Friday, September 30, 2011

Quick Takes - Give us this day, our daily touchdown

No, son, you didn't score that touchdown, Jesus did.

I've resisted the idea of adding more daily consumables to this site for years. Mostly because I'm a lazy arsehole who doesn't want to bow to the angry peons of Internet gluttony, but also mostly (go with it) because I think journalism should be more pensive and well-considered than whatever it is ESPN puts on their Web site. If the content is good enough, then it should be worth the wait. But dammit, this is just getting ridiculous. I'm barely writing anymore, and anything I do write is just a link to somewhere else! Is there no room in my heart for my own site anymore? Is there no market for sports mockery? Is Colin Mochrie doing anything else on TV these days?

The long-form pieces will still live on, but I am drawing a line in the sand (it's figurative, there's no wi-fi at the beach) of my brain (there's also no wi-fi in my brain) and promising to a) cut down on parentheses (because it gets confusing, huh?), and b) to bring you the cream of whatever crawls into the folds of my mind on a daily basis. That's right, daily Quick Takes. And creamy brain folds. Mmm.

I strongly encourage threats to keep me motivated. To help guide you, I am afraid of the following things: Women, failure, being stabbed in the neck, small horses, being stabbed anywhere else, falling from high places/things, amateur clowns, trampolines, draw bridges, flight attendants (both male and female), and passing a semi truck with my window down because I always think it's going to kick up a rock into my eyeball at 70 mph.

On to Quick Takes!
  • Why not start things out with some domestic violence. It seems to be all-too-prevalent in the sports world right now, with Manny Ramirez being formally charged with domestic violence on Friday and former Seattle Mariners outfielder Milton Bradley being arrested earlier this week for allegedly attacking his wife with a baseball bat. I now decree that commissioner Bud Selig must change the rules of Major League Baseball. Instead of a pitcher throwing baseballs, he will run up and hug the "batter," who will now be known as "the tickle fiend," and hold on as long as he can until the tickling gets to be too much. Hugs will be scored by time, tightness, and distance-between-pelvises. Basically, it'll be like cricket.
  • Quick side-note related to the above topic: There are very few, if any, jokes you could/should make about domestic violence, even if they're funny. While I was able to come up with a handful that would've undoubtedly ended in my arrest, I have decided to be my own editor and refrain from printing them. Basically, I'm editing myself, but I'm mad at myself for having to edit myself, even though I'm the one editing myself in the first place. Awesome.
  • Ron Artest changed his name to Metta World Peace this summer, because, well, it's Ron Artest (or is it?!). The irony should not be lost on anyone that World Peace is the same person who stormed into the stands during a game a decade ago and dispatched about 100 acts of random kindness (punches) to fans who stood in his way after having a beer cup thrown at him while he laid on the scorer's table moments before. I'm sure the name change is totally sincere, though. World Peace for everyone!
  • Dwyane Wade told reporters this week that he'd make $50 million annually if there was no maximum contract in the NBA. Right, because the lockout that's happening right now doesn't have anything to do with bloated salaries.
  • I used to follow a lot of professional athletes on Twitter. I thought they'd give me some groundbreaking insight into the locker room, or the training ground, or the treatment table. But I slowly began to realize that 99% of professional athletes are batshit crazy and have mastered the art of saying everything you don't want to hear. Whether it's nonsensical slang that only their friends understand or religious zealotry that would frighten even the most hardened Elder Mormon child (An elder child? Surely the Mormons saw the oxymoron!), athletes simply should not be followed on Twitter. That's the bottom line. These people are strangers, don't let them into your home!
  • Seattle Seahawks linebacker Aaron Curry is a player I used to follow on Twitter. I tried to overlook the quoted Bible verses and constant references to god, hoping that one day I'd see Curry say something about, you know, football. I went on a big athlete Twitter cleanse and Curry fell to the headsman's axe. But then he got demoted to the second string, and I thought, for a brief moment, that Aaron Curry was about to have a revolution. Could it be? An athlete worth following on Twitter?! When Curry was asked about the demotion by local reporters, he had a real, human moment where he couldn't quite put his disappointment into words. But then, Curry quickly moved away from his initial speechlessness and told reporters that there was simply a plan for him that he still needed to learn. Aaron, there is no plan. You are a professional athlete who is performing below your and your team's expectations. It's not some fictional deity's fault that you haven't met those expectations, and lord knows there's no omniscient test being administered to strengthen your belief. It's squarely on you. You have been randomly-selected by egg+sperm to hold a collection of tremendous physical genes, and you've done a lot with them; now it's up to you to work on the mental side of things: Reading offenses, learning from other linebackers, staying within the structure of the defense, and holding yourself accountable instead of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
  • Yeah, way to go Erik, try to convince a 260-lb. NFL linebacker that there is no god over the Internet so he'll play better. That'll for sure work!
  • Sometimes these things write themselves. Quoting from the Associated Press: "The coach of a junior varsity football team has been suspended for making his players lie down in a central New York cemetery in an effort to motivate them after a loss." I don't see what the hubbub is all about, it's New York, a cemetery is probably the cleanest place he could've had them lie down.

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