Alice Cooper, Tiger Woods, a Big Hump

Although Alice Cooper isn't my favourite metal icon (I bet you're all interested as to who is), the combination of metal and sports is well, arousing.


There are a boat load of comments on this graphic on the Globe and Mail website, and Tiger Woods is probably going to win the Masters this weekend (not coincidentally and quite unnecessarily, Alice Cooper is touring Canada with Rob Zombie right now). Repugnant or reprehensible as one may find Tiger Woods, if he wins the Masters, it will be an amazing sports story .

I can't wait until Dave Mustaine makes his NHL Playoff picks.

Dave says: "Cup Finals...Coyotes and Capitals."

Eva Markvoort

I think we underestimate how athletic each of us are. How, even if we're not "in shape" we can climb a set of stairs, and although we may be winded, we can still breathe. I am guilty of taking for granted that I have yet to come face to face with a major health obstacle: that I sail freely around each room.

This morning, someone I knew, someone I wish I had the privilege of calling a friend, as she seems to have had nothing but a positive affect on people who did have that privilege, passed away after 25 years fighting cystic fibrosis. To me, she was a best friend of my best friends. I cannot claim to have known her, yet, like any star worth following, I felt as though I did.

From her friends in theatre, her friends from the online community, her friends as a result of her activism, and her friends living with cystic fibrosis, there have been and will be many eloquent things written about Eva Markvoort, all of them true, all of them reaching to express what her, her family and her close friends have experienced, screamed, cried and laughed at in these past couple of months since the acceptance that her battle was coming to an end. Without preface or apology, I'm compelled to reach. To acknowledge that good friends, acquaintances, strangers, and friends of friends are better off just to have heard of Eva.

Suit

—For Eva Markvoort

Put this poem in

a pretty book, if I can

put these words in a pretty place,

a next-stop-to-heart-sink kind of spot,

a here lies the meaning of life sort of joint.

And put my body in the perfect suit

if it goes, if it goes, if it’s something

fit for viewing. Dress it up and pin

these words to my lapel, just so,

and pretend my style

really had panache; make it

look like my arrangement meant the world,

or said anything at all, or everything

at once.

Sport Costumes!

kd Lang was great at the opening ceremony. Got a problem with that, hippy?

Some of you may know I'm working on a book of fashion writing with Sean Horlor in a sort of tag team affair of poetry. Added to the writing, we have some really beautiful sketches from Mara Gottler. Sean's much better at promoting this beast than I am, so watch the awkwardness with which I say that next week I will be reading some of these poems from my chapbook Gasmask Summer which is being launched and released by Toronto's Emergency Response Unit.

Launch and release seem to be very powerful and aggressive words for something that weighs less than a pound, but these verbs will be happening Monday, February 22 at 7:30PM at the Magpie in Toronto. (Note: the gold medal game will not be happening at this time or on this night).

Also releasing chapbooks this evening, Elisabeth de Mariaffi, Aaron Tucker, and the boyish and brash Jacob McArthur Mooney, who will soon be entering into a steel cage match of arty sport discussions on either my blog or his or both (or somewhere else - these negotiations take time).

In writing the poems for this book, I've been thinking about clothes pretty much non-stop for a year and a half. It's to the point where if we've seen each other in that time, I probably looked you up and down for ideas. But what I really want to discuss: last night's figure skating costumes. Not all of them; I'm sure there's a site for that. But this one:

Tatiana Volosozhar (she's graceful) and Stanislav Morozov (he hates the chaffing)

These two are certainly athletes. I am in no way making fun of figure skaters. Even when they fall, they are doing something that very few people could ever do, and with the exception of lugers, aerialists and VANOC organizers probably have the most Olympic balls of any of the participants (Jake, there's a possible discussion).

But even the commentators couldn't withhold their giggles at these beauties (and two of them WERE figure skaters!). Highlights were David Pelletier (gold medalist - pairs figure skating) saying that "this is sport not a carnival" and Rod Black (sports analyst, someone I got drunk with at a 2001 Winnipeg social: pictures forthcoming) claiming the skaters were "channeling their inner Avatar." I'll likely have something new written about these blue beauties for next week's Magpie launch.

I feel like Joan Rivers, excited to see what the Ukrainians will be wearing tonight.

Sidenote: I also met Joan Rivers, but didn't get drunk with her. She kept calling me Barry. I didn't correct her.

Who are you wearing, Barry?

Andre Dawson and other Funny Names

Andre Dawson (AKA The Hawk) doesn't want to enter the hall of fame as an Expo (a team he played ten years for, a team no longer in existence), but rather, a Chicago Cub (a team that will probably still be around in 100 years if baseball is). Though a lot of Expos "fans" are upset, it does make sense to want to enter the Hall of Fame with a city where there are still fans to clap you in. Compare it to finishing a marathon in 5 hours (when most participants are finishing and so there are loved ones at the finish line) to completing a marathon in 16 hours, where only the city's clean up crew is there, and really, they don't care. They've got more problems than your silly bourgeois fun-run.

Upon his 2003 induction, Gary Carter (#8, Caucasian, pictured below) asked to be let in as half Expo/half Met. This seems reasonable, but baseball is nothing if not unreasonable, and he was indeed inducted as a Montreal Expo. With class, Carter said a few words in French, and life, as it does, went on. But The Hawk seems to want to do no such thing. It took Dawson nine tries to be elected into the Hall of Fame, which is hardly evidence of a no-brainer decision, so he probably shouldn't complain (as Craig Gary Greenham likens it "It's like begging for a dinner invitation and then publicly whining about the dessert."). The puppy dog reaction to this story from "Expos' fans" (of which I was once one) is just another symptom of baseball nostalgia, of the good old days gone by. He never loved us. We know that now. Though this time, it's hit us where it hurts: right in our Canada.

Hey, Gary, did you hear the one about Phyllis Mangina? You didn't? Then check out the next section.

*

Hi, I'm Dick Butkus, but you probably know me as the coach on every 1980-90s sitcom (except Coach)

Ah, names. This link below is both nostaligic (Ron Tugnutt and Dick Butkus) and informative (Phyllis!). From the file of things I should have been researching, comes one of the most well done photo-retrospectives I have ever seen. Props to the site Manofest (hey, they're on theme) for multiplying masculinity times infinity!

Take a look at:
The 30 Dirtiest Names In Sports History

Lakers versus Celtics: The Video Game

James Worthy taking it to Robert Parish as Dennis Johnson watches

I still haven't found a way to watch and enjoy NBA basketball, though there was one phase where I was an authority on the great 1980's rivalry of the Los Angeles Lakers and the Boston Celtics. Okay, so I didn't understand the cultural significance of the rivalry. Perhaps I still don't. The Celtics, led by two white guys (Larry Bird and Kevin McHale), played for Catholic pride in the birthstate of basketball against the Lakers, led by the cocaine flash of Magic Johnson and Lew Alcinder (AKA Kareem Abdul-Jabbar). There has been much written on the politics of this rivalry, Chuck Klostermann's essay '33' among the best (though whoever wrote the Lakers-Celtic Rivalry wikipedia article did a hell of a job too).

But little, if anything, has been written on the significance of the video game Lakers versus Celtics, a video game I spent hours playing on my Tandy 1000 in 1990. Born of necessity (my Nintendo was broken and I suspect my Mom had sabotaged disk two of Leisure Suit Larry III: Passionate Patti in Pursuit of the Pulsating Pectorals), Lakers versus Celtics was my first flirtation with the sedentary lifestyle I regularly now practice of sitting in front of a computer for hours.

Grade seven was not a stellar academic year for yours truly. I actually failed grade 7 art. This is, in part, due to the hours I spent on this video game when I probably should have been, I don't know, making a collage. But to me, Lakers versus Celtics was all the art I needed. Just look at all those colours as Magic lines up for a free-throw. Also note the awesome detail of Kareem Abdul Jabar's goggles (yellow number 33).

Looks like a brick

Computers were still a mystery. Good for little more than pretending I was going to write a novel or playing video games. In 1986, Ferris Bueller changed his attendance records from home; in 1990 Screech created a fully functioning Robot named Kevin. But the idea of a computer functioning externally was not on my radar. The solitary and private intimacy of playing Lakers versus Celtics was akin to reading a book (did I mention grade 7 was not a stellar academic year?).

This might not seem like much now, but this was the first video game I remember with real players. Actually, this still might not seem like much. But these were the days of Nintendo's Ice Hockey where the most identity a player had was to be Fat - Skinny - Medium (and from one of six countries, including, if the following picture is correct, Poland).

Go Poland!

Lakers versus Celtics is over 20 years old. For the hours I spent on this game in my soft-brain years, the actual sport of basketball never caught on with me. In fact, video games have never really been a part of my life either (I couldn't finish Super Mario Brothers until I was in my twenties). However, sitting in front of computers has been a giant part of my life. Though we all have our reasons for our computer habits (work, information, keeping in touch, porn), I can trace it all back to Robert Weatherby, Don Traeger and Michael Hosaka - the pushers of my pre-internet fixation with staring at bright colours and sports statistics, when there was probably something else "meaningful" I could be doing: a collage, protesting government, attending Conan O'Brien rallies, checking up on that whole environment thing, reading, writing...

Where does the time go?

Everything is Competitive

Pour a Colortini and watch the pictures as they fly through the air.

For the first time in my life, I posted something on a Facebook group of which I am a member. Like others, I am interested in the Conan O'Brien-Jay Leno thing (is it really a feud between them?). On Monday night, Jay Leno gave what I think he believed to be a heartfelt speech about "show business" but really, probably tried to keep the issues over the heads of the very viewers both he and Conan enjoy (let's face it, neither are Tom Snyder). A good blogger would post the youtube clip, but if you're going to read on, I assume you either saw it, or are just reading on to see what pop culture references I make.

Below is a transcript of the 9 minutes that followed after I typed the following (tongue so far in my cheek I was licking the bookshelf) into the I'm with Coco Facebook page:

Leno just appealed to my sense of 'it's show business' ... now I understand and will leave this group and join the Leno one. Wow, he really is a great guy that Jay Leno...

With all names but my own protected, and no corrections made, here's what ensued when the proverbial puck was dropped (and because I think I write plays, let's present it as such):

ACT ONE

DAVID BROCK
Leno just appealed to my sense of 'it's show business' ... now I understand and will leave this group and join the Leno one. Wow, he really is a great guy that Jay Leno...

JOSH
but sometimes it's about the people. CONAN'S CREW WILL LOSE THEIR JOBS.

ANITA
~sarcasm~

JUSTIN
Lame!

JOSH
see, conan said he'd rather leave the network than make this about business. he has a sense of integrity that leno just showed he doesn't have.

SONY
lol

TODD
Wedon't need you Dave.

TIMOTHY
If that speech moved you, I'm glad you weren't born in Nazi German, you sheep.

JOSH
and "my sense of 'it's show business'" is a sense devoid of heart and compassion, and if you truly don't CARE, then you can leave and we won't even miss you. it's because we CARE that we continue to fight.

BARRET
That's fine, leave! Moron!

END ACT ONE

Analysis: It only took me five minutes to be called a moron. Most of you didn't come to this conclusion for at least a few days after meeting me. At this point my heart started beating...every athlete knows this rush: adrenalin.

ACT TWO

DAVID BROCK
Timothy, what's this Nazi Germany you speak of? Sounds interesting...do they do a version of Jaywalking or Headlines?

CHRIS
if "show business" is code for "lack of principle" - you can have it.

JOSH
here's what amuses me about you: you say you'll move to the Leno page, and yet you're still here. this tells me your intention is provocation. i want you to respond to this argument: CONAN'S CREW WILL LOSE THEIR JOBS IF THIS GOES DOWN. They all moved to L.A., they moved their families, and they put all their hope in this new show, and THEY WILL ALL BE JOBLESS. Respond!!!

AMY
I'm thinking maybe David is just being sarcastic?

DAVID BROCK
People of the internet (to pay homage), you're silly. Special thanks to Amara. Glad to amuse you, Josh; your three exclamation marks have inspired me to stay. And to Amy as well.

PAUL
Those of you who don't understand that David is using sarcasm deserve to watch Leno.

JOSH
WHOOPS. I am REALLY REALLY sorry, man. I absolutely suck at reading sarcasm online. That one's totally on me. Didn't mean to overreact I just was a little too pissed off at Leno to think clearly.

DAVID BROCK
It's okay, Josh, I didn't download that new sarcasm punctuation my internet provider is trying to sell me for 2 dollars. I figured an ellipses and an ignorance of Nazi Germany would be enough to tip my hand (well done to Timothy for proving the internet theory that every mild disagreement will find its way to the word Hitler or Nazi).

JOSH
lol. that one's DEFINITELY on me.

BLACKOUT

Analysis: Anyone who watched football this weekend recognizes what happened here. Sides formed - trash talking ensued and only females and Paul supported me. When all was said and done, two quarterbacks (me and JOSH) met in the middle of the field, and shook hands. For a few minutes there, we were rivals, but it was just a game...it's just a game.

Good game, Josh.

Inspired by my foray into online flaming, Jay v. Conan, and an actual category on Jeopardy tonight, the next few entries will be about great rivalries in sport, entertainment and literature. Excited aren't you? AREN'T YOU?

Postscript: I wasn't completely proud to be a Conan fan on this one given the company, but I accept it was all in good fun. That said, I now feel that sense of being part of a group where everyone is kind of insane and therefore, maybe I am too: this sense of awareness must be what people who go to Berkley or live in Portland feel like when they realize they are still Americans.

Jose Canseco should be in the Hall of Fame

I promise, I'll never tell a soul.

Oh, you pretty things, don't you know you're driving the mothers and fathers insane?

Take note 1987-1990 Oakland A's fans (of which I am sure there are many reading this): the Bash Brothers are bashing each other. In one corner, Jose Canseco: juiced, tanned, handsome, and the poster-boy for how to admit steroid abuse, get over it, and turn it into money. In the other, Mark McGwire: The Willie to Sammy Sosa's Lester, the brutal apology maker, the poster-boy for how not to admit steroid abuse (until Barry Bonds finally gets on with it—honestly Barry, you're drawing this thing out more than the Sam and Diane will they/won't they).

Willie and Lester. Get it?

Like a late New Years’ baby, Mark McGwire's recent admission to steroids has arrived, though Canseco’s claim that when they were teammates, he and McGwire would inject each other with steroids, is one McGwire still denies…for now.

McGwire’s teary confession does little for me. His apology sucks. His tears fall as though he’s jockeying for a spot in the Baseball Hall of Fame and even in the admission, he can’t cop to using them to hit homeruns; rather, they were used to recover from injuries. If you’re a professional athlete, claiming you took steroids solely for recovery is like saying you have sex solely for procreation.

(For the record, I have nothing against steroid use. Very little convinces me that they are worse for the organs than Jack Daniels, KFC, or Sandra Bullock movies. If someone paid for a cycle for me (p.s. my birthday is in a month), I would probably try them, just to see what the big deal is.)

As yet another baseball player admits to steroid use (that McGwire was outted years ago is, I suppose, academic) it confirms for me that Jose Canseco belongs in the Baseball Hall of Fame. If his steroid-stats aren’t enough to convince you (at least 1985-1994), then he should be nominated in the builder category. His admission and his telling of truths when that wasn’t in style have certainly done more to positively change baseball’s future than teary Mark McGwire ever will. Were I in a second year politics class, I might decide to write an essay entitled “Cuban/American Relations: why McGwire will Get into the Hall of Fame, and Canseco won’t”—but I don’t really believe his being Cuban has anything to do with anything (false activism be damned). Canseco was the first big league player of any note to admit he juiced and McGwire was thirty-fifth or something. We always remember our first. Sadly, this means that Canseco will seem like the first to do them.

I propose that the Baseball Hall of Fame adopt the same rules for entry as the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Parents who have to find a lesson in this should probably look to the way Jose Canseco has come clean regarding his drug use, rather than Mark McGwire, who, even in admitting he did steroids, still lies. That said, I’m not a parent, and if end up being one, my baby-mama would probably make little Quenton play soccer; in which case, Quenton, Daddy offers this advice: Don't do drugs that aren't glamourous, don't drink and drive, and please, son...don't watch the Miss Congeniality movies.

The Gateway Drug to Renee Zellweger: Talk to Your Kids