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.
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
06 August 2010
12 June 2010
Shout Outs
To my brother: I hear things have been a little rough in the great white north. Don't let the bastards get you down.
To Colorado: Way to be the first rats off the sinking ship, and welcome to the Pac 11.
To Baylor: Guess you guys are conference shopping. Good luck with that.
To Adam, with the adorable floppy hair: I would have been so super psyched if you and your drunk little friends had come to sit with me and my friends when I was your age. Want a piece of advice? Keep "You have to help me out here. I'm out of my element" in your pick up arsenal. You can get away with that for another few years. It's disarming. Have a good time drinking whiskey in Molalla tomorrow night. Happy 21st birthday.
To the Stray Cats: My apologies for butchering your song tonight. It was meant as an homage. Best intentions and all.
To Colorado: Way to be the first rats off the sinking ship, and welcome to the Pac 11.
To Baylor: Guess you guys are conference shopping. Good luck with that.
To Adam, with the adorable floppy hair: I would have been so super psyched if you and your drunk little friends had come to sit with me and my friends when I was your age. Want a piece of advice? Keep "You have to help me out here. I'm out of my element" in your pick up arsenal. You can get away with that for another few years. It's disarming. Have a good time drinking whiskey in Molalla tomorrow night. Happy 21st birthday.
To the Stray Cats: My apologies for butchering your song tonight. It was meant as an homage. Best intentions and all.
09 June 2010
Aw, Hell No!
Fair warning: this is going to be a post full of complaints.
1. In response to James's meditation on the remake of KK: I am totally with you. I have not blogged about this travesty for the very reason that I also have no intentions of seeing this. My issues, dear James, are slightly different from yours (although we do overlap on the red leather jacket). For one thing, why is the karate kid (oops! the Kung Fu Kid!) 12? I mean, the original film was a teen flick. Jaden Smith is not a teen. Ergo, this is not a teen flick. What's with that? If they had to have him, couldn't they have waited until he hit 16? It would have given Chan a few years to age too, and that couldn't hurt. I don't share your feelings about Jaden Smith though. I mean, he is the offspring of two of the most adorable people on Earth (even though I have a sneaking suspicion that Jada is not a very nice person). He is also adorable. But he's too young for this film. It is silly.
Also, I agree, Chan is no Miyagi. What is KK without Bonsai? Without catching flies with chopsticks? Without Southern California and a lot full of cars that may or may not run? Without a heart wrenching back story about a lost Japanese love? Without saki?
It's all crap. What's with Hollywood and remakes anyway? I know so many damn writers, some of them really talented, who could tell new stories, but we get this rehash. What's the point? It is so, so, so not interesting and not creative. Grrr.
2. The Pac 16? With Tejas and Oklahoma? Screw that. To quote my niece, "Are they even being serious right now?" Listen. I get the fact that it will bring better money, better television time, more prestige to the conference. I also get the fact that this could lay groundwork for several "superconferences" that could lead to some kind of actual playoff/national championship football situation. I also get that there would likely be two divisions that would return us to, for all intents and purposes, a Pac 8 situation. (Arizona and Arizona state would form the B division with Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, Texas, A & M, Tech and, probably, Baylor.) Those are pluses. I can't deny it. But I cannot get behind anything that ties the Oregon schools to the Texas and Oklahoma schools. On principle. Is that narrow minded and regionalist of me? Hell, yes. But the truth is, I don't want Texas anywhere near my Pacific anything. (By the way, we are going to be screwed when the state of Texas secedes from the union. We'll end up the Pac-13. And that just doesn't make any sense.)
3. If Paul Allen is going to fire Kevin Pritchard, I wish he'd just do it. I'm tired of the speculation already. There's been too much upheaval in the Oregon sporting world already this year (by the way, thank the sports gods that Masoli was stupid enough to get busted for what was reported to be a tiny possession charge. He only would have proven a distraction this coming year.). Just get rid of K.P. (without the blessing of the majority of Blazer fans) and name his replacement so that we can all get on with our lives.
4. And I can't believe I am saying this, but PLEASE, PLEASE could we get some warmer and sunnier weather?! I mean, you all know that I love rain more than most, but I do recognize that Oregonians need a few good months of sun in the summer. And I am good with that. Besides, I can't get a damn thing done with sheets of rain coming down all the time. It has been a miserable couple of months, and even the heartiest of us are starting to get a little down.
That's about it. For today. Feel free to leave your personal bitchfest in my comments section. Lord knows I deserve to have to listen to them!
1. In response to James's meditation on the remake of KK: I am totally with you. I have not blogged about this travesty for the very reason that I also have no intentions of seeing this. My issues, dear James, are slightly different from yours (although we do overlap on the red leather jacket). For one thing, why is the karate kid (oops! the Kung Fu Kid!) 12? I mean, the original film was a teen flick. Jaden Smith is not a teen. Ergo, this is not a teen flick. What's with that? If they had to have him, couldn't they have waited until he hit 16? It would have given Chan a few years to age too, and that couldn't hurt. I don't share your feelings about Jaden Smith though. I mean, he is the offspring of two of the most adorable people on Earth (even though I have a sneaking suspicion that Jada is not a very nice person). He is also adorable. But he's too young for this film. It is silly.
Also, I agree, Chan is no Miyagi. What is KK without Bonsai? Without catching flies with chopsticks? Without Southern California and a lot full of cars that may or may not run? Without a heart wrenching back story about a lost Japanese love? Without saki?
It's all crap. What's with Hollywood and remakes anyway? I know so many damn writers, some of them really talented, who could tell new stories, but we get this rehash. What's the point? It is so, so, so not interesting and not creative. Grrr.
2. The Pac 16? With Tejas and Oklahoma? Screw that. To quote my niece, "Are they even being serious right now?" Listen. I get the fact that it will bring better money, better television time, more prestige to the conference. I also get the fact that this could lay groundwork for several "superconferences" that could lead to some kind of actual playoff/national championship football situation. I also get that there would likely be two divisions that would return us to, for all intents and purposes, a Pac 8 situation. (Arizona and Arizona state would form the B division with Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, Texas, A & M, Tech and, probably, Baylor.) Those are pluses. I can't deny it. But I cannot get behind anything that ties the Oregon schools to the Texas and Oklahoma schools. On principle. Is that narrow minded and regionalist of me? Hell, yes. But the truth is, I don't want Texas anywhere near my Pacific anything. (By the way, we are going to be screwed when the state of Texas secedes from the union. We'll end up the Pac-13. And that just doesn't make any sense.)
3. If Paul Allen is going to fire Kevin Pritchard, I wish he'd just do it. I'm tired of the speculation already. There's been too much upheaval in the Oregon sporting world already this year (by the way, thank the sports gods that Masoli was stupid enough to get busted for what was reported to be a tiny possession charge. He only would have proven a distraction this coming year.). Just get rid of K.P. (without the blessing of the majority of Blazer fans) and name his replacement so that we can all get on with our lives.
4. And I can't believe I am saying this, but PLEASE, PLEASE could we get some warmer and sunnier weather?! I mean, you all know that I love rain more than most, but I do recognize that Oregonians need a few good months of sun in the summer. And I am good with that. Besides, I can't get a damn thing done with sheets of rain coming down all the time. It has been a miserable couple of months, and even the heartiest of us are starting to get a little down.
That's about it. For today. Feel free to leave your personal bitchfest in my comments section. Lord knows I deserve to have to listen to them!
21 November 2009
An Open Letter, Quack Quack
Dear Jeremiah et al: Thank you, first of all, for ensuring that all of Oregon gets to have the incredibly cool experience of watching you guys duke it out with Quizz and Canfield next weekend for a trip to the Rose Bowl. Everyone is super excited. Really. Super psyched.
In light of this totally historic season, you might think that I'm being kind of ungrateful, but I feel like I need to ask,
for the next game can you not win in double overtime? A double overtime that you only ended up in because you scored a TD with like, I don't know, under 20 seconds left in regulation?
I'm not asking for me. I mean, it was definitely a game that was too close to comfort for me. But I'm really asking for Bruce. He's not as young as he used to be. And if YOU saw him sitting in his leather recliner, in front of that giant new television, white knuckling it for the 15 minutes or so that it took to decide the game, you'd understand why it might be more healthy for him if you could just play, from now on, with a commanding lead. Really. The Dorseys would all totally appreciate it.
And really guys, I'm not trying to take anything from you. It's awesome. Go Ducks.
Kristin
In light of this totally historic season, you might think that I'm being kind of ungrateful, but I feel like I need to ask,
for the next game can you not win in double overtime? A double overtime that you only ended up in because you scored a TD with like, I don't know, under 20 seconds left in regulation?
I'm not asking for me. I mean, it was definitely a game that was too close to comfort for me. But I'm really asking for Bruce. He's not as young as he used to be. And if YOU saw him sitting in his leather recliner, in front of that giant new television, white knuckling it for the 15 minutes or so that it took to decide the game, you'd understand why it might be more healthy for him if you could just play, from now on, with a commanding lead. Really. The Dorseys would all totally appreciate it.
And really guys, I'm not trying to take anything from you. It's awesome. Go Ducks.
Kristin
18 August 2009
Unending Cycle
Since nothing else seems to keep him down, I am willing to go Buffy on Brett Favre's ass. Now. Right now. Before we have to endure another whole year of annoying and completely unnecessary Favre "news"/opinion. I am neutral about which of the methods would be most effective:
1. Stake through the heart and reburial in consecrated ground.
2. Silver bullet.
Or maybe we just need to call the Frog Bros out of retirement. I'm pretty sure JBro has their numbers on speed dial.
1. Stake through the heart and reburial in consecrated ground.
2. Silver bullet.
Or maybe we just need to call the Frog Bros out of retirement. I'm pretty sure JBro has their numbers on speed dial.
13 March 2009
Thoughts for Today
1. With the rather unexpected news that Mike Bellotti is stepping into his new role as AD at University of Oregon sooner rather than later, the big question everyone is asking is this: will Bellotti's first piece of business be to fire basketball coach Ernie Kent? The consensus before this announcement today seemed to be that Bellotti would wait until after current AD Pat Kilkenny had made a decision about the future of Oregon's men's basketball. This is an especially important time in the history of that program, given the fact that construction is starting on the new Phil Knight-sponsored arena. (It sounds like it is going to be an amazing facility.) Anyway--it will be an interesting situation to watch unfold. Everyone seems excited about new football coach Chip Kelly, who has been a fairly successful offensive coordinator, but who has never been a college-level head coach.
2. I was at Borders this morning in the 'Couve and I saw one of the strangest pieces of marketing. They had a feature table that was full of manga. OK, not weird in and of itself. BUT, the table was also laden with Japanese candy and boxes of Pocky! Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Pocky. But I don't think of Borders as my main Pocky outlet. It kinda freaked me out. Also, did you know that Pocky dipped in DARK chocolate is called (I kid you not) "Man's Pocky." Um. Why? The ladies can't handle dark chocolate? That is certainly not true.
3. I am confused. Am I supposed to LOVE Russell Brand, or HATE him? I don't think that trying to answer this question should send me into existential crisis, yet it almost does . . .
4. For the record, I think that it is totally weird that Anthony LaPaglia is in So I Married an Ax Murderer. How do you go from that to Murder One to Without a Trace? And how does Lantana fit into that trajectory?
2. I was at Borders this morning in the 'Couve and I saw one of the strangest pieces of marketing. They had a feature table that was full of manga. OK, not weird in and of itself. BUT, the table was also laden with Japanese candy and boxes of Pocky! Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Pocky. But I don't think of Borders as my main Pocky outlet. It kinda freaked me out. Also, did you know that Pocky dipped in DARK chocolate is called (I kid you not) "Man's Pocky." Um. Why? The ladies can't handle dark chocolate? That is certainly not true.
3. I am confused. Am I supposed to LOVE Russell Brand, or HATE him? I don't think that trying to answer this question should send me into existential crisis, yet it almost does . . .
4. For the record, I think that it is totally weird that Anthony LaPaglia is in So I Married an Ax Murderer. How do you go from that to Murder One to Without a Trace? And how does Lantana fit into that trajectory?
09 March 2009
I had some really important sports thoughts on Friday. So important that I completely forgot them until today.
1. I hate football a lot. And of all the NFL teams out there, I think I hate the Cowboys the most. But even I had to applaud their decision to cut T.O. And since I understand that it would be ridiculous for a future hall of famer to not find another job tout de suite (and don't think that I wasn't hoping against hope that he'd just become another unemployment statistic), I am at least glad to hear that a) he only has a one year contract with the Bills. He might even be enough of a pain in their ass that one year is all it will take for them to want to "set a new tone in the locker room" as well. b) he will be freezing off extremities that will not be named here. (I am a lady, afterall.)
2. As much as I hate football, and the Cowboys, there is something I hate even more. (Yes, fake hustle, but that's not what I am talking about right now.) Mercenary athletes. Athletes who only care about the bottom line and don't seem to be moved at all by the franchise for which they play--not the city, the fans, the tradition of a program. I think that loyalty is worth a little something. Perhaps this has to do with growing up in a one-sport, one-team town like PDX. But here, we like our athletes to like being our athletes. (And if you don't believe that, consider the true outpouring of love and regret over the passing of Kevin Duckworth last year.) Anyhoo--I suppose the 2-year contract between mercenary athlete Manny Ramirez and the Dodgers, from that city-without-a-soul, is fitting. But G--, how can anyone really celebrate THAT? I mean, I get it. The guy is a great baseball player, or something. But he just doesn't seem to care that much about who he plays for. I would think that even the zombie fans in LA would care about the lack of enthusiasm. (And I know, I know, everyone reports that Ramirez wants to be playing in LA, but he sure doesn't sound like it when he talks. And, sure, everyone tries to make as much money as he or she can, but faking a little enthusiasm about the job can't hurt.)
Finally, a word to the gentlemen of the Blazers: please win tonight. Phil Jackson said in a press conference this week that the reason that the Lakers have a sizable losing streak at the Rose Garden is because of the incessant rain and all the depressing faces in Portland. AHHHH! Take your crystals and your incense and well, you know, Mr. Jackson.
Today I asked Ella (who is still a week shy of being 4, officially) if she knew who the Blazers are playing tonight. She said, "no, who?" I said, "the Lakers." She made a face like something really foul had just hit her nose and said, "Oh, I don't like the Lakers."
She's not even four, people! We're all so proud.
1. I hate football a lot. And of all the NFL teams out there, I think I hate the Cowboys the most. But even I had to applaud their decision to cut T.O. And since I understand that it would be ridiculous for a future hall of famer to not find another job tout de suite (and don't think that I wasn't hoping against hope that he'd just become another unemployment statistic), I am at least glad to hear that a) he only has a one year contract with the Bills. He might even be enough of a pain in their ass that one year is all it will take for them to want to "set a new tone in the locker room" as well. b) he will be freezing off extremities that will not be named here. (I am a lady, afterall.)
2. As much as I hate football, and the Cowboys, there is something I hate even more. (Yes, fake hustle, but that's not what I am talking about right now.) Mercenary athletes. Athletes who only care about the bottom line and don't seem to be moved at all by the franchise for which they play--not the city, the fans, the tradition of a program. I think that loyalty is worth a little something. Perhaps this has to do with growing up in a one-sport, one-team town like PDX. But here, we like our athletes to like being our athletes. (And if you don't believe that, consider the true outpouring of love and regret over the passing of Kevin Duckworth last year.) Anyhoo--I suppose the 2-year contract between mercenary athlete Manny Ramirez and the Dodgers, from that city-without-a-soul, is fitting. But G--, how can anyone really celebrate THAT? I mean, I get it. The guy is a great baseball player, or something. But he just doesn't seem to care that much about who he plays for. I would think that even the zombie fans in LA would care about the lack of enthusiasm. (And I know, I know, everyone reports that Ramirez wants to be playing in LA, but he sure doesn't sound like it when he talks. And, sure, everyone tries to make as much money as he or she can, but faking a little enthusiasm about the job can't hurt.)
Finally, a word to the gentlemen of the Blazers: please win tonight. Phil Jackson said in a press conference this week that the reason that the Lakers have a sizable losing streak at the Rose Garden is because of the incessant rain and all the depressing faces in Portland. AHHHH! Take your crystals and your incense and well, you know, Mr. Jackson.
Today I asked Ella (who is still a week shy of being 4, officially) if she knew who the Blazers are playing tonight. She said, "no, who?" I said, "the Lakers." She made a face like something really foul had just hit her nose and said, "Oh, I don't like the Lakers."
She's not even four, people! We're all so proud.
25 September 2008
HA HA, USC.
Hey guys. Sorry about the most recent hiatus. I have been horribly sick, and started work, which means leaving the house by 6 am every morning. I have not had to do this since--um--I've NEVER had to do this. Not even in high school, when we started at an ungodly 7:15 or something like that.
Needless to say, I have not been feeling very energetic or inspired.
However, I could not possibly go to bed tonight without adding my CONGRATS! to the Beavs, who managed to do two of the only things that can make me happy in the realm of college football.
1. They have screwed with the BCS poll in a big way for this coming week, and in a Thursday night game, no less. And live on ESPN. The only thing I really love about college football is a good upset, particularly one delivered by the Ducks or Beavers.
2. They managed to pull said upset on USC, which is the one team in all of college football that I actively hate (as opposed to the simmering antipathy I have for the vast majority of programs).
Well done, gentlemen.
Between this post and my last one, I think that I have blown all of my sports opinions for the whole year, so something different next time. I'll give you a teaser about what I'm thinking, so you can look forward with great and eager anticipation.
For those of you who can't get enough
Here's a future blog hint, though it's rough:
He's gathered great fame,
But I don't know his name--
Is it Diddy or Daddy or Puff?
Check back!
Needless to say, I have not been feeling very energetic or inspired.
However, I could not possibly go to bed tonight without adding my CONGRATS! to the Beavs, who managed to do two of the only things that can make me happy in the realm of college football.
1. They have screwed with the BCS poll in a big way for this coming week, and in a Thursday night game, no less. And live on ESPN. The only thing I really love about college football is a good upset, particularly one delivered by the Ducks or Beavers.
2. They managed to pull said upset on USC, which is the one team in all of college football that I actively hate (as opposed to the simmering antipathy I have for the vast majority of programs).
Well done, gentlemen.
Between this post and my last one, I think that I have blown all of my sports opinions for the whole year, so something different next time. I'll give you a teaser about what I'm thinking, so you can look forward with great and eager anticipation.
For those of you who can't get enough
Here's a future blog hint, though it's rough:
He's gathered great fame,
But I don't know his name--
Is it Diddy or Daddy or Puff?
Check back!
15 September 2008
Portland Loves
Greg Oden.
On Monday, Mikey, of the J variety, sent me this, with the comment "How can you not love this guy?" I thank Mike for thinking of me and for sending this along. But I would have seen or heard it anyway, because it has been all over Portland media.
Originally, because of my ties to Texas athletics (the fact that I was mentoring in study hall the same time that the men's basketball team served study hall), I was sort of sorry that the Blazers didn't get Kevin Durant. I thought it would be especially cool to see two former UT players (Durant and LaMarcus Aldridge) in Portland, since I'm always looking for ways to feel like my two most recent worlds are colliding. I was, and I'm ashamed to say it now, disappointed to see the Blazers draft Greg Oden instead--even more so when the news came that Oden would not play his first season due to knee surgery.
No offence or disrespect to Kevin Durant. But, boy, was I wrong.
And I say the following with absolute sincerity: I have never, ever cared as much about any professional athlete as I care about Greg Oden. And I am including that strange crush I had on Andre Aggassi in 1991 that caused me to actually put up a poster of him in my bedroom (a dubious honor that he shares only with Johnny Depp--circa 21 Jump Street, Elvis, and the Beatles). Greg Oden is a cool freaking guy. He sings 'N Sync in front of hundreds of kids, badly. He talks to Barack Obama on the telephone and then goes on RIB to talk about the experience. He writes a blog, which is charming and silly as hell (if you only read one recent entry, read the one about him going to see Kanye West and Rihanna). And while you are looking at this material, consider this: THIS may be (is, in fact, likely to be) the next monster superstar of the NBA. He is a goofy, down-to-earth, self-conscious kid. And Portland is already in love with him, before we've seen him play a single NBA game, in spite of the fact that we already have a team full of great young guys who we AlSO love. Hell, I saw the guy riding in a truck during the Jr. Rose Festival Parade in June and had to hold myself back from running onto Sandy Boulevard to give him a big ol' hug. And you people know how I feel about hugs.
Those of you who are not from Portland may not understand how meaningful this team, and this particular player, are to this city. The Blazers are all that we've got--no other professional sports teams. Our state universities are represented by duck and beaver mascots. With the exception of some great runners (moment of silence for Pre) and a surprising recent run by the OSU Baseball team, we sort of know that we can't really compete--or at least can't often compete--in the realm of sports. We are the city equivalent of the kid who always gets picked last in P.E. So this is an exciting year for us. It is the chance (or the beginning of the chance) for Portland to play--hell--to compete--with the big dogs. And, because we believe in the character of this player, and the players of this team generally, we can do it without feeling a loss of integrity.
And that is why Portland loves Greg Oden.
On Monday, Mikey, of the J variety, sent me this, with the comment "How can you not love this guy?" I thank Mike for thinking of me and for sending this along. But I would have seen or heard it anyway, because it has been all over Portland media.
Originally, because of my ties to Texas athletics (the fact that I was mentoring in study hall the same time that the men's basketball team served study hall), I was sort of sorry that the Blazers didn't get Kevin Durant. I thought it would be especially cool to see two former UT players (Durant and LaMarcus Aldridge) in Portland, since I'm always looking for ways to feel like my two most recent worlds are colliding. I was, and I'm ashamed to say it now, disappointed to see the Blazers draft Greg Oden instead--even more so when the news came that Oden would not play his first season due to knee surgery.
No offence or disrespect to Kevin Durant. But, boy, was I wrong.
And I say the following with absolute sincerity: I have never, ever cared as much about any professional athlete as I care about Greg Oden. And I am including that strange crush I had on Andre Aggassi in 1991 that caused me to actually put up a poster of him in my bedroom (a dubious honor that he shares only with Johnny Depp--circa 21 Jump Street, Elvis, and the Beatles). Greg Oden is a cool freaking guy. He sings 'N Sync in front of hundreds of kids, badly. He talks to Barack Obama on the telephone and then goes on RIB to talk about the experience. He writes a blog, which is charming and silly as hell (if you only read one recent entry, read the one about him going to see Kanye West and Rihanna). And while you are looking at this material, consider this: THIS may be (is, in fact, likely to be) the next monster superstar of the NBA. He is a goofy, down-to-earth, self-conscious kid. And Portland is already in love with him, before we've seen him play a single NBA game, in spite of the fact that we already have a team full of great young guys who we AlSO love. Hell, I saw the guy riding in a truck during the Jr. Rose Festival Parade in June and had to hold myself back from running onto Sandy Boulevard to give him a big ol' hug. And you people know how I feel about hugs.
Those of you who are not from Portland may not understand how meaningful this team, and this particular player, are to this city. The Blazers are all that we've got--no other professional sports teams. Our state universities are represented by duck and beaver mascots. With the exception of some great runners (moment of silence for Pre) and a surprising recent run by the OSU Baseball team, we sort of know that we can't really compete--or at least can't often compete--in the realm of sports. We are the city equivalent of the kid who always gets picked last in P.E. So this is an exciting year for us. It is the chance (or the beginning of the chance) for Portland to play--hell--to compete--with the big dogs. And, because we believe in the character of this player, and the players of this team generally, we can do it without feeling a loss of integrity.
And that is why Portland loves Greg Oden.
18 July 2008
I Hate Bulls***
Before I begin this post in earnest, let me admit that I realize that my title is, in itself, bullshit. In several ways BS is my bread and butter. Consider: 1) I have been accused of possessing the Dorsey tendency toward hyperbole (thanks for that, Mikey J). 2) I like to tell stories. 3) I am in a PhD program in English Literature. Enough said.
But there is a specific brand of BS that I do hate. And I have a hard time characterizing it exactly, so I am going to provide you with a few very specific examples so that you get my general meaning.
* I hate encores. Encores are the kind of BS that I hate. Listen Mr./Ms Rockstar, I know that you have a specific set list that you are going to play on any given night. I know that you are going to save some of your best material (and maybe a kickass cover or two) for the end of the show. Why do you have to walk offstage and make me beg for it? Did I not already pay out the nose and then stand around for two hours (not to mention the hour for your crappy opening act) getting elbowed and groped and having to watch some obnoxious couple glue themselves together (woman's back to man's stomach) and sway in front of me, all for the pleasure of hearing the one or two songs that I really like at the end of the evening? C'mon. I hate clapping anyway. You have hard earned cash that should prove my appreciation. Just come out on stage and play a freaking set and then have the house turn up the lights to let me know to go home. I don't need to chap my palms just to have you run back up on stage to give a practiced Sally-Field-esque "they like me, they really like me" look to your audience. And don't even get me started on the multiple encore variety. That is just ridiculous.
*I hate haggling. Haggling is the kind of BS that I hate. Just tell me what you want for an item, and then I'll decide if I think that it is worth it. Seriously. This is why I avoid 1) car dealerships, 2) garage sales, 3) conversations with my brother. (You all know which one I mean, too.) I also avoid late-night television infomercials. How 'bout you only take up two minutes of airtime and leave the other 58 for for rerunning The Scarecrow and Mrs. King (which, let's face it, is what I really want to be watching at 3 am) by just telling me everything that my $19.99 plus shipping and handling (also BS, by the way) will buy? I don't need the illusion of getting anything free. I just need to know everything that will come in the box, should I order your product, and then I need some Bruce Boxleitner.
*I hate threats from people in authority that something is going to go on my "permanent record." "Permanent records" are the kind of BS that I hate. What crap. No one has a "permanent record", except maybe with the FBI or with Homeland Security, and, let's face it, if you have that kind of file, no one is there reminding you that they are keeping records. They want to make you forget that you have that kind of permanent record.
*But more than any of that, I hate athletes who claim that they are going to retire and then keep coming back to their sport, often running their otherwise admirable sporting legacy into the ground. Retirement fake-outs are the kind of BS that I hate.
And now maybe you know what this post is really about--that giant tool Brett Favre. Seriously. I don't care how good a QB he is, or how loyal he has been perceived as being to the Packers, if I were a Packer fan (hell, if I cared about professional football at all), I'd be pissed. Either play the game or don't, I don't really care, but STOP claiming that you are retiring.
Did his mother never read Brett "The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf"? That kid was EATEN because he played fast and loose with the truth. Don't test people's devotion, Brett, because eventually they will start to feel burned. (And I understand that Favre is not the first athlete to pull this sort of thing. I mean, this is part of the reason that I can't freaking stand Michael Jordan, and why, as much as I like the idea of sweaty men in shorts trying to hit each other as hard as they can, I can't get too into boxing.)
True story: in the early to mid-1980s, the members of Duran Duran constantly leaked rumors that the band was breaking up. Every time this intelligence reached me, I'd cry hot, sad and angry tears of frustration. How could life continue if Nick, John, Simon, Andy and Roger could not (WOULD NOT!) continue on together? But after several years of these rumors (1982-1985), I finally wised up. At the tender age of ten I came to realize that I had been played. These threats of disbanding were just a way to drum up interest, which would lead to record sales. The final betrayal--a "temporary" hiatus in which Duran Duran became Power Station and Arcadia (both bands that sounded like DD, but somehow much less cool)--only reaffirmed what I already knew. That these men were not artists. They were opportunists. And, what's more, they were lying opportunists. (Note that they toured the U.S. earlier this year.)
Packers fans, take a page from my book. Heartache and disillusionment lie this way. Recognize Favre for the whiny, aging, egomaniac that he is. Let him go. Make it clear that you don't need him anymore. Don't give him what he wants.
I hate Brett Favre. Brett Favre is the kind of BS that I hate.
But there is a specific brand of BS that I do hate. And I have a hard time characterizing it exactly, so I am going to provide you with a few very specific examples so that you get my general meaning.
* I hate encores. Encores are the kind of BS that I hate. Listen Mr./Ms Rockstar, I know that you have a specific set list that you are going to play on any given night. I know that you are going to save some of your best material (and maybe a kickass cover or two) for the end of the show. Why do you have to walk offstage and make me beg for it? Did I not already pay out the nose and then stand around for two hours (not to mention the hour for your crappy opening act) getting elbowed and groped and having to watch some obnoxious couple glue themselves together (woman's back to man's stomach) and sway in front of me, all for the pleasure of hearing the one or two songs that I really like at the end of the evening? C'mon. I hate clapping anyway. You have hard earned cash that should prove my appreciation. Just come out on stage and play a freaking set and then have the house turn up the lights to let me know to go home. I don't need to chap my palms just to have you run back up on stage to give a practiced Sally-Field-esque "they like me, they really like me" look to your audience. And don't even get me started on the multiple encore variety. That is just ridiculous.
*I hate haggling. Haggling is the kind of BS that I hate. Just tell me what you want for an item, and then I'll decide if I think that it is worth it. Seriously. This is why I avoid 1) car dealerships, 2) garage sales, 3) conversations with my brother. (You all know which one I mean, too.) I also avoid late-night television infomercials. How 'bout you only take up two minutes of airtime and leave the other 58 for for rerunning The Scarecrow and Mrs. King (which, let's face it, is what I really want to be watching at 3 am) by just telling me everything that my $19.99 plus shipping and handling (also BS, by the way) will buy? I don't need the illusion of getting anything free. I just need to know everything that will come in the box, should I order your product, and then I need some Bruce Boxleitner.
*I hate threats from people in authority that something is going to go on my "permanent record." "Permanent records" are the kind of BS that I hate. What crap. No one has a "permanent record", except maybe with the FBI or with Homeland Security, and, let's face it, if you have that kind of file, no one is there reminding you that they are keeping records. They want to make you forget that you have that kind of permanent record.
*But more than any of that, I hate athletes who claim that they are going to retire and then keep coming back to their sport, often running their otherwise admirable sporting legacy into the ground. Retirement fake-outs are the kind of BS that I hate.
And now maybe you know what this post is really about--that giant tool Brett Favre. Seriously. I don't care how good a QB he is, or how loyal he has been perceived as being to the Packers, if I were a Packer fan (hell, if I cared about professional football at all), I'd be pissed. Either play the game or don't, I don't really care, but STOP claiming that you are retiring.
Did his mother never read Brett "The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf"? That kid was EATEN because he played fast and loose with the truth. Don't test people's devotion, Brett, because eventually they will start to feel burned. (And I understand that Favre is not the first athlete to pull this sort of thing. I mean, this is part of the reason that I can't freaking stand Michael Jordan, and why, as much as I like the idea of sweaty men in shorts trying to hit each other as hard as they can, I can't get too into boxing.)
True story: in the early to mid-1980s, the members of Duran Duran constantly leaked rumors that the band was breaking up. Every time this intelligence reached me, I'd cry hot, sad and angry tears of frustration. How could life continue if Nick, John, Simon, Andy and Roger could not (WOULD NOT!) continue on together? But after several years of these rumors (1982-1985), I finally wised up. At the tender age of ten I came to realize that I had been played. These threats of disbanding were just a way to drum up interest, which would lead to record sales. The final betrayal--a "temporary" hiatus in which Duran Duran became Power Station and Arcadia (both bands that sounded like DD, but somehow much less cool)--only reaffirmed what I already knew. That these men were not artists. They were opportunists. And, what's more, they were lying opportunists. (Note that they toured the U.S. earlier this year.)
Packers fans, take a page from my book. Heartache and disillusionment lie this way. Recognize Favre for the whiny, aging, egomaniac that he is. Let him go. Make it clear that you don't need him anymore. Don't give him what he wants.
I hate Brett Favre. Brett Favre is the kind of BS that I hate.
09 April 2008
Why I love Sports Talk Radio
Lately it has come to my attention that I have no idea how often I talk about certain things, or do not talk about certain things. This leads to me being surprised over and over again in the following ways:
Scenario 1: "WHAT?! How did you know that I am all about _________________ (fill in the blank with whatever thing I love)? Seriously? When did I tell you about that?"
Scenario 2: "WHAT?! You don't know that I am all about ________________ (fill in the blank with whatever thing I love)? Seriously? I have never told you about that?"
I have no sense of what people know about me and what they don't know.
So, I don't know if many of you know this, but I freakin' love sports talk radio. There are various reasons for this. One of them is that, in very general terms, I hate sports, but I like knowing something about them. Another reason is that, as Mikey J has helped me understand, the fact that I have no dog in any sports-related fight means that I can enjoy sports talk radio on a level of pure entertainment. It is particularly entertaining to me because (as you may or may not know), I love dudes. And sports talk radio is filled with dudes having an almost exclusively dude-oriented conversation that I can totally listen in on. Finally, I love the rhetoric of sports talk radio, which you may know if you have ever heard me talk about Jim Rome (who I love above over all other sports guys. Which is something I also have in common with Jim Rome, who loves his own show much more than he actually loves sports and certainly more than he loves all other sports guys).
The language--the lingo--of sports talk radio is what keeps me coming back though. Rarely in the world do I hear more TRUE statements than I hear come out of the mouths of sports guys. Consider:
One of the greatest bonding moments that occurred last year when I was traveling with my youngest brother (who does not like to be named by name in my blogs) from Portland to Austin happened while we were listening to ESPN radio. The topic was the Super Bowl and we were in that weird 2 week time period between the time when we all know who will be playing, and when the game actually gets played. This is my least favorite time in the sports talk radio calendar, because there is, essentially, no news. So guys just jaw over the same questions over and over again until you think, "Just play the g--damn game already!" because you are so sick of the speculation about whether Peyton Manning needs a Super Bowl ring and how he is going to act if he doesn't get it (which WAS the conversation about that Super Bowl). YAWN. Anyway. That is what the conversation was about, and then we heard the greatest thing that either one of us had ever heard before. Two guys are having this totally boring conversation and then one of them dismisses ALL speculation about the strategy and playbooks and everything else by uttering the following:
"Well, you know, this all probably doesn't really matter. Cuz what it comes down to is that football isn't about the Xs and the Os--it's about the Willies and the Joes."
This statement is so awesome on so many fronts that I don't even know how to begin to parse it for you. But if you read it, and you intuitively KNOW why it is awesome, then you get it. And if you need me to parse it, well, you probably won't ever get it. It was all that Blake and I could talk about for the next several hours.
My second example comes from just about a month ago. It was the Friday before St. Patrick's Day, and I was listening to Dan Patrick's show. I don't love Dan Patrick, necessarily. But he was talking about some college basketball player and how much he didn't like the guy. His reason? "He seems like a total Eddie Haskell. I mean, he is all about the fake hustle. [Long Pause] And I hate fake hustle."
As Patrick went on to discuss what he meant by fake hustle (a discussion that I didn't need--as I knew EXACTLY what he meant), I felt like I had been hit by a freaking lightening bolt. Dan Patrick had uttered a truism that I have FELT all my life, but that I had never been able to fit into such a compact and pithy linguistic package. I DO hate fake hustle. I hate it when students try to cover up the fact that they aren't keeping up with the work by acting SUPER interested in everything that happens in class. Or c0-workers who up their game when there is a boss around. Or basketball players who dive on a ball that is going out-of-bounds when they know that it won't make a damn bit of difference. It's all about the effect. It is spectacle. Ass-kissing spectacle. Love me, because I hustle, these people seem to say.
Dan Patrick, I hate fake hustle too.
Now we're all on the same page. I love sports talk radio. I hate fake hustle. I like listening in to dude's conversations, particularly when I don't care about the topic. And I like knowing what other people do know about me and don't know about me--although I am not particularly good at figuring it out.
Scenario 1: "WHAT?! How did you know that I am all about _________________ (fill in the blank with whatever thing I love)? Seriously? When did I tell you about that?"
Scenario 2: "WHAT?! You don't know that I am all about ________________ (fill in the blank with whatever thing I love)? Seriously? I have never told you about that?"
I have no sense of what people know about me and what they don't know.
So, I don't know if many of you know this, but I freakin' love sports talk radio. There are various reasons for this. One of them is that, in very general terms, I hate sports, but I like knowing something about them. Another reason is that, as Mikey J has helped me understand, the fact that I have no dog in any sports-related fight means that I can enjoy sports talk radio on a level of pure entertainment. It is particularly entertaining to me because (as you may or may not know), I love dudes. And sports talk radio is filled with dudes having an almost exclusively dude-oriented conversation that I can totally listen in on. Finally, I love the rhetoric of sports talk radio, which you may know if you have ever heard me talk about Jim Rome (who I love above over all other sports guys. Which is something I also have in common with Jim Rome, who loves his own show much more than he actually loves sports and certainly more than he loves all other sports guys).
The language--the lingo--of sports talk radio is what keeps me coming back though. Rarely in the world do I hear more TRUE statements than I hear come out of the mouths of sports guys. Consider:
One of the greatest bonding moments that occurred last year when I was traveling with my youngest brother (who does not like to be named by name in my blogs) from Portland to Austin happened while we were listening to ESPN radio. The topic was the Super Bowl and we were in that weird 2 week time period between the time when we all know who will be playing, and when the game actually gets played. This is my least favorite time in the sports talk radio calendar, because there is, essentially, no news. So guys just jaw over the same questions over and over again until you think, "Just play the g--damn game already!" because you are so sick of the speculation about whether Peyton Manning needs a Super Bowl ring and how he is going to act if he doesn't get it (which WAS the conversation about that Super Bowl). YAWN. Anyway. That is what the conversation was about, and then we heard the greatest thing that either one of us had ever heard before. Two guys are having this totally boring conversation and then one of them dismisses ALL speculation about the strategy and playbooks and everything else by uttering the following:
"Well, you know, this all probably doesn't really matter. Cuz what it comes down to is that football isn't about the Xs and the Os--it's about the Willies and the Joes."
This statement is so awesome on so many fronts that I don't even know how to begin to parse it for you. But if you read it, and you intuitively KNOW why it is awesome, then you get it. And if you need me to parse it, well, you probably won't ever get it. It was all that Blake and I could talk about for the next several hours.
My second example comes from just about a month ago. It was the Friday before St. Patrick's Day, and I was listening to Dan Patrick's show. I don't love Dan Patrick, necessarily. But he was talking about some college basketball player and how much he didn't like the guy. His reason? "He seems like a total Eddie Haskell. I mean, he is all about the fake hustle. [Long Pause] And I hate fake hustle."
As Patrick went on to discuss what he meant by fake hustle (a discussion that I didn't need--as I knew EXACTLY what he meant), I felt like I had been hit by a freaking lightening bolt. Dan Patrick had uttered a truism that I have FELT all my life, but that I had never been able to fit into such a compact and pithy linguistic package. I DO hate fake hustle. I hate it when students try to cover up the fact that they aren't keeping up with the work by acting SUPER interested in everything that happens in class. Or c0-workers who up their game when there is a boss around. Or basketball players who dive on a ball that is going out-of-bounds when they know that it won't make a damn bit of difference. It's all about the effect. It is spectacle. Ass-kissing spectacle. Love me, because I hustle, these people seem to say.
Dan Patrick, I hate fake hustle too.
Now we're all on the same page. I love sports talk radio. I hate fake hustle. I like listening in to dude's conversations, particularly when I don't care about the topic. And I like knowing what other people do know about me and don't know about me--although I am not particularly good at figuring it out.
01 April 2008
My Day at the NCAA Men's Basketball Tourney
Yes, that is right sports fans. You can be eating your hearts out right about now because I, non-sports lover and non-UT fan, was in attendance at the Texas/Memphis game in Houston on Sunday. Thanks are due to my good friend Nikki (who also deserves thanks for the lovely purple nails I'm sporting this week), who took me with her on this adventure.
If you saw the game on CBS you already know that it was dismal. Texas was thoroughly outplayed. If that wasn't bad enough, the officiating was downright offensive. By 5 minutes into the second half the Texas fans had stopped even reacting to bad calls. Perhaps the worst and most overtly egregious call came then--a Memphis player very obviously swatted a ball away from a Texas player. The Texas player wasn't even close to actually touching the ball. The ball went out of bounds and the call went to Memphis. Although there was almost no verbal reaction to the call, heads were shaken and eyes were rubbed all around me. The reactions indicated the extreme weariness of the fans.
In spite of the outcome of the game itself, the experience of going to the game is one that I'm awfully glad that I got to have. As we all know, large-scale sporting events can really bring out the crazies, so it is a place for great people-watching. Since you didn't get to see this part on TV, consider this your insider look:
1) As we got out of the car in the parking lot of Reliant Stadium, a huge white SUV-type (you know, Suburban-sized) vehicle pulled in next to us. Inside there were 2 gentlemen who I would guess were both in their late 30s (or early 40s) and were surely frat boys at UT twenty years ago. Before they got out of the car they pulled out a fifth of something (I'll guess vodka) which they then poured mixed with Sprite in their Starbucks coffeemugs. Nikki pointed out the conspicuous carseats in the back. (This is, by the way, the exact moment that I started to get excited about the 2 and a half hour drive back to Austin after the game.)
2) Once inside the stadium, we visited the vendors and then sat at the empty bar (NCAA rules prevent the selling of alcohol at most or all[?] NCAA-sponsored events) to eat and chat. Mid-story Nikki interrupted me and told me to look over my shoulder. About 20 feet away stood a man who must have been 75 dressed in Memphis blue. He was doing some very elaborate calisthenics. He seemed to be counting as he went. After a period of time, he began doing a different routine. This went on almost until the playing of the National Anthem.
3) Since Austin was really, by proximity, the "home team", the stadium was packed with burnt orange. Those of you who are not in Austin, or who have not been in Austin, can only really imagine seas of burnt orange--because they do have to be seen in person to be believed. Sometimes I wonder what the more awe-inspiring perspective on the burnt orange phenomenon is because, in case you don't know, there are two perspectives. The first is the "forest" perspective: when viewed this way, your wonder is piqued by the sheer amount of burnt orange that can be assembled in one place at one time. It's overwhelming. Like standing at the edge of the Pacific Ocean for the first time. The other perspective (and perhaps you have already anticipated it) is the "trees" perspective. If you look at the crowd as a huge group of individuals, you soon become dizzy with the variety of expression of burnt orange possible. Button-downs, polos, tee shirts (representing every sport, every UT logo, every academic discipline, every extracurricular interest), tank tops, sweaters, jackets, shorts, jogging suits, Hawaiian shirts, and skirts with rhinestone longhorns on the back pocket. And flip flops. LOTS of burnt orange flip flops.
4) Since the UT fan base seemed to outnumber the Memphis one about 10-1, it was not surprising that the noise generated by the UT attendees in the first half was considerable. But, by just a couple of minutes into the second half, the crowd had been almost entirely hushed. (Not just in reaction to bad calls, but in reaction to anything that happened during the game.) By the time that the second half was half over, the stadium began bleeding streams of orange. At one point the announcer said, "We invite you to stay seated for the rest of the game. The game is not yet over." The reaction by most Texas fans seemed to be, "We invite you to kiss our burnt orange asses." By the last 2 minutes of the game, the roar of the tiny Memphis team was deafening, while the (loyal and sportsmanlike) remaining Texas fans sat in what can only be described as stunned silence.
5) Lest I leave you on a sad note--let me assure you that the spirit of the Longhorn is one not easily squashed. Losses are easily forgotten, and victories loom large in the imagination of the people of Tejas. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Nikki spotted a truck in front of us about to enter the freeway, a can of Bud Ice perched precariously on the back bumper as if to say, "speed and wind, I defy you." The car had a Texas license plate and a Longhorn medallion.
Hook 'em.
If you saw the game on CBS you already know that it was dismal. Texas was thoroughly outplayed. If that wasn't bad enough, the officiating was downright offensive. By 5 minutes into the second half the Texas fans had stopped even reacting to bad calls. Perhaps the worst and most overtly egregious call came then--a Memphis player very obviously swatted a ball away from a Texas player. The Texas player wasn't even close to actually touching the ball. The ball went out of bounds and the call went to Memphis. Although there was almost no verbal reaction to the call, heads were shaken and eyes were rubbed all around me. The reactions indicated the extreme weariness of the fans.
In spite of the outcome of the game itself, the experience of going to the game is one that I'm awfully glad that I got to have. As we all know, large-scale sporting events can really bring out the crazies, so it is a place for great people-watching. Since you didn't get to see this part on TV, consider this your insider look:
1) As we got out of the car in the parking lot of Reliant Stadium, a huge white SUV-type (you know, Suburban-sized) vehicle pulled in next to us. Inside there were 2 gentlemen who I would guess were both in their late 30s (or early 40s) and were surely frat boys at UT twenty years ago. Before they got out of the car they pulled out a fifth of something (I'll guess vodka) which they then poured mixed with Sprite in their Starbucks coffeemugs. Nikki pointed out the conspicuous carseats in the back. (This is, by the way, the exact moment that I started to get excited about the 2 and a half hour drive back to Austin after the game.)
2) Once inside the stadium, we visited the vendors and then sat at the empty bar (NCAA rules prevent the selling of alcohol at most or all[?] NCAA-sponsored events) to eat and chat. Mid-story Nikki interrupted me and told me to look over my shoulder. About 20 feet away stood a man who must have been 75 dressed in Memphis blue. He was doing some very elaborate calisthenics. He seemed to be counting as he went. After a period of time, he began doing a different routine. This went on almost until the playing of the National Anthem.
3) Since Austin was really, by proximity, the "home team", the stadium was packed with burnt orange. Those of you who are not in Austin, or who have not been in Austin, can only really imagine seas of burnt orange--because they do have to be seen in person to be believed. Sometimes I wonder what the more awe-inspiring perspective on the burnt orange phenomenon is because, in case you don't know, there are two perspectives. The first is the "forest" perspective: when viewed this way, your wonder is piqued by the sheer amount of burnt orange that can be assembled in one place at one time. It's overwhelming. Like standing at the edge of the Pacific Ocean for the first time. The other perspective (and perhaps you have already anticipated it) is the "trees" perspective. If you look at the crowd as a huge group of individuals, you soon become dizzy with the variety of expression of burnt orange possible. Button-downs, polos, tee shirts (representing every sport, every UT logo, every academic discipline, every extracurricular interest), tank tops, sweaters, jackets, shorts, jogging suits, Hawaiian shirts, and skirts with rhinestone longhorns on the back pocket. And flip flops. LOTS of burnt orange flip flops.
4) Since the UT fan base seemed to outnumber the Memphis one about 10-1, it was not surprising that the noise generated by the UT attendees in the first half was considerable. But, by just a couple of minutes into the second half, the crowd had been almost entirely hushed. (Not just in reaction to bad calls, but in reaction to anything that happened during the game.) By the time that the second half was half over, the stadium began bleeding streams of orange. At one point the announcer said, "We invite you to stay seated for the rest of the game. The game is not yet over." The reaction by most Texas fans seemed to be, "We invite you to kiss our burnt orange asses." By the last 2 minutes of the game, the roar of the tiny Memphis team was deafening, while the (loyal and sportsmanlike) remaining Texas fans sat in what can only be described as stunned silence.
5) Lest I leave you on a sad note--let me assure you that the spirit of the Longhorn is one not easily squashed. Losses are easily forgotten, and victories loom large in the imagination of the people of Tejas. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Nikki spotted a truck in front of us about to enter the freeway, a can of Bud Ice perched precariously on the back bumper as if to say, "speed and wind, I defy you." The car had a Texas license plate and a Longhorn medallion.
Hook 'em.
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