The eventual, consistent smiles when strangers understand my t-shirt in the featured image above. Who doesn’t enjoy seeing a s’more as it chases itself down? I love how completely clueless the graham cracker is…just stupidly going along for the ride behind the maniacal chocolate. The marshmallow doesn’t stand a chance. Nor should he.
The outro from Frank Ocean’s “Self Control,” off the blond album…oh my god. The emotions. The lyrics are great (once understood and decoded a bit; the man has consistently surprising depth), but it’s the layered vocals, with that perfect reverb. The detailed nuance of each sung syllable. The phrase matching he does as tracks of himself are added. 5 Franks? 6? It’s so inspired, feels so loose and raw, while being beautifully executed. Clean. Powerful. This song owns me right now.
The Rainbow children’s soap/clay from Lush. So fun for 6 year old Rubin to mold, squeeze, lather, crumble under running bath water, and wash himself with. He learns to conserve a cool product so he doesn’t waste it, and I get to teach him the word disintegrate. And Lush gets a deserved plug for being the amazing company it appears to be. Win-win-win.
The reprise of “Solo” from blond, featuring the incomparable Andre 3000. It’s so fast and flowing, enunciated in efficient machine gun rhythm. But his content is king. It’s funny, thoughtful, empathetic to women, and angry at some young whippersnapper rap pretenders who don’t write their own shit. The track stops cold when you want a lot more. He’s one of the best rappers alive, whether he’s offering product frequently or not.
This World Cup. Holy hell, the speed and skills on display from the likes of France’s Kylian MBappe. The malleability of Paul Pogba’s game, and how he has happily accepted a less flashy, but sorely needed, set of midfielder duties in the French team’s two-way game. The statuesque grace of Belgian goalie Thibaut Courtois, who shouldn’t be as agile as he is for looking like an awkward 7 foot tall 11th grader. Every 4 years I fall in love with soccer all over again, but intermittently I never choose to engage in Premier League or anything else. So I am the quadrennial target of innumerable think pieces; “IS THIS FINALLY THE TIME THAT SOCCER IS GIVEN ITS DUE AND GROWS IN AMERICA BLAH BLAH BLAH…”. Save it. I am very happy with my current soccer intake. I genuinely, curiously give a shit twice a decade. And right now I can’t get enough of it.
Tracks 2 through 8 or so from Courtney Barnett’s “Tell Me How You Really Feel.” Especially, “Nameless, Faceless” with kindred spirit Kim Deal on backing vox. She’s sung it live at a festival with both twins from The Breeders. Barnett is the best thing going in her timeless brand of minimalist, direct punk-infused rock songs. Plus she’s funny as hell, and has just the right level of disdain in that deadpan delivery.
The ingenious Fuego propane grill. It has a 20” x 20” footprint that makes city balcony life much more comfortable. And every inch of the cooking surface conducts heat equally. It’s also gorgeous, designed by a guy who designed Beats By Dre. Been making lots of veggie burgers for me and my girl. But last night while she was out of town I made a steak rubbed in one of the awesome spice concoctions via Stoner Rock BBQ. The “Not So Gentle Butcher’s Rub” was incredible on a bone in ribeye.
The wherewithal, schedule, and savings to enjoy an afternoon watching the World Cup with this view:
I watched France-Belgium while enjoyably bleeding chips at the 2-5 game at The Shoe. There was eventually more tv, and less of this guy.
In succession I have been consumed by the songs “Nikes,” “Ivy,” “Pink & White,” and “Solo” on the aforementioned blond by Frank Ocean. I hereby declare it the best album of 2016. Who cares if it took me until summer 2018 to know it. Sue me.
Sometimes you don’t ask for a radical change of professional life, but you look up a few months later and realize how much you’ve had time to notice.
Gratitude. Always. Surround yourself with people and experiences that remind you to stay in touch with it.
I was there, 5 years ago last night, high above the “new” Boston Garden rink. The very top level of the place is one single row of adjustable office chairs behind a small continuous table, circling all the way around. You’re way above the action, and good views are not guaranteed. I’d made a loop a few times throughout the game, talking with random media, watching from different angles, not knowing an all-time sports moment was imminent.
We had a lot going on that week. The Mac and Spiegs show was broadcasting from a bar right there in the West End. That morning, Doc Emrick had offered to grab me a Dunkin coffee as he waited to do a live interview with us. He got the order right, of course, and shuffleboarded the beverage right to me.
Sometime that week, the jamokes who hosted our brother/rival radio show on WEEI had sent us an erotic cake to “welcome” us to town. All class, that Mutt and Merloni. No wonder that station went in the shitter.
I was back in old college stomping grounds, and had made time for a predictably spiritual visit to the Boston Public Garden, one of my most beloved spots on Earth.
Oh, and the Chicago Blackhawks were in a serious fight with the Boston Bruins to try and win a 2nd Stanley Cup in 3 seasons. You remember they won, and how. But do you remember:
How Andrew Shaw screamed “I Love Shin Pads” after his triple OT deflection game 1 winner?
What a dirty, mean, admirable bastard Milan Lucic was all series?
The unrivaled maddening tension when three of the first four games went to Overtime?
How much Tuukka Rask really did look like a young Erin Moran in the role of Joanie Cunningham on Happy Days?
How Patrice Bergeron showed us he absolutely deserved to be mentioned along with Jonathan Toews as a great two way center?
How Corey Crawford allowed FIVE, count them, FIVE goals to the glove side in game 4? And how Pat Foley admitted on our show that the whole league had known it was a weakness?
How ridiculously tall, scary, and solid Zeno “Lurch” Chara was? No one could topple Big Bird in yellow.
How Joel Quenneville finally, after I and so many others had been pleading for weeks, Put Patrick Kane and Toews together with Bryan Bickell on the top line? And how immediately it worked, with 2 Kane goals in game 5?
Maybe you remember all of that. I sure do. It was a hell of a series, well before what happened in the final 1:16 of Game Six.
There are amazing stories from fans as to where they were for those 2 Blackhawks goals. Hell, they made a whole movie about those 17 Seconds, full of great inside stuff.
For me, what will linger forever is the sound and energy at the top of that building.
The Boston crowd had been explosive all night, and was frantically on its feet trying to carry their team to a deciding game 7. The juju would have belonged to the Bruins, with insane pressure on the Hawks. The loudness and intensity ratcheted up higher when Crawford was pulled for an extra attacker. Then, immediately, Kane leads a charge into the corner, and Toews gets it to an open Bickell to tie the game.
The volume shifts from frenzied Bruins fans, to the thrilled smaller Hawks contingent. There’s still a buzz, but it’s an odd one. And as the surprise wears off, it gets quieter.
17 seconds later, it’s Dave Bolland, on a rebound. That small Hawks contingent is losing their minds. But the dominant vibe in the building is shock. Shocked silence, in the faces of the fans. Media who had seemed so jaded hours before (“Lobster, again?!?” I’d overheard near the pre-game dinner spread) now sat with mouths agape.
Watch the whole sequence again, because what better way could you possibly spend 2:05 of your time?
I thought Sports Illustrated used the picture of the year on their cover days later. See the puck?
Let me tell you, the collective shock lasted for a long, long time. I don’t remember moving much. I remember seeing lots of fans stuck to their chairs, begrudgingly watching the Hawks celebrate.
I captured the rafters view of The Captain delivering another cup to his mates.
And then somehow, we were downstairs, and on the ice. Again.
I had been there in Philly in 2011, and I’d felt awkward, out of place. I’d always liked hockey, and had grown slowly more knowledgeable as we covered that run. But that was Mac’s dream, Mac’s moment…to be there with the franchise he’d loved forever. I was mentally lost somewhere between acting professional, pretending I belonged, and trying to support him.
But now in 2013 with my name on the radio show officially, comfort with hockey conversation raised, and my place among the media more secure, I enjoyed the hell out of that special access. Barry Rozner and I compared Cup runs, and made fun of a few fools. I congratulated Rocky Wirtz, John McDonough, and Jay Blunk. I took pictures for posterity both personal and professional. The player I’d grown to enjoy the most, despite and maybe because of his tenuous hold on self control, was bloodied but beaming. I snapped a selfie.
And I looked around for a keepsake.
The benches were full of people. The penalty box was locked. But in the distance, one of the goals stood off to the side along the boards. I made my way there. On top of the net was a water bottle, and 2 long weird plastic tube-looking things that I could not identify. They seemed interesting, and were bright Bruin yellow. Each one fit into a deep pants pocket.
Yes, it’s stealing. No, I don’t feel bad; I never did. It was the last game of the year, pro sports teams and leagues make plenty of money, and I was gaining both a memento and what I figured would be great show content. It was a rationalization that made sense to me then, and still does now. Judge me as you wish.
As we broadcast the show the next day, the yellow tubes sat on the table. A listener snapped this.
With Google power, we learned they were Marsh Pegs.
The goal no longer gets knocked “off of its moorings.” Fred Marsh changed the game for the better, made it safer, and made a few bucks from almost every hockey arena in the world along the way.
“After looking at what was available and not being satisfied with anything on the market at the time, Fred began working on a better system. Thus he developed the Marsh Flexible Goal Peg, a deceptively simple but amazingly effective system. The design and material of the Marsh Pegs give them a flexibility that allows the net to move when jostled but remain on the pegs during regular play. The pegs will bend when the net is bumped, then return to their original position. Upon strong impact, such as a player crashing into the net, the net will pop off the pegs and prevent injury to the player. The nets can be replaced in seconds.”
A week or so later, we did a delightful phoner with Fred Marsh, and he didn’t judge me for stealing 2 of his yellow ones from Boston. Or at least he didn’t say so.
We came home, with the Pegs now explained and excitedly in the studio for the first shows back in Chicago. The parade was tomorrow, and I had the day scheduled off. So I left it in the show’s hands, for sub host Ben Finfer and Mac to have in front of them at the parade. What a conversation piece for the live audience.
But tech issues forced them back in studio, and when I returned the next day, my Marsh Peg was gone.
What I’d stolen had been stolen! Oh, the injustice or cruel irony or deserved “hot crime on crime action,” depending on your perspective! Oh, the genuine anger I felt as I thought Finfer actually pilfered the thing and wouldn’t tell me! Oh, the misery that crept in as I imagined a clueless cleaning crew throwing it in the trash! Oh, the Ebay hunt I went on, as I wondered whether Les Grobstein would try and sell it along with some old media guides!
Oh, the ancient Score mystery that went unsolved. Until now.
More on that in a later post, promise. I’ll tell my own story here. That story has a placebo Marsh Peg that became more meaningful than the original could have been. That story has a perpetrator, whose life has evolved since then. And that story has a happy ending.
Maybe there’s even a moral.
In those magical 17 seconds, 5 years ago last night, are layers of meaning. There’s a hockey team and storied franchise performing at its very best. There’s my absurd personal good fortune to be in the building and on the ice afterwards. And there is our often misplaced value of memory versus memento.
The feelings of that crazy finish on June 24th, 2013 were the thing. And if you can hold onto those, not much else matters.
The prototypical big, tall wide receiver or tight end is a fierce football weapon, especially on the goal line. He is often a “coverage dictator,” forcing a defense to commit itself. Also these days, “50/50 “deep balls are commonplace in both NFL and college football. A receiver is more valuable when he has a large catch radius, and the skills necessary to “go up and get it.” This is always discussed with varying clarity though, as there has been no perfect way to describe this skill set.
#GUAGI (noun): a receiver’s ability to gauge the flight of a football, strategically maneuver to catch it at its highest point, & strongly fend off defenders and complete the catch.
#GUAGI needs to be an official scouting term, an attribute easily discussed in conversational shorthand.
In terms of historical #GUAGI, Randy Moss is the uncontested G.O.A.T.
Note: A receiver need not be tall to have an excellent GUAGI (Steve Smith!), and a tall receiver does not necessarily have good GUAGI (Alshon Jeffrey).
I don’t set out aiming to be political on sports radio….we’re your distraction from some truly awful things. We’re the funny papers. But sometimes the issues of the greater world come to us.
Remove yourself from whether you believe Eric Garner’s killer should stand trial, or not. Seriously, take a minute and lose the partisan side, any racial side.
This country was founded on the strength of protests, standing up for fairness. This country was started with a revolution. Starting with the disenfranchised British settlers, minorities of all kinds have since had to stand up for fairness for the last several hundred years. Your lives would not be as free nor as rich as they are today, were it not for protests. And for civil disobedience.
Protesters should write their congressmen, their aldermen, they should post blogs, and more.
And, as long as they don’t turn it into mindless looting or criminal activity, they should march, and scream, and stop traffic to get the nation’s attention. Make a unified, country-wide stand if the energy to do so is there.
And, if an athlete wants to show his support for a cause, he should be applauded for it. Stand for something bigger than yourself. Noah has the commercial about gun control; “what do you stand for?”
Derrick has done and said some really bad, ill-advised things in recent months and years. Neglecting to mention championships as he talked about meetings and graduations was a mistake, then doubling down on it when given a chance to clarify was just awful. Then he tripled down and said he could care less. Bad PR, stupid statements, and selfish, sloppy thoughts.
So he’s done and said some stupid things. This wasn’t one of them.
WHAT ARE YOU MAD ABOUT, IF YOU’RE MAD?
Derrick in general these days? Dumb comments past? Separate things.
Derrick has always been active in talking about, raising money for, and helping in inner city neighborhoods. This is not some new, politically correct issue he doesn’t understand. This is not something he doesn’t understand….he knows it first hand. He has talked about inner city violence, blaming his culture, blaming the city’s structure, not just blaming cops. He’s donated a million dollars to an after school charity trying to keep kids off the streets and a life of crime. He did that 2 months ago.
So much has been discussed about how the goal of his life was to escape his neighborhood, and how he has never lost that connection to and with his struggle. That connection has been cited as a detriment for all sorts of things. And now some of the same people who have written about that connection being a problem are saying that he’s coming from a place of ignorance on it? Shameful.
He doesn’t need to explain what that represented. What wearing that shirt meant. It’s all around you. You watch the video? You see a frustrated man, living a hard life, who’s not going to take it anymore. He can’t face yet another arrest for a very minor crime—selling “loosies,” cigarettes without tax stamps. Mayor Bloomberg has made cops go after stuff like this relentlessly.
You see a dude dying, in an illegal chokehold, begging for his life and his breath? You see him lying there unattended for several minutes before the EMT’s arrived. He died because he could not breathe.
And you need to know what Derrick meant by the t-shirt? It might mean you just don’t want to hear it.
