Sport Illustrated has already chimed in with their "Sportsperson" of the year. They bestowed that honor on one Serena Williams.
So now it's on to the next round. The Associated Press has to hand out some hardware for their "Top Athletes". Any more, it seems like everybody gets an award for something. The entertainment industry has long gone berserk with this stuff in a million different categories. The most memorable moment yours truly can recall was when George C. Scott refused a best actor Oscar for his role as Patton in the movie. Scott said he failed to see the point in being honored for merely doing his job. He refused to even attend such a convention of the "glitterati" congratulating themselves. Bravo indeed.
A quick look around shows how pervasive this glad-handing has become. The media routinely gives itself all manner of awards in different categories. It appears they have morphed from reporting on the news to BEING the news. Check out any of their self-written mini-bios, and one will see them crowing over their "accomplishments". Among many others, cops, firefighters, and teachers of the month/year have become commonplace in every small district around the country. Hundreds of thousands of them in all. It's not at all unusual to see a fast food place display the name of their "employee" of the month on the sign outside. Maybe they give them a certificate or a gold star on their foreheads. One thing they don't give them is a hefty raise for their outstanding efforts. Get back to cutting that meat and cooking those fries, dammit.
But the potential AP Top Athletes Awards give rise to some thoughts to ponder.
On the male side, we have finalists Stephen Curry and Jordan Spieth.
Curry splashed it up last year with the Golden State Warriors on their way to an NBA title, and is a worthy candidate. Spieth dominated the PGA tour winning two majors and coming up just short in the other two. He was far and away the #1 golfer in the world. The difference? Besides the sports they competed in, Curry was quick to cash in on TV ad bucks. Steph has a guaranteed NBA contract. He gets that dough no matter what. On the other hand, we didn't see the much younger Jordan doing cheesy commercials. Spieth has to earn his money every week when he plays in a tournament. Don't make the cut, and go away empty.
On the female side, we have finalists Carli Lloyd, Ronda Rousey and, of course, the ever lovable Serena Williams.
Lloyd scored a few goals in a soccer game. Thing is, nobody pays the slightest attention to women's soccer unless the Olympics or World Cup are involved. Every two years these girls get huge media coverage but, in between, it's almost like they cease to exist. Yet scoring multiple goals in a soccer game is almost as rare as......
Serena Williams losing a tennis tournament -- or even rarer yet -- not complaining of some mysterious injury or illness when she does. Like Spieth in golf, Williams dominated the female tennis circuit. Yet it seems odd that Novac Djkovic, who was equally dominant on the men's side, didn't make the final cut.
Ronda Rousey certainly drew a lot of attention. She was quickly dispatching opponents in record time in the world of mixed martial arts with her signature "arm bar". But it was only a matter of time before she came up against a truly accomplished fighter in all phases of the game. As we know, Holly Holm knocked Ronda out cold with a vicious kick to the head. Even before that happened, Holm was using Rousey's face as a speed bag. There's a reason nobody saw Ronda for a few weeks after that fight. Let's just say her mug wasn't a pretty sight. Rousey can only be considered as an Athlete of the Year candidate because she drew so much attention to a sport where women had before gone virtually unnoticed. But c'mon. Getting thoroughly beat up and knocked out cold wouldn't seem to be the right stuff to garnish such an award. Like Stephen Curry, Ronda has been seen on many commercials. No sign of Holly Holm. She's probably back in the gym training. Who are the more dedicated athletes to their trade indeed?
And then there's the wild card from the Associated Press. An athlete that's not even a human being. Enter American Pharoah, the thoroughbred colt that won the elusive "Triple Crown" for the first time in almost 40 years. Technically, he's a candidate for the AP's Male Top Athlete.
It should be noted that if his owners dubbed him after an ancient Egyptian ruler, they got the spelling wrong. It's pharaoh, not pharoah. But who cares when a horse is winning millions of dollars and blowing away the fields in all the races for a year? Also interesting is that horses racing in the Derby, Preakness, Belmont, and Breeder's Cup have to be 3 years old. By the time they're four, they're pretty much considered retired and put out to stud.
I'd be willing to bet most red blooded American males would covet a job like that. Run hard four or five times for a single year, then spend the rest of their lives in the lap of luxury while the women with the best potential genes on the planet are brought to them in the hopes they can become pregnant. No worries about child support later. They will pay YOU money. It doesn't get any better than that.
Then again, one can't help but wonder -- what if American Pharoah had been a filly? Would the horse be up for Female Athlete of the Year?
Worse yet, what if the magnificent equine had been named Caitlyn? Would we or the AP even know what category to put "it" in for possible honors?
I dunno. Too damn many awards to keep track of these days. These days in America, one way or the other, everybody's going to be a hero. Unless, of course, like George C. Scott, one just does their job to the best of their abilities and shuns any accolades bestowed by others as merely unwarranted pomp.
Now HE was a hero.
The true ones have become few and far between in recent times.
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
The brainwashing of Jon Gruden
An argument could likely be made that Jon Gruden deserves a spot in the legendary Bonehead Files and, of late, yours truly has anxiously been awaiting the next worthy candidate for induction. It's been a while. But in Gruden's case, that might be a knee-jerk reaction. He can't help what he says. Even the smartest strongest willed person in the world can be reduced to a blithering idiot if subjected to brainwashing long enough.
It wasn't always this way with Gruden. Once upon a time long ago, dear Jon was a young wunderkind in the world of the NFL. He certainly learned his early lessons at the knee of a master. That would be one Mike Holmgren, who was then the head coach of the Green Bay Packers. Back in the 1990s, it turned out Holmgren had assembled quite the staff. Several of his assistants would later go on to become NFL head coaches elsewhere. Gruden was the young stud in the room, an offensive "guru". Indeed, the Packers enjoyed quite the successful run guided by this bunch.
Gruden himself would go on to become the Oakland Raiders head coach for a few years, with modest success, before moving on to Tampa Bay. While there, he became the youngest head coach in history to lead his team to a Super Bowl championship. Very impressive stuff.
But we all know head coaches are hired only to be fired someday, and the same fate befell Gruden.
Fast forward to the present. Amongst other dopey TV gigs, Jon Gruden is now a "color commentator" on Monday Night Football. He's an expert, they say. The dude definitely knows football. Plus, as the execs discovered, the man has something to say that's interesting. See Nielsen ratings.
Unfortunately, this required Mr. Gruden to go to talking head school where they could properly finish his education in the broadcast world before turning him loose on the public with a microphone in front of him. Nobody seems to know exactly what the official curriculum is in this institute of higher knowledge, but it's a fair statement to say most go in with one identity and emerge out the other end with quite another. They've been brainwashed.
No doubt, somewhere along the line a course is taught in pseudo-greatness. This requires the student to be able to take the most mundane, run-of-the-mill play, and somehow find a way to create a "first" reference. For example, consider an off-tackle play where the running back gains 3 yards. Normally pretty dull stuff -- right? But not to a spinmeister. They might rant, "Did you know this guy is the first fourth-round left-handed draft choice from a school west of the Mississippi that ever gained exactly three yards on the second play of the fourth quarter in an NFL game? Oh my God, we're witnessing history here!!!".
One word. Please.
But it appears Jon Gruden learned his lessons well in the academy of politically correct gibberish-speak. Every player (and coach) are lauded at every turn. Nobody's ever a bonehead for an idiot play call, strategy, or botched play. Professional receivers dropping passes that hit them in both hands? Not a problem. "This guy is a multi-dimensional player", they'll say. "He brings so much to the game in other ways".
Hey, shut up. There's a better way. Try this. "He dropped the damn ball -- again. The dude's getting paid millions to catch passes and there's no excuse -- NONE -- for what just happened. In fact, this guy drops almost as many balls as he catches. He'd have been cut long ago if the coaching staff wasn't just as incompetent as he is".
What's the problem with saying it like it is?
And speaking of losers, Monday Night Football featured the Detroit Lions taking on the New Orleans Saints. How the NFL and TV geniuses came up with this underwhelming prime time match-up, even a year ago, would seem to be a good question. There was little doubt neither team would be serious contenders this year. And sure enough, they've both pretty well stunk it up this year, having long been eliminated from any playoff possibility.
Yet Jon Gruden plowed ahead trying to make the best of it. At one point, after a Lions defensive tackle named Ngata made a decent play, JG ranted this guy "has really been coming on strong lately".
Thing is, Ngata has been unable to play at all in recent weeks due to injury. So what, pray tell, did Jon Gruden think he was coming on strong lately from? Rehab? Perhaps he should recheck reality before he starts tossing more empty accolades out there that make him look foolish.
On another play, Detroit receiver Calvin Johnson got drilled after catching a pass. A flag was thrown for unnecessary roughness against a Saint's DB named Browner. Likely because Calvin "Megatron" Johnson has been woefully lacking in the production department in recent weeks, Gruden was quick to jump to his defense. These sort of hits have no place in the game.
But after the replays were shown, replete with slo-mo, it turned out Browner's hit was completely legal. No helmet to helmet contact. Just Browner's shoulder slamming Johnson in the upper chest. Bottom line? Johnson went across the middle into zone coverage, caught the ball, and immediately got clocked. This is just another play in the NFL. Nothing special, and it was a bogus call.
But such non-penalties handed out by the refs are also non-reviewable. Granted, the officials are seeing it in real time and the action happens fast, but they shouldn't throw a flag unless they're 100% sure a foul has actually been committed. Shouldn't innocent until proven guilty rule the day in the brutal world of the NFL? Granted, it's been trashed and turned upside down in the real world of justice -- once accused a defendant is automatically assumed guilty -- we see it all the time. Prosecutors, the media and sports Commissioners love how the public has been brainwashed into an automatic lynch mob, but that doesn't make it right. There's a little thing called evidence that has a pesky way of eventually coming out that might exonerate the "culprit". Yet the damage has already been done to an innocent person and there's no fixing it. But I digress.
Regarding Jon Gruden, one of his favorite lines seems to be, "I just love how ____ plays". Such energy, such emotion, such dedication, such toughness, a born leader, the ultimate teammate, a student of the game, and nobody outworks this guy when it comes to preparation, etc., etc., etc.
We get it Jon. Once upon a time you were a real football guy, and fairly well respected as such. Then you cycled through the talking head academy and evidently graduated Magna Cum Loudy. Hence your present gig in the booth alongside some guy who's initials are appropriately MT. Empty is quite the appropriate term to describe his fast and furious sound bytes as well.
So let's see. Monday Night Football used to be on ABC. Then whoops, cable TV came along and that pesky 4-letter sports network popped up. So ABC bought them out. Then the Mickey Mouse company saw another lucrative business opportunity and gobbled up the whole works. Did I miss anything here?
Ah, for the old days. Frank Gifford providing seamless, interesting and objective play-by-play. Dandy Don Merideth with his insightful wisecracks. DD would always sing about turning out the lights and declare the party over on some team in the fourth quarter. Never could figure out how Howard Cosell landed in the booth. But hey, anybody that can change their name from Cohen to Cosell, suck up and become a confidante of Mohammed Ali on the side, put on a cheap toupee, and convince the world he "tells it like it is" should be given kudos for at least being a great con man. Alas, one little innocent "monkey" remark slew the mighty Howard. It was the dawn of the "sensitive" age and the former Mr. Cohen had crossed a line he never even knew existed. But that's the way it goes sometimes. A ruthless business indeed.
As for Jon Gruden and the Lions/Saints game? The Lions were ahead early, but I have no idea how it turned out. Two losers playing each other with yet another brainwashed guy trying to sound relevant while blathering on. Everybody is great in his world. There are no chumps worthy of criticism, though most viewers would likely disagree. Midway through the second quarter was all I could take.
Click, click, click. There's gotta be something better on than this. Turned out not. Dang, thousands of channels and nothing decent to watch? In my infinite wisdom, there was only one course of action. Grab a bite to eat, take a shower, then come up with another dopey blog post like this one.
Like the man said, is this a great country or what?
It wasn't always this way with Gruden. Once upon a time long ago, dear Jon was a young wunderkind in the world of the NFL. He certainly learned his early lessons at the knee of a master. That would be one Mike Holmgren, who was then the head coach of the Green Bay Packers. Back in the 1990s, it turned out Holmgren had assembled quite the staff. Several of his assistants would later go on to become NFL head coaches elsewhere. Gruden was the young stud in the room, an offensive "guru". Indeed, the Packers enjoyed quite the successful run guided by this bunch.
Gruden himself would go on to become the Oakland Raiders head coach for a few years, with modest success, before moving on to Tampa Bay. While there, he became the youngest head coach in history to lead his team to a Super Bowl championship. Very impressive stuff.
But we all know head coaches are hired only to be fired someday, and the same fate befell Gruden.
Fast forward to the present. Amongst other dopey TV gigs, Jon Gruden is now a "color commentator" on Monday Night Football. He's an expert, they say. The dude definitely knows football. Plus, as the execs discovered, the man has something to say that's interesting. See Nielsen ratings.
Unfortunately, this required Mr. Gruden to go to talking head school where they could properly finish his education in the broadcast world before turning him loose on the public with a microphone in front of him. Nobody seems to know exactly what the official curriculum is in this institute of higher knowledge, but it's a fair statement to say most go in with one identity and emerge out the other end with quite another. They've been brainwashed.
No doubt, somewhere along the line a course is taught in pseudo-greatness. This requires the student to be able to take the most mundane, run-of-the-mill play, and somehow find a way to create a "first" reference. For example, consider an off-tackle play where the running back gains 3 yards. Normally pretty dull stuff -- right? But not to a spinmeister. They might rant, "Did you know this guy is the first fourth-round left-handed draft choice from a school west of the Mississippi that ever gained exactly three yards on the second play of the fourth quarter in an NFL game? Oh my God, we're witnessing history here!!!".
One word. Please.
But it appears Jon Gruden learned his lessons well in the academy of politically correct gibberish-speak. Every player (and coach) are lauded at every turn. Nobody's ever a bonehead for an idiot play call, strategy, or botched play. Professional receivers dropping passes that hit them in both hands? Not a problem. "This guy is a multi-dimensional player", they'll say. "He brings so much to the game in other ways".
Hey, shut up. There's a better way. Try this. "He dropped the damn ball -- again. The dude's getting paid millions to catch passes and there's no excuse -- NONE -- for what just happened. In fact, this guy drops almost as many balls as he catches. He'd have been cut long ago if the coaching staff wasn't just as incompetent as he is".
What's the problem with saying it like it is?
And speaking of losers, Monday Night Football featured the Detroit Lions taking on the New Orleans Saints. How the NFL and TV geniuses came up with this underwhelming prime time match-up, even a year ago, would seem to be a good question. There was little doubt neither team would be serious contenders this year. And sure enough, they've both pretty well stunk it up this year, having long been eliminated from any playoff possibility.
Yet Jon Gruden plowed ahead trying to make the best of it. At one point, after a Lions defensive tackle named Ngata made a decent play, JG ranted this guy "has really been coming on strong lately".
Thing is, Ngata has been unable to play at all in recent weeks due to injury. So what, pray tell, did Jon Gruden think he was coming on strong lately from? Rehab? Perhaps he should recheck reality before he starts tossing more empty accolades out there that make him look foolish.
On another play, Detroit receiver Calvin Johnson got drilled after catching a pass. A flag was thrown for unnecessary roughness against a Saint's DB named Browner. Likely because Calvin "Megatron" Johnson has been woefully lacking in the production department in recent weeks, Gruden was quick to jump to his defense. These sort of hits have no place in the game.
But after the replays were shown, replete with slo-mo, it turned out Browner's hit was completely legal. No helmet to helmet contact. Just Browner's shoulder slamming Johnson in the upper chest. Bottom line? Johnson went across the middle into zone coverage, caught the ball, and immediately got clocked. This is just another play in the NFL. Nothing special, and it was a bogus call.
But such non-penalties handed out by the refs are also non-reviewable. Granted, the officials are seeing it in real time and the action happens fast, but they shouldn't throw a flag unless they're 100% sure a foul has actually been committed. Shouldn't innocent until proven guilty rule the day in the brutal world of the NFL? Granted, it's been trashed and turned upside down in the real world of justice -- once accused a defendant is automatically assumed guilty -- we see it all the time. Prosecutors, the media and sports Commissioners love how the public has been brainwashed into an automatic lynch mob, but that doesn't make it right. There's a little thing called evidence that has a pesky way of eventually coming out that might exonerate the "culprit". Yet the damage has already been done to an innocent person and there's no fixing it. But I digress.
Regarding Jon Gruden, one of his favorite lines seems to be, "I just love how ____ plays". Such energy, such emotion, such dedication, such toughness, a born leader, the ultimate teammate, a student of the game, and nobody outworks this guy when it comes to preparation, etc., etc., etc.
We get it Jon. Once upon a time you were a real football guy, and fairly well respected as such. Then you cycled through the talking head academy and evidently graduated Magna Cum Loudy. Hence your present gig in the booth alongside some guy who's initials are appropriately MT. Empty is quite the appropriate term to describe his fast and furious sound bytes as well.
So let's see. Monday Night Football used to be on ABC. Then whoops, cable TV came along and that pesky 4-letter sports network popped up. So ABC bought them out. Then the Mickey Mouse company saw another lucrative business opportunity and gobbled up the whole works. Did I miss anything here?
Ah, for the old days. Frank Gifford providing seamless, interesting and objective play-by-play. Dandy Don Merideth with his insightful wisecracks. DD would always sing about turning out the lights and declare the party over on some team in the fourth quarter. Never could figure out how Howard Cosell landed in the booth. But hey, anybody that can change their name from Cohen to Cosell, suck up and become a confidante of Mohammed Ali on the side, put on a cheap toupee, and convince the world he "tells it like it is" should be given kudos for at least being a great con man. Alas, one little innocent "monkey" remark slew the mighty Howard. It was the dawn of the "sensitive" age and the former Mr. Cohen had crossed a line he never even knew existed. But that's the way it goes sometimes. A ruthless business indeed.
As for Jon Gruden and the Lions/Saints game? The Lions were ahead early, but I have no idea how it turned out. Two losers playing each other with yet another brainwashed guy trying to sound relevant while blathering on. Everybody is great in his world. There are no chumps worthy of criticism, though most viewers would likely disagree. Midway through the second quarter was all I could take.
Click, click, click. There's gotta be something better on than this. Turned out not. Dang, thousands of channels and nothing decent to watch? In my infinite wisdom, there was only one course of action. Grab a bite to eat, take a shower, then come up with another dopey blog post like this one.
Like the man said, is this a great country or what?
Monday, December 21, 2015
The Miss Universe debacle
Is a beauty pageant considered a sport? I would submit that it is. After all, like a female golf or tennis tournament, it's a whole bunch of "ladies" (and I use that term loosely) competing against each and only one will be crowned a champion at the end.
Though all the above will behave in a perfectly dignified manner when the cameras are rolling -- it wouldn't come as much of a surprise if there was a considerable amount of cat-fighting that goes on behind the scenes. Arched backs, hiss, claw, and maybe perhaps mark their territory, with perfume of course. Ahem.
But the very name "Miss Universe Pageant" has always been the epitome of haughtiness. We earthlings have no clue what else is out their in the cosmos. There's untold billions of stars with planets orbiting them, just like our own solar system. It's highly likely there's other intelligent life out there somewhere. Lots of it. So who are we to proclaim our hot bimbo of the year the most beautiful creature in the universe? "Miss Earth" would be a stretch (remember I said intelligent life), but "Miss Universe" is ridiculous. Always has been.
It's kind of like saying our "best and brightest" people represent us at the highest levels of government. Have you paid attention lately to what they do? And how can they call themselves "public servants" when they make all the rules common folks have to life by while the very same "public" foots the bill for their ridiculous salaries, unlimited expense accounts, and other perks galore? There's the service industry and then there's the SERVICE industry. But enough about hypocrisy. We have come to know and experience it all too well.
Nevertheless, this particular Miss Universe Pageant had a strange twist. Somehow the host, one Steve Harvey, crowned the wrong winner. You remember Steve. He's been the latest host of the Family Feud in recent years. You know, the show where they get two panels of five related people that basically have the collective intelligence of your average goldfish and ask them a few even stupider questions.
The good Mr. Harvey does his best Groucho/Don Rickles/Robin Williams -- name a wise cracker -- imitation while making the contestants look like idiots. Hey, they already WERE idiots. We know this, just like the people that volunteer to go on TV judge shows to be humiliated on national TV for a few hundred bucks, free cattle car air fare, and a couple nights in a cheap motel. And don't get me started on the Jerry Springer show. Heathens.
So it shouldn't have come as a great surprise that Steve Harvey botched the culmination of a beauty pageant which was always based on a botched premise in the first place.
This is what can happen when a clown is put in charge of a dog and pony show. Like his regular Family Feud gig, something incredibly stupid was bound to happen eventually. But this time it was the host himself that played the fool. How embarrassing.
The similarities and differences between that annual fancy dog show in New York and the Miss Universe Pageant? Well, let's see. All the contestants are groomed for hours before they appear on stage, so that's a push. Both are eager to please and wag their tails. Let's call that a draw as well.
All contestants are on their best behavior when the competition starts. Some are on leashes, some not, though perhaps they should be.
Both seem to obey simple commands rather well during their shows. Walk, sit, shake, etc. They have all been well trained. And both have their teeth seriously checked out. They must be perfect and gleaming white.
Hair is a big thing. Every last one has to be in its proper place.
The contestants of one show are completely naked. Wouldn't it be far most interesting if the contestants of the other showed off their wares -- or lack thereof -- in the same way? That would eliminate a whole bunch of them from contention very quickly. Get rid of all the props to make them look like they have something they don't -- and let's see what's really going on. What could be fairer than that?
Not sure, but I'm guessing the 4-legged contestants don't wear nearly as much make-up, or reek of designer perfume like their 2-legged counterparts.
One of them will be happy just to go home and be with his/her loving master. They don't know, or care about all the accolades involved. Give them a yard to run around in, a back scratch and/or belly rub, kind words, and a doggie treat here and there -- and they're happy little suckers.
The other will expect to be treated like royalty for the next year. She'll want fancy cars. Furs, boats, major cha-ching jewelry, and exotic places to travel. All on somebody else's dime, of course, because she has no intention of actually -- gasp!! -- working and likely lacks any job skills to earn it for herself, even if so inclined. And good luck with the outrageous wardrobe she'll consider her due.
What did she do to deserve all this? She was born with the right genes. As a kid she was considered cute. A few years after puberty, start adding in a nip here, a tuck there, some serious dental work, other cosmetic wonders, and next thing ya know, she's a beauty queen.
And if things play out just right, she might even become Miss Universe someday -- at least for a minute.
That is, until an inept emcee clown like Steve Harvey realizes he botched the final presentation and snatches the tiara back away from her. So close to fame and fortune only to see it taken away. Oh, the shame of it all. How crushing. Boo hoo hoo. She might have to go get a real job after all. Perish the thought.
Kind of like the Super Bowl, NBA/NHL finals, or World Series, nobody cares about who the runner up was. Only the eventual champion matters, and then only for a year until the following seasons get underway. Like beauty pageants, a tough business indeed. What have you done for me lately?
But at least those people have never been clueless enough to crown the wrong winner. Leave it to Steve Harvey. SH would be better served going back to the Family Feud where he can be the smartest person in a room chock full of fools.
As the legendary outlaw Josey Wales once said -- a man needs to know his limitations.
Though all the above will behave in a perfectly dignified manner when the cameras are rolling -- it wouldn't come as much of a surprise if there was a considerable amount of cat-fighting that goes on behind the scenes. Arched backs, hiss, claw, and maybe perhaps mark their territory, with perfume of course. Ahem.
But the very name "Miss Universe Pageant" has always been the epitome of haughtiness. We earthlings have no clue what else is out their in the cosmos. There's untold billions of stars with planets orbiting them, just like our own solar system. It's highly likely there's other intelligent life out there somewhere. Lots of it. So who are we to proclaim our hot bimbo of the year the most beautiful creature in the universe? "Miss Earth" would be a stretch (remember I said intelligent life), but "Miss Universe" is ridiculous. Always has been.
It's kind of like saying our "best and brightest" people represent us at the highest levels of government. Have you paid attention lately to what they do? And how can they call themselves "public servants" when they make all the rules common folks have to life by while the very same "public" foots the bill for their ridiculous salaries, unlimited expense accounts, and other perks galore? There's the service industry and then there's the SERVICE industry. But enough about hypocrisy. We have come to know and experience it all too well.
Nevertheless, this particular Miss Universe Pageant had a strange twist. Somehow the host, one Steve Harvey, crowned the wrong winner. You remember Steve. He's been the latest host of the Family Feud in recent years. You know, the show where they get two panels of five related people that basically have the collective intelligence of your average goldfish and ask them a few even stupider questions.
The good Mr. Harvey does his best Groucho/Don Rickles/Robin Williams -- name a wise cracker -- imitation while making the contestants look like idiots. Hey, they already WERE idiots. We know this, just like the people that volunteer to go on TV judge shows to be humiliated on national TV for a few hundred bucks, free cattle car air fare, and a couple nights in a cheap motel. And don't get me started on the Jerry Springer show. Heathens.
So it shouldn't have come as a great surprise that Steve Harvey botched the culmination of a beauty pageant which was always based on a botched premise in the first place.
This is what can happen when a clown is put in charge of a dog and pony show. Like his regular Family Feud gig, something incredibly stupid was bound to happen eventually. But this time it was the host himself that played the fool. How embarrassing.
The similarities and differences between that annual fancy dog show in New York and the Miss Universe Pageant? Well, let's see. All the contestants are groomed for hours before they appear on stage, so that's a push. Both are eager to please and wag their tails. Let's call that a draw as well.
All contestants are on their best behavior when the competition starts. Some are on leashes, some not, though perhaps they should be.
Both seem to obey simple commands rather well during their shows. Walk, sit, shake, etc. They have all been well trained. And both have their teeth seriously checked out. They must be perfect and gleaming white.
Hair is a big thing. Every last one has to be in its proper place.
The contestants of one show are completely naked. Wouldn't it be far most interesting if the contestants of the other showed off their wares -- or lack thereof -- in the same way? That would eliminate a whole bunch of them from contention very quickly. Get rid of all the props to make them look like they have something they don't -- and let's see what's really going on. What could be fairer than that?
Not sure, but I'm guessing the 4-legged contestants don't wear nearly as much make-up, or reek of designer perfume like their 2-legged counterparts.
One of them will be happy just to go home and be with his/her loving master. They don't know, or care about all the accolades involved. Give them a yard to run around in, a back scratch and/or belly rub, kind words, and a doggie treat here and there -- and they're happy little suckers.
The other will expect to be treated like royalty for the next year. She'll want fancy cars. Furs, boats, major cha-ching jewelry, and exotic places to travel. All on somebody else's dime, of course, because she has no intention of actually -- gasp!! -- working and likely lacks any job skills to earn it for herself, even if so inclined. And good luck with the outrageous wardrobe she'll consider her due.
What did she do to deserve all this? She was born with the right genes. As a kid she was considered cute. A few years after puberty, start adding in a nip here, a tuck there, some serious dental work, other cosmetic wonders, and next thing ya know, she's a beauty queen.
And if things play out just right, she might even become Miss Universe someday -- at least for a minute.
That is, until an inept emcee clown like Steve Harvey realizes he botched the final presentation and snatches the tiara back away from her. So close to fame and fortune only to see it taken away. Oh, the shame of it all. How crushing. Boo hoo hoo. She might have to go get a real job after all. Perish the thought.
Kind of like the Super Bowl, NBA/NHL finals, or World Series, nobody cares about who the runner up was. Only the eventual champion matters, and then only for a year until the following seasons get underway. Like beauty pageants, a tough business indeed. What have you done for me lately?
But at least those people have never been clueless enough to crown the wrong winner. Leave it to Steve Harvey. SH would be better served going back to the Family Feud where he can be the smartest person in a room chock full of fools.
As the legendary outlaw Josey Wales once said -- a man needs to know his limitations.
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Kobe Bryant. All-Star farce
To any fair minded NBA fan, or even a person with the slightest bit of objectivity, the proposition is absolutely ludicrous. Along with Stephen Curry, Kobe Bryant will be a starting guard in the NBA All -Star game? You've got to be kidding. How stupid are the voters that are casting these ballots?
Let's get real. Kobe Bean Bryant pretty well stunk it up last year on a bad Lakers team. This year, he's been even worse. Much worse. He's terrible. Based on production only -- and what else matters? -- Bryant likely couldn't even make the roster, let alone start for any other team in the league. For every shot he makes, there's a few bricks and even air balls. He can't defend anybody anymore and is a turnover waiting to happen. It's become pitiful to even watch. For his on court bumbling he has and will make $48 million over the last season and the current one. Bryant is to the salary cap what a voracious fox is to a farmer's chicken coop. One might salvage a few eggs, but the destruction that is wrought is definitely not good for business in the long run.
Yet the mania persists. Kobe is on his "farewell tour", so all should humbly bow and acknowledge his greatness in years past. To which I say -- BS. The dude's already got over $300 million in the bank and a room full of trophies. For him to command, and get a $48 million two-year contract from the Lakers proved two things. Kobe had no shame and the Lakers had no financial sense.
What is astounding, even laughable, is how the TV folks will desperately search for a Kobe "highlight" -- anything remotely considered a good play -- and replay it over and over again. See Kobe dunk. See 100 replays. What we don't see is all the bumbling he did on the court before and after such a play. Did I mention he's become terrible?
Showing such a dunk is akin to showing Eldrick "Tiger" Woods draining a 25 foot putt when he's already 15 shots behind and woefully out of contention. Other than misguided and outdated hero worship -- what's the point?
They both had their days in the limelight and now it's over. Like Bryant, it's become obvious Woods can no longer contend at a high level. Or might we see Tiger on a farewell tour next year? Would the PGA folks give him an exemption to making the cut in all tournaments so his adoring lemmings can follow him around on the weekends -- even if he was in dead last place and fading even further on every hole? And OMG, imagine the replays from hell the TV folks would come up with. It would be a constant bombardment of Tiger this and Tiger that. A yearlong shock and awe scenario that would daunt even the likes of Darth Cheney, in whatever bunker he currently resides in.
Other athletes have had farewell tours, knowing their present season would be their last. The NY Yankee captain Derek Jeter comes to mind, as does NASCAR driver Jeff Gordon. The difference between them and Kobe? Jeter was still productive in his final year. Gordon wasn't only competitive, but made it to the Final Four of NASCAR's "chase".
In the meantime, Kobe just keeps stinking it up in one arena after another. He has become the very embodiment of what has gone horribly wrong in American professional sports. Obscenely overpaid jocks in stick and ball sports. And don't kid yourself. The trickle down effect hits the fans in their wallets and purses. There's a reason why ticket prices are so high and a quarter's worth of nasty draft beer costs $10. Somebody has to pay for this insanity.
True, it's been said that with all the billions of TV dollars pouring into the leagues the owners don't have to sell a single ticket to a single game and would still turn a handsome profit. They will deny that, of course, but good luck getting a look at their books. And even if you could, only a seasoned CPA could begin to decipher the financial shell game that has long been in play by the billionaires and their franchise toys.
Nevertheless, Kobe Bean Bryant being chosen as a starting guard for the NBA All-Star game is nothing short of a travesty.
But wait, some will claim. This final honor and his farewell tour only reflect the respect and admiration he has so rightly earned over his storied career.
To which I say again, BS. Some of us never respected him in the first place, much less admired him. He was an admitted adulterer and a ball hog for his whole career. He happened to land in the right place at the right time on the right team (see supporting cast) to win a few championships. And who's kidding who? The media always looked for a reason -- any reason -- to trumpet the "showtime" Lakers.
But now they've become the "blowtime" Lakers, bottom feeders in the NBA. Incredibly, they're paying Kobe Bryant $24 million this year to further prove he would be incapable of even making a roster on any other team. The past was the past and right now he continues to stink it up. As Charles Barkley would say -- Turrible. Just turrible.
Kobe Bryant making the All-Star game at all, much less a starter, is a slap in the face to not only much more worthy players, but any objective fan that wants to tune in to see the best when the annual spectacle is played, regardless if it's always more like a Harlem Globetrotter entertainment game than a serious contest among guys actually -- you know -- playing hard.
$24 million and a trip to the All-Star game as a starter. Only Kobe could pull this off, with a lot of help from the usual lemmings.
Slice it and dice it any which way you wish but, in the end, it's still a farce.
Let's get real. Kobe Bean Bryant pretty well stunk it up last year on a bad Lakers team. This year, he's been even worse. Much worse. He's terrible. Based on production only -- and what else matters? -- Bryant likely couldn't even make the roster, let alone start for any other team in the league. For every shot he makes, there's a few bricks and even air balls. He can't defend anybody anymore and is a turnover waiting to happen. It's become pitiful to even watch. For his on court bumbling he has and will make $48 million over the last season and the current one. Bryant is to the salary cap what a voracious fox is to a farmer's chicken coop. One might salvage a few eggs, but the destruction that is wrought is definitely not good for business in the long run.
Yet the mania persists. Kobe is on his "farewell tour", so all should humbly bow and acknowledge his greatness in years past. To which I say -- BS. The dude's already got over $300 million in the bank and a room full of trophies. For him to command, and get a $48 million two-year contract from the Lakers proved two things. Kobe had no shame and the Lakers had no financial sense.
What is astounding, even laughable, is how the TV folks will desperately search for a Kobe "highlight" -- anything remotely considered a good play -- and replay it over and over again. See Kobe dunk. See 100 replays. What we don't see is all the bumbling he did on the court before and after such a play. Did I mention he's become terrible?
Showing such a dunk is akin to showing Eldrick "Tiger" Woods draining a 25 foot putt when he's already 15 shots behind and woefully out of contention. Other than misguided and outdated hero worship -- what's the point?
They both had their days in the limelight and now it's over. Like Bryant, it's become obvious Woods can no longer contend at a high level. Or might we see Tiger on a farewell tour next year? Would the PGA folks give him an exemption to making the cut in all tournaments so his adoring lemmings can follow him around on the weekends -- even if he was in dead last place and fading even further on every hole? And OMG, imagine the replays from hell the TV folks would come up with. It would be a constant bombardment of Tiger this and Tiger that. A yearlong shock and awe scenario that would daunt even the likes of Darth Cheney, in whatever bunker he currently resides in.
Other athletes have had farewell tours, knowing their present season would be their last. The NY Yankee captain Derek Jeter comes to mind, as does NASCAR driver Jeff Gordon. The difference between them and Kobe? Jeter was still productive in his final year. Gordon wasn't only competitive, but made it to the Final Four of NASCAR's "chase".
In the meantime, Kobe just keeps stinking it up in one arena after another. He has become the very embodiment of what has gone horribly wrong in American professional sports. Obscenely overpaid jocks in stick and ball sports. And don't kid yourself. The trickle down effect hits the fans in their wallets and purses. There's a reason why ticket prices are so high and a quarter's worth of nasty draft beer costs $10. Somebody has to pay for this insanity.
True, it's been said that with all the billions of TV dollars pouring into the leagues the owners don't have to sell a single ticket to a single game and would still turn a handsome profit. They will deny that, of course, but good luck getting a look at their books. And even if you could, only a seasoned CPA could begin to decipher the financial shell game that has long been in play by the billionaires and their franchise toys.
Nevertheless, Kobe Bean Bryant being chosen as a starting guard for the NBA All-Star game is nothing short of a travesty.
But wait, some will claim. This final honor and his farewell tour only reflect the respect and admiration he has so rightly earned over his storied career.
To which I say again, BS. Some of us never respected him in the first place, much less admired him. He was an admitted adulterer and a ball hog for his whole career. He happened to land in the right place at the right time on the right team (see supporting cast) to win a few championships. And who's kidding who? The media always looked for a reason -- any reason -- to trumpet the "showtime" Lakers.
But now they've become the "blowtime" Lakers, bottom feeders in the NBA. Incredibly, they're paying Kobe Bryant $24 million this year to further prove he would be incapable of even making a roster on any other team. The past was the past and right now he continues to stink it up. As Charles Barkley would say -- Turrible. Just turrible.
Kobe Bryant making the All-Star game at all, much less a starter, is a slap in the face to not only much more worthy players, but any objective fan that wants to tune in to see the best when the annual spectacle is played, regardless if it's always more like a Harlem Globetrotter entertainment game than a serious contest among guys actually -- you know -- playing hard.
$24 million and a trip to the All-Star game as a starter. Only Kobe could pull this off, with a lot of help from the usual lemmings.
Slice it and dice it any which way you wish but, in the end, it's still a farce.
Friday, December 18, 2015
Chris Paul a champion? Ain't gonna happen
There's good news, though. At long last, finally, mercifully, those dopey State Farm insurance commercials with his "twin brother" Cliff have been put out of our misery. The nerdier Paul made a killing on those ads. Big bucks in royalties. Cliffy's days of running around chasing fender benders are over. True, he never made it into the lofty atmosphere of the 1%er league like the Progressive Flo, but a few million ought to tide him over for a while. And if he somehow manages to blow that in a few years, he'll have to find somebody else to mooch off besides Chris.
That's because Chris Paul will be done himself in the NBA. He's now 30, which isn't a geezer, but considered a bit on the back side of his bell curve when it comes to playing at the highest level of basketball. Let's just say the coming years won't see him get any better.
Thing is, despite all the hype and dopey self-serving commercials, Chris Paul is never going to be a champion. Whatever window may have been briefly open has slammed shut on him and his LA Clippers.
The Western Conference of the NBA has been brutal in recent times. We've seen the spectacular crash and burn of the LA Lakers, the former Seattle Supersonics move to Okla City and become contenders, the Houston Rockets and Dallas Mavs in the mix, and the ever-steady San Antonio Spurs maintain their standard of excellence under coach Gregg Popovich. The Spurs are currently 23-5, which in most times would be considered a superb win/loss record. But even they have been dwarfed by the meteoric rise of the Golden State Warriors. At last look the defending champs were a mind-boggling 25-1.
Meanwhile, after getting knocked off in San Antonio -- again -- the Clippers are a respectable 16-11. Not bad, but in the whole scheme of things somewhat mediocre in the West. Does anybody really think these guys can contend for a title this year? Not likely.
But perhaps the writing was on the wall years ago. As the all-knowing Sir Charles Barkley once said -- when your best player (Chris Paul) is only 6 feet tall, you will never win a championship. Ain't gonna happen.
Consider the rest of the Clippers. Blake Griffin can run, defend (sometimes), seemingly jump out of the building, and certainly dunk, but he's seriously flawed as an offensive player. Deandre Jordan is a big guy that does a lot of the dirty work close to the basket, but little else.
The Clips recently picked up Paul Pierce. He's pushing 100, or least 40 (same thing in the NBA), and even in his Boston Celtics prime PP was a shoot first, worry about defense later kind of player. No way can he run up and down the court with the young boys any more, much less cover them.
Somehow the best basketball team at the Staples Center, which isn't saying much, also have a guy named Luc Mbah A Moute. He's from Cameroon, which is either a small country in Africa or what you get when you combine the Carolina Panthers quarterback with a meringue cookie.
Just the name itself is reason to give one pause. Say it quickly three times in a row phonetically.
Luke MMM Bah Ah Moo Tee.
Luke MMM Bah Ah Moo Tee.
Luke MMM Bah Ah Moo Tee.
Did it just start raining? Did your dog or cat suddenly turn into a vampire bat flying around inside the house? Is your garage door repeatedly opening and closing for no apparent reason? You gotta be careful with this sort of stuff.
Not long ago, Clips head coach Glen "Doc" Rivers said he would quit if then owner Donald Sterling was allowed to stay on. At the time, yours truly was hoping Sterling would last for one more year as all the legal wranglings and politically correct nonsense dragged out. Just to see if Doc would really give up a $7 million dollar a year gig to stand on principle.
But never fear, out went Sterling and along came new owner Steve Ballmer, and he upped Doc's salary to a whopping $10 million a year. You can often see Ballmer at Clippers games. He'll be the white bald guy doing a spaz dance a few rows behind their bench.
It doesn't matter. Rivers, the Clippers, and all crazy Steve's money will never be enough to win an NBA title. Nor will Doc's little nepotism ploy putting his kid Austin on the roster.
The Clips have some good players, but they're not built to be champions now or anytime in the near future. Besides their shortcomings, too many other teams in the West are just superior, from head coach on down to players and the systems that are in place.
Chris Paul? The only way he gets within sniffing distance of a championship during the waning years of his career is if he and his agent find a way to move him to a team that has a legitimate shot in the near future.
And that begs the question. What other team would take on Chris Paul, all 6 feet of him, the enormous salary he would command, and knowing full well he was already in his twilight years? Terrific -- and bigger matters -- point guards come out of college every year.
It's hard to imagine a scenario where Chris Paul could fit in as the final missing piece to propel a team on the brink of championship caliber over the edge. Chances are they already have a great point guard -- and likely much younger -- or they wouldn't be in that position.
So while he made have had a long semi-successful run with the Clippers, and made a few more millions on the side with his "brother" Cliff doing commercials, it would appear Chris Paul is destined to never win anything that truly matters.
Some things just ain't in the cards.
His golf swing notwithstanding, the what the f--- Chuck round mound of rebound gets something right every once in a while.
Just the name itself is reason to give one pause. Say it quickly three times in a row phonetically.
Luke MMM Bah Ah Moo Tee.
Luke MMM Bah Ah Moo Tee.
Luke MMM Bah Ah Moo Tee.
Did it just start raining? Did your dog or cat suddenly turn into a vampire bat flying around inside the house? Is your garage door repeatedly opening and closing for no apparent reason? You gotta be careful with this sort of stuff.
Not long ago, Clips head coach Glen "Doc" Rivers said he would quit if then owner Donald Sterling was allowed to stay on. At the time, yours truly was hoping Sterling would last for one more year as all the legal wranglings and politically correct nonsense dragged out. Just to see if Doc would really give up a $7 million dollar a year gig to stand on principle.
But never fear, out went Sterling and along came new owner Steve Ballmer, and he upped Doc's salary to a whopping $10 million a year. You can often see Ballmer at Clippers games. He'll be the white bald guy doing a spaz dance a few rows behind their bench.
It doesn't matter. Rivers, the Clippers, and all crazy Steve's money will never be enough to win an NBA title. Nor will Doc's little nepotism ploy putting his kid Austin on the roster.
The Clips have some good players, but they're not built to be champions now or anytime in the near future. Besides their shortcomings, too many other teams in the West are just superior, from head coach on down to players and the systems that are in place.
Chris Paul? The only way he gets within sniffing distance of a championship during the waning years of his career is if he and his agent find a way to move him to a team that has a legitimate shot in the near future.
And that begs the question. What other team would take on Chris Paul, all 6 feet of him, the enormous salary he would command, and knowing full well he was already in his twilight years? Terrific -- and bigger matters -- point guards come out of college every year.
It's hard to imagine a scenario where Chris Paul could fit in as the final missing piece to propel a team on the brink of championship caliber over the edge. Chances are they already have a great point guard -- and likely much younger -- or they wouldn't be in that position.
So while he made have had a long semi-successful run with the Clippers, and made a few more millions on the side with his "brother" Cliff doing commercials, it would appear Chris Paul is destined to never win anything that truly matters.
Some things just ain't in the cards.
His golf swing notwithstanding, the what the f--- Chuck round mound of rebound gets something right every once in a while.
Sportsperson Of The Year
According to Sports Illustrated, it was Serena Williams. This was a horrible choice. What could they have been thinking? Then again, the writers and brass at SI are to a large degree a mishmash of various "minorities", so perhaps it should come as no great surprise they bypassed the obvious SOTY. He just happens to be a white male -- perish the politically incorrect thought -- and far more deserving of such an honor.
His name is Jordan Spieth. A professional golfer. Like tennis, golf is an individual sport. When it's time to play a tournament, one has no teammates to rely on. It's the individual player against the rest of the field, round after round. In the end, usually on a Sunday, somebody will be crowned the winner.
Both Williams and Spieth dominated their respective sports in 2015. Neither could quite pull off winning the elusive "grand slam", but there's no doubt they were the best of the best. The #1 ranking in the world, by a wide margin, pretty much says it all.
But not counting gender, race, or the sports they played, there were distinct differences between Ms. Williams and Mr. Spieth. And #1 on that list is character/class or the lack thereof.
On the golf course, young Jordan Spieth was the epitome of a gentleman. A consummate pro. You never saw him throw a Tigerish club beating tantrum after an errant shot.
A not so young Williams destroyed a lot of rackets in her hissy fits following a poor play. As if the racket was responsible.
Both made scads of money plying their trades. Millions upon millions.
Spieth has, or intends to give most of his away to various charitable causes. Williams? Well, let's just say her bank account is doing just fine, thank you.
When oh so close to a big victory, only to see it snatched away by an opponent that got "hot", Jordan was always humble in defeat. The better player on that day won.
Serena always had an excuse. She had an upset stomach, or leg cramps, or a migraine. It was always something. Anything except admitting she got beat fair and square.
When Spieth would win a big championship he might pump his fist, smile, and hug his caddy. After match point, Williams would jump up and down screeching like a chimpanzee on some serious 'roids.
Jordan goes out of his way to help others in need. Serena goes out of her way for another photo shoot. One does it quietly from the heart while giving, while the other wants to make a big splash for publicity and rake in even more bucks. Guess who's who?
They were both far and away the best in their professions during 2015, but when it comes to class, which the very word "sportsperson" should also embody -- this was not even a close call. Isn't it the very same lack of "suitable" personal behavior that continues to keep Pete Rose out of the Hall of Fame where he so rightly belongs? Evidently, it's OK for some to exhibit boorish qualities, but not OK for others.
A few other candidates could have been the SOTY. Maybe if Jeff Gordon had capped off his storied NASCAR career by winning another championship in his final go-round. But he came up short, so he didn't get the nod.
Phil Taylor of SI suggested gymnast Simone Bilas. She hasn't even been to an Olympics yet. Whatsamatteryou PT? No wonder they booted him off the weekly back page beat.
Between winning another Super Bowl and the whole deflategate fiasco, Tom Brady was certainly in the news. There's a lot of class involved there. Whether it's high or low is open to debate.
Stephen Curry splashed it up with the Golden State Warriors on the way to an NBA championship, and they've picked up right where they left off in June. He seems to be a genuinely nice guy.
The difference? While both are super-rich, one has fallen prey to the sirens of -- cha-ching -- anything for another buck advertisements, while the other stays above the fray of the ever-present greed machine. Again, guess who's who?
But for Serena Williams to be named the Sportsperson Of The Year over Jordan Spieth is just a travesty.
Note to the brass at SI. Class is supposed to count.
His name is Jordan Spieth. A professional golfer. Like tennis, golf is an individual sport. When it's time to play a tournament, one has no teammates to rely on. It's the individual player against the rest of the field, round after round. In the end, usually on a Sunday, somebody will be crowned the winner.
Both Williams and Spieth dominated their respective sports in 2015. Neither could quite pull off winning the elusive "grand slam", but there's no doubt they were the best of the best. The #1 ranking in the world, by a wide margin, pretty much says it all.
But not counting gender, race, or the sports they played, there were distinct differences between Ms. Williams and Mr. Spieth. And #1 on that list is character/class or the lack thereof.
On the golf course, young Jordan Spieth was the epitome of a gentleman. A consummate pro. You never saw him throw a Tigerish club beating tantrum after an errant shot.
A not so young Williams destroyed a lot of rackets in her hissy fits following a poor play. As if the racket was responsible.
Both made scads of money plying their trades. Millions upon millions.
Spieth has, or intends to give most of his away to various charitable causes. Williams? Well, let's just say her bank account is doing just fine, thank you.
When oh so close to a big victory, only to see it snatched away by an opponent that got "hot", Jordan was always humble in defeat. The better player on that day won.
Serena always had an excuse. She had an upset stomach, or leg cramps, or a migraine. It was always something. Anything except admitting she got beat fair and square.
When Spieth would win a big championship he might pump his fist, smile, and hug his caddy. After match point, Williams would jump up and down screeching like a chimpanzee on some serious 'roids.
Jordan goes out of his way to help others in need. Serena goes out of her way for another photo shoot. One does it quietly from the heart while giving, while the other wants to make a big splash for publicity and rake in even more bucks. Guess who's who?
They were both far and away the best in their professions during 2015, but when it comes to class, which the very word "sportsperson" should also embody -- this was not even a close call. Isn't it the very same lack of "suitable" personal behavior that continues to keep Pete Rose out of the Hall of Fame where he so rightly belongs? Evidently, it's OK for some to exhibit boorish qualities, but not OK for others.
A few other candidates could have been the SOTY. Maybe if Jeff Gordon had capped off his storied NASCAR career by winning another championship in his final go-round. But he came up short, so he didn't get the nod.
Phil Taylor of SI suggested gymnast Simone Bilas. She hasn't even been to an Olympics yet. Whatsamatteryou PT? No wonder they booted him off the weekly back page beat.
Between winning another Super Bowl and the whole deflategate fiasco, Tom Brady was certainly in the news. There's a lot of class involved there. Whether it's high or low is open to debate.
Stephen Curry splashed it up with the Golden State Warriors on the way to an NBA championship, and they've picked up right where they left off in June. He seems to be a genuinely nice guy.
The difference? While both are super-rich, one has fallen prey to the sirens of -- cha-ching -- anything for another buck advertisements, while the other stays above the fray of the ever-present greed machine. Again, guess who's who?
But for Serena Williams to be named the Sportsperson Of The Year over Jordan Spieth is just a travesty.
Note to the brass at SI. Class is supposed to count.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Conor McGregor/Jose Aldo and the scam
Much hoopla was generated in the run-up to the Conor McGregor -- Jose Aldo UFC octagon showdown. Two tough characters indeed.
Once upon a time not long ago, yours truly thought Jose Aldo was the baddest pound for pound dude on the planet. Inside the cage, Aldo could do everything in a world class manner. Strike, kick, grapple, and had other moves that were jaw-dropping. The man was flat-out dangerous. It came as little surprise he held the lightweight title for several years. Who could defeat such an animal?
But then along came the blarney boy -- one Conor McGregor. Turned out, CM had been wading through the ranks and up the ladder while obliterating opponents as well.
It seemed only right that these two square off and see who would prevail in the octagon. Unlike boxing, where it took a full six years for Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao to finally get in the ring -- by which time the excitement of a fight that should have happened long before had severely waned -- the UFC folks (see Dana White) don't much put up with such shenanigans. When they have two elite fighters in the same weight class, they'll quickly find, or even mandate a way for that fight to happen. And so it was with Aldo and McGregor. A much anticipated showdown indeed.
And lord knows they hyped it. True, like boxing anymore, an average viewer just can't tune in to a major network and watch such a super match. The wonderful world of savagery has either graduated to cable TV, or the major networks aren't interested in airing matches of people getting their brains beat out. Or perhaps it's the money thing. Ah yes, it always boils down to that anymore -- right?
But the ultimate insult to fans of this sport was yet to come. A cable channel began airing all the preliminary matches leading up to the McGregor/Aldo main event. Hours of free coverage. Very cool and some great fights.
Yet all along the evil plan was in the works. Lead on the suckers and then just as they had been worked into a frenzy of bloodlust -- zap them in their wallets. Bwahahahaha.
Seventy bucks to watch the McGregor/Aldo match. Click here and be cha-chinged later on your monthly bill. Evidently lots of people did. The fight generated millions of bucks in pay-per-view revenue. That's all well and good for the fighters, their entourages, and the UFC folks, but it was a slap in the face to TV viewers. Who wants to cough up three Jacksons and a Hamilton to watch a fight?
Well OK. If it was, say, Obama squaring off against Putin, or maybe Hillary in a death match against the Donald, then now we're talking about getting our $70 worth. Hell, either match would probably be worth at least a C-note, and I'd have gladly clicked on the "pay" option, while firing up the DVR to record it for all posterity. But Jose Aldo and Conor McGregor didn't seem to rise to that level of interest. So of course I didn't pay it.
The UFC fans that ponied up know what eventually happened. McGregor knocked out Aldo with a single punch a mere 13 seconds into the first round. The math is simple enough. They wound up paying about 5 bucks a second and then -- wham -- it was over. Extrapolated, that would equate to roughly $18,000 an hour. Bet you wouldn't click on that option even if they guaranteed a full 60 minutes of non-stop brutality. You know, like a mass tag team match between the Republican and Democratic members of Congress. Interesting for sure, but hardly worth 18 grand to watch.
After all the hype, in the end it turned out to be nothing more than another money making scam that preyed on the suckers.
You'd think they'd learn. Then again, how is it that "public servants" get to make all the rules normal people have to follow, while only serving themselves?
Beats me, but it makes about as much sense as paying 70 bucks to watch a fight between two guys with cauliflower ears that nobody will remember in a few years.
But Hillary and Donald in a death match? Both enter and only one can leave the octagon alive? Now we're talking some serious history in the making.
Bring it on.....
Once upon a time not long ago, yours truly thought Jose Aldo was the baddest pound for pound dude on the planet. Inside the cage, Aldo could do everything in a world class manner. Strike, kick, grapple, and had other moves that were jaw-dropping. The man was flat-out dangerous. It came as little surprise he held the lightweight title for several years. Who could defeat such an animal?
But then along came the blarney boy -- one Conor McGregor. Turned out, CM had been wading through the ranks and up the ladder while obliterating opponents as well.
It seemed only right that these two square off and see who would prevail in the octagon. Unlike boxing, where it took a full six years for Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao to finally get in the ring -- by which time the excitement of a fight that should have happened long before had severely waned -- the UFC folks (see Dana White) don't much put up with such shenanigans. When they have two elite fighters in the same weight class, they'll quickly find, or even mandate a way for that fight to happen. And so it was with Aldo and McGregor. A much anticipated showdown indeed.
And lord knows they hyped it. True, like boxing anymore, an average viewer just can't tune in to a major network and watch such a super match. The wonderful world of savagery has either graduated to cable TV, or the major networks aren't interested in airing matches of people getting their brains beat out. Or perhaps it's the money thing. Ah yes, it always boils down to that anymore -- right?
But the ultimate insult to fans of this sport was yet to come. A cable channel began airing all the preliminary matches leading up to the McGregor/Aldo main event. Hours of free coverage. Very cool and some great fights.
Yet all along the evil plan was in the works. Lead on the suckers and then just as they had been worked into a frenzy of bloodlust -- zap them in their wallets. Bwahahahaha.
Seventy bucks to watch the McGregor/Aldo match. Click here and be cha-chinged later on your monthly bill. Evidently lots of people did. The fight generated millions of bucks in pay-per-view revenue. That's all well and good for the fighters, their entourages, and the UFC folks, but it was a slap in the face to TV viewers. Who wants to cough up three Jacksons and a Hamilton to watch a fight?
Well OK. If it was, say, Obama squaring off against Putin, or maybe Hillary in a death match against the Donald, then now we're talking about getting our $70 worth. Hell, either match would probably be worth at least a C-note, and I'd have gladly clicked on the "pay" option, while firing up the DVR to record it for all posterity. But Jose Aldo and Conor McGregor didn't seem to rise to that level of interest. So of course I didn't pay it.
The UFC fans that ponied up know what eventually happened. McGregor knocked out Aldo with a single punch a mere 13 seconds into the first round. The math is simple enough. They wound up paying about 5 bucks a second and then -- wham -- it was over. Extrapolated, that would equate to roughly $18,000 an hour. Bet you wouldn't click on that option even if they guaranteed a full 60 minutes of non-stop brutality. You know, like a mass tag team match between the Republican and Democratic members of Congress. Interesting for sure, but hardly worth 18 grand to watch.
After all the hype, in the end it turned out to be nothing more than another money making scam that preyed on the suckers.
You'd think they'd learn. Then again, how is it that "public servants" get to make all the rules normal people have to follow, while only serving themselves?
Beats me, but it makes about as much sense as paying 70 bucks to watch a fight between two guys with cauliflower ears that nobody will remember in a few years.
But Hillary and Donald in a death match? Both enter and only one can leave the octagon alive? Now we're talking some serious history in the making.
Bring it on.....
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