The Points, They Are Tipping

Until recently, the definition of "oversteering" was "what Rich does when playing a racing game on his 360", which is why my nephew loves firing up Driver: San Francisco (Ubisoft Reflections, represent!) every time he visits - he's got a better chance of staying on the road than I do. I'll skid a little to the right, go hard left, slide out of control, try to go right, and end up with a perfectly harmless Alfa Romeo that never did no harm to nobody wrapped around the Coit Tower.
Twice.

Why I Write This

There are a couple of reasons I write this thing. One is, of course, that it's fun. It's a completely different type of writing than the stuff I do for work (video games where people get shot in the face) or the stuff I do for myself (horror novels where people have terrible things happen to their faces) or even my side business writing (book reviews wherein authors occasionally, figuratively get it in the face). It's an informal place where I can just sort of let loose with pure opinion. Very relaxing, that, and very cathartic.

Why Playoff Hockey Rocks (Painfully Oversimplified Math Division)

Every year, people magically rediscover playoff hockey and gasp, astonished, at how exciting it is. This usually happens around the time of the first triple-overtime game, and lasts until somebody wins the Stanley Cup. At that point, hockey is magically forgotten about in most of the US until it's time for the cycle to repeat. But for those few golden weeks, hockey justifiably captures the attention of those who know enough to look, and its playoff games are the most exciting of any major sport's.

Why? Math.

You Dropped a Bomb On Me, Baby...

Dig if you will, a picture, of the Boston Bruins and the Chicago Blackhawks engaged in a triple overtime thriller in Chicago.  It’s past midnight on the east coast, and everyone is thinking “End this!  I have to get to work in the morning!”  Andrew Shaw of the Blackhawks delivers a redirection that goes in on Tukka Rask, ending the game.  This being on NBC, Pierre Macguire jumps over the boards, or at least climbs over them slowly, and grabs the guy who potted the game winning goal.  “Tell me about the goal.”  Standard stuff.

Andrew Shaw then drops an f-bomb on national TV.  LIVE!  OH THE HUMANITY!

Two days later, TWO DAYS, there’s an article on Puck Daddy, Yahoo! Sports’ hockey blog, about how Shaw’s mother and the mayor of his hometown ‘absolve him’ for popping the f-word¹.  According to wikipedia, a network is not required to censor foul language between 10PM and 6AM.  So, evidently people are up in arms over something the FCC doesn’t care about.  You know, the FCC with the over-strict decency rules.

David Ortiz got away with it after the Boston Marathon bombings, and that was during prime-time.  So, I think Andrew Shaw gets a pass on this one.

¹ I’m aware of the irony of complaining about censorship and then self-censoring by not using the word in question.  I didn’t want to fuck up and offend someone.²

² Oops.

Timmeh! And the Lord of the Underworld

Sometimes the jokes write themselves:

"You hear the Patriots signed Tim Tebow?"
"I thought they needed a running back."
"They just signed one."

Bad Teams Find A Way To Lose, Class A Division

Never piss off a bipedal fish with a hot dog cannon

Bad teams find ways to lose.

I went to see the Carolina Mudcats the other night. A relative of my wife's was in town for the first time, we wanted to show him a good time, and we picked up my dad and my nephew on the way out to Five County Stadium for a Saturday evening contest. The weather was lovely, post-storm blue skies, the opponent was the loaded Rangers affiliate the Myrtle Beach Pelicans, and it was Miggy Cabrera Bobblehead Night for all kids 14 and under. My nephew, who is ten, had been discussing the desirability of a bobblehead versus a toy bat with my wife on the way in, was ecstatic.

Let's All Jump On Donovan

A McNabb Career Highlight

Even the sports world has socially awkward nerds. Case in point: Donovan McNabb, who is about as comfortable speaking with other human beings as Jeffty Loria is with a forensic accountant. For all that his career ended with a thud, McNabb really was one of the best quarterbacks of his era, a guy who consistently led undergunned Eagles teams to the playoffs (even if once he got there, he played like someone was holding his family at gunpoint in a South Philly basement). He played hard, he played hurt, and he played well, and yet the only time anyone ever warmed to him was when he was doing Chunky Soup commercials. The rest of the time, he went total McFly every time a microphone got shoved in his face, to the point where he lost sympathy and credibility at an unseemly pace. It didn't matter if he was reciting the lyrics to "Happy Birthday", he would say it in a way that was so flat, unappealing, entitled, and awkward that  you got mad just listening to it. He could have revealed the Grand Unified Theory in a postgame presser and people would have called bullshit reflexively, because he just has that kind of public voice.