Olympic Softball

Since no one with any clout seems to be saying it, I'm going to say it: Olympic Softball this year was a sham.

Now, let's think about who's making this statement. I'm as big a fan of the USA National Softball team as there is among the non-playing crowd, and I've tuned in to every World Cup and College World Series game since high school. I know the players, I follow the NPF (National Pro Fastpitch) whenever I can, and I even added a few National team commemorative cards to my over-sized baseball card collection. And, having time to tune in to the Olympics for the first time this year, I watched every match the USA played, save the last one.

And that's where the problem arises. Because I did watch the USA defeat Japan's non-Ueno pitching staff in Pool Play, and I did enjoy seeing the replay of the thrilling 4-1 extra-inning masterpiece that should be required viewing for anyone trying to expel the sport from the Olympic games. But then, when they should have been taking on Australia--the winner of the Canada/Australia semi-final matchup--for the Gold Medal in the last Olympic softball game for the foreseeable future, somehow, they faced Japan instead.

My beef is this: the "playoff" round--as opposed to the Pool Play round--featured the top four seeds from the Pool Play: USA, Japan, Australia, and Canada. In the alleged semi-finals, the USA beat Japan while Australia beat Canada. And then, naturally, a losing team, Japan, got to play Australia and get a second chance...wait, what? That's insane, folks, and it's insane for two reasons.

1. Why did Japan, the #2 seeded squad at 6-1 in Pool Play, play the #1 seeded team in the first round? How is this fair to them, having worked hard in the other games even while saving Ueno up, to have to play the best team despite earning another opponent? What tournament in the world seeds their semi-finals 1 vs 2 and 3 vs 4?

2. Why why why WHY would the #2 team then get two opportunities in the playoff rounds (since they lost once to start) at reaching the Gold Medal game, but the USA have only the single shot at taking the gold? Think about it: in essence, Japan was playing in a double-elimination tournament format, while the USA, Australia, and Canada were all playing single-elimination. How does this make sense? If we're going to force feed the two-seed into a 1-2 matchup, and then give them an extra chance to get back to the Gold Medal game, then why didn't the USA, who had already beat them once in the playoff round (not to mention in Pool Play), have a second chance to take the gold? After all, Japan did, falling once but then taking it all, despite only evening the playoff series at 1-1.

In both cases, how does that make any sense to a rational mind? No Little League tournament would get away with such a poorly-construed tournament format, let alone one that rewards a team for losing its first game in the playoff portion. This is nuts, and I find it amazing that fewer people involved with softball are voicing their disapproval. If there's anything about Olympic softball that suggests it should be gone from the Olympics, it's that their federation can come up with so crummy of a seeding- and playoff-format.

Again, this isn't to take away from Japan's performance in the alleged Gold Medal game, which was fantastic, and all the credit in the world is due to Yukiko Ueno, who pitched the game of her life. But I just don't agree that she should have had the extra opportunity to pitch that transcendent game, because the format of the playoffs for Olympic softball defied logic.

On a lighter note, I am very sad to see softball get the boot. I can't say that I agree with any of the official reasons for its dismissal--unpopularity with Europe--or the unofficial ones--American dominance. While I'm not European, I think they're missing out on a lot of quality competition in shunning softball and baseball, but I can address the second so-called reason that seems to be more popularly accredited as the cause behind the decision (a 52-52 vote, by the way). People said that America was too good for the sports sake, and that it made the sport pointless because the result was a foregone conclusion. But consider the way Olympic basketball went early on. The USA simply dominated, winning each Olympic tournament (save the clock-referee debacle against Russia in 1972) until Athens, when Argentina took the world by storm and walked away with the Gold. The USA had been as dominant as anyone in any sport, especially once professionals entered the picture, but yet, the sport endured and, over time, the gap between the USA and the rest of the world began to shrink, to the point now where ESPN is fawning over the resurgent squad in the Gold Medal game in Beijing. Who's to say that softball won't one day become like basketball, where the Olympic and World Cup tournaments are competitive affairs?

Softball may be gone from the 2012 Olympics in London, but there's hope for its return in 2016. Visit Back Softball to take a look at some of the efforts being made to bring it back, and make sure to tune in to the World Cup and College World Series to show your viewership-support for the sport. I know I've enjoyed watching the beautiful and supremely-talented woman of the USA National Team compete and, while I realize the silver medal feels like a disappointment, be proud of what you've done and, I'm sure, how many young women look up to you.

Love in the Time of Cholera Film Review

First, before we start confusing my message here, the fact remains: the producers made an egregious error in deciding not to make Love in the Time of Cholera in Spanish. Behind the puzzling decision, of course, was our old green friend, the almighty dollar, but, as things turned out, EAELTDC wasn't a cash cow anyway. And who would have expected it to be such? A story built so heavily on a very stretched concept of love, featuring mostly unknown names to the average American moviegoer, rarely succeeds at the box office here. So why not be true to Gabriel García Márquez's story and add the final, beautiful stroke of leaving it in its original tongue?

Alas, Newell and company decided to go a different direction, and the result was a far from perfect adaptation. Yet, in spite of some miscalculations--particularly the language, but also in the pacing dilemma and editing--the film adaptation of Gabo's beautiful novel proved a pleasant watch for one of the book's fans.

If it needed to be narrowed down, commendation is due thanks to the beautiful visual experience Love in the Time of Cholera presents. Shooting on-location in Columbia, the setting is gorgeous and colorful, evoking the thoroughly descriptive beauty of the world Gabo forged. From the first scene with the parrot, the viewer experiences rich, vibrant colors. Just as capably, though, the transition to darker moments and darker, more dreary places and times remains smooth. Filmed smoothly and indulgently, we earn a peek into a vividly alive world in a far-removed time, seeing both the exuberant daytime and crisp, chilly night through perfectly chosen lenses. The world Newell and company create most move quickly, and encompass the lives of the many characters peripheral to the principal love triangle of the story, and all these settings are built and filmed with substantial precision and care; despite quick, abrupt shifts in time or place, each area and location employed by the filmmakers receives its due diligence, whether the scene is a honeymoon barge bedroom or a dusty clerk's table in a market. Music was used thoughtfully, and the Shakira music--in Spanish, of course--added cultural authenticity to the movie and a potent emotional sway to transitional scenes.

Matching the success of the setting are the portrayals of the principals--Florentino Ariza (Unax Ugalde & Javier Bardem), Fermina Daza (Giovanna Mezzogiorno), and Dr. Juvenal Urbino (Benjamin Bratt). Ugalde creates the perfect young Florentino--eager, engrossed, awkward with the smile--and sets the character's innocent love in the perfect form. While Ugalde's apparent youth affects the way age comes across in the film, particularly in the way he appears to be identically Fermina's age, I doubt any young man could have better filled the role; even when mindlessly gummed flower petals while reading a letter, Ugalde built up a Florentino Ariza the audience could truly empathize with. Bardem, on the other hand, perhaps victimized by his dynamite performance as Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men, failed to offer the innocence Ugalde mastered during the transition age. But, as one might expect of as talented an actor, Bardem's performance as an aging Florentino succeeds marvelously, his careful speech and delicate, precise manner fit perfectly in with the Florentino Gabo penned, who--somehow--succeeded so much with the women of Columbia.

Mezzogiorno's Fermina plays a clear second fiddle to Ugalde and Bardema's Florentino, but she manages to build up a deeply layered character. Though the viewer has to employ the deleted scenes to get a full image (more on this later), Fermina comes across as completely naive early on (no better deliver of the "eggplant" line is possible, with Mezzogiorno throwing it away as a child would in a dinnertime compromise) and, as she ages, accomplishes both forced grace and aged authority. As for Bratt, Newell and the writers failed to take advantage of a near flawless performance; de-emphasizing Urbino made the story into a very non-isosceles love triangle, and it somewhat wasted Bratt flashing power, authority, and a uniquely different sort of love from Florentino. Bratt's charm as a young Urbino, doctoring about a beautiful young patient, contrasted with the boyish glee of flirting with Hildebranda and Fermina in the carriage evidenced the dynamic, ranging performance by Bratt.

While the setting, soundtrack, and acting all made the movie a success, a few strange decisions kept it from perfectly capturing Gabo's work. We could harp on the language selection, and I think we would be beating a dead horse at this point: I think, retrospectively, even Newell might be willing to admit that Spanish would have been the correct call. But that decision isn't alone as a detractor. First, in typical Mike Newell fashion (I'm thinking of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire), the beginning feels very rushed and, while the chronological demands necessitated some of it, the choice to leave out the extended opening--featuring all of the bathing and conversation between aged Fermina and Urbino leading up to his death--suggests a conscious decision to alter the love triangle in the film. With that scene, the audience sees a side of Fermina that the rest of the film ignores; amid all the "Was it really love?" comments, one gets the sense that, maybe subconsciously, or maybe more, Fermina still thinks of Florentino. That is, we get the sense that Urbino doesn't really command her love. But the extended scene, much more faithful to the novel, shows the loyal, respectful love that exists between them, and stands in valuable contrast to the rest of the film. Really, Newell traded out three extra minutes of a two hour, ten minute movie for less complex character relationships, which doesn't feel like a quality decision.

Second, the casting of John Leguizamo puzzles me, not on face value, but in the reign Leguizamo received; what accent was that? While he captured the necessary vigor and jerk-ness of Lorenzo Daza, he just didn't add to an already stretched realism; I don't know if it was a New York accent or not, as some critics panned, but it certainly didn't belong next to the crafted voices of Bratt, Mezzogiorno, and Bardem. Finally, as I mentioned pace a bit earlier, it bears mentioning that pacing was still an issue throughout much of the first half. Until Bardem entered, the film felt like it was moving too quickly, with brief character introductions--Liev Schrieber's two short appearances and the minuscule elaboration and depiction of the brothel, which provided such a valuable setting in the novel, both standing out--and even briefer explanation. While that certainly was appropriate for the fervor that Florentino discovered, it didn't fit with the excruciating waiting game Florentino had to play and, though the time shifts were clear enough, not until Ugalde's brilliant performance ended did I feel like Newell found his groove.

In conclusion, I can't help but say that, as a fan of the book--a big fan--I was more than pleased with the cinematic adaption, despite the problems some of the production teams' decisions presented. While I would have liked to see better pacing and inclusion of enough scenes between Bratt and Mezzogiorno to establish the properly composed love triangle, the acting, setting, and cinematography all teamed up to build a beautiful adaption of a beautiful love story, regardless of what professional critics said. Was there gratuitous nudity, plentiful sexual encounters, and two men, one who won an Oscar for playing a psychopathic killer and one who played a cop on Law and Order, trying to woo an Italian actress playing a Columbian? Yes on all counts. But, while it may sound strange to say, even with the obvious failings, Newell managed to tell the story faithfully, and in the process, evoke the beauty of that very novel. Gabriel García Márquez may have written better novels than this one, and Mike Newell has surely made better films, but I am grateful that, together, they allowed me to see one of my favorite novels come to life.

Caricature Oversaturation

So the local paper, the Sacramento Bee, loves to pretend like they're in the know more than they are. While Nick Peters, recently nominated for the Baseball Hall of Fame, is a reporter in the traditional sense, the Sports section offers a cavalcade of commentary that stretches from able to laughable. There's a decided Giants slant--I challenge anyone to counter that assessment--and hence the coverage of the just-as-local Oakland Athletics suffers. But, desperate to cover up this lack of knowledge, the Sacramento Bee sports journalists employ the wildly exciting technique of outdated caricature to convey the idea that they care more about the A's than, you know, the presence of the River Cats suggests they should. Take note of a line from Ailene Voisin's column today about the consequences of the Danny Haren and Nick Swisher trades:

Even Beane has changed. The longtime A's executive spends more time chatting with doctors than calculating his beloved on-base statistics. He has become a master of late-night thievery, having poached excessively from all of his A's farm teams and accounting for an absurd 180 moves alone with the River Cats.

What we see here is an attempt to paint Billy Beane as something beyond his role as MLB GM, and an antiquated image of Beane as the Moneyball stochastic hero that Michael Lewis wove. While it's admirable that the Bee staff has pop-culture caliber knowledge about what amounts to a two-sentence summary of Lewis' bestseller, it serves no purpose beside pure caricature, building a public persona about Beane that doesn't necessarily fit. It just seems lazy to me, because there's no way that Voisin is attempting to glorify Beane; if she and her fellow writers did, they would likely have a better command of sabermetrics, even in the most basics forms, which their fascination with wins, losses, and RBIs--as well as the persistent OBP Billy Beane references--suggests they don't.

Putting the lazy characterization aside for a moment, then, we can also take note of a bitter stab at the A's for "poaching excessively" from the AAA champion River Cats, only to bring up the minor league stars for a "meaningless" end of the MLB season. While this sort of blatant fandom is, at its most optimistic, understandable, it completely misses both the point of AAA baseball's existence and the players' (Daric Barton, Jerry Blevins, etc.) own interests. In the first regard, minor league baseball exists for the betterment of the MLB franchises; nice as it is that the River Cats typically excel in the standings, winning AAA championship banners does little more than decorate Raley Field. As for the latter, if you're Barton or Blevins, what do you prefer: sticking around for a meaningless minor league championship game in Oklahoma City, or collecting Major League pension time and making your Major League debut? If even one minor leaguer would pick the former, then the drug testing policies in MiLB aren't sufficient.

Slippery Soapbox of College Football Announcers

So I'm watching the University of Kentucky and Florida State University playing in the Gaylord Hotels Music City Bowl, and some FSU defensive back named Tony Carter just did a forward flip into the endzone after an awful interception. One of the announcers, ESPN's Ed Cunningham, has spent the last five minutes railing on the moral decrepitude of this cornerback for his "selfish" flip into the endzone, and that he wants players that forward flip into the endzone on touchdowns to be ejected from the games. Indeed, while he's uptight because of the thirty yards in penalties the forward flip assessed, he keeps claiming that his ranting is because the forward flip is a safety hazard, and he doesn't want to see someone get hurt. While that's noble of him standing on his soapbox, it's a ridiculous excuse for his moral condemnation of the FSU players, because plenty of other rules in college football support much more dangerous maneuvers than the forward flip. In particular, the horse collar tackle, outlawed in the National Football League for its dangerous nature, is perfectly legal and the takedown of choice for many of college football's best defenders. Using a horse collar tackle, the tackler puts his victim at risk of serious injury by yanking his legs out from under him awkwardly by grabbing the back of the neck pads. In this case, the defender is putting the ball carrier at risk of injury; contrast this with the forward flip, which puts only the leaper at risk, the leaper who consciously made the decision to leap. Indeed, even if we assume that the forward flip risks safety, is it really deserving of a personal foul? Sure, it's often unnecessary, but I'd certainly rather see a flip, a feat of athleticism and skill, than Chad Johnson jumping into a camera operator's stand. Does the forward flip call attention to the individual scoring the points? Yes. But so what? Football's a team game, obviously, but college football gets a lot of revenue from these athletes; I see no reason to penalize players for showcasing their athleticism as they score a touchdown, risky or not. And, from his words at halftime, it sounds like Bobby Bowden agrees with me.

Blurring the lines: ESPN Conversation beta

I read the ESPN Ombudsmen whenever he or she posts (once a month nowadays) and, while I'll reserve my criticism of ESPN's Le Anne Schreiber for another day, I've never sent more than a short comment to him or her about anything I see on television. What I've often thought about sending in a comment about, though, deals not only with ESPN articles, but also AOL news items as well: the way reader comments are treated as a part of the news articles. While I'm not one of those people, like the Ombudsmen, that believes no news personalities should be able to endorse products (for one, I have no qualms about more Suzy Kolber on the air, and another, as long as the reporter doesn't have endorsement commercials running during his or her own broadcasts, there's no appearance of reporting; but I digress), I do feel like all news organizations run the risk of morphing user feedback into news. As far as online news articles, AOL's comment section appears directly below the article, and ESPN's similarly appears right below the information itself, separated by, if anything, a few crummy advertisements. But, while AOL only shows five comments on the front page (I assume they are the first five comments), ESPN employs moderators who get to post a few comments on the front page. While AOL's policy often results in vehemently racist or offensive messages (I have even reported some of the comments, and we all know my feelings about "snitching"), ESPN's method seems more prone to abuse, because the moderators have the ability to contribute in a sense to the article by adding opinion to the front page. In the screen shot I've posted alongside this, for example, there's a comment about ASU's blowout loss to Texas indicating a general PAC-10 weakness, drawing from an article by Bruce Feldman. While I certainly understand how an individual can draw such an idea from the article--which discusses, among other pieces, how Texas tore ASU apart despite an idiotic maneuver by a Longhorn employee--the article certainly doesn't demand such an deduction as "the PAC-10 conference is weak." That sort of suggestion is purely the creation of an individual reader, not Feldman himself in the article. Yet, there such a statement appears on the front page, right after Feldman's short bio, making it seem as though such commentary were part of the article. Indeed, by doing so, the moderators are doing more than just weeding out inappropriate responses because they are deciding what comments and conclusions are "worthy" of appearing alongside the article. AOL's method doesn't work (I could post one of the comments I reported, but I don't wish to be associated with that sort of awfulness even here) because anything can appear right there, but ESPN's method presents just as many moral dilemmas. Thankfully, I have a solution for ALL news organizations: simply make sure that each and every user comment appears ONLY on a separate forum page, and that no user comments appear alongside articles. This way, there is a clear distinction made between the news and the article its author has written and what Joe America has to say about that article or the topics discussed within it. By doing this, organizations like ESPN and AOL can offer users an excellent forum, and never worry about having negative or influencing comments from purporting themselves as anything more than non-journalistic commentary.

On Schilling, or Me pretending to be a Sports Columnist

I certainly admire Curt Schilling's performance on the field. Between the bloody sock mythological heroics or the time when he came back as a closer because there just wasn't anyone else and proceeded to stink (mostly), there's a lot to like in his portfolio as a pitcher and a future Hall of Famer. What I don't like about Schilling is his purported voice as a moral compass for the rest of the baseball world, specifically because, while he certainly has a point, his suggestions seem more like providing a voice for Joe Message Board grumbler than that of someone who, whether he likes it or not, is one vindicative clubhouse attendant away from some accusation himself. I don't like the idea that people "cheated" to succeed in baseball, though I'm not repulsed by it at all either. People do bad things to get ahead in life, and the pressures to succeed are strong. That's not an excuse, it's just a thought process. But, while Schilling's right to be ticked about losing out on Cy Young's or all-star votes to people sporting a chemical advantage, what he's not right about is his assertion that Roger Clemens--accused of being a steroid user by a clubhouse employee--must prove his innocence or lose the hardware. "The numbers should go away if he cannot refute the accusations," Schilling says in his blog according to ESPN.com, and certainly, I stress, I understand the chip weighing down his mighty right shoulder. But Schilling, as any politically active mind should realize, misunderstands the burden's placement: since there are no canceled checks in the Mitchell Report featuring the Rocket's John Hancock, Clemens need not "prove" his innocence. The burden is to prove his guilt, not vice versa; while the court of public opinion wields a gavel without restriction, it remains a fact that one is legally presumed innocent until proven guilty. Like it or not, then, Schilling's mistaken in claiming that Clemens needs to prove himself. Besides, how exactly can Clemens prove that he DIDN'T do any of those things, other than issuing sketchy statements? Drop his drawers and showcase a hide without holes?

A-Rod

I've seen in at least a handful of places assertions that A-Rod is what's wrong with baseball today. Somehow, by exploiting the market for his relatively small-scope skills, A-Rod is "destroying" the national pastime's highest competitive level.

Really? Really?

For one, the steroid debate--regardless of how I feel about it--seems of much more concern to baseball's health as a sport now, because of so many calling it an "integrity of the game" issue. For another, how about the issue of providing quality umpiring, or ensuring a watchably-competitiv e World Series? Are those issues really trumped by A-Rod net worth?

If anything, A-Rod's situation is indicative of a growing problem in baseball, which is that salaries are growing faster than Jack's beanstalk. I can admit this to be a valid topic of debate but, on the one hand, A-Rod is clearly not the only individual bound to be grossly overpaid. Carlos Zambrano's contract, or Roger Clemens's, or Carlos Silva's future deposits should be just as intimidating as A-Rod's. While $300M is SO big it sounds like the biggest culprit, I'd much rather spend $200M+ on A-Rod's production than $90M on what could be dead weight of Zambrano, in a Mike Hampton sort of way. Is the risk for A-Rod greater? Sure; there's more money. But is the likely return better? Dollar for dollar, I say it probably is.

Tim Duncan recently took $10M less than his maximum value to give the Spurs some flexibility in the future; kudos to Tim Duncan. I like to imagine (dream?) that if I were in his situation, I would do the same, with the adulation of even greater Texans and the respect of fans throughout the country being gained with an undeniably classy move. But do I fault A-Rod for going after every dollar OUTSIDE of New York? No, not the least of which because of the crap he dealt with there, from fans un-swayed by his production. People point out his penchant for being photographed with attractive blondes that aren't his wife as a negative, but, while I hate adulterers, that's him. I'd rather my baseball players do their job on the field and be duplicitous, cheating arrogant people off the field, than have them be steroid-infected or crappy performers.

Baseball is a business, and in this business, production is key. The A's and Twins and Marlins produce without huge financial reserves. Obviously, A-Rod is not on their horizon. But for some time with the financial werewithall to do it, A-Rod will be a big part of whatever 2008 success they achieve. I personally root for St. Louis, where the fans would recognize A-Rod for what his is: the ultimate baseball PLAYER of the 2000s.

So complain all you want about A-Rod being a "disgrace" to the game and baseball's "disgusting underbelly." But just remember, if you were in the business of baseball, wouldn't you want this player, this player capable of carrying a team to the playoffs with his skills, on your team, even at steep cost? I know I would, knowing full well that A-Rod is not a detriment to baseball, but rather just a supremely skilled participant that's about to get a whole lot richer.

If you don't like him, great, I probably wouldn't get along with him either. But I respect his talent, and know that some organization is going to be very happy next year...albeit a lot lighter in the wallet.

The Plight of Cherry Coke...

I took a sandwich with me to work today, and noticed when I went to eat it a little before 1:00 that the refridgerator was full of Cherry Coke. Cherry Coke had long been a preferred beverage of mine, particularly in fountain form at Subway. Of course, during my five-year-caffeinated-beverageless run, I was deprived of Cherry Coke, because the Coca-Cola company does not produce caffeine-free Cherry Coke. Hence, when I gave up on the no-caffeine mentality, I was excited to come back to Cherry Coke.

And the return was good. That catchy red-and-black edgy can design was appealing, and the taste sharp and unique. It was definitely Coke, but it wasn't the flagship product with deceptive labeling to pretend it was differently-flavored.

But then, something sinister happened: Coca-Cola company went insane and changed Cherry Coke. Not the flavor mind you. Just the can.

Instead of the edgy, confetti-like red and black coloring with a cool font, the new Cherry Coke isn't Cherry Coke, but Coca-Cola Cherry and it looks utterly ridiculous. I don't know which marketing person thought of this, but it's turning me off big time. I assume some of the motivation behind the ugly fuchsia-pink coloring is to appeal to a "healthier" beverage, with a less-edgy color scheme and the amply presence of eerily-pink cherries. Plus, the addition of the normal script Coca-Color reminds the average buyer that the artist-formerly-known as Cherry Coke is a Coca-Cola brand product.

But pink? Who's the target audience here? I mean, it's great to attract a pink-leaning group, but doesn't anyone else think that the excessively pink coloring might turn off a key demographic, like ME? I wouldn't consider it hip to walk around holding this new Cherry Coke can. In fact, I think it looks decidedly unhip, what with bulbous cherries prancing around the can and that decidedly ugly shade of pink I've been harping on. Whether you agree or not, wouldn't it be a good idea to package a product in a design that appeals to the college-aged male soda drinker? Wouldn't a significant loss in that group more than outweigh a modest gain in another area?

I'm going to only purchase Wild Cherry Pepsi from now on, which isn't as badass as the old Cherry Coke, but at least it ain't fuschia.

Another sad addition to the plaque...

I relate the anecdote to myself whenever someone passes on: David Ferber and I were in the library at LCHS when he noticed a small plaque above the copier. We looked at the names, and realized they belonged to the students who died during their time at Laguna. It sent a shiver through both of us, realizing that those small gold labels were the physical "remains" of those LCHS students. David said, before we left, "I hope they never fill that up."

Today, LCHS lost a member of its family, but Elk Grove youth baseball lost the man who one might even call its godfather or CEO. Ted Herrera, a baseball coach at LC, and the guy I know best for running Sac County Baseball, died of an apparent heart attack at home. I had teams in more than a few of Ted's tournaments, often at LCHS itself, where he hosted them himself, always greeted me warmly, and checked in my stuff personally. As Doug Penney said, he always gave Elk Grove Babe Ruth related teams a discount, which he was never obligated to do, and even came over personally to remind me about the discount if I had a group to get in this year when I attended another tournament. Recognizing a guy who enters only 1-2 tournaments each year shows the kind of guy Ted was. When a player on my team broke his wrist and we ran out of subs, his tournament director said it was a forfeit; when we discovered the ruling was errant, he not only apologized but let us finish up the game, at his own expense, to make sure even us--the 7th seed out of 8 in the tourney--got what we signed up for.

The amount of work Ted put into Sac County Baseball (now Norcal Super Series) I have to imagine, changed the way youth baseball worked in Elk Grove and maybe Northern California, making tournament ball a permanent part of the youth sports landscape and drawing players, coaches, and parents to Elk Grove and LCHS to see high-quality baseball. He proved that tournaments could not only be a good business, but that there was a demand for more baseball, and a quality baseball experience. He offered teams needing fundraising outlets the chance to host and make some money, he listened to complaints and acted on them, and made Sac County Baseball tournaments something you looked forward to. I can't even say how many time's I've heard SCB events just called "one of Ted's tournaments," a testament to the esteem and respect held for Mr. Ted Herrera throughout the region.

It's hard to realize that Ted Herrera is gone, and I doubt that tournament baseball in Elk Grove will ever be the same, ever possess that personal, friendly touch Ted brought. I know that I won't ever attend or enter a tournament without thinking about the guy who responded quickly when I first inquired about entering the 2004 NL 14 All-Stars during a Memorial Day tournament, that gave an extra day to get Phillips Goodenough's birth certificate, who helped financially with all the other entries--the 2006 15 All-Stars, the Ripperz, the Longhorns with Doug--and who always recognized me. He was a good guy who left a major mark on Elk Grove and its youth baseball, and who's amiability really gave his work a personal touch. I wish the best to his wife and sons--Teddy was in preschool with me--and I offer my condolences to them.

Ted may be gone, but his mark on that which so many of us love won't soon fade.

R.I.P. Ted Herrera. You're on our plaque forever.

Book Review: McCarthy's No Country for Old Men

Though my parents know and love all the classic western films, the cowboy genre never really appealed to me. I suppose the separation from my world is part of it, but maybe also the dry, hot Texas plains just made me feel...well, dry and hot.

My first venture into cowboy literature was reading "Brokeback Mountain" by Annie Proulx, which I read out of my choir friend, Joy's, creative writing book. After all, I had penned a short story about a young man scared to death to see the movie with his girlfriend and so, while I grinned at exploiting it without seeing the film, I felt I needed some basis in the story to run with. If there's one thing I remember about Proulx's short story, it was the vivid sensory details, particularly the smells, which was a unique experience in my short reading history. While I still wasn't sure precisely how to react to the story she told, it was told with a sense of detail I hadn't before encountered, capturing the rash, confused nature of the cowboys' relationship.

Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, like Proulx's piece, is a modern western. The novel is set in 1980 Texas, running through deserts and into trailer homes and oasis hotels, following the chain of events set into motion by Llewelyn Moss, a habitually sarcastic war veteran, who chances upon the carnage of a drogas-related-massacre and pockets the suitcase of cash inexplicably left behind. Trying desperately to find him are two men, troubled Sherriff Bell and ghost-like hitman Anton Chigurh.

McCarthy's novel communicates the barren landscape of its setting and characters strongly, but rather than doing so with ample sensory detail--though the author hardly fails there--No Country's presentation suggests this strongly, with traditional syntactical devices hurled to the wayside like a bystander interfering with Chigurh's work. McCarthy uses neither quotation marks nor commas (I counted just one, though in absorbed reading I might have missed some) and this works well, putting description, dialogue, and thought all on the same plane, the same way the three uniquely-equipped characters seem to stay ahead of one another. While the syntax at first makes reading a little cumbersome, as dialogue and thinking look identical, it makes the read unique and really offers a sense of the way each character prioritizes their communication.

While Moss takes up most of the novel, Bell and Chigurh are the characters that make it work. Moss puts himself in one awful situation after another, and although he realizes at each step that his little run will surely end in death, he continues making one mistake after another, and his constant refusal to even listen to a word his grounded wife says frustrates quickly. Bell, the only character McCarthy offers first person insight into, reflects a reluctant version of the classic sherriff: owns a perfect record of solving homicide, exudes an aura of quiet confidence, but always doubts himself as a human being. Bell gives a clear look into the drug-infested wild west of today, and shows a depth of conscience that either Moss lacks, of McCarthy wants the reader to miss.

Chigurh, while the sort of cold blooded killer we cross our fingers doesn't exist, also possesses Bell's deep attachment to morality. At first presentation, Chigurh is almost catlike, toying with a potential victim, demanding he call a coin flip for his life. Though the situation suggests a sort of grim pleasure at the prospect of murder, Chigurh discloses no disappointment when the store owner calls it correctly; indeed, Chigurh is not a monster for his penchant for murder. Rather, Chigurh governs himself by a horrifying set of morals, never above murdering a meddlesome hotel clerk, but also thoughtful enough to use small bullets so as not to spill glass on innocent bystanders. Killing for cash, yes, and with a cold efficiency, but the hit man adheres strictly to his word, "even to a dead man," and turns into as deep a character as Bell (although Chigurh feels none of the guilt that haunts every moment of Bell's existence).

If you're into the classic western, I think McCarthy's novel will offer a nice change of pace, and with the movie on the near horizon (my initial motivation to read it; the trailer was a masterpiece), getting to understand the characters a little bit is surely worth the time. It's definitely a unique read, stylistically and story-wise.

Next up, on Jim's suggestion, another future movie: The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman.

Film review: Blades of Glory

If anyone's to blame for my viewing of Blades of Glory, it's the team behind Anchorman. As I have mentioned many times, Anchorman is the stuff of comedic legend for me, as it took a mildly unexciting plot and used absurd, random jokes to turn it into a quotable machine, pumping out enough memorable lines to enable three UC Davis students to engage in a lengthy conversation consisting of but quotes from the movie...and laughter.

So what was wrong with Blades?

Simply put, it just wasn't up to the caliber of legendary Anchorman or even Talladega Nights.

The story itself seems like the kind to generate at the very least cheap laughs, and the plot does deliver. Jim McElroy (Napoleon Dyna...err, I mean Jon Heder) is the efemminite graceful skater; Chaz Michael Michaelson (Will Ferrell) is his bad ass, lady-lovin' nemesis. Together, they share a gold medal at the movie's Olympics, but verbal sparring at the award's podium leads to physical fisticuffs, and their disgraceful showing prompts a lifetime ban...from men's singles. Years later, neither prepared to give up, a stalker informs them that they can slip into the "mixed" doubles figure skating competition and try to reclaim some of their lost glory.

As you might expect, the result is comic outrage, with plenty of gay jokes (among them, "As if figure skating wasn't gay enough already") and awkward situations left to play out. And the situations themselves are funny; the movie itself just doesn't follow suit, as Ferrell and Heder's lines often seemed forced and lack the smooth nature of all of Anchorman, Will Arnett is absolutely unfunny and almost all his lines lack the zest of those in the gag reel, and none of the other characters offer enough lines to even make an impression. Jenna Fischer, playing Heder's love interest and Arnett and Amy Ploeher's younger, guilt-ridden sister, is quaint and attractive, but despite her alleged commitment to morals, she never ceases to do the wrong thing, even with the best intentions. Craig T. Nelson, worth at least a mention, is cast as...a coach...which sounds oddly familiar.

If there's any one film that Blades reminds me of, it's Juwanna Mann, a story about a disgraced athlete at the top of his game that must enter a new area of his sport and change his self-centered ways to resurrect his livelihood. But see, that's the problem with Blades: Juwanna had built-in laughs from all the cross-dressing, dual-identity jokes that Miguel Nunes milked for most of the film's humor. Blades, on the other hand, had only a short string of predictable gay jokes to run on, so when those were exhausted--quickly--all that's left is the random one-liners that carried Anchorman. So, while the story plays out well, and the movie never takes itself seriously, the one-liners fail to deliver and so the movie misses the chance to capitalize on comedians put into a funny situation.

Tomorrow, I think I'll extend my review of Cormac McCarthy's novel (and future cinematic release) No Country for Old Men.

An introduction

I'll start this off by admitting that I strongly suspect this could go to the wayside. For me, there's only one "blog" dear to my heart, that being LJ, where I have written since the summer before my senior year of high school. Of course, as readers have dwindled on LJ--and my entry-writing frequency reacted accordingly--I'd begun to wonder whether it wasn't an idea to start writing somewhere else about other things. At the same time, my writing on LJ was of such a...personal...nature, that leaving the comforts of my $25-per-year journal seemed like a stark reality.

But then, while I was reading some comment responses in Keith Law's ESPN blog, I found my way to his other blog. While Law's baseball blog is, without a doubt, my favorite corner of ESPN.com, thanks to both his insight into the sport and his willingness to respond to even the most assanine comments on his posts, I found "The Dish" interesting in that his entries dabbled in all sorts of subjects, from cheeses and restaraunt commentary to book reviews. It seemed to me that Law used his personal blog to discuss everything his more publicized blog prohibited (everything non-baseball).

Thus it was that, when Roseanne sent me her blog, I decided to follow Keith Law's lead and maintain this second blog. On LJ--my home--I will continue debating the things most important to me: life, love, and faith. Here, I will do everything else, commenting on the news and sports (especially the latter), and reviewing books, movies, and, if I feel particularly into myself, video games. I hope to make this something worthwhile and entertaining, at least for myself, since I wonder whether anyone else will ever really get into reading what I write.

Then again, I never would have anticipated LJ becoming so important a part of my life for almost five years, after just being an afterthought discovered in a survey written by Cristina.