I love a good sports nickname, but can't help but wish there was a little more originality involved nowadays. I know I'm old, but we've just got to stop recycling nicknames. Kobe Bryant, you're not "The Black Mamba" -- Roger Mayweather is. Sam Peter, you're not "The Nigerian Nightmare" -- that would be Christian Okoye. LaDainian Tomlinson should be called "LDT," not "LT" -- those two initials are the domain of one Lawrence Taylor. And I could go on. We're just getting lazy, complacent, and unimaginative when it comes to nicknames. A few months ago, Toby Mergler penned an excellent column to that effect, which included the following three jewels:
Jose Canseco: "Flea Market" -- Every once in a while, you'll find something useful in what he says, but most of the time he's full of crap.
Tracy McGrady, "The Public Restroom" -- Because he's hard to find when you need him the most.
Dwight "Y-Axis" Howard -- Because his post game is one-dimensional.
Fantastic stuff! So, as the year draws to a close, I thought I'd make my own paltry contribution to this list by "honouring" some of 2009's biggest sports goats.
Braylon Edwards: "Edwards Scissorhands" -- because "Hands of Stone" was already taken by Roberto Durán. Edwards Scissorhands played himself out of town by dropping an inordinate amount of passes, then complained that the Cleveland faithful never liked him because he went to Michicrap. That's not the least bit true. Leroy Hoard went to Michicrap, and we adored him. Of course, Hoard was a productive back, a consummate team player, had a great sense of humour, and his interviews were an absolute joy. Edwards Scissorhands is a me-first, hypocritical, pass-dropping POS. The only consolation for the Cleveland faithful is that he's been equally maddening with the Jets, making ridiculous circus catches for 10 yards only to drop pretty much every perfectly thrown 30-yard rainbow. Loser.
Serena Williams: "Crown Victoria" -- because she has the biggest trunk. I actually like Crown Victoria, but that ridiculous hissy fit she threw because she couldn't handle the fact that she was getting her huge ass handed to her by Kim Clijsters earned her a spot on the list. Besides, I'm absurdly proud of myself for coming up with this hackneyed nickname.
Milton Bradley: "The Water Molecule" -- because he's bipolar. I can't believe this clown keeps getting chances. What's worse, the teams that sign him (and their fans) make the same mistake: namely, thinking that things will be different with them, and that The Water Molecule has turned a new leaf, and he's misunderstood, and he's a really nice guy, blah, blah, blah. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Bradley's crazier than a shithouse rat, and he's proven it time and time again. At this point, it's just a matter of when, not if, he'll go nuts in Seattle. It's a bummer, because after losing the Sonics and watching the Seahawks mail in their season, the Seattle fans deserve better, and are rightly optimistic about the Mariners, especially now that they've added Uncle Cliffy Lee to their already formidable rotation. But The Water Molecule will derail this team. Bank on it.
Donte Stallworth: "Hungover Calculus" -- because you should never drink and derive. But all kidding aside, accidents happen. What people just refuse to understand is that they're MUCH more likely to happen when your reflexes and judgment are impaired, even if slightly. Stallworth flashed his lights at the poor pedestrian he ran over. If you see a guy crossing the street in front of you, don't flash your lights... HIT THE BRAKES!!! Now we're all left to wonder whether Stallworth would have been able to either stop, slow down, or swerve had he been completely sober.
This past Friday was the last day of school before the Christmas break. My Chemistry and Physics classes were finishing up their exams, but my Physical Science students were done. Not wanting to start a chapter only to have them forget everything over the break -- and trust me, they would -- I decided to cut them a little slack. The new schedule means that, at 49 minutes a class, I wouldn't be able to show them a movie. Luckily, a few years ago I snapped up the complete Mr. Bean series from Costco. The set includes the sublimely hilarious "Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean" holiday episode, which I played for my kids. Man, if only our labs were this much fun!
If your only exposure to Mr. Bean is from the awful movies that the TV show inspired (and this was the case with my students, who were in awe of Mr. Bean after the clips), you're in for a true Christmas treat:
When the Sci-Fi Channel pulled the plug on Mystery Science Theater 3000 a few years ago, I thought it was the end of an era: the best and funniest television show of the past few decades was no more. But rejoice! The MST3K crew (Mike Nelson, Kevin Murphy, and Bill Corbett) are still ripping movies to pieces, and even better, they're no longer shackled by the Sci-Fi Channel's copyright constraints. Thanks to my boy Martin (aka G-Spot) for not only letting me know about this but hooking me up with two Rifftrax'd Bela Lugosi jewels this past week-end. You can preview and purchase their latest offerings on their website, Rifftrax.com. Enjoy!
Those of us who love opera know perfectly well that back in the 50s, an ignorant bunch of misguided, McCarthy-led idiots wouldn't let the great Boris Christoff sing here because we just couldn't have an opera dude from behind the Iron Curtain set foot on the Metropolitan. Yes, those sneaky Bulgarian bassos might have ended the American way of life with their open-throated craziness! That story has never failed to annoy the shite out of me, and I've often wondered how many more phenomenal singers we / I missed out on because of that idiocy. Surely, a school of singing as accomplished as that of the Soviet Union would have produced more than one great singer during the Cold War years! Over the last few years, thanks to the advent of YouTube, I've been finding more and more relatively unknown Soviet-bloc operatic jewels. Zurab Sotkilava, Muslim Magomaev, Nicolae Herlea, Pavel Lisitsian, Irina Arkhipova... and the latest find: my Armenian brother from another mother, Barseg Tumanyan.
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.
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...
According to my ex-girlfriends, both real and imaginary, I am: nice but mean; altruistic but selfish; hard-working but lazy; happy but moody; likeable but detestable; open-minded but judgmental; rational but deranged; forgiving but vengeful; accepting but insanely jealous; intelligent but stupid; pleasant but insufferable. The lesson, as always: women are fickle, as a feather in the wind. Either that, or I'm schizophrenic.
