It's the first day of classes, and I always start off telling my students that they can A out of the class (leave when they have an A for the class - even if it's a couple of days early), but no student who has ever tried to "A out" has actually achieved it - at least of thoese students telling me that they're going to do it. Usually, I tell them that they're eligible to make it happen, and then, it happens, but alas...
In real life, Lebron James predicted that they Heat would win 8 championships, but unfortunately, they lost the first one last night to the Mavericks: 105-95. Thus, just like a guy who once missed 9 of the first 11 classes, neither one did what was predicted.
Nobody predicted that the Indians would be in first place as they've been for the early part of this season. It just happened. While they phoned in the past few weeks, a period that ended with a Yankee sweep (after the Yankees had their hats handed to them by the Red Sox the previous 3 games), they have been largely overachieving, and for that, Cleveland shouldn't be throwing themselves into Lake Erie just yet.
My yearly preview of choice (Athalon) expressed their season in terms of good news and bad news. The good was that they "aren't likely to finish in 4th place once again." However, the bad news was that they "appear headed for last place in the American League Central - one spot below the seemingly always rebuilding Royals. The Indians are too young and have too many questions to be considered anything but a doormat."
Despite being 1-9 in their last 10, they are still 34-29 (33-20 was just a crazy start). They're still in first as the Tigers lost yesterday, too. And while they have one more game against the Yankees, this one is against AJ Burnett, who quite frankly has been lousy as of late, so if the Tribe can just jump all over him quickly with an Asdrubal Cabrerra punch, we can see good things.
But that said, doing something like Fausto Carmona plunking Mark Teixera after all of the Red Sox pitchers used the Yankees for target practice (and the Big Papi plunk back) isn't going to reverse the course of this sinking ship. What is going to help is having Shin Soo Choo hit something other than the bottle. The Indians also need Carlos Santana making hits again.
Justin Masterson had aspirations and hopes, and he can still restore them as can Josh Tomlin and Mitch Talbot. And while we believe in Fausto Carmona less than Zach Greinke (the name says it all - who did he sell his soul to in order to move out from under the weight of that Big Papi home run on July 31, 2006?), we have to believe that there is potential for him to be better than the worst of the regular Indians pitchers at this point.
So for Manny Acta to do nothing right now when it comes to defending his team against the Yankees is just wrong. Bill Veeck put it best: "Hating the Yankees isn't part of my act. It is one of those exquisite times when life and art are in perfect conjunction." We agree, and for the fact that they're a halfass mirage of what they used to be (something the Red Sox have been making quite clear in all of their games together this year except one), it's time to stop pretending that this longball and Jeter's quest for 3,000 is making them contenders. The gig is over, and it was nice while it lasted, but now that a way over-performing Bartolo Colon is out, how long can Granderson and Teixera achieve all for the nothing on that roster?
But in the end, it's about wanting to be winners if the option is there. If you're going to contend in September instead of pretend in May, then rise up and want it.
If not, go home. Besides, the Cuyahoga Valley is pretty this time of year.
Showing posts with label Bill Veeck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bill Veeck. Show all posts
Monday, June 13, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Frank Saucier
Number one / eighth came to the plate for his only at bat ever on August 19, 1951. As his was the home team, outfielder Frank Saucier, who was a replacement for the usual outfielder, was removed for a little person, a kind of dubious honor in and of itself, but for the sake of the game that Veeck was running (a minor league atmosphere in a major league town), that was ok.As for Gaedel, he stood 3 foot 7 and he was part of Bill Veeck's plan to give Falstaff Brewery a 50th birthday present that they would never forget. To be honest, nobody ever forgot it. It was Bill Veeck's coup de grace as he moved into a new level of showmanship with his greatest contributions of showmanship ever, which is something to be said because he also gave us:
1: playing Minnie Minoso in the 70s and 80s so he could play in 5 decades. As the White Sox frontman, this seemed to be a nice touch for one of their great players in history and it made up for those stupid shorts that they wore.
2: the spirit of 76 parade that he staged where he was the peg legged fifer. Veeck had lost his leg after being in the Marines during World War 2. This brought a nice little patriotic touch to the game that he loved so much.3: Harry Caray's Take Me Out to the Ballgame rendition.
4: The ivy in Wrigley Field and the scoreboard that he built up for the team that his father got to be in charge of because he knew how to write a newspaper column complaining about how things weren't be done well.
5: The desire to have lights in Wrigley, which was so rejected that the team's ownership wouldn't allow lights to go up first and had them go up last. Veeck proved that you can't win them all, but you can at least try.
6: Disco Demolition Night. Another great idea, which would work well with Lady Gaga CDs (that new disc is so abysmal that it makes the last one seem tolerable in comparison - guess that's why she gave it away for 99 cents at Amazon Dot Com on the first day it was released). However, the riots and chaos caused the White Sox to forfeit the game, but yeah... it's baseball history.
7: Alien appearance at the ballpark, which was another Eddie Gaedel appearance for Veeck.8. In addition, Veeck brought Larry Doby and Satchel Paige to the big leagues and proved that he was not only humorous, but a true American looking out for others. Granted, his speech for Gaedel to tell baseball management that he was looking out for the little guy wasn't the political grandstanding he wanted it to be (rather a middle finger to baseball's stodginess), but nevertheless, it was a fitting end to a 4-pitch at bat that saw Bobby Cain laughing at the strike zone that he couldn't hit. Nobody ever had to fire shots at Gaedel for trying to swing at pitches with his toy bat. And in the end, it may not have been a naked lady jumping out of that birthday cake, but it was a memorable birthday celebration on that day.
And all in all, Veeck was a great bit of Americana. I'm currently reading his Veeck as in Wreck book, which is a nice way to spend a rainy day on vacation without a thought for work I should be doing since there really isn't much to do other than think about the Vince McMahon / Mark Cuban (in a blender) of his day and just enjoy, enjoy, enjoy.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Ford Frick
In Saving Private Ryan, he was the sniper casually shooting Nazis at will until he got rushed and got blown up - taking out more than one could count. In 3, he plays Dale Earnhardt Sr., the badass legend of racing, in all of his glory. He's in a lot of other movies... sometimes in more prominent roles, but mostly as the guy who rounds out the group of guys that he's with... i.e. Will Smith's confidante in Seven Pounds (a rather horrible movie if ever there was one - that guy just needs to redo the Fresh Prince or Independence Day).
But there was a moment of shining glory... an underappreciated gem from Billy Crystal of all people (well, actually not since Crystal is a Yankee drooler and it was right after the time that Mark McGwire was captivating the world and ESPECIALLY ME with his home run race to beat Sammy Sosa to 61 and make it to 70) that changed the possibility of what baseball movies could be.
That movie was 61*, and it's still one of my favorites. Sure, it was sentimental, and sure, it painted Ford Frick as a villain with the ghost of Babe Ruth as some unmovable slug (and in a way, that's about what he is - other than his larger than life big kid persona that hit a lot of home runs, was a great pitcher in his day, and all that yadda yadda yadda pap) in the way of a man's record setting greatness.
And perhaps, I can't say it as well as Bill Veeck in Veeck as in Wreck to talk down on Frick's destruction of the greatest story in baseball in ages (the tale of 2 men for the record with Mantle chasing as well for most of the season), but what this whole story really boils down to isn't an asterisk - it is just that: the fact that only 23,154 people saw the home run live because Frick doesn't understand baseball promotion. Baseball could have embraced the story, remembered its past, as it did with Maris throughout the entire 1998 season (he's still at the top of my all time favorite list of players with McGwire, Pedro, and Gibson). How many books have and will be released on Mr. Maris?
The point is that we don't need our heroes to be one dimensional. Some of them can suffer from having their hair fall out due to stress (I can relate to that - and I can relate to premature white hairs in my chin patch). We can relate to staring down the system that doesn't appreciate us. We can relate to a wife who supports us through thick and thin. We can feel the urge to walk away - but not doing so. We can feel the urge to bunt if it helps us win a game rather than to swing for the fences. Most of us are Maris.
The myth of Babe Ruth is an inflated pile of hooey. Mickey Mantle may have been the boyhood hero of his time, but a certain other center fielder had to leave the game first. There will always be room on the wall for the heroes. They come from a time and place, and they should be revered and respected at something more than old folks / timers days and as a great newspaper story 37 years later (as opposed to being portraryed as an uncooperative jerk to the media at the time).
These are the things that Crystal captured... well, that and the Ball Four side of Mickey Mantle, but that's neither here nor there. Tracey Stallard's price on the banquet circuit went through the roof, and he was a Red Sox pitcher, and yeah... it was a time and place that the rivalry wasn't, and the record wasn't worth watching, and Roger was hitting 2 extra shots that didn't matter since they were after 154 games.
That's the thing about the movie. It makes you want to understand why the media of that day went out of their way to kill the potential idol of the day. It makes you want to go to Fargo and pay respects to the man. It reminds you of why we play the game and live our lives strong. It tells the life of Roger Maris in a way that showcases the season of change for all of us.
Thanks Billy! Great movie
But there was a moment of shining glory... an underappreciated gem from Billy Crystal of all people (well, actually not since Crystal is a Yankee drooler and it was right after the time that Mark McGwire was captivating the world and ESPECIALLY ME with his home run race to beat Sammy Sosa to 61 and make it to 70) that changed the possibility of what baseball movies could be.
That movie was 61*, and it's still one of my favorites. Sure, it was sentimental, and sure, it painted Ford Frick as a villain with the ghost of Babe Ruth as some unmovable slug (and in a way, that's about what he is - other than his larger than life big kid persona that hit a lot of home runs, was a great pitcher in his day, and all that yadda yadda yadda pap) in the way of a man's record setting greatness.
And perhaps, I can't say it as well as Bill Veeck in Veeck as in Wreck to talk down on Frick's destruction of the greatest story in baseball in ages (the tale of 2 men for the record with Mantle chasing as well for most of the season), but what this whole story really boils down to isn't an asterisk - it is just that: the fact that only 23,154 people saw the home run live because Frick doesn't understand baseball promotion. Baseball could have embraced the story, remembered its past, as it did with Maris throughout the entire 1998 season (he's still at the top of my all time favorite list of players with McGwire, Pedro, and Gibson). How many books have and will be released on Mr. Maris?
The point is that we don't need our heroes to be one dimensional. Some of them can suffer from having their hair fall out due to stress (I can relate to that - and I can relate to premature white hairs in my chin patch). We can relate to staring down the system that doesn't appreciate us. We can relate to a wife who supports us through thick and thin. We can feel the urge to walk away - but not doing so. We can feel the urge to bunt if it helps us win a game rather than to swing for the fences. Most of us are Maris.
The myth of Babe Ruth is an inflated pile of hooey. Mickey Mantle may have been the boyhood hero of his time, but a certain other center fielder had to leave the game first. There will always be room on the wall for the heroes. They come from a time and place, and they should be revered and respected at something more than old folks / timers days and as a great newspaper story 37 years later (as opposed to being portraryed as an uncooperative jerk to the media at the time).
These are the things that Crystal captured... well, that and the Ball Four side of Mickey Mantle, but that's neither here nor there. Tracey Stallard's price on the banquet circuit went through the roof, and he was a Red Sox pitcher, and yeah... it was a time and place that the rivalry wasn't, and the record wasn't worth watching, and Roger was hitting 2 extra shots that didn't matter since they were after 154 games.
That's the thing about the movie. It makes you want to understand why the media of that day went out of their way to kill the potential idol of the day. It makes you want to go to Fargo and pay respects to the man. It reminds you of why we play the game and live our lives strong. It tells the life of Roger Maris in a way that showcases the season of change for all of us.
Thanks Billy! Great movie
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Jake Taylor
Sadly, there is no game in baseball that rivals the Daytona 500. There are no parties that serve as the culmination of 2 weeks of hype. There is no excessive practice, time trials, and multiple contests that don't matter leading up to the big game. Past MVPs don't get to come back to compete one more time (at least since Bill Veeck died). Past winners don't automatically get a spot in the order regardless of how poorly they run. There is nothing in baseball that lives up to the hype. Sure, there's an all star game, but it hasn't mattered since Bud Selig called the game a tie. Even before that, it wasn't Pete Rose vs. Ray Fosse.
But Daytona is everything baseball could be if it didn't invite the Counting Crows to the All Star Game as the representative music of the game (sure, August and Everything After is great, but it's not rockin' or anything). Daytona got it right for their audience. Brad Paisley and Dierks Bentley. Now, I'm not a country music fan in that I wear a cowboy hat and boots, but I know that this is what their fans like. Hell, Chris Daughtry would work, too. The point is that you please the fans.
Opening day is great for baseball, but it's not the tone for the season. It's 1 game and done. It's not a once and done chance for a rookie. It's not all or nothing. It's the beginning of a 162-game marathon. Sure, all games matter to stats, but you can recover in baseball. In NASCAR, it's about being sponsored and given a chance to ride constantly. Case in point - Trevor Bayne.
It's not quite a home run in the first at bat. Sure, that's a great starting point, but alas, this wasn't a first at bat. The first and only at bat before this was a single 17th place run (out of 43 drivers) at some point in the end of the last season by a 19 year old up for a cup of coffee.
Here's a man who never won in the NASCAR minor leagues (Nationwide series).
Here's a man on a team who hasn't won in 10 years.
Here's a man on a team with history - a history that many fans who are under 30 never got to see.
Here's a man on a team that hasn't won the Daytona since 1976. My wife was still in diapers at the time David Pearson won the race at 30mph after a crash.
Their last 3 winners are gone from racing altogether (Morgan Shepherd, Dale Jarrett, and Elliot Sadler).
And then a guy who is 20 years old and a day comes to race. He doesn't have a full season ride. He looks to be pre-pubescent. Nobody knows who he is, but he runs strongly all day.
In the end, a crash takes out Dale Jr. on the 10th anniversary of his father's death race. The front is lined up for 2 and done. A young kid who hasn't restarted well all day is in the lead and he gets a push from Bobby Labonte, a grizzled veteran who doesn't even belong at the race, but who is still up front because he's running well and because he was a past NASCAR champion. He's bump drafting Bayne and pushing him to be as great as he once was. He's in the lead. He's going for gold. It's like Tom Berenger as Jake Taylor in Major League... he's willing the youngsters to win by forcing his legs to make it to first on an improbable bunt (he'll finish 4th) and somehow, improbably, Carl Edwards who is getting pushed by David Gilliland can't get around him in the final stretch of the race and the kid wins.
He has to be told that he wins.
"I just feel unworthy …"
But it's not the humble young guy who won...
"they gave me a rocket ship."
He's thanking God and completely overwhelmed.
He has to be told how to get to Victory Lane.
Something in the moment is geared towards the end of a movie. It's fantastic. It's the start of something good... hopefully, it's a sequel that's better than Major League 2 (and much better than 3).
Baseball doesn't seem to offer up stories like that unless you watch really closely. When they do happen, they have to be in the playoffs or result in some degree of perfection (Dallas Braden's gem on Mother's Day), but we don't watch that live. We see the highlights - unless we have MLBTV and we're somehow fatefully there (like I was).
If only it could be that way again.
Here's to 2011 - 38 days.
But Daytona is everything baseball could be if it didn't invite the Counting Crows to the All Star Game as the representative music of the game (sure, August and Everything After is great, but it's not rockin' or anything). Daytona got it right for their audience. Brad Paisley and Dierks Bentley. Now, I'm not a country music fan in that I wear a cowboy hat and boots, but I know that this is what their fans like. Hell, Chris Daughtry would work, too. The point is that you please the fans.
Opening day is great for baseball, but it's not the tone for the season. It's 1 game and done. It's not a once and done chance for a rookie. It's not all or nothing. It's the beginning of a 162-game marathon. Sure, all games matter to stats, but you can recover in baseball. In NASCAR, it's about being sponsored and given a chance to ride constantly. Case in point - Trevor Bayne.
It's not quite a home run in the first at bat. Sure, that's a great starting point, but alas, this wasn't a first at bat. The first and only at bat before this was a single 17th place run (out of 43 drivers) at some point in the end of the last season by a 19 year old up for a cup of coffee.
Here's a man who never won in the NASCAR minor leagues (Nationwide series).
Here's a man on a team who hasn't won in 10 years.
Here's a man on a team with history - a history that many fans who are under 30 never got to see.
Here's a man on a team that hasn't won the Daytona since 1976. My wife was still in diapers at the time David Pearson won the race at 30mph after a crash.
Their last 3 winners are gone from racing altogether (Morgan Shepherd, Dale Jarrett, and Elliot Sadler).
And then a guy who is 20 years old and a day comes to race. He doesn't have a full season ride. He looks to be pre-pubescent. Nobody knows who he is, but he runs strongly all day.
In the end, a crash takes out Dale Jr. on the 10th anniversary of his father's death race. The front is lined up for 2 and done. A young kid who hasn't restarted well all day is in the lead and he gets a push from Bobby Labonte, a grizzled veteran who doesn't even belong at the race, but who is still up front because he's running well and because he was a past NASCAR champion. He's bump drafting Bayne and pushing him to be as great as he once was. He's in the lead. He's going for gold. It's like Tom Berenger as Jake Taylor in Major League... he's willing the youngsters to win by forcing his legs to make it to first on an improbable bunt (he'll finish 4th) and somehow, improbably, Carl Edwards who is getting pushed by David Gilliland can't get around him in the final stretch of the race and the kid wins.
He has to be told that he wins.
"I just feel unworthy …"
But it's not the humble young guy who won...
"they gave me a rocket ship."
He's thanking God and completely overwhelmed.
He has to be told how to get to Victory Lane.
Something in the moment is geared towards the end of a movie. It's fantastic. It's the start of something good... hopefully, it's a sequel that's better than Major League 2 (and much better than 3).
Baseball doesn't seem to offer up stories like that unless you watch really closely. When they do happen, they have to be in the playoffs or result in some degree of perfection (Dallas Braden's gem on Mother's Day), but we don't watch that live. We see the highlights - unless we have MLBTV and we're somehow fatefully there (like I was).
If only it could be that way again.
Here's to 2011 - 38 days.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Jim Thorpe
There's something about the spectacle that is the Superbowl. The pomp, the circumstance, the hype, and the hope that 2 teams can come together in an epic clash and make it all the way to the end of the 4th quarter and still be going strong enough that they both have a chance to win because that's what it's all about.
Somewhere in the game is a minor league carnival of whatever. While there aren't T-shirt cannons and crazy ostrich riders / hot dog vendors, there is still enough "other stuff" that people who don't care about football can enjoy the jubilation of Rah Rah America Kicks Ass Day (if Obama really wants to impress me, he'll rename Superbowl Sunday as such and make the next day an official half day like they did when I was in the Air Force (at least in the early 1990s at the European clinic I worked at with regards to all un-necessary personell since the game was televised VERY late at night on AFN)).
But the Superbowl is the epitome of America. Baseball really can't compete with the "general public" though George Carlin was right about it. Baseball's spectacles just aren't the same since the death of Bill Veeck. The World Series is 7 games and it's not do or die. The All-Star Game (in baseball as in all sports) is a series of spectacles and some applause for who was announced with no Pete Rose / Ray Fosse moment since it's all about being owned by the team and to play one's heart out in a game that doesn't count towards the standings... anathema! Well, at least it is for modern players.
Back in the day, athletes could be great and play 2 sports. Danny Ainge was a Blue Jay, but he chose the Celtics instead, which was a good choice because the Celtics were dominant in the Larry Bird era. Bo Jackson bled his heart out on two fields and made Buck O' Neil salivate over the sound of his bat (unfortunately, I never heard this because I was young and in England and totally un-concerned with the sports whose trading cards I grew up with).
Jim Thorpe who became the new namesake for the town of Mauch Chunk (the best place to spend a weekend in eastern PA HANDS DOWN as it offers fine dining, cultural entertainment, river adventure, waterfalls, ghosts, and antiques all in one cozy 19th century Swiss styled town) was also a 2-sport athlete after getting hosed out of his gold medals in the 1912 Olympics because he played baseball. Nevertheless, this half Native American went on to be gushed over by the Associated Press as the greatest male athlete of the first part of the 20th century (1950) in much the same way King Gustav drooled over him way back when he was still getting ready to dominate in the Olympics. ABC did them all one better by declaring him the greatest athlete of the 20th century.
Johnny Come Latelies aside, the rectifying of his gold medals in 1982 restored the memory of this great athlete to where it should have always been.
However, more people remember 2-sport athletes like Deion Sanders and his flashy personality than do Jim Thorpe, which is a shame as it shows our tunnel vision for the now instead of the past. It's kind of like looking at the Black Eyed Peas halftime show as an example of great music. Sure, Will I Am and Usher's "OMG" is a great pop song. So is "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night." However, their live show... nicht so gut. Seeing Slash playing with Fergie, who is perhaps the WORST performer in the history of performances (she's not attractive, she can't sing, she can't dance - it's the trifecta of uselessness) was a sad state of mainstream music in 2011. I know that the last couple of performances were largely white rock since the Wardrobe Malfunction, but c'mon...
It's bad enough that the Superbowl didn't even try to get glitzy until they used George Burns and Mickey Rooney in 1987. In 1991, they switched it up with New Kids on the Block, and in 1993, the self-proclaimed King of Pop, who we just look at as a permanent scumbag, but alas, I digress... and half time shows were now even more important than the game (just not the commericals that now cost around $3million for 30 seconds). But one again, c'mon. Can we not do better than Fergie? Can Will I Am not kick her to curb once and for all?
One can only hope (not that baseball's choice of musicians to raise the roof is that great since they used Counting Crows who despite having one of the greatest CDs ever (August and Everything After) were 12 years removed from being good, and even then, they weren't in their element, which is whiney introspective pop.
But yes... here's to the joy of the Superbowl- even if it's a spectacle where we get sucked into rooting for Thug Ben because we draw a $25 chance to win if the Steelers win (and we end up hating him EVEN more).
And here's to minor league baseball - because it's still baseball - the greatest sport in the world.
Somewhere in the game is a minor league carnival of whatever. While there aren't T-shirt cannons and crazy ostrich riders / hot dog vendors, there is still enough "other stuff" that people who don't care about football can enjoy the jubilation of Rah Rah America Kicks Ass Day (if Obama really wants to impress me, he'll rename Superbowl Sunday as such and make the next day an official half day like they did when I was in the Air Force (at least in the early 1990s at the European clinic I worked at with regards to all un-necessary personell since the game was televised VERY late at night on AFN)).
But the Superbowl is the epitome of America. Baseball really can't compete with the "general public" though George Carlin was right about it. Baseball's spectacles just aren't the same since the death of Bill Veeck. The World Series is 7 games and it's not do or die. The All-Star Game (in baseball as in all sports) is a series of spectacles and some applause for who was announced with no Pete Rose / Ray Fosse moment since it's all about being owned by the team and to play one's heart out in a game that doesn't count towards the standings... anathema! Well, at least it is for modern players.
Back in the day, athletes could be great and play 2 sports. Danny Ainge was a Blue Jay, but he chose the Celtics instead, which was a good choice because the Celtics were dominant in the Larry Bird era. Bo Jackson bled his heart out on two fields and made Buck O' Neil salivate over the sound of his bat (unfortunately, I never heard this because I was young and in England and totally un-concerned with the sports whose trading cards I grew up with).
Jim Thorpe who became the new namesake for the town of Mauch Chunk (the best place to spend a weekend in eastern PA HANDS DOWN as it offers fine dining, cultural entertainment, river adventure, waterfalls, ghosts, and antiques all in one cozy 19th century Swiss styled town) was also a 2-sport athlete after getting hosed out of his gold medals in the 1912 Olympics because he played baseball. Nevertheless, this half Native American went on to be gushed over by the Associated Press as the greatest male athlete of the first part of the 20th century (1950) in much the same way King Gustav drooled over him way back when he was still getting ready to dominate in the Olympics. ABC did them all one better by declaring him the greatest athlete of the 20th century.
Johnny Come Latelies aside, the rectifying of his gold medals in 1982 restored the memory of this great athlete to where it should have always been.
However, more people remember 2-sport athletes like Deion Sanders and his flashy personality than do Jim Thorpe, which is a shame as it shows our tunnel vision for the now instead of the past. It's kind of like looking at the Black Eyed Peas halftime show as an example of great music. Sure, Will I Am and Usher's "OMG" is a great pop song. So is "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night." However, their live show... nicht so gut. Seeing Slash playing with Fergie, who is perhaps the WORST performer in the history of performances (she's not attractive, she can't sing, she can't dance - it's the trifecta of uselessness) was a sad state of mainstream music in 2011. I know that the last couple of performances were largely white rock since the Wardrobe Malfunction, but c'mon...
It's bad enough that the Superbowl didn't even try to get glitzy until they used George Burns and Mickey Rooney in 1987. In 1991, they switched it up with New Kids on the Block, and in 1993, the self-proclaimed King of Pop, who we just look at as a permanent scumbag, but alas, I digress... and half time shows were now even more important than the game (just not the commericals that now cost around $3million for 30 seconds). But one again, c'mon. Can we not do better than Fergie? Can Will I Am not kick her to curb once and for all?
One can only hope (not that baseball's choice of musicians to raise the roof is that great since they used Counting Crows who despite having one of the greatest CDs ever (August and Everything After) were 12 years removed from being good, and even then, they weren't in their element, which is whiney introspective pop.
But yes... here's to the joy of the Superbowl- even if it's a spectacle where we get sucked into rooting for Thug Ben because we draw a $25 chance to win if the Steelers win (and we end up hating him EVEN more).
And here's to minor league baseball - because it's still baseball - the greatest sport in the world.
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