Jane says…

Professional sports are stupid.

This occurs to me last week as I’m reading an article about how Vancouver is prepping for the 2010 Winter Olympics. The organizers have made a conscious effort to mellow the whole thing out, certainly as compared to the over-the-top display of the Beijing Olympics. As a neighbor remarked, let’s just hope that American network television can keep their frothy fervor under control as well and work like hell to keep their jingoistic forced melodrama out of their coverage. Nevertheless, one of the aspects of the Olympic spectacle that we love so much is the fact that “regular people” work so hard for something they love. Nobody is much moved by Kobe Bryant’s victory on the Olympic basketball court or Serena Williams’ triumphs in Olympic Tennis. It’s the grit and humanity of the amateur athletes that makes us tune in and cheer our hearts out.

Professional athletes in this country are paid exorbitant salaries, and certainly, some of them work really hard…I couldn’t say with any conviction that playing football or baseball is worth millions, but I don’t discount the fact that most professional athletes aren’t just sitting back collecting paychecks. They work. The lure of the big money applies downward pressure on college athletics. College athletics have become a commercial monstrosity – contorting the college admissions process and making a mockery of the notion that college is for higher learning. Worse – the incentives and benefits big time college athletics promises applies downward pressure on high school athletics.

High school athletes, more and more, suffer injuries to their still-developing bodies in their quest to specialize their way into division 1 of the NCAA. Middle school aged kids begin at age 12 to overcommit themselves to out-of-school leagues and teams that usurp most of their “free” time. Elementary school students, as early as first grade, feel like they have to be at soccer or hockey or lacrosse practice three times a week until 8 pm in order to make that third grade “travel team,” because they’ve been told in no uncertain terms that they don’t stand a chance of playing the sport they thought they really enjoyed in high school if they don’t get really good when they’re 9.

And that’s just one reason professional sports have become stupid; this trickle-down pressure to make it to the show is idiotic, but it’s not the whole story.

Professional athletes used to be role models. These days, when the six o’clock news tells us that a pro running back or superstar golfer or record-setting slugger has been arrested for gambling/abusing animals/raping a groupie in a hotel room/juicing, we don’t even flinch. It’s not even news anymore. We expect that these overpaid and undereducated and egomaniacal athletes have taken their own good press too much to heart and believe that there are different rules for them because they are So Important.

Ten minutes of watching the Superbowl this year tells yet another story about why pro sports have ceased to serve much of a positive function in our culture. Actually, I’m not sure I was even watching a football game – more like clips of football jammed between endless advertising. When the halftime show is dubbed, officially, the Doritos Half Time Show, indicating that the painful performances and repetitive commentary, deserve its own corporate headline sponsorship, separate from the prominence of Anheuser-Busch and Dr. Pepper sponsorship in the Sun Life stadium in Miami. Less confetti, fewer aging rockers, and the need for so much money diminishes. The only thing that doesn’t decrease? Fans’ appreciation for the game itself. Make no mistake, pro sports are not about sports.

So what’s the value of athletics? Competition, perseverance, evolution of role models, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat…all that. But where is that in the obscene mess that has become Professional sports? The regular folk can’t even afford tickets, let alone the licensed gear so shamelessly hawked at every sporting event. The promise of a free education isn’t enough to keep an aspiring basketball star in school – not when there’s big money to be made in the short term by dropping out and going pro. Records marking phenomenal feats feature asterisks and footnotes to differentiate between who really did something noteworthy and who did it with the help of human growth hormone.

The beauty of the New Orleans’ victory was the human connection it inspired – everybody rallying behind a fallen but fighting city. It didn’t have much to do with Doritos.

…but Dan thinks…

Jane, I think you’re a victim of the 24-hour news cycle. I’m not here to defend the behavior of a few bad apples, but back in the good ‘ole days? Babe Ruth was Pacman Jones, Tony LaRussa and Deion Sanders all rolled up into one. Ty Cobb was the meanest motherfucker in sports and intentionally injured dozens of infielders in his career. The Stanley Cup hockey playoffs were called off one year because too many players were losing eyeballs. Which of course begs the question – how many is the RIGHT number of eyeballs to lose?

But news travelled slow back then. And the news was way more newsy back then, too. Reporting on things that mattered.

But lemme tell you about Jack Roosevelt Robinson. You may have known him as “Jackie.” In the 1947 season of Major League Baseball, Jackie debuted for the Brooklyn Dodgers. He was black *whispers*.

As the first player to break the color barrier, Robinson had to endure derision not only from opposing teams but from within his own locker room. Death threats descended like locusts to Robinsons locker, road hotel rooms and home. Yet he stood his ground and played, embodying the grace and dignity any of us would hope we could muster on just one of our best days.

And the country watched.

It watched baseball. It watched as a microcosm of the battle against segregation played out before it’s eyes. And it saw a talented, dignified black man start the decades-long process of breaking stereotypes. With every hit, every single he stretched to a double, every out he tallied in the field that Robinson made in the face of overwhelming, racist hatred, he started changing hearts and minds.

Without sports, without Robinson, white children and adults of that era may never have been exposed to a Black American or Black America, without the nearly requisite racism or prejudice.

And without Robinson and his impact on racism in America, ever so slowly lending confidence to Black America, eight years later maybe Rosa Parks doesn’t have the courage to refuse to ride at the back of the bus. And without Parks, maybe Tommie Smith and John Carlos don’t raise their gloved fists in protest at the 1968 Olympics.

To watch sports is to watch the history of our country unfolding before our eyes.

Like in 1973, a year after Title IX was passed, when Billie Jean King bitch-slapped Bobbie Riggs in three straight sets after he was cocking off about his superior manliness.

Or years later when King donned the flannel and stepped out of the closet.

Or in 1980 when a group of college kids played against a professional Russian hockey team at the Lake Placid Olympics and won, throwing an exclamation point onto the end of the cold war.

How about 1999? Women’s World Cup, when Brandi Chastain let the girls out for a look around.

Or when Michael Jordan won an NBA Championship shortly after his father was murdered? Or Brett Favre on Monday Night Football after losing his father to a heart attack?

And what about Magic Johnson? Contracted AIDS, retired, unretired, then retired again.

And Michael Phelps? Who wowed us with his fins, then disappointed us with his bong.

We watch the news to gather data points. Observe trends. Maintain our relative safety. But watching sports is how we learn how to live. It’s where we form our day-to-day opinions. Maybe you didn’t know how you felt about being within spitting distance of someone with AIDS until you saw Magic Johnson crashing boards with uninfected men. And remember the talking heads tittering for weeks and even months about women in sports when Brandi Chastain sent the girls out to party?

And going all the way back to Jackie Robinson, without sports, without spectating, maybe that portion of White America doesn’t see the courage of a single man fighting inside curveballs on “Free Bedsheet Day” at the stadium. And without that, maybe there isn’t a black NFL quarterback for another half century. Which means Rush Limbaugh doesn’t have the opportunity to talk about social engineering conspiracies and how Donovan McNabb is unfairly benefiting from his blackness, making most reasonable white people throw sheets over their heads (in shame).

And without all that, maybe we still think a black man isn’t smart enough to coach a football team. And then Superbowl XLI (41 for those of us who don’t count like the fucking Romans), the first to play host to TWO teams coached by black men never happens.

And without ALL OF THAT? Without watching sports, without seeing smart, stoic, courageous black men (Terrell Owens? You know there’s no way I’m fucking looking at you, right?)? Pretty damn hard to convince White America to vote for a black man as President. That’s right, I said it. Without Jackie Robinson? Without Lovie Smith and Tony Dungy showing the worst of White America that Black America is also smart and capable? There is no President Obama. Deal with it.

And here I am, about a thousand words in and I haven’t even talked about how sports teach our children how to compete. How to get a thirst for winning that can be translated to all the different languages of our lives.

And hello? Michele Obama just unveiled her pet project, the Let’s Move campaign, to get our fat, stupid children outside to play (was that out loud? You know I meant “our” in the most general sense, right? Not YOURS and MINE?). Play what? Well, just look at the website! There’s a nice little boy playing FOOTBALL. And why would he be interested in playing football? Why not cricket? Why not Jai alai? Because they suck, for one. But also, because this little kid’s heroes PLAY FOOTBALL. THAT HE WATCHES.

Kids watch sports. They go outside and emulate their sports heroes (hopefully the on-field stuff, not bitch-slapping Sally next door when he drops a handful of singles on the ground and Sally dives for them, I’m looking at you, Pacman) when they play. They get exercise, they get healthy.

And let’s not forget about the sick children. The ones stuck in hospital beds who can’t get out to play. They can get their IV’s inserted and bedpans changed during commercial breaks, and then during the action, for an afternoon, they can escape their pale semi-private rooms and root for their favorite players.

Like Charles Woodson. Who just gave two motherfucking million dollars to his alma mater to help in the construction of a new children’s hospital, and who regularly, quietly, under the radar, visits kids in cancer wards all the time in the hopes that it might give them a lift. Give them a reason to fight another day.

And then there’s the impact on the economy. Meh. You know what? Nevermind. If everything you just read isn’t enough to convince you that you should step away from the computer and watch some sports RIGHT NOW, you probably got winded even reading this. And you hate children. Which, can I say? SUPER FUCKING MEAN. What did the children ever do to you?

Dan says…

UPDATE: Emily from Mothers of Brothers posted a link to this cartoonyvideo thing. Hilarious. So I share. I’m a giver.

I went to Starbucks for the first time two days ago. Dasright. First time.

I’m slow to jump on new trends. But I’m a fast learner. Here’s the things I learned about Starbucks and their coffee during my first cup.

1) Heat is a poor substitute for flavor.

2) Dumb employees wearing trendy, thick-rimmed glasses are still dumb employees.

3) When McDonald’s employees appear like they just successfully defended their master’s theses by comparison, you’ve got problems.

4) Slow service delivered with a bad attitude is ok when the product is narcotics. Or fine cigars. Starbucks sells neither of those.

5) A well-draining loam is great for your begonias but brews an awful cup of coffee. I mean, really. Pike’s Peak? Or whatever it was? Really. bad. coffee.

6) If I’m paying $3 for a flavorless scone, part of the deal better include a kiss on my special place and a promise not to stalk me “in the name of love” afterward.

7) If I was still fleet of foot I could get out of any Starbucks at any given moment with at least 11 Blackberries. Pretentious much?

8 ) Dressing like an American vagabond while paying $4 for a venti chai latte and tapping on a $600 netbook makes a person look like a conflicted schizophrenic. Or an idiot. And makes me want to huddle around my coffee so no vagabond germs get in it.

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…but Jane thinks…

Ah The Bucks. I can’t quit you. In fact, neither can anybody else. I fully expected Starbucks stores to begin to go belly up within weeks of the economic collapse of last year, but instead, their earnings went up. Instead of big ticket durable goods, vacation homes, and new cars, Americans sought solace in small luxuries to make themselves feel like it was all going to be OK. When belts needed a little tightening around my house, I vowed to cut my once a week Starbucks trip down to an every other week affair. But like I said, I can’t quit you, Starbucks. And instead of fewer visits, I was probably even there more often.

The hipster free trade organic cooperative sustainable local business posse likes to curl their collective lip at Starbucks much the same way I snarl at Wal-Mart because it represents big megalocorp style business that puts the little local coffee shop in the red and on the trashheap. In fact, in communities where coffee is a Thing, a Cultural Entity, a Statement of Identity, there are plenty of loyal caffeinistas keeping their favorite java huts afloat. I don’t doubt that Starbucks has driven some dedicated and worthy small businesspeople, purveyors of great products, out of business. And that sucks. From both personal and utilitarian points of view, however, Starbucks is not the blight on the caffeine and baked good landscape; it’s a boon.

1) The plain old regular coffee at Starbucks is strong and slightly bitter. I think it tastes awful. But that’s not why one goes to Starbucks. If you want plain coffee and don’t worship at the altar of Keurig which makes you a fool, do you hear me? A fool!!, then go to Dunkin’ Donuts, because everybody knows their regular coffee is better than anybody else’s. You go to Starbucks for a latte or a cappucino or some other weird caffeine, dairy, sugar concoction that you cannot possibly replicate at home despite how much money you spend on equipment imported from Italy. It’s delicious, provides the better-than-average caffeine hit, and is expensive and different enough from the every day cup a joe to make you feel special.

2) Consistency is everything. Ask the ghost of Ray Kroc and his filthy rich heirs.

3) Location. Location. Location. If you’re everywhere, I can always find you.

4) I have never been in my local Starbucks when there haven’t been letters from charitable organizations, schools, boy scout troops, hospitals, and individuals thanking the company, manager, and employees for their generous donations to some event or cause or another.

5) The Starbucks corporation makes serious efforts toward environmental responsibility…in terms of sustainable coffee agriculture, green building materials/methods in stores, promoting awareness and responsible behavior, and recycling.

6) Starbucks gives away free songs on itunes. Their Wifi policy irritates the crap out of me, but I like the songs and I’m sure if I had so much as one technologically competent bone in my body, I’d be able to figure out the wifi.

7) Starbucks just pledged 1 million dollars to organizations helping Haiti rebuild. And that’s not a one shot deal; they always pitch in. And in a big way, when catastrophe strikes locally and globally.

8 ) Starbucks provides full benefits for all employees, including part-time employees, flexible hours, and stock options.

9) Starbucks has a series of community involvement goals (as well as sustainability, environmental, and youth programs goals. This is the statement regarding the community involvement goal: “We will contribute over 1 million hours of community service per year by 2015. Last year we contributed 246,000 community service hours and this year we hope to double that and then add 100,000 annually. Our goal is to reach 1 million hours by 2015 and increase the difference we and our customers make in communities around the world.” (http://www.starbucks.com/SharedPlanet/communityInvolvement.aspx). They are walking the walk.

10) Hot Latte Man. The guy who serves me my morning latte at Starbucks has a smile that makes any morning a good morning. Yummy. And I’m not just talking about the coffee.

Jane says…

I feel absolutely no delight or satisfaction at the current media crucifixion of Tiger Woods. I don’t care that he had multiple affairs with multiple women. I don’t care that he betrayed his wife, and I’m not that bothered by the damage he will have undoubtedly wrought on his young children’s development and sense of safety and family. By the looks of it, Tiger has been actively seeking out girlfriends, short term and long term, all over the map. It doesn’t offend me. I have no urge to raise an eyebrow in his general direction. I feel no impulse to judge or condemn. In fact, I’m not even remotely surprised.I am, however, horrified and disgusted by the girlfriends. Maybe not all of them, but truth be told I can’t keep these chicks straight anymore. They’ve morphed in my mind into one giant breasted, parted lipped, long frosted haired schema of slut.

Before you get your feminist panties in a wad, hear me out.

I have no expectations of Tiger Woods in terms of “moral” behavior. He is not a role model; certainly not for me, and he shouldn’t be for anybody else. Dude can golf. Big fucking deal. He worked really hard at it for a really long time. Read Malcolm Gladwell. Maybe he’s born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline. I don’t care. He is also one of the biggest fame whores in the sports business. Show Tiger an advertising contract with a lot of zeroes on it and he’ll sign his name on the dotted line faster than you can say, “I’ve got a hot waitress in Vegas I want you to meet.” There are plenty of athletes who are wildly sucsessful and hugely talented and equally dedicated to their sport, but they don’t all seek out the limelight and the perks and the cash with as much enthusiasm as Le Tigre.

The women, on the other hand, suck…as I’m sure he could tell you.. ba dum bum.

It took about thirteen seconds for these girls to start selling text messages, emails, and phone recordings. All the while “revealing” (right, as if they hadn’t already told all twenty hundred of their best friends that they were doing Tiger Woods) that they were having relationships with the golfing wonderboy. Relationships? If any one of these women actually believed that she was having a meaninful and significant relationship with Tiger Woods, what the hell is she doing selling the personal and private correspondence between them? Revenge? Lame, plus, unimaginative – revenge is, let us not forget, a dish best served cold. I suppose it sounds antithetical to say it, but I would have expected more from them. At the very least, they should have anticipated that they weren’t the only mounts in the stable. I can’t find it in my heart to excoriate them for being stupid, but I am sickened by their mercenary response to the news breaking. Having an affair with a married man? Not cool. Making money off the relationship? That’s called something else altogether…I’ll give you a hint: rhymes with “SCORING.”

…but Dan thinks…

I’ll take issue with a few things Jane said in a bit. Right now I need to talk about the mental midget that is Tiger Woods.If you have kids on a sports team (and your kid isn’t the best player), you probably know how the star of the team gets treated. Kid gloves. Waving palm fronds, sometimes.

Because Tiger plays a non-team sport, since he was 3, appearing on the Mike Douglas show, he didn’t need to share the limelight with anyone. And for all intents and purposes, Tiger was an only child.   It was all Tiger, all the time. So while he was honing his superlative golfing talent, he was failing (and his father, Earl, patriarch of the family, was also failing) at developing just about every other facet of his life.

During tournaments, Tiger has thrown clubs into the gallery.  Of people.  His antics on the course are sometimes compared to Happy Gilmore.   (Mainly by me, but whatever.  I count, right?)  Socially, Tiger is retarded.  Remember those notes you sent in elementary school?

Do you like me?

[   ]Check this box for yes

[   ]Check this box for no

This is more or less how Tiger asked out Elin, his soon-to-be former wife.  He was so socially awkward that in college his nickname was Urkel.  So how did he score all these women?  14+ since he was married?

I knew a guy in college who played a mean guitar.  Ugly as fuck.  Personality to match.  But when onstage, women were lined up 4 deep to watch him play.  Add that intangible quality to a guy who is probably the richest athlete in the world and easy on the eyes?  Uh, the trim line starts back there, honey.

Because Tiger was so unskilled, so inexperienced in handling anything outside of where to drain his balls, he started draining his balls everywhere.

And Earl had re-written all of Tiger’s school books to show that the universe DID actually rotate around Tiger, so what was the moral conflict?  I golf, therefore I do whatever the hell I please.

Tiger didn’t know how to or understand the reason why he should keep his freakdom on the down-low.

I’ve cheated on a lot of things in my life.  Never a woman.  If there isn’t enough to keep you there?  You leave.  But Tiger never learned that or a billion other lessons about how to be a decent, normal human being.  Like Jane, I feel very badly for the kids and for Elin.  And hello?  How does a guy get tired of that?

As for Tiger, I’m going to enjoy seeing this guy who has so few mental tools to work with try to find his way around this course.  I bet he doesn’t make the cut.

And Jane?  Apparently Tiger has an affinity for the blond girl-next-door type.  Why he chose to screw carny versions of his wife instead of his wife is beyond me.

The fame whore thing I don’t buy.  He didn’t chase down Nike.  He didn’t call up GM and say “I love Buick!  Can I pimp your stuff?”  They ran him down because he was a superlative talent that appeared to have his head and his outside-the-lines life together.  Paris Hilton?  Lindsay Lohan?  Fame whores.  Whore whores.  Other than endorsements Tiger hides from the media as much as he can (social retard, remember?).