When I signed on to spend a year teaching in a country that still registers as a blank space on some maps I've seen, I knew I would be doing a lot of "doing without". Pizza, beer, television, (for a time) internet access, my family, my friends, etc...it was a lot to give up at once, but I was pretty sure that the newness of the experience would make those absences seem more like trifles. But as a 22-year-old, red-blooded American male, what I've found to be one of the most frustrating things gone from my life is the thrill of professional and collegiate sports.
Maybe I was spoiled at The Ohio State University, a hotbed for all things athletic with consistently successful sports teams and IMHO the most intimidating home stadium/crowd in college sports. Chief among these sports, as is so often the case, is football. For 3 years I saw an excellent, albeit frustratingly static, football team take the field Saturday after Saturday. I would rather not think too much about my Senior year's football season, a post-Tresselgate fiasco that resulted in OSU's first losing season since before I was born. On top of all of this Saturday glory, my NFL fanhood reached obsessive new heights in my college years, driven principally by a) a hugely competitive/ego-ridden/hilarious fantasy football league, and b) no one telling me that I couldn't spend an entire Sunday on the couch trying to derive some higher meaning in an otherwise meaningless Browns-Raiders 1:05 matchup.
As it turns out, I did derive some meaning from all of those hours of alternately cheering and pounding refresh on Yahoo to see if any of my team's skill position players had eked out another 10 yards of offense to bump me into the lead. I just didn't realize what it was until I left the country, relying on 2-month-old Sports Illustrated issues for my football news. (Minor digression--it was a really strange feeling to get excited about U.S. Olympic victories in the first week of October, only to realize that the Games had ended literally 3 months before I read about them.)
What I think I discovered about football is that it's a great extant way to validate yourself. Watching all those games can bring you emotions that few other things can, for a number of reasons. One, there's something in the human spirit deeply invested in seeing difficult tasks executed to a beautiful perfection. Two, there's something else in the human spirit that derives endless amounts of pleasure from watching people who we expect to perform perfectly screw up on the biggest stages of their lives- call it the car accident mentality. Three, which is perhaps the most important part of this rant, it is a form of complete escapism. The successes of players and teams that you value become your own successes. The failures of those same teams and players, conversely, are not regarded as your failures. There are few other arenas in life where you can point specifically to the exact cause of your unhappiness and delight in the feeling that you've somehow been wronged, let down, by something or someone you care about more deeply than you have any sane reason to. Has anyone else noticed this? That people, beyond all scope of reasoning, actually love to be wronged? Maybe it comes from our inability to accept our own failures, that we revel in being able to define a source of our own unhappiness.
This is why, ultimately, I miss football more than I miss vegetables or waking up when I want to rather than at the hour the family rooster decides is appropriate to start his morning routine outside my window. Out here, successes in the classroom are extremely rewarding, but also come in inches instead of leaps and bounds. Failures in the classroom have several vague cultural causes, but inherent in all of those failures is the feeling that I have personally failed to succeed. I don't mean to make it out as though my life here is infinitely depressing or that teaching has been a disaster; in fact, living here is wonderful and in teaching I have found a real passion. But what my life is missing is that filter, that barrier of competitive football of which I am not a participant but a spectator. There are no HD cameras to capture my fleeting successes, and no distant superhuman athletes to pin my feelings of failure on when they do arise. So, my life here is difficult, almost expressly because I have given up the one thing Americans have found they can't live without-beyond sex, beyond beer, beyond McDonald's--something to hide behind.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Social Media, Invisible Children, and 11th Hour Activism
First off, I'd like to apologize for flooding everyone with what will surely be their umpteenth viewing of Kony-related media today. If you've spent any time online in the last 24 hours, I can pretty much guarantee you've at least seen the name "Josephy Kony" or the "KONY 2012" movement starting to spread. There is a positive side to this, and that's the fact that an entire generation of people is now at least acutely aware of some pretty awful atrocities that are occurring halfway across the world. It is admirable and somewhat amazing that so many of my Facebook friends, classmates, etc. have taken the time to watch Invisible Children's video about Kony and his crimes against humanity. Before today, I don't know how many people could even point out Uganda on a map, much less speak intelligently about any kind of issues present there.
This being said, I think it's of vital importance to call a spade a spade when it comes to this type of social movement. We have become, as my girlfriend so aptly put it, a society of 11th hour activists. We ready, fire, aim when it comes to trendy causes that actually stretch back decades. So many people lately seem to take special pride in being part of the "underrepresented masses"--whether it is the various Occupy movements or the Invisible Children, everyone seems determined to join up to feel like their voice, or the voices of the less fortunate, are being heard. As Neil DeGrasse Tyson puts it, "That's really what you want in life...you want to feel connected, you want to feel relevant, you want to feel like a participant in the goings on." There is nothing inherently bad or ignorant about this fact, it's part of the human experience.
But needing a level of connectivity doesn't excuse willful ignorance or uninformed thought. Let me preface this next section by making it absolutely clear that I believe what the members of Invisible Children Inc. are doing is incredibly noble, and what Joseph Kony and the LRA are doing is absolutely abhorrent. However, it disturbs me greatly that people my age can't help themselves when it comes to watered-down activism. Watching KONY 2012 is fantastic, it's a great first step. But where do we go from here? Shouting in protest about your tax bracket and unemployment is certainly within your rights. But does it put bread on your table?
The fact of the matter is, changing your Facebook profile picture is not going to directly remove a cruel warlord from power. Campaigns to create awareness generally do just that--make people aware. They do not change political structures, they do not force leaders to abdicate, and they don't pay your student loans for you. The other downside to all of this is that people watch a video like KONY 2012 and assume it tells the whole story. It neglects to mention the other organizations that are actually working to rebuild the infrastructure of Central Africa, so that the real Invisible Children have something to come home to. It neglects to mention that IC funnels money to the Ugandan government, and that is a major failing, because the government systems in other countries are not held accountable for every cent they take in. Intended or not, any social movement seeking to spread a message inherently creates its own propaganda.
I do not wish to denigrate those who have taken a vested interest in this or any other cause, particularly because some of our most inalienable human rights are at stake for people all over the world. Nor do I claim to be the most educated among my peers about Joseph Kony, Invisible Children, or anything related to this topic. All I really want is for my peers, this broad circle of 11th Hour Activists, to do more than repost, retweet, or re-anything. Take a moment, educate yourself a little more thoroughly, and then decide whether your cause is worth sharing with the world. To quote my Dad's favorite line from his favorite movie, "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life". Quite frankly, neither is panicked, uninformed, and lazy.
This being said, I think it's of vital importance to call a spade a spade when it comes to this type of social movement. We have become, as my girlfriend so aptly put it, a society of 11th hour activists. We ready, fire, aim when it comes to trendy causes that actually stretch back decades. So many people lately seem to take special pride in being part of the "underrepresented masses"--whether it is the various Occupy movements or the Invisible Children, everyone seems determined to join up to feel like their voice, or the voices of the less fortunate, are being heard. As Neil DeGrasse Tyson puts it, "That's really what you want in life...you want to feel connected, you want to feel relevant, you want to feel like a participant in the goings on." There is nothing inherently bad or ignorant about this fact, it's part of the human experience.
But needing a level of connectivity doesn't excuse willful ignorance or uninformed thought. Let me preface this next section by making it absolutely clear that I believe what the members of Invisible Children Inc. are doing is incredibly noble, and what Joseph Kony and the LRA are doing is absolutely abhorrent. However, it disturbs me greatly that people my age can't help themselves when it comes to watered-down activism. Watching KONY 2012 is fantastic, it's a great first step. But where do we go from here? Shouting in protest about your tax bracket and unemployment is certainly within your rights. But does it put bread on your table?
The fact of the matter is, changing your Facebook profile picture is not going to directly remove a cruel warlord from power. Campaigns to create awareness generally do just that--make people aware. They do not change political structures, they do not force leaders to abdicate, and they don't pay your student loans for you. The other downside to all of this is that people watch a video like KONY 2012 and assume it tells the whole story. It neglects to mention the other organizations that are actually working to rebuild the infrastructure of Central Africa, so that the real Invisible Children have something to come home to. It neglects to mention that IC funnels money to the Ugandan government, and that is a major failing, because the government systems in other countries are not held accountable for every cent they take in. Intended or not, any social movement seeking to spread a message inherently creates its own propaganda.
I do not wish to denigrate those who have taken a vested interest in this or any other cause, particularly because some of our most inalienable human rights are at stake for people all over the world. Nor do I claim to be the most educated among my peers about Joseph Kony, Invisible Children, or anything related to this topic. All I really want is for my peers, this broad circle of 11th Hour Activists, to do more than repost, retweet, or re-anything. Take a moment, educate yourself a little more thoroughly, and then decide whether your cause is worth sharing with the world. To quote my Dad's favorite line from his favorite movie, "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life". Quite frankly, neither is panicked, uninformed, and lazy.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Backyard Moneyball feat. Pablo Sanchez
Recently, in the same week, I finished Michael Lewis' book Moneyball and rediscovered my love for Backyard Baseball 2003. Having very little to do this summer outside of babysitting, I was able to spend a considerable amount of time trying out a theory- that I could apply the theory Lewis explores, i.e. stocking up on undervalued traits like OBP and OPS and passing on "big-money" traits like HR hitting and base-stealing. That being said, here's how I drafted:
1. Pablo Sanchez, C. This is probably the most glaring departure from Billy Beane's standard, that being that everyone is high on Pablo and in a real-world situation, he would only sign for obscene amounts of money. Still, he has the smallest strike zone in the game, and has great speed for someone with so much pop. In fact, in a recent game, "Secret Weapon" (probably one of the least-fitting nicknames ever) hit for the cycle for my Pirates team. This great day at the plate included a 2-out double to drive in a run late in the game.
2. Achmed Khan, LF. The only Backyard kid wearing headphones, Achmed was my second pick because he, like Pablo, has a rare combination of power and speed. He also has one of the smoothest swings in the game, one that is seemingly without a hole if his stance is open. In the first 3 games of the year, he batted .692 and homered 4 times.
3. Pete Wheeler, 2B. Pete strikes out a little too much for a true Moneyball player, but his biggest weakness (strange strike zone leading to strange swing) is also one of his greatest assets- it's so narrow that he walks more than anyone on the team. BYBB 2003 doesn't actually track OPS, but his walks plus a .611 average can't be denigrated. One thing I've tried hard to do, a la Beane, is reign in his base-stealing attempts, because his pure speed used to make me cocky enough to try to steal 2 bases at once, which usually resulted in a juice-draining pickle or an out.
4. Ichiro, RF. Ichiro is the prototype player for creating runs without costing a team many. His only weaknesses seem to be that he outruns whoever is ahead of him on the basepath (unless it's Wheeler), and that he throws rockets that sometimes go over Dante's head. Which brings us to...
5. Dante Robinson, 1B. My brother Dan described him as a 40/40 guy, which I disagree with solely because he is much more valuable as a line-drive, RBI-type hitter than as someone who should be hitting for power. Still, he's another small strike-zone guy who doesn't make many mistakes on defense.
6. Nomar Garciaparra, P. He's one of the most highly valued players in the game, but at SS instead of P. Billy Beane's love of undervalued talent is embodied in Nomar's pitching ability. He doesn't drain his juice box very often, because his best pitch is the "left hook", a deadly accurate pitch that leaves the right side of Nomar's body, hooks to the left, and then runs back across the plate to the right. For right-handed, closed-stance batters, this pitch is nearly impossible to take anywhere but 3rd base via slow roll.
7. Amir Khan, SS. In the inverse of Nomar's situation, Amir plays SS for the Pirates despite being the 2nd most highly-rated pitcher in the game (behind Randy Johnson). The reason I switched Amir away from his preferred position? Lack of faith in the durability of foreign-born pitchers. Not really; I switched them a) because I wanted to do this in Moneyball fashion and not take the most common route to success, and b) because Amir's best pitch is his heater, which drains the juicebox much faster than the left hook. He is the only player I'm aware of that bats with a pre-ordained open stance, but this enables his weirdly long bat to operate effectively and rip the ball to left field whenever he makes good contact.
8. Ken Griffey, Jr., CF. Can spray the ball to both sides of the field, hit homers, and leg it out to beat throws consistently. Also makes a solid outfield anchor, who doesn't always get under the ball in time but makes up for it by having a cannon arm.
9. Troy Glaus, 3B. With an open stance, Troy can hit line drives to left almost as well as Amir, and better than just about anyone else. His lack of speed for an infielder makes him the kind of player that anyone but Billy Beane might pass on or undervalue, but his consistency at the plate and his ability to hit first base with his throws every time make him a core player on defense despite his shortcomings.
I realize that this could have been a monumental waste of time (and will continue to be, since I haven't finished my season yet), but the timing was right for me to try this little experiment and see if the same principles that can make an undervalued team successful in real life might also be applied to a computer game to create a winning team. Of course, it might just be that I win so handily because the game is designed for 10-12 year-olds, but it's still fun to crank BP homers off of Mr. Clanky with Pablo regardless. As Sanchez might say, "Gracias por leer este blog!"
1. Pablo Sanchez, C. This is probably the most glaring departure from Billy Beane's standard, that being that everyone is high on Pablo and in a real-world situation, he would only sign for obscene amounts of money. Still, he has the smallest strike zone in the game, and has great speed for someone with so much pop. In fact, in a recent game, "Secret Weapon" (probably one of the least-fitting nicknames ever) hit for the cycle for my Pirates team. This great day at the plate included a 2-out double to drive in a run late in the game.
2. Achmed Khan, LF. The only Backyard kid wearing headphones, Achmed was my second pick because he, like Pablo, has a rare combination of power and speed. He also has one of the smoothest swings in the game, one that is seemingly without a hole if his stance is open. In the first 3 games of the year, he batted .692 and homered 4 times.
3. Pete Wheeler, 2B. Pete strikes out a little too much for a true Moneyball player, but his biggest weakness (strange strike zone leading to strange swing) is also one of his greatest assets- it's so narrow that he walks more than anyone on the team. BYBB 2003 doesn't actually track OPS, but his walks plus a .611 average can't be denigrated. One thing I've tried hard to do, a la Beane, is reign in his base-stealing attempts, because his pure speed used to make me cocky enough to try to steal 2 bases at once, which usually resulted in a juice-draining pickle or an out.
4. Ichiro, RF. Ichiro is the prototype player for creating runs without costing a team many. His only weaknesses seem to be that he outruns whoever is ahead of him on the basepath (unless it's Wheeler), and that he throws rockets that sometimes go over Dante's head. Which brings us to...
5. Dante Robinson, 1B. My brother Dan described him as a 40/40 guy, which I disagree with solely because he is much more valuable as a line-drive, RBI-type hitter than as someone who should be hitting for power. Still, he's another small strike-zone guy who doesn't make many mistakes on defense.
6. Nomar Garciaparra, P. He's one of the most highly valued players in the game, but at SS instead of P. Billy Beane's love of undervalued talent is embodied in Nomar's pitching ability. He doesn't drain his juice box very often, because his best pitch is the "left hook", a deadly accurate pitch that leaves the right side of Nomar's body, hooks to the left, and then runs back across the plate to the right. For right-handed, closed-stance batters, this pitch is nearly impossible to take anywhere but 3rd base via slow roll.
7. Amir Khan, SS. In the inverse of Nomar's situation, Amir plays SS for the Pirates despite being the 2nd most highly-rated pitcher in the game (behind Randy Johnson). The reason I switched Amir away from his preferred position? Lack of faith in the durability of foreign-born pitchers. Not really; I switched them a) because I wanted to do this in Moneyball fashion and not take the most common route to success, and b) because Amir's best pitch is his heater, which drains the juicebox much faster than the left hook. He is the only player I'm aware of that bats with a pre-ordained open stance, but this enables his weirdly long bat to operate effectively and rip the ball to left field whenever he makes good contact.
8. Ken Griffey, Jr., CF. Can spray the ball to both sides of the field, hit homers, and leg it out to beat throws consistently. Also makes a solid outfield anchor, who doesn't always get under the ball in time but makes up for it by having a cannon arm.
9. Troy Glaus, 3B. With an open stance, Troy can hit line drives to left almost as well as Amir, and better than just about anyone else. His lack of speed for an infielder makes him the kind of player that anyone but Billy Beane might pass on or undervalue, but his consistency at the plate and his ability to hit first base with his throws every time make him a core player on defense despite his shortcomings.
I realize that this could have been a monumental waste of time (and will continue to be, since I haven't finished my season yet), but the timing was right for me to try this little experiment and see if the same principles that can make an undervalued team successful in real life might also be applied to a computer game to create a winning team. Of course, it might just be that I win so handily because the game is designed for 10-12 year-olds, but it's still fun to crank BP homers off of Mr. Clanky with Pablo regardless. As Sanchez might say, "Gracias por leer este blog!"
Monday, May 2, 2011
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.
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
Monday, April 4, 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
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
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
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 6th 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
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