Just another squirrel trying to get a nut... Your friendly neighborhood Big CIty journalist, who will share his philosophy, writing and Daily Story with the world... whether they want it or not.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
The Crying Game
Much was made of Duke's J.J. Redick and Gonzaga's Adam Morrison being reduced to tears after (or in Morrison's case, during), their losses in the NCAA tournament. Here's a photo spread of Morrison after his 'Zags blew it versus UCLA.
If you don't recognize the last guy, you'd probably remember him as JAWS.
Anyways, The MADNESS CONTINUES . . .
We are but hours away from the tip-off of the Final Four. UCLA, the most storied program in the NCAA; The Florida Gators, who haven't been this far since a 6-6, 300-pounder known as Da Meat Hook took them there in 1994; The LSU Tigers, who have suddenly become the favourites to win, thanks to another hefty forward, Glen "Big Baby" Davis. And then, everyone's favourite Cinderella team, the George Mason Patriots. It's safe to say I won't be doing much work between 3 and 8 p.m. on Saturday ...
Some of the best stories I found today were about a school that didn't even exist. This was the most genius thing I have ever come across in my life. You can read a great story about the school here.
They were the one thing in the house I wasn’t allowed to eat: boxes of manna special-ordered from Philadelphia... the legendary Krispy Creme donut. These were for one person, and one person alone: my pops. And since he was a hell of a lot bigger than I was, I didn’t risk an ass-whuppin over the little grease-ball slices of heaven that is the Krispy Creme donut. Over the years, I’ve often made fun of my dad’s culinary tastes (or lack thereof). There were sometimes I swear he was pregnant from the cravings he was having ... Like the combination of pretzels, ice cream and yogurt. Go ahead, dad, try and deny it. I know you will ... And if I sense an ass-whuppin in the future - Big Pops still outweighs me by a good 60 pounds - I’ll just pull out a picture of this to distract him.
There was a time in my life when I was a teacher. Inspiring today's youth, bringing knowledge and understanding of the world to their young, untrained, untapped minds. Like my boy Dee, who's now the new head of a youth centre on the North Shore (Big ups, Mr. Sensitive). But yesterday, as I was riding the snowboard park at Big White, I found that I still had the power to shape a young person's view of the world, and how they will see it from now on. Yes, I was a teacher again.
(click the pic - there's about 40 seconds of boring stuff, but I am, to quote miceail, "technologically incapable" of editing it)
I knew I was in trouble as soon as I crested the jump. I had carried a lot of speed into it, trying to "go big" and make it look impressive. Then I see these two little IDIOTS parked right at the bottom of the transfer area — just hanging out. I did m best to stop, but, in fine, Emeril-like form, it was like BAM. Skis and kiddies everywhere. (Is it a big surprise they were skiers?) I bulldozed through those two like Paul Dana. So, the lesson for today? Unless you want to be walloped by 220 pounds life's best teacher, don't stop at the bottom of a jump.
I just finished watching the last two games of Thursday's Sweet 16 match-up. I'm speechless. I'm at a loss for words. I'm Miceail and Dounia, standing in front of the TV, completely flabbersmacked after Robert Horry drained a 30-foot three-pointer to beat the Kings in the playoffs. It was UNBELIEVABLE, and I just had to say something. Kevin Pittsnogle drains a three for the Mountaineers, tying the game with Texas, completing a comeback with five seconds left. The longhorns inbound the ball, go the other way, and a dude hits an amazing trey to win the game... But it wasn't over... Cut back to UCLA and Gonzaga. The Bruins, down by 11 with three minutes left - as they had been most of the game - rally to pull within one. A steal, a last-second hoop, and they're up by one. Zags get the ball back with 1.9 seconds left, full-court heave, scramble, shot just misses. I nearly had my head explode. Tommorrow, another four games. I might not survive...
There are certain things certain people just shouldn't do, like really fat people wearing spandex. You just don't do it. People will laugh at you. Not with you, AT you. It's just plain wrong. I was unfortunately subjected to this piece of musical March Madness interlude, and between laughing, crying, and cleaning up the blood that oozed out of my ears, I took the time to pen this entry. These guys say it's their answer to that Saturday Night Live rap "Lazy Sunday", but ... nnnaaaw. ThankyouThankyouThankyouThankyouThankyouThankyou UConn, for knocking the WIldcats out of the NCAA tournament on Sunday. I was going to say that white folk should just stay away from that hippety-hop, but Terrell Owens had to go and make honest black folk look bad with this song on his website. Damn, there goes all that blood over my keyboard again....
Ahhh, March Madness. It's been three straight days of couch potato-ness, being inundated with buzzer-beaters, upsets and ads about how coach K REALLY loves chevys. My new favourite team, the Wichita State Shockers, rallied to beat No. 2 seed Tennessee on Saturday. I mean, how can you not root for a team like the Shockers? Their name, officially, comes from the "Shocking" or harvesting of Wheat. But for anyone under the age of 40, it has a different connotation.
Anyways, here's the column I wrote for Friday's paper. Nothing that will win me a Pulizter Prize, but at least it's basketball-related.
SINKING YOUR TEETH INTO MARCH MADNESS
Pssst . . . Hey. No, don’t look. Pretend you’re working, like I am. Is the boss gone? Good. Just let me hide the WHL standings I was pretending to examine so studiously, and . . . voila! Check it out — March Madness, straight to your computer screen. Live video streaming of all the opening-round games from the NCAA men’s basketball tournament, complete with stats, highlights, commentary and all the buzzer-beaters, thanks to CBS. I’ve spent the better part of my shift clicking from game to game, watching budding stars like Gonzaga’s Adam Morrison — replete with his porn-star mustache and 70s hair-do — compete in the tournament that causes the work productivity level across the globe to drop. Don’t believe me? While only 47,000 other viewers were online (at cbs.sportsline.com/mmod) with me late in the day, enough people logged into the network earlier in the day that the increased bandwidth caused a temporary internet crash up and down the U.S. Eastern seaboard. March Madness is more than an annual event for basketball fans. It used to mean you had to come up with some outlandish, yet believable, excuse for not being at work. Now, thanks to the Internet, we can all keep that window on your desktop running all day. The lure of the tournament is obvious. Everyone loves an underdog, and nobody roots for Goliath (Duke), unless you’re the type of person who longs to spoon with your favourite New England Patriots/New York Yankees/Blue Devils player. March Madness has already wreaked enough havoc on my schedule. I was 10 minutes late for my dentist’s appointment Thursday because I was too busy watching Pacific push Boston College to the brink. I dashed out of my house with a minute left in the game, and B.C. up four. I sped down Gordon like Tony Stewart at Daytona, then pulled an illegal and dangerous U-turn into the parking lot at the Kelowna Dental Centre. After plopping myself in the indicated chair, I did a little begging, some pleading and batted my big ol’ brown puppy-dog eyes and got the TV on the wall turned on. Yes! I was back in the Madness. And madness it was — I watched B.C., a fourth seed, get taken to double overtime by the upstart Tigers of Pacific. You want buzzer-beaters? How about Tennessee’s Chris Lofton, who dropped a 20-foot, fade-away three-pointer with 0.4 seconds left to beat Winthrop 63-61, keeping the Volunteers from being just the 15th No. 2 seed to be beaten by a 15th seed. (At that point, I flung both arms up in disbelief, knocking over my dentist’s tray of instruments, sending expensive tools flying around the room. Really. It was added to my bill.) You want great team names? How about the Wichita State Shockers — 86-66 victors over Seton Hall in the first round. I’ll let you make the jokes, but you can guess what hand signal the all the fans in the stands make. You want upsets? You’re practically guaranteed one every year. This time around, it was Montana, who ended Nevada’s 14-game winning streak. The win meant that a 12th seed has upset a fifth seed every year since 1985, with the exception of 1988 and 2000. And if you’re my boss, you want me to work. So I’m back to looking busy. The Madness continues.
Guilty isn't the way to describe it. It was the strangest mix of emotions: sympathy, chagrin, a crystal-clear moment of clarity. Fifteen minutes before, I'd been stuck 40 feet above the ground, swaying and bobbing in the wind as the winter wind breezed over the chairlift. It was a bright sunny day - you could see all the way to the Kootenays, snow-capped mountains all the way around. But I was too busy being irritated by a stalled chairlift to really appreciate it. After a delay of 10 minutes, the chair began moving, and I stopped cursing. I spent the rest of the ride thinking of clever biting comments to relay to our lifties, for how dare they keep us waiting for so long? Then I saw him. Surrounded by seven ski patrollers. CPR. Defibrillators. Tears. Curious lookie-loos. A man, who appeared to be in his 50s, lying dead at the bottom of the ski lift off-ramp. He was gone, but they were trying to bring him back.
What do you say or think at a moment like that? Anything sarcastic I had to say to the lifties was gone, replaced by a shame. Then a curious understanding of the situation. He was dead. He died doing something he enjoyed. I wasn't dead. And I was doing something I enjoyed. It took someone's death to make me feel alive, instead of me going through the motions of living. It was, by far, one of the most enjoyable days of riding of my life. We joked the poor guy was probably up there in heaven, looking down at the sun-kissed slopes of Big White, thinking "why couldn't I have died at the END of the day?"
Carpe Diem. And RIP.
OK, so here are some vids from the day... First up is "The Cliff" - the video doesn't do it justice. It's about a 70 percent grade - complete with rocks, gullies and avalanche dangers. But we made it...
Second up was our run through the glades to get there... lots of pow, though I still haven't learned to point my head in the right direction when I stick my camera behind my goggle strap. I'll figure it out soon enough... (BTW, is it me, or do I have a Michael Jackson/Mike Tyson falsetto on tape?)
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I love college basketball. That is quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever heard of happening in a basketball game. Some people, though, weren't in a good mood yesterday. It's all sour grapes for Miceail and his Dookie cohorts these days. Suck it up, my man. Suck it up. I was supposed to go riding today, but (let me dip into my well of endless ready-made excuses) the power went out the other day, and I didn't get a chance to reset all the alarms. Really, I didn't sleep until noon, and I'm insulted that you would even THINK that. It's not like I wasted my morning playing this, or anything. And I'm out like Duke in the first round of the tourney..
It was loud in the pub, but I was louder. As I watched the highlights of the biggest win by any team — ever, on the big screen, I yelled like that time I zipped up my pants too fast. (Except it was less shrill and not quite as painful). This was the biggest game of the year outside of March Madness, and I have a hate for Duke that rivals even that of the New England (spit - ptoo) Patriots. To watch this happen, well, to get an idea of how I feel, you can read the greatest piece of literature in human history. Say, isn't my birthday coming up? Hmmmmm.
"Bite it," she cooed. "Yes, that's it. Good. Now bite it again." As the camera clicked away in the background, she pulled it out of my mouth, and stuck it back in. Again, "bite it. Mmmmhmmm . . . that's good," she purred. I could almost hear the twangy porn music in my head, as one must do something to keep the mind occupied when lying in the dentist's office. You know your life is boring when you're making a trip to get some X-rays taken sound like soft porn... But hey - that's the life I live.
My trip to the dentist was, and I bow my head in chagrin as I write this, my first in about seven 1/2 years. No, I don't have some crazy fear, like Coulrophobia,, of dentists, I just have a problem with procrastination. Anyways, my chiclets were in pretty good shape for not having seen the inside of a hygenist's office for a while. They took some xrays, and stuck me in this machine that was like a mini CAT scan for the head, and only managed to find 42 cavities and several infected gums. Kidding. I'm not gonna lie, I do have some cavities that have to be taken care of - an appointment has already been scheduled - but my teeth are in OK condition. I think it's because I work out every day. Or something like that.
I've been slowly working down my list of New Year's resolutions (the dentist's was No. 3.), with the next item being "Get Your Eyes Checked." I can hear my sister applauding from L.A. right now ... I can see my new nicknames now: "Specs" or "Glassface" or "Doc" or even "Chocolate Pudding." Actually, I got called the last one on Friday. By a 55-year-old. A 55-year-old man. I think my re-dedication to being more metresexual is getting me more Brokeback action than my friend MICEAIL. But I digress. Glasses. Yes. Specs. I managed to miss my first eye exam, and rescheduled it for next Friday. It's good to see my time management and procrastination skills are still unparalleled among mortals.
I can see myself missing next week's appointment too; not because I'll be covering gaaawwdaaamn curling, but because it lands on a day when I usually hit the hill. And if Big White is anything like it was when I went on Tuesday, I might even miss a day of work, too. Unlike Miceail, who has lost his Canadian roots and has developed a strange Chionophobia, I revel in the chance to play in the powder — and we got almost a foot of it on Tuesday. While minivan moms were crashing into the light standards outside my house, I was busy throwing down some huge Rodeo 540s and nose grabs under blue-birds skies. Oh, man — it was one of the best days I'd had all year.
It will soon all be over, though, and I'll be back to playing soccer. Hopefully, we'll get a ref who is as entertaining as this guy ...
"Margarida," as he was known, was a legend in Brazil before dying of AIDs in the 90s. I've never seen anyone prance like that before. But I digress yet again... The Cheetah's Raiders - the CHAMPION Cheetah's Raiders, I should say - will be merging with Mark V this year, the same team we beat in the finals. Apparently, Anj has lost his mind now that he's getting married, and arranged all this. This is the same guy who drove to Vancouver to buy a dog for his fiancee, under the strategy that it would get him ready for fatherhood.
Right. OK.
I guess he's moved into a new, older phase in his life, one where he's too mature to be amused by THIS. I, on the other hand, am not. Boobies! Heeheheheheheheeheh...
And for the ladies ... I give you ... THIS!
What's that, you say? A boring basketball pic? Well sure, it's Acie Law hitting a 3-pointer at the buzzer to give Texas A&M a 46-43 victory over No. 6 Texas last Wednesday night, but check out the defender. And let your eyes drift . . . south.
And no, that is not an optical illusion. And Miceail, stop zooming in.
And I'm out like Brokeback at the Oscars...
BTW, I can't believe I started reading THIS. But it's (cough cough) too legit to miss.
