The Runner Who The Race Outran...

AndHereComeThePretzels (an impossibly great name for a sports blog) has a great piece on Lavar Arrington, who was recently in a motorcycle accident on the Capital Beltway. Once the face of the franchise, it was unthinkable that his career would end the way Big Ben celebrates Super Bowls.

Lavar had it rough as a Skin. Every year, it seemed, he had a new coach and a new defensive scheme. The Skins had Marvin Lewis for one year, and everyone hoped -- as AHCTP points out -- that Lavar would turn into Ray Lewis + LT(honored by his number, 56). Never really happened. Spurrier, then Gibbs, then injuries, then Synder; it was all too much. He should have stayed here. Snyder and Lavar should have put their differences and egos aside and gotten a deal done.

Didn't happen. Still, we had some good times. Lavar ended Troy Aikman's career with one of the most vicious hits I've ever seen. He triggered the winning streak that saved Marty Schottenheimer's only season in Washington from being a losing one, with an interception return for a touchdown against Carolina. Those hilarious Eastern Motor commercials.

Did you know he was named in honor of Levar Burton? Neither did I; thanks Wikipedia. For some reason, that's comforting.

In other Redskin related news, our overlord Dan Snyder bought the American Bandstand franchise today. Which means he owns the New Year's Rockin' Eve broadcast, the Golden Globes, the American Music Awards, and the Academy of Country Music Awards. This means Tom Cruise should be a shoe-in for a Golden Globe next year(Snyder is invested in Cruise's production company), Mark Brunell will have a front row seat at the ACMAs, and Jason Campbell will be a presenter at the AMAs. Unless Campell gets injured, then Brunell will present.

I can't help but think Snyder is brutalizing the world of business to make up for the lack of on-field success the Skins are having; almost like he has to make up for one part of his empire's incompetence by conquering even more territory in the world of business. It's not enough that the Redskins are one of the most profitable sports franchises in the world, no, he has to own more, more, and more. I can't understand why everything he buys -- theme parks, Bandstand, Johnny Rockets, etc. -- has a 1950s feel to it, though. The Skins were horrible then. You would think he'd be buying 80s-era businesses: investing in arcades, producing the next Rambo and Rocky movies, or giving away vintage boom boxes at every home game.

Now I have no real basis for this, and I'm not saying he wouldn't have bought American Bandstand if the Redskins had won the Super Bowl, but...well no, that is what I'm saying.

Shooting Hoops

I try to take in a lot of advice, on a variety of things, and then go Bruce Lee on it: discard what doesn't work(for me), and stick with what does. Sometimes, the source affects how well I listen. When a former artillery office of the Israeli Army gives me advice to up the arc on my jump shot, I listen.

Saturday evening I was shooting solo at the courts at Riverside Park, when an older Jewish man rode up on his bicycle and asked if he could shoot with me. I said of course, a little wary because -- this being New York -- I still believe anyone is capable of being a serial killer.

After warming up a bit, he was out shooting me. His shot motion was old school, the way you'll see jump shots taken in the WNBA or NBA archival footage: the jump and the shot are all one motion. Eventually, I started matching his consistency. Then he made about ten 17-18 footers in a row, from all around the court. The only thing I had on him at that point was my three-point range; still, it wasn't a competition or anything, just friendly shooting around.

Amazingly, basketball was not his game. When the group of four young kids behind us let their ball get away from them, my shooting companion cradled the errant ball with his foot than launched the ball 60ft with one swift kick, bending it right into the hands(ok, the gut) of the nearest kid. Damn.

He told about watching the then world champion Washington Bullets play the Israeli National team in 1978, and lose, by four points. He told me about being a sky marshal on Israeli airplanes, traveling to New York in the seventies and seeing the great Knick teams play.

It was a good afternoon.

Quick Hits

Hardly anyone in the office today, though a couple more have trickled in, we are still at less than half strength. Nice and quiet. Too quiet...

Break it up with:

• Nicolas Cage loves Ghost Rider, hates Entertainment Weekly. Makes me want to see the movie that much more. [ MSN Movies ]
• Why no one thought of using the Truffle Shuffle like this before is a mystery. [ YouTube , courtesy of Deadspin ]
• You can almost see this being real, can't you? When I read The Onion lately, I get that feeling way too much for my taste. [ Bush Cuts Off Diplomatic Relations With Congress ]
• Holy shit. [ Video Of Skydiver Hitting The Ground At 80 mph ]

You could also read my latest review at Bigyawn, and some good ones by other writers . Happy Valentines Day bitches.

And Duke Lost Too

I was already having a good weekend Saturday. I was watching football with friends and family on my parent's brand new 46" high-def television, playing pool, snacking and just relaxing. I asked myself, can things get any better? And then, they did: my weekend achieved perfection with 1:19 to go in the Cowboys/Seahawks game.

Romo dropped the ball.

I don't usually partake in schadenfreude(no more than any other American), but I gorged on it Saturday night. The failure, the shock, the head hanging, the barely held back tears during the press conference, all of it was such a delight. I'm still half wearing the same shit-eating grin I had while I was pointing and laughing at the TV while NBC showed Romo on the bench, all alone, staring at the ground. If karma really does exist, I'm sure all of this will come back at me three fold, but I suspect the payback for laughing at multi-million dollar athletes fucking up routine plays will be having to wait an extra five minutes at Starbucks or something.

My friend Jamie wondered aloud if this was the end for Tony Romo. After all, such a confidence shattering mental lapse during the biggest play of his young career could send him into Chuck Knoblauch forever choking territory. As Jamie noted, the re-play of "The Drop" will be played during the off-season, the preseason, next season, and any playoff game where a field goal is kicked for the rest of eternity. And people will post the video on their blogs, like this:





I don't think Romo is done, however, even though all the Carrie Underwood hummers in the world will never make Romo feel better. I'm sure that won't make him turn them down, though, would you? I can just seem him now:

ROMO(driving): This just isn't helping like I thought it would. (Carrie's head pops up from under the steering wheel) I didn't say stop.

Anyway, I can't wait to see the Super Bowl on that high-def set(official motto, provided by Jamie: A picture so good, you can see Shannon Sharpe's razor burn). Everyone I know is unofficially invited.

After that, the rest of the weekend was a blur. I think I went to Best Buy to spend a gift certificate for Christmas, but who the hell knows. Romo dropped the ball, and that's all that matters.

Oh, and this(as the title of the post says):

Agent Zero

Gilbert Arenas is the new king of Washington.



He turned away before the shot was even in. What a bad ass. That's Tiger Woods, Michael Jordan, killer instinct type shit right there.

Damn, this guy is good.

The Game

The game Sunday was fun, even though the Redskins lost. They lost, after going up 14-0 early, in the first game I've been to in almost twenty years. Which means, as a friend pointed out, the last time I was at a game my youngest brother James - who was sitting next to be - had yet to be born. Of course I was eight then, but that's beside the point. I was there with Scott(my other younger brother, but the oldest of the three), his girlfriend Devin, and James.

I only have a couple pictures of us tailgating:

Scott, drinking while wearing his Laguna Beach sunglasses.

James, who only slept two hours the night before(Scott, zero)

We waited for the local liquor store to open at 11 am before heading over to FedEx Field. Without a parking pass, we had to pay $30 for the privilege of parking in a nearby strip of brown office buildings and taking a Metro shuttle to the stadium. We managed to kill about half of a 30-pack of Coors Light(Scott's girlfriend's preferred beer, which does taste as if it was brewed in a mountain stream: cold, watered down dirt). In the middle of our Rocky Mountain fun, though, a man walked up and asked us:

"Are you under the influence....?"

I panicked. Was James(who is underage) drinking? Are we going to get busted?

"...OF THE REDSKINS!" he finished, producing some Redskins buttons. He asked for a donation of a couple of bucks to some charity in return, and we obliged, even if the charity was probably "The Button Guy Charity".

After this, Scott announced for at least the fourth time he really had to pee. I gave him my advice, which was to think about fucking(I read in Men's Health that this helps by blocking the urinary tract, but I could be mistaken). Since his girlfriend was right there, I didn't think it would be too hard, but it only worked for about five minutes. We set off to find him a bathroom.

Circling the brown office building(which was locked), all we could find were some small bushes surrounded by other Redskin fans. The only possibility was to run across 202 to the woods on the other side, or pee in some empty AMP and beer cans in the car. He took the second option.

James, Scott's girlfriend Devin and I surrounded the back of the SUV to prevent any peeping and Scott proceeded to fill up one tall can of AMP and half a can of beer. The AMP can was a stroke of genius; before disposing of it he loudly announced if anyone wanted anymore "AMP" before he poured it out.

On the way to catch one of the last shuttles to the stadium, we found a porta-potty just over the crest of a hill. Scott was not nearly as amused as I was.

The bus dropped us off on the opposite side from where our seats were. After a little hike to the correct gate, we split up; James and I going to our seats, Scott and Devin going to theirs.

I gave James twenty dollars to get us two hot dogs and a soda before we went to our seats. If I hadn't actually seen the lady ring the items up, I would have accused my younger brother of trying to steal from me when he gave me my change: $4. I finished the hot dog before we even got off the escalators up to the upper deck.

You can read about the actual game here.

Afterwards...well, right now I'm finding it hard to write because I keep getting up to help my roommate clean the kitchen. Every time I feel we've finished and sit down, she starts cleaning something else. She's sweeping the front room as I type this. I'll get the dust pan.

Anyway, after the game, we couldn't find the right shuttle back to the parking lot. Scott tried to get us to board the bus back to the Landover Metro, despite the fact that we didn't park at the Landover Metro. We found what we were told, by a Metro employee, was the correct bus.

The bus was packed; Scott and I stood while Devin and James sat. We traded disappointed banter and looks of dejection and fatigue. Suddenly, I had a nice kick in the shin to go with my dejectional bantering.

A drunk girl seated behind me was going on and on about her asshole boyfriend, and in between repeated exclamations of "is it me, do you understand?" to her friend, she was kicking her leg out with an exasperated sigh before bringing a hand to cover her bloodshot eyes. What followed was the most cliched conversation I've ever heard: the dying relationship pep talk. The girl's friend and the friend's boyfriend kept telling the drunk girl how strong she was, how independent she could be, and that she was too good for the asshole boyfriend. Before the bus ride was over, everyone in the back of the bus had shared knowing glances of annoyance and laughs under their breaths. Scott and I wondered if we should turn around and offer some kind of intervention in the form of an inspirational rap, or repeated slaps to the face.

After running off the bus, we realized we were in the wrong parking lot. Sure enough, there was a brown building, just not our brown building. In fact, there was nothing but brown, nondescript office buildings for as far as we could see(if you didn't count the stadium mocking us in the distance). We wandered between the buildings, crossing grass fields and hedges, ending up behind a warehouse.

We found the road to our lot at the front of the warehouse, where Scott and James also found two small pumpkins. In the middle of an asphalt parking lot, just chilling, doing whatever it is pumpkins do in the wilds of Landover business parks. Whatever that is, it couldn't have been has thrilling as the aerial ride the pumpkins took before their untimely demise a half mile before we finally found the car.

We had dinner at Outback, and there - in the usually tranquil burg of Bowie - something happened that will now forever be known as the Tabasco Incident.

After Scott and Devin went to the bathroom, I dared James to put Tabasco sauce in Devin's cosmo(because I'm an evil asshole), but he put Tabasco sauce in Scott's water(because, being related to me, James is also an evil asshole). The trap was set, and what James did when Scott got back should be in the set-up hall of fame. It should be framed and studied by spies, negotiators, and con artists.

Scott sits down, and James simply says: "H20!", to which Scott replies "H20, yeah!" and takes a HUGE gulp of water. There are no words, in English or any other language, that can accurately describe the look of horror that was on Scott's face when the taste hit him. He froze for a second, then spit the water back into the glass.

"You FUCKERS! Watch out! Watch out, see what happens when you get up!" he said, pointing his steak knife at me and James.

James' plan for me was almost as brilliant. When I returned from the bathroom my potato soup and obviously been tampered with, so I reached for a piece of bread. Luckily, one side was very, very damp from the Tabasco sauce and I didn't eat it. If he hadn't gotten greedy and soaked it, he would have fooled me too.

And that was the end of that. It was a good day.

Avec une araignée

Ah, the morning shower. I like to run the hot water for a bit before I get in, brushing my teeth and letting some steam build up. That's my perfect morning shower: hot water, steam, and a spider.

Right. By. My. Head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something dangling at eye level. For less than a split second, I thought I was losing my hair(the spider was dark brown, which is what dead, wet falling out blond hair would look like I guess). Then it wrangled it's legs around it's little spider sling and paused right in front of my face as if to say, "Hey, how's it going. Nice shower this morning. Whoa, calm down fella...what are you doing with that tissue paper?...you know what, I'll just be going."

It climbed back up to the ceiling, where I killed it. Sorry, it was a primitive reaction. I flushed it and still had the willies all morning.

It's a mad world.

I'm going to the Redskins game Sunday; my first at FedEx, and the first since 1987. The only thing I remember about that game was my father seemed to be some sort of giant among men(I was eight). I'm going with him again, two of my three brothers are going but they will be seated elsewhere.

Again, congrats to my friend Jamie and his new job, hope the first day is going well.

Sick In The Head

I hate feeling sick. I especially hate feeling head sick. Stomach sick is bad, and often feels(at least physically) far worse than head sick. Head sick, though, always bothers me because it's so close to where my brain is. My thoughts are here; I'm here! And there is sick, right by it, and I can't shake it! It's like trying to drive a car while the windshield is covered in bile and the wipers can't cut through it because it's too thick, and it's clogging the engine. It's unsettling and disorienting, with phlegm thrown in at the end.

I couldn't even work out today. I hate not working out. Hopefully, after some rest, I'll be right as rain tomorrow. However right rain is, since I personally have no direct knowledge of the inherent rightness of rain.

Okay, something in the office smells like a shopping-mall hair salon. And that's not good. Every time I take a walk around I get a strong whiff of it and I feel like I'm eight years old again, being led against my will to the Hair Cuttery while the arcade mocks me from across the way. Last week, something in the office smelled like straight up feet. It was nasty. I don't even want to know what it was.

Anyway, to move away from the subject of office odors, the Redskins won 36-30 in a game that had my sick ass jumping up and down in my apartment with excitement and rage. My apologies to anyone who had to hear me shouting.

Tonight, I'm going to just rest and catch up on my reading and writing. Should help get the engine unclogged.

His Name Is Frank Gore

I love watching football.

The new NFL season is upon us, and I couldn't be happier. One look at me, and you wouldn't guess I was a big "sports guy". Wannabe hipster? Sure. Lovable geek? Probably. Someone who plays fantasy baseball, football, and basketball? What tipped you off, the shaggy hair with product in it? That's right, product.

Anyway, I'm really into the big three(basketball, football, baseball). Football appeals to me because of the intricate strategies involved. Football is truly a thinking man's sport. Don't believe me? Decipher this:

I Y-Motion 245 H-Swing

Every football player has to memorize hundreds of plays with terminology like this. Dumb jocks? Not on the football field. There is a reason football is the favorite sport of the US Military, with Division I teams fielded by the Army, Navy, Air Force, and the United States Marine Corp.

Football certainly requires intelligence, or at least analytical skills associated with problem solving. One could argue(and probably correctly) that it also reinforces a hive-mentality, much like the institutions mentioned above. This type of mind-set, to me, is the real problem with "jock thinking". The coach, or the general, or the president, must be followed. There is one way to do things, and it's his way.

People who "think different" or try to act independently are punished and ostracized, sometimes rightfully so. After all, to win at football you must be a cohesive team. It's when this type of thinking leaks into everyday life and discourse that it can be, well, wrong.

ANYWAY, I never could have played competitive football that didn't involve either two-handed touching or flags. Tall, spindly boys don't play football without some sort of death wish.

Since I can't play in the NFL, I play fantasy football. It's fun, competitive, and drives an interest in the sport. Billions of fans play fantasy football every year(that might be an exaggeration, but you get the idea). There is a clash, however, between sports fans who are fantasy sports players and non-fantasy playing fans.

Traditionally, you have a team. It's your team. Maybe you grew up with them, you like their attitude, or even just their uniforms¹. You and your dad cheer for them. Even your mother has a sweatshirt with the team's logo on it. You live and die by your team. Sure, you follow the sport, but you are always rooting for your team.

Fantasy players, however, have an interest in every team. When you play fantasy sports, you usually draft a team from all of the players in the NFL. So you start following the news the players on your team, hence you start following the news for lots of teams. Instead of just knowing the line-up and injury problems of your team, now you start to know these facts for many, many teams. Maybe all of them, if you are that obsessed, and many are.

A traditional fan looks at a fantasy player and wonders, "How can you not have a team? What's the point? Where's the family, the love, the loyalty?"

That's the big problem, the perceived lack of loyalty. It seems sports fans take on the value system of the sport they watch(or the value system they think the sport should have), and as I said earlier, a big part of football is the team comes first. You have to have loyalty to your team. And the Coach. And the General. And the President.

To them, it's almost like you are cheering for another country. If you live in Denver, you don't cheer for the Raider Nation. You certianly don't care what kind of numbers Randy Moss puts up, since he is the enemy. A hated enemy.

Interestingly, fantasy baseball does not suffer from nearly the same backlash from traditional fans as fantasy football does. Maybe this is because baseball has always been seen as a "past time", something fun and enjoyable, but football is seen as serious, serious business. Metaphor's for war often are.

Of course the huge differences in the games themselves also mean the fantasy versions are also very different; baseball being the most statistic obsessed sport of the last century lends itself almost perfectly to pretend teams. Football, however, doesn't translate as flawlessly. The only immeasurable aspect of baseball, from a pure numbers point of view, is defense. How do you rate one short-stop versus another? The one who makes the least errors? Well, maybe the one with more errors reaches more balls and therefore makes a few more errors, but it actually helping his team more. And so on and so on.

Football has tons of immeasurable factors that influence the game. One of traditional fans biggest problems with fantasy football, and the most valid in my opinion, is it glorifies the skill position too much. Quarterbacks, running backs, wide receivers, and kickers score almost all of the points in football. They gain the yards. These contributions are easily quantified. The contributions of other positions, most notably the offensive linemen, are not so easy to measure. Defensive players have sacks, interceptions, fumbles caused and recovered, but even these fail to fully convey the influence a defensive player can have on a game.

A fantasy fan who only cares about the skill players and the numbers they put up is missing out on appreciating the true beauty of football, and there are plenty of fantasy players who do this.

However, there are also plenty of fantasy players(like myself and my friends) who do know a lot about football, who loyally follow our teams, but also enjoy going head-to-head each week against imaginary opponents.

Don't hate us. I'll buy you a beer if you put up with me wondering how San Franscisco's running back did today.

¹An old friend of mine was a huge Saints fan because he really thought the uniforms kicked ass.

Damn.

Damn. Damn Damn.

I love the Redskins, but I swear watching them will send me to an early grave. How could Hall miss a field goal that bad? Damn.

Still, some hope for the season, they still need to get the kinks of Saunders' new offense worked out. Lots of football yet to be played.

Anyway, I had a pretty good weekend. I saw Little Miss Sunshine with a good friend. Wasn't sure what to expect walking in, and that was the best way to see the movie. It made every quirk and shock of this little comedy that much better. Alan Arkin was just a trip as the grandfather. He was exactly the way I hope to be when I'm old; doing what I want because there are fewer years left to enjoy life. His performance alone was worth the price of admission.

After that, we had a little bite to eat at Zorba's Cafe near Dupont Circle.

Then it was on to Busboys And Poets . I had never been there and was looking forward to seeing the ambiance of the coffee shop/bar. I really liked it, and not just because the bartender made my drink nice and strong. A cold drink, a good friend, and a couch to sit back on and talk about life. It was damn near perfect for a night out, for me at least. I will definitely be back.

This is kind of a quickie re-cap, as you can tell. I'm still reeling from the loss. I hate it when the Redskins lose.

I promise a little more detail in a later post.

I will say, to the drunk couple who sang the Captain Planet theme song before they got off the Metro at U Street, you made my day. Though the other people in the car seemed less impressed. Fuck those unfun bastards. If you can't handle a little drunk singing at two in the morning, what are you doing out? This loving attitude probably has an inverse relationship with a person's dislike of the song being sung, but who doesn't like Captain Planet? Polluters, that's who.

Damn.