That Shit is Tiiiight!

Banging away on the keyboard watching Opening Day action from Nationals Park. Everyone's got the same record as we start baseball's long meander into autumn. There are three other sporting enterprises where the standings are almost as tight, despite being significantly deeper into their respective seasons.

In the NBA's Western Conference, the Sacramento Kings just clinched their first playoff berth in 16 years. Denver and Memphis are also locked into the postseason. That's when it gets silly. With six or seven games left to play, depending on the team, the gap between 4th and 12th in the conference is five games. Two and a half games separate the 6th place Golden State Warriors and the 12th place Utah Jazz. The playoffs have already started.

We highlighted the crowded nature of the top of the English League Championship table back in January. One might have expected things to shake out in the two months since. And they did. A little. Burnley's (on 83 points) all but assured promotion, and a couple of teams dropped off the back of the peloton. But 12 teams will still feel like they've got a chance at going up. Sheffield United in second place (70) has hit a bit of a rocky patch, their lead over third place Middlesbrough (67) down to just three points. In 11th, Sunderland and Preston North End both sit on 53 points with eight matches to play, within hailing distance of sixth place (the last spot in the four-team playoff for the final promotion spot) Millwall (60). Chaos, firmly in our sights over the next two months.

One division higher, the stakes are different, but the tension is just as thick. In the Premier League's 30-year history, we've never seen more teams involved in a tighter relegation race as this season. A mere four points separate 12th place Crystal Palace (27) and last-place Southampton (23). It is damn near impossible to predict how this will shake out with 10/11 matches to play. According to Squawka, the three most likely clubs to go down are Southampton (78%), Bournemouth (56%), and Nottingham Forest (49.9%). Notably, that means that the stats favor West Ham to stay up, largely based upon the quality of their players. But the Hammers have been brutal (currently in 18th), and they're still alive in the UEFA Conference League, which means they'll be playing midweek matches and taxing their roster in ways the other relegation-threatened sides aren't. 

Another story to watch is the fate of Everton. The Toffees have played 124 seasons in the top flight of English football, more than any other club. They haven't been relegated since 1953, the second-longest such streak, behind Arsenal's 97 season run. If they go down, it'd be a massive story. 

Closer to home, our man Whit's Leicester City have scuffled throughout the season. The Foxes find themselves in 17th, just one place and one point above the drop. They have far more talent than their record would suggest, but they've also been stricken with all manner of injuries. Squawka give them an 11% chance to go down, so the odds are in their favor. But it is squeaky bum time for Leicester. And for Lester.

Not to mention fans of a bunch of teams across these three leagues. Buckle in, lads.

Miami Makeover

In the coming days, we’ll hear numerous stories about Miami coach Jim Larranaga, who is taking his second team to the Final Four 17 years after famously taking George Mason to an unlikely berth in 2006. At age 73, he’s now regarded as an elder statesman within coaching circles and portrayed as kindly Uncle Jim who loves his players and does goofy dances with them in the locker room after big wins. 

IYKNK

I covered Larranaga’s University of Fairfax teams (1997-2011) in my previous life – not exclusively; my gig was William and Mary and Old Dominion and the Colonial Athletic Association in general, but I saw plenty of Mason games through the years and was around him frequently. The current image of Larranaga doesn’t jibe with what I recall: prickly, petty, often dismissive of those he didn’t deem sufficiently informed, helpful or faithful. 

A guy who coached against his teams in those days said my recollections aren’t inaccurate. Among his enduring memories of encounters with Mason were post-game handshake lines. If Larranaga’s team won, he offered a firm handshake and said, “Good game.” If his team lost, he gave opponents a quick, dead fish handshake and didn’t say a word. Following one loss, he offered that quick, dead fish grip to the head coach, then immediately made a 90-degree turn and beelined for the locker room, without a nod to anyone else. The coach/rival pointed out that Mason-era Larranaga was still climbing and grinding, trying to prove to others and maybe himself that he belonged, that he was a good coach. He didn’t use that as an excuse for Larranaga’s behavior, but simply an explanation. 

Sunny Jim toiled for 27 mostly-successful years at Division II and D1 mid-major schools (American International, Bowling Green, George Mason). He didn’t reach the NCAA Tournament as a head coach until he was 49 and didn’t get a chance to coach in a marquee league until age 62. 

He's just...he's just Jimmy from the Block

Larranaga also seemed to tailor his narrative to whatever was beneficial. For most of his career, he played up his Noo Yawk upbringing and was Jimmy LAIR-uh-NAY-guh from the Bronx. When he relocated to south Florida, with its sizeable Latino population and influence, he disclosed that his father and grandfather were Cuban with Basque roots. 

He went all rolling Rs and tildes and said that his surname was traditionally pronounced LAR-uh-NYAH-gah. Which was news to the folks at George Mason and to many who had known him for years. He explained away the discrepancy in a story in the Miami Herald a decade ago by saying that when he was a child, he tried to correct the nun at his Catholic pre-school, but she went with the more Italian-sounding pronunciation and spelling, and he let it go. He said that his father wanted the family to Americanize, though when he signed his name through the years, he regularly included the tilde, but folks either didn’t notice or ask questions. 

The aforementioned opposing coach also said that from what he’s seen and heard about Larranaga in recent years that the man has softened a bit personally, if not competitively. He’s more comfortable and confident, and his time at Miami and in the ACC has cemented his coaching bona fides. He has 725 wins and counting, a .601 winning percentage, and it can be argued that he’s slowly assembling a Hall of Fame career. 

Jordan Miller (allegedly) hails from Loudoun
County and (actually) transferred to Miami from
George Mason

The Hurricanes have been to six NCAA tournaments under Larranaga and five of the past seven, including the program’s first Final Four trip and last year’s Elite Eight appearance. Miami went to the NCAAs just twice in the 11 years before he was hired. 

As the ACC shed legendary coaches in recent years – Krzyzewski, Roy Williams, Boeheim – Larranaga has shown no signs of slowing down. Why would he? He’s a basketball lifer with no hobbies who loves coaching. He appears to have a terrific setup in place. He recruits to an attractive location in a primo conference. His teams play an entertaining style. In the new landscape of Name, Image and Likeness, he has a deep-pocketed and willing partner in billionaire John Ruiz, who will ensure that money is available for both high school recruits and transfers. 

In a piece in The Athletic, Hurricanes’ assistant Bill Courtney, who has worked with Larranaga over two stints for 13 years and has known him far longer, said that his boss tells him every day, “’At this point, I’m enjoying my life.’ That attitude permeates to the (players).” The former coach/rival said that videos of Larranaga dancing with his players in the locker room demonstrate that he’s loosened up. “The old Jim probably wouldn’t have been dancing,” he said, “never mind let a camera in there and have it go out so millions of people can see it.” Pity that he wasn’t that guy 15, 20 years ago. Though maybe if he was, he wouldn’t be who and where he is now.

Gheorghasbord: The Madness

Mental wanderings regarding a particularly mad set of games from across the NCAA hoops tournaments.

While I can appreciate it when a villain really leans into it, I think we can all agree it'd be a good thing if LSU would stop winning games in the women's tournament. Kim Mulkey is, unquestionably, a terrific basketball coach. She's also, according to numerous sources, a homophobe and COVID skeptic. So I'd like it if the Tigers would go ahead and lose. The only real downside I can see is that it would rob us of funnies like this:

when you're mad about free school lunches but style is life pic.twitter.com/vVMQrNll1O

— BUM CHILLUPS AKA SPENCER HALL (@edsbs) March 24, 2023

In what can only be an example of excellent work by the tournament scriptwriters, should Mulkey's LSU squad defeat the winner of tonight's Virginia Tech/Ohio State regional final, they'd either face Dawn Staley's dominant South Carolina or the incandescent Caitlin Clark's Iowa in the national final. Staley seems in many ways the anti-Mulkey - y'know, all woke and stuff. And Clark is amazingly fun to watch (witness her 41-point triple-double in the Hawkeyes' regional final win over Louisville) and would be a terrific foil for LSU. 

There are people (many of them CBS executives) bemoaning the fact that the men's Final Four is likely to get poor ratings because none of the teams left standing are bluebloods with national followings. These people are shitty college basketball fans and should perhaps go back to rooting for the Cowboys, Yankees, and Lakers. I don't know all that much about Florida Atlantic, San Diego State, UCONN, and Miami, but I know that all four teams play their asses off, and that none of them have reached this point by luck. I *expect* UCONN to win, because they have the most talent and they're playing at an extremely high level on both ends of the court. But I also expected the other four teams in the regional finals to make the Final Four. If you'd like my betting advice for the final three games, just say the word.

Actual view from the spot we're staying in the USVI

As it relates to the games, three of the four regional finals were damn scintillating. On the heels of the Kansas State/Michigan State, Gonzaga/UCLA, and Colorado/Duke (women) regional semis, that's five of the best games you'll want to see in the span of three days. Just a little bit sad we've only got three men's and five women's games to go.

My men's Final Four experience will be a unique one - at least the last part of it. I'll watch the national semifinals from my house, and then I'll jump on a plane the next morning headed to St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands. I'll just miss my man Whitney on his way back from the British side of the islands. I'll spend some time Sunday and Monday reconnoitering locations from which to sip boat drinks while watching hoops. I'll suffer through it.

Growing Older, Not Up

I'm quite proud of the range, quality, and depth of the content we purvey here, especially since we've been so diligent about maintaining our amateur status. We do it for the love. And the babes. Definitely the babes. And the dudes, for some of us. Obvs.

Today we're delving deep into one end of that range. The end where we keep the juvenilia. Because I came across something yesterday that made me laugh, and it reminded me of one of the great moments of levity from my all-time favorite pair of broadcasters. 

Let's start with this from European cricket, courtesy of @sickoscommittee on Twitter: 

It's the gift that just keeps on giving.

Listen to the commentary 😂

via @EuropeanCricket pic.twitter.com/27qW0z0p3T

— That’s So Village (@ThatsSoVillage) March 31, 2022

And we'll close it out with an oldie but a greatie from Jerry Remy and Dan Orsillo, with an assist from Dan Roche:

 

Sometimes I Don't Speak Right But Yet I Know What I'm Talking About

"This shoulda been a post." That's what I had written when this was a comment. Alrighty then!

Marls wins. Steely Dan's "Deacon Blues" was named for Deacon Jones.

On the origin of the song's name, Donald Fagen says, it was inspired by football player Deacon Jones, as they like the sound of his name: "It also had two syllables, which was convenient, like 'Crimson.'" The song, however, is really about "the ultimate outsider, the flip side of the dream, boy-o . . . call me Deacon Blues."

They got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide
Call me Deacon Blues

Apparently Hall of Fame defensive end Deacon Jones was also a crooner, and in the late 60's he was fronting War (and its earlier iterations) on the LA soul scene. That's when ex-Animals lead singer Eric Burdon found them and joined up. Enter... Eric Burdon and War. Check out "Spill the Wine" below.

And when you do, please keep an eye out for Danish import Lee Oskar on harp. His words:

I was this white, curly-headed guy and I came to America to make it in the music business. That was my whole ambition to come to the United States. So I met first Hugh Masekela and Stew Levine, and they put me up for bit and then it was back to living on on the streets, and then I met Eric Burdon. And with Eric Burdon, he wanted to form a new band, and so he and I went to a club in North Hollywood that was called the Rag Doll, but we went to check out this band and the band was backing up a famous football player named Deacon Jones. When I walked in with Eric, Deacon was doing these one-arm pushups, singing a love song and I’d be pretty intimidated… a [guy doing a] one-arm pushup, singing, “I love you, baby.” And so, I jumped up onstage. And it was just packed with people in there; everybody wanted to make a record deal back then. And the next day I was sitting around the swimming pool in Hollywood with the nucleus of that band that was called Nightshift, and Eric and myself. And that became the backup band that I was part of [War], and that’s how it pretty much happened.

His harmonicas are famous now.

After "Spill the Wine" charted, Burdon's asthma kicked in onstage and made him say "I gotta get out of here if it's the last thing I ever do," the rest of the gang removed his name from the marquee and pressed on.

Cisco Kid. Low Rider. And yes, "Why Can't We Be Friends?" -- a terrific tune about getting along in this mixed up, muddled up, shook up world. Featuring, according to los interwebs, Deacon Jones on some of the many vocals. 

There's a lot fascinating about this, and Deacon Jones, the man who purportedly coined the term "quarterback sack" (and who would be 3rd all-time in that NFL category if they kept that stat during his era), was perhaps the most interesting man in the world in the mid-1970's. Or maybe it was Clifford Ray.

Now ya know.

When Whimsy Goes Wrong

Regina is the capital of Saskatchewan, a plains city of 230,000 situated some 240 miles northwest of Minot, ND. It was named for Queen Victoria, because she was a regent, I guess. Its relevance to this post has to do with the way it's pronounced - Regina rhymes with a female body part.

Hold that thought. We'll get back to it, because it's only part of the story.

Tourism Regina recently rebranded, and in so doing, proved that the town wasn't above poking gentle fun at itself. The new name of the tourism bureau, Experience Regina, was lifted from a parodic 2008 song and video created by a pair of Americans who visited the city. It's most excellent in its desert dry humor and earnest tunesmansmith:

Experience Regina commissioned a hip new version as its launch video. It's still pretty great:

Up to this point in the story, we haven't offended any local sensibilities. We've got a bit of self-aware humor, some typically Canadian self-effacing presentation, and some neat civic scenes. Experience Regina probably should've stopped there.

Instead, they amped it up. In addition to the new song, the rebranding campaign added a bit more colorful elements. Sexed it up a bit, if you will. New slogans accompanied the launch, including, "Show us your Regina!" and "Regina rhymes with fun!"

The backlash was predictable and swift. While some Reginans (Reginites, Regineers, Reggies?) were amused, opposing reactions ran from embarrassed ("Well it happened. We live in a real-life meme.") to angry (said one Facebook commenter, "We will see how funny this is the first time a woman is assaulted and asked to “show us your Regina”"), to baffled, ("The only thing more idiotic than this rebranding are the people who cleared it").

Experience Regina quickly backtracked, issuing a statement of regret. Said CEO Tim Reid, “There was such positive feedback around Experience Regina; however, it was clear that we fell short of what is expected from our amazing community with some of the slogans that we used. Regardless of our intent, the impact is valid, and for that, we apologize.”

So I think we've all learned a lesson here. Whimsy, good. Self-effacing humor, excellent. References to female body parts as a component of a public campaign, perhaps not in the best of taste. 

Coda, of a Sort

As you'll know, I got a taste of Six Nations Rugby last weekend. Yesterday, in Dublin, the home side shook off some early nerves and wore down England, 29-16, to earn the 2023 Six Nations title. In going 5-0 to do so, the Irish earned the Grand Slam (and because they swept Wales, England, and Scotland, they also win the Triple Crown - it's a confusing combination of titles).

Here are the match highlights:

Enjoy a bit of the post-match celly (number 10, Johnny Sexton, was playing his final Six Nations match for Ireland, and his first-half penalty conversion made him the nation's all-time leading scorer in Six Nations play):

And finally, this excellent podcast (courtesy of Mr. KQ) explains a good deal about the Irish Rugby Football Union's (IRFU) intentional efforts to improve the team's mental toughness and resilience. It's probably the most informative thing I've ever listened to with respect to rugby.

Everything You Need to Know About Fairleigh Dickinson

You're probably suddenly aware that Fairleigh Dickinson University is a college in New Jersey with a remarkably short basketball team.  You probably don't know much more about it.  I do and I'm here to help.

Fairleigh has multiple campuses.  The "Metropolitan Campus" spans the banks of the Hackensack River, with buildings in Hackensack and Teaneck.  I find the "Metropolitan" appellation funny because neither Teaneck nor Hackensack seem metropolitan to me, but what do I know.  I grew up in both towns so FDU was always a presence in my life as a kid.  

For example, my friend's father was a professor there.  Another friend's father went there for dental school.  In fact, many of the dentists in the area went to FDU but it closed in 1990.  Now they partner with Lecom School of Dental Medicine for a BS/DDS program.

Fairleigh also has a "Florham Campus" in Madison and Florham Park, towns that neighbor my current home.  Fairleigh is still a presence in my life.

For example, we had a babysitter who went there.  She was an education major so she needed access to elementary school kids for various homework assignments, which included helping said kids with their homework.  It was a win-win.  

Our babysitter also played third base for the Florham Campus softball team.  Oddly, the Florham and Metropolitan campuses have different teams.  More oddly, Florham is DIII while Metropolitan is DI.

The Metropolitan campus's mens hoops team takes on Florida Atlantic this evening.  People across northern New Jersey will watch with great rooting interest, including zfather, FDU class of 1969.

Wikipedia says FDU is the largest private school in New Jersey and that surprises me.  But it shouldn't.  Despite being called "FD Who?" or "Fairleigh Ridiculous," Fairleigh provides higher education for a lot of kids who wouldn't have access otherwise.  According to their website, "Last year, Fairleigh Dickinson offered more than $70 million in University-funded aid; more than 94% of full-time freshmen received some form of aid."  Many of these kids are the first in their families to attend college, or wound up in the NJ area through some crazy circumstance.

Much like zfather!  He and his parents fled Hungary when Russia invaded and confiscated the family farm.  They staggered around Czechoslovakia for a year, then wound up in Flushing, Queens.  zgrandparents were fortunately educated and spoke grammatically perfect, albeit heavily accented, English.  They got good jobs and worked for the FBI on the side, infiltrating communist meetings as make-believe fellow travelers.  This allowed them to naturalize quickly and easily.  Meanwhile, zfather went to Brooklyn Tech, a public magnet school like Bronx Science or Stuyvesant with a focus on engineering.  Upon graduation he got a scholarship that allowed him to go to Queens college for three years, then Columbia for two, earning a BS and MS in five years.  For free.  Gratis.  Nada.

At the same time, zgrandparents bought a house in Emerson, NJ after saving for almost a decade.  What a country!  Unfortunately, this meant my father had to forfeit his scholarship because it was only for NYC residents.  And my grandparents wouldn't let him use his aunt's address because they feared that if anyone found out, they would all be deported.  I guess it's hard to trust the government after living through WWII and the Russian invasion.

So zfather was left without a college.  Rutgers wouldn't take him--they thought he was faking his NJ residence, and he didn't help his case when he said "Why the hell would I go to Rutgers if I lived in NYC, I would have a full scholarship to Columbia!"  So he called Fairleigh, told them his story and his SAT score, and they found money for him.  He even played on the tennis team which won some state title.

Chances are some of those short FDU cagers have a similar story.  So join me in rooting for the literal and figurative little guy this evening.

Some Things Scottish

As many of our readers know, I spent 75 hours in Scotland with Whitney and 11 like-minded middle-aged ragamuffins last weekend. Ostensibly, we went there to watch a Six Nations rugby match between Ireland and the hosts. While we did do that, and it was outstanding, the true purpose of the trip revealed itself over our time amongst the bonnie Scots.

I'd regale the lot of ya with the details of our trip, but that'd a) bore you, b) likely get repetitive, what with all the pubs and such on repeat, and c) require me to remember the details of the trip (see b), for the reason). Nay, we'll stick to the highlights, and a bunch of pictures. Mostly of the inside of pubs.

We stayed in an incredible flat in the New Town area of Edinburgh, up the hill from the Firth of Forth. New Town was built between 1767 and 1850, which'll give you a sense of the relative meaning of time in that part of the world. Walk 30 paces or so and turn right, and you got a picture perfect view of Edinburgh Castle, the most besieged place in Britain. Construction of the castle began during the 11th century, so it's a bit older than New Town. 

As you walk up the hill towards the castle and cross Princes Street, the climb gets steeper, and you eventually make it to a narrow close that takes you through a warren-like set of stairs and into Old Town. The Scots spent their creativity on poetry and literature, not place-naming. Old Town is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Which we honored by drinking pints by the gallon.

Where did we tip a glass, you ask? Aye, lad - where didn't we is a better question. Here's a sampling. I'm sure I'll miss a few:

The Oxford Bar - we started here, as it's close by our flat. It's Ian Rankin's muse, among other things, and it's proper tiny. Just enough room for the 13 of us to huddle up around the fire.

The Last Drop - located in Old Town's Grassmarket, this 18th-century pub is so named because the town's gallows was situated just outside its doors, and patrons would imbibe prior to watching weekly public executions. The noose-styled sconces in the pub's windows likely wouldn't go over well here at home.

The White Hart Inn - down the block a bit from The Last Drop, the White Hart is Scotland's oldest pub. Its doors opened in 1516, and history suggests that Oliver Cromwell, William Wordsworth, and Robert Burns all sipped pints within. We did our part to extend the legend by hunkering down to watch Six Nations action (France/England and Wales/Italy) for the better part of five hours on Saturday. Man's dominion, in this case, didna' break nature's social union - nay it r'vealed companions boon.

All Bar One - a departure, this. ABO was a mere long city block from our flat, and a modern, airy bank become whiskey bar, part of a UK-based chain. We parlayed with the young and pretty of Edinburgh here more than once, though we were neither of those things. Top notch whiskey selection, friendly barkeeps, and some lively Scots to keep us laughing.

We tippled a bit a' the Rose Street Brewery, Soba Bar (a bit twee for our taste), and one or two other spots, but those four got the lion's share of our money.

What did we drink, you ask? What didna' we's a better query. But these topped the charts:

Guinness - by the gross

Tennent's - Scotland's own

Innis & Gunn - ditto

A variety of cask ales

Monkey Shoulder - a newish (2003) blended Scotch Whisky that might've been proximate to my overservin' more than once.

I suppose I should get to the main event. On Sunday, semi-bleary but invigorated by the sunshine and balmy 50 degree temps, we boarded a tram at St. Andrews Square to make the 15-minute trip to Murrayfield, home of Scottish rugby. The locals faced a formidable Irish squad, theretofore unbeaten in three Six Nations 2023 matches and ranked first in the world.

For nearly 30 minutes, the resolute Scots held their ground, leading the visitors by a 7-3 score despite the kelly green shirts banging away inside the 5m line. Finally, on 28 minutes, Ireland broke through with a try to take an 8-7 lead into the half.

Ireland were victimized by several significant injuries, and so played most of the final stanza with a prop masquerading as a hooker and a flanker throwing in on line outs. Nonetheless, they ground Scotland down in the second half in an impressive display of mental toughness and focus, winning 22-7.

As much as the match, we enjoyed the raucous atmosphere. Murrayfield is oft touted as a bit of a nervous ground, but the Scots were up for it, as were their visitors. Both sets of partisans roared their anthems, and the sound of 67,000 focused on the action was spine-tingling. Got even more fun when we boarded the tram back to the city center (after fortifying ourselves at the Guinness hospitality center) with a group of giddy Irish, who sang everything from Fields of Athenry to the Cranberries' Zombie with enthusiasm, if not perfect pitch. Including the wee lassie who gave me stick for being an American and wearing a Scotland jumper - "that's embaaarrasin'," she repeated, enthusiastically. I was too smitten to care all that much.

We closed it all out with a final few rounds at The Oxford Bar - full circle, and all. Then we sat around the flat and laughed for a bit before we had to call it a night so we could get up in time to make our flights out of Scotland. Most of us did. 

And that laughter was the soundtrack of our days together. I said we went there for a rugby match. And we did. But we really went to celebrate friendship and brotherhood and silliness and memories and love and joy. That we shared in spades. I wanna go back.

Dick is in the News

Dick is in the news.  

According to a recent paper in the World Journal of Men's Health, "The average erect penis length has increased over the past three decades across the world. Given the significant implications, attention to potential causes should be investigated."  And it increased significantly: "After adjusting for geographic region, subject age, and subject population; erect penile length increased 24% over the past 29 years."  That's a lot of dick growth!  To draw this conclusion, the authors searched "the literature" for "studies that evaluated penile size. Search terms included: 'Penile Length' OR ('Width' OR 'Circumference' OR 'Dimension') AND ('Erect' OR 'Flaccid' OR 'Stretched')."  I suspect "the literature" was stuff I've covered here previously.  Anyway, this is proof that career options abound for Genital Studies majors.

Also in the news: 50 Cent's dick.  Fiddy sued a spa/plastic surgery center for posting a photo of him with the owner in a manner that suggested he received penis enlargement services.  He also sued a gossip blog for perpetuating the rumor.  He settled with the blog but the dick-measuring contest litigation with the spa continues.

Also in the news: Dick Van Dyke appeared on Masked Singer as a gnome.  

Then he busted out Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and even did a little jig at the end.  Pretty impressive when you realize he's 97.

Also impressive: Dick's wife is 50.  He picked her up at the 2007 Screen Actors Guild Awards (back when he was 81 and she was 35) by spitting serious game--he said "Hi, I'm Dick."

And no bag of dicks would be complete without a Trump in it.  DJ Trump has a hot new joint out called "Justice for All" in which his hot fire verses are interspersed with singing by the J6 Prison Choir.  I am completely not making this up, the former President of the United States of America made a song with a bunch of jailed insurrectionists.  Apparently the inmates were recorded over the phone (in case you were wondering about the logistics of getting a recording studio into a prison).  Positioned as a "charity song," managed by Kash Patel and Ed Henry, "[f]unds are slated to go to an LLC run by Henry, who will then disperse the profits.  Recipients will be vetted to make sure proceeds do not benefit families of people who assaulted a police officer."  A master class in dickishness, unbounded dickery if you will--it dicks around with democracy, decency, the rule of law, even Metallica gets dicked in this story.  Here's the song.  Just be warned that watching it will probably contribute a fraction of a cent to some dickhead insurrectionist or directly to DJ Trump (which I guess is the same thing).

All Things Scottish

In honor of a large portion of the masthead traveling to Scotland, posting the following only seems fitting. 

Pronounced ˈjȯrj thə ˈblȯg (or ʤɔrʤ ðə blɔg)

50 years ago this month, five twentysomethings from Jacksonville and one transplant from California left the practice pit proving ground known as Hell House and trucked up I-75 to Studio One in north Georgia. Over the next five weeks, they laid down eight finished tracks -- 41 minutes of what would soon become Southern Rock Gospel for evermore. 

The young, longhaired redneck image of the sextet belied their stalwart virtuosity and dedication to the craft. The diesel engine of the Three Guitar Army, with legendary driver Ronnie Van Zant behind the wheel, fired off number after number. Songs like "Tuesday's Gone," "Gimme Three Steps," and, of course, "Free Bird."

The Call: What song is it you wanna hear?
The Response: Free Bird!

The musicians: 

• Ronnie Van Zant – lead vocals, lyrics
• Gary Rossington – lead guitar, rhythm guitar, slide guitar
• Allen Collins – lead guitar, rhythm guitar, acoustic guitar
• Ed King – bass and guitar
• Billy Powell – keyboards
• Bob Burns – drums and percussion

Three months later, MCA released these tracks as the band's debut record. The album title is parenthetical and self-referential, a phonetic spelling of the band's name. Lynyrd Skynyrd, as they were called, was a play on their old gym teacher nemesis's name: Leonard Skinner. And the cover of the album showed a randomly captured lightning strike in the background over Ed -- surely a sign of the lightning in a bottle they had just captured.

For the math majors among you, yes, there's a seventh band member in the photo. Bassist Leon Wilkeson had left the band before the recording sessions, which led to them onboarding Strawberry Alarm Clock guitarist Ed King to play bass, but as they were putting the finishing touches on the album, Ronnie convinced Leon to return and Ed to become the third general in the Three Guitar Army. Leon showed up in time to get in the cover pic.

We all know what happened four action-packed years later. "The rest, as they say is history."

Up until two days ago, Gary Rossington existed as the last remaining living member of this historic posse. Gary rejoined Ronnie and the rest of the gang in that fishin' hole in the sky this week. 

This song almost got scrapped from (Pronounced 'Lĕh-'nérd 'Skin-'nérd). Thank goodness Ronnie Van Zant knew a dandy when he wrote it. Gary Rossington co-wrote this gem and is featured prominently in its axe-wielding. Enjoy... some sunny day.

Gheorgasbord, Or Is It?

Procrastina-a-ation is makin' me wait, and other musings while I should be actively seeking employment. When can we monetize this place, again?

I should turn this into a full-blown Wrenball piece, but the state of the men's hoops program finds me mostly just sighing in resignation. Chase Audige showed up on national television last night, helping Northwestern clinch the second seed in the Big 10 tournament by walloping Dave's Rutgers in Piscataway. Audige, who left W&M after making the CAA All-Rookie team in the wake of Tony Shaver's firing, averages 14.1 points per game for the Wildcats, and is second in the Big 10 (and 11th in the nation) in steals per game. He is at this point, the embodiment of the downfall of the W&M men's hoops program.

That program ended a dismal season yesterday in wholly uncompetitive fashion. The Tribe fell behind Hofstra 18-2, 36-6, and 51-14 (at halftime) before falling by a 94-46 final. W&M "set" records for the fewest points in the first half of a CAA Tournament game and the largest margin of defeat. The fat lady was singing from the opening tip - the W&M kids really did try hard (Ben Wight dove for a loose ball with his team down 51(!)), but they were so very overmatched.

I am not in most circumstances a burn it all down fire the coach kinda guy, especially as it relates to W&M hoops. It's a hard place to win, and our expectations should reflect that. But I think we've got enough evidence to suggest that Dane Fischer isn't the guy. He's a lovely human by all accounts. He's also 25-63 as a head coach the past three seasons after taking a Nate Knight-led team to a 21-11 record his first season in Williamsburg.

Ben Wight embodying Brian Mann's dilemma

In a departure for me, I do not envy W&M Athletic Director Brian Mann. The right call seems to be to reset the program and look for a new head coach. The first part of that process seems fairly straightforward. The second? Damn near daunting. W&M is an academically rigorous school in a conference where most opponents can be described in different terms. The top of the league looks to stay robust, especially in Charleston, where the Cougars are making noise about a Gonzaga-style investment in mid-major glory. The advent of the transfer portal means that a freshman who comes to W&M and turns out to be a real player will have his head turned, and means that every season's team will be an exercise in cultural acclimation and team-building, with no real expectation of continuity.

There's zero chance an established head coach would have an interest in the W&M job, despite the things we know are appealing about the neighborhood. Unless it's someone deeply tainted and looking for a career resurrection like Chris Beard or Dave Bliss. And there's even less chance W&M hires someone like that. So we're likely looking at another young, promising assistant with no experience who'll have to come in and replace three starters, rebuild a roster, and bang heads with Bill Coen, Pat Kelsey, Speedy Claxton, et al.

Man, does the Patriot League look more and more appealing.

Hey, would you look at that. It did turn into a Wrenball post! For the sake of truth in headlining, check out this Pitchfork feature on the top new tunes of the moment. I particularly dug these two:

Addiction

My name's rob, and I'm an addict.  

I can't quit cute animal videos. At first it was the occasional thing that people emailed me, or stuff I saw on Rex Chapman's Twitter feed, because I didn't spend much time on Facebook and I didn't have an Instagram account. Then, my kids went to college and I got the 'gram to keep up with them. And it all went to hell.

I watched one video from The Dodo, and then another. From there, it was a matter of time before the algorithm got me. Now they throw fuzzy creatures in my path wherever I go. Puppies bonding with ducks. Deer and cats frolicking. Pit bulls and kittens snuggling. Gimme all of it.

\As I thought about looking for a 12-step program (and where would I even go?), I learned that my addiction may not be a problem. In fact, according to researchers, cute animal videos may contribute to wellness. Science!

“Positive emotions have this adaptive ability to help us explore, think about the bigger picture and be creative,” says Acacia Parks, chief scientist at Happify Health. “When you experience positive emotion, it lets you do things you can’t do as well in a negative mood state.”

I'm not overdosing on cuddly cuteness. I'm flexing my adaptive ability! I'm avoiding a negative mood state! 

Maybe more of you should get addicted.

In Praise of the Pistol

Antoine Davis scored 38 points for Detroit Mercy in a Horizon League first-round tournament win over Purdue Fort-Wayne. The win extended Detroit Mercy's season, and Davis' college career. It also gave Davis a chance to break the all-time NCAA record for career points. As the Titans head into Thursday's game against top-seeded Youngstown State, Davis needs 26 points to surpass Pistol Pete Maravich atop the leaderboard.

Davis, unquestionably, is an elite scorer. The son of former Indiana, UAB, and Texas Southern coach Mike Davis, Antoine already holds the NCAA record for most made three-pointers. Over his career, he's averaged 25.5 points per game, good for 12th all-time among NCAA players. He leads the nation in scoring this season, with 28.4 ppg. The slender 6'1" dude can fill it up.

No, we're not here to question Antoine Davis' bona fides. Rather, we're here to marvel at the guy he might surpass.

Pete Maravich was one of a kind. He only played three years of NCAA basketball, because the rules didn't permit freshman to compete on the varsity level when he was at LSU. (Because of the pandemic, Davis will wind up having played five years of collegiate hoops.) Maravich managed to score 3,667 points during that abbreviated span, averaging a mind-boggling 44.2 points per game in an era where the three-point shot didn't exist. For good measure, he added  6.4 rebounds and 5.1 assists per game. 

The tallies only tell a little bit of the story. Pete Maravich was light years ahead of his time. His ball skills, court vision, and ability to score from angles previously incomprehensible are all legendary. Magic Johnson said of his own flamboyant handle, "[Pete's] where I got it from".  

Maravich was a captivating pro player, as well, though a combination of mid-career knee injuries and generally shitty teams served to muffle the legend a bit. Nonetheless, he averaged 24.4 points across ten NBA seasons, the last four of which were curtailed due to injury. He led the league in scoring in 1976-77 with the New Orleans Jazz, a fitting team and town for a showman like the Pistol. Tiny Archibald said of Maravich, "my most difficult opponent, as far as one on one".

Modern stats don't love him, and it's true that Pete was a volume shooter. But he still dished out 5.4 assists a game (usually to less-talented teammates) and snagged 1.4 steals. He never made an NBA Finals appearance, making it to the Eastern Conference finals with the Celtics as a bench player in his last season.

Pistol Pete died playing basketball in 1988 at the impossibly young age of 40.

So let's celebrate Antoine Davis' spectacular college career. And while we're doing so, maybe a tip of the cap to the guy that changed the game forever.