Obsidian Wings

And Another One Gone...

by Slartibartfast

UPDATE:  I predict that Tom Dolan's NCAA, American and US Open record in the 400 IM will fall tonight (3/24) to Ryan Lochte.  He's just qualified 2nd for the finals.

Not much time to post details, but NCAA men's swimming began today and the records, they are a fallin'.  Peter Vanderkaay of Michigan wiped Tom Dolan's eleven-year-old American Record in the 500 freestyle off  the board, clocking in at 4:08.60.

Next, if you'll recall one of my few recent posts, I predicted that Ryan Lochte would bring it in the NCAA championship meets.  Here's the headliner:

Men's NCAA Div I. Championships, Finals: Ryan Lochte Destroys Phelps' American Record in the 200 Individual Medley -- March 23, 2006

More on the Apolitical Front

Not that this is news, but it hasn't been exactly front-page, so while we're posting odd bits about gorilla/sand flea crossbreeds and the like, we can certainly make a diversion into the realm of sports.

One of the older (American and US Open)* Records on the books is (was, actually) Janet Evans' 1990 time of 4:34.39 in the 500 yard freestyle.  Seventeen-year-old Kate Ziegler has wiped that record off the books, by taking over one second from the old mark.  Way back in December, Kate erased another of Janet's records from the board, knocking the old 1000 yard freestyle standard down by six-tenths of a second.  We're looking at SCY because at present most swimming at the High School level is done in 25-yard pools, and Kate Ziegler is still in High School.  Last month Kate whacked over a second and a half from Sippy Woodhead's quarter-century-old 800m (short course) freestyle American and US Open record.  To understate, this is a name to look for in upcoming competition.  Also noteworthy is young (16 years old) Katie Hoff, who surpassed Evans' 500 free record just a week too late.  Katie has wiped a couple of American & US Open records from the books; this performance in the 500 free shows a deepening of talent.

In Which I Declare War On Balloon Juice

Fresh from my dust-up with Tim F. of Balloon Juice, I return to Balloon Juice in hopes of finding some kind of solace in one of John Cole's RINO-illiant posts.  But John, it appears, has not only gone over to the dark side -- he is now exhorting his Balloon-Juice drinkin' minions to join him there.  This I will not allow to stand.  Accordingly:

GO COLTS!

[But:  It's third quarter and we're down 14-3.  I will not give into despair, I will not give into despair, I will not give into despair, .....] 

UPDATE:  21-10 Steelers.  Less than 13 minutes left, Pittsburgh driving at about mid-field.  The part of me that played O-line in high school appreciates the work being done by Pittsburgh's tackles. The rest of me despises it.

UPDATE 2:  21-18 Steelers, 4:24 to play.  We got a game here, and I don't wanna hear nothin' about the controversial call that kept the drive alive.

UPDATE 3:  Cole claims that the game is fixed.  Buddy, that so-called offsides "noncall" shoulda been a false start on Pittsburgh.  The tape doesn't lie.  As for the interception-but-not-really:  I'm willing to accept that terrible things must happen for Good to triumpth over Evil.

UPDATE 4:  Uhh-oh.  We got a bit of a problem.

UPDATE 5:  Unbelievable.  Unbelievable.  Fumbles can be heaven or hell; heaven this time.  Colts have been rescued from the brink of death and are setting up for a FG on Pittsburgh's 28 yard line.  About 21 seconds left.

UPDATE 6:  Missed the FG.  Wide fucking right.  (Wiiiiiiiidddddeeee fucking right.)  It's over, 21-18 Steelers:

No... You can't get away... From
hell's heart I stab at thee...

(amid the pain)

For hate's sake... I spit my last
breath at thee!

Khan topples forward, dead.

Payback's a B*tch

Oh, there's so much more worth starting a flame war over these days, but, when it's this easy...why the hell not. It won't surprise many people that I'm not the biggest baseball fan in the world, although I do still root with undying loyalty for my first team (despite not too much to cheer about recently...Go Tribe!).

Still, it bodes quite well for the shape of things to come, IMO, that my second team, the New York Yankees, handed the Red Sox their silly B-caps and sent 'em packin' with a heart-felt Bronx cheer!

Randy Johnson's face says it all:

Yeah? I got your World Series right here, chumps!

It's gonna be a good season...I can feel it.

Super Bowl? Feh! Open Thread

I have only watched the Super Bowl once in my life. It was my first year living in Baltimore, and against all odds, the Ravens were playing. The whole town had gone delightfully insane: the buildings were floodlit purple (for those of you who don't live here, that's the Ravens' color); cars had sprouted all sorts of odd pennants and bumper stickers and other Ravens-related attachments; when I arrived at my dentist's, I discovered that he and his assistants had all dyed their hair purple. (It says a lot about my dentist that this did not make me wonder about him in any way.) So of course, I had to watch the SUper Bowl, and of course I was thrilled when we won.

That was a one-time deal, though. I don't normally like football at all. Basketball is much more fun to watch, for me. As I noted earlier, I used to love baseball until the Red Sox broke my heart, and I'm still very nervous about the long-term implications of my having weakened and watched the World Series last summer. But football? Lots of guys running into each other and ending up in great big piles of great big guys. Sometimes, one of them throws it to another one, who is immediately jumped on by five unimaginably huge guys, forming another great big pile of great big guys. Sometimes one guy tries to run with the ball, but he usually doesn't get very far before he, too, ends up at the bottom of a great big pile of great big guys. Very rarely, someone runs all the way down the way down the field, and then gets to do a funny little dance. The kicks are impressive, but too rare; I think I'd prefer a game in which there was only one down, and you had to punt every time.

All in all, I feel about football the way the inestimable Michael Flanders' fictitious tennis referee felt about tennis (note for the uninitiated: the 'pop'' sound is the one made by puffing out one of your cheeks, sticking your finger inside, and sort of plucking the side of your mouth like a guitar string):

"I never LIKED tennis! Damn silly name for a game with its volleys and loves and all that. The first time I umpired was June '36 -- I didn't think much of it THEN. Just rather fancied myself in the HAT. Since when I have umpired again,
[pop!]
and again,
[pop!]
and again,
[pop!]
and year after year as I've sat on court after court I've been struck by the thought they are BASHING a BALL with the GUT of a CAT."

Those who disagree with me will shortly be watching the game. This thread is for the rest of us.

Bridge

A couple of readers have expressed interest in talking about the game of bridge.  I'm altogether too happy to do so, but the interests of not boring regular readers who come here for political discussions, most of it will be found below the fold. 

But before we get there I figured I might as well talk about the game a little bit and explain why I like it so much.  For those familiar with other major card games, bridge has elements of similarity.  It is a trick-taking game along the lines of hearts or spades and it usually is a trump game like spades.  It is played with two pairs at a table with each pair bidding how many tricks they think their combined hands can take depending on what suit is trump.  It is easier to take large numbers of tricks than in the game 'spades' because at the end of the bidding one of the pair ends up putting his hand on the table for all to see and the play of that hand is controlled by the other member of the pair.  There is an incentive not to underbid by large scoring bonuses at the game level (9-11 tricks depending on the contract) the small slam level (12 tricks) and the grand slam level (all 13 tricks).

What is special about bridge?  It has two defining characteristics which appeal to me more than in other card games.  Complexity from simple framework, and skill.  The first is fairly obvious, but the second seems strange to those who are unfamiliar with bridge.  In a tournament setting, the effect of luck is dramatically reduced.  This is done using what are called 'boards'.  After shuffling a hand at the beginning of the day each hand is put into boards with designations for which hand goes to which player.  When they are played, instead of being returned to a full deck, each hand is placed back into the board and the board is passed on to another table.  You compete not with the players you sitting down against, but rather the players who are sitting the same direction as you.  After a few boards are played at one table you move one direction and the boards move another.  That way you can't complain about getting all the 'bad hands' because everyone is playing the same hands and doing the best you can with them.  (Techinically these forms of bridge are called 'duplicate bridge').  As a result, good players can almost always outperform bad players.  This is kind of nice because it allows you to directly compare results at a card game.  (Which is the explanation for my little joke in the category).  One of the interesting things about bridge is the numerous bidding systems which people have developed off the rather simple core bidding language allowed. 

If you are interested in starting bridge, I suggest either that you find an ACBL chapter nearby and take lessons, or do what I did and read a few good books on the subject and play on the internet.  I don't have a good book for learning the most rudimentary mechanics (though I think there is a "Learn Bridge in 30 days" book and a "Bridge for Dummies" book.)  But once you understand the mechanics I would strongly suggest Dorthy Hayden-Truscott's "Bid Better, Play Better".  The bidding system she teaches is slightly outdated, but her analysis of how to think about a bidding structure will serve you well no matter what you choose later.  I would specifically not recommend any of the teaching books by Root which are so popular.  They are too dense for an average player to understand.  I would also reccomend any of the "Points Schmoints" books by Marty Bergen.  He has an excellent writing style and is able to break down some common judgment problems into easy-to-understand thought processes. 

The rest of this post is likely to be completely incomprehensible to those who don't already know bridge.

My World Tilts On Its Axis

The heavens have rolled up like a scroll; mountains have melted like mist; the sun has risen in the west; the rivers run uphill; the seas have turned to blood; the lion has lain down with the lamb; and the stars are falling like summer showers.

But in a good way.

The Red Sox have won.

Three down, one to go

I don’t believe in decades-old curses that were magically discovered by sportswriters in 1986 and whose most popular versions get most of the facts wrong. I don’t believe in jinxes either. Hell, I’m not even a real Red Sox fan--1986 was a very good year for me. I can still recite most of the Mets’ roster and hum most of the soundtrack of the commemorative video upon request.

So why am I still so worried about the Boston Red Sox’ fate? Why did part of me hope they would lose game three, because if they won they’d be perfectly set up to have the Cardinals do to them what they did to the Yankees last week?

Here are two illustrations of why:

Email exchange with my sister before the Red Sox Yankees series:
MY SISTER: “I want the Red Sox to win, but I feel like if they win Kerry will lose. Two things I wanted that badly couldn’t possibly both happen."
ME: "Don’t be silly. You said the same thing about the Mets and Gore in 2000, and you know what happened then."
MY SISTER: "I never doubted that two bad things could happen."

Scene from the Seinfeld episode, “The Pilot”:
GEORGE: Yeah, that's exactly what I'm worried about. God would never let me be successful. He'd kill me first. He'd never let me be happy.
THERAPIST: I thought you didn't believe in God?
GEORGE: I do for the bad things.

I’m a little superstitious, more than a little neurotic, but mainly I’m a pessimist. The glass is half empty, and the good guys almost always lose.

And there’s no question that this year’s Red Sox are the good guys. For God’s sake, I like their owners. I like their GM a whole lot. I like their manager.

And the players—look, the hair worked for a while, but guys, you’re not fooling anyone anymore. If the 1986 New York Mets were a gang of juvenile delinquents, the 2004 Red Sox are a goofy uncle who’s decided to grow a pony tail. Even leaving aside Curt Schilling, who is in slight danger of being raptured during game six if he keeps this up. …Manny Ramirez became a U.S. citizen in May. He gets hitting advice from his Little League coach, who stayed with him at his hotel room in New York. Watching the dugout, it is actually possible that Larry Lucchino was correct when he said breathlessly that David Ortiz “leads the league in hugs”. Bronson Arroyo offered to donate his kidney to his father several years back, though it would have cost him a summer of trying to reach the majors. Those nice Jewish boys Gabe Kapler and Kevin Youkilis struggled for several days about whether to be available off the bench on Yom Kippur. Idiot Johnny “Keyrock of Nazareth” Damon shaved his beloved beard for a donation to the Boston Public Library’s literacy program—though he promptly grew it back; presumably Gilette won’t fall for this trick again. They all voted to give Nomar Garciaparra a full share of the playoff bonuses. And—this is the one that really kills off the rebel image for me once and for all—Kevin Millar’s favorite musician is Phil Collins.

And they really seem to mean it about picking each other up, really seem to like each other, really seem to like playing the game, have already pulled off the best comeback in baseball history—and it was the BOSTON RED SOX, against the NEW YORK YANKEES.

So there’s clearly a good chance they’re doomed. If it can happen to the NEW YORK YANKEES with a lead and Rivera on the mound in the 9th, it can happen to the BOSTON RED SOX with two banged up aces, three other guys who can be great or awful depending on the day and mood, and some very tired relievers. Lowe has a good postseason record, but his regular season E.R.A. is over 5, and reports of his “mental gidget”-hood are exaggerated but have plenty of basis in reality. Tim Wakefield’s knuckleball might not knuckle any more in Game 5 than in Game 1, and the Cardinals have faced him once already. And my God, those consecutive walks at the end of his last outing. Curt Schilling cannot possibly have a third good game in him. Tendons are there for a reason, stitches take their toll, especially on deep tissue, and even if the doctor wasn’t getting nervous, stuff like that only happens in after school specials. So Arroyo has to be ready out of the bullpen for games 4 and 5 and might have to start game 6, and his arm’s not made of rubber--nor is Keith Foulke’s, by the way. At some point the Cardinal’s offense will show up, and its baserunners won’t keep beating themselves, but the Boston defense just might. And even a mediocre Cardinal starter can pitch a gem on a given day (see Bobby J. Jones’ 2000 complete game 1 hitter against the San Francisco Giants), and….

But even I can only carry my pessimism so far. Red Sox in 7.

This is an apolitical open thread.

Moral Imperative.

While I as a Mets fan of course applaud the loss of the Yankees last night (you have to couch it in those terms, you understand), I am more concerned with a possible problem: Cards Beat Astros 6-4 to Force NLCS Game 7.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid that I must be rather harsh, now. It is absolutely vital that the Cardinals win Game Seven of their series - by which I mean that it is a matter of national security that they do so. I have nothing against the Astros, but they are the Houston Astros. If they win, a Texas team will be playing against a Massachusetts team in the World Series. As all sane folk know, the [Insert Favorite Annoyed Adjective] Media is of course blinkered, hackneyed and unable to find their own gentials even with a hand-held light source and a unlicensed sex worker to give assistance - but even they cannot fail to see such a metaphor, particularly when it is visited upon them like unto the legendary Halibut To The Face. And if that happens, we won't be able to stand the strain. At least, I can't - and I suspect that this would be the final SAN loss that sends us all over the edge, for there will not be a single damn place left where we can forget about the election.

I'm begging, here: Astros, lose tonight. For the good of the country. For the sake of the children...

Moe

UPDATE: Apparently the folks over at Centerfield want for the Elder Gods to come back and turn us into Soylent Red and Blue, because at least one blogger there thinks that the entire idea of a World Series metaphor to be just fine and dandy. He meddles with forces that he does not understand...

Oh. My. God.

First, I actually watched the Red Sox game. (That's how I think of it. People from Boston don't notice other teams.) This might not surprise anyone, but that's because you don't know me and the tragicomic history of my life as a Red Sox fan. In 1967, when I was young and impressionable, they won the pennant in what I have since come to regard as a cynical attempt to make their fans believe it was possible for them to win anything. I kept believing this lie for over a decade, which stood me in good stead when I became a counselor in a battered women's shelter and needed to understand abusive relationships. Finally I swore off, only to be drawn back against my better judgment in 1986. Ha ha ha. Never again, I said. Never again. And I meant it. And for 18 long years I have stayed straight. I have not looked at a Red Sox game. I have not thought about the Red Sox. When people mention them, I just snicker. Never again.

So why did they have to play exactly the sort of game that made all of us in Boston fall in love with them in the first place? (Well, actually, I gather that was yesterday, but today was pretty great too.) Why couldn't they just lose as usual? My answer: a keen grasp of brainwashing techniques. If you just relentlessly punish people, it turns out, it's not nearly as psychologically disorienting as punishing them most of the time and then, every so often, being really, really wonderful. It's not just confusing; it lets them dare to hope, thereby making their subsequent disappointment all the more excruciating. That's why being a Red Sox fan is infinitely worse than being a Cubs fan: for the most part, Cubs fans know the deal. The Cubs will not win. That's that. No suspense, no bother. Whereas the Red Sox only lose almost all of the time, and when they lose, it's typically in some horrible, heartrending fashion. Which is why I was sitting there, watching the Red Sox for the first time in 18 years, and feeling like The Poor Man, only less eloquent:

"... 6-0 in the top of the third. Wow. They really must want me to get my hopes up. Lots of luck, fellas. Prediction: Yankees win 24-23 in the bottom of the 40th, on a 2-out inside-the-park grand slam by pinch hitter Don Zimmer. ...

... 8-1 in the 7th, Sox threatening. I accept on an abstract, intellectual level that it is physically possible for the Red Sox to win this game. Prediction: Yankees win 43-43* in the 104th inning when Zombie Babe Ruth leaps from his grave beneath the pitcher's mound and eats Manny Ramirez's brain seconds before he can score the winning run.

... Same score, Derek Lowe, pitching a one-hitter, is pulled for relief pitcher Pedro "New York is my Daddy" Martinez, pitching on 3 minutes' rest. Prediction: Yankees win 324-8 in 9 innings. Pedro's arm falls off. At the exact moment that the game ends, Fenway Park is hit by a comet."

I can't believe that they actually won. I assume it's just a ruse to get us to not just watch, but actually care about, the World Series, which they will lose in the seventh game, in a way that makes 1986 look like a normal loss. They will be ahead 843-0 in the 9th, with two outs, when Pedro Martinez, who has pitched a no-hitter so far, walks three people in succession. He is replaced, and replaced again, but the walks keep coming, until the entire Red Sox pitching staff has done its best and our opponents, they who shall not be named, have scored 294 runs without a single hit. At this point the Red Sox stop walking people and start committing horrible errors: dropped pitches, lazy pop flies that miraculously drop through the gloves of outfielders, and so on and so forth. Still, we will think, it's 843-502; surely they won't be able to get another 341 runs before we manage one out. But they will. And then, having tied the game... I leave the rest to your imaginations.

It's pretty mean of them to do this, though.