Wow, Fairweather Johnson.

Now, I know I hammer pats fans, but do they have to make it so easy?

Silly Pats Fans...

Awww.... What's the league going to do without Tommy Fawkin' Brady? Suck it up boys. I'm an Eagles fan. These things happen. You better hope that Matt Cassell is a gamer.

Thanks to Kissing Suzy Kolber for pointing this shit out. They're downright clairvoyant...

An Example of What's Wrong with the NCAA.

#15 BYU played unranked Washington Saturday. It was a thrilling game with back and forth scoring. Down 28-21 with 2 seconds left, Washington QB Jake Locker made a clutch scramble to score the TD that only left Washington down by one. Once he crossed the plane, he tossed the ball over his shoulder and lept with his teammates in joy. The referees assessed a 15 yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty to be assessed on the game tying point after attempt. This turned a 19 yard field goal attempt into a 34 yarder. The kick was subsequently blocked, allowing BYU to escape with a victory.

I don't like excessive celebrations. They rankle me as the actions of primadonnas. They represent everything that is wrong with the game. However, this was not an excessive celebration. There were no cell phones, no sharpies, no dancing, and no planning. This was a kid and his teammates ecstatic about making the big play. Raw emotion and pure victory. It was everything that's right about football, and team sports in general. Without that emotion the game is lessened. It is everything for sports.

The referee who threw the flag was Larry Farina. Pac 10 coaches have the opportunity to "rest" a referee for a game, essentially blackballing them from the game. Mike Riley, head coach of Oregon State, and probably one of the nicest people you'll ever meet, has only used that authority once. He "rested" Farina from refing OSU in 2006. In 2007, he was not given the roster of referees to review before the game against Washington. He trotted onto the field, and found Larry Farina waiting for him. The ensuing game was one of the worst officiated games I have ever seen in my life. Three OSU players were ejected, and a blown fumble call that nearly cost OSU the game. Oregon State's athletic director, Bob DeCarolis, went on a rampage to get the officiating crew suspended.

The lack of oversight and standardization of the officiating of games is another problem. Pac 10 officials have been particularly bad, and Farina's been the worst of the bunch. The entire system needs to be overhauled, and Farina needs to be fired. "Rested permanently" if you'd like to use the NCAA's soft PC language. These games bring in millions of dollars and we're trusting them to part time workers? Hell no. You can throw the refs on the pile of things I'd fix with college football if I were king.

Fuck You, Yvonne, Fuck You.

In a column released in the Boston Globe today, Yvonne Abraham decides to respond the the recent rioting in Boston by lambasting the everyone as "Neanderthals". Even more infuriating to me, is her opening paragraph...

You're back at your desk now, tapping away. Or you've gone home for a summer as a lifeguard or a retail associate. Or back to your mother's basement to play "Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots."

I don't condone the rioting, but what I don't like is the typecasting of the people who play video games as dimwitted fools who only extricate themselves from their caves to commit random acts of violence.

Then comes this extract...

To help make sense of this, I turned to an expert: Dave Czesniuk of
Northeastern University's Center for the Study of Sport in Society.

He does not mention the most salient fact, which is that you are dumber
than bricks.

Apparently sports fans are all drooling, uneducated psychotics....

I wish you'd get your press credentials yanked for this one. That column isn't reporting, it's ranting, and lacks even a modicum of the decor needed to pull it off. You're writing for the Boston Globe. That isn't some stand up comedy act, it isn't some radio shock jock show, it isn't a blog, and it's not right. You're no better than Don Imus, but at least people know what their getting when they turn on his show.

When you deal with sports, you are dealing with a phenomenon that affects the lives of millions of people. When there's a major event in the sports world, there are always going to be people who take things to far. It's wrong, but it's a fact. But what it isn't, is an excuse to insult everyone based on those overreactions.

You have disgraced your profession today, Yvonne. I hope it was worth it.

Moving On...

My God it's been a long weekend.


Things started on Thursday. Having finished my finals the previous day, that most glorious day that I've had circled on my calendar arrived. The release of Metal Gear Solid 4! Hot damn. This was the first game I actually pre ordered, ever. Nothing short of the Second Coming of Christ would keep me from getting this game. I actually woke up at 7 AM on a day where I was not required to, in order to get this game.


Except perhaps... The sun. After my earlier post, it seems the sun had seen it's shadow, and doomed us poor souls to an eternity of bleak Oregon weather. That is, until the day Metal Gear Solid 4 came out. As a person of Brasilian descent, who has spent a good chunk of his life living in the tropics, I am addicted to sunlight. I can tan beautifully, and it takes months for said tan to wear off. I literally cried when, after over a year in the Pacific Northwest, I was as white as a ghost. I went through withdrawal.

So now you can see my conundrum. Sunlight? Or the awesome power of Metal Gear? These are the decisions that try men's very souls. Fortunately, in a move that had me almost certainly looking like a complete moron, I could have my cake, and eat it too. The most wonderful thing about the seventh generation of consoles is the advent of practical wireless controllers. I turned the TV around, and sat outside my apartment, in the sun, playing the game through the window for several hours. The game is amazing, expect me to drown you with it as soon as I find the time.

As the day went on, I was invited to my friend Alexa's going away party. She was moving on to bigger and better things, like flight school. Lucky bitch. Because of some unrelated purchases, I was in the neighborhood, and stopped by a 9 PM sharp. Apparently I was the only one who showed up on time. Even Kristen, who lives in the house, wasn't ready by the appointed time. How very German of me. I brought along a bottle of Level Vodka. We had some shots, and tried my best to avoid accidentally crushing Kristen's hideous free range cat, Momo. Alexa baked some bread, and made a nice dip out of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. It was damn good. She also laid out the remainder of her alcohol, and begged the party goers to consume it for her. She had a shaker, and I went to town on it. I constructed this monster.

2 parts parrot bay coconut rum.

2 parts Grenadine

2 parts bacardi 151 rum.

1 part cran-blueberry juice

Add liquor and shake hard, strain into a frosted pint glass, add juice, fill with club soda, and stir.

That beast was essentially six shots of 90 proof liquor, and it tasted like absolutely nothing. Slight hint of grenadine, but other than that, it was like drinking down thick water. I was terrified, because every sip I took, I wanted to just chug it down because my tongue tells me it's not strong enough. However, my brain, which watched me construct it, knows how strong it is. And after I develop a pretty heavy buzz off of 2/3s of the glass, I know how strong it is.

I met up with Ed, Amy, and Andy, and we talked about Andy's motorcycles, our mutual alcoholism, and the fact that Ed looks uncannily like a 10" shorter me. The conversation continued in interesting directions, until I got looped into a few beer pong games. I would like to think I acquitted myself quite well in those games, despite a terrible foul. I even dragged out a victory with Kristen as my partner, a feat thought impossible. During one rather entertaining game, Jordan had to skip out to puke mid game, and got replaced. An act I later used to sub myself into a game to help Lacey's terrible team.

After my idiot foul got us bumped of the table, I saw CJ had shown up, with Michelle and Bryan in tow. Apparently Michelle no longer wishes for my agonizing death via cancer. Yay! I'm moving up in the world. We shared shots of Level Vodka, which was quite smooth, and I began to set the stage for CJ to come help me move my junk from my apartment to storage. Seeing as he's the only person in our mutual circle who owns a truck, he was doomed to spend the entire weekend moving stuff for literally everyone he's ever met.

At about 1 AM, my friend Tony crashed the party, not knowing I was there, sporting an awkwardly faked Australian accent, and a little blond girl on his arm. Well, I'm not about to try and cock block my friend based on something as little as faking being Australian. So I let them drink in bliss. All of a sudden, Tony grabs me, and mentioned to the girl that I used to live in the south. She asks me where, and I told her New Orleans, Alabama, and Georgia. She saw fit to correct me, "You lived in N'awlins, 'Bama, and that other state."

Dammit woman, not everyone who's lived in the south speaks with the accent of a fucking idiot. She mentioned she lived in Shreveport. Whatever. Then she saw my dog tags. "Oh, you're in the Marines? You know Camp Pendleton? That's me."

At that point I was getting angry. "Don't confuse me with a Jarhead, girl."

She proceeded to go on a rant about how the Marines are her family. I asked her bluntly, "Are you in?"

To which she replied an unqualified no. "Then don't lecture me on service."

She got all indignant about how she couldn't believe I was showing so much disrespect to her family. "What your great grandfather did has no bearing on how I treat you. There is no royalty in America, you earn your respect. You aren't given it."

At that point, she was a awfully flustered, and asked my if I lived here. When I said no, she told me that she thought I should leave. She was trying to kick me out of my friends party, that she crashed? Incredible. I refused, and she grabbed Tony, and dragged him out of the party. Good Riddance.

Immediately afterwords, a guy who was standing nearby, Mark, looked at me. I realised that I was pretty drunk, and I might have been a real jerk. So I asked for a third party perspective from Mark and his wife, Lacey. She was a bitch, and they were surprised I didn't drunk toss her ass out at the word go. Vindication. To be honest, judging from her accent, and lack of any knowledge of military principle, I'd say she's probably some puffed up bitch who was trying to back me down without any actual truth to her stories. Either that, or General Pendleton is rolling in his grave right now. She certainly sounded more like she was from Salem than Shreveport.

The party wound down after that, and the rest of the night was saying goodbyes, and making sure the really drunk people got home safely. Aaron gave me a ride home, and I passed out on my couch.

Friday became game day. I spent pretty much the whole day devouring MGS 4's amazing story.

On Saturday, I prepped my apartment for the move back to Washington.

On Sunday, CJ rolled by, an I traded him two bottles of Irish Cream, a Bottle of Sake, and a bottle of Merlot for his help moving my stuff. As we hauled my futon to the storage facility, we discussed stuff such as Dave Mustain's amazing hair, bands that are essentially a cult of personality around one person, and woodland firefighting.

Monday morning, I rode back up to Washington, and am now frantically attempting to avoid letting the Guard ruin yet another summer. Wish me luck.

Way to go Ducks.

On a field trip to the University of Oregon Stadium, UO tour guides forced middle school children to remove any clothing that depicted the logo of a different Pac 10 School.

What is it with other Pac 10 schools and oppression? First ASU obliterates its cheerleading squad, now UO is dictating what middle schoolers can wear? C'mon. You're embarrassing the rest of us.

Another Drill.

Another weekend sacrificed to Bravo Company. We spent Friday doing preventive checks and maintenance (PCM) on a lot of the equipment the platoon has. Fun, fun, fun... We started with our weapons. This is my rifle, sort of... I use an M-4, which is basically the ubiquitous M-16, with a shorter barrel, and a collapsible stock. There's an M-203 mounted underneath the barrel. The M-203 is a 40mm self propelled grenade launcher. Instead of a ghost ring iron sight, I have an M-68 close combat optic, essentially a laser sight. And mounted on the top rail, I have a PEQ-2, which is a laser sight that can only be seen through night vision goggles.

I sat down at the table, and broke down the weapon, ensuring it was clean and going through the PCM tasking, step by step, making sure the weapon will work when my life depends on it. When I began breaking down the bolt carrier assembly, I noticed a huge chip taken out of the gas tube. Yipee, my weapon's gonna be deadlined! Again... I had just gotten her back from having the crater in the star chamber repaired, a whole new upper receiver. Now I'll probably have to wait until they can scrounge a new bolt carrier before I get it back again. Argh.

After I turned my weapon in, my squad leader tasked me to verify that the company's brand new bunch of PAS-13s worked. The PAS-13 is a new thermal optic scope. It's bulky as fuck, pretty much useless for anything other than recon, but it's sooooooo cool. The PAS-13s were followed up by an inspection of the PVS-14s. These are monocular night vision goggles. Good stuff. After that, we inventoried the PVS-7s, the older binocular night vision goggles, that just suck. They were old, and missing pieces. The fun level was further crushed when a brand new NCO decided to supervise what I was doing. apparently he didn't think me competent enough to check if something works by myself. Despite the fact that I had already finished 3 PVS-7s, 10 PVS-14s, 5 PAS-13s, and my rifle, he thought it necessary to stop me and try to give a full lesson on how to conduct a PCM. I told him I had things in hand. He flips out and goes on a rant.

"If you don't listen to me, how are you gonna know if you have the dermis shield, the sacrificial window, or the... whatever the hell that is!"

"That's a strap, sergeant..."

"Shows how much you know, it's a..."

*flips to the itemized list, checks item 14*

"OK, so it is a strap, but that doesn't mean you're all hot shit!"

He proceeds to spend the next 5 minutes yelling at me about how if I was half as good as I thought I was, I'd be a general. I just chuckled to myself and kept working. I found it particularly entertaining when he started asking me what certain parts were, even though I apparently wasn't smart enough to conduct a PCM without his holding my hand not 15 minutes earlier. I wound up finishing the PCMs on 6 PVS-7s, he did 3.

After we finished all the PCMs on the equipment, we got herded into a classroom, where our new platoon sergeant broke down the promotion system. Learning how to climb the corporate ladder. I really appreciated this, because no one had really stopped to break down how all that shit worked in the guard to me. I have a real good feeling about our new PSG. He might not be able to replace our old one, but he knows what he's doing, and he knows how to handle soldiers. It was a good end for Friday.

Saturday started up with some refresher on small unit tactics. No big deal. In the off time, we swapped stories, most of which I probably won't repeat here, or anywhere. We then had a TA-50 layout, to ensure we had everything we needed for the upcoming deployment. In between, we broke for lunch, and we were allowed to go pretty much wherever we wanted, given the fact that we were allowed an hour and forty minutes to go eat.

So we were off to McMenamin's. On a Saturday, at noon, things are pretty slow. But the servers that day were just flat out gorgeous. Our server was a beautiful girl named Robin. Joe, yes, the same Joe off the recent 21st birthday, demanded that they put the Red Wings game on. The unstable sergeant from Friday decided to join us, and while most of us either watched the game, or played pool. Not Sgt. Psycho though. He proceeded to spent the majority of the time there trying to stare a hole through Robin's pants every time she came by.

I noticed noticed Robin was watching the Hockey game, when she wasn't serving someone. Sick of having the same conversations with the same people over and over, I walked over to her, and struck up a conversation. Just a little small talk about sports, school, and work. The rest of the guys gave me shit about it for the rest of the day. Whatever. It was worth it.

On Sunday, we were going out to Camp Adair, to build upon the training done on Saturday. So we drew weapons. Not wanting us to dirty up the weapons that we had cleaned and PCMed on Friday, they issued us the remainder of the weapons. Of course, my M-4 was now deadlined. So I got the last weapon available. An M-240B. A 28 lb hunk of steel that weighed twice as much as my normal weapon, and was about 4 times as unwieldy. Running with that thing sucks, running with that thing through the woods, really sucks. On the bus ride to Adair, Sgt Psycho sees that I don't have my usual weapon, and decides to take a couple of potshots at me. Told me that I finally had something I didn't know a damn thing about. Whatever, it might not be my primary weapon, but I know how to use it. I biffed it on a couple of areas that were thick with logs when we were assaulting through some objectives. It was irritating. Things reached their peak when we had our platoon movement to contact lane. I wound up in the assault element, and had to advance by bounds. I got up and ran, and as I dropped down behind cover, all of a sudden the barrel just dropped into the dirt. I looked over, and realized what happened. See those study looking bipod legs on the gun? Sheared 'em clean off. Whoops.

Meanwhile, some reporter for the Democrat Herald was taking pictures, setting up a story he's writing on the guard. I tried to be civil with him, because most of the other guys weren't. Most soldiers who've deployed OIF or OEF are paranoid of reporters, because the coverage from the media in Iraq and Afghanistan is so ridiculously slanted against the military that anything that gets said, or done, is used to demonize us and what we're trying to do. But good publicity is easier to come by inside the US, and is always helpful, so I tried to put my best foot forward.

We marched back to trans, and during the AAR, I'm sitting down next to the gun. SGT Psycho comes over and looks at me smugly, he looks down at the gun, sitting on the ground without the bipod. He picks up the 240, and tries to engage the bipod, only to realize that there no longer is one. Yeah, I'm not an idiot, what a surprise. We took trans back to the armory, and cleaned our weapons. I wrote out a 5988 form for the 240 I broke. We sat through another briefing on VA and Vet Center protocol, which was good, because too much of their resources are drawn up by Vietnam era treatment, and they're just now starting to understand the modern war. I'm surprisingly exhausted, but I haven't been able to con myself to sleep yet. I figured I'd do something productive in the meantime.

Salsa, Hockey, and the birth of an alcoholic.

Well, it's been a fairly eventful week for me.

Monday was Cinco de Mayo, as you know. I had a fun night of mexican food and Dos Equis out at the bars. However, I spilled some of my Jose Cuervo onto my modem, and knocked it out of commission for several days.

On Wednesday, I got a replacement modem, and went out with some friends to the Salsa Dance at Oddfellows hall. I wore my Boondock Saints T shirt. It was a hit. Almost too big of a hit. I felt like a manikin, simply the vessel upon which the shirt was mounted. It peaked when Tara dragged me out onto the dance floor, exclaiming "I must dance with that shirt!" Jeez. I'm up here, stop staring at my chest ladies! :)

Then on Friday, we had the usual Latin X night festivities. We started out at McMenamin's. It's usually not that crowded around 7:30, So when we showed up, we found ourselves in the irritating position of having every table being occupied by one or two people, so we couldn't get a table. Faced with the choice between eating outside or not getting seated for an hour, we got the tables outside. Thankfully, the weather was good. In the end, it was a good think. We were expecting 8-10 people, we wound up with 15. Sweet, yet potentially problematic. but being able to expand to other outdoor tables fixed the problem.

Once we went down to Platinum, it was the same old story. There was alcohol, dancing, music, and fun. Tori said she was going to whip me at pool. But she failed to show up. Guess I win by default.

I just have one question. Why do women insist on wearing shoes that tear up their feet? Is that extra inch really worth the blisters and mangled toes? And if you're going to, why can't you put some moleskin on beforehand?

Saturday night, one of my friends from bravo company turned 21. So I escorted his drunken parade throughout the bars. We spent the bulk of our time at Clods. I had a Vodka and Tonic. Being a bit of a jerk, I ordered him a cement mixer. Being a much bigger jerk than me, Chuck got Joe a British Liposuction. The British Liposuction is the worst drink I've ever encountered. It consists of a shot that's one part gin, one part Worcestershire sauce, and one part lard. Yes, lard. Joe took that shot, then puked it back into his shot glass, and booked it to the bathroom. I didn't see him for about 20 minutes after that. Afterwards, he came back, looking a few pounds lighter, and downed my cement mixer, and enjoyed it. That's how bad the shot Chuck got him was.

After we got sick of drunken frat boys and country music, Joe wanted to go to Tailgaters, where we would have to deal with drunken frat boys and rap music. I convinced him to go to McMenamin's on Monroe so we could play pool. Unfortunately, there was a line for the pool table, so we headed out. Some random guy bought joe a shot before we left. No clue who he was.

So we were off to Tailgaters. You could hear the bass from outside. Rap Music... Check. Our party had dwindled down to three people, Joe, myself, and one of Joe's friends, a former Army supply tech. The parade of CAC cards to the doorman. Yippee. We put down for the next pool table, and ordered some drinks. When I went over to the bar, this guy looks over at me. "Wow, you're really tall!". Yeah, he was truly a marvel of observation. I got some change to pay for the pool table and headed back to the table. "Look how tall that guy is!" Captain Obvious strikes again! Three fights broke out while we were there, all promptly crushed by the bouncers. Pretty rough considering there was fewer than 30 people there. Drunken frat boys... check. Whatever.

I brought the quarters over, and we played a game of cutthroat. I was playing pretty well, and got the other two down to 1 ball each, while I still had 4 active. Suddenly, Joe, who had hit a scratch on nearly every ball, knocked down 3 balls on one shot. Unfortunately, they were the 12, the 14, and the 15. All I was left with was the 11. I promptly eliminated Joe, but Joe's buddy knocked me off.

The Supply Tech decided to bolt afterwards, but Joe wanted to stay until closing, and I had promised Neil I'd get him home in one piece. so Joe and I played another game of pool, and I soundly crushed him. I've gotten a little better with practice. With 45 minutes left to kill, I decided to go watch the few girls who were left dancing. One of them waved at me, so I called her over. Feeling in a generous mood, I tried to set Joe up with her. I wanted to get her to go dance with Joe, but instead she simply offered to buy him an expensive drink if I'd buy her a cheap drink and dance with her. But I didn't want to leave Joe high and dry on his birthday. It's kind of awkward getting a girl who's hitting on you to go hit on your friend. But Captain Obvious came to scuttle that problem. He started hitting on her, not letting either of us get a word in edgewise. Finally, she looked a little squeamish, and I gave him a glare. He looks back at the girl. "What, are you dating him?" And proceeded to start to interrogate her about our relationship. After about 15 seconds of that, I got sick of him. I got his attention for a sec, "Shut the fuck up, go away, and let me talk to her!" I didn't push it any farther, because I knew the bouncers were on edge, and would have bum rushed me the moment I stood up. Fortunately, Captain Obvious seemed to get the message, and bailed out. Unfortunately, the girl's friend saw her in between a 6'5" guy, and a 6'8" guy yelling at him. She promptly swooped in and took her to the other side of the room, exclaiming, "She has a boyfriend!" That could have ended better. This is why I hate lingering at bars around closing time, the dominance games are so damn annoying, especially when you don't really want to play.

Joe decided to head home. On the way out, I ran into the girl again. She apologized for her friend, and explained that her friend thought I was getting too aggressive, but she knew what had happened. She asked where I was heading. "Home, I've got better booze there." She was nice, but I was too far into chaperon mode to try anything with her.

All I had to do was get Joe's drunk ass 6 blocks, to his dorm. No problem, right? Wrong. Things only got more annoying. We got to the corner of Monroe and 14th street, and ran into this anorexic looking asian girl eating a pita. Clearly plastered. "I'm horny, let's have sex!" She said. Joe, being equally trashed, promptly took her up on her offer, and kissed her. She coughed a half chewed wad of tuna pita into Joe's mouth. As this hilarious spectacle is unfolding, I notice her friend. I don't know if he was her boyfriend, or another poor soul bringing home the drunk, but he made a beeline towards Joe. I grabbed him, gently, but with enough presence that he hesitated. Introduced myself, and pretty much asserted control of the situation. just because I don't like dominance games doesn't mean I can't be the Alpha Male when the situation calls for it. Once the situation was defused, we exchanged drunks, and I proceeded to continue taking Joe back to the dorm.

Joe proceeded to the emotional stage of drunkenness. He started talking about his friend back home who got shot during a drug deal that went south. I quickly told him to change the subject. That brought up some memories that I didn't want to deal with right then. Joe promptly chose about the next most depressing topic. One of the Air Force ROTC cadets had committed suicide that week. I know I give the Air Force a lot of flak, but that still sucks. Fortunately, I got him to his dorm before the conversation could go anywhere else. I trudged home, and fell asleep.

The next morning, brought me playoff hockey action. My Flyers took on their in state rivals, the Pittsburgh Penguins. My friend CJ, a Sharks fan, who's far more enthusiastic about hockey than I am, came over. He was still in a funk after the Shark's quadruple overtime loss to the Dallas Stars. I was trying to jump start his love of hockey again. We had some drinks (When I told that girl I had better alcohol at home than at the bar, I wasn't lying). I made CJ a white russian, and myself a caipirinha.

The Flyers went down in a blaze of terrible penalties, and we lost our best defenseman to a puck to the face one minute and seven seconds into the game. Wait until the series comes back to Philly. Things'll be different.

Silly Sun Devils...

This is why I will never understand Arizona State University. They cut their entire cheerleading squad because 6 members of the squad took a picture two years ago. Tell me something, is this...

really that much more explicit than this?

I don't think so. Does all the sand down in the desert create this sort of oppressive attitude? I've seen college students do much, much worse, and so has anyone who's been to a bar in a college town. To ASU, fucking live a little, pricks. You were willing to prostitute your cheerleaders and dance teams as long as you profited from it, but as soon as a picture with a little skin surfaces without you getting royalties, you stomp out the entire program? Go fuck yourselves.