The Corner

The Hangover Part II & Bridesmaids

2011-05-31T12:59:00.000-07:00

The Hangover Part II

In the last several years Hollywood has run out of ideas so instead of making new movies, they just recycle old ones. Usually, it takes a decade or two before a movie is remade. In this case, it took just two years.

The Hangover Part II is essentially a shot for shot remake of the first film. But instead of being in Vegas, we get Thailand.

The first twenty minutes is a reunion of sort: all the guys come back together for another shindig. They catch up, rag on each other, and react to Alan’s bizarre behavior and antics. Nothing big happens, but the beginning is charming and funny.

And that’s when the sequel kicks into cliché gear. You can almost picture a cheesy narrator announcing: “Here we go again!”

The boys get lost in Thailand, this time with a few new characters. Ken Jeong plays a bigger part as Mr. Chow, and the new lost guy is Teddy, the young brother-in-law.

The boys retrace their steps once again, and discover all the havoc they created the night before. They cause a riot, hang out with a monkey, and meet some chicks with dicks. This time around the scenes are even more absurd, but not nearly as funny.

There are lots of laughs, but without the clever writing and mystery, the Hangover 2 loses its charm. The original movie was so successful because even without the comedy, it was still a well-made who-done-it. Even my Mom liked the first one because she wanted to know what happened (that and she thinks Bradley Cooper is hot.)

But in the sequel (or the remake), we basically know what’s going to happen before every scene. As a result, it’s just another raunchy comedy with hit and miss laughs.

Fortunately, the Hangover II still boasts three great characters that make the movie watchable. Alan’s antics get a little old by the end, but he does provide a number of laughs. Phil is the straight man, and Stu mixes things up with his nice guy routine. My favorite bit may have been Stu’s rendition of Allentown by Billy Joel (one of two Billy Joel songs featured in the film, the other being “The Downeaster Alexa.”)

The last 30 minutes or so felt a lot like a hangover. My senses were dulled, my head hurt a little, and I kind of wished it would stop. The scenes with Paul Giamatti were useless and the twists were incredibly predictable or just plain absurd.

The traditional slideshow ended the movie on a fun note, but this hangover was not nearly enjoyable as the first. I guess Hangover’s are never as fun the second time around. (Review of The Hangover.)

Bridesmaids

Waiting in line for Bridesmaids was one of those really uncomfortable experiences. For some reason, they made us wait outside on the street for all to see me. And I couldn’t pretend I was seeing something else…the signs made it very clear that it was a line for Bridesmaids. I tilted my head down and pretended to look for something on the ground to blind my face. Sure, there were a few other guys, but they were either overly enthusiastic to be there or dragged along by their girlfriends. It felt like Sex and the City 3 more than anything else. I just wanted to get in there and watch it already.

But maybe I stumbled onto something brilliant: picking up girls at the movies. I’ve never tried it and still haven’t. But there must be a group of creepy and desperate guys who scout out chick flicks just to meet women. I wonder if it works.

Before I delve into the movie, I need to preface it with this: I am a misogynist when it comes to comedy. My top 10 favorite comedians are all men. My top 10 comedy movies feature male main characters. I don’t get Rosie, Ellen, and Chelsea. The Sweetest Thing certainly was not the funniest thing. Bride Wars and Monster-in-Law—no thank you. Even Sarah Silverman doesn’t do it for me. I know this isn’t getting me any points with the ladies. I can picture mobs of women banding together to burn me at the stake. I’m sorry, but that’s just how I feel.

So when I saw a trailer for Bridesmaids, I immediately cringed. Watching women catfight at a bachelorette party and fart from eating too much just wasn’t my idea of funny. I secretly hoped the film would tank so the attempted female comedies would just stop already.

But then something happened. Everyone I spoke to raved about Bridesmaids. Sure, it was mostly from women, but they were so happy. One friend enjoyed it so much, she felt drunk afterwards (the good kind of drunk.) She couldn’t stop smiling. A pair of random girls next to me at lunch (whom I eavesdropped on) grinned ear to ear as they described their favorite scenes.

And I cannot hide the fact that I’ve actually been a bridesmaid. No, I didn’t wear a dress (couldn’t lose enough weight), but I was on the emails about the bachelorette party. I gained new insight into how women think and how they plan parties. I even considered attending the bachelorette party, but at the last minute, I joined the guys instead. The guys made fun of me, but I was proud to be a bridesmaid. It was fun!

So I finally hiked up my skirt and decided to go see the movie.

Bridesmaids is smart and the writers took their time crafting a fairly good comedy. The first scene gets the audience into it right away. You can never go wrong, chick flick or not, with sex in the first few minutes. And it’s fun to see a woman’s perspective of how men are in bed. Apparently, we’re not as good as we think we are.

Kriten Wiig plays Annie, the nice girl lovable loser. To understand better, she’s basically Ben Stiller from Meet the Parents or There’s Something About Mary, but she’s a lady. Everyone craps on her even though she’s a cool girl.

Her life is down in the dumps but things get worse when she’s asked to be Lillian’s maid of honor. She’s in charge of all the bachelorette duties and has to put up with an eclectic mix of weirdo chicks.

The movie works for the most part because the characters are either relatable or funny. It helps that there’s a nice balance between the straight characters and wacky ones. So when the craziness erupts, we’re on the side of Annie, and the comedy doesn’t seem so forced.

There are a few “big” scenes. Some work, some don’t. But give Kristen Wiig credit. She puts in every ounce of energy to try and make them successful. My favorite scene takes place on an airplane. It’s reminiscent of the classic Seinfeld episode where Jerry sits first class and Elaine is in coach, and it’s just as funny. And the heavyset girl, played by Melissa McCarthy, steals a number of scenes too.

Bridesmaids lost me at some points, maybe because I was a guy. As some women shrieked in the audience in laughter, I simply smiled or just shrugged deeming them as cute scenes. The catfighting got a little tiresome, and I was thankful when the main character finally put an end to it.

Bridesmaids was not the life changing experience that some of my female friends described, but it was a decent movie. And I understood their excitement. Finally, there was a comedy featuring women that was both sincere and kind of funny.

So guys, if your girlfriend drags you along to this chick flick, it’s not a bad deal. You’ll laugh a bit, and learn a little something about women at the same time.

The Pump, Koosh Balls, and Other Random Stuff from the 1990's

2011-05-23T20:54:00.000-07:00

Last week my friend revealed a childhood story that had been haunting her for years. Twenty years before, she had been dissed and dismissed by her fellow classmates for not wearing the right clothes. Champion sweatshirts were in, and she didn’t have any.

So she begged her mom over and over again, but still nothing. She pointed out that Sally from down the block had 5 of these sweatshirts. Why couldn’t she have one?

So on Christmas day, a package awaited her from under the tree. She frantically opened it up, eyes wide, and smile bright. When she unraveled the gift, it wasn’t a champion sweatshirt at all. It was a pair of champion socks.

She feigned excitement but wore her socks proudly often pointing out the champion symbol to her friends as a means of acceptance. But it didn’t really work. To this day, she still remembers pining for that sweatshirt.

I had a similar story revolving around a special pair of sneakers: The Pump. This lead to a discussion about the forgotten decade: the 1990’s. These are the clothes, toys, and random items that I remember:

Koosh Balls

These light and fluffy creations were fun to throw around, and just plain snuggle with. Despite their exceptional kooshiness, they somehow just vanished.

Diablo Juggling

At summer camp, there was always one kid who could perform amazing tricks with this thing. We’d watch him in awe, and then deal with our jealousy by making fun of him. After 1999, I never saw diablo juggling or that kid ever again.

Scrunchies

Girls will have more to say about this, but the 1990’s were all about the scrunchie. They tied up your hair and you could also fling them at people. Apparently, most women wouldn’t be caught wearing one today, but I still think they’re cool.

Snap Bracelets

These things were brilliant. In one moment they looked like simple bookmarks, but when slapped on a wrist, BAM, they were bracelets. Hours of fun could be had snapping bracelets onto each other. Now, they’re nowhere to be found.

Champion Sweatshirts

Like my friend’s story, these shirts were the craze in the 90’s. Their bold colors and comfiness were bound to gain you popularity amongst all of your high school classmates, even the bitchy judgmental ones. The coolest people wore them a few sizes too large to they could be extra baggy and thus cool.

The Pump

I begged my parents for the pump, but never got it. I settled for pumping up other kid’s shoes. We all cheered in unison when the air was released from the pump. It was a life changing experience. Even the deaf kid at my school with no friends was suddenly super popular when he showed up wearing a brand new pair of pumps. He would point to his shoes, and although he had trouble speaking, there were two words he could clearly utter: “The pump!”

Umbros

These soccer shorts tore through my camp and school in the early 90’s. The key was to wear them properly, with your boxers creeping out underneath. I remember the day when I combined my Simpsons boxers with some hand me down Umbros from my brother. I felt like a King. Sure, the shorts were short, rode up, and often revealed too much, but it was worth it.

Coed Naked T-Shirts/ Big Johnson T-Shirts

I was shocked when I described these shirts to some under 30 youngens, and they never heard of them. Co-ed naked shirts combined sports with sexual innuendos; it was brilliant. Some examples:

Coed Naked Tennis: “It’s in. It’s out. It’s over.”

Coed Naked Lacrosse: “Rough, tuff, and in the buff!”

And one cannot forget about Big Johnson T-shirts. My friends and I often bought these inexplicably dirty shirts at crappy beach shops during camp. We’d wear them once only to be told never to wear them again because they were inappropriate. But we thought they were classy!

Slogans included:

Big Johnson Bar & Casino: “Liquor up front, poker in the rear.”

Big Johnson Motorcycles: “You’ll never have to ride a hog when you have a Big Johnson.”

Big Johnson Quarters Tournament: “Hit the rim and slip it in.”

Hypercolor T-Shirts

Tell me this: who wouldn’t want a t-shirt that changed colors when you touched it? I am flabbergasted (and I rarely use this word) that these shirts ever went out of style…they were the coolest. And it always gave girls a reason to touch you. I really need these shirts to make a comeback.

Z-Cavariccis

These insanely overpriced pants were boss in the late 80’s and early 90’s. They rode up, had a tight waist, were pleated, and had AC Slater written all over them.

Girbaud

These pants gained you immediate popularity especially when you showed the label near the zipper. My friend Randy outgrew his pair of Girbauds and gave them to me. I’ll never forget the first day I wore them. Kids spoke to me that I had never heard from before. Girls smiled. It was a wonderful time. But eventually, I outgrew them too, and couldn’t afford to buy another pair.

Skidz

I wore my Skidz proudly in the early 90’s. My pair was green and yellow, and plain hideous. But they felt like pajamas so that made it okay.

Game Hats

There was nothing fancy about these ball caps, but they used to be hot. These hats were usually found on the heads of cool high school kids and douche bag fraternity guys. The brim was arched and pushed down just enough so you couldn’t see while wearing the hat.

The school logo or mascot name appeared on the front in capital letters. And underneath in small letters was the entire school name. The most risqué version was the University of South Carolina because on top it read in bold letters the team mascot, COCKS.

Casio Digital Watch

The Casio digital watch was like the iphone of the early 1990’s except it couldn’t make phone calls, go on the internet, have apps, etc. But it did have a mean stopwatch, told the time, was waterproof, and some even had a calculator. Pretty sick!

TI-82 Calculators

In the early 1990’s, I was in middle school and these things ruled our world. They were supposed to be used to graph in math class, but the genius kids learned how to program games, and even used them to cheat on tests (not that I ever did that.) It looked like we were studying a lot, but really we were just playing lots of homemade video games like Snake. The kids nowadays have better technology to play with, but twenty years ago, they were a way of life.

NBA Playoffs 2011

2011-05-01T09:07:00.000-07:00

Even after my roommate showed it to me, I still didn’t believe him. There was no way. It couldn’t be. But there it was right in front of me.

It was Lebron James’ mom’s phone number; then a text from her; then a pic of the two of them. Somehow, my roommate had turned into Delonte West overnight. He assured me it was harmless. He had a random, late night drunken dinner in Atlantic City with Mrs. James and her buddy. And since then they simply traded a few friendly texts.

It happened about a month before Lebron made his grand “decision.” I wonder if my roommate, a native New Yorker had any impact on Lebron’s choice. Maybe he didn’t want to play in a city where random guys texted his mom.

My roommate hasn’t heard from Mrs. James in a while. She’s been busy and so has her son. After dispatching the Sixers in 5 effortless games, the Heat now host the Celtics in the 2nd round of the playoffs: the new big 3 versus the old big 3; the king, flash, and bosh versus KG, the truth, and Jesus. Lebron’s Mom versus Ray Allen’s Mom. Let’s get it on!

NBA Predictions:

Miami versus Boston

This is going to be an epic series. The Heat have youth, athleticism, and lots of egos. The Celtics have experience, teamwork, and creaky bones. Some say the series will come down to Shaq’s health, but the real wildcard will be the bench. The Celtics are missing that energy/swagger guys from years past: the Leon Powe’s, Nate Robinson’s, Tony Allen’s (who has been amazing for Memphis), Rasheed Wallace’s, Kendrick Perkins’. You really think Jeff Green is going to finally wake up? I sure don’t.

Miami in 7

Chicago versus Atlanta

I met Jamal Crawford last year. He shook my hand and was extremely friendly. But on the court, he is all business. He is a scoring machine, and is one of those players that has no conscious. He truly thinks every one of his shots is going in; a great guy to have in the playoffs.

Unfortunately for him, they’re up against Chicago and Derrick Rose. Rose might not be able to take his SATs, but on the court he is unstoppable. I’m on the bandwagon for him to win MVP. He has the best crossover since Iverson, also includes his teammates, and has even found his range from three point land. Chicago has great athletes, and is also a team. Coach Thibodeau has preached defense, and they've responded. They also have bought into the concept of team; everyone knows their role and they do it no questions asked.

The only question for Chicago is lack of experience, and a few lingering injuries. But those flaws won’t bother them for this series. Plus, they have Brian Scalabrine. Enough said.

Chicago in 6

Los Angeles versus Dallas

I lived in LA for five years, and besides the traffic, the worst part was seeing those damn Lakers flags attached to cars in May and June. LA has some of the worst fans in the world, and seeing them suddenly pumped for another championship run makes me feel ill.

But it’s not a surprise when they have the best basketball player in the world. Kobe is old, brash, stubborn, and let’s face it, an asshole. But he refuses to lose. The last playoff series he lost was to the Celtics in 2008. Since then he has been absolutely dominant. He has molded his game each year so he can play through injuries and fatigue. It helps that he has 3 seven foot beasts (Gasol, Bynum, Odom), and a coach who intimidates most other coaches.

Some people like Dallas because Kobe’s a little banged up. But in the end, do you ever really want to bet against Kobe? I don’t think so.

LA in 6

Oklahoma City versus Memphis

Alex Trebek: And the category is cities. Oklahoma city, Memphis.

What are two cities I will probably never visit?

Alex Trebek: No. Sorry. We we’re looking for: What is the Western Conference Semi Finals?

While I love Oklahoma City, especially with the addition of Kendrick Perkins, the real story is the Memphis Grizzlies. These guys are a collection of castoffs and scrappers that nobody wanted. They’re just the fourth 8th seed to ever upend a number one. How did they do it: defense, hustle and heart. They locked down the Spurs on nearly every possession: diving into the stands, hitting the floor, taking charges, boxing out. They looked like a high school or college team that came together, not for money, but for the love of the game. I wish the Celtics had a few of these guys (see Tony Allen.)

Memphis doesn’t quite have the manpower to shut down Durant and Westbrook, but they’re going to try every trick in the book. It’s always dangerous when the underdog knows they have nothing to lose and are willing to try anything. But Durant has come too far and is too competitive to lose this one.

Oklahoma City in 7

For you gamblers out there:

In the last 28 years, only 7 franchises have won the NBA title: Boston, LA, Chicago, Detroit, Houston, San Antonio, Miami. Compare that to the MLB (19), NFL (14), and NHL (14) and suddenly the NBA doesn’t seem to have much parity.

If you happen to be in Vegas or Atlantic City, you may want to put some money on LA, Boston, Chicago or Miami. And while you’re there, look out for Lebron’s mom. Maybe she’ll buy you dinner one night too.

Dating Disasters

2011-04-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

I’ve enjoyed dating, and think I’m pretty good at it. But once it in a while, I do something really stupid, embarrassing, or just plain terrible. I guess it happens to all of us. We get a little nervous, anxious, and make a few mistakes.

We all have bad dating stories, but rarely do we blame our self. It’s always something the other person does. So I think it’s only fair to divulge some of my personal worst dating disasters. Hopefully, they will serve as lessons for all of us.

The Pub Crawl (Pub Golf)

Even though I screwed this up big time, it was still one of the best days of my life. The pub crawl or pub golf was an extraordinary experience. It was a golf themed event so people dressed up in their coolest, goofiest, and sexiest golf outfits. I wore khaki pants, a Nike warm-up jacket, a golf glove, and the kicker was a plaid beret. It was a painful gift from a former girlfriend. I am not a beret guy. I didn’t have good use for it, until now.

I didn’t know many participants, but was just glad to be at the bar. It turned out to be 21 guys and 21 girls. Everyone was cool, and 2/3 of the girls had the killer of combination of being single and also really cute. And they looked especially hot in their golf attire. It was an incredible stroke of luck. I would be spending the day with attractive and available women, and we’d all be getting drunk at the same time. Unreal!

The pub crawl was extremely well organized. We were split into groups of six, 3 guys and 3 girls per group. Each bar served as a hole. We were given score cards to indicate what score we would receive. For example, for par, it was one drink per person. For birdie, it was one drink and one shot. And the list went on.

Each bar got progressively more challenging with types of drinks (Irish Car bombs, Absinth, chug offs, etc), and I was up for the challenge. Our team birdied the first four holes. We were on fire.

As the liquor flowed so did the conversation. I hit it off with a new girl at each bar. I was having the time of my life. I felt like Tiger Woods. Each girl was cute, sweet, and fun to talk with. It was like speed dating, but with alcohol and the coolest girls ever. I ended up garnering four phone numbers. The crawl was a success, but I was in way over my head.

A few days later, I examined my collection of numbers, and that’s when I blew it. Instead of focusing on the girl l liked the most, I figured why not call of them. I was single. I was cool. I was funny. At least this is what was floating in my head.

I had fun talking to them. I was being mathematical and skeptical at the same time. There was no way all four would like me again or even call me back. I assumed three dates would be okay, and one would be very good. I just wasn’t sure who the “very good” would be.

So I contacted all four girls. Unbeknownst to me, THEY ALL KNEW EACH OTHER. It made sense since we all went to the same event. But because I’m a complete idiot, I never really thought about that. A private source (my friend who knows them and later told me the story) informed me about the debacle. As soon as I asked them all out, they contacted each other and confirmed that I was pretty much a jerk. I should’ve just sent a group email and cut out the middle man. At least that would have been more direct. Obviously, none of the girls responded.

They were right. I was a jerk. I blew it. It was a lot like golf. I got to the green in just a few shots, and had a chance for a birdie. But then I four putted my way to the triple-bogey. I was just in way too deep. I can barely handle one girl let alone four. But I guess pub golf can be a tricky game sometimes.

The Bottle of Wine

It was my fourth date with Jeanne and I was ready to bring her to my favorite restaurant in LA: The Sauce Place. It was one of those mom and pop Italian places that only took cash and where you could bring your own booze. They were known for their delicious desserts, and I absolutely loved the marinara sauce.

Jeanne immediately liked the place and was impressed when I pulled out a fresh bottle of wine. The waitress handed me an old school corkscrew—I guess I would be opening the bottle.

I screwed up on my first attempt to uncork the wine. Jeanne laughed and I shrugged it off. It wasn’t too big of a deal. But then it got worse. I tried and failed once again. Either this corkscrew was busted or I was a complete moron. I started to get angry and then I panicked. I tried again. The screw finally went in, but now I couldn’t pull the damn cork out. I was pulling with all of my might. My face was flushed. I was sweating. I was pissed. Meanwhile, Jeanne was slowly hiding behind her menu in embarrassment.

I was now in a one-on-one battle with this bottle of wine. I finally pulled one more time, and ripped the cork out of there. There was only one problem. Half of the cork still remained inside.

The waitress eventually came over and used a knife to fish the cork out. Tiny pieces fell into the bottle, but at least we could finally drink it.

The night was a bust, and somehow got worse. I raved about the desserts all night long. After dinner, Jeanne’s eyes widened as she decided between the gelato, cheesecake, and homemade cannolis. That’s when I realized I didn’t bring enough cash, and there was no ATM within sight. When the waitress stopped by for our dessert order, I quickly dismissed her and asked for the check. Jeanne stared at me in confusion.

I dropped Jeanne off at her apartment and we hugged good night. She flashed a bright smile even though I knew she was faking it. I was disappointed because I really liked her. If it weren’t for that damn bottle of wine, everything would’ve been fine.

I waved goodbye and assumed I’d never see her again. I called a few days later and left a message. To my shock, she called me right back. And we ended up dating for nearly a year.

A few months later I asked her the big question: “Why did you want to go out with me after that horrible wine incident?” The answer: She thought it was cute.

I’ll always remember this story. It’s taught me the greatest lesson of all: if you do something stupid on a date, something embarrassing, something painful and you’re with the right person, they’ll think it’s cute. So it’s okay to mess up sometimes.

Psycho

I met this super cute girl at a bar. She went to school in Boston, liked the Sox, and had a killer body. We went on a date to discover that we actually didn’t have much in common. We disagreed with just about everything, and although it made for decent conversation, it was stressing me out.

My flirting skills were weak that night. I was tired, had a long day, and wasn’t feeling it. It was no excuse, but she was driving me nuts. After another debate, I joked around, said that she was driving me nuts, and if we kept disagreeing I was gonna “kill” her. No matter how cute, charming, or funny you are, this is not a good line to use on a first date. My hope was that it would be cute, silly and flirty, but it definitely came through as weird, creepy, and awful.

As I walked home alone, I realized she now had a dating story. She had a tale about the weirdo who threatened to knock her off. I felt like a complete moron. The only saving grace was that she did respond to my apology text and said everything was okay. But I think she only sent it out of fear.

The Blog

I was on a date with a pretty Asian girl. We were downing our drinks, and flirting, talking about our favorite places to travel. She made eye contact and smiled a lot. Things were going in the right direction.

That’s when I told her my passion for writing. She asked if I was working on anything. I told her about this blog. She instantly took out her new age phone, pressed a few buttons, and my blog stood before us. She perused through it, landed on my DEALBREAKERS post, and chuckled a few times. Then she asked me lots of defensive questions. Then things got a little uncomfortable. Then I never heard from her again. I learned my lesson: never show off my blog on the first date.

The Blog II

Of course, I broke that rule again. This time my blog served as a connection at first. She loved my writing, and that made me feel great. She encouraged me to submit to magazines, newspapers, and even write a book. All was well until she critiqued my latest post entitled THE BOY COLLECTOR and she took offense to it. She thought it was misogynistic (it probably was), and I was calling her out (I wasn’t.) And then she feared if I wasn’t, I soon would. She assumed that I would embarrass her on my blog. I promised I would never do that (until now), but by then it was too late. Things got awkward, and I was paranoid that she would overanalyze all of my blog pieces. I proposed dedicating a blog post to her, but by then I realized this relationship was just not going to work. Once again I learned to keep my blog to myself.

The Double Header

One night, I tried to be suave and plan two dates in a night. My theory was that one girl would cancel anyways so it was more of a safety plan. But to my surprise both girls actually followed through. So I had my first date at 7pm and the next at 830pm.

The 7pm date was actually going well. But I kept excusing myself to text to my second date that I was running late. I was constantly checking my cell phone. My date caught onto this, and could definitely tell I was not paying attention to her. In my head, I was being smooth, but I definitely wasn’t. She probably didn’t know I was scheduling my second date of the evening, but she did know I was being a jerk.

The first date was a failure, but at least I had a second chance with the 830 girl. I arrived on time, but she never showed up. I finally received a text. She was going to flake, and I wondered if she pulled the same stunt as me. Maybe she was already on a successful date so she didn’t need me as a backup. I guess I deserved that. Karma’s a bitch.

The Easter Call

Never call a girl for the first time during Easter dinner. I learned this lesson with Eliza Dushku, but you can click here for the full story. Once again, I am an idiot.

The Sweaty Pig

I was enjoying my friend’s concert when I realized I was late for my date. It was about 20 blocks away (a mile or so), and it started in ten minutes. I hated being late, and out of principle, I just couldn’t take a taxi (it was too short of a distance) so I ran for it.

At the time, I was running everywhere: to meet friends to watch football, to the ATM, and now to dates.

The good news was that I was physically fit and showed up on time. The bad news: I was a sweaty pig. The girl greeted with me a hug and literally slipped off of me. I was a nasty mess. For the first ten minutes, I caught my breath, and mopped down my brow with a napkin. She looked at me with disgust as she tried to make conversation.

I had embarrassed myself with my sweaty pig routine. But at least I was punctual. Rightfully so, I never heard from her again.

The Tucson Girls

About a decade ago, I drove cross-country with one of my best friends. He and I ended up in Tucson, Arizona for the night. It was one of the best places I’ve ever been. It was a land filled with healthy, fit, tan, and gorgeous college girls.

The bars were stocked with these beautiful goddesses from the University of Arizona. Not only were they beautiful, but they knew how to party and had loose morals too. It was a stark contrast to my days at Tufts where the girls didn’t like me and had much higher standards.

My buddy and I met a pair of buxom blondes. They liked that we were traveling cross-country and showed their affection by buying us drinks and touching my leg. In my head, I kept thinking of the perfect line so we could go back to their place. As I scoured my brain, one of the blondes abruptly asked: “Wanna come back to our place?” It was brilliant. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

The girls jotted down the address on my bar receipt. I calmly placed it in my pocket, but I could barely contain my excitement. The blondes had to walk a friend home, but we would meet them at their place in an hour.

My buddy and I galloped back to our motel, sprayed on some cologne, and pre-congratulated each other on a job well done. We had permanent grins. It was the perfect night.

Then we jumped in our car and drove to their place. But we never arrived.

We searched and searched, but we never saw them again. The address did not exist.

In her haste, the buxom blonde forgot one number on the address. But we didn’t know which one. We drove for hours, knocking on doors, waking up people, praying, fighting, and finally giving up.

In my haste, I never got a phone number, and realized I blew it. I contemplated whether the girls were just messing with us, but I think it was an innocent mistake. They probably waited by the door for us and wondered why we never showed. Then they gave up and settled for a good old-fashioned pillow fight in their bras and panties.

I still have the address somewhere in my closet in an old shoebox. It serves as humble pie and what might have been.

So the next time you’re on a date and you screw up, do something stupid, or make a fool of yourself, just think of me, and maybe you’ll feel better. And if not, at least you’ll have a good story for your friends.

HERO

2011-01-25T09:07:00.000-08:00

I stood at the foul line with two seconds left on the clock. It had all come down to this. We were down by three points, and all I needed was to sink the next three foul shots. For a moment, the gym went silent. A few teammates offered me encouragement and patted me on the back. I took a deep breath and exhaled. As I approached the line, the opposing team barked comments at me calling me a “choke” and a “bum.” I paid them no mind. It was only me, the ball, and the hoop.

I held the ball, bent my knees, and flicked my wrist. The ball rotated in slow motion toward the hoop. It bounced softly off the rim four times before it fell just outside the cylinder. I had missed. I had choked. The game was over.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I wondered how many times an ordinary Joe gets to be a hero on the court, the field, or the diamond. This game wasn’t for the championship, and I wasn’t getting paid, but it was still a hero situation; one of those memories that you store in your mind forever; one of those moments that you reminisce about with your friends years later.

As I lied in bed with my eyes wide open, I scrolled my mind for sports hero moments in my life. A few benign memories sprung in my head, but only one stood out.

There was one day that I was the hero. It was back in seventh grade.

Little League

Growing up in the suburbs, Little League was something every kid went through. You could be awkward and clumsy or athletic and coordinated, it didn’t matter. You were going to take part in Little League.

In seventh grade, I was on the Cardinals. We were a combination of awkward, clumsy, athletic and coordinated. I can’t remember my entire team, but one player stuck out for me: Big Mike. He was the tallest seventh grader in town. He was probably around 5’ 9”, but I swear he was 7 feet tall. He was our catcher. Even as he squatted, he seemed to rise over the batter at the plate. This was Big Mike’s greatest asset. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really catch the ball. But we figured it out as we went along.

And as for me, I was the utility guy. I was an above average player, but nothing to hang my hat on. I played second base, wasn’t the greatest hitter or fielder, but did the best I could.

We were a scrappy bunch that scratched out runs, and somehow advanced to the NLCS. Our opponent was the Cubs.

The Cubs were no mere Little League team. They were stacked. They had seventh graders who must have been on some kind of performance enhancing drugs. They were huge, skilled, and probably on HGH. Gossip floated around town that a few parents rigged the draft placing all the best kids on one team: the Cubs.

We didn’t have a shot, and the odds makers pegged us as 100-1 underdogs. Things got worse when our ace pitcher fell to an injury and couldn’t pitch. And our next pitcher couldn’t play either, but I can’t remember why. (Maybe it was Bar Mitzvah lessons or maybe he was getting his braces tightened. I’m not sure.)

All I knew is that we were in deep trouble. We didn’t have a third pitcher, and our options were bare. A few minutes before game time, my coach sauntered over to me as I tossed the ball around with my teammates. She patted me on the back and told me I was going in. I had only pitched once before. Earlier in the season, I had baffled the Pirates with a mixture of meatballs and a whole lot of luck. It was a fluke. I was not a pitcher.

But now I was the starting pitcher against the best Little League team in the world in the most important athletic competition of my young life.

I relished the opportunity. The adrenaline coursed through my veins as I stepped onto the mound. I focused on Big Mike’s target and mowed down the Cubs in the first inning. I was in the zone.

But it was a long game, and I struggled through the next three innings. The never ending line of bash brothers slammed the ball around the diamond.

In the fourth inning, one of my pitches got by Big Mike with a man on third. The Cubs player sprinted home as I covered the plate. Big Mike tossed me the ball, I squeezed it, and somehow managed to miss the tag. The player was safe, and another run was on the board for the Cubs. I barked at the umpire, my longtime friend’s father, Mr. Jordan. He shook his head indicating he was clearly safe. I wiped away tears from my eyes as he tried to console me. I was choking. I was blowing it. We were going to lose.

I somehow escaped a bases loaded jam and got out of the inning. My teammates made amends for my mistakes, and put together a little rally. We chipped away against the Cubs. They were human. They were not machines. They could be beaten.

The sidelines were now filling up. The town had heard about this game, and it seemed like every kid in the seventh grade was cheering from the bleachers. This wasn’t just an ordinary Little League game. This was a battle. We were playing for every little guy out there; every team that didn’t have a shot; every team that was counted out. And we weren’t going to let our fans down.

In the last inning, we were able to squeak ahead by one run. All I had to do was record 3 outs, and the Cardinals would go down in the record books as pulling off the biggest upset in Sharon, MA Little League history.

I stepped to the mound. For a moment, the park went silent. A few teammates offered me encouragement and patted me on the back. I took a deep breath and exhaled.

The first batter came to the plate filled with confidence. He looked forward to ruining me. But I had the upper hand. My pitches were precise, nipping the outside corners of the plate. He struck out on three pitches.

The second Cubs batter strutted to the plate. He was going to end my night too. But once again, I had the upper hand. My pitches were crisp, and although a few got by Big Mike, I managed to strike him out too.

There were now two outs and we were up by one run. One more out, we would win, and I would be an instant legend. I would be a hero.

I felt anxious as their gigantic left fielder stepped up to the plate. He was a thick kid who used his body weight to knock the ball out of the park. He had already crushed a few balls off me earlier in the game.

The Giant planted himself in the batter’s box. I stepped to the mound, released the ball, and fired it towards the outside edge of the plate. The bat clung to his shoulder as the ball zipped by: strike one!

My teammates cheered me on. “Two more!,” they screamed. I wielded another pitch and he swung and missed: strike two! “One more! One more!”

As I let go of the third pitch, I pictured the Giant swinging and missing and my team celebrating. My fantasy tore apart as the Giant walloped the ball off the meat of the bat. The thing sailed into deep right center past all of our outfielders. My heart leapt out of my throat. I had choked.

The Giant rounded first base and sprinted around second. Our speedy outfielder grabbed the ball and whipped it to the cut-off man. But it looped over his head. The ball dribbled across the grass and now lied silently next to second base. Everyone was out of position. It was total chaos.

I urgently chased down the ball.

The Giant reached third as I clutched the worn out baseball. The third base coach motioned for him to stop, but the crowd chanted for the Giant to keep going. Feeling the rush of the crowd, the Giant kept moving. He was heading home.

I gripped the ball and fired it to our catcher. As soon as I released it, I knew something was wrong. The ball was overthrown. No seventh grader was going to catch it, except for one: Big Mike.

Big Mike rose to his feet and his wing span miraculously allowed him to grab for the ball. The Giant trudged home ready to take him out. The ball floated in slow motion toward Big Mike’s glove.

He squeezed it as the Giant barreled into him. The collision sprayed a cloud of dirt into the air. I ran in for a closer look. Mr. Jordan, the umpire, made the signal. He was out. We beat the Cubs. We had won!

Our team piled on top of each other in ecstasy. We tried to pick up Big Mike, but he was just too big. Instead, a few kids hoisted me on their shoulders and I was carried off the field. Tears of joy streamed down my face. It was one of the greatest thrills of my life. I was a hero.

2010 Movies: Year in Review

2010-12-29T11:31:00.000-08:00

I estimated that I saw 28 movies in the theatre this year. I’ve decided to rank and write a short review for each one from worst to best.

#28 Dinner for Schmucks

This movie was dreadful from the title to the writing to the acting. I actually saw the original French version 11 years ago while living in Spain. It was in French with Spanish subtitles: I didn’t understand a thing, but it was still funnier then this piece of garbage. Shame on you: Steve Carell, Paul Rudd, and Zach Galifianakis.

#27 Robin Hood

This movie was terrible. Read my full review here: Robin Hood blows!

#26 Cop Out

I actually snuck into this movie as part of a double feature. It’s the first time I’ve ever snuck in and then in the middle, snuck out. The movie was more painful then funny. Remember when Kevin Smith created Clerks, Chasing Amy, and Mallrats? Those were the days. The only highlight is that part of it was shot in Bushwick/Brooklyn!

#25 A-Team

I grew up watching the show and humming the theme song. In retrospect, it may not have been as good as I remembered. The movie version was fairly average—some decent action scenes, a scattered story, and weak character development. I found myself missing Mr. T. This was more like the C-Team.

#24 Unstoppable

This was originally titled Speed 3: The Train that Couldn’t Stop. Although it’s based on a true story, the plot is kind of ridiculous. It’s about a train that couldn’t stop. Denzel does his usual I’m-an-ordniary-Joe-but-also-a-hero thing. The action scenes were riveting, but the rest of it was pretty silly. The majority of the movie was narrated by news reporters which got on my nerves. One of my favorite parts was that Denzel’s hot daughters worked at Hooters. That was cool.

#23 Cyrus

Indie film lovers and hipsters will rave over this movie, but it was really just ok. John C. Reilly meets a new woman, but has to deal with her early 20’s son, Jonah Hill. The first 15 minutes was fun with John C Reilly stealing the show. And Jonah Hill got a few laughs being awkward. But there’s a good hour of nothingness, and the same joke over and over again. In the end, it’s above average, but if you watch it when you’re tired, you may fall asleep.

#21/#22 The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo/The Girl Who Played with Fire

The books swept the nation this summer. I read all three and could not go a day without seeing them read on the subway or in the park. The Swedish movies have all been released, and the Americans get a crack at it next summer.

The Dragon Tattoo was the best book and so was the movie. It was DARK, mysterious and thrilling. The biggest con to reading the book was that I knew all the twists and turns ahead of time. Despite this, it was still exciting. Just as a warning, some scenes were extremely dark and tough to stomach (guaranteed that the American version will dumb it down a bit.)

The second movie was not quite as good with the exception of seeing Miriam Wu naked. It had its moments, but did not have the same excitement as the first one.

*I read the 3^rd book, but did not see the movie. I hate to say it, but I didn’t really like it. It was really slow, and there were too many random characters with funny sounding names. Plus, Lisbeth doesn’t really do anything. It should have been re-titled: The Girl Who Sits in her Hospital Room. *

#20 Green Zone

This was a fairly forgettable movie starring Matt Damon. It was decently made, but nothing special. I kept waiting for him to turn into Jason Bourne, but it never happened. I suggest watching this on a rainy Sunday, and you will probably like it.

#19 Date Night

I’m embarrassed to say it, but I saw this with my buddy Barry on a Saturday night, a date night if you will. But he had discounted tickets so that was pretty cool.

This movie was cute, kind of like the girl that’s neither ugly nor attractive. Cute. It had some funny moments, but nothing special. If Carell and Fey were replaced by two less popular actors, say Scott Bakula and Teri Hatcher, it would’ve gone straight to video.

#18 The Other Guys

I wanted to love this movie, but it was only okay. Will Ferrell is, dare I say it, getting a little stale. But The Other Guys did throw in lots of jokes, and there were a lot of laugh out loud moments.

I may have liked it more if I hadn’t watched it at a theatre in Times Square. The guy behind me kept putting his foot on top of my seat, there were babies crying (at a midnight show to boot), a few people were on the phone, and I was petrified of being attacked by bed bugs. If all those things hadn’t happened, I probably would have liked this movie more.

#17 The Expendables

The Expendables was exactly what I expected. The action scenes were ridiculously good, and the dialogue was unintentionally funny. It was a throwback to the old school 80’s action movies. If you thought this looked stupid, then don’t see it. If you got excited when you heard about this, it will be good nostalgic fun.

#16 Knight and Day

This spy movie was unexpectedly fun. It’s not perfect, but it’s far better then it’s getting credit for. (Extra props because many of the scenes took place in Boston.) Check out my friend Matt’s review at Double O Section.

#15 Hot Tub Time Machine

This movie didn’t take itself seriously, and as a result, was very funny. It was vulgar, over the top, and silly, but I love that stuff. And if you like 80’s references, you will definitely dig this too. For a full review, click on: I love the 80's!

#14 Get Him to The Greek

There were three scenes in this movie that will have you on the floor. The rest of the movie was uneven, and even a little slow, but overall it was a fun time. I had a special spot for Get Him to the Greek because it was in the unofficial sequel to Forgetting Sarah Marshall, one of my favorites of the last ten years. This was not nearly as good, but will still have you laughing out loud a bunch of times.

#13 Shutter Island

This was a creepy thriller with some good twists and turns. It’s not Scorcese’s best, but still a lot of fun. Some loved the ending, some didn’t. I thought it was well worth the price of admission. (It also takes places in the Boston area.)

#12 Easy A

This lighthearted comedy starring Emma Stone flew under the radar. It was funny, clever, and well written. Stone stole the show as a sassy, nerdy, hot high school girl who spreads rumors about herself to form an identity. This movie was like a poor man’s Clueless or Mean Girls—not a classic, but still very fun and entertaining.

#11 Kick Ass

This was another underrated movie. Many shied away from it because it was yet another comic book movie and it starred Nicolas Cage. But I was shocked how fun it was, and how good the action scenes were. Hit Girl, a 10 year old, definitely kicked the most ass. For a full review, check out the link: This movie kicked ass!

#9/#10 Waiting for Superman/Race to Nowhere

I would be remiss if I didn’t put these movies somewhere near the top ten. Waiting for Superman was a documentary about our state of education in the USA. It was made by the same people who created An Inconvenient Truth. It was well made, and should get more people talking about education. Although I didn’t agree with all of it, hopefully it will get some dialogue started about how to improve education and help more kids.

http://www.waitingforsuperman.com/

Race to Nowhere is another documentary about education. It focuses on students who feel the pressures of acing every exam and paper. And it examines the idea of students burning out in order to achieve academic success. The creator is not distributing the film through the theatres. Instead, it’s being featured at schools across the country. Educators and families can watch together and then have a discussion about its impact on them. I had the pleasure of doing this and it was profoundly memorable.

http://www.racetonowhere.com/

#8 Grown Ups

You might think I put this in by accident, but it’s not a mistake. I really liked this movie. It received hideous reviews, and I admit, it was stupid, but for some reason I really liked it. It reminded me of camp: boys being boys, going to water parks, playing basketball, ragging on each other, staring at hot girls. In essence, this is what Grown Ups and growing up was all about. My friend hated this movie and couldn’t believe I recommended it. But I didn’t recommend it for her. It was for her husband, and one of my best friends, who also went to camp. Most would rank this movie as one of the worst of the year, but to me it surprisingly cracked the top ten.

#7 127 Hours

Danny Boyle brings this story to life with some amazing directing, and James Franco carries the rest of it all by himself. It’s about the hiker who gets his arm stuck under a rock for 127 hours. I’m not going to tell you if he escapes, but you might need to cover your eyes towards the end.

#6 The Town

Ben Affleck has been in Matt Damon’s shadow long enough. This guy can act (sometimes), and he can also direct. The Town may not have the best title, but it is an excellent thriller/action movie. It’s intense, funny, and smart. And it boasts one of the best scenes of the year that takes place at Fenway Park. Great movie! (Another Boston one for you!)

#5 Toy Story 3

Pixar wins again! Toy Story 3 is not just an ordinary animated movie. The animation is gorgeous, and it feels like you’re watching real life. The characters are toys, but they feel like real people too. The story is powerful, witty, and at times very dark. In fact, for some scenes I was genuinely scared. By the end, you’ll probably have tears in your eyes. I recommend wearing 3-D glasses, that way nobody will see you crying by the end.

#4 The Fighter

This is one of the best films of the year. The Fighter is not a simple underdog story. The movie is not just about fighting or boxing. But it’s really about fighting to be somebody, fighting against drug addiction, fighting amongst a family, and finally fighting to be a champion. The boxing scenes are amazing and the performance by Christian Bale and others are award winning. I actually stood up and cheered during some of the scenes. The Pride of Lowell brings it home! (And gives us yet another Boston movie in the mix.)

#3 Black Swan

I knew nothing about Black Swan before I saw it. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time…it was amazing! In order to be a responsible reviewer, I must add the following. It’s an amazing movie, but it’s also really disturbing and uncomfortable to sit through. Darren Aronofsky, who directed Requiem for a Dream (one of the most disturbing movies ever made) has a way of making audiences feel uncomfortable. It’s almost like the movie is really happening, you’re in it, and you’re losing your mind too.

Black Swan is about a ballerina who goes mad striving for perfection. It sounds simple, and that’s why the movie is so great. It’s impossible to decipher reality from fantasy/nightmare, and as a viewer you have no idea what will happen next. Black Swan reminded me of Rosemary’s Baby, Fight Club and Misery all rolled into one.

The acting in Black Swan is also incredible. Mila Kunis and Natalie Portman (hottest Jewish lesbian scene of all time!) will definitely win the MTV award for best kiss (and more.) It’s the first time I almost drooled on myself, not figuratively, literally. During “the love scene”, I almost stood up and cheered, but I was so drawn in that I could barely move.

This movie is sexy, intense, scary, and utterly chaotic. I loved it!

#2 Inception

Inception is another marvelous feat for Christopher Nolan. He wrote it himself, and brought beauty and brilliance onto the big screen. The movie features four climaxes simultaneously, something I’ve never seen on the big screen or even heard of (except in maybe adult film.)

As someone who studied psychology, I found the idea of invading someone’s sub-conscious fascinating. Because when you think about it, it happens in life every single day. As politicians, educators, advertisers, etc. we try to get people to think a certain way. But you can’t just tell them. You almost have to convince them that it was their idea. This is what Inception is all about. It’s a beautiful movie deserving of many awards on Oscar night.

#1 The Social Network

I watched the Social Network twice in the theatres, and I couldn’t get enough. My only criticism would be to drop the “the” in The Social Network. The writing, acting, and directing make it a nearly flawless movie. Jesse Eisenberg, who I’ve loved since he was in Roger Dodger a decade ago, was excellent and his supporting cast (including JT) were sharp as well. (And it’s yet another movie that takes place primarily in the Boston area.)

Some have ranted that it’s not entirely true, but Hoosiers isn’t entirely accurate, and it’s still one of the best ever made. I’m not rating this #1 for the year based on accuracy. I’m rating it the best because it’s an incredibly well told and thought provoking film.

It’s funny, smart, creative, fast-paced, and entertaining. It’s based on the book, The Accidental Billionaires written by Ben Mezrich. I bring this up because he also wrote one of my favorite books of all time, Bringing Down the House. The blackjack book was later turned into the movie 21. It was Hollywoodized with a bogus script and terrible directing. But I wondered what if got in the hands of talented filmmakers?

This is what happened with The Social Network. The writer (Sorkin), and the director (Fincher) make nearly every scene fun, funny, or fascinating. The dialogue is fast paced, clever, and witty. My favorite two scenes are at the AEPi party where they discuss why Jewish guys like Asian girls, and the rowing scene which is just beautiful to watch.

A million dollars isn't cool anymore. You know what's cool?

Winning the Oscar for best movie of the year. Go post that on your facebook status!

The Secret Leslie Nielsen Interview

2010-11-30T10:53:00.000-08:00

Leslie Nielsen starred in two of my favorite movies of all-time, Airplane! and The Naked Gun. Sadly, he passed away this week. But I was lucky enough to have a fictional interview with him on September 31st. Here was the transcript:

ME: Welcome! Should I call you Leslie, Mr. Nielsen, Dr. Rumack?

LESLIE: I'm Lt. Frank Drebin! Police Squad!

ME: Thanks for coming. I hope you enjoyed the complimentary meal.

LESLIE: What was it we had for dinner tonight?

ME: Well, we had a choice of steak or fish.

LESLIE: Yes, yes, I remember, I had lasagna.

ME: So what is your background? You’re American?

LESLIE: No, Dutch-Irish. My father was from Wales.

ME: Going from serious roles to playing Dr. Rumack in Airplane! was a big chance to take, right?

LESLIE: I know. You take a chance getting up in the morning, crossing the street or sticking your face in a fan.

ME: But weren’t you afraid you would fail? I’d like to be a writer someday, but I’m afraid of rejection and sometimes I just want to give up.

LESLIE: Well, I don't have anything to say, you've done the best you could. You really have; the best you could. You can't expect to win ‘em all. But, I want to tell you something I've kept to myself through these years. I was in the war myself, medical corps. I was on late duty one night when they brought in a badly wounded pilot from one of the raids. He could barely talk. He looked at me and said, "The odds were against us up there, but we went in anyway, I'm glad the Captain made the right decision." The pilot's name was George Zip.

ME: George Zip said that?

LESLIE: The last thing he said to me, "Doc," he said, "some time when the crew is up against it, and the breaks are beating the boys, tell them to get out there and give it all they got and win just one for the Zipper. I don't know where I'll be then, Doc," he said, "but I won't smell too good, that's for sure."

ME: That's a great story. Speaking of stories, I’ve thought about selling out and writing a “Hollywood” script just to get my name out there. What do you think?

LESLIE: It's like eating a spoonful of Drano; sure, it'll clean you out, but it'll leave you hollow inside.

ME: You've been in Hollywood for years, what is it like dealing with screenwriters and producers and directors on a day-to-day basis and how do you survive?

LESLIE: I've been swimming in raw sewage, and I love it! I love it!

ME: I’ve heard acting can be dangerous…

LESLIE: It is. That's why I carry a big gun.

ME: Aren't you afraid it might go off accidentally?

LESLIE: I used to have that problem.

ME: What did you do about it?

LESLIE: I just think about baseball.

ME: What was it like working with OJ Simpson?

LESLIE: Interesting... almost as interesting as the photographs I saw today.

ME: How did you meet your first love?

LESLIE: It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girls dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day.

ME: Goodyear?

LESLIE: No, the worst.

ME: But you settled down and eventually had a family...

LESLIE: I've finally found someone I can love - and good, clean love... without utensils. I've noticed things that I never knew were there before... birds singing, dew glistening on a newly formed leaf, stoplights.

ME: But how did you know she was the “one?”

LESLIE: That delicately beautiful face. And a body that could melt a cheese sandwich from across the room. And breasts that seemed to say... "Hey! Look at these!" She was the kind of woman who made you want to drop to your knees and thank God you were a man! She reminded me of my mother, all right. No doubt about it.

ME: What should I say to a woman I’m interested in to get her attention?

LESLIE: It's a topsy-turvy world, and maybe the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans. But this is our hill. And these are our beans!

ME: Surely, you can’t be serious.

LESLIE: I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley.

ME: You’re a big fan of my blog, The Corner. Do you have any final words of wisdom for me?

LESLIE: I just want to tell you good luck. We're all counting on you.

The Turkey Bowl

2010-11-24T09:49:00.000-08:00

I have some great football memories from over the years. I never played organized football with helmets and pads (Mom wouldn’t sign the permission slip), but I played with friends growing up. I remember competing in brutal games during recess in elementary school. Despite wrecking each other, nobody ever really got hurt.

As we got older, games grew more intense. Things settled down after one of my friends, trying to catch a deep pass, lost his two front teeth running into a UPS truck.

In college, I had the worst injury of my pick-up football career. It was intramural football—my fraternity (the preppy Jews) versus the lacrosse fraternity (the big, strong guys.) Their captains asked if we would play tackle. My fraternity brothers whimpered and were adamantly against it. My manhood hung on the line, and I was not going to back down. We would play tackle.

I then played the game of my life. I weaved in and out of traffic. I escaped tackles. I could not be stopped. I was Barry sanders, Danny Woodhead, and Rudy all rolled into one. We were crushing them. And that’s when “the play” happened.

"THE PLAY"

It was a 4th down. I pulled a Keyshawn Johnson and said: “Just give me the damn ball!” And they did. I broke two tackles, sidestepped another one, and then I had to make a brave choice. To my left were four guys ready to destroy me. To the right was the sideline, and directly in front of me was Bluto. He was a large mammal who resembled a bigger, stronger (less drunk) version of John Belushi from Animal House. I weighed my decision and ran directly towards the monster.

My eyes lit up and so did his. It was like a punch buggy running into a mack truck at full speed. I didn’t care. I was going to take him down. We collided and our momentum pushed us out of bounds. Bluto collapsed on top of me, and my shoulder slammed into the ground. CRACK!

I quickly popped up to my feet in order to show off my toughness. I even helped Bluto up with my left hand. But when I got up, something seemed off. It felt like my right shoulder was hanging off of its socket. That’s when I felt it move.

My collar bone was shattered to pieces and I could actually feel it dangling inside of me. I turned white. People asked me if I was okay. Their voices faded from me. I walked across the street like a zombie to health services with mud smeared across my pale face, and my collar bone broken to pieces.

I went to the hospital, and it was confirmed that my collar bone had broken in three places. I slept sitting up for 6 weeks. Then I did physical therapy for 6 weeks. I still have shoulder issues. But the worst part of the experience is that we inexplicably lost the game.

Despite the setback, I still crave playing football. The last few years, I’ve been a member of the LES football game (now called the Goose League.) It’s a group of camp friends, college friends and friend’s friends. We don’t play tackle, and there’s still a fair share of injuries (I tore a ligament in my finger in one of the first games.) But I love the intensity, the competition, the storytelling during huddles, the complaining, the arguing, and the good natured trash talking. And I love how we all brag to our girlfriends, wives, and facebook friends about how many touchies we scored that day. I love that we now have a traditional game because it was something I always wanted. Because growing up, I desperately wanted to be a part of the greatest football tradition in America:

THE TURKEY BOWL

All over the country, old friends reunite for a game of football over Thanksgiving. Some play tackle, some have flags, some play two hand touch. Some have five Mississippi, some have six. Some have first downs, and some have score or you bust. Some have blockers and some have blitzes. But I don’t know how other games work, I only know about THE Turkey Bowl.

It all started in Sharon, MA sometime in the mid to late 1980’s, and I had nothing to do with it. In fact, my first appearance in The Turkey Bowl was not until a few years ago. It’s unclear how it started, and it was never initially intended to be an ongoing tradition. But each year, the event happened and it ultimately became more than just a football game.

My brother Jon and his friends started the game back when they were in junior high school. They played over Thanksgiving, Christmas, and whenever they could get enough people together. And over the course of time, Thanksgiving was the holiday when everyone was around.

I was always envious of my brother and his friends. They were six years older than me, and I looked up to them. Sometimes, they let me go bowling with them or to Burger King, but no way was I ever involved in the Turkey Bowl. I had my own friends, but there was something special about this group of guys. While my friends were scattered all over the place, these guys were one giant clique. It was really a remarkable thing.

As the years passed, the Turkey Bowl made a name for itself. While my Mom made sure the Thanksgiving feast was in place, my brother and his friends made sure The Turkey Bowl was ready to go as well.

There were two captains (usually the two QBs) chosen in October, and then the teams were picked from there. Once the teams were constructed, the trash talk began. Phone calls and letters (remember, this was well before e-mail) constituted for smack talk. It was rumored that teams would have secret meetings to set up trick plays, audibles, and touchdown dances.

The game was on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. A dozen guys showed up every year around 11 am. There were other games going on, but somehow the field always seemed reserved for this Turkey Bowl. As time passed, and one of the players became a cop, the field was officially reserved. When he flipped his siren and parked his cop car in front of the field, it was clear these guys should not be messed with.

Other evolutions included uniforms and touchdown dances. At first, guys donned random football jerseys including Brian Bosworth, Bubby Brister, and Drew Bledsoe. As the game became more traditional, players were given official, custom made, reversible black and white Turkey Bowl jerseys. And the touchdown celebrations were a product of the era—in the 80’s it was the Icky Shuffle; in the 90’s it was the Terrell Davis salute, and in the 2000’s it was something inspired by Ochocinco or T.O.

As the game progressed so did the fans. Friends and families watched and cheered from the sidelines each year. People took pictures and stood patiently awaiting a triple-reverse lateral flea-flicker to finally work.

Like I said before, I never played in the game, I was only a fan. But when I was 15, I became a part of it. I was nominated to be the camera man. It didn’t take much arm pulling for me to volunteer. Heck, I wanted to be included in The Turkey Bowl since I was a little kid.

I stood in the freezing cold, rain, and wind and pulled off my best Scorsese/Spielberg impersonation for the next few years. I hoped my work would somehow end up on NFL Films. It didn’t, but Matt, one of the co-founders, cut/edited my work to create The Turkey Bowl Plays of the Decade set to the soundtrack of Rocky IV.

And after the game, that night, the guys threw some cash my way, introduced me to alcohol and older women, and even bought me my very own Turkey Bowl jersey. The after-Turkey Bowl parties were legendary at one point. Everyone showed up. As they complained about controversial calls and how sore they were, they watched The Turkey Bowl film footage, and also voted on the MVP. As the camera man, I got in on the action, and even garnered a few votes myself.

Over the years with technology, the games were a little easier to arrange. The Turkey Bowl could be organized through the internet, and the trash talking could be done online. The fan base grew—friends and family showed up in the freezing cold because after all, it was The Turkey Bowl. There was even an article published in the famous Sharon Advocate.

It was four years ago when I got the call. They finally needed me to play in The Turkey Bowl. I had been licking my chops for years to play in the game. I would officially be part of it in its 20th year.

In my four years of play, I’ve scored a few touchdowns and let up a few as well. Even though these guys were older than me, they could still play. My favorite personal memory was a 50 yard end around for a touchdown. My lead blocker, Lee (another little brother), paved the way for me, and I rumbled untouched along the right side of the field. We slapped five mid-run, and I smiled widely as I ran into the end zone. Touchdown! It was pure bliss.

The 24th year of the Turkey Bowl is in place for this Saturday. My jersey hangs in my closet at home ready to be worn. The same dozen or so guys will be ready as well. Everyone will be a little slower, a little fatter, and a little more out of shape. But we’ll all be ready to play.

And we’ll all be ready for the after game brunch which has taken the place of the Saturday night kegger. It’s a great time for friends and families to catch up, talk about football, and reminisce about tradition.

And even though the fan base is not as passionate as say ten years ago, it must be noted that the fan base has expanded. It’s not just parents, sibling, and old friends anymore. Now, it’s children too. They watch proudly and hope to one day follow in their Daddy’s footsteps and play in The Turkey Bowl. And if these guys can last another 10 years or so, that’s exactly what will happen.

Michael J. Fox

2010-11-15T12:10:00.000-08:00

About six months ago, my friend Jeff decided to run the NYC Marathon. He stopped drinking, joined a jogging group, and ate a pile of peanut butter sandwiches for some reason. He woke up early every morning and just felt like running. I thought he was crazy. I didn’t understand the appeal of running 26.2 miles just for the heck of it.

But then I saw the race.

Everyone in New York seemed to be outside on that sunny day. There was a unique positive energy in the air. I’d never seen New Yorkers be so nice to each other. There were no dirty looks, spitting, and a general disdain for one another. Instead, people were smiling, talking, and cheering on the runners (a hundred people even sang “Happy Birthday!” to a passenger on a packed bus.)

Jeff had his name printed on the front of his shirt. Strangers screamed “Go Jeff!” as he trotted through the boroughs of New York. At first, it was weird, but then he got used to it. When he heard his name, he pointed to his fans, and lived it up. He felt famous for a day.

I have to thank Jeff for inspiring me. His dedication and hard work really showed me something. But I also have to thank Jeff because if he hadn’t run, I never would have met Michael J. Fox.

In order to run, Jeff had to raise money for a charity. He chose the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. I happily donated money for three reasons: it would help my friend, it was a worthy cause, and I loved Back to the Future, Teen Wolf, and Family Ties.

On Marathon day, I stood amongst the members of Team Fox. Runners tumbled by, some in athletic gear, one as a fireman, a UPS worker, and Superman. But my attention was on the person in front of me: Michael J. Fox.

I patted him on the back and congratulated him on his cause. He thanked me, and then informed me it was time to walk his dog. A few minutes later, his dog Gus was by his side. A few people took pictures with him. I patted his dog and wondered if I should tell him that Back to the Future was my favorite movie of all-time, and how much I enjoyed his book “Lucky Man.” I decided against it. Instead, I scratched Gus’ ears, and let him lick my hand. Then Michael told me it was time to go. Gus had to pee.

On the surface, the conversation was not profound. It probably meant nothing to him, but to me it meant something. Here was a guy who bravely continued acting after being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease; a guy who spends his time and energy raising money for the cause; and here was a guy whose movies and TV shows made me want to be a writer. I will never forget the day I met Michael J. Fox and his dog licked my hand.

As a tribute to him, here are my favorite Michael J. Fox roles of all time:

Marty McFly (Back to the Future)

Marty McFly will forever be one of my favorite characters in film history. How can you not like a kid who plays the guitar, skateboards, and can travel through time?! Thanks to amazing writing, creativity, and Fox’s performance, Back to the Future is one of the best movies ever made, and my favorite movie of all time (click here for my previous post.) The sequels were decent (the third being the weakest), but the original was a masterpiece.

Marty McFly was a perfect blend of insecurity and confidence. I could relate to his self-doubt, but also wished I could be as tough as him and stand up to bullies. His skateboard chase with Biff could go down as one of the best scenes ever.

You can try to call him Calvin Klein, but he goes by Marty. He likes Tab, Pepsi-Free, purple underwear, and rock n’ roll. His band name is the Pinheads, he fears rejection, and he loves to wear life preservers. His best friend is an odd scientist, he loves to use the term “heavy”, and he never backs down from a fight. He’s a philanthropist (donated money to save the clock tower), can drive a stick shift, and his family will always come first.

Marty McFly is as cool as they come.

Alex P. Keaton (Family Ties)

Family Ties is arguably one of the best family sitcoms of all time. And the star of the show was Michael J. Fox. He stole nearly every episode with his quick witted one-liners. He was a republican wise-ass who loved Nixon, Reagan, business, and money. His favorite show was Wall Street Week. He was so charming even my Mom, a staunch republican hater, loved him.

I’ll never forget the episode where he gets dumped at the dance by Ellen. Every time “At the Moment” comes on the easy listening station, I get a tear in my eye, and think of Alex P. Keaton.

Here’s the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-TFP14Z-P0&feature=related

And extra props to Alex for having a neighbor named Skippy, and dating Courtney Cox’s Lauren pre-Friends.

Scott Howard (Teen Wolf)

“I want a keg of beer.” Scott Howard wasn’t so intimidating, but when he wolfed out, he was unstoppable. The plot is laugh out loud ridiculous—a high school kid turns into a wolf, gets wicked popular, and becomes a basketball star—but because of Fox it works.

I love this movie! MJ Fox is charming as usual as the everyday high school kid. He has a crush on the school hottie, Pamela Wells, but you know his heart is with his next door neighbor Boof. He surrounds himself with good people: Styles, one of the best 80’s sidekicks of all time, and Chubbs, his fat basketball teammate.

Teen Wolf introduced me to the world of van surfing, kegs of beer, and wolf basketball. It will always be one of my favorite movies. The scene where Fox wolfs out and gets with Pamela Wells could go down as one of the best hook-ups in cinematic history.

Only Michael J. Fox could take such a goofy storyline and make it one of the best movies of the 80’s.

Dr. Benjamin Stone (Doc Hollywood)

Michael J. Fox plays Dr. Ben Stone, a smooth talking plastic surgeon on his way to Beverly Hills. After a car accident, he gets stuck in Grady, the squash capital of America. He falls in love with the beautiful Julie Warner, adopts a pig, and learns how charming small towns can be.

Michael J. Fox is as likable as ever as the wise-ass city kid. I love when he butts heads with old Dr. Hogue, bonds with his patients (especially when he passionately reads mail to an illiterate couple), and attempts to woo Julie Warner.

And although this post is about Michael J. Fox, the greatest moment in the film is when Julie Warner emerges from the lake buck naked, walks by Ben Stone, and sexily announces: “You can blink now.”

Lewis Rothschild (The American President)

In one of the more underrated movies of the last two decades, Michael J. Fox plays Lewis, the fast talking speech writer for the president. Lewis is witty, funny, and even challenges the president on various occasions. My favorite moment is during the president’s final impromptu speech, the camera pans over to Lewis who pumps his fist in approval. Then Michael Douglas says: “My name is Andrew Shepherd and I AM the president.” Love that scene!

Brantley Foster/Carlton Whitfield (The Secret of My Succe$s)

The Secret of My Succe$s was never a huge success, but I liked it. Michael J. plays Brantley the hard working mail boy who desperately wants to be a successful business man. So in classic 80’s/90’s fashion (see Working Girl), he conjures up a fake identity. As Carlton Whitfield, Fox gets to be calm, cool, and confident. In his alter ego, he climbs his way up the company ladder, sleeps with his Uncle’s cougar wife, and meets his dream girl. This is a classic early 90’s movie—it’s all over the place, a little absurd, but since Fox is so damn cool, I watch it whenever it’s on TV.

Scott Larson (Midnight Madness)

This was MJ Fox’s debut film. Although I can’t remember the whole movie, I do remember watching it with my brothers a bunch of times. It’s definitely one of those obscure movies with a cult following.

It’s about a group of college kids on an epic scavenger hunt (this definitely needs to be re-made.) Michael J. Fox plays somebody’s younger brother; he’s probably 18, but he looks like he’s 12. When he craftily uses his retainer to win one of the challenges, I knew he was headed towards a life of stardom. And what do you know…I was right!

Thanks for everything Michael. Keep up the good work!

BACK TO THE FUTURE

2010-11-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

“Here’s a red letter date in the history of science, November 5th 1955…That was the day I invented time travel. I remember it vividly. I was standing on the edge of my toilet hanging a clock, the porcelain was wet, I slipped, hit my head on the edge of the sink, and when I came to I had a revelation, a vision, a picture in my head, a picture of this! This is what makes time travel possible – the Flux Capacitor!”

I traveled through time last week and saw Back to the Future on the big screen. To celebrate its 25th anniversary, Back to the Future has been popping up in theatres across the country.

Back to the Future has always been more than just a movie to me. I’ve seen in 88 times and confidently declare it my favorite movie of all time. It combines my favorite things: time travel, comedy, and true love.

I recalled the first time I saw it on the big screen with one of my best friends, Randy. After that we became movie nerds. We watched movies every week, and vowed to one day move to LA and make our own. We fulfilled our promise in the year 2000. In 2002, we saw Back to the Future in the theatre, and heard one of the writers, Bob Gale, speak. It was inspiring and unforgettable. And although I am now in New York, and Randy is still in LA, we often text random Back to the Future quotes to one another, and hope to one day have our names in the credits on the silver screen.

I often wonder if a movie like Back to the Future could ever come out today, and I sincerely doubt it. What makes it so unique is that it doesn’t fit into a single genre. It’s a coming-of-age, teen, sci-fi, action, period piece, romantic family comedy. It’s not like movie studios are lining up to make that kind of movie.

But it was made. And it was amazing. Like Doc Brown always said: “If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.” In terms of box office success, Back to the Future accomplished more than anything. It grossed nearly 200 million dollars, and that was in 1985 money. But for me, I loved it because it made me laugh, cry, cheer, and dream at the same time. It was the ultimate underdog story, the nerd standing up to the bully. It was the first time I fell in love with the movies. So when I heard that I could see it again in the theatre, I jumped at the opportunity.

I got to the theatre on 11th and 3rd avenue, and a line ran down three New York City blocks. Geeks like me talked about jigowatts, flux capacitors, deloreans, Libyan vans, Einstein, life preservers, the clock tower, lightning storms, Old Man Peabody, Jackie Gleason, Mayor Goldie Wilson, Marvin Berry, and the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance. They herded us into the theatre, and the lights went down. Great Scott! Marty McFly appeared before us.

I mouthed the lines like a lyric to a song. I knew every word of dialogue. “Why don’t you make like a tree, and get out of here!” Most would think this was weird, but I realized the people around me were doing the same thing. I laughed more than usual. Doc Brown’s eye popping facial expressions got me every time. The energy was infectious. Alan Silvestri’s beautiful score encompassed the entire theatre. The audience cheered and clapped as Marty maneuvered on his skateboard, George knocked out Biff, and Doc helped Marty get back to the future. And the big screen enhanced the action, the comedy, and excitement.

When the credits rolled, I sang along to Huey Lewis and the News. I grabbed my free poster which I hoped to frame and hang on one of my walls. Just like that, I was a kid again. That’s the thing about Back to the Future. No matter how many times I watch it, it makes me feel young again.

As I walked home from the movie, a brown penny caught my eye. I picked it up for good luck. When I turned it over, my eyes widened. The year: 1955. Maybe it was a message or a sign. Maybe I had traveled through time. Maybe I was safe and sound back in good old 1955. I scooped it up and placed it in my pocket. Back to the Future will always be a part of me. I walked down the road, and thought to myself: “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

Tears streamed down their faces. CatWoman and LadyGaga sobbed on the sidewalk screaming obscenities back and forth at each other. I stood there shocked, confused, sad, and proud at the same time.

What happened?

It all started the month before. I met LadyGaga on the 4 train coming back from the Yankees game. She and her boyfriend were crammed next to me in the packed car. He was a Red Sox fan and she was a Yankees fan. I chatted with them intrigued about the idea of an interfaith sports relationship. They turned out to be good people although I still couldn’t date a Yankees fan.

The girl was about to work in same field as me so we exchanged emails. The guy didn’t seem to mind. It was about as innocent as things could get.

LadyGaga and I exchanged a few emails about work for the next month. I thought nothing of it. I had a girlfriend anyway and was perfectly happy. I was giving her advice. It was just something nice to do.

Then came Halloween of 2009. Every year it’s brought up how great Halloween is because girls can wear nothing and take pride in their inner slut. But what about guys? I have to admit that I’ve never fully grasped Halloween in this way. I’m too lazy to arrange a costume or spend excessive amounts of money to look good. I usually dressed as simple as possible: A Red Sox fan (t-shirt, hat), a Coach (whistle, hate, warm-ups) or a surfer dude (Hawaiian shirt, visor, sunglasses.)

But this year was different. This year I actually had a plan. I spent two weeks growing out a beard, and made sure to skip my last haircut appointment. I cropped my facial hair, spiked up my hair, and threw on a wife-beater. And then I made one quick stop at the Halloween store for some claws. In a matter of minutes, I morphed into Wolverine from X-men.

I’m a decent looking guy, but by no means am I head-turner. But tonight was different. I wasn’t the nice guy blogger. Tonight, I was Wolverine.

I strutted to my girlfriend’s bar and showed off my costume. A few people snapped pictures of me in the street. I got head nods, high fives (high claws) and smiles everywhere I walked. I entered the bar and my girlfriend’s eyes lit up. She looked amazing too, in a cop uniform. I felt like I was no longer living my ordinary life. Tonight, I was a stud.

I ventured off to my party. The subway was the same thing. Strangers snapped pictures of me and gave me approving grins. I felt like a celebrity. It’s amazing how some facial hair, gel, and a couple of cheap plastic claws can change how people perceive you.

I was at the party when I received a random call from LadyGaga.

She and her friends were in Manhattan and looking for a party to crash. My friend’s party was mellow and fun, and I suggested they stop by. I figured my buddy could get with one of LadyGaga's friends. It would be perfect.

I consumed candy corn and alcohol until they arrived. My friend gave me props for my costume as well as for possibly hooking him up. Every guy deserves a round of applause if he can get four girls to come to a party.

My friend was dressed as a Swing State. It was a sorry costume that definitely was not going to get him laid. But maybe my cool costume Karma would rub off on him.

LadyGaga entered with CatWoman and 2 other friends. They all looked good. I felt I had done well. They loved my costume and all wanted to play with my claws.

I gave them the agenda. We’d hang at this party and then end up my girlfriend’s bar later (I wanted to make it clear that I had a girlfriend and was not “available.”) They seemed on board. I asked LadyGaga why her boyfriend didn’t come.

LadyGaga: “I don’t have a boyfriend. The guy on the train was just a friend.” My head cocked to the side in confusion. Her flirtations didn’t seem so innocent anymore.

Several candy corn and beverages later, we all moved to the neighborhood bar. It was me, my friend, and the four girls. The flirting level had increased all around. I had a girlfriend and was on my best behavior, but we had an open flirting policy, and I loved to flirt. I chatted up CatWoman for a good hour (I’m a sucker for woman dressed as cats.)

As things progressed, I later danced with CatWoman at the bar. It was probably more seductive then it should’ve been, but I had so many candy corn, I barely knew what was going on. I wasn’t myself anymore anyway. I was Wolverine.

That’s when the fireworks erupted. My friend, who was present and coherent for all of the action, later gave me the play by play. He had been flirting with one of the friends when LadyGaga lost it. She was hysterically crying. She pointed towards me and CatWoman, and cursed a string of obscenities.

LadyGaga: “I told her. He was mine. That fucking bitch!”

“He” was me. My friend Swing State looked as befuddled as I would’ve been. She called dibs on me? Really? Most women hate being reduced to a piece of meat, but I found it quite endearing.

My dancing session with CatWoman ended once she saw LadyGaga in tears and realized she was being called a bitch. She was the next to lose it. In a whirlwind, CatWoman and LadyGaga were crying and fighting: calling each other names, hating on each other.

All because of me: Wolverine.

I just stood their powerless. What would Wolverine do, I thought. I couldn’t think of anything so I sharpened my fake claws and played with my beard.

The hurricane moved to the sidewalk in front of the bar. The girls were sobbing. My friend tried to put out the fire for two reasons. One, because he’s a nice guy, and two, because he really liked one of the friends and knew he couldn’t get with her with this chaos going on. Unfortunately for him, Wolverine was a hard man to get over.

The girls had to leave. I tried to apologize but didn’t know what to say. I had never been the object of affection by two girls at the same time. I tried to explain that it wasn’t even me they wanted. It was Wolverine. And I could only be him once a year.

My friend urged me to leave. I walked down the street shaking my head. I had made two girls cry. I felt awful, but kind of proud at the same time. I wasn't used to one girl liking me let alone two.

I reached my girlfriend’s bar and told her the story. She looked at me up and down and was not surprised about my tale. Wolverine was a heart breaker.

As Halloween approaches this year, this story repeats in my head. I have a two-week old beard, I have my hair gel, and my claws sit at the bottom of my closet. Do I dare break out Wolverine once again?

But that’s best part of Halloween. We can escape our mundane lives for one night, and be someone different. We can embrace our inner slut, inner stud, inner weirdo, inner kid or inner demon just for a few hours. It seems odd, but sometimes we just need to do it.

That reminds me. I should go. It’s just too hard to type with these claws.

Happy Halloween!

Happy 90210 Day!!!

2010-09-02T09:32:00.000-07:00

Today is September 2^nd, 2010 otherwise known as 90210 Day. I would be remiss if I didn’t recognize this day in my blog.

Growing up there were certain shows that were life altering. Beverly Hills 90210 was one of them. The show first arrived in 1990, and I was 12 years-old. It was the first time since Saved by the Bell that I developed real life crushes on TV stars. Before I only had Kelly Kapowski to dream about, but now there was Kelly Taylor (the hot blonde) and Brenda Walsh (the bitchy brunette.) My female classmates brought in lunch boxes and calendars—the boys didn’t have them, but we sure liked looking at them.

90210 pulled me right in. It was kind of like an R rated version of Saved by the Bell. It took place in high school, had special episodes, and there was a lot of skin and sex. It was where I learned about the birds and the bees, and how to make good decisions. Even today, when I am in a conflict, I often think WWBWD—what would Brandon Walsh do. “Gimme the keys Dylan, you’ve been drinking!”

Beverly Hills 90210 was not a great show, but something was addicting about it. I loved that Steve Sanders and Dylan McKay looked like they were thirty. I loved that Andrea Zuckerman was annoying but still was accepted by the crew. I loved that these super rich kids hung out at the Peach Pit with Nat (played by Joe E. Tata—great name!). I loved the on and off again romance between David and Donna. And even a random episode about Mr. and Mrs. Walsh entertained me.

As the show developed so did I. I was getting older and so were the characters. That was when Valerie Malone was introduced. I never thought I could have a crush on two TV characters played by the same actress. Tiffani-Amber Thieesen pulled me in as Kelly Kapowski, and then developed into one of the baddest, hottest characters of all time as Valerie Malone. I still remember watching the first episode when she blazed up a joint while lying in bed. Wow--what a temptress!

When I got to college, people actually threw 90210 parties. Today, you might get together with friends for True Blood or Lost, but the 1^st show to start that trend was 9-0. As I started college, the 90210 gang was just finishing it. I learned invaluable lessons like: how to throw a rave party at the Peach Pit (After Dark), people named Ray Pruit are crazy, if you drive under the influence of heroin you might crash and end up into a coma, and KEG parties are fun.

Beverly Hills 90210 jumped the shark a number of times, but it remained on air for 10 excellent years. The last few seasons were a mess, but survived in an unintentional comedy kind of way. (I sort of had a crush on Claire so that kept me going for a few seasons.)

Two years after the show ended, I worked at a summer camp at the Beverly Hills High School 90210. I was so excited. Maybe I would run into Kelly or Brenda. Maybe Brandon would give me advice. Or Dylan would get me into some trouble. But it was not like TV. It was real life. There was no drama; just a basic summer camp that had the same zip code.

Although Beverly Hills 90210 has been off the air for 10 years, my ears perk when it comes up in conversation. If I’m flipping through the TV, and I see Jennie Garth starring in a Lifetime movie, I immediately think of Kelly Taylor. Or when I drive through the Welcome to Beverly Hills sign, I think of the gang.

Today, I still occasionally hum the theme song, and randomly chant “Donna Martin graduates!” Some shows will just always be a part of you!

Happy 90210 Day!!!

The Boy Collector

2010-08-26T15:02:00.000-07:00

BOY COLLECTOR

boy col-lec-tor [boy kuh-lek-ter]

1. One that collects boys

2. A woman who surrounds herself with men without putting out to gain power and confidence

Synonym: Tease

WARNING: Men must be weary of the boy collector.

Some may say the boy collector does not exist. They are like unicorns, leprechauns, and Eskimos. But they do exist. And they are dangerous.

I have been a victim of the boy collector on two occasions.

The first time was at NYU. I met a beautiful Asian girl named Kim. She was a knockout, and I kept wondering why she was talking to me. I hit on her at a networking party and I was shocked when she started asking me questions. I was enamored by her beauty. She was 5’ 9”, had a gorgeous face, perfect body, and a smile that lit up the room.

She even laughed at my jokes. I wished I were on camera so I could’ve documented the whole conversation. She entered her number into my cell phone. I was giddy. I called her back right away so she had my number too. It was also a failsafe to make sure she hadn’t given me a fake. Her phone rang. It was official. We had each other’s numbers.

It was hard, but I waited the customary three days to call her. The number drew me to her everyday, but I insisted on waiting. I didn’t want to blow this.

On the third day, I called and she answered. She actually remembered me, and I was very excited. She invited me to a small house party that she was hosting, and really hoped I could make it. I may have jumped up and down, but I don’t remember exactly how it played out.

I vividly recall picking up a case of Heineken; her favorite beer. I figured with a case of beer, I’d be a shoe-in. I showed up about 45 minutes after the party started. I didn’t want to seem too overzealous. I played it cool the best I could.

I arrived to the door, buzzed, and she let me in. I exhaled and prepared for an amazing night. I pictured us flirting, drinking, making bad decisions. I’d never hooked up with a girl this hot before, and imagined if she kissed the same way as mere mortal women did.

I entered the apartment and was met by Kim. She looked incredible. A tight dress clung to her fit body. I couldn’t believe this girl actually wanted to hook up with me.

I looked around and noticed about a dozen people chilling in her apartment. At first I thought it was just a regular party. Then as I looked closer, I did a double take, and realized it was all dudes. They waited on her hand and foot and were at her beck and call. I placed my case of beer next to a dozen others. I was just another nice guy that completed the baker’s dozen.

Our next stop was a bar. Thirteen guys surrounded this ultra hot chick. I took some time to get to know the others guys. One she met a bar, another at the gym, and another on the subway. She made conversation, batted her eyes, and pulled us all in.

We all hoped tonight would be the night. We would party with her, hang with her, and see what her bedroom looked like. But instead, we were just part of the collection.

After an hour, I gave up. A few other guys left with me. It was like an episode of The Bachelorette. Maybe she was weeding us out. She wanted to see who would commit the longest. I lost in the early rounds. I don’t know want happened to the other guys, but I imagine they went home empty handed as well.

As I walked home, I realized I was a victim of the boy collector.

I swore to myself that this would never happen again, but history has a way of repeating itself.

I met another type of boy collector just months later. She was a lot more direct with her hobby, but looking back, I’m not shocked I fell victim to her scheme as well.

I met this girl dating online. She was a fairly attractive brunette. She wasn’t hot, but was cute, and her confidence exuded a sort of sexiness.

It took a while for her to warm up. Maybe it was my charm or the whiskey, but she started to laugh at my jokes. She crossed her legs toward me, and her hands casually touched mine. Any dating guru would tell you these were green lights.

Her body language was an A+, but her words contradicted all of her actions. She had hit the honesty stage and was telling me about her past relationships. She took it one step further and told me about all the guys she was currently dating. She had a date the night before, one tomorrow night, and another one that weekend, all with different guys.

She wasn’t bragging or trying to make me jealous, but was more just a matter of fact. She liked having countless guys take her out and even admitted that she had no real interest in dating or hooking up with them. It was as if she kept us on the shelf and only took us out when she felt like it. She basically told me up front that she was a boy collector, but my brain didn’t register because she kept touching my leg with her fingernails.

When the overpriced bill came, I slapped down my credit card without hesitation. Sure, it was a little pricey, but I didn’t care. Things were going in the right direction.

We left the bar and headed back to her place. When we arrived, her roommates were home. That’s when my date looked at me and pleaded for a deal. “Don’t tell them we met online. Pretend we work together, and you’re in real estate. OK?”

At this point, what was I gonna say? I nodded my head in agreement.

We entered her living room, and I met two male roommates who were ecstatic to see her (poor guys--they were already part of her collection.) They grilled me about real estate, and I made up answers on the spot. Luckily, everyone was satisfied.

Somebody made me a drink, and I consumed it on a Lazy-boy. My date was across the room pretending I was a work acquaintance, and barely acknowledging my existence. I made conversation with everyone the best I could. (Part of me hoped that if I were social, my date would be turned on. Girls like the idea of men who get along with their friends.)

Unfortunately, my friendliness did nothing except get me a free vodka and soda. I sat through an agonizing episode of reality TV. I hoped my date would show me her bed or at least her room, but it never happened.

When the show ended, it was time to go. My date didn’t even show me to the door. I knew where it was. Plus, she had to get ready for her date the following night. She was going to the Mets game with another dude. I wondered if he was going to get any...probably not.

He would just be the next victim of the boy collector.

You might be a Nice Guy if…

2010-08-01T12:34:00.000-07:00

YOU HOLD PURSES

The female can always smell out the nice guy, and he always obliges to hold her purse. At first, it’s cute. The man will make a joke out of it: “How does this look on me? “It matches my shirt.” “Purses aren’t so bad.” But after holding it for the fifth time, even the nice guy gets annoyed. But he still holds it anyways because he’s a nice guy.

YOU HELP SUPER-DRUNK WOMEN

When girls get too drunk, the nice guy comes in to save the day. While many men will want to take advantage of her, the nice guy will come to protect her. He will get her water, and find her a place to sit. Super-drunk women always lose their phone, camera and best friend; the nice guy will do his best to find all three. Once they are retrieved, the nice guy is brushed aside and forgotten. But his work is done. He has helped yet another super-drunk girl get home safely.

YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH STRIPPERS

(Nice guys attend strip clubs because they are human males. Just because they’re nice, doesn’t mean they don’t want to see attractive girls naked.)

Nice guys want to save everyone and that includes strippers. During the lap dance, the nice guy usually strikes up a riveting conversation with her. It seems that he and Bambi have a lot in common, and she’s really quite beautiful inside and out. By mid-song, the nice guy believes he and Bambi have something special. He feels bad that Bambi strips, and thinks that she should finish her college education and get her dream job as a nurse.

Three lap dances later, the nice guy gives Bambi a large tip and then heads back to his friends. He declares his love for Bambi, and by the end of the night, he will get her number. Bambi then ventures to the champagne room with another guy. The nice guy hangs his head in shame. He feels betrayed and wonders how Bambi could have done this to him.

SUPER HOT GIRLS DON’T HIT ON YOU

Super Hot Girls don’t hit on the nice guy. Sure, the nice guy may attract girls occasionally, but never Super Hot Girls. If a Super Hot Girl hits on a nice guy, it is for one of the following reasons.

1) She is selling him something. This happens with bartenders and promoters; common jobs for Super Hot Girls. They will flirt with the nice guy hoping he spends a lot of money or signs up for something stupid.

2) She is trying to steal from him. The Super Hot Girl does not just hit on a nice guy. It’s possible she’s setting him up for something bad.

3) She’s really a man.

4) She’s underage. There’s always an angle if a Super Hot Girl hits on a nice guy. In this case, the girl looks the part, but she’s really a lot younger then she should be. Since she’s out of her element, the nice guy is one of the people she’s not intimidated by. So she may approach him. The nice guy is excited until she starts referring to myspace and uses expressions like ‘like’, ‘lol’, and ‘omg.’ The nice guy starts to panic. He tries the “Who has a funnier ID picture?” line so he can inspect her age more closely, and asks what college she graduated from again. The nice guy realizes something is off, but is still in denial. The nice guy doesn’t give up until his friends come into the picture. Since they don’t have a shot of getting laid by the Super Hot Girl, they’re not looking at her through I-may-get-laid-by-a-Super-Hot-Girl glasses. Instead, they can easily tell she’s underage and very much off limits. It’s another tough break for the nice guy.

5) She’s a prostitute. Many prostitutes, especially in Brazil and Vegas, don’t fit the stereotypical prostitute look. They are dressed in normal evening-wear and blend in with the night crowd which confuses the nice guy. The Super Hot Girl spots him a mile away. She makes eye contact with him and smiles, and he is immediately giddy. He thinks that this Super Hot Girl is really into him. Maybe it’s his new cologne or new shirt; either way, he’s feeling it. When she proposes they go back to his room after only five minutes, the nice guy starts growing skeptical. He asks if she’s really a student? She finally tells him the truth. He feels betrayed and disappointed, and starts understanding the rule: Super Hot Girls don’t just hit on nice guys.

PEOPLE ASK YOU FOR DIRECTIONS AND MONEY

People will always seek out the nice guy for directions. The nice guy possesses a non-threatening and approachable look. They could ask anyone for directions (the policeman next you or the guy with the map), but somehow the nice guy is always the first choice.

When nice guys walk down the street, the homeless, Greenpeace, and petitioners always sniff him out. The nice guy cannot come up with an excuse fast enough, and therefore he must speak to these people. He usually ends up giving money, signing a petition, or sponsoring a child in Africa.

YOU GIVE RELATIONSHIP ADVICE TO THE GIRL THAT YOU LIKE

The nice guy always becomes friends with an attractive girl that he likes. He’s too nervous to pursue her because he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship. They become great friends; i.e. they basically become a couple without the hooking up. They go to dinners, the movies, and flirt a lot. But most of the time, the nice guy gives the girl relationship advice. He knows her current boyfriend is a dud, but he must swallow his pride and not say anything. The nice guy desperately wants to be with this girl, but he’s trapped in the friendship zone.

The nice guy eventually reveals his true love for the girl. The girl lets him down softly and then he is depressed. He can’t believe he wasted all that time. But many times, the nice guy meets someone else, and then goes back to being great friends with the girl. And it actually works this time because they’re both in relationships.

YOU BUY GIRLS DRINKS

When the nice guy converses with a pretty girl, he feels that he owes her at least one drink. The nice guy knows she’s going to ditch him as soon as the drink hits her hand, but he buys it anyway. Part of him believes that one of these days, he will meet a nice girl who will actually have the drink and keep talking to him.

YOU ARE CHIVALROUS

A nice guy always knows when to hold a door open, help carry groceries for the elderly, or just say: “bless you.” He has a natural 6^th sense when it comes to helping people. The nice guy could be jogging through the city, and out of the corner of his eye, spot someone in need. Like an anonymous superhero, he saves the day, asks for no reward, and then just continues jogging on his merry way.

YOU MAKE SURE EVERYONE ELSE IS HAPPY

The nice guy likes to make sure everyone else is happy. This is very noticeable on dates as the nice guy may ask repeatedly: “Are you having a good time?” This is also noticeable at parties as the nice guy is willing to sacrifice time and energy to make sure his friends are having a good time.

The nice guy has trouble making decisions because he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone. He is often heard uttering the phrase: “It doesn’t matter to me…whatever makes you happy.”

YOU TAKE PICTURES FOR OTHER PEOPLE

The nice guy will always be there when a group of girls need their picture taken. He waits patiently as the girls change spots to prepare for the camera. He’s even willing to wait as the girls examine the photo and decide whether another one needs to be taken. The nice guy secretly hopes that this gesture will allow him to talk to the girls further. But once the picture is taken, he is no longer needed.

YOU GET FLAKED ON

The nice guy is punctual and reliable. When he makes plans with someone, he follows through. He assumes that everyone else is the same way, but sadly, they are not. As a result, the nice guy gets stood up or flaked on more than anyone else.

BOUNCERS HATE YOU

Bouncers hate nice guys because it gives them someone to pick on and make them feel cool. The nice guy adds nothing to the bouncer’s life: he will not bribe him because he doesn’t know how; he will not bring super-hot girls because he can’t (see above); and he will not have any connections to cool people because he’s just an ordinary guy. Instead, the nice guy tries to treat the bouncer like a real person which is a big mistake. He will ask how the night is going or if he saw the big game. The bouncer doesn’t like being treated as an equal. As a result, the bouncer takes advantage of the nice guy. He will make him wait, and make fun of his clothes and haircut because what is the nice guy going to do about it. Nothing. The nice guy will only complain to his friends, and in the end the he will just sit there and take it.

YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH BARTENDERS

The nice guy has an infatuation with beautiful smiles, heavy cleavage, and girls that serve drinks. The nice guy will fall in love with at least one bartender in his lifetime. He will attend the bar regularly, and tip the bartender excessive amounts of cash hoping one day they will fall in love. The bartender confuses the nice guy because she flirts with him (part of her job—once again see above.) The nice guy truly thinks he has a shot with her until he realizes she has a boyfriend. Afterwards, he will claim that he didn’t like her anyways, and will stop going to that bar.

YOU PRETEND NOT TO HIT ON GIRLS

When a nice guy hits on a girl, he masks his disappointment when she drops the boyfriend bomb. Instead, he expresses interest in her relationship to prove that he was not just hitting on her. He will inexplicably ask what the boyfriend does for a living, how they met, and how great it would be to meet him. If the boyfriend is there and comes by, the nice guy will say hello, and the boyfriend will scoop up the girlfriend quickly to show his domain. The nice guy will even go so far as to talk the man as well. He will ask idiotic questions just to prove once again that he’s a nice guy and was definitely not hitting on somebody else’s girl.

YOU LAMENT ABOUT BEING A NICE GUY

At least one point in his life, the nice guy will wish he wasn’t so nice. It could be after losing a girl to the “bad” guy or after someone takes advantage of him. He will attempt to be a jerk for a few moments, but will give up quickly when he realizes his true calling: he’s a nice guy.

OPEN MIC NIGHT: My life as a Stand-Up Comedian

2010-07-18T08:17:00.001-07:00

OCTOBER 2003

Jay Leno and his silver hair and long chin stood before me. He looked tired, worn out from interviewing the best and the brightest on Melrose Ave. for his well known “Jay-walking” segment. A group of Asian tourists snapped off a dozen pictures and literally smothered him. He was gracious, but was ready to go home.

After the crowd dispersed, I simply held out my hand and introduced myself. He responded with a firm grip. I told him I was an aspiring comedian from Boston. (Leno is from Andover, MA) He wished me luck and said: “Maybe I’ll see you on the show someday.” And I responded: “Maybe.”

I hopped back in my car buzzed from the brief yet memorable interaction. It was a sign. I was gonna be a famous stand-up comedian. I nodded my head and my mouth curled into a smile.

Minutes later, I bombed at a dingy coffee shop in front of 6 people.

PRESENT DAY

All my life I’ve always loved making people laugh. It’s just the way my mind works. I don’t know what other people think about it during conversations, but all I can think about it is: “Where’s the joke?” Can I use a pun here? Can I play on words there? And it’s not just what you say, but also how you say it. Raise your voice a certain octave or with a hint of sarcasm, and you can get a laugh. Sometimes, I’ll make the obvious, cheesy joke and people laugh, not because of what I said, but because of my facial expression.

Everyone has a vice; maybe it’s music, art, or drugs. But for me, it’s making people laugh. I feed off of it. I remember sitting at the dinner table as a kid and exchanging funny stories with my Dad. I didn’t brag about acing a Biology test; I bragged about the one-liner I used that day to make my classmates laugh.

As a kid, I was greatly influenced by my brother’s friends. They were witty, fast talking, and always quoted movies. I loved the good nature back and forth and desperately wanted to be a part of it. I watched TV and movies incessantly just to keep up—Airplane, Naked Gun, Coming to America, Major League, Family Vacation, The Simpsons, Seinfeld. It was like I discovered a new arsenal of jokes.

My confidence as a “comedian” blew up at summer camp. I was immediately known as the funny kid. The counselors took me under their wing, and gave me free fast food, because I could make them laugh. (The same went when I pledged my fraternity. I got out of “hazing” rituals by telling jokes.)

When I became a camp counselor, I got to run nightly events, and be in plays. It was then I realized the rush of performing on stage. I got to hold a microphone for the first time. There was a surge of power and adrenalin by making hundreds of people laugh. When I was 16, I was in a cheesy play with all of my friends. None of us remembered our lines so we improvised the entire thing. We just said “fuck it”, tried to be funny, and it worked. It was an unforgettable experience.

I loved being funny. I loved making people laugh. And I wanted to keep doing it.

But then something struck me: Fear— fear of rejection and fear of failure. I hated myself when a joke didn’t land. And this was just with my friends and family. Imagine, how I would feel in front of an audience.

It’s unfortunate that fear caused me to question myself as a comedian. But it did. So when I was in college, I didn’t pursue my dreams. I took a couple of drama classes, and memorized a Shakespeare monologue, but that was it.

When I moved to LA, my friends and I attended countless comedy shows. We laughed, drank, and had a pretty good time. But in the back of my head, all I could think of was: I could do this. I’m funnier than this guy.

A couple of years passed. I worked on screenwriting, did some extra work, and was a tour guide at CBS studios. I flirted with doing stand-up, but never had the guts. Instead, I signed up for the Groundlings, an improv comedy group whose veterans included Will Ferrell, Maya Rudolph, Pee Wee Herman, and a host of others. I chose improv comedy because if I failed, at least I had an excuse because improv was on the spot and unplanned. It wasn’t like I was delivering my own material and I would always be on stage with other people. It was a comedy safety net.

I learned a lot from the experience. I excelled with improv games which were basically like drinking games. You had to be quick, witty and sharp. But when it came to doing characters and voices, I was a complete mess. I struggled in keeping up in the advanced class, and writing and performing monologues was painful.

I never climbed the ladder high enough to make it in improv comedy. I’m sure I could’ve stuck with it, but my real passion was for stand-up. I was just too much of a wuss to try it.

AUGUST 2003

Things changed in the summer of 2003. I saw a great documentary called “Comedian” which featured Jerry Seinfeld and Orny Adams. Orny was an aspiring comedian who coincidentally went to the same summer camp as me (I would meet Orny aka Adam Orenstein years later and all we talked about was Camp Tel Noar—Shabbat dinners, color war, and meeting girls behind the library.) But most of the documentary focused on Jerry Seinfeld.

It followed his stand-up career after his famous show ended. Seinfeld started from scratch and used brand new material. He would receive the obligatory standing ovation at the beginning of each set. But if he wasn’t funny, he wasn’t funny. Jerry bombed throughout the documentary until he worked himself back into comedy shape. And that stuck in my mind. If Jerry Seinfeld can bomb, who cares if I do too?

A few weeks later I received an email from Dan T. We had gone to Tufts together but didn’t know each other very well. It was a mass email looking for stand-up comedians. He was starting a comedy show at the Karma Coffee House every Thursday night. I thought of Seinfeld. And I looked through my notebook where I wrote down funny ideas. I could do this.

I responded that I would give it a shot. I told none of my friends (they make me more nervous than anyone.) When I admitted to nerves, Dan T assured me that as long as it was funny or interesting, then I would be fine.

A week later, I appeared at the coffee shop which had been converted to a comedy club. I carried my notebook with ideas from the last 5 years.

When I got called to the stage, I wasn’t nervous. I was relieved. I finally got to unload all of this material off my chest. And unload, I did. I rambled about a variety of topics including Von Dutch, laundry, gym class, online dating, and my inability to get laid. And people laughed. I’d never felt so good.

I looked to Dan T as to when I should stop. And he gave me the universal sign for “keep going, you’re on a roll.” It was one of the best feelings of my life. Afterwards, I discovered that a college classmate was in the audience. He shook my hand after and said: “How long have you been doing stand-up? You’re really good.” It was my first time.

Time passed and I became a regular at the Karma Coffee House. I even hosted the event a few times. I performed side by side with comedians from Last Comic Standing, and Comedy Central presents. As the show became more popular, more established comedians wanted to stop by.

I finally invited friends to come, and although they were my harshest critics, they always supported me. My excitement for stand-up led me to other shows around town. That’s when things started to go downhill.

THE BRINGER SHOW

In other venues, performing wasn’t so easy. At the “bringer show”, I could only perform if I “brought” friends that could pay the cover. I did this a few times until I realized the other comedians were just dreadful. My friends had to endure horribleness for 90 minutes, and a $10 cover, just to see me do a 6 minute set they’ve seen me do a dozen times.

THE OPEN MIC

I performed at open mic nights where the audience was basically made up of other comedians. They pretended to listen, but were more focused on jotting down ideas in their notebooks. And my smart observational humor didn’t do so well…the audience wanted to hear dick jokes and classy stuff like that. I was out of my element.

COMEDY CONTEST

I entered a comedy contest where I performed for 3 minutes in front of 5 judges. Ten other contestants stood next to me, and we performed one by one. I was incredibly nervous. I felt weird telling jokes without a microphone, but did my best. The first minute was a success. The judges smirked and my competition was laughing. That’s when I started thinking too much, and I choked. I lost my rhythm, and the rest of the set was choppy and marginal at best. I didn’t win the contest, and I kicked myself for getting nervous.

PRIVATE PARTY

I hosted a private charity event once. Someone actually recommended me, and I jumped at the opportunity. A group of bands were to play and I would tell jokes in between their sets. At this point, I was feeling confident with my stand-up, and I prepared nothing. I would just wing it. And I absolutely BOMBED.

I vividly remember telling jokes to the crowd and hearing the silence. At one point, after another excruciating joke, I spontaneously picked up a beer and chugged the whole thing. At least that got a few laughs. It was a terrible experience (that I still regret today), but I actually learned something from it.

#1 I always need to be prepared.

#2 If a joke doesn’t work, make fun of it and yourself, and you’ll get some laughs.

#3 Bombing sucks, but I survived.

SUCCESS VS. BOMBING

People often ask what it’s like to do stand-up comedy. This is the best comparison I can think of.

Doing stand-up is like hitting on a pretty girl. You have to psyche yourself up just to go talk to her. You formulate some thoughts in your head, and then you just go for it. If things go well, there is a rhythm, a smooth back and forth. And the time just flies by. You gain more confidence as she smiles, and then to close, you get the phone number. When it’s over, you’re full of confidence and excitement.

But when things don’t go well, it’s a disaster. You psyche yourself up, formulate thoughts in your head, and go for it. But this time you get nervous, and your timing is off. The girl wants nothing to do with you. She pretends to listen, but really looks around for a friend to rescue her. None of your lines work on her, but you insist on trying anyway. Time moves in slow motion and you wonder when the misery will end. You start sweating, turning red, speaking too quickly. Then she leaves, and it’s finally over. You grimace, shake your head, and wonder what the hell just happened. Bombs away!

Stand-up is also like riding the roller coaster. At the beginning of the ride, you climb higher and higher. And you hear that clicking noise. Part of you craps your pants, and the other part of you screams in ecstasy. Part of you is petrified of going down, but the other part just can’t wait. This is how I felt before every show.

MEETING GIRLS

Let’s face it. Part of the reason I experimented with stand-up was to meet women. Every girl says she loves a man with a sense of humor. I figured if I performed enough, I could get laid once in a while too. This theory went down the drain pretty quickly. I met one girl, but for the most part, I didn’t see much action. Maybe I wasn’t that funny. Or maybe I just didn’t seize the right opportunities. Either way, I usually went home alone.

MAKING FRIENDS

If I couldn’t get laid, I’d figure I’d make some friends doing stand-up comedy. But here’s a little secret: stand-up comedians are strange, weird, bizarre people. I met some characters including one guy who within seconds of meeting me described how he was going to Cleveland Steam the waitress at the bar. And he wasn’t funny about it. I prayed he was kidding, but he had this crazy look in his eye.

Many of the comedians were socially inept and couldn’t carry a conversation. The amount of insecurity in the room could fill the Grand Canyon. Comedians passively encouraged each other, but if you read between the lines, they all prayed each other would fail.

There was even one comedian who stole my set. He was hosting the show. He directed me out of the comedy room and into the bar. He told me that he would come get me in about 40 minutes for my set. Apparently, he called me up second, and since I wasn’t in the room, he stole my time. After the show a group of girls that I hit on earlier asked why I didn’t perform. And that’s when I realized the bastard had tricked me and stolen my time. After that, my passion for comedy started to fizzle.

CHALLENGES

Even though the majority of my sets were successful, I still struggled in the world of comedy. I hated repeating the same jokes and garnered a newfound respect for musicians and comedians who passionately performed the same material over and over again. As a result, I tried new jokes almost every set, and obviously not everything worked. I vowed to never curse (a la Bill Cosby) or go for the cheap, dirty joke, but sometimes I wanted to because it would be easier.

I also wasn’t comfortable with my comedic identity—I wasn’t an angry comic, or a one-liner comic, or a dirty comic. Instead, I was myself. I told stories about my life (pretty much like this blog.) The only problem is when things didn’t go well, I took it personally. My skin wasn’t thick enough to take any criticism at all. And I was my worst critic. Even if 9 out of 10 jokes landed, I would focus only on the one that didn’t work, and kick myself for it.

AUGUST 2004

Before I knew it, I had stopped doing stand-up. Dan T, the guy who got me started, was moving away, and the Karma Coffee House closed down not too long after. I had lost confidence and patience with the art, and felt it was time to move on. I kept myself busy with other hobbies and pretended not to be interested anymore.

For the next six years, I only performed for friends and family at bachelor party roasts, weddings, and rehearsal dinners. I still loved making people laugh, and it was the safest and easiest way to still perform. When I thought of hitting the stage again, I was once again instilled with fear: fear of rejection and fear of failure. I wished it would have evaporated by now, but every time I thought it would, the fear returned to me. My microphone was retired, and it was time to move on.

PRESENT DAY

A few months ago I received an email from a comedy show searching for stand-up comedians. I don’t know what came over me (maybe I needed an ending to this journey) but I replied, and they booked me for a Wednesday night. I didn’t tell any of my friends, just like seven years before.

I got to the bar early, downed a beer, and flirted with the female bartender. I retrieved a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. I studied the notes that I messily scribbled down the night before.

I exhaled and headed to the comedy room. I met a few comedians who lacked social skills—just like old times. The energy was nostalgic—a mix of nervousness, tension, excitement, and fake encouragement.

There were 20 comics performing, and I was slated to go up eighth. I sat through seven lackluster performances, and patiently awaited my turn. That’s when my name got called.

The lights blinded me and I could barely see into the crowd. I forgot about this. When you perform, the lights hit you in eyes. Everyone can see you, but you can barely see them. My set flowed pretty well. I talked about school, work, being a nice guy, buffalo wings, and not having friends. The audience was laughing, and I fed off of it.

The time flew by. I probably could’ve performed for a good 30 minutes. Not everything would’ve worked, but it just would’ve been fun to rant. I tried to stay with my act and not apologize or second guess myself if something went wrong. When I did The Groundlings, I was taught to think that everything is gold even if it sucks. In a way, it’s sort of a life lesson. If you convince yourself to be confident, you actually can be. As a result, I rolled smoothly, had a nice rhythm and was definitely funny.

Several people shook my hand after the show and paid me compliments. I couldn’t tell if they were being sincere, but I was happy with my performance so I didn’t care all that much.

I walked home with a smile on my face. After all these years, I could still do my thing on stage. I started flirting with the idea of performing weekly or even on a nightly basis. My imagination ran wild as I pictured myself shooting up the ranks, and performing at the top tier clubs. I fantasized about being on TV, and performing on the Tonight Show. Maybe I would get to meet Jay Leno once again after all.

A few days later, I got preoccupied with something else, and forgot about my master plan. But part of me will always remember it.

That’s the hardest part about dreams. They never die even if part of you wished they did.

World Cup Fever

2010-07-07T14:03:00.000-07:00

“JUST KICK IT! SHOOT IT! KICK IT IN THE GOAL!” I screamed at the television in the crowded bar. The cute girl next to me laughed and egged me on. And then magically Uruguay scored and made it a game. The cute girl gave me a hug which made me cheer louder. And the excitement grew. But even though I continued to insanely shout, the game ended with the Netherlands winning 3-2.

As I walked home, I was disappointed, but also full of adrenaline and excitement. I had my heart set on Uruguay, a country I knew nothing about and pronounced wrong half the time calling it you-are-gay.

So I thought to myself: why am I so into a sport that I never watch?

And then it occurred to me. I have World Cup Fever.

I should’ve known it when I woke up at 9am on a Saturday (something I NEVER do unless it's to take Tylenol) to watch soccer. I was wearing a soccer shirt. I was drinking a beer. I was shouting at the TV. I was yelling GOOOOAAAAALLLLL!

I’m not a true soccer fan nor will I ever be. I quit playing in 7^th grade after my idiot coach kept making me run laps. But the World Cup has a special place in my heart. Four years ago I was in Brazil and got a taste of a country that was obsessed with the tournament. Life halted during the games, and it was all that mattered.

And now the US seems to have caught on to this. People from all over the country are tuned into the Cup. People are rooting for countries they’ve never set foot in, are trying to understand what offsides is, and are begging for those vuvuzelas to go silent for just a few minutes.

Some of us don’t understand why we suddenly love the World Cup, but we do.

Here are a few reasons why I love it:

THE INTERNATIONAL FEEL

Despite living in NYC, the melting pot of the world, I never felt like I was in another country where I could just walk into a bar and talk to random people. There’s an unwritten rule in the States: don’t talk to people you don’t know. But in other countries, it happens all the time. This unwritten rule is set aside during the World Cup.

During the tournament, I’ve been surrounded by Israeli, Swiss, English, Indian, Korean, Spanish, and French people. We’ve talked soccer, and it didn’t matter that we were total strangers. There was no pretense; it was a just a group people hanging out and having fun. We laughed, cheered, bonded, and booed. People even put away their phones for a while and just conversed with one another. The World Cup brings people together.

EXCUSE TO DRINK DURING THE DAY

For some reason, you need an excuse to drink at noon on a Tuesday. If you don’t have one, people might judge you and label you an alcoholic or something.

There is no better excuse for drinking than The World Cup. It promotes the consumption of alcohol as early as 9 am. One of the bars I stopped by had an all-you-can drink special for just $15. Drinking enhanced the sport—the ball moved quicker, the game became faster, and the girls next to me looked prettier. And even when the U.S. lost, I still felt pretty good afterwards.

I DON’T REALLY CARE

All my life I’ve been following Boston sports; living and dying on every game. My hair is turning grey, and my lifespan is shortened because of this passion. And even when my teams are out, I spend just as much energy rooting against my hated archrivals like the Yankees and the Lakers. I never have a break to just sit back, relax and watch a game.

Until now!

When the U.S. lost versus Ghana, I was disappointed. But I didn’t REALLY care. I hit on girls during the game, had some beers, and made plans for the night. I didn’t lose any sleep or have to avoid SportsCenter for the next week.

It was pure fun. It was a relief to see what everyone else’s normal life must be like when sports are on. I could finally just enjoy the game for what it was.

NO ONE UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S GOING ON

I love being in a bar surround by dozens of people and nobody has a clue what’s happening. Wait, what’s offsides again? How much extended time is there…why do they keep on playing? What the hell is going on? Why is that goalie dressed all in white? The unintentional comedy is off the charts.

Everyone turns to each other and shrugs because we’re all in the same boat. We’ll never fully grasp what’s going on, but our enthusiasm never dwindles…that’s spirit for you. On a side note, maybe soccer hasn’t caught on in America yet because no one knows what the hell is happening.

GET TO MAKE FUN OF SOCCER

We would not be American unless we made fun of soccer just a little bit. It’s the world’s most popular sport yet we’re not very good at it. So as a defense mechanism, we make fun of it. We mock the idea of a tie (what’s more un-American than a tie…even my 5 year old nephew doesn’t believe in ties.)

We make fun that nobody ever scores, the players names are too hard to pronounce, the vuvuzelas sound like swarming bees (or Times Square 30 minutes before the ball drops), and the players flop more than Derek Fisher and Vlade Divac.

And even though we make fun of soccer, we still love The World Cup. At least a little bit.

But no one has parodied soccer better than the Simpsons. Click here if you wan to check it out (since I'm not smart enough to put the video directly onto my blog.)

I GET TO BE A POSER

Every day I proudly root for a new team. One day it was Argentina. The next day was Brazil. Why? Because I visited both places and bought cheap knock-off soccer jerseys there.

As I walked through New York with my jersey, people slapped me five, beeped their horns, and asked me what happened in the games. At the bars, people asked for my opinions on strategies and coaching.

And even though I knew close to nothing, I bullshitted with them. And it was so fun. I brought up names that I’d read in the newspaper and seen on TV. And because I was wearing a jersey, people hung on my every word.

I now have four years to buy every single soccer jersey out there. So when the World Cup returns in 2014, I can’t lose!

WE GET TO MAKE FUN OF THE FRENCH

The French team hated each other and completely unraveled. So when I met a bunch of French people watching the games at a bar, we all made fun of them. It was funny!

NEW CELEBS

I’m tired of seeing Jack Nicholson, Spike Lee, and Eva Longoria. Watching Bill Clinton and Mick Jagger embrace after the U.S. scored a goal was one of the best moments ever. Can you think of two more random celebrities celebrating together—absolutely not!

DO or DIE GAMES

The first round (or the tie-round) was pretty boring. But now that the World Cup has entered its March Madness phase, every game is exciting. If you lose, you’re out. The last few minutes of these games have been incredibly intense. We’ve seen some great moments this year…I just wish more sports implemented the do-or-die game…it’s the best!

CELEBRATIONS

After Germany scored its 4^th goal last Saturday, one of the players did a back flip. How fucking cool is that! After scoring goals, players slide, flip, mosh pit, and Hava Nagela. It’s fun! It’s entertaining! It’s fantastic!

If that happened in the NFL (the no fun league), the entire team would be penalized, suspended, and fined. It’s refreshing to watch a sport where players can have a little fun after they score. Maybe Ochocinco should switch to soccer?

THE WORLD CUP MAKES OUR REFS LOOK GOOD

The World Cup has been successful despite some of the worst officiating ever. It makes me appreciate our basketball, football, and baseball refs and umpires. Jim Joyce (the guy who blew the perfect game in Detroit last month) must be relieved that he’s not even as bad as these guys.

It’s also cool that these refs are openly getting blamed for their mistakes. Some have been rightfully fired. I wish they did that with American refs/umpires too.

THE INSTANT REPLAY AND ANNOUNCERS

I’ve never seen instant replay used so well on television. With American sports it seems to take 20-30 seconds to see what happened again. In the world Cup, it’s absolutely instant. Within a nanosecond, we get to see 6 angles of a replay, and it’s awesome!

And something needs to be said for the announcers. Although they’re hard to hear over those damn vagivelas, the announcers sound like poets. And the main reason is because they have accents. If Bob Costas said: "The last flickering flame of Slovak ambition has been extinguished” or “Argentina just cannot find the key to unlock the safe”, he’d be teased mercifully. But when said with a British accent, it’s just delightful!

MEETING GIRLS

The World Cup is the greatest conversation starter ever. You can go up to any girl, and just say World Cup, and she’ll start talking to you. You can talk about all of the games, and how disappointed you were when the U.S. lost. It also leads directly into the where-are-you-from and where-have-you-traveled-to conversation.

Normally, bringing up sports with girls is the kiss of death (unless she brings it up first.) But the World Cup is the exception to the rule. It’s not just a sport; it’s an event. And it brings us all together. It’s uncool to say you don’t like the World Cup which makes it the ultimate pick up line.

I’ve met some beautiful women over the last two weeks (by meet, I mean I’ve conversed with them for a few minutes at a bar), and I owe it all to the World Cup.

32 Nations, 1 winner!

But in the end, we’re all winners.

Thank you World Cup!

Adults That Intimidate Me or Make Me Feel Uncomfortable

2010-06-23T06:50:00.000-07:00

I live on my own, have a successful career and am a mature adult (at least most of the time.) But there are still other adults that make me second guess myself, question my instincts, and either frighten me, intimidate me, or make me feel uncomfortable.

These are the following people:

THE DENTIST

The dentist may be the only adult I still lie to. When I make my once a year visit, I’m always asked: “how many times a week do you floss?” I’m a grown man, with a job, with purpose, with responsibility, but suddenly I feel like a little boy. I instinctively lie because I don’t want the dentist to yell at me. I also brush my teeth furiously right before the appointment; the goal being that this will trick the dentist into thinking I’m taking care of my teeth. But he knows the truth. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of the dentist, but I know I’m not the only one.

THE BANKING AND FINANCE GUY

As I get older, more people talk about money. It seems everywhere I go, there’s always a group of banking and finance guys. They speak in acronyms, wear blue button down shirts, and make me feel insecure because I have no idea what they’re talking about. But to save face, I nod my head, bitch about the economy, and pretend to be on the same page. I’ll never admit my ignorance because I don’t want to be lectured, teased, or patronized.

THE BOUNCER

Bouncers hate me and I hate them even more. I’ve never met another adult that makes me feel so self-conscious. Here’s something from an old entry:

A picture of me must be presented at the annual Bouncer’s Convention labeled: “Treat him like shit and do not let him in.” No matter where I go, I always seem to have a run-in with one of these muscle heads (my friends know exactly what I’m talking about.) I’m never on the right list, wearing the right clothes, or know the right people.

I try to be friendly and treat the bouncer like a human being: “So how’s the night going? Where are you from? Did you see that game?” Nothing. No response. It’s like they are programmed to be sub-human.

I try to keep my cool as hot chicks cut me in line. I guess it makes sense; they’re hot. But when I see D-bags with gelled hair and gold chains skip in front of me, that’s when I start to lose it.

When it’s finally my turn to enter the club, I have to deal with being judged by the bouncer. I endure the ridicule as he teases me about my clothes, hair style, and lack of dope jewelry. Sometimes I ignore it, pay the absurd cover, and then walk in. But sometimes they don’t let me in so I snap. I criticize the overgrown man for being narrow-minded and irrationally threaten to sue him and the entire club for sexism. That’s when more bouncers/security guards come out, stare me down, and tell me to go home. As I walk away with my tail between my legs, one thought comes to mind…

I am a Bouncist. I have no problems with people of different ethnicities, races, sexual orientation, age, height, or religion. But I do have a problem with bouncers. It is not fair to stereotype or generalize, but all bouncers are evil and terrible people. I am a full-fledged Bouncist. I think bad thoughts about them and if there were rallies against bouncers, I would probably attend. Maybe I am ignorant. Maybe there are nice bouncers out there. But until I meet one, I am committed to my beliefs, and will embrace my bouncism.

THE COP

Many people become cops in order to intimidate people. Well, it works on me. I probably have an issue with authority (hence, several of the people on this list.) I get scared when a cop comes towards me or even looks in my direction. Coincidentally, I’ve never had a direct issue with a cop (knock on wood.) Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of them.

One time, a cop approached me on the subway. I didn’t do anything wrong. I had dropped off some of my high school students, and now was just sitting there. But I started to get nervous. Maybe I did something by mistake. I was suddenly sweating. The cop leaned over and I was ready to get reprimanded. Instead, he complimented me for reaching out and helping the kids. I was definitely flattered for just a moment. Then he yelled at someone near me and I became intimidated again.

THE CLEANING LADY

I’m a pretty messy guy. I occasionally make my bed and put away the dishes, but normally, I’m very lazy (just ask past and present roommates.) The only day I feel a sense of urgency is the hours before the cleaning lady arrives. (I use the term “cleaning lady” because that’s all I know. I’ve never met a cleaning dude, but maybe they exist as well.)

Suddenly, my bed is made, my clothes are folded, and the kitchen counter is spotless. It’s a subconscious act that clearly makes no sense. Her job is to CLEAN the place, but for some reason, I have to clean beforehand and make it presentable. The last thing I want is for the cleaning lady to arrive and judge me. She has a special power that cannot be explained.

THE CLOWN

These things freaked me out even before I saw Stephen King’s It. I remember once staying in a hotel decorated with clown statues; they were everywhere! I don’t who the hell would do this, but it scared the crap out of me. I thought these things were gonna spring to life and attack me in my sleep. What were my parents thinking…why would we stay at this place?

I was frightened of clowns as a kid, and I’m still frightened today. I won’t even go to the circus. I am clown-phobic.

THE BETTER ATHLETE

I was jogging the other day, and this bastard zipped right by me. My instincts immediately kicked in and I picked up the pace (much like a dog chasing a car.) I passed him for a moment. And then he caught up again. Then we were side by side. Finally, he shifted into high gear and was gone. I ate his dust, and hung my head in shame.

No matter how old I am, I hate losing in sports. I cried when I lost as a kid, and I cry when I lose now. I’m pretty good at sports, but for every court, field or track I’m on, there’s always gonna be someone that’s better.

Sometimes, when I lose, I make excuses like: I wasn’t trying, I’m too old, or I’m hungover. But in the end, there are just a lot of really good athletes out there. These athletes force me to question my athletic ability, confidence, and work ethic.

Sure, they make me try harder, and dig deeper, but they also make me lose so I don’t like them very much.

THE BOSS

I’ve been fortunate to have some pretty good bosses over the years (Yes, I am kissing up. I don’t know who’s reading this.) But even around the best boss, I am very self-conscious.

When I’m around the boss, I feel like the FCC is in my brain censoring every joke that pops into my mind. It’s one thing to crack up the boss, but it’s another thing to offend him/her. As a result, I tend to tiptoe around the boss, and talk about mundane things such as the weather, good lunch spots, or vacation plans. I do not talk about which co-workers I think are hot or what I really did on my vacation in Vegas. As a result, I can never fully be myself.

THE CELEBRITY & THE HOT WOMAN

I put these adults in the same section because they both make me react the same way: like an idiot. I desperately want to talk to them, but I don’t know what to say. I rehearse my speech, and awkwardly make an advance. No matter how great my speech sounds in my head, it always comes off horribly. The celebrity/hot woman feels uncomfortable, and prays that I stop talking to them. For some reason, I don’t.

I sweat, turn red with embarrassment, and continue to trip over my words. Eventually, the celebrity/hot woman retreats, and then my friends make fun of me.

Then I take that story, and put it into my blog. (Larry David, Matt Groening, Eliza Dushku, Hank Azaria, Seth Rogen)

THE SALESMAN

I don’t care if it’s for a car, a pair of jeans, or for a charity, please stay away from me. My heart pounds in fear any time a salesman comes into my general direction. It could be a simple “Hi, how are you?” and I already start to freak out.

And I never know who’s really out to help me or who is gonna rip me off. Plus, they’re gonna force me to make a choice about something. I hate that. I’d prefer if they just left me alone.

As far as dealing with Greenpeace, these people are hawks. They eye you as you walk towards them, and get ready to pitch their latest world saving speech. The first few times I crossed their path, I was sucked into 15 minute conversations that were just the worst. But I eventually learned to avoid them by using my cell phone. I’ve created a 3 minute conversation template where I pretend to talk to someone on the other line. After 2 minutes, they usually stop following me. And for one minute, I get to act cool like someone actually called me.

So far, so good.

The Underdog is Dead

2010-06-18T07:25:00.000-07:00

Several years ago I was in Las Vegas for a bachelor party. I tagged along with my older brother and his friends who were six years older than me. The weekend was filled with booze and debauchery, but only one memory stuck in my mind.

One day, we were sitting by the pool, and I met a beautiful girl named Jackie. We talked and flirted, and flirted and talked. We sat in the hot tub, and shared some drinks and laughs. I somehow maintained eye contact despite her revealing bikini. I was completely on. I got her number, and we made plans to meet up later.

My brother and his friends treated me like a hero that day. How did I do that? I have no idea. I was just an ordinary nice guy and somehow managed to score an incredibly hot girl’s number.

But once the sun set, everything changed. Jackie and her friends met up with our group at a club. She was a wearing tight jeans and a loose tank top. Damn, she looked good.

And that’s when Tim noticed her. Although Tim didn’t look it, he was the player of the group. He was the smooth talker; the one who always got the girl. He immediately sniffed her out and was on the prowl. She laughed at his jokes and they flirted. My day’s work seemed to vanish from her memory banks.

Throughout the night, there was a back and forth. She’d have a drink with me, and then a dance with Tim; a gambling session with me, and then a conversation with Tim.

I turned to my brother and his friends and asked: “Do I have a chance?” They laughed and shook their head: “Don’t you know who you’re dealing with? He’s the favorite. You’re the underdog. You don’t stand a chance.”

But I didn’t give up. I tried everything: I bought Jackie drinks, made her laugh, taught her blackjack. And Tim just sat their cool, calm, and confident. When she disappeared for the night, I figured I’d continue the competition tomorrow.

I shrugged my shoulders and walked back to my room calling it a night. When I opened the door, that’s when reality slapped me in the face. Jackie and Tim and were breaking the bed together. I shielded my eyes, and slammed the door shut.

A devastating loss for the underdog.

NBA FINALS, GAME 7

That’s how I felt last night as I watched the favorite LA Lakers win the NBA finals.

As a long time Boston fan, my heart and soul was riding on this game. But I was watching as more than just a fan.

The Boston Celtics were the #4 seed. They were too fat (Big Baby Shrek) Too short (Donkey Nate.) And too damn old (almost the entire team.)

And the Los Angeles Lakers had the best player in the world, the best coach in the world, and the better athletes.

LA was Tim. And I was the Boston Celtics.

And once again, the underdog succumbed to the favorite.

The Celtics had a solid lead in Game 7 (and in the series), but they just couldn’t finish. They were completely spent by the 4th quarter and were hanging on by a thread. Playing without their starting center Kendrick Perkins, they still competed with heart and determination. They got killed on the boards, but they didn’t hang their head. Instead, they scrambled for loose balls and hustled on every play. They played vicious defense and made Kobe Bryant look like Ron Artest. Unfortunately, Ron Artest somehow morphed into Kobe Bryant, and the Lakers came through in the end.

The Celtics overachieved the entire playoffs. Most picked them to lose in the 2nd round, and some doubted they could even knock off the Heat in the 1st. But the Celtics slowed down the Flash; dethroned the King; and then used kryptonite on Superman. Their last showdown was with the Black Mamba. Their journey sounded like a video game or a sub plot from Lost.

The Celtics beat teams with the best players because they had the players with the best team. They came together. They united. They played on grit, determination, heart, and leadership. Doc Rivers tried every trick in the book to motivate this team (have you read the money in the ceiling story?) And it worked. They were one.

Then they finally faced a foe that learned from them. The Lakers didn’t play as a team until they had to. They didn’t try until they had to. They hadn’t been challenged the entire playoffs. They strutted with confidence and arrogance. They were the prototypical favorite.

It wasn’t until their backs were against the wall for the first time ever, did they realize if they wanted to win, they needed to play as a team. The backbreaker for game 7 wasn’t from Kobe. It was from Fisher, Artest, Gasol, and Vujacic.

The Lakers learned at just the right time. And even though the Celtics knew from the beginning that it took teamwork to win, it just didn’t matter in the end.

Because the favorite always wins.

Year in Review

It seems like the entire sports year has gone to the favorite. There are no underdogs anymore. There are no Rudys, Rockys, and Hickorys. There are only the Tims, the Lakers, the Dukes, and the Yankees. I made a good run back in the day and so did Butler, the Celtics, and whoever the Yankees play. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Heart and determination doesn’t matter anymore.

The Lakers were the straws that broke the underdog’s back. It was as if Kobe Bryant and the Lakers took a cute, little puppy—the underdog— slashed its throat, and pressed it against the camera for all to see.

It was nauseating.

I wish my life didn’t revolve around sports. I wish I didn’t take these games so personally, but I do. The average male life span is 77 years-old. The average male life span of a sports fan is 70 years-old. The average life span of a Boston sports fan is 35. The small town of Boston is in the sports news every single year. There’s always a big game. And those big games wear us down. I’m exhausted. Sometimes, I wish I rooted for the Lions, or the Clippers, or the Royals. And then I wouldn’t have to endure the pain of losing when it mattered; the agony of getting so close and then failing.

Whether it’s a Boston team or an underdog, my heart is displayed for all to see. I joked with a friend that I was wagering my left kidney on the series. If the Lakers win, I lose it. If the Celtics win, I get nothing except the satisfaction of winning.

I lost again last night. Just like that time in Vegas.

I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. The favorite always comes out on top.

Because the underdog is dead.

My Life as an Extra

2010-05-28T06:09:00.000-07:00

All my life I wanted to be a star. First, it was a basketball star. Then, a movie star. I just wanted to be famous. Heck, I’d have even settled for 5 seconds on the Jumbotron. This yearning stayed with me and was part of the reason I moved to Hollywood in 2000. I had taken an acting class in college, and even did a short stint at the beginner level of the improv comedy group, The Groundlings. But I was not an actor. I wasn’t a star. I couldn’t do voices, impressions, accents, nothing. I could only act like myself.

That’s when I learned about Central Casting.

In 2001, I discovered that any Joe Shmo or Sally Smith off the street could end up on the TV or the silver screen. I drove to the Central Casting office which was a lot like the DMV for wannabe actors. I sat for a while, stood in line, filled out some paperwork, and then posed for a picture. I gave them $50 or so and that was it. I was on my way to be a star.

When I got home, I called the number they provided for me. It was a hotline describing roles for background actors or extras. For example, a television show is looking for actors who can play high school or college students. Please call if you’re interested. So I did.

Must See TV

My first role was on a show called Imagine That starring Hank Azaria. (If you wanna read the full Hank Azaria story, click here for more.) The sitcom was appearing on NBC and was predicted to be a smash hit (they were wrong; it lasted only 6 episodes.) I played an audience member who watched the show within the show. I was told not to laugh, and that was it. My acting skills must’ve been amazing because when the show aired a few months later, guess who had the close up? ME!

For 3 seconds, the TV lay frozen on my straight face. This turned out to be the punch line of the scene. It wasn’t very funny, but afterwards, the phone calls came flooding in (it was only 3 calls, but still…)

I got to meet Hank Azaria and Katey Sagal (of Married with Children and Lost fame.) I got paid a bit, enjoyed a free lunch, and ended up on TV. Not a bad first day.

The Original Buffy

My next show was a complete dud, and never even aired. But I got to eat lunch with Ron Livingston (of Swingers fame.) I wanted to tell him that he was so money, but he was insistent on talking about planes from WWI. Actors are boring, I thought to myself. Kristy Swanson (the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer) smiled at me though. That was cool because she’s super hot.

What do you think my childhood was like…my last name was Saget!

My next adventure was for a show called Raising Dad on the now defunct WB network. They were casting for high school kids and even though I was 23, I looked and acted like I was still in high school.

I was to play a student at a Boston high school. Being from Boston, I thought to myself: “Didn’t I just do this 5 years ago?”

Here was the twist: my teacher was to be played by the one and only Bob Saget. I expected Saget to be just like Danny Tanner from Full House. Boy, was I wrong. While his role was pretty much the same, Saget himself was one of the dirtiest comedians I’d ever met let alone seen. In between scenes, he cracked jokes about the Olsen twins, body parts, and words that rhymed with Saget. I was laughing so hard, that at one point, they had to stop shooting. Saget remarked about me: “This kid’s laughing even before I say anything.”

I somehow made it through the classroom scenes while keeping a straight face. I had lunch with Kat Dennings (the daughter in 40 Year Old Virgin and the star of Nick and Norah’s Inifinite Playlist.) She was super nice and thanked us all for being a part of her show. I think this was her first role; one of the reasons she was so nice.

I escaped the set for an hour and somehow got a free tour of the Warner Brothers studio. When I returned, I hit it off with one of the other extras who looked like she was in high school too. I was shocked to discover that not only was she older than me, but we were from the same town of Sharon, MA. We spent the next few days together and ended up dating for a while.

But our relationship was a lot like the show Raising Dad. It was fun and juvenile, but only lasted for a short period of time.

I was prominently featured in the first 2 episodes of Raising Dad. I can be seen wearing a tight leather jacket, laughing at Bob Saget’s cheesy jokes, and throwing a paper ball at one of my classmates. Even though I was 5 years older than nearly everyone in the room, I fit in perfectly. In fact, I looked the youngest there. Unfortunately, the show got cancelled, and I never got a chance to reprise my role as the goofy kid at the front of the class.

Van Wilder

I was very excited to learn I’d been “casted” in a new movie called Van Wilder. All I knew is that it took place on the UCLA campus, and I’d moved up to playing a college student. I showed up and was told to see Jenny in the wardrobe trailer.

I whistled my way into the dark trailer and noticed a guy and a girl sitting on the couch watching TV. I plopped down next to them, and asked what we were watching. They looked at me like I had leprosy. We sat in awkward silence for 15 seconds.

I said: “So you must be Jenny?”

It was not Jenny. It was Tara Reid and co-star Ryan Reynolds. It wasn’t the wardrobe trailer. It was one of their trailers. Oops.

I finally found the right trailer, and changed into some college gear. My role, for what seemed like the day, was to toss the football with Teck Holmes (best known for being on The Real World: Hawaii.)

For the rest of the time, I snacked at the craft service counter (all the Krispy Kreme you can eat), hit on girls unsuccessfully, and lied out in the sun. Despite my acting efforts, I was somehow cut out of the movie. Maybe Tara Reid and Ryan Reynolds had something to do with that.

Orange County

In my next movie, I was back to high school again, and I was starting to get the hang of this acting thing. This shoot was enormous---hundreds of extras were used to fill out the high school scenes. That meant I had a lot of girls to hit on. I had many vibrant memories from this shoot, but one of them was getting one of the “cheerleaders” phone numbers. She had attended Santa Clara University, and was impressed that I knew Steve Nash went there. We never went out, but every time I see the cheerleader in pigtails, I think of what might have been.

As I was getting more comfortable on the set, I started asking questions to the producers about movie making. I even stood next to Jake Kasdan (the son of Lawrence Kasdan who wrote Raiders of the Lost Ark and Return of the Jedi) as he directed certain scenes. It was really a crash course in film making.

But Jake’s memory of me might not be so positive.

During one scene at the school courtyard, Colin Hanks’ character is arguing with his girlfriend. (This is prefaced by him not getting into Stanford, fighting with his counselor, and then running into a pack of cheerleaders as they morph into a dance routine.)

As the student body, we were instructed to watch the argument in stunned silence. I, of course, was not listening, and didn’t really care. I watched the scene unfold, and felt a wave of boredom. That’s when one of the extras egged me on. “Do something funny”, he begged.

It took me two seconds to make a decision. I decided to act like a high school student. I would be random and stupid. Without warning, I broke into the running man. The extras smiled and laughed heartily as I increased the pace of my dance move.

The director wasn’t nearly as amused. CUT was shrieked into the air.

The director’s assistant frantically roamed through the sea of extras.”Who was dancing? Who was dancing??”

I slowly raised my hand. “It was me. Was it funny?”

NO!!!

Apparently, I was lined up directly behind the camera. While Colin and his girl barked at one another, I was right behind them dancing. I stole the scene as my royal blue warm up pants shuffled back and forth.

They shot the scene 3 more times, and although I was on my best behavior, it never made it off the cutting floor. I must’ve cursed it. I hoped it would end up in the deleted scenes on the DVD, but I guess the director didn’t want me and my running man to sweep the nation.

The Characters

From my experiences, I learned that most people dreaded doing extra work; those were the professional actors. It was beneath them to go from playing Hamlet to suddenly playing some stiff walking down the street. These people made themselves known on the set. They were grumpy, irritable, and preached about the rules of acting. There were also a wide range of young, hot women. They were wannabe actresses who tried to coerce the casting directors to give them lines so they could receive their SAG cards. These girls were manipulative, and unreliable, but also very hot. Then there were the old veterans. They were like regulars at the bar. They’ve been around forever and knew the tricks of the trade. They brought books to read, and knew where the best snacks were. The sane ones had interesting stories about the industry. The insane ones seemed like characters from Lord of the Rings. They were incoherent, smelly, and yearned for their precious.

Like Mike

By the time I got to Like Mike, I was nearly a pro. I knew where to get the best food, which actors I could approach, and how to do as little as possible without getting yelled at.

As I drove to the Great Western Forum, I felt a surge of adrenalin. The Great Western Forum was not just an old arena in a tough area of LA. It was the rebirth of the NBA. It was where Magic and Bird squared off in the 80’s. It was the epicenter of some of the best basketball ever played. And now I was on my way in.

There were hundreds of us to play fans; to cheer on Lil’ Bow Wow as he tried to make a lay-up. But I didn’t like my role. I liked what I saw on the court.

A dozen “players” casually shot hoops while surrounded by “cheereleaders.” Since it took hours to set up the perfect shot, these guys had hours to work on their perfect shot.

This seemed like a dream: getting paid to play basketball (even if it was only for a day.) I’m 5’ 9”, white, and Jewish. This is the closest to the NBA I’m ever gonna get.

So I put on my best acting skills. I walked by the casting directors, walked onto to the court, and pretended like I belonged. I sank a few jumpers and nobody bothered me. I sank a few more, and I was there to stay.

About 15 minutes in, I nailed a 3 pointer from the corner, and thought to myself: this is what Larry Bird did 20 years ago.

The basketball actors were twice my size, but they didn’t care, and befriended me. I tossed them alley-oops and we goofed around on the court. The cheerleaders flirted with me. I was in heaven. It was like the bizarro world.

That’s when the celebrities showed up and started shooting with us. First came Lil’ Bow Wow, the star of the movie. He was definitely not like Mike, but seemed like a nice kid at least for those 20 minutes. Then Morris Chestnut showed up and clanged a few shots. Then Cuba Gooding Jr. stopped by and bricked a few jumpers.

After a while, people got tired and relaxed on the sideline. I was left alone when the NBA star showed up: Vince Carter!

I didn’t ask for an autograph. In fact, we didn’t even talk. We just shot around like we were in the park and played courtesy. He shot lefty 3’s and I flipped it back to him as he swished away. After he missed, I knocked down a few shots and he zipped it right back to me. I couldn’t believe it. I was playing courtesy with Vince Carter at the Great Western Forum. I wanted to tell my friends right then and there, but this was before facebook and widespread social networks.

I just enjoyed the moment. I didn’t feel like a fan. Or an extra. I felt like a star. It was only for a few minutes, but I got to live one of my dreams. The little white kid from Sharon, MA was in the NBA.

A few moments later, the filming started and I relaxed on the sideline. I didn’t even try to be in the background. I was glowing too much from the experience.

There were two lunches that day: one for the extras and one for the stars. I followed the cheerleaders, the basketball players, and Vince towards the filet mignon. I sat next to Reggie Theus (former NBA player, coach, and star of Hang Time), and we analyzed the New Jersey Nets—Boston Celtics series. I asked who would win and he said the Nets (he was right.) I disagreed, and we argued vehemently. He definitely didn’t like me.

But I didn’t care. Instead, I swallowed my steak, flirted some more with the cheerleaders, and gave Vince Carter a head nod as he walked by.

I wasn’t an extra anymore. Today, I was a star.

The Brunch Experience

2010-05-09T16:21:00.000-07:00

On a recent Sunday, my girlfriend and her friends invited me out to eat. Lunch sounds good. It wasn’t lunch. Dinner’s cool. It wasn’t dinner either. Well, what was it? BRUNCH.

Brunch with the girls was something I’ve avoided for the longest time. I’ve always made fun of the guy who couldn’t get out of it. While we played basketball, he was eating fancy omelets and talking about jewelry. Poor sucker.

Now, I was the sucker. I pictured my girlfriend and her friends taking on the personas of Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha while I tried my best to follow along. Like watching Sex and the city, part of me wanted to change the channel, but part of me was a little curious as well.

Brunch sounds cool on paper; breakfast and lunch merged together for one monster meal. But in the last several years, brunch is no longer just a meal. It’s a place where women (and guys who couldn’t get out of it) talk about life, relationships, emotions, and feelings. I was a guy’s guy. I liked sports, beer, and buffalo wings. I was not ready for all of this.

But I got my feet wet quickly. Five of us sat down at the corner table; 4 girls and me. Conversations flowed through the air, and I was merely a fly on the wall. I was privy to information that I’d never heard before. In a way, I felt like a nark or an undercover agent. Maybe I’d learn something after all.

I learned that women are quite adept at hearing music in restaurants. Even if played at a minimal sound, women can always hear and identify the song. Somehow, at the brunch spot, every other song was by Mariah Carey. When I was quizzed by my girlfriend about the music, I undoubtedly guessed Mariah Carey and got at least half the answers correct.

I learned that the portions at this particular brunch spot were small, but the girls didn’t mind. While the man’s goal when eating is to fill himself until he’s sick, women have a different mentality. One girl was relieved the meal was so small so she could finally finish the whole thing. While I ate, I wondered where I could get a slice of pizza and some ice cream when we left.

But brunch apparently isn’t about the food all. It’s about the drinks. While I threw down an iced tea, the girls contemplated between an array of fancy brunch drinks. I even learned the difference between a mimosa and a bellini: a mimosa is champagne and orange juice while the bellini is champagne and peach juice (or something like that.)

Twenty minutes into the meal, the conversation of getting married and having kids somehow fell into my lap. I thought the girls were kidding; like being overly cliché just to mess with me. But I was wrong. Stereotypes are true. And girls do talk about girly things especially at brunch.

I dodged the girly questions, but was definitely sweating it out. Thinking about the future is scary. This is what women do at brunch. But it’s something I’m clearly not ready for.

I then stared off into the distance as the girls talked about the Jersey Shore and manis and pedis. But my ears perked up when the girls mentioned strip clubs.

A few had been to a strip club the night before and shared their experience. They were fascinated with one stripper who climbed the pole and performed an acrobatic miracle.

Instead of focusing on the stripper’s assets, they focused on her athletic ability, and the fact that she could speak three languages. The stripper performed a lap dance for their guy friend, and serenaded the girls at the same time. The girls chose to remember her beautiful voice as opposed to her gyrating skills.

Two hours passed and I was getting anxious. I tapped my foot incessantly, and was ready to finish brunch. When the bill was paid moments later, I was proud of myself. I had survived brunch.

As we stepped outside, I was ready to give out hugs and “have a nice days” when I learned things aren’t gonna end that easy. Brunch was just getting started.

I was presented with three options: eyebrow threading, jewelry shopping, or go see a chick flick. I laughed. They were joking, right? I just wanted to watch the NBA playoffs. Please just let me do some guy stuff. Please! No dice.

One of the girls was getting engaged soon and needed to pick out some wedding rings. And we were going to help her (me included.)

As we walked through the city, I learned that women examine what all other women are wearing. When we passed a girl in a green dress; they noticed the style and color and talked about it. What did I notice? That her boobs were hanging out…how did that not pop out to them (no pun intended.)

Ring shopping included visits to Tiffany’s and several other posh places on 5^th Avenue. The girls drooled over the shiny diamonds, and my eyes widened over the explosive price tags. I felt a little weird being there with my girlfriend, but she assured me this was all about her friend. She was not hinting at anything, and I could relax for the time being.

The girls grinned as they gazed at more and more beautiful rings. I learned about all the different cuts: princess, cushion, square, oval, pear, round, marquee, expensive, really expensive, and absurdly expensive.

I also learned that the air conditioning at fancy jewelry stores was superb, and the couches were soft. I was not overly impressed with the bathrooms though. I expected better from a place that offered a $400,000 pink diamond. I wonder how much the yellow one cost.

I escaped the last jewelry store unscathed. I crossed my fingers hoping I didn’t have to get my eyebrows threaded next.

Thankfully, the girls gave me a break and called it a day.

My girlfriend was proud of me, and I earned some serious brownie points that would surely pay off later.

I was proud of myself too. I had survived the brunch experience.

As we said our good-byes, the girls looked forward to seeing me at the next brunch event.

Hopefully, it’s not too soon. I really don’t want to get my eyebrows threaded.

Robin Hood, Kick Ass, & Hot Tub Time Machine

2010-04-27T18:49:00.001-07:00

I recently saw a sneak preview of the new Robin Hood movie starring Russell Crowe (It comes out on 5/14/10.) Several readers have asked: How do you get to see sneak previews? Is your blog so popular that you are now invited to review movies? I wish that was the case. Unfortunately, I’m not that cool. If you want to know how to see sneak previews just like me, then read below. Otherwise, skip it, and enjoy the reviews.

How to Go to a Movie Screening

Sometimes, in front of big movie theaters (especially in NYC and LA), there will be sketchy guys trying to give you something. Your first reaction will be to ignore them because they are sketchy and weird. But these strange men are offering you something special: free tickets to a movie screening. The odd men will summarize the movie quickly and boast about the actors even if they suck. If you’re still interested, you must answer one more question correctly to receive your free pass for two.

“Do you work in the entertainment industry?”

Just say NO and you shall receive your golden ticket.

When you get home, register for the screening online. Arrive to the movie super early because it’s first come, first serve. The place will be a mad house, and you’ll get a taste of Hollywood and its motto: “Hurry up and wait!”

But once you get in, you’ll get to see a movie that might not come out for months. You may also get picked for a focus group and actually voice your opinion on the movie. You may even run into celebs who are involved with the film. That’s how I met Larry David

Some of the screenings that I’ve attended include Anchor Man, Envy, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Bruno, and now Robin Hood.

ROBIN HOOD

There have been dozens of Robin Hood movies so why do it again? Well, this is the UNTOLD STORY of Robin Hood. And the idea of pairing Ridley Scott and Russell Crowe with bows and arrows sound pretty cool.

But the story has never been told possibly because it is so boring. In this version, Robin Hood aka Robin of the Hood aka Robin Longstride helps fight against the Norman invaders and becomes a legend in the process.

The majority of the movie, Robin Hood is just plain Robin. He impersonates a great army soldier, retreats to a village, and befriends a family. This is where he meets Maid Marion played by Cate Blanchett (I’m sorry, but I don’t find her attractive at all…is that bad?)

For a good 45 minutes, this movie felt like a bad Jane Austen novel. Robin gets to know the family, the town, and learns what his destiny should be. There were flashbacks to explain his childhood, but I didn’t understand because I’m too stupid or I dozed off for a little bit. I had trouble paying attention because the movie was so slow. Instead, I kept trying to solve the riddles of Lost, wondering why the Red Sox sucked, and deciding what my next facebook status should be.

I’m really knocking this movie, but it wasn’t all that bad. First off, one of Robin’s right hand men was Keamy from Lost (the guy who kills Ben’s daughter!) There were also a few good actions scenes including the big one at the climax. At times, Robin Hood morphed into Maximus Decimus Meridius and definitely kicked some ass.

Coincidentally, Robin spent most of the time on a horse wielding a sword just like Maximus did in Gladiator. I was a little confused; I thought Robin Hood was this great archer, but he only uses the bow a few times.

The movie was conscious not to be like Gladiator which was really disappointing. Every time, Robin started to tear things up, the movie slowed down, and focused on the love story. It also chose odd times for silly scenes and jokey dialogue (sometimes it worked, but sometimes it didn’t.) And to top it off, there weren’t even any Bryan Adams’ songs (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves) or any appearances by Dave Chappelle (Robin Hood: Prince of Tights.)

From what I’ve read, this movie has been in the making for years. In the original script Robin Hood was actually a bad guy which sounds very appealing. Unfortunately, producers got their hands on it and gave it a huge overhaul.

Robin Hood is not a bad movie. It’s well directed, well acted, but it’s just really slow. My parents would probably like it because the action isn’t too graphic (it is PG-13 after all), the settings are beautiful, and there’s a romance story. But anyone looking for an intense action movie will definitely be disappointed.

The movie Robin Hood is kind’ve like the girl that’s not attractive, but she’s not ugly either. She’s ok. If only she wasn’t boring too.

On the other end of the spectrum, you got Kick Ass and Hot Tub Time Machine. Both movies are over the top, absurd, and lots of fun.

KICK ASS

Kick Ass is ultra-violent and definitely lives up to its name. The premise is that a bunch of normal, everyday people like us decide to become super heroes. Since it’s a movie, and based on a comic book, they take liberties to make them a little more superhero then the average joe. Two characters, Big Daddy and Hit Girl, have tons of money and therefore, some of the cooler weapons you’ll see. And they also have some insane fighting skills.

The best character by far is Hit Girl, a 11 year-old girl who makes Uma Thurman, from Kill Bill, look like a princess. She lights up the screen by destroying her enemies faster then Batman and Jackie Chan combined. Kick Ass is like a Tarantino movie without the pretense and need for attention. It’s fun, violent, and over the top. If you’re a comic nerd, you’ll love it. If you’re a fan of action movies, you’ll really like it. And if you think what I just wrote is stupid, then it’s not for you (and you’re mean.)

HOT TUB TIME MACHINE

How can you not want to see a movie with a brilliant title like this? Hot Tub Time Machine is well aware of its absurdity and ridiculousness. And that’s why it’s really funny. The characters are vulgar and idiotic (especially Lou played by Rob Corddry.)

John Cusack takes a trip down memory lane, and definitely earns some street cred for taking on this role. Rob Corddry, the asshole of the group, garners the most laughs. Clark Duke, the dorky kid, is pleasant enough. And Craig Robinson, aka Daryl from The Office, has one of the funnier scenes performing with his band (a solid homage to Marty McFly and Marvin Berry & The Starlighters.)

The movie takes its time introducing the characters, and every scene (at least at the beginning) wasn’t a joke/minute. We get to know the characters and, amazingly enough, the movie actually has some heart.

But the real reason you wanna see this movie is to go back to the 80’s. Most people from my generation will be psyched to go back to a time of walkmen, Nintendo, Michael Jackson, mullets, and leg warmers.

While watching, you almost want to play Where’s Waldo with the 80’s references. Some of the movies and 80’s shows they pay respect to are: Back to the Future, Rambo, The Karate Kid, Better off Dead, Ski Patrol, Red Dawn, The Terminator, 21 Jump Street, and Miami Vice. And Crispin Glover, who played George McFly from Back to the Future, steals every scene he’s in as the one armed doorman.

Hot Tub is not a great movie, but it’s one that makes you laugh and brings you back to the good old days; a time before cell phones, ipods, and email.

At one point, Jacob, the dorky kid, meets a cute girl at an 80’s party.

Jacob: Can I text you later?

80’s Girl: What?

Jacob: Are you online at all?

80’s Girl: I have no idea what you’re saying.

Jacob: How do I get a hold of you?

80’s Girl: Come find me.

...how simple things used to be.

10 Reasons Why the Red Sox Will Surpass the Yankees in 2010

2010-03-31T07:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve enjoyed living with my roommate. He’s a great guy, but sometimes he drives me nuts. He’s known to misplace his keys and accidentally drop my toothpaste in the toilet. His favorite shows are American Idol and America’s Funniest Home Videos. But what really irks me is that he’s a Yankees fan.

Last week, while mocking the Red Sox, he proposed a challenge to me. He knows the Yankees will win the World Series again this year. He is so confident that he jokingly suggested I write why the Red Sox will surpass his beloved Yankees in 2010.

Sean, this post is for you:

#1 The Target

This is the first year since 2001 where the Yankees have entered the MLB season as World Series Champs. They Yanks have always intimidated opposing teams with their money, aura, and pinstripes. But this year will be different. Teams will check their calendars for the Yankees, and gear up. They will be on a mission. Every series will be a dogfight because these Yankees are the defending champs and will have a big fat target on their pinstripes. And over the course of the year, it will exhaust them. That’s one of the reasons there are so few back-to-back champions. (The last team to do it: The Yankees in 98-2000; oh, shit, that’s not good.)

#2 Rule of 3

Baseball has become a numbers dominated game. Bill James and other statisticians have broken down every number and equation that you can think of. Here’s a very simple one. The Red Sox won in 2004, then in 2007. Based on simple arithmetic, and a pattern of 3, who do you think will this year? Yup, you got it. The Red Sox in 2010. The rule of 3.

#3 Hunger

The Yankees came into last year famished. For nearly a decade, the Yankees choked, unraveled, folded, and cried. Despite bringing in big name after big name, they could not get over that hump. Last year, the Yanks were starving. They had to win. There were no other options. After a nine-year hiatus, (which for the Yankees was equivalent to the Cubs 102 year drought) the Yankees FINALLY won the World Series.

Now they enter 2010 just another team. Their hunger has decreased, and if they don’t win this year, it won’t be the end of the world. Meanwhile, the Red Sox come in with something to prove. They’ve made the playoffs the last two years, but were embarrassed by the Rays in 2008, and then the Angels in 2009. The Red Sox come into this year like they skipped breakfast and lunch, and now they’re ready for the all-you-can-eat buffet. And the Yanks, they’re pretty full. They might just have a salad.

#4 The 2nd Year of a NEW Stadium

Last year, the talk of the town was the Yankees new 1.5 billion dollar stadium. There was buzz. There was excitement. And there were a lot of home runs. But now it’s just another stadium. Teams will enter prepared, and not be intimidated by the mammoth beast known as the New Yankee Stadium. It had a great rookie year. But this year it will hit the sophomore slump, and it will definitely takes its toll on the Yankees.

#5 Health and Misfortune

On the Simpsons in 1992, Mr. Burns put together the greatest softball team of all-time: Wade Boggs, Jose Canseco, Roger Clemens, Ken Griffey, Jr., Don Mattingly, Steve Sax, Mike Scioscia, Ozzie Smith, and Darryl Strawberry.

The night before the big game, Mr. Burns scratches his chin and knows there’s no way his team can lose.

``Unless, of course, my nine all-stars fall victim to nine separate misfortunes and are unable to play. But that will never happen.

Three misfortunes, that's possible. Seven misfortunes, there's an outside chance. But nine misfortunes? I'd like to see that!''

I can just see little Steinbrenner rubbing his chin a la Mr. Burns. Yes, it’s possible that the Yankees could suffer these misfortunes. Sabathia and Joba are overweight, Jeter is engaged (google Tiger Woods and marriage), Rivera is 40, Chan Ho Park is well Chan Ho Park, AJ Burnett always get hurt, Pettitte wears eye liner, A-Rod is in love with himself, Posada’s teammates hate him, and Teixiera seems perfect in every way, but he’s a professional athlete, so you know something’s up.

#6 The Underdog

The Red Sox have one of the highest payrolls in the league, but they’re back in their old spot as the underdog. The last decade has been confusing for Red Sox fans. Our identity was all about being the underdog, and our team letting us down. And we could never get by those damn Yankees. But then 04 happened! And then 07. Wait a second, we thought, we’re not underdogs anymore. It was just as confusing for Yankees fans.

But now the slate is clean. Since the Yankees won last year, things are back to normal. The Red Sox need to prove themselves again. They are the little brother to the Yankees; the underdog. They perform so much better in that role. There’s less pressure, and the Red Sox will come together as a team to knock off their big brother.

#7 Pitching

Red Sox: Lester, Lackey, Beckett, Buchholz, Wakefield, Bard, Papelbon

Yankees: Sabathia, Burnett, Pettitt, Vazquez, Hughes, Chamberlain, Rivera

If Beckett can regain his form, and Wakefield stays healthy (he made the All-Star team last year before getting hurt), the Red Sox have a formidable pitching staff. Beckett, Lester, and Lackey are all studs and will constantly be competing to prove who’s the ace of this staff.

Plus, Papelbon’s in a contract year, and Bard wants to prove he can be a top closer too. Scary.

If Sabathia pitches like last year, the Yanks are in good shape again. But here’s a weird stat for you: Sabathia has double-digit losses in every EVEN year he’s pitched (2002--11, 2004--10, 2006--11, 2008—10, 2010--??.) Once again, if the Yanks stay healthy, they’re sick. Rivera is the best closer of all time. But will this team be healthy in October?

#8 Roll of the Dice

The Red Sox rolled the dice and forked over a boatload of money when they signed Daisuke Matsuzaka. Most fans have had it with Dice-K and his sore back, shoulder and neck. How soon we forget that Dice-K was 18-3 with a 2.90 ERA in 2008. Sure, he’s painful to watch. He reminds me of a little league pitcher: every batter either strikes out or walks. But if Dice-K can return mid-season with some nasty stuff, the Yankees and the rest of the league better watch out.

#9 A Long Season

The Red Sox started off with 8 consecutive victories over the Yankees last year. It was early, but there was lots of talk. Talk of the Sox going all the way. Talk of the Yankees dismantling their team.

But it’s a very long season. The Yankees went on to win 9 of the last 10 games against the Red Sox including the AL East clinching victory. While the Yanks soaked in champagne, the Sox hung their heads and wondered what happened.

In 2010, the Red Sox will remember what Yankees fans have been telling me forever: it’s all about October. The Sox will have a stronger mentality this year. They will pace themselves; not get too excited too early. They will work hard in April, May, June, July, August, and September. But they’ll know this year: it’s all about October.

#10 I Will Be a Better Fan

In 2004 and 2007, I watched nearly every single Red Sox game. I traveled, and saw them play in Boston, New York, and California. I lived and breathed Red Sox. It sucked the life out of me, but it was worth it.

The last two years, I watched less, and the Red Sox seemed to suffer. The spiritual connection was broken, and they knew it. I cannot prove anything, but when I watched my Sox obsessively, they performed better. They put me through pain and misery, and joy and ecstasy. And in the end, they won it all.

So to spite my roommate, and all those Yankees fans out there, I will dedicate myself to the Sox once again. I will live and die on every series, every game, and every pitch. I’ll laugh. I’ll cry. I’ll scream. I’ll shout. I’ll buy some peanuts and cracker jacks.

I’ll be exhausted. I’ll have no life. But come October, I’ll be covered in champagne just like the 2010 World Series Champion Boston Red Sox.

The Madness Continues: And then there were 4!

2010-03-29T08:19:00.000-07:00

17 years ago, I remember babysitting my neighbors and Christian Laettner hit the shot. The kids were asleep so I let out a silent scream. It was unbelievable. There’s nothing like March Madness, and this year has been no exception. Buzzer beaters, overtimes, and Cinderella stories.

I watched the 1st round at work via cbssports.com. It was fun being sneaky and catching Nova almost getting bounced by Robert Morris, Murray State’s buzzer beater, and BYU surviving double overtime with Florida. There was an even a Boss Button on the site; if you clicked it, the video feed would switch to a business chart. Ingenious.

Somehow and someway I’ve caught every single game whether it was at a bar with friends, at work, or at home. I love it, but there have been some consequences. My girlfriend tells me, apparently, that I’m not a very good listener while watching the games. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, she’s right. And I’m sorry. But it’s March Madness. I’ll buy her flowers in April.

There’s the gambler in me that loves the tournament. Every day, I break down a new scenario in my head that could make me the winner. “If there’s an upset here, and then Baylor makes it the final 4, I win!” But, unfortunately, just like with scratch tickets, I barely ever win.

I was in two pools this year, but it didn’t stop me from rooting on Northern Iowa over Kansas. I happily handed over my $20 entry fee for the memory. Winning the bracket is more about pride than money anyhow. And if I’m not gonna win it, I’m rooting for the underdog.

And this year has been all about the underdog (Ohio, Murray State, Cornell, Washington, Old Dominion, St. Mary’s, Northern Iowa, Xavier, Butler, Michigan State…on a side note, it was a little odd that most of the upsets occurred on the 1st day of each region. Were favorites less prepared because they played first? Did the favorites play better on the 2nd day because they saw what happened on the 1st day? Who knows?)

The Underdog

I was so impressed with St. Mary’s that I asked Omar Samhan to be my friend on facebook. He accepted!

I somehow ended up at a “Cornell” party at a bar and rooted on Big Red as they thrashed Wisconsin.

I watched Georgetown go down, then Villanova, then Kansas, Kansas St., Syracuse, Ohio St., and Kentucky. What the hell happened this year?

Well…here’s a quick personal story that captures this year’s tournament.

Several years ago, I was playing pickup in LA. Somehow, I ended up on a team with this guy named Evan Burns. He was 6’ 6”, all muscle, all athlete. I mention the name because he was a top recruit for UCLA, but he never passed his SATs, got into some trouble, and lost his scholarship. As a result, he dropped out of school and ended up playing pickup with guys like me.

So my team was Evan Burns, me, and 3 duds. On the first play Burns, through an alley-oop to himself off the backboard and slammed it home. Holy shit. This guy was sick. Three dunks later, and we blew out our first opponent.

But something happened in the 2nd game. We played against five guys who knew how to pass, cut, play defense, box out, and hit the open shot. These guys couldn’t touch the rim, but it didn’t matter. They exploited matchups, used their quickness, and double teamed our all star. Thirty minutes later, we lost, and were pushed off the court.

This seems to be the theme of NCAA basketball in 2010. It’s not a one man game. It’s a team game. This is what really separates the NCAA from the NBA. The best team wins; not the team with the best players.

I watched Syracuse, Kansas, Kentucky, Kansas St. and Ohio State all go down for the same reason. They gave the ball to their all-stars and everyone else just watched. Meanwhile, their opponents scrapped, clawed, and did the dirty work.

Here are some staggering stats from this year’s tourney:

Kansas St. had 0 assists in the first half against Butler. Zero!

Kentucky ended up shooting 4-32 from three point land against West Virginia. At one point, they were 0-20.

Syracuse committed 18 turnovers against Butler.

Naismith Award Nominee Sherron Collins of Kansas shot 4-15 with 5 turnovers against Northern Iowa.

One of my favorite quotes of the tournament was from Bruce Pearl (a native of my hometown, Sharon, MA!!!) After 6th ranked Tennessee upset #2 Ohio State, he said: “It was our 10 versus their 6.” What he probably wanted to say was: “It was our 10 versus Evan Turner.”

Turner will be a top 2 pick in the NBA draft this year (either behind or in front of John Wall of Kentucky.) When he gets to the NBA, he can make all the one-on-one moves he wants. He can even take a few extra steps since it’s the NBA. But in college, it’s a team game. Tennessee won that game because they played as a team. And Ohio State lost because they played like it was the NBA—give it to the all-star and watch him make his move.

Shut Up, Bill Simmons

I read the Sports Guy on Page 2. I listen to his podcast. And I read his books.

But Mr. Sports Guy, please give it a rest about college basketball. Bill lives in an alternate universe where he believes the NBA is far superior to March Madness.

His knowledge of NCAA basketball seems to be on par with his tipping skills. (A story for another time.) Just stop talking about the tournament, please.

The Final Four

BUTLER

Butler is by far the best story of these final four teams. In the next week, you’ll read countless articles comparing them to Jimmy Chitwood’s Hoosiers. They’re playing 20 minutes from their campus and will definitely have the home crowd. Their coach is a year older then me, and he looks like he’s 12. They scrap. They hustle. They have underdog written all over them. Will they win it all? Probably not. But how great would it be if they upset Duke for the title!

Text of the month was from bruisahb after Butler knocked off Kansas State: “The Butler did it, in the Salt Lake conservatory with the three point dagger!”

MICHIGAN STATE

H to the Izzo.

Tom Izzo has done it again. Despite being a #5 seed, Sparty and the Spartans are back in the final four for the 6th time in 12 years. They’ve provided some amazing moments so far including the buzzer beater against Maryland. Don’t count them out for another chance at a title. (On a side note, I watched the Michigan St.—Maryland game at a sports bar called Tonic and they refused to put the sound on for the game. I was furious. Who does that? I ended up making my own “call” for this game, but man, did I miss Gus Johnson.)

DUKE

It wouldn’t be a final four without a villain. As much as I hate Duke (If they had lost to Baylor, I would’ve been $150 richer.) it’s probably good to have a team in it that you despise. It always fun watching Duke lose and seeing all the rich, preppy kids cry. But if Duke wins, it would spoil what has been a great tournament so far. Plus, I couldn’t handle the Lakers, Yankees, and Duke winning all in the same sports year. At least the Colts choked against the Saints. Let’s hope Duke does the same.

WEST VIRGINIA

There’s actually two Butlers in the tournament. Da’Sean Butler is the other one. He has proven to be one of the best players in the country. I knew this team was for real when they won the Big East tournament (of course, I still picked them to lose to Kentucky.)

I read a great quote about Butler after he banked home a three pointer at the buzzer to beat Cincinatti in the Big East tourney. Lance Stephenson (from Brooklyn hence the bad grammar) was the man guarding him. He said: “I tried my hardest to strip him but he made an incredible move and an incredible shot. I was all over him, nothing I could do. I couldn’t do nothing different. I actually fouled him.” When a reported asked if it was a lucky bank shot, Stephenson admitted Butler called BANK when he released it. Not much more you can do.

I’m actually supporting West Virginia for a couple of reasons. Kevin Pittsnoggle, Mike Gandy and the gang provided me with some of the best NCAA memories from about five years ago. If they win, I hope those guys are invited to the parade. And my second reason: I just love that Take me home to West Virginia song by John Denver. That John Denver’s full of shit, man so here’s another version from The Office by Dwight and the Nard-dog.

FINAL FOUR PREDICTIONS:

West Virginia 71
Duke 67

Butler 62
Michigan St. 56

Take me home…country road…to the place… I belong:

WEST VIRGINIA 66
BUTLER 59