one of the best parts of aging is being able to watch, first hand, as human improve on life by correcting the ills of previous ages
my mother, for example, grew up in the segregated South where she was forced to sit in the back of the movie theatre because of her skin color, drink from the “Colored” water fountains, and suffer far more serious outrages that today would never be tolerated.
likewise teens today can’t even imagine a world without cell phones, the Internet, pausing live tv, a black president, or cars that park themselves.
one day my kids will say “daddy please tell us about olden times when marijuana was illegal, people put gasoline in cars, and umpires were allowed to get the calls wrong in baseball!”
and i will clap my hands twice and a Tupac hologram will materialize and explain that during the Foolish Pride Era of baseball, umpires got most of the calls correct, but embarrassingly goofed on some of the easist
and most historically important plays. and despite having the technology to refer to to correct the error,
yesterday Joe Nathan racked up his 300th save on a low-and-away curveball in the 9th inning with 2 outs
that would have walked the batter, bringing up a dangerous hitter with men on first and second, behind by just one run.
“Did they call it strike three? You have to be kidding me!” the Tampa Bay announcer screamed, “that is absolutely horrible!”
some argue that if computer technology or cameras or robots are able to do things like call the balls and strikes
or OMG outs, it will be too time-consuming and add to the 3-hour-plus ball games.
but technology is so good nowadays that graphics appear on viewers’ “second screen” or on the “instant replay”
before the pitcher can even get the ball back from the catcher.
the only thing slowing up the process is the human element who called the ball a strike in the first place.
also, who are we kidding: even if baseball games turn into 3 1/2 hour epics, so what?
sports fans really need that extra half hour back in their lives so they can return to their garages where they find the cure for cancer?
we have built these ginormous entertainment complexes around our ball parks so that Joe Sixpack can continue his day-long drink fest with his friends. sure we have improved the lifestyle so that instead of having to sit on a tail gate and swig cans of bud from a cooler, the sports fan can stroll into a nearby ESPN Sports Zone for some mixed drinks and replays on any of the dozens of flat screen tvs
AND YELL ABOUT HOW THE UMP BLEW THE CALL THAT PREMATURELY ENDED THE REALLY GOOD GAME THEY ALL SPENT TOP DOLLAR TO SEE.
those are not the conversations we want to have any more.
we want to talk about the actual game.
not how the ump called this an Infield Fly.
last night during the NCAA Finals the refs swallowed their whistles for the most part and just let the youngsters slap each other under the board and struggle to earn every rebound or put-back.
it was obvious that they didn’t want their calls to determine who would be the national champs. honorable, but gutless.
but when you do that, you inevitably blow your whistle on things that are not fouls, like this amazing block:
basketball is harder to officiate than baseball, though, so i will give them a break: however the NBA often goes to the courtside flatscreen to replay certain plays like last minute shots and three pointers.
baseball’s umpires, however, apparently have a stronger union.which, unfortunately, is doing a disservice to its membership when it refuses to let the technology aid them.
if I was commissioner of baseball heres what id do. i’d say strike all you want whiners, we’re gonna have replay in baseball for one season for these things:
– home runs being fair, foul, or not being home runs at all
– plays that end innings
– plays that break or make records
if this tacks on an extra 20 minutes to baseball games who cares. doesnt MLB want fans in the stadiums for as long as they can have them? don’t tv advertisers want this valuable programming on the air for as long as possible?
aren’t the record books already filled with enough asterisks already?
what is the rush to end the game and why are we dragging our feet in regards to accuracy?
in the early 80s, sonic youth released a noisy little EP in germany called “kill yr idols”
in which Thurston challenges rock to stop pandering to critics like the Village Voice’s icon Robert Christgau
I don’t know why
you wann’ impress Christgau
ahh let that shit die
and find out the new goal
kill yr. idols
it’s the end of the world
and confusion is sex
ever influential, unfortunately some took it the wrong way
and today actual heroes like lance armstrong and phil jackson find themselves where they shouldnt be.
despite the fact that he’s never failed a drug test,
armstrong today stepped down from the board of his charity, Livestrong.
and after a weekend of the Lakers saying they were very close to rehiring the NBAs most winningest coach,
today they said the man who coached teams to 11 championship titles was asking for “too much.”
when the only expectation for your team is the unrealistic one of championships every year
and when the coach in question has come closer to pulling that off more than anyone else,
what, pray tell, is “too much”?
rumor has it that Jackson asked for a financial part of the team. an ownership stake.
is that all that outrageous?
he’s already going to bed with the boss’s daughter. is now the time to really tell him no? when you have a team filled with aging superstars just poised to disappoint the fans and get upstaged by the hungry and thrilling hallway rival Clippers?
just a few years before Sonic Youth was telling the world that it’s the end of the world,
the Lakers signed 21-year-old Magic Johnson to a 25-year $25 million contract
later they would allow him to purchase a 4.5% stake in the team.
i dont think the Lakers would say that any of those dealings with Magic were regrettable,
thus why would they be reluctant to allow the Zen Master the ability to be a stakeholder in the organization?
sure your value doesnt drop all that much if you dont win championships each year,
but the entire Laker mystique is based on Finals-level success.
and phil jackson is the embodiment of that success.
but we live in a kill yr idols society nowadays. a recyclable era where we are with you in good times
but will turn our backs on you for any number of reasons or scenarios.
or no good reason.
when people talk about wanting their country back, sadly, this is not what they mean.
like tell you how much you mean to me while tossing up a bunch of photos I didn’t get to post through the week
you mean everything to me
this week I got up several days in a row at 4:20 am which means I also took some disco naps. I gotta get better at those.
last night Ali and I had sushi and after I dropped her off I walked around Venice beach cuz it was like 2am and I saw this white guy playing hoops on the court where they shot White Men Can’t Jump.
the gentleman invited me to a sporting game and I said I am pretty much spent how about we play a game of $100 Horse. He said he didn’t have $100
I said well how much do you have? he said I don’t even have my wallet on me, you see my fiancé and I were fighting, so I just got in the car and drove down here to blow off some steam. We sat on the benches and eventually he showed me a picture of her
he asked for advice and I said you should never drive, challenge black dudes to hoops, or leave your woman at home at night alone when you’re pissed off.
he said why? I said omg Bigfoot! and when he looked at where I pointed, I stole his basketball.
heres what lebron james did wrong:
all he had to do was be a hero and stay in his hometown forever.
was i a hero and stay in my hometown forever?
good try, but my hometown wasnt begging me to stay.
but lebron moved away like a mean girl to miami.
tonight lebron got beat at home to a bunch of older gentlemen.
rarely does karma strike back as instantly as it seems to have
upon the head of king james.
watch tomorrow as good fortune lands in the lap
of LA Kings fans who have waited patiently for their cup.
good always wins out in the end.