The movie I've seen the most
Slate.com has published a rather thought-provoking
compilation of some of film fans' most watched movies. What a terrific idea. Which movie have you seen the most? Not your first. Not your favorite. The one you've seen
the most often. If you're like me, you've never been much for the big holiday classics (like "the Wizard of Oz,") but yet the movies you saw as a tireless child skew the results toward a certain generation of cinema. My first instinct was to say "Star Wars" (now known as "Star Wars-- Episode IV,") but that film slightly predated the VCR revolution for my interests, and I think I actually saw it more in my imagination, reading books, and by acting out the plot with action figures. The strong contenders from the pre-teen VCR period would have to include "Fletch," "Three Amigos," and "Airplane!" If push came to shove, my most watched movie might be Steve Martin and Carl Reiner's "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid." (That one's a beauty!) And it sounds pretentious, but I've seen "Citizen Kane" quite a few times at this point.
But if I had to bet the wardrobe, I think I'd have to go with "Groundhog Day." My brother had it on tape. It made my Top 50 films list last year (Top 50 reviews posted in the Archives December 2004 through March 2005,) which means I gave myself permission to buy it on DVD. And I just can't turn it off when it comes on cable, which is often. Then again, maybe it's the nature of the movie's narrative that makes it seem so familiar.
Which movies am I forgetting?
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Quote of the day: Democratic strategist Steve McMahon on Hillary Clinton (and others') support for the criminalization of burning the American flag,
"What's politically pragmatic is not necessarily what's pleasing to the left. But pragmatism is what wins elections for Democrats."Here is Arianna Huffington's response:
"Really? And which elections would those be, Steve? 2002? 2004? And it wasn't just Hillary. Kerry, Biden, Boxer, Durbin, Kennedy, Leahy, Levin, Lieberman, Obama, and Shumer all also voted against the (Constitutional) amendment but for the criminalization bill because, according to the (New York) Times, "Democrats who voted for the [bill] in effect bought themselves the right to claim that they had voted against flag desecration, potentially inoculating themselves against possible charges of lacking patriotism in a general election campaign." In other words, they earned the right to declare that they actually voted against flag desecration before they voted "for" it (by voting no on the amendment). Yep, that's exactly the kind of pragmatic thinking that "wins elections for Democrats"! ---
Groucho Marx:
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read."
Imposter fools loan counselor
Yesterday at work, I chatted on the phone with my first obvious student loan imposter. I had an older woman on the line whose husband had taken out a parent loan for their child, but the woman was not authorized on the account. As a result of this, I wasn't allowed to share information about the account with her. She told me that she would get her husband on the line to grant me permission to speak to her and then I hear her yell "Hey Jim, I need you in here" clear as day with her mouth just away from the receiver. Then the woman gets back on the phone, and in probably her deepest voice says "Yes, this is Jim." I knew immediately it was the same person, but I went through with the charade anyway.
I asked "Jim" for his address, phone number(s), and place of employment, and I had a difficult time trying to keep from laughing. I had heard other loan counselors talk about tricks you can use to trip up and embarrass these imposters, but I found myself rooting for her. She was making it difficult on herself, though. At one point I asked, "Are there any other telephone numbers you'd like me to add?" and that's where she should have just said no and hurried through the authorization process, but she proceeded to read off two other alternate phone numbers that I could add to his name on the account, prolonging my agony.
I must boast that I played it perfectly. I stayed sober, telling "Jim" after authorization that I could now share information with his wife, and then I continued to pepper my conversation with "her" with phrases such as "I told your husband (such and such)..." I played it so well that I started to get angry after ending the call. "Jim" is probably bragging today about how she pulled one over on the student loan guy.
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After nearly a decade, I finally found something good about baseball's interleague play-- the opportunity for newspaper editors to use freshened headlines. After the Indians' rout of the Cardinals Monday night, Cleveland's Plain-Dealer broke out this
emboldened font chestnut: "Runs in the cards as Tribe decks St. Louis." Copy editors in National League cities such as Pittsburgh or San Diego long ago wore out headlines such as this, or "Cardinals flying high," or "LaRussa shuffles the Cards," or "Padres seeing red," but they're fresh vittles for Lake Erie wordsmiths. And what more is left to do in Cleveland with the "Angels" or with the Indians "taming the Tigers" 10 to 12 times a year?
It must be difficult to come up with 162 game recap headlines a year and steer clear of the constants-- "Pujols powers Cards" and "(Your team name here)s send Marquis to early shower." There is no accounting for my extraordinary memory for such things, but my favorite recap headline of all time is "Cards go bump in the ninth." I saw it for the first time living in St. Louis in 1994, but the Post-Dispatch recycled it again for a game last year. That must mean they're on an 11 year cycle. They have yet to use it this year, however, despite a marked increase in opportunities.
Roll call
Democrats- grab your 2008 Presidential scorecards and don't let this important moment pass. Last Thursday, the U.S. Senate voted on an amendment to a military spending bill brought forth by John Kerry and Russ Feingold that would have set a July 2007 date for U.S. withdrawal from Iraq. The statement of purpose of Kerry Amend. #4442 read: "To require the redeployment of United States Armed Forces from Iraq in order to further a political solution in Iraq, encourage the people of Iraq to provide for their own security, and achieve victory in the war on terror." Only 12 Democrats and Independent Jim Jeffords backed the measure.
Notable Democratic votes:
Bayh (IN)- Nay
Biden (DE)- Nay
Clinton (NY)- Nay
Durbin (IL)- Yea
Feingold (WI)- Yea
Harkin (IA)- Yea
Kennedy (MA)- Yea
Kerry (MA)- Yea
Lieberman (CT)- Nay
Obama (IL)- Nay
Six Democrats-- including Lieberman above-- also voted against a second, watered-down version of this measure that would have declared only "the sense of the Senate" that redeployment from Iraq begin by year's end. Senator Biden was correct when he postulated that Republicans, by contrast, "are totally united in a failed policy" in Iraq, but this can hardly explain why Biden would cast a vote against declaring an end date to that failure and encouraging Iraqis to provide for their own security.
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The always tenacious Dan Rather was unceremoniously dismissed by CBS news last week. Pulitzer Prize-winning television critic Tom Shales offered
this epilogue.
"The frenzy"
It's a bustling time in the student loan game, but not for me. Interest rates are going up July first and borrowers are racing to get their interest rates fixed before that date by consolidating their loans. Incoming phone requests are so backed up that the training class-- of which, I am a member-- has been pulled off the phones so that our more efficient trainers can return to their posts and handle a greater volume of calls. Now, instead of me talking to borrowers while my trainer listens, he talks while I listen. The result is me doing a lot of doodling in my stenopad.
Today, I wrote a poem. It was inspired by my trainer Jones, who himself penned a piece last week that included these lines:
Something, something, something (I'm paraphrasing)
The borrowers ask me to calculate payoffs.When I tell them that interest accrues daily.They tell me I'm a "jag-off."I wrote this:
Everywhere, consolidationsCalling for actions, rare and boldThe trainees were sent to watch videosTo keep the borrowers off of holdThey call from all four cornersSeeking an interest rate sublimeThey need an application sent post-hasteThat they might get it back on timeJones is working very hardHis brow is glisteningI'm taking time to write this poemWhen I should be listeningA work in progress...
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Our rules of censorship in America are usually capricious and frequently bizarre. White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen has been appropriately sent to sensitivity training today by Bud Selig for calling Sun-Times columnist Jay Mariotti a "fag." The latest wire service story on both the ESPN and Fox Sports websites substitutes the actual word he used with the phrase "a derogatory term often used to describe someone's sexual orientation." But then, later in the story, it lists Guillen's exact quote like this: "What a piece of [expletive] he is, [expletive] fag."
My brother points out that what we have here is two words being so bad that they can't be printed in the news story, but the word Guillen got in trouble for using is printed right next to them. Does anyone understand this?
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The Great Pujols returns from the disabled list tonight after just two and half weeks on the shelf. (Some estimated he could be out 6 or 8 weeks.) I hope this is because he's legitimately ready for action, and not because Tony LaRussa wants to save some face in a third game in Chicago after back-to-back pummelings at the hands of the manager's former team.
Hard times
I've endured a few hardships over the years during trips to see the Cardinals play. There have been four speeding tickets, a dead car battery, the oil pan once dropping out of the car and onto the road, then getting chased by a dog going for help. I've experienced rain delays and weather postponements at the ballpark, oppressive heat and humidity
most of the time, even a smattering of chilly evenings. I stood during an entire 3 1/2 hour game in Kansas City. I've been gouged for tickets and parking, and seated next to obnoxious drunks (though usually in my traveling party.) I witnessed the very first Rick Ankiel meltdown, watched the Birds blow the outright division title on the last day of the 2001 season, and stood by helplessly as Boston's Pedro Martinez nudged the 2004 World Championship out of reach.
But I never went to the park and saw the Cardinals give up 11 runs in an inning and lose
20-6. And for that I'm grateful.
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New lows for the U.S. Congress: Republicans blocked a minimum wage increase today in the Senate, pushing the wage to a 51-year-low relative to inflation. Though productivity has risen sharply by recent estimates, the minimum wage now equals just 31 percent of the average wage for "private sector, nonsupervisory workers." This stands in sharp contrast to the 1950s and 1960s when the minimum wage averaged 50 percent of the average wage in a flourishing middle-class, and it draws attention to the fact that today's so-called economic "recovery" is not being felt by most workers.
Feeding upon that momentum,
House Republicans then cancelled a vote this afternoon to renew the Civil Rights Act after a mutiny of Southern legislators, whose states-- Civil Rights attorneys argue-- have been in violation of this law for years, argued that the bill would promote multi-lingual election ballots.
Just beautiful.
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The new "Superman," Brandon Routh, was on Letterman last night, telling the world-- and reminding me-- that he was a native of Iowa (Norwalk and Des Moines.) He told Dave that his parents were jazz musicians in Des Moines in the 1970s and he shared memories of working the corn dog stand at the State Fair as a kid.
And
still it seems pointless to resurrect this film franchise. Christopher Reeve's "Superman" is still fresh-- his 1978 debut opposite Gene Hackman and Margo Kidder still a great way to spend a lazy summer afternoon. We need
new ideas, Hollywood.
New!---
Set your VCR or digital recording apparatus for: Amy Sedaris on Letterman tonight. Her "Strangers With Candy" opens in theaters July 7th. Now that should be a "re-imaging" worth seeing-- the movie and Sedaris' Late Show appearance.
Happy Fathers Day
The old man is traveling overseas during this Fathers Day so I get out of both taking him to brunch and having to call.
If you're checking the blog on your trip, though, Dad-- between vodka shots and the pampering of your "favorite" child-- I'm thinking of you and watching the Cardinals game in your honor, though pretending that Jose Oquendo is my dad. There's bright sunshine in Des Moines... as well as St. Louis, despite a 40 minute rain delay earlier in the game. (Not unlike our relationship, huh?)
Travel safe, Pa, see you soon, and to all of you dads out there, Happy Birthday!
This is beer
There are four topics capable of whipping me into a patriotic frenzy. They are baseball, America's rich heritage of both music and film, and lastly, beer. The latter is the topic of headlines this morning after Dutch soccer fans at the World Cup in Berlin "dropped trou" to achieve entry into the Netherlands/Ivory Coast match. The fans were originally denied entry after attempting to "ambush" Anheuser-Busch's exclusive beer sponsorship of the Cup by wearing bright orange pants with the logo of a Dutch brewing company.
First a journalistic disclaimer: I have a small financial stake in Anheuser-Busch, and have since I was 15 years old, but am not receiving compensation to shill for them today. The company's 53-year partnership with the St. Louis Cardinals, including 42 years of direct ownership encompassing six pennants and three World Championships, cemented a lifetime of loyalty on my part towards them and their products. Founded in the heartland by German-Americans like me, A-B brews have taken their grains from American farmfields and their water from the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers. A neon "Bud" sign in a blues club in the Delta is as American as Grandmama's cobbler.
My German immigrant predecessors made the light golden lager of a longer fermentation time an American original, and in the days before refrigeration, the natural caverns of the Mississippi River Valley helped to keep the product cool during that process. All the way back to Mark Twain, the lager's success was documented. Samuel Clemons found dissenters only among the Irish laborers along the river. "They don't drink it, sir," a man told Twain, "They
can't drink it, sir. Give an Irishman a lager for a month, and he's a dead man. An Irishman is lined with copper, and the beer corrodes it. But whiskey polishes the copper and is the saving of him, sir."
Superstitions perhaps aside, knee-jerk U.S. bloggers like
Steve Gilliard still have their noses so far up the Europeans' asses and so little esteem for their own unique heritage that they can't see the barley for the barley fields. As it's capable of existing, A-B is nearly the ideal U.S. corporation. They brew an affordable product for working people. They employ union laborers. They not only keep their jobs within our borders for products to be shipped and sold throughout the Americas, but they've been loyal to their specific community of origin, St. Louis, by maintaining the original brewery operation there, despite their claims that it is less productive than their other breweries throughout the south where the U.S. population has been gradually migrating over time.
They gratefully employ one of America's most liberal political commentators, George Clooney, as the official voice of their signature product, Budweiser. Unlike the one-time "Miller Brewing Company" of Milwaukee, they are still American-owned, and unlike "Coors" of Golden, Colorado, they have not committed to generations of union-busting, funding illegal and covert arms deals, or perpetuating the ancient bigotries of their founder against Hispanics, gays, and lesbians. In fact, A-B happily markets their products specifically to those and other marginalized groups, proving to
all American companies along the way that you can work with principles and still dominate market share (49 percent.)
Make no mistake, this European and partly American backlash against Budweiser is an attack against you and your principles-- a manifestation of their low self-esteem, really. The FIFA World Cup sold an exclusive beer partnership, and 15 global companies bid for it. Some Americans would probably prefer that a foreign country's company have secured that sponsorship, one that doesn't employ American workers. Perhaps one from a former Soviet-bloc country where breweries were shuttered for generations, everyone forced to drink vodka, and beers only recently returned to markets. Perhaps they would have preferred the any one of a number of western European breweries that still believes beer should be served in warm glasses, among them, Ireland, where the signature dark ales polish their
copper stomach linings, but the pubs still close at 10.
Anti-American soccer fans know that their grip is precarious on this one final sport not yet under U.S. dominance, and that's why the Big Eagle's presence, that of an American business and sporting classic, and brewer of the best-selling beer in the world cuts them to the quick. Bizarre reactions and demonstrations should make Americans swell with pride over having such a noble and ethical representative on the global stage. It's good to be The King.
The shock jock of wholesomeness
I haven't told you yet that I saw "A Prairie Home Companion" on the big screen last weekend. It was sort of a revelation. I've been vaguely aware of Garrison Keillor, Lake Woebegon, and their presence on public radio for years, but I'd been going about my life expending no energy towards exploring what that whole world was all about. Now I know. It's this sort of gentle and imaginative alternate reality where Midwestern people and principles are idealized, their heritage secure, and all of the feelings warm. I had no idea the radio show and live performances had been around so long... better than 30 years.
My theater companion grew up with it. Her parents had a couple of the early records. She recognized, for example, the "North Country" schtick, the buttermilk biscuits, and some of the stock characters, such as private detective "Guy Noir," played by Kevin Kline in the film. I expected the variety show, but one with more of the Vaudeville or Catskills-style comedy and crooning. It's a different ethnic tradition, naturally, but because of films and television, I'm actually more familiar with the Jewish/New York sensibility than this one taking place right under my German Lutheran nose up amongst the 50,000 lakes.
I thought the film was actually quite similar to Woody Allen's "Radio Days" from 1987, especially in terms of the radio broadcasts and the "community-as-family" theme. Instead of borscht belt humor, though, you have Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly as comical singing cowboys, and you have to substitute the Sinatra and Crosby tunes with Midwestern folk songs. I really enjoyed it.
A
Garrison Keillor profile was posted this afternoon on Slate. The tone is a tad snide, but it seemed like a useful preface to "A Prairie Home" if you're planning to see it.
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I can't remember now where I read it, but someone on-line was trashing "The Da Vinci Code," saying that even its title revealed its stupidity. (Disclaimer: I've neither read the book nor seen the movie.) Leonardo da Vinci was so named because his name was Leonardo and he hailed from Vinci, Italy. The title would be the equivalent of naming a similar project about Jesus "The
Of Nazareth Code."
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This morning on "King of the Hill" (FX, 9-10 cst,) the boys in the alley were discussing what they would choose for their last meal if they were on death row. Bill was won over by each one of the famous final meals they were reading about in the newspaper, but if Dale had the choice, he would select the world's
rarest truffle. Then while the guards were searching for it, he would tunnel his way to freedom. But by escaping, of course, he would then miss the opportunity to eat the world's rarest truffle. Such a conundrum....
Pithy thoughts
Last night's AFI television special-- a countdown this time of the 100 most "inspiring" moments in American film-- was not bound to be one of my favorite categories, but after almost a decade of these annual compilations, it has to be getting difficult to come up with new ideas for rankings. (For the record, "It's a Wonderful Life" topped the list.) The countdown I hope they have the guts to do is the 100
sexiest moments on film, but it will never happen. My brother suggested the subtitle "100 Years, 200 Tits," and I like "100 Flicks, 100 Clits." I guess for you ladies an even better rhyme would be "100 Flicks, 100
Dicks."---
This afternoon on National Public Radio, they suggested research indicates as many as 9 in 10 people of Mexican descent living in the United States have at least a functional understanding of the English language. What this means is that these people have a choice as to how they receive their news and information. And guess which language they're choosing? In Miami, Houston, and Los Angeles, the evening news on Univision outscores the news offerings on CBS, NBC, and ABC in the Nielsons, perhaps because they're the only news source actually talking about issues that would be important to Hispanics, and those issues include more than just immigration.
This remarkable adherence to "traditional" American customs also makes one wonder why our nationalists are still so concerned about the potential loss of a so-called "common language." I suspect what they really fear is
bilingual competitors in a Darwinian culture, and if that's so, which population is it that should really be carrying the stereotype of being lazy?
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Whenever I hear the phrase "faith-based initiatives," I think Al Qaeda.
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I'm not much for rock-n-roll you've probably surmised by now, but there are two great rock songs--"Murder Incorporated," by Bruce Springsteen, and the closing theme of "WKRP in Cincinnati," the one with the indecipherable lyrics.
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One of the underdiscussed factors in George W. Bush's disastrous presidency is his coping as a recovering drunk. All the traits are there-- he bullies, lashes out at the slightest bit of criticism ("You're either for us or against us"), and believes that Jesus guides his every action. Let's resolve to learn from our mistakes: no more "12-step" presidents.
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I think TV news anchors and meteorologists have officially run out of things to say about the weather.
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Any ideas where that missing $8.8 billion of American cash in Iraq will turn up?
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Another factory closing in Iowa: the Rubbermaid plant, which employed 500 people in Centerville. In a statement, Governor Vilsack disclosed that the company even rejected one of the chief executive's official state bribes. The governor could log full-time hours simply writing his
"I was saddened to hear" letters to spurned Iowa communities. No wonder he polled fourth in his own state as a potential Democratic candidate for president.
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If you find yourself voting for baseball's All-Star Game, keep in mind that, despite missing the last two weeks, Albert Pujols still leads both leagues in RBIs by nine, and in home runs by two.
I don't like soccer and you can't make me
It should be obvious why riots are always breaking out in soccer stadiums? It's because fans are looking for a little excitement.
It's hard to believe that four years have come and gone, but the World Cup is back, and that means it's also time for our more
sophisticated countrymen to refresh their campaign to convince the Bud drinkers among us that we should rally behind that so-called "global phenomenon" called "futbol." It's the most popular sport in the world, these European ass-kissers argue, so by rejecting it, the U.S. is just continuing its trend toward unilateral action. But might these same simpletons also argue that "Titanic" is a better film than "Citizen Kane," or that "Baywatch" betters "The Sopranos?" I didn't think so. When the sport is being played on television, which mercifully is not often, I simply find myself yelling at the screen-- "Just grab it!"
Soccer may be popular around the world, but so are bowl haircuts and Robbie Williams. Five hundred million people may participate in the sport, but what are the alternative pastimes in Tehran? You can either play soccer or whittle away the hours drinking tea and observing the
hejab strict code of dress.
Would anyone who has witnessed them all reasonably claim that David Beckham is as great an athlete as LaDainian Tomlinson or Albert Pujols or Allen Iverson-- competitors of superior speed, power, cunning, coordination, and/or even grace? I don't dispute that soccer requires a healthy ticker and a pair of fresh legs, but that's where the requisites grow murky for me. I tried to make a list of preferred attributes and the next best I could come up with were kneepads and a metal plate in your frontal lobe.
What really burns me, though, is the assertion that soccer is the sport of the future in the United States. Nothing could be further from the truth. The reason for that is our other great sports. Soccer is destined to remain on the scrap heap of second tier competitions like lacrosse and bicyling because America has invented superior tests of physical skill and blended them with action and drama for the spectators. For Christ's sake, the play clock counts
up in soccer! When will the damn thing even end? Who invented this crap? Not Al Jolson, I can tell you that. Americans want entertainment! They want a story... and a big finish!
In his 2003 tome "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs," author Chuck Klosterman recalled how
he discovered that soccer would never become popular in the U.S. At 16 years old, he coached a rag-tag baseball team of fourth and fifth graders and was forced into direct contact with parents bringing up their kids in an era when soccer had become the dominant participation sport for that age group, a distinction that remains the case today. These parents had become conditioned to a sporting climate in which there was equality in action and participation. In truth, they weren't sports fans at all. Soccer, he argued, appealed to "OutKast Culture," which is diametrically opposed to real sports' "Intimidation Culture." (Briefly think back to the three American athletes I mentioned earlier--yes? Intimidating as hell, aren't they?)
Writes Klosterman,
"Soccer unconsciously rewards the outcast, which is why so many adults are fooled into thinking their kids love it. The truth is that most children don't love soccer; they simply hate the alternatives more. For 60 percent of the adolescents in any fourth grade classroom, sports are a humiliation waiting to happen. These are the kids who play baseball and strike out four times a game. These are the kids who are afraid to get fouled in basketball, because it only means they're now required to shoot two free throws, which equates to two air balls. Basketball games actually stop
to recognize failure. And football is nothing more than an ironical death sentence; somehow, outcasts find themselves in a situation where the people normally penalized for teasing them are suddenly urged to annihilate
them."In soccer, you can really just run up and down the field without doing anything. I know because I've played it. In grade school, we had to go to a one day tournament once a year, and in college, my next door neighbor from Manchester, England recruited me a couple times to
the pitch. All I did was wear out my shoes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. And I was a great athlete! Then you would look over at the football players playing intramural basketball, and you got an idea of why these scrawny Brits enjoyed their own version of
futbol.Baseball is the game for me. It works as both sport and cerebral exercise. It's physically rigorous, but just as importantly, plays as a story unfolding for the spectator and the participant. After a day's, week's or season's story has been written, that story has a way of sticking in your memory. The game is not complicated or convoluted in its scope, but its complexities demand an attention-- even devotion. More than half of the world doesn't understand it, but then that's probably what makes it great.
"From another planet entirely"
We'll begin with the
Historical Newspaper Account of the Day-- a description of the great Cardinals' "Gas House Gang" of the 1930s, The River Rowdies of the Mississippi:
Frank Graham of the New York Sun, 1935,
"They don't shave before a game and most of them chew tobacco. They have thick necks and knotty muscles, and they spit out of the sides of their mouth and then wipe the backs of their hands across their shirt fronts. They fight among themselves and use quaint and picturesque oaths. They are not afraid of anybody. They don't make much money, and they work hard for it. They will risk arms, legs, and necks, their own or the other fellow's, to get it. But they also have a lot of fun playing baseball."---
Most of the same can be said for the "Gas House Gang" of television, the great unwashed denizens of the Dakota Territory, circa 1877, on HBO's "Deadwood." Their third season began last night with another hour-long masterpiece, "Tell Your God to Ready for Blood." I'll swear as much as the show's characters to the fact that I've never read such overwhelming praise for a TV show as I did today and this weekend for David Milch's epic, yet the show's second season was-- for all but one-- shut out of the acting nominations in last fall's Emmys competition and entirely omitted from every 2005 Top 10 TV shows list that I've seen.
The cost of producing the show and HBO's preference that Milch concentrate on his latest network project means that the show's third season will be its last, with only a pair of two-hour specials to follow. Enjoy Ian McShane, Molly Parker, William Sanderson, and Co. while you still can on Sunday nights. Better yet-- proceed to your local video store and catch up with the series on DVD just in time for its 2007 conclusion.
'Nuther of them "San Francisco cocksuckers," Tim Goodman of the Chronicle, gives away no major plot points in
this published rave from Friday. Or you should at least make time for
Heather Havrilesky's Salon review, delivered with precision in disgusting and glorious "Deadwood"-
speak.
My Sunday outrage over the steroids issue...
..came from Phoenix, where the Diamondbacks' managing general partner, Ken Kendrick, is furious that Jason Grimsley and his agent are suing for the relief pitcher's full 2006 $800,000+ salary, even though the team released him last week after he became the target of an FBI investigation into the use of Human Growth Hormone in the league.
This is the day we all knew was coming-- when Major League Baseball, like nearly all other corporate cabals, would attempt to throw its employees under the truck to cover up their own malfeasance. Says Kendrick, "This guy did no less than steal from us... He's a representative of the culture of cheating, and it's just not something that we're going to support at all... In my mind, he probably owes us as opposed to us owing him."
Major League Baseball and its ballclubs created this "culture of cheating" all by themselves. Are the Diamondbacks willing to give the fans their money back from the last half decade? They dragged their feet on steroid testing while the turnstiles spun. They paid handsomely-- yet modestly by their means-- to marginal ballplayers like Grimsley and great ballplayers like Barry Bonds to do whatever was necessary to compete and win, and put butts in the seats. They did-- and continue to do-- as little testing as they can get away with doing-- a strategy backed by the players' union, the news and sports media conglomerates, and all of your major sports leagues and commissions, but none of these others had as much to gain or to lose financially as Major League Baseball. The Arizona Diamondbacks are the shining example. Under owner Jerry Colangelo, the club was threatened with bankruptcy in 1999 and 2000. Bud Selig and MLB had to co-sign a loan to keep the team solvent. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa's exploits on the field were arguably most responsible for saving that franchise, if not a few others as well.
It is unheard of in modern baseball for released ballplayers to be denied the balance of their contracts. The collective bargaining process guaranteed those deals. This is not the NFL. Grimsley has not failed a drug test. He has not been charged with a crime. I for one will be damned if MLB's 30 teams are allowed to drop their bag of shit at the feet of their players. I hope Grimsley and his attorneys take the Snakes for all they're worth.
More guilt by speculation
Another baseball player is about to be declared guilty of steroid abuse in the court of public opinion without having tested positive for its use, any evidence implicating him, and with no avenues available to him in which to prove his innocence. And that player is Albert Pujols... so I'm in no mood to let shallow conjecture and low-rated television commentators rule the day.
If you haven't already heard, Pujols' long-time friend, personal trainer and collegiate coach, Chris Mihlfeld, was tabbed by a website and MSNBC news anchor Keith Olbermann as the blacked-out name in the Jason Grimsley federal affidavit that allegedly provided Grimsley with the name of an amphetamine supplier, who, in turn, also wound up as a source of anabolic steroids and Human Growth Hormone.
It's important that we take a step back right about now-- at the onset of the impending public flogging of Pujols-- and consider just what exactly it is that we know about this connection. Even if we assume these classified descriptions to be fact-- and Mihlfeld denies his involvement as a reference to a speed supplier-- the only link to Pujols is that both he and Grimsley shared a trainer during parts of their career. Further, said-trainer was assisting Grimsley with rehabilitation from major reconstructive surgery and Pujols has never gone under the knife. Also, this anonymous trainer is only accused of promoting a supplier of amphetamines, not HGH or any other substance, and by all acknowledgements, "greenies" have been a staple of the clubhouse training table ("leaded" and "unleaded") for generations. I refuse to indict even Major League Baseball without also indicting the news and sports media for looking past a league amphetamine addiction that goes back more than four decades, at least as far back as the publishing of Jim Bouton's book "Ball Four."
The HGH hang-up has left me asking the question-- what about football? If no urine test exists for the hormone, then what is the National Football League doing to rid its sport of its sinister presence? If 4 out of 5 of those behemoths aren't inflated with HGH than I'm Vince Ferragamo. Why aren't the feds dressing up as Cliff Clavin in gridders' suburban cul-de-sacs? Once again, baseball, and its best players besides, are held to a higher standard.
If this connection turns out to be a red herring, let's hope the smearing of Pujols, a popular and otherwise-perceived "ideal" ballplayer and citizen, turns out to be the straw the broke the camel's back in terms of the public's patience with this entire "outraged media" performance.
Grim's outlook
Arizona Diamondbacks relief pitcher Jason Grimsley has finally become a household name, and he's out of a job. The 38-year-old righthander was previously most famous for getting caught climbing through a crawl space in the ceiling of a padlocked umpires' dressing room to change out teammate Albert Belle's confiscated corked bat. Grimsley later admitted that the biggest flaw in his scheme was that
all of Belle's bats were corked.
It's absolutely scandalous if, in fact, we have G-men trying to wire up Grimsley in an attempt to implicate Barry Bonds and others, as Grimsley's attorney alleges. This legal defender, Edward Novak, claims that Grimsley was "outed by feds" for refusing to cooperate in the undercover assignment, although reports suggest Grimsley gave
specific testimony under oath of former and current teammates using "illegal" performance enhancers.
I would put this whole episode right about on par with the NSA's illegal phone surveillance. Baseball's players union invited public scrutiny by avoiding the testing issue for too long, but now it's time for them to stand up to this infringement upon their members' right to privacy. We now have ballplayers being approached at their own homes by
agents in postal "dress-up."To test for human growth hormone--a legally prescribed substance, by the way -- blood tests would have to be obtained from players, and those samples frozen to allow for testing against all future HGH and steroid alternatives, preserving those samples' accuracy while avoiding any tampering. Where will it fucking end? And all to protect our children from actions that are less harmful to ape than baseball players' historic predilections towards cigarette smoking or tobacco chewing, and to protect Reggie Jackson from having more players pass him on the all-time home run list. I have three words for our nation's law enforcement officials-- Osama bin Laden. In baseball parlance, keep your eye on the ball!
I'll be damned if I can even see the ethical riddle of Jason Grimsley using HGH. The guy has major shoulder surgery in 2000 at the age of 33. For all intents and purposes, his career over. He pumps himself with the stuff, not unlike a child who has had trouble growing whose parents and doctor agree that the benefits outweigh the risks, and he winds up adding another five playing years and an accumulative $8 million to his life. How is this different than Tommy John playing the guinea pig of having a ligament removed from his leg and stuffed into his elbow?
Like Pete Rose, this will be a sports scandal that never ends, which is good news only for the newspapers and talk radio baffoons. Come to think of it, it will long outlast newspapers or the radio, whose ends are relatively nigh. I believe fans are already tired of hearing about steroids. They're packing the ballparks in record numbers, looking for a three hour break from the world's harsh realities. A day at the ballpark still provides that, regardless of the government and a resentful media's attempts to intrude.
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The Cards have dropped 3 of 4 since losing Albert Pujols for four to six weeks with a strained oblique, but count me among the few who think this injury could wind up being a blessing for the team. It's beyond tragic, of course, for Pujols personally because of what he could have accomplished over a full season, but teammates have been too dependent upon his clutch hitting for too long and the guys who sign his checks have been even more complacent in their efforts to pitch in. Scott Rolen and Jim Edmonds both reminded us this week how heroically they're capable of playing, Chris Duncan, Juan Encarnacion, John Rodriguez, Yadier Molina, and So Taguchi will all be asked to contribute more, which each is capable of doing, and the injury may force Walt Jocketty into a move for a Craig Wilson, Jose Vidro, or Carl Crawford.
Still, I found myself tonight in the unenviable position of rooting for the Cubs to win at Cincinnati.
Throw the bums out
One of the biggest political primary battles is still being waged. Senator Joe Lieberman, President Bush's "favorite Democrat," is in the political fight of his life against Connecticut entrepreneur Ned Lamont, who is attacking the incumbent from the left for his drafting of the Iraqi War Resolution, his Terri Schiavo pandering, and his seemingly tireless recitation of GOP talking points and kowtowing to the president. This morning's political pundits were citing California's race to replace imprisoned Republican Congressman "Duke" Cunningham" as the electoral bellwether of the season, but the true fight for America's future is for the heart and soul of the Democratic Party, encapsulized in the nutmeg state's senate battle.
The ironic thing about this particular campaign is that progressives in the party have been the ones accused time and time again of betraying their political comrades in pursuit of selfish goals (i.e. the Naderites,) but Lieberman has done this repeatedly in Washington just as the Clintons before him ran the party aground in their continual effort to save their own asses. Now Lieberman, who rose to national recognition as Al Gore's running mate in 2000, refuses to promise that he won't run as an independent if he's rejected by Democrats late in the summer. Oh, how that 2000 race has come full circle.
The "something special" powering the Lamont effort is the internet. Lefty bloggers, furious and empowered, are organizing progressive foot soldiers, and Lieberman is left to fall back on the only campaign tactic Corporate Democrats seem to do well-- unleashing a barrage of
high-priced and deceptive 30 second TV spots in an attempt to quash the rebellion.
Continuing to back candidates who voted for this foolish and now
extremely unpopular war would eventually suck the life from the Donkey, but the Democratic Leadership Conference, triangulators, Clintons, and professional "old media" hacks won't give up their solid gold cadillacs without a fight. They're still force-feeding us a Hillary for President proposition that would help perpetuate the Bush/Clinton center-right stranglehold on Washington; and the sad fact of that unholy family/corporate alliance became even more apparent this spring when H.R., the former collegiate feminist radical, appeared at Fox News' 10th Anniversary soiree, and Rupert Murdoch promised to return the favor by hosting a Hillary fundraiser in July. (It's probably also payback for her husband's signing of the 1996 Telecommunications Act, drafted by lobbyists, which allowed corporate media giants like Fox to further eliminate competition, and grow along the lines of Clear Channel Communications, which ballooned from a company of 40 U.S. radio stations to more than 1200 in less than a decade.)
If these jokers-slash-appeasers have their way, there'll be Republicans returning to Congress by the busload in January, a significantly smaller number of accommodating Democrats like Lieberman skipping behind, and a 2008 Democratic candidate for president who shares George W. Bush's views on Iraq, Iran, military spending, the Mexican border, internet freedom, media consolidation, pro-corporate trade deals, and Murdoch.
Pollish jokes
I have
more problems voting. I tipped the damn booth over again today. I just can't get out from behind the curtain without getting my clothes stuck on something or the like.
I'm just kidding. I cast my ballot without incident after work and enjoyed the ritual of democratic participation as much as I always do. I bounced in with eye shades drawn, hair unkempt, and sporting that blue jeans-with-scandals look that I've been pulling off all summer. I filled in four ovals in assorted races, staying mostly within the boxes, and then with great a plumb, cut loose with my standard voting gag. In it, I slip my completed ballot into the server and it makes that zipping noise. The digital counter-- in this case-- goes from 77 to 78, and I shoot a bewildered look at the old ladies working the polls, saying "It counted mine twice. Is that OK?"
They fell for it hard tonight. I immediately let them know I was kidding and did that Fozzie the Bear/Ralph Malph "Hah?... hah?" thing where I smile wide and wait for the laughter to come rolling in. Their reaction this time was pretty muted. The "T through Z" voter roll lady simply said exasperatedly, "No, we don't need any problems like that today." It's a funnier joke at 7am.
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Party primaries are really just depressing. Two-thirds of the races have candidates running unopposed within the party, either because the candidate carries the stench of rank incumbency and entitlement or because party leaders have already made the big decisions on behalf of the rank and file-- in the case of my party, usually leaving us with either a horsethief, dilettante, or shit-for-brains.
As promised, I cast my gubernatorial vote for one of the Last Honest Men, although he disappointed me in the latter days of the race by campaigning as a fringe candidate (when his positions and experience make him thoroughly mainstream,) and refusing to loudly and publicly scold
The Des Moines Register newspaper,
which single-handedly wrecked his campaign by refusing to treat him as an electorally-viable candidate.
Running unopposed-- and exactly why that is I have no idea, U.S. Representative Leonard Boswell refused to get my vote, and he won't get it in November, either. He's been one of President Bush's Democratic lapdogs, damn near death-- literally-- and AWOL from Congress most of the year. (Is this the best the party can do when the opposition party is trying to give you back the Congress?) Likewise, State Senator Jack Hatch felt my wrath tonight as fallout from his role as top henchman in the John Kerry for President Iowa Caucus fiasco.
I was proud to give my vote for Agriculture Secretary candidate to western Iowa organic farmer Denise O'Brien over Governor Vilsack's lacky, Dusky Terry; and in the battle to replace Ed Fallon in the statehouse from the most-heavily Democratic district in the state (The Fighting 66th!), Tre Wilson-- a Les Nessman look-alike-- took my vote from Ako Abdul-Samad at the 24th hour with a well-timed mailing endorsing Voter-owned Election laws.
Power to the people!Democracy-themed blogging continues tomorrow---
uncensored and not for sale, as always!
Aaaaaand, ACTION!
"The Final Season," a film about Norway (IA) High School's quest for their 20th and final state baseball championship in 1991 begins filming in Benton County this week. Producers are looking for automobiles, farm machinery, and clothing that can pass for 15 years old. (Should I loan them one of my ties, gang?;>) According to the county seat's newspaper,
the Cedar Valley Times,
vintage (my word) baseball gear and Norway paraphernalia are being sought, along with early '90s style garb advertising Madison Avenue companies that might be willing to place their products on the big screen (a sad trend that's becoming more and more distracting at the movie house.)
As the hyper-linked article explained, film crews are working feverishly to prepare the Norway baseball field for its Hollywood close-up, but my spies also tell me that the sound of the trains on the south edge of town have forced producers to move part of the production. A new workshop (located near the ball diamond, according to the script) has been renovated in nearby Shellsburg, and a handful of good-natured "Welcome to Norway" signs reportedly sprouted in that village last week.
So that means there should be plenty of cameras and skilled technicians trucking back and forth when my hometown of Newhall-- located an almost equal distance between the two-- celebrates its 125th birthday this coming weekend, June 8, 9, and 10. It's not to late to
participate.
Pujols mania!
The Great Pujols is cementing his legacy in St. Louis off-the-field as well as on. The first of June has brought word that the
Pujols 5 restaurant is opening in August. He's also hit the big time as
the subject of a piece on The Onion.
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Moeller TV Listings: Has it been three months already? Don't miss the season finale of "The Sopranos" Sunday night at 8pm.
