When Did Losing Become Acceptable

When Did Losing Become Acceptable?

Guys; from the day that we understand random grunts in succession have meaning our fathers ingrain into our domes that we are meant to be virtuous. We are to pull chairs out for women, to pay for them, and to listen to them talk about shoes. We learn the difference between right and wrong, and good and bad. We are taught to win with grace and lose with dignity (And that losing sucks). In short, we are taught the meaning of nobility. A few years later we will forget all of it until (I presume; as I don’t, in fact, have a son) our own son is born and we teach him a bunch of things he’ll forget until (I presume) his son is born. Still, most rational people have a basic understanding of nobility and of its generally beneficial properties. My question is why do people seem more noble in defeat?

After Michael Jordan scored 63 in a losing effort, against the Celtics, Larry Bird said, “That was God disguised as Michael Jordan out there…”I guess, since the Celtics won, Larry Legend was implying that the 1986 Celtics could beat the all-powerful creator, but aside from that, Michael Jordan’s team LOST. Jordan is (perhaps) the greatest competitor to ever lace up a pair of sneakers and, obviously, the 63 points is not his iconic gift to the game, but it may be his most stunning singular feat. He scored 63 points against, maybe, the third best team ever assembled. (Definitely a top 5 pantheon team), and he lost the game. This brings me to another question: When did losing become acceptable? The thing is; I know it wasn’t acceptable to Jordan, but as time wears on it seems to have become acceptable to everyone else. Writers, pundits and fans remember it as one of the greatest games ever played in a losing effort. I’m sure Jordan sees it as a missed opportunity and a learning experience. Perhaps it was both but the question is; why do we care? I can’t answer the question, but I’d bet it relates to Clint Eastwood crying, metrosexuality and the continued marginalization of the All-American man.

To this day, when people (my dad) look back on Jordan’s 63 they always say it was one of the most amazing performances they have ever seen (It probably was). But his team still lost. Why is it that when a person leaves everything on the playing surface only to come up short, people suddenly martyr him? Did losing while scoring gobs of points actually enhance his legend? What if he had won? What would people say then? Would they have said Larry Legend and the Celtic 5 left it all out on the floor? Would the Celtics have then been sympathetic? More importantly, why does 63 points in a losing effort add to the lore and allure of Michael Jordan? I think something deeper is going on here. There is something sacrilegiously beautiful about human excellence coupled with human failure. That’s why people, in their minds, are actually happy when professional golfers chunk a shot…or they nod knowingly—and say they knew it was going to happen—when Donavon McNabb loses another close playoff game. It humanizes a group of people who, for all intensive purposes, are inhuman. For most of us, going an entire round without a chunky shot is impossible and the way Donavon reads a defense is both beautiful and infuriating; it is inhuman. But the fact that he loses on the biggest stage and in the most spectacular ways possible (the fact that he chokes) that is something we can all relate to. We crave excellence but revel in its failure precisely because they are doing things we can only dream about. But maybe there’s something more to this because the thing is Michael Jordan is now a winner whereas Donavon McNabb is not.

Perhaps Jordan’s 63 only add to his lore because of what he went on to do with his career. Six World Titles later the 63 against the Celtics was a happy afterthought. It was one singular game where his greatness was more apparent than ever before. But this is counterfactual engineering. What if Jordan had never won a title (Also counterfactual engineering)? At the time of his post-season scoring record, he had not yet won one. Would his career then have been remembered similarly to that of Dominique Wilkins’? Maybe he would have just been remembered as a no holds-barred gunner forever.

The thing is, he did win six titles so we can remember the game fondly, but my question still remains; why do we look back fondly on a game in which the greatest basketball player ever played his best and couldn’t manage to win? I think there are two possible answers to this query. It could be that as we look back on his career and we ruminate over his legacy it becomes more and more apparent that, in his prime, he was not human. If he hadn’t retired the first time he may have won eight straight world titles, but the fact that at one point in history he had given it his all and it hadn’t been enough reminds everyone that failure is okay as long as through failure one reaches greater heights than before. I wish this was true, but I know that its not. In truth, it probably reminded people of their own failures (especially) in athletics, probably in high school, when they just hadn’t had enough or weren’t good enough to win. Perhaps this is what Jordan’s failure showed America. The greatest basketball player in the world played as well as he could. And he lost. It must be okay to lose. Actually it’s not, but it does almost make losing seem more noble.

Remember, Remember

When I look back on my life I am constantly amazed at the things that no longer matter to me, and I know that this sentiment is not _______ to me. Think about it; were you ever involved in a long-term relationship that didn’t last? I was. And I remember that at the time—at that specific moment in the history of Austin Marshburn—there was nothing more important to me than fostering a more meaningful, lasting and beautiful relationship with that girl. Then beer came along and slowly, but inexorably, my perspective began to change. But this does not discount the fact that at that time there was simply nothing more important than that relationship. Everyone I know, and probably everyone you know, exists in a dynamic and ever-changing paradigm (Except boring people and the profoundly retarded). And this means that they cannot feel the shift. It’s like when my sister and I were children. Many times we wouldn’t see our grandparents for months at a time, and then when we saw them they would invariably remark, “Look how much you’ve grown.” My sister and I would, just as invariably, never believe them. The reason for this is clear. Trying to notice any change in yourself on a day to day basis is impossible. Only over time do we notice these changes. Obviously, my grandparents’ assertion was correct. I mean. When they started saying I was growing—and I did not believe them—I was three feet tall. However, this is a very extreme example, and I’m not interested in extremes. I’m much more interested in the little things, in the tiny nuances of change because that’s where falling in and out of love lies. That’s where true happiness is won and lost. And that is what I’m endeavoring to find. To this end, I’m going to employ music.

I guess that’s sort of an amorphous thesis so here’s a concrete (maybe granite) reproduction of it. The only constant is that there is no constant; everything continues to grow until it dies. So, how does music fit into this moribund tale of “everything.” Music is simply the fastest growing entity available within my paradigm. Perhaps you like crocheting, and perhaps crocheting is constantly evolving; morphing into bigger and better or smaller and worse things. The only problem for me is that if this were happening; if crocheting were an amazingly dynamic endeavor, I would never know because I don’t really care about crocheting. I care about music and I care about sports. This brings up another question namely why isn’t this essay about sports? They’re also constantly evolving, aren’t they? Well, it’s true, they are. But I would argue that they do not evolve nearly as fast as music. The reason for this is simple (O yeah, it also has to do with the fact that I am an indie rock apologist. I should get that out of the way now—i.e. stop reading if you don’t like The Honorary Title or haven’t heard of Fischerspooner). Both music and sports are reactionary (because everything is reactionary) but major athletics is constrained by the constant need to adhere to the mainstream (which evolves slowly), while independent music is constantly attempting to shift the mainstream (which means it has to evolve quickly). This is an incredibly important divergence, and it brings me back to the argument’s assumption. Life is ever-changing, and there is no way to stop this constant flux. The problem is that, in most cases, it is impossible to realize that a change is occurring until a very long time after the change actually occurred. For example, how long did it take me to realize I was no longer four feet tall? Did it happen when I was four feet six inches, four feet two inches? Two inches is a lot. But I would doubt that I would have noticed it. But this is why I’ve chosen music to illustrate my paradigm shift. I am acutely aware of what music means to me, and of what it can teach me about the little things; about the nuances of happiness won and happiness lost.

So, right now I am listening to Mettallica’s alarmingly fast guitar riffs. I can’t remember the guitarist’s name, but there is no doubt in my mind that at one time I could, and would, have mentioned it in casual conversation as something prescient. At one point in the history of Austin, Mettallica meant much more than it should have. In fact, I can tell you that their first bassist (Newsted maybe, or is that who they have now?) died in a terrible bus accident. However, I am now absolutely indifferent to Mettalica. I mean, I know that Enter Sandman—which I’m listening to—and Nothing Else Matters are pretty spectacular songs, but they just have no meaning to me anymore. What does this tell me about music? More importantly, what does this tell me about myself? I mean, have I outgrown the bearded tough-guy look? Maybe I have, but then again so did Mettalica. I think something more is going one here. I mean, how could I go from absolutely exalting a band because of some successive notes they were able to play to changing the channel when they come on the radio? The answer to this query goes beyond anything Mettallica, or any other band, could do technically with a song. It delves into how music makes people feel, but more importantly it journeys to the land inside all of us; the place where we make decisions about what we love, and more importantly, why we love what we love.

Right now, I can only think of one band that matters to me as much now as when I fell in love with them, and it is not an original choice. It goes without saying that this band is The Beatles. That’s it. After 22 years on this Earth, the only band I have never stopped caring about broke up 37 years ago. This is an incredibly important point, not because it says something about the music I like, but because it speaks to the transient nature of love. This (of course) brings the discourse back to love.

Lately, I’ve begun to wonder about divorce in this country. Is it endemic of the fast pace of American life in general and of capitalism in particular. Or is it something more endemic of the human experience. Now, I realize that there may be a few holes in logic when one is attempting to compare carnal love as it pertains to the human experience with love of music, but bear with me as I attempt to jump over the hurdle of logic.

I realize that, perhaps, the reason I believe loving a band and loving a person is correlated is a simple function of my never having found the “right woman.” I think this is something my mother might tell me. However, this line of thinking strikes me as cynical and way off-base. If love of another is something so ingrained in the human psyche that it cannot be compared to love of something else (like music) then why does love, almost always, end in pain. Think about this; even if you married the love of your life at 31, the odds are that you went out with others before you met this apple of your eye. If you seriously went out with nine other people, there is a good chance that at some point you thought, “I think I might love this person.” If this was the case then nine times out of ten this love was fleeting. Now let’s extend this paradigm further. The divorce rate in America hovers around 50%. In the context of this essay, what does this mean? Well, it means that fifty percent of the time when people solemnly swear to love eachother, that love does not last (By the way, the American married population is a pretty large sample size). How is this transitory love fundamentally different than my dynamic love for music? My answer; it isn’t. It may move more slowly, but this just makes the movement more insidious, not less.

This brings me back to the Beatles. I can unironically say that I love a band that pre-dates my existence. However, that is not to say there have not been forays with mistresses before and many that are still happening as we speak. For instance, at this moment I absolutely love Bloc Party, Muse, LCD Soundsystem, Electric 6, the Killers, and countless others. Who knows, maybe one of these bands will one day climb Beatle Mountain, but I doubt it. In my time, I’ve also loved Mettalica, Guns ‘N’ Roses, Poison(??), Led Zeppelin, Queen (who I sort of still love), AC/DC, Van Halen, Black Sabbath, The Allman Bros. Band, and Nirvana. However, these were all transitory loves who in hindsight helped to explain the temper of my life at the moment I loved the band better than a million written words ever could. If you want to know what I’m like at a certain point, it does not matter to listen to what I say; only to pay attention to what it is I love. To my mind, this does not pertain only to me. It seems to be universal. Think about this, when you meet someone in an airport bar, do you talk about your inner feelings or about sports? Sports, right. There are two reasons for this. 1.) We don’t want to seem vulnerable even though we all are. 2.) We feel an obligation to not force others to think about their own life’s shortcomings by bringing up our own relational shortcomings. And the result of this is transitory love.

Here’s the thing—and this is important—those bands represent myself as I existed at a certain point in my life, but not as I exist now. This is incredibly important, but easily overlooked because it means that, truly, they are representative of my past self. This means that understanding that music makes it possible to, on some level, understand myself. On some level, perhaps this will teach me why I love what I love, but in truth maybe its simpler than that….maybe John Lennon was right. Maybe humans are transitory because All we need is love, but only the lucky ones figure out what that means.

The Person I’d like to Meet If Time and Space were not Boundaries

There are loads of questions similar to this; all of them are ridiculous. “If you were trapped on a desert island, what five albums would be essential to existence?” My answer; none. Music is not essential. But if I was forced to answer the question, I could do so. I’d bring:
1. The White Album
2. The White Stripes’- Get Behind Me Satan
3. The Rolling Stones- Hot Rocks (Because I’m a cheater and will allow best ofs)
4. Bloc Party- Silent Alarm
5. Mitch Hedberg- Mitch All Together (I really wanted to pretend I’d take Neil Diamond, but that would just be such a lie)

Actually, upon further consideration, I might purposefully bring music I dislike because that way I’d hate the music right away instead of slowly growing to despise songs I once liked. It’d be tragic—in a less than tragic way— to grow to hate Back in the U.S.S.R. or Blackbird when at one time they were favorite songs of mine.

People formulate stupid questions like the last one and the query contained in the title all the time. The truth is, if time and space were no object I would never go back in time to meet people. I mean, if I want I can read about their exploits in books. There’s a long history written about great men from past centuries, so what do I really need to meet them for. I’d definitely be more inclined to see what happens in the future, but, within the constraints of the question, I guess I can’t really go forward in time to meet anyone because they have yet to exist. Time travel is a tricky subject.

ANYWAYS, once I wrap my head around the semantic arguments for and against these stupid questions, I find that I actually like them. I like thinking about the person I would meet given no boundaries. I find myself thinking of all the men that have ever existed and I find myself thinking that I would go back in time and meet Brutus. What can I say, I like ruinous figures. The stock and therefore more boring answer, of course, is Jesus. Everyone wants to say they’d love to walk a mile with Jesus asking him those hard questions (In fact, I said he was my absolute hero back on page ____). “Why does an all-loving God allow for pain in his world.…blah blah blah.” Honestly, like Jesus didn’t have to answer this enough times before he was crucified. Furthermore, Jesus is not a doleful figure even though he died on a cross painfully. He is God’s son; you don’t get much less tragic than knowing exactly where you’re going when you die. I mean isn’t that the tragedy of life anyways, the fact that we have no real idea of why we’re here or what happens to us when we die?

So, anyways I’d like to meet Brutus. I’d like to ask him exactly what he was thinking when he stabbed his best friend in the back. It amazes me to think that a person could love his form of government with such passion that he would murder a friend. I’d love to ask him where his love for the Roman system came from.

I’d ask him if Shakespeare’s version really holds any water. I can’t imagine Caesar’s real last words were, “Et tu Brute,” it seems more plausible that they were Latin for, “What the fuck, you just stabbed me with a knife, you’re going to hell man…” I’d like to delve deeper. I’d ask Brutus what he thought he was going to accomplish by killing Caesar. He was killed soon thereafter so he never saw the rise of Octavian, but I wonder how he would feel knowing that his murder of a friend actually made the downfall of the republic inevitable. He martyred Caesar and in so doing Rome became an empire. I wonder how he would feel about this, given that he murdered Caesar to free the republic of tyrants. I’d like to ask him about the Roman transit system and maybe his thoughts on God then I’d get back to my previous line of questioning like why he really murdered him in the first place. Oh, I know he’d say to preserve the republic, but given the benefit of hindsight it is pretty clear that Rome had to become an empire. The land controlled by the Romans was too vast and the system of the republic was breaking down. Periodically, in times of great need, men had governed Rome as supreme rulers for years at a time. Then again, these rulers were often executed because Romans came to believe that they wanted the power to be emperor for life, and no man was bigger than the republic. I guess this is probably how Brutus felt at the time, but I’d like to know for sure. Anyhow, it was still inevitable. Rome was going to be governed by someone. I always wonder how Brutus would feel knowing that every emperor was referred to as a Caesar, and that the word has since disseminated throughout the remnants of the Roman Empire (Kaiser, King, Czar etc…)

I think my great wonderment about Brutus is resultant of his place in history. Here’s this guy at the turning point of a civilization who believes so fervently in the republic that he is willing to commit the ultimate atrocity, and against a friend no less. I think it further piques my interest because the country we live in now resurrected the Roman ideal almost 2,000 years later. America, basically, brought representative democracy back from its Roman grave, and I see similarities between Brutus and our founding fathers. That’s why I’ll always be sympathetic to Brutus because if our republic was ever in danger of being overthrown by some “great man” with a thirst for a great title, I’d like to think I’d be there waiting, knife in hand, and after the deed was done he’d turn to me and say, “Et Tu Austin.” Except I know it’s more likely he’d say, “What the fuck, you just stabbed me with a knife, you’re going to hell man…”

I don't know; I was drunk

I’ve been trying to think about what to write about for a while and the thing is I’m sapped, I’m dry, I’m through. There’s nothing left for me; nothing. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to write about everything I’ve always wanted to do but never could because honestly this is the only thing left that is remotely interesting to myself, so I can only imagine the interest level of everyone else. I mean this; there is only one truly interesting conversation any human can have with any other biped and it is about the future. The present is not interesting because it’s happening as we speak; it is inherently un-interesting. The past is similarly boring but for a different reasons. Whenever you speak about the past, it is in terms of a story (unless you’re with someone who lived the past with you then its fine to reminisce) because it is truly impossible to relive; no matter who’s telling the story. And if the past and the present are not worth re-living then there can be only one synonym for future worth re-living and that is one that has not yet occurred. It is impossible for the future to bore a single soul and this is why it will always be vastly transfixing and eternally interesting.
My future holds many questions. It holds the type of questions that fill every mind. What will I be doing in five years? Will I be happy? It holds the type not held by others. How would my life be different if werewolves existed? Is a mint chocolate latte the new tapioca pudding? Then there are the types where I wonder if I have the ability to engender my own verbal cojones and ride.

-Run across the US of A
This is important though it has (obviously) already been immortalized in film. Really, the only reason to do this is my roommate Nick’s drunken statement that we need to do it. In reality, I don’t really know why this would be something we would possibly want to do.
-Ghost ride the whip
Okay, this one makes way more sense. Nick and I were watching the local news on the televizzle in San Francisco this week and a reporter named Stanley Roberts—possibly the retired basketball player, but I can’t be sure—tore the lid off of a story plaguingthe Bay area. Kids all over the bay are “Ghost riding the whip.” That is, they are getting out of their cars while the automobile is in neutral and dancing around them. I wouldn’t want to do this so badly except that one of the geniuses tried to do this while speeding along at 40 miles per hour in a car that had terrible alignment. Obviously, hilarity ensued.
-Go to Playboy mansion
Girls, if your boyfriend doesn’t echo this sentiment you need to dump him. He is either a) lying to you or b) gay. Just some food for thought.
-Stand in the batter’s box versus Roger Clemens
This is just a personal one, but I’d like to see a 95 ile per hour fastball whiz by my dome.
-Stream myself on the internet having sex with Heidi Klum (because that is the only way people would believe it)
Ummmm….I probably shouldn’t be drunk when I write.
-Be part of the cast of Saved by the Bell: The 72nd class
a. subpoint; DO Kelly Kapowski
Saved By The Bell was the most important television show of my mid childhood. Honestly, I can’t count the times I wish I had Zach’s life.
-Invent some thing on par with the piano key necktie
I INVENTED IT THE PIANO KEY NECKTIE. I INVENTED IT. WHAT HAVE YOU INVENTED DEREK.
-Talk Christian Slater into biting people
I’m always enthralled when people act in absolutely irrational ways. I could have put Marv Albert instead of Slater, but I figured knowledge of the star of Broken Arrow would be more universal—barely—than the old voice of the NBA. Anyways, I have no idea what would compel one person to literally bite another to the point of terrible pain (especially when not actually part of a sex act) but I’d love to find out.
-Meet someone on Megan’s Law website; give URL
Okay, so there are 77 registered sex offenders in my zip code alone. By contrast there are 15 in Laguna Niguel and 12 in Dana Point. Now, I’m usually on the side of people in trouble with the law, but forced rape of people under 14 is more than a little disturbing. I need to meet one of these people so that I can hate them properly.
-Cut an onion after washing the knife
This is just stupid.
-In the future, my tombstone will say: This man was a rebel. He used E before I except after C.
What can I say; I’m a rebel against my own language.
-According to Jim will still be on the air and it will still suck.
I’ve now seen this show—by accident—twice and each time I saw it my brain became less intuitive and my actions stifled. For at least a week, I worried that someone would say, “Hey, he stole that joke from Jim Belushi,” because if they did I would be forced to take my contacts out with sandpaper.
-Strangle Lenny Kravitz
I don’t know about this; whenI’m not drunk he seems alright.
-Publish a book called Heroin: What I did to oust cocaine
This will definitely have o happen in the future because I don’t think its true at this time. Heroin still seems like a drug that when other people heard you did it, they would think you had a deathwish whereas cocaine is still recreational. This is going to change.
-Write my master’s thesis; Stranded in Time: A Devotional with the mind of Eva Longoria
She’s the reason people don’t watch The Wire; I just can’t prove it.
-Change a baby’s diaper
I’m sure this will eventually happen.
-Meet a Jew
I mean a real practicing Jewish person, not one that goes to synagogue only on Yom Kippur and Passover
-Go to a Pakistani/Indian Restaurant
O wait, I did that and I canot believe it actually exists. The whole time I was waiting for a war to break out over the best dinner tables in the place.
-Learn that Death Trick from Kill Bill
I don’t know much, but I do know that David Carradine doesn’t need to be in any more movies or on my Yellow Book advertisements.
-Go on Late Night with Conan O’Brien
He is without question the best late night host. The question is what will I do to get on the show. Let’s start a campaign.

Randomalities to the Future

So, it’s Sunday, which means I’m—in all probability—eating Chinese Food and drinking a Coca-Cola though I’m contemplating going to a bar and drinking beer instead. And the reason I’m eating Chinese Food? I don’t know. I felt like Chinese and this is even though its on my list of second tier foods. And the thing is, I don’t usually have a hankerin’ for second tier foods. I mean, most times there are enough first-tier foods to sate my hunger lust. Considering that they are first-tier foods for a reason. I can eat them again and again under almost any circumstance. So, why do I find myself here on this computer writing about Chinese Food, Coca-Cola and now listening to Sparta.

Well, the (obvious) answer to the question: “Why am I eating Chinese?” is simple; I’m hung-over and there is no accounting for hung-over taste, it’s sort of like when pregnant women have the inexplicable desire to eat ten gallons of ice cream and pork rinds, except in my case its because I drank an inordinate amount not because I drank an inordinate amount and then forgot to use a prophylactic.

So, now I’m drinking my second favorite soda and listening to a shitty band play shitty music because I figured I might as well complete the chain, and not be happy (absolutely) about anything. So, now that my insatiable desire for Chinese Food has been sated, I might as well create a list of foods, split into groupings that my taste buds tend to agree with. If you don’t agree with my list then you should probably get your own forum to write on (Wow, I got unleashed there for a second).

Generally Un-edible
- Stuff that’s green
- Watermelon
- Cantaloupe
- Melons in general
- Squash
- Sweet Potatoes with those Marshmallows on top; I hate those. They always seem like they SHOULD taste good, and they never do.
- Popcorn flavored jellybeans

Periodically Eat-able
- Thai Food
- Chinese Food
- Vietnamese Food
- Popcorn
- Salads
- Octopus
- Endangered Species’

Stuff That I Generally Like though it’s probably killing me
- Pizza (Hawaiian)
- Corn on the Cob
- Indian Food—Naan
- Steak
- Potatoes (preferably baked or mashed)
- Stuffing
- Honey-Baked Ham
- Japanese Food (Sushi included)
- Mexican Food (especially Chile Rellenos)

There's High Culture, There’s Low Culture and there’s Pop Culture

I used to think that I was a high culture kind of guy. I’d talk about dead artists with my girlfriend/mom/dad/local transients for the longest time. It didn’t matter; I wanted to talk about it. I don’t know why I would do this, but my bet is that it was probably an attempt to seem smart and marginalize the experiences of other people. Probably, I thought I had better taste or could learn more about art from a single painting, or a single album than anyone else could learn from all of the art in the world. In short, it’s probably because I was a teenager.

At the time, I think I liked art because I thought it could explain the emotions and feelings of an artist in his era. In conjunction, I thought they probably captured the zeitgeist in which they lived.

Today, I don’t care about high culture art. It honestly makes no difference to me. Now don’t take this the wrong way, Vincent Van Gogh painted some really cool stuff and I like to gaze at it, but there is no way that I think Starry, Starry Night reflects the feelings of an entire culture. I look back on my past self and wonder how I ever could have thought that a guy who was crazy enough to cut his own ear off ever could have had that same lobe to the ground understanding the pulse and needs of the general public.

I like low culture art, and it is not because I like ideas contained in pop art like the acceleration of culture (which probably exists to some extent) or moral relativism (which is on display throughout this journey). I like low culture art because it tells me what I should be or at the very least, what other people think I should be. I think I probably like it because of marketing executives.

Marketing executives have one job; to advertise through creating art in the hopes that it will induce me to consume said product. Therefore, they are creating art they think I will like (and buy) in hopes I’ll spend my hard-earned bones on their wares. Low culture art tells me about what I should be through the eyes of others. I think this form of art reflects our era better than a thousand contemporary pieces of high culture art.

I’ve seen every Saved by the Bell episode at least two or three times, and I’m proud to admit it. Saved by The Bell characterizes what people thought a normal high school experience in the early ‘90’s should be (maybe) minus the comic relief of Mr. Belding. Now, in the early ‘90’s I was in fourth grade and as such I thought every thing Zack Morris did was not only ubercool but entirely plausible. I saw no reason why the coolest kid in school wouldn’t be able to call timeout and have an internal monologue with an exterior audience. I also thought it was totally normal that Zack would only have five friends even though that’s sort of an antithesis of being cool (I guess I thought that the most important facet of coolness was exclusivity or something). It didn’t even register to me that Zack’s friends were all high school stereotypes. None of this mattered. What mattered is that as early as fourth grade I knew what was expected of me in high school because Saved by the Bell explained it to me.

This cultural significance is what makes Saved by the Bell more important than any high culture art form. It is cultural art. This is what we expect life to be. If you were to put pop art in a time capsule it wouldn’t be a very good reflection of the beauty that humans can create outside of societal norms, it would be a reflection of the experience of living within societal norms. Pop art teaches us how we actually expect ourselves to live. It is a reflection of us. I think this is somehow more beautiful.

New Rules

Ten Rules I Live By

1. Never bet on Peyton Manning in the playoffs.
2. Watch “24” every week bar none. In fact, I’ve only ever missed one episode of 24. At the time, a girl and I were going through a long break-up— this was the final straw. No one keeps me from my man-crush on Jack Bauer.
3. Watch the O.C. every week
4. Always be able to see my penis. When I get older I want to be jovially plump, but my grandpa is a little bit out of control. The penis test is the best way to make sure you’re never too fat. If you can’t see your penis, lose some weight. Reader’s Note: I don’t actually know what my Grandpa’s status on the penis test is. However, he is a very rotund man.
5. If at all possible, drive, don’t fly. Of course, from what I hear, gas is a precious commodity and this is a ridiculous waste of said resource. Still, I’m American and, as such, I just don’t care.
6. Listen to Bill Simmons and never bet against Tom Brady, Larry Bird, and/or any other random Boston sports figure.
7. Star Trek: The Next Generation was superior in every way to the original Star Trek.
8. I don’t drink coffee because it’s not good for me, I do drink copious amounts of alcohol most days of the week. I’m very selective about my life choices.
9. Give a dollar to every bum I see because he could be Jesus. I’m serious about this. One time when I was a young child, I made fun of a bum and my Dad told me it wasn’t a nice thing to do—I knew it wasn’t nice when I did it, but that’s not the point. Everyone knows children can be mean (sometimes I think they’re the worst people on the planet). He told me that I should always be nice to bums because it could be the Son of Man himself. I understand now that this would mean that Jesus had returned and that the world should be somewhere near the apocalypse, but as a young child I thought it was totally plausible that God’s son could be the bum I would never see again, and this one time I talked to him would be the only time I talked to Jesus. Not surprisingly, I gave bums all of my money.
10. I only live by nine rules.

I Heart Basketball

Steve Nash & The System

Steven Nash is a very good basketball player. In fact, for the past two years he’s been voted the most important player for what may become the most important team to play in the NBA in years. Amazingly, this man has never scored more than 19 points a game. His awards are testaments to basketball the way it was meant to be played—that is to say; how it was played in the ‘50’s, ’60,’s and ‘80’s—and the adulation of his team’s style of play is simply nostalgia for a happier time—for basketball anyways. But this sudden transformation begs a simple question (echoed by Mark Cuban). Where was this Steve Nash before he joined the Phoenix Suns? Now, don’t get me wrong; He was a very good player long before he joined the Suns, a two-time all star (not a two-time MVP). Here’s the real question, at what point did this six foot three inch dude become the best player in the league. How did he make such a precipitous jump in ability at the age of 31, and what does this mean for the rest of us?
One would think that most times, and in most vocations, a person’s ability is mostly quantifiable. A person is good at their job or they aren’t. A person is fun or terrible. Things are black and things are white. There is no in between when it comes to yes and no questions. Salesmen are salesmen and marketers are marketers. And in general, this is true. People tend to float from job to job until they find a vocation suited to their general (and specific) skill set. In sports, this often does not happen, and there is a simple reason why; athletes have chosen their field, and when a player changes teams he is doing precisely that. He is changing his incorporated municipality (with a shared tax base), not changing jobs.
But here’s the weird thing, and the reason Steve Nash is my frame of reference. In basketball, more often than not, superstars are easily quantifiable. They are (almost) always obviously better at the sport than their peers and most times their dominance is easily viewed visually, i.e. Lebron James is, physically, the most talented basketball player I’ve ever seen. This should not be misconstrued as anything other than an obvious fact. I’m sure Lebron James spent hours and hours honing his craft and nothing (besides a 100 million dollar deal from Nike) was given to him, but when one looks at Lebron James, Carmelo Anthony or Amare Stoudemire; one sees a person better suited to play basketball than oneself. Now, so far this hasn’t really been an argument as much as a restatement of the obvious. We all know that Carmelo Anthony is a stellar athlete. What I’m wondering is how come no one knew Steve Nash was such a great basketball player? In a sport where fundamental strengths—as well as deficiencies—are always on display, how come no one knew Steve Nash would excel—the way he did--as a Sun? The answer is at one time both exceedingly obvious enough and sufficiently layered enough to be interesting.
First, Steven Nash is not physically imposing, he has never averaged 30 points per game—nor has he scored 50—and he isn’t a fixture on SportsCenter for his own dunking exploits. In short, he is not the type of player who is supposed to take over a game.

However, there is an obvious problem with this logic. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of basketball—as I’m sure anyone making a stop at this site possesses—knows the inherent importance of a good point guard. What happened when the Nets got Jason Kidd ( a guy who scores 14 points per game)? They immediately became legitimate World Title contenders. In 1980, the Lakers went from a team without a direction to NBA champions because Magic Johnson began running the show. John Stockton went to the playoffs for 1,234,432,234 straight years and he scored something like 15 points a game. The point guard position is the only position on the basketball court where points are secondary, so why do people constantly over-emphasize points when evaluating talent. If a pre-requisite for point guard play was filling it up then the Knicks would be a great team, and Stephon Marbury never would have been traded 24 times in the first place. This is the layered part of the problem. The point guard position is the only position on a basketball court that is not easily quantifiable. Points and rebounds are easily distinguishable, but successfully running a team is not. Of course, we could use assists, but that is actually a flawed system. Let’s take a look at this; an assist occurs only when a player directly causes a teammate to score. Well, the same point guard surrounded by poor talent would not have nearly as many assists as his incantation would have on a stellar squad. This type of statistical gray area creates a murkier picture for understanding true talent form the guard spot. The problem is that to truly be great, a point guard has to have other great players around him, but does that mean he is truly great? What came first the chicken or the egg, the sock or the shoe? Well, Jason Kidd inherited a team (the Nets) that were awful a year before and took them to the Finals. Steve Nash inherited a 20 something win team and took them to 62 victories and a berth in the Bestern Conference Finals. Obviously, their play was integral to their teams’ respective turnarounds. So, the query still remains, why was Nash overlooked?

I think a great place to look for this is in another sport; namely football. This quandary occurs all the time in that physical endeavor. Players excel in one system only to flounder in another or vice versa. For example, once upon a time Steve Young was benched when he was plying his trade for a terrible Tampa Bay squad. Eventually He was labeled a bust and (basically) given to the 49ers. Five years later, he was starting in the Pro Bowl for the San Francisco 49ers. What happened? The answer is obvious; he found a system that fit him. The reason this happens in football is simple; successful coaches create a system and then find players to fit it (unsuccessful coaches don’t find those players), and this happens all the time. Would Emmitt Smith have been as great as he was if Jimmy Johnson hadn’t surrounded him with other great players and an offensive line that by my count averaged 894 pounds. The answer is probably not, but that doesn’t matter because he found a system that fit him. This is a common occurrence in football, but it doesn’t happen often in basketball and there is a simple reason. Football is complex, basketball is not. There are 22 players on a football field at any one time and 53 separate players on each team, and this means that the system is more important than any one player. Basketball is usually different because the players—not the coaches—create the system. What this means is that in basketball the players are (almost) always more significant than the coaches. The Phoenix Suns are an exception. They wanted to create a system, and they knew that the only way to create their system was to go out and find the best available prospect to run it. They were able to find Nash because they were able to forecast that their system would fit his skill set better than the one he was currently inhabiting and they were able to do this because…. well I don’t know how they figured that one out.