World Cup

The one thing that soccer actually gets right is the fact that it's called "football" in the rest of the world. After all, it is played primarily with the feet...much more so than the sport to which we Americans apply that name. But otherwise...

No, I'm not going to go there. I'm just not. Everybody and their dog has already posted rants about what a colossally boring game soccer is, how annoying the fans are, and how we should nuke every country that doesn't have a McDonalds, etc etc. I suspect that none of you wants to read another list of questions like "How can they play the stupid game for an hour without scoring when the freakin' net is 30-feet wide?" and "Why don't they wear more pads on their legs fergawshsakes?" That would be almost as boring as the game itself. And it would just be too easy to fill a column with comparisons against more action-packed and exciting games. Like baseball.

No, the topic I want to explore today is why the tournament is called a "Cup". Oh, I can see the "World" part of it, since there is representation from a multitude of countries, many of which have iPod-to-teenager ratios below the Mendoza line. But unlike, say, the Stanley Cup -- which can actually hold liquid (though I suspect that only Andre the Giant would consider it to be "cup"-sized) -- the World Cup trophy doesn't possess anything remotely resembling cuplike features. In fact, it's a rather frightening thing, appearing to have the fellow from "The Scream" melting in flames while he's about to be crushed by an incoming asteroid. Doesn't seem like something you'd describe with the adjective "coveted", does it?


The fact of the matter is that most trophies are pretty stupid. They tend to take the form of an implement of the sport (eg, a ball, shoe, or bowling pin, etc) or a copy of the Silver Surfer in a pose no human would ever assume. Swimming trophies are especially bad, since the proto-model for the "getting ready to dive" pose predates Johnny Weismuller by a couple of centuries. But I can understand that idea -- since the look of a sport like swimming may change rapidly, it doesn't make sense to update the trophy paradigm every few years. I mean, full-body neoprene suits are legal...then they aren't -- shaved heads are in, and then it's all about logo-imprinted caps, etc. You can't expect the sculptors to keep up.

When you think about it, though, all awards have some of the same difficulties. Other than displaying it in a diorama, what can you do with a medal? You could wear it on a ribbon around your neck, I suppose, but unless you're at a White House dinner or something, you'd look pretty darned silly -- not to mention the problems you'd have with it banging against stuff every time you bent over to use a drinking fountain or whatever. And I suspect that most people would consider a living-room trophy case or office-cubicle wall display to be a bit overstated, especially for us weekend warrior types who only pick up award hardware because we attend events that the real athletes don't attend.

Anyway, the point is that the soccer championships should be called "The World Futbol Tournament" and its trophy "The Hideous Flaming Amorphous Dude Being Crushed By a Planet". And a "cup" should be used to hold beverages, not to represent athletic accomplishment (or recognition of parenting skills, or whatever). Unfortunately, I have no suggestions for what sorts of tangible awards would be a better choice for the victors to receive. I guess I'll have to go think about it. In the meantime, please enjoy your God-given right as an American to ignore soccer and to make fun of its billions of fans. And have a great day!

NOTE: No need to write your congressman; I am aware that "Wilson" is not a soccer ball. The use of that image in a blog about a completely different sport is what we writers call "artistic license". Thank you for your support.

Roots

For a blog about keeping pace, this space has not featured many pace-related topics lately. I’m not too worried about it, since I know that most readers are equally concerned with creeping communism, alien invasions, grammatical anomalies, and charitable concerns about finding belts for all those underprivileged teens whose trousers have succumbed to gravity’s relentless pull. But every now and then, I’d like to return to the basics upon which this blog was founded.

Today’s topic is: What makes for a “fun” workout?

Our swim team has a tradition called “Fun Friday”, where the coach is called upon to create a workout that brings joy and pleasure to the participants. (Unlike, I suppose, the "normal" days of torment, torture, and cruelty.) I struggle a little bit with this concept, because it seems to me that any hours spent in the water improving your speed and fitness, while simultaneously enjoying the company and encouragement from your friends...well, THAT is always fun!

But according to surveys taken among the group, the fact that I think 3 timed 1650s is "fun" doesn't necessarily mean that my teammates endorse my definition of the word. From feedback I've received, I'm getting the impression that the common definition of fun among this group means doing a couple of 25s on a 2-minute sendoff while wearing party hats and playing ukeleles.



Sigh. But since I take my coaching duties seriously, I do endeavor to add some of those kinds of sets to the workout on occasion. But I also feel obligated to continue my quest to educate the gang on the pure joy and bliss that can be attained by doing hard repeats on a fast interval and holding a steady pace throughout a long set. That's FUN, in my book. And after all, the same words can be interpreted in many different ways. (Example: "Global Warming" defined as a phenomenon that produces cold, rainy/snowy weekends in the middle of June.)

I'll keep you posted on whether I achieve success in getting the group to jump on my particular definitional bandwagon. In the meantime, have a great day!

Time Travel

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was suddenly receiving additional cable TV channels. Well, several of them have vanished again, and some of the others are running a text banner saying that I'll lose them if I don't upgrade to a more expensive cable package. So it appears that the "bonus" channels were a marketing ploy to entice me to spend major megabucks for the privilege of surfing through twice as much unwatchable garbage as before. Sigh. I shall miss the opportunity to veg out with baseball when these additional channels are revoked, but otherwise will not suffer too badly. Do your worst, Comcast! I spit upon your pitiful attempts to further empty my wallet!

Don't get me wrong -- I support capitalism, and I don't begrudge anyone the right to market their services (except email spammers...I would gladly throw every last one of those lowlife scumbags into a pit of razor blades and then soak them with flaming napalm while laughing madly to hear their screams of anguish), but I really don't need to spend more time watching reruns of America's Funniest Babies Hitting Their Parents in the Crotch, etc. I'm content to stick with Netflix and YouTube for all my entertainment needs.

That said, I will confess that I was flipping through channels after the ballgame the other day, and ran across "Back to the Future", which I think we can all agree is the greatest movie ever made. (Well, on my list it's a tie with "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", but I know there are some folks who don't have the intellectual horsepower to fully grasp the brilliance of Python's cinematic achievements, so I don't expect everyone to agree with me there.) And even though I've seen BTTF a few hundred times, it still grabs me, and it still stimulates deep and profound philosophizing.

The best movies do that, don't they? They make you think, consider alternative viewpoints, and ask large intellectual questions. They may even help you understand your place in the Universe, and how it relates to those other entities with whom we share the planet.



For example, in the all-time classic film "UHF", there's a scene where the owner of Channel 8 requests a Rolex watch for his birthday. Does this represent a literary reference to TV-company greed (eg, a timeless warning for us to beware of corporate manipulations such as the aforementioned Comcast "more channels" ploy)? Or is it an endorsement of the rights of high achievers to be granted high rewards for those achievements? Or is it a clever use of foreshadowing to indicate that "time" is running out for the obsolete model of network dominance in a world of alternative choices in entertainment media?

Or is it merely a character development device to show that this guy is a shallow and pretentious moron who thinks that an expensive watch will somehow keep better time than a cheap Timex? I guess I'd tend to lean toward that interpretation...but then again, I'm the first to admit that I do not understand the concept of jewelry at all. To me, a watch is for telling time and taking splits, and that's it. It needs to be waterproof and comfortable, but has no requirement at all to be constructed of precious metals and encrusted with diamonds. Oh sure, I do know that chicks dig earrings and necklaces and stuff for some baffling reason, and I'm more than happy to do the jewelry-as-a-gift thing when required to score points in a relationship...but if you give me the choice of a $30 IronMan watch with large digits and easy-to-reach buttons versus a $20,000 Rolex, I'll take the IronMan every time.

(Well, OK, I'd actually take the Rolex -- and then trade it in for an IronMan watch and $19,970 in cash...but you know what I mean.)

Anyway, the point is that I don't have a Delorean time machine, and yet am perfectly able to leap into the future. This weekend was a prime example; it was Friday...and then suddenly it was Monday! I'm not sure how this happened -- I never reached 88 mph at all. But somehow the weekend hours I was planning to use for housekeeping, grocery shopping, and career advancement planning had suddenly vanished...and I found myself catapulted into the next work week without having spent nearly enough time enjoying the weekend. Oh, I suppose I did manage to attend an outstanding party on Saturday night, and had a good swim practice and tennis game on Sunday. And I guess I was able to watch a little bit of baseball and edit a couple of Veterans History Project discs. But I'm still convinced that the Future has appeared without giving me the benefit of enjoying enough of the Present, and I'm a bit grumpy about that.

Sigh. Why doesn't Life ever fling me into the Past, where I could advise myself to invest in the iPod and to not buy that crappy used Cadillac that broke down all the time and smelled like old people?

Oh well. I guess I can squeeze the laundry and shopping in along with the other weekday chores and duties. There is much to do before the next weekend time-shift throws me forward another couple of days. I'd better get to it.

Have a great day!

Henchmen Superstars

I would argue that Oddjob is the best henchman ever, though honorable mention would have to go to Richard Kiel's "Jaws", Wez, Tony P (defender of Disco), and of course, Gary Busey. The qualities that make for top-shelf henching include fanatic devotion to the cause, ruthless cruelty, intimidating physical presence, and sometimes, a steel-brimmed hat.

OK, OK, I hear your complaints -- I suppose I could also include the Darths (Vader and Maul) on the list. Sigh. I suppose a red light saber does lend some Oddjob-style hipness to their Imperial henchitude, but the fact that wussy-ass Luke also wields a similar weapon detracts from the uniqueness required for true henchman awesomeness. On the other hand, the devil-face 'n horns thing and the heavy-breathing helmet-mask costume add back some pretty serious uniqueness points, so I guess it's a wash.

The jury is out on the cape, though. In general, capes work well for the main villain (or on a hero for that matter), but usually seem a bit overstated for the lower-level enforcer types. Vader wears it well, though, so I guess I won't complain.



But speaking of the Darths, the two of them provide pretty good examples regarding the vocal requirements of the genre. Basically, the rules for henchman speech demand that you choose one of these two options:

1) Be James Earl Jones,
or
2) Don't say anything.

You can do a Banshee scream (Wez), or utter the occasional threat or intimidating growl...but the scariest guys are the ones who keep their thoughts to themselves. Or if you have a hench-duo tandem team, you can have one talker and one strong and silent type:



The other type of speech allowed is the kind necessary for plot exposition. Simon Bar Sinister's henchman Cad (who probably has the best henchman name ever) routinely discusses the plans with his boss. I suppose there's no requirement for an evil mastermind to have a conversation partner; it's well known that madmen often soliloquize about their megalomania...but in Cad's case, the dialog works to emphasize the dichotomy between rational thought and the twisted rantings of the arch-villain. I suppose that "Rock Bottom" provides the same sort of dramatic device for "The Professor" within the Felix milieu.

And yes, I do consider cartoons to be a literary art form worthy of serious academic discussion and analysis. Why do you ask? Are you one of those pretentious ignoramuses who think that Hemingway and Faulker are somehow better than Underdog and Bullwinkle? If so, then I feel sorry for you. I pity the fool who doesn't understand that today's TV and movie pop culture are heavier and deeper than soggy old garbage like "Moby Dick". (Well, OK, maybe that was a bad example, since the ocean is very deep, and whales are very heavy...but you know what I mean.) I would argue that phrases such as "One point twenty-one jiggawatts!" have done more to educate and inspire people than drivel like "To be, or not to be," which doesn't even make sense, unless you're this guy.

And with that, I shall leave you to your own thoughts. I may have more to say about henchmen later (after all -- we haven't yet discussed the advantages of having all your henchmen wear identical uniforms, or the mystery of where Bond villains get all their thousands of expendable employees or the capital to hire them prior to the first laser-based ransom demand), but for the moment we should probably each return to our own plans for world domination and our Internet searches for aerodynamic steel-brimmed derbies. Enjoy yourself, and have a great day!

Henchmen

Yes, I DO feel really bad about going so long between blogs. But as Socrates once said, "All we are is dust in the wind, dude".

Well, OK, the dust-in-the-wind metaphor probably doesn't really go very far in explaining my verbal drought. In fact, it's horribly inapt, come to think of it...but perhaps my lack of ability to put forth a cogent metaphor (or simile or whatever) and poor current grasp of grammar skills might be the reason behind my hiatus from these pages. Or those could just be symptoms, with the cause being something more along the lines of being beaten down by The Man. Or maybe it's stress over James Cameron's lack of success in solving the oil spill crisis...or just the depressing realization that Christmas is so very VERY far away?

It could be any of those factors, or merely the fact that I haven't seen a good Ben Affleck movie lately. It could be fallout from my ongoing legal disputes with the Swedish Bikini team (don't ask), or it could be anxiety over rumors of Chuds (and/or Tommy Lee Jones) roaming the sewer pipes beneath the city. But let's just blame it on being busy at work and get down to business, OK?

Today's topic is a short one: Henchmen. For some reason, I had a dream about henchmen the other night...but instead of waking up in a cold sweat from worry over who might be sending their minions after me, I woke up questioning the origin of the word. Is "to hench" a verb, and these are the fellows who perform that action? And what is the difference between a henchman and a minion, anyway? According to the dictionary, a minion is a functionary who performs administrative duties while a henchman is a shadier character who often carries out his boss's desires with no particular regard for legalities or codes of chivalry. In other words, calling someone a minion ought to carry no particular negative connotation. But it seems to me that the word is hardly ever used without intent of disrespecting (or "dissing" as the young people say these days) the character of the person to whom it's applied. And it seems to me that "henchmen" and "minions" are often used interchangably, when they shouldn't be.

I shall have more to say on this topic tomorrow. But in the meantime, think about how many henchmen and minions you come across on a daily basis. And who are some of your favorite examples from history and/or fiction? We shall continue the discussion later. For now, I'm off to get ready for another busy day at the office.

Enjoy your pondering, and have a great day!