madness

I’ve lived through times when my situation was kinda precarious.  Maybe not Jack Bauer precarious, but certainly at least MacGyver precarious. Sometimes I felt like like one of those plate-spinners you would see on the Ed Sullivan Show–juggling job-hunting, payment arrangements on my bills, calls to the landlord, emailing potential leads, working on my resume, managing my anxiety and depression…what I’m saying is, that’s a lot of plates.

During one of my worst times, my escape was the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament. First of all, the nickname is great: ‘March Madness. ‘ Sort of implies you might actually see something really insane, like a player belting out a show tune after a dunk, or an entire team putting on big floppy hats in the last two minutes of the game.

But from a marketing perspective, the name March Madness could be a lesson for other sports. People who wouldn’t normally watch the World Series as the ‘Fall Classic’ just might tune in if it were called, say, the ‘Fall Fandango.’ Or imagine if the NBA Finals were called Tall-a-palooza. Americans might even watch more soccer if the World Cup were called…nah, Americans will never watch more soccer.

That’s because we’re conditioned to expect that during a sporting event, something will…happen. Anything. For god’s sake, I watched a soccer match between–i don’t really remember–some European colonial power and one of the countries it used to subjugate, and the final score was 1 to 0. My leisure time is too valuable to spend three hours and watch only one thing happen.

There are sixty-five teams chosen each year, which means there are a lot of players wearing ridiculous-looking ‘but-they’re-not-really-short’ shorts to watch. But now I hear there’s support for the idea of expanding the tournament to…what, maybe…524 teams? I could be exaggerating, but my point is, sixty-four is probably plenty.

If the tournament expands, here are some suggestions:

  • allow the worst NBA team to go ‘back to school’ and compete in the tournament
  • have the final twelve American Idol contestants field a team–monster crossover marketing potential, plus Simon Cowell might be the next Bobby Knight
  • let trade schools enter–think of the excitement if the DeVry Institute could somehow beat Kentucky (Game times would have to be flexible, allowing for the DeVry players’ work schedules)
  • set the first round in the playgrounds of New York, and require lower-seeded teams to stand around the court and call ‘next’
  • first round–everybody plays ‘H-O-R-S-E’ to see who advances
  • include a public option in the health care system and stop propping up insurance companies who are only interested in profits–wait–sorry, that has nothing to do with basketball

Every year there are surprise teams that make you think, ” I didn’t know that place had a basketball program” or, “I didn’t know that place had…schools.” And you get to learn all the team mascots. Except for Marquette, which, according to a typo in the ESPN online bracket has a team but no nickname. Being a Marquette cheerleader must suck–“Go…..You Guys!”

There are usually at least three Tigers and three Aggies, which doesn’t seem right–you should have to choose your own name. Granted, it might be like signing up for a new email address today with all the good ones taken (“that name is already in use–try michaeldanecomedywriter3885653“).

There are Bulldogs and Gators and the less fearsome-sounding Miners (I think UTEP players should have to wear the miner hat with the flashlight on it), and of course, nobody could forget the Northern Iowa…uh…Northern Iowans?

This year the oddest team name I ever saw in the tournament was the St. Mary’s Gaels. ‘Gaels,’ it turns out, were Irish warriors. Good thing they didn’t play the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame, or it would have escalated to car bombs.Wake Forest must offer a degree in oxymorons, since they’re the Demon Deacons. Cornell, the rare Ivy League school to have success in sports, rallies behind the oddly blue-collar sounding Big Red.

Sam Houston College roots for the rarely-seen and incorrectly-spelled Bearkats, but the most obscure mascot might be the Catamounts of Vermont (sounds like a rich couple being introduced at dinner). Apparently, they chose ‘catamount’ because mountain lion, mountain cat, puma, panther, and cougar were taken, because they’re all the same freakin’ animal.

I’m sure this trivia has been compelling, but let’s get to the important stuff. Even though I only follow basketball for two weeks out of the year, I will now give you some insight into how I pick winners in the tournament with hypothetical examples:

  • Normally, I root against religious-affiliated schools–somehow seems unfair to bring God on the team bus with you to the game. Unfortunately if both of these teams have God connections,  as in Baylor vs. St. Mary’s, well, Baylor doesn’t tell you it’s religious (Baptist), whereas with St. Mary’s is up front about it (the ‘Saint’ part), so I would go with the St. Mary’s Gaels.

  • If a team from a well-respected liberal-arts university (say, Xavier) goes against a team from a state wone of the most backwards school boards in the country (for instance, Kansas), root for the smart team.

  • One year, Butler played Syracuse, and here’s how I broke down the matchup–Indianapolis, home of Butler University, and Syracuse, New York, are two of the dullest cities in the country, so they’re evenly matched. But Jim Jones of the People’s Temple went to Butler, and to my knowledge, no murderous deranged messianic cult leaders ever graduated from Syracuse, so I give the edge to Syracuse.

  • Duke vs. Purdue: Purdue Boilermakers–well, that’s a drink, and I like to drink. Also, I’ve always had an inexplicable hatred for Duke. So…Purdue.

  • Kentucky vs. Cornell: Let’s see. Cornell has produced forty-one Nobel laureates and 28 Rhodes Scholars. Kentucky produces moonshine. I realize I maybe oversimplifying here, but I like Cornell.

  • Washington vs. West Virginia: I’ve been to Washington, and I’ve never been to West Virginia. For this and so many other reasons, Iwould go with Washington.

  • Tennessee vs. Ohio State: Follow the logic here–Al Gore is from Tennessee, and voter fraud in Ohio may have cost John Kerry the White House. So, if you factor in the fact that Tennessee hosted the Tea Party convention and Ohio’s Democratic Blue Dogs (who might be in the tournament next year), look for Ohio State to win after a long recount.

So, there you have it–the complex algorithms you need to fill out your brackets and win that office pool.  Now, to be honest, the year the above matchups happened, I was wrong on every single game. Gotta love all those upsets.

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i need a quirk

I’ve come to an important conclusion—I need to be famous.Not sure why I didn’t think of this before, but being famous would really help my career. I used to think that I wanted that fame to be the result of my work, my craft, my artistic vision.

But the clock’s ticking, people—at the end of the month I will have bounced around on this plane for half a century. It’s time to get noticed, and, though you might find this surprising, posting a seven hundred and fifty word comedy piece every couple weeks hasn’t made me famous.

 So I wanna be that guy. You know, the guy with that one weird quirk that has nothing to do with his talents but still makes him memorable? For example, there’s an artist in Minneapolis who, during the winter months, wears all black, and during the summer, he wears all white. And then, from what I can tell, he walks around the city, from coffeehouse to coffeehouse. That’s it. Not even sure if he paints anymore, but…everybody knows him. As affectations go, it’s fairly simple. But I’ll tell you this–people I know who know NOTHING about art know that this guy is an artist.
You need to decide on a weird thing to do, and commit to it. If you do something weird enough, often enough, with no apologies, people assume you must have artistic credibility. We expect our artists to be freaks.

I already walk with a cane, but that doesn’t count as an affectation, because I need the cane to avoid falling down. If I tricked out my cane to look like a wizard’s staff, that would be an affectation. Or if my cane had a hollowed out interior that could hold a pint of vodka and I drank from my cane, that would work. The key is to pick something that nobody does, and ideally, something nobody else wants to do. Because you really don’t want a bunch of hipsters just copying your affectation—then all of a sudden you become a cult leader, and that’s a whole different deal.

 So I’ve narrowed down the list of possible quirks to adopt, and I figure there are a few ways I can go:

 A Strange Hat

 I could be The Guy Who Wears A Bowler, or alternatively, The Guy Who Wears A Pith Helmet. Not sure if I would need an entire outfit to go with the strange hat.

An Unusual Pet

 It can’t be a reptile. We’ve all seen the guy with the iguana at the coffeehouse—it’s been done. And if you’re going the bird route, it can’t be a parrot—done. Now maybe, if I got a heron, and took it for walks around my neighborhood…
 
Communicating Only In Show Tunes
This affectation requires a lot of rehearsal, and risks annoying one’s existing friends. Not recommended.
 
The Monocle

Now we’re talking! Henceforth, I will be known as The Guy With The Monocle. It has everything I’m looking for in an affectation—pop culture cachet (Mr. Peanut, the Penguin, Colonel Klink), implications of wealth, and vague connotations of evil.

Category: COMEDY | LEAVE A COMMENT

fill ‘er up

So, after this Chilean earthquake, I’m browsing around the web looking for fodder, and the headline at MSNBC says “Pope To Pray For Chile.” Now, I think it’s great for Benedict to take a break from repressing women and spreading misinformation about AIDS, my problem is that it was a headline. As if it were…news.

Obviously the Pope is going to pray for Chile, given the fact that he is…leader of the Catholic Church and Chile is predominantly…Catholic. It’s his job fer chirssake—literally! News would be a headline saying “Pope Snubs Chile—Opts to Not Include Victims In Prayers.”

Edward R. Murrow would spin in his grave–while smoking a cigarette–if he were to see what passes for journalism today. In any given half-hour tv news broadcast, I would say an average of 86.3% of the stories aren’t really news. News should have two ingredients—it should be new, and it should be sorta…important, and to more people than just someone’s immediate family.

 

The problem of course, is filling the half-hour, or filling up the web page. With three major online news portals and a gazillion ‘aggregators’ (‘we don’t investigate the stories, but we do group ‘em all together for you!”), not enough actual news happens to satisfy them, hence—filler news. We wouldn’t tolerate this in a restaurant—“The chef only has a half portion of the chicken marsala left, so we’re going to fill the rest of your plate some microwave popcorn.”

News filler usually consists of ‘human interest’ stories. Which begs the question—what type of beings are the other stories aimed at? Is there a section of ‘panda interest stories’? In theory, shouldn’t every news story be of interest to…humans?

And for the love of Cronkite, stop interviewing family members of people who have died! It’s not news!

“I know this is a difficult time for you…with your entire family having been killed in the blaze that destroyed your ancestral home, what are you feeling right now?”

“I’m very sad.”

“We’ve got a scoop! Rush this footage to editing!”

They should give anti-journalism awards, like the Razzies they give for worst movies. They could call it the Mister Peabody.

Used to be, tv news was fifteen minutes. Now, there are fifteen minutes of graphics before a breaking news story. Sure, the times were simpler, but the times were also filled with fewer Octomoms. Oh, Octomoms might have existed back then, but we didn’t feel they warranted above-the-fold reporting.

 

I get my headlines online from MSNBC, because yes, one of my goals has always been to destroy the newspaper industry and eliminate the jobs of hardworking print journalists. Now, since MSNBC is a “joint venture of Microsoft and NBC,” you’d think there would be someone at one of those giant companies who would notice this stupid shit.

 

But no, at one point last year the headline on their home page was “Osama Still Not Found.” This just in—nothing! That’s not news! It’s—anti-news! It’s bad enough to print ‘news’ about something trivial that happened, but now you’re putting up a story about something that hasn’t happened!

 

This week in the news we learned that the earthquake in Chile shifted Earth’s axis. Every report about this quoted ‘NASA scientists,’ which I suppose would be more reliable than ‘NASA janitors.’ Anyway, as a result, every day will be shorter by 1.26 milliseconds, which sucks, because I’m really busy at the moment and cannot afford to lose that kind of time.

There was one ‘human interest’ story this week that genuinely touched me. Seems the woman who wrote the first book about crockpot cookery (a bestseller in 1975, in part due to its compelling title, ‘Crockpot Cookery’), died at the age of 88. Mable Hoffman was interred in a late-morning ceremony. Onions, potatoes and chopped bell peppers were added a couple hours later, and she was ready by late afternoon. Thanks—you’ve been a great crowd! Tip your waitresses! Good night!

Category: COMEDY | 1 Comment on fill ‘er up