'Tis the season

In honor of the upcoming holiday season, I will shortly be compiling my anxiously awaited Christmas mix playlist. While everyone waits for baited breath for that list to be revealed, it should go without saying that the best part of Christmas season is listening to "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues, which is hands down the best Christmas song ever written. Seriously. If you don't love this song with every ounce of your being, then you are a terrible person. This is not up for debate. Observe the brilliance below:


p.s. Check out who's playing the cop hauling at the beginning of the video! Long live Dally.

Tuesday Vintage Commercial: Pepsi

If anybody is wearing Bad Idea Jeans this week, it's Michael Richards. 1994 was clearly a much simpler time for Kramer, although the lack of black people in this commercial is much more noticeable today.

Tuesday Vintage Commercial: The General and his Juice

After all the unnecessary hullabaloo following last night's Texas Tech game, this seems pretty appropriate this morning.

Setting the Record Straight

I was sitting in the sports book at the Bellagio Sunday evening pissing away some money on races at Hoosier Park when I was struck by a few ideas: 1) Who bets on sprints? 2) How ironic is it that I fly hundreds of miles only to end up betting on horse races happening 25 minutes drive from my house? 3) Why aren't I watching the Bears vs. Giants game?

It didn't take too much time to realize what was at stake. This was much more than a game for home-field advantage in the playoffs. This was more than a surging Giants team running into a reeling Bears team. This was the Big Apple vs. the Second City. It was a good, old-fashioned, sports book mook off! There were requisite cheers for and against every play plus some guy who screamed for each snap to end in a touchdown. I kid you not, at one point the guy belts out, "Big Hit! Fumble! Touchdown! Arrghhhgh!"

It was a swing pass for about six yards.

After meer moments, I leaned over to my wife and proffered, "If you think this is nuts, wait till OSU and Michigan next week." This Saturday's matchup might prompt more security at sports books than the ill-fated Crips vs. Bloods Jone Off.

This 1 vs. 2 matchup is a slice of BCS heaven/hell depending on your allegiance to the Big East. I can't think of a bigger late season game in my life, and the coverage so far has backed that up. Polls and BCS rankings have been released and everyone's spewing stats and history all over the sports universe. Then it happened, and I knew it inevitably would. ESPN starts showing its "INSERT YOUR NOUN Lives Here" commercial complete with Desmond Howard's 93 yard return for a touchdown against Ohio St. in 1991. You know the one, Howard strides into the endzone and then in one of the most undercriticized dick-moves in sports history, strikes the Heisman pose. However, what so many people seem to conveniently overlook is the fact that Desmond Howard TOTALLY F*CKED UP THE POSE!

Try this: walk onto the nearest streetcorner in Whereeveryouare, America and ask someone to pose as the Statue of Liberty. They'll get it right; right hand up, left hand clutching an imaginary tablet, huddled masses at their feet. The Statue of Liberty is something most Americans identify with personally. It embodies ideals of excellence that most of them strive to display, much like the Heisman trophy might embody the football excellence college players strive toward. Desmond Howard totally screwed it up...and he had props.

Is no one willing to call out the legions of people who follow this sham and sully the legacy of Ricky Williams and Gino Torretta? The faux-pose has surfaced enough times since (from the 1992 Rose Bowl where big Blue got shellaced by Washington to Kyle Orton's paltry Heisman bid) to prompt action. Let's take a look at the dissimilarity between Howard's farce and the real deal.

1) Howard decides to pull his left leg off the ground at a rakish angle. The true Heisman keeps both feet grounded and in no way looks like he's popping or locking.
2) Howard holds the ball in his right hand, Heisman tucks it away in his left.
3) Howard offers a flitty near wave with his left arm while Heisman is chucking out some dislocating, Kojak-yo-ass stiffarm.
4) Howard smiles a shit-eating grin while the trophy keeps all emotions under wraps, sneering until his post-game interview with someone fetching, say Rachel Nichols if she covered college ball, pulls out a slightly glinted grin.

It's quite true that this Saturday should go down in college football lore as well as being woven into the vicious tapestry that is the OSU/UM hatred. It will no doubt prompt something from the Dead Schembechlers. God willing though, barring any post-touchdown abominations, the game won't make John Heisman roll over in his grave yet another time.

Oh yeah, he's from Ohio.

The real John Heisman

Horse tranquilizers

I'm not telling you anything new when I say that if you see an Indiana Pacer out in public, there is a good chance that said Pacer may try to shoot you. It's inevitable, but those are the stakes.

And yet, according to an enlightening report from the Boston Globe, the only Pacers with guns (or at least licensed guns) were those that make up the infamous Club Rio Trio. A more surprising fact is that the Pacers have nothing on the Colts when it comes to packing heat. Check out the list of boys in blue who not only excel in putting Tom Brady in his place, but also in carrying firearms. You have to love the impressive, quiet dignity with which Marvin Harrison keeps his gun concealed. (P.S. Marvin, your license has expired!)

Truth be told, this only confirms what has been suspected for quite some time: You do NOT step to Jeff Saturday.

Riddle Me This

The better half and I will be trekking out to Vegas this weekend partially for a friend's 30th birthday party, but mostly to pray for a leather-slathered seat in the Bellagio's sports book from which we might revel in our first ever NCAA and NFL weekend. Seeing as I hit the exacta in the Breeders Cup, this seems to be my week for trying.

I began my research at bodog.com after seeing that my Purdue Boilermakers are a three point dog at Illinois this weekend. Now, I know that the Boilers have turned in some gut-wrenching defeats lately, but this is Illinois. I was ready to throw down my next paycheck on Purdue and at the same time dance that fateful dance of having good money riding on a team that perennially breaks my heart.

I don't get this though. How can Purdue be getting 3 points, yet not be the favorite as far as the money line? Currently Purdue is at -115 with the Illini at -105. What gives?

Truths are emerging: 1) I'll never catch a break nor find that gambling diamond in the rough and 2) The Bellagio chairs will be full of east coast mooks before my shuttle from The Orleans even gases up.

Wish me luck.

Tuesday Vintage Commercial: Hooray for America

It's election day people, and I can't help but wonder where Puffy's "Vote or Die" campaign went. I suppose it's all fine and good to encourage voting in Presidential elections where your vote really doesn't matter, but midterm elections are just as important. Sure, you may not really know the candidates, or even know what their job entails (I'm not sure what the Warren Township constable does, but I'm pretty sure he has to perform all tasks while riding a horse.) Regardless, this is how democracy works people! And if I can't convince you, then I know of only one man who can. A man who always served his political office with honor and decorum. And that's my final thought for election day.

Ghetto bastard

At one early point during Satuday's juvenile race at the Breeder's Cup, I'm pretty sure U D Ghetto was trailing by at least half a lap. He had the discipline and work ethic of a communication major, who half-way through the semester has yet to attend back-to-back classes of his required physics course and realizes that trying to keep pace by simply reading each session's powerpoint slides online is leading to certain failure.* Still, the horse was doing some things correctly (like running the right direction!) and fought off his senior-itis with equal parts vim and vigor, making up a huge distance down the backstretch to finish 7th! A lazy start, followed by a dizzying flurry of genius potential realized, culminating in a mediocre but less-than-embarassing showing. This horse is a true Flyer!

But I'm turning my ire to USA Today contributor Scott Finley. This chucklehead had the audacity to refer to America's favorite horse as "horribly named." Scott Finley, you clearly cannot be bothered to research where horse names come from, as a simple google news search of U D Ghetto would provide several stories leading to the inspiration of the name. Regardless of your confusion, it seems that you, Scott Finley, obviously must think that ghettos in general are horrible places - you elitist, racist, snob. Well let me you tell about about someone that I find to be horribly named. Scott Finley. What is that? It makes no earthly sense. Who would name a person that? Only someone who wishes for their child to grow up and become a hateful, ill-informed, vengeful USA Today contriubutor. Jerk.


* This comparison is completely hypothetical and in no way based on a former UD communication major currently writing this entry.