Lies, All Lies

Aside from the intense awkwardness that comes from hearing too much Vanessa Carlton, I can report that the ten year high school reunion is actually pretty much a blast. The problem, of course, is that one faces the daunting challenge of summing up the last decade in a little 30-second soundbyte that can be retold a hundred times. For most of us, that’s fairly easy, because the truth is that most of us are fairly boring.

Think about it. What have you done for the last decade? Odds are, not much. My actual history for the last ten years can be described, in full detail, using exactly eight words: college, law school, Chicago, beer, Colorado, more beer. But there’s no fun in that. So I decided to play a little game with my fellow alums. Here’s my reported story:

After graduating from high school, I trained as an Olympic bobsledder for the Nepalese bobsled team. Jim ***, also a member of the Class of ‘96, was my teammate. When a military coup d’etat threatened government funding for the program, Jim and I were both out of a job and also trapped high in the Himalayas. With our grizzled sherpa, Ningningitituck, we ascened Mt. Yuyuiammipa and there established the now-thriving metropolis of New Flint. (Go bobcats!) We were ultimately rescued from the mountaintop by Navy SEALs, under the command of Cpl. Todd *** (Class of ‘97), and thus began our 5,000 mile journey back to the states. We founded the Alliance for Peaceful War, a non-profit organization based in Schenectady, New York. When the corporation was overrun by fallout from the Enron scandal, Jim and I decided finally to part ways. Last I heard, he had taken a physical education teaching position at Mt. Holyoke College. Broken and disillusioned with life, I rented a Miata and decided to drive cross country in search of myself. Ningningitituck, our grizzled sherpa, somehow found me in Talahassee; he alone is responsible for saving me from the alcoholic depression that had by then consumed my life. In the blazing hot summer of ‘02, Ningningitituck and I were on a tour of the Budweiser factory in St. Louis when we reunited with another member of the prestigious Class of ‘96, Heidi ***. Equally fraught with disdain for The Establishment, she joined us on our epic journey. We eventually stopped short of the coast, in Baytown, Texas, a suburb of Houston, largely because that’s where the tranny on the Miata blew out. I ended up founding a business that sells retrofitted recreational vehicles with secret stowage compartments for illegal aliens. Heidi and I were wed at The Alamo; Ningningitituck was my best man. We now have five happy and healthy boys: Gary, John, Michael, Bill and Clarence.

Only two people believed my story. One was a fellow alum named Alex, who just nodded and replied, “Wicked.” The other was stoned. It occurs to me now that my error was not in lying about my otherwise sordid real history; it was in fabricating a lie that was simply too long. My advice for those of you considering lying at your high school reunion: Keep it simple. My second advice for those of you attending a high school reunion — whether you plan to lie or not — is equally simple: Bring a flask.

The Vast Anti-Detroit Media Conspiracy

You thought I was done talking about the beating administered to the New York Yankees by a certain baseball team from Detroit. Foolish you. The thrashing delivered upon those pinstripe baboons cannot be adequately described in a single post. Hence, here is now a second posting about the series.

My complaint today doesn’t truthfully lie with the Yankees. Instead, it lies with Sports Illustrated. I finally received my September 25 issue of S.I., which was delivered a mere three weeks late. (Special thanks to the U.S. Postal Service.) On the prestigious cover is a certain Alex Rodriguez, better known as “Choke”. Also on the cover, next to the picture of A-Rod, is this quote from teammate Jason Giambi:

“Alex doesn’t know who he is. We’re going to find out who he is in the next couple of months.”

Yes we will, as it turns out. Inside the magazine, an eight page article reviews the Yankees’ strengths and specifically discusses the need for A-Rod to prove himself in the playoffs. My favorite quote, from Choke himself, is this:

“I can’t help that I’m a bright person… I can’t pretend to play dumb and stupid.”

Actually, he can, as it turns out, although he wasn’t pretending. Batting 1-for-14 in the playoffs, with your career on the line, doesn’t sound like pretending to me. Aside from being a foolish thing to say to a reporter, A-Rod’s quote sums up precisely what most people hate about the Yankees. It’s not that the Tigers are a better team than the Yankees, although that’s true; it’s that the Yankees think they’re a better team than they actually are.

Interestingly, the September 25 issue of SI didn’t contain a single page about the Tigers. Not one. So out of curiosity, I went to buy the post-series issue, thinking for sure that my underdog Tigers would grace the cover. Nope; a mediocre college football game was featured instead. I have cancelled my subscription.

The Vast Anti-Michigan Media Conspiracy

The vast anti-Detroit conspiracy marches on! When those dastardly folks over at Sports Illustrated disappointed me in the most hurtful way, I turned instead to ESPN. But there again, I found a distasteful smattering of untruth.

Apparently, the good folks over at ESPN have ranked Brady Quinn fourth in the race for the Heisman Trophy. Quinn, you will remember, is the quarterback for a certain parochial school in Indiana that borrows its name, however mispronounced, from the famous cathedral in Paris. He’s also the guy who was sacked three times by the University of Michigan, and in that same game threw three interceptions. (He was later sacked four times by Purdue.)

Brady Quinn’s stats are at best mediocre. That’s particularly true when he is compared to Michigan’s quarterback, Chad Henne, who was ranked only seventh in the Heisman poll. Henne’s yards per pass, at over 8, are higher than Quinn’s, and their completion rate is nearly identical, despite Michigan’s butterfingered receivers. They have both thrown about the same number of touchdowns, and they both average roughly the same number of yards per game.

But Henne has been sacked about half as many times, he’s undefeated, and he’s playing quarterback for a team that vastly favors a running game. Brady Quinn, who has the benefit of being a quarterback for a passing team, is neck-and-neck with Henne, who’s the quarterback for a running team. And thanks to Sports Illustrated’s excellent coverage — in the September 25 issue, no less — we know that Henne’s first two games were deliberately non-passing games! (SI’s theory is that Michigan knew it could win the first two games so easily that it intended to surprise Notre Dame by opening up a passing game that had never been seen before.)

Yet, Quinn is ranked higher than Henne by a lot; he received 31 votes, as opposed to Henne’s meager 7. If you can explain that, you are as stupid as the folks at ESPN. The vast anti-Michigan media conspiracy has ruthlessly disparaged Chad Henne. Considering either of these men for the Heisman Trophy is a joke, but ranking Quinn above Henne is beyond that; it’s laughable.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water…

Lastly, I just had to share this story from today’s news. James Bertakis, who is 81 years old, was boating with his grandkids in Florida the other day when a stingray jumped out of the air and stabbed him in the chest.

Several months ago, I wrote about a pirahna found in a river in Illinois, and I had this to say about it:

Scientists have yet to explore my alternative theory, which is that whole schools of human-eating fish — including sharks — are lurking deep in the water and are simply biding their time before the organized attack.

You laughed. You scorned me. But who’s laughing now? Certainly not Mr. Bertakis, who didn’t heed the Joetown warning. (He’s going to recover, by the way, but this is a lesson to you kids: Don’t forget the body armor when you’re fishing.) The attack has begun. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.