Category: sports

hard decisions

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You ever find something you love, that you’re really into, but the time sink is just too much with everything else you need/want/have to do?

I feel that way about baseball. I love the old game, the strategy, the drama, the fact that everything can change with one great pitch or one great swing or one great play (or one big fuck-up, to be fair).

But I can’t do it. It’s too much. It’s too much of a time sink. The stats, the game length, the fact that it’s three hours a day every day for almost half the year… would that I had nothing else in my life, but I do.

My love of ball is less than my love of reading. Or writing. Or love.

Such a shame is life.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1938 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Well Of Shiuan, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Voodoo v2 8-9, Grifter v3 9-10
Music: Frogstomp, Silverchair

she’s a brick house

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I never actually knew what that meant. Is she built like Andre the Giant?

Or prime Arnold?

Weird choice of words.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 922 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Planets, Jonathan Norton (oh, and Sagan)
Comics: WildC.A.T.S. 1-4
Music: The Final Solution - Outcesticide III, Nirvana

vincent

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This is the third time I’ve written this post, and for whatever reason, WordPress refuses to save the draft and when I come back to it later, it’s MIA. It’s the bronze medal post, I guess.

Speaking of bronze medals, how good were Piper Gilles and Paul Poirier in their final performance? Vincent is one of my favourite songs (mostly through the NOFX version, but the Don McLean version is also great, which is what they used).

I’m not a figure skating expert by any means, but I always question the subjective nature of the judging.

I mean, France was good, and the Americans technically sound, but Piper and Paul brought actual tears to my eyes. The story, the skill, the moment – I legitimately cried. How the fuck that rated a bronze is beyond me. The Kazakhs were brilliant as well, their high energy performance was head and tails above the eventual top two finishers.

The Americans shouldn’t even have rated. Sure, they were technically perfect, but there was nothing eventually remotely connective about the performance. Nothing about it touched me in any way. Nothing even seemed to be connected to the source material, in which they were were the fourth team to do Romeo and Juliet. The only part that actually seemed to be connected to the story was the ending, in which I’m pretty sure one of them stabbed themselves?

I thought they died by poison?

Anyway, Vincent was the performance of the games, better than any other performance we saw, and we’re very proud. Fuck the judges. Fuck America.

Paul and Piper, you were fucking brilliant – one of the all-time best performances ever at an Olympics, in my oh so humble opinion.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 1419 words, short story: Ultra Mundane

Read: Catch-22, Joseph Heller
Comics: Fables 156-159
Music: 1969: Velvet Underground Live, Vol. 2, The Velvet Underground

albufeira

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Nice place. Affogato and ice cream on the beach, which is a crazy orange. Pretty cool.

We’re getting around okay, even with the cobblestones. Great dinner, watched the opening ceremonies of Milano Cortina, which was amazing, because I didn’t realize the room was filled with almost entirely Canadians until we were introduced and the place blew up.

I’m not particularly patriotic, but I’ll admit.

It choked me up.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 1097 words, short story: Never Worked That Hard

Read: The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
Comics: Fables: The Wolf Among Us 44-47
Music: 13 Fluid Ounces, Sublime

at least they went down fighting

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I mean, they Leafed it, in the Leafiest possible way, blowing a lead in the ninth inning and losing in extra innings, but he, you can’t say they didn’t battle it out.

And kudos to the Dodgers. They made some huge plays when they needed to.

I won’t blame Kirk. If his bat hadn’t broke, that would have blooped right over the infield and set up runners at the corners, at least.

Bad luck, and heartbreak.

You know they’re coming hard next year.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 815 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Rage, Stephen King
Comics: Chapel v2 6, Youngblood v2 5-6, Combat 2
Music: Welcome To The Pleasuredome, Frankie Goes To Hollywood

hallowe’en

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Okay, okay. That sucked, but we still have another shot.

Christ, I forget sometimes how stressful playoffs are, in any sport. The level of detail get so magnified. It’s really something to behold.

If the Leafs ever make the Stanley Cup finals, I might go into cardiac arrest.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1723 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Rage, Stephen King/Richard Bachman
Comics: Vogue 3, Badrock 2, Combat 1, Youngblood v2 4
Music: Welcome To The Drama Club, Everclear (underrated band, for sure)

fun fun

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Everything is wonderful and collapsing.

Shared experiences are kind of fun, as a community, as a country.

I’m not exactly a patriot, but I believe in the values we profess – kindness, strength through community, an independent and welcome demeanour.

Sit down and have a beer beer, bud. We’re going to game six together.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1698 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Faded Sun: Kesrith, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Grifter/Badrock 2, Vogue 2, Youngblood v2 3, Chapel v2 5
Music: Welcome To Paradise, Green Day

could this like, actually happen?

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It’s Toronto sports, but the Jays ain’t the Leafs, so I guess the jury’s out.

Will they finish them off Friday night (or Saturday, if things go awry)?

Or is this going to be the Leafiest shit that ever Leafed, and we blow it fucking all?

Somebody tell Auston Matthews to stay the fuck home.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1094 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Faded Sun: Kesrith, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Youngblood v2 2, Bloodstrike Assassin 0, Chapel v2 4, Bloodpool 4
Music: Welcome To New York, The Rolling Stones

you believe this shit?

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Fucking go, boys. I haven’t been this excited about the Jays since Bautista’s bat flip, or my childhood obsession with Tom Henke kicked into high gear.

Fuckin’ Terminator , man.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1464 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Faded Sun: Kesrith, C.J. Cherryh (this one is a little Dune-y, but man, is she ever good at creating worlds, while maintaining great characterization, something many sci-fi writers are incapable of)
Comics: Bloodpool 3, Grifter/Badrock 1, Riptide 2, Vogue 1
Music: Welcome To My Dream, MC 900 feat. Jesus

guilt

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I mean, I’ve got a lot of it.

I try not to have it. I know people that look like me have done all kinds of horrible shit, and indeed, due to stupidity or selfishness or ignorance of the world around me, I’m sure I’ve done more than my fair share.

I haven’t been a great man. I’m still not, as far as I know.

My life has been defined by trauma – not real trauma. I was never beaten or raped or witnessed a horrible crime. I have PTSD from bad employers, but who doesn’t?

My trauma seems inconsequential; it’s not warzone PTSD or survivor’s guilt.

It’s knowing that every day, things get worse. Brain beaten, bit by bit, until my brain feels like a hockey enforcer with CTE, even if it might not look that way.

But it’s all excuses, or so I’m told. Avoidance. I should feel guiltier, they tell me. I should feel the weight of two thousand years of straight white male oppression.

And I do.

I don’t know how I stand it.

I don’t know how anyone stands it. I sit at the bottom of this world, like Atlas without the muscles, squished, guts oozing out my sides, eyes literally popping out of my skull like a sausage being run over by a Mack Truck.

And yet, somehow, still alive.

I feel it. I feel it all.

I feel the world’s pain, its anger, its suffering.

And I’m not sure how much longer I can stand. 

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2287 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: World Of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Comics: Tomb Raider Journeys 5-6, Tomb Raider 23-24
Music: Exile On Main Street, The Rolling Stones