Hell Yes, It’s Duke Football

photo from washingtonpost.com

I’ve had a few people ask me about the Belk Bowl today at work – top question being what the hell is a Belk seriously I watched that game for three hours and I still have no idea but only shortly after that was tough loss huh (sips coffee) which isn’t really a question, I guess, but let’s roll with it.

So let’s get the easy stuff out of the way: yes, uh, tough loss. Yes, I would have preferred that Duke not fumble the ball away on the goal line for a sure TD, fumble it again inside the opponent’s ten needing only a field goal to win, and throw an interception on a final, potentially game-saving drive. That was probably less than ideal.

(I’d also have preferred a competent officiating crew, although I suppose the Belk Bowl got the zebras it deserved, and Cincy certainly caught the malodorous end of a few calls as well. Equal opportunity incompetence is hard to complain about.)

It was just about the Duke Footballingest way a team can piss away a football game. That’s also why I’m actually kinda happy about it.

Let me provide some perspective beyond the oft cited reminder that this was Duke’s first bowl game in eighteen years.

When I arrived on campus in the fall of 2001, us freshmen were – I believe this was on Sep. 1, 2001 – herded into a basic cheer practice as a tentative first step into fulfilling our destiny as the world’s most educated squadron of Robin Fickers. We were taught the fight songs, the basics. Hats were distributed – not for the football program, because I’m not sure those even existed, but leftover black-and-white 2001 National Basketball Championship hats from the spring before. We were then strongly encouraged to go out and support the football team.

That weekend, the football team got annihilated by FSU, 55-13.

They would not win a game my freshman year. In fact, the sophomores that year became juniors before they saw Duke football win a game. The team “broke through” in 2002 against a putrid East Carolina squad, snapping a nation’s-longest losing streak. All in all, during my time at Duke, the football program was 8-38. Bowl game? That the program is still in in the Bowl Series instead of Div 1-AA is a minor miracle.

I went on record prior to the game saying I thought Duke would get blasted by 30, so when they piled on the first 16 points – but for a goalline fumble and a blocked XP tantalizingly close to a two point recovery, the game would have been 25-3 twenty minutes in – yes,  the loss was disappointing, because I had gotten my hopes up. But it was disappointing like somebody offering you $100 then deciding at the last minute to light the money on fire. Maybe that’s the problem with low expectations, but I was fine with it. (Especially in a year when a certain other Duke team we won’t mention nearly cost me sanity, knuckles, and drywall against Lehigh).

Also, if Will Monday’s Puntzilla didn’t make you happy, you have no soul.

When ESPN caught that spectacular “HELL YES IT’S DUKE FOOTBALL” out of Coach Cutcliffe’s mouth during the pre-game speech, it was true in every sense. Hell yes, it’s Duke Football, because they are going to execute a spectacularly poor end-game to snatch a nuclear disaster from the jaws of victory. But, finally, hell yes, this is an actual, proud, NCAA football team, and not just an excuse for the fratties to get blasted in the parking lot on a Saturday morning before weaving back to their dorms prior to kickoff.

I’m looking forward to next season. We’ll probably go 2-10.

Perpetual Peace, One Answer At A Time

The most frequent question I get asked about my time on Jeopardy! is “what’s Trebek like?,” and I think this article from the Post this weekend captured his essence quite perfectly.

I attended the Power Players’ taping last week with K and a few friends, and they were uniformly impressed with how professional but accessible Alex Trebek was – his friendly banter with the audience was the highlight for all of them.

I only got to spend time with him for the fleeting moments when we were both onstage but not playing, but my impression was the same; at least in his professional capacity, he’s a tremendously charming fellow.

Weekend Forever: April 27, 2012

Out of town this weekend, heading up the coast for a friend’s bachelor party. Paintball and Atlantic City! I’d love to hit the poker room at the Borgata while I’m up there, but doubt I’ll be able to break away from the pack for a session. Oh well.

This weekend’s music is the Tiny Desk concert for Rodrigo y Gabriela, who I saw on Wednesday night (in between being glued to my Twitter feed during Game 7 of Caps/Bruins). K called it one of the best shows she’d ever seen and I’d have to agree; if you get the chance to see them live (especially on their current tour with the C.U.B.A orchestra backing them), do it.

Heart Attack Hockey

As much as I’d have liked the scheduling to work out, I won’t be watching tonight’s pivotal Caps-Bruins game live. Got tickets for Rodrigo y Gabriela a few months back. I’ll be the guy trying to enjoy the concert while compulsively ripping his phone from his pocket at the faintest hint of a score-ticker vibration. I’ve tried to do the tape-delay thing before, but it just doesn’t work in 2012, especially when you need to keep a phone on you for work emergency purposes.

I swear this series has taken entire YEARS off of my life, and there are still between 5 and 22 more hockey games left to be played in the Caps’ season.

I hope.

Weekend Forever: April 20, 2012

Saturday will bring back wistful memories of a love long forgotten, the passionate four-day affair between Alex Trebek and I. A bunch of us got our grubby hands on tickets to  Jeopardy!’s DC taping and will be live in studio (well, D.A.R., so it’s a very big studio) to watch various Congresscritters and DC personalities embarrass themselves behind the podiums. And Kareem! And Lewis Black!

Other festivities: the long-awaited Jones/Evans rumble on Saturday night, some sort of all-day Beerfest on the waterfront on Sunday afternoon, and then United vs. New York from the Nest on Sunday night. Of course, the Caps play a pair of critical playoff games as well.

In my lounging time, I had initially planned to do some cube-hunting in the world of Fez, but then Blizzard announced that Diablo 3 was in open beta for the weekend and, well, all bets are off. I’m not sure if the servers will be playably stable (although it’s Diablo, so I don’t feel like there’s as much back-and-forth with the server as there is for Starcraft) but I at least want to see if the little box of evil and joy being delivered to my apartment in 25 days will run smoothly on my laptop. (Before I call in sick for two weeks.)

This weekend’s song is “Hands”, by the Ting Tings. I went to their show last Thursday night at the 9:30 Club, and prior to the gig I was a little worried about having committed to the tickets. I loved We Started Nothing but wasn’t a huge fan of their latest album, Sounds from Nowheresville. Also, I had seen Sleigh Bells obliterate the club a couple weeks before and thought the Ting Tings might pale in comparison. It was certainly a different sort of show, since it heads more towards dance pop than noise rock, but I was thoroughly impressed by their energy live. Strong recommendation to see them.

The standout of the night was “Hands”, which was just a ‘meh’ single. But once they added a club mix and bombastic guitar drops – well, take this festival below and compress it to a small building’s space, and you can understand the combustion.

Fightweek Fridays: Jones vs. Evans – Manufactured Beef Can Be Tasty, Too

MELODRAMAAAAAAAA

I make a conscentious effort to balance quality indulgences with guilty pleasures in my life. I’ll happily throw down the credit card at a four-star restaurant and challenge them to do their worst, but there are also times when I pass the McDonald’s coming home from work and proudly declare that it’s a Double Quarter Pounder sort of day.

The Double Quarter Pounder (aka the “Dub-Dubs”, or the “Big Guy” – we have a lot of terms of endearment in our relationship) is nowhere near the quality of a night at Komi, but in its own special way, it’s the best thing in my world that very moment. (Let’s not discuss the inevitable stomach revolt ten minutes after I’ve scarfed one.)

The moral of this story is that sometimes authenticity isn’t necessary to have a good time, and that’s what I’m feeling when I think about Saturday night’s Jon Jones vs. Rashad Evans fight. The breathless hype surrounding the bout portrays it as a “grudge match”, as “friends turned bitter rivals”, as a betrayal and yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn. Stop me if this all starts to look familiar.

Don’t get me wrong; there are plenty of guys in the MMA world who are capable of pure hate. I’m pretty sure when Nick Diaz dies it’ll be because a rage bubble exploded in his head. But when I look at Jones and Evans, I don’t see the sort of seething hatred that characterized the encounter between, say, Ali and Frazier. Instead, I see two guys committed to being the best in their field. That extends outside the Octagon. They play nicely with sponsors. They make their public appearances. They’re not Neanderthals like Rampage Jackson; they understand how to make money and market themselves as athletes, and that means helping in the promotion of  a fight by painting a lovely storyline for the press.

Sure, I don’t think they’re going to grab drinks when it’s all over. There’s at least a little animosity regarding Jones’ willingness to take a fight against a camp buddy (which is, by far, the dumbest storyline running through the past couple of years of MMA that didn’t involve somebody trying to Stay-Puft themselves with testosterone) and Evans’ acrimonious leave from Team Jackson. But is it what’s driving these men? Don’t believe it. It’s that big, shiny bauble around Jones’ waist and gold alone.

So I’m not buying the hype – but I AM all-in on the talent.

Jones has been revelatory to watch; his length and athleticism let him do things mere mortals simply can’t. Bones has been answering every question put in front of him. Can he handle solid wrestling? Ryan Bader, guillotine choke. The hype of a big fight against a major name? Shogun, picked apart. A heavy-handed bruiser? Rampage, worn completely down. Can Jonny handle punishment? Machida dinged him and Bones made him pay.

The big question of this fight is Evans’ grappling, which is an order of magnitude better than Bader’s. He’s best-equipped so far to get inside Jones’ massive range and execute his gameplan, wearing opponents down with relentless control. The problem with closing on Jones is that you have to pass through a killzone to do it. Machida executed his gameplan to perfection for a round and a half against Jones, but one slip-up let Jones inside; Jones cut Machida and the fight was over from there. By opting to go through Jones’ offense instead of avoiding it, Evans has an even harder path to victory than Machida; even if Evans should get inside and establish control, Jones has shown he’s not the type to get gassed easily. It will be 25 minutes of struggle for Rashad. I think he’s got about 20 in him. Jones by TKO, 4th round.

And then the winner gets Dan Henderson, off his fight-of-the-decade against Shogun. Spoil me, 205. Spoil me rotten.

The rest of my picks for the main card: MacDonald, Schaub, Torres, Hominick, Bocek.

I Have No Future As A Coach

D-Mac should sign up for the full $299 package I offer so his next Jeopardy audition will go better.