December 2006

Stoners break Gophers' record with Video Gophers hours after historic loss

Thousands of stoners across the state of Minnesota spent Friday night attempting to beat the Gophers' newest record using their copies of NCAA Football '07. Many were successful.

Just hours earlier, in giving up a 38-7 lead and losing 44-41 in overtime, Minnesota set a Division 1-A record for the biggest choke in bowl game history.

Blake Olson, a dopehead from Crystal who prefers Thai stick quipped, "You think Mason's a shitty coach in real life, you should see him on XBOX." Olson and bongwater pal Phil Larson of Brooklyn Park, who prefers Maui Wowie, staked the Gophers to a 58-7 lead in the 3rd quarter--a conservative 20 point differential for testing purposes--before Texas Tech came roaring back in the face of suddenly one dimensional offensive and defensive gameplans.

"We're trying to find a way," said Larson, "to make Mase do his whole 'game of two halves' routine with the sideline reporter, but I think we're too baked, man." Olson later intimated that they were going to try and figure that out tomorrow morning while his mother made them some eggs.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 30, 2006 9:25 AM

The Jeff Cirillo era has begun...

CityPages can't go on record telling you to go out and buy season tickets for the Twins; but, I'm telling you now, when the schedule is printed, and the rotation more or less set, go out and buy single game tickets for every Johan Santana home start, because it's going to be the last season that you see Santana, Mauer, and Morneau, together, and in Twins' uniforms.

With the offseason mayhem of free agent signings, the world has lost its mind and Barry Zito is suddenly worth $18 million per year.

Johan has won 2 of the past 3 Cy Youngs (and he should have won the other one). I'm not a member of the Twins' front office, and, I'm not a beat reporter for the Strib or the Pioneer Press. However, if you open a sports page in this town, and they report Santana's STARTING price as anything other than $20 million a year, it's a terrible lie, and you will know right then and there that no one in the cabal in this town has any respect for you as a baseball fan. Make no mistake about another thing: if Santana has just a "normal" season for him, he will be one of the finalists for the Cy Young next year, if not the actual winner, and he will have no choice but to hold out through spring training for more "realistic" money given the market that has been created by the bat-shit crazy owners of the big market teams.

It's not like the Twins were going to sign him anyway. But, Zito's signing has made a terrible situation worse. When the most dominant pitcher in the American League for the past 3 years is suddenly worth 6 to 7 million dollars a year less than a .500 pitcher with a 3.50 ERA, agents get greedy, and the Players' Union gets "equitable." E pluribus unuum translates to "pay me right fucking now (and then hang up)."

And to make things worse, Joe Mauer is worth Jeter money, right now. That's right, $18 mill a year at least. So, one of you legitimate sports writers should stop beating around the bush, call Terry Ryan, and ask him flat-out whether the Twins are prepared to pay Santana and Mauer roughly $40 million a season, combined, for five or six seasons beyond 2007. His answer is either yes or no, and, you will know the Twins' fate based on it. These aren't made up numbers, the market is set, and it's time for him to come clean. Otherwise, just call up Steinbrenner's tailor and tell him, "the number is 57."

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 29, 2006 12:00 PM

A Minnesota Christmas Card

The constant interogatory is, "why live in Minnesota?" And, the reply always involves the extraction of a 40 inch gator from a frothy gully on a cold Chisago County afternoon.

The snow and ice demark the season. When your lungs are cold in the mid-afternoon air, when you're wearing an extra layer, when you stand on 7 inches of ice over 15 feet of water, you contemplate much more than just existence. Frozen. The water is frozen, you are frozen, even the sunshine itself seems frozen; and then life comes exploding into the daylight, monstrous, carnal, and starved. Where the cycles of the world are observed and obeyed, life is rich with the normal hibernations and renewals of the flora. But LIFE asserts itself constantly in a world where you participate, despite what the mercury may tell you.

Christmas in Minnesota is a celebration of change. Demeter's melancholy is a myth; Persephone's vacation is a welcome respite for the old girl, and she actually relishes having the house to herself. A heart can never be cold, shuffling across a gray parking lot to a shopping mall where a pan flute reverberates the sounds of some shapeless Christmas song. Welcome Kris Kringle; welcome Jack Frost; welcome baby Yeshua. Just another tick looking for a tock.

Fireplaces crackle all over this state tonight. Sweet Boreal perfume sleeping on a crisp, heavy pillow of air, walking off one more sugar cookie and home-made fudge gut ache. Happy Holidays Minnesota. Nowhere else on Earth embraces the season quite like you.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 25, 2006 10:06 PM

A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum...

He had gone on to Rome before me to study law--which was the worldly way which his parents were forever urging him to pursue--and there he was carried away again with an incredible passion for the gladiatorial shows. For, although he had been utterly opposed to such spectacles and detested them, one day he met by chance a company of his acquaintances and fellow students returning from dinner; and, with a friendly violence, they drew him, resisting and objecting vehemently, into the amphitheater, on a day of those cruel and murderous shows. He protested to them: "Though you drag my body to that place and set me down there, you cannot force me to give my mind or lend my eyes to these shows. Thus I will be absent while present, and so overcome both you and them." When they heard this, they dragged him on in, probably interested to see whether he could do as he said. When they got to the arena, and had taken what seats they could get, the whole place became a tumult of inhuman frenzy. But Alypius kept his eyes closed and forbade his mind to roam abroad after such wickedness. Would that he had shut his ears also! For when one of the combatants fell in the fight, a mighty cry from the whole audience stirred him so strongly that, overcome by curiosity and still prepared (as he thought) to despise and rise superior to it no matter what it was, he opened his eyes and was struck with a deeper wound in his soul than the victim whom he desired to see had been in his body. Thus he fell more miserably than the one whose fall had raised that mighty clamor which had entered through his ears and unlocked his eyes to make way for the wounding and beating down of his soul, which was more audacious than truly valiant--also it was weaker because it presumed on its own strength when it ought to have depended on Thee. For, as soon as he saw the blood, he drank in with it a savage temper, and he did not turn away, but fixed his eyes on the bloody pastime, unwittingly drinking in the madness-- delighted with the wicked contest and drunk with blood lust. He was now no longer the same man who came in, but was one of the mob he came into, a true companion of those who had brought him thither. Why need I say more? He looked, he shouted, he was excited, and he took away with him the madness that would stimulate him to come again: not only with those who first enticed him, but even without them; indeed, dragging in others besides. And yet from all this, with a most powerful and most merciful hand, thou didst pluck him and taught him not to rest his confidence in himself but in thee--but not till long after.

--From The Confessions of St. Augustine

Digest of Rules
Kicks From Scrimmage

4. Any punt that is blocked and does not cross the line of scrimmage can be recovered and advanced by either team. However, if offensive team recovers it must make the yardage necessary for its first down to retain possession if punt was on fourth down.

5. The kicking team may never advance its own kick even though legal recovery is made beyond the line of scrimmage. Possession only.

13. Defensive team may advance all kicks from scrimmage (including unsuccessful field goal) whether or not ball crosses defensive team’s goal line. Rules pertaining to kicks from scrimmage apply until defensive team gains possession.

Being a glutton for punishment, and this being America's foremost sports column, I'm forced each Sunday to sit in front of a TV and watch the gladiatorial mess called the NFL. Under normal circumstances, this is an enjoyable pasttime; however, every now and then, I'm subjected to a mentally crippled official named Jeff Triplette, who was best described by John Madden last night (paraphrased): "And it seems like a lot of these things happen when we have to watch Triplette call a game."

Last night, the Super Bowl IV Champion Kansas City Chiefs were penalized, essentially, for blocking a punt. The punt was snuffed deep in Chargers' territory and a Chiefs player made an attempt to recover it, never having possession of the ball. This alleged illegal touch happened beyond the line of scrimmage for the kick. Look above.

The ball DID advance beyond the line of scrimmage, so point 4 is out, no? Point 5 confuses the issue, and point 13 makes it Chiefs' ball, because there are no definitions for what constitutes "gains possession." Jeff Triplette, the single most reviled referee in the NFL said that since a Chiefs' player touched the ball beyond the line of scrimmage, it was San Diego's ball. If that really is the rule, I'd like to see it in black and white first; second, I would appreciate it if Roger Gooddell could explain why that is the rule. A team shouldn't be penalized for blocking a kick. Touching is one thing, possession is another.

The momentum swing was disastrous, and if I were Elvis, there would have been a .357 caliber sized hole in my TV set.

My mood was already sour heading into this, because my slow cooked Sunday dinner of corned beef, cabbage, red potatoes and carrots had been ruined by this:

His real name is Dan Whitney, but if you know him at all, you know him as "Larry The Cable Guy."

If you're in the mood for subtle, sophisticated, urban comedy, you're in the wrong place. With Larry The Cable Guy, we're out in the sticks with our fishing rods and our hunting rifles.

I've talked about this guy before in this space, click this link and you'll see the King of Comedy in his early years.

Of course, back in June, I dropped the eff you, you effen effenheimer on him for his whole schtick, but, I hope that didn't dull the argument I was trying to make with the quote from the Oscar-winning short film, The Accountant. The musical distinctions I try to make here quite often are really drawn into sharp contrast by the Blue Collar Comedy tour. Larry the Cable Guy really represents a great deal of Mainstream Country Nashville nonsense. He's Hee-Haw, Junior Samples, and Goober. Dan Whitney and Larry the Cable Guy are two very distinct individuals, and he's playing a part, even though, at the end of the day, what he and his handlers really want is for the audience to buy this guy as the genuine article. My favorite guy on that tour was by far Ron White, a divorced alcoholic smoker who tells jokes about being divorced and drunk while smoking, on stage, in theatres that have "No Smoking" signs posted everywhere.

The Alypius in me makes it hard to turn away from this knucklehead though, because, as he said last night, he's very professional now, he's polished. But it's a rock hard fact that he's part of that same machinery that is presenting a stereo-typical image to bring home a demographic; not necessarily dumbing things down, but rather, molding things a certain way to create a group-think that is repeatable and profitable. There's no doubt he'll end up in Vegas, taking pain killers and doing two shows a night at $100 million per annum. He should just buy the jumpsuit and cape now.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 18, 2006 2:57 PM

All hail Anno Porci

From KESQ, NewsChannel3:

Border patrol agents in Yuma, Arizona, found an alligator stashed in the suitcase of a California man who was on his way to Phoenix.

Officials say the agents found the four-foot, four-year-old cayman alligator during a routine freeway checkpoint search on Thursday night

A spokesman says a drug-sniffing dog became alert near the man's car. Inside, agents found thirteen grams of marijuana. Then they found the alligator.

It's unknown where in California the man is from, and his name has not been released. He was cited for possessing restricted wildlife and taken into custody by state officials in connection with the marijuana.

Possessing restricted wildlife is a misdemeanor and carries penalties of up to four months in jail and up to 750 dollars in fines. The alligator is being evaluated by the Phoenix Herpetological Society and likely will end up in a zoo or wildlife park.

From the Iraq Study Group Report:

Iraqi police cannot control crime, and they routinely engage in sectarian violence, including the unnecessary detention, torture, and targeted execution of Sunni Arab civilians. The police are organized under the Ministry of the Interior, which is confronted by corruption and militia infiltration and lacks control over police in the provinces.

Dear Bill,

Two-thousand Six (2006) was the Year of the Dog, and 2007 will be the Year of the Pig. The dogs, of course, are scurrying like curs under the nearest porches they can find, praying that the forces of humanity ease up on them, and that the beatings stop at home. The pigs are naturally licking their chops, because in these crazy times my friend, there are great barrels of offal for the troughs.

In the last 12 months, the entire world has been caught with a four-foot, four-year-old cayman alligator and 13 grams of kind in its car. This is not an isolated metaphorical incident.

In a Universe where Gil Meche (rhymes with David Koresh) is worth $55 million, it shouldn't surprise you when several people in their 70's and 80's with roughly 500 years of international relations experience between them suggest that a country violently fractured among Kurds, Sunnis, and Shia should share oil revenues under some kind of opportunistic socialist model.

Any fourth grader who's watched David Lean's "Lawrence of Arabia," and then followed that up with a trip to his local school or public library could tell you that the Sunni monarchies surrounding Iraq are never going to let the Shi'ites control all that oil; also, the Hashemite family is never going to let the House of Saud go marching into Baghdad to "protect the faithful" (just do a Google search for Prince Ra'ad bin Zeid, he's got a lot of nice things to say about Riyadh and pluralistic democracies, once you get past all the "I'm the King of Iraq!" quotes); it bears mentioning that the only "democracies" in this region are Turkey, Yemen, and Israel; and finally, Istanbul would send an armored division of tanks into Tikrit before they'd let "Independent Kurdistan" flags fly all over the place. And this analysis doesn't even include the Ba'athists in Syria, or the heroin rich warlords of Afghanistan, who do all sorts of cute things with guns and bombs on a daily basis. This is grade school world history, and having the largest, best trained, and best equipped armed forces in the world doesn't change it much. In fact, outside of the Abu Ghraib thing, our soldiers have done a fantastic job in Iraq. It's their bosses who are jagoffs, and make no mistake, EVERYONE in Washington, D.C. is a jagoff.

Bill, this is kind of like someone giving a manager a $200 million payroll in the 7th or 8th year of giving that same manager every player he wants in the offseason, followed by every player he wants at the trading deadline, then watching as he gets dumped unceremoniously out of the playoffs early...again. Luckily, that would never happen in today's modern world...oh wait.

I'll say what no one else outside of Boston says: Joe Torre has been given EVERY player he's ever wanted for the past 7 or 8 seasons. Not SOME of them, not a FEW of them, ALL of them. And where has he gotten with them? Nowhere. So what, he's won a division here or there? Ron Gardenhire has won the division every year he has been a manager except one, with a THIRD of Torre's payroll or less. Torre is a terrible manager. Give Jim Leyland the Yankees, they'd win 140 games. One thing I couldn't understand as people like Tim Kurkjian of ESPN spouted from my television with their pants around their ankles about what a great job Torre was doing, was all the "he's had so many injuries to deal with..." Come again? His lineup steadily and commonly was composed of Johnny Damon (149 games), Robinson Cano (122), Derek Jeter (154), A-Rod (154), Giambi (139), and Posada (143). That's really struggling Joe. You're a genius. I'm not sure how you did it. Where were the smoke and mirrors Houdini? It hurts me to play pickup football games these days, and people like Mike Mussina, who I was in freshman calculus with, are returning for another season to "bolster" their rotation. Thirty-eight is 38, no matter how hard your offseason workouts are, and jackrabbit squads like the Tigers will run roughshod over the AARP convention that is their pitching staff. The Year of the Pig will not be kind to Mr. Torre.

Guillaume, I revisited my old radio show's Club page, to click the links and see if any National Alt Twang acts were pulling into town any time soon. The short answer is no. Which can only mean that all the shit heels were right, Alt Country is dead. Nevermind that many local artists are still plugging away, with many fine shows at places like Lee's Liquor Lounge, The Nomad, The Turf Club, The Cabooze, The Acadia Cafe, and others. The overall point is that in the waning days of 2006, the suits are winning, and soccer moms in minivans are whistling happily to the 3 story malls of their choice while Rascall Flatts vomits out of their IPods connected to their lighter sockets. This is a sad state of affairs, and insult will be added to injury next month when Lyle Lovett, John Hiatt, Joe Ely and Guy Clark show up at the State Theatre and the whole thing is partially sponsored by K102. These men recieve airplay at most, one night a month, in the middle of the night, on a Saturday, on that station; so when Gregg Swedberg tells Jon Bream that K102 plays Joe Ely, that's what he's talking about. Gregg Swedberg doesn't know any Joe Ely songs, by the way; he would only know that they played a Joe Ely song from a printout that was handed to him by an intern. Like Kenny Chesney and Travis Moon, Gregg thinks that "Me and Billy the Kid" is a Pat Green song. In fact, most of their staff need refreshers so that this quartet isn't introduced as "new" artists.

Having been off the air now for a year and being pre-occupied with the trappings of life, I haven't been as involved in my local music scene as I once was. But, I've kept one ear to the ground and I can tell you right now, a very talented band called Mark Starry and the Whiskey Roses is about to learn some very hard lessons. Nothing about music, mind you; but rather, about the "music business." They are enjoying some deserved success, which most of the hard-working local bands in this town deserve; but, they've hitched their wagon temporarily to the Donna Valentine-Chris Carr "Roadhouse," a show started at K102 in direct response to the original Other Side of Country on WIXK. The Whiskey Roses should do very well on the Roadhouse, but the door is going to slam shut if Mark doesn't sit down and think up some words that rhyme with tampon, minivan, ipod, car-seat, litter box and detergent. And angels, put lots of angels in there. (Just as an aside, when is Martina McBride going to record a song about the 50 or so innocent civilians that get blown up daily by car bombs in Baghdad turning into angels? Am I the only one wondering this?)

I'm going to hand out an award to Martin Devaney for his unflagging optimism in the year 2006 in the face of corporate music giants everywhere who ruin everything. Britney Spears parlayed above average tits, a marginal singing voice, and marginal dancing ability into getting her picture splashed all over the internet for abusing her children and flashing her beaver in night clubs. If Martin had nicer tits, he'd probably be the current owner and operator of Prince's former Paisley Park mansion and recording studio. To him I give the inaugural 2006 Dead Suit Free Pepperland Award, for his independent spirit and dogged determination to produce the music of Minneapolis' mean streets.

The inaugural 2006 Mainstream Country Jagoff Award goes to Troy Lee Gentry, who shot a bear in Sandstone, just to watch him die. Because the coward pleaded guilty, the more important question of why shooting this domesticated bear named Cubby was videotaped will never be asked or answered. If he were a human being, let alone a real man, he would stand up and respond. Absent that, I'm left to surmise why, and knowing Nashville and the way the people on the business side of the music business down there think, my only theory is that this was going to be part of some music video displaying Gentry's overflowing manhood. Of course, if that were admitted, it would tack on all sort of "conspiracy to commit" charges to the ones he's already pled out, and would cost a lot of people who sign his checks a lot of extra money, so that never happened. Congratulations Troy Lee Bobby Joe Jim Bob, you should be proud of yourself.

Yes Bagel man, we are sliding sideways into the Year of the Pig, but we aren't sliding across ice with 8-inch power augers, because the average temperature across the State of Minnesota this week is 40-some degrees. Many of us are chomping at the bit to test out our buckshot rattle spoons and chubby darters, but Mother Nature won't cooperate. The successes of the Year of the Dog were purely personal; the world around me suffered, and I'm praying desperately for change. Someone send up a flare.

Yours,
Lieutenant George Herbert Walker Platano-Blanco
Air Force Reserve (ret'd)
Probationary Member, Phoenix Herpetological Society

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 14, 2006 12:08 PM

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