A boxer: blindsided

The title of this post is a tribute to / blatant rip-off of Harry Sylvester's phenomenal short story, "A Boxer: Old." In this particular case, however, the protagonist is not a likable boxer fighting two relentless opponents: the boxer in front of him, and the ravages of time. The blindsided boxer in this case is a petulant little sanitary napkin named Floyd "Moneyless" Mayweather. A few days ago, he called in a satellite radio show co-hosted by some dude named RA the Rugged Man, probably thinking he'd get tossed a few softball questions and then be showered with lavish praise. Instead, this RA character blindsided "Pretty Broke" Floyd with a ton of tough questions regarding his career, his legacy, and his obnoxious tendency to proclaim himself the greatest of all time while demeaning possible opponents. Mayweather's response was predictable: lots of shouting, lots of empty posturing, lots of references to his wealth, but very little substance. In a way, I felt bad for Moneyless, even though I absolutely despise him, because I thought the instantly confrontational tone of the interview was unfair. Be that as it may, the interviewer, while not the most knowledgeable and articulate person, did know his boxing, and raised some very valid objections to the way Mayweather's career has been handled.

Here is the interview, in two parts:





I'll speak on behalf of the Floyd haters (h8rs), since I genuinely despise Moneyless. Those of us who dislike the man but are still somewhat rational don't judge his on-the-ring performance based on his personality. When Moneyless dismantled Chico Corrales, I was disgusted by the outcome but dazzled by Moneyless' brilliant (and it WAS brilliant) performance. Same thing when he took apart a then-undefeated and highly lauded Hatton. And I, for one, can't blame Moneyless for fighting Baldomir -- Baldomir had beaten Judah for his title, then beaten Gatti. Moneyless fought Judah first (and make no mistake about it, Judah was considered the better fighter even after his loss to Baldomir) and then Baldomir for his title. No complaints there, at least not from me.

My problem with Moneyless stems from his obnoxious, abrasive, not at all funny personality. When people ask him (rightly, in my humble opinion) why he chose not to fight Margarito or Mosley (and he DID make those choice -- even his most staunch supporters cannot deny that), his answer is to discredit those fighters he chose not to fight. "Oh, you mean the Shane Mosley that lost to Forrest? Lost to Cotto? You mean the Margarito that lost to Paul Williams?" So what if they lost some fights? That's not the reason Floyd chose not to fight them. I guess I despise him because he constantly and unremittingly insults mine and all other boxing fans' intelligence with his tiresome rhetoric. Just tell us you were biding your time for better fights or waiting for a better build-up of fight interest, which I, personally, would be inclined to accept. That's what he did with Judah. If memory serves, their fight was hashed out months in advance, and even though Judah, in his inimitable idiocy, muffed things by taking Baldomir lightly and losing a lackluster decision to him, Moneyless followed through on his plans and fought Judah first. Hey, boxing's a business, fighters need to make money. Even the most ardent hater (h8r) can and should understand that. But Mayweather gets on my nerves because he's a liar, and a pretty shitty liar at that, and I just can't stand liars, especially the stupid ones who believe their own lies. Case in point: Pretty Broke Floyd swearing up and down that he didn't owe the IRS millions of $$$, then showing off his impressive mansion on an HBO fight preview show, all while proclaiming, "My shit is paid for... how 'bout yours?" only to immediately turn over roughly half of his winnings from his last fight to the IRS to, you guessed it, settle his million $$$ debt to the government. What a douche bag.

So I guess that's it for me. I just despise Mayweather's boorish, obnoxious, "let me reinvent the truth and then shout it loudly because that'll somehow give my lies legitimacy" spiel. If that makes me a typical old-fogey white h8r, then so be it.

Happy Halloween

Or, if you prefer, Happy Helloween!!!

Couldn't have written it better myself...

... so I won't even bother to try.

The hard-luck life of a Cleveland Browns fan, by Geoff LaTulippe. You may also extend this excruciating pain to being a Cleveland Indians and Cleveland Cavaliers fan. Wait 'til next year...

Lamb of God and Metallica

I was lucky enough to go see Lamb of God and Metallica last week, courtesy of my awesome nephew & godson Patrick, who insisted on buying me a ticket as a birthday gift. Never go against the family! Five of us squeezed into my little Saturn, and off we went to Fort Lauderdale for a slice of heavy metal bliss. A few photo links from the event: the crowd waiting in line to get in; Lamb of God; the obligatory cammo-loving, tee-pee-dragging cracker-ass cracker shot; Metallica's laser show; Metallica performing; Metallica saying their goodbyes.

Lamb of God performed a slew of old favourites and a few songs from their outstanding new album, "Wrath." Unfortunately, they had horrible sound issues, so that the only thing that could be heard clearly were the drums, and even that was intermittent. As a result, their set, which should have whipped the crowd into a seething frenzy, seemed oddly subdued and left us all pretty unsatisfied. If you hadn't heard Lamb of God prior to this performance, you'd have been wondering why they weren't named Lamb of Valium. The phenomenal breakdown that takes place halfway through "Ruin"? Inaudible. The inhuman, braying screams at the end of every chorus of "Laid to Rest"? Inaudible. The relentless double bass pedal insanity of "Black Label"? Inaudible. I recorded a videoclip of "Walk with me in Hell" -- yet another phenomenal, driving song, reduced to garbled static and rhythmic pounding by the crappy sound set-up:



Metallica more than made up for the disappointment of Lamb of God by playing two and a half hours of solid metal. It's good to see Metallica finally remembering that they're a heavy metal band, and not some Top 40 radio-oriented shite band. I always felt that the Black Album was a seminal turning point for the band. It was a terrific effort, but it garnered Metallica enormous mainstream success, leading to a proverbial fork in the road: would the band get drunk on the success and keep trying for it, or would they continue to produce high-quality music, and if the success followed, so be it? Load, Reload, the Metallicats, St. Anger, and whatever other garbage they put out following the Black Album is, in my humble opinion, a product of Metallica loving their mainstream acceptability and catering to it. Luckily, they took an extended break and came to their senses. Their new album, Death Magnetic, is outstanding, and is the rightful evolutionary heir to And Justice for All and the Black Album. I think Metallica themselves admit this, because their set consisted of seven songs from Death Magnetic (they are, after all, trying to promote this new album), two from Kill'Em All, one from Ride the Lightning, two from Master of Puppets (including an all-time underrated jewel, "Damage, Inc."), two from And Justice for All, three from the Black Album, and just one from the aforementioned garbage albums. It's great to have "good" Metallica back! I was lucky enough to shoot a videoclip of one of my all-time fave Metallica songs:

Now + here = Nowhere ???

A friend recently shared a music video with me (love that Facebook feature) that was pretty disturbing: Depeche Mode's "Wrong." That, of course, got me thinking about music videos, and what a huge new thing they were back in the teenage years. You may not believe this, but those were the days when MTV and VH1 did nothing but air music videos, and artists / bands went crazy trying to one-up each other in producing visual images that went with their music. Some videos involved travel to exotic locations (love those mullets!), others just made sure to throw in prominently featured T&A (great song, great band), others simply went for sex and violence (albeit subdued by today's standards), and we even had videos paying tribute to other videos.

But it seems to me that, at least during the 80s and early 90s, videos tried very hard for the macabre angle. Some of the attempts were pretty lame, like this effeminately mulleted post-apocalyptic hodgepodge, or this would-be werewolf lunacy (great song, though!), this wedding gone wrong, or this utterly cheesy elevator ride down to hell. But some videos managed to be truly creepy, like this nightmare of being drowned, buried, and stung by gigantic mosquitoes, this unsettling claymation (and a phenomenal song to boot), and the grand-daddy of all disturbing videos:

Milton Bradley

It seems like it was only last week / last blog post that I mentioned Milton Bradley's insanity. And that's because it WAS that recent. Well, Milton's tired act just played itself out, again, in yet another city. The Cubs have suspended him for the remainder of the season. Bradley's always been talented, and he can be quite pleasant when he's not crazy. Sadly, those quiet interludes of sanity are becoming less and less frequent in the maelstrom of his craziness.

I remember Milton's tenure in Cleveland very well, and it was a lot like his tenure in every other team he's played for. Loads of potential, initial niceness, and a rapid descent into lunacy. During his breakout season with the Tribe, Milton tried to pick a fight with Travis Fryman because Fryman rightly took Milton to task for not running out a ground ball. Of course, Milton cried racism. When manager Eric Wedge benched Milton for not running out yet another ground ball, Milton accused the entire organization of being racist, sulked, pouted, and effectively ran himself right out of town. The Tribe ended up trading him for about a nickel on the dollar, and yet it was a textbook case of addition by subtraction. Milton subsequently played himself out of favor with the Dodgers (he went after fans in the stands), the Rangers (went after one of the radio broadcasters who criticized him for not running out a ground ball), the A's (tore ligaments on his knees while being restrained by his own coaches as he tried to go after an umpire), and now the Cubs (got into dugout confrontation with his manager, accused entire Chicago fan base of being bigoted, embittered, and stupid).

Where will Milton Bradley go from here? I imagine some desperate team will take a flyer on him next season. The talent is still there, and even though Milton has a Monopoly on bipolar stupidity, some team GM without a Clue will pay him some Easy Money and roll Yahtzee on crazy Milton. Good luck.

The Crown Victoria breaks down

I didn't get a chance to watch last night's US Open women's semifinals live, because I was watching my beloved Buckeyes lose yet another heart-breaker they should have won. But thanks to the DVR, I was able to catch up and just finished watching Serena "Crown Victoria" Williams lose her match to Kim Clijsters. Down a set and trailing the second set 5-6, Crown Victoria was serving at 15-30, and committed a double-fault for match point because of a somewhat ticky-tacky foot-fault call. At that point, Crown Victoria lost it and went on a paranoid rant that would have made Milton Bradley proud. She spent the next couple of minutes alternatively preparing to serve out match point, then stopping, screaming obscenities at the line judge who called the foot-fault, then preparing to serve again, then stopping and ranting at the line judge yet again. Predictably enough, Crown Victoria's tantrum practically forced the chair umpire to penalize her a point for unsportsmanlike behaviour. Game, set, match. Would Crown Victoria have been able to mount an epoch-making comeback when facing match point against a player who appeared to have her number? Highly improbable, but not impossible. Regrettably, Crown Victoria's antics make the question moot.

I've always supported Crown Victoria, even though she's a textbook example of the "Gracious winner, sore loser" corollary. She heaps effusive praise on opponents after she's defeated them, almost to a fault, but when she loses, she refuses to give opponents credit, instead saying things along the lines of, "She made a lot of lucky shots, and I made lots of errors." Being a somewhat sore loser does not a sports villain make... but even the biggest Crown Victoria apologist might have a tough time defending last night's meltdown. I'm not passing holier-than-thou judgment here. I may not be a professional athlete, but it doesn't take a professional athlete to understand that emotions and frustrations are brutally magnified in the heat of competition, especially when the stakes are high. That having been said, Serena's "Ugly American" moment cost her the match, and possibly a few fans.