Big bag of feedback
Watching the Sox and Yanks on Fox. As for last night, well, "I was there the night Trot Nixon hit an inside-the-park home run," is probably something I'll be saying 15-20 years from now, the way I tell people "I was there that Saturday during Morgan Magic when the Sox rallied from 6-0 down and Kevin Romine hit the game-winning home run in the 10th to beat KC" these days.
Anyway, the mailbag's sure been bustling. First off, a request from a member of the military who's been following Matt's Dispatches from Iraq postings:
I am looking for input on the Stryker itself, as a fighting vehicle, from the viewpoint of someone who is using it. Finding pieces done by those with an academic view or an axe to grind are a dime a dozen and almost invariably negative or Pollyanish in their praise.
Just trying to look at feedback on the machine, the stories I have
seen on your blog are good quality and genuine, but I was hoping to get
a little from a soldier on the Stryker system.
So if you're one of those folks who come in here to check the Iraq postings, can you provide info? Thanks.
Dave's World's Official Northern Idaho correspondent, Simon F., is all worked up today. The first part of Simon's email was a long rant complaining that if he eats Cheetos in public, it should be perfectly acceptable for him to lick all the cheez off his fingers without getting weird looks. If you're not supposed to, why would they make them so cheezy? Anyway …
Thanks for the link to the Nesbitt column. It was written totally from
the perspective of an ugly American, but that's not a bad thing. I
suppose complaining about the one major that finishes up before noon in
the states is the height of American arrogance. So be it. I am not a
citizen of the world. I live in Idaho and 5:30 a.m. is no time to get up to watch golf.
But let's not give the golfers any sympathy for having to play in
less glamorous conditions. The only bigger sports primma donnas than
golfers are track athletes. Nobody complains about their sport's lack of
coverage more than track guys, and then you show up to cover their
meets and their best guys are not there, either because of the weather or because they are off competing at a more prestigious meet.
Now, covering a great track meet is one of the true joys of sports
writing, but covering some damn dual meet in early April is among the worst assignments anybody can draw. It's like going out to cover USC and being told that Matt Leinart isn't going to play because he's
participating in a punt, pass and kick competition in Salinas.
One of the best quotes I've ever heard sums up how I feel about the
sport: "There's only one sport I hate more than track, and
that's field."
Taking inspiration on the Dukes of Hazzard thread a while back, I
suppose you saw today that one of the former "stars" of the show has
spoken out against the new movie. Was it Tom Wapat? Maybe Jon
Schneider? Nope. It was former U.S. Rep. Ben Jones, AKA, Cooter. He says the new movie perverts the family values of the former CBS show. Where to start here?
1. Who knew Cooter was in Congress? I knew Gopher from The Love
Boat did a stint and Sonny Bono was in the House, but Cooter? This is
actually great stuff. I firmly believe that every state's Congressional
delegation should include one former TV second (or third, fourth or
fifth) banana. Schneider from One Day at a Time would be my nominee
from Idaho.
2. All the headlines are referring to Jones as a "star" of the
show. Yeah, he starred in that show like Craig Ehlo starred for Jordan's Bulls. Cooter is a bottom-third-of-the-order guy on his best day. He would disappear for entire episodes. This is no star. He's a platoon guy who's spent his share of time in Pawtucket. Here's my Dukes batting order.
1. Daisy (Good on-base percentage, takes a lot of pitches, selective
and a major distraction on the basepaths)
2. Roscoe (A consistent presence; solid guy who rarely has a bad
night)
3. Bo (no explanation needed)
4. Luke (ditto)
5. Boss Hogg (good power and makes sure the Duke boys see their
share of fastballs)
6. Uncle Jesse (steady veteran presence; could easily hit 3, 4 or
5)
7. Enos (Anybody who questions this must remember that he was good
enough that CBS gave him his own short-lived CHIPs-style spinoff as an
LA cop. The true under-appreciated star of the show.)
8. Cooter (Not a bad guy, just never gonna give you much)
9. Cleatus (The fat deputy who replaced Enos was a Sean Burroughs
type. Bad body and you expect more from him, but he ends up being just a space-filler)
3. Finally, as for the Dukes as "family entertainment," I gotta
wonder. Weren't they moonshiners? And wasn't Daisy one of the
first examples of TV T&A who eventually inspired a horrific rap song? And didn't Bo and Luke get in a fight a week at the Boar's Nest?
Wasn't the Boar's Nest a bar? (Which brings to mind this question: why the hell were they running moonshine if booze was legal? Wouldn't the legal availability of hooch cut down demand for the shine and, thus,
kill the Duke's profit margin?) By this definition, the movie
"Superfly" where if memory serves, the hero was a cocaine dealer is
the stuff of Disney.
Bottom line I am not going to go see the Dukes movie because it
looks like complete crap. But I'm glad to see that even former
Congressmen know how to use a mundane pop culture event to generate publicity.
Just a brilliant email, there. I'm not even going to try to top it.
The Lobstermaniac writes: I suggest Michael Gee as guest columnist for Dave's World.
But no sports talk. He can only opine on what "hotties" he's scoped out at the mall while filling out applications at the Orange Julius.
Too easy.
Anthony P. DiF. (not the author's real name) writes: Is it just me or does the creation of Sidekick mean you can read the exact same story in three different locations each day: 1. Sidekick; 2. Living; 3. Weekly page; and maybe 4. Metro, if it's a newsworthy event.
Speaking of which, Friday's Sidekick finally got around to writing about that women's wrestling show/movie at the Coolidge Corner Theater. That made Sidekick the 4,543rd and final news outlet to get around to writing about it, I believe El Mundo and the Duxbury Mariner did their stories on Thursday. And I don't even know if Boston has a paper called El Mundo, but if its does, they probably did a women's wrestling story.
Which brings us to, of course, wrestling. Dave's World Advisory Board Chairman Christopher Warren tells of one of the most terrifying moments of his childhood:
Middle-aged folks love to talk about where they were when JFK was
shot. Well, my generation wasn't born then, so we can't play that
game. I remember where I was when JFK Jr. crashed his plane (an
Applebee's across the street from the Centrum in Worcester) but
outside of maybe 9/11 or the O.J. verdict, this generation doesn't
have that defining "where were you?" moment.
Unless you were a wrestling fan circa July of 1991.
That's when the Ultimate Warrior made an ill-advised appearance on
The Funeral Parlor during this particular WWF SuperStars episode. The
Undertaker came out from an upright casket on the set and attacked
Warrior from behind as he talked with pasty Paul Bearer in front of
another casket —- one that Undertaker had specially crafted for
Warrior. Sure enough, Warrior ended up in the casket. But that wasn't
enough for Taker, who sealed the air-tight casket, then broke the
lock off of it, trapping Warrior inside.
In reality, Warrior was fine, offering a coy struggle from inside the
prop while WWF officials tried 'desperately' to open it before it was
too late.
I wasn't doing nearly as well. Having recently turned 11 and being
the biggest fan in Warrior Nation (did you have a Warrior Wrestling
Buddy? The pillow thing in the shape and colors of a WWF superstar?
Didn't think so), I was overcome by panic.
What do I do first? Call the police? Call the local hospital for an
update on Warrior's condition? No, there was only one man to turn to:
My Dad.
Dad is a private investigator and often works the overnight shift, as
was the case on this fateful morning. But I needed someone to talk
to. A voice of reason.
Sitting at the edge of my bed as SuperStars went to that Thompson
Weather Seal commercial for the 1,000th time that morning, I debated
whether to wake Dad up. Finally, I wandered down the hall and rousted
him from his slumber.
Turns out Dad didn't care too much about the Warrior's condition. I
believe he mentioned something about not waking him unless the house
was on fire. Evidently Dad couldn't grasp the severity of the day's
events.
So I returned to my room hoping for any sort of update that wouldn't
come for another seven days. I resigned to adjust my rabbit ear
antennae just enough to pick up the Fox affiliate out
of Springfield so I could watch the show again at noon. It was no
less frightening. And I'll never forget the events of that day.
Now that's good stuff. For me, it was when Mr. Fuji and Mr. Saito won the tag team belts from Tony Garea and Rick Martel when I was eight. Mr. Saito, according to Vince McMahon, "Pearl Harbored" Martel by throwing salt in his eyes while Martel came off the top rope, then Saito pinned Martel (with the ref not noticing the white powder all over the mat, or maybe he thought it was another powder he usually saw in the dressing room) to win the titles.
I went and nagged my grandmother about this, who basically said "oh, that's nice, dear." No! It was not nice! It was a grave injustice. And learning my lesson from this episode, to this day when I see a Saito type walking down the street, I put my hands in front of my face to shield my eyes, just in case.
And finally, my latest piece for bostonsportsreview.com is up, a take on what the NHL needs to focus on now that they've got the money thing figured out, at least on paper.
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