Conor - Trust The Process (UPDATE: PROCESS DUMB, UNNECESSARY)

Hey. It's Conor. I'm not here to talk about anything in my life other than this video game I started playing yesterday. It's called Rocket League. This is Rocket League. Don't watch the whole video. I want to keep your attention and I don't think asking you to watch more than 20 seconds of that video is a good way of accomplishing that goal.

That is Rocket League if you play it all the god damned time. I downloaded Rocket League yesterday from my brother's Playstation account, booted it up, and ignored the exhibition game it offered me as well as the tutorial (do not insult me, O Rocket League) and dove straight into a 27 game season. There were several difficulty levels below "All-Star," all of which I scoffed at. And we're off!

Game 1 Wyrms @ Skyhaws L 1 - 9 (0 - 1)

Imagine an NBA or NHL team were somehow forced to have someone on the field at all times who had never, ever played the sport that they were now competing in at the highest level. This person isn't necessarily unathletic, in fact they could be in incredible shape (the analogy here being that I've spent an embarrassing amount of time playing video games -- I know the way they move, generally), but still. The results will be ... telling.

That was the setup to the Wyrms game and first loss of the season,  9 to 1. It was 8 - 0 and man, did that one goal that we scored (I think it was Merlin? Can't be sure) shine a ray of hope onto our stupid car faces. Onwards and upwards, right.

Game 2 Wyrms @ Rovers L 2 - 6 (0 -2)

Within the first 20 second of play I fucking drilled a goal straight into the god damn goal for a goal. We then proceeded to meltdown. It was during this game that I realized the importance of personifying my teammates and my enemies. Merlin and Sundown are hard to read, Merlin incredibly so. Sundown often does some questionable things on defense (I know this because I get a great, relatively unobstructed view of much of our defensive tactics while I struggle with the controls on the other, empty side of the field), but the second I question him he does something cool. He scored our second and last goal.

The Rovers had a pretty clear enforcer on their team. I saw Buzz destroy my teammates 2 or 3 times through this game, because I guess blowing up your opponents in this game is a thing. I have not yet experienced it, but I fear it greatly. I do not want to be destroyed.

I'm looking at Merlin and Sundown and I do not think either of them are enforcers. This means I have a niche to fill.

Game 3 Express @ Wyrms L 9 - 3 (0 - 3)

The score can't be entirely trusted on this one. In a lot of ways the Wyrms are a team who are finding themselves. I scored a goal that was the equivalent of a put-back dunk, a no-skill effort point I was rewarded for following the ball like a dog chasing after a car, or, less adorably, a terrified kid on a bike. Merlin went off, scoring the first two points of the game.

Still a lot of problems. A look at the box score says that Sundown made neither of his two shots on goal (meanwhile I was 1 - 1 -- thought I'd mention that), he had no assist and four saves. Defensive specialist, right? Wrong. I got very, very worked up about one goal we suffered because Sundown threw it in reverse right as a ball came careening at the goal he was defending. It looked a lot like this.



I like this core. As both team manager, coach, and clear worst player on the team (I have no idea how our personal scores are calculated at the end of game but here were are standings this time -- Merlin with 290, Sundown 180, me with 145) I have to remain optimistic, but my optimism is not forced. I feel like we can go somewhere. I just have to remember the acceleration button and Sundown has to play some god damned defense.

Game 4 Pioneers @ Wyrms L 2 - 6 (0 - 4)

This one was painful. Definitely a step back. Miscommunications everywhere. I did at one point say out loud "CLEAR IT DOWNFIELD, I'M SO OPEN, THERE ARE NO OFFSIDES IN THIS GAME, WE'RE ALL ROCKET CARS." I'm still worked up about these games, even though the progress I want to be seeing isn't always there. That's a good sign. Gotta stay engaged.

Side note: This stadium is awesome! Haven't been talking about the stadiums because they've all been the same, I had assumed up to this point that they were all the same layout with different aesthetic differences, but this one, The Wasteland, it seems to be called, had raised edges as if we were playing in a plate. Why oh why don't sports do this? This is the one thing baseball does better than other sports, it's cool that it's way easier to score home runs in certain ballparks. Fuck whatever difficulties that creates for the people who are supposed to compile advanced statistics, that shit's awesome! As a kid, and then as a teenager, and then as a college student and now still as a post-grad I've always wanted there to be loop-de-loops on highways, or trolls I have to fight in order to get across certain extremely necessary bridges. Sports are escapism, right? Why can't they be more fantastical? Fuck yes, tell me this isn't the craziest map they have.

Oh god looking at the results throughout the league going into Game 5 is not not not encouraging. There are 10 teams and we are now the only 0 - 4 club. Let's change this.

Game 5 Wyrms @ Cyclones L 4 -7 (0 - 5)

Holy shit did I want this one so bad.

I'm obviously very glad that point differential isn't a thing in this league, because our first couple of games would have definitely damned us if that were the case, but this game was so close.

I'm looking at the league. 27 games in a season before the playoffs. 6 of 10 teams go to the playoffs. (The other option was 4. So very glad I chose 6) Is this doable? Yes, when it comes to numbers, yes, very clearly it can be done. Am I going to achieve this? No, probably not. Am I going to play the rest of the season out? Yes. Because Merlin, Sundown and I are going to watch the post-season, and we are going to be hungry. And then there will be the season after that. And then the season after that.

Trust the process.

GAME 6 WYRMS @ MAMMOTHS W 4 - 3 (1 - 5)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

WHAT DORKS

THE MAMMOTHS SUCK THE MAMMOTHS SUCK THE MAMMOTHS SUCK

WE HAD THE LEAD WITH 10 SECONDS LEFT AND THEN I BLACKED OUT AND THEY HAD SCORED

AND THEN THEY ESSENTIALLY LET US SCORE FROM THE KICKOFF

BUT IT'S NOT EVEN A KICKOFF, BECAUSE NO TEAM HAS AN ADVANTAGE

IT'S LIKE A JUMP BALL

IMAGINE THAT SOMEHOW THERE WHERE 9 SECONDS LEFT IN A BASKETBALL GAME

AND SOMEHOW

SOMEWAY

YOUR GUY JUMPS INTO THE AIR, CONFIDENTLY CLAIMS THE BALL, IN THE SAME GORGEOUS MOTION SHOOTS AND SCORES

AND THEN THE GAME IS OVER

ROCKET LEAGUE IS THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD

FUCK THE PROCESS

WYRMS 2016 GOING ALL THE WAY

Game 7 Wyrms @ Monarchs L 3 - 6 (1 - 6)
Game 8 Rebels @ Wyrms L 8 - 4 (1 - 7)
Games 9 Wyrms @ Guardians L 2 - 7 (1 - 8)

Not much to say about these. Maybe there was something to the process after all.

Game 10 Wyrms @ Skyhawks W 7 - 6 (2 - 8)
Game 11 Wyrms @ Rovers W 5 - 3 (3 - 8)
Game 12 Express @ Wyrms W 2 - 4 (4 - 8)

What the fuck?

Game 13 Pioneers @ Wyrms L 3 - 2 (4 - 9)

Listen this one is technically a loss, but it's in this game that Wyrms fans really saw what we had in mind for this franchise. Against the Pioneers (The god damn Pioneers! 10 - 3 after this game, they're unstoppable. Can anyone slow Scout down? And does Skyhook get enough credit? [I made Skyhook up, I can't remember any of the other names, I'll be on the lookout next time I play the Pioneers to decided which car will forever be nicknamed Skyhook]) oh shit where was I that parenthetical aside really got away from me

oh right, yes, anyway, this was a really good game, and we won our three previous. The playoffs are no longer a dream. It'll be difficult, but we're only two victories behind the 6th seed (The Express! Those pretenders we handed a 4 - 2 loss to last week!). I've decided that this league is ruthless, and the bottom 2 teams at the end of the regular season get demoted to the next difficult down, known as the Pro-League but more commonly referred to as the No-League, or maybe the So-Bad-League.

The Wyrms will not be demoted to the Faux-League. It's not going to happen. The Wyrms have wormed their way into the hearts of whatever town or city they represent (ideas? This game seems to take place in the future, but I'm willing to spin this into some high fantasy shit), and soon they'll scorch their way into the playoffs.

Where they will probably be eliminated in the first round by the Pioneers, or the Cyclones, if they're lucky.

Not getting it

I've never been much of a jumper. I find my expertise is in making my way through large crowds. I'm thin, pushy and assertive, but not very springy. When I'm in a good mood, I feel I can jump higher. When I'm alone and stressed, my viscosity lowers and my ability to traverse large crowds is increased. I would consider these two attributes of equal importance.

The University of Illinois is a big place. Its sprawling campus is home to more worker-bee students than, I would think, any other university in the state. There are loads of crowds here. As a journalism major, I work in a competitive field. You can't just "take one for the team" and become a sports journalist. You have to work your ass off relative to everyone else working their ass off. You have to be a talented writer, you have to wisely discern turning points in games and know what questions to ask without making the rest of the lodge brothers look bad.

I first picked up the Daily Illini during a visit in my senior year of high school. I looked at the sports section (such was habit with newspapers since childhood) and read a column on Steve Nash. I liked it, but thought of some things that I would have done differently, which I thought were better. And I thought it'd be really cool to write for the paper. If I could get in to U of I, man, it'd be fun to see my face in print. Turns out I could get into U of I. It'd be fun to see my face in print.

Fast forward to freshman year, and I find the Daily Illini is actually quite an accessible organization. They take me in; my editor, Alex Iniguez, seems pretty nice. I get assigned a club sports beat and wait for further direction. I end up waiting quite a while, until October, when Alex floats me and the other two club sports writers a story idea with the plea "Please somebody do this story." I grabbed it, because it was underwater hockey, and I held my breath and dove in. I remember frequently corresponding with Alex, checking all my steps. Interviews? Practices? Length? Story tone? Whatever. Pictures? Pictures? Pictures? (I finally took the pictures.) And I came in with a story that I heard was hyperbolically called "the best first story ever." Which I basically still pride myself on today, sadly enough.

Alex worked with me to try and get me to a more prominent beat as club sports continued to dawdle. He was going to put me on hockey, then opted out of an additional hockey writer. He offered me women's gymnastics, and I opted for a column, showing this blog to him as a testament to my rambling abilities.

But I wanted to do more, and about this time last year, Alex and I talked and he convinced me to apply for assistant sports editor. Seeing as how I was the only willing applicant, I got the position and got myself in the newsroom. They convinced Jeff Kirshman, a sophomore, to take on the position as well. Assistant editors typically go on to become desk editors. The task was incredibly daunting at the time, but I knew there was a year before I'd have to be ready.

Amazingly, that year has come and gone. I've worked five days a week during the school year at the DI, critiquing stories, improving them, learning A.P. style, mingling with Jeff and the features desk, taking pointers from current editor Kevin Kaplan, seeing really good stories, seeing really bad stories. I've learned a lot. I've grown a lot.

At a certain point, you rise to the surface, or you make a leap to it. Or you sink. The more I filled in for Kaplan whenever he'd sparingly miss days, I grew in my confidence. If I could become sports editor my junior year, my senior year I'd have my pick of the litter. Jeff had told me with confidence that he didn't want to apply for sports editor. He had had enough of living at the DI and wanted to report again. After all, reporting is better for a resume.

I began using the words "heir apparent." They fit me.

Jeff and I's last day as true peers — before the word came down and the "apparent" half of the phrase could be dropped — we worked as well with each other as we had over the past year. Kaplan missed due to potential pink eye, and we ran the ship like two competent assistants would. The internet going down for two hours didn't stop us. We accessed facts that our reporters failed to find. We made sure everything was handed to the design desk on time. We had gone to news conference together, figured out what to play up through discourse, we stayed late, we watched the end of the NBA All-Star game, we finished the day together. I was exhausted. Too drained for drinks that night. Maybe another time, Jeff. It wouldn't be weird to ask. We had become friends through this job we loved and maligned.

The position of sports editor is a high-up one on the paper. The highest I care to go, really. I was coming into it like I had come into assistant editor, floating up through the mass of more qualified people per pointers from those I respect. Fifteen hours before the application deadline, Jeff had let me know he had a 180 degree shift of mind and was applying for sports editor.

Admitting you're flustered is rare — typically by the time you realize you were flustered, the damage has already been done. But Jeff's decision to apply flustered me, in an utterly fair way. I thought back to my application, which I had filled out in a more casual state of mind. I thought of new questions I'd have to answer, questions I hadn't been thinking of answers to for weeks. I went from needing an inductive appeal to needing to elicit deductive favor. My "good enough" wouldn't allow me a chance. I had seen a crack, and tried to fit through it. But no, this wasn't going to work that way. The bar had been raised, and now I had to leap.

Jeff had said earlier in the year, in a matter-of-fact way, "If I apply, they'll pick me over you." Fair, I thought. He has a year on me, a year which he used to cover varsity sports, and other than that Jeff and I were utterly equal in the eyes of superiors.  Things had changed now, though. I had impressed people. I had stepped up in times of need, and I had showed confidence. I was heir apparent, and no one shuddered at that.

Getting off the elevator on the third floor of the Illini Media building (the newsroom) for my interview, I was met, as the doors slid open, by Jeff. Damn it, he had worn a tie. I high-fived him/shook his hand. "Tag out," I joked, with a hint of nerve. I asked Jeff if he wanted to have a few drinks later. It would be a night for celebration — one of us was going to be editor, and the other would no longer have to be assistant. He accepted. The interview itself went well. Everyone in the room knew I could do the job. They asked me questions, and I answered some better than others. Nothing to do now but work and wait.

Nathaniel Lash, newly anointed managing editor, was the one who called me with the verdict. I was walking home, and had taken a detour so that I'd get the call outside, by myself. He apologized for an awkward miscommunication from earlier, and I could tell by his tone of voice there were more apologies to come. I understood immediately their decision to go with Jeff. That night had reassured me that either of us could do it, and it was cool having a chance to work with Jeff for a night in what was essentially a co-editing role, no assistance necessary. Nathaniel kept spoon-feeding me compliments after he told me the decision, and I kept chewing and swallowing them, because it seemed like a practical thing to do. When the conversation had lasted long enough, Nathaniel offered a final thanks, apology and compliment, and I hung up. I let the moment hang in the cool night air for a bit before putting my headphones back on. My iPod had kept me good company throughout the process.

For me, deferment means a new era and a new field. After spring break, I will begin reporting on the school's baseball team. I'm still planning on spending the summer here in Champaign, and hell, living with Jeff if possible. It's something that leaves plenty of room for opportunity, and brings about a little less stress to boot. I don't know for sure what I want to do next year, but I have a few ideas. And though I really, truly saw myself in that newsroom, working under Sammie, alongside Nathaniel and Taylor, with Jeff coming into me for edits and not the other way around, my time as sports editor will have to wait. And if I spend my time working out my reporting muscles, I'll be ready to jump when the time comes around again.

For now, I'll have to pocket my editor jokes, my meeting ideas, my editor fantasies, and my ideas for beat assignments for another year. It's a disappointing feeling. I lost, when I really thought I wasn't going to have to compete. I'm happy for Jeff, though. It's a challenge to me — earn my chops reporting, then I get another crack at the editor's chair.

It's important not to let go of failures like these — it's important to take them with you. I applied myself, and someone else applied themselves more successfully. And while it's hard to remember that you're not supposed to let your head hang, it's easy to remember that you're supposed to pick your head back up, look forward, and go somewhere.

Jeff, I'm happy for you. I think you made the right decision, potentially for both of us.

--Eliot Sill

For the Love of the Game

-Robert Langellier-

There’s a thick divide between these coaches and fans and their players, between these adults and the adults who know they’re watching 12-year-old youth baseball. The divide is so obvious it’s almost visible. I can see it in the way Starpath Blue’s manager glares at his second baseman as he fumbles a groundball, before recovering it in time to make the out.

Number nine makes it to second base on the play, but is nearly tagged out after not sliding. A short, round 40-something long past his high school varsity prime yells angrily through the wad of dip in his mouth. “What the hell are you doing out there?! Are you even paying attention?” The kid turns back to the first base coach and responds with half-hearted, hesitant force. “Shut up! Shut up…” He’s not a snooty kid, I can tell, from my position in between the pitcher’s mound and second base. His voice and his face are more tired than they are rebellious. This is just an innocent looking 12 year old who will eventually grow up to quit baseball for the same reason that I did. “I’m trying! I’m trying!” he says. “No,” his coach sneers, allowing about a five second awkward pause as he cooked up his commanding, authoritative response. “You’re not.” The round man looks pleased.

The divide is so obvious it’s almost audible. I can hear it as the Mud Hens’ head coach publicly humiliates his pitcher for wearing the wrong color undershirt after the plate umpire politely asks for it to be removed. I can hear it for two hours, as fans from both teams ridicule and mock me to the back of my helmet every time I call a strike on their child.

***

Going into an umpire job is like going into war. As I and the other prospective part-timers arrive at the complex for training, General Dullard, our boss, gathers us inside the concession building for a briefing. He dedicates about half of his speech to the rules of umpiring and the curious and uncommon game circumstances we’ll have to govern. He dedicates the other half to the enemy: the foaming coaches and the physically volatile parents. As we go outside to take a look at the fields, I overhear one veteran ump who calls himself Junebug tell a story of a fan who charged him after a game last year. Junebug is a tall, black man with an age-worn face and a terrifying presence behind the plate and who, as I learned later, once held the Missouri record for the 100m dash. I would sooner swallow my shin guards than be charged by anyone bold enough to attack Junebug.

“Just call ‘em as you see ‘em,” stresses General Dullard in conclusion. “Make sure you yell out your calls with enthusiasm, and you’re less likely to have them questioned.”

I am just a base umpire, most of the time. I’m new, and so I’m given the rookie, low-risk positions. It’s important to distinguish between the base umpire and the home plate umpire, because the difference is as wide as “front-line infantry” and “medic.” The plate umpire positions himself at the exact spot at which the scorn from both teams’ bleachers intersects. He then calls strikes and balls on every single pitch and futilely hopes that the 11-year-old in front of him stops every 55 mph pitch coming for his throat. I’m content with remaining a rookie until the end of all known time, but I still occasionally sit behind the plate for verbal and physical thrashings of my very own. On good days, though, umpiring is the easiest $25 I’ve ever made.

I am, however, not the victim. I’m a big boy, and I can remind myself that I don’t have to become these people in my own future, even if I have to subject myself to them for my next paycheck.

When I’m the base umpire, my main duties are to call people safe or out at first, second, and third base, as well as verify that pop flies and line drives are caught and not faked. In other words, I only perform when something significant actually happens, a semi-rare occurrence in baseball. I spend most of my time inventing numeric games on my ball-strike counter and observing as the cockroaches of parents and major league expectations bleed through the gilded final product of that 1-2-3 bottom of the third.

BC Baseball is the most competitive youth baseball league I’ve ever seen. I distinctly remember not being as good as these kids when I was 12 years old, and I ruled Clark Griffith Little League with an iron fist. I see diving catches, curveballs being taken to right field for bloop singles, and first basemen that could beat me up. When General Dullard says that BC Baseball is as competitive as any youth baseball league in the nation, I believe him; these kids have been molded into some damned talented players. At a cost.

I see a lot of players who already see baseball as a job, where hard work is rewarded with statistics in the wins column and more hard work. This is why I quit baseball in high school. I hated that baseball was no longer a game, but an assignment. I was put out by the fact that our high school sports system has made it impossible to compete in athletics without taking the entire concept so seriously it consciously drains away any element of “fun.” Four hour, 6:00 a.m. Saturday morning practices and daily endurance-focused weightlifting regimens aren’t fun. They’re designed to tear down the childish aspect of sport and rebuild its athletes into mechanical players that only continue, according to testimonies from my own ex-teammates, because they’re too used to baseball to quit; it’s all they know. I see the same type of effect in ten year olds who don’t even know what girls are yet. And that’s bullshit.

But let’s be honest. Eight out of ten coaches are really nice guys who treat players and umpires with respect. Most of them come out after the game and shake the umpire’s hand and thank them, even if they disagreed with his calls. And a lot of them treat their players like younger brothers and know that the worst-case scenario is not losing a Tuesday evening league game, but seeing an 80 ft. pop fly crack off their pitcher’s head. The head coach of the Blaze is one of my favorite people I’ve met this year, for example. But one bad egg can spoil the bunch; some of these people are absolutely despicable. There are two kinds of these, I’ve decided. There’s the first type, who are simply obnoxiously competitive, obsessed with winning of any sort to the point where they cannot be stopped by the feelings of children or the tendons in their arms en route to a regular season win in an 11U game of youth baseball. I call them bad coaches. The second type is the kind of people who want their kids to go to the same colleges that their parents did, to live their parents’ glamorous, unfulfilled dreams instead of their own. The ones who see their children as extensions of their own bodies. I call these bad parents.

“Good God, those coaches are dicks,” I say to my partner Andy between innings, referring to the Mud Hens’ abusive head coach with rat-like eyes and the first-base coach with the braces. The former had spent the previous half inning degrading his players in the field, and the latter had taken the liberty of about 40 seconds to denounce what a fucking disgrace Andy’s strike zone was.

“Ah, it’s fine,” he says. Andy looks like a high school quarterback blended with a bit of country. “They’ve been out here all day and they’ve been losing pretty bad. It’s not a big deal.”

Later that game, a 10-year-old Cardinals player slides into home plate and afterward wipes off the dirty home plate for Andy. Andy smiles and gives the smiling kid a fist bump and a “thanks” as he gets up to run back to his dugout.

“Oh, okay, so that’s why we’re not getting any calls!” comes the immediate response of a hostile Mud Hens fan. Several surrounding fans loudly voice their agreement that Andy is very obviously manipulating the game in the Cardinals’ favor.

Okay. Listen, parents. I don’t care how badly you want your team to win. I can guarantee you, almost without a shadow of a doubt, that none of the umpires or referees are rooting for the other team, ever, and nor are they ever intentionally doing anything to help either team win. Especially in little league baseball. This goes for about 40% of the rest of America's sports fans as well. Those terrible, stilted umpires are making their calls on an individual, exclusive basis. There is no agenda, I can promise you. Your son is just not a fast runner, regardless of whether or not he is from the same county as the umpire. Berating me for calling him out, followed by berating your son for not being safe is not the solution to the disgrace that your son has brought upon your family.

Kids are not machines. Athletes now are nurtured and shaped at younger and younger ages. Full-grown athletes achieving unbelievable feats may be fascinating to watch, but they're created at an expense. There is, for one, the hundreds of thousands of kids who will become disillusioned to the idea of actually playing sports by the endless hours of working to field mock groundballs at shortstop. There’s a certain divide between creating a solid team and demanding too much out of your kids. We must take care not to cross it.

“Still think they’re just having a bad day?” I say to Andy after an inning littered with potshots and on-field yelling matches. Andy laughs.

“It’s just ridiculous,” he says. “These people need to stop acting like children. And you know it’s going to be rubbing off on these kids, too.”

There are plenty of times when I see the divide crossed where I want nothing more than to quit and walk away from the debacle. But then I remember that $12.50 an hour and that head coach from the Blaze who makes his pitcher and his catcher smile to each other every time he makes a mound visit during a rally. So for now, I’ll just keep calling ‘em out as I see ‘em.

Nick - Starcraft

I think too often we fall into the trap of thinking that we know everything about a certain subject. We become so confident in our opinion that we forget to keep an open mind. I am firmly of the opinion that the only way to be right most of the time is to be completely open minded. To be willing to listen to the evidence or the opinion of someone else. To recognize that oftentimes humility is the only way to achieve understanding.

This is why I have chosen today to write about something of which I have no semblance of understanding.

God only knows what is happening in this picture. Well, god and Michael Vilim down the hall. Michael is crazy awesome at Starcraft. I really enjoy watching him play it, even though I usually have no idea what is going on.

Here is how I understand Starcraft to work: it's an extremely fast-paced game where you build some guys, and then you make your guys fight the other guy's guys. And, uh, sometimes there are forcefields? Also, Starcraft players like to use their own words that they make up. Here are some of them:

gg: This means good game. You say it when you're about to give up or beat somebody.
gl hl: I don't know what this means, but people say it at the beginning of matches all the time. I'm pretty sure Michael has explained it to me at least ten times.
Zerg Rush: I didn't really know what this meant, but I hear Michael say it all the time in a panicked voice, so I typed it into Google to get the picture at the top of this post.
DT: I'm told it stands for "Dark Templar," which apparently can fly around and are hard to find?

Michael owning some noobs.

Michael won the last Starcraft tournament at our dorm. He also set up and ran the first one. For the final match, we had a giant TV screen set up in a room full of people and we live broadcasted the match. Michael let me co-commentate with him. I want you to briefly picture me co-commentating a game of Starcraft. I imagine it was very similar to me co-commentating a basketball game.

Here's how that match went: Michael would explain what was going on, and then I would make open-ended blanket statements. Like, "it looks like he's employing an interesting strategy. We'll see how this develops later in the match," or, "this could spell trouble for his opponent if he doesn't do something about it."

I have also tried to play exactly one game of Starcraft in my life. I decided that I wanted air power, so I just built a bunch of airship factories. I started churning out airships called "Medivacs" until I had a whole fleet in my base. And then I waited for my opponent to attack.

As it turns out, Medivacs are only healing units. It was brutal. Never has a less effective air force been assembled.

-Nick.

Nick - Obsession

"We can't win against obsession. They care, we don't. They win."
- Ford Prefect, The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy.


If I wanted to be the greatest baseball player in the world, I could work all of my life with that goal in mind and still never get there. Because someone out there was working harder than I work, at a younger age. That person is taking unsafe dosages of steroids, just to get that little bit more muscle that might make the difference. That person is sacrificing a social life to practice pitching. That person has given up everything for this one goal.

We have a tendency to measure everything in terms of "bests." The best baseball player, the best journalist, the best musician. But our biggest asset as humans is that we don't have to be good at just one thing.

There are kids who can play YYZ on guitar before they turn eight. There are kids who are writing software for their home-built computer, and I don't even know what C+ means.

If we measured everything in terms of bests, the only people who would count for anything would be the people who threw themselves at something early, with animalistic determination.

We can change the world without being the "best" at anything.


You can't be the best, so be unique.

-Nick.

Goin' Deep With Brian Malone (Not An Innuendo, You Sick Assholes)

Hey. Background time.

I grew up in a very Catholic oriented environment and, despite a slight falling out between me and the big C recently, we still have a sort of weird, half assed intimate relationship. I think that before college I missed about 2 Sundays of church ever. I never particularly liked going to Mass, and I stopped going altogether since I've been at college, except when I go home on a weekend. I just don't really see the point. I just feel like I don't need to get up early after a night of frivolity and pack myself into a crowded little space with a lot of loud noises to be able to claim that I love God. When you try and force people to do stuff they don't wanna, they're gonna resent it, and no one wants it to be like that. Maybe some day I'll learn to appreciate it and want to go. Who knows. My mom would call me a “cafeteria Catholic” for that. In fact, she has before. What she means by that is that even though I'm Catholic, I choose to disagree with certain beliefs that the Church holds, some of them rather major. Which is true. Sorry mom, but I don't like to follow dogmatically. SEGWAY! (cross-curricular)

Let's talk about some of these beliefs that I disagree with (cue controversy). I already mentioned the whole issue of churchgoing, but here are some other, bigger ones. First up is the death penalty. Catholic Church: against. Brian Malone: fry 'em. Sorry to be crude here, but when a person is so nasty to the core that they rape and kill and do other shit like that with no remorse, they lose their right to life in my mind. Because honestly, life is a blessing and a privilege, and when you no longer have any respect for the lives of others, you don't deserve your own.

Round two brings us to premarital sex. Catholic Church: against. Brian Malone: all for it, given the right conditions. I'm not saying I feel it's alright to just sleep around with whoever we want, whenever we want. I just feel like if you know someone really well, and you both really like/love each other, and you're both willing to take that step in your relationship, then go for it. And if not, then don't. I just don't think that there's all that much of a difference in the role sex plays in our relationships before and after marriage.

Next up is gay marriage and homosexuality in general. Catholic Church: against. Brian Malone: let gays be gay. I don't mean to be politically incorrect here, but I don't know how else to say it. I'm not into that, but who cares if other people are? And even if you think it's wrong or immoral, just keep it to yourself. There's no need to condemn people. That's not our place. It's God's. And that's not to say that they should be condemned, because I definitely don't think that.

Finally, let's talk birth control. Catholic Church: against. Brian Malone: for. To me, there's a huge difference between contraception and abortion. After conception, its a different ballpark. But preventing some eggs from fertilizing and producing life is not the same as ending life. I think contraception is really important, especially in today's world where more and more people seem to support my view of premarital sex. It's much better than getting pregnant and then having to deal with that moral quandary, something I think that the Church should be the first to realize. Unfortunately, they don't see it that way.

Now I want to address some misconceptions that a lot of non-Catholics, and even some Catholics, seem to have about Catholicism. Let's start with evolution. WE DO NOT TAKE THE GENESIS STORY LITERALLY. To paraphrase something my priest once said, “We as Catholics aren't supposed to literally believe that God created the world in seven days. It is just a metaphor for God's power and his hand in creation. Science has all but proven evolution to be fact, and religion and science are meant to work together in this sense.” So in other words, maybe we evolved from apes, and those apes evolved from something else, etc. all the way back to the first speck of matter that exploded to create the universe (or whatever theory you believe created the universe). But the point is, we believe that that speck, that first thing, whatever it was, was created by God, who then let things unfold. And I do not mean to belittle or discredit atheism here, but I have always wanted to ask, “Where do you guys think that that first thing came from?” I respect your answer, whatever it may be. I'm just wondering. But yeah, referring back to an earlier statement, Catholics don't necessarily interpret every word from the Bible as solid and unquestionable truth. We get that some things are just metaphors and guiding stories written in ways we can relate to and understand. Also, perhaps the biggest and most frustrating misconception people seem to have about Catholicism is that we're all bigots or something that see other religions as lesser entities to be frowned upon and shunned. Not so. So yeah, the point is that we aren't a bunch of elitist pricks like people often seem to think. We all acknowledge the atrocities the Church has committed in the distant past, but let's be honest. Not to belittle mass suffering, but what religion hasn't in some way repressed other religions at some point in time?

I've noticed that a lot of people I know that were raised Catholic and went to SHG no longer support Catholicism. Perhaps there were other factors, but for the sake of my point, let's assume it was SHG's fault. It really pisses me off when certain more prominent figures in Catholicism fuck up and all of us are frowned on for it, like SHG being super elitist, or that microscopic and unrepresentative percentage of priests molesting children. Not to minimalize the terrible nature of those things, but it's like people think that there's never been a reverend or a pastor or whathaveyou that's committed a crime. People are fallible, and it just sucks that those people who are the worst of us are often chosen to represent a much larger body that is, for the most part, good.

Another thing I've noticed is how taboo talking about religion is these days. People always seem to apologize when they bring up the topic, and I understand their desire to be politically correct and not offend anyone or make anything awkward, but in short, it kind of sucks. Now, I'm not advocating that religion should be integral in politics, because I believe the separation of church and state is for the best. But it seems like our freedom of speech is quietly being repressed more and more as we strive harder and harder to make everyone happy and be politically correct. The sentiment is a noble one, but it's just too bad that the world we live in can't simply have many voices of differing opinions coexist without conflict.

So clearly I'm not the best example of the ideal Catholic. I disagree with a bunch of stuff and I sin all the time. I'll be the first to admit that. I swear like a demon. I even did it a bunch in this post. Occasionally I break some laws. I'm pretty prone to sloth and gluttony. I love watching movies where the bad guys die horrible and awesome deaths, and I laugh my ass off when they do. The Boondock Saints is one of my favorite movies for this very reason. They just go around and kill scumbag criminals, and I love it. Sometimes when I'm eating dinner, I'll just sit and people-watch. In other words, I mentally judge people left and right, and though I do my best to keep that judgment in my head, I still know it's wrong. But I'll keep doing it anyway, because it entertains me and I can't help it. I do my best to learn from my mistakes, but the honest truth of it is, sometimes I just don't. Sometimes I just don't care. I know a lot of the time I'm rather cocky and arrogant and a bit of a douche bag, and I try my best not to be like that, but sometimes I just can't help it. I'm not afraid to admit my flaws, and I'm sure there are plenty of people out there that don't like me for them. I wish it weren't so, but at the same time, it doesn't bother me. There's not a person out there that is liked by everyone that knows them, and I'm not trying to be the first. I want people to like me, but if they don't, they don't. That's that.

But despite all this stuff, I feel like my basic morals are what they should be, and I'm happy with that. I'm proud to be me (pride is totally one of the seven cardinal sins, but fuck that shit). In the words of Al Pacino at the end of The Devil's Advocate, “Vanity is my favorite sin”.

-Classic

Sports Post

Well, here we are again.

It's championship weekend in the NFL. After months of trench warfare and bomb passes and ground attacks and defense and blood, sweat, and tears, America's favorite sport prepares to reach a climax.

You will hear me moaning loudly around 5:30 this Sunday, either in destitute sadness or in orgasmic euphoria. That's how much I care about these Green Bay Packers. The same ones that I've watched be ladened with injuries and suffer a dangerous amount of frustrating defeats since September. We have persevered and earned our spot in the NFC championship game. Ahh, the anticipation is killing me.

Rooting interests aside, there are three other teams that have made it to this platform, all three of which have passionate fans that match my intensity and passion. The fact is, the four remaining teams are four of the NFL's upper-eschelon franchises, and serve as a testament that the NFL isn't as "evolved" as we all thought it was.

This season has been one of the more dynamic ones that I can remember, which isn't that crazy, because I can remember like seven seasons vividly. (Apparently the Browns made the playoffs in 2002. How did this happen? How do I not remember this landmark achievement?)

If you remember, we started this season with a very different outlook at who would be in the Super Bowl, and that has changed periodically.

Starting before the season, the Minnesota Vikings had "the look". "The look" is when you see a team and think, "damn, they are headed for the Super Bowl if they play like this." Before the year actually started, Minnesota had everything. Quarterback, running game, able receivers, defensive playmakers, scary special teams, you name it. The Vikings looked like a stout favorite. Then they actually started playing games.

By the fifth week of the season, everybody had a loss on their resume, and the team that boasted the best look about them was Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh, whose only loss was a narrow defeat at the hands of top division rival Baltimore, was 3-1 and scary without the help of their franchise quarterback. Ben Roethlisberger's return would usher in an era of dominance and they would run over opponents from October to the end of January, or so we thought...

The Steelers, who started hot without Ben Roethlisberger, will try to avenge a Week 15 loss to the Jets.

By week 9, the league had a new top dog. The Baltimore Ravens, who themselves boasted "the complete package," were tied for the league's top record. They boasted a blossoming quarterback and a burgeoning group of Pro-Bowl caliber receivers. The return of Ed Reed from injury assured that this team wouldn't lose steam for the rest of the season. But, well, they did.

Shortly after the Ravens reached the top of the dogpile that was the NFL, they were deterred by Matt Ryan and the Atlanta Falcons, in a personal dethroning where Ryan's team drove downfield in the last minute of the game, scoring a touchdown and spurning the Baltimore fans who finally thought it was their year. This validated Atlanta, and they did look like a winner, I saw them take us down in the last minute of a game and stab us in the heart (for which we would get sweet, sweet revenge). Hell, they even had that catchy commercial where they're all on a bus with the kids and bobbing their heads in sync to the music that all of them can inexplicably hear. This team looked like they were having a year to remember.

But they weren't. They faded down the stretch, and New England began dominating fools like it was nobody's business. They thrashed the Jets on national TV 45-3, which is downright embarrilarious. They were playing football the Patriots way, where they nickel and dime you and score every time because Tom Brady's great and they weren't letting you outscore them by causing you to throw on their talented secondary. They had a clear path to the Super Bowl, but the feeling was temporary, as they could not hold on to their dominance, just like everyone else before them.

And thus the Packers inherited the seat of "NFL's top dawg". Destroying the Giants and eeking out Chicago in back-to-back must win games. Then we beat down the NFL's most dangerous offense in Michael Vick and the Philadelphia Eagles (who themselves had a week or two where they looked like the NFL's best team). The Packers then dominated the Atlanta Falcons, sending them off with a spank on the ass in the form of a 48-21 thrashing.

And now we're down to four teams.

A team that certainly has never had "the look," and along with that, much of any respect, is the Chicago Bears. They don't have injuries, they had an easyish schedule, they got a bye and have only beaten Seattle thus far in the playoffs, and so they get slighted as the team who is probably the fourth most worthy of a spot in Championship weekend. This may be true, but only because of the difficult paths the other teams have taken. The New York Jets beat Peyton Manning and Brady back to back, Pitt played a quarter of the season minus their franchise quarterback and beat bitter rival Baltimore to earn a shot at the Super Bowl, and Green Bay, need we go over this again? YES. WE'VE HAD SO MANY INJURIES. WE'VE PLAYED SO MANY GOOD TEAMS. WE ARE THE WORTHIEST.

Side tangent: to those who discredit the self-inclusive "we" of sports fans, go die. We, the fans, invest a ridiculous amount of time into following these teams and expend an inexcusable amount of emotional investment in their successes, we benefit from it not at all; unless we win the Super Bowl. The least you can give us is the privilege of pretending that our passion matters as much as an inclusive "we". I watch every Packers game every week all the time. I would absolutely suit up, were I seven times the athlete and seven inches and seventy pounds greater in mass. But I'm not. God gave me the power to be a fan. So a fan I shall be. And I will not take the shit you give me for caring about my team to the point of senselessly including myself when I talk about our gameplan for the week. Just let me have my "we", Shiffman.

But back to worthiness. Don't discredit the Bears. They're here for a reason. If they win this weekend then there's no doubt left to have, but they earned a first round bye, and they dominated the Seahawks like a superior team should. They've proven doubters wrong all season, and they set out to do it again on Sunday as the underdog against a team that: A-they finished with a better record than, B-they beat in the regular season, and C-are playing at home. The Bears will have a chip–and 65,000 rabid fans–on their shoulder.

And so we're here! Championship Sunday! Winners go to the big game, losers suffer a feeling of depression that they won't forget for years! And honestly, oftentimes the conference championships are more intriguing match-ups than the championships themselves. I don't just mean in football either. Think about it, this theory is proven year in and year out with baseball. Red Sox-Yankees is more exciting than Red Sox-Astros. Part of this is because baseball is stupid and allows, like, a three-week window where teams from different conferences (or in this case, "Leagues") play each other. The sooner they change that, the sooner baseball can become more interesting. There's legitimately no reason to restrict inter-league play. Traditionalists be damned, it's obvious the way you like your baseball is plain boring. In basketball, with the rare exception of Boston-LA in the finals, the conference finals are just more playoff-y. I remember when the Lakers and Pistons were dominating their respective conferences in the early 2000's, it was a rivalry between DET/LA and a player to be named later. For LA- Sacramento, Portland, T'Wolves, San Antonio. For DET- Indiana, Cleveland, Miami. In the NFL, you have the great Colts-Pats match-ups and it's just always a battle. The teams are usually bigger rivals, and that is the central point of this paragraph.

That rings true this season as well. But, in the AFC we had our rivalry games in the Divisional rounds, not that the Jets and Steelers are friends. Well, maybe they are. However, in the NFC, we have an amazing occurence: THE BEARS AND PACKERS. FOR ALL THE MARBLES IN THE NFC. What's more amazing? Is that this never freaking happens. Usually one of these teams is good and the other fades out early. Proof? These teams have never met in the NFC championship game (save for 1941, but that was wayyyy before the current system). This game is the biggest Bears-Packers game yet to date, and it's the rubber game for the two teams after they split the season series. Part of the reason why this is traditionally such a classy and respectful rivalry is because of the see-saw effect these two teams seem to have on each other. No reason to be mad as a Packers fan when you're going 4-12 and against a Bears team destined for 10-6 and they kick your ass. They're the better team and took care of business. And even if an upset occurs, it's still like "Ha! We beat you! We'll be rootin' for you in the playoffs..." because these teams just never make the playoffs at the same time. In my 18 years of life, only 3 times have both teams made the playoffs in the same year, despite the combined 19 playoff appearances by the two teams. This very time is the only time since I've been alive that the two teams PLAYED each other in the playoffs. We may as well be playing this game in hell. Oh wait we are.

The other game, in the AFC, is less enthralling. Jets-Steelers. Who do you want to win? The Steelers. Of course you do, nobody likes the Jets. We don't doubt you Bart Scott, we're sick of you. They have every aspect of unlikability on their side: Fat asshole coach, overpaid star-studded roster with a bunch of championship chasers, quarterback enviable for his celebrity and not his skills, trash talkers, from New York, they are cheaters, and what's worst, they're actually good. The Steelers can't make me hate them no matter how many Super Bowls they win, and I don't know why. They have great fans. James Harrison is a beast. Polamalu does funny hair commercials. Their quarterback may be a rapist. Uhh, erm, maybe that one's not so likable. Hines Ward is one of the most likable guys in the league, given that you aren't playing him on that particular Sunday. And frankly, we just want the Steelers in the Super Bowl to make it more interesting.

Life wishes it could be as important as the Super Bowl.

The possible Super Bowl match-ups have, to me, a distinct order of appeal.

1.Packers-Steelers

Team with most championships versus team with most Super Bowls. Best fan bases in the NFL, playing for a title in the stadium of a team they both hate. Good quarterbacks. They had an unforgettable game last year that ended on a last second Steelers touchdown. An anguishing defeat for Green Bay, but one that stuck with them and I think has helped prepare them for big games like the one on Sunday. A rematch of that caliber will be sublime.

2. Steelers-Bears

This is intriguing because these teams don't have much of a history, but they should. Two of the oldest most historically significant franchises in the NFL, and they have yet to meet in a Super Bowl or a big game. A Bears or Steelers fan may be able to remember a great one, but it would be a great rivalry-establishing game for two of the most respected teams in the league.

3. Packers-Jets

I put this third, not because I'm a Packers fan, but because the teams match up really well. The Aaron Rodgers versus Jets secondary battle will be one to watch, and the Jets star-studded offense that's weak point is the QB would be interesting to see take on a streaky but burning hot Packers D.

4. Bears-Jets

These teams played two or three weeks ago in a high-scoring but mildly entertaining affair. The stakes would be higher and the game would benefit, but this is setting up for a defensive struggle. If it is one, the game will lose interest, if it isn't one, it will be disappointing to the football die-hards like myself. However, if it's a tough defensive game, I would enjoy it (LIES–if the Packers lose this weekend I will hate the Super Bowl.)

This is how the Bears spell sex appeal.

Speaking of defensive battles, this post-season has been a testament to the dirtbags who proclaim "defense wins championships" because they sure as hell have gotten teams to the conference title games. The Jets have a swarming defense. So do the Steelers. So do the Bears. So do the Packers. These teams are equipped with ample offenses, but the teams that boast their offense (Eagles, Falcons, Patriots, Colts) fell short. You need both facets to win in the playoffs. The Bears, this weekend will try to prove that you need all three, because their special teams is vastly superior to ours and if it has its way, the Pack are in deep doo-doo.

Additionally, the offenses can't be pass-happy either. They can be pass oriented, but they need balance. Each game this post-season, the team that has ran the ball more times has won the contest. Now this is also true because you run when you are winning, but still, it shouldn't be ignored. The Packers, whose run game is the most questionable, found their guy (or so it seems) at the right time in rookie James Starks. His performance has allowed the team to outlast Philly and choke out Atlanta.

The emergence of James Starks has fans and teammates alike jumping for joy and dancing.

This game has me sweating through showers and unable to sleep. I'm dazing off in class and unable to watch Dragonball Z with the full attention that I prefer. There is nothing like the conference championships. And as I sit in my oasis of room 112 in a sea of Bears fans here in Champaign, it's so strange to grasp the fact that in the Super Bowl, it's either us or them. If it's not us, it's them. If it's not them, it's us.

Now I won't make picks, because they don't mean shit. But I hope we win. 2007 we got here and lost. If we got here and win I will be guaranteed 2 weeks of prideful euphoria, and if we lose I will be drained of so much. So much. The thing is, it is a game. You can't plan for everything. Especially with the Bears. But if we go out there and wallop them I will be Super Saiyan 3 shooting out Kamehamehas of love and happiness, because we've been here since August. Everything has built up to this. It's time to take the big stage, hold your breath, and go do it. My roommates a Steelers fan, but he has the Super Bowl he won 2 years ago to fall back on if his team goes to shame. Bears and Packers, everything's at stake. All or nothing. I can't stop imagining glorious/disastrous scenarios in my head, but I have all the confidence in the world. It's all about Sunday. At 2 P.M. on that frozen field. Making the biggest plays. Scoring the most points. Winning the game. Earning the right to go to the Super Bowl.

Breathe it in. And bring on the weekend.

--Eliot Sill

Robert - Why Celebrities Shouldn't Play Sports

Because they don't love what they do as much as I love what they do. In not doing so, they're all pretty eager to betray my dreams and shatter my perceptions of sporty worship. Johnny Damon playing for the Yankees? Yeah right! He and Jason Giambi cutting their hair?? Hahaha!!! Brett Favre playing for the Vikings? GTFO. Question: what do these things all have in common? All of them actually happened.

Everybody knows I'm a Red Sox fan, or maybe that I'm a Packers fan, or that I don't like haircuts. I look to athletes as beacons of excellence, as role models for what I should do with my own life. When John Gruden is fired, I quit my job. When When Tiger Woods sleeps with ten women, I sleep with ten women. When Alex Rodriguez signs for $126 million, I think about what I would do with $126 million. I spent my childhood growing up with pixelated Brett Favres and Johnny Damons. Just when I held them the very closest to my heart, closer than my parents and almost as close as Garden Salsa Sun Chips, they defected to their rival teams for bigger contracts. It's sort of like being in heaven, and then God telling you he's transferring you to hell because it's cheaper for him to house you there.

It's all a money game these days. Nobody cares about what team they're playing for when they can drive a different $100 million car to the stadium every day of the week. Why players don't let my dreams dictate their personal lives is beyond me. Nonetheless, they don't see their roles as bloodthirsty rivals anymore. They see them as jobs. All I can really do is continue trying to fool myself into thinking that there are some rare athletes, like Albert Pujols or Kevin Youkilis or Steve Nash, who actually care about the sports they're playing. Seems to be the only way to back these bastards up.

I'm getting at something here; I'm not just complaining. I want to start a new, hit professional sport based on the purity of competition. That sport is Lollaball. It will be the solution to the corrupt ideals of real sports. A new beginning for sports idol worship. No salaries, no contracts. Just love for the game and dislike for the speedwalking bitches. And no switching teams. Ever.

I want Johnny Damon back.

Life as a Metaphorist

Life is a metaphor.

Profound statement. Utterly ridiculous, utterly truthful, utterly made up by someone who was bored with the daily grind that is encompassed by life on earth. We live through a lot of days people, eventually we get bored and start drawing connections that aren't really there.

Now look, I know it's the holiday season and everyone's got people to see. There's more to do and less time to read this crap. I'll try to make this concise, but more for my benefit than for yours. And if you're one of those jerks who runs at the word "basketball", this post may not be for you. It involves sports.

Earlier this week I asked for five life anecdotes that I could use for my Classic Brian post, and I got six. Sorry, Conor.

But the fact is, if you have enough of an imagination, sports can serve as a metaphor for anything. Anything at all. And that's yet another reason why people like them so much. A lot of old football guys talk about "football as a metaphor for life," well that's not true guys. As George Carlin perceptively noted, football is a metaphor for war. YouTube the video yourself, as I do not have the time to go search for it and link it, I may update that later. But, I don't wanna be Conor, ya know, so. No promises. But sports, the grand spectrum, it can be likened to nearly anything that happens. I haven't found the sporting equivalent of the Holocaust yet, but, well, let's hope that correlation never surfaces.

If you look at the song "Bloodbuzz Ohio" by The National, the whole song can be analogized to the plight of LeBron James. I did it. I sent my findings to Katie O'Brien via e-mail. I cracked up a bunch. Who knew The National were so prophetic about The (supposed) King's decision making. The fact is, sports is more than dunks and touchdowns. It's home runs too. And stolen bases. And failed stolen bases. And strikeouts. Groundouts. Incompletions. Losing seasons. Fired managers. Disgruntled fans. Team rivalries. Sadness. Happiness. Success. Failure. Sports encompasses all the emotions of human life and puts them in an arena that everyone can observe and take in without the risk of real world implications. It's like politics. Except there are not countries and thousands of lives at stake. There's just the prize, the pursuit, and the cellar. But what lies between these facets is so much more than one would suspect.

Natalie Cheng told me the story of her and her friend missing a train on two separate occasions after running through the snow to get there. That's a hilariously sad story. A struggle to run through snow and get to the train and catch a train. All to watch the opportunity slip through your fingertips.

Now the part where I relate that to sports. To hyperbolize Natalie's traumatic situation and make it something a little more grand. Look back to 1990 when a young football team from Buffalo was busting through to the cream of the crop in the National Football League. That team was highlight by an outstanding quarterback, a dominant running back, and a dynamic wide receiver. I won't give you their names because you'll forget them. (Aw heck: Jim Kelly QB, Thurman Thomas RB, and Andre Reed WR) Anyway, this team experienced enormous success during the regular season and made it all the way to the Super Bowl, where they lost on a botched last-second field goal and were upended 20-19 by the New York Giants. The next year they made it back, only to lose again. The heartbreak at that point must have been tangible. Next year the team rallied the troops and put together yet another stellar year despite their previous shortcomings. Then they met the Dallas Cowboys, a team with a better QB RB WR trio (Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, Michael Irvin respectively) and got destroyed 52-17. That's like Nixon and Regan election numbers. Embarrassment. Third time was not the charm. Well neither was the fourth. The team got beat the next year by the same team 30-13. Four straight Super Bowl appearances, four straight crushing defeats. And if you think the Super Bowl is unimportant, check this stat out: People who voted in the 2008 election= Approximately 131 million. People who watched the Super Bowl last year: 106 million.

Jobin Kokkat revealed to me his serial cereal eating, as he destroyed 2 boxes of cereal in a seven-hour period. I could make several connections here. Obviously he is overindulging a bit. Sort of like the Yankees do every off-season. They cash in on free agents like nobody's business. Or more like there's nobody else in their business. They hog everybody. A-Rod, Jeter, Roger Clemens, Mark Teixera, Giambi, I could list on for four more paragraphs. But I won't Jobin, ya got one box of cereal down the hatch why scarf down another?

Because cereal's delicious. And nothing in life tops it. Just like in baseball nothing tops a perfect game. Enjoying whizzing pitches by opposing batters and watching them look dumbfounded as you continually gun them down with your rocket arm. Roy Halladay nearly duplicated this feat. He threw a perfect game in May (no hits allowed, no walks, no batters hit, and definitely no runs) and a no-hitter in October (no hits allowed) both of these guaranteeing certain victory as eliminating every bit of cereal guarantees certain satisfaction. And to do it all within such a short span? Even more amazing. Jobin, you need to tame your appetite.

Charles Yang posted a joke about the movie Air Bud. Okay, but an unlikely basketball star has before risen up through adversity and inspired the shit out of people. Ladies and gentlemen, J-Mac.

Robert Langellier told me he made a mix CD. Did he really? Well, I'm familiar with his (and Conor's) methods. They meticulously search their iTunes libraries and find all the songs that fit the moods and all the transitions that work well together and what-not. Kids, your General Managers. GM's put teams together. They build the roster adding and dropping players. A GM's job isn't done at the outset of the season. It takes many in-season moves to perfect your roster. Some great players don't work well together, just like how you can't have 19 smash hits on your mix CD. Songs have to work together, and they have to flow well. You like to have your big hit be your number two or three song? Well many basketball teams like to have their best player be their shooting guard or small forward, then you add in some complementary players and you end up with the Lakers. Now if I put "Wake Up," "1901," and "Bad Romance" on a mix CD you'd have the Miami Heat. I got that joke. Maybe Classic Brian did. Nobody else (who reads this) can put those two opposite ends of the entertainment spectrum together. Maybe.

Classic told me he's made fun of people and burned bridges in the process. Sounds to me like Brendan's pissed. Anyway, Brian is a real T.O. Terrell Owens is a great receiver, but a maniac. He is obsessed with himself and if everybody else isn't in line with him then its their fault, obviously. He's a great receiver, he can catch anything you throw his way, he can block, and he can make a play with the ball. Having a guy like Brian is great until things start to go badly, then he's pointing fingers and acting like he's doing nothing wrong. Then he starts feuding with the quarterback and eventually breaks the whole team apart. Classic, you are a cancer to the team. And yes, that phrase is politically correct. But it's okay because one day you'll find another cancer to hang out with and you guys will be 2-12 but you'll be really entertaining and have your own TV show in which you blame other people for your failures. Is this bridge lighting?

Conor told me he DD'd. Cool. Don't care. I said five for a reason, Con. Conor's story can be metaphorized (not a word) to someone who didn't make the team. A story that never got its chance to play out because Conor was just too slow to pull the trigger on his suggestion.

Well that's all I've got for today. Enjoy the Holidays. What'll you be doing on Christmas? I know I will be watching the five consecutive NBA games that ABC is broadcasting this year, and figuring out all my life's troubles in the process.

--Eliot Sill

Headspin

"The second you put anything out anywhere, someone out there immediately hates you." -Will Leitch

That is more than likely a misquote. I tried really hard to remember the exact wording, but it was strikingly similar to the feeling of trying to remember dreams after you wake up. It was just kind of blurry despite the fact that I was so focused in. I was doing my best job observing every hiccup, clothing imperfection, speech stutter, and patch of wayward facial hair that I could to cement in my mind what a famous writer looks like.

Will Leitch likes to talk a lot.

Now, given Classic Brian's typical audience, most of you probably don't know who Will Leitch is. I say he's famous, yet you've never heard of him. Put two and two together? The dude's a sports writer. And a symbol of innovation in the sports writing business. Basically he started sports blogging. Deadspin.com is his doing, and that was the first successful attempt to fuse written sports news and true sports fan opinion. The difference between this and your typical sports column? They dressed as the news, breaking stories and such, but delivered it in a conversational and human form. Like the guy at the bar who knows more than everyone else, but eloquent and legitimate. Usually.

Anyway, I heard that he would be guest-speaking for our sports journalism class oh, about two months ago. At the time I was scrounging to remember who the guy was. Ah, yes, the Deadspin guy. That tiny scrap of excitement snowballed over the next two months to the point where this week that was the one thing I was looking forward to. Hell, if I didn't get to see all of you for Thanksgiving it'd probably constitute the highlight of my month (Fact: that made 95% of my readers happy. I love Denmark!). (November sucks.)

I've always had a thing with famous people. Being in Springfield, I was away from anybody who did cool shit with their life. (I wasn't so desperate as to freak out that Legally Blonde 2 shot a bunch of scenes in Springfield, but nonetheless I was somewhere between there and apathy) I used to go up to Packers training camp as a kid and be enamored by the athletes. Even the shitty ones. The ones who I knew were going to get cut and forgotten by everybody, even the Packers' trainer caught my eye and had to ask me twice if I was sure I wanted his autograph. Hell yeah I did, Pepper Burress. I guess it's something that stems from the attention they get. If someone who has been paid attention to simultaneously by thousands of people is devoting their attention to solely me, if only for a moment, I become important. That's why half of people get Twitter–to tirelessly try and grab the attention of someone who matters. But today I got to do that with a famous writer. A guy who used to want to do what I want to do, and now he does what I want to do! Crazy!

So, the guy likes to talk. He likes to write too, but he's not very good at writing, he should stick to talking. (Just joking, that's a little inside joke Will and I have) He talked to us about him, he talked to us about them, and he talked to us about us. We covered all bases there, pretty much.

First of all, I don't think it's in my head. Famous people are brighter than normal people. I don't mean more intelligent, I mean they emit light energy better than pedestrian humans like you and I do. He walks into the room and its immediately obvious that he's the guy who we're going to want to listen to for the next hour and a half. Then he starts talking, and it's obvious that he's the guy that we're GOING to listen to for the next hour and a half. For instance, I asked Mr. Leitch if he reads a newspaper (it made sense in conversation, I think), and eight minutes later he arrived at the conclusion that the decline of the newspaper industry WASN'T because of bad journalism or the rise of the internet rather than it was the simple lack of advertising stability. Yeah.

Will started at the University of Illinois. He wanted to be Roger Ebert. He's not, but he's doing his thing. He got involved with several different writing outlets, one and most notably of which was a blog he started with his friends (DID YOU HEAR THAT GUYS? WE'RE ON OUR WAY!). Somewhere in there he started writing about sports instead of movies. He used the internet as a tool to expose himself (as a writer, not like Greg Oden or Brett Favre) to a bunch of different possible employers. And back then (way back, like in 2005), it was innovative. Neat! The question is, that won't work for writers today. And you're right, that wasn't a question. Exactly my point. Today you have to write in thousands of places and make great friends with every person in a higher position than you and you have to break an astounding news story every month and you have to simultaneously write a story, make a podcast of it, video tape a YouTube video and opine about it, tweet it, Facebook it, e-mail it, have a chat discussion about it and write a rap song about it all at the same time. It is becoming exponentially harder to fill in what few niches haven't been filled in yet. I figure it's best to quit college and jump right in as soon as I think of a good one. But maybe not really.

Going back to the quote I used to lead off this post, public people have to have thick skin. People are assholes and love to prove it. In fact, if I wasn't close friends with 80% of our readers and distant acquaintances with the other 20%, I'm sure it'd be impossible for me to post anything without getting lambasted and torn to shreds by some asshole who knows more than I do. But then again, just saying that makes me some asshole who knows more than he does. If you're writing an opinion piece, you can't make everybody happy. You can't make music without someone saying it sucks. You can't make a movie without someone saying it's not that great. You can't make a joke without someone thinking it's very un-funny. And usually that person is Tynan Shevlin, but at least he picks his spots.

What did I learn today? Not much. I discussed a lot of things that I wanted to discuss. I got a happy earful (why does that sound so gross?) from somebody who is well-known, and I got a renewed hope that maybe I can make it as a writer. Why? Because by the end of the chat, Mr. Leitch seemed more like a Will. He thinks Reilly stinks now just like I do, he loves Simmons but gets tired of how predictable he is from time to time, he appreciates a good joke and Buzz Bissinger told him he was full of shit on live television and he hasn't even YouTubed the clip. He's busy, he's happy, and most importantly, he does what he wants. He doesn't mail it in when writing about certain things because he doesn't have to write about that. He's got his niche, and that's all he needs to worry about. I just hope there's room for more than one person of that nature in the journalism stratosphere.

So what is the point of this post? Oh, I don't know. To exalt, perhaps. I had a good day. I met an interesting person. I met someone who was in my shoes once and now he wears the shoes that I want to wear myself at some point. Maybe I'll get there someday, but if I want to, I'll have to find a different path than the one he's taken. Well, I might have to.

We don't know what the future holds, but we're pretty damn excited about it.

--Eliot Sill

Just give up now, I'll never love you back.

Just twenty minutes or so ago, I was invited by Mada Larson, fellow CB writer, to come "kick a soccer ball in the quad" with her and a couple other people.

In honor of me flatly denying her offer, I have decided to write today about why soccer sucks and America will never like it.

Bend it like Beckham. What does that even mean? Jesus, that sounds like a sexual innuendo. Well it turns out there's this guy David Beckham who kicks the ball so well that he can put spin on it causing it to bend. Nifty. Except he is no longer the greatest soccer player in the world, Ronaldhino is. Or wait no, it's Ronaldo now. Cristiano Ronaldo. No I mean Lionel Messi. Err, Wayne Rooney? No he's not that good. Uhm now it's Kaka? Oh wait no I remember the World Cup, it's David Villa. Whew. Glad we got that settled. Anyway. Before you make a sports cliche and turn it into some stupid ass movie, you should probably verify that you are using the end-all be-all best player in that sport. It seems like every two weeks soccer has a new "best player ever".

It's probably because that's how often anyone ever scores in soccer. If you score you are the new best player in the world because no one ever scores, thus making your feat impressive. I mean, they make the field three miles long and two blocks wide so that there's only like six shots total in a game. Only two of which are even on goal and at least one of those is right to the goalie, so he only has to make one play a game to get a shutout. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but not a grand one. You can watch a half hour of soccer without anyone getting a decent shot off. That's why football fields are only 100 yards long, so people can traverse them with ease. Soccer (which you bet your ass I am not calling football or futbol, despite the obvious nomenclature sense it makes) fields dwarf the action by being so grand in scale, it really takes away from the viewing experience. I understand that that's just how big the fields are. I'm not asking soccer to change, I'm just asking soccer not to wonder why I don't like it. Because it's boring.

I will give soccer credit for this, there is always something going on. The action doesn't break three times for quarters and a million more for commercials. Games take two hours, not three and a half. Now I will take away credit for this. STOP THE CLOCK. Extra time is a stupid concept and one that dates back before humans were smart enough to be able perceive, learn, and practice rules. It's all approximation and you never know when the game is going to end. It just randomly decides to stop based on how tired the official's feet are.

Speaking of officials, soccer refs must have a shitty job. Because soccer players are bastards. Watching the World Cup where the stakes, and therefore reasons to cheat, are high, I get so fucking annoyed by soccer players getting brushed by opponents then doing six frontflips before landing on their backs and acting like they've been stabbed while witnessing their spouse get murdered. I realize you get more calls that way, and that works for the team. I get it. Doesn't mean you aren't a stupid asshole who I should make fun of, soccer fairy. You have to do what you have to do to get the call, but you could just be a man and do your best to play the games and trust the officials not to miss any blatant calls. Which is a hairy situation in itself. I'm not asking you to turn down the option to get calls that are rightfully yours, soccer players, I'm just saying I think you're worse people for doing so and I hate watching you disgrace competition by acting like you've been shot when really you've received an incidental elbow to the rib.

Soccer is so boring I just fell asleep for two and a half hours while trying to think of a fifth body paragraph. I can't make this stuff up. Furthermore, the best soccer isn't in America. It's just, like, not on television here. You know what is? The worst soccer. "Major League Soccer". That just sounds like a league that's trying too hard not to be bad. And they are trying hard, but not hard enough. You can't say that you've improved as a league after two big name players join, especially if they're on the same team. The fact is, America wants to like soccer. We feel bad, stupid even. We realize the world doesn't get why we don't get it. But, fuckin', we don't. It's stupid. It's slow. It's cool in forty second increments. But those increments are just too few and far between for it to make it as a major sport in this country. The English Premier League is the best league in soccer, and we don't get the full coverage on that league. We get World Cup coverage, which is so fun for a change, but it contradicts the EPL and MLS by establishing mental connections between players on national teams, when really, their allegiance is to another group out of a mixed international bag. In basketball, we cross-reference our knowledge of players with their NBA team. The best are all there, no doubt about it. It makes liking world basketball easy to do while maintaining an interest in the NBA. With soccer players gaining so much exposure from one aspect and so little from another, Americans will not identify with the EPL when they do start to play it in America. The soccer we see here in America is just not adequate.

That same lack of consistent excitement is the reason that baseball is plummeting in ratings and hockey is thriving in the HD era. HD in hockey=you can see the puck. HD in baseball=you can see the pitcher's nosehairs as he picks it in between pitches. I think after hockey took a timeout, made its rules better, and got back in the game, American sports fans embraced the fact that they literally just changed their sport all for the sake of our enjoyment. That shit gets our attention. Baseball is in dire need of an overhaul. The season needs to be shorter, that's basically the only problem it's having. Fortunately (you'll see in a second...) for us, baseball is by far the stingiest sport ever in terms of tradition and would rather be watched by 19 die-hard fans than change for the good of everybody (...that I was being sarcastic when I said "fortunately"!!!!!). So whatever. Have fun being liked less than hockey, baseball.

Soccer, I'm sorry. It's not you. Clearly. Look at how much everyone else loves you. However, I think your reign at the top of the international sports world is not forever. At first they'll see basketball and think "too much scoring" and football they'll think "those guys are too big. there's too much stopping" (which by the way, no there isn't. Football is like baseball with a purpose. They stop after every play. Big whoop. It's a tactical game. It's beautiful.), but they'll eventually embrace it. Because those sports are exciting heart-pounding and easy to understand like soccer is. So enjoy it while you can, soccer, but just know that I think you suck.

Unless it's the World Cup. Then I'll watch.

--Eliot Sill

Hmmm... Time to bring this back.

Okay, so I have to be deadly honest with you. I don't know what to write.

SPORTS!

Football season is coming up right around the damn corner. And I know all of you need a second before you continue reading to go ahead and roll your eyes. But, I don't care. If you don't like it go back to Pitchfork or Facebook or whichever medium you chose to waste your life on today.

Anyway, football season is coming up. And it's a lot different for me this year than everything that I've been used to has been. This whole going to college thing? It lays down a huge effect on my sports fanhood habits.

I'm sure I've mentioned this in previous posts, but I spent every Sunday for the last twelve years of my life watching NFL Sunday, specifically Packer games, with my family. Let me give you the cast and crew of my Sunday afternoon, and no, that does not entail the improv troupe (sorry guys). Me! my dad, my brother Andrew, my brother Peder, my dad's friend Matt, his son Mike, my dad's friend Ted, my brother's friend Nick, my dad's friend's daughter Lindsay, my mom, my mom's friend Jane, chicken wings, brats, beer and Brett Favre. Yeah, it was a frickin' party. We were all Packers fans (this includes chicken wings and beers). We devoted our lives to the rollercoaster that is NFL fanhood. Some of us were much more interested in the actual events than others, but everyone had their reason to be there. Food, family, fun, festivities, football. That's what Sundays truly meant. That and church. Church sucked. Boring and churchy. But after church meant we set up and caught whatever we could of pre-game before camping out at Damon's for the bonanza known as NFL Sunday.

This event has been destroyed to a sad sad degree. This September when the season kicks off and all becomes right with the world once more, my dad and Andrew will meet up with Matt, have some beers, enjoy some appetizers and watch the game (they'll smoke plenty of cigarettes too). Yeah, that sucks for them, but for me, it's worse. I will scramble to find a sports bar showing my Packers game, by myself, then I will have not beer and not cigarettes as my Packers trounce the inexperienced Eagles in an opening week contest. I will pay too much for bad wings and diluted soda, and wonder why a 26-14 win feels so much less satisfying now then it did six years ago.

The family will network their thoughts on the game, and none of it will matter. The game will go on, while some younger family declares it their finest hour. My dad will turn to my brother and say, "I wonder how El's doin..." and my brother will say "he's fine, he's definitely watching this. He's not Peder, he'll find a way to see the damn game." He will be right, but it will still be wrong. There is a sea of students here at the U of I campus, and I'm sure there are at least 2,500 Packers fan friends to be made here. I will find probably 154 of them, and meet six. None of them will be as mad as Andrew is when we run a draw on third and eleven. None of them will as seamlessly alternate between annoyingly optimistic and annoyingly pessimistic like my father. None of them will be as awkward a fan as my mother was (love you mom, but you were ALWAYS either too excited or too distraught by our excitement). None of them will be as much of a goofy turdball as Matt was. Well, maybe they will. The venue will be different, and definitely not Damon's. Damon's was eaten by the tornado of Sunday, March 12, 2005. Damon's had four big screen tv's playing four DIFFERENT games, and plenty of other tv's playing plenty of other games. FUCK YOU BUFFALO WILD WINGS. YOU DO A BAD JOB. Ted and Jane (married) stopped being regulars to our gatherings, which meant we saw their children Nick and Lindsay less. Mike went to college. Peder went to college. My dad divorced my mom, so she stopped being there. Hell, even Brett Favre left us.

Ahhh, wipe your faces kids, it's not all gloom and doom. We all still love the Packers. We just will be doing it this season from different corners of our midwestern universe. Except for Brett Favre. He'll be doing it from the dark side. Asshole. Those days were my introduction to the great game of football. They taught me something that I have yet to learn to teach others: football is and always will be the greatest thing in the world and everything else is just "pretty cool". People don't see the point in sports. It's just dudes doin' stuff. But if you allow for it, there's so much more to it that skyrockets the entertainment value of the games. It's called investing yourself. If you allow yourself to care, that caring will come back to you in a variety of ways in which you aren't ready for. First of all, which is a better conversation starter, music or sports? If you're at Lollapalooza, maybe music. In a real (not dream-fantasy-heaven-awesomeness-IstillamobsessedwithfuckingLollapalooza) setting, it's clearly sports. Try as you might to argue it, it's just fundamentally easier and more engaging. I can walk around school wearing an Arcade Fire t-shirt and six people will instantly become a fan of my personality. However, I can walk around school wearing a Green Bay Packers shirt and twenty five people will give me conversation starting remarks about how either they are as well Packers fans and that it's always good to see other Packer backers out there, or how they think I was raised by idiots because I'm not a Bears fan. The point is, sports are more universalized. They're, in fact, the universalizedest. You have baseball, football and basketball. You can bring any of those subjects up in a conversation with 90% of people you can have at least a two minute conversation about why they don't like the NBA or how they just don't care about baseball anymore. Whatever. You bring up any band in particular, there's like a sixty percent chance you're missing their music tastes. Even then, musical tastes are such random amalgams of bands that there's no way you can go into a conversation expecting to have your music tastes match up perfectly. You can do this easily in sports. If you can do that, you're half friends. Really. It's that easy.

Other than that though, sports has a lot to offer. People seek emotional ecstasy from music, right? Well, I feel a genuine rush of jubilance every time the Packers score a touchdown. Sure, being a sports fan entails a lot of losing and therefore rushes of depression so it kind of balances out. Regardless, I take so much pride in my Packers and will always. The Packers will never dump me. They will never change. They will never make a shitty fourth album. They will never not give me their all. They are the single most dependable entity in my life. They may do shitty, but damn it I know they're trying to make me happy. Also the players are all really cool, regardless of whether they actually are. They're super strong, super quick and they are real people. They are rock stars in their own right.

As for the actual entertainment itself, I guess you just have to know what's going on. If you don't know the rules and regulation to the games, you're basically watching dudes doin' stuff. And really, they're carrying out finely tuned precise plays that are reliant upon each and every individual player. It's cool. Again, FOR YOU MUSIC LOVERS, it'd be like someone not realizing that piano is anything more than throwing your hands at the keys. Oh and did I mention how awesome it is to see people get hit really hard all the time? Yeah it's cool.

Anyway, that was my best attempt. You still won't like sports. But you can't say there's no reason to like them. Everything we do is little more than a waste of time, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the shit out of that time we're wasting. So this year, I will be looking for a place to go on Sundays. For the first time ever. I will search, scavenge, network and finally find a place where other like-minded sports nerds congregate to fawn over the athletic display set before them by the idols of their little brothers. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and listen to the Drake album again, to try and convince yourself to like it just a little bit more. I will be basking in the glory that is NFL Sunday, or as I like to call it, the respite that God himself intended us to have on the sabbath.

SPORTS POST!

--Eliot Sill