This book might have made me like baseball a little bit more

I hate reading books where authors write to hear their own voices. Look at me I’m so smart, I know all these fancy words and amazing information, blah blah blah. I LOVE books about the history of the movie industry. But the ones that don’t read like text books and/or weren’t written by snooty d-bags are few and far between.

Despite the fact I am a frequent visitor to Deadspin, there was just something about “God Save the Fan” that made me hesitant to read it. I was afraid it was going to be like someone puked all their insane sports knowledge into one book. But I bore witness to Buzz Bissinger’s attempted rape and ass chewing of Will Leitch on Costas Now, so I knew at some point I had to read this book. And lucky for Leitch, my “God Save the Fan” was paperback and my “Men With Balls” is hardback and I was flying. I detest flying with hardbacks. See how I make decisions? Just go with what’s lighter and softer. Apparently I make all life choices as if I was picking out toilet paper.

Anyhow, my worries about “God Save the Fan” proved absolutely, positively untrue. I zoomed through this book during my trip, which is astounding since I barely have free time when in freak convention mode. I started in on it the minute I finished “The Football Fan’s Manifesto”, which actually didn’t help my hesitations because Manifesto is bloody hilarious. No one wants to go back to class after recess. But “God Save the Fan” is not only up to snuff humor wise, but also very informative in a not so in your face I’m smarter than you, dumb ass sort of way. The only chapter that threw me was about race relations in player/fan relationships, so to speak. I think I knew what he was trying to say and I THINK I agree with him, it’s just the type of chapter you read and at some point go “wait, what?” Other than that, the Fans section (in which you can find said chapter) is by far my favorite.

Backing up, I have to give Leitch mucho kudos not only for watching ESPN for 24 hours straight, cause really I can’t deal with much more than PTI after I watch one round of SportsCenter on MUTE in the morning at the gym (and the occasional viewing of NFL Live), but also for dedicating an entire chapter to his continued fanship of a Could Have Been. I talk about former NHL player Petr Buzek a LOT on here and my fanship of him falls into that category. He was a Could Have Been. But I still love him. Something tells me Leitch didn’t want to have Rick Ankiel’s babies, but still, you get the gist.

Back to the aforementioned Fans section, it holds lots of truisms. How our love for our fantasy team can outweigh that of our actual team on occasion because we are actually somewhat in control and his guide for “How Not to be a Jerk at a Baseball Game”, in my opinion, crosses the lines of all professional sporting events. Especially why it’s unfortunately not cool to cut the annoying kid behind you, etc. In addition, his stories about a small Cardinals group that formed in New York during their World Series run epitomizes a lot of the ways I love my Cowboys group here in Los Angeles. I’ve often thought about what I would do when we make it to the Super Bowl again. First and foremost, I OBVIOUSLY would try to go. But what if I don’t? Do I go home? Do I stay here? I’d like to think I would stay here, because the way Leitch and his fellow Cards fans celebrated the NLCS is the way I’ve envisioned victory would be for our little group:

Suddenly, the bar wheeled out cheap champagne…I shook up two bottles and sprayed anybody in sight, then poured a bottle over my own head. Then I grabbed two more and repeated the process.

The madness continued for about two hours…everyone in the bar was immediately bonded for life at that point, and we busted out digital cameras and Kodaks and anything to help us record what was happening. I kissed a woman I had never seen and might have been standing next to her husband, who just smiled and danced.

The night wore on, and nobody stopped screaming until 3 a.m.

P.S. Two days till THE VEGAS!

I actually kinda hate Florida

Cheers from sunny Orlando, Readers. I’m here for our industry’s second largest convention, basically we spend a week drinking, sucking up (or “schmoozing”, if you will) and watching movies. Good times. I was going to partake of Disney’s Animal Kingdom today. However, after being up for close to 36 hours -  naps on planes do not count as actually human sleep – I ended up in bed till Noon. Spent two hours (TWO HOURS!) in the gym, then enjoyed college football (poor Minnesota), lunch and reading poolside. This ONE day is as close to a vacation as I’m getting until sometime next year…if I’m lucky. I am going to Vegas in less than two weeks, that’s not vacation, drunken debauchery is a full-time job. Which I take seriously, thankyouverymuch. Tonight will be baseball and some Longhorn football in the hotel sports bar (which is quite nice) or a trip to Tampa for the Lightning/Sabres game. We shall see.

I'm a fan of the malfeasance fantasy football league

Anyhow, please don’t misconstrue this as blatant ass kissing, but I believe Kissing Suzy Kolber is one of the most badassest football blogs on the webternet. If you disagree with me you’re a humorless moron or Communist. Take your pick. I can appreciate a hot lady and dick jokes just as much as most. It comes with being an obsesser of football. Much like the acquired taste for beer I picked up about two years ago. Co-founder Michael Tunison penned a novel,  “The Football Fan’s Manifesto“. And if you fancy yourself a die-hard fan of all things gridiron and actually, you know, READ…books, not just blogs/stats/bullshit on the internet, you should pick it up toute suite. Actually, even if that is all you read you should pick it up. Cause it kinda makes fun of you. Thought you should know that.

I laughed many a times while reading this book, enough to make fellow morning gym rats question my mental stability. But they frighten me for different reasons, so I’m okay with that. Tunsion breaks down every single aspect of being a one-track minded football fan. I never thought I’d find myself reading a thought-out analysis of the various forms of high-fives. But that happened. I would say his pokes at Cowboys fans tarnished my amusement, but 1. he’s right and 2. I’m used to it.

Highlights for me were his ground rules for female fans (his anti-pink jersey stance that I totally effing agree with and already discussed here), the “Letter to Brian Westbrook Regarding His Questionable Playing Status for Sunday”, the detailed hatred for bandwagon fans and the consistent and accurate profiling of Eagles fans and their evilness.  Thus, I leave you with my favorite passage:

There are some stadia, stadia located in certain cities in the southeast corner of Pennsylvania, where it is unadvisable to root for the visiting team. Not that it’s necessarily bad form, but because you’ll be left for dead in a portable toilet and rolled down a hill.

It’s funny because it’s true. Not that I have or will ever try to find out for certain. I like taking risks, but I’m not retarded. I would have to lose a bet to the Devil himself to even think about going to a game in Philly. And I’ve been told even if I wore not a single thread of silver or blue, my “Cowboys accent” would give me away.

December of 1998 I wrapped up my first semester of college and took a week-long trip to see the boys in Kalamazoo. I think I even arranged to take two finals early. Remind me never to lecture anyone on organizing priorities.  BTdubs, I wish I could remember where I got the money to do all of that crap, I don’t think I even worked that year. Leftover graduation money perhaps? I need to figure it out, cause here I am 11 years and several tax brackets later and haven’t been on a real vacation since March 2004. Anyhow, I digress.

I was 18, didn’t drink (seriously), innocent as could be (no, really) and was a smitten kitten over at least four or five of the K-Wings (all Stars property). Petr you know about, the rest are still playing – two in Europe, one in the NHL and one belongs to an NHL team but is in the AHL in Texas (go figure).  None of them were saints. Hell, I’m pretty sure the Devil himself created one of them, somewhere between the strapless bra and Facebook. I’ve no doubt he invented all three with the intention of torturing womankind. Devil Spawn and his BFF (the one now in Texas…are you keeping up?) were inseparable evil. If I hadn’t been oozing with Southern Belle goodness, I would’ve been walking into double trouble on NUMEROUS occasions. I labeled them a “you’d either wind up dead or pregnant manwhich”. However, on top of the goody two-shoes-ness, I also had older, wiser friends looking out for me. MANY of them. And with magnifying glasses.

A must read for any young female hockey fan!

As an early Christmas present in ‘98 my friend Janelle gave me a book called “Crossing the Line” with strict instructions to read it before I stepped foot back into Kalamazoo. This book is BANANAS. Should my future daughter ever utter the words “Mom, me and my friends are going to Kings practice”, after I refrain from stroking out, I’m gonna be like “you’re grounded from hockey players until you’re 30 and read this book. Now.”

No one will dispute the fraternal nature of a locker room, whether it be hockey, football or cricket for all I know. There is too much raging testosterone and too many uncovered penises in one small space (and too much alcohol consumed off the ice/field) to do anyone any good. However, I wish I was a good enough writer to put into words the bond, brotherhood and unwritten code amongst hockey players. While doing some digging for this post I came across another book, “Men at Play: A Working Understanding of Professional Hockey“, which I’m ordering toute suite. I hope it can spell it out better, I only know what I saw. Some of these guys were born and bred to play hockey. They were ripped from their homes (MOST of them by choice) not too long after their voices changed to be immersed in the system. As if high school isn’t hard enough, right? “Crossing the Line” is a no holds barred, balls out examination of how junior hockey impacts such vulnerable, wee lads.

The entire hockey world was slapped in the face when Sheldon Kennedy announced he was abused by his junior hockey coach.  This week Theo Fleury, one of the WHL’s most notable exports, admitted he was sexually abused by the very same man. So although Canadian junior hockey is a staunch tradition, fabulous to watch (I’ve been to a handful of games) and produces some of the best players in North America, if not the world, the system leaves it’s marks. As if those two examples aren’t horrific enough, the culture can affect not only the players themselves, but also the girls and women around them.

Side note, Devil Spawn’s team is examined at length in “Crossing the Line”. Coincidence? Yeah…not so much. And don’t get me wrong, Readers…I still love me some hockey players!!! Bless their hearts.

Parmesan cheesy...GET IT?

I am introducing a new category to CLSL Ludacrisly called  “On top of books”. Obviously, there are a plethora of sports related books out there, from fact to fiction, and from time to time I pick one up. I’m currently in the midst of reading “Boys Will Be Boys” as you know. However, towards the end of 2008 I picked up “Playing for Pizza” by John Grisham heading out of LAX. My grandfather died on Veteran’s Day, from the time I found out, to booking my flight, to getting on the plane was less than 24 hours. I was a bit of a wreck, as it was my first grandparent to pass away. So naturally, I frantically skizzed to the airport sans reading material. I hopped over to the used section at the bookstore in my terminal and came across this book, when really I was actually looking for a trashy romance novel (which I never read…however, one of my besties told me there’s a trashy romance novelist out there who pens books including football and hockey players…STAY TUNED, FOLKS).

Up until the Stars moved to Dallas and my whole world became hockey and I decided I was going to be a sports journalist, I actually wanted to be a lawyer. Therefore, there’s not many older Grisham novels I’ve not read or movies I’ve not seen. When I saw “Playing for Pizza” on the store shelf, I was like, well this doesn’t look lawyery…and turns out? IT WAS ABOUT THE FOOTBALL. Specifically about an American football league in Italy.

This is an excerpt from Publisher Weekly’s synopsis via Amazon:

Third-string Cleveland Browns quarterback Rick Dockery becomes the greatest goat ever by throwing three interceptions in the closing minutes of the AFC championship game. Fleeing vengeful fans, he finds refuge in the grungiest corner of professional football, the Italian National Football League as quarterback of the inept but full-of-heart Parma Panthers. What ensues is a winsome football fable, replete with team bonding and character-building as the underdog Panthers challenge the powerhouse Bergamo Lions for a shot at the Italian Superbowl.

And yes, Browns + AFC Championship gave me pause as well. Quickly followed by “ohhhh, right…FICTION.” However, let’s face it…Cowboys + NFC Championship = FICTION as well.

This book sounds cheesy (Parmesan cheesy…HA!) and TRUST ME, it is. But it’s like a grown up version of Little Giants with lots of wine and ridiculously delicious sounding Italian food. And my imagination casted Josh Duhamel as Rick, which was rather nice and quite acceptable.  And actually, turns out Phoenix Pictures has picked it up, so hey…Phoenix Pictures, you’re welcome for the suggestion. Anyhow, at the end of the week,  this quick little read was a refreshing escape from what I was going through. All the wine and tequila I consumed MIGHT have helped as well.