Chris Benoit and Unions

Writing about Benoit and the future of wrestling last week, I said that it wouldn't surprise me if this was the end of the line for the WWE, the McMahon family, or maybe even pro wrestling as we know it. Here's a piece I wrote making the case for the necessity of a pro wrestler's union.

I know, it sounds crazy. But have a look at this outstanding USA Today piece. Between 1997 and 2004, USA Today found that:

about 1,000 wrestlers 45 and younger have worked on pro wrestling circuits worldwide, wrestling officials estimate.

USA TODAY's examination of medical documents, autopsies and police reports, along with interviews with family members and news accounts, shows that at least 65 wrestlers died in that time . . .

Wrestlers have death rates about seven times higher than the general U.S. population, says Keith Pinckard, a medical examiner in Dallas who has followed wrestling fatalities. They are 12 times more likely to die from heart disease than other Americans 25 to 44, he adds. And USA TODAY research shows that wrestlers are about 20 times more likely to die before 45 than are pro football players, another profession that's exceptionally hard on the body.

I suspect that if the NHL, NBA, or NFL had death rates like that, Congress would shut them down in a blink. But if pro wrestling is protected from such scrutiny precisely because it isn't a sport, then the least they can do is have a union to improve working conditions and protect the wrestlers. Even Broadway actors have Equity.

The New Nancy Drew

In the WSJ Jennifer Graham gives us a wonderful observation about the problems posed by the new Nancy Drew's age:

In the classic series of books that peaked during the Eisenhower administration, Miss Drew was a young woman, either 16 or 18 years old, depending on the driving laws of the time. She had already stepped out of the pimply pool of seething neuroses that we call high school, and dwelled, unencumbered by a day job, in an orderly world where your housekeeper prepared the meals and tweedy new clothes were charged to your father's account at the local department store. The old Nancy was so mature that the actress who portrayed her on television in the 1970s posed for Playboy. If the new Nancy Drew did that, child pornography laws would have been broken.

The 56 mysteries that made up the original Nancy Drew series, published by Grosset & Dunlap, were sparsely illustrated. But the covers and crude sketches within showed a smartly dressed young woman with classic clothes and a demure, almost matronly, hair style. The reader is told that she is a teenager, but given her demeanor and skill set (Nancy can handle a gun, change a tire, fly a plane, sew a dress and perform water ballet), she transcended the indignities of adolescence and always seemed old enough to drink (not that our heroine ever would).

The Nancy in the Warner Bros. movie, disappointingly, is just a girl. She attends high school and hangs with a puerile, wisecracking 12-year-old. She bribes thieves and clerks with homemade baked goods and carries a "sleuthing kit," no doubt coming soon to a Wal-Mart near you. Approaching cheesiness, she is a caricature of the adolescent overachiever, a girl who outruns her peers on the high-school track with a Peter Pan collar and exaggerated steps; who builds the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in shop class, saying "I only had time for 12 flying buttresses--in actuality there are 26."

Baby boomer mothers who take their daughters to the film expecting the classy heroine of their youth will find instead a 99-minute mockumentary of what Martha Stewart must have been like as a tweener.

Read the rest. Graham has a deep insight into why the filmmakers had to do it this way.

Sixers News. Sigh.

Big night last night. Great draft. Couple of franchise players in the mix. And the Philadelphia '76ers were wheeling and dealing!

The 7-foot, 240-pound Smith played three years for the Rams, and is also known as a good athlete. . . .

With the 30th overall pick, the Sixers selected 19-year-old Finnish guard Petteri Koponen. They later traded Koponen to Portland for the 42nd overall pick and cash.

The Sixers already had the 38th overall pick, and used it on Ukranian center Kyrylo Fesenko. Right at the end of the night, though, the Sixers traded Fesenko to Utah for the rights to the 55th overall pick, Providence center Herbert Hill. . . .

When the 42nd pick came around, Portland took 6-foot-7, 220-pound Vanderbilt guard Derrick Byars on the Sixers' behalf.

Forget movement for movement's sake--that's how you build a dynasty!

Watchmen Watch

Okay, go ahead and get your geek on.

Benoit and the Future of Wrestling

I haven't written much else on the Benoit murder-suicide this week because I'm writing about it elsewhere, but simply looking at the progress of the story, a few things are striking:

* The WWE has been incredibly aggressive in their public posture, which is unexpected. They initially released a statement attacking the media for suspecting steroids might have been involved. They then released, of their own accord, a detailed timeline of the affair and the Benoit text messages, which now seems to have disappeared from their website. (Or maybe they've just moved it?) Vince McMahon then went on the Today show and walked away from the earlier statement on steroids. As an organization, the company is acting oddly. Why were they so defensive about steroids? Why were they trying to build a timeline proving what they knew and when they knew it?

* Then there's the Wikipedia story:

Benoit's Wikipedia entry was altered early Monday to say that the wrestler had missed a match two days earlier because of his wife's death.

A Wikipedia official, Cary Bass, said Thursday that the entry was made by someone using an Internet protocol address registered in Stamford, Conn., where World Wrestling Entertainment is based. . . .

WWE attorney Jerry McDevitt said that to his knowledge, no one at the WWE knew Nancy Benoit was dead before her body was found Monday afternoon.

(A slightly scary footnote to this is that it was reporters who noticed the Wikipedia change, not the police.)

* And then there's the not-unexpected steroid subplot, by which we learned that Benoit's doctor has had his license suspended. Federal officials raided his office on Wednesday night. But I haven't seen many remarks on this obscure detail about Daniel Benoit:

Needle marks were found in Daniel's arm, said Fayette County District Attorney Scott Ballard. He said authorities suspect "that the boy had been taking growth hormones for quite some time," and are hoping to prove that with toxicology. The boy, Ballard said, was diagnosed with a form of dwarfism.

Daniel was found face down on his bed, but authorities said they do not know whether he was sleeping when he was killed. Ballard said authorities believe the child was asphyxiated using a choke hold.

So there you have a wrestler who may have had his 7-year-old son on the juice and who may have used a wrestling move to kill him.

What does this all add up to? This may be wrestling's perfect storm. If all of these facts bear out as the investigation continues--and maybe they won't--then I think we may be looking at the end of professional wrestling as we know it.

The logic of this investigation may well propel us to a point where (1) Lawmakers get involved and attempt to clean up the industry and/or the publicly-held WWE comes under enormous pressure to get rid of its majority owners (the McMahon family). At this point, I'd say that both outcomes are possible, and maybe even likely. And judging from the WWE's behavior in recent days, I suspect that they have a similar read of the situation.

Update: Bruce Hart obviously has bad feelings toward the WWE (and rightly so), but here's his assessment of Benoit:

"The last time I saw him he was in pretty rough shape mentally," said Bruce Hart, son of the legendary Stu Hart. "I didn't know all the details but I knew it wasn't good. I was not at all shocked (by what happened).

"If I could see and determine that in a few visits, how the hell could they (World Wrestling Entertainment) not have known something was wrong? (In my opinion) I think the WWE needs to re-evaluate what it is doing here."

Update 2: An anonymous person claiming to be the mystery poster from Stamford, CT, now says that he/she was just speculating about Nancy Benoit's death and was just passing on rumors he/she had heard/read elsewhere and that it was all just a huge and terrible coincidence.

Maybe this is true. I imagine this is why police have TARU departments.

Don't Forget About Sony

It's been hours--days, even--since we've visited the ongoing Sony PS3 debacle. So have a look at this:

Namco Bandai, Sega of Japan and Capcom are all shifting their development support to Nintendo's Wii and DS, according to a report on Variety Asia.

Leading the change in priorities is Namco Bandai, which intends to up its Nintendo output by 109 per cent with a massive 115 titles scheduled for fiscal 2007.

Also backing Nintendo is Sega, which has 49 titles due on the two formats, an increase of 96 per cent. Capcom has 20 titles in development, an increase of 5 per cent, says the survey.

It also clams that the three major publishers are slashing shipments for Sony's consoles by 30-40 per cent over the coming year.

But Blockbuster is only renting Blu-Ray!

(Too bad Blockbuster is on the fast-track to extinction.)

Update: QED: Blockbuster announces plans to close 282 stores.

Advantage: Cleverness!

Say what you will about Slate, they're always clever--and this Keith Phipps piece on the blockbusters of 2008 is a perfect example of Slate at its clever best.

Well played!

Wimbledon Notes

Did you catch the Tim Henman-Carlos Moya match yesterday? Unbelievable. They don't play tie breaks in the fifth set at the All England Club, and after blowing four match points at 5-4, Henman found himself deadlocked with Moya at 5-5 in the fifth on Monday night. They called the match on account of darkness and emerged ready to decide matters on Tuesday, which is when the action really began.

After a match filled with breaks, Moya and Henman held serve over and over again. Finally, in the 23rd game of the fifth set, Henman faced break point. It might as well have been match point. He dug out an ace. Then, facing another breaker a few moments later, he conjured a second-serve ace. He held.

Henman won the next two points on Moya's serve, and eventually found himself with a fifth match point. Moya fought it off. Same with the sixth. Then, after his seventh match point and 4 hours and 11 minutes, Tim Henman, 32-years-old, advanced to the second round of his 14th Wimbledon. The score read:

6-3, 1-6, 5-7, 6-2, 13-11

It might have been the match of his life.

Henman is one of those semi-tragic figures in sports. He's on the short-list of best players of his generation never to win a major and in the four chances where he's gotten closest--his four semi-final berths at Wimbledon--he seemed overwhelmed by the burden placed on him by his countrymen. Had he been from Finland, he might well have won one of those championships. (Probably in 2001 when he beat Federer in the quarters--Federer having just taken out Sampras in the previous round.)

That said, he's a fighter and a striver and an old man facing the end of his career. He deserved a win like this.

Another Wrestling Death—Updated

After noting the fake death of Vince McMahon yesterday, I now see that wrestling great Chris Benoit has died for real. The story is highly disturbing:

Details of the deaths of pro wrestler Chris Benoit, his wife and their 7-year-old son may seem "a little bizarre" when released to the public, a prosecutor said.

Authorities were investigating the deaths at a secluded Fayette County home as a murder-suicide and were not seeking any suspects outside the home. . . .

Investigators believe Benoit, (pronounced ben-WAH,) killed his wife and son over the weekend and then himself sometime Monday. The bodies were found Monday afternoon in three different rooms of the house on Green Meadow Lane, in a subdivision off a gravel road about two miles from Whitewater Country Club. . . .

Ballard told The Associated Press a gun was not used in any of the deaths. But he declined to say how the three died.

"We're pretty sure we know, but we want to confirm it with the crime lab," Ballard said early Tuesday. . . .

World Wrestling Entertainment said on its Web site that it asked authorities to check on Benoit and his family after being alerted by friends who received "several curious text messages sent by Benoit early Sunday morning."

I wonder if, having a real murder in their family will shame the WWE out of continuing with the storyline of the fake murder of Vince McMahon.

Update: I've been thinking a little more about how strange the WWE's decision was to pull Raw last night and run a Chris Benoit "tribute" show instead. I was watching that last night and listening to the announcers lamenting the death of the Benoit family and remembering what a great guy Benoit was, but even as that was happening, it seemed clear from the wire reports that the Man of a Thousand Holds had murdered his wife and child.

I suspect last night's "tribute" show will disappear down the WWE memory hole pretty quickly--the tape may have been burned right after it aired. But there's something grotesque about it nonetheless.

Update II: The airbrushing has begun! Less than 12 hours after lionizing Chris Benoit on a Very Special Episode of Raw, the WWE is disappearing him:

In light of the Benoit family tragedy, WWE's Shopzone merchandise website has pulled all merchandise related to Chris Benoit. Searches for Benoit's name in the website's search engine are returned "discontinued."

Benoit's name has been removed to the degree that the listing for the DVD of Wrestlemania XX now reads, "Triple H defends his World Heavyweight Championship against Shawn Michaels."

In case you're wondering, that Wrestlemania XX match is what they closed the show with last night, calling it Benoit's greatest moment.

Update III: TMZ now has more details on the murder-suicide.

Make a Simpsons Cartoon of Yourself

Totally brilliant.

Is Vince McMahon Dead?

Of course not. But this is a pretty interesting discussion of what his "death" could mean, financially speaking, for the WWE.

What interests me more is what his death could mean for wrestling creatively. Yes, I know that real wrestling fans watch TNA these days. But the problem with the WWE for the last several years has been the combination of giving up the pretense to realism while at the same time letting the McMahons dominate the storylines. They can't ever go back from becoming pure "entertainment," but maybe getting rid of the McMahons (or at least Vince) could liberate the writers. Of course, the McMahons write much of the copy, too, so they probably aren't going anywhere and this stunt will probably be short-lived. It's Crash TV all over again.

The Celebrity-Industrial Complex

Ron Rosenbaum has a great dissection of the pseudo-literate celebrity profile. Well worth your time.

If you read enough of these magazines you will, once in a blue moon, run across a celeb profile that's pure hit-piece. The infamous GQ cover on Mira Sorvino comes to mind, as does the first Vanity Fair piece on the Hilton sisters many years ago. Those things are always quickly flushed down the memory hole, but when they happen, they're beautiful to behold.

How Many Takes?

The studs at Pajiba found this fantastic, mesmerizing video:



I can't quite figure out what's going on here. Is this a dot.com start-up? A graduate seminar? A very experimental theater group? Whatever the case, it makes me want to be young again.

And the camera work is pretty impressive.

(Yes, I know that this is a recruitment video from the Connected Ventures people. Still, I prefer to think of College Humor and Busted Tees as advanced performance art.)

P.S.: I could swear I spotted both Warren and Andrew in there. No Jonathan, though. Or bitchin' Death Star van.

My name is Judge!

Roy Pearson is suing his dry cleaner for losing a pair of his pants. He's seeking $54 million in damages. But that's not the best part.

The kicker is that Roy Pearson is a judge.

Why I'm Skeptical about The Sopranos, Part 2

Part 1 here. Here's Slate's Stephen Metcalf talking about the show: "For me, the show had, in its recent iterations, become like church, an every-Sunday obligation long on piety and atmospherics, short on actual belief."

"Triumph of the Wii"

Galley Friend P.S. sends us this Wired story on the Wii, which is worth its weight in gold just for the headline. Here's the killer graph:

The simpler-games philosophy has proven to be a lucrative one. Nintendo recently reported operating income of 226 billion yen ($1.9 billion) for fiscal 2007, up 150 percent from 2006. Meanwhile, Sony's games division experienced a drop in operating income of more than 80 percent. Analyst firm iSuppli reported in November that Sony is taking a $250 loss on every PS3 sold.

It's a Good News/Bad News Situation

Ronnie Mars is dead. That's the bad news. The good, or at least promising, news is that the comic-book version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Season 8 has sold so well that DC has approached Rob Thomas about doing a comic version of Veronica Mars: Season 4.



Which actually could be pretty great, seeing as how much fun the Buffy comics have been.

The Greatest Punch-Out Video Ever

Remember the kids doing stop-motion, people-pixel versions of classic videogames? This isn't quite at that level. But it's very, very close.

Check out Mike Tyson's Punch-Out: The Movie. You won't be sorry.

The Michael Jordan of Women's Basketball Retires

It's a sad, sad day. Incidentally, does anyone remember how many "Michael Jordans of women's basketball" have been pushed on us by the Four Letter Network in recent years. I'm thinking there's been four of them (Staley, Lobo, Holdsclaw, and Taurasi), but there may have been others.

I think that's more than the "next Michael Jordans" in the mens game.

More Sopranos! Updated!

Note: I've moved this back to the top because the stuff from Andy Ferguson is so perfect.

I don't mean to be a spoilsport, but again, I just don't get this media elite obsession with The Sopranos. Let's grant that it's a great show. A truly great show. Let's put it up on the shelf with Buffy, Homicide, and the other great hour-long dramas. Heck, if you want to, put it at the top of the list. The amount of attention being given over to the series finale seems slightly turbo. Driving to work this morning, both of my sports-talk radio stations were dissecting it; it was the cover of the New Yorker last week; in addition to VLM's entry below, Dean Barnett has a highly intelligent analysis of it, too.

But when we see the numbers on the broadcast tomorrow, I suspect we'll be looking at a show with around (maybe) 15 million viewers, probably fewer. At its peak, The Sopranos was doing 13.4 million viewers. This season, using a new-and-improved Nielsen system, the show has averaged between 10 million and 11 million per episode, including people who watch it on DVR and using On Demand.

That puts The Sopranos in the same neighborhood as CSI: New York and Two and a Half Men. Yet for some reason, The Sopranos got a send-off to rival the ends of M*A*S*H and Seinfeld, shows with bona fide mass-appeal.

If this is all about saluting quality television, then I'm all for it. I can't wait for the BSG New Yorker cover next year. And I'm eagerly anticipating the massive coverage of the soon-to-be-departed Veronica Mars.

But something tells me that the Soprano-mania is about something more. There's a certain clubby-ness to the Sopranos coverage. A Bos-Was axis of elitism, if you will.

Enough sourness. Even if it is getting obnoxiously disproportionate treatment, David Chase, the writers, cast, and crew are to be congratulated for putting together such great television. And HBO is to be congratulated for backing the series. Programming executives at other networks could learn a thing or two from them.

Update: I'm a nitwit, of course, because Andrew Ferguson made this argument, only better and funnier, a long time ago. Have a taste:

THE SOPRANOS airs the fourth, or maybe the fifth, episode of its television season this Sunday. Or is it the sixth? It's very hard to keep track. In any case, the show is still sailing along on an updraft of favorable publicity that is extraordinary even by the standards of television, where hallucinatory embellishment and repetition are basic communication strategies. The coverage and critical notices that swarmed over the show's season premiere, when it debuted on the cable channel HBO four or five or six weeks ago, read more like advertising than journalism. And there's no sign of a trailing off.

Bonus: Here's more Ferguson, putting his finger on exactly what bothers me:

A very large majority of Americans don't even have access to HBO and therefore, of course, to The Sopranos. It costs money to watch The Sopranos -- an extra 200 dollars or more a year for people who already get cable, and much more than that for people who would have to initiate cable service and then add the premium channels to boot. Difficult as it is for some of us to believe, most people in the United States have chosen not to spend the extra money. What this means is that, relative to the universe of TV watchers, The Sopranos isn't being seen by very many people. On any given night in prime time, 80 million Americans or more will be staring at the television in a futile attempt to obliterate the piled-up frustrations and petty resentments and failed dreams that constitute their pathetic little lives. Or maybe they're just watching TV to pass the time. Whichever. The important point is, not many of them are watching The Sopranos, which on a typical Sunday will be seen by roughly 8 million viewers -- or one out of ten of the total.

This makes it a great triumph for HBO, but only a middling success measured against the standards of network commercial television. For network TV, a smash superboffo megahit -- excuse the technical terminology -- would be Survivor, the sadistic reality show that will sometimes snag
40 million viewers or more. On its face, then, The Sopranos's 8 million looks like small potatoes.

But what potatoes! Among the couch spuds will be (it's safe to say) the entire combined editorial and business staffs of GQ, Newsweek, the New Yorker, and so on, and the staffs, excluding paperboys, of every sizable newspaper from the New York Times down to the New Orleans Times-Picayune. And all of them (likewise safe to say) seem oblivious to the possibility that anyone else is not watching. They continue to write their stories about their particular entertainment obsession, all of which assume that The Sopranos is a mass phenomenon on the order of, say, the televised Olympics or a runaway hit movie like Titanic. But of course it isn't.

The saturation coverage of The Sopranos is another instance of a cultural development that has become increasingly un-ignorable, though still stubbornly ignored. Along with the rest of the American elite -- "the top one percent," to borrow a useful figure of speech -- the mainstream organs of opinion and news have detached themselves from the common life to a degree we haven't seen in many years. It should go without saying that just about every subject television touches it renders idiotic -- think of politics brought to you by Hardball, high finance brought to you by CNBC, even weather brought to you by the hysterics on the Weather Channel -- but once upon a time you could say this in its defense: TV created a kind of shared experience for the country at large. We all trusted Walter Cronkite, we all laughed at Laugh-In, we all accepted Ed Sullivan's taste. The wealthy and the working class, the banker and the baker: They all watched the same crap.

Not any more. The Sopranos is the entertainment equivalent of the gated community. The well-to-do now retreat to their own corner of the television world, with the obliviousness that has always been a hallmark of the rich and privileged.

It seems we've barely begun to scrape the surface of last night's episode of The Sopranos. I've been receiving multiple emails regarding the significance of every single detail in the diner scene--particularly the other patrons. The man at the counter is supposedly Nikki Leotardo, Phil's nephew who made an appearance last season (technically the first half of the season)--we can assume why he went to the bathroom, a la The Godfather. The two African Americans are apparently the same men who tried to kill Tony in the "car-jacking" in Season One (and by order of Uncle Junior). The boy scouts were all at the train store when Bobby was gunned down. The trucker in the back booth once had to identify his brother's body in some truck heist gone bad (one that involved Christopher).

What this means is that Tony gets it. The sudden blackness of the screen is how he would have experienced the hit in his own eyes (so to speak). Remember his talk with Bobby about how a hit happens? That you probably don't even know it?

And I thought I was clever for realizing Patsy Parisi's wife was played by the same woman from Saturday Night Fever and the short-lived sitcom Angie (Donna Pescow).

Now What?

"That was fucking weird." At the very end of the read-through for the final episode of The Sopranos, that was supposedly all James Gandolfini could say while Edie Falco started to cry. Now that the series has finally ended, the sentiment makes much more sense.

At the same time, as far as great television show finales go, this one was in many appropriate. We couldn't get enough of New Jersey's mob family and as such we are left dying for more. And while much remains unresolved, several plotlines have been concluded: Tony has finally made peace with Uncle Junior, who will spend his dying days in a decrepit mental institution (Tony is all the more sad when he reminds his senile uncle that their family "once" ran New Jersey). Paulie Walnuts was, is, and always will be the good soldier, leaving us where he's always been, in front of Satriale's, catching some rays (though soon to be heading the cursed Cifaretto crew). Anthony Jr. will continue to struggle while seeing his therapist, sounding more and more like his father (including his last line about remembering the good times--a touching reference to the end of Season One). Phil Leotardo's reign finally came to an end--thanks to an FBI tip--getting shot and inadvertently having his head crushed by his own tire (and thereby no open casket, the ultimate insult). As I long suspected, Butchie Deconcini would play a crucial role til the end, though I didn't think as a peacemaker. We can assume he rises in the ranks as well, maybe even heading that family.

Or maybe not. Could an ambush have been in the works? Fans will be talking about the final scene at the diner for a long time. It could easily have been family coming together, just like the end of the first season, but there was barely a second you actually felt comfortable watching. Was Tony going to be arrested? (We know he was probably going to be indicted. What did the FBI agent say? "We're gonna win this thing.") What was the deal with the guy at the counter who goes to use the bathroom? (Notice as Tony flips through the jukebox selections, the first song we see is "This Magic Moment," played in the first episode of this season.) Who were the two African Americans who walk in at the very end? Why did we have to watch Meadow make several attempts to parallel park, then run across the street looking frazzled? Tony looks up and ... The End?

The darkness on my screen, lasting for maybe ten seconds or more, made me think the set went out (there would have been riots at Comcast). But instead, that was how David Chase wanted to leave it: Their lives and their stories will continue to go on--it was just our stop and we had to get off (forced off, really).

No doubt Chase will have lots of explaining to do. Will there ever be a followup? How about a Christmas Special? One thing I do know is I am passing on "John From Cincinnati," canceling my Platinum Package with Comcast (yes, I know, that means goodbye to "Passion Cove," "Hotel Erotica," and "Sex Games Cancun") and getting on with my life. Who knows, I might actually get something done.

Disney, Pirates, Destruction of Childhood, et al

From Galley Brother B.J.:

First, Pirates of the Carribean is remade from a classic ride with a timeless story to a crappy movie tie in, that will have to get changed in 5 years when everyone forgets who Captain Jack Sparrow is. And, now they’re putting pirates on Tom Sawyer Island (an attraction designed by Walt Disney).

Have You Hugged a Realtor Today?

I have not historically been kind to realtors, but this awesome post on NAR's former chief economist is the meanest, awesomest thing ever. EVER.



Check out the graphic. All hail The Big Picture!

French Open Notes

Not really, because this has nothing to do with the open, but here's a rad Agassi story from back in the day:

Q. There's a story that you were in a batting cage once and ran at the machine and hit line drives. Is that true?

ANDRE AGASSI: Yeah, it is.

Q. When was that?

ANDRE AGASSI: I don't remember. A year, couple years ago. Time moves quick. It was a long time ago, I think. Probably longer than that even now.

I'm used to moving forward and hitting, and hitting moving objects so...

Q. How hard were the pitches coming?

ANDRE AGASSI: It was cranked up. I don't know. They said 90, but I don't know.

Q. Little easier with a racquet than a bat.

ANDRE AGASSI: Yeah, but it's a pitching machine. The thing's coming ‑‑ 90 miles an hour looks slow if it's not moving. That thing was just coming straight ahead, so I could hit it with a toothpick.

Keeping Score with the Commies

Ever wonder what arcade games were like in the Soviet Union? Thanks to Wired, now we know: A Soviet military manual explained that the game, mostly knock-offs of early Japanese games, were meant for "entertainment and active leisure, as well as the development of visual-estimation abilities."

Also, none of them kept high scores.

What's in a Name

Courtesy of Galley Brother B.J., the Long Beach Armada now have the longest name in professional sports: the Long Beach Armada of Los Angeles of California of the United States of North America Including Barrow, Alaska.

For reals.

Hard Core Pornography

Sure, this is all perfectly safe for work, but let us not play games. We are not children. This video of the SU-37 is pure porn. And it's awesome.

(Link courtesy of Galley Friend M.G., who also has posted similar video of the F-22.)

The Best $1.79 You'll Ever Spend

Send a Mars Bars; save Veronica Mars.

It worked for Roswell.

Bonus: T.R., you should send about 50 of them.

Well no one's going to top that.

I don't quite know why, but I think that 90 percent of the time, bleeped out swearing is funnier than hearing the actual dirty words. (The notable exception to this being certain South Park cursing sprees.)

Czabe, Wie

Steve Czaban is the best sports talk-radio guy in America. Or at least the one whose own personal obsessions align most closely with mine. I can't get enough of him. You can catch his Fox Sports Radio show during morning drive time in many markets or on XM.

He's been following Michelle Wie's implosion pretty closely because (a) he's a golf nerd and (b) he's a Wie hater. (Aside: If she does manage to salvage her career, Nintendo needs to have Wie Wii Golf, no?)

Czabe has a column up on Wie that's pretty hot:

Even if you want to believe the convenient "Look At My Wrist, It's Bandaged!" excuse, it doesn't explain what a train wreck she was last week. A bum wrist doesn't explain total ineptitude.

Playing partner Alena Sharp said she thought Wie would withdraw at the turn. "She didn't look like she was there," Sharp said. "She didn't focus like usual."

Chris Baldwin of Travelgolf.com makes an excellent point: "If your wrist is so hurt that you cannot play two more holes, do you immediately start talking about playing 72 the very next week?"

Robert Thompson of OntGolf.com noted Wie's cryptic -- if not dishonest -- answer to a legitimate question at that week's press conference about the comeback from her injury. When asked when she had recovered sufficiently to resume playing, Wie claimed not to remember. "I don't really want to go back into the past and talk about the injuries," she said.

Except when you need that injury to avoid a one-year ban from the LPGA Tour; then, she'll be happy to tell you all about it.

There hasn't been an injury this convenient since Al Czervik in the big money match at Bushwood: "Oooh, my arm! I think it's broken!" . . .

The choice not to dominate junior ranks first, amateur ranks second, college ranks third, the LPGA next and then -- only then -- take a stab at making a PGA Tour cut is a disastrous decision the full effects of which are just now beginning to be felt.

Great golfers at some point learn to hit the shots that are easy on the range, in the furnace of competition. They learn how to close.

Wie skipped all of that. And there's no turning back. It would be like building a house with tainted cement, and sub-grade lumber. From the outside, it'll look like a nice house. But, nothing will be right inside. Nothing.

Meet the Stokkes

Remember Allison Stokke? Of course you do.



She recently vaulted to national fame when the Washington Post ran a front-page story on her pernicious internet celebrity. Here's a snippet from the piece:

Stokke read on message boards that dozens of anonymous strangers had turned her picture into the background image on their computers. She felt violated. It was like becoming the victim of a crime, Stokke said.

Stokke's family, including her father, Al, seemed to agree with her and be concerned about how terrible her new-found celebrity was.

With Leather gently hints at the irony here: Al Stokke is a noted defense attorney in Orange County and has tried a number of high-profile cases:

* In early 2007, Al Stokke represented a cop who pulled over a female motorist. During the course of the traffic stop, he somehow ejaculated onto her sweater. Said Stokke, "She got what she wanted. She's an overtly sexual person." Stokke won the case.

* In 2005/2006 Stokke represented a female teacher who was charged with molesting three of her male students, one of whom was 11 years old. "Where was she when I was 13?" Stokke asked the jury. Stokke lost that case.

Charming. But With Leather does not mention what is probably Stokke's best-known case, the Haidl gang rape. In 2002 three young men raped an unconscious minor. They videotaped the assault. Stokke represented the lead rapist, Gregory Haidl. Here's the OC Weekly's account:

Defense lawyer Al Stokke, who replaced lead trial attorney Joseph G. Cavallo, questioned any link between the rape and the victim’s claim of mental anguish. Stokke also mocked the girl’s physical injuries, finally conceding she was unconscious but then trying to use that against her. “There’s [no pain] that is felt,” he said, “because she was unconscious.”

Stokke "conceded" the girl's unconsciousness because the defense had originally insisted that she was just faking it.

This is the concerned father who was so upset by his 18-year-old daughter's picture being posted on the internet. Which is just like becoming the victim of a crime, right?

Michael Bay Speaks!

You don't have to wait for the Criterion version of The Transformers because The Bay took time out from banging starlets to talk with Yahoo. Explaining why there are flames on Optimus Prime, Bay says, "Why flames? Because I wanted flames."

Yes!

Posh, Jenny

Jenny Vegas has the funniest Posh Spice line maybe ever.

The Saddest Thing You've Ever Seen on the Internet

AICN, one of my favorite sites, has devolved into a bizarre, non-stop promotional tour for Eli Roth's new torture-porn movie, Hostel 2. Roth is buddies with AICN's proprietor, Harry Knowles. Lots of readers at AICN have revolted and the comment boards are filled with criticism of Roth, Hostel, and, in particular, Knowles. Here's Knowles defending himself against one ill-tempered talk-backer:

And who are you? I'm well over 7,000 friends on Myspace...

Well that's an argument ender.

"You're only hurting yourself, baby."

I'll always think of Clueless when I see Jeremy Sisto, but I'm kind of thrilled by his hiring for Law & Order, not least of which because I kind of liked Kidnapped (Ricky Jay on primetime network TV!) and was bummed that it got yanked so quickly.

Sisto will replace Milena Govich, the under-written WWE diva/detective from last season, whose character was the least interesting cop ever to appear on the show. I include here John Fiore's Detective Tony Profaci.

The real question is what happens to Jack McCoy. One of these days I'm going to get around to arguing that Sam Waterston's work with him is the finest example of sustained character work in the history of television. He never mails it in; he's always finding interesting angles; he gives all sorts of generous room to the actors around him onscreen; and somehow, after 13 years, he has never become a caricature. What a stud.

Vermont and The Empire

So I was a dorkofascist for pointing out that the complaints we hear about the Galactic Republic in Star Wars weren't particularly beyond the pale: Namely that the Republic had grown too big and sclerotic to be governable and responsive to the needs of individual planets.

Here's a hippie Vermonster talking about why Vermont should secede from the United States: "The argument for secession is that the U.S. has become an empire that is essentially ungovernable--it's too big, it's too corrupt and it no longer serves the needs of its citizens."

Sounds like someone is channeling Count Dooku and/or Senator Palpatine.

All Hail Ana Ivanovic

Not only does Ana Ivanovic look like a young Catherine Zeta-Jones, but during the second set of her round of 16 match this morning, her opponent hit a ball deep into the baseline, which the line judge called out. Ivanovic was right on top of the ball and she whiffed on it when it took at odd bounce. She immediately gestured to the chair umpire that the ball had been good.

She's like the anti-Henin.

Law & Order Deathwatch

Now that Fred Dalton Thompson has left the show, let's pause to give a huge round of applause for David Slack and Richard Sweren, who wrote #17.22, which may prove to be the final episode of modern era of Law & Order.

It's been a rough season, but the season finale, "The Family Hour," was unlike any episode I've ever seen from the show--it was fourth-wall busting absurdist theater with the writers taking two of the best TV characters from recent years--Oscar Bluth and Aaron Echolls--and dropping them into the Wolfiverse. Watching Sam Waterston's Jack McCoy try to make sense of this weird What If . . . crossover was beautiful. It was Law & Order's Jose Cheung moment.

And if that's the way the show goes out, I won't feel cheated.

Good Times with '70s Horror

Galley Reader M.B. sends us this awesome link to the DVD re-release of the Karen Black Trilogy of Terror movies starring . . . the Zuni doll!

Surely this is right up Lileks's alley, no?

Teen Titans to the Big Screen?

Warner Bros. has started movement on a Teen Titans movie with Akiva Goldsman producing and BSG stud Mark Verheiden writing. The Hollywood Reporter says:

Goldsman said the tone will be consistent with such recent Warners' comic book fare as "Batman Begins," "Superman Returns" and the upcoming "Watchmen."

That could be good news, I suppose.

Bonus: This is a shout-out to the conservative superstar intellectual who, after seeing me mention TT #36 in this essay emailed in saying, "Oh, the cover with Lightning and Thunder in the rain? I loved that cover." So hot.



Double Bonus: Remember how coveted the Teen Titans books were back in the '80s? Turns out you can buy the entire run for something like $200 now. Seriously. The 1980 New Teen Titans #1 is $24. The fancy, Baxter-paper line has #1 for $3.75 I paid $10 for that in 1985 dollars!

Despite what you may have heard, comic books are not a great financial investment.

French Open Notes

* I poked fun at Serena Williams for how out of shape she was at the Australian Open, so let's give credit where it's due: She looks like a Mac Truck this week. She's shed the weight and looks back in fighting trim--and it shows in how well she's moving and running down balls. Good for her.

* In a radio interview earlier this week, John Feinstein was asked why tennis has died in America. His answer: Because the players are so totally inaccessible. Feinstein's argument (I'm paraphrasing) was that in most sports, it's hard to get close to the top players (Kobe, Tiger, P. Manning). But on the ATP, it's not just the Sampras and Federer who are impossible to talk to, it's guys sitting at #57 in the rankings, too. And because the players are so insulated from both fans and the media, fans don't form attachments to them.

It's an interested theory. (And if you haven't read it, go read his Hard Courts right now. You'll love it.)

* It's been a long time since I've seen a player not named Hewitt act like a bigger jerk than Novak Djokovic did in the first round. Djokovic, the #6 seed, was beating up on Columbian Santiago Giraldo, a Lucky Loser qualifier, cruising through in three straight sets. Closing the match out in the third, Djokovic starts screaming, flexing, and posing after points like some weird, skinny Serbian version of Triple H.

I was kind of hoping Giraldo would get the Dragon on his ass.

* Meaningless bit of trivia: During his last seven Grand Slam victories, only three players not named Nadal have even managed to get a set off of Federer: Roddick, Baghdatis, and Agassi, who came the closest to pushing R. Fed to a fifth set.

HD DVD vs. Blu-Ray (cont.)

AICN's Harry K. has chosen HD-DVD. Which isn't really news. But if you follow the link you'll see an insane comments thread. I only got about halfway through before I gave up, so enter at your own peril.

Emperor, Clothes, etc.

Herc lays out a convincing rap against Kevin Williamson:

I'll never get why screenwriter Kevin Williamson got to have that big career. Wasn’t “Scream” a whole lot of nothing? Wasn’t “Scream 2” a whole lot more of the same? Didn’t “I Know What You Did Last Summer” suck? Wasn’t “Dawson’s Creek” a nonstop chunk of nonsense? Didn’t “Teaching Mrs. Tingle” supersuck? Didn’t “Wasteland” suck? Didn’t “Glory Days” suck? Didn’t “Cursed” suck?

Those who go into The CW's dim, pretentious “Hidden Palms” with the lowest of expectations - as I did - may still find themselves thoroughly underwhelmed. The key problem is 42-year-old millionaire Williamson is a not-funny guy who continues to believe he knows how to write funny teens.

Ouch.

Emperor, Clothes, etc.

Herc lays out a convincing rap against Kevin Williamson:

I'll never get why screenwriter Kevin Williamson got to have that big career. Wasn’t “Scream” a whole lot of nothing? Wasn’t “Scream 2” a whole lot more of the same? Didn’t “I Know What You Did Last Summer” suck? Wasn’t “Dawson’s Creek” a nonstop chunk of nonsense? Didn’t “Teaching Mrs. Tingle” supersuck? Didn’t “Wasteland” suck? Didn’t “Glory Days” suck? Didn’t “Cursed” suck?

Those who go into The CW's dim, pretentious “Hidden Palms” with the lowest of expectations - as I did - may still find themselves thoroughly underwhelmed. The key problem is 42-year-old millionaire Williamson is a not-funny guy who continues to believe he knows how to write funny teens.

Ouch.

A Glass Ceiling for Lax?

Paul Mirengoff has started following college lacrosse and now laments that that the game's popularity is expanding at the high school level, but that more college teams aren't being added because of Title IX:

As the Post also notes, however, the game is not expanding at the college level. Despite high school talent that is probably at least twice as deep as it was 10 or 20 years ago, the number of college men's lacrosse program has remained basically the same.

The Post doesn't explore the reasons for this, but Title IX must be the main culprit.

Galley Brother and lax superstar B.J. could probably evaluate this better than I can, but let me take a stab anyway.

Title IX is an abomination and should be taken off the books. That said, I'm not sure it's responsible for the lack of growth in college lax programs because while the number of Div. I programs hasn't grown significantly over the last 20 years, the number of serious Div. I programs has exploded.

Ten of fifteen years ago, nearly every Div. I lax program was in the national Top 25 because there weren't that many of them (I'm not going to look up the number because it's not essential to the argument). And within that Top 25, there were only really two or three serious programs: Syracuse, Johns Hopkins, and depending on the year, either Princeton or Maryland.

If you were even a moderately competent high school player, you could get a spot on whoever the 17th ranked team in the country was (Hofstra, maybe, or Delaware). There was no depth in the college game. There was no other Div. I varsity sport where you could be a mediocre player and still find a roster spot on a school somewhere.

But in recent years, as more and more high school kids have started to play lax, you've seen more and more Div. I programs become serious teams that can realistically compete at the championship level: Loyola, Duke, Georgetown, UNC, Navy, Notre Dame, Cornell, UVA, UMBC. Heck, this year Albany was a contender and Delaware went to the Final Four!

Since this is the first time that there's been enough talent to spread to more than two or three schools, I'd argue that college lacrosse is only just now becoming a normal, healthy varsity sport (instead of an exaggerated club activity). That's good for the game. And I think you could argue that, for now, there isn't any reason why there should be an explosion of varsity programs at the college level.

The Day the Laughter Died

I'm late to the news that Charles Nelson Reilly died last Friday. He was one of those strange Hollywood talents. My favorite memory of him is from the Jose Cheung episodes of X-Files, but I'm always thrilled to see him on Match Game re-runs.

I'd like to think that Rip Taylor tossed some confetti for CNR this weeekend.

The Queen Is Dead, Long Live the Queen

Pajiba has a fabulous eulogy for Veronica Mars, a show which snuck up into my list of all-time great hour-long dramas. They've got the perfect descriptive praise of the writing:

But the thing that hits me a moment before everything else is always the story itself. There’s a graceful kind of math to well-done structure, when characters are pulled apart or pushed together or sent sailing by each other in the night by the impassive hand of fate.

Dead on. All praise Rob Thomas and his writers.

Also, Awesome Dan Carlson has a partial list of great Mars lines. One of my favorites:

Veronica: You're patronizing me?
Keith: To be fair, I am your patron.

Has Ultimate Fighting Arrived?

Sports Illustrated has a story on it. That's something.

The Greatest Harry Potter Theory Ever?

Egged on by Galley Brother B.J.'s conjecture about the impending death of Mrs. Weasely, Galley Friend and Harry Potter Super Fan K.S. sends in this giant, super-crazy, and oddly persuasive theory: That Professor Minerva McGonagall is a traitor!

Read on, if you dare:

Here's where I dork out on HP and my McGonagall theory. Throughout the books, Dumbledore says that he trust Snape. But Minerva slides under our radar: She's just present enough to be likeable (a crotchety old maid, so to speak) and there are things that could be clues scattered throughout the series. I'll start at the beginning. Page cites are to softcover U.S. for Books 1-3, hardcover U.S. for books 4-6.

* In Book 1, before we even meet Harry for the first time, she is waiting--as a cat--at the Dursleys. She is surprised, ruffled, to see Dumbledore at the Dursleys, and did not know he'd recognize her as a cat. So, why was she there? How did she, of all people, know that Harry was going to his uncle's, and she questions Dumbledore about whether Voldemort is really gone. P. 9-11.

Remember also her reaction to the celebrations of Voldemort's death: she's cold, sharp, and angry. These are odd reactions, no? And she finds it "astounding" that Voldemort couldn't kill a little boy and wants to know how. P. 12.

Was she there to intercept Hagrid? Did she know about--and seek to stop--the protection of Harry's mother's family? Another thought: How old is McGonagall? We know she's quite old--older than Sirius/Snape/the Potters/Lupin. In a 2000 interview, J.K. Rowling says that McGonagall "is a sprightly 70" and that Wizards have a much longer life expectancy than Muggles. (2000 scholastic chat). Doesn't that put her at school about the same time as Riddle? (Wikipedia says she was born in 1925). And couldn't we see her as the Gryffindor Prefect at the same time he was the Slytherin Prefect?

Also, recall that she is the one who makes Harry a Seeker--and directly puts him into the line of danger when Quirrel tries to jinx his broom. Isn't it interesting that one of the most rigid and rule-following characters in the book (she won't let him go to Hogwarts w/o a permission slip in Book 5, for example), is so quick to break the rules to set up Harry in what could be seen as an "accident"? Recall her reaction when Harry and Ron tell her about the Philosopher's Stone? She reacts with "suspicion and shock". Also, why would she be the one to send him the broomstick? Isn't that kind of weird--she would have known that he had money from his parents, no?

Also, also, recall that the chess game--McGonagall's protection for the stone--was intact when they got to it--and they left it shambles. How did Quirrell get past it? Finally, I'm fascinated by Quirrell's reaction when Harry confronts him. He says "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat." Is that JRK's way of telling us that Snape is a red herring?

In Book 2, she's the one who finds the final message that says Ginny was taken into the Chamber, and tries to close the school. P. 293. Then, she says "weakly" that they'd all like to know how Harry and Ginny get out of the chamber and probes repeatedly for the answer. P. 327-328.

* In Book 3, McGonagall is mysteriously absent from the scene after Peter Pettigrew escapes. And she "goes white" when she says she "never speaks ill of her colleagues"--is she talking just about Trelawney there? (or even if she is, does she recall the prophecy)? P. 109. Moreover, doesn't she call Voldemort "the Dark Lord" when she takes Harry's new broom (a gift from Sirius) away from him? Harry later notes that only the Death Eaters call him that.

In Book 4, who is with Barty Crouch Jr. when the Dementor administers the kiss? McGonagall (and Cornelius Fudge). We know Dumbledore didn't want this to happen - why wouldn't his second in command, McGonagall, stop it? Also, recall that Voldemort says his "most faithful servant" was at Hogwart's. Is that Crouch? Too easy, I think. Sure, he's important in Book 4, but the story arc for him is short. Perhaps I'm too quick to dismiss the obvious, but I don't think it's him. Snape? I don't think so, because there are references in Book 6 to him having to go back to Voldemort after the hubbub dies down to sort out his role--he tells Narcissa and Bellatrix about this at Spinner's End. So at the point Voldemort says this, he didn't know Snape was coming back to him. So there must be another spy at Hogwarts. (At that point, Wormtail has already returned.) Note also that when Harry returns from the graveyard, McGonagall is one of the people trying to yank Harry away to the hospital wing. We know that it turns out badly when Crouch/Moody takes him away. Is it important that McGonagall has tried to do the same thing?

*In Book 5, McGonagall tells Harry about the importance of "keeping your head down and your temper under control". P. 249, 319.

When she's stunned by the ministry, which side is she on? P. 723-24. Note, however, that this is a hole in the McGonagall-as-spy theory: getting yourself stunned is not likely to be a stellar moment for a spy. And she's nowhere near the Ministry during the fight. Note also her response to Umbridge on how long she's been teaching at Howarts--doesn't that track fairly closely with the number of years since Riddle was there? I think that might (though I've not run the numbers exactly) help confirm she was at Hogwarts during the time Riddle was a student. Also, I feel like I remember that Madam Pomfrey somewhere in here comments on McGonagall's dueling prowess back during the day, but can't find the cite to it.

*In Book 6, Mcgonagall also digs for info when Katie Bell is cursed, and immediately dismisses Harry's Malfoy theory. P. 253-55.

As we know from later on, Malfoy is the one who started that curse--using the necklace from B&B. So McGonagall has--whether deliberately or unintentionally--thrown them off the track. Unless, of course, someone else has helped Malfoy. . . We know that Malfoy tells Snape the night of Slug's Xmas party that he has "other people" "better" than Goyle and Crabbe on his side. Next, after Dumbledore's death, McGonagall comes into the ward where Bill is. Harry tells her "Snape killed Dumbledore. " She says "Snape. We all wondered . . . But he trusted . . . always . . . Snape . . ." P. 615

Keep reading that passage and the next--it makes sense both with Dumbledore as "he" and Voldemort as "he." And, though McGonagall confesses she sent Flitwick to get Snape, she rather bizarrely can't recall the details of how he joined in the fight, and she recounts her tale "distractedly" P. 117. Isn't it an odd time not to remember what happened?

She is "curt" when saying Dumbledore would have been happier to think there is more love in the world. P. 624.

And then she tries to pry the info out of Harry about what happened, but he won't tell him anything in return. And she immediately suggests closing the school. P. 626-627.

Given the story arc, I think it's clear there has to have been a spy at Hogwarts and/or in the OoP. Snape's the easy answer: hate the guy who is mean to Harry. But isn't that too simple? McGonagall is the secret: we like her just enough throughout the books. However, J.K. Rowling herself says that McGonagall is an "old softy" and a "very worthy second in command"--but not Dumbledore's equal. (JKR's interview with scholastic in 2005, and 2000). Could be read both ways, no? Note also the sequence of cats Mrs. Figg has cats, Crookshanks, and McGonagall's an animagus. Moreover, in the movies--which we believe JKR has insight into, McGonagall is wearing green, as she does in the formal parties (whenever she's not wearing tartan).

Finally--one last thing: Wikipedia says the Queen of Spades depicts Minerva, AND spades in Tarot indicate obstacles, trouble, death.

Did I just blow your mind? Because that just happened. Fine work, K.S.

Pirates 3

Well, I guess it's up to Transformers now. (Although I have secret high hopes for the third Bourne.)

Anyway, treat yourself to Alexandra DuPont's review of PoC: At World's End. She's got one of the first--and only--reviews you're likely to see before Friday. And she's in full effect.

Federer vs. Sampras

It's happening. Albeit eight years too late.

I actually don't know who I like in a match-up of Sampras and Federer both in their primes. These theoretical tennis matches are always dependent on lots of things--for instance, are you talking about a player at his absolute single-moment peak, or at some rough approximation of how good they were during the meat of their career? In other words, if you're talking about a player at their very best moment, I think you have to consider McEnroe, who was downright scary in 1981. But if you consider the totality of his game, he's a top 10 (or 12) all-time player and isn't in league with Laver, Borg, et al.

But Sampras at his general best level against the Federer we've seen for the last couple years? I just don't know. Federer is such an amazing ball-striker, Sampras was probably the best pure athlete ever to play the game. Both could switch on their dominance and both had the ability to play a game basically independent of the guy on the other side of the net.

At this point in time, I give the smallest edge to Pistol Pete II, because he was so mentally tough. But I'm willing to be persuaded otherwise if Federer is able to assert himself over the coming wave of great young players who will be reaching maturity in the next 24 months or so.

(Andy Murray and Richard Gasquet, in particular, who look like monsters.)

Pop!

Galley Friend and Fourth Slave C.L. understands my obsession with the real estate bubble and has sent, in an attempt to drive me over the edge, this amazing link.

Go and be sure to read all the way down.

Update: But this post might even be better. Put Burbed in your RSS today.

The PS3 Surges!

If I were to tell you that the April game console sales numbers were in and that Sony's much-vaunted PS3 was tied with a certain Nintendo console, you'd think that was good news, right?

Except that the console the PS3 is tied with for the month was Nintendo's Game Boy Advance--a last generation handheld. Also, the PS3 wasn't actually tied with the Game Boy Advance, it was slightly behind it. Seriously:

Specifically, the NPD statistics supplied to Gamasutra by the firm reveal that the Nintendo DS dominated the month's hardware sales, with 471,000 units sold, closely followed by Nintendo's Wii console, which sold 360,000 units in April, despite continuing console shortages.

The Xbox 360 sold 174,000 units for the month, slightly behind the PlayStation 2, which managed 194,000 for April, and the PlayStation Portable, which sold 183,000 in the month. However, the PlayStation 3 again slumped, with just 82,000 units sold in April, again behind the Game Boy Advance, which sold 84,000 copies.

Fly, Eagles, Fly

The conventional wisdom in Philly is now that this will be Donovan McNabb's last season as an Eagle. Which is bad enough. Now comes Don McKee with a more depressing theory:

A few observers have opined that McNabb will be moved after the coming season. But here's a scenario that has him moving before September.

The Chicago Bears are ready to win the Super Bowl. They might have won it last year except for a glaring weakness at quarterback. Before the ever-popular "window" closes, the Bears need a quality QB to kick them over the hump.

This scenario obviously depends on two things. One, that McNabb is physically ready to play on Week 1 of the 2007 season. Two, that Chicago is convinced McNabb is their best available QB option.

(The fact that McNabb is from Chicago is, in my mind, irrelevant. The Bears would be just as interested in an available quality veteran if he were from Portland, Tucson or Montreal.)

But the key to this scenario is Bears linebacker Lance Briggs, who has said publicly that he will never play for Chicago again and who refused to report to minicamp on Friday.

Briggs is, arguably, the best weakside linebacker in the game and is only 26.

The question most Eagles fans are asking right now is: Why would the Bears make that deal?

Ummmm, that's not the first question that comes to my mind, actually.

Best Campain Poster Ever?

If Warner Bros. were to send me a placard of this:



I'd be a very happy camper. It would go right up in my office. Mind you, I don't have very high expectations for The Dark Knight, but I'm a big Two Face fan and Tom Jane is one of my favoritist actors, ever.

Bonus: That's just for you, S.B.

P.S.: I know. That's what makes it funny.

Uncle Junior's got laser beams shooting out of his eyes!

Okay, so I am still recovering from last night's tumultous episode of the Sopranos. (And if you have yet to see it, you might want to skip this.) Just a few thoughts:

As I guessed, the crooked-eyed Butchie Deconcini will play a potentially lethal role in the final two episodes of the show. (Actor Greg Antonacci simply exudes creepiness.) Of course the coming attractions are always deceptively spliced, but it seems Tony and Phil will face-off--the latter giving the order to wack the former. If not, the order would be to hit someone close to him, like Bobby. As Carmine Lupertazzi so eloquently put it, "We are at the precipice of the crossroads." (And speaking of Bobby, don't be surprised if his gift to Tony, the AR-10 assault rifle, makes an appearance.)

As Galley friend S.B. said, "If this is the last we see of Anthony Jr., I am fine with it." In other words, that story arc, like Uncle Junior's and Christopher's, has basically been resolved. But at the hospital, as A.J. is being wheeled away, was anyone else distracted by Tony's shirt? Was that velvet or velour?

Another splendid Carminism is "alteration"--as in the "alteration" between Phil and Tony leading to the most graphic curbjob I've seen on film.

And finally, the biggest question of all: Has anyone really had a Lincoln Log sandwich lately?

All Hail Blogzarro

Spurred on by Galley Friend A.K., I've been going through the back issues of Blogzarro and this site a real find. Check out, for instance, this seminal post exploring the end of a young comic collector's innocence:

The best lame comics have lame origin stories. “US 1″ came into exist not through the inspiration of a writer or artist; it was born in a marketing office. In the early 1980s Tyco created a line of electric trucking toys. A few years later they approached Marvel about doing a comic based on the toys. And Marvel bit.

Then, in 1983, in a lame reverse merchandising move, the “US 1″ comic hit the stands. And I bit. I was nine years old and excited to own a first issue of a series. This was an investment, I thought, that would pay off when I was in my early 30s, leading to an early retirement. Twenty-four years later “US 1″ comics are worth about six cents a copy and I am about 45 years away from retirement.

The hero of “US 1,” Ulysses Solomon Archer (U.S.A, get it?), graduated from college magna cum laude with a degree in computer program design and electronics engineering, among other things. He was quarterback of his football team. So, what does this athletic genius want to do with his life? Get hemorrhoids and drive a truck. Sounds like this guy shoots real low when it comes to career goals.

Immediately after graduation, U.S. joins his big brother, Jeff, as a gypsy trucker. But the life of a truck driver isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially when there’s some demonic lunatic in a black 18-wheeler looking to play road hockey whenever it rains. The Highwayman, as he’s called, sends Jeff and U.S.’s truck off a mountain for fun. U.S. is thrown from the wreckage and survives; Jeff’s body isn’t recovered. Now we step further into lamesville.

U.S. is in bad shape after the accident. His skull is shattered. But, wait, there’s hope. There’s this new, experimental surgical “technique.” The doctors replace U.S.’s skull with a special metal alloy — which gives him at least two special powers: he has a really hard head now (which he uses for his devastating head-butts) and he can pick up CB transmissions in his head.

Of Comic Books and Cheesecake, part 2

Responding to this post on the proliferation of randy super-heroine statuettes, Galley Friend A.K. sends us this link to pure awesomeness: It's totally safe for work and features covers of Wonder Woman comics so fabulous that you won't believe the artists got away with them. Each is a giant F.U. to the Comics Code.

What are you waiting for? Go take a look!

Michael Bay Owns Your Ass

Remember Sissy Fight?

Well here's the Transformers movie tie-in version. And it's kind of awesome.

I'm not saying The Transformers is definitely going to win BP this year. I'm just saying that Criterion better start working on the platter for this classic right now.

Potter Watch

Some observations and predictions from Galley Brother B.J.:

I'm trying to reread years 1 through 6 before year 7 comes out. I'm about half way through year 2 and I've noticed a couple of interesting things:

Everything used by Malfoy to try and kill Dumbledore in year 6 shows up in year 2. When Harry accidentally ends up in Borgin & Burkes, he hides in the vanishing cabinet (although it's not named as a vanishing cabinet and he doesn't close the door all the way). The necklace is spotted and it is mentioned that its cursed and has killed its last 19 muggle owners. The candle that only give light to its holder also shows up. I'm pretty sure those are the only items that get described during the visit. And later, when Harry is in Filch's office, Peeves breaks the Hogwarts vanishing cabinet. It is identified as such.

Interestingly enough, Year 2 takes place in either 1992 or 1993; which we know because Harry, Ron, and Hermione attend the 500th anniversary of Sir Nick's deathday. The party takes place on Halloween and the cake states that he died in October of either 1492 or 1493). I'm fairly certain this is the only time you find out exactly when the Harry Potter books take place. I think this is noteworthy because the book is copyrighted 1999. Why was this date chosen? No clue.

Finally, I notice that Deadalus Diggle comes up a lot. He's the first wizard who's full name you hear in year 1. And he shows up two other times before Harry makes it into Diagon Alley for the first time.

Some wild theories:

Mrs. Weasley dies in year 7. I've been claiming this one for a while, but now I'm willing to bet on it. Why?

* She's the only mother figure for Harry.
* Harry has already lost 2 father figures.
* She always worries about everyone else.
* And there's dramatic necessity. A Weasley is always placed in peril. (Year 1: Ron with the giant Wizard's chess set; Year 2: Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets; Year 3: Ron abducted by Sirius; Year 4: Ron at the bottom of the lake; Year 5: Mr. Weasley in the Ministry of Magic; Year 6: Ron with the poisoned mead and Bill during the battle at Hogwarts.) It's become such a common occurrence that there's no suspense left when one of them is in trouble. To make year 7 dangerous, it makes sense to put a Weasley in danger early on and then kill them--just so J.K. can let readers know that she isn't fracking around.

I go with Mrs. Weasley instead of Ron because you just can't kill Ron at the start of year 7 and I think this death needs to come early on in order to make the rest of the book feel dangerous. Everyone knows a big death is coming; most people expect it won't come until the end. Kill someone early and the stakes have been upped for everything that comes afterward.

Dark Side Rebels

That. Just. Happened.

Of Comic Books and Cheesecake

There seems to be some agitation over a new Marvel statue of Mary Jane, pictured below.



It's unclear to me if people are bothered because M.J. is washing Spidey's costume or because she looks like she's on loan from the WWE's "Diva" squad. That said, there's a long, proud history of comic book cheesecake, much of which has even made its way into the comic statuette business as of late. Check out, for instance, this insane recent Supergirl:



Frankly, I'm surprised she's not depicted here fighting off an attack from some randy tentacles. But the most ludicrous serving of cheesecake in recent years has been DC's continuing fetishization of Power Girl, who has become something like a combination of Wonder Woman and 1995-era Pam Anderson.

Anyway, no matter how advanced and sophisticated comic books get, one suspects that they will never completely outgrow their pin-up roots. So if M.J. is getting the same treatment as the super-heroines, then I suppose there's no harm in it.

More Dorm Room All-Stars

Surely you remember the Vanderbilt hoopsters? Well, courtesy of Redskins Super Fan P.G., here's a crew of guys doing a dorm room dunk contest. It's pretty sick:



Now that's just the appetizer, check out this "in memorium" sequel, complete with grainy, sepia footage.

The Wages of Bushism?

Charles Barkley--who might as well be Cincinnatus in my book--now claims he isn't a Republican (and never was). He says some beautiful things.

I wonder if we'll be seeing more of this in the next couple years: People who are basically conservative being repulsed from the Republican party in general by the incompetence of the Bush administration?

UFC Goes Mainstream?

First Chuck Liddell makes the cover of ESPN Magazine and now NBC sports has an interview with him. If you follow this stuff at all, the proposed Tito Ortiz-Dana White fight sounds a bit too much like Vince McMahon stepping into the square circle. I'm glad it didn't happen.

The Writerly Life

So I'm reading a story from an April WSJ on the rise of militant atheism in Europe and the lead subject is a celebrity philosopher named Michel Onfray. In what may be the most damning line ever used to describe a subject, reporter Andrew Higgins give us this gem:

"Mr. Onfray, 48 years old and author of 32 books . . ."

Really, after that, what else do you need to know?

We're All Puritans Now

Last political post of the month, I promise.

Slate's Emily Blazeon writes of a certain person seeking the Oval Office:

This is a man whose life is filled with poisoned intimate relationships and who appears to be responsible for much of the poisoning. It's not only the religious or the uptight that can be put off by an utter lack of personal morality in a presidential candidate.

Really? I seem to remember a time not very long ago when a political party for which 99 percent of Slate's staff seems to vote every year insisting that exactly the opposite was true.

I say this not to chastise my friends at Slate--goodness knows this change in worldview can only be positivie--but merely to welcome them to the Land of the Unsophisticated Prigs.

I can only hope that they'll still think this way after Giuliani loses the GOP nomination and Hillary wins the Democratic one.

The Death of American Idol?

Maybe, maybe not. Too soon to tell. But I do think the show faces an existential crisis.

I dropped out of watching the show after American Idol Gives Back because it occurred to me at the time that the mega-special was an enormous, possibly fatal, betrayal of the audience, on two grounds. The first is that the American Idol franchise is half built on the art of the tease as they draw out their results shows once a week.

If you're good at it, you can tease the audience for forever. But the only Cardinal Rule of the Tease is that you absolutely, positively must deliver the payoff. During Idol Gives Back, the producers teased the audience for two excruciating hours, pretending that they were going to send someone home. And then, at the final moment, went back on their word. That's very, very bad. It breaks your bargain with the audience and makes them much less forgiving. I don't know if you can ever re-establish that trust once it's gone.

The other betrayal of "Idol Gives Back" was the show's honesty. A big part of the appeal of American Idol is that Simon is unscripted and, if not heartless, then at least clinical enough not to pull his punches because of sentimentality or politeness. That gives the show its tiny frisson of danger. The Idol Gives Back show gave us a neutered, Hallmark-ready Simon. Which is death.

I don't think audiences want to believe that Simon can be as pre-packaged and fake as everyone else on television because it introduces the possibility that even his critical schtick is an act. And the minute audiences believe that Simon is playing a part is the minute Idol starts to wane.

It's completely possible that I'm overstating things, but the numbers on Idol post-Gives Back must be giving Fox a fright--it's down and now tied with the much-diminished House.

Maybe Idol will make a comeback and this is nothing more than a blip, but I suspect that the Gives Back show may have been the night when Idol began its gradual eclipse from the culture.

Hugh Hewitt, The Dark Prince of Mean

Hugh lovingly--and rightly--defends James Lileks here. But in the course of his defense he makes a large mistake. He asks,

If, as I hope happens, the Strib wakes up and keeps Lileks as its online anchor and Jim Boyd disappears into well-deserved obscurity, what will that tell us about the talents of the two?

Umm, it will tell us absolutely nothing. Just as if, Lileks falls into obscurity and Jim Boyd goes on to run the New York Times, that, too, will tell us nothing about their talents. We measure talent by the work it produces, not the rewards it reaps. Need we recite a long, long, long list of spectacularly untalented hacks who have seen their careers as an endless buffet of prizes and payouts? Need we recall the depressingly long list of superb talents who go through life toiling in the shadows of said hacks? Tina Brown is much more conventionaly "successful" than, say, Ramesh Ponnuru. Katie Couric is much more "successful" than, say, Chris Wallace. Cynthia Tucker is more "successful" than Matt Labash. Who's the bigger talent? We could go on and on and on with this list and it's not just a question of left-right media bias.

Lileks is a treasure and he deserves a great future. But the world is frequently an unfair place.

Update: I don't know why this chafes me so. I think it's because there's a certain strain of free-market conservatism which insists that the only values are market values and that whatever a market declares is the Eternal Truth. These are the loud people who tell you that CEO X, who has driven his company into the ground, must have been worth $140 million a year, because if he wasn't, nobody would have been willing to pay him the money. I hate these people.

I'm as much for the free market as the next guy, I suppose. But market failures are real and pervasive and much, much more common than most conservatives would like to acknowledge. Sometimes they work themselves out over time, sometimes they don't. In any event, I'm happy to live my consumerist life by the free market, but we should never allow it to dictate to us moral truths.

And that's why we don't write about politics here.

Pajiba, Breasts, Etc.

Our homeys at Pajiba have their list of the Top 10 Celebrities They'd Like to Bang, which is as edifying as it sounds. Dustin Rowles gives us this bit of awesomeness:

6. Maggie Gyllenhaal — Gyllenhaal happened to be number two on my list, which Ms. Pajiba-hyphenate suggested looked like a list of women who would work in a book store if they weren’t celebrities.

And then Pajiba points us to this excellent exploration of the recent history of digitally-enhanced breasts on movie posters. Special Matus Alert: Exhibit A is Hermione Granger.

Alexandra Frackin' DuPont

I'm just saying that if you were to find yourself at work, trying desperately to avoid writing, you could do worse as a distraction than sifting through the Alexandra DuPont archives. DuPont is what people pretend Pauline Kael was. Only smarter. And funnier.

Favorite tidbits include:

From a review of The Mummy:

The plot is straight out of an old Hollywood serial: A ragtag bunch of adventurers in 1930s Egypt accidentally unleash an undead, nigh-invulnerable, utterly evil Egyptian priest. Then they spend the rest of the movie trying to kill him.

And there's this, from a review of the first X-Men:

THINGS I LIKED ABOUT "X-MEN": . . .

The interplay between Logan, Cyclops (James Mardsen) and Jean Grey (Famke Janssen). A romantic triangle, just like in the comics -- only without the I-speak-in-pseudo-erudite-paragraphs-even-as-I'm-flying-across-the-room-to-hit-you stylings of writer Chris Clairemont.

(Parenthetical remark w/r/t geek purists and C. Clairemont defenders: I'll try to resist a profound urge to swing a Fungo bat at anyone who tells me that Magneto's mutant-conversion-machine in this movie is dumber than anything in the comics. I read me some "Classic X-Men" comics in preparation for this film, and in one of them, our heroes found themselves aided by leprechauns. That's right, leprechauns.)

That's right: THAT JUST HAPPENED.

George Lucas, Spider-Man 3

This is rich. Here's George Lucas in an exchange with Roger Friedman on the merits of Spider-Man 3:

Lucas told me he has seen all the summer movies since his company, Industrial Light and Magic, does most of the special effects. The only one they didn't work on was "Spider-Man 3." What did he think of it?

"It's silly. It's a silly movie," he said. "There just isn't much there. Once you take it all apart, there's not much story, is there?"

Well, it's not "Star Wars."

"People thought 'Star Wars' was silly, too," he added, with a wink. "But it wasn't."

This from the stern intellect which gave us Ewoks, Jar-Jar, and a Darth Vader acting like Frankenstein.

Be that as it may, pace Anthony Lane and John Podhoretz, I kind of liked Spider-Man 3. The movie had all sorts of problems both in the writing and editing and not-tiny parts of it were ridiculous. Still, as a meditation on forgiveness, it worked for me and I particularly enjoyed the moments when Raimi let the movie be light-hearted--Bruce Campbell's scene, the bad-boy Parker montage, everything with Emil Skoda's J. Jonah Jameson. It was better than the over-praised first Spider-Man, but nowhere as perfect as the second film, which might be the best super-hero movie ever made. (The other contenders being, obviously, Batman, X-Men 2, and The Incredibles.)

But of all the problems with Spider-Man 3, the one that bugged me most--do you still have to have a spoiler alert on a movie that's made over $160M? if so SPOILER--was when Harry Osborn's butler announces that, like Bruce Wayne's Alfred, he was party to all of the Green Goblin's doings and that he himself could testify (how, exactly?) that Osborn Sr. died by his own hand. Only with this revelation does young Harry decide to come to Parker's aid in rescuing Mary Jane.

It's a preposterous deus ex machina, but what's maddening about it is that there's a simple and elegant way to write around it: Peter Parker comes and asks Harry's help in rescuing M.J., but, still blaming Parker for his father's death, Harry refuses. On further reflection of his fondness for M.J., he relents and follows Parker to the fight, surprising him by coming to his aid. Instinctually, he takes a mortal blow aimed for Parker and then, on his deathbed, he forgives Peter even though he still thinks Peter killed his father. Only because of this example is Peter Parker then able to forgive Flint Marko for the murder of Uncle Ben.

Is it just me, or does this solve all sorts of narrative and motivational problems without altering the story in any structural way? Perhaps they should have kept Michael Chabon, who wrote parts of Spider-Man 2 on board for the third installment.

Alternatively, they could have classed the project up by throwing in a '50s-style robot diner.

Genius from Slate

Commenting on the NBA playoffs:

Twenty years ago, the fabled Pistons' "Bad Boys" squads were the terror of the NBA. These days, Bill Laimbeer coaches a women's basketball team, Dennis Rodman is an international embarrassment, John Salley's on a lousy sports talk show that used to star Tom Arnold, and Isiah Thomas is running the Knicks into the ground. Sort of makes you wonder how Chauncey Billups is going to end up.

Star Wars, Iran, George Lucas

Precious blogging time was taken up today composing this item for Mike Goldfarb's WWS on an Iranian endorsement of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith.

Just wondering: If you're George Lucas and you hate the evil, conservative, Bible-thumping Republicans, what do you think when you find out that an Iranian regime, which executes homosexuals and brutally represses women, (to say nothing of their terrorist activities) thinks you're a genius? Maybe you don't switch sides, but do you maybe, just for a second, wonder if you're on the right side of history?

Nah, probably not. A man who defends Jar-Jar Binks to the bitter end isn't going to be spooked by being on the same side as the Islamofascist mullahs.

Where's Father Neuhaus when you need him?

Dirk Does Dallas

Sure, it's not fair. I didn't see a minute of the series and didn't even know Dallas had even been ousted from the series until this morning. And without looking up the stats, I'd guess that the Mavs have won about 130 more games than the Sixers over the last four seasons.

But still. Golden State? Between Dirk and Romo, Dallas might be replacing Houston as Choke City.

(Bonus: That's just for you, LB.)

Late Eagles Draft Talk

For anyone still reading after I basically took April off, here's an excellent exchange on the draft between D-Mac and Andy Reid:

Andy: So this Kevin Kolb situation is going to be a problem?

Donovan: We got lots a problems motherfucker.

Andy: Please watch the language Donovan, I'm a man of God.

Donovan: God tell you to fuck me in the ass on Saturday?

Andy: Of course not Donovan, it's just that you tend to crack like a damn egg. That homosexual latin fella saved me last year and he's gone now. We had an opportunity to bring in a great prospect to back you up so we took it. We're just acting in the best interest of the franchise.

Donovan: Forget that second round cocksucker for a minute. I saw how ya'll traded out of the first round.

Andy: Well we just didn't see anybody on the board at the time that we really needed. By moving down we were able to take Kolb.

Donovan: And you just had to let the Cowboys step in the spot.

Andy: Trading within the division is really no big deal.

Donovan: You wouldn't be spoutin' that bullshit if you were gonna spend the next five years runnin' from that crazy asshole they drafted. He's gonna break my damn neck because you couldn't just draft a fuckin' receiver?

Andy: We've got a great offensive line and plenty of targets for you to throw to.

Donovan: I needed a fuckin' wide receiver you dumb piece of shit! You think I'm gonna throw to Reggie Brown all year? Fuck that shit, I'm holdin' out. I got Chunky Soup money backin' me up.