One Shining Moment

I'm in full on college basketball mode now. It started a little late this year - an up-and-down Syracuse basketball season will do that to you. Still, since last Thursday, I knocked down three games with one to go: All 3 games of the NCAA East Regional Final (yes, the UNC-Georgetown one - though the G'Town-Vandy one was the best in my opinion), and tonight's the Syracuse-less NIT Final (do I still have to go?).

The Final Four goes down this weekend, good basketball to be had and just in time for baseball's Opening Day. It's a good time, though.

And to commemorate that good time, I'd like to recall one of the top 5 greatest moments in the history of the world:

Yep, still glorious.

For someone who lives in Brooklyn and works in Manhattan...

....I spend an absurd amount of time in Newark, NJ.

Tomorrow it's East Rutherford, NJ. NCAA East Regional Final. It'd better be awesome, or I swear, I will start to saw Jersey into the ocean immediately.

Immediately.

I'm not kidding.

I spent 3 hours at Newark Airport in front of a cargo hold waiting for a FedEx truck. That's it. I didn't actually give the FedEx truck anything. I just had to see him pick it up.

I'm working on that baseball post, Johnny.

Freakin' Lent...

And now for something completely different.

You gotta be a moron... you gotta be a *moron* to wanna be a fighter.

"I remember those cheers
They still ring in my ears
After years, they remain in my thoughts...

Rocky IV and Mike Tyson's Punch Out.

I first introduced myself to the sport of prizefighting through two cartoonish interpretations, one boxer who brought down Communism and another who brought down Iron Mike Tyson. What wasn't to love? Boxing represented a sports where one man could, despite all clichés, achieve anything.

You could become starry eyed, and dream what it might be like to stand in the ring, toe to toe with the champ, going the distance and leaving it all in the ring. It's beautiful, to watch two men dance, duck, move, jab, shift, watch, nod... graceful. The sweet science. By the time I learned of boxing, I'd given my heart to baseball. I wanted to make room. I tried.

"Go to one night
I took off my robe, and what'd I do? I forgot to wear shorts...

Then Tyson fell from grace. First, literally, to Buster Douglas in Tokyo. Then, figuratively, to Miss Black Rhode Island. It shook the foundation. Wait... Boxers were people? With faults? They could do wrong? I know it sounds ridiculous, naive, cynical perhaps... but I was 9. This equals learning the truth about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. You grow up, and those crazy childhood dreams go away. It's a little thing, but the little things take away those big things...

"I recall every fall
Every hook, every jab
The worst way a guy can get rid of his flab.
As you know, my life wasn't drab.

I tried to keep watching. Following young boxers like Zab Judah, older boxers holding on too long like Holyfield, boxers peddling their wares to find a second life like Foreman. Money corrupted all. There were 5 major heavyweight belts. Five. You can't have a Rocky Marciano if four other guys can claim to be Marciano, too. Some of those champs can't fight the others because HBO and Showtime can't play nice. And if you disagreed with them and you've got a few bucks... hell, start your own league. Boxing, meet the circus.

I watched in college. I remember watching an undercard on HBO with floormates, don't remember the boxers. The winner would land a shot to the loser's temple, the loser's knees buckled... the winner would land 3 more shots before loser came back to Earth for an obvious KO. Two men beat each other savagely and I couldn't look away. The grace was there, however barbaric you find it. This isn't like horse racing where 50 years ago, everyone loved it and now it's like "Wait, what the fuck's a mint julep?" The game's alive - the sport. But the business, like every other major sport, took it's toll.

"Though I'd much... Though I'd rather hear you cheer
When you delve... Though I'd rather hear you cheer
When I delve into Shakespeare
'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse', I haven't had a winner in six months.

I don't pretend to be an expert on boxing. I've seen the Ali-Liston fight, Marciano, the controvery of Schmeling, the Sugar Rays, the Rumble in the Jungle, the Thrilla in Manilla... but on tape. In books. I didn't live it, and so, I concede any credibility. I know enough, however, to hear ESPN peddle a conspiracy that Ali started hip hop and know that's not what he, nor boxing, ever aimed to be. Ali aspired to be the greatest on his own terms. Every boxer's dream. To remain standing at the end of the night, arms raised, knowing you stood your ground on your own terms and didn't back down. Yes, the money's nice. Yes, there's no World Series or Super Bowl of boxing. But, something has to click. You have to want it badly if you're willing to risk an accelerated chance at Alzheimer's and a shorter life span.

It's funny, now, how a legendary mecca like Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn offers a fantasy camp. You can live the dream, of sorts. Sure, you're safely removed from the brutality while you dream. Everyone's in on the act. You know it can never be what it once was, what Hemingway dreamed about, Mailer and Plimpton so eloquently described. The ghosts haunt the halls.

And that's all that's left to Boxing. The ghosts. Chasing the ghosts, and hoping you can add one yourself. To entertain the crowds and take care of yourself. To leave a legend behind you, a pure one that no one can question.

Well, it's still not too bad a dream. Implausible, sure. Not bad, though.

"Though I'm no Olivier
I would much rather... And though I'm no Olivier
If he fought Sugar Ray
He would say
That the thing ain't the ring, it's the play.
So give me a... stage
Where this bull here can rage
And though I could fight
I'd much rather recite
... that's entertainment."
-Jake LaMotta, Raging Bull

Start your day right.

TGIF, everybody.

Of course, I'm working tomorrow. So that probably stands for, "That's Great! I'm Fucked!" Go figure.

Went to see Zamboni Revolution alum David "Stan" Young last night. (You can see what he's been up to @ JoeyandDavid.com -- link's always on the right of this page). He's taking his show to the Aspen Comedy Festival. Good show last night, and bonne chance to him.

Looks like I'm going to be doing a little bit of writing in the future. I'm officially signed up for a sketch comedy course with the Upright Citizens Brigade. I'm working on a challenge thrown down by another Zamboni alum, Johnny K. And I have an offer to potentially write about fantasy football. Rapture.

I'm going to the City of Brotherly Love next week to cheer on the little lady at a Trial Advocacy competition. It's always very exciting to see her in her element, and this time, she has nothing to lose... it'll be memorable (and yes, in a good way). I'm keeping a steel chair handy, just in case.

To celebrate, here's some damn good television...



And here's a story about chimps with spears (and I don't mean K-Fed).

Perhaps I just need to reference body parts more often.

I'm taking up sketch comedy writing again. Currently just for kicks. Going to take some classes with the Upright Citizens Brigade soon.

No word yet on any attempts to option the rights to the children's book with the scrotum:

Yet there it is on the first page of “The Higher Power of Lucky,” by Susan Patron, this year’s winner of the Newbery Medal, the most prestigious award in children’s literature. The book’s heroine, a scrappy 10-year-old orphan named Lucky Trimble, hears the word through a hole in a wall when another character says he saw a rattlesnake bite his dog, Roy, on the scrotum.

I'm sure Disney's hard at work on this one.

We've gotta get out of this place...

...if it's the last thing we ever do.

Insomnia

How you spend the time determines the severity of insomnia.

Not being able to sleep but being able to write an award winning story - seems fine by me.

Not being able to sleep but catching up on a book you've been reading - seems not so bad.

Not being able to sleep, then channel surfing while not watching anything of consequence - not so good.

Trying to fix it by venturing out to a local watering hole, only to be reminded exactly how much you loathe "Tainted Love" as two drunken female types dance around a herd of guys who think they might have a shot - take sleeping pills.

Staring at passing cars in hope that someone will come to take you away - punch yourself in the face.

Creating a list of people you know and creating clever ways to kill them, such as shooting them out of a cannon but into an anvil, or driving 900 miles in a diaper - try listening to some Enya.

Rearranging anything - just go to goddamn sleep.

New Amsterdam

I work for Fox now.

The network that brought you Married with Children. American Idol. Man v. Beast.

It's a pilot called "New Amsterdam," about the trials and tribulations of an NYPD detective who's significantly older than he seems (hint: It's called NEW AMSTERDAM). No word yet on They Might Be Giants or the Four Lads providing the theme music.

A lot's going on. Almost pitchers and catchers. The Rangers are mediocre. Apartment is warm.

I just got the OK to go home. I'll do that.

Root canal tomorrow.

Super Bowl Sunday.

Have you had your break today?

What's your opinion? We'd like to know.

Food for thought:

Is there anything stopping me from placing "2007 Time Person of the Year" in the awards section of my resume?

Every little bit helps.

Discuss.

A million times I've asked you and then I ask you over again... You only tell me perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

We know. We're a little behind on the ol' updating thing.

Lots to tell you about soon. New Year's resolutions. Wii. Jimmy Carter. It's all coming. We promise.

Take this to tide you over:



We'll be back in 2 minutes and 2 seconds.

Wait 'Till Next Year

As was previously reported here, my dad lost the election for NY State Assemblyman, 51st District to the incumbent, Felix Ortiz. No surprises.

He did, however, get that writeup by the CUNY student.

You can read that here.

Turn the Page. Wash Your Hands.

Syracuse's Dinosaur BBQ reopened this week. Huzzah.

And apparently, they narrowed down the cause (though the origin is still unknown):

"The Onondaga County Health Department has determined that a norovirus sickened patrons of the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, but health officials couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the disease.

...

"Noroviruses — gastrointestinal illnesses that typically cause nausea, diarrhea and stomach cramping — are spread through vomit or feces. The viruses, which are highly contagious, cannot be transmitted through coughing or sneezing, Morrow said."

They did throw out all the food and sanitize the place. Nonetheless, it will be a good while before we reconsider ordering the Big Ass Pork Plate.

Say It Ain't So

[Dr. Ellie Sattler has dug through a pile of dino-droppings with her hands]
Dr. Ian Malcolm: You will remember to wash your hands before you eat anything?
-Jurassic Park (1993), directed by S. Spielberg

From the AP (via the Washington Post): 600 Sickened After Eating at N.Y. Bar

"SYRACUSE, N.Y. -- At least 600 people came down with a gastrointestinal illness after eating at a popular biker bar and restaurant, health officials said Friday.

"Bacteria have been ruled out as the cause, meaning last weekend's outbreak linked to the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que is probably viral and could have spread through air particles, said Cynthia Morrow, health commissioner of Onondaga County.

...

"The county health department on Thursday ordered the restaurant closed for at least 72 hours. Workers threw away hundreds of pounds of prepared foods."

From the Syracuse Post-Standard: Dinosaur Illnesses 'Epidemic'

"Onondaga County health officials Friday declared the illness caused from eating at Syracuse's Dinosaur Bar-B-Que an epidemic.

"More than 600 people have contacted the department to report their symptoms and tell when they ate at the restaurant and what they had, Health Commissioner Cynthia Morrow said."

(Thanks to Pat for ruining Christmas prematurely by interrupting my blissful ignorance with this news. Jackass.)

Utter Disbelief.

Thy name is "If I Did It":

Fox is planning a two-night sweeps event whose title says it all: "O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened."

No, really.

Publisher Judith Regan has taped a wide-ranging interview with Simpson that will serve as the basis for the broadcast, set to air in two hourlong segs Nov. 27 and 29, at 9 p.m. both nights. In the interview, Fox said Simpson "describes how he would have carried out the murders he has vehemently denied committing for over a decade."

Simpson was acquitted of killing Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, but found liable for both murders in a later civil suit.

Regan is publishing the Simpson-penned "If I Did It," which goes on sale Nov. 30 -- the day after the special's conclusion airs. ReganBooks is based at Harper Collins, which is owned by Fox parent News Corp.

At least there's no word of OJ as a guest judge on American Idol. Yet.

Election 2006

Ok, it's been a week now. Just in case you were wondering, here was last week's results according to the New York Post:

Now, admittedly, it is the New York Post. And the results haven't been certified by the NY Board of Elections just yet. And I don't think my dad has called to concede.

But he's also not looking up apartments in Albany, either. Nor is anyone taking this seriously (not that we really did to begin with).

Thanks to all those who showed support. All 1,156 of you.

No, you don't understand... it means more there. Their city. Their team.

This is the actual splash photo (aka the first thing you see) upon visiting the home page of the Philadelphia Flyers:

I legitimately don't know what's more awesome about this photo: the authentic lack of enthusiasm coming from the Flyers and their fans, or the fact that the girl sitting in the upper right hand corner is clearly wearing an airbrushed Rangers jersey.

This is the best photo they had?

Flyers hockey. It doesn't get any better than this.

We would like to start our Election Day endorsements right here.

Meet my dad, Washington.


(No, not the priest.)

You can call him George, though. It's not his legal name - but it's a heck of a nickname for someone named Washington.

He's running for State Assembly, 51st District of New York. He's running against the incumbent, Felix Ortiz, who has held the position since 1994. (Ortiz is the guy who proposed the fat tax in New York a few years ago. Yes, that tax on foods the promote a sedentary lifestyle. Twinkies. That sorta thing.)

We went through this election business before, in 2002. That didn't end well.

Why is he running, you ask? Why go for it again? Why not, he'd tell you. The Republicans in the district need a name on the ballot, and he's as good as you'll find. Now, he's not going all out here. There are no commericals or flyers. However, in the internet age, you can find all sorts of info about a candidate nowadays. Crazy stuff.

Like bios with photos presumably from before I was born.

Or, that the NRA says my Dad is a D+ candidate, which means:

D = An anti-gun candidate who has frequently voted for restrictive gun control legislation or made strong statements in opposition to Second Amendment rights, and regardless of public statements can definitely not be counted on in key votes.

Perhaps you'd like to read a questionnaire that someone got him to fill out. From the responses, I'm not sure he did.

Heck, he's being trailed by some CUNY students who will write an article about him when this is all said and done.

I'm fairly excited about this Tuesday. I moved, but haven't changed my voting address so that I can still vote for him. Sure, I'll have to cross party lines... but I know I can make an informed decision thanks to the ol' internet.

And maybe, after reading this, someone in the 51st district might flip the switch for him, too.

He's a good man. Moved to the US from Guatemala at age 10. Served his country as a member of the US Army Reserves. Married a lovely woman (they've been together for 41 years), put seven kids through high school, five through college. Bought a home and stayed in the neighborhood in the height of the white flight of Sunset Park. After retiring from the MTA which he dutifully served for 28 years, he got tired of how things ran and got involved with local politics. Going door to door getting signatures, mailings, things that "aspiring college graduates" are supposed to do.

He's going to be blown out on Tuesday, this we know. We write this just to remind you that these candidates aren't just ballot fillers. They're good people, that believe in something. That are just as interested in fighting the good fight. People like my dad. Or Jimmy McMillan, the disabled veteran whose running on the "Rent is Too High" ticket because... well... he thinks the rent in New York City is too damn high. There are others.

The beauty of the democratic system lies in its ability to empower those willing to take initiative to attempt to make a change. So, good luck to the dreamers on Tuesday. You've got my vote, and this humble blog's official endorsement.

Film Industry = Fragile Business.

Why do we do it? In hopes of creating a true masterpiece, movie magic such as this gem reported in today's Variety: Pairing Up for Poetry

Lindsay Lohan is joining Keira Knightley in the "The Best Time of Our Lives," which John Maybury is in negotiations to direct for U.K.-based Sarah Radclyffe Prods.
...

Script by Knightley's mother, playwright Sharman Macdonald, is based on the true story of the relationships among Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, his wife Caitlin (Lohan), his childhood friend Vera Phillips (Knightley) and her eventual husband, William Killick. It centers on the curious incident in which Phillips and Killick opened fire on the Thomas home with a machine gun and a hand grenade.

I don't know which excites me more - armed poets, or Lindsay Lohan with a British accent.

I'm getting giddy just thinking about it.

I will now start my routine of running eleventy billion miles a day.

From the NY Daily News:
The Lazy-Bones Nabe - Sunset Park Tagged in City Health Survey

I swear, I spent my youth playing wiffle ball. Maybe there is some nurture in laziness after all...

There are no words.

I was there. Game 7. Shea Stadium. Mets v. Cards.

I surrounded myself with my closest friends. I saw every pitch. I never left my seat. I chanted. I hooted. I hollared. I waved my towel. I kept hope alive, believed when reality should've set in, never stopped dreaming. I did everything I'm supposed to do as a fan to make this night perfect.

I got a hell of a ballgame. I didn't get the fairytale ending.

Cards, 3-1.

I can't quite describe this feeling. It's a combination of a straight gut punch and the depression from realizing it's just a game and the world's still on its axis. It feels slightly off, though. I want to come up with some analogy of baseball as life, but I realize I'm grasping at straws tonight. Making much ado about very little, but this feeling reminds me thoroughly that it's definitely not nothing.

I search for words to elaborate, and I can think of one moment... sophomore year of college, October. I finished watching the Mets lose in 5 in the World Series to the Yankees. That stung. I couldn't find words - but searched the internet reading everything to find them. And I found these two quotes. And they said it all for me.

I thought about them on the way home, the longest ride home. They still ring true. While I cope with the hurt and sadness of Game 7... I keep it in perspective with these few words.

"I cannot get rid of the hurt from losing, but after the last out of every loss, I must accept that there will be a tomorrow. In fact, it's more than there'll be a tomorrow, it's that I want there to be a tomorrow. That's the big difference, I want tomorrow to come." - Sparky Anderson

"It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone." - A. Bartlett Giamatti

It's raining tonight, you should know. Started during the game.