"There's a small place inside us that they can never lock away, and that place is called hope."
-- Andy Dufresne
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Did I Forget to Mention Memphis? Home of Elvis and the Ancient Greeks
Since some readers are apparently a bit "sensitive" to my comparison of certain quarterbacks with SEC lineage and impending global pandemics, let's switch topics, my friends.
In the first, and possibly only, edition of "How Law School has ruined my ability to enjoy certain movies, TV shows, and books", I'm going to focus on everyone's favorite cross-examination of the early 90's, Lt. Daniel Kaffee versus Col. Nathan Jessup.
All throughout P.C., Prof. P.C. I, Prof. Evid, and Prof. CivPro constantly reminded us of the perils of asking open-ended questions on cross. If there's anything worse than asking a question you don't already know the answer to, it's probably asking a question which gives the adverse witness an opportunity to get his or her side of the story across to the judge and/or jury.
Well, let's just say that based on the open-ended questions asked by Lt. Kaffee at :11 and :19, he was probably just asking for the diatribe that he received from 1:42 to 2:52. Sure, he somehow against (almost) all odds broke down a Marine Colonel who did multiple combat tours in Vietnam and caused him to admit his guilt to a shocked courtroom, but that's what we call playing with fire, my friends.
Everyone out there, please feel free to share the movies, TV shows, and books that law school has ruined for you.
Note: Many thanks to Tim Goines and Ryan Gregerson for the discussion that sparked this post.
In the category of "Things That Can Only Come From the Mind of a Law Student During Finals"...
It's a time of high hopes around the world right now, my friends. We have a new super-disease on our hands in the swine flu and NFL franchises, via the draft, have just added new blood to their teams in their ongoing quest for the Lombardi Trophy. The juxtaposition of these two seemingly unconnected events made me think:
Sure, everybody's worried about the swine flu right now, but didn't we expect big things from SARS back in the day? Similarly, aren't there players every year that come in with mountains of promise and hype that only end up bringing their fans pain and regret for what might have been? In much the same vein, if SARS was the Ki-Jana Carter of communicable diseases, seeing as though both came into our lives with great promises of hype and both ultimately fizzled into a combination of disappointment and respiratory issues (actually, that was just SARS), I foresee the swine flu being the Matthew Stafford of communicable diseases. Both made their debut on the national/international scene in late April 2009, both caused numerous talking heads to gush about their potential, and in the end, both will probably end up killing people in Detroit.
Some Things Are Too Hot to Touch, The Human Mind Can Only Stand So Much
It's been a bit heavy 'round these parts lately, and I think I've set a record for the most consecutive days with a military-related photograph, so on this beautiful Friday in late April, I'm giving you something that brings me a great deal of happiness.
When people ask me about my favorite band, I often feel as though I'm forced to promote Phish like a doctoral student conducting a thesis defense in front of a panel of experts. In the end, the music can be long, it can be rambling, and it can certainly be maddening. But when Phish hit the right portion of the jam on a song like "Down With Disease", it makes all of the minutes spent listening prior to that moment worth it.
Here's some instructions:
Watch the video embedded above of "Down With Disease" from Phish's recent reunion show on March 8 in Hampton, VA.
Click the HD button on the video for the proper effect.
Listen to all 10 minutes and 1 seconds of the above video.
If you complete steps 1 through 3 and still want to tell me you could never understand how I could enjoy Phish, I understand.
If not, well, I guess we have what the Captain in Cool Hand Luke might call "a failure to communicate."
Big news day in the law school universe as the yearly law school rankings from U.S. News & World Report were finally officially revealed. Overall, the mood is pretty somber (translation: peeved) at Baylor Law as the school's overall ranking fell 10 spots. On the brighter side, though, the school's trial advocacy program continued to rise in the rankings up to the #7 spot nationally.
#7 is great and all, but here's my question: If the professors here at Baylor Law freely acknowledge that P.C. is the pedagogical equivalent of waterboarding, what in the world are they doing at Stetson, the #1 school in this year's trial advocacy rankings?
When There's Nothing to Give, How Can You Ask for More?
Since the graduation-type thing is still a week and a half away, I guess today is not technically the end of the law school journey, but the last day of class sure feels like a momentous occasion.
I went back and read my post from the first evening after classes begin in August '06, and I must say, it feels like that scene from the "Why We Fight" episode in Band of Brothers where Sergeant Perconte is talking to Private O'Keefe during their shift at a roadside checkpoint.
Private O'Keefe is fresh off of a transport ship from England. He's excited to be a part of the mission, and all he wants to do is kill some Germans. Private O'Keefe, I would like to introduce to Justin Scott-circa August 2006.
Sergeant Perconte is a little less enthused to be there in Germany, to say the least. Perconte's been in the service for 3 years, and the prospect of the mission has lost a significant part of its luster. More than anything, Sgt. Perconte wants a hot shower, hot chow, and a trip home. Sgt. Perconte, I believe you recognize Justin Scott-circa April 2009.
The Highway is Alive Tonight, but Nobody's Kiddin' Nobody About Where It Goes
Congratulations to Mr. Joey Halbert for correctly naming "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)" by the Jimi Hendrix Experience as the Monday Song of the Day.
I made sure to bring you, my dear readers, the version from Woodstock, because, as one of my former co-workers at Trek once said,"Anything less would be foolish".
After hearing/reading about numerous friends buying tickets to the U2 show this October at the new Cowboys stadium, I felt compelled to commit one of my favorite new theories to the firmament of the blogosphere:
Within 10, no, 5 years, every sporting, no, every event in the United States will be held at the new Cowboys Stadium in Arlington. It will become a great mish-mash of the Temple in Jerusalem, the Great Mosque in Mecca, Carnegie Hall, Fenway Park, and Disney World.
Let's take a simple look at the events at JerryWorld (copyright owned by Mason Orr) in the next 5 years:
June 2009: George Strait concert. Country music conquered? Check.
July 2009: Chelsea F.C. versus Club America. Soccer/World Football conquered? Check.
September 2009: BYU versus Oklahoma. College football conquered? Check.
September 2009: Cowboys versus Giants. Pro football, as well as good versus evil, conquered? Check.
October 2009: U2 concert. The largest number of people in one location who can quote the lyrics of the entire Joshua Tree album verbatim? Check.
November 2009: Texas Tech versus Baylor. Bringing together one fanbase that thinks their team is better than it actually is with a fanbase that thinks their team is worse than it actually is? Check.
December 2009: UT versus UNC. College basketball conquered? Check.
January 2010: AT&T Cotton Bowl. Playing bowl games named for another stadium at your stadium? Check.
February 2010: The NBA All-Star game. A giant massage session for the egos of Jerry Jones and Mark Cuban? Check.
February 2011: Super Bowl XLV. The most watched/over-hyped event in the entire world that does not include an appearance by Oprah? Check.
August 2012: Green Party Presidential Nominating Convention. Not really, I just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention.
October 2013: Notre Dame versus Arizona State. Winning the approval of the Holy See? Check.
April 2014: NCAA Men's Final Four. Setting a record number for middle-aged men walking around Arlington in track suits? Check.
Well, I Pick Up All the Pieces and Make an Island, Might Even Raise a Little Sand
If you were thinking about reading American Lion by Jon Meacham, and needed an endorsement with a bit more notability than the one issued by yours truly back in January, today the book, which details the White House years of Andrew Jackson, won a little something called the Pulitzer Prize for biography. So, if you've always wondered about that crazy white-haired guy on the $20 bill, or even if you just like hickory-smoked Spam, this is a book you might want to pick up, my friends.
In other news of the day, in the recurring category of "Ways in Which the Mexican Drug Cartels Try to Replicate Recent Movies", I've already told you about their attempt to mimic the Joker in The Dark Knight, but today, moviegoers, the cartels tried their darndest to remake 3:10 to Yuma.
In the latest brazen drug-related attack, gunmen ambushed a prisoner transfer convoy in western Mexico, killing eight police officers in a failed attempt to free a high-level cartel member, the police said Sunday.
At least 20 attackers started a running gun battle on Saturday against a dwindling column of vehicles escorting nine prisoners as it raced between an airport and a penitentiary in the Pacific Coast state of Nayarit, the police said.
Ultimately, the cartel was unsuccessful in freeing their target, but that's probably because they, much like Russell Crowe, chose to enlist the help of Tucker James from Flash Forward.
He's Never Heard the Song Before, but He Still Got the Metaphor
It was great to see so many good friends last night at the Trek fund-raising dinner at Memorial Church of Christ in Houston. Trek means so many things to so many people, and I have been privileged just to be a part of that ministry/experience. My goal now is to do what I can to make sure that others are able to have such an experience.
After writing my own version of War and Peace yesterday, today I'm giving you entertainment of the visual variety. If I told you that in just one video I could give you an acoustic version "Everyday" by the Dave Matthews Band, "Bathtub Gin" by Phish, and a series of weird antics from Trey Anastasio, would that interest you? If so, I have just the video for you, my friends.
One Thing I Have Found, There Are Just Two Ways to Go
After repeated requests by John Middleton, I'm going to address the thrilling, yet ultimately disappointing events, of last Tuesday, April 14th, 2009.
Before I jump into the actual match, I need to lay a little groundwork. A week earlier, at Anfield, Liverpool lost to Chelsea by a 3-1 scoreline. In a competition such as the Champions League, which features two-legged matches until the Final, and which values the number of away goals that a team scores if the match is ultimately tied on aggregate at the end of two legs, Liverpool was in a deep, deep hole as they headed to StamfordBridge in London to face Chelsea?
Oh, I should also mention that Liverpool was without an injured Steven Gerrard. Juuuuuuuuust great, my friends. In the name of fairness, Chelsea was also missing their Captain, John Terry, but in a match that, at a minimum, needed to see Liverpool score 3 goals to have any chance of advancing to the semi-finals against Barcelona, the absence of their leading goal-scorer this season, as well as the man who is a strange mixture of lucky charm and inspirational leader, did not bode well as the match began.
But what a beginning it was, my friends. Just 19 minutes into the match, the White Brazilian #1, Fabio Aurelio, struck a very, very clever free-kick past Chelsea goal-keeper Petr Cech to start the scoring.
Looking back, this is exactly where the pain began. Was it painful at the time? Of course not, but this is where the hope began, which ultimately made the pain at the match’s conclusion all the more stinging. If you’re scoring at home, we’re currently at 1-0 on the night and 3-2 on aggregate. Game on.
A mere 9 minutes later, Liverpool midfielder Xabi Alonso is hauled down in the box by a Chelsea defender. As the referee pointed to the penalty spot, high-fives were raining down where I watched the match with two other Liverpool fans as well as one Chelsea supporter. After Liverpool’s best-bearded player, the aforementioned Mr. Alonso smashed home the penalty, there were a high number of fist-pumps/Caucasian dance moves. At least I think they were dance moves. They might have been seizures. There’s really no way to tell the difference. If you’re scoring at home, we’re currently a 2-0 on the night and 3-3 on aggregate as we enter halftime in West London. Almost to the top of the mountain, my friends.
As the second half began, I remember having thoughts similar to those experienced by Bill Simmons during Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Before I proceed, I should note that this game was not nearly as big as Game 6 due to the fact that this was a Champions League quarter-final and that this game did not hurt nearly as much as Game 6 hurt the Sports Guy, but I did think this: Man, I hope we’re recording this. It will be GREAT to watch in the future. Not good from a karmic perspective, my friends. NOT GOOD.
A mere 6 minutes into the second half, we begin to lose cabin pressure. A cross came in from the right towards the Ivorian Diving Champion, Didier Drogba, who put a slight touch on the ball, which was enough to disorient Liverpool goalkeeper Pepe Reina, who allowed the ball to slip behind him into the waiting goal. Now, we’re at 2-1 on the night and 4-3 on aggregate. Liverpool are slightly battered, but they still need that 3rd goal.
What happened 6 minutes later probably falls into the “Stern of the Titanic actually lifting clear of the North Atlantic” category of “This REALLY is not going the way we need it to”. After winning a free-kick just outside of the Liverpool penalty box, Chelsea defender Alex (yes, just one name) absolutely rockets the ball past Pepe Reina.
I’m not sure if I can find the words to accurately describe the pure physical power that was exhibited by Alex’s free-kick, but just in case I cannot, here’s footage. We’re now at 2-2 on the night and 5-3 on aggregate.
Things really began to spiral out of control at the 76-minute mark when Xabi Alonso gave the ball away in his own half, leading to the Liverpool defense looking like the Keystone Kops as they attempted to chase down Drogba, who ultimately passed the ball back to an on-rushing Frank Lampard, who needed only one chance to direct the ball beyond Pepe Reina. At this point, my body lost all signs of tension/hope, and I slumped down on the couch to watch the last 14 minutes only out of apathy/duty. The ledger now says we’re at 3-2 on the night (advantage Chelsea) and 6-3 on aggregate.
Despite the fact that it has now been co-opted for a World of Warcraft commercial, there is great truth in the following line from The Godfather III: “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” At the 81st minute mark, just as I was thinking about what I needed to do after watching the match, the White Brazilian #2, Lucas Leiva, pops up with a goal to bring Liverpool back to 3-3 on the night and 6-4 on aggregate. Granted, this means that the Reds still need to score 2 goals in the last 10 minutes at a place where, before tonight, they had needed 4 games (in the Champions League) to score 2 goals, but I’ll say this: These last 10 minutes should, at the very least, be exciting.
Less than a minute later…okay, I’m all the way back in, ladies and gentlemen. Dirk Kuyt, the Flying Dutchman, has headed home a pinpoint cross from winger Albert Riera.
The Tiger Woods-esque fist pumps and Caucasian dance moves have returned in full force. The students on Arrested Development may have chanted “Four more years” for Steve Holt (complete with raised fists), but all I’m asking for is “ONE MORE GOAL, ONE MORE GOAL”. We’re now at 4-3 on the night (advantage Liverpool) and 6-5 on aggregate, meaning that if Liverpool scores one more goal, they’ll be tied on aggregate and Liverpool will win on the away-goals rule.
That sound you just heard was a cry of anguish from Waco, TX and a cry of joy from Dallas, TX. When Frank Lampard scored his second goal in the 89th minute, ol’ Frankie Boy took the scoreline to 4-4 on the night and 7-5 on aggregate. If this is the Battle of Little Bighorn, this is where Custer is lying on the ground, looking up, and all he can see is the sky and the face of a lot of angry Indians, all the while thinking,” This really is not going to end well.” 3 minutes later, the referee blows the final whistle, Chelsea moves on to the semi-finals to face Barcelona, and Liverpool heads back to the northwest of England to mount a final challenge for this year’s Premier League Title.
All in all, and barring the fact that Liverpool and Chelsea are two of the biggest clubs in the world, this match ultimately reminds me of the final game from the immortal 1994 film Little Big League. You know the movie, my friends. The kid, Billy Heywood, is bequeathed ownership of the Minnesota Twins by his grandfather, he ultimately manages the team into the playoffs, where they lose on a stunning catch by Ken Griffey, Jr. at the fence to rob a Twins player of a homerun that would have been a game-winner.
When you watch the movie, you know that the Twins went into that game with a huge mountain to climb, you watched them put up a gallant fight, but in the end, the mountain was just too steep that day, and the bad other guys won in the end. Liverpool went into this match needing a miracle, and they almost pulled off that miracle, but sometimes it’s asking a little too much of the soccer/football gods to pull off Istanbul: Part II against an opponent as strong as Chelsea.
He's Waiting In the Wind and Rain, I Simply Haven't Looked
My dear readers, I come to you in need of a little help. Tomorrow night, I've been asked to give a short talk/speech at a fundraising dinner for Wilderness Trek.
I was given the following prompt/suggestion:
How has Trek changed your life?
How have you seen Trek change the lives of those around you?
So, for those of you who have been on Trek or know someone who has been on Trek, how would you answer those questions? I have some thoughts on those topics rolling around in my head, but if there's anything I've learned so far in my 25 years, it's that I usually learn the most by shutting up and listening those around me.
Through the first 9 games of the 2009 season, the scorelines for each game played by the Rangers look like this:
9-1 win over Cleveland
8-5 win over Cleveland
12-8 win over Cleveland
15-2 loss to Mogadishu on the St. Clair, ahem, Detroit
4-3 loss to Detroit
6-4 loss to Detroit
10-9 loss to Baltimore
7-5 loss to Baltimore
19-6 win over Baltimore
Whether it's a 3-game sweep over the Indigenous Persons Residing Near the Convergence of the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie to start the season, the subsequent 5-game losing streak to the Motor City Kitties and the O's, or last night's blowout win accented by Ian Kinsler hitting for the cycle, I'll say this about the 2009 season in Arlington: It doesn't look like it's going to be boring.
I'm Just the Same, Lost in a Crowd, Lookin' For the Rain in a Thundercloud
Question of the Day: What do we call this decade?
The Aughts?
The Double-Aughts
The 2000's?
The O's?
The Zeroes?
I need to know the answer to this question, you need to know the answer to this question, and certainly VH1, with the need to fill hours of the TV programming schedule with a future retrospective of the decade featuring A,B,C, and D-list comics, needs to know the answer.
25 years from now, when one my hypothetical children asks me, "Dad, what was it like going to college back in the (Insert name of decade here)?", what name is he/she going to put in those parentheses?
What do these two seemingly unrelated stories have in common? Almost nothing.
Almost.
On the high seas, we've certainly sent a message to the Somalian Pirate community that we don't appreciate their ongoing efforts to disrupt shipping around the Horn of Africa, that is, if you think shooting them in the head with high-powered rifles is a message, which I do. Now that they've raised the ire of the United States of America, what are these poor, poor pirates to do?
Don't worry, my violent, wayward, yet somehow possibly useful friends. I have a plan for you.
In case you were wondering, this is where the Masters comes in...we've all been watching a golf tournament, slipping in out and out of consciousness on the couch, and listening to the dulcet tones of Jim Nantz and Verne Lundquist when something terrible tears us from our final descent in Dreamworld.
Yes, all too frequently, it is the golf fan/idiot who feels compelled to screech "GET IN THE HOLE!!!" on every single shot. One particularly desperate individual even let loose "GET ON THE GREEN!!!" at one point on Saturday afternoon. That's not creative, that's not original, that's just lowered expectations, folks, and frankly, it's just sad.
You know who I'm talking about, ladies and gentlemen. These are the morons who also go to concerts and yell "FREEBIRD!!!" for three hours while still thinking they're somehow original. The Somali Pirates need to find these people, eliminate them from the gene pool, and restore Saturday/Sunday afternoon golf viewing to its proper place in the Pantheon of Napping.
I don't want to know when they do this, and I don't want to know how they do this. All I care about is finishing the job. Somali Pirates, a nation turns its hopeful eyes to you.
As detailed on Deadspin and the journalistic juggernaut that is the Abilene Reporter-News, the Abilene Ruff Riders opened their franchise win account with a 39-24 victory on Monday over the Odessa Roughnecks in the air-conditioned confines of the Taylor County Expo Center.
A brief digression, though, my friends: Can we have a little more name variety out of our West Texas quasi-Arena League football teams? Failing that, can we at least agree on a uniform spelling of "Rough/Ruff"? I foresee a generation of young West Texans writing book reports on Teddy Roosevelt and describing the heroic charge of the “Ruff” Riders up San Juan Hill. The public deserves no less than an authoritative ruling on this, my friends. The big story, though, was the performance of the Abilene quarterback, one Quincy Carter. Yes, that Quincy Carter. The former University of Georgia and Dallas Cowboys signal caller is now playing minor league arena football in Abilene. For those of who support America’s Team, that's about as depressing as the time one of my friends went to see Vanilla Ice for $5 bucks at the HarveyHallConvention Center in Tyler at some point in the late 90's.
Tried Yesterday to Get Away and Hitchhiked to the Beach
It's Opening Day for America's Pastime, the Rangers are wearing red uniforms to start the year, and the first 10,000 kids through the turnstiles today in Arlington get complimentary Josh Hamilton forearm tattoos.
After a spirited discussion in the comments section of yesterday's post regarding Tim's suggestion that I switch my baseball allegiances from the Rangers to the 'Stros, I'm going to link to the end-all, be-all source for the topic to allow everyone to know where I stand on the topic.
Islam has the Koran, Judaism has the Tanakh and the Talmud, and in the world of sports fandom, the disciples of Bill Simmons have "The Twenty Rules for Being a True Fan". This column may have been written over 7 years (Editor's Note: After noticing that at the top of the page, I now feel older than James Earl Jones in The Sandlot), but it still rings true for all who believe.
This column has been brewing for about six weeks, ever since a startling phone conversation with one of my Page 2 bosses (KJ, a Seattle native and die-hard Seahawks fan). We were chatting about the Patriots and Steelers potentially colliding in the playoffs, when KJ suddenly said, "At least if my Steelers lose, I'll be happy for you, because the Pats made it." Huh? My Steelers???
And this was how I found out that KJ -- my esteemed editor and friend, a good man, a father and a husband, the man who makes Page 2 run so smoothly -- was a Sports Bigamist. As it turns out, the Steelers are KJ's Second-Favorite Team, whatever that means. Apparently, as long as Pittsburgh isn't playing Seattle, he roots for the Steelers, but he doesn't root for the Steelers quite as hard as he roots for the Seahawks, and if both teams are doing well, he chooses the Seahawks, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care about the Steelers, and I think I just lost control of my bowels.
Please read the column, take time to think about it, and then you will understand why I (must) support the only American League franchise to have never reached the ALCS.
Current Reading Tree of Smoke: A Novel by Denis Johnson
I would say that you have to start your lying early on April Fools' Day just to get in your jokes before people look at their calendars and realize what day it is, but let's be honest here: It's always easier to lie to people who just woke up. This is why I tell myself each morning that this is the Rangers' year and somehow keep believing it.
Another thing about April Fools' Day...once, when times were simpler, when men were men, and women were, well, women, you could make up crazy stories, try to sell them to your friends, and then have your friends say, "No way, that's so far out there, not even I can believe that." April Fools' Day was the realm of true practitioners of the craft of creating believable lies.
Now, everything is so bizarre that even if you're friend tells you,"Hey, guess what? You know that guy who played Commodus in Gladiator and Johnny Cash in Walk the Line? Well, he went on Letterman a few nights ago, and he didn't sing "Folsom Prison Blues" or try to kill Russell Crowe's family. No, he just sat there with a crazy beard, shaggy hair, and wayfarer sunglasses and acted as though he didn't want to be there the entire time."
Instead of dismissing you out of hand, now your friend says, "Yeah, sounds like Joaquin Phoenix".
What does this new paradigm shift in the world of April Fools' Day jokes mean? It means that the entire era is tainted, just as the entire statistical hierarchy of baseball has been tainted by steroids, PEDs, or whatever else Congress is outraged about these days.
For instance, your friends might say, "Man, I've had a great April Fools' Day joke for the last 7 years running. I'm approaching the streak that John Candy (God rest his soul) had going in the late 80's." Do not, I repeat, do not let your friend get away with this kind of boasting.
Instead, point out that outlandish stories are imminently more believable in a world where infommercial stars get arrested for slapping prostitutes (you're our only hope in these dark times, Billy Mays!!!), and that your friend's record should have an asterisk due to the fact that Candy achieved his streak without the aid of the world going mad while your friend gets to lie to people who live in the same historical epoch as Alex Rodriguez, Britney Spears, Octomom, Hugo Chavez, and Mike Tyson.
