Celebration

Last night, America received some incredible news- that one of our oldest adversaries, the international face of religious terror, had been killed. The reaction on our campus at tOSU was delayed as we waited, breathless, for President Obama's official announcement. When it came, we took to the streets, honking horns, setting off fireworks, and waving flags. My group of friends flocked to McDonald's, suddenly craving Big Macs as though they were the tangible representation of our American spirit.

From there we took to Mirror Lake, where frenzied celebration resounded as hundreds upon hundreds of people jumped in and made the most patriotic acclamations they could think of. It really was a sight- the atmosphere, the muted lights and vibrant sounds, the chanting and screaming- I haven't been a part of anything more surreal in a long, long time. What struck me was how spontaneous the celebration really was: it was as though all of Ohio State flocked to Mirror Lake because we know no other way to represent our deepest and most elated moments, from cursing Michigan to graduating college. We came to Mirror Lake last night looking for some sort of instruction, and, finding none, took it upon ourselves to embrace our own raw emotion and get swept away in the historical poignance of the moment.

It is for this reason that I hope history is kind to us for taking part in such a raucous celebration, even when such a reaction seems to most of us now to be a natural one. We don't know what the ramifications of Osama bin Laden's death will be, but in the moment, that never seemed to matter. Because it was never really about death, anyway, at least for many of us. Our celebration last night, as morbid as it may later seem, was a celebration of the culmination of an effort that has spanned literally half of our lives. It was a celebration of what finally seems to be a moment of progress, no matter how nominal bin Laden's role may have been in al Qaeda these last few years. It was a celebration of finding something to feel truly good about being American again, and it was a celebration of our President's strong words renewing our American sense of Hope when it has recently seemed so hard to come by.

For that, I will never apologize, despite being a hopeless bleeding-heart pacifist. I don't celebrate killing, but I do celebrate triumph, and regardless of what the next five or twenty years bring, this will always be a defining moment of triumph for my generation. An American triumph with international importance, celebrated in a way that no one present could ever hope to forget.

"There was madness in any direction, at any hour... You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning...

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail...We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave..." -Hunter S. Thompson

                                                           Mirror Lake, 5/1/2011

America's Game

I meant to write this post on Opening Day, because it would have obviously been more fitting, but what can you do.

It seems only fitting that, at the start of baseball season, I should write something simultaneously detailing my love of the Red Sox and my bottomless hatred for the Yankees. The nationwide argument about this rivalry has changed dramatically in the last few years, particularly because winning 2 World Series titles in 4 seasons usually takes one out of the "underdog" category. But what's been hardest for me as a fan since coming to Ohio for school is explaining my obsessive fanhood to beleaguered Indians and Reds fans. I've been called out for being a traitor to my home state, a front-runner, and various other things, mostly by people whose entire geographical conception of the state of New York is based on the state and "the City" being one and the same. Fun fact: I have been to NYC exactly one time in my short life, and I was five.

Anyway, I think the best way I can explain myself in this regard is with an analogy about where I grew up.  As my diploma will tell you, I am a proud graduate of Fayetteville-Manlius Senior High School. For those of you that don't share this esteemed distinction with me, let me describe the F-M area to you (and try to make some semblance of a relevant analogy at the same time). Much of Fayetteville (the Red Sox) is situated along the main drag of Route 5, in a lower geographical area than Manlius (the Yankees), which parts from Route 5 and spreads into rolling hills marked by housing developments. To return to baseball for a moment, one of the main criticisms thrown at Red Sox fans is that they bemoan the fact that the Yankees spend obscene amounts of money, but the Sox themselves spend the 3rd-most money of any team in the league. Here's where the analogy gets juicy. By all accounts, F-M as a whole has attained an almost gilded level of wealth- some of the families where I grew up had way more money than they knew what to do with (and I make no complaint about this, because I was a direct beneficiary of the generosity of such families more times than I can count).

However, treating F-M as a single entity does it a disservice, because as someone who grew up on the Fayetteville side of the tracks, I know there is a huge difference between the two, much like the Red Sox and Yankees. Sure, a lot of people in Fayetteville were wealthy, but not Manlius wealthy--the Fayetteville elite all seem to be artists, musicians (including the Barenaked Ladies' Steven Page, true story), the occasional dentist, chefs--things of that nature. This is in stark contrast to the multitudes of doctors, lawyers, and surgeons that characterize Manlius, especially to people in Fayetteville. My point here is one of aesthetics. The aforementioned rolling hills of Manlius seem to be populated exclusively with pseudo-Stepford shiny new developments where the numbers of the houses are the only things that really set them apart. This is in dramatic opposition to the wealthier parts of Fayetteville, where an eclectic blend of old mini-mansions and houses of the famous (including Fayetteville native Grover Cleveland) are painted every color of the rainbow, and are absolutely distinct.

I know, I know, what could this possibly have to do with baseball? Well, here's why I fell in love with the Sox in the first place, and not the barely-geographically-closer Yankees. It never mattered to me that they spent almost as much money as their hated rivals. What mattered was the Cowboy Up, Gang of Idiots culture that has always seemed to pervade the Boston clubhouse. 2003 and 2004 were such fun years to watch in particular because of this mentality--sure, Johnny Damon and Manny Ramirez and Kevin Millar and Pedro were all getting obscene amounts of money to be there, but one got the sense that they really would have been there regardless, acting just as crazy, and having just as much fun playing the game with their absurd haircuts and wild facial hair.

Sadly, the poster child for the difference here turned out to be Damon himself, who left Boston for the Yankees and immediately cut his trademark locks and beard. "The Caveman" became the "Cave-sellout", someone who compromised his image for a sense of belonging in a clubhouse that has always had a mechanical feel to it (cue Pink Floyd's "Welcome to the Machine"). The Yankees all buy into a singular image, and it does help them dominate, but you never get the sense that they're really having fun playing the game (any awkward congratulatory moment between Jeter and A-Rod exemplifies this). Compare this feel with the one created by Boston manager Terry Francona, who, when asked if he would consider Kevin Youkilis the "Greek god of walks", quipped, "I've seen him in the shower, and I wouldn't call him the Greek god of anything".

My views on the differences between the Sox and Yankees can best be summed up by Matt Damon in "Good Will Hunting"--when told by an elitist Harvard grad student that he will be making fries for said student's kids on their way to a ski trip, he replies, "Well, at least I won't be unoriginal". Having grown up on the "original" side of town, I can't picture ever wanting a place in a housing development, and I really can't picture ever wishing anything but the worst for the New York Yankees. /endrant

Distraction and Deception

For those of you who have never experienced the joy of traveling a significant distance on a Greyhound bus, I implore you to take the voyage at least once. Go home, go visit a friend, go enjoy the sights of I-81- anything above 200 miles counts for credit here.

I suggest this, not because it is by any means a spiritually enriching exercise, but because it is probably the most interesting carnival of bizarre human behavior you could ever hope to experience. I've been in 7 countries in my lifetime. I go to school 413 miles away from home. I've been in practically half the states in this country. When I was twelve, I was offered a bag of weed on the streets of Jamaica. But there is nothing, I mean nothing, like the twisted little pseudo-reality that goes on in the intimate setting of a Greyhound bus, with its charming grey plastic-and-disco-upholstery motif.

On my most recent trip, a little over a week ago (Columbus to Ithaca and back), I had the good fortune to experience the following:

-A man verbally assaulting a Border Patrol officer, telling him he had the documents and photos to prove that 9/11 was an inside job ("Distraction and deception, man! Distraction and deceptionnnnn!!!")
-The same man putting his headphones on and singing in an unintelligible falsetto for the next hour
-Going from Akron to Columbus with the man in front of me having his seat all the way reclined, and the woman next to me having her baby's head rest in the crook of my elbow while it slept. So for approximately 90 minutes, I couldn't really move or breather particularly dramatically, for fear of a screaming baby and/or bruised knees

This isn't meant to be a post where I bitch and moan about how awful my life is, and how terrible the good people at Greyhound are. Actually, if you're one of those people who can hold their tongue while acts of unfathomable rudeness and general weirdness are going on all around you, there's no better way to spend 12-14 hours traveling. My first time ever on a Greyhound, I spent a good deal of time listening to the man behind me explain to the French exchange student next to him how his watch worked, and how it was the 19th anniversary of his "famous actress" girlfriend being raped and killed. I later witnessed this same man attempt to purchase pot from anyone in the Buffalo line that was "holding", and even later dealt with the mystery of this man's disappearance at a Utica Thruway stop when the driver stopped to de-ice the windshield. Gone, into the night, just as bizarrely as he had swept into it.

Riding long distances on a Greyhound, while not the most palatable way to travel, is a unique form of human experience that has so far been unmatched for weirdness in my life. Also, Amish people. So come on, take a chance and ride- and hope beyond hope that the stickiness on your arm is someone else's gum.

Abod's NCAA Musings

Hey everyone how are you doing.  For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Alex (commonly known as Abod).  I know Chuck from high school, and we have both started blogging.  I do mine to productively kill time, and because I enjoy assessing college basketball.  Most of my submissions to Chuck will be about NCAA Men’s basketball, with an occasional off topic here or there.  It is at this point I should inform you all that I am a diehard Syracuse fan.  I bleed Orange and Blue.  So a majority of my posts will contain a large dose of SU basketball.  I am just warning you all, I may get vulgar.  Just a heads up. 

Anyone who reads this, feedback is much appreciated.  Either directly to me (Alex Boduch on Facebook, send me a message or something along those lines, Alexander.boduch@gmail.com via email), or through Chuck.  I appreciate peoples feedback.  If you think my writing sucks, feel free to tell me that.  If you love what I’m writing, let me know that.  If you think I’m a moron who is out of his mind, I will appreciate that as well.  Anyone, enough of this intro, if you want to get to know me better, ladies, I’ll take you to dinner.  Guys, we can go get pitchers of beers and bond over a nectar of the gods.  So, onto my first post for Chuck:

The new NCAA rankings came out this week (surprise right?).  Anyway, I was looking at the polls, and one thing really irritates me.  There are two equally respected polls, but how do we know which one to base our “rankings” on?  So, I decided to solve this problem, by creating “The Abod College Basketball Rankings.”  To sum it up in short, I take a teams ranking from ESPN/ USA Today, and combine it with the ranking from the AP Poll.  When two teams end up with the same number of points, I award the higher of the two rankings to the team that had the greatest positive change.  If by some chance they both move up, I pick which team I like better.   This is an imperfect formula for now, and I hope to honestly have a good one in place by the end of the season.  So, I now present to you, the first segment of “The Abod College Basketball Rankings:”

1.)   Kansas

2.)   Texas

3.)   The Ohio State University

4.)   Pittsburgh

5.)   Duke

6.)   San Diego State University

7.)   Notre Dame

8.)   Brigham Young University

9.)   Georgetown

10.) Wisconsin

11.) Purdue

12.) Arizona

13.) Connecticut

14.)Villanova

15.)  Florida

16.)  Louisville

17.) Vanderbilt

18.) Syracuse

19.)  North Carolina

20.) Missouri

21.) Texas A&M

22.) Kentucky

23.) Temple

24.) Utah State

25.) Saint Mary’s

Also, writing this got me thinking.  So far I have referred to myself a handful of times in the third person.  For any person who went to middle school with me, do you remember Miss Carolla, the stunningly attractive 6^th Grade English teacher who used to talk to in the third person?  All I learned from that class was how awful it sounds to actually speak in the third person. 

So, this blog is going out to Big 10 Nation.  This is a groundbreaking moment for me, because outside of reading the Club Tril blog (Yes, tOSU fans, even us clowns in the Big East read it), I don’t have much exposure to Big 10 Basketball.  Things I can confirm about the Big 10:

1.)   They have their own tv network, and it is CONSTANTLY showing gymnastics- this isn’t a bad thing, I am in no way complaining about this. 

2.)   Tom Izzo is a great coach- and here come the emails asking me what drug I’m on, and telling me how bad of a coach Izzo is.  Just saying.

3.)   Trevor Mbakwe from Minnesota is AWESOME- I’m sure I spelled his last name wrong.  Kids a player. Not that I’m not impressed with Sullinger, cause hes a player, but at this point, nothing he does surprises me.  Mbakwe had like 37 or something the other night I believe it was. 

4.)   You don’t get hated on by the commentators.   A small list of people who hate on the Big East: Dick Vitale (still love him), Doug Gottelieb (steal some more comps you punk), and the other goon whose name currently escapes me. 

Alright, that’s enough out of me for one day.  So until next time, I hope you enjoyed it, and I appreciate any and all feedback you might give.  GO ORANGE!!

to read more of Abod's thoughts, check out theabodblog.blogspot.com

China Stories (by featured writer Terry Creamer)

Look for Terry C/ T Creams/ Terrence/ Red to be a semi-regular contributor to ITPWAC from now on. Here are some of his thoughts on his experience in China last semester:


Here is a blog post from my China blog. I made this one a tad more college and a little less family. I put a leash on my language in the blog cause my Mom was reading it.

 --------------Guilin, Guangxi, China. 

Just wow. Amazing place. Stories...

After kayaking to a river boat restaurant for lunch I didn't plan on watching them kill and gut our fish right there in front of us. A few slams of the fish on the ground, some thumps on the head, gut, cook, spice, and cook in beer to your liking, and that's how Guilin does 20 minute "beerfish". And if we had another hour we could've gotten our choice of the chickens running around the boat and dock. Prepared the same way. Yeah. That's called "hardcore" in America. But really, that's just "China".

Yangshou (spelling?) is basically the quaint bar town of Guilin. Absolutely fantastic tourist spot. http://www.painetworks.com/photos/ig/ig2591.JPG (this is a link to a picture of I believe Yangshou.) With such scenery in a bar town with my college friends I was not surprised to find myself awake late at night decently wasted with the munchies. I wasn't about to walk to try and walk to McDonald's, get lost, and become a sex slave or rice farmer. But God heard me, and he wanted to live vicariously through a double Cheeseburger craving. Next thing I know a Chinaman pulls up on his motorcycle outside our hotel where I am standing making my decision. Potential kidnapping aside, a "McDonalds" in Chinese and an exchange of 10 kuai ($1.30) has me sitting on the back of the bike with us racing along side streets to the glorious golden arches. He waits outside for me to order, I hop back on the bike and he brings me back to the hotel. And I still have my kidneys.

What would you do for the munchies?---------

Hard Knocks: 1667 Summit

About a week ago, I hit the halfway point of my Junior year of college. More recently, the fine residents of 1667 Summit St experienced our 2nd run-in with the bum that we believe sporadically attempts to live on our roof and/or fire escape. The 1st encounter occurred on the night after finals ended Fall quarter, when our friend Julie walked out onto the fire escape at 3 am and found herself face-to-face with a disheveled looking man who introduced himself as "William". Needless to say, the police were called, and the big flattened box he had conceivably been blocking the wind with was disposed of. The best part about all of this is that for weeks, we had been hearing noises from above our kitchen, and repeatedly referenced the unspeakable acts that squirrels and raccoons must have been committing inside our walls. The creepiest part of all of this is that we found one of my t-shirts in a frozen wad up on the roof. So, there's that.

Where I'm going with all of this is that, at the halfway point, I think we've managed to cram more insanity into one household than I thought would be possible in an entire year. Heads smashed through cabinet doors. Bums stealing laptops. "Meezys" on the roof while singing Tenacious D to the neighborhood. UDF Deep Freezes at any hour of the night. Case races? How about keg races. Face-punching, mailbox-smashing, fungus-growing, literature-discussing goodness. Dishwasher? No, thanks, I'd rather let a bit of old meat sit in the sink and see how long it takes for maggots to appear. (Note- they do spontaneously generate, right?)

I think at this point, I can't really be surprised by anything. After all, these are the same people who signed up for a 1:15 am Thursday (aka Wednesday night, for those of you under 50) time slot for D-league intramural hockey. So...the rest of the year? In the words of the great Frank Reynolds, "It's gonna get real weird". The only question that remains is, can the rest of this year possibly be as depraved as the first half? I, for one, have faith. In light of this country's current Administration, one remarkably appropriate phrase comes to mind: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can.

The Gentlemen of 1667 Summit

Nostalgia

I've come to the conclusion that there is nothing that beats old school videogames. I don't mean Atari or CalicoVision or other grainy systems that I won't pretend to be old enough to have played as a kid. I'm talking the golden years, at least for my generation- somewhere between 1998 and 2002. Specifically coming to mind are those games that I have modern incarnations to compare to, like NFL Blitz (2000), Kobe Bryant's NBA Courtside '99, and Madden/NHL 2002. There's not really a fighting or driving game out there now that interests me, so I won't detail my love affairs with Super Smash Bros and MarioKart64- we all know those are stand-alone, once in a generation kind of games.

What got me thinking about all of this was the time I spent at home over Christmas break. I brought my 360 home with me, thinking that its novelty in my household would trump the appeal of the N64 that we always wear out when I'm home. This hypothesis failed for two reasons: One, I forgot that I only own one 360 controller and one game (Madden '11), so there went any multi-player activities. Two, I forgot that my brothers and I have made an unspoken pact over the years to never grow up, at least not in the presence of one another. With the limited amount of time we see each other in a given year, daring to not act like a kid at home would border on blasphemous.

That being said, I spent countless hours on that N64 in the 3 weeks I was in the Cuse. Blitz 2000 with my older brother, Super Smash with my younger, and Kart if we were all in the house at once. The 360 went completely neglected, except for afternoons I was home by myself. Faced with this realization, I was set on figuring out why it was that a piece of technology from 1997 captivated us more than one that was less than a year old.

What I think it boils down to, in the end, is the reality factor. With the N64 (or the PC versions of Madden/NHL), you know going into it that things are going to go wrong. The games are riddled with glitches, as well as nonsensical features that are inevitably going to screw someone over. But that's ok, because it always seems to even out and everyone squares with the house. For instance, in consecutive games of Blitz 2000 with my brother Dan, the following occurred:
-I lost 5 fumbles and was intercepted 3 times (game 1, I got smoked)
-I got scored on with 14 seconds left, and somehow managed to win the game on a 65 yard bomb to Jerry Rice (another plus- playing with certified HOFers when they are ridiculously unfairly good in the game), during the course of which he evaded two tacklers in the last 5 yards, a near impossibility with the way Blitz is set up.

As much swearing and throwing of controllers both of these circumstances elicited, it didn't really matter, because you have to expect things like that coming in. Technology sucked, things went wrong, and it always allows the loser to maintain a shred of dignity, because they always know that things out of their control drastically could have changed the outcome. Same as when I gave up a crucial first down in my Madden 2002 franchise last summer when, playing against the Packers, BrettFavre was lined up by the CPU a full 15 yards ahead of the line of scrimmage (major glitch). The ball was snapped directly into his hands, and 3rd and 12 became 1st and goal. Things balance out though, like I said- concurrently, I had been playing a season on NHL 2002, and Joe Sakic scored 125 goals for me in that one (playoffs included). By my count, that would put him 25 ahead of the real record, held by Wayne Gretzky (that's 100 goals, for those of you shaky with math). 25% better than one of the greatest to ever play the game...seems plausible.

Let's compare these traits to Madden 2011, the game I so unconsciously avoided in favor of Blitz. It has incredible graphics, players with faces and play styles that are incredibly accurate, and incredibly easy controls. Madden gets more and more realistic every year, so it should come as no surprise that this is (hypothetically) realistic to the nth degree. There's just one problem- guys put up the same monster numbers as the games that we expect to be unrealistic. A good player playing on the All-Madden setting can still put up 45 points and throw for 5 touchdowns. Put that same good player on All-Pro and those numbers become 70 points and 7 passing TDs. A 95+ running back like Chris Johnson or MJD can trash a defense for 300 yards, if you run the ball enough. That's not the NFL, that's NFL Blitz!

I don't mean to bitch; I love Madden '11 as much as the next guy and then some. It also has the nostalgia factor working against it- it's new, which means I don't have fond memories of 9-year old me playing it with my elementary school friends or long hours with my brothers in our cold basement wearing our thumbs out on hard blue and gray plastic controllers trying to top each other at it. Sorry, Shaq, but putting you in in NBA Live '11 will never trump taking Zan Tabac off the same Celtics bench in Courtside '99 and throwing down an uncontested slam, no matter how realistically sweaty you are. Strange as it sounds, I'd almost prefer in these cases to say...even if it is broke, don't fix it.

PS- At least 2 guys in Blitz 2000 (Fred Lane and Steve McNair) are already dead.