World Cup 2010: A First Hand Report From The Ground In South Africa

Enjoying the World Cup but wish you could be there to experience it firsthand? Well I am pleased to present a first hand account of friend of the show Chilltown who just returned from South Africa, lived the dream, and was kind enough to type up some thoughts for us envious soccer fans. Enjoy, and follow Chilltown on twitter @chilltown1491 -Kanu

World Cup 2010: Feel it, It is Here

By Chilltown

The first sights I saw as I descended into Johannesburg are the slag hills. The massive monuments to a not too distant time when this city found its reason for existence in the rich seams beneath its surface. This fitting introduction represents the first act of South Africa, the resources that were its blessing and its curse. But my trip here is evidence that the curtain has fallen on that act: despite unbelievable setbacks, the country is well into its second act on the world stage. The World Cup is both a graduation present and a final exam for the standard-bearer of a continent. How would the country fare?

The first sight I saw as I walked bleary-eyed through passport control in the Johannesburg airport is a massive soccer ball, suspended from the ceiling of the terminal. It was my first hint that the country has caught World Cup fever. The enthusiasm is palpable, from the airport staff wearing Bafana Bafana jerseys to the murals painted on every wall. This theme repeated itself throughout my trip from Johannesburg to Durban to Cape Town: country flags on cars and trees and lampposts, flight attendants with World Cup pins, talk of soccer on everyone’s lips. The single-minded focus of the country was inspiring and reassuring. No one understands the importance of a successful World Cup more than South Africans.

* * * * *

The World Cup experience is not simply formed by 22 players on a field. What we see, hear, and feel around sporting events is often just as important as the game itself in shaping how we think of the game. The best example of this principle in action at World Cup 2010 was, of course, the vuvuzela. The vuvuzela, that much-maligned plastic representation of capitalism at work, may become the lasting symbol of the 2010 World Cup. Those horns acted as an emotional amplifier, whether blown in anticipation of the match, hooted in anger at a bad decision, or joyously sounded after a goal. Those subtleties are lost on television, where viewers simply hear a background buzzing, annoying as it is constant. But in person, the vuvuzela, whatever its origins, is the stamp of South African feeling upon the world game of soccer.

The atmosphere around the games was unlike anything I had ever seen. In Durban, we ate lunch on a terrace overlooking a boardwalk next to the Indian Ocean as all around us, Brazilian and Portuguese fans caroused and sang and blew their vuvuzelas. A group of Zulu drummers appeared and were quickly joined by joyous Brazilians, improvising on their vuvuzelas. The whole scene was infused with an indescribable air of feeling, somehow different from the anticipation before a playoff game or even the rowdiness of a college football tailgate.

The stadiums, too, were modern and fantastic. The one in Durban could stand up to any in the United States. Transportation was efficient and the aspect of everyone involved in the games was cheerful and helpful. The matches themselves were a smashing success for South Africa, well-run and suffused with joy.

That is not to say that the country is without its serious problems. As we drove back from the USA-Algeria game through the Mid Rand between Pretoria and Johannesburg, we could not help but see the masses of men wandering the roads in the cold dark. We saw them huddled around their trashcan-fires for warmth; the joy of the stadium seemed a lifetime away. As our car sped along the upraised motorway, I looked out and saw across the plain hundreds of these fires, the watchfires of some destitute army owed decades of back pay, the losers of a battle they never fought, let alone had a chance to win. The problems of crushing unemployment and poverty and lack of opportunities for so many of its citizens can never be touched by a month-long sporting event, no matter how grand and global.

Despite these problems, everyone I spoke to in South Africa had an amazingly positive outlook. They spoke of how the tournament had united the country in ways previously deemed impossible. Of course, they wondered how long this harmony would last after July 11^th, but that question looks much more promising than it did even five years ago.

* * * * *

SABC, the national broadcaster of South Africa, punctuated their coverage of the 2010 World Cup with the slogan “feel it. It is here.” For most of the trip, I puzzled over this choice. Feel it? How could you not? It is here? Of course it is!

By the end, however, I had come to realize that these five words, as well as five words possibly can, encapsulated South Africa’s World Cup. The amazing emotion, the feeling injected into this World Cup by the people of South Africa defined the experience and helped to make it unforgettable. For a country only a generation removed from the horrors of apartheid, the 2010 World Cup finally coming off is an incredible achievement.

Feel it. It is here.

Against all odds, with the eyes of the world and the hopes of a continent upon it, South Africa has in almost all respects been an incredible host. The deeper problems that must be tackled in the longer term still persist, but right now the future of South Africa looks as bright as the gold and stones that first brought the country onto the world stage.

The Ultimate Word On Bissinger

If you are aware of the shitstorm created from last week's Bob Costas Now show on HBO by Pulitzer Prize winning author Buzz Bissinger {Friday Night Lights} for his juvenile and vitriolic attack on DeadSpin's Will Leitch about the value of sports blogs, then if you read one commentary on it, make sure that commentary is that of DCTrojan, for he absolutely knocked it out of the park, as he is wont to do. No one, no matter what media form, will write a better commentary about the whole situation, as well as the blogs vs. mainstream media issue, as our Scottish friend.

As I have said to him before: "On your regular days you’re like James McFadden in Stade de France; on your best days you’re simply Archie Gemmill on June 11, 1978", which only makes sense if you have a rudimentary knowledge of Scottish soccer history.

Anyhow, read the article, for DCT is dropping knowledge in the most massive way.

For the record, Bissinger is embarrased and apologetic, and says so in his interview with Orson Swindle, who also represents the blogosphere exceptionally well for his rational and reasoned interview discourse- compare that with how he might be interviewed by the tools on Pardon The Interruption or even CNN, and there's your stereotype destruction of the tired cliche about bloggers vs the MSM.

And a final word out blogs being dumbed down: watch ESPN College Football GameDay, and then read Sunday Morning Quarterback, and you tell me which one is dumbed down and worthless {hint for the lazy: one of them features Big And Rich, and one doesn't}. I rest my case.

Big Pimpin' At The Derby

This really works best if you start over on the jukebox on the left, scroll down to OutKast's "So Fresh, So Clean", fire it up, and then come back. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Now then...

You saw the shoes sitting on my living room floor last week, which was just a taste.

Here they are again on Derby morning



I matched them up with some light blue argyle socks that worked perfectly with the color scheme of the alligator shoes


Too much? Nope- just enough.

From there we went with some yellow dress pants- which match the yellow lines in the socks- and a blue alligator belt to match the shoes


Random drunken mistake pic got the isolation on the belt

Then topped it all off with a white linen shirt and a light blue fedora.

The result? Straight pimpin'


Pimpin' and reading the Racing Form looking for winners,
just like the dude at the 2.40 mark of this video. Hustlin'.

Here's myself & Bonita at the entrance to CD


CD here we come

Here's Kanu & The Hit, pimpin' hard


Sorry, ladies, we're taken

Here's Kanu & Bonita doing that hat switch

Switch hitters {insert SF joke here}

At the end of the day, walking back to the car, I realized about 6 hours too late that I could step it up another notch by putting my fedora brim on tilt- I won't make that mistake again.


Slim with the tilted brim

Back at casa del Hit, my threads finally tapped out after a long day of making this dork look presentable.


Your job is done, so sleep well- you earned it.

Oh, and one more thing. I be that baller on a budget as well:

Blue thatch fedora: H&M, $8
White linen shirt: H&M, $29
Blue alligator belt: Zoot suit store on Market St, SF, $10
Yellow pants: Ralph Lauren outlet store clearance rack, $8
Blue Argyle socks: Bass outlet, $4
Alligator shoes: Zoot suit store on Market St, SF, $39

Total outfit cost: $98. Suck on that, GQ!

Kentucky Derby 134: Bonita's Big Day

Bonita had such an outstanding first Derby on Saturday that it's worth retelling.


Rollin' in the back of the Sequoia to CD with her pimped out hat

The first thing we did once inside CD was run into the Julep Man, and 2 minutes later Bonita had her first Julep.


$18 of tasty sweetness

The 7th race went off just after we arrived at the track, but once we got settled over in the paddock we went to get some bets in on the 8th race, and she made not only her first bet at the track but her first lifetime sports wager of any kind. And she did it all by herself, with no help {it's tricky saying everything correctly when you're new to it}.


If she's in Gamblers Anonymous in 5 years, this moment is to blame

She didn't win that race, but little did she realize at the time it didn't matter much at all.

Shortly thereafter, she met this dude from Scotland and got a feel for how you literally meet people from all over the world who come to CD on the 1st Saturday in May just to go to the Derby


She let him slide for being a Sir Alex Ferguson fan

Her bet on a horse named GOLDENBALLS in the 9th didn't work out either, so it was on to the Derby. She bet $5 across the board on BIG BROWN because he was the 20 horse and 20 is her favorite number. She also bet $5 to win on EIGHT BELLES because she was a girl taking on the boys. At that point I said "why don't you put them together and do a $5 exacta box with 5 and 20? Fatefully she said "OK, that sounds good."

You'll notice that as we watched the race and BIG BROWN crossed the wire first, the video goes all crazy. That's because I dropped it as I picked Bonita up, gave her a big bear hug, and said "you just won the Derby!!!".

We were on cloud nine, until about 2 minutes later when we realized that EIGHT BELLES finished 2nd and not only did she have the winner across the board but she also hit the exacta.


Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

BIG BROWN paid 6.80 to win, 5.00 to place and 4.80 to show for a $2 bet, so her $15 on him across the board returned $ 41.50. Furthermore, the exacta paid $141.60 for $2, so her $10 spent on the $5 exacta box turned into a nice $354, for a total return of $395.50 on $30 of wagers. Even better, she put down a pair of $20 win bets on BIG BROWN for her mama and grandma back in San Jose, respectively, so they both won as well and will be getting $68 back, each.

Very impressive that she stuck to her plan and didn't cave to the group peer pressure, as all of the rest of us were riding with Colonel John, and of all of us she knew the least about horse racing. She also gladly participated in our tradition of buying everyone a celebratory mint julep if you win big, and so instead of winding down, the party continued.


Bonita with the Julep Man

But we weren't done yet. There are 2 races after the Derby, which I call the 'Gamblers Anonymous' races, as they offer a chance for losers to try to win it all back and instead give CD more of their money. The thing is that the races are kind of crap, not stakes races but an allowance race and a maiden race, so the vast majority of the crowd starts to leave after the Derby. So as we went to the bathroom we saw the entrance for grandstand section 118, which is right near the finish line, and we decided to just walk in an act like we belonged. It worked perfectly, and the next thing you knew we were setup in a box in section 118 about 25 yards from the track. I immediately realized that this was a nice side benefit to dressing up for Derby, as we looked like we belonged, whereas the Arsenal kit untucked, shorts, and flip flop route of years past might not have got us into the high cotton section.

We went back and got everyone else, and then watched the 11th race from our new big pimpin' digs.


The queen of section 118 and her court, minus the court jester

After the 11th race, we realized that we could do even better, as the section was 60% empty, so we moved down to a box in the front row. We were now about 6 feet from the track- the only thing separating us from the outside rail was the small walkway used by jockeys and others to get from the winners circle to the walkway back to the paddock area. We were now about 20 yards from the CD finish line, and in the front row. Ballin' hard.


She must be in the front row- eat your heart out Bob Ueker

It got even better. We then watched the 12th race up close and personal, and although we all lost- a horse named FOOLISH PLEASURE won- after the winners circle ceremony, the owners walked right in front of us carrying their silver platter which they received from the track for winning. As they walked by we all offered our congratulations and I asked if I could take a picture of them with the plate. The owner took the plate from his daughter and handed it to us and said "here, you hold it!" {they were tipsy and high on life with the euphoria of winning a race at CD on Derby day}. We settled on a picture of Bonita and the owner's daughter holding up the silver plate that was inscribed with "Congratulations FOOLISH PLEASURE May 3, 2008"


How many people get to do this???

At long last the races were all over and it was time to go home. But not before we stopped off at the betting window to cash Bonita's winning tickets.


Turned $70 into $531.50 in 2 minutes, 1.86 seconds

Then as we walked past the paddock she walked down into the paddock to check it out. She was on such a roll who was going to stop her?


Shez in yer paddock takin picturzzz!

And her big day didn't end at the track. That night we all ended up at Cracker Barrell of all places, so she got to try a bunch of signature Southern foods, none of which she had ever had and some of which she had never heard of: chicken n' dumplings, fried okra, collard greens, grits, and homemade cornbread. She even played the little wooden triangle with the golf tee elimination game.


Cracker Barrel 1, Bonita's arteries 0

So suffice to say that Bonita had a pretty memorable day at her first Derby.

And yes, I know that I'm a lucky man.


And no, I don't know what she sees in me, either.

I Left My Lung In Vegas: Orson Swindle Be Pimpin' Dem Hoes

If you ever thought to yourself, "I bet Orson Swindle is the kind of guy that would wear an off-white leisure suit with a pink shirt and cream colored low cut Chucks, then gather up some of the miniature ho advertising cards and start pimping dem hoes himself to passers by on Las Vegas Boulevard right outside the pink walled entrance to Casino Royale..."

...you'd be right.





Further proof that as awesome as you think Orson Swindle is, he is even more awesome than that.

Last Night In Vegas: Georgia v. Georgia Tech, A Study In Contrasts

On the penultimate night in Vegas, Saturday, both Swindle and Kanu managed to get in a massive 2 hours sleep, with each going to bed at 6 am and rising at 8 am, Swindle to work, Kanu to catch a cab to Crown & Anchor to witness the end of Arsenal's 2008 EPL title challenge.

After another long day of sportsbooks, drinks, and dangerously low oxygen levels in the brain, both were pretty knackered and both had flights out of McCarran between 8 and 9 the next morning. A wakeup call was arranged for 5.45 a.m.

The man with the Masters degree from Georgia Tech went to bed at 8 p.m., intending to wake up at 4 a.m. thereby not only giving him a full night sleep but also proactively re-acclimating to Eastern Standard Time, where said sleep was the equivalent of a normal 11 pm - 7 am night's sleep. The Georgia Tech grad was smart, calculating, and responsible.


Swindle checks out of the IP, somewhat rested and
refreshed after a full night dreaming of Reggie Nelson

The man with the Masters degree from Georgia went to dinner to catch up with a friend who lives in Las Vegas, then at 11 p.m. decided that he wanted 1 final gambling session, so out into the night he went. A beer pong garden, a walk to Caesars sports book to see if he could get down on some Sweet 16 action, and several gaming sessions later, including a final 3 hour journey to Surrealsville flanked by wasted Irish girls at a single deck blackjack table at O'Sheas, the Georgia grad looked up at a TV and the bottom right hand corner of ESPNNews informed him that it was in fact 5.42 a.m. and that his wakeup call back at the IP was in 3 minutes. The Georgia grad was impulsive, carefree, and irresponsible, especially when you consider that upon landing at SFO on Monday morning he had to go straight to work for a full day at the office.

At approximately 6 am the Georgia grad rolls back to the room beyond both loopy and exhausted, where the Georgia Tech grad is up, looks relatively fresh, and is already packing his bags and preparing to iron his shirt. The door opens, the Georgia grad wearily smiles, and the Georgia Tech grad laughs out loud.


7 hours sleep in 3 nights; has to be at work in another city in 5 hours

Epilogue
The Georgia grad wins $400+ in gaming on the weekend, whereas the Georgia Tech grad loses approximately the same amount, completing the UGA/GT metaphor whereby the dumb, impulsive, raging partier defeats the smarter more responsible and rational planner.

But in the final completion of the metaphor, I fully acknowledge that one day I most certainly will work for Swindle Industries*.

*side note: yes it really does say "Swindle Industries" on his credit card, as personally witnessed at the conclusion of a good but massively overpriced breakfast {to give you an idea: bowl of Lucky Charms, $4.59} at the diner in the Hard Rock Casino at 5.30 a.m. Sunday.

Walker Atrice III, Damn Good Dawg. RIP.

AJC article about Walker Atrice's death
Knuckle Up Fitness profile of/interview with Walker
HT: Paul Westerdawg

Walker literally gave me the shirt off his back once.

In my closet at home sits a 1996 Georgia football #31 jersey, signed in sharpie by Walker Atrice III, which he gave to me one late night in Panama City on spring break, as a party in the Luckie triplets' room was dying down about 3 a.m., after I drunkenly asked him if I could have it and he said "sure, man. I'll say I lost it and I'll get another one. Hold on, let me find a Sharpie and I'll sign it for you". That night he and I and the triplets went out and they were all so fun and nice, happily playing along with my story as we chatted up girls, who became interested that they were talking to football players at UGA, that I was in fact the field goal kicker.

Walker was a hell of a nice guy, and although I wouldn't say that we were close friends, we did hang out a good bit in 95-96. He was a living example of the rejection of the tired football player stereotype: kind, confident but not arrogant, intelligent, articulate, thoughtful, a true student athlete who took school seriously and spoke of one day becoming a doctor, just a great guy all around.

At Georgia games from about 96-2000 I would wear my WA31 jersey, and invariably random people would come up to me and tell me that they knew Walker and how he was such a great guy and they knew him from Lakeside or wherever, so I know that it wasn't just me who had this impression of him.

My heart is filled with sadness today as I learned of his bizarre death after collapsing immediately after participating in a golden gloves boxing match. Apparently Walker was 23-4 as an amateur and dreamed of turning pro.

My thoughts are with him and his family. If anyone who reads this knows how to contact his family, I would love to write them and offer to give them my signed jersey, it would likely mean much more to them than to me.

Rest in peace, Walker.

I Left My Lung In Las Vegas: Indicies

KanuBlogs
Prologue

Last Night In Vegas: Georgia v. Georgia Tech, A Study In Contrasts

Orson Swindle Be Pimpin' Dem Hoes

SwindleBlogs
UT Fan Singlehandedly Re-Enacts title of largely forgotten Tupac song "Representin' 93"

The Mirage Race & Sports Book Backstage Pass

Biggest Shitpile of a Sports Book: Strip Edition

Things To Do In LV After Losing $300+ in Approx 1 Hour at Casino Royale's "Blackjack Switch"

Ecoutez Y Repetez: Le picnic es tres jolie

Custom Made Split Fan Garments: Big XII Edition

Standing Pumping Fist of the Mountaineer Nation

Things Observed & Overheard: 12:01 a.m to Sunrise

Happy Easter: An Alternative Take On Worship

Biggest Shitpile of a Sports Book: Downtown-A Whole New Level Edition

Loopy Napkin Drawings At Mandalay Bay

Profiles In Courage

The Last Dance: One Final Cold, Unemotional Swift Kick to the Nuts of Orson Swindle

CFB Playoff Epiphany While Exhausted, Waiting in PHX Aeroporto

One Last Toast

In Case You Wondered: UGA Beats Tech Again

HollyBlogs
I Knew We Were In Trouble 1

I Knew We Were In Trouble 2

I Knew We Were In Trouble 3

I Knew We Were In Trouble 4

I Knew We Were In Trouble 5

I Knew We Were In Trouble 6

I Knew We Were In Trouble 7

Photos
Kanu

I Left My Lung In Las Vegas: Prologue

***Warning: by the time of the next sunrise, there will be in all likelihood be a picture of me, in the Mandalay Bay sports book, face down in a turkey and avacado sandwich somewhere on the internets. Proceed with caution...

I am currently sitting at my desk, wearing totally smoked out seersucker pants with orange drank stains on the left leg, an unused lounge lizard shirt {smoke free!}, dirty dress socks, and very scuffed borderline fancy dress shoes {thank you, impromptu after midnight Fremont Street "visit"}: this is the closest I can get to the office dress code given the contents of my 1 checked bag, which is passed out on the cubicle floor to my immediate left. Only a razor's edge separates me from complete immobility as the work piles up around me like a construction project in Fraggle Rock. The last time I went this long without sleep, Ray Goff was the head football coach of The University Of Georgia, and Hines ward was a fresh faced college kid who was not yet the sporting hero of an entire nation in the Pacific Rim.

What circumstance resulted in this current state of affairs? 72 hours in Las Vegas with Orson Swindle, King Of The College Football Blogosphere, and his merry band of assorted friends, foes, and hangers on. I'm not sure exactly how I came to be a part of this whirling dervish of amistad, but once you are in you stop asking questions, hold on, pray to the Gods of multiple religions {just to be safe and cover all the bases}, and enjoy the ride.

The basics:

- hours slept last night: 0
- hours slept Saturday night: 2
- hours slept Friday night: 5

Totals: 7 hours out of 73, which if it was a batting average would be .096.

3 new career bests set in: least amount of sleep in a 24*, 48**, and 72** hour period.
*tied
**annihilated

- packs of cigarettes second-hand smoked: approx. 137

- bottles of orange drank consumed: 3 in Vegas, 4 in last 7 days

Orange Drank: official multi-symptom cold relief
syrup of Dodgy At Best since mid-March 2008

"I be on that orange drank,
straight up on that orange drank,
I be on that, straight up on that,
I be on that orange drank"

- 5.45 a.m. morning of departure wakeup calls missed because I was still out gaming: 1

- number of blackjack hands personally witnessed where drunken and hopelessly clueless Irish girl sitting directly to my left is dealt a pair of aces, chooses not to double down but to hold, and then proceeds to win hand after dealer busts out: 1***
***within 60 seconds of this happening, dealer admits that in 14 years of dealing blackjack this indeed was the first time she has ever been defeated by a hand totaling 2.

That's all the energy I can summon right now. Some of the other details of this epic adventure weekend are beginning to bubble to the surface courtesy of Miss Holly and a still flying back to Eastern Standard Time as we speak Swindle himself. I will likely hibernate for a few days while they provide a solid first 8 innings of revealed incidents, then I'll stumble out of the bullpen for my 1 inning of half-assed mopup work.

I'm off to the house and the prospect of head on soft pillow for the first time since Georgetown were still alive in the 2008 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament {aside: Princeton offense with talent + 17 point 2nd half lead + #1 field goal % defense in the nation + scrappy yet undersized and far less athletic opponent = 5 point loss is the new gold standard of MASSIVE FAIL}.

I'll be back once my vital signs have returned to even borderline safe levels and I finish trying to wrap my head around the concept that the last 72 hours of my lungs' life = everyday life for people living in Beijing. But trust me, the animated GIF of Swindle in an off white leisure suit, pink shirt, and cream colored low-cut chucks attempting to himself pass out high gloss finish photo index cards for on call whores to Las Vegas Blvd. sidewalk strollers will be worth however long a wait it ends up being: trust me.

The Oscars According To Solon, 2007 Edition

For years, film aficionado Solon has sent out a lengthy email to all of his so-called mates in which he breaks down the Oscars. Last year I shared it here and it generated some discussion, so here is this year's email, which I received last night. It's the shortest one ever, but still damn good as always.

If you really want to dork out, Solon's much more in depth review from years past:

Oscars According To Solon 2006
Oscars According To Solon 2005
Oscars According To Solon 2004

FYI the Academy Awards are Sunday night. Enjoy

Greetings all.

First things first, the PhD applications really stuffed me this year, so my movie-going experience is not nearly as prolific as it is most years--in fact, truth be told, I've seen less than 20 movies (as opposed to my usual 50 or so). But I have seen all of the big ones and people are asking, so I'll produce. But don't be offended if I missed your hip little independent film, I just didn't have the time.

Also, the format's a little different this year. Next year I'll be back to my normal lists. Until then, hopefully this will suffice. Enjoy.

Best Picture

Will win: NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN
Should win: JUNO

The standard beef with NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is that the ending is poor. In reality, it is not that it is poor, but that it is uninteresting; I have not seen a movie lose so much momentum toward the end since (ironically) MAGNOLIA. It has other flaws as well--Woody Harrelson's character is unnecessary, for example--and while it's wonderfully shot, it most assuredly does not live up to its hype as a "classic American film" the way that THERE WILL BE BLOOD does.

I do not think THERE WILL BE BLOOD is Paul Thomas Anderson's best work--that honor still goes to the outstanding BOOGIE NIGHTS--but I can see where people are coming from when they call it an epic. I think it probably falls a bit short with what it is trying to get across--it's a poor man's CITIZEN KANE, largely since Plainview isn't as well developed as Kane is--but, as I said, I would not begrudge someone for believing the movie pulled off what it sought to accomplish. As for the story, while I did not particularly care for the ending--I think it descended a little too much into absurdity--at least it held my attention.

The year's best offering, however, is JUNO. The haters are out in force for this movie, telling everyone who will listen that the character of Juno is annoying, that the dialogue is unrealistic, or that the movie tries "too hard to be cool," but all of those people can just go and get stuffed (I mean, seriously, is there any more dickheaded appeal than saying something "tries too hard to be cool"? Please, let me know what is sufficiently cool, so I can bow down to you for making that determination for me.). I mean, anyone can get a stick up their ass and talk about how people who like a movie they hate don't know anything about movies--hell, I should know, I did it the last two years with LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE and CRASH--but it doesn't mean they have any idea what they are talking about. For the record, I asked my 15-year-old niece if she thought the dialogue was unrealistic, and she pointed out that not only is Juno set in a different part of the country than she lives in, but that even at her high school not everyone talks the same way. In any event, she didn't find the dialogue to be unrealistic or distracting. Of course, she also has the benefit of not being a pretentious ass, so I suppose that helps.

Where to start with JUNO? The screenplay is great, of course, but the acting is also perfect--everyone's so wonderfully cast, it's hard to imagine any improvements. With a few minor exceptions, the characters aren't played for laughs--sort of the opposite of an Alexander Payne movie. All of them have good qualities, but they are all flawed as well. The plot is original and, for the most part, unpredictable (take that, LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE) and I was fully invested in the story and the characters. It is, as I read somewhere, one of the rare movies that can warm your heart and break it all at the same time. Is some of the dialogue strained? Sure it is, but why isn't anyone bitching about "What business is it of yours where I'm from, friend-o" as much as they are bitching about "Honest to blog"? I mean, you want to talk about some seriously stupid shit, it's some psychopath calling someone "friend-o." Let's face it, most movies have a line or two that hurt it, but it doesn't ruin the movie unless you want it to.

Best Director:

Will win: Joel and Ethan Coen, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN
Should win: Paul Thomas Anderson, THERE WILL BE BLOOD

I like the Coens, but I think they are immensely overrated. I never really understood the hype surrounding FARGO, which is fine but strikes me as more of a quirky movie that caught on as opposed to an actual legitimate film (sort of like a lesser GHOST WORLD or HEATHERS--or, for that matter, a lesser THE BIG LEBOWSKI). In terms of direction, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is certainly the best thing they've ever done, but, to be perfectly honest, that isn't saying too much (what's it better than--BARTON FINK and O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU, I guess--and neither of those is a classic by any measure). I don't mean to imply that the job they did here wasn't good--because it was outstanding. And, in most years, they'd deserve an Oscar for the job they did--in fact, Bardem is going to win the Best Supporting Actor Oscar as much because of their direction (and Deakins' cinematography) as for his acting. But this year they are second-best.

The ironic thing about Paul Thomas Anderson's job in THERE WILL BE BLOOD is that one of his greatest strengths as a director--his ability to match the perfect music to a scene, where he is arguably the equal of Scorsese, and better than Tarantino--is not really in evidence here. Jonny Greenwood's score is getting a lot of hype, but I thought it was a little heavy-handed, myself, and I found it to be a great disappointment given the effectiveness of Anderson's use of music in the past. That said, the rest Anderson's direction was pretty amazing; the movie is one great scene after another. The scene with the oil fire is one of the great scenes of recent years, and it's rare that such a great scene lasts as long as that one does (though this year there was a similarly great long scene, the Dunkirk scene in ATONEMENT)--and it's the one time in the movie that the music fits perfectly. I was a little concerned about Anderson after PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE--but he has come back in a big way here.

Best Actor:

Will win: Daniel Day-Lewis, THERE WILL BE BLOOD
Should win: Daniel Day-Lewis, THERE WILL BE BLOOD

Daniel Day-Lewis--who, amazingly, has only been in 3 movies in the last 10 years, and only been in 8 since MY LEFT FOOT nearly 20 years ago--might have been the only actor who could have pulled off the character of Daniel Plainview, but pull it off he did. His character does seem to derive from John Huston in CHINATOWN, but that's not too bad a thing--Cate Blanchett won an Academy Award recently for playing a caricature, and she wasn't nearly as good as Day-Lewis was. I wish the character had been more developed--why does he have a competition in him, and not want anyone else to succeed?--but that's not Day-Lewis' failing. Sure, he probably takes the last scene a little too far, but I'm not sure there's a better way to play it--and even though he's also a nutter in the penultimate scene, he isn't too over-the-top in that one despite the necessary theatrics.

Best Actress:

Will win: Julie Christie, AWAY FROM HER
Should win: Ellen Page, JUNO

This is the strongest of the major categories this year, which I feel confident in saying despite not having seen Blanchett. Christie and Cotillard will battle this one out, but I think Christie rates the edge here. Both are great, but I personally think Cotillard overacts a little, whereas Christie's performance is much more subtle and that will likely serve her well. I was pretty amazed that Cotillard won the BAFTA but I think the Academy will turn the tables and Christie will get a well-deserved second Oscar. Also, Sarah Polley's direction was so great that it would be a tragedy if the movie wasn't rewarded in some way, and she won't win for adapted screenplay.

Ellen Page, though, dominates JUNO and gives a performance the equal of Day-Lewis' in THERE WILL BE BLOOD. Her great performance is no surprise--she was outstanding in a difficult role in HARD CANDY and has received accolades for her completed-but-unreleased performance in AN AMERICAN CRIME--but what's unfortunate is that it's easy to lose sight of how good her performance is. One can argue about how true-to-life Cody's screenplay is, but it's not really possible to argue that Page struggles with it even though it's a pretty demanding role. It requires her to wear many hats, and she runs through them all pretty seamlessly. Sure, she's great when she cries in the car, but she's even better when she's talking about shooting babies out of t-shirt guns in China. She's helped by a strong cast--no one in the movie is bad--but it's her show, and the movie is only as good as it is because she carries it.

Credit also is due to Anamaria Marinca in 4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS, 2 DAYS, who is outstanding (and I rate it as the 3rd best movie this year, behind JUNO and THERE WILL BE BLOOD). The three best performances this year are Day-Lewis', Page's, and Marinca's, and there's not much to separate the three of them. Her scene at the dinner table is arguably the most powerful scene in any movie this year, and it's pretty much just her facial expressions. Amazing. It's unfortunate that she isn't getting more credit for her performance, especially considering that it's her cinematic debut.

Best Supporting Actor:

Will win: Javier Bardem, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN
Should win: Tom Wilkinson, MICHAEL CLAYTON

The only thing that stuns me more than the hype for NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is the hype that Bardem is getting. Sure, he acts like a crazy fucker, but he doesn't do much other than look like a nut and has a crazy look on his face. Really, he's only got three scenes where he does any "acting"--at the Texaco station, with Woody Harrelson, and with Kelly MacDonald--and, for the most part, the other person in each scene out-acts him (maybe not in the Woody Harrelson scene, but this is the weakest of the three). In my estimation, in his signature scene--the one at the Texaco station--he's not the one who dominates that scene, the old man does. "You have to call it, this is the best I can do"? "This coin took 22 years to get here"? Big fucking deal. Compare Bardem's performance to Ben Kingsley's performance in SEXY BEAST, and, well, there's no comparison. Kingsley's a small guy who comes off as this seriously intimidating scary dude, whereas Bardem just has a crazy look on his face and a gun (or that cattle stun-gun thing).

On the other hand, Wilkinson is great in MICHAEL CLAYTON--the scene where he is arguing with Clooney about his coming to terms with his life's work is amazing ("I am Shiva, the god of death."), as is the scene where he sticks it to Clooney when he is challenged on his area of expertise. To be perfectly honest, having worked in the legal field for so long, and seeing the complete lack of intellectual integrity on the part of many high-powered attorneys probably had me wondering why breakdowns like his don't happen more often, and had be cheering for him a little bit. Still, it's not easy to play a man in his position undergoing a breakdown with conviction, but Wilkinson doesn't take a wrong step. Unfortunately for him, he is a bit player in what is probably the year's most memorable scene, which, for the record, is much scarier than any of the shit Bardem participates in.

Best Supporting Actress:

Will win: Amy Ryan, GONE BABY GONE
Should win: Saoirse Ronan, ATONEMENT

Here is where my ignorance catches up with me, as I have only seen Swinton and Ronan of the nominees.

The favorite is Blanchett, but I can't imagine she'll win another Supporting Actress Oscar for essentially playing another caricature of someone with whom everyone is familiar. Ryan is by all accounts excellent in GONE BABY GONE, and while she's won her share of awards this season--enough to suggest she can win the Oscar--she hasn't won so many that the Academy will feel the need to even things up with Blanchett. So take the price and go with Ryan.

I didn't think much of Swinton in MICHAEL CLAYTON, which makes my decision pretty easy; and, in truth, watching her struggle with an American accent gave me a lot more respect for Day-Lewis' performance in THERE WILL BE BLOOD. But Ronan is quite good--probably not good enough for a win, but certainly good enough for a nomination. Really, all of the Brionys in ATONEMENT are good, and while Redgrave is probably better her role is so tiny that there's little question which one of the three is the most impressive.


The Academy Awards are this Sunday, February 24th. Enjoy.

I'm Going, Going Back, Back to Cali, Cali Derby, Derby...

Last year I did not travel to the Derby for the first time since 1998. I was hoping to go this year, but after running the numbers of all my vacations later this year {1 week in New England, 2 weeks in South America, 1 week in Arizona, and a long weekend in ATL}, and the fact that flights were frustratingly expensive, I ruled out Derby 134 about 2 weeks ago. Sucks, but hopefully next year.

So last night for shits & giggles I looked at airfare again, and lo and behold I found one that was much, much more affordable, so so I said "fuck it!" and booked it on the spot before I could change my mind.

So I am in for Derby 134, one of the coolest events there is and always a fun time. Solon and Tasso are already in, as well as our hosts Brain and The Hit. We also have our friend RJ losing his Derby virginity this year, and a few others may come through as well.

This will be my 10th Derby, a nice milestone as well.

Since first attending back in 1997, I am batting .400 on betting the winner, going 4 for 10 {had to work and totally missed 1998, and last year had the winner in an online account even though I didn't attend}. That is really good winning percentage, so the odds are that I shouldn't have another Derby winner for several years, but I guarantee I'll be trying my ass off to find the winner again this year.

Suffice to say I am jacked, because I had already written the possibility off. To celebrate I am reliving my 4 Derby winners.

1997: Silver Charm, 6-1


My first Derby, and we all got stuck in 35 degree weather in the infield with shorts and t shirts. Amidst all the standard flashing of tits in the 3rd turn, a beautiful bare ass was flashed right in front of my face, and I thought it might be a special day. $10 to win on Silver Charm, who was I think 3rd or 4th choice, and we managed to get over to the finish line on the infield and see him come home first in a super exciting finish. What a great first Derby- I was hooked.

2003: Funny Cide, 12-1


Empire Maker was damn near even money as a massive favorite, so I passed and eventually settled on Funny Cide, who seemed to offer the best value and maybe a chance to win at 12-1. It was sweet to get my 2nd winner, but I didn't cash in too large because I cast a wider net than usual with my variety of bets.

2004: Smarty Jones, 4-1


This was the first time that I really believed in and invested emotionally full-on in a horse. I was telling anyone who would listen that this horse was simply a freak who was going to do something special, and I actually believed it. This was by biggest and best win to date: I had $20 across the board on Smarty, and I also nailed the $1 trifecta for $486 with a partial wheel that successfully snagged Smarty Jones/Lion Heart/Imperialism. I think I layed $169 and cashed out $712. Euphoria followed by a round of juleps for all my mates. Still bitter that Stewart Elliott fucked up in the Belmont and blew Smary Jones' triple crown and shot at immortality, but this Derby was super special and I will always love Smarty- I would love to visit him one day.

2007: Street Sense, 9-5


I hate betting the favorite, but after analyzing the form over and over, this was the best horse by miles and I had to bet him because I didn't see anyone else beating him besides Curlin, who I didn't believe was quite ready. I had $10 across the board on him. One of the most amazing moves through traffic I have ever seen- having money on a horse and having him 19th place with 1/2 a mile to go, only to have him come back and win was a pretty exhilarating experience, and although I wasn't there, I was screaming at the top of my lungs in my apartment as they came down the stretch to the point that I think many of my neighbors were probably freaked out.

So 4 for 10 and 3 of the last 5- I can't wait to touch down in Louisville for an epic Derby 134 weekend. Added bonus is that my going should spur me to write a bit more about horse racing on the road to the Derby this year than I did last year.

Weekend Review, Part 2: Big Basin Redwoods State Park

Fortunately there was an Arsenal match on at 7 a.m. so I was up and about: barring that I would have struggled a bit. The Hit slept in until the match was over, then we all had a mondo breakfast, geared up, rented him a mountain bike, threw all 3 bikes on my car, and rolled down the coast towards Santa Cruz. It was a deliciously beautiful day so the drive down was perfect.

{click pics to enlarge}


Pidgeon Point Lighthouse, California coast

Our destination was a sweet bike & hike from the ocean up into Big Basin Redwoods State Park, where there are 3 waterfalls that you can hike to from the end of the bike trail. The idea was to start by 2 p.m. which would have us finish back at the car, right on the ocean, in time to chill out on the beach, have a drink and some snacks, and watch the sunset.


The view from the trailhead was decidedly average.

As it turned out we didn't leave the city until almost 1.30 p.m. and we didn't set out until 3.30. In other words, we were up against it, as sunset was at 5.20.


Let's roll


The Hit, pre-bonk

As we rode up into the hills, it became apparent that we were going to be chasing the daylight, and also that the Scorpion Bowls and jetlag had teamed up on the Hit and caused him to begin to bonk. Waterfalls 2 & 3 were soon ruled out, and as it was it was going to be tricky just to reach the first one and descend back out of the forest in time.


This might be my fave mountain bike trail evah

We finally made it up to where the mountain bike trail ends, locked our bikes, crossed a stream, and hiked about a mile up to the first waterfall.


Damn treehugger

It is a really beautiful spot, down in a valley between towering walls filled with redwoods, and we stopped to rest a bit and take in the scene.


Berry Creek Falls


Made it


It's hard to look happy when you are an hour into your bonk

Time check: 5.20, meaning the sun had just set and we were staring at a hike back to the bikes and then several miles back down through the forest in ever darkening skies.


How much would Olin Mills give me for this photo?

By the time we got back to the bikes it was damn near dark. I did have a little headlight on my bike, so I took the lead and called out obstacles, sticks, mud, etc to The Hit & Bonita who were close behind me. This "worked", although we had to go really really slow just to be able to see what we were doing. By the time we were halfway down, it was full-on dark. Thankfully we had a new best friend: the three-quarter moon which helped illuminate our path in patches.

It was at the same time miserable and exhilirating; frustrating and one of the most fun things I have done- mountian biking in the dark in the middle of nowhere with help from a bright moonlight, through forests and next to a mountian stream with various unknown animal noises from time to time.


La luna: our new best friend

It felt great to finally put the forest behind us, and the last mile or so back to the car was out in the open, where the unobstructed moonlight really took over and lit our way. I sorted out the bike rack in the dark and we headed back.

It was a very fun time, and I have to credit the Hit, who valiantly fought his way through the biggest and longest bonk I have ever witnessed. Dude is a soldier.

Here's the full set of pics from our coastal bike & hike adventure.

Got home, ate and crashed, but there would be no sleeping in on Sunday.

Weekend Review, Part 1: Scorpion Bowl Odyssey

The last time The Hit visited me back in August was a pretty epic weekend, and one day I'll get around to recapping it, but this past weekend was very fun as well, with way too many activities that I am still recovering from.

So after we met near my work and walk home, it's up to the rooftop for beers and sunset chill time. Then we scooped up Bonita and went out to a great seafood dinner at Pacific Cafe, where they serve you free wine if there is a wait for a table {genius, why don't more family owned restaurants do this?}, and continue to top you off until you are seated. After dinner I tried to explain Trad'r Sam to my companions, as neither had been, but it is something that can't really be explained, it must be lived, so we all decided that it was something that we needed to do right then, so over we went.


Spelling: bad. Drinks: good.

Plain and simple, Trad'r Sam is one of the best dive bars there is. The highlight of the Polynesian theme is not the decor but these things called Scorpion Bowls, which come literally in a salad bowl and are filled with more alcohol that should be legally allowed, yet they taste yummy enough that you don't notice the damage that they are doing to your body. Oh, and in a city where a beer runs you $5-7 each, the Scorpion Bowl can be yours for one easy payment of only $14. A good deal in any town, a great deal in SF.


Scorpion Bowl I, frozen

Even after a few glasses of wine at dinner, Scorpion Bowl I was a lighthearted affair: all fun and games. I showed my co-drinkers how to take two straws and join them together to create a super long straw so that you don't have to bend down so far to reach the fruity goodness. It was all smiles and fun.


Scorpion Bowl I in the 1st person


Scorpion Bowl I in the 3rd person

Midway through Scorpion Bowl I, a local tipped us off to the fact that you can order Scorpion Bowls on the rocks, something that I was not aware of. He also said that they were even better, so shortly after pimping SB I we went for SB II on the rocks.

When SB II arrived, we all took a hearty sip. Immediately thereafter, The Hit, a linebacker who goes at least 250, turns to me with wide eyes and says slowly and loudly, "Dude... HO-LEE SHIT!!!".


Scorpion Bowl II: the really happy zone.

From there it just got a bit silly, and by the end of SB II we were all well into the happy zone. I did a little dance, grabbed the plastic guns from the shoot-em-up video game in the corner, did an ode to Texas Tech's "guns up", did a crazy improvisational latin dance to some cuban music, and even flashed my titties to some people.

It took us considerably longer to pimp SB II than it did SB I, but we managed. At that point we had a choice to make: SB III or bust. We were all in the state where SB III sounded like the best thing in the world, but we also knew that SB III would probably destroy our plans of driving down the coast on Saturday and doing a bike & hike up into the redwoods. After some deliberation, we wriggled free from the grip of Trad'r Sam, and went home to crash out. There were doubts all around about getting up early the next morning.

Here's the full set of pics from our fruity alcohol adventure.

Every Straight Alpha Male's Dream

Yup. A chick that not only likes sports but is also knowledgeable about them. Even better would be 8 such ladies together, right?

Well, thanks to the magical world of EDSBS Radio, I have come to know that such an octet does in fact exist in the form of Ladies dot dot dot. Launched back in February, they pretty much said it all with their opening salvo into the blogosphere:

Sport in America has been the province of men for generations.There’s no shortage of strong, capable women bucking that trend, however, so we’re out to conquer a side market: leering.

Yes, we’re playing the field (literally), and we don’t kiss nice. We are the Ladies…with one eye on the scoreboard, and the other on your sweet ass.

So if you are an alpha male, then there you go. But the beauty of their site is that it is first and foremost for the ladies. Remember last summer during the World Cup when I offered up to the ladies out there some equal opportunity tittilation in the form of soccer manbeef? Well, they do that with all sports: every damn day (or, if you know Southerplayalisticadillacmuzik: "all day, e'er day {bwwooonnng}"). So like the movie Braveheart, the Ladies can be enjoyed equally whether you reside on Mars or Venus.

I don't know a whole hell of a lot about them, but I can tell you that:

-Texas Gal, aka Miss Texy, can most likely drink your ass under the table with straight bourbon.

-Holly, a Tennessee fan, is fast and loose with the f bomb and other fun obscenities, which certainly appreciated by the human f bomb machine that is Kanu.

-Their readership's grip on reality if firm, for they had no problem figuring out what I have known for many years: that I am not hott.

So enjoy the Ladies, and add them to your daily rotation. I'm sure you will be entertained. Oh, and the super secret password to their inner sanctum is bacon pants.

Further Reading:

Cute Sports: run by a very nice girl named Nicole who was a friend of the program last summer when she blogged the World Cup. Nowadays she writes about most things Cheese Head related.

Girls Gone Tailgaiting: self explanatory, and always approved by college football fans from sea to shining sea.

The Hit Invades Stamford Bridge

The Hit and Mrs. The Hit were recently in Paris and London on a corporate junket that rewarded The Hit for being damn good at what he does, and as it turned out on their final night in London they were booked into a hotel at Stamford Bridge of all places.

When I heard this news, my first reaction was just prior to checking out he should take a massive shit between the mattress and box spring and just leave it there as a customer comment survey on his thoughts about Chel$ea Football Club, but we all agreed that while that was an admirable plan of action in theory, in practice it wasn't going to happen. So then I said that if he sent me a picture of himself in front of Stamford Bridge giving it the finger or even the double bird, that it would make my day, week, and month.

Below is his report and pics:

I have to admit it was a hard to get a "quality" picture. There were cameras everywhere recording our every move. In one picture you can actually see a cop car that rolled on the scene to see what we were up to. Then I remembered the owner of Chelsea FC is a Russian Mob leader, and I got a little spooked. Not to be denied, I sucked it up and took a nice big fart on Frank Lampard's chest. {Mrs. The Hit} even got in on the action.


The Hit's covert operation begins


Merits its own caption contest: the possibilities are endless
OK, I'll start: obviously the neighborhood laundromat


Mrs. The Hit gets her mock on


Frank Lampard, you've been pimped.


Get out of there before the KGB gets your ass.

Cameras and shady cops everywhere? Sounds about right.

Thanks to The Hit & Mrs. The Hit; ripping that fart right on Lampard: well played, Good Sir.