You know who Wei Yang is, right? Chinese male gymnast, best in the world, winner of the all-around title and two other medals in Beijing? This guy:
Obviously, he's a great athlete. But he's not so great that he also competed for China in women's badminton doubles. But don't tell that to ESPN. Take a look at his page in their athlete profiles section:
You can see for yourself here.
I'm sure you'll agree that the real story here is the Chinese badminton team getting bounced in the quarterfinals. China has literally 1 billion more people than us, seemingly all of whom are enrolled in state-run sports academies training to play medal-rich sports no one else cares about like badminton, table tennis, and diving. So while Wei Yang the gymnast is a national hero, Wei Yang the badmintoner is a cultural traitor whose actions hurt the feelings of the Chinese people. Nothing five years in a hard labor reeducation camp won't fix.
For the record, the Wei Yang who plays badminton is this person:
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
ESPN Finds All These Chinese Names Very Confusing
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Photoshop Gone Too Far
I know magazines like to touch up pictures, especially those of models. But don't you think today's Boston Globe Magazine is a bit excessive?
I mean, where's her left arm?
(Sorry for the small picture; we're working on getting a bigger one.)
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
My Sister Claims All Conservatives Are Old Stupid Rich White Men
To which I say:
Damn, that's a lot of Old Stupid Rich White Men!
In other news: Are you sick of the Left's "Bush's Last Day" paraphernalia? I know I am. Now you can answer by supplying the answer to the implied question of who will step in after Bush's last day. All proceeds will be donated to John McCain 2008.
You can pick yours up here:
http://www.zazzle.com/mccains_first_day_shirt-235614186218916433
(For some reason, the hyperlink doesn't seem to be working. Should be corrected any minute now. Terribly sorry.)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Boof!
While doing some reading about possible trade deadline deals, I came across this list of "Worst Trades in Baseball History" on Foxsports. All in all, it's a very good list, as author Morisato hit all the big ones, including the 2003 deal that send asshole A.J. Pierzynski to the Giants in exchange for top pitching prospects Francisco Liriano, Joe Nathan, and Boof Bonser. Did I say Boof Bonser? I meant #### Bonser.
Evidently, FoxSports censors the word 'Boof', a word which means, well, I'll let you look it up yourself. Boof at urbandictionary.com. Not quite reporting Tyson Homosexual won the 100m at the Olympic Trials, but still kind of funny.
Okay, back to your regularly scheduled programming. (That'd be nothing, because, you know, usually we don't post anything. But that's going to change. Honest. I promise. We're going to, like, put up new content every once in a while. Why, I'm predicting that in exactly 34 minutes, our newest Canadian will make his first post. BIBTTP is back, baby!)
(Sorry, nothing after jump. I don't know how to get rid of that 'read more' business though.)
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Greetings from East Rutherford, N.J.
Through my good friend Myron—he's very, very, very good friend, obviously—I got tickets for Monday July 28's Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band show at Giants Stadium, and my first thought was “I have to blog about this.” Actually, that was about my 253rd thought, after, “I wonder if he’ll play ‘Blinded By The Light’”, “I wonder if he’ll play ‘For You’”, and so on for each song Bruce has ever put on an album. But I did think it, eventually, which is why you’re reading this right now. (That and you must be really, really bored to come to this little corner of the internet.) But let's move on, shall we?
We went in a group of four: me, Myron, and two other big Springsteen fans, Spartan and MissCulver. Myron's got important friends all over the place—he doesn't limit his celebrity interaction to hanging with the writers at BIBTTP—and he managed to get us backstage passes. We walked backstage before the show, and within five minutes we were in conversation with Jon Landau. Yes, that Jon Landau, of whom Spartan has said, “If there were no Jon Landau, there would be no Bruce Springsteen,” a sentiment oft-echoed by those paid to discern such things. It was a Landau review of a Springsteen show in The Real Paper that catapulted Springsteen to national consciousness; it was Landau's advice that convinced Springsteen to produce Born to Run, his finest album to date; and it is Landau who has brilliantly managed the Boss' career for the last three decades. This man was a rock legend, and here he was cracking jokes with me and my friends. Needless to say, I didn't have the balls to ask him if the rumors about Tracks II—a compilation completing the work of 1998’s Tracks, which contained 64 previously unreleased Springsteen recordings—were true. Sorry guys.
After hobnobbing with a couple other cool people (none as cool as Landau, but that's a pretty high standard) we made our way to our seats, which were located in Section 1. Let's just say they call it Section 1 for a reason. This Myron, he's a pretty good guy. Have I said it before? Maybe I should say it again.
This was the second of three shows Bruce is playing in his home state of New Jersey, and after the previous night's instantly legendary performance—29 songs, three and a half hours, and just about every classic you could want—we had high expectations. While they were certainly met—Springsteen never leaves you disappointed—I'd confess they weren't met they same way I expected them to be. Sunday's show, as I said, was filled with classics: he opened with ‘Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out’; play epics like ‘Youngstown’, sweet duets like ‘Brilliant Disguise’, hard rockers like ‘Murder Incorporated’, and mega-inspiring ‘Growin' Up’; 16 other great songs; and “closed” with the rocking ‘Badlands’. Of course, Springsteen wasn't done, and the band came back out to play ‘Girls in Their Summer Clothes’ off the new Magic album followed by possibly the greatest six song combination any Bruce fan has ever dreamed of. ‘Jungleland’, ‘Born To Run’, ‘Bobby Jean’, ‘Dancing in The Dark’, ‘American Land’, and ‘Rosalita’. Any one of those songs is worth the price of admission, and six in a row… Wow. It really was the one we'd all been waiting for. Now, I’d didn’t see that concert. (Which absolutely kills me, because I found tickets on craigslist for a reasonable price, but my mom wouldn't let me drive eight hours round-trip to the show on two straight days. Jerk.)
But I still saw a very good performance, obviously. While I’d say the first night was a “thank you” to the fans for their years of love and support, the second night was more a celebration of family, of friends, of the great state of New Jersey. It wasn't what I was expecting, but it was a hell of a lot of fun.
Highlights included:
· Bruce leading a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ for his wife (and bandmate) Patti Scialfa, who turned 55 the next day.
· The teen daughters of Springsteen and bassist Garry W. Tallent and their friends dancing out on stage to finale ‘Twist & Shout’.
· A little boy in about the fifth row had a huge sign that said: “First Show. Age 7. Harmonica Please?” and after Bruce finished wailing on ‘No Surrender,’ he walked out in the crowd and gave his harmonica to him.
· Bruce stepped to the edge of the crowd and had several sing-alongs with little kids on their parents' shoulders, putting the microphone to them for key lyrics. They all came through.
· Bruce moved into the standing-room only section for ‘Hungry Heart,’ dancing with a teenager, and turning and yelling to Patti back on stage “this is my new girl!”
· For ‘Born to Run,’ drummer Mighty Max Weinberg—yes, like the Max Weinberg 7 Max Weinberg—stepped out, and his son Jay took his place at the drums and absolutely blew the doors off. Max could be seen watching proudly from the side of the stage.
· Playing ‘Drive All Night,’ a slow and moving love song, for only the second time in the last 25 years.
· Playing ‘Held Up Without A Gun,’ a short fun little song--Bruce dedicated it “to everyone who had to pay for gas to drive the concert”--for only the third time ever.
· As Bruce began ‘Because the Night,’ Myron leaned over to me and said “Nils (E Street's tiny guitarist) usually plays a sweet solo in this song.” It didn't look like anything of the sort of going to happen, as Bruce began the song as the only one light on stage lit up, singing with minimal accompaniment. But as the song gathered steam, the focus soon shifted to Nils, who was rocking the fuck out. He fired through the solo, he clearly feeding off the crowd's energy, and he began spinning himself in a circle. Finally, he ran clear across the stage and turned a front somersault, playing all the while. Hamazing.
· ‘It's Hard to Be A Saint In The City’. This one is so freaking cool, because it almost didn't happen. See, Bruce has always been very fluid with the set list—Myron has relayed to me that the E Street performers don't see the list of songs until right before they go on—but in March or so, he got even more extreme, and began moving out into the crowd, grabbing signs that requested songs, and getting the band to play it next. That night, one of the signs he grabbed was kind of hard to read from the audience—it had a bunch of songs listed, and he was only going to pick one—but he showed it to the band and announced “we’re going to do it in 'A'.” There was immediate confusion on stage, as Bruce told his bandmates, “I know it’s supposed to be in 'C', but we’re going to try it in 'A'.” At this point, nobody one in the crowd had any idea what song it was going to be, and after Bruce stumbled through a bit of an introduction by himself, we still didn't know what was going on, and became a little worried. He stopped for a second, said to himself, “How does it go again?” and restarted. This time, there were no mistakes. ‘It’s Hard to Be A Saint in The City,’ a track off debut album Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. rang out loud and clear, and as he strut down the street… well, for the next six minutes, in that arena of 50,000 people, it was just me and Bruce.
Really, though, I can't do the man justice. Compared to some of the fans out there--fans who saw him at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park back in the late 70's (like Spartan) or the people who saw 10 straight shows at Giants Stadium in 2003 or the countless masses that follow him across the whole country and over to Europe--I'm a huge neophyte. The best line I’ve heard was from a friend of Myron’s who’s seen over 150 concerts, when he was asked (by someone who’d never seen Bruce perform before, obviously) if he ever got tired of it. “Are you kidding me?” he replied. “There’s nothing more energizing than this.”
Friday, July 25, 2008
Yankees vs. Sox With Even More At Stake?
This evening begins the 3-game series between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. Not only is the series crucial to the playoff hopes of both teams involved, but a lot is riding on it for...
us.
That's right, the staff at BIBTTP is very polarized when it comes to New York and Boston sports. Hailing from just outside Boston, SoBDD was born and raised staring up at the the Green Monster in awe, living as a proud citizen of Red Sox nation, and basking in the team's overall gayness. theShow and myself, however, grew up on Long Island (no, we're not THOSE GUYS and they DON'T REPRESENT THIS ISLAND!!!) and have grown up loving the Bronx Bombers, dreaming of the pinstripes, and demanding yet ANOTHER World Series victory year in and year out.
Although the stakes this weekend are high, they are simply not high enough for us. We want more.
And that's where you come in. If you have any good ideas about what SoBDD and I should wager (anything goes), tell us in the comments. The bet is on either way, we just don't know what's at stake. We'll take suggestions through Sunday and will have a neutral source pick the best reward/punishment that is submitted.
May the Yankees win.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
BIBTTP Reviews... The Dark Knight
As our Superhero draft showed, we're a bunch of nerds here at Bigfoot Is Blurry, That's The Problem. So with the big-time nerd movie of the summer hitting the theaters last midnight, of course I was there.
As the last preview rolled, the DC Comics logo flashed, and the screen went black for the 12:01 showing of "The Dark Knight", a strange thought popped in my head. Even though I'd been eagerly awaiting its release, watching every trailer, reading every review, going to see the movie as soon as humanly possible, I didn't want to see this movie. Everything I had seen, everything I had read, everything I had heard had told me how great "The Dark Knight" was going to be. And yet... what if it wasn't? What if they'd all been setting me up for some spectacular failure, if the explosions were crappy, if the storyline didn't make any sense, and if, worst of all, Heath Ledger's much-hailed Joker performance turned out to be a hack job. If I didn't see it, if it never started, I could always imagine it to be that truly great film, and I would never need fear disappointment.
What an idiot I was. "The Dark Knight" was everything I had been promised and more. To be clear--for the movie itself is not afraid to be blunt about it--this is the story of opposites, of light and darkness. District Attorney Harvey Dent (Nick Nolte of "Thank You For Smoking") is Gotham City's "White Knight", while Batman is its eponymous "Dark Knight". We are poignantly reminded that is it always darkest before the dawn. And characters are constantly fighting their own dual natures, as the dark and light that is in all of us fights for control.
I could go into some whole deep-psyche thing and talk about how both Bruce Wayne and Dent are each torn between the light, how other characters reveal their own struggles, too, and how each of us, truly, must confront that evil lurking within, balance it with the good we have and share with the world. But I'm not going to do that.
Instead, I'm going to talk about the Joker.
Now, I don't know how the Oscars voters are going to react to this. I don't know if they're going to be hestitant to recognize someone who's dead, or someone who was in a summer superhero blockbuster flick, or someone who spends the whole movie wearing ridiculous makeup. Hell, I don't even know if Ledger would be up for Best Actor or Best Supporting. But he'd better win. Because my God, what an amazing performance.
See, characters are usually great because of their complexity. As I said, in "The Dark Knight" we see figures torn between the light and the darkness, between good and evil, and these characters are great, and plenty complex. But with Ledger's Joker--and make no mistake about it: this Ledger's Joker, and the Joker is Ledger; Nicholson can suck it--there is no complexity. He is an absolute: he came out of nowhere, he wants nothing, and he won't be back. (That's not in any way a spoiler, just observing that no one else could put what Ledger did into the Joker.) Cast into a black-and-white morality play, the Joker is like a top spinning through a chessboard: he has no time for or interest in rules. As Alfred remarks of him, "Some men just like to watch the world burn." Madness personified, the nihilist Joker is spectacular because he's so simple. Let others determine the morality of their actions, let others fight it out for the soul of Gotham, let others struggle between light and dark. While the world around him burns, he is.
RIP, Heath. You put your heart and soul into this one.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Birthday Festivities
As you may know, last night was Doctor Dozer’s 21st birthday. Now, the Doctor is a big-time party animal, so to celebrate, well, we really got down. blogsquatch and I are living together this summer, so we had the whole BIBTTP crew, plus a few Friends of the Blog and assorted others (it’s hard putting up with all the groupies and hangers-on, but it’s the price you pay for having such a successful blog). The bacchanalia that followed was truly of epic proportions. Religion was a major theme of the party, as it featured celebration of the Greek god Dionysus, worship of the porcelain god, and much kneeling before the altar of the boner god. Because we’re just that cool, we recorded it all for our own later amusement, and of course that of society. See the pictures and story after the jump…
Here’s Doctor Dozer himself, man of the night! He’s accompanied by the prettiest girl in our friendship-group, Nurse Napper. (Hell, I don’t know what to call it. Any suggestions?) Wouldn’t they be a wonderful couple, folks? The Doctor’s had his eye on her for a while, but never really had the chance to examine her, if you catch my drift. Given that it’s his 21st and all, maybe things will change…
You’ll note, of course, that this was taken at the beginning of the night, back when the good Doctor still had control enough of his faculties to flash a ‘thumbs-up.’ (He had a shirt on, too.) In the background you can spot blogsquatch, who had a camera of his own. (But you won’t be seeing his pictures here!) (More on those parentheses later…)
And here’s some of the rest of the crew. The brunette with the stony-faced expression is Friend of the Blog karabeara, while the stoned-faced gentleman is our new addition, theShow. You can be assured she made him feel quite welcome later that night. The fellow in the hip black and gray poncho is angrybostonian, while the pretty redhead—and the only one making an effort in the picture, the rest of you should be ashamed of yourselves!—is xxcutiepieprincessxx. As you can see, they’re all geared up for a night of getting wasted! (But not so wasted that they neglect to obscure crucial personal details on their personages. Like I said, we have enough trouble with groupies already.)
And a shot of our bar. (Get it? Shot? Bar? You know, because both are connected to consuming alcohol? Man, I’m funny. This is harder than it looks, though. Kids, don’t try it at home.) As you can see, we had a fine selection. Bartender—and designed driver!—for the night was thefuturemrsdelong.
Here’s Official Friend of the Site Biag-Kid, with an unknown female. (Fuckin’ groupies…) Well, unknown to the rest of us, anyway. ’Cause later than night, Biag-Kid certainly knew her! (In the Biblical sense, I mean. But in the other sense too, I suppose.) I have no idea what’s around her neck, but I imagine it’s some form of oral sex aid. 
And in our final establishing shot, you can see JuicyJuice and blogsquatch. Clearly, JuicyJuice is the height of cool, while blogsquatch is foreign.
The Doctor got his night started off right, with a bit of dancing. Check out those moves! Like a young Helio Castroneves, he is.
Meanwhile, JuicyJuice and blogsquatch spent their time at the Beirut table. JuicyJuice also apparently developed some sort of tumor in his jaw that will need to be looked at.
They had a good deal of success—there’s JuicyJuice congratulating blogsquatch on yet another shot hit—but, based on blogsquatch’s ability to open his eyes, anyway, they’d been playing for a long time. I hope nothing bad happens…
And yup, here it comes. Oh, and about that camera—in blogsquatch’s rush to avoid puking all over himself, he dropped it in the toilet. Whoops.
In this split-screen shot, you can get an idea of what was to come. Nurse Napper, you see, was a bit more impressed with JuicyJuice’s tossing than the Doctor’s dancing, so she hopped onto his team for the next game. Having an objection to the defection of the object of his affections, Doctor Dozer tried playing some Beirut in an effort to gain her attention back. He hoped to wow her with his laser-rocket arm and sexy six-pack, but…
Alas, his best efforts were in vain. After all, you actually need a laser-rocket arm and sexy six-pack to use them to wow girls. Following the game, Nurse Napper proved more interested in slugging from her flask and admiring JuicyJuice’s crotchal region than the birthday boy. Trouble was a-brewin’! Was the Doctor not even going to be able to ‘play doctor,’ if you know what I mean, on his birthday?
Desperate times called for desperate measures, and the Doctor’s shirt came off. He just had to get lucky on his birthday! And at this point, it mattered less and less with whom… He tried a bit of grinding up on Biag-Kid (please note that the Doctor was not nearly the largest person to grind up on Biag-Kid that night), trying to wow BK with his moves. (For all the Doctor’s gay jokes… Well, you get the idea.)
Biag-Kid had other things on his mind though—he was more interested in nailing hippos than those who took the Hippocratic Oath, you see—and the Doctor found himself once again ignored. Shirt still off, he focused his attentions on thefuturemrsdelong, giving her a nice view of the Doctor Dozer Dumper.
Did it work? Did the Doctor bust out the ol’ Doc Cock on his birthday? Did thefutremrsdelong help Doctor Dozer satisfy his many manly needs and desires? You be the judge…
Fuck yeah! (Skull-fuck yeah!) Looks like thefuturemrsdelong, the designated driver, was ridden a bit herself! Good for you, Doctor. To many more…
Happy Birthday Buddy!
Remember Me?
Yeah, Brandon Morrow. Brandon Andrew Morrow. The First. BAMF, for short. On May 28th, Sons of Big Daddy Drew proclaimed me "the future of pitching in the American League." High praise, I know. But what can I say? I am the future of pitching in the American League.
Sabathia and Harden know that. That's why they begged so hard to get out of the AL. Hughes and Buchholz know that. That's why they don't pitch in the bigs anymore.
Gavin Floyd? 
More like Gay-vin Floyd. Get a haircut, fairy.
Joe Saunders?
Munch a dick--you eat everything else, ya fat tub of lard. And how about you get a hat that matches?
Jon Lester? 
Lester, you look like an nine-year old cancer survivor. They're called muscles? Get some. Wait, what's that?
Okay, point taken. But hell, I've seen cancer cells bigger and badder than you.
Those guys suck. I'm the future--SoBDD said so, and I'm worth every word he writes. (And those words are worth a lot, believe me. You have no idea how lucky you are to read this shit prose for free.) But sometimes, words--even from a master like SoBDD--just aren't enough. Sometimes, numbers add up to much more than words even can. 'Cause numbers add, and words don't, ya fuckhead. Numbers like these, ones I've put up since May 28th, that day when SoBDD promised great things would come of me:
G: 14 IP: 14.2 ER: 0 H: 2 BB: 1 SO: 19 Sv: 7 Opp.BA: .043 IRS: 0/3
Numbers that show I ain't the future anymore. I'm the present.
Friday, July 4, 2008
You Know What Really Chaps My Ass? (Volume 1)
When sports fans use the first person plural to talk about their favorite teams. If you’re a sports fan reading a blog, you’re clearly familiar with this voice even if you don’t know what it’s called.
Yes, folks, I'm talking about...
WE.
Few things piss me off more than someone saying, “Oh, yeah, we're going to fucking kill the Cowboys this weekend.” Unless you plan on getting in a shootout with Tank Johnson and Pacman Jones (a distinct possibility, I admit) kindly shut your piehole. The Redskins may very well kill the Cowboys (SPOILER ALERT: they won’t) but you will have nothing to do with it.
That you live near the city whence a team derives its name (or you once lived near that city, or your dad lived near that city, or you just really liked their uniforms as a kid honestly that’s the reason you root for the Steelers it’s not because they’re always good or you’re a contrarian dickhead looking to piss off your family) doesn’t mean they represent you any more more than President Bush represents bushes. If you think your favorite team’s owner wouldn’t pick up and move this instant if he could make more money elsewhere, you’re crazy or a fan of the Green Bay Packers. (Being publicly owned by the members of the community will do that to you, natch.) There are, however, three exceptions, when the use of “we” in reference to a sports team is permitted.
You own the team, work for the team, or play for the team. Pretty self-explanatory, I’d say.
It is a national team representing the nation where you're a citizen. You want to cheer on Lannycakes and Eddie “Look at me, look at me, I’m a striker for a national team who doesn’t score” Johnson, and talk about how “we fucking kicked the crap out of those Barbadian losers”? Not sure why you’d want to, but go right ahead. (Side note: I actually like Landon Donovan and think he’s taken much too much abuse for the Americans’ struggles in 2006 Germany. He was named Best Young Player in Korea/Japan 2002, and is the American side’s all-time leader in both goals and assists. But my frustrations with the shitty-team-fest that is CONACAF have been well-documented.) They wear your flag, they play under the purview of your government, they represent you, fine: you can take partial ownership, make yourself feel included, say “we”.
But if you’re a guido dago wop from Long Island and you want to say, “l'insulto, ricchione culo!” even though you couldn’t pick Cannavaro out of a backline? Tough noogies. (Yeah, I said tough noogies. Don’t like it? Leave. There’s plenty of other websi—(Ed. note: SoBDD, shut the fuck up. No, I don’t want to hear that it’s a rhetorical device. We can’t take that chance when we have three readers. Just shut the fuck up.)
Exception to the exception: Not so much an exception as an extension, per say. Your country undergoes so many coups/civil wars you don’t know what the name on the front of the national team jersey will be next week. In that case, you should call the national team “those fucks who got out of military duty.”
College where you are currently enrolled. Similar to the national team bit, you’re allowed to claim responsibility for the results of your college’s teams, because they represent you as a member of the student body. Pay no attention to the fact that they don’t pay a dime while you pay through the nose; they have personal trainers, dietary counselors, and catered meals while you suffer through that cafeteria shit; they’re the two percent of the school that isn’t white or Asian; and they actually get laid on Saturday nights. They represent you. And after all, you had Intro to Psych with the star point guard. (Okay, now I know you’re bullshitting; basketball players don’t go to class.)
HOWEVA. It only counts if you’re an undergraduate. No pulling that, “Oh, I’m at Rutgers getting my Master’s Degree in Masturbatory Studies* so that means I say, ‘look how great we’re doing with C. Vivian Stringer at the helm of the women’s basketball team.’” That’s crap. First, your connection is with your undergraduate school, and once you’re done, you're done. Second, you’re a fan of women’s college basketball. Kill yourself.
*Side note: in addition to being a slightly clever master’s-masturbation near-homophone**, most graduate degrees are in Masturbatory Studies, even if it doesn’t say so explicitly on the diploma. (Sorry to steal your gimmick, JoePo, but it works so well.)
**Sideside note: the biggest homophone I’ve ever seen is the Doctor’s pink Razr.
I will take silence in the comments as a sign of your agreement.
Disclaimer: I have nothing against video games, urinating, or Mr. Leitch. But you find me a “no trying to associate yourself with sports teams through the use of grammatical constructions” picture, and I won’t need to use images of other “we” things.
One Final Question: If someone could explain to me why some of my commas are curved and some are straight, I would be fascinated by the answer. Are commas like penises?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Site News
Since the other guys were too lazy I write today concerning important site events. But first, I’d like to begin with a quotation from The Byrds Ecclesiastes.
To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose, under heaven. A time to be born, a time to die. A time to plant, a time to reap. A time to kill, a time to heal. A time to laugh, a time to weep. A time to build up, a time to break down. A time to dance, a time to mourn. A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together.
And so it is with heavy heart... that I tell the world of the tragic death of blurryfoot. A loving son, devoted husband, and caring father A founding writer of this blog, blurryfoot suffered a gruesome death at the hands of Major Minor League Baseball pitcher Brett Myers. Myers, who has a history of anger management problems, was recently demoted to the minors, and blurryfoot had the misfortune of running into him earlier today. blurryfoot’s remark of, “nice day, isn’t it?” was met with the reply, “what’s so nice about it?” Myers quickly grew angrier, and the madman began pitching baseballs at blurryfoot’s head. Luckily, he missed with the first 17, and it appeared our hero would escape. But when the former Major League pitcher/former amateur boxer turned his wrath against his petite wife Kim--not for the first time--blurryfoot rushed to her aid. Unfortunately, Myers’ uppercut comes with more accuracy than his fastball, and blurryfoot, alas, soon expired due to massive head trauma and blood loss. May he rest in peace. As none of us know his password As a heartfelt memorial, his name will continue to appear as a writer on the right side of the site.
On a brighter note--few notes could be less bright, I admit--we’re pleased to bring in a new contributor here at BIBTTP. theShow is not here to replace blurryfoot--for, truly, such a man is irreplaceable--but, rather, to offer a new, exciting, and (hopefully) interesting perspective on sports--particularly MMA--movies, and bodily functions. He will more properly and fully introduce himself some time in the coming week. (It’s my understanding he’s going say Never Back Down was shit!)
As for casting and gathering stones, your guess is as good as mine.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
A Modest Proposal
Yesterday--Sunday the 22nd, though blogger is giving me crap, telling me that today is Sunday the 22nd--I watched two soccer games, both of which started just after 2:30 and ended around five. But that's about all they had in common, as the games were quite the study in contrast. On ESPN2, Spain played Italy in the UEFA Euro 2008 quarterfinals, while over on ESPN Classic, the United States topped Barbados in World Cup qualifying. The Euro game, played in Ernst Happel Stadion in Vienna, featured 48,000 screaming, chanting fans, as twin seas of azzurro and roja saw two top-flight European sides battle it out for the right to face Russia in the semis. Spain finally took the game down in penalty kicks, breaking their June 22nd curse with a 4-2 PK victory. Meanwhile, the Americans, needing only to avoid an eight goal loss to advance to the next round of qualifying, sent out what was essentially a B-team and boringly rolled to a 1-0 victory over an amateur (that is, they were actually amateurs, like, their real jobs are as construction workers and electricians) Bajan squad. The listed attendance on the website of USSoccer was "TBD", but as the stands only surrounded half the stadium, and the fans barely filled half that, I bet it won't be 48,000.
So, yes, a study in contrasts. (Contrasts or contrast? When I googled 'em--my go-to move when determining proper usage--I got almost the same amount of hits for each. You make the call.) But it needn't necessarily be. Sure, Italy and Spain are better than us, but not by a long shot. We tied the Italians in group play in the 2006 World Cup despite some shady-ass refereeing that forced us to play a man down for half the game, and we recently gave the Spanish all they could handle before falling 1-0 in Spain. But as these teams played tough competition in front of millions of worldwide viewers, the American national side slogged through 90 minutes of soccer with a team that might charitably be called a minnow.
And so it goes in CONCACAF qualifying--the United States is forced to endure a seemingly never-ending parade of minnows, guppies, and polliwogs en route to the World Cup, an event at which their attendance is nearly assured from the start. (The American side has reached each of the last five World Cups, an honor it shares with just six other teams: Argentina, Brazil, Germany, Italy, South Korea, and Spain. Those teams are more than good.) Crushing tiny island nations and overmatched Central American squads fails to prepare the Americans for the biggest stage, as evidenced by our poor performances in European-based events. And I can't imagine the blue-collar workers of the Bajan national team particularly enjoyed being steamrolled, no matter how few fans are around to watch them get embarrassed. But as the title of this piece promises, I have a modest proposal that will help cure American soccer ills.
Inspired by the recent example of Australia, as well as the continued practice of Israel and Turkey, I think the United States should leave CONCACAF and join CONMEBOL, the South American governing body of soccer. Other squads have shown soccer regional governing bodies need not be tied strictly to geography, and there's no reason the United States needs to let our lack of competition hold us back. CONMEBOL features two top five teams in Brazil and Argentina, as well as respectable squads Paraguay, Uruguay, and Colombia. CONMEBOL World Cup qualification, in marked contrast to CONCACAF qualifying, is simple and straight-forward, as each of the 10 members all the others in a home-and-home series, with the top four advancing to the Cup while the fifth place team takes on fourth place finishers from CONCACAF. The opportunity to face this competition, in extremely hostile environments, would be forge the Americans into a mentally tough side able to get results in any conditions.
Just as the Socceroos of Australia were welcomed with open arms into AFC, the Asian federation, so, too, would the South Americans be glad to add us to the mix. We have gained some measure of respect worldwide in soccer, and our arrival would probably secure an additional qualifying slot for CONMEBOL. Our developed and (normally) strong economy could be of some benefit, as American fans could inject touristy-stuff in South America. And our foreign policy, generally unpopular in South America, could be challenged on the pitch. (If that doesn't make sense, just tune into the USA-Cuba qualifiers later this year. It will then.) The addition of the American side could help raise the level of play and qualifying in CONMEBOL, while also providing the United States the opportunity to take its game to the next echrlon.
The obvious drawback to this plan, of course, would be the loss of a heated rivalry with Mexico. El Tri has given us all we can handle and then some, and passion runs deep on both sides of the Rio Grande. But sometimes you just need to say, "Adios!"
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Fantasy Football Defense (Part 1, Methodology)
Blogsquatch and the Dozer aren't the only nerds in town, you know. I'm a bit of a nerd myself, which manifests itself in two ways--playing fantasy football, and being way too serious about numbers when playing fantasy football. This will be the first of a series of posts going inside the numbers, hopefully for your edification. As team defense is often an overlooked position, and I've done a lot of looking over it already this year, I figured it was a good place to start.
Something to keep in mind while reading this is that fantasy defenses score points just like any other fantasy position. And how many points they score will undoubtedly be affected by what offense they face. So when I talk about "defense points scored" and "offense points allowed", do not be alarmed. If it's really that confusing for you, just imagine everything in this post flipped upside down and describing real-life offenses scoring points against real-life defenses instead of fantasy defenses scoring points against fantasy offenses.
My first step was researching each team's predicted fantasy points this year. I went to a couple different websites and averaged my results, making sure all the inputs were based off of my league's point value. Our scoring system for defense is as follows:
So all the calculations are based off that.
From there, I took the total projected points and divided by 16, to get a projected points per game. But a defense won't score the same amount of points every week; offenses faced contributes mightily to defensive success. Because I was unable to find "projected points scored for a defense facing this particular offense" anywhere, I made my own using last year's numbers. For some of the numbers, you can get away with taking a straight average to find the prediction for each week, because counting stats are counting stats. I multiplied turnovers by two, sacks by one, and all the rest of it, but 'points scored' posed a bit more of a problem. If an offense averages, say, 22 points a game, simply punched in the average value, would mean you'd end up predicting defenses will score 0 points against them every time. Likewise, if you have a defense that scores 27 points a game, the defense will get 0 in that category. Obviously, that doesn't make sense, as an offense that scores 22 points a game will (often) score 17 or so points in games and (less often) 31 or so points in games, while a 27 point averaging team will score 31 points more often than it scores 17. So I figured out each team's average points per game and standard deviation from last year. I plugged those figures in an online normal distribution calculator that I cannot currently find, and determined the probability of any particular offense scoring between 0 and 6 points a game, 7 and 13, and so on. I admit I fudged it a bit, as I didn't want to grind through 256 online trials (32 teams, 8 different point ranges), so I picked about 10 different categories (14-15 points per game, STD 8-10) and put each team in a category. I had a chart that looked like this:
I then multiplied each probability by the points received to determine average points per week attributable to "points allowed". (This is the step shown in the screenshot. New England has a 20% chance of scoring between 28 and 34 points in a game, and if a defense allowed that, they'd be docked one point.) When coupled with the counting stats, I determined how many points each offense was expected to score each week. (I know that football scores are not normally distributed, and I screwed up a bit counting the number in each range--I set ranges at 0 to 6, 7 to 13, and so on, so all fractions between ranges were lumped into the 0 points set. I think, because it replaces extreme scores with scores of 0 points, it will have some normalizing--not in the same 'normal' sense, I'm afraid--effect, but it won't be the last time we see something like that.) Imperfect, I know, but the best I could do.
At this point, I had "defense projected points per week" and "offense projected points per week". I wanted to determined how many points would be expected when any particular offense played any particular defense, but this was easier said than done. You can't simply average these numbers, as that would pull extremes towards the center much too much. (Just as I promised!) Say you have an offense that is so dominant, they only let the average fantasy defense score two points a week. But an average fantasy defense, against an average offense, might score eight points a week. By averaging them, in the end you'd have an offense that's supposed to be only allowing 2 points a week allowing 5 points a week. I couldn't think of a better way to bridge the gap, though, so I settled on a compromise. I averaged the two numbers, then multiplied the averaged numbers by the percentage that the new total fell short of what the total should be, for both offenses and defenses. I did it again, and I got total numbers very close to what they should be, so I was happy with that. At this point, my excel sheet looked something like this:
I've included another image in case that one is hard to read, although you can simply click on it to enlarge. This one's only the top left corner of the original.
In each one, though, you can see the offenses down the left side--arranged by predicted points allowed per game--and the defenses accross the top, arraged alphabetically. So, when the New England offense--which is fantastic--faces the Cardinals defense--which is pretty good, Arizona can be expected to bank 2.0 points, slightly above the New England average of 1.6, and way below the Arizona average of 8.0.
I took all these potential match-ups--1024 in all--and put them on the real schedule. In Week 4, Arizona faces the slightly above average Buffalo offense, and can therefore be predicted to score a slightly below average 7.9 points. But the problem with simply converting matchup chart into a 16 week schedule is the total projected--through the use of individual matchups--points generated by the 16 teams on the slate will not necessarily equal the total projected points I started with for each defense. Arizona's overall sched is so easy, by simply plugging in each projected matchup, I ended up with a total about 7% higher than it should've been. So I took each team's individually-generated result and multiplied it by the inverse of the percentage it was off the original projection, and did that for each game. As it turned out, Arizona should only be projected to score 7.4 points against Buffalo. Hopefully, this step cancelled out the averaging issues I had on the per-game basis, because the outside generated numbers were complied with strength of schedule in mind, so this throws it back into the equation.
So now I can predict how many points every team will score in every week of the season, based on their past results, current professional projections, and future matchups. Now came a (relatively) simple step of matching every team up with every other team, and saying 'if I had both these defenses on my roster, and I could always play the one projected to score more points, how many total points could I score?' Unsurprisingly, two average defenses, when managed well, can outscore an excellent defense. More posts on this will follow, including all my results, but I just wanted to get my methology out there. It took almost as long to type up as it did to generate, and it's much more unclear in this format, so if you have any questions, hit me up in the comments. I can't necessarily justify anything I did mathematically--I don't have that kind of training--but I have an intutive sense of how things should go and should fit together, and I think my results make sense on some level. There's no way you're still reading this, so I'm just going to take this opportunity to say the Doctor touches babies.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Two Things
First, commentary about the Democrats' decision to seat all the Florida and Michigan delegates and award them all half-votes at the convention. (Here at bibttp, we're always cutting-edge and relevant. [Actually, blogsquatch and Doctor Dozer actually are cutting-edge and relevant. So I guess I'm just being sarcastic about me.]) I think this decision cuts to the core of the problem of the Democratic Party. It shows: a) an inability to follow rules and b) an unwillingness to enforce them. Draw that out as you will.
Second, I came across a brilliant post at Bugs and Cranks, which is a great baseball blog. This one actually is relevant, because it comments on all 30 Major League teams' seasons based on Mitch Hedberg quotes. Baseball and the Blogfather! Doesn't get much better than that.
href="http://www.bugsandcranks.com/the-clubhouse/first-13-grades-brought-to-you-by-mitch-altogether/"
Please enjoy. Someday, I'm going to learn how to make "brilliant post" the link directly to the article, and not have to copy the whole hyperlink. Someday. Also someday, I'm going to learn how to make the friggin' hyperlink work anywhere on this page. Does one of my tech nerd friends want to hasten that day?
UPDATE:
blogsquatch has been kind enough to fix the link. SoBDD doesn't realize that all he has to do is highlight the words he would like to hyperlink, click on the symbol that looks like an earth with a chain in the area above the section where he writes out his posts, and then places in the hyperlink in the area provided.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Red, White, and... Brown?
This afternoon, the United States men's soccer team played England in a friendly at Wembley. As Coach Bradley mainly used the match to test the form of his European-based players--only one MLS player started, with two more coming on in relief--and we were missing star midfielder Landon Donovan--who had a sore groin--the Americans weren't particularly expected to have a strong showing, and we surprised nobody. Amherica's poor passing, inability to set up quality scoring chances, and propensity to concede dangerous free kicks led to a 2-0 England victory.
So, our play was exactly like expected, anyway. And you might even say the same about our uniforms, in that in being nothing like anyone could've expected, they were exactly like could've been expected. (It's only fitting, I suppose, that such a contratian-sounding comment would owe a debt to Slate, and here it comes). The United States soccer teams' uniform troubles (and travels) have been well-documented. (Please note that the placement of the apostrophe was not a grammatical mistake. Rather, it was a nod to the American women's own kit problems, which, though many, will not be covered here.) Michael J. Agovino's piece that appeared on Slate last May--www.slate.com/id/2168476/--decried the American reluctance to pick a nice kit or two and stick with it. (For those who aren't up on soccer uniforms, and I can't say I blame you, "kit" just means "uniforms and stuff". Teams usually have two kits, a first and a second, and would generally prefer to wear the first as long as it isn't too similar to that of the home team, which has first pick.) In American soccer-playing history, long-but-not-distinguished, we've sported quite the array of uniforms. Below is a sampling. (Please note as well that I was unable to find any old pictures in color online, so these are all from the last 15 years.)
Yeah. Not pretty. Some red, some white, some navy blue, some royal blue, some stonewashed-looking blue, some diagonal stripes, some vertical stripes, some circles, some stars. A couple of those are solid, international-level kits, and more than a couple are pure garbage. But what we wore today... hoo boy.
I couldn't believe my eyes. America, as even foreigners like blogsquatch and dead people like blurryfoot know, is red-white-and-blue. Sure, the US men's soccer team hasn't been able to pick out a blue and stick with it, but at least we've been blue. When I asked some friends (and friends of the site) what color the US's uniforms were, I got the following responses:
Mrs. Schrute: "It's the USA. Of course they're wearing blue... No, brown. No, blue. Sons, why's the United States wearing brown?"
MacAttack: "They look gray... Or a weird blue."
Slov: "Blue. [With confidence.] Black. [With slightly less confidence.] They look gray. [She thinks for a moment.] Are they--[Totally perplexed.]--purple?"
As for myself, well, I think they'd be best classified as gray, perhaps even "slate". Maybe it's some kind of homage to Agovino's Slate commentary that the US needs to brand itself by picking something and sticking with it--so we picked something no one else would wear in a million years--or maybe it's an attempt to be "cool" and "cutting-edge" in an effort to attract fans who don't give a damn about World Cup quarterfinal appearances (2002, natch) but really like space-age looking Nike gear, or maybe they started as a normal blue and got damaged on the plane ride over. Or maybe they're just really fucking ugly, and will get thrown in the dustbin of bad American soccer uniforms like so many that have come before them.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I have seen the future, and his name is Brandon Morrow
As a Red Sox fan, I've seen my share of good young pitching. Jon Lester and Clay Buchholz, 24 and 23, respectively, have each thrown a no-hitter in the last year, and these young guns promise to anchor the Red Sox rotation for years to come. But watching the Sox-Mariners game tonight, I saw the future of pitching in the American League, and his name is Brandon Morrow.
Morrow is a 23 year old righty in his second full season in the big leagues. Tonight, after starter Miguel Bastista walked Dustin Pedroia and lefty specialist Ryan Rowland-Smith allowed a single to David Ortiz, Morrow was brought in to face Manny Ramirez. Though Manny has struggled a bit recently, just two innings before, he hit a three run homer off Bastista, #499 of his career. With two men on and no one out, it was clear Manny was looking to make it an even 500 against the young Morrow.
After a nice changeup to get ahead 0-1, Morrow buzzed Manny with a fastball inside. This kid was definitely not intimidated. On a one-one count, Morrow threw a 98 mph fastball that made Manny look really bad. Now, I've watched Manny hit for the last eight years, and I know that he doesn't look silly often. And when he does, it's sometimes even on purpose--he's such a good hitter, he'll take bad swings simply to lure the pitcher into throwing the same pitch again. "Another fastball, another fastball," I prayed. My wish was granted when Morrow busted out a 99mph heater. What a stupid I am! Once again, Manny looked foolish. Mike Lowell followed Ramirez, and had just as much success. After three straight off-speed pitches (slider-changeup-slider), Morrow blew him away with another 98 mph fastball. Against JD Drew--almost as if to show he could work backwards, too--Morrow threw four 97+ pitches to get ahead in the count before getting Drew to line out.
Morrow just went an inning, giving me plenty of time to research the kid. In his final year at Cal, he was dominant, sporting a 2.05 ERA with a 2.5 K/BB ratio, very impressive in the high-run environment that is college baseball. The Mariners made him the fifth pick in the 2006 draft, and he hasn't disappointed. In almost 100 innings pitched in all levels of pro ball, he's got a 3.19 ERA. Though he struggled with control somewhat last year--7BB/9IP--he seems to have turned things around this season. In 75 major league innings--all of which have been in relief, but, as Sox broadcaster Jerry Remy relayed, the Mariners are planning to move him to the rotation soon--he's struck out 83 and yielded only 5 homers. His fastball, as he demonstrated tonight, is a pitch to be reckoned with, and his off-speed stuff is a good 12-15 mph slower, very effective for throwing off hitters' timing.
This past offseason, the Mariners traded for Erik Bedard, hoping the Canadian would be the ace they wanted to put them over the top in the AL West. (The Mariners needed more than an ace to put them over the top in the AL West, but that's a whole 'nother story.) Though talks originally involved Morrow, they ended up holding onto the young pitcher. The Mariners will probably come to regret the deal, as they and Bedard have both struggled. But they will not nearly regret the deal as much as if they had traded Morrow away. They wanted an ace, and, while they didn't trade for one, at least they held onto one. Brandon Morrow is his name. Know it.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
In Honor of Baseball's Best Rivalry
I made this for another purpose, but it was (if I say so myself) too good not to post. I should have a real post (like, with words) out for the first time in a long time very soon as well, and we hope to be debuting another special feature in the coming days.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Greatest Love Song I Ever Wrote...
There's nothing I love more than sports, Springsteen, and being clever. I counted 16 references to Bruce's song titles and lyrics in the first minute of SportsCenter the other night. How many can you catch? See the first comment for all the ones I picked up. I got the video off of With Leather, which in turn saw it on Awful Announcing, but I did the listening all by myself...
McCain: The Right Man for America
We’ve been around for about a week now and, best we can tell, the only people who have visited the site are us trying to see if anyone else has visited the site. What do you do when nobody is paying attention to you? Well, to take a page out of the collective books of Skip Bayless, Jay Mariotti, and salesgenie.com—that last one is the people who ran the racist Super Bowl ads—you say something sure to piss people off and wait for the attention to start rolling in. The critics among you might point out that for people to get pissed off, they have to hear it first, to which I reply: a) it’s lack of critical thinking skills on issues like that one that mean we still have no readers, and b) if we have no readers we have no critics, so who am I arguing with right now? So, here’s my sure-to-piss-people-off stand, at least in the liberal world that is the Internet, the Northeast, and Reston University: I support John McCain for president.
Now, how sure-to-piss-people-off (STPPO) is that? In the grand scheme of things I could’ve chosen to support, maybe not that STPPO, but I’m new at this. (Coming tomorrow: I support global warming and climate change.) Over the past two months, John McCain has received the primary vote of almost six million Americans. But he’s also failed to receive even 50% in 18 of the 24 states (plus the District of Columbia) which have held elections, got less votes than Ron Paul in four caucus states—future election rule: you get less votes than Ron Paul or Dennis Kucinich (and you know those crackpots will keep running for president) in any state, you have to drop out then and there—and drawn the ire of such a spectrum as The New York Times, Anne Coulter, and, most recently and most notably, Bill Cunningham. To which I say: if you’ve manage to piss off all those people, you’re either doing something very wrong or very right.
So then, why is John McCain the right man to lead our country? Before I begin, and you start tuning out because you don’t want to hear about or can’t even wrap your head around how John McCain’s immigration plan is better than Obama’s or why McCain’s thoughts on the economy are superior to Hillary’s, I will promise you this: I will not turn this into a policy wonking session. So what if you don’t understand them? [Disclaimer: I do not actually feel this way. I hope to God you understand the issues at least on some level. But bear with me here.] If you are reading this, you’re probably more media-savvy and well-educated (not to mention hotter and better endowed!) than the mouth-breathers in Florida, Ohio, and Pennsylvania who will decide this election. (I can just hear the people in Iowa saying, “We’re mouth-breathers, too! Don’t forget about us!”) But anyway. No issues. Just people.
John McCain is the right man to lead our country, now more than ever, for three reasons. John McCain is the right man for Washington. Some decry him as a Washington insider, and not, on some level, without merit. But McCain, with his 22 years of Senate experience, is a Washington insider in the best sense of the word. For all the talk about Barack Obama’s ability to reach across the aisle to heal political wounds, I say the same thing everyone has been asking—or should’ve been asking—about all the elements of the Obama campaign: Where’s the beef? (Ed. Note: The Eighties called. They want their joke back.) (Ed. Ed. Note: They want that one back, too.) Obama’s work and votes in the Senate are so liberal (check out the National Journal Senator rankings for now, I’m looking for another one to corroborate) as to lend absolutely no credence to the idea that he will bring much-needed much-promised postpartisan Change ™ to Washington. But as we speak of this business of “healing DC”, it is important to note that, contrary of the opinions of Mitt Romney—who simultaneously tried to run as the candidate anointed by Republican elites and the outsider candidate—Washington is not “broken”. Contrary to the opinions of Barack “Shawshank”—that’s Andy Dufresne’s rhetoric, Red’s voice, and Rita Hayworth’s emptiness-behind-the-sexy-front— Obama, Washington is not “where good ideas go to die”. Good things happen in Washington every day, and I don’t just mean Gilbert’s blog posts. What it takes for good things to happen in Washington—or hell, anyway—is for people to be willing to listen to each other and work with each other. And though it’s pissed a lot of people off, John McCain has consistently shown a willingness to do just that. I point you to McCain-Feingold, McCain-Kennedy and the Gang of 14. (Don’t know what I’m talking about? Well, you’ve done the hard part and gotten access to the internet. Google ’em yourself. And plus, I promised no policy-wonking-off.) You may disagree with the conclusions reached and ends aimed for, but the Good Lord knows the man is trying. McCain has shown a willingness to work with others with the country’s best interests at heart.
As you surely know, because even attack ads against him make note of it, John McCain’s war record is exemplary. McCain, for those you who don’t know, served our country in the Navy for upwards of 20 years, of which seven years were spent in combat in Vietnam. Of course, over five of those years were as a Prisoner of War of the North Vietnamese, where he was constantly subject to intense and inhumane torture. I have heard it whispered that five and a half years in a POW camp aren’t so good for your brain. To which I reply: five and a half years of coke ain’t so good for your health either, but that’s not stopping Barack Obama. But I digress. I don’t want this to be an anti-Barack Obama post, because Lord knows he’s the people we’ve been waiting for. (Coming tomorrow: Obama’s Christ Complex.) McCain’s military experience give him a significant advantage over the other candidates when it comes to deciding the best course of action in Iraq. He pushed for a greater influx of troops—“the surge”—when it was wildly unpopular, and his campaign only rallied from the hit it took from this stand when his views where vindicated and the surge proved to be successful. Please understand we do not need a military man to run the country, even in a time of war—look no further than Abraham Lincoln, our greatest wartime (or anytime) president who never served in the military. If our Founding Fathers had believed military experience was necessary to head the government, they wouldn’t’ve made the military subordinate to the civilian government. Instead, it appears they, like me, subscribed to Georges Clemenceau’s thoughts on the subject: War is much too serious a business to be entrusted to the military. And again, I digress. The point is, as a man who has served his country honorably in uniform and out, John McCain can be trusted to do the right thing with the American military.
This brings me to my final point on John McCain’s candidacy. Any discussion of McCain must start and end with one word: ethical. (Here, I’ve chosen just to end with it because it would look pretty fucking stupid to have the same paragraph at the beginning and end of the post.) Throughout his life, John McCain has constantly shown himself to be a man of the highest integrity and honor. A quick side story, one that does serve a purpose besides allowing me to show off the fact that I have real political knowledge and can do more that slip in one-liners directed at Obama. There are two recently trends in politics driven by Karl Rove, both counter to the way politicians usually think. (If you know anything about politicians, it should come as no surprise that these trends are wildly successful.) Rove beliefs were thus: first, instead of moving to the center and courting moderate voters, candidates are better served appealing to their “base”—voters firmly in their camp ideologically but often cannot be motivated to get out and vote. Rove got them off their asses and to the polls. Second, instead of attacking your opponent where he is weakest, attack him at his strength and take his voters there. (I’m sure you will remember the hullabaloo about John Kerry’s military service. No matter your views on the Swift-Boating, one thing is clear: John Kerry gave more to this country while in uniform than George W. Bush did. But when the election came, who was perceived as the more military-savvy man? Exactly.) So, anyway, attack an opponent at his strength. And over the past week, both Barack Obama and The New York Times (if you don’t think the Times is McCain’s opponent just as much as Obama is, well, you’ve never read The New York Times) have gone after McCain’s credibility and ethics, both in regards to his marital fidelity and his relationship with lobbyists. (Coming tomorrow: I go after The New York Times’ creditability. Whoops, Jayson Blair beat me to it.) Given that all attacks were quickly defanged and debunked, even by national media aching for a black cock, it is fair to say that this Caesar’s wife truly is beyond reproach.
John McCain is the right man for America. Does it help McCain’s cause that I agree with him on many major issues? Of course. But I disagree with him on some major issues as well. Does it McCain’s cause that one of my buddies worked on his campaign? Of course. But I have plenty of friends working for Obama too. Does it McCain’s cause that he has a banging hot 54 year old wife? Of course. And I ain’t qualifying that one with a but. Really, though, the reason I think John McCain should be our next president is that more than anyone, I trust him to do right by our country. He is a man of of courage and integrity, who has served the United States honorably in the past and will continue to do so, no matter the outcome of this election. He is a man of principle, but he is unafraid to compromise when it is in the country’s best interest. And… after 1750 words, I have no conclusion.
Vote McCain.
Read More......Wednesday, February 27, 2008
When Doctor Dozer told me Blogsquatch was starting a blog, I jumped at the chance to be involved. A platform where I could write about what I want, how I want, when I want? Sign me up. You see, about a month ago, on this very site--Blogger, that is, not BIBTTP--I had created Shank Shank--a site dedicated to chronicling the inane ramblings of Dan "The Curly-Haired Boyfriend" Shaughnessy--but the subject was inherently limited, and besides, I stopped once I realized I would have to read Shaugnessy's stuff every day. Before that, I'd tried my hand at blogging, writing a weekly newsletter/power rankings type piece for my fantasy football league, but there, the audience was inherently limited. So, here, in the debonair, suave, and, thankfully-not-the-least-bit-blurry-so-we-can-enjoy-him- in-all-his-handsome-goodness form of Blogsquatch, was my chance to get my voice heard by the masses. Or at least by a couple of bored kids clicking "Next Blog" in the little Blogger window. But I'd take what I could get.
But that voice, the voice so aching to get out, the voice the masses so needed to hear, what was that voice? I mean, what do I have to say that hasn't been said before? The internet is a huge place--or series of tubes, if you prefer--and if you're on it enough to have discovered our lonely little corner of the web, you've probably already seen what I'm going to be writing, only done crisper, funnier, and more succinctly. (Never use a large word when a diminutive one will suffice, that's my motto.) Our blog name--Bigfoot Is Blurry, That's The Problem--is lifted right out of a Mitch Hedberg sketch. Our informal blog motto--a blog about nothing--is stolen straight from "Seinfeld". Hell, even my blogging name, Sons of Big Daddy Drew, owes it paternity--Get it? Paternity?--to someone else out there.
So why do this at all? The masses--if we can ever aspire to have masses at this site--they've heard it before, no? Are we nothing more than rebels without a cause, writers with nothing to say, kids with no voice of their own? I'd like to think not, otherwise I wouldn't've been so excited to be doing this. But maybe that's exactly what we are. And when it comes right down to it, there's nothing wrong with that. So what's it going to be? Your guess is as good as mine. Why don't you stick around and find out?