Comparing Soccer to Other Sports

"I am not the hero that Gotham deserves"

It appears a soccer stadium could be in our future.
This of course is perfectly fine with everyone despite the fact that talk of building a football stadium caused waves of outrage and rivers of tears that threatened to drown us all in righteous indignation, you great lot of hypocrites.
Anyway, to better educate everyone on the sport that may soon be coming to our fine city, today I'd like to talk about one of the most maligned aspects of soccer.
Call it "diving," "flopping," or "being an obnoxious little pansy," but whatever you choose to call it, players taking hyperbolic falls to try and draw fouls against the other team have given soccer a bad name. To put everything in perspective and restore a more realistic view of soccer, let's compare players' acting habits in other sports to those of soccer. 

Baseball:
A pitch whizzes by the arm of the batter. It is unclear whether or not the ball hit him.
The player clutches his elbow and exclaims "I say! I've just been struck by a baseball! I had better go to first base now, hadn't I?"
The umpire agrees that he was in fact hit and sends him off to first base.

Football:
A wide receiver is bumped slightly by the opposing cornerback while running his route. He throws his hands into the air and falls to the ground, shouting "Egad! I do believe my opponent has committed the illegal act of pass interference! Certainly the officials will assess a penalty for this infraction!"
The referee does so.

Hockey:
A player is bumped slightly by his opponent. He throws himself to the ice, perhaps bouncing his head lightly off the boards for effect and exclaims "Oh, hey! That must've been a cross-check there, eh? Aboot time you sent that hoser off to the penalty box, eh, ref?"
The referee does so.

Soccer:
A player is bumped slightly by his opponent. He flings himself to the ground, clutching his eye with one hand and his ankle with the other while conjecturing that he has likely sustained a lacerated spleen as well, not to mention he's just caught a nasty cold.
He writhes in agony on the ground while one of his teammates insists that the medical staff be summoned to examine him. The medics diligently inspect his various maladies and determine that a stretcher is needed. They gingerly place him upon it, being extra careful to immobilize his head and neck due to the potential spinal trauma he may have sustained.
The player is rushed to the hospital, the ambulance weaving in and out of rush hour traffic and causing three fender-benders along the way. The roadways are jammed for hours thereafter.
Upon arrival, the player informs the doctors that they need not bother treating him as he has in fact just died.
He is taken back to the stadium and all present are informed that it was his dying wish to be buried on the sidelines by his mates so that he may forever remain a part of the game he loved so dearly.
As the casket is being lowered, the referee delivers the eulogy, says a brief prayer, gives a final blessing, and assesses a yellow card to the opposing team's player.
Next of kin are notified, lawyers are summoned to read the player's will, and obituaries are typed up for tomorrow's papers. 
The television cameras show his widow grieving silently in the stands, consoling herself in the knowledge that at least her dear husband died doing what he enjoyed most. She gently dabs at her tears to prevent her mascara running and tries not to think of the years of loneliness and solitude that lay in front of her now that the love of her life has perished so tragically and at such a young age.
A few minutes later the player decides that he feels all right after all, digs himself up, and rejoins the game no worse for wear and having missed only three minutes of playing time.
This happens eleven more times before the half ends.

Soccer is stupid.

Images:
Diver stolen from arsenalarsenal.net, finger kid poached from knowyourmeme.com.

What Instrument Should I Play?

Being the altruistic person I am, I've decided to put my years of having slogged my way through various bands to good use.
The following is a guide to selecting what instrument you should play if you've decided you want to be in a band (and let's face it, who doesn't want to be in a band?).

Bass Guitar:

Kotoyuki doesn't like the bass, but the bass likes him.

The vast majority of bassists are fat guys or hot chicks, so if you fit either of those descriptions you've found your calling right here.
Bass is also a good place to hide whichever member of your band is least musically competent. While no instrument is easily mastered, anyone with the proper number of phalanges can semi-coherently bang out a tune on bass after a week or two of practice. Besides, the sound guy will have you so buried in the mix that no one will be able to hear how badly you're fucking up the songs.

Drums:

Do you hate money? Do you speak mostly in grunts and smell like a yak? If so, drums are for you.
Your instrument is the most expensive of the lot and you'll consistently smash it to bits and have to replace parts of it. It's an endless loop of poverty.
You will, however, have the shortest commute to band practice as it'll most likely be held at your place by virtue of your instrument being a pain in the ass to move. Of course, you're so broke that "your place" is more accurately described as "your parents' basement" so it really isn't worth it.

Guitar:

Guitar's upside down, dude.

Second in prestige to the singer, you're playing a "cool" instrument. Despite this, no one gives a shit that you play guitar because they all play guitar too and think they're better at it than you are.
Guitarists are a dime a dozen, even though 11 of that dozen can't play worth a damn. Most of your time will be spent listening to people tell you that their cousin Frank plays guitar too and he's really good and you should let him in your band. In the rare case that you choose to act on this information, you'll find that the only instrument Frank owns is a kid-sized acoustic guitar in his closet that's missing two strings. He hasn't played it in three years, and only got as far as learning how to play a clumsy rendition of "Smells Like Teen Spirit."
He would, however, be interested in joining your band if there's still a spot open.

Vocals:

Bobcat Goldthwait?

The holy grail of band membership.
90% of the audience will notice you and only you. Your fans will tell you how much they love those songs you wrote while your guitarist (who is actually the one who wrote them) gnashes his teeth in rage.
As long as you're moderately attractive you can have pretty much any man or woman you want, regardless of your gender or sexual orientation. Dodging thrown panties while on stage will quickly become one of your many talents.
Your instrument is part of your body and thus doesn't cost you a cent unless you buy your own microphone, and even that costs a pittance compared to what the rest of your band spends. Be sure to complain about it anyway.
Your greatest struggle will be coming up with excuses not to help your bandmates load their equipment into the club.

Keyboards:

No one knows why you exist. All of their favorite bands use keyboards in the music, but they can't be bothered to pay a live keyboardist and just play with the keys on a backing tape. Thus, you are considered by the masses to be odd and superfluous. You'll be known as "the weird one" and on the rare occasion someone notices you they'll expect you to do something eccentric. Might as well embrace it and paint yourself green or something.

Any Other Instrument:

Don't bother. You'll join the keyboardist as "the weird one" unless you're a good-looking female, in which case it really doesn't matter what you're playing. You could stand on the stage hitting a trash can with a sledgehammer (Warning: this technically qualifies you as a drummer) and you'd still have people telling you how great you are.



Hope this was helpful to everyone. By now, you should have your instrument picked out. The next step is to commit yourself to a lifetime of disappointment and a yearly salary of $20. Enjoy.


Photo thievery sources:
Caveman: leanandmuscular.org 
Singer: 123rf.com
Kotoyuki: Getty Images
Jimi: outsidethebeltway.com
Xylophonist: leftlion.co.uk
Alien keyboardist: popartdecoration.com

What Brock Lesnar's Official Statement Should Be

Weellllll, Brock Lesnar got popped for PEDs. 
As tends to be the case with athletes who fail drug tests, he's not admitting anything. He hasn't said much yet, but he'll probably release a statement blaming tainted supplements or bad walrus meat or some crap. For once, I'd like an athlete to just be honest. Here's what his official statement should be:

"Yeah, this is all natural."

[arrives at podium]

Thank you everyone for being here today. Before we begin, I'd like you all to look at me. As you can see, I've arrived shirtless to make this demonstration a little easier.

Just look at me for a second, ok? I'm big. No, let's not use that word. Big doesn't even begin to cut it. I'm huge. Enormous. I'm an absolute fucking monster. A freakishly large massive leviathan of a human being, agreed?

Now let's consider a few facts.

I've barely got a scrap of fat on my body and I had to cut water weight to make 265 lbs for my fight against Mark Hunt. Two hundred and sixty five pounds. Hunt made that weight with a cheeseburger in his hand, not to mention sixty more hanging down over his belt. I had to sweat it out in a sauna for a week to make heavyweight. Think of that for a second. When guys struggle to make the heavyweight limit, they're usually fat as shit, right? Not me. I'm freaking beefy.

I'm bigger than most of your cars and probably about half of your houses.

I'm a professional wrestler in the WWE, which is known for being a bunch of dudes who are--like me--huge as fuck. Nobody's pretending they didn't all get that way by using steroids.

My head measures five feet in circumference.

Did I mention I came from the WWE, whose anti-steroid policy consists of the bosses saying "don't use steroids" while winking and handing me a great big box full of steroids with the words "DEFINITELY NOT STEROIDS" scrawled on the outside with a Sharpie?

Seriously people, why are we even discussing this? Yes, obviously I'm on steroids. I'm more roided-out than an unregulated South American Angus steer! My body is a goddamned pharmaceutical experiment of the most conspicuous kind.

What's that? I'm supposed to apologize? Fuck you. I'm sorry they tested me and I got caught I guess. Whatever. I'd have to be an idiot to think that I could go into this fight looking like goddamn Hercules' older brother and not get popped for something. What do I care? I made 2.5 million for that fight. The fine will be maybe 50k.

And oh yeah, I'm supposed to say what a mistake this was and I'll never do it again. Sorry folks, but as soon as I'm done with this round of estrogen blockers it's back to the ol' needle for me. I'm pushing 40 years old. No one wants to see a bunch of saggy-gut, droopy-man-boob sons-o-bitches parading around in the ring. Wrestling's fake. It's all about appearances.

Oh, I'm suspended from the UFC now? Psh. Again, 2.5 million bucks. Put that on top of what WWE pays me and I think I'll manage to get by, thanks.

Jesus. I can't believe I had to leave the gym for this.

[eats microphone, tears Dana White in half, storms off stage]

Things That Make Me Happy Vol II: Bears

Some animals just aren't naturally funny.  
Toads, lobsters, goats, prawns, eagles--they can be made funny (example) but they just aren't naturally funny.
Other animals are hilarious. Cows. Hippos. Those lizards that run on water. 
And, of course, bears.
Here for your enjoyment are some of my favorites, stolen from various places on the Internet.

Ok, so this one's kind of a cheat...

Looks fake, but isn't.

Bear is happy.

Damn, it feels good to be a bear.

Hello. I am a bear.

Awesome Thing of the Day/Month/Whatever: Bandcamp.com

"This band was better when I was younger."

As you may have noticed by now, I don't like much of anything. Thus, on the rare occasions that I do, I feel it's my duty to share it with the world.

Today, that thing is bandcamp.com.

I'm not being paid for this endorsement, nor was I encouraged by anyone but myself to make it (though I'm totally willing to sell out if Bandcamp wants to throw me a few bucks). 
I've absolutely no personal investment (well, maybe a little) in this.

Let's start with some background.
I have some slight conundrums with how I buy my music. Yes, BUY, not download from The Pirate Bay. Jerks.
I want to listen at home via CD/Vinyl/streaming, in my car which only has a CD player, and in the gym on my phone which doesn't have enough storage to hold more than 13 seconds of music. 
I also am old-fashioned and want to have a physical object when I buy albums. I like to look at the album art, read the booklets, etc. The physical part of the music makes my connection to it stronger than just listening; I could (and maybe will eventually) go on about this at great length.

There just aren't many ways to meet all these needs without buying multiple copies of the same album, which simply isn't going to happen because that's stupid.

Bandcamp is (so far) the only place I've found that covers all my bases. By way of example, let's take the latest Myrkur album.
I bought it on vinyl (the CD was sold out at the time).
With all physical album purchases also comes the digital download, allowing me to burn a CD to play in my car. Downloads are available in MP3 or lossless audiophile-friendly FLAC or WAV.
Furthermore, there's an Android app (I assume there's one for you iPhone dorks too) that allows unlimited streaming of any albums you purchase, regardless of the format in which you purchased them.

So basically I get the album in three formats while only having to buy it once.

Amazon's digital download service has a similar streaming app, but it's only packaged with digital downloads. Buying physical copies won't allow you to stream them.

A further benefit is that the artists (probably) get more financial support.
Though I can't say how the money works out when record labels are involved, I can say firsthand that of all the middlemen (Amazon, iTunes, CDBaby, etc.) that handle music sales, Bandcamp skims way less off than any others. Streaming services like Google Play, Pandora, and whatnot pay artists absolutely bugger all, so by actually buying the album you're providing way more support.

Next time you buy an album, check to see if it's on Bandcamp first. There's a good chance it is.

Image stolen from gettyimages.com

So now that the Rams are gone...

The defeat in their eyes...

Well, the Rams moved to Los Angeles.

This is old news, but for anyone who missed out on any of the details I'll recap:

Before the move was officially announced and was still assumed to be in the "rumor/preventable occurrence" stage, a group of people got together to prepare a plan for a new stadium to keep the Rams in St. Louis. They had an architectural plan, a plan to secure funding, the property (mostly) acquired, etc. There were some details still needing to be ironed out but that's irrelevant for purposes of this discussion.

When this was all announced there were people who were vehemently opposed to the idea, saying "I DON'T WANT MY TAX MONEY GOING TO A FOOTBALL STADIUM! THEY COULD SPEND THAT MONEY ON FEEDING THE HOMELESS INSTEAD OR BUILD A NEW AARDVARK SHELTER OR WHATEVER!"

My response to that was "But they won't."

"It's not like there's a bucket with a billion dollars sitting in it waiting for someone to decide which project it'll be thrown at," I said. "Almost all of the funding is coming from new hotel taxes, stadium naming rights, and other new taxes that are related to the stadium. Either this money is used for the stadium or it's not used at all. Even the revenue streams that aren't related are only going to be created if this stadium is built. If there isn't a new stadium, they aren't going to feed the homeless or build a park or bring back Firefly. NOTHING will happen except people staying in St. Louis hotels will save a buck or two."

Well, now that all has been said and done, stadium-opposers, I'd love to know what altruistic ends that money has gone to.

Now that we don't have a stadium to build, I'm sure the homeless of St. Louis are feasting gleefully upon the lambs and sloths and marmalade and orangutans and breakfast cereals that have been purchased for them with the money that would have been wasted--WASTED I tell you!--on a football stadium.

I'm only being partially snarky here--it's possible that something actually has been done, in which case I'd love to hear about it. I truly do hope I'm proven wrong. 

I'm asking the stadium opposition to come forward with the information because since they were so fervent about not wanting their money to go to a stadium I'm certain they've been monitoring where else it might be going and are keeping very well-informed about municipal fiscal matters.

So I ask you again--where did this money go instead of being WASTED on a stadium?
Was it put to good use, making everyone's arguments against building a stadium valid or was I [gasp!] right again?

I'm disappointed that the Rams left, but as Christina Aguilera sang in the theme from Pearl Harbor, my heart will go on.

The problem is that they didn't take all the assholes with them.


Image stolen from stltoday.com

"Adulting" Isn't Hard.

Inspirational quotes seem to have gone the way of the dodo and have been replaced by complaints about how hard "adulting" is. If you were watching me type this you'd see the squiggly red lines under "adulting" because it's not a goddamned word.

Ignoring my desire to rant about how annoying it is when people turn nouns into verbs, I can't help but wonder how being an adult is so hard for all of you.

The complaints aren't about legitimate things like "omg the coal mine was so hot today" or "today was the fifth day in a row that rabid okapis savaged my village" or even "my dog ate my cat."

It's "I have a kid to take care of?!? When did this happen?!? I'm still a kid and I'm supposed to take care of ANOTHER kid? And I have to PAY BILLS? OMG mailing envelopes is hard AF!!!"

Shut up. You don't even have to mail envelopes anymore. 

The actual process of being an adult is easier now than it's ever been. You can do the vast majority of your paperwork online and likewise find pretty much any information you could ever want in five seconds' time.

When I first became a parent I had my moments of "what the hell do I do with this thing?" Everyone does. In days gone by you'd guess and end up giving your kid malaria or whatever. Oops.
Now you can just do a quick Google search for whatever color fluids are spewing from your kid's body and you don't even have to go to a doctor.

"BUT I HAVE TO GET UP AND GO TO WORK EVERY DAY AND DO STUFF!"

Did you not have a job before you got out of college? Even if you didn't, grades K-12 are basically your job until you graduate high school. You've had to get up on time Monday through Friday every day since you were five. Why's it a challenge now?

You can try arguing that it's for humor's sake but I don't believe that people are posting this crap without on some level believing it.

What happened? Are we a generation raised by overbearing helicopter parents and now we can't handle simple stuff like getting up on time in the morning and paying an electric bill without them standing over us telling us how to do it?

At best it's inaccurate. Raising kids isn't hard at all. It's pretty simple to make sure they don't die. Raising them well is a bit harder, but honestly everyone blows that out of proportion too. 

Similarly, going through the grind of being an adult isn't hard, it just sucks. It's like saying "Walking 1000 miles is hard." Well, no, it really isn't because you're doing it a bit at a time. It just takes a long time and your feet are going to hurt.

At this point you're probably wondering why this bugs me so much.
The problem isn't that people are complaining, it's the implication that this isn't fair. It isn't fair that life has been thrust upon them and they have to do stuff. It isn't fair that they have student loans to pay. It isn't fair that they have to raise kids who are so poorly behaved. It isn't fair that they're fat.

Who forced you to go to college?
Who applied for that job you hate so much?
Who forced you to have kids? 
Who raised your kids to be such shitheads?
Who bought that car that you're lamenting having to make payments on?
Who keeps jamming donuts into your mouth?

All of the "adulting is hard" memes are rooted in our unwillingness to take responsibility for how our lives have turned out.
Yeah, sometimes you get dealt a shitty hand, but for the most part if your life sucks it's because of the choices you've made.
You did this. You raised your kids to be assholes. You made yourself fat. You ran up a huge credit card debt.
"Adulting" isn't hard, but you've failed anyway. It's no one's fault but your own.

So stop saying that being an adult is hard, and practice the following phrase: 

"I regret everything."

It's a start, at least.




Images stolen from wherever. Who cares. Sue me, you idiots.