Happy 36th birthday to Mr. Eric Lindros. The Canadian born ice hockey player and member of the Flyers' 'Legion of Doom' line was one of the most dominant players of his era - when he was on the ice. Unfortunately for him and for the NHL, his many concussions - among other injuries - kept him from actualizing his true potential.
Remember the days when a free agent was an agent that was willing to do his / her work at no cost? Yeah, I don't either. Because I've lived under the shadow of free agency for my entire life. Well, for as long as I've seriously followed sports. And there's a reason I bring this up, of course. The NFL's free agency period has begun.
Albert Haynesworth to the Washington Redskins. $100 million for 7 years. Wow on so many fronts. First of all, that averages out to approximately $14.2 million per year. Egregious. Second, that means good ol' Al is comin' to the NFC East. Yick!
What else? Kellen Winslow off to Tampa Bay. Umm, okay. Not sure about this one. There are those in the league who just aren't very good apples. Based on what I know about Mr. Winslow - his University of Miami 'soldier' comment, his ridiculous motorcycle accident, and his ongoing commentary about his superiority - I can't be certain that he'll ever get his head out of his hind parts long enough to use his God-given talent.
Correll Buckhalter goes to the Denver Broncos. Westbrook better stay healthy.
Bart Scott - the name sounds like someone who might vie for greatest onscreen Cowboy - moves from Baltimore to the Jets, shoring up a strengthening defense. Unfortunately, the J-E-T-S still have no QB to get them the TDs.
Fred Taylor, after 11 years in Jacksonville, moves to the New England "We Take Old Running Backs and Still Win" Patriots. A good move for both teams, in my humble opinion. Now, Jones-Drew can handle the load in JAX. And New England has their latest rendition of Corey Dillon.
Enough football for the moment. We'll get back to a few more thoughts and surprises...
The Bonds perjury trial has been delayed indefinitely because federal prosecutors are appealing to have key evidence re-included in the trial. Meanwhile, Mr. Bonds just gets older, making it more unlikely that he will ever return to professional baseball. And his career ends not with a bang but a whimper...
Is the Shaq attack back, Jack? Or does Chris Bosh have a point? Bosh of the Toronto "We Scored More Than 100 Points and Still Got Decimated" Raptors has complained that Shaq scored 45 points primarily because refs don't necessarily call a 3-second violation on the towering Shaq. "They don't even call a 6-second rule on the gigantic mental midget," Bosh didn't say to media.
A softball update. The Thrusters and Buzz are well into their respective practice cycles of 9 a.m. and 11:30 a.m. on Sundays. The Thrusters have 12 and are looking for a couple more; an infielder and outfielder would do us well. The Buzz seem to have a full complement though getting all of them to the field at one time has been a bit of a challenge. Stay tuned as we work our way into March...
It's been a good day in Washington state. (And it's been a long time since that could be said regarding sports.) The Cougs pulled off a significant upset of #14 Arizona State. The other Huskies held off Arizona for a share in the Pac-10 title. And the real Huskies defeated the Fighting Irish to stay at #2. What does UCONN have to do with Washington State? I'm a UCONN fan. I live in Washington State. See the connection...
Welcome back, Tiger. Better luck next time, Tiger.
More news as I type. Matthew Brennan Cassel has joined his teammate Michael George Vrabel in Kansas City where Scott "Can't Find His Middle Name" Pioli has set up his new shop.
Trivia of the week: Scott Pioli married the daughter of this now retired (from coaching) Super Bowl winning coach. Name that coach.
Lito Sheppard is a Jet. Lavernues Coles is not. Speaking of Eagles leaving the nest, Brian Dawkins spurned the $3 million offer by Philly and headed west to Denver. Kitna's a Cowboy. And Housh is movin' on out of Cincy leaving the Bagels to redeem their permanent spot at the bottom of the NFL. Michael Boley and Rocky Bernard move to the New York Football Giants. (Not to mention the fact that they have Jacobs signed for the next 4 years.) And Carl Pavano's saying he feels fine after his first spring training start for Cleveland. Yeah, whatever.
Manny. Manny, Manny, Manny. The question this week surrounds Manny. Should the Dodgers be doing as much as they're doing to get Manny to come back and play in L.A.? The more significant question: should any team go to such lengths to get a very talented prima donna to play? Oh, I know I'd be naive if I didn't recognize that it's more about the money than about the game. But what if it were more about the game? Would they still be going after Manny? I would sincerely hope not. Time and again, I've watched as leaders within companies and leaders within sports have tried to coax some of the exceptionally talented prima donnas to join their respective ranks. And what does it get them? A few good products. A few more wins. Movement forward. At first. And then, the dream usually falls apart. T.O. and the 49ers. And the Eagles. And now the Cowboys. A-Rod and the M's. And the Rangers. And the Yanks. Manny and the Red Sox. And the Dodgers. Sure, it seems these people help. They catch touchdowns. Hit home runs. Score points. And so on. But in the long run, these people act as cancers to the teams for which they play and in the leagues with which they're involved. In the end, they destroy the very game at which they excel. My humble opinion? Let Manny walk. Go out and get a less talented team player and watch as the team vies for the National League West.
Trivia of the week: Scott Pioli married the daughter of this now retired (from coaching) Super Bowl winning coach. Name that man.
Mr. Duane Charles Parcells aka Bill Parcells aka The Big Tuna.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
An Arm and a Leg
The one-armed man stands looking into the glass, his reflection mocking him. The metal arm behind the glass descends into the mixture of bodily extremities.
'That one,' he thinks to himself staring at the flesh-colored skin. Much better than the furry one. Or the black one in the corner.
He maneuvers the machine, trying to secure it. But he comes up empty. The fingers on his lone arm tingle from grasping the handle so tightly.
The machine whirs to life again; he jerks the handle left. Then right. But it descends before he's ready and returns the blue one. That just wouldn't do.
More change. He tries again. And again. And yet again. Nothing.
Finally, on what seems to be his 20th try and after more money than he would have spent had he been able to find it, he nabs it.
Later, at home, he gives it to his daughter, the doll from the toy chest crane at the supermarket.
'That one,' he thinks to himself staring at the flesh-colored skin. Much better than the furry one. Or the black one in the corner.
He maneuvers the machine, trying to secure it. But he comes up empty. The fingers on his lone arm tingle from grasping the handle so tightly.
The machine whirs to life again; he jerks the handle left. Then right. But it descends before he's ready and returns the blue one. That just wouldn't do.
More change. He tries again. And again. And yet again. Nothing.
Finally, on what seems to be his 20th try and after more money than he would have spent had he been able to find it, he nabs it.
Later, at home, he gives it to his daughter, the doll from the toy chest crane at the supermarket.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
3WW: American Sentences (Callous, Interfere, Persistent)
American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.
The persistent pup happily interferes with the callous old man.
My calloused foot in his ass interfered with his too persistent sloth.
Interfere and you will not feel the persistent pain of calloused hands.
The persistent pup happily interferes with the callous old man.
My calloused foot in his ass interfered with his too persistent sloth.
Interfere and you will not feel the persistent pain of calloused hands.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Video of the Week: Boom...
Goes the dynamite.
If anyone saw Sunday's Oscars, you might remember that Will Smith presented awards mostly associated with action films. Awards associated with sound and cinematography, for instance. And at one point during the broadcast - immediately after the commercial break - he fumbles through a few of his words and says, 'Boom goes the dynamite'.
There is a meaning to this random phrase. In fact, if you google it you'll find that it's all the rage on the internet.
Why?
Just watch...
If anyone saw Sunday's Oscars, you might remember that Will Smith presented awards mostly associated with action films. Awards associated with sound and cinematography, for instance. And at one point during the broadcast - immediately after the commercial break - he fumbles through a few of his words and says, 'Boom goes the dynamite'.
There is a meaning to this random phrase. In fact, if you google it you'll find that it's all the rage on the internet.
Why?
Just watch...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Art in All Its Forms: Fractals
Tonight, I give to you a brief post. Partially because I have little time to spend. And partially because a fractal's beauty speaks for itself.
Fractal, from the Latin fractus means 'broken' or 'fractured'. A fractal, itself, is a fragmented geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is a reduced-sized copy of the whole. Sound like a bunch of gibberish?
Let me try to explain. Think of the movie Airplane. The original one. You know, the one where the guy has a drinking problem. Now think of Lloyd Bridges. The guy who sniffed glue. In one scene of that movie, Bridges stood in front of a picture of him standing in front of a picture of him standing in front of a picture of him... You get the picture.
No, this isn't a fractal, though the picture of the picture of the picture is self-similar, which is important in fractals. What you might do to cause this to become a fractal is to take that picture behind Lloyd and deconstruct it so that you had all the pictures to infinity. Then start copying those pictures; again an infinite number. Then start pasting the second largest copies of those pictures to the sides of the largest picture, being the television in this case. Then paste the third largest copies of those pictures to the three free sides of the second largest pictures. And on and on and on... Until you get a fractal...
Not an easy concept, to be certain. But fascinating nonetheless...
Fractal, from the Latin fractus means 'broken' or 'fractured'. A fractal, itself, is a fragmented geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is a reduced-sized copy of the whole. Sound like a bunch of gibberish?
Let me try to explain. Think of the movie Airplane. The original one. You know, the one where the guy has a drinking problem. Now think of Lloyd Bridges. The guy who sniffed glue. In one scene of that movie, Bridges stood in front of a picture of him standing in front of a picture of him standing in front of a picture of him... You get the picture.
No, this isn't a fractal, though the picture of the picture of the picture is self-similar, which is important in fractals. What you might do to cause this to become a fractal is to take that picture behind Lloyd and deconstruct it so that you had all the pictures to infinity. Then start copying those pictures; again an infinite number. Then start pasting the second largest copies of those pictures to the sides of the largest picture, being the television in this case. Then paste the third largest copies of those pictures to the three free sides of the second largest pictures. And on and on and on... Until you get a fractal...
Not an easy concept, to be certain. But fascinating nonetheless...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sunday Scribblings: Trust
From Sunday Scribblings, "the prompt this week is: Trust. Today for some reason I think of it in terms of money left, and the games that we used to play to team build at summer camp. I'm not sure what that says about today! Who do you trust? Who do you not trust? What does it take to earn yours? What would you do if you discovered you had money in one? What do you think about trust?"
I've recently been fascinated by American Sentences. But I've decided to try something new, an exercise used by a blog writer whom I often read. In short, the challenge is to write a short piece of fiction in exactly 58 words. This was challenging to be sure but enjoyable nonetheless...
Meandering through a wood with a friend, he spied an object in the underbrush; he thought it a piece of space trash. When he retrieved the silvery piece he identified it as some kind of currency. ‘In God we trust’ he read to his friend. ‘God? What’s that?’ he asked. ‘Probably some ancient bureaucratic acronym’ his friend replied.
I've recently been fascinated by American Sentences. But I've decided to try something new, an exercise used by a blog writer whom I often read. In short, the challenge is to write a short piece of fiction in exactly 58 words. This was challenging to be sure but enjoyable nonetheless...
Meandering through a wood with a friend, he spied an object in the underbrush; he thought it a piece of space trash. When he retrieved the silvery piece he identified it as some kind of currency. ‘In God we trust’ he read to his friend. ‘God? What’s that?’ he asked. ‘Probably some ancient bureaucratic acronym’ his friend replied.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sporting Rants and Raves: February 21, 2009
Happy 26th birthday Mr. Braylon Edwards of the 4-12 Cleveland Browns. Known more for his drops than his catches this past season, Edwards is on the verge of overstaying his welcome in the Dawg Pound. Here's hoping the Brownies can put something together in the near future.
I'm tired of A-Rod. Any MLB team out there that wants him? I'm looking to offload.
The Boston Celtics have had a significant blow to their lineup with the loss of Kevin Garnett for 2-3 weeks. Suns, Nuggets, Clippers, Pacers are their next 4. I'll say win, loss, win, win. With Kevin it would have been 4 for 4.
In baseball, people score runs. In soccer, goals. In football, touchdowns, safeties, field goals, extra points, two-point conversions. In basketball, points. And then there's hockey in which players collect points and score goals. Both? I often wondered when I was younger. It just didn't make any sense. I mean, it's either one or the other right? Wrong. In hockey, players indeed score goals, which themselves are points. But only one type of point. The other type of point is an assist in scoring a goal. If a player scores two goals and has two assists in a game, for instance, that player has four points. Why do they do it this way in hockey? Canadians just do things differently, I suppose.
Random trivia: Who collected the most points in a single game in NHL history? (Answer is below)
In a story I can only describe as being 'odd' 'Boo Hoo' Lou Holtz will be leading a team calling itself the Notre Dame 'Legends' in a game against a previously unnamed Japanese team in a dome somewhere in Tokyo (better known as the Tokyo Dome). This 'contest' will take place on July 25th with Joe 'Joe Cool' Montana attending as a celebrity ambassador. Don't get me wrong, I think this is cool, 'Joe Cool'. But, huh?
March is coming. The madness approacheth. And I shall soon be dressing in my UCONN hoodies to cheer them on. (Especially since Delaware ain't doin' nothin' this year.)
Too often do I neglect women's sports in these sporting rants and raves. But no longer. That said, is anyone else really surprised that the Lady Huskies have a conference record of 12-0 and an overall record of 26-0? I suppose I was surprised to find out that Tennessee isn't in the top 5. C'est la vie.
Another sport I don't much mention: NASCAR. In a strange twist Paul Chodora of Jeremy Mayfield's crew has been suspended indefinitely for violating the new substance abuse policy. It was one of those high octane drugs.
As soon as Tiger opens his mouth, the entire golfing world seems to drop off the map. And though only a middle name, Axel? Really?
Would you allow Michael Vick back into the league? Better stated, would anyone other than a 49ers, Vikings, or Lions fan want that? I could tell you what Kennesaw Mountain Landis would say.
And not only does the madness approach. There's also the anticipation of spring training.
Seattle smiles at Junior's return.
This week's question: First of all how do you say Nnamdi Asomugha? Second of all, why are the Oakland Raiders paying him more than Indianapolis pays Peyton Manning? And why is Shane Lechler - also of the Oakland Raiders - being paid $4 million to punt? Another sign of Al Davis' complete disconnection from reality? Probably. A blow to all other NFL teams for which the bar has been raised? I suppose. Laughter in the faces of the American people who are losing jobs and houses at alarming rates? Most definitely. I wonder when the major professional sports - football, baseball, and basketball in the U.S. - will feel this economic recession. I wonder what will happen when they can't pack the stands or seats or arenas. Unfortunately, I don't think it will happen. Instead, professional athletes will be paid ridiculous amounts of money while teachers and nurses receive a relative pittance. I don't have a solution. Do you?
Who collected the most points in a single game in NHL history? Darryl Sittler of the Toronto Maple Leafs (not Leaves) on February 7, 1976. He scored 6 goals and had 4 assists against the Boston Bruins.
I'm tired of A-Rod. Any MLB team out there that wants him? I'm looking to offload.
The Boston Celtics have had a significant blow to their lineup with the loss of Kevin Garnett for 2-3 weeks. Suns, Nuggets, Clippers, Pacers are their next 4. I'll say win, loss, win, win. With Kevin it would have been 4 for 4.
In baseball, people score runs. In soccer, goals. In football, touchdowns, safeties, field goals, extra points, two-point conversions. In basketball, points. And then there's hockey in which players collect points and score goals. Both? I often wondered when I was younger. It just didn't make any sense. I mean, it's either one or the other right? Wrong. In hockey, players indeed score goals, which themselves are points. But only one type of point. The other type of point is an assist in scoring a goal. If a player scores two goals and has two assists in a game, for instance, that player has four points. Why do they do it this way in hockey? Canadians just do things differently, I suppose.
Random trivia: Who collected the most points in a single game in NHL history? (Answer is below)
In a story I can only describe as being 'odd' 'Boo Hoo' Lou Holtz will be leading a team calling itself the Notre Dame 'Legends' in a game against a previously unnamed Japanese team in a dome somewhere in Tokyo (better known as the Tokyo Dome). This 'contest' will take place on July 25th with Joe 'Joe Cool' Montana attending as a celebrity ambassador. Don't get me wrong, I think this is cool, 'Joe Cool'. But, huh?
March is coming. The madness approacheth. And I shall soon be dressing in my UCONN hoodies to cheer them on. (Especially since Delaware ain't doin' nothin' this year.)
Too often do I neglect women's sports in these sporting rants and raves. But no longer. That said, is anyone else really surprised that the Lady Huskies have a conference record of 12-0 and an overall record of 26-0? I suppose I was surprised to find out that Tennessee isn't in the top 5. C'est la vie.
Another sport I don't much mention: NASCAR. In a strange twist Paul Chodora of Jeremy Mayfield's crew has been suspended indefinitely for violating the new substance abuse policy. It was one of those high octane drugs.
As soon as Tiger opens his mouth, the entire golfing world seems to drop off the map. And though only a middle name, Axel? Really?
Would you allow Michael Vick back into the league? Better stated, would anyone other than a 49ers, Vikings, or Lions fan want that? I could tell you what Kennesaw Mountain Landis would say.
And not only does the madness approach. There's also the anticipation of spring training.
Seattle smiles at Junior's return.
This week's question: First of all how do you say Nnamdi Asomugha? Second of all, why are the Oakland Raiders paying him more than Indianapolis pays Peyton Manning? And why is Shane Lechler - also of the Oakland Raiders - being paid $4 million to punt? Another sign of Al Davis' complete disconnection from reality? Probably. A blow to all other NFL teams for which the bar has been raised? I suppose. Laughter in the faces of the American people who are losing jobs and houses at alarming rates? Most definitely. I wonder when the major professional sports - football, baseball, and basketball in the U.S. - will feel this economic recession. I wonder what will happen when they can't pack the stands or seats or arenas. Unfortunately, I don't think it will happen. Instead, professional athletes will be paid ridiculous amounts of money while teachers and nurses receive a relative pittance. I don't have a solution. Do you?
Who collected the most points in a single game in NHL history? Darryl Sittler of the Toronto Maple Leafs (not Leaves) on February 7, 1976. He scored 6 goals and had 4 assists against the Boston Bruins.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Mere Minutes: Sign of the Times
We journey home nightly on an ill-paved road parallel to I-5. A straight shot from the Darth Vader building downtown to the Boeing Access Road just south of the Boeing Airport. The road, aptly named Airport Way, has few lights and stop signs making the trip pleasant, usually absent road rage so common to the highway.
Along this rather well-kept secret road, there sit a number of remote businesses. A roofing company. A textile company. A few isolated bars. Not to mention the small enclave known to the locals as the Georgetown section of Seattle. Very blue collar. Home of the oldest saloon in Seattle's city limits.
It was on that familiar trip this evening that I sat in our Subaru Forester and contemplated my day at work. Sometime before we came to Georgetown, I looked to my right and saw the flashing red, white, and blue of an Open sign for an eatery. But the inner sanctum of the eatery contained tables and chairs askew, at least as far as I could see by the luminescent apricot hue of the street lights. And I wondered to myself if the owner had simply departed the premises leaving the open sign flickering as a statement of sad irony.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
3WW: American Sentences (Candid, Risk, Impulsive)
American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.
I took a stupid risk and on impulse sang candid karaoke.
My candid response to his risk was an impulsive belittling.
Candidly, your impulse in this situation caused permanent risk.
I took a stupid risk and on impulse sang candid karaoke.
My candid response to his risk was an impulsive belittling.
Candidly, your impulse in this situation caused permanent risk.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Video of the Week: Dilbert
I sit in my office at 8:17 p.m. working through our company's strategic initiatives. I have an idea that strikes me like a cold cup of bad coffee on a cold winter's day. Dilbert, I say to myself. Of course Dilbert. It just makes sense...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Art in All its Forms: The Lion King
A couple weeks ago, Joseph received a text out of the blue from our friends Mark and Sam asking if we'd be interested in accompanying them to Seattle's Paramount Theater to see The Lion King. We considered the offer only for as long as it took us to determine if we had any pressing appointments on the day of the show. When we determined we had nothing of import to which to attend, we immediately responded affirmatively.
We walked into a packed lobby at approximately 6 p.m. yesterday. Excited children and their parents crowded near signs taking picture to remember the experience. Meanwhile, couples enjoying a belated Valentine's Day hovered around the small bars consuming their overpriced cocktails.
We four partook in a few beverages ourselves prior to entering at approximately 6:20 p.m. We sat on the main floor to the left side (looking at the stage) of the stage. Row X. Good seats if I may say so.
The lights dimmed and the show began.
A lone figure stood on stage at first. With painted face and odd apparel, Rafiki - the monkey - belted out the first notes of the show. Crisp. Clean. Beautiful. She had nailed it. The tone was set.
Following her call, giraffes, oxen, elephants, gazelles, and even a cheetah swarmed the stage to pay tribute at the presentation of Simba upon Pride Rock. A rousing opening performance made all the better by the mechanics and ingenuity of the superb animal costumes.
There were, of course, few surprises, at least for those who saw the animated Disney movie. Based loosely on Shakespeare's Hamlet the story follows Simba's youth, exile, and return. Though predictable, the story itself proves that a good story can always be told again.
The characters?
Rafiki - Exceptional. Her voice. Her comedic timing. Her ability to affect the audience - though most of her spoken words were not in English - was impressive.
The Hyenas - The three hyenas were certainly satisfactory though I can't say they did anything to make themselves exceptional. But, it wasn't their part to do so.
Timon and Pumbaa - Hysterical. A talented duo, these two had chemistry and an uncanny ability to sound like Nathan Lane and Ernie Sabella from the original movie. Not a bad thing in my estimation.
Zazu - Certainly had his moments though came up flat on a few comical deliveries. The bird's movements as directed by the actor were enjoyable, another testament to the masterful puppeteering in the show.
Mufasa - With his deep booming voice and slow deliberate gait onstage, I would peg this actor as my second favorite behind Rafiki.
Scar - I believe it is more difficult to be the bad guy than the good in these sorts of productions. I'd say this actor did enough to make me dislike him but not enough for me to loathe him. He came off more as a whining nincompoop than a scheming enemy. And still he served well enough since I was glad to see his eventual demise.
Young Nala - With her little curls that looked like tiny Mickey Mouse ears atop her head, this little girl came off as a sassy and domineering little cub. Less friendly than her animated counterpart, I still think her portrayal worked.
Young Simba - And it worked because young Simba was indeed an adorable little boy. With his wild outfit, spritely movements upon the stage, and better than average singing voice, he wowed the audience.
Grown Nala - A less sassy, more subdued character, grown Nala came across a bit bland. She had a pretty voice, to be certain, but displayed little ability to engulf the audience in her talent.
Grown Simba - With this character, I have a personal issue that I doubt was shared by others. He had an obviously sibilant 's' that just turned me off entirely. His vocals were good; he had power when it was most necessary. But that lisp, at times, broke the enchantment.
My final thought. I can say that this is my third favorite musical of all time behind Les Miserables and Wicked. The costumes were spectacular; they themselves are worth the price of admission. And though I can't claim to have loved the entire cast, I can say that Rafiki, Mufasa, Timon, and Pumbaa made it more than worth my while. If it is coming to a city near you, I recommend you spend the time and money. You won't be disappointed.
We walked into a packed lobby at approximately 6 p.m. yesterday. Excited children and their parents crowded near signs taking picture to remember the experience. Meanwhile, couples enjoying a belated Valentine's Day hovered around the small bars consuming their overpriced cocktails.
We four partook in a few beverages ourselves prior to entering at approximately 6:20 p.m. We sat on the main floor to the left side (looking at the stage) of the stage. Row X. Good seats if I may say so.
The lights dimmed and the show began.
A lone figure stood on stage at first. With painted face and odd apparel, Rafiki - the monkey - belted out the first notes of the show. Crisp. Clean. Beautiful. She had nailed it. The tone was set.
Following her call, giraffes, oxen, elephants, gazelles, and even a cheetah swarmed the stage to pay tribute at the presentation of Simba upon Pride Rock. A rousing opening performance made all the better by the mechanics and ingenuity of the superb animal costumes.
There were, of course, few surprises, at least for those who saw the animated Disney movie. Based loosely on Shakespeare's Hamlet the story follows Simba's youth, exile, and return. Though predictable, the story itself proves that a good story can always be told again.
The characters?
Rafiki - Exceptional. Her voice. Her comedic timing. Her ability to affect the audience - though most of her spoken words were not in English - was impressive.
The Hyenas - The three hyenas were certainly satisfactory though I can't say they did anything to make themselves exceptional. But, it wasn't their part to do so.
Timon and Pumbaa - Hysterical. A talented duo, these two had chemistry and an uncanny ability to sound like Nathan Lane and Ernie Sabella from the original movie. Not a bad thing in my estimation.
Zazu - Certainly had his moments though came up flat on a few comical deliveries. The bird's movements as directed by the actor were enjoyable, another testament to the masterful puppeteering in the show.
Mufasa - With his deep booming voice and slow deliberate gait onstage, I would peg this actor as my second favorite behind Rafiki.
Scar - I believe it is more difficult to be the bad guy than the good in these sorts of productions. I'd say this actor did enough to make me dislike him but not enough for me to loathe him. He came off more as a whining nincompoop than a scheming enemy. And still he served well enough since I was glad to see his eventual demise.
Young Nala - With her little curls that looked like tiny Mickey Mouse ears atop her head, this little girl came off as a sassy and domineering little cub. Less friendly than her animated counterpart, I still think her portrayal worked.
Young Simba - And it worked because young Simba was indeed an adorable little boy. With his wild outfit, spritely movements upon the stage, and better than average singing voice, he wowed the audience.
Grown Nala - A less sassy, more subdued character, grown Nala came across a bit bland. She had a pretty voice, to be certain, but displayed little ability to engulf the audience in her talent.
Grown Simba - With this character, I have a personal issue that I doubt was shared by others. He had an obviously sibilant 's' that just turned me off entirely. His vocals were good; he had power when it was most necessary. But that lisp, at times, broke the enchantment.
My final thought. I can say that this is my third favorite musical of all time behind Les Miserables and Wicked. The costumes were spectacular; they themselves are worth the price of admission. And though I can't claim to have loved the entire cast, I can say that Rafiki, Mufasa, Timon, and Pumbaa made it more than worth my while. If it is coming to a city near you, I recommend you spend the time and money. You won't be disappointed.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Sunday Scribblings: Hand-Eye Coordination
This week's topic is Sport. I therefore posted on that website my yesterday's post regarding my Sporting Rants and Raves. We'll see how the Sunday Scribblings crew likes those rants and raves.
But today, I have decided to address a topic that never ceases to amaze me, namely hand-eye coordination.
For you to understand the context a bit more, let me contextualize. I coach a team in the Emerald City Softball Association, a gay softball league. It doesn't mean it's exclusively gay but rather it was created so that gay athletes could play in the late 70s and early 80s without being harassed. And at that time, the league literally had only gay athletes with the emphasis on the 'athlete'. In other words the league was for those who could already play.
Then, sometime in the 90s there was a significant push for a division in the league that addressed the fact that many people in the gay community had never actually stepped foot on a diamond. This became the D division. And now, the D division has the most teams in the league, approaching 20 separate teams.
There you have it, a little context. Well, these past two years I have coached the Seattle Buzz, a D division team that contains a wide range of talent. There are those who can hit, catch, and throw well but who want to stay in D - rather than go to C - because of the laid back attitude. Then there are those who have absolutely no idea how to throw a ball.
When I see a person with that lack of ability, I cannot help but be amazed. Here's why... Do I expect that everyone who comes out onto the field will have played baseball or softball before? Absolutely not. Even though it is my opinion that they're missing one of the greatest games ever created, I can imagine a world in which baseball / softball is not a priority.
It becomes a tad bit more difficult for me to imagine a person who has absolutely no tie to sport whatsoever. But it's still feasible. That the person doesn't like baseball, football, basketball, darts, bowling, golf, tennis, cricket, bocce, or any other game that requires hand-eye coordination. Okay, that's fine.
But then, I get into other questions. Do you play video games? There are a lot of people from my generation who have played - and still play - video games. I'm one of them, in fact. I played pong once upon a time. Pitfall for Atari. Super Mario Brothers. Sonic. Zelda. Tecmo Bowl. All of it. No, not every game system, but I've played my share.
Then I come to questions about, say handwriting. And they give me an odd look before they tell me that they have terrible handwriting. That they can barely write a sentence.
Typing? I ask. Two finger typing, they answer.
Piano, trumpet, drums? No music either, they say.
And that's the point at which I realize that the person does not, in fact, have any experience whatsoever with hand-eye coordination. Which means that when the person tries to throw, catch, or hit that person's body looks like it is convulsing rather than actually partaking in the specific activity in which it is supposed to be involved.
Yes, coordination can be learned, but I'll never cease to be amazed that there are those people who have never even come close to being involved in an activity that would require coordination.
But today, I have decided to address a topic that never ceases to amaze me, namely hand-eye coordination.
For you to understand the context a bit more, let me contextualize. I coach a team in the Emerald City Softball Association, a gay softball league. It doesn't mean it's exclusively gay but rather it was created so that gay athletes could play in the late 70s and early 80s without being harassed. And at that time, the league literally had only gay athletes with the emphasis on the 'athlete'. In other words the league was for those who could already play.
Then, sometime in the 90s there was a significant push for a division in the league that addressed the fact that many people in the gay community had never actually stepped foot on a diamond. This became the D division. And now, the D division has the most teams in the league, approaching 20 separate teams.
There you have it, a little context. Well, these past two years I have coached the Seattle Buzz, a D division team that contains a wide range of talent. There are those who can hit, catch, and throw well but who want to stay in D - rather than go to C - because of the laid back attitude. Then there are those who have absolutely no idea how to throw a ball.
When I see a person with that lack of ability, I cannot help but be amazed. Here's why... Do I expect that everyone who comes out onto the field will have played baseball or softball before? Absolutely not. Even though it is my opinion that they're missing one of the greatest games ever created, I can imagine a world in which baseball / softball is not a priority.
It becomes a tad bit more difficult for me to imagine a person who has absolutely no tie to sport whatsoever. But it's still feasible. That the person doesn't like baseball, football, basketball, darts, bowling, golf, tennis, cricket, bocce, or any other game that requires hand-eye coordination. Okay, that's fine.
But then, I get into other questions. Do you play video games? There are a lot of people from my generation who have played - and still play - video games. I'm one of them, in fact. I played pong once upon a time. Pitfall for Atari. Super Mario Brothers. Sonic. Zelda. Tecmo Bowl. All of it. No, not every game system, but I've played my share.
Then I come to questions about, say handwriting. And they give me an odd look before they tell me that they have terrible handwriting. That they can barely write a sentence.
Typing? I ask. Two finger typing, they answer.
Piano, trumpet, drums? No music either, they say.
And that's the point at which I realize that the person does not, in fact, have any experience whatsoever with hand-eye coordination. Which means that when the person tries to throw, catch, or hit that person's body looks like it is convulsing rather than actually partaking in the specific activity in which it is supposed to be involved.
Yes, coordination can be learned, but I'll never cease to be amazed that there are those people who have never even come close to being involved in an activity that would require coordination.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Sporting Rants and Raves: February 14, 2009
A happy 49th birthday to Mr. Jim Kelly formerly of the Buffalo 'Who Cares about Super Bowls Anyway' Bills. A Hall of Fame quarterback, Kelly led one of the most dangerous offenses of the 1990s.
Is his return imminent? Will he join a team of which he once was an integral part? Will he end his storied career on a team that defeated the New York Yankees in one of the most exciting post-season series in MLB history? Or is this just a sham? Will he simply fade away into obscurity until it comes time to consider him for the Hall of Fame? Please don't misunderstand me. His presence 9 years later will most likely be a token presence. Good for a few more homeruns to tack onto his 611. Not to mention an excellent psychological boost to a team that has been less than mediocre during the past few seasons. What will junior do?
Michael Jordan, John Stockton, David Robinson, Chris Mullin all Hall of Fame finalists. Honestly, which one of these hasn't earned his way into the Springfield, MA museum? That's when I used to watch the NBA.
Now, I don't care. And I can't say exactly why. I could only tell you a few of the better than average players out there. Bryant, Wade, Garnett. Sure, I know a few of the college guys. Especially those from UCONN. Okafor. Gay. And Allen, of course. Brandon Roy from the other Huskies too. But, eh. Just eh.
In case anyone didn't know, the Boston 'Why Do They Call Them' Bruins (because the first GM in Bruins history, Art Ross, was directed by owner Charles Adams - odd, an Adams associated with Boston - to choose 'a nickname that would portray an untamed animal displaying speed, agility, and cunning') of the now defunct Adams Division are at the top of the NHL standings.
The New York 'What Have You Done Since the 1980s' Islanders of the now defunct Patrick Division still haven't done anything lately. They sit at 16-32-6.
For all of you who follow this blog, the problem with yesterday's math problem is that a = b. So, if you divide each side by a-b, the fourth step in the problem, you are actually dividing by zero since necessarily a-b = 0. Thus, 1= 0.
The UCONN Huskies men's basketball team was dealt a significant blow this past week as it was announced that Mr. Jerome Dyson could miss the rest of the season with a torn lateral meniscus in his right knee. Although UCONN continues to be a powerhouse, this absence could be significant when it comes time for the real Huskies to match wits with the best in the league.
I bet none of you are wondering the origin of the word meniscus. Latin, obviously. But modern, not ancient. Modern being late 17th century, which is indeed more modern than, say, 200 BC. As some of you might know, many modern Latin words come directly from another language or from some other more ancient Latin word. This word happens to originate in the former way, that is from the Greek word 'meniskos' meaning 'lunar crescent'. And 'meniskos' comes from the word 'mene' which means 'moon'.
It could therefore be considered a play on words if I stated that Dyson will be unable to play for many moons because of his torn meniscus.
Thankfully, the New York Football Giants have tagged Mr. Brandon Jacobs as a franchise player. Goodbye, I suppose, to Mr. Derrick Ward. I'm still fine if they keep Mr. Ahmad Bradshaw. And find a new go-to receiver...
Will Michelle Wie finally win one? I mean she's only been competing for 7 years in LPGA competitions. And after 7 years, she really should win the big one. I mean, people were wondering if Peyton could win the big one after 8 years. So, I'm starting to wonder. Yes, I know she's 19. But you can't say only. Only applies only when someone's been doing something for a brief period. She's been playing since she was 4. So, she should have it down by now.
And if any of you think I'm serious, then I have a bridge or two to sell you...
And finally... When I made the argument against Mark McGwire being in Cooperstown, I did so based solely on baseball merit, that is hitting, fielding, and importance to the teams for which he played. But in a comment, the old man stated that I neglected to address the fact that McGwire cheated. In addition, he wondered what my take on Pete Rose would be. Today, I answer those questions and more...
This isn't a baseball issue, per se. It's a sports issue. What type of people belong in halls of fame for any sport? It seems to me that these people should have lent something to the game whether with excellent game play or superior coaching, pioneering ideas or consistently outstanding moderation (referees, umpires, and the like). That has to be the main consideration; the person has to be relatively great as compared to his or her peers not to mention as compared to those great players of the past. There, of course, we run into issues. How do you compare a pitcher like Curt Schilling, for instance, to Cy Young? Cy pitched more innings in a shorter season with a dead ball. Schilling pitches fewer innings in a longer season with a 'live' ball and has the advantage of middle relief and closers. Or in another instance, how do you compare Sammy Baugh and Peyton Manning? The technology between 1947 and 2007 is unbelievably different, which affects football significantly. Not to mention that Baugh was a quarterback, punter, and defensive back while Manning is but a quarterback. But I've read that the voters take this into account. And so, I'll let it alone.
Now, to the real point. Halls of fame generally include a clause regarding integrity, character, and sportsmanship. Here, I remember a profound quotation from the old man: 'It is good to be a great man, but how much greater it is to be a good man.' It is my understanding that the clauses in hall of fame qualifications associated with integrity, character, and sportsmanship can be summed up in two words, namely 'good person'. To be eligible for a hall of fame, you have to be a good person. You might ask me to define 'good', and I'd point you to Plato's Republic.
Now without the coy response, let us examine the likes of McGwire, Rose, Shoeless Joe, and a few others both in and out of baseball's Hall of Fame.
Mark McGwire: Took steroids. Wouldn't admit it to Congress. Didn't abide by baseball's rules. Thought he needed drugs to make him a better player. Hall of Fame? Exclude.
Pete Rose: Great hitter. Great fielder. Hard nosed and gritty. Bet on his own team while coaching them. At first denied involvement. Then switched his story. Has now shown remorse and has cooperated with MLB. Hall of Fame? Include after death.
Joe Jackson: Great hitter. Great fielder. One of the most graceful and talented players in history. Took money to throw the 1919 World Series. Didn't play like he was throwing the series. Fully cooperated with MLB after the scheme was discovered. Kicked out of baseball my Kennesaw Mountain Landis along with the rest of the Black Sox. Showed remorse. Hall of Fame? Include
Barry Bonds: Great hitter. Average fielder. Hit 73 in one season. Home run king with a asterisk. Has stated that he did not purposely take steroids. Ready to go to trial for lying to Congress. Hall of Fame? Hell no.
Now, for a few surprises:
Ty Cobb: Best batting average of all time. Great player all around. One of the 5 originals in the Hall. One of the meanest baseball players ever to have lived. Sharpened his cleats. Beat people with bats. Hall of Fame? Kick out.
Rogers Hornsby: Best right handed hitter in baseball's history which means he's arguably better than Cobb since he faced right handed pitchers 70% of the time and was thus at a disadvantage. Also arguably the best hitting infielder in history. Confessed member of the Ku Klux Klan and compulsive gambler. Hall of Fame? Kick out.
Andy Pettitte: With a .629 winning average, 3.89 ERA, 2002 strike outs, and 215 wins Andy compares with the likes of Randy Johnson, Tom Glavine, and Pedro Martinez, all arguably Hall of Fame pitchers in their own right. Andy took performance enhancing drugs to heal an injury in 2002. Showed remorse for his usage of the drugs. Hall of Fame? If he has the stats, Include.
Alex Rodriguez: On track to being one of the premier players of his generation. Great hitter. Fair fielder. Recently admitted to taking steroids. Was remorseful. Hall of Fame? If he has the stats (including importance to his team), include.
Babe Ruth: Baseball's savior. One of the games greatest sluggers (if not the greatest). Not to mention one of its premier pitchers too. A boozer. Cheated on his wife. Great with kids and made the fans love him. Hall of Fame? ...
Right, like I'd go there.
My point? If the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame - or any hall of fame for that matter - is going to have that clause regarding integrity, character, and sportsmanship, then there can be no double standard. Ty Cobb doesn't deserve to be in the Hall of Fame, period. And Joe Jackson does. Why Joe Jackson? Because it takes humility and integrity to apologize, to show remorse. If I truly have consistent beliefs, then I must accept contrite apologies for what they are.
The final question: is there any room for that clause of integrity, character, and sportsmanship in the qualification for halls of fame? Or are halls of fame for those who have in fact excelled in the game, exclusively? If the latter, then there's no question about Rose, Jackson, Ruth, Cobb, Hornsby, or Bonds. But that doesn't feel quite right either, does it?
There you have it sports fans. Happy Valentine's Day. And I bid you adieu. Until next I write or you read, happy sporting.
Is his return imminent? Will he join a team of which he once was an integral part? Will he end his storied career on a team that defeated the New York Yankees in one of the most exciting post-season series in MLB history? Or is this just a sham? Will he simply fade away into obscurity until it comes time to consider him for the Hall of Fame? Please don't misunderstand me. His presence 9 years later will most likely be a token presence. Good for a few more homeruns to tack onto his 611. Not to mention an excellent psychological boost to a team that has been less than mediocre during the past few seasons. What will junior do?
Michael Jordan, John Stockton, David Robinson, Chris Mullin all Hall of Fame finalists. Honestly, which one of these hasn't earned his way into the Springfield, MA museum? That's when I used to watch the NBA.
Now, I don't care. And I can't say exactly why. I could only tell you a few of the better than average players out there. Bryant, Wade, Garnett. Sure, I know a few of the college guys. Especially those from UCONN. Okafor. Gay. And Allen, of course. Brandon Roy from the other Huskies too. But, eh. Just eh.
In case anyone didn't know, the Boston 'Why Do They Call Them' Bruins (because the first GM in Bruins history, Art Ross, was directed by owner Charles Adams - odd, an Adams associated with Boston - to choose 'a nickname that would portray an untamed animal displaying speed, agility, and cunning') of the now defunct Adams Division are at the top of the NHL standings.
The New York 'What Have You Done Since the 1980s' Islanders of the now defunct Patrick Division still haven't done anything lately. They sit at 16-32-6.
For all of you who follow this blog, the problem with yesterday's math problem is that a = b. So, if you divide each side by a-b, the fourth step in the problem, you are actually dividing by zero since necessarily a-b = 0. Thus, 1
The UCONN Huskies men's basketball team was dealt a significant blow this past week as it was announced that Mr. Jerome Dyson could miss the rest of the season with a torn lateral meniscus in his right knee. Although UCONN continues to be a powerhouse, this absence could be significant when it comes time for the real Huskies to match wits with the best in the league.
I bet none of you are wondering the origin of the word meniscus. Latin, obviously. But modern, not ancient. Modern being late 17th century, which is indeed more modern than, say, 200 BC. As some of you might know, many modern Latin words come directly from another language or from some other more ancient Latin word. This word happens to originate in the former way, that is from the Greek word 'meniskos' meaning 'lunar crescent'. And 'meniskos' comes from the word 'mene' which means 'moon'.
It could therefore be considered a play on words if I stated that Dyson will be unable to play for many moons because of his torn meniscus.
Thankfully, the New York Football Giants have tagged Mr. Brandon Jacobs as a franchise player. Goodbye, I suppose, to Mr. Derrick Ward. I'm still fine if they keep Mr. Ahmad Bradshaw. And find a new go-to receiver...
Will Michelle Wie finally win one? I mean she's only been competing for 7 years in LPGA competitions. And after 7 years, she really should win the big one. I mean, people were wondering if Peyton could win the big one after 8 years. So, I'm starting to wonder. Yes, I know she's 19. But you can't say only. Only applies only when someone's been doing something for a brief period. She's been playing since she was 4. So, she should have it down by now.
And if any of you think I'm serious, then I have a bridge or two to sell you...
And finally... When I made the argument against Mark McGwire being in Cooperstown, I did so based solely on baseball merit, that is hitting, fielding, and importance to the teams for which he played. But in a comment, the old man stated that I neglected to address the fact that McGwire cheated. In addition, he wondered what my take on Pete Rose would be. Today, I answer those questions and more...
This isn't a baseball issue, per se. It's a sports issue. What type of people belong in halls of fame for any sport? It seems to me that these people should have lent something to the game whether with excellent game play or superior coaching, pioneering ideas or consistently outstanding moderation (referees, umpires, and the like). That has to be the main consideration; the person has to be relatively great as compared to his or her peers not to mention as compared to those great players of the past. There, of course, we run into issues. How do you compare a pitcher like Curt Schilling, for instance, to Cy Young? Cy pitched more innings in a shorter season with a dead ball. Schilling pitches fewer innings in a longer season with a 'live' ball and has the advantage of middle relief and closers. Or in another instance, how do you compare Sammy Baugh and Peyton Manning? The technology between 1947 and 2007 is unbelievably different, which affects football significantly. Not to mention that Baugh was a quarterback, punter, and defensive back while Manning is but a quarterback. But I've read that the voters take this into account. And so, I'll let it alone.
Now, to the real point. Halls of fame generally include a clause regarding integrity, character, and sportsmanship. Here, I remember a profound quotation from the old man: 'It is good to be a great man, but how much greater it is to be a good man.' It is my understanding that the clauses in hall of fame qualifications associated with integrity, character, and sportsmanship can be summed up in two words, namely 'good person'. To be eligible for a hall of fame, you have to be a good person. You might ask me to define 'good', and I'd point you to Plato's Republic.
Now without the coy response, let us examine the likes of McGwire, Rose, Shoeless Joe, and a few others both in and out of baseball's Hall of Fame.
Mark McGwire: Took steroids. Wouldn't admit it to Congress. Didn't abide by baseball's rules. Thought he needed drugs to make him a better player. Hall of Fame? Exclude.
Pete Rose: Great hitter. Great fielder. Hard nosed and gritty. Bet on his own team while coaching them. At first denied involvement. Then switched his story. Has now shown remorse and has cooperated with MLB. Hall of Fame? Include after death.
Joe Jackson: Great hitter. Great fielder. One of the most graceful and talented players in history. Took money to throw the 1919 World Series. Didn't play like he was throwing the series. Fully cooperated with MLB after the scheme was discovered. Kicked out of baseball my Kennesaw Mountain Landis along with the rest of the Black Sox. Showed remorse. Hall of Fame? Include
Barry Bonds: Great hitter. Average fielder. Hit 73 in one season. Home run king with a asterisk. Has stated that he did not purposely take steroids. Ready to go to trial for lying to Congress. Hall of Fame? Hell no.
Now, for a few surprises:
Ty Cobb: Best batting average of all time. Great player all around. One of the 5 originals in the Hall. One of the meanest baseball players ever to have lived. Sharpened his cleats. Beat people with bats. Hall of Fame? Kick out.
Rogers Hornsby: Best right handed hitter in baseball's history which means he's arguably better than Cobb since he faced right handed pitchers 70% of the time and was thus at a disadvantage. Also arguably the best hitting infielder in history. Confessed member of the Ku Klux Klan and compulsive gambler. Hall of Fame? Kick out.
Andy Pettitte: With a .629 winning average, 3.89 ERA, 2002 strike outs, and 215 wins Andy compares with the likes of Randy Johnson, Tom Glavine, and Pedro Martinez, all arguably Hall of Fame pitchers in their own right. Andy took performance enhancing drugs to heal an injury in 2002. Showed remorse for his usage of the drugs. Hall of Fame? If he has the stats, Include.
Alex Rodriguez: On track to being one of the premier players of his generation. Great hitter. Fair fielder. Recently admitted to taking steroids. Was remorseful. Hall of Fame? If he has the stats (including importance to his team), include.
Babe Ruth: Baseball's savior. One of the games greatest sluggers (if not the greatest). Not to mention one of its premier pitchers too. A boozer. Cheated on his wife. Great with kids and made the fans love him. Hall of Fame? ...
Right, like I'd go there.
My point? If the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame - or any hall of fame for that matter - is going to have that clause regarding integrity, character, and sportsmanship, then there can be no double standard. Ty Cobb doesn't deserve to be in the Hall of Fame, period. And Joe Jackson does. Why Joe Jackson? Because it takes humility and integrity to apologize, to show remorse. If I truly have consistent beliefs, then I must accept contrite apologies for what they are.
The final question: is there any room for that clause of integrity, character, and sportsmanship in the qualification for halls of fame? Or are halls of fame for those who have in fact excelled in the game, exclusively? If the latter, then there's no question about Rose, Jackson, Ruth, Cobb, Hornsby, or Bonds. But that doesn't feel quite right either, does it?
There you have it sports fans. Happy Valentine's Day. And I bid you adieu. Until next I write or you read, happy sporting.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Potluck: 1=0
Mathematicians have achieved what was once thought to be impossible. They have finally discovered how something is, in fact, nothing. Or, conversely, nothing is indeed something. Now all of you think about nothing. Once you have nothing in mind, think of something. Anything. A cow. A planet. An idea. A raindrop. All of these things are nothing. So, when you think of nothing, you can think of anything.
How can I say such a thing, you ask? You might argue with me that something and nothing are not the same thing. But I have proof. Mathematical proof, I might add. And this isn't some Einsteinian formula. You need only basic algebra to understand it.
How can I say such a thing, you ask? You might argue with me that something and nothing are not the same thing. But I have proof. Mathematical proof, I might add. And this isn't some Einsteinian formula. You need only basic algebra to understand it.
Let a = b
Now multiply both sides by a.
a×a = a×b
a² = ab
Subtract b² from both sides.
a²-b² = ab-b²
Now you have to remember FOIL (First, Outside, Inside, Last) and the distributive property from Algebra 1.
(a+b)(a-b) = b(a-b)
Divide each side by a-b.
[(a+b)(a-b)]/(a-b) = [b(a-b)]/(a-b)
You are left with a+b = b
Now let's say a = 1. Then because a = b, b = 1.
And thus a+b = b —> 1+1 = 1
Which means 2 = 1.
Subtract 1 from both sides and you have 2-1 = 1-1
Which means 1 = 0.
Right?
Now multiply both sides by a.
a×a = a×b
a² = ab
Subtract b² from both sides.
a²-b² = ab-b²
Now you have to remember FOIL (First, Outside, Inside, Last) and the distributive property from Algebra 1.
(a+b)(a-b) = b(a-b)
Divide each side by a-b.
[(a+b)
You are left with a+b = b
Now let's say a = 1. Then because a = b, b = 1.
And thus a+b = b —> 1+1 = 1
Which means 2 = 1.
Subtract 1 from both sides and you have 2-1 = 1-1
Which means 1 = 0.
Right?
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
3WW: American Sentences (Disarray, Validate, Rabble)
American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.
The validated military rabble marched in disarray.
The rabble disarrays in the street validating the human form.
My validate rabbled on an on when I chose to go disarray.
The validated military rabble marched in disarray.
The rabble disarrays in the street validating the human form.
My validate rabbled on an on when I chose to go disarray.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Video of the Week: Pachelbel's Canon in D
This evening, I arrived home at 8 p.m. rather exhausted and decided that I needed both something soothing to hear and something funny to watch. For the soothing notes, I considered a classic oldie. A real oldie. Not exactly classical - Pachelbel composed sometime around 1680, the Baroque period - this work is one of the most famous works of any era in the Western World.
I give it to you here. If you have approximately five minutes, close your eyes and let it sweep you away.
Now, after I heard the song, I went looking for something funny. On youtube, I found hissing cats and babies laughing. I even found a Seth McFarlane cartoon about Mario and the princess. But, I decided that the following video was more appropriate:
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be...
I give it to you here. If you have approximately five minutes, close your eyes and let it sweep you away.
Now, after I heard the song, I went looking for something funny. On youtube, I found hissing cats and babies laughing. I even found a Seth McFarlane cartoon about Mario and the princess. But, I decided that the following video was more appropriate:
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be...
Monday, February 9, 2009
Art in All its Forms: Cake
I love ice cream.
Fudge Ripple. Coffee Fudge Chunk. Chocolate Chip. Praline's. Cookie and Cream. Cherry Almond Fudge.
Dreyers. Breyers. Ben and Jerry's. Haagen-Dazs. Carvel. Baskin Robbins.
But this post isn't about ice cream. At least that's not what it says in the title. So, let's venture back more than twenty years to Wallingford, CT where I spent my childhood. On a street that ended in a cul-du-sac, there sat a robin egg blue, two story house with a cherry tree in front (that I never chopped down). Towards the back of that house was situated a kitchen with some of the ugliest blue and yellow wallpaper I had ever seen, a holdover from the 70's, no doubt. And in that kitchen I learned to appreciate cake.
My mother, you see, bakes cakes. Round cakes. Square cakes. Tall cakes. Flat cakes. Carrot cakes. Chocolate cakes. Cakes with cream cheese filling. Or lemon, if you'd like. Though I've never had them, I'm certain she could pull off German chocolate or red velvet. And I happened to be one of two beneficiaries of the cakes. Well, if I'm honest, I didn't always have a chance to eat the cakes myself, but I always had the scraps with my mother's unique sweet - but not too sweet - frosting. With some ice cream on the side...
I was utterly concerned with how much of those 'scraps' with frosting I could stuff into my mouth. But I didn't really consider the art of cake decorating.
Sure, I was impressed when my mother made the pizza cake that looked a bit like:
But I had no qualms about cutting into it and scarfing it down.
How can I forget the ALF cake she made with a pan she specially bought?
And she didn't just make cakes for me. She made them for my brother, my grandparents, other family members, her friends. And she even began to bake for money. A fifty dollar cake here. A hundred dollar cake there. There was always cake around the house. Well, ice cream too.
Then, she got into more complicated cakes. Wedding cakes, for instance. And other multi-tiered cakes. Cake, cake, cake. Always cake. And always left overs. Enough to make my brother and me bounce around the house.
But still, I didn't really appreciate the beauty of the cakes, not to mention the efforts to which she went to make them.
And, in fact, I never really understood until I moved to Seattle. (A little late, I know.) Enter Joseph, stage left.
Joseph loves watching five types of shows as a general rule. Medical channel shows. Food channel shows. Reality shows. Cop shows. And Friends.
And so it happened one fine Sunday afternoon that Joseph decided to watch Food Network's Food Network Challenge. And on that day, I saw professional bakers bake unreal cakes. Sure, they used the same techniques that my mother did in baking the cake and creating the frosting. But they took it to another level that I had never imagined was possible.
On that and on subsequent shows, I saw cakes that looked like Hogwarts:
And cakes for a Dr. Seuss theme:
Even masterpieces like a Nintendo cake:
I can now say I appreciate the beauty of cake. Not to mention the taste. But I have only one question for my mother: why didn't you ever learn to make ice cream?
Fudge Ripple. Coffee Fudge Chunk. Chocolate Chip. Praline's. Cookie and Cream. Cherry Almond Fudge.
Dreyers. Breyers. Ben and Jerry's. Haagen-Dazs. Carvel. Baskin Robbins.
But this post isn't about ice cream. At least that's not what it says in the title. So, let's venture back more than twenty years to Wallingford, CT where I spent my childhood. On a street that ended in a cul-du-sac, there sat a robin egg blue, two story house with a cherry tree in front (that I never chopped down). Towards the back of that house was situated a kitchen with some of the ugliest blue and yellow wallpaper I had ever seen, a holdover from the 70's, no doubt. And in that kitchen I learned to appreciate cake.
My mother, you see, bakes cakes. Round cakes. Square cakes. Tall cakes. Flat cakes. Carrot cakes. Chocolate cakes. Cakes with cream cheese filling. Or lemon, if you'd like. Though I've never had them, I'm certain she could pull off German chocolate or red velvet. And I happened to be one of two beneficiaries of the cakes. Well, if I'm honest, I didn't always have a chance to eat the cakes myself, but I always had the scraps with my mother's unique sweet - but not too sweet - frosting. With some ice cream on the side...
I was utterly concerned with how much of those 'scraps' with frosting I could stuff into my mouth. But I didn't really consider the art of cake decorating.
Sure, I was impressed when my mother made the pizza cake that looked a bit like:
But I had no qualms about cutting into it and scarfing it down.
How can I forget the ALF cake she made with a pan she specially bought?
And she didn't just make cakes for me. She made them for my brother, my grandparents, other family members, her friends. And she even began to bake for money. A fifty dollar cake here. A hundred dollar cake there. There was always cake around the house. Well, ice cream too.
Then, she got into more complicated cakes. Wedding cakes, for instance. And other multi-tiered cakes. Cake, cake, cake. Always cake. And always left overs. Enough to make my brother and me bounce around the house.
But still, I didn't really appreciate the beauty of the cakes, not to mention the efforts to which she went to make them.
And, in fact, I never really understood until I moved to Seattle. (A little late, I know.) Enter Joseph, stage left.
Joseph loves watching five types of shows as a general rule. Medical channel shows. Food channel shows. Reality shows. Cop shows. And Friends.
And so it happened one fine Sunday afternoon that Joseph decided to watch Food Network's Food Network Challenge. And on that day, I saw professional bakers bake unreal cakes. Sure, they used the same techniques that my mother did in baking the cake and creating the frosting. But they took it to another level that I had never imagined was possible.
On that and on subsequent shows, I saw cakes that looked like Hogwarts:
And cakes for a Dr. Seuss theme:
Even masterpieces like a Nintendo cake:
I can now say I appreciate the beauty of cake. Not to mention the taste. But I have only one question for my mother: why didn't you ever learn to make ice cream?
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Sunday Scribblings: Artful American Sentences
American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.
I rearranged the art such that the blackened tar covered the brown rat.
In coming to mean so many things, art virtually means nothing.
I rearranged the art such that the blackened tar covered the brown rat.
In coming to mean so many things, art virtually means nothing.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Sporting Rants and Raves: February 7, 2009
Happy 42nd birthday to Mr. Richie Burnett. What? You don't know who he is? A native of Cwmparc (KOOM-park) in Wales, Mr. Burnett - nicknamed the Prince of Wales - was the 1995 World Darts Champion and continues to partake in Professional Darts Corporation events.
In other news, large burly darts fans wanting to look their best for the new high definition feed of the sport - and because darts fans are generally so much closer to the audience than football or baseball fans were recently airbrushed leaving their skin with a flawless and natural-looking finish.
Mr. Todd Haley formerly of the Arizona Cardinals has accepted the head coaching position for the Kansas City Chiefs. If he's smart, his first trade/cut/good riddance will be Mr. Larry Johnson of the selfsame Chiefs who has proven in his time with the Chiefs that he likes to beat women and complain about his carries. Is there any way to have Mr. Priest Holmes become miraculously well to run in place of this bum?
In similar news, Mr. Clancy Pendergast formerly of the Arizona Cardinals has parted with the NFC Champions for reasons presently undisclosed. Mr. Ken Whisenhunt has stated that the decision "comes down to what's best for the team and what gives us the best chance to win."
For the sake of the red birds, I hope these departures don't spell a plummet back into the depths of NFC obscurity, but based on Whisenhunt's success in these two short years, I'll wait to pass judgment.
The Pro Bowl. Why play the game? I don't care if it's before or after the Super Bowl. It just doesn't matter. And it shouldn't. These players shouldn't have to beat the hell out of each other for another game as a reward for being the best at their positions. And they don't. But I'm also not interested in watching a half-assed game in Hawaii. I say send the pro bowlers to Hawaii and let them enjoy. Set up some kind of football skills competition for the fans. But don't play a game about which no one really cares.
I'm a Yankees fan. And I am a Yankees fan because of the Babe, the original Iron Man, Joe D, Mickey, Whitey, Yogi, Thurman, Louisiana Lightning, and Donnie Baseball among others. You can even throw in Paul, Bernie, Derek, Andy, and Mariano. Those are Yankees through and through. And I can never stop being a fan of those core players.
I must seriously reconsider my devotion to these Yankees, especially the continuing ways of the Steinbrenner family. Questionable decisions made at so many turns. You may argue that Fat George has been imposing himself on the league since he took over the Yanks in 1973, and you'd be right. Paying for Reggie. For Catfish Hunter. Later for the likes of David Cone, David Wells, and Randy Johnson. He tries to buy teams. And sometimes it works. For now though, those purchases look okay because these purchased players weren't cheating. But when it comes to Roger Clemens and Alex Rodriguez, the questions cross from the monetary into the moral. I can imagine Fat George sitting across from these two players and saying 'What I don't know can't be used against me, so just don't tell me. I just want to win.' How could he not know that they were using steroids? And how could he think that it was okay. Shame on you George. And on you too Hank. Shame on the Yankees.
And while I'm at it, shame on you for bringing down the real Yankee Stadium before its time. You destroy a landmark for money claiming it's 'modernization'.
The Thunder of Oklahoma City have climbed to third worst in the NBA. We in Seattle are still smiling.
I've just looked at the NHL front page on the Sports Illustrated home page and saw 'Pens pound Jackets'. Now, I'd consider myself a sports fan even if only a casual observer of NHL headlines. Pens? Pittsburgh Penguins of course. Adjacent to this headline, 'Ellis, Predators blank Wild'. Yes, I know the Predators are from Nashville, the Wild from Minnesota. But the Jackets? Not a clue. I clicked on the link. The Columbus Blue Jackets. Really? To Wikipedia I went only to discover that they've been in existence since 2000. And they're the only team in the NHL never to have qualified for the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which if I'm not mistaken, is like saying they're the Detroit Lions or the Pittsburgh Pirates of the NHL. All I have to say is, wow.
For anyone who cares, I really don't like Duke. Though I can't help but respect Coach K.
And finally, I put to you this week's question. What's the big deal about the Michael Phelp's picture? Let me first anticipate those answers that the more conservative of you might give. It's illegal. And even worse, it's a gateway drug. Marijuana usage gives way to heroin or crack or meth or any number of illegal drug usage. The counterargument? Marijuana is less physically addictive than nicotine and alcohol (though arguably as or more psychologically addictive). The drug only acts as a gateway drug because of the stigma attached to it, and harms the body less than either cigarettes or alcohol. My thoughts? It was wrong, but not because it's a gateway drug or because it's illegal. Phelps apologized for his actions, meaning that he believed it to be against his better moral judgment. And if he did something that he deemed to be wrong, then he did wrong. If he didn't apologize, however, and took responsibility for his actions. defending them with sound arguments and good reason, then I'd listen. Because I don't think marijuana is inherently evil and that its users are bad people who always use riskier and deadlier drugs. I think marijuana is a drug with a stigma and that simply hasn't been marketed as effectively as tobacco and alcohol. But until education erases the attached stigma (perhaps never), I shall not partake because society deems my effectiveness as a professional and a mentor to be linked to my choices associated with the legality of substances in which I partake. Until then, all I can say is... Mmmm, beer.
There you have it sports fans. Real Yankees (and fake ones). The Cardinals loss of coordinators. The uselessness of the Pro Bowl. The Columbus Blue Jackets???? And gold winning marijuana use. Doesn't get much more exciting than that. Until next time, here's hoping all of you hit the bullseye.
Happy sporting...
In other news, large burly darts fans wanting to look their best for the new high definition feed of the sport - and because darts fans are generally so much closer to the audience than football or baseball fans were recently airbrushed leaving their skin with a flawless and natural-looking finish.
Mr. Todd Haley formerly of the Arizona Cardinals has accepted the head coaching position for the Kansas City Chiefs. If he's smart, his first trade/cut/good riddance will be Mr. Larry Johnson of the selfsame Chiefs who has proven in his time with the Chiefs that he likes to beat women and complain about his carries. Is there any way to have Mr. Priest Holmes become miraculously well to run in place of this bum?
In similar news, Mr. Clancy Pendergast formerly of the Arizona Cardinals has parted with the NFC Champions for reasons presently undisclosed. Mr. Ken Whisenhunt has stated that the decision "comes down to what's best for the team and what gives us the best chance to win."
For the sake of the red birds, I hope these departures don't spell a plummet back into the depths of NFC obscurity, but based on Whisenhunt's success in these two short years, I'll wait to pass judgment.
The Pro Bowl. Why play the game? I don't care if it's before or after the Super Bowl. It just doesn't matter. And it shouldn't. These players shouldn't have to beat the hell out of each other for another game as a reward for being the best at their positions. And they don't. But I'm also not interested in watching a half-assed game in Hawaii. I say send the pro bowlers to Hawaii and let them enjoy. Set up some kind of football skills competition for the fans. But don't play a game about which no one really cares.
I'm a Yankees fan. And I am a Yankees fan because of the Babe, the original Iron Man, Joe D, Mickey, Whitey, Yogi, Thurman, Louisiana Lightning, and Donnie Baseball among others. You can even throw in Paul, Bernie, Derek, Andy, and Mariano. Those are Yankees through and through. And I can never stop being a fan of those core players.
I must seriously reconsider my devotion to these Yankees, especially the continuing ways of the Steinbrenner family. Questionable decisions made at so many turns. You may argue that Fat George has been imposing himself on the league since he took over the Yanks in 1973, and you'd be right. Paying for Reggie. For Catfish Hunter. Later for the likes of David Cone, David Wells, and Randy Johnson. He tries to buy teams. And sometimes it works. For now though, those purchases look okay because these purchased players weren't cheating. But when it comes to Roger Clemens and Alex Rodriguez, the questions cross from the monetary into the moral. I can imagine Fat George sitting across from these two players and saying 'What I don't know can't be used against me, so just don't tell me. I just want to win.' How could he not know that they were using steroids? And how could he think that it was okay. Shame on you George. And on you too Hank. Shame on the Yankees.
And while I'm at it, shame on you for bringing down the real Yankee Stadium before its time. You destroy a landmark for money claiming it's 'modernization'.
The Thunder of Oklahoma City have climbed to third worst in the NBA. We in Seattle are still smiling.
I've just looked at the NHL front page on the Sports Illustrated home page and saw 'Pens pound Jackets'. Now, I'd consider myself a sports fan even if only a casual observer of NHL headlines. Pens? Pittsburgh Penguins of course. Adjacent to this headline, 'Ellis, Predators blank Wild'. Yes, I know the Predators are from Nashville, the Wild from Minnesota. But the Jackets? Not a clue. I clicked on the link. The Columbus Blue Jackets. Really? To Wikipedia I went only to discover that they've been in existence since 2000. And they're the only team in the NHL never to have qualified for the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which if I'm not mistaken, is like saying they're the Detroit Lions or the Pittsburgh Pirates of the NHL. All I have to say is, wow.
For anyone who cares, I really don't like Duke. Though I can't help but respect Coach K.
And finally, I put to you this week's question. What's the big deal about the Michael Phelp's picture? Let me first anticipate those answers that the more conservative of you might give. It's illegal. And even worse, it's a gateway drug. Marijuana usage gives way to heroin or crack or meth or any number of illegal drug usage. The counterargument? Marijuana is less physically addictive than nicotine and alcohol (though arguably as or more psychologically addictive). The drug only acts as a gateway drug because of the stigma attached to it, and harms the body less than either cigarettes or alcohol. My thoughts? It was wrong, but not because it's a gateway drug or because it's illegal. Phelps apologized for his actions, meaning that he believed it to be against his better moral judgment. And if he did something that he deemed to be wrong, then he did wrong. If he didn't apologize, however, and took responsibility for his actions. defending them with sound arguments and good reason, then I'd listen. Because I don't think marijuana is inherently evil and that its users are bad people who always use riskier and deadlier drugs. I think marijuana is a drug with a stigma and that simply hasn't been marketed as effectively as tobacco and alcohol. But until education erases the attached stigma (perhaps never), I shall not partake because society deems my effectiveness as a professional and a mentor to be linked to my choices associated with the legality of substances in which I partake. Until then, all I can say is... Mmmm, beer.
There you have it sports fans. Real Yankees (and fake ones). The Cardinals loss of coordinators. The uselessness of the Pro Bowl. The Columbus Blue Jackets???? And gold winning marijuana use. Doesn't get much more exciting than that. Until next time, here's hoping all of you hit the bullseye.
Happy sporting...
Thursday, February 5, 2009
25 Things
There's this interesting fad floating about within the world of Facebook that has people writing 25 random thoughts about one's self. Although I've always stayed away from those questions that ask what your favorite color is and when are you happiest, I think this exercise intriguing. And thus, I shall attempt it...
- I once tried to memorize John Milton's Paradise Lost. I made it to 'So spake the apostate angel, though in pain'.
- I sang Your Song by Elton John to Joseph from my grandparent's basement before I had ever met him in person.
- I actively partook in numismatics before I ventured to Seattle. And my prized possessions were a good condition 1909 VDB Lincoln cent, and a fair condition 1832 British haypenny found at the Redwood Flea Market in Yalesville, CT.
- If you ask me my favorite author and book, I would hesitate because there are so many good authors and so many more good books. Because many of the good authors have written multiple books, of course. But then if I were cornered, I'd answer Hermann Hesse and his book, Narcissus and Goldmund.
- My idea of cooking: Pour cereal into bowl. Pour milk over cereal. Use spoon to deliver cereal and milk to mouth. Repeat final step until all milk and cereal are gone.
- I once wrote a 17-page paper describing a 7-Up can. And got a C-.
- I fit 7 large football players into a silver 1984 Toyota Celica GT Hatchback - called at times the Silver Bullet and Jethro - coming home from football practice one day. I later found out my brother managed nine large football players.
- In my lifetime, there have been 2 Democrats elected to the presidency. For each of their initial wins (Clinton in '92 and Obama '08), I was just outside Orlando, FL. Those were the only 2 times in my lifetime I've ever been just outside Orlando, FL.
- When in Rome, I and the other seminarians of the archdiocese of Hartford decided to compose a letter to Pope John Paul II asking for a private audience with him. Because of my handwriting, I was elected to write the letter. We passed it to a Swiss guard and waited for a response. None came. But we later discovered that the Pope reviewed every piece of correspondence that was addressed to him, meaning that he read words I wrote.
- I miss my paternal grandfather calling me Yardbird and I miss talking to my paternal grandmother across her kitchen table.
- I miss playing cribbage marathons of 10 or more consecutive games with my maternal grandfather and I miss hearing my maternal grandmother hum Lara's theme while I rested on the front couch.
- I will always remember the day I walked out of my brother's garage and watched the old man's jaw drop as we initiated our last trek to Yankee Stadium. The old man and his two boys.
- I will also remember the day Uncle Mark and his girlfriend Ruth brought us to Fairly Ridiculous University (Farleigh Dickinson) to watch the Giants training camp. And getting Mark Bavaro's autograph.
- I vowed I would never pray for another game after Super Bowl XXV. I didn't. Until Super Bowl XLIII.
- Fudge Swirl. Whipped Cream. Hershey's Syrup. Splash of milk. 'Nuff said.
- I would be happy if I could have my mother's Christmas cookies every day of the year. Especially those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey's kiss in the middle of them.
- Give me an English word - any English word - and ask me its origin. Then don't talk to me for the next 15 minutes because I'm off trying to find out its etymology following it back through French, Latin, Greek, and finally to its Indo-European root.
- When I was about 2 I used to sit outside in the dog house with my Boxer, Clancy.
- My favorite class in college had to be the History of Calculus in which I learned that the coordinate system should be Fermatian and not Cartesian, that Leibniz and Newton quarreled over who invented the calculus, and that it is impossible to square a circle since pi is a transcendental and not an algebraic irrational number.
- And my second favorite class in college was the Intellectual History of the U.S. from 1865-present in which I wrote a 40 page paper on the importance of Playboy for the masculinization of men between 1955-1970. The university had every volume except for the initial. So, no I didn't see Marilyn in the nude.
- The vice principal at my high school was named David; he wasn't particularly well liked. Most everyone mocked him with the name, Davey Dawg. When he caught on, they reduced calling him Davey Dawg to the times when I was in the general vicinity. And the name stuck. Through high school only, thank God.
- When I pull out my wallet, there is a circled imprint on its back that people think is caused by a condom. It's in fact a rosary ring blessed by Pope John Paul II.
- I was once able to repeat to a customer, 'You'd like the Kookaburra Wings, Grilled Shrimp on the Barbie, Walkabout Soup, Rockhampton Ribeye, and the Drover's Platter. With a Wallaby Darned and a Foster's. G'day Mate!'
- The old man is hands down the best coach I've ever had.
- I've been called a cold fish, at times, because I'm not altogether emotional. But never doubt that I care for and love my friends and family more than they can know.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
3WW: American Sentences (Crumple, Illicit, Nerve)
American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.
I decided to try something a bit more challenging in this post. Instead of constructing mutually exclusive American Sentences, I decided to try stringing them together in something resembling a story. I personally thought it interesting to read them separately. Then together. And then even intermixed with one another.
(Updated to read as a paragraph as suggested by Susan's and Tumbleword's comments)
I'd love to hear what you think...
I decided to try something a bit more challenging in this post. Instead of constructing mutually exclusive American Sentences, I decided to try stringing them together in something resembling a story. I personally thought it interesting to read them separately. Then together. And then even intermixed with one another.
(Updated to read as a paragraph as suggested by Susan's and Tumbleword's comments)
He carefully stole into the bank, illicit idea in tow. Onto the marble counter dropped a crumpled note demanding payment. Ere teller took the missive, said man – his nerve lost – snatched the note and smiled. ‘I hoped you might have four quarters for this dollar – for laundry, of course.’ The teller smiled, handed him two twenty dollar bills, and mouthed thank you. He exited the bank grinning, his plan executed perfectly.
I'd love to hear what you think...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Video of the Week: The Greatest Super Bowl Catch
The debate is raging after Big Ben's throw to Santonio Holmes. Who has the greatest catch in Super Bowl history? You decide. Leave a comment with your choice and the reason for it...
Terry Bradshaw to Lynn Swann
Eli Manning to David Tyree
Ben Roethlisberger to Santonio Holmes
Terry Bradshaw to Lynn Swann
Eli Manning to David Tyree
Ben Roethlisberger to Santonio Holmes
Monday, February 2, 2009
Art in All its Forms: Super Bowl XLIII
Anyone who witnessed this year's Super Bowl witnessed a work of art, an aesthetic masterpiece that all football fans can treasure. And I can say this objectively as I am neither a fan of the Cardinals nor the Steelers.
It began with a beautiful Pittsburgh drive. Parker, Ward, Parker, Parker, Miller. It seemed as though the pundits would be right about the Cardinals' demise. And about the Steelers' domination through a pounding running game and Big Ben's timely throws. As I watched, I wondered if the Cardinals had any chance whatsoever.
Until the Cardinals were able to accomplish a feat I thought only their opposition could, i.e. a goal line stand. With the help of a good challenge. A Pittsburgh field goal ensued, and the game stood at 3-0.
The Cardinals came onto the field and looked a bit lost. Unable to get anything going. It was all Steelers. A punt followed.
Pittsburgh got the ball back and staged another long drive. Early in the second, it was 10-0. And people were wondering if the commercials were going to get any better.
But a good story line usually begins with the predictable. Thus was the first quarter written.
Arizona then decided to throw the consummate curve ball by doing what I can imagine every Cardinals fan thought they should do. They put Warner all alone in the backfield and let him start throwing the altogether effective short passes. With his quick delivery, he picked apart the number one defense on this drive giving the story some obvious foreshadowing. And what better way to end the drive than with a touchdown to a Mr. Ben Patrick who can claim that his first touchdown pass of the year was in the Super Bowl.
Pittsburgh came up short the next series. And then so did the Cardinals. Would it become a defensive struggle? If so, I couldn't see the Cardinals outlasting the Steelers.
Then, there came a twist of fate. The unexpected. Big Ben threw the first interception of the game giving the Cardinals amazingly good field position. Warner passed them down the field and got the Cards to the one yard line.
Then, all hell broke loose. Harrison intercepted Warner and took the ball through the entire state of Arizona, finally stumbling through Breaston and Fitzgerald for the longest play in Super Bowl history. 100 yards.
End Act I. Stunning. The mighty Steelers looked as though they had completely deflated the Cardinals. How could the red birds recover?
Act II began after an aged Bruce slid crotch first into the camera. Not the closeup in which I had an interest. The Cardinals took possession and did nothing with it. Time was slipping away.
Pittsburgh then staged a eight minute long drive that seemed to spell the end for the upstart Cardinals. 'At least they got there' I heard those around me say. 'Everyone knew Pittsburgh would win'. And so, it was.
Except that Arizona did the unthinkable, again. Against the Steelers. Another goal line stand. How? And yet, what was the point? Even with just a field goal, it was 20-7. And time was not an Arizona ally.
The next stalled drive didn't help them either. It was the fourth quarter.
Pittsburgh stalled too. A rare three and out.
And then, it happened. A phenomenon that caused every Steelers fan in the world to worry and every football fan to begin paying attention again. Breaston, Urban, Fitzgerald, Arrington, Fitzgerald, Fitzgerald, Hightower, Fitzgerald. 8 for 8 and 87 yards later, Warner had lead the Cardinals in a perfect drive to a Fitzgerald touchdown. Fitzgerald, who had 1 catch for 12 yards in the first half suddenly found the openings in the Pittsburgh D. And remember that this wasn't just any defense. This was the number 1 defense in the league. And Warner picked them apart as if they were the Lions.
The Arizona D stopped Pittsburgh. Another rare three and out.
An Arizona series that looked as though it would continue Kurt's fantastic run saw three straight incomplete passes at the Pittsburgh 36. Too long for a field goal, they opted to punt. A beautiful punt that pinned Pittsburgh at the 1.
And Pittsburgh couldn't budge the Arizona D. In fact, they got moved backwards 1 yard for a safety. 20-16 Pittsburgh. Was this really happening?
Then, there came what might have been the play of the game, had the outcome been different. Kurt tossed one of his quick passes over the middle and into the hands of Larry Fitzgerald. And, boy did he run. He wasn't touched. 64 yards and the unthinkable had happened. The Arizona Cardinals lead the game 23-20 in one of the unlikeliest comebacks - and also the biggest - in Super Bowl history. The offensive juggernaut - with a lot of help from their own defensive force - had stepped right back into the game.
Yet, the storied franchise proved why it is storied. It was not their time to fold. It was not their time to hand the title to this destitute franchise. Instead, they worked down the field. And they, one of the scrappiest, grittiest teams displayed the absolute beauty of the sport as Big Ben threw a perfect ball to a barely open Santonio Holmes for the final touchdown. For a team that is known for its hard-nosed dominating smash mouth football, it took a page from Arizona's book and ended on one of the most gracefully beautiful passing plays I've ever witnessed in a football game.
Though the underdog would try once more to win the day, Arizona fell short with a well-timed strip of Warner. And the day went to the Steelers.
But honestly, this was a game of beauty. Told only as the most noteworthy of bards could tell.
It began with a beautiful Pittsburgh drive. Parker, Ward, Parker, Parker, Miller. It seemed as though the pundits would be right about the Cardinals' demise. And about the Steelers' domination through a pounding running game and Big Ben's timely throws. As I watched, I wondered if the Cardinals had any chance whatsoever.
Until the Cardinals were able to accomplish a feat I thought only their opposition could, i.e. a goal line stand. With the help of a good challenge. A Pittsburgh field goal ensued, and the game stood at 3-0.
The Cardinals came onto the field and looked a bit lost. Unable to get anything going. It was all Steelers. A punt followed.
Pittsburgh got the ball back and staged another long drive. Early in the second, it was 10-0. And people were wondering if the commercials were going to get any better.
But a good story line usually begins with the predictable. Thus was the first quarter written.
Arizona then decided to throw the consummate curve ball by doing what I can imagine every Cardinals fan thought they should do. They put Warner all alone in the backfield and let him start throwing the altogether effective short passes. With his quick delivery, he picked apart the number one defense on this drive giving the story some obvious foreshadowing. And what better way to end the drive than with a touchdown to a Mr. Ben Patrick who can claim that his first touchdown pass of the year was in the Super Bowl.
Pittsburgh came up short the next series. And then so did the Cardinals. Would it become a defensive struggle? If so, I couldn't see the Cardinals outlasting the Steelers.
Then, there came a twist of fate. The unexpected. Big Ben threw the first interception of the game giving the Cardinals amazingly good field position. Warner passed them down the field and got the Cards to the one yard line.
Then, all hell broke loose. Harrison intercepted Warner and took the ball through the entire state of Arizona, finally stumbling through Breaston and Fitzgerald for the longest play in Super Bowl history. 100 yards.
End Act I. Stunning. The mighty Steelers looked as though they had completely deflated the Cardinals. How could the red birds recover?
Act II began after an aged Bruce slid crotch first into the camera. Not the closeup in which I had an interest. The Cardinals took possession and did nothing with it. Time was slipping away.
Pittsburgh then staged a eight minute long drive that seemed to spell the end for the upstart Cardinals. 'At least they got there' I heard those around me say. 'Everyone knew Pittsburgh would win'. And so, it was.
Except that Arizona did the unthinkable, again. Against the Steelers. Another goal line stand. How? And yet, what was the point? Even with just a field goal, it was 20-7. And time was not an Arizona ally.
The next stalled drive didn't help them either. It was the fourth quarter.
Pittsburgh stalled too. A rare three and out.
And then, it happened. A phenomenon that caused every Steelers fan in the world to worry and every football fan to begin paying attention again. Breaston, Urban, Fitzgerald, Arrington, Fitzgerald, Fitzgerald, Hightower, Fitzgerald. 8 for 8 and 87 yards later, Warner had lead the Cardinals in a perfect drive to a Fitzgerald touchdown. Fitzgerald, who had 1 catch for 12 yards in the first half suddenly found the openings in the Pittsburgh D. And remember that this wasn't just any defense. This was the number 1 defense in the league. And Warner picked them apart as if they were the Lions.
The Arizona D stopped Pittsburgh. Another rare three and out.
An Arizona series that looked as though it would continue Kurt's fantastic run saw three straight incomplete passes at the Pittsburgh 36. Too long for a field goal, they opted to punt. A beautiful punt that pinned Pittsburgh at the 1.
And Pittsburgh couldn't budge the Arizona D. In fact, they got moved backwards 1 yard for a safety. 20-16 Pittsburgh. Was this really happening?
Then, there came what might have been the play of the game, had the outcome been different. Kurt tossed one of his quick passes over the middle and into the hands of Larry Fitzgerald. And, boy did he run. He wasn't touched. 64 yards and the unthinkable had happened. The Arizona Cardinals lead the game 23-20 in one of the unlikeliest comebacks - and also the biggest - in Super Bowl history. The offensive juggernaut - with a lot of help from their own defensive force - had stepped right back into the game.
Yet, the storied franchise proved why it is storied. It was not their time to fold. It was not their time to hand the title to this destitute franchise. Instead, they worked down the field. And they, one of the scrappiest, grittiest teams displayed the absolute beauty of the sport as Big Ben threw a perfect ball to a barely open Santonio Holmes for the final touchdown. For a team that is known for its hard-nosed dominating smash mouth football, it took a page from Arizona's book and ended on one of the most gracefully beautiful passing plays I've ever witnessed in a football game.
Though the underdog would try once more to win the day, Arizona fell short with a well-timed strip of Warner. And the day went to the Steelers.
But honestly, this was a game of beauty. Told only as the most noteworthy of bards could tell.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Sunday Scribblings: Regretful American Sentences
American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.
Regret is guilt gift-wrapped in space-time, topped with the bow of remembrance.
I don’t regret the regrets I have, excepting those regrets I have.
I don’t regret the regrets I have, accepting those regrets I have.
Regret is guilt gift-wrapped in space-time, topped with the bow of remembrance.
I don’t regret the regrets I have, excepting those regrets I have.
I don’t regret the regrets I have, accepting those regrets I have.
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