Sports n Me

It is possible that some of you, readers, are as confused about my relationship to sports as some of the people in my non-blog life seem to be. I can totally understand that. My plan is to write about how annoying sports are this summer (and Portland sports talk radio, in particular), but I recognize that a more systematic explanation of my interest in sports might be necessary first. An attempt at that follows.

Point one: I am not a sports fan. I do not watch sports. In the past year, I have perhaps seen a grand total of two hours of college football and 3-4 hours of NBA basketball. I will also admit to watching a few minutes here and there of World Cup action. (It seemed impossible to miss.) Most years I catch at least a few NCAA March Madness games, but this year I don't think I saw any at all. I didn't watch anything during the Winter Olympics, other than the unavoidable footage of the poor luge guy who died. (Which, by the way, was hardly better than a snuff film. I mean, really?) I also do not root for any teams myself, although I do take a hometown pride in the Blazers, when they do well, and in both U of O and Oregon State when their teams do well. But that is more a function of my out-0f-control regionalism than sports fandom. Further, I do not own any gear, other than an "Oregon Girls Rock" tee shirt (which doesn't even look like U of O swag) and a green on green longhorn tee which I mostly bought because it was the most Oregon-looking UT product I could imagine.

Point two: I am a huge radio fan. I love listening to people talk on the radio. And, truth be told, I have always sort of felt like I missed out, historically. I would have been a rabid radio "stories" fan in the 1920s, 30s and 40s. Most talk radio now, unfortunately, sucks. And it trades mostly in fear and anxiety. I don't need much more of that in my life. I am surrounded by un/underemployed people with rising credit debt. I don't need to hear about it on the radio. This is half of why I have become near obsessed with sports talk radio. Sports talk radio does not make me feel anxious. I do not find myself talking back to the hosts, nor to the callers. I never end up shaking and angry. At most, I occasionally feel some mild irritation.

I also really like listening to someone describe a sporting event on the radio. When I was young, my dad would often take my brothers and me with him to the post office at the airport sometime between dinner and bedtime. I think it gave my stay-at-home mom a little evening breather. I have fond and vivid memories of resting my cheek against a cold car window, watching rain pelt the dark 205 pavement, while Bill Schonely called Blazer games on crackly AM radio. Interestingly, I can't really follow games called on radio. I can hardly follow games that I'm actually watching. But I like listening to games being called, and I really like the interaction between a play-by-play guy and a good color commentator. (Commentators, by the way, have one of the hardest jobs I can imagine. They have to look for openings, and then talk to fill the holes, but get out of the way quickly when something happens. That's not an easy task, especially if you want to make it not seem clunky.)

Point three: I like stories. Most people know this about me. Narrative rocks my world. My primary interest in sports is in sports narratives. Narratives about individual players. Narratives about certain teams. Narratives about management. Sports is filled with great stories. And they are, almost without exception, cooler than stories about celebrities and politicians, because, in sports, stuff actually happens. Celebrities go shopping, have their pictures taken, talk to the press, get pregnant, break up, go to parties, and occasionally do some work. Not really that interesting. And when it IS sort of interesting (a la Lohan), it is too depressing to really follow. Politicians (and American politics, for that matter) are hardly better. But in sports, games are played. Players are drafted and traded. Seasons are completed. Cool stats emerge. Epic battles are won and lost. Personality helps, or gets in the way of success. There is a lot of script. And I find, as someone who has a good handle on story, in general, that it is super easy to follow sports stories. So that I don't really have to watch sports in order to talk about them with some intelligence.

Point four: Guys dig sports. I like listening to guys talk about sports. It has taught me a lot about men. And I like witnessing men bond. Ok? I think it is cute. (And, yes, that is probably as condescending as it sounds.) Listening to sports talk radio appeals to me in a real "fly on the wall" kind of way. AND it has the added benefit of making me informed enough to talk to guys about sports (most of the time--I mean, don't scratch too deep, guys, because if you do, I'll sound like a real idiot). I have an old school belief in the art of conversation. And knowing a little about sports, and about what people are saying about sports at any given time, makes me a better conversationalist (as does knowing a little about film, tv, pop psychology, history, music, and whatever else I know a little bit about).

OK. I'm hoping that sort of clears things up a bit. Next post--what I am learning from sports talk this summer, and why it IS making me a little anxious.

My Hiatus Hole

So, a few posts ago, OMD mentioned something about my "hiatus hole," by which he meant the hole that I appeared to have climbed into (fallen into?) that caused a protracted hiatus from this little labor of love.

What is funny about that turn of phrase is that I have a hiatus hole (literally, I'm not even kidding), which sort of caused me to fall into that other hiatus hole. I will explain:

About a year ago I contracted a pretty nasty stomach virus, thanks to my lovely, but continuously contagious, niece and nephew. (Who, by the way, are dodging grizzlies as we speak. But I'll save that for another post.) I never recovered fully from it. After a while, probably too long a while, I started looking for an explanation. For a long time I thought I had an ulcer. And I went around for several months treating myself for that. It went ok, except that occasionally I would have bouts of uncontrolled vomiting, which was not so ok. Then, over spring break, I had a really bad bout (no details--I know you don't want them) and I started going to doctors.

Sparing you all the doctors visits and tests, I will just fast forward to what I know now. I have a series of weird anatomical defects--one of them being a hole in my hiatus--that require very fancy and expensive surgery. (My nurse today told me that I'm receiving the "gold standard" treatment.) In short, I am going to have my stomach pulled down and into proper position (it has become a bit jostled). It is also going to get a little nip and tuck so that it will become sort of mini-stomach, which will serve me just fine. Although it is going to seem like I eat like a bird, only rather more often than I've been accustomed. THEN they will stitch up my hiatus hole, and attach some webbing--made of biological material, how cool and sci-fi does that sound?--over (around?) my diaphragm, in hopes that my diaphragm will get a little stronger and more resistant to tearing.

It all sounds worse, maybe, than it is. Because I have a super-star surgeon and he's going to do it all through a couple of tiny holes. And I have been promised that, although I will feel super, super crappy for a week, I will be able to work two weeks after the surgery. Amazing, huh? All of this will result in a much more structurally sound me! ('Though a me that has to give up beer and all carbonated bevies in the future. This is sad, certainly. But they aren't taking away my coffee and I get to live and stop vomiting all the time. One does not get something for nothing.)

The point of all this is: I have not felt well in a long, long time. I've managed to keep working, but it has been hard to keep up other things that take effort. Because I'm tired a lot. And a little undernourished a lot. And, more recently, I've been seeing doctors a lot. But it is all starting to calm down a little, and I've been feeling very good. And one of the first things that happened was that I got back to you all (however many of you there are), and that should make you feel good too.

Thanks for checking back and finding me again.

Take note

You know what's weird? When some guy from Engineering hits on a lady during a teaching seminar. I would not think that would be a good place to find ladies. 1. You are both under fluorescent lights--which, as we all know, are very unflattering. 2. You are in close proximity to a lot of other, really, really bored people who are likely to notice you touching said lady's knee repeatedly, when there is no discernible reason to do so. 3. There is no alcohol present. 4. If said lady does not return your advances (and how could she, given the circumstances?!), you have to avoid eye contact when you see her on campus for the foreseeable future.

Someone needs to send a memo to Engineering.

Additions/Corrections

Thank you for your kind words, readers, about my angry Sam Adams letter. Although, Marcus (or should I say, "Pastor Jack"?), I didn't actually say that I ever thought he was a "good" guy. I said, "ok" guy. My expectations of anyone who wants to run for elected office are appropriately low.

The leaf tax, thanks for your interest Felisa and Qwanty, is a tax levied against the residents of about 16 Portland neighborhoods. The idea is that these people should pay the city to remove leaves in the fall--whether they do their own yard maintenance or not. This is a terrible idea--arbitrary and unfair.

Even Just Out has pulled its support of Mayor Adams. The sooner he resigns, the better.

Just So's There's No Misunderstanding

I don't have a thing for Clint Howard.

For the record.

Thanks for the comments, guys.

I actually feel like the two comments on my last post deserve a post of their own. So, here are my thoughts.

Felisa: I can't remember ever really disagreeing with you, about anything, ever. But I have to disagree about the Pitt. Going the way of Redford does, indeed, mean aging badly. My theory on this is very simple, if you are a too-pretty man (and this seems to particularly afflict blondes for some reason) you may be a beautiful young man, but you are not likely to age well. I have never been a big Brad Pitt fan and I have said for years that I thought that his looks would not hold up over time. Here is where I must really disagree with you--although I have not seen the film yet (Burn Before Reading), I have seen the previews both on TV and on the big screen. And I don't think that the guy's skin looks good. He looks sort of haggard and he's starting to look weathered. And not in a good Steve-McQueen-Paul-Newman (rest his soul)-Clint-Eastwood kind of way. But in a sad, I-remember-how-good-looking-he-was-in-The-Natural Robert Redford kind of way. Except I never really thought all that highly of the Pitt.

OMD: Yes, I have heard the same rumor about Dr. Pepper promising every American (with the exception of Slash and Buckethead. Which is pretty funny.) a free can of soda if Chinese Democracy actually would come out in 2008. I didn't repeat the story because:

1. I don't know if it is true, or some kind of weird urban legend. And I don't like being responsible for the propagation of an urban legend.

2. I can't imagine how Dr. Pepper would go about distributing a free can of Dr. Pepper to every American.

3. I only care about the story if they will give me my choice of a diet Dr. Pepper. But I kind of doubt it, since diet soda pop is not very rock n roll.

I do think that the whole thing is pretty funny--even if (or especially if) it is all a big hoax. If it isn't, I do think that we should hold Dr. Pepper responsible for the offer.

Now that I think about it, I wouldn't put it past Axl Rose to have finally allowed the album out of the box just to call Dr. Pepper's bluff.

Ok, but really, Dr. Pepper?!!? It's just so freaking random.

Thanks A Lot. No, I Mean It. Thanks.

No Qwanty. Other people don't know about my weird Hogan's Heroes fetish. But thank you for mentioning it in front of my vast readership. Because that is so something that I wanted everyone to know about.

For clarification, I had a crush on that guy when I was about 6, and it was LONG before I knew about his whole porn connection. Now I feel appropriately grossed out by him.

But it is true that I have a thing about the film Pi and, really, any film where there is footage of a man shaving his head (as heartbreaking as the scene is, I also think that Luke Wilson's suicide attempt scene in The Royal Tenenbaums is hot).

I don't know where this comes from. I realize that it is disturbing. I also am not sure how this fits in with/conflicts with the problem with men's grooming. Maybe head-shaving seems uber-masculine to me. That's got to be it. You have to be a real man to take a razor to your head.

The John Malkovich thing I can neither confirm nor deny.