Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Being Uncomfortable
This is not a "sports blog", per se. We are a couple of dudes who do like sports, however, so there will be plenty of "Things We Hate About Sports Coverage/Athletes/etc" posts. This is not one of those posts.
Today, we're talking about being uncomfortable. Not physically, like "oh I slept funny and now my neck is stiff." That's pretty annoying, for sure, but not as bad as wishing you were dead rather than be in the same room as your friend when he calls his mom a bitch.
Oh sure, good times. Even better: He was adopted. We were probably around the 12-14 year old range. Big asshole time in a boy's life. I can't even remember what they were arguing about, but I sure as shit remember sitting there wishing I was anywhere else but there. It might have been that we had just caught some crabs and we wanted to boil them to death. Like I said, big asshole time.
She was a saint, too. I mean, obviously. They adopted the kid. Spoiled him rotten, though. Always a mistake.
It went down like this:
Friend: whatever, mom. We're still gonna do it.
Friend's mom: No, that's not right. I won't let you do that here.
Friend: Mom, you're being a bitch! [to me] She's being a bitch, right?
Me: uhhhh, [looks at freind, then friend's mom] I uhh, I don't....
Friend's mom: [obviously embarrassed] Do not talk like that. I am going to call your father.
Friend: Who cares, you stupid bitch?!
Me: [wanting to die, slowly backs out of kitchen.]
Friend: [to me] See what I'm talking about? She's a total bitch! [To his mom] Look what you did, you made him leave!
That is a horrible, horrible feeling and my friend was a complete asshole for putting me in that situation. Clearly, I am a good kid at heart and feel bad for the mom. I don't want to just be all "yeah, totally. She's a huge bitch" because A.) I don't really think she's being a bitch and B.) I have parents, who, you know, I respected and feared. I did not need it getting back to them that I called some adult a bitch.
On the other hand, I can't just turn my back on my friend. I can't just tell him "hey, you're getting a little carried away. You insulted her a little bit, you got a little out of order yourself." I've got to hang out with this kid later, after this whole ugly scene passes. I'm not going to sell him out. And, so, I was left with only one option: The non-committal, deer-in-the-headlights look, followed by the quick and obvious exit.
There's plenty of other examples of uncomfortability. In films, for instance. The most uncomfortable films are the romantic comedies. Not because I'm a guy and hate chick flicks. I love romcom's. They're great.The only problem is they have that major uncomfortable moment, about three quarters into the film. It always happens.
The relationship between the main characters has been moving along great. They are, like, this close to "falling in love" when all of sudden: that tiny little deceit, the very one that lead to this improbably perfect relationship in the first place, is discovered. Now, the girl is pissed off at the guy because she feels like she doesn't even know who he is anymore. How can she trust anything he says? He lied about loving his work as a counselor to mentally disturbed senior citizens just for sex?! Of course, this is unbelievably frustrating to the viewer, because we know that he only lied to her because he was embarrassed about his ailing grandfather's Tourette's syndrome and is, really, a good guy who should get the girl. He tries to get back together with her, but she's not returning his calls and then, he finds out she's moving back to Chicago to reevaluate everything. All hope is lost.
The worst part of the whole thing is when she just happens to find out about the tiny white lie. Maybe one of his friends says something by accident which sets off a chain reaction of flashbacks where something just does not add up, or maybe she sees one of his pay stubs from Microsoft, where he makes a million dollars a week instead of the $45k a year he said he made down at "The Center", who knows?
All we know is: she is pissed and heartbroken, and we have all this information at our disposal. It's just a little misunderstanding! We all saw this coming a mile away and had been hoping for the past 10 minutes that she either does not find out or that guy is able to explain himself. The confrontation is the worst part. He walks into the kitchen and she's holding the paystub and just asks, all coldly, "What's this?" Right there, that's the most uncomfortable part of the entire film. That is when you go "Oh, fuck."
If the stupid guy would just say something and explain it to her ("Listen, I was embarrassed about my grandfather. I was at The Center looking for some literature for him when we met. He says "shit eye" every five minutes. I never knew when I met you that day...I never knew I would have feelings for you like this. Everything else about me is true! That was all me when we had that picnic in the park and it started raining and at first it sucked but then we had all that fun running around and slipping down), we could all move on. But, he never does. And you have to sit through 20 minutes of everyone being pissed off and sad at each other.
Today, we're talking about being uncomfortable. Not physically, like "oh I slept funny and now my neck is stiff." That's pretty annoying, for sure, but not as bad as wishing you were dead rather than be in the same room as your friend when he calls his mom a bitch.
Oh sure, good times. Even better: He was adopted. We were probably around the 12-14 year old range. Big asshole time in a boy's life. I can't even remember what they were arguing about, but I sure as shit remember sitting there wishing I was anywhere else but there. It might have been that we had just caught some crabs and we wanted to boil them to death. Like I said, big asshole time.
She was a saint, too. I mean, obviously. They adopted the kid. Spoiled him rotten, though. Always a mistake.
It went down like this:
Friend: whatever, mom. We're still gonna do it.
Friend's mom: No, that's not right. I won't let you do that here.
Friend: Mom, you're being a bitch! [to me] She's being a bitch, right?
Me: uhhhh, [looks at freind, then friend's mom] I uhh, I don't....
Friend's mom: [obviously embarrassed] Do not talk like that. I am going to call your father.
Friend: Who cares, you stupid bitch?!
Me: [wanting to die, slowly backs out of kitchen.]
Friend: [to me] See what I'm talking about? She's a total bitch! [To his mom] Look what you did, you made him leave!
That is a horrible, horrible feeling and my friend was a complete asshole for putting me in that situation. Clearly, I am a good kid at heart and feel bad for the mom. I don't want to just be all "yeah, totally. She's a huge bitch" because A.) I don't really think she's being a bitch and B.) I have parents, who, you know, I respected and feared. I did not need it getting back to them that I called some adult a bitch.
On the other hand, I can't just turn my back on my friend. I can't just tell him "hey, you're getting a little carried away. You insulted her a little bit, you got a little out of order yourself." I've got to hang out with this kid later, after this whole ugly scene passes. I'm not going to sell him out. And, so, I was left with only one option: The non-committal, deer-in-the-headlights look, followed by the quick and obvious exit.
There's plenty of other examples of uncomfortability. In films, for instance. The most uncomfortable films are the romantic comedies. Not because I'm a guy and hate chick flicks. I love romcom's. They're great.The only problem is they have that major uncomfortable moment, about three quarters into the film. It always happens.
The relationship between the main characters has been moving along great. They are, like, this close to "falling in love" when all of sudden: that tiny little deceit, the very one that lead to this improbably perfect relationship in the first place, is discovered. Now, the girl is pissed off at the guy because she feels like she doesn't even know who he is anymore. How can she trust anything he says? He lied about loving his work as a counselor to mentally disturbed senior citizens just for sex?! Of course, this is unbelievably frustrating to the viewer, because we know that he only lied to her because he was embarrassed about his ailing grandfather's Tourette's syndrome and is, really, a good guy who should get the girl. He tries to get back together with her, but she's not returning his calls and then, he finds out she's moving back to Chicago to reevaluate everything. All hope is lost.
The worst part of the whole thing is when she just happens to find out about the tiny white lie. Maybe one of his friends says something by accident which sets off a chain reaction of flashbacks where something just does not add up, or maybe she sees one of his pay stubs from Microsoft, where he makes a million dollars a week instead of the $45k a year he said he made down at "The Center", who knows?
All we know is: she is pissed and heartbroken, and we have all this information at our disposal. It's just a little misunderstanding! We all saw this coming a mile away and had been hoping for the past 10 minutes that she either does not find out or that guy is able to explain himself. The confrontation is the worst part. He walks into the kitchen and she's holding the paystub and just asks, all coldly, "What's this?" Right there, that's the most uncomfortable part of the entire film. That is when you go "Oh, fuck."
If the stupid guy would just say something and explain it to her ("Listen, I was embarrassed about my grandfather. I was at The Center looking for some literature for him when we met. He says "shit eye" every five minutes. I never knew when I met you that day...I never knew I would have feelings for you like this. Everything else about me is true! That was all me when we had that picnic in the park and it started raining and at first it sucked but then we had all that fun running around and slipping down), we could all move on. But, he never does. And you have to sit through 20 minutes of everyone being pissed off and sad at each other.
Friday, October 30, 2009
This Asshole
1. He doesn't move. Mr. Cliff Lee is just so calm, cool and collected out there that he does not need to move, even if may help him get under the ball and make a more secure catch. He moves for no ball. The ball must come to Cliff Lee.
2. Joe Buck and Tim McCarver's amusement at this play. So what if the ball almost squirted out of his glove. I mean, it looked good, right? Lets all just laugh and marvel at the loose as a goose pitcher out there.
3. He definitely knew what he was doing. See how he's got the glove just waiting at his side? Guaranteed he's thinking "I'm gonna one hand this thing and make it look all nonchalant like I don't give a fuck. Woah! That was close. Ok, now give them a couple exaggerated chews of your gum. Nice."
4. The Gum. Are you fucking kidding me!? you have made an enemy for life with that fucking move, Lee. I hope it was chock full of sugar and you get cavities and they have to drill the shit out of your teeth and they run out of Novocain midway through.
5. The post catch transfer from glove to hand. Ugh. Not only did he have to go all hot dog on the catch, but lets just carelessly toss the ball from the glove into the hand. Cliff Lee does not deign to reach into his glove to pick up a measly baseball. That baseball has a one way, ejector seat, ticket from glove to hand.
583. The no-look. "How can I make this routine play seem even more beneath me than I already have? Refusal to move? Check. One-hand, off to the side catch? Check. Casual gum chewing? Check. I know I'm forgetting something critical here....Oh! No look. Look away from your glove as soon as it gets close. Wait for it, wait for it - look away! - aaaaand got it. Now, to top it off, just sort of look around, to let everyone know you weren't concerned. You're an animal, Cliff." The fucking Fonz started Game 1 for the Phillies.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Losses
Losses are probably the absolute worst thing ever. It's a shame that I'm starting off with the worst thing ever, but that's just the way it goes, I guess. Things can only get...worse from here on out.
Anyway, losses are a mess. It just fucks up your entire perspective on the next couple days of your life. Example: a New York Jets' loss. I just cannot consume any kind of sports commentary until at least the Thursday following a Sunday loss. This is aggravating. Allow me to explain.
1.) Watching/reading sports commentary is heavily embedded in my daily routine. It is everywhere I turn, really. On my way to work? Sports talk radio. Now, misinformed dudes talking sports 24/7 is annoying to begin with, but it is taken to a whole new level the days following a loss. It's like...someone gave you a million paper cuts on your lips and then forced you to eat a salad swimming in Italian dressing. Brutal. Sports radio is a definite no-go on the way to work. This leaves you with FM radio - no thanks - or your iPod. Since I am going through one of those periods where I hate everything in my library, this is also not an option. Looks like its just me and mind-numbing silence while I sit in traffic and watch people bicycle past me. Healthier and happier.
Then, when I get to work, the first thing I do is go to my office, fire up the old gmail, click "reader" and start checking out the latest news. Except now, thanks to a loss, my selection is limited. After the Jets lost to the (fucking) Bills, no thejetsblog.com for me! No checking of the various beat writers' blogs on the Jets. Off limits. And what's worse, with Google Reader, you are able to see the amount of unread posts, so those bad boys just keep piling up as the week progresses. The good times you could be having while neglecting work, had your favorite team not shit themselves the day before, is given a value that always increases: Inside the Jets (17) - Awesome! And, I know, I know, there is a lab to disable this feature, but I can't be bothered to enable it.
2.) This forces me to do actual work, which is infinitely less fun than reading about sports.
3.) Ever accidentally catch sports analysis during one of these weeks? Oof. What a disaster. It's Wednesday after the Jets just get manhandled by the Dolphins and the Wildcat.* I get in the car to drive back to work after a conference. As we discussed, I listen to sports radio in my car, and specifically, it is always tuned to the Fan here in New York. As soon as I turn the ignition this particular Wednesday, everyone's favorite sports cannoli, Mike Francesca, is just hammering away at Sanchez. "He should be benched", "he's probably too busy taking pictures with attractive women", "a nice veal parmigiana would really hit the spot", and other clever barbs.
Here you are, some poor rat in the race, and you've spent the better part of the week trying to protect yourself from all this stuff - no reading at work, you avoid ESPN like the plague - and then, in one vicious blow, Francesca comes in and re-ruins your week. Its awful.
Another problem with Losses is that they wreak havoc on your real-life relationships. Take my wife, for instance. She knows not to bother me if/when the Jets or Yankees lose. It's actually very sweet of her. She's pretty cool, really. She's not one of those "nag you til the day you die" types. She knows I like sports, and it doesn't bother her. But, there is definitely a problem here. She knows that I become so irritated/disgusted/despondent by a loss that she just does not talk to me because she thinks I might do something to her. Honestly, that's got to be the reason, right? Why else would she react this way? She has made the decision that it is in her own best interests to leave me alone. She doesn't want to be the straw that broke the camel's back. This is not normal human behavior.
Losses are so terrible that my wife thinks that I may do something horrible to her if she screws up. They are the worst.
*Of course there is going to be a post about the Wildcat.
Anyway, losses are a mess. It just fucks up your entire perspective on the next couple days of your life. Example: a New York Jets' loss. I just cannot consume any kind of sports commentary until at least the Thursday following a Sunday loss. This is aggravating. Allow me to explain.
1.) Watching/reading sports commentary is heavily embedded in my daily routine. It is everywhere I turn, really. On my way to work? Sports talk radio. Now, misinformed dudes talking sports 24/7 is annoying to begin with, but it is taken to a whole new level the days following a loss. It's like...someone gave you a million paper cuts on your lips and then forced you to eat a salad swimming in Italian dressing. Brutal. Sports radio is a definite no-go on the way to work. This leaves you with FM radio - no thanks - or your iPod. Since I am going through one of those periods where I hate everything in my library, this is also not an option. Looks like its just me and mind-numbing silence while I sit in traffic and watch people bicycle past me. Healthier and happier.
Then, when I get to work, the first thing I do is go to my office, fire up the old gmail, click "reader" and start checking out the latest news. Except now, thanks to a loss, my selection is limited. After the Jets lost to the (fucking) Bills, no thejetsblog.com for me! No checking of the various beat writers' blogs on the Jets. Off limits. And what's worse, with Google Reader, you are able to see the amount of unread posts, so those bad boys just keep piling up as the week progresses. The good times you could be having while neglecting work, had your favorite team not shit themselves the day before, is given a value that always increases: Inside the Jets (17) - Awesome! And, I know, I know, there is a lab to disable this feature, but I can't be bothered to enable it.
2.) This forces me to do actual work, which is infinitely less fun than reading about sports.
3.) Ever accidentally catch sports analysis during one of these weeks? Oof. What a disaster. It's Wednesday after the Jets just get manhandled by the Dolphins and the Wildcat.* I get in the car to drive back to work after a conference. As we discussed, I listen to sports radio in my car, and specifically, it is always tuned to the Fan here in New York. As soon as I turn the ignition this particular Wednesday, everyone's favorite sports cannoli, Mike Francesca, is just hammering away at Sanchez. "He should be benched", "he's probably too busy taking pictures with attractive women", "a nice veal parmigiana would really hit the spot", and other clever barbs.
Here you are, some poor rat in the race, and you've spent the better part of the week trying to protect yourself from all this stuff - no reading at work, you avoid ESPN like the plague - and then, in one vicious blow, Francesca comes in and re-ruins your week. Its awful.
Another problem with Losses is that they wreak havoc on your real-life relationships. Take my wife, for instance. She knows not to bother me if/when the Jets or Yankees lose. It's actually very sweet of her. She's pretty cool, really. She's not one of those "nag you til the day you die" types. She knows I like sports, and it doesn't bother her. But, there is definitely a problem here. She knows that I become so irritated/disgusted/despondent by a loss that she just does not talk to me because she thinks I might do something to her. Honestly, that's got to be the reason, right? Why else would she react this way? She has made the decision that it is in her own best interests to leave me alone. She doesn't want to be the straw that broke the camel's back. This is not normal human behavior.
Losses are so terrible that my wife thinks that I may do something horrible to her if she screws up. They are the worst.
*Of course there is going to be a post about the Wildcat.
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