http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOBryz4sbm8
Seriously, how great is that? Just nonchalantly saying "Aww, fuck it" on national TV as a crowd having the time of their admittedly pathetic lives roars? Unfortunately, some disagree that this was a great moment in the history of television and actually argue the other way. It should be noted that most people don't seem too terribly offended, but apparently the amount was enough (or perceived to be enough) that ESPN forced Lee Corso to apologize.
Hopefully, it won't go further than this. I kind of don't think it will, but I'm scared enough that I felt compelled to write this. But I have a very simple question for those who were offended by Lee Corso's exclamation: Why?
What is offensive about a man saying "Fuck it", even if it was premeditated? Even if you think it's unnecessary, what about it is bad? It would be one thing if Lee had said "God damn it" (taking the Lord's name in vain) or if he'd told Chris Fowler to go fuck himself (saying something derogatory and mean towards somebody), but he did neither of these things. Now, I'm presuming most people who are offended are offended by the word fuck. This word was created by people at least a millennium after the arrival of Jesus. Nobody was ever damned in the Old Testament because they said the word fuck, because the word fuck didn't exist. Jesus never asked his followers not to say the word, because it didn't exist.
An easy parallel would be several other notable gaffes in which the word fuck was used, such as the legendary "Bill O'Reilly Flips Out" or the time Ernie Arnastos said "Keep fucking that chicken." But while these amuse me, I can at least rationalize why they'd be deemed offensive. With Bill O'Reilly, he is clearly being threatening and uncomfortable towards a defenseless, unseen man. With Arnastos (who claims that the line was an accident), there's at least a sexual connotation and I guess you could argue it encourages bestiality or something. It doesn't make sense, but it makes more sense than condemning Lee Corso. But honestly, what does "Fuck it" mean? Essentially it means "Whatever", which isn't typically considered offensive. It's just a phrase.
In fact, I'm pretty sure the only reason 95% of people who use the phrase use the phrase is to get a rise out of the people who are offended. Because people get on their moral high horses about the use of the word fuck, it has a special elevated place in the American vernacular. It's trolling on a somewhat minor and very easy to use level. People don't use the phrase "fuck it" in spite of the fact that it offends people--they use the phrase because it offends people. Or at least because it grabs the attention of people.
From a legal perspective, Lee Corso did nothing wrong. The FCC has zero jurisdiction over ESPN, since ESPN is not a broadcast TV network, and even if Corso had said this on network television, I'm pretty sure the FCC has more important things to worry about. Like whether or not Janet Jackson exposes her breast to me when I was fifteen. Still no investigations into showing the ultra-violent D-Day scenes in Saving Private Ryan on network TV.
Basically, what I'm saying is if you want to complain about Lee Corso saying the F word on television, it's your right to do so. Just be forewarned that most of us don't really fucking care.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
The Schadenfreude of Beady Eye
Last March, I spent ten dollars for an album hoping that it would suck.
That album was Different Gear, Still Speeding by Beady Eye, the band formed by the remaining members of Oasis when Noel Gallagher quit the band. And I, like many, had always followed the belief that Noel Gallagher was the brilliant and talented songwriter who guided a ragtag bunch to musical greatness while the other members, particularly his brother Liam, rode his coattails and selfishly grabbed unwarranted attention. And given my belief, I wanted to listen to this album and just absolutely fucking hate it. I wanted to find it a collection of godawful, tuneless mess of songs clumsily attempted by the arrogant, spoiled guys who surely were the ones to blame for the downfall of the greatest band of my lifetime (yeah, I said it).
What I heard, rather, was the best album I'd heard since, conservatively, the Black Keys album Brothers. But rather than rave about how Beady Eye wildly surpassed my expectations, I'm going to talk about why I'm an idiot.
Whether or not the Beady Eye album was good is beside the point. I think so, and you all should check it out, but why would I want the album to fail? Unless you have some kind of personal vendetta against a musician (I don't against Beady Eye; I questioned their collective talents but it's not like Gem Archer punched my mother or something), why would I want Beady Eye to fail? To substantiate my own bullshit theories that 1. Nobody cares about, and 2. I don't have any sort of stake upon being correct?
There's a big difference between music and sports. If somebody does well in sports, it means somebody else does poorly, and vice versa. So if I root against the Yankees, it's also partially because I want to see the underdog (even if relatively so) succeed. But in music, success (as defined not by record sales but by making good music) benefits the world as a whole. The fact that The Beatles were changing the world musically in the 1960s didn't in turn make The Kinks worse--if anything it made them better, but certainly there is no good reason to root against the Beatles to make good music.
But this doesn't even just apply to bands you like. Take Journey, a band that, if you've read this blog, you know that I completely fucking despise. I hate everything about Journey--their pretension, their sycophantic lyrics, their masquerading as a great band. But should I root against them? If Journey, with their stupid little karaoke singer, records the modern day White Album, should I get mad? Or should I be happy that I can now listen to a wonderful piece of music? Well, I should be happy, but maybe I'm just an inconsolable douchebag. And thus it's entirely possible I'd be mad. Not bad at their success as much as mad that I was wrong.
The absurd Schadenfreude extends well beyond music though. Look at movies. For instance, this Friday will mark the release of the new Adam Sandler movie Jack and Jill, which will probably be terrible. Probably. But what if I watch the movie and enjoy it? Maybe I will find it hilarious. Maybe I'll find it life-altering and worthy of Oscar buzz. Again, probably won't happen, but why should I go into a movie expecting that the next hour and a half plus of my life are going to be a complete waste of time? Would my life not be better if I watched it and thought it was good? It's not like I'm in some kind of pool where I'm betting for Jack and Jill to suck. If Jack and Jill is the best movie I've seen since Fargo, then that is a good thing. It doesn't matter who makes it.
So why root against Beady Eye or Adam Sandler or any performer? Would the world be better if we'd instantly dismissed The Godfather as another of Marlon Brando's underdeveloped vanity pieces or if we deemed Led Zeppelin IV as pretentious garbage by the bunch of stoned hippies who couldn't tell if they were metal or folk because they were too stoned to tell the goddamned difference? I personally think not. And if you disagree, than you, sir or ma'am, are worse than Hitler.
That album was Different Gear, Still Speeding by Beady Eye, the band formed by the remaining members of Oasis when Noel Gallagher quit the band. And I, like many, had always followed the belief that Noel Gallagher was the brilliant and talented songwriter who guided a ragtag bunch to musical greatness while the other members, particularly his brother Liam, rode his coattails and selfishly grabbed unwarranted attention. And given my belief, I wanted to listen to this album and just absolutely fucking hate it. I wanted to find it a collection of godawful, tuneless mess of songs clumsily attempted by the arrogant, spoiled guys who surely were the ones to blame for the downfall of the greatest band of my lifetime (yeah, I said it).
What I heard, rather, was the best album I'd heard since, conservatively, the Black Keys album Brothers. But rather than rave about how Beady Eye wildly surpassed my expectations, I'm going to talk about why I'm an idiot.
Whether or not the Beady Eye album was good is beside the point. I think so, and you all should check it out, but why would I want the album to fail? Unless you have some kind of personal vendetta against a musician (I don't against Beady Eye; I questioned their collective talents but it's not like Gem Archer punched my mother or something), why would I want Beady Eye to fail? To substantiate my own bullshit theories that 1. Nobody cares about, and 2. I don't have any sort of stake upon being correct?
There's a big difference between music and sports. If somebody does well in sports, it means somebody else does poorly, and vice versa. So if I root against the Yankees, it's also partially because I want to see the underdog (even if relatively so) succeed. But in music, success (as defined not by record sales but by making good music) benefits the world as a whole. The fact that The Beatles were changing the world musically in the 1960s didn't in turn make The Kinks worse--if anything it made them better, but certainly there is no good reason to root against the Beatles to make good music.
But this doesn't even just apply to bands you like. Take Journey, a band that, if you've read this blog, you know that I completely fucking despise. I hate everything about Journey--their pretension, their sycophantic lyrics, their masquerading as a great band. But should I root against them? If Journey, with their stupid little karaoke singer, records the modern day White Album, should I get mad? Or should I be happy that I can now listen to a wonderful piece of music? Well, I should be happy, but maybe I'm just an inconsolable douchebag. And thus it's entirely possible I'd be mad. Not bad at their success as much as mad that I was wrong.
The absurd Schadenfreude extends well beyond music though. Look at movies. For instance, this Friday will mark the release of the new Adam Sandler movie Jack and Jill, which will probably be terrible. Probably. But what if I watch the movie and enjoy it? Maybe I will find it hilarious. Maybe I'll find it life-altering and worthy of Oscar buzz. Again, probably won't happen, but why should I go into a movie expecting that the next hour and a half plus of my life are going to be a complete waste of time? Would my life not be better if I watched it and thought it was good? It's not like I'm in some kind of pool where I'm betting for Jack and Jill to suck. If Jack and Jill is the best movie I've seen since Fargo, then that is a good thing. It doesn't matter who makes it.
So why root against Beady Eye or Adam Sandler or any performer? Would the world be better if we'd instantly dismissed The Godfather as another of Marlon Brando's underdeveloped vanity pieces or if we deemed Led Zeppelin IV as pretentious garbage by the bunch of stoned hippies who couldn't tell if they were metal or folk because they were too stoned to tell the goddamned difference? I personally think not. And if you disagree, than you, sir or ma'am, are worse than Hitler.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Song 2 vs. Seven Nation Army: The Stadium Song Battle to the Death
In one corner, we have a gritty, riff-heavy, grunge-influenced rocker from art rockers from London. In another corner we have the favorite of scarf-donning soccer crowds throughout Europe, courtesy of Detroit garage rockers. We, of course, have Blur's "Song 2" versus The White Stripes's "Seven Nation Army."
Now some of you may not be familiar with these songs, and if you aren't, then congratulations on waking up from a coma after fifteen years. The world has changed a lot. We have a black president now, too.
Anyway, let's get to who leads in the aspects that make a song a great stadium song:
The Hook: It doesn't matter that Song 2 has a tremendously solid drum intro or that Seven Nation Army has a strong guitar solo--everyone knows the hooks. Song 2 has the part where Damon Albarn yells "Whoo hoo!" and Seven Nation Army has Jack White's best-of-the-decade guitar riff. It's hard to pick because both hooks are great, but I have to side with Blur on this one. There are tons of great guitar riffs, but it's pretty rare to have a scat vocal that's as big of a deal as this one.
The Crowd Impact: Would you rather hear a packed house at a hockey game yell "Whoo hoo!" or a soccer crowd sing along to "Da, dum dum dum, da, dum, dum!" It's of course a matter of opinion, but give me the latter any day. It's harder to emulate a guitar riff than a yell, so the gloriously off-key sound of Seven Nation Army's attempts amuse me to no end. Advantage to the Stripes.
The Versatility: I've heard both songs in basically every type of sporting event, so versatility would *seemingly* be a push. But Song 2 holds an edge here for me. Seven Nation Army is more or less just a good song that gets played and sung along with because it's a good song. Song 2 is a naturally exciting song. It can be played in any situation--when the team needs to rally, when the win is in the bag, and just tow ake the crowd up. Thus, Song 2 is the perfect stadium song. Thanks for playing, Seven Nation Army--you put up a valiant fight. But apparently a Song 2 could hold you back.
Now some of you may not be familiar with these songs, and if you aren't, then congratulations on waking up from a coma after fifteen years. The world has changed a lot. We have a black president now, too.
Anyway, let's get to who leads in the aspects that make a song a great stadium song:
The Hook: It doesn't matter that Song 2 has a tremendously solid drum intro or that Seven Nation Army has a strong guitar solo--everyone knows the hooks. Song 2 has the part where Damon Albarn yells "Whoo hoo!" and Seven Nation Army has Jack White's best-of-the-decade guitar riff. It's hard to pick because both hooks are great, but I have to side with Blur on this one. There are tons of great guitar riffs, but it's pretty rare to have a scat vocal that's as big of a deal as this one.
The Crowd Impact: Would you rather hear a packed house at a hockey game yell "Whoo hoo!" or a soccer crowd sing along to "Da, dum dum dum, da, dum, dum!" It's of course a matter of opinion, but give me the latter any day. It's harder to emulate a guitar riff than a yell, so the gloriously off-key sound of Seven Nation Army's attempts amuse me to no end. Advantage to the Stripes.
The Versatility: I've heard both songs in basically every type of sporting event, so versatility would *seemingly* be a push. But Song 2 holds an edge here for me. Seven Nation Army is more or less just a good song that gets played and sung along with because it's a good song. Song 2 is a naturally exciting song. It can be played in any situation--when the team needs to rally, when the win is in the bag, and just tow ake the crowd up. Thus, Song 2 is the perfect stadium song. Thanks for playing, Seven Nation Army--you put up a valiant fight. But apparently a Song 2 could hold you back.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Easiest Decision Mo Will Ever Have to Make
There are several valid picks for who should be the next manager of the St. Louis Cardinals. There is only one truly correct pick, though. I'll get to that in a moment. But the easiest decision John Mozeliak will ever have to make is to pass on Jose Oquendo.
When you're a big deal, and the St. Louis Cardinals are a big deal (they have to be considered a top five managerial job in baseball), you don't have to make weak picks like hiring from within. Weak because it generally doesn't work. You remember when Notre Dame hired from within by hiring Bob Davie to replace Lou Holtz? Or when Bill Stewart replaced Rich Rodriguez at West Virginia? Does it work?
But let's be fair to Oquendo and just view his resume on its individual merits. He was a mediocre player (as have many managers). And now he exists as a base coach. Bench coaches often get hired, or pitching coaches, but what special expertise does one get from being a third base coach? And how does it translate to being a Major League manager?
Basically, here is my verdict on Jose Oquendo: He could end up good. But he's a gamble. Let the Nationals hire him. The Cardinals can afford to hire somebody with an actual track record. The whole notion that Albert Pujols will leave unless the Cardinals hire Jose Oquendo is utterly absurd--what MLB manager would have more of a rapport with Pujols than anyone the Cardinals hire?
But anyway, the easiest decision John Mozeliak can ever make is to hire Joe Maddon. Maddon, with a huge cast of nobodies and castoffs, consistently wins. In Tampa Bay. And he grew up a Cardinals fan. And unlike LaRussa (and Oquendo), he's a fan-friendly charmer. This doesn't really matter as much as the record, but it's nice I suppose. Terry Francona is an acceptable pick, but do we really want the guy who let his players drink beer in the clubhouse during games manage a team whose president verbally thanked Budweiser as their victory parade? Either way, though, the Cardinals pick a manager worthy of the pedistil.
Let's abandon this insane notion that we need to get a Cardinal for life. Maddon may not be a "true" Cardinal, but you could not possibly have been less of a Cardinal than Tony Larussa. Screw sentimentality.
And here is my 100% guarantee: If Joe Maddon is hired as manager, and Albert Pujols reacts by signing elsewhere, and we don't sign anyone exceptional (but still get Wainwright back), we will end next year with a better record than this year. Craig can play right and Berkman can play first. Don't deprive the Cardinals of the best manager in baseball because of the fickle nature of somebody who may not come back anyway.
When you're a big deal, and the St. Louis Cardinals are a big deal (they have to be considered a top five managerial job in baseball), you don't have to make weak picks like hiring from within. Weak because it generally doesn't work. You remember when Notre Dame hired from within by hiring Bob Davie to replace Lou Holtz? Or when Bill Stewart replaced Rich Rodriguez at West Virginia? Does it work?
But let's be fair to Oquendo and just view his resume on its individual merits. He was a mediocre player (as have many managers). And now he exists as a base coach. Bench coaches often get hired, or pitching coaches, but what special expertise does one get from being a third base coach? And how does it translate to being a Major League manager?
Basically, here is my verdict on Jose Oquendo: He could end up good. But he's a gamble. Let the Nationals hire him. The Cardinals can afford to hire somebody with an actual track record. The whole notion that Albert Pujols will leave unless the Cardinals hire Jose Oquendo is utterly absurd--what MLB manager would have more of a rapport with Pujols than anyone the Cardinals hire?
But anyway, the easiest decision John Mozeliak can ever make is to hire Joe Maddon. Maddon, with a huge cast of nobodies and castoffs, consistently wins. In Tampa Bay. And he grew up a Cardinals fan. And unlike LaRussa (and Oquendo), he's a fan-friendly charmer. This doesn't really matter as much as the record, but it's nice I suppose. Terry Francona is an acceptable pick, but do we really want the guy who let his players drink beer in the clubhouse during games manage a team whose president verbally thanked Budweiser as their victory parade? Either way, though, the Cardinals pick a manager worthy of the pedistil.
Let's abandon this insane notion that we need to get a Cardinal for life. Maddon may not be a "true" Cardinal, but you could not possibly have been less of a Cardinal than Tony Larussa. Screw sentimentality.
And here is my 100% guarantee: If Joe Maddon is hired as manager, and Albert Pujols reacts by signing elsewhere, and we don't sign anyone exceptional (but still get Wainwright back), we will end next year with a better record than this year. Craig can play right and Berkman can play first. Don't deprive the Cardinals of the best manager in baseball because of the fickle nature of somebody who may not come back anyway.
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