nation fell; a Nation which stood for 1000 years; a Nation whose name represented civilization, progress, technology, strength, domination, and decadence. Rome was the greatest power in the world four times longer than the United States has existed. Roughly from 500 BC to 500 AD, Rome was the center of the world. Since at least 1945, America has held that distinction. We should be proud we have reached the apex of the world; we pat ourselves on the back enough, anyway.
Rome, like the United States had humble beginnings. Romans believed the Gods picked them to be the rulers of the world, as if they were the chosen people. How can Americans deny we believe, or at least believed, such things about our Nation? You hear the Glenn Beck types, hell you even hear normal people say things we, as in America, are “the shining city on a hill” or somehow propped up by God himself, as if God simply created the world so that Americans could exist to rule the world the same way the Romans had. Perhaps you now see my point.
I am not saying the flood of illegal immigration is what is killing this country; it is only a symptom of the larger problem. Akin to an AIDS patient who doesn’t die of the virus itself, but from the pneumonia he can’t fight off, illegal immigration, the vast, unending amounts of debt America has accrued, the social discord between factions now forming in this country is at a crescendo.
It might be illegal immigration that does us in, as it was with Rome. It might be the socialist apparatuses which are being created and have been created by this and previous administrations which we will crumble under the burden of supporting. It might be our outside investors finally calling in our debt or simply stating we can’t pay them back in worthless American dollars. It could be some terrorist event (domestic or otherwise) which brings us to our knees. Or maybe none of this happens.
Just as sure as I am the Jets will lose to the Patriots, Los Angeles will be hit with an earthquake, I will fall flat on my face as I attempt to ask out the Keva Juice girl, and the sun will rise tomorrow, I am positive the strongest Nation in the world will fall. And when they fall, they fall precipitously.
What happened to Rome? The same thing which happened to the civilization they replaced at the top of the heap, the Egyptians; they were invaded and taken over. China today as we know it, has risen, fallen, been invaded, invaded their neighbors, collapsed, and rebuilt itself like a Swiss watchmaker had set it. The sun never set on the British Empire, so they said. Now? I don’t think the sun ever rises over London.
I love America. I believe in America. I believe America and Americans to be special. I love the privileges bestowed upon me for being an American; the freedom to write this is but one example. I want America to be great; I want America to be the power I grew up believing it to be. It isn’t, and we all know it.
Rome still exists, so does Cairo. They are capitals of nations, nations which honor the heritage of their previous generations. Italy is unified, Egypt is a nation, their bloodlines exist, the memory remains. Washington, DC will still be on a map. New York City is far too important to collapse entirely. The land America will exist much longer than the Nation, I am sure of it. And in the long run, maybe that is enough. But for those who really love and appreciate the current society we live in, the current government we have, the current freedoms and culture, we have a lot of work to do.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Fixing the NFL playoffs is entirely too simple, which is why they can't think of it
Because of the inclusion of the Seattle Seahawks into the playoffs, and the entire run-up of the conclusion of the terrible season in the NFC West, many pundits have been clamoring over a shake-up of the playoffs. Concerned, but not altogether surprised at the vitriol on both sides, BWB stayed out of the fight, hoping they do not change a thing for fear of breaking a system that doesn't need fixing.
While many people quote playoff statistics since 1990, when the NFL went to a twelve-team playoff format (six in each conference), BWB complied playoff statistics from the real beginning of our current playoff format, since realignment in 2002. From 2002-2009 (so not including this season) there have been eight instances where a wild card team with a better record traveled to a division champion with a worse record. The home team, the team with the worse record was 5-3, winning three in a row (2008: 8-8 Chargers beat the 12-4 Colts and 9-7 Cardinals beat the 11-5 Falcons and 2009: 10-6 Cardinals beat the 11-5 Packers.) The 2008 Cardinals also hosted the NFC Championship Game that year against the 9-6-1 and sixth-seeded Eagles, which they won.
Eight times in eight seasons. A better team had to go on the road on average once per year in the wild card round! This season, three wild card teams had better records than their at home opponents, two of them winning. Overall, since 2002, teams hosting a team with a better regular-season record are 7-5. If those games were held on the field of the team with the better record, would the '08 Chargers have beaten Peyton Manning? Would the miracle Cardinals of the same year have been stopped by Matty Ice in Atlanta? Would the Seahawks have won on Saturday in the Superdome?
BWB likes the divisional format, and would suggest keeping it for the time being until a new realignment (either two divisions of eight teams in each conference or single non-divisional conference format where all teams are ranked 1-16, similar to the 1982 strike year) could be implemented. Simply by awarding playoff berths in the same fashion and then seeding the contestants 1-6 would be much more palatable. Consider if this past weekend's wild card round looked like this:
6. Kansas City Chiefs (10-6) at 3. Baltimore Ravens (12-4)
5. Indianapolis Colts (10-6) at 4. New York Jets (11-5)
6. Seattle Seahawks (7-9) at 3. New Orleans Saints (11-5)
5. Philadelphia Eagles (10-6) at 4. Green Bay Packers (10-6)
Notice anything weird? If you re-seeded before the playoffs this year, the Patriots, Steelers, Falcons and Bears would get the byes (Bears get a by tiebreaker over the Saints for officially winning a division), all the matchups would be the same, but the locations would have changed.
The Packers would get the home game, even though the Eagles were division champions because they beat them head-to-head week one, which is the primary tiebreaker for all seedings. The better teams who actually won this weekend, the Ravens, Jets, and Packers would more than likely would have won at home than on the road. If the Saints had the Seahawks at home, do you really think Seattle would have blown past them?
That's it NFL! Do what BWB says and all your problems will be solved! I promise.
While many people quote playoff statistics since 1990, when the NFL went to a twelve-team playoff format (six in each conference), BWB complied playoff statistics from the real beginning of our current playoff format, since realignment in 2002. From 2002-2009 (so not including this season) there have been eight instances where a wild card team with a better record traveled to a division champion with a worse record. The home team, the team with the worse record was 5-3, winning three in a row (2008: 8-8 Chargers beat the 12-4 Colts and 9-7 Cardinals beat the 11-5 Falcons and 2009: 10-6 Cardinals beat the 11-5 Packers.) The 2008 Cardinals also hosted the NFC Championship Game that year against the 9-6-1 and sixth-seeded Eagles, which they won.
Eight times in eight seasons. A better team had to go on the road on average once per year in the wild card round! This season, three wild card teams had better records than their at home opponents, two of them winning. Overall, since 2002, teams hosting a team with a better regular-season record are 7-5. If those games were held on the field of the team with the better record, would the '08 Chargers have beaten Peyton Manning? Would the miracle Cardinals of the same year have been stopped by Matty Ice in Atlanta? Would the Seahawks have won on Saturday in the Superdome?
BWB likes the divisional format, and would suggest keeping it for the time being until a new realignment (either two divisions of eight teams in each conference or single non-divisional conference format where all teams are ranked 1-16, similar to the 1982 strike year) could be implemented. Simply by awarding playoff berths in the same fashion and then seeding the contestants 1-6 would be much more palatable. Consider if this past weekend's wild card round looked like this:
6. Kansas City Chiefs (10-6) at 3. Baltimore Ravens (12-4)
5. Indianapolis Colts (10-6) at 4. New York Jets (11-5)
6. Seattle Seahawks (7-9) at 3. New Orleans Saints (11-5)
5. Philadelphia Eagles (10-6) at 4. Green Bay Packers (10-6)
Notice anything weird? If you re-seeded before the playoffs this year, the Patriots, Steelers, Falcons and Bears would get the byes (Bears get a by tiebreaker over the Saints for officially winning a division), all the matchups would be the same, but the locations would have changed.
The Packers would get the home game, even though the Eagles were division champions because they beat them head-to-head week one, which is the primary tiebreaker for all seedings. The better teams who actually won this weekend, the Ravens, Jets, and Packers would more than likely would have won at home than on the road. If the Saints had the Seahawks at home, do you really think Seattle would have blown past them?
That's it NFL! Do what BWB says and all your problems will be solved! I promise.
Precarious times in America
While BWB was revelling in glory, as the Jets came from behind to beat the Colts in the playoffs Saturday night, tragedy was unfolding in Arizona. A nut job killed a federal judge and almost killed a congresswoman. It looks as if Gabrielle Giffords (D-AZ) will make it; eighteen others were also wounded or killed. Described by his classmates as a "left-wing pothead."
I do not know the man, by all accounts he was seriously disturbed. What do fanatics, freedom fighters, terrorists, mercenaries, whack-jobs with guns and issues with people, and zealots of all shapes and sizes have in common? They are all fucking nuts. I know this for one reason: to shoot up a Safeway, for whatever reason, for whatever inclination, for whatever political or social end, is something only a madman would do. The same goes for blowing up abortion clinics, coffee shops in Israel, marketplaces in Iraq, or backwoods cities in Afghanistan too for that matter.
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton called the man an "extremist." Don't hurt yourself throwing out the harsh words. When a liberal man attempts to kill a Blue Dog Democrat who voted against Nancy Pelosi, he is an extremist. What about the "domestic terrorism" tag they like to throw out. Why doesn't this man qualify? Because he is a liberal and only conservatives can be terrorists?
If Timothy McVeigh and his ilk are terrorists, and they are, then this douchebag certainly is. Much has been made of left-wing bloggers writing she "is dead to me now" or Sarah Palin putting a "target" on her. All of that is bullshit.
The left wants to blame the right.
The right wants to blame the left.
How about this? Blame the douchebag named Jared Lee Loughner for ruining all of our weekends, but especially those of the victims and their families. This man will be punished in accordance to our laws, and hopefully will be either executed or stuck in a small, dingy cramped hole for the rest of his life.
The tragedy is important, I will not diminish it. As important as it is, we must look forwars. What comes of this? How will the government respond? You know they will. They will tell us: either we can clamp down on society, establish mechanisms for reporting suspicious activities and organizing in order to protect OR we allow "extremists" to come out of the woodwork.
We all must be careful in times like this. What did they say about the wolf in sheep's clothing. He's only doing it to keep warm, right?
I do not know the man, by all accounts he was seriously disturbed. What do fanatics, freedom fighters, terrorists, mercenaries, whack-jobs with guns and issues with people, and zealots of all shapes and sizes have in common? They are all fucking nuts. I know this for one reason: to shoot up a Safeway, for whatever reason, for whatever inclination, for whatever political or social end, is something only a madman would do. The same goes for blowing up abortion clinics, coffee shops in Israel, marketplaces in Iraq, or backwoods cities in Afghanistan too for that matter.
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton called the man an "extremist." Don't hurt yourself throwing out the harsh words. When a liberal man attempts to kill a Blue Dog Democrat who voted against Nancy Pelosi, he is an extremist. What about the "domestic terrorism" tag they like to throw out. Why doesn't this man qualify? Because he is a liberal and only conservatives can be terrorists?
If Timothy McVeigh and his ilk are terrorists, and they are, then this douchebag certainly is. Much has been made of left-wing bloggers writing she "is dead to me now" or Sarah Palin putting a "target" on her. All of that is bullshit.
The left wants to blame the right.
The right wants to blame the left.
How about this? Blame the douchebag named Jared Lee Loughner for ruining all of our weekends, but especially those of the victims and their families. This man will be punished in accordance to our laws, and hopefully will be either executed or stuck in a small, dingy cramped hole for the rest of his life.
The tragedy is important, I will not diminish it. As important as it is, we must look forwars. What comes of this? How will the government respond? You know they will. They will tell us: either we can clamp down on society, establish mechanisms for reporting suspicious activities and organizing in order to protect OR we allow "extremists" to come out of the woodwork.
We all must be careful in times like this. What did they say about the wolf in sheep's clothing. He's only doing it to keep warm, right?
Friday, January 7, 2011
The Dangers of Multi-Tasking; or How Tom Sawyer Nearly Killed Me
I walked with purpose and poise down the street, though I was careful not to slip. I had tread many streets and sidewalks during snowstorms with thick newly-frozen ice before, and even though I held a book in my right hand and read it as I walked through what was quickly becoming the first blizzard of winter, I kept traction, and most importantly upright, the entire time.
Two things concerned me, two things I was working furiously to accomplish. I had my head buried in a hardbound covered copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, furiously finishing the American classic; and though I am a Twain fan, this was the first time I was reading it. I was engrossed by the surprise arrival of Tom Sawyer at the tail end of the book, curious as to what misadventure lurked, like that scene with Samuel Jackson after the credits in Iron Man.
My right hand was ice-cold, but I didn’t switch to my left, for it was precariously holding the cord to my iPhone’s headphones between its thumb and index finger. The cheap, Vietnamese-made headphone had cost only fifteen dollars; this was my tenth of this model. Through normal wear and tear and shoddy workmanship, I kept running through them; unwilling to replace them with a more-expensive, better quality headphone for I had recklessly destroyed that type as well. My fingers kept the frayed wire together, it had broken not twenty minutes previous, until I was able to fix them with electrical tape or buy another carbon copy of the aggravating piece of trash attached to my ears. I wouldn’t allow such a pebble in the shoe affect my day in any respect, due to my purpose for this jaunt into that fabulous weather.
The other thing on my mind was my destination, a going-away party for an artist friend of mine; flying freeing herself and fleeing the frigid frozen winters of the Washoe Valley. The frantic frenetic parties of hers were always a favorite of mine, and though I was shivering as I entered, her warmth and beauty warmed me up in mere moments. I placed my book and my iPhone in the bookbag I had been carrying, and went about my partying business. The party was fun, filled with many I knew, some I didn’t. I latched onto a friend or two, hopefully optimistic this party would be another success, but still I pondered the fate of Huck, Tom, and Jim, hoping I’d be able to finish the final three chapters before I went to bed that night. Once the party really got going, I found myself playing beer pong with a partner I had only met at such parties; a man I knew nothing about.
We were lined up against two pretty stoner girls at the table. We sunk four shots in a row, we were on fire, and the game had only begun. I introduced myself; he did the same. He said, “My name is Loren.”
I didn’t say anything, I merely nodded, it seemed right. The young man was six or seven years younger than I, and six or seven inches shorter as well. He wore a knee and leg brace, I knew instantly he had torn ligaments in his knee. Though he didn’t come up to my chin, I knew I wouldn’t be able to knock him down for he was stout and thick, completely muscle bound, cast notwithstanding. His free-flowing wavy locks and his penchant for bud smoking made me instantly conclude he was a snowboarder; a thesis on his injury formed in my head.
After we won the game against the pretty stoner girls who in commiseration of their defeat broke out Pop-Tarts, Loren and I cleaned the table up, re-racked the cups and waited for our next opponents, the host of the party and the artist of honor for the evening. During this downtime, I mentioned how I loved to walk and jog, especially during the type of weather upon us that evening.
“I don’t get to run much these days, though I will be able to do some water resistance exercises next month.” He had a gloom attach itself to his face, possibly coming inside from the storm, but it wasn’t because of the injury he looked so.
“Me neither,” I said. “I twisted my ankle a couple weeks ago and haven’t been able to run since.” I wasn’t learned about working out, physical therapy, or shredding the mountain, so I was lost, spewing out the only piece of information on working out I had at my disposal.
He laughed with a light contempt, as if I was trying to compare my sprain with his obvious injury. “Mine is a bit more serious than that. I shredded my ACL and my meniscus. I also tore my rotator cuff, though I didn’t get surgery for that.” He seemed almost proud of this fact, as if he had done something worthwhile in getting mangled.
“How the bloody hell did you do that?” I pictured in my head a game of chicken he lost against a car, for he seemed the type. Besides the bad right leg and the torn-up arm, Loren also sported a black eye where he was punched by a friend in order to have a legitimate excuse for getting out of work.
“On the slopes, I took a bit of a fall.” He stood and posed as he said this; I think he thought I was going to fall to his feet and be in awe of his terrible Jackass impression.
“Snowboarding?” I asked, cocksure of myself.
“Yep. You ride?” He asked me. I rolled my eyes just as he had done previously.
“Fuck no. I’m not an idiot.” I said it without considering it, a few glasses of beer from the previous game had loosened my tongue a bit.
“You calling me an idiot?” Loren was ready to fight. I could see the A Boy Named Sue mentality I had previously theorized was crystalizing right in front of me.
I hadn’t meant to offend, so I backed off as politically as I could. “What I mean to say is when I look for something fun to do, something exciting and exhilarating, I tend to look for activities which don’t involve the extreme possibility for physical harm. Gliding down a cold, hard mountain at fast speeds with little to no protection seems like a complete exercise in Darwinian principles.”
Talking a bit over his head cooled him down a little, as did our opponents who entered right afterward. We didn’t speak to each other as we ran to another rout of our competition. Again we re-racked, again we waited for another opponent; it was then we continued our conversation.
He seemed calm, it was the mixture of the beer from the game, the screwdriver he was also drinking, and the joint he was smoking. He said, “So you don’t like doing fun, exciting things like jumping out of airplanes and bungee jumping and snowboarding. What do you do that is so fun? How do you unwind and release?” He had thought long and hard throughout the game, I could tell.
“My favorite activities are writing and then reading. To me, those are fun activities, my ways to unwind and to release. Falling into a book, losing yourself into the world is just as engrossing to me as shredding is to you.”
“Are you a pussy? You don’t do it because you are afraid of getting hurt, right?” He didn’t quite buy my argument.
“No, it is just an added benefit. No one ever fucked up their knee by reading a book.” I gave him a smile and a wink.
“And tore a rotator cuff,” he added as our next competitors entered. We beat them too. In fact Loren and I ended the party undefeated champions four games later.
The party ended and I was sloshed, and if possible the streets of Reno were even worse. After leaving the house, I had to walk five blocks to the closest bus stop, hopefully catching the last bus to pass until the next morning. I scooted along, weary of the ice, not pulling out my book or iPhone to listen to more music knowing they would slow me down. I was one block away when I saw the bus pass; I hung my head low and looked at my moist, nearly frozen blocks of ice which had replaced my feet, resigned myself to the three mile walk in the weather which would feel like seven miles.
I pulled the book and the iPhone out of my bag and positioned them precisely where they had been, the book in my right hand, the iPhone in my left pocket with my two fingers holding the cord. If the cord wasn’t held, the left earpiece wouldn’t work, cutting out much of the best part of "Mountain Jam" by the Allman Brothers Band. I was only half-reading the book as I fidgeted with the player, and I wasn’t even concentrating on the ice and snow, which I had a sixth sense about walking in.
The pebble in the shoe was starting to get to me; the wire was acting stubbornly, I couldn’t get it in a perfect position to transmit the music to my ear, and coupled with the beer from seven successive victories of beer pong, my patience had worn out. Leaving the iPhone in my pocket, I grasped tightly with my left thumb and forefinger, yanking the headphones out of my ears and fully into my clutches in one fell swoop. I took my bookbag off my right shoulder, while still holding my book, still reading, still walking down the icy sidewalk, in order to put my headphones in the bookbag as to not let them frustrate me any further this evening.
The excessive multi-tasking was getting to me; I glanced over the one sentence in the book, and stopped to read it twice over. Wait a second Tom Sawyer, Jim is already free and you are going through with this silly charade, irking poor Huckleberry to no end in order to have another childish adventure. Didn’t you realize this was a coming-of-age story? Oh Tom Sawyer, how you piss me off! My anger boiled over, the ending of this book bothered me more than it should have, and I knew precisely on what to take it out.
With all the sound and fury I could muster, I threw the headphones into the street, not realizing the cord had wrapped itself around my forefinger and thumb in such a way to throw off my motion, leading to an awkward throw. The throw was further inhibited with the bookbag’s precarious position hanging from my left arm. I heard a large snap, at first I thought someone had fired an air rifle next to me; then I realized it was my rotator cuff ripping itself apart. Both of my arms dropped down, one in agony, one with sympathy pains. The hard, yet incredibly light book flew in a direct line into my right knee at such an angle as to hit both the front and the right side. I recoiled from the pain and toppled over, my perfectly tractioned feet staying put but my body collapsing from above.
I pulled as sensitively as possible my iPhone from its spot in my left pocket with my right hand and called 911. Later the doctor said during the fall I tore my ACL and my meniscus. He asked me how I did it. I said I did it snowboarding.
Two things concerned me, two things I was working furiously to accomplish. I had my head buried in a hardbound covered copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, furiously finishing the American classic; and though I am a Twain fan, this was the first time I was reading it. I was engrossed by the surprise arrival of Tom Sawyer at the tail end of the book, curious as to what misadventure lurked, like that scene with Samuel Jackson after the credits in Iron Man.
My right hand was ice-cold, but I didn’t switch to my left, for it was precariously holding the cord to my iPhone’s headphones between its thumb and index finger. The cheap, Vietnamese-made headphone had cost only fifteen dollars; this was my tenth of this model. Through normal wear and tear and shoddy workmanship, I kept running through them; unwilling to replace them with a more-expensive, better quality headphone for I had recklessly destroyed that type as well. My fingers kept the frayed wire together, it had broken not twenty minutes previous, until I was able to fix them with electrical tape or buy another carbon copy of the aggravating piece of trash attached to my ears. I wouldn’t allow such a pebble in the shoe affect my day in any respect, due to my purpose for this jaunt into that fabulous weather.
The other thing on my mind was my destination, a going-away party for an artist friend of mine; flying freeing herself and fleeing the frigid frozen winters of the Washoe Valley. The frantic frenetic parties of hers were always a favorite of mine, and though I was shivering as I entered, her warmth and beauty warmed me up in mere moments. I placed my book and my iPhone in the bookbag I had been carrying, and went about my partying business. The party was fun, filled with many I knew, some I didn’t. I latched onto a friend or two, hopefully optimistic this party would be another success, but still I pondered the fate of Huck, Tom, and Jim, hoping I’d be able to finish the final three chapters before I went to bed that night. Once the party really got going, I found myself playing beer pong with a partner I had only met at such parties; a man I knew nothing about.
We were lined up against two pretty stoner girls at the table. We sunk four shots in a row, we were on fire, and the game had only begun. I introduced myself; he did the same. He said, “My name is Loren.”
I didn’t say anything, I merely nodded, it seemed right. The young man was six or seven years younger than I, and six or seven inches shorter as well. He wore a knee and leg brace, I knew instantly he had torn ligaments in his knee. Though he didn’t come up to my chin, I knew I wouldn’t be able to knock him down for he was stout and thick, completely muscle bound, cast notwithstanding. His free-flowing wavy locks and his penchant for bud smoking made me instantly conclude he was a snowboarder; a thesis on his injury formed in my head.
After we won the game against the pretty stoner girls who in commiseration of their defeat broke out Pop-Tarts, Loren and I cleaned the table up, re-racked the cups and waited for our next opponents, the host of the party and the artist of honor for the evening. During this downtime, I mentioned how I loved to walk and jog, especially during the type of weather upon us that evening.
“I don’t get to run much these days, though I will be able to do some water resistance exercises next month.” He had a gloom attach itself to his face, possibly coming inside from the storm, but it wasn’t because of the injury he looked so.
“Me neither,” I said. “I twisted my ankle a couple weeks ago and haven’t been able to run since.” I wasn’t learned about working out, physical therapy, or shredding the mountain, so I was lost, spewing out the only piece of information on working out I had at my disposal.
He laughed with a light contempt, as if I was trying to compare my sprain with his obvious injury. “Mine is a bit more serious than that. I shredded my ACL and my meniscus. I also tore my rotator cuff, though I didn’t get surgery for that.” He seemed almost proud of this fact, as if he had done something worthwhile in getting mangled.
“How the bloody hell did you do that?” I pictured in my head a game of chicken he lost against a car, for he seemed the type. Besides the bad right leg and the torn-up arm, Loren also sported a black eye where he was punched by a friend in order to have a legitimate excuse for getting out of work.
“On the slopes, I took a bit of a fall.” He stood and posed as he said this; I think he thought I was going to fall to his feet and be in awe of his terrible Jackass impression.
“Snowboarding?” I asked, cocksure of myself.
“Yep. You ride?” He asked me. I rolled my eyes just as he had done previously.
“Fuck no. I’m not an idiot.” I said it without considering it, a few glasses of beer from the previous game had loosened my tongue a bit.
“You calling me an idiot?” Loren was ready to fight. I could see the A Boy Named Sue mentality I had previously theorized was crystalizing right in front of me.
I hadn’t meant to offend, so I backed off as politically as I could. “What I mean to say is when I look for something fun to do, something exciting and exhilarating, I tend to look for activities which don’t involve the extreme possibility for physical harm. Gliding down a cold, hard mountain at fast speeds with little to no protection seems like a complete exercise in Darwinian principles.”
Talking a bit over his head cooled him down a little, as did our opponents who entered right afterward. We didn’t speak to each other as we ran to another rout of our competition. Again we re-racked, again we waited for another opponent; it was then we continued our conversation.
He seemed calm, it was the mixture of the beer from the game, the screwdriver he was also drinking, and the joint he was smoking. He said, “So you don’t like doing fun, exciting things like jumping out of airplanes and bungee jumping and snowboarding. What do you do that is so fun? How do you unwind and release?” He had thought long and hard throughout the game, I could tell.
“My favorite activities are writing and then reading. To me, those are fun activities, my ways to unwind and to release. Falling into a book, losing yourself into the world is just as engrossing to me as shredding is to you.”
“Are you a pussy? You don’t do it because you are afraid of getting hurt, right?” He didn’t quite buy my argument.
“No, it is just an added benefit. No one ever fucked up their knee by reading a book.” I gave him a smile and a wink.
“And tore a rotator cuff,” he added as our next competitors entered. We beat them too. In fact Loren and I ended the party undefeated champions four games later.
The party ended and I was sloshed, and if possible the streets of Reno were even worse. After leaving the house, I had to walk five blocks to the closest bus stop, hopefully catching the last bus to pass until the next morning. I scooted along, weary of the ice, not pulling out my book or iPhone to listen to more music knowing they would slow me down. I was one block away when I saw the bus pass; I hung my head low and looked at my moist, nearly frozen blocks of ice which had replaced my feet, resigned myself to the three mile walk in the weather which would feel like seven miles.
I pulled the book and the iPhone out of my bag and positioned them precisely where they had been, the book in my right hand, the iPhone in my left pocket with my two fingers holding the cord. If the cord wasn’t held, the left earpiece wouldn’t work, cutting out much of the best part of "Mountain Jam" by the Allman Brothers Band. I was only half-reading the book as I fidgeted with the player, and I wasn’t even concentrating on the ice and snow, which I had a sixth sense about walking in.
The pebble in the shoe was starting to get to me; the wire was acting stubbornly, I couldn’t get it in a perfect position to transmit the music to my ear, and coupled with the beer from seven successive victories of beer pong, my patience had worn out. Leaving the iPhone in my pocket, I grasped tightly with my left thumb and forefinger, yanking the headphones out of my ears and fully into my clutches in one fell swoop. I took my bookbag off my right shoulder, while still holding my book, still reading, still walking down the icy sidewalk, in order to put my headphones in the bookbag as to not let them frustrate me any further this evening.
The excessive multi-tasking was getting to me; I glanced over the one sentence in the book, and stopped to read it twice over. Wait a second Tom Sawyer, Jim is already free and you are going through with this silly charade, irking poor Huckleberry to no end in order to have another childish adventure. Didn’t you realize this was a coming-of-age story? Oh Tom Sawyer, how you piss me off! My anger boiled over, the ending of this book bothered me more than it should have, and I knew precisely on what to take it out.
With all the sound and fury I could muster, I threw the headphones into the street, not realizing the cord had wrapped itself around my forefinger and thumb in such a way to throw off my motion, leading to an awkward throw. The throw was further inhibited with the bookbag’s precarious position hanging from my left arm. I heard a large snap, at first I thought someone had fired an air rifle next to me; then I realized it was my rotator cuff ripping itself apart. Both of my arms dropped down, one in agony, one with sympathy pains. The hard, yet incredibly light book flew in a direct line into my right knee at such an angle as to hit both the front and the right side. I recoiled from the pain and toppled over, my perfectly tractioned feet staying put but my body collapsing from above.
I pulled as sensitively as possible my iPhone from its spot in my left pocket with my right hand and called 911. Later the doctor said during the fall I tore my ACL and my meniscus. He asked me how I did it. I said I did it snowboarding.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The Moral Dilemma attached to my Computer
Moral dilemmas are fascinating things. They crop up precisely when they should, but that doesn’t mean we expect them. I had no idea when I arrived at the library I was carrying around a moral dilemma in my backpack. But sure enough, I am currently looking at it, wondering what precisely I am to do with it.
I am not a moralist, nor am I amoral; I’ve broken some hearts, rules, laws, and legs in my day. I also try to help out as much as I can, being giving and loving to those around me, hoping they will do the same. But I also love peace and quiet at home, and the right to sleep when I damn well please. I value one’s right to protection of self and property, yet in the end it might be worth it to just buy a new one…eventually.
Plugged into my USB drive on my laptop is my Cameroonian roommate Danielle’s mp3 player, a “Sansa Fuze+” allowing it to recharge. It is black, with 3.63 GB of memory, with only 82.1 MB free currently of shitty songs. Most of what she listens to is complete garbage, not only that but she will listen to the same song over and over and over again. For instance, she listened to “Tom Sawyer” by Rush for an hour straight last night. Why? I am not sure.
It isn’t that she listens to bad music, because she doesn’t actually listen to bad music. Hell, I’ve “borrowed” some of her selections while it has been plugged into my computer, finding unexpected treasure troves of varying degrees of quality. There isn’t anything of note in her catalog, lots of r and b, lots of emo-ish ballads about not being understood, lots of songs sung by women scorned about the scoundrel who hurt them, didn’t understand them, didn’t love them, or all of them combined. For every nine of those types, there is also a catchy Nickelback song (as if there is any other kind) or even Weezer. She also has quite a stash of Michael Jackson tucked away in its own file called “God.”
I was listening to Nirvana today, “Come as you Are” from their “Unplugged” album this morning and she asks me, “Why was this stuff popular?”
Not being a huge Nirvana fan back in the day, but having grown to appreciate it, I replied back, “I think because people then thought the music represented them, how they felt inside, saying the things they weren’t able to say. That, and it is quite catchy.”
“That’s stupid,” she says. “What’s the point about singing about how much life sucks and how terrible things are?”
I didn’t answer, I couldn’t get over the irony of her asking me this question, which leads directly to the moral dilemma I am currently staring at. The irony is that this girl, who does only two things, is asking this question. The two things she does: sit on the couch wearing a snuggie and watch either a terrible television show or movie (movies she has watched in the past weeks she chose to watch, apparently having the taste of a thirteen year old boy: the Blade trilogy, Bad Boys II, Mortal Kombat, The Karate Kid, the shitty Pirates of the Caribbean, Smokin’ Aces 2, Alien v. Predator, Alien v. Predator: Requiem. Upon learning this, not only did I feel a twinge of regret all of these movies reside in my vast movie collection, I felt it incumbent of me to queue her up a good lineup of movies to watch. What she has watched now that I have taken a firm hand in her movie training: Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Smokin’ Aces (the original), Death at a Funeral (the British version), Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, The Godfather, and The Rock.)
The second thing she does is put on those headphones, turn the volume up as high as she can and either sitting on the couch in her snuggie or lying in her bed, she will proceed to sing at the top of her lungs those emo-ish depressed no one understands me songs and the love scorned songs and the forbidden love songs and the boy band ballads and the r and b songs she can’t keep up to in a fashion similar to that scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street when Freddy Kruger drags his blades across the chalkboard. There has never been a sound which will echo in my head like her voice attempting in vain to keep up with Whitney Houston during that part in “I Will Always Love You” (you know the part I mean.) Imagine that long “I……” sung by Roseanne Barr while taking a squat. That’s what I hear morning, noon and night when I am home attempting to do anything but listen to it. I’ve proceeded to walk around with my headphones blaring “The Ballad of John and Yoko” so the rhythmic percussions can almost drown out the cat castrations going on in my presence.
My sleep is off because of this singing. She sings as I attempt to sleep, she sings as I attempt to write. She sings or she eats and sleeps, and she only seems to sleep when I am not home. I’ve spoken to my other roommate about this, her boyfriend, and he feels precisely the same way as I do about it, but he’s getting nookie, so to him it is just a trade-off. Since I am not getting nookie, since I have to deal with it without any sort of reward, a moral dilemma slipped into my bookbag.
Dislike her annoying habit as I do, I still really like Danielle, so when she asks me for a favor, I oblige her in any way I can. This morning she asked me, as she often has, if she could plug in her Sansa Fuze+ into my computer to charge it; I agreed after telling her I was going to the library with it, which would mean bringing her mp3 player there as well. Trusting me as she does, she said that would be fine, only if it was okay with me.
I arrived at my favorite spot, a table near the periodicals on the second, main, floor of the Mathewson-IGT Knowledge Center and placed my bag down and removed my computer. Temporarily forgetting about the mp3 player, it carelessly flew from my bag and onto the computer, almost in the same position it sits now, in the middle under the lamp, next to my computer, bringing with it the moral dilemma attached to the USB connector wire. What would happen if that fall out of my bag wasn’t onto the table at all? What if it happened outside in a snowbank or accidentally in the middle of Virginia Street as the number 7 bus to Stead was passing? Or maybe it simply vanished into the small spot on the table which leads to Narnia? Or what if I feign ignorance when I get home, insisting I didn’t take it with me at all, or it just somehow didn’t arrive with me to the library?
I would be much happier if I never heard her sing at the top of her lungs out of tune like she was being strangled, but can I be so cold hearted as to deprive her of one of her only two activities, especially when the other one attacks my sensibilities even more? I mean, she passed over the original Smokin’ Aces to watch the terrible direct-to-DVD sequel.
What’s worse? Living with terrible singing or even worse movies? Damn moral dilemmas, you have gotten me again.
I am not a moralist, nor am I amoral; I’ve broken some hearts, rules, laws, and legs in my day. I also try to help out as much as I can, being giving and loving to those around me, hoping they will do the same. But I also love peace and quiet at home, and the right to sleep when I damn well please. I value one’s right to protection of self and property, yet in the end it might be worth it to just buy a new one…eventually.
Plugged into my USB drive on my laptop is my Cameroonian roommate Danielle’s mp3 player, a “Sansa Fuze+” allowing it to recharge. It is black, with 3.63 GB of memory, with only 82.1 MB free currently of shitty songs. Most of what she listens to is complete garbage, not only that but she will listen to the same song over and over and over again. For instance, she listened to “Tom Sawyer” by Rush for an hour straight last night. Why? I am not sure.
It isn’t that she listens to bad music, because she doesn’t actually listen to bad music. Hell, I’ve “borrowed” some of her selections while it has been plugged into my computer, finding unexpected treasure troves of varying degrees of quality. There isn’t anything of note in her catalog, lots of r and b, lots of emo-ish ballads about not being understood, lots of songs sung by women scorned about the scoundrel who hurt them, didn’t understand them, didn’t love them, or all of them combined. For every nine of those types, there is also a catchy Nickelback song (as if there is any other kind) or even Weezer. She also has quite a stash of Michael Jackson tucked away in its own file called “God.”
I was listening to Nirvana today, “Come as you Are” from their “Unplugged” album this morning and she asks me, “Why was this stuff popular?”
Not being a huge Nirvana fan back in the day, but having grown to appreciate it, I replied back, “I think because people then thought the music represented them, how they felt inside, saying the things they weren’t able to say. That, and it is quite catchy.”
“That’s stupid,” she says. “What’s the point about singing about how much life sucks and how terrible things are?”
I didn’t answer, I couldn’t get over the irony of her asking me this question, which leads directly to the moral dilemma I am currently staring at. The irony is that this girl, who does only two things, is asking this question. The two things she does: sit on the couch wearing a snuggie and watch either a terrible television show or movie (movies she has watched in the past weeks she chose to watch, apparently having the taste of a thirteen year old boy: the Blade trilogy, Bad Boys II, Mortal Kombat, The Karate Kid, the shitty Pirates of the Caribbean, Smokin’ Aces 2, Alien v. Predator, Alien v. Predator: Requiem. Upon learning this, not only did I feel a twinge of regret all of these movies reside in my vast movie collection, I felt it incumbent of me to queue her up a good lineup of movies to watch. What she has watched now that I have taken a firm hand in her movie training: Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Smokin’ Aces (the original), Death at a Funeral (the British version), Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, The Godfather, and The Rock.)
The second thing she does is put on those headphones, turn the volume up as high as she can and either sitting on the couch in her snuggie or lying in her bed, she will proceed to sing at the top of her lungs those emo-ish depressed no one understands me songs and the love scorned songs and the forbidden love songs and the boy band ballads and the r and b songs she can’t keep up to in a fashion similar to that scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street when Freddy Kruger drags his blades across the chalkboard. There has never been a sound which will echo in my head like her voice attempting in vain to keep up with Whitney Houston during that part in “I Will Always Love You” (you know the part I mean.) Imagine that long “I……” sung by Roseanne Barr while taking a squat. That’s what I hear morning, noon and night when I am home attempting to do anything but listen to it. I’ve proceeded to walk around with my headphones blaring “The Ballad of John and Yoko” so the rhythmic percussions can almost drown out the cat castrations going on in my presence.
My sleep is off because of this singing. She sings as I attempt to sleep, she sings as I attempt to write. She sings or she eats and sleeps, and she only seems to sleep when I am not home. I’ve spoken to my other roommate about this, her boyfriend, and he feels precisely the same way as I do about it, but he’s getting nookie, so to him it is just a trade-off. Since I am not getting nookie, since I have to deal with it without any sort of reward, a moral dilemma slipped into my bookbag.
Dislike her annoying habit as I do, I still really like Danielle, so when she asks me for a favor, I oblige her in any way I can. This morning she asked me, as she often has, if she could plug in her Sansa Fuze+ into my computer to charge it; I agreed after telling her I was going to the library with it, which would mean bringing her mp3 player there as well. Trusting me as she does, she said that would be fine, only if it was okay with me.
I arrived at my favorite spot, a table near the periodicals on the second, main, floor of the Mathewson-IGT Knowledge Center and placed my bag down and removed my computer. Temporarily forgetting about the mp3 player, it carelessly flew from my bag and onto the computer, almost in the same position it sits now, in the middle under the lamp, next to my computer, bringing with it the moral dilemma attached to the USB connector wire. What would happen if that fall out of my bag wasn’t onto the table at all? What if it happened outside in a snowbank or accidentally in the middle of Virginia Street as the number 7 bus to Stead was passing? Or maybe it simply vanished into the small spot on the table which leads to Narnia? Or what if I feign ignorance when I get home, insisting I didn’t take it with me at all, or it just somehow didn’t arrive with me to the library?
I would be much happier if I never heard her sing at the top of her lungs out of tune like she was being strangled, but can I be so cold hearted as to deprive her of one of her only two activities, especially when the other one attacks my sensibilities even more? I mean, she passed over the original Smokin’ Aces to watch the terrible direct-to-DVD sequel.
What’s worse? Living with terrible singing or even worse movies? Damn moral dilemmas, you have gotten me again.
Monday, January 3, 2011
The NFL playoff cure? Try the BWBCS
Welcome back to the BWB Football column. Due to unforeseen circumstances (read: another week of 8-8) and the delay due to the Tuesday Night Football game, the New Year’s Holiday closing the library, amongst other things which completely threw BWB for a loop, last week’s recap and this week’s predictions weren’t posted. Rest assured, BWB went 16-0 in Week 17 (trust me.) Also, taking a cue from the greatest postseason system there is, BWB is replacing the NFL playoffs with seven bowl games in order to stir debate on who is really the best by crowning seven championship winners instead of only one! We are calling it the BWBCS.
But first off, congratulations to the TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS, next year’s best team in the league. No, seriously! The NFC South hasn’t had a repeat winner since its creation in 2002, so don’t expect 2011 to be any different (if there is a season next year.) The Bucs finally won a game against a winning team, against the defending champion SAINTS no less. It was all for not this season, but just wait for next year Raheem Morris! In consolation news, the Bucs have accepted an invitation to the First Annual BWB Almost Good Enough Bowl, pitting the best non-playoff team from the NFC against the same from the AFC. Who will be their opponent, just read to find out.
The ATLANTA SAINTS 2.0/FALCONS looked like the soon-to-be NFC Champions as they trounced ACC Coastal Division Champion CAROLINA PANTHERS. Did you see they announced John Fox would not be back next season? Did they really need to make such a declaration? All six people who read BWB knew that for weeks. Don’t worry Mr. Fox, you’re going to be fine next season at Houston or Cleveland or whatever Podunk franchise represents greener pastures. (Note: Yes, even Cleveland is considered greener pastures when one works for Carolina.)
More will be written about the STEELERS and the RAVENS as both easily breezed into the playoffs by beating the BROWNS and BENGALS respectively, so I will concentrate on the losers now. First, has anyone noticed how much better the Bengals look when they don’t chuck the ball around the field to primadonna wideouts and instead run the ball like their life depended on it (because it does?) And the Browns stink. So long, Eric Mangini!
The TITANS had the COLTS on the ropes, and then Peyton Manning willed them to victory, only by being Peyton Manning. I think he personally frightened the ball out of Kerry Collins’ hand, setting up the game-winning drive and 3rd seed clincher by Adam Vinatieri. Good thing too, because had the Colts lost, the only thing anyone would have actually remembered was that the JAGUARS choked away the division title by losing three straight, including failing to show up for the second half against the TEXANS. Poor Jacksonville, maybe the haze and smoke of the city of Industry, California will be better to play in than northern Florida.
The COWBOYS beat the EAGLES, who had Kevin Kolb starting instead of Michael Vick. Does anyone remember when Wade Phillips benched Doug Flutie for Rob Johnson the week before the playoffs in 1999 in order to give him “rest” and then proceeded to play Johnson in the Wild Card Game which went historically bad thanks to the Music City Miracle? Yeah, me neither. That’s what this reminded me of. Beware, Philly fan…
BWB was surprised the GIANTS held off the WASHINGTON NATIONALS/REDSKINS and Rex Grossman. BWB wasn’t surprised the damage had already been done to the Giants’ playoff chances. Yes, the Giants won Super Bowl XLII. Consider them the best of a group which includes 2008 Cardinals, 2006 Bears, 1985 Patriots, or 1979 Rams as teams who were by far not the best team in their conference yet with a little bit of good luck and good luck and some more good luck they made the Super Bowl. They are done, Eli isn’t his brother, no matter what they say. He will always be Emilio Estevez. But that isn’t so bad. Emilio got Paula Abdul when getting Paula Abdul meant something. That’s what Eli’s Super Bowl ring is, it is “Forever Your Girl” Paula Abdul.
The PACKERS beat the BEARS in a game it seemed the Bears were only half-trying to win to get into the playoffs. That might have been the worst mistake the Bears will ever make, at least this season. The Packers are a very dangerous 6th seed, who are more than able to go to Philadelphia and Atlanta and win both games, now they are as healthy as they have been all season. Who wouldn’t love to see The Packers travel into Soldier Field to decide the NFC Championship? In other, less interesting news, the VIKINGS lost to the LIONS. Maybe I will care about the Lions next year…maybe…maybe not…definitely not…
The CHIEFS look really good, generally speaking. Sometimes. The RAIDERS seem to have their number. Yeah, maybe that’s it. Maybe the Ravens won’t run all over them, maybe the Raider mystique is what makes them look shitty. Maybe they won’t remember their franchise’s history of choking in the playoffs since the merger. And as for the BRONCOS and CHARGERS, I really have no inkling. I get a feeling both teams would have been better if they had either gotten rid of their head coaches before the season or if they hadn’t ever hired them in the first place.
The 49ERS game was on, in its entirety in Reno on Sunday, not any game which actually mattered. So instead of watching the Bears-Packers or even Cowboys-Eagles, we in the Biggest Little City were subjected to a beatdown on Red Skelton and the CARDINALS. The most interesting thing about the NFC West Championship Game between the SEAHAWKS and the RAMS, which was miraculously won by Seattle, though I half expected the field to be swallowed up by an ever-expanding Lake Washington resulting in a double forfeit, was “Harry’s Law” starring Kathy Bates. Seriously? Why would someone think it was a good idea to resuscitate the staid old Matlock genre?
The BILLS are putrid, and BWB is thankful for it. If there was ever a time BWB almost left JETS fandom, it was during the Bills’ K-Gun era. Deep down, BWB knew if that sort of front-running were allowed, even while living in upstate New York, it would forever have been punished. BWB considers what happened: since Jim Kelly retired, the Jets have won two division titles to the Bills zero. The Jets have won five playoff games since 1998, the Bills have won zero. The Jets have gone to two AFC Championship Games, the Bills haven’t. I’m not saying being a Jets fan is great, but BWB is confident it made the right choice twenty years ago. The DOLPHINS suck as well, and BWB is again grateful for this. If only Tom Bundchen and the PATRIOTS weren’t going to win their fourth Super Bowl this century…
Here are the BWB Bowls (Note: All Bowls will be played at stadiums that either have hosted or will host a Super Bowl in its history):
BWB NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME (NOT THE SUPER BOWL, DESPITE THE PROTESTATIONS OF MANY PEOPLE BECAUSE THE PARTICIPANTS WEREN’T DECIDED IN SOME SORT OF PLAYOFF SYSTEM): New England Patriots v. Atlanta Falcons from Cowboys Stadium in Arlington, Texas.
ALMOST GOOD ENOUGH BOWL: San Diego Chargers v. Tampa Bay Buccaneers from Ford Field in Detroit, Michigan.
MAYBE NEXT YEAR BOWL (IF THERE IS A SEASON IN 2011): New York Jets v. Chicago Bears from Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis, Indiana.
PARIAH BOWL: Pittsburgh Steelers (and Ben Roethlisberger) v. Philadelphia Eagles (and Michael Vick) from ALLTEL Stadium in Jacksonville, Florida.
PAC-12 CHAMPIONSHIP GAME: Kansas City Chiefs v. Seattle Seahawks from Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California.
BEST TEAM IN THEIR DIVISION EVEN THOUGH THEY DIDN’T ACTUALLY WIN THE DIVISION BOWL: Baltimore Ravens v. Green Bay Packers from Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, Minnesota (don’t worry that the stadium is in no condition; the game is a non-existent consolation game, so the game having to be delayed or moved shouldn’t be too much of a problem.)
LAST YEAR’S CHAMPIONSHIP GAME PARTICIPANTS WHO ARE STILL HOLDING OUT HOPE THEY CAN REPEAT BUT WON’T BOWL: Indianapolis Colts v. New Orleans Saints from whatever the stadium is called this week in whatever the city/county/municipality is supposed to be referred to this month (really Miami), Florida.
But first off, congratulations to the TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS, next year’s best team in the league. No, seriously! The NFC South hasn’t had a repeat winner since its creation in 2002, so don’t expect 2011 to be any different (if there is a season next year.) The Bucs finally won a game against a winning team, against the defending champion SAINTS no less. It was all for not this season, but just wait for next year Raheem Morris! In consolation news, the Bucs have accepted an invitation to the First Annual BWB Almost Good Enough Bowl, pitting the best non-playoff team from the NFC against the same from the AFC. Who will be their opponent, just read to find out.
The ATLANTA SAINTS 2.0/FALCONS looked like the soon-to-be NFC Champions as they trounced ACC Coastal Division Champion CAROLINA PANTHERS. Did you see they announced John Fox would not be back next season? Did they really need to make such a declaration? All six people who read BWB knew that for weeks. Don’t worry Mr. Fox, you’re going to be fine next season at Houston or Cleveland or whatever Podunk franchise represents greener pastures. (Note: Yes, even Cleveland is considered greener pastures when one works for Carolina.)
More will be written about the STEELERS and the RAVENS as both easily breezed into the playoffs by beating the BROWNS and BENGALS respectively, so I will concentrate on the losers now. First, has anyone noticed how much better the Bengals look when they don’t chuck the ball around the field to primadonna wideouts and instead run the ball like their life depended on it (because it does?) And the Browns stink. So long, Eric Mangini!
The TITANS had the COLTS on the ropes, and then Peyton Manning willed them to victory, only by being Peyton Manning. I think he personally frightened the ball out of Kerry Collins’ hand, setting up the game-winning drive and 3rd seed clincher by Adam Vinatieri. Good thing too, because had the Colts lost, the only thing anyone would have actually remembered was that the JAGUARS choked away the division title by losing three straight, including failing to show up for the second half against the TEXANS. Poor Jacksonville, maybe the haze and smoke of the city of Industry, California will be better to play in than northern Florida.
The COWBOYS beat the EAGLES, who had Kevin Kolb starting instead of Michael Vick. Does anyone remember when Wade Phillips benched Doug Flutie for Rob Johnson the week before the playoffs in 1999 in order to give him “rest” and then proceeded to play Johnson in the Wild Card Game which went historically bad thanks to the Music City Miracle? Yeah, me neither. That’s what this reminded me of. Beware, Philly fan…
BWB was surprised the GIANTS held off the WASHINGTON NATIONALS/REDSKINS and Rex Grossman. BWB wasn’t surprised the damage had already been done to the Giants’ playoff chances. Yes, the Giants won Super Bowl XLII. Consider them the best of a group which includes 2008 Cardinals, 2006 Bears, 1985 Patriots, or 1979 Rams as teams who were by far not the best team in their conference yet with a little bit of good luck and good luck and some more good luck they made the Super Bowl. They are done, Eli isn’t his brother, no matter what they say. He will always be Emilio Estevez. But that isn’t so bad. Emilio got Paula Abdul when getting Paula Abdul meant something. That’s what Eli’s Super Bowl ring is, it is “Forever Your Girl” Paula Abdul.
The PACKERS beat the BEARS in a game it seemed the Bears were only half-trying to win to get into the playoffs. That might have been the worst mistake the Bears will ever make, at least this season. The Packers are a very dangerous 6th seed, who are more than able to go to Philadelphia and Atlanta and win both games, now they are as healthy as they have been all season. Who wouldn’t love to see The Packers travel into Soldier Field to decide the NFC Championship? In other, less interesting news, the VIKINGS lost to the LIONS. Maybe I will care about the Lions next year…maybe…maybe not…definitely not…
The CHIEFS look really good, generally speaking. Sometimes. The RAIDERS seem to have their number. Yeah, maybe that’s it. Maybe the Ravens won’t run all over them, maybe the Raider mystique is what makes them look shitty. Maybe they won’t remember their franchise’s history of choking in the playoffs since the merger. And as for the BRONCOS and CHARGERS, I really have no inkling. I get a feeling both teams would have been better if they had either gotten rid of their head coaches before the season or if they hadn’t ever hired them in the first place.
The 49ERS game was on, in its entirety in Reno on Sunday, not any game which actually mattered. So instead of watching the Bears-Packers or even Cowboys-Eagles, we in the Biggest Little City were subjected to a beatdown on Red Skelton and the CARDINALS. The most interesting thing about the NFC West Championship Game between the SEAHAWKS and the RAMS, which was miraculously won by Seattle, though I half expected the field to be swallowed up by an ever-expanding Lake Washington resulting in a double forfeit, was “Harry’s Law” starring Kathy Bates. Seriously? Why would someone think it was a good idea to resuscitate the staid old Matlock genre?
The BILLS are putrid, and BWB is thankful for it. If there was ever a time BWB almost left JETS fandom, it was during the Bills’ K-Gun era. Deep down, BWB knew if that sort of front-running were allowed, even while living in upstate New York, it would forever have been punished. BWB considers what happened: since Jim Kelly retired, the Jets have won two division titles to the Bills zero. The Jets have won five playoff games since 1998, the Bills have won zero. The Jets have gone to two AFC Championship Games, the Bills haven’t. I’m not saying being a Jets fan is great, but BWB is confident it made the right choice twenty years ago. The DOLPHINS suck as well, and BWB is again grateful for this. If only Tom Bundchen and the PATRIOTS weren’t going to win their fourth Super Bowl this century…
Here are the BWB Bowls (Note: All Bowls will be played at stadiums that either have hosted or will host a Super Bowl in its history):
BWB NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME (NOT THE SUPER BOWL, DESPITE THE PROTESTATIONS OF MANY PEOPLE BECAUSE THE PARTICIPANTS WEREN’T DECIDED IN SOME SORT OF PLAYOFF SYSTEM): New England Patriots v. Atlanta Falcons from Cowboys Stadium in Arlington, Texas.
ALMOST GOOD ENOUGH BOWL: San Diego Chargers v. Tampa Bay Buccaneers from Ford Field in Detroit, Michigan.
MAYBE NEXT YEAR BOWL (IF THERE IS A SEASON IN 2011): New York Jets v. Chicago Bears from Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis, Indiana.
PARIAH BOWL: Pittsburgh Steelers (and Ben Roethlisberger) v. Philadelphia Eagles (and Michael Vick) from ALLTEL Stadium in Jacksonville, Florida.
PAC-12 CHAMPIONSHIP GAME: Kansas City Chiefs v. Seattle Seahawks from Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California.
BEST TEAM IN THEIR DIVISION EVEN THOUGH THEY DIDN’T ACTUALLY WIN THE DIVISION BOWL: Baltimore Ravens v. Green Bay Packers from Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, Minnesota (don’t worry that the stadium is in no condition; the game is a non-existent consolation game, so the game having to be delayed or moved shouldn’t be too much of a problem.)
LAST YEAR’S CHAMPIONSHIP GAME PARTICIPANTS WHO ARE STILL HOLDING OUT HOPE THEY CAN REPEAT BUT WON’T BOWL: Indianapolis Colts v. New Orleans Saints from whatever the stadium is called this week in whatever the city/county/municipality is supposed to be referred to this month (really Miami), Florida.
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