….or not.

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While I was on my way home tonight from a trip to Target and Fresh Market for Bounty napkins and hummus, I heard a news story on WABE 90.1, my local NPR station, about female athletes and injury. It was the Fresh Air segment and featured an interview with writer Michael Sokolove regarding his new book Warrior Girls: Protecting Our Daughters Against the Injury Epidemic in Women’s Sports.

What stood out the most to me about the piece were that women succumb to much injury during basic training for the military, but it takes a more serious injury to for a woman to be immobile and unable to continue training than for a man. Sokolove mentioned that studies don’t conclusively indicate that women can tolerate more pain than men. Relating to sports, he pointed out the drawbacks of the increased presence of female athletes–more women playing more sports (competitively for school or as a profession) means more physiological harm. Moreover, there’s greater expectation for females to take the pain like a male counterpart.

My impression was that Sokolove isn’t advocating the diminishing of the female athlete force; instead, he is bringing to light the necessity for a reconsideration of the role and development of competitive sports (particularly as it pertains to youth culture).* Young children who demonstrate a high level of skill in classical or performing arts (painting, music, singing, non-competitive dance**, sculpting) are encouraged to hone that ability to greater heights of not just technique but also of talent. Apparently, it should not or need not be the same for young children who display an above-average degree of athletic prowess. Sokolove criticized the tendency for these kids to become “too specialized” in one particular sport.

There are so many variables and factors to remember, of course. Pushing your creativity and brain to its limit can occur over a much longer period of time–decades. But the body? Not quite. Again, Sokolove probably didn’t intend to suggest that elementary and middle school-aged children should ignore that they might take to lacrosse or futbol more naturally than they do to tennis or swimming, but there’s moderation and knowing how to treat the body with the right balance of respect and nurture. He emphasized that female athletes need a different kind of training and practice regimen than males. He also noted that perhaps females would benefit more from having female coaches–who ostensibly comprehend the physiological differences between men and women and would therefore be more effective as a trainer.

Click here to read an excerpt from Sokolove’s book and to listen to the interview. It’s captivating!

*I watched a documentary when I was in grad school where sociologist Michael Messner argued that society needs to move past this implicit requirement for women to play as hard as men in order to survive and prove their worth in competitive sports.

**I realize that even non-competitive dancing comes with potential dangers too: eating disorders, pulled muscles, twisted and sprained ankles, stress fractures.

Pix creds: NPR

Read a New York Times article Michael Sokolove wrote about female athlete injury here.

Love the Kansas City Chiefs? Well, you better not show your pride by standing.

Snatched a news story from Yahoo Sports concerning proper fan behavior (beyond being civil towards fellow fans…of either team).

Click here to read it.

One Ga Tech sour note:

A cornerback cornered.

A couple unfortunate UGA Bulldogs helpings:

Two linemen are in trouble with the law.

UGA VI has gone off to intangible pastures.

Would you feel at ease at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport if any number of law-abiding travelers (or employees) were allowed to carry firearms on their persons?

Mayor Shirley Franklin doesn’t think so and neither does airport manager Ben DeCosta.

Although I prefer daggers, swords, and knives to guns, I’ve nothing against firearms themselves as weapons of minor or major injury nor do I harbor any ill feelings towards gun enthusiasts and owners.

After the recent judicial 180 regarding whether or not the upstanding residents of the nation’s capital city could keep handguns inside of their homes (as opposed to only shotguns and rifles), I started batting an idea around that is either understandable but impractical or reasonable but silly. The idea began with the thought, “will it be easier or harder on the black market and ruthless dictators?”

Which then turned into the following (Note: read with deadpan voice):

“Forget buying from the black market, we’ll just bust into the Radleys down the street.”

More law-abiding people with guns ~> criminals have more to steal. Guns are already being stolen or bought or obtained thru other dodgy means. Now, in addition to or maybe instead of breakin’ an entering for the electronics, they’d break in for the guns, and then go back for the electronics an hour or a month later.

I wouldn’t want any law-abiding citizen owning a handgun if they didn’t know how to use it and clean it and possess documentation indicating as much. They’ve passed the class and they must buy “freak accident” insurance. Not that the latter is available…right? Maybe farmers and private manufacturers have insurance to cover accidents involving nail guns or welding equipment. Theres no current insurance to cover “my idiot nephew decided to pick up my shotgun and play with it while I was in the bathroom for twenty seconds.”

It’s so hard to legislate responsibility (as opposed to intent and motive). Whose fault is it legally? Whose to blame morally or philosophically? The uncle for having the gun out whether or not his nephew would be dropping by for a visit? His sister or brother for not keeping their kid in check? The nephew if he were old enough to know A. don’t be touching a gun B. don’t be touching a gun that isn’t yours and you don’t know how to handle C. don’t be touching anything that isn’t yours.

Kids can’t be blamed for breaking something, but if they’re old enough to know (to see a gun, know what it does and not to touch it), I think they can be blamed for accidentally doing more serious things. If the kid is five years-old, maybe not. But eight or ten? Heck yes.

Swap out the gun with anything else that can do harm if not handled properly: hot water, an art project with sharp edges, food allergens. There has to be a line somewhere that says the kid is to blame (philosophically) or the parent (legally)..not any other adult.

There’s a murky combination in anticipating that someone could hurt themselves on your property, and then as the potentially injured, making sure that you don’t or those in your care don’t.

Restaurants have to put up warnings about nuts and dairy for people with allergies so that the consumer can’t plead ignorance and sue. Beware of Dog signs go up so trespassers can’t plead ignorance and sue. Does this mean that people should put up signs with every possible danger to someone?

Beware nuts, chocolate, shellfish, bleach, wheat, dairy, dog, firearms, civil war memorabilia, then it would never end.

Should parents find out if their friends or relatives have anything like the above and either be more vigilant about watching their kids or telling their friends or relatives to keep all that stuff locked up? Ultimately, though, parents can only do so much. When a kid starts fiddling with their own agency, it’s terrifying for the rest of society.

Click here for some thought-provoking readers’ comments from 11alive.

Years ago, before Google, iPods, wi-fi, and JK Rowling’s Harry Potter were born, I drove by my high school one night and a baseball game was in progress.  I pulled into the parking lot and sat in my car admiring the American Dream unfolding in front of my eyes.  It was a remarkable sight indeed, but I wanted no part of it.

That same evening when I was talking to an acquaintance on the phone, I related that story to him.  I was merely summarizing a cause-and-effect on my part and he interpreted it as my not wanting to be his friend anymore.  His friend or anything.   I didn’t struggle to correct his misunderstanding.  Instead, I ran with his take on what I had said and apologized half a dozen times.

I don’t regret what I did or didn’t do.  I just find it Shakespeareanly amusing the impact that the vision of baseball had (or can have).  The life it took on its own accord.

Bulldogs against Bulldogs but it wasn’t UGA that took the College World Series title.

Fresno State did. Click here for the details.

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In case you didn’t know, the University of Georgia used to have a different school song…way back when (1908 to be exact).  It was called “Red and Black March” and was written by R. E. Haughey.

Click here to find out more about it.  Click here for an uber-large version of the cover art.

Harlequins and mimes are fine.  But Clowns?  No way. Pas du tout.  Niet.  Nyet.

I was browsing the boards at IMDB’s entry for Lucio Fulci’s film The House by the Cemetery (1981) and came across a link to this blog called KinderTrauma.  It’s a scream.  It’s brilliant.  What better way to overcome those panic attacks and recurring nightmares than to share stories about cinematic and (possibly literary) images that scared the snot out of you when you were a wee lad or lass?

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Click here for more information about the film.

I watched Get Smart (Peter Segal, 200eight) and The Love Guru (Marco Schnabel, 200eight) over the weekend. I reviewed the latter for Filmthreat. Before I get to the Mike Myers bit, I’ll share some thoughts on the Steve-Hathaway snips.

I liked it a lot more than I thought I would. I’m aware that it’s completely probable that Steve Carell plays or has played the same character in all of his films so far, but that dead-pan delivery has worked in every one of them. Get Smart could’ve easily sucked dust and exoskeletons, but such awfulness was avoided. As for the Product Placement and Branding: Subway sandwiches (in two manifestations, the first inside a refrigerator and the second the actual store–although the name is blurred and backgrounded), the iPod, iMAC, Sierra Mist (I believe), Sony earphones, Ty Nant bottled water (I recognized the bottle even if the actual brand wasn’t on screen), Dell, CoCo Chanel (earrings on Anne Hathaway if memory serves), GMC, Cadillac, and Disney Hall (concert venue in Los Angeles).

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My review isn’t that long, so I’m copying & pasting it here:

Pop the cork off a bottle of Mike Meyers comedy; unscrew the lid from a jar of Bollywood musical logic; open a can of sports-inspirationals; and remove the seal from a bag of pop-cultural references. Dump all of the contents into your favorite stainless steel bowl and stir, stir, stir. When everything is nicely blended, you’ve got a mostly tasty snack called “The Love Guru.” It will curb your craving for laughs and won’t leave you consuming more than is necessary.

Directed by Marco Schnabel and written by Mike Myers and Graham Gordy, “The Love Guru” is about the Toronto Maple Leafs, a hockey team that desperately wants to win the Stanley Cup. The owner, Jane Bullard (Jessica Alba)

hires Guru Pitka (Myers) to advise and help Darren Roanoke (Romany Malco) get his athletic skills back on track. In order for it to happen, Darren has to convince his special lady friend Prudence (Meagan Good) to forgive him for an indiscretion he committed. Without her support, his self-confidence is shot to hell, the Maple Leafs won’t win, and the whole city will continue to hate Jane and the Bullard name for thirty-five years of zero championships.

If the film sounds too much like a sports film for your taste, worry not, my friend. “The Love Guru” utilizes the sports-inspirational as a narrative foundation, but the plot involves more than making sure Toronto beats Jacques ‘Le Coq’ Grande (a mustached Justin Timberlake) and his L.A. Kings teammates. Along with Bollywood-styled sequences, the film also integrates a wealth of puns and other verbal jokes that evoke the character of Austin Powers as well as the myriad observations that Mike Myers, as a comedian, would make on a daily basis.

While “The Love Guru” is not a genre parody, it operates like one in that a handful of the intensely comedic moments require a recognition, if not complete comprehension, of the meaning of an intertextual scene. Using “Mariska Hargitay” (the name) as a greeting is probably not going to be as funny to the movie-goer that doesn’t watch Law & Order: SVU. Anyone that has not seen either “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me” or “Austin Powers in Goldmember” can certainly be entertained by Verne Troyer’s acerbic one-liners, but without knowing the link to the character of “Mini-Me,” it would not be as satisfying. Furthermore, if the band Extreme and the song “More Than Words” do not ring any bells, then the brilliance of the sitar-guitar performance that Guru Pitka and his assistant Rajneesh (Manu Narayan) put on may not hit all the way home. The ostensible randomness of it and other intertextual jokes could be enough to get you smiling, and huffing a “ha-ha” every now and again.

To be sure, “The Love Guru” is incredibly funny. Side-splitting laughter only stops when the movie does, so don’t expect it to linger all the way to the parking lot.

Observations & Miscellania:

1. Product Placement & Branding: Playstation, PSP, Home Depot, Reebok, Target, Coors Light, IBM, Heinz ketchup, Pop Tarts, Cinnabon, Foot Locker, Tim Horton’s (Canadian donut and coffee joint), Air Canada Centre, the Staples Center, the NHL, the Stanley Cup, XBox, AT&T, Coke Zero, Sony, McDonald’s, Gatorade, Toronto Maple Leafs, LA Kings.

2. Intertext and pop-cultural references: Morgan Freeman’s voice, Ben Kingsley (and Gandhi), Oprah, Jessica Simpson, Val Kilmer, Mariska Hargitay (and Law & Order: SVU), Extreme’s song “More Than Words” (and the music video), Deepak Chopra, Stephen Colbert, Farrah Fawcett, Verne Troyer (and Mini-Me), Kanye West, Bollywood film structure, and Omar Sharif.

3. There’s also a slew of celebrity magazines, including Marie Claire, People, and either In Touch Weekly or US Weekly. There’s a reference to Men’s Health too.

4. While the Darren Roanoke conflict is typical of a sports film, The Love Guru keeps away from the standard practices of the genre. Of the seven games, only two of them feature game-play prominently or at all. There aren’t any practice scenes. The game-play that does make it to the screen isn’t overdone in terms of spectacle. Slow-motion is used in concert with creating suspense. I really enjoyed the animated Maple Leafs and Kings mascots screen graphics–they’d horse around depending on who’s winning or won the game. I also thought it was effective to present the sports plot via a news piece by announcers played by Stephen Colbert and Trent Leuders–this segment is done before the beginning credits start.

5. Manu Narayan plays Guru Pitka’s assistant Rajneesh. He made me think of Jon Secada the entire time I was watching the movie.

6. So, the funny in or of or about The Love Guru doesn’t sustain itself the way the humor in Get Smart does, it’s still hilarious in the moment, especially when it makes fun of self-help books.

Intimacy ~ Into Me I See.

BIBLE ~ Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth

DRAMA ~ Distraction Regression Adjustment Maturity Action

GURU ~ Gee U Are U

and titling a book, “I know you are but what am I?”

Jessica Alba in a non-dream sequence Bollywood-inspired dance number.

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Get Smart trailer.

Love Guru trailer.

….so life has given me pause at red lights and merging lanes. I swing my head right and left, amazed that the tar-pit buggy to my right doesn’t realize that it’s not going fast enough to move ahead of me and not nearly slow enough to get behind me. I have only two choices, really….neither of which will work unless I risk plowing into cement or another tar-pit buggy.

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The Penta-side of the Fourth part.

Emily’s fiance sat in the leather armchair with his knees drawn up. A faded, leather-bound notebook was cradled in his lap. His left thumb frequently found its way between the obscenely white edges of his teeth–Emily’s fiance liked to gnaw on his fingertips. He had been waiting for her at the Insomniacs Inn for twenty to thirty minutes without even realizing it. She had been very late and apologized numerous times upon arrival. He didn’t seem to notice. After she was there for ten minutes, she finally made him aware of her presence.

“I killed a woman today,” Emily chirped in her best would-you-like-to-buy-some-Girl-Scout-cookies voice.

Her fiance’s gaze propelled up from the book. Still no words but at least there was acknowledgment. Emily blinked a few times and smiled.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I killed a woman today…or very likely killed a woman today.”

“You either did or you didn’t.”

“Hmmm.” Emily proceeded to explain the reason for her tardiness. After leaving Uncle Flint’s house, she decided to take the scenic route rather than the tree-less route to the Insomniacs Inn. Five miles on the road and Emily slowed her car to a drag as she spotted a black tent on the opposite side of the path. At the exact moment that she was almost past this nylon dome, the front flap opened and an emaciated, middle-aged woman’s face bolted into view. Emily nearly swerved off the road. It wasn’t fear or disgust that stirred the calmness of driving down a tree-lined avenue. Emily had wanted to be a coroner and was academically two-thirds of the way through training in the not too distant past–she was accustomed to sights of physiological disturbances.

Instead, Emily reacted to the utter randomness and absurdity of such a David Lynchian moment there and then of all places and times. Once she was fifty yards away from that woman, Emily drove over two thin, black ropes running across the road. Thirty yards later, the tent went up in hell fire.

“Negligent homicide, perhaps? Involuntary manslaughter?” Emily’s fiance remarked.

“Can’t I plead WTF-was-that-cide?”

Emily’s fiance didn’t get the joke. “Were there any witnesses?”

“Maybe a cow 100 yards before I saw the tent,” Emily replied as she watched her fiance practically ingest his left thumb. She was going to excuse herself and pretend to make a phone call to put some distance between her and this man that, up until this dialogue exchange, had never struck her as peculiar to the point of unappetizing. She didn’t have to pretend. She caught a whiff of amaretto and cilantro. Her uncle’s special teams coach was surely in the room. Before she could take a look around, she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“How’s my favorite almost-medical-examiner doing today?”

“Coach Floyd,” Emily said as she stood up to embrace him. “Cell phones and a laundry room?”

“I know, I know. Just don’t tell the defense coordinator.”

Emily looked back down at her fiance, who was still biting on that thumb, and then to Coach Floyd. She knew what she had to do. “Right, or else he’ll get butterscotch and Little Debbies on your hind quarters.”

The special teams coach nodded his head slowly and said, “Your uncle wanted me to give you something for that, uh, situation you mentioned to him. It’s in my car. Why don’t you come out with me and I’ll help you load it into your trunk?”

Emily thought it was a great idea. “I’ll be back in five,” she said to her fiance, who had returned his attention to that leather book.

When Emily and Coach Floyd were outside, she told him, “Thank you.”

She didn’t go back inside.

That’s Ginger ‘Soybean’ Rogers, the mascot for Sitting Pugs, on Atlanta Falcons quarterback Chris Redman.

Click here for the full image.

A couple of weeks ago, the rookies graced us with their presence at Perimeter Mall. Today, five of the veterans did the same. Linebacker Keith Brooking was supposed to be in the house as well, but he was unable to be present (for some inexplicable reason).

Click here for full image.

Click here for full image.

Click here for another group picture.

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From start to finish:

Click here for the color version.

Click here for the full picture.

Click here for a different hue of the same picture.

In order that the ball was signed:

Click here for full image.

1. Safety Erik Coleman drew me a smiley face.

2. I asked Chris Redman to draw me a farm animal; he came up with a chicken head. It’s very appropriate because my Chinese zodiac is a Monkey-arse Cock-head.

3. Wide receiver Laurent Robinson’s favorite brand of car is Infiniti.

4. Cornerback Von Hutchins’s favorite color is red.

5. Fullback Corey McIntyre’s favorite dessert is strawberry cheesecake.

Click here for a picture of both my John Hancock’d and Falcons goodies.

Click here, here, and here for close-ups of Chris Redman’s artistic abilities.

I wish the Falcons a prosperous season.

It’s almost the end of regular football season and you’re the Buffalo Bills. You’ve just beaten the New York Giants 23 to 19 (probably) and are heading to the play-offs. To give the starting offense–especially quarterback Doug Flutie–low-impact to no-impact practices before (and possibly between) play-off games, you bring in a near-former NFL success to serve as substitute QB. But a night of poorly chilled Bluepoint oysters causes not just your star quarterback but also the entire starting offense to succumb to a seriously debilitating case of food poisoning a la vibrio vulnificus.

Panic at the rodeo! What are you to do? Who’s going to play during the play-offs? The second string players, of course, silly…and then see how or if lady luck will smile upon you and your Super-Bowl-bound dreams.

Slowly but surely, I will get through those films.

I started with the TNT original movie Second String (Robert Lieberman, 2002) today.

The “you” in the above paragraph refers to Coach Chuck Dichter (Jon Voight giving a performance not too unlike that of Varsity Blues) and constitutes the film’s plot summary. Gil Bellows plays Dan Heller, a salesman for Highland Insurance who gets a chance to go back onto the NFL field for what is supposed to be a temporary gig but becomes much more. In addition to overcoming self-doubt and lack of faith from the coach, Heller has to whip up his second unit teammates into the kind of mentally and physically cohesive and agile shape they must be in to win not just one or two games, but all the games through the Super Bowl.

Heller’s offensive posse aren’t exactly comprised of idiots, but the ones that have any amount of dialogue and more than two minutes of screen-time (with and without helmet) need an extra kind of motivation and understand that Coach Dichter does not possess. Gerry Fullerton (Richard T. Jones) is the most polished of the group. Tight-end Randy “not the baseball player” Johnson (Ingo Neuhaus) puts up with having to be the kicker (because he’s the only one who has had any experience…in high school). Ex-Pro-Bowler Ernie Weathers (Lamont Johnson) has to stop being bitter about losing and focus on winning. “Baby-faced rookie” Tim Hobbs (Nick von Esmarch) just needs a different style of play-calling to unleash the potential. Curtis Hooks (Shawn Woods) requires a new way of practicing nimble maneuvering through enemy territory, and Lenny “hands of stone” Voyles (Charles Malik Whitfield) the good ‘ol don’t-drop-the-ball-or-it’s-twenty-bucks-you-owe-us method of training.

With time and perseverance, Heller and his second stringers prove to Dichter and the city of Buffalo that they can win games….

to be continued very, very soon with comments on aesthetics, theme, and conflict.

…Continuing.

There are four game sequences and seven practices, more or less alternating throughout the film. A few of the practices do not prominently feature game-play and function more to further the story. Doug Flutie plays in the first game, which is also the start of the film. Dan Heller doesn’t make his televised debut until the second game, occurring after two practices. Like many other post-Any Given Sunday football films, the Second String presents the football scenes as closely to the televised aesthetic as possible while still reminding the viewer he isn’t watching a telecast. Specifically, though, it is the NFL Films-styled montage that the film unequivocally emulates. Second String, however, employs slow-motion sparingly and focuses on the more basic elements of visually referencing the Sabol school of storytelling: colors of the uniforms, sweeping shots of the spectators, object-glance and point-of-view editing for heightened drama. On that note, ESPN and Monday Night Football are acknowledged as well (the former very clearly too).

The suspense that is produced in real-time (and then emphasized via instant replay) in an actual game broadcast is emotionally satisfying. It’s not always the case in premeditated suspense vis-a-vis a football film. Somehow the choreographed quality of the plays and the multiple camera angles (and if you’re a nerd wondering if the 180 degree rule has been broken) reiterate the “made-up-ness,” the manufactured-ness of the imagery. I didn’t completely begin to experience spectatorial pleasure while watching Second String until game three (the AFC Championship game against the Dolphins) and game four (the Super Bowl with the Minnesota Vikings as opponent). Why? There were a few plays that were filmed as though it were a telecast, particularly touchdowns from a high-angle long shot perspective and the right timing of matched-on-action cuts.

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Keeping with the sports film palette, Second String positions its antagonist to overcome a few obstacles before the smell of triumph can be his. If the film were altered just a dollop in script, tone, or acting (Jon Voight notwithstanding), the superficiality of narrative conflict would be off-putting rather than endearing or preferable. Ordinarily, the tension between plot and spectacle (or plot and game-play in this case) should be balanced. Moreover, it should be fueled by teammates that can’t get along or a hotshot player or arsehole coach that needs to grow up. Second String is a functional exception. Any greater or more genuine sense of hostility or sabotage and it’d have bordered on obligatory and trite.

The friction between Dichter and Heller and Heller and his wife (Teri Polo) regarding football matters is moderately consequential. Within the framework of the plot, differences of opinion between coach and player and disagreements between wife and player are certainly important. For me, though, I wasn’t bothered one bit at the sheer mono-layered aspect of it.

And that’s not asking for or demanding very much.  Why the muted critical analysis? It’s been a long time since I put my eyes on football game-play?  The film doesn’t feature fictional teams? I actually came upon this realization when I was in the elevator a few minutes ago.  Just the image of real NFL team uniforms is enough to dilute what could’ve easily otherwise been reluctance to believe the transpiring of events for Heller and his second unit.

Click here for slightly more information on the film.