Category Archives: sports

04/22/13

Freedom Trail

If you’ve ever been to Boston you’ve probably been forced to walk, likely by a mom or wife, some portion of the “Freedom Trail” against your will. You have to wonder why one must abandon so much self determination to walk a trail named “freedom” but, anyway. The Freedom Trail is, of course, a walking tour of Boston’s historic sites, where I’m proud to say I had a pair of Stan Smith’s re-cobbled only a few years ago. I also had a bracelet smithed out of a soup spoon.

Liberty is a type of collusion. An agreement among everyone to respect the rule of law in service of freedom. It’s completely voluntary.

Collusions, however, are easily broken. In fact, there is extraordinarily high incentive to do so. Our susceptibility to violence, therefore, is evidence of how well and complete the collusion of our liberty is working. We’re easy pickings. When an assailant from within or without violates the contract — the agreement not to fall into anarchy — they exact from us a cost. A toll for being so free, so open, so liberated. Our martyrs, whether at a marathon or in an elementary school or on a skyscraper, are a kind of penance paid to democracy and inalienable rights. Like a soldier or revolutionary, when we are murdered exercising our freedoms, even ones as routine as a road race, it is literally a kind of patriotic act. Every mundane act of our lives is a declaration that we would be free in spite of the ongoing danger to do so.

They’ll run again next year. A marathon and a freedom trail.

Performed by ipoetlaureate. Music produced by juiceboxjackson.

Today’s blong here:

Pronation

03/17/13

One Shining Moment

It took me most of the evening but I feel pretty confident about my pick:

Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) v. The Nashville Predators

SCAD cuts down the nets.

Performed by ipoetlaureate. Music produced by djclutch.

Today’s song blog here:

The Madness

01/30/13

Deer Blind

For those of you who don’t own any camouflage, wooden duck calls, or lawn gnomes, a deer blind is a kind of small, single or double occupancy, hunting shelter, typically elevated, that disguises the gunman from Bambi. I guess the simple advantage of a long-range firearm and scope is apparently not enough imbalance in the transaction.

It’s also what we are, apparently. Deer blind.

Because, if the Deer Antler Spray Bowl doesn’t convince you that GMAs (Genetically Modified Athletes (trademark pending)) are the future, I don’t know what will. I actually think the clinical term is “Antler Velvet Liposomal.” It sounds like a Belk cologne. Or maybe a delicious cake.

Deer-Antler-Spray-IGF-1-spray

Ray Lewis, the Baltimore Ravens pro-bowl linebacker, is alleged to have sprayed a deer antler hardener under his tongue to accelerate the recovery of his torn triceps, as well as drunk negatively charged water and maybe re-eaten his own once-digested ear wax. It doesn’t matter whether or not he actually did. Even that the idea might have materialized in someone else’s mind just for the purposes of falsely accusing him of it is enough lunacy to prove the point. Athletes, and the scientists and handlers that would cater to their success, will do anything to gain competitive advantage. Witches brew, monkey brain, water aerobics. (Don’t laugh. The Y has a brutal class.) But, as it turns out Deer Antler spray might be rampant, one of those industry secrets for which the rest of us are just now getting a late pass.

So we can either continue deer blind, so to speak, or we can accept that so long as there are people running and jumping and tackling each other there are going to be people injecting animal parts into their human parts. I mean, surely it’s one of the Seven Seals or Bowls of the Biblical Tribulation that the demure and gentlemenly Vijay Singh, of all people, is quoted as saying something to the effect: “I didn’t know that antler extract was banned.” Whhaaat?? Vijay’s on the antler sauce?

I’m just telling you. This is a no win deal. But, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, I think the saying goes. So, for today’s blong, I’ve detailed my recommendations for staying in peak competitive form, well into your early 90s. Now, you might grow a lion’s mane and a small schnauzer tail but you’ll be able to dominate neighborhood H.O.R.S.E for years to come. Your fingernails might fall out as well. But, you’ll be able to throw your curbside trash can 150 yards. You’ll have no elbows. But, you’ll do 500 pushups at at a time — with your tongue. You’ll smell like panda. But, your teeth will win an olympic medal in three events. You’ll grow wings and a scorpion stinger.

Performed by ipoetlaureate. Music produced by djclutch.

Today’s blong here:

Deer Blind

01/21/13

The Truth About Te’o

People have suggested that Manti Te’o must either be the perpetrator of a disgusting hoax or supremely dumb.

Numerous pundits, including the likes of Stephen A. Smith and Colin Cowherd, have said that it’s inconceivable that a red-blooded, alpha male, Division I athlete could ever carry on a serious relationship almost exclusively online or by telephone. That you would never profess “love” for a woman you never did, or could have, touched.

But, there is a third possibility.

It hit me while watching the same interview, from early last fall, that the networks run to expose him. And, I understand how it might have been easy to miss because he’s tough and has a tattoo of a Mayan hockey rink on his bicep and plays like a wild barbarian. But, I recognized it immediately in the innocent way he described his affection for her.

See, Te’o is Mormon. And, it’s already been suggested in delicate ways that he might have been less than socially or relationally sophisticated. But, children of devout Mormon and extreme evangelical families can develop a deep psychological inhibition to sexual activity even as they’re subject to the same natural impulses as their peers. It’s not necessarily naivete but a kind of personal reticence. I recognize it in Te’o, as unlikely as his popularity and image might suggest.

Importantly, this is different than being gullible or just dumb. Such inhibition would allow a kid like Te’o to be comfortable with a long distance relationship over a period of time where others would demand more. It would actually relieve that angst for him. At the same time, it would make him more susceptible to catfishing because he would not insist, as quickly, on the same physical evidence, so to speak, that in-person interaction would provide and that essentially every person with a chin-strap and testicles would require.

And precisely for this awkwardness, he certainly might have been unduly energized by any media attention that took this otherwise stunted relationship seriously. So, you get what appears to be an exaggerated expression of love when in truth it’s probably about as serious as he’s had.

I, obviously, don’t know — about his personal religious conviction or virginity or dating history. For all I know, he might be a Don Juan.

But, I see and suspect something I personally recognize. It’s a real phenomenon whether Te’o fits the diagnosis or not.

I guess you could say that I know the feeling.

UPDATE: TheRapUp.net has picked up on my song today.

Manti Te'o, Jeremy Schaap

Performed by ipoetlaureate. Music produced by juiceboxjackson.

Today’s blong here:

Catfisher of Men

01/19/13

Livedstrong

Watched all of part one. DVRed part deux. I have a lot of thoughts, most of which are in defense of Armstrong, and offensive, according to my wife. He strikes me as really despicable. I felt that way when he left his first wife. But, he has borne the full brunt of what is presently an intolerably toxic and corrupt culture of sport and doping in cycling. Human engineering is an inevitability, folks. I just wonder if in 100 years they are going to look back on us and laugh at our attempts to trip up an elephant herd.

One interesting note from the interview. Armstrong seemed to imply the effect George Hincapie’s participation, in the investigation against him, had. The only rider with Lance on all 7 tours and a dear friend. He also happens to be a neighbor of mine. As in he lives in Greenville, owns a bike shop here, and his parents lived in our previous neighborhood. Tall, sexy dude. Imagine Jude Law showing up at your Fall Festival with aviators and skinny jeans ready to buy a caramel apple and do the cake walk. Him and his comparably attractive wife were making small talk near the “jumpy house” with some of the other and unfamous parents, who were all dressed predictably in Dockers. I just had visions of one of my kids giving a swift knee to the groin on their descent down the inflatable iceberg slide.

lance-armstrong-george-hincapie

I’ve retread this blong a few times. Not sure the recent developments warrant an update. We’ll see.

Performed by ipoetlaureate. Music produced by djclutch.

Today’s song blog here:

Livestrong

10/26/12

Un Rey Sin Corona

I know you’d probably prefer a blong about Social Security administrative law or the rise and fall of sharecropping or why cuts bleed than to hear a song about baseball.

But, I love it and the World Series started two nights ago.

So, just prepare yourself for some pick-in-the-eye boredom.

One of the most rare and revered accomplishments in baseball was achieved this season.

And, no I’m not referring to the deepest cup adjustment.

The triple crown. To lead your league, American or National, in Batting Average, Runs Batted In (R.B.I.), and Home Runs.

It’s been done only 16 times in the history of baseball by names like Cobb and Hornsby and Foxx and Gehrig and Williams and Mantle and Robinson. 15 of those Triple Crowns occurred on or before 1967. The last by Carl Yastrzemski.

55 years without one.

Do you know who did it this year?

You don’t? Really?

Is that because you’re a communist? Or because you think apple pie is gluten napalm?

Oh its because no one has talked about it, you say? Well that seems unlikely. It’s a really, really, really big deal. And we have this thing called ESPN that can run a story about Brett Favre’s hangnail into the ground. (And, no “hangnail” is not a euphemism.) They’ve hardly mentioned it? No video montages or cutesy commercials?

And, what’s that? A rookie, Mike Trout, with less impressive numbers actually received more attention this year and may beat this little known Triple Crown winner for the AL MVP in spite of the Triple Crown winner being the first Triple Crown winner to win the Triple Crown since the last Triple Crown winner 55 years ago??!

How about Miguel Cabrera? Not ringing any bells?

Detroit Tigers third baseman?

Nothing, huh?

.330/ 44 HR/ 139 RBI? Blank stares.

Cabrera is Venezuelan and it’s lazy to just cry racism. And, if Albert Pujols, lets say, or David Ortiz had done it, Buster Olney would have definitely passed a fungo bat through his small intestine.

But, there is something mysterious and disquieting about the nearly total absence of fanfare surrounding an achievement baseball fans have been waiting on for decades.

Cabrera is quiet and not a household name, although perennially all star. His personality probably has as much to do with the low profile of his accomplishment as anything. It’s hard sometimes to build enthusiasm around a guy whose personality and life don’t demand it of us.

But, it’s a weird tragedy for me. It’s in the top three most special sports accomplishments of my lifetime and no one seems to care. Latin American players are the lifeblood of world class baseball today. And, this is their first native son to win nearly the game’s top prize. Maybe I’m just not paying attention to the right sources. I’m sure ESPN Deportes is doing a bang up job.

So, although I don’t imbibe, I would raise three cold and virtual Coronas in tribute to Miggy’s Triple Corona, an exceptional milestone, individually and for heritage.

Written and performed by theipoetlaureate. Music produced by fab da eclectic.

Today’s song blog here:

Triple Corona

10/18/12

Air Bubble Bursts

Nike dropped its endorsement deal with Lance Armstrong over the unrelenting charges, and what it deemed overwhelming evidence, of alleged doping.

Thought I would repost the song I previously did concerning Lance’s demise and Neal Armstrong’s death.

On the road, busy with a big work project. Something new soon, hopefully.

Performed by ipoetlaureate. Music produced by djclutch.

Today’s song blog here:

Livestrong

10/7/12

Up Here

So, everyone likes bread, right?

And, of course, everyone loves a good bike ride.

Well what if you could combine the two? And make a bike out of bread. Camelot, right?

It would be like a pillow made out of cheese. Omn nom nom nom nom. I would never leave bed.

Or a fitted sheet made out of salami. Sleep would be like a Pepperidge Farm gift basket.

Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. There is no such thing as a bicycle made out of bread. In fact, that’s ridiculous that you would even wish for one. Even if you used a hefty rye or bagel, the cycle would have essentially no structural integrity. And if it rained . . . remember on field trips when your bologna and cheese sandwich would sit all day on the bus in a brown sack? Remember the cheese perspiration? And what happened to the bread? Exact same thing if you were biking on a bread bike in the rain. And then you’d either have to eat your soggy bread bike or scoop it with your hands into a trash can. Do you see now why you should have never wanted a bike made out of bread?

Well, luckily for all of us, the individuals at Bread Bicycles do not make their single-gear bicycles out of any sort of cracker, cake, or bread product. Their bikes are 100% gluten free.

But, their bikes do generate a lot of bread. For people who have nothing to eat. Proceeds from their sales go directly to associated organizations, nearby and around the world, to fight food insecurity.

Bread Bicycles is a little like song blogging. The founders had both a passion for cycling and a concern for human hunger. Instead of pretending those concepts had nothing to do with each other, tooling around in one instance on a bike and then lamenting, in the next, hunger, they forced the two together until their overlap was plain.

Please go “like” their page and ask yourself how you might be involved. They are still raising capital and could use donations of between 1 and 2 Batrillion dollars. But, they will also eagerly accept donations in $1, $5, and $10 denominations. There are numerous charities vying for our support and money. But, if you could take a bike ride and then eat your bike at the end of the trail, wouldn’t you?

Sorry. I mean, if you could take a bike ride that might feed a family or child for a day or week or month, wouldn’t you?

Written and performed by the ipoetlaureate. Music by djclutch.

Today’s song blog here:

One Gear

09/26/12

Delay of Game

So it looks like the NFL referee labor lockout has come to a close. For the first three excruciating weeks of the season, they’ve been using replacement officials not fit to call a foosball tournament. They’ve mishandled more calls than AT&T cellular.

In their disdain for the replacement crews, however, fans have begun to irrationally romanticize the competency of the regular referees to near mythological proportions.

We seem to have conveniently forgotten we hated them too.

Easily the most famous referee of a generation, is Ed Hochuli, known principally for his muscular physique cartoonishly squeezed into the black and white stripes. He himself has been at the center of numerous blown and material calls.

But, now you’d be led to believe that he’s about to lead a renaissance in call accuracy like the world of sport has never seen. It’s been reported that, in preparation for whenever an agreement might be reached, Hochuli has been feeding the regular referees undefiled egg yolks of a Pheonix, training them in high speed vehicle maneuvering, holding his breath for days at a time, and inventing a cure for concussion.

This is his legend.

Performed by theipoetlaureate. Music produced by Sundance.

Today’s song blog here:

The Tall Tale of Ed Hochuli

09/10/12

Add/Drop

Look, I only had a handful of reasonable song blogging choices for tonight, right?

Deadly power outages in Cuba; the terrible motorcade accident that killed one of President Obama’s police escorts; or writing a diss track to the members of my fantasy football league. Eat my % Owned Voldemort’s Confetti !

I kept it classy and went fake-football-game smack talk. Maybe the only thing more ridiculous than grown men playing not-football is a song about it.

But my madness has some method. Today’s blong also doubles as a shameless promotional vignette for my favorite fantasy football podcast, “Fantasy Focus,” hosted by Matthew Berry, Nate Ravitz, Stephania Bell, and Podvader, who will hopefully and enthusiastically re-tweet my site, add my song to their bumper and intro music, and make me and this enterprise in endless song blogging world famous. I also gratuitously threw in Stephen A. Smith and Skip Bayless because they’re actual and recognizable ESPN personalities.

Don’t get me wrong. If my plan works, it hasn’t been a free ride. All of these individuals remain in my ear around the clock. I think I’ve heard every stream or podcast of First Take and Fantasy Focus for nearly as long as they’ve been on. These, in addition to the BS Report, Behind the Bets, every ESPN radio franchise, and all the bloggingheadstv podcasts, are what buoy me through my life’s steeple chase of dish washing, lawn mowing, grocery shopping, bill paying, and child rearing. The other day, I thought my six year old daughter was giving me advice on her top 15 players at RB2, when I realized I just had my earbuds in. Apparently, she just needed toilet paper. (Yes, of course, I got her a roll. Sheesk. Right after Pod finished the Name Game intro. That gets me everytime! You’re so crazy, Podvader!)

Anyway, sorry. So, yeah, dues paid.

I would also like to take this opportunity to formally challenge Eric Hutchinson, whose song is presently the Fantasy Focus anthem, to a fantasy football song battle. A lyricism off. A grammar guerrilla war. A word face punch fight. A real-life fantasy duel.

Drop Eric. Add me.

Don’t front, Eric. You can’t hide behind you’re “great voice” and “real musical ability” and “clever song writing” and “actual instruments” any longer.

This is hip hop. Welcome to the terrordome.

Written and performed by sintax.the.terrific (theipoetlaureate).  Music produced by the one Dave Santos.

Today’s song blog here:

Autodraft Beef