Put Up Your Dukes!

Roger Ebert created a cottage industry with his dictionary of film cliches. Celluloid stalwarts such as the fruit cart (or any other mode of transport groaning under the weight of loose items that go flying when the protagonist or antagonist careens into it) and the Fallacy of the Talking Killer (giving the hero enough time to free himself) are enshrined in Ebert's dictionary.

http://academic.sun.ac.za/forlang/bergman/tech/glossary/ebert_glos.htm

May I humbly offer another entry? I call it:

Put Up Your Dukes!

Definition: regardless of the availability and advanced technology of weapons seen throughout a film (missiles, guns, killer robots) and the physical distance between them in the early stages, the hero and the villain will inevitably be brought face to face with only their fists as weapons. The hero will also be placed in a near-death situation (chokehold, dangling from ledge of building) but engineer a complete and unexpected (?) reversal leaving the villain to die the horrible death he had planned for the hero.

Corollary 1: The villain may engage in a Talking Killer soliloquy but it's usually of the short epitaph variety ("Sorry Jack but you had your chance!" etc.). The hero will refrain from any speechmaking until the villain meets his grisly end at which point the hero will utter something pithy, ironic and/or memorable (the screenwriter hopes) through clenched teeth.

Corollary 2: Chase sequences leading up to the Dukes scenario will culminate on abandoned industrial estates, in vacant aircraft hangars or in abandoned factories that nevertheless have full lighting and power (who's paying those bills?). Security personnel can be present in order to dive out of the way of cars, bullets, tanks, etc. in slow motion but will never interfere with the action thereafter and will never trigger an alarm or call the police.

If you want variety in the food, change the ingredients

It's always amusing to read sportswriters complain about the formulaic and repetitive comments they get from athletes and coaches.

But to date not a single writer has taken his media colleagues to task for the formulaic and predictable questions they ask. Now that the post-game press conference has become formulaic and predictable itself (with advertising hoardings behind the big table with its lone microphone) the likelihood of anything original, controversial or thoughtful being said is approaching nil as a limit. Leagues believe quite wrongly that spontaneous or controversial comments are bad for business when nothing could be further from the truth. Unfortunately the unblinking eye of round-the-clock coverage from ESPN et al have insured that platitudes are on the menu day after day with the occasional inflammatory comment surreptitiously recorded or reported to stoke the meager fires of so-called rivalries.

Spur-of-the-moment comments borne of excitement, anger or other emotions are the most memorable and often the best keepsakes of a particular team or game from Joe Namath's hey-wait-a-minute guarantee to Chuck Noll calling the Raiders' secondary a criminal element to Kevin Keegan's 'I would luv it' tirade against Sir Alex Ferguson and Manchester United.

The US press need to take a long look at themselves and their questions. Press conference questions that practically answer themselves are lazy and frankly irresponsible considering the press' high opinion of themselves and their intellect. Watch any post-match interview in English football. There are some open-ended questions to be sure but often the reporter will throw a manager off-balance with a challenging question that addresses specifics and demands frankness. The managers usually play along despite the knowledge that their minor annoyance with a player or a referee will be converted to screaming headlines in the next day's tabloids.

Cynical beat writers and columnists need to increase the distance - literally and figuratively - between themselves and the teams they cover. They need to ask themselves if repetitive answers are actually the product of repetitive questions.

Too much to ask?

Google Desktop - I love you. You are always 'on the side' providing information and all manner of gadgetry.

BUT WHY - WHY??? do you take so long to load? Why do you thrash my hard disk like you've got a grudge against it? Is displaying the day/date/time and the weather such an enormous undertaking?

Ten reasons the 1970s were the apex of pop/sports culture

1) Gape Kaplan

Teacher was a bit of a stretch...but..a basketball coach? Brilliant! Far more daring than Gene Hackman.

2) Steeler Pimps

Those tam-and-platform-heel-wearing dudes wearing black and gold leisure suits on the sidelines at Steelers home games - they are visible in footage of the Immaculate Reception. What were they exactly? Pimps with field passes? The Pittsburgh version of male cheerleaders? No wait scratch that - the Steelers didn't have cheerleaders.

3) Slap Shot

More characters and memorable lines than the entire active membership of the Writers Guild could ever concoct and most of those characters and lines were drawn from real life.

4) Neckties

As in those ties the approximate length and width of living room drapes that poor coaches had to try and keep knotted. Admittedly incomplete without accompanying muttonchop sideburns and some form of hair tonic in use.

Possibly irrelevant fact: did you know Ralph Lauren's Polo empire was started in 1967 when he peddled those ridiculous wide ties?

5) Sports Illustrated

It was the 1970s. There was no Internet. SI was really all we had except for a few uninspiring competitors such as Sport with its cryptic title font (way too avant-garde then and now).

SI's weekly arrival in the mailbox presented a conundrum - read the whole thing in a frenzy of gluttony? Or...you could savor each morsel including the letters section (called the 19th Hole, it appeared in the back of the magazine rather than the front and was edited by the immortally-named Gay Flood) and even Faces In The Crowd even when you really weren't interested in the no-hitters pitched by Sally Smith in the South Dakota high school softball tournament.

Admit it - when you think of big 70s sports moments you are just as likely to recall the SI cover as you are the event itself.

6) Super Bowl Halftime Shows...more specifically Super Bowl Halftime Shows That Are Properly Treated As Meaningless Time-Killing Filler Because That's What They Really Are.

Up With People is a sportswriter's go-to gag when he's facing a deadline and doesn't want to miss the free buffet but for some in the 21st century the Super Bowl halftime has become a referendum on the viability of entertainment in Western Civilization. Since the 1970s the Super Bowl halftime has been co-opted by media conglomerates pushing talentless cat-suited popettes doing atrocious lip-synchs or by wrinkly rockers seeding ticket sales for their summer ampitheatre tours. All the while an army of unpaid local schoolkids suckered in by the chance to be ‘part of the show’ prances around in leotards while being ignored by one and all.

Those who believe USA Today's AdMeter has redeeming scientific value will probably be shocked to learn that Super Bowl halftimes in the 70s featured...marching bands! Strike a fortissimo note of triumph for the 1970s.

7) Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders

Before Hooters and before there were strip clubs in the smallest of towns (how can you live in a municipality of 1,500 persons and not already be nodding acquaintances with anyone who might be an employee or a patron of a small-town strip club? Are you supposed to pretend you don't know the stripper? Are you supposed to pretend her name is Samantha when you know it's Susan?), there were the Cowboys Cheerleaders who provided one of the few outlets for possibly unclean male adolescent yearning.

The Cowboys were hated with relish thanks in no small part to the unproven-then-and-now America's Team appellation and CBS's cynical programming which force-fed the Cowboys as the nationally-aired 4 pm game whenever CBS had the doubleheader. Cookie duster mustaches, Camaros and Cowboy fandom - it was a 70s trinity.

But even those who avoided any combination of silver and blue clothing in that decade had grudging respect - OK, lust - for the Cowboys' distaff dancing columns of big teeth, big hair and big, er, pompoms. During one game a CBS announcer solemnly intoned that fraternization between Cowboys players and cheerleaders was forbidden - which either made you laugh or cry. Telling a Cowboy not to fraternize would be like telling an addicted gambler down to his last $5 that the Megabucks slots were about to hit big.

If memory serves there was a controversy involving some ex-Cowboys cheerleaders who posed nude in the iconic costumes. Ah - memory does serve:

http://cases.justia.com/us-court-of-appeals/F2/600/c1184/231419/

8) 1970s sports venues

Cookie-cutter multipurpose bowls with intentionally vague level names such as ‘loge’ and ‘plaza’ that were universally ignored in favor of the simple and hyper-accurate ‘blue seats’ or ‘red seats.’ Creaky old arenas with wooden seats that appeared to be hewn from the True Cross worn smooth by decades of wear. Inadequate parking in unsafe neighborhoods. Advertising featuring local businesses and brands of beer (Burger anyone?). PA announcers that used a blessed monotone, announced each point, run, touchdown or goal by either team in exactly the same manner and didn't scream and shout. House lights that stayed on throughout team introductions. Souvenir stands that featured pennants, buttons and hats – and that’s all. Sportservice vendors introducing the concept of price gouging long before many of us took an economics course. Smoking on concourses and in the restrooms. Ugh...those restrooms. More nadir than apex really. Let’s move on.

9) 1970s uniforms

This subject has been worn threadbare (no pun intended) on a variety of blogs and sites but it's still difficult to survey uniform designs in the 1970s and not come away convinced that teams were actively attempting to out-ugly one another in the uniform version of mutually assured destruction. Still, it produced designs that will never be approached in terms of quirkiness and pointlessness.

10) Local sports media

Sleep patterns were frequently disrupted as youngsters attempted to stay up late or wake up early to see a coach's show or a local sports digest that aired at a ridiculous hour either side of the test pattern because syndicated Star Trek and M*A*S*H were too lucrative to move off the schedule.

Newspapers had beat writers who employed the Mad Libs approach to game stories using one of four templates....hometown team wins big...hometown team ekes out win....hometown team thumped...hometown team loses heartbreaker...but you still hung on every word. Newspapers had sports editor/columnists who presided for decades, protecting their cronies and demonizing their enemies without encountering direct criticism from readers except for that crackpot from the East Side who kept mailing letters in and the editor told his secretary to throw those away. The editor/columnist usually hosted an annual sports banquet, golf tournament or both – featuring more of his cronies of course.

Radio broadcasts had one or two sponsors that were mentioned at the start of the game, at halftime and after the game and certainly weren't mentioned at every timeout or whenever the sun went behind a cloud. Local TV sports departments struggled to get footage from a single Friday night game on the air. If your team appeared on the screen even for a fleeting moment it felt like winning the lottery.

Nostalgia is defined as ‘a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life.’ But 30 years on will today’s youngsters get misty about watching Britney’s Greatest Post-Hysterectomy Hits Halftime Extravaganza or their 8th repeat of The Old Spice Xtra-Smelly Stuff Cos You Haven’t Showered In Three Days NFL Mock Fantasy Draft?

Musical monstrosities (dueling piano bars, etc.)

I admit it - as a musician I tend to look down my nose on some musical nightlife options perhaps in the same way a scratch golfer might look down on mini golf as an exercise in dumbed-down amateurism.

Karaoke
The Japanese started this but in their culture the aim was to honor their musical idols and do every song justice. In the States it's usually an assault on one's hearing and a frightening exercise in ritual self-humiliation. Most 'singers' must consume vast quantities of Dutch courage before they will dare to take a turn at the microphone...drunken bellowing and unintelligible lyrics (despite being inches away from a monitor displaying the lyrics) invariably follow. You will encounter one or two 'ringers' per night - people who have actual vocal talent and/or have not yet entered a drunken stupor - especially when a cash prize is involved, but the vast majority of karaoke nights and singers makes one worry that tone-deafness might become the next so-called national health crisis.

One other note: Britons are great allies in skewering the showy and self-aggrandizing but they seem to have a giant blind spot where Karaoke is concerned...they seem to universally love it. It doesn't mean they're good at it of course but it is a curious exception to the rule.

Dueling Piano Bars
Remember those school classmates that hung around the music room before or after class? They would congregate around the school's tired, out of tune piano (invariably mounted on caster wheels) and play a two-person rendition of 'Heart and Soul' (C Am F G) until even they couldn't stand it any longer. At other times the music teacher or a piano-playing student would strike up the chords to the likes of 'You Light Up My Life' or 'Keep On Loving You.'

Fast-forward to adulthood and many of those crooning classmates have hit the town looking for a little nightlife. Imagine their joy when they discover the existence of the dueling piano bar (DPB). They come under different guises - Crocodile Rocks (Elton John reference - geddit?), Howl At The Moon Saloon (at least wolves sound good howling) and so forth.

In the 1980s Keyboard Magazine once lauded Bruce Hornsby for making piano players popular and even sexy. Apparently there are pianists/vocalists drawn to these DPBs for the same reasons: mocked and marginalized for so long they are now the centers of attention. No more sideman gigs for these ivory-ticklers!

The theory of 'nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public' has never been more strongly upheld than in a DPB. The usual comments make me laugh and cry simultaneously in frustration: "It's fun!" "They're so talented!" "They know so many songs!" "They played my request!" "They played Happy Birthday for my friend!" "They played [insert state song here] even though we were in [insert tourist destination]!" "We sang Piano Man with them!"

Groan. Here is the reality folks:

1) Many (most?) popular songs were written on guitar using a handful of chords with basic changes in only a few keys (A, E, G, D, C). Many of the song 'writers' couldn't read or write music! For a piano player who learned via traditional lessons using traditional sheet music most popular songs are dead easy to play. Songs written by and for piano (e.g., Elton John & Billy Joel songs) are even easier!

2) But, you say, Paul Piano is a music teacher/orchestra musician/professor of music! Well bully for him! Why is he prostituting himself and his art in front of a drunken mob then? If he loves Chopin and can play difficult classical numbers why is he reducing himself to I-IV-V major chord progressions that he can play in his sleep?

3) They know so many songs! Oh really? As above, most pop music rarely goes beyond three or four chords with timeworn changes borrowed from blues, country and early rock 'n' roll. Slight variations on a theme don't equate to a vast musical vocabulary.

4) They know so many songs pt. 2. Think for a moment about the songs that might be requested at a DBP. 'Piano Man' - dead obvious. 'Crocodile Rock' or any Elton John - dead obvious again. Tear-jerker ballads, cheesy Neil Diamond numbers, maybe the odd singer-songwriter-guitar standard such as 'Margaritaville' or 'Fire And Rain.' The piano players know that there will be few surprises coming from the audience but they'll be happy to accept your $10 bribe to play a song that was coming up anyway.

5) They played Happy Birthday for us! I REALLY don't understand this one. I stopped getting excited about birthdays (my own or others') when I was, oh, 10 years old or so. Of course I buy presents and cards for others now but mandatory celebrations are gladly left in childhood past. Moreover, celebrating in public has always struck me as an extremely lame form of exhibitionism. If you are an adult and enjoy 10 waitresses chanting and clapping at you in a restaurant on your birthday then perhaps you need to examine the level of excitement in your life during the rest of the year.

Requesting a public performance of Happy Birthday ticks all the boxes for cringeworthiness: an over-the-top 'comedy' rendition by cynical musicians who are forced to do it most nights and boredom from strangers who don't know you or your friend.

6) They sang [insert official or adopted state song] for us! I'm a bit less strident on this point because I think West Virginia easily has the best (adopted) state song in 'Take Me Home, Country Roads.' Who knows what WV's state song was prior to 1971? Who even cares?

Back to state songs (or school fight songs). Yes they personalize the evening but again the cynical musical hosts will bleed the customers dry in a 'competition' to see which song will 'win' and be performed. If you're slapping $100 down in order to hear 'The Victors' instead of 'Fight On' or 'Across The Field' then perhaps you should take your iPod along and save a few dollars.

The musicians don't really care if they play 'Old Folks At Home' or 'Sweet Home Alabama' as long as the greenbacks keep flowing in.

Like karaoke, DPBs also perpetuate the curse of the drunken 'singer.' After sufficient rounds of macrobrewed swill the DPB customer, egged on by the tip-jar-obsessed pianists, will finally shed the stage fright and join in a chorus of 'Sweet Caroline' or 'Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys (cowgirls....cowboys....etc.).

Suddenly, mini golf under the lights looks a lot more appealing.

The shame of a neglected blog

Blogs are wonderful things but those date stamps can get one in trouble. My last entry was March 20 and was an insignificant pitiful little moan session. Must do better

Spring? Please?

The 'net and the world in general doesn't need another post moaning about winter/cold/snow.

I will note, however, that the seasons - all of them - seem to have shifted. March weather is now April weather, October weather is now November weather, etc.

Very strange but very consistent for the last 8-10 years.