This Week in Wrenball: Let's Get This Over With

Here's a small measure of how unusual this NCAA men's basketball season has been: we haven't published the word "Wrenball" on this website in 2021. In fact, our only post about William & Mary basketball this season was a preview in November. 

In that preview, I wrote this, "Says here that anything better than 10 wins in the Wrens' 26 scheduled games would be impressive. Also says here that playing more than half of those 26 games might constitute good fortune." The Tribe finished this bizarre, dare I say stupid season with a 6-9 record, 4-6 in the CAA. So they played more than half of their games. Yay?

As a league, the CAA was an embarrassment in terms of its management of COVID-related scheduling. The Colonial was DFL in the NCAA in terms of percentage of scheduled games played, completing 56.9% of the 90 games on the slate at the beginning of the year. The NCAA average was 85.9%. FOGTB Jerry Beach wrote the following in his CAA Tournament preview:

"The scattershot nature of the regular season schedule created a silent but detectable tension within the league — with rescheduling decisions left up to the teams, some coaches felt their peers were less eager to play something close to a full schedule — and also made scouting and projecting the tournament harder than ever."

If the stories get told, that "silent but detectable tension" would make for a hell of a yarn. Delaware cancelled a game against W&M because they didn't have enough healthy players - not due to COVID, but to injury - and the league (and the Tribe) let it go. JMU got to 8-1 and suddenly found it challenging to schedule games. Convenient, that. Drexel wanted to take on all comers, but nobody really went out of their way to take on the Dragons. Suffice it to say that the CAA league office demonstrated a total lack of juice, and if this half-assed season is the league's swan song, it's out with something even less noisy than a whimper.

As for me, I watched a lot of Big Ten games. Saw a whole lot more Chase Audige than Luke Loewe, if we're being honest. And if we're being petty.

The Tribe's season was too incomplete to offer any kind of analysis. Dane Fischer's team showed a few glimpses, sweeping Towson when they got into a bit of a rhythm. But W&M went on COVID-related hiatus and came out of it just in time to lose a pair of games by an average of 20 points to an Elon team that lost its first seven games of the league season. Heading into today's tournament opener, the Tribe has played just those two games since January 31.

There were a meager handful of bright spots for the Wrens. Connor Kochera was named CAA Rookie of the Year yesterday on the strength of scoring 13.9 ppg and making 37% of his threes. Loewe continued his steady improvement, averaging 16.0 ppg and leading the team in assists. He was named to the All-CAA Second Team. Mekhel Harvey should've been the CAA Defensive Player of of the Year, blocking 3.3 shots per contest while only averaging 20.5 minutes. He and Loewe both made the league's All-Defense team.

But honestly, the sooner this season is over, the better. As I wrote in that season preview,  "I'm afraid that Nathan Knight's professional contract may well be the highlight of the season for Tribe fans." I see no reason to come off that prediction.

As for the tournament itself, read Beach's preview if you want intelligent analysis. I'm picking Drexel to win it all from the 6 seed, and I'm taking Elon to beat JMU in an 8 over 1 upset. Karma's a bitch, Dukes.

Next season can't get here fast enough.

Core Principles

Sometimes when I'm feeling frazzled and overwhelmed by the pace of things, I find it useful to focus on the values that are most important. And so: 

My friends, I give you: a HIGH QUALITY version of Kermit singing "Once in a Lifetime"

(Now with Captions) pic.twitter.com/KXu5xsVUzW

— Muppet History (@HistoryMuppet) February 24, 2021

Not Fizzling Out

I've listened to a wide array of music styles and genres for a very long time. Clearly. Clearly. Clearly. Makes me happy and rarely bored with music.

If I had to pick one subcategory of rock and roll that's occupied my listening choices for the best part of my last 25 years, though, the somewhat abandoned moniker of "alt-country" (or alt.country for the geekiest among you) probably wins the day.  From Uncle Tupleo (of course) through decades of Wilco and less of SonVolt, to our beloved revolutionary sweethearts the Old 97's to the Jayhawks and Ryan Adams, and hell, the Avetts and Drive-By Truckers are pretty much alt-country, and hell, Sturgill and Isbell and Jenny Lewis and even the Cowboy Junkies, and even Neko Case sometimes, and . . .you get it. A lot of stuff I like.

A band I only sorta tuned into along the way was the Bottle Rockets, one o' them outfits that's equal parts Missouri and Misery. I knew and loved the songs "1000 Dollar Car" and "Indianapolis" and a handful of tunes off their first three albums. Our fratre Ethan/Herb got me into Bloodshot Records and artists on that label for a brief spell. Plus, I am partial to bottle rockets. You know, since I was suspended in 1985 for igniting one inside the school hall.

Oh, and the Bottle Rockets did an album called Songs of Sahm as a tribute to Doug Sahm and the Sir Douglas Quintet, whom Z gave some adulation.

They are quite     good.  Or . . . they were.

On social media as of yesterday:

It’s with a sad heart that we announce this uneasy news: Brian has decided to retire from the Bottle Rockets. Although he’s in good health, he’s been feeling the passage of time and has lost interest in anything that distracts from or takes him away from home. Unfortunately, this means the Bottle Rockets can’t continue as we know it. This is a difficult and emotional outcome for the band, and we share the sense of loss over this ending, but it can also be framed as an opportunity for new directions.

We appreciate our fans, many who have become dear friends over the years, and we thank you for the wonderful 28-year adventure. It was a thrill and we couldn’t have asked for better people to share it with! We sincerely couldn't have done it without your loyal support -- the music lives on through you.

Forever Grateful,

The Bottle Rockets

Message from Bottle Rockets singer Brian Henneman...

Well friends, it’s time. Time to say “so long”. I’m givin’ it up. Packin’ it in. Retiring. I’m done. Been thinkin’ about it this entire time off. I’m more certain of it than anything I’ve ever been certain of before. I’m turning 60 this year. Including my time with Uncle Tupelo, I have been doing this recording/touring thing for 30 years. I don’t consider myself too old to do it anymore, but I do consider myself too old to want to.

Every musician has their own shelf life for doing what they do. Some go on into their 80’s, some quit in their 20’s and never look back. Ol’ Number 60, that’s me. 60 o’clock, that’s quittin’ time for this guy. Kickin’ off my travelin’ shoes and slippin’ on my house shoes. Home is where my passion lies these days. That excites me now the way the band used to.

I have no problem at all with the band. That’s not why I’m leaving. It’s all about where I’m at on the walk of life. I no longer want to travel, don’t really have any burning desire to write songs anymore either. I just want to be a good husband. A good neighbor. A responsible homeowner. A little dog’s daddy. A guitar repairman. A guitar player in my kitchen, and in some local country cover band whenever that scene comes back around. That’s how I want to spend the rest of my days. I want to be home for supper and home for bedtime. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. I want to experience a “normal life” just as badly now as I did NOT want to in my youth. While I’m still healthy enough to enjoy it. Before I get ancient and impaired. Things change. That’s life. I’m ready and eager for change. Being home for a solid year made me certain of it. I don’t want to miss ANYTHING here anymore.

Mark, John, and Keith all understand where I’m at. That’s such a relief. But they’re damn good guys. The best. Those guys have been the greatest partners a man could ever have. Dedication. Devotion. Turnin’ all the night time into the day. No tellin’ what’s next for them, but knowin’ them like I do, I’d say the sky’s the limit. They all have the musical skills to do anything. A truly “hot shit” band. And, unlike me, they still have the desire to get out there and do it. And they are ULTRA professionals. Keep an eye out for ‘em. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised to see them show up in phenomenal places. I am rooting for them. Them’s my boys. My team. My life partners. Please support them. I know I will. They are the longest running members the band ever had for a reason. They’re the best on so many levels. I love them forever.

Gotta salute Robert Kearns, Tom Parr, and Tom Ray too. All were members of the band I’m bidding farewell to. Everybody did a great job in their own time, in their own way. Everybody.

I gotta be honest, I’m not sad that this is really finally happening. It was bound to happen someday. What does make me kinda sad is that it’s already that day. WTF??? Where did that time go??? See? That’s my point. That’s what made me go through with this. Knowing how the time goes SO fast. I wanna get goin’ on this next phase, before it passes me by as fast as everything else did. I’ve finally reached an age where things get urgent. Available decades are gettin’ slim. Gotta find what you REALLY want and go for it. So I did.

I want to sincerely thank you all from the bottom of my heart. You all supported us for so long. I will never forget that, or take it lightly. I am forever humbled and grateful. It’s been fun, but now it’s done. Surprise ending, yes. But the band had a surprise beginning too, so it seems that’s just how we roll. Maybe the band’s not done at all. Who knows? I just know I won’t be in it. ‘Cause I’m done.

With a year off, and nothing on the books, this was the perfect intersection of time and timing. There would never be a time when leaving would disrupt less. That’s why I did it now. Didn’t wanna make a big deal outta my big deal. Wanted it to be as painless as possible.

So this is where the cowboy rides away. Goodnight now ladies and gentlemen. It’s the end of the show, now it’s time to go.

Maybe I’ll see ya at Home Depot or somethin’…

Brian

Wel'p... that about says it all. I gotta tip my cap to the guy. "On his terms" could not be a more fitting way to say it. Here's hoping that when you eventually hang 'em up, you are as at peace as he is.

Cheers.

A Pivot to the Kids

Martellus Bennett played 10 seasons at tight end in the NFL for six teams, winning a Super Bowl with New England in 2016 and making the Pro Bowl in 2014 with Chicago. If he has his way, his football career will be a footnote. 

Bennett is an imaginative soul who retired in 2018, at the age of 31 with tread remaining on his tires, to focus on creative pursuits. A writer and illustrator, he dreams up fantastical characters and adventures aimed at young black people. Bennett told Howard Bryant in a story published in The Atlantic, “A lot of my work is me subconsciously trying to validate my childhood, because the childhood I had as a black boy does not exist in the media today. I was more like ‘The Goonies’ than ‘Boyz n the Hood.’” 

 

Indeed, Bennett and older brother Michael Bennett, who also was an NFL player, grew up in Houston. Their father was an IT tech, their mother a middle-school teacher. He was an elite prospect in both football and basketball, as well as an honor student and school band member who built computers with his father as a hobby. 

Bennett decries what he sees as structural racism in the NFL and society in general. As a player, he spoke out about the need for police accountability, along with brother Michael and, famously, Colin Kaepernick. Following the deaths of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling at the hands of police officers, Martellus wrote a book called “Dear Black Boy,” aimed at young blacks who won’t have professional sports futures.

Using simple and encouraging language he implored them to cast a broader net and to aim higher. “The value we place on the athlete is greater than the value we place on the scholar,” Bennett said in The Atlantic piece. “Two kids walk into the barbershop, and one is a pretty good basketball player. People will be like, ‘You gotta watch him. He’s got a jumper. He’s got a shot at the NBA.’ And if a kid comes in and has won two science fairs in a row and got a grant? No one says, ‘That’s the next Mark Zuckerberg.’ Or ‘He’s going to be Bill Gates.’ They don’t celebrate him.” 

Among Bennett’s current efforts are children’s fantasy tales, the “Hey A.J.” series, with his young daughter as the basis for the central character. For example, in “Hey A.J., It’s Bedtime,” when her parents turn out the lights, her room comes alive with various toys and creatures who want to party. A.J. must choose between sleep and partying with her friends. Bennett signed a deal last June with Disney to develop an animated series based on the books. 

Children’s books have the added benefit of creating bonds between parents and kids, Bennett said in another interview. Kids aren’t simply given a book and left to read for themselves, he said. Parents, or other adults, sit and read to them and with them. “Black people are treated as second-class citizens in reality and fantasy,” Bennett said in The Atlantic. “I want to build worlds where kids and families of color can come and know that they own it, they belong there, and it’s a magical place.”

Dave is the Master?

A few weeks ago, Whitney posted a timeline of how his friend recorded a song and video-- a song with lyrics written by Whit-- in five days. 

I was really jealous. Or envious? I didn't want to storm into an apartment and strangle an adulterous ex-lover in post-coital bliss, and I loved the song. Maybe that's envious?

Anyway, the fact that they got this done in five days boggles my mind. I dabble in audio recording and I NEVER finish anything.  I use Logic on my iMac and it's a black hole of effects and AI drummers and digital instruments and extremely powerful tools. It's way over my head.

I'm often staring at screens like this, sliding things and clicking things. These various moves make a BIG difference in the way things sound. And while I've watched a view instructional videos-- usually while riding the exercise bike-- I don't really know what I'm doing. People get paid for this kind of thing.

Once you've recorded all your tracks and you're happy with how things sound-- you've compressed and EQed and all that-- then you've got to mix stuff. Pan things left and right-- get all the levels to the correct volume, and listen to the track on both speakers, computer speakers, and headphones (and maybe even in the car).

THEN-- apparently-- there's another step that I never really figured out, called "mastering." This is when you take that final mix of the track and prepare it to be distributed and played on various media. You can do this in Logic, but you need to know how to use the following tools-- and really use them, not just screw around with them.

EQ
Compression
Multiband Compression
DeEssers
Reverb
Stereo Wideners
Limiters

I have a passing familiarity with these tools so I tried to do my own mastering in Logic a few weeks ago with a "song" I made based on one of Zman's comments on Sentence of Dave. Apparently, if you write a comment that's funny enough, I'll write a song about it. The result was okay, but I definitely didn't know what I was doing. 

First, you squeeze with compression, then you maximize! Don't forget the exciter! Get rid of the low end on the bus reverb BEFORE you use Multiband Compression! 

Here's the final product.

 

Greasetruck · ZmanandtheAnts

This video was actually kind of useful and less overwhelming. "Use the limiter last so your beat don't sound like trash." Thanks Courtney!

Anyway, this was difficult and exhausting, to say the least. It's a race against time because your ears get tired and can no longer differentiate or remember between what you've done. Usually, artists hand their stuff off to a professional for mastering. 

There is another option: mastering software. My friend Neal recommended iZotope Ozone 9, a plugin that has a lot of AI mastering options. He calls it "the turd polisher" because it takes a musical turd and cleans it up (as much as possible). It's kind of expensive, but I qualified for an educational discount so I got it for half price . . . $132. It was money well spent. I still don't understand half of it-- or maybe 90% of it-- but there are enough presets and automated elements to help me play around. And then you've got to trust your ears (and use reference tracks). 

Here's one screen (there are lots of these).

Now that I've "mastered' a couple of songs, I can't listen to any of my old songs. They sound muddy and not loud enough. So I've got to go back and "master" those. Yeesh.

This is still not going to help me finish songs all that much faster. I'm always tackling things that are a little beyond me. My newest song is inspired by all the Vietnam movies that I've rewatched with my kids. It's good to revisit that clusterfuck. It reminds you that being in lockdown isn't nearly as bad as being a POW in 'nam. There was no Netflix in the shit.

I wanted to incorporate some samples from Paul Hardcastle's song "19" in my song. "19" was released way back in 1985, when I was fifteen-- and it's stuck with me. Not only did I want some samples from the "19," and a reflection on what it's like to be 19 years old and across the world, mired in a morass of a war with no clear mission, no clear communication, and a major gap between what was happening on the ground and what was being discussed by the brass, but I also wanted the center of the song to feel like a trip to a foreign place.

If you want to read something to understand this, I recommend Mark Bowden's Hue 1968: A Turning Point of the American War in Vietnam. He recounts the Tet Offensive, the capture of the ancient provincial capital city of Hue by the North Vietnamese, and the ensuing epic 24-day battle waged by the Marines and the ARVN to recapture the city . . . the book is a monumental day-by-day account of the heroism, atrocities, propaganda, misinformation, strategy, blunders, civilian casualties, destruction of ancient wonders, Communist purges, political failures, and-- amidst great effort and honor-- the futility of top-down command in warfare. I've read a bunch of Vietnam books and this is my favorite. I've also heard Apocalypse Now is a decent movie.

Here is my Vietnam song. It took WAY longer than five days to make (and I'll probably hear something weird in it and pull it down a week from now!) I wish I could just record something and move on to the next thing, but there are so many buttons and dials and switches and things. I just get lost. Lost in the jungle.

           19 (Revisited)

I can't breathe, I'm on the run--

It's all green, but I've got my gun.

I can't see, I'm in the mud--

the flies buzz around my blood

O Lord he is gone

across the world in Vietnam,

Lord I know my son is gone,

MIA in Vietnam

I'm nineteen, I've had my fun--

nineteen, it's been a damn good run . . .

O Lord he is gone

across the world in Vietnam,

Lord I know my son is gone,

MIA in Vietnam

Josh Daniel is a Righteous Dude

A story found its way to me via the world wide web a couple days ago. I dug it. So I'm sharing it. Not as profound as learning Van Halen's frontman is (sorta) bilingual, but pretty cool in its own right, and also related to music. 

Josh Daniel is a career musician in Charlotte. He became unable to earn his normal living on March 17. That's that date NC Governor Roy Cooper announced COVID-related restrictions on restaurants, bars, music venues and other places. But Mr. Daniel still wanted to play. So he decided he would play and livestream it. And then he decided he would play every day until the lockdowns ended. And he is still going to this day. 

Monday March 1st will be his 350th consecutive show. He has done them in his house, outside his front door and at the beach, among other locations. While things are improving with vaccinations, it appears likely he will keep his streak going for over a year. 

I'm not posting about him because he's the best singer/songwriter in the world. He may not even match up with some of the finest musicians north of him in Magic City. But his effort and his diligence are noble and worth saluting. And his work supports good causes as well. He has raised $50K for charity, including Children's Craniofacial Association. Josh's son has a serious genetic disorder called Apert Syndrome. 

His website is here: https://www.joshdanielmusic.com. You can get to his shows from there. The music is very chill and relaxing, the kind you'd enjoy hearing while getting an afternoon cocktail on an outside patio somewhere in warmer weather. Here's hoping the seasons and the vaccinations move ahead as planned, and we can all grab an outside cocktail sometime soon. 

Good zNews

Thanks to my genetic and professional predisposition for high blood pressure, I got my second covid vaccination on Friday night.  There were a ton of people at my county's vaccination center but the National Guard moved us along like clockwork, it took maybe 15-20 minutes from check-in through dosage and then a 15 minute observation period to make sure I didn't have an allergic reaction.  I woke up on Saturday with a sore arm but no other ill effect.  This surprised me because based on what I've read and seen, I expected the next day to go like this:

For clarity, I would be Arnold Schwarzenegger in this scenario and zwoman would be Sandahl Bergman.  TR would be the wizard.

But now I'm like this:

I'm still wearing masks, distancing, washing my hands, etc. but it feels good to be vaccinated.

I might feel good because I've also started taking better care of myself.  I haven't had a drink since Christmas and I've exercised all but two days since January 1.  As a result I've lost at least five pounds, I get decent sleep, and I have fewer aches and pains.  Thanks to my employer's wellness benefit plan I have a bicycle for the first time in about 30 years and I look forward to riding around with zson as the weather get better.

zmom is slated for her first dose on Thursday and zstepfather on Monday.  So there's good znews all around.  Saying this in pixels practically guarantees a meteor strike or some other calamity, but I'll enjoy the positivity for now.

***DAY 2 UPDATE***

I'm still like this:

Happy Friday! Feliz Viernes!

Sometimes in life, something just drops in your lap, in a matter of sorts, and you are better off for it. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you David Lee Roth singing Yankee Rose. In Spanish. It is mesmerizing. His enunciation, his "I studied Spanish for two years" grasp of the language, the way he changes his inflection at certain points, the literal translation of the lyrics. 

Que magnifico es esto. You're welcome, fockers.

Three People Who Have Never Been in My Kitchen

Speaking of streaming media, as we have been in this space over the past few days, I usually fill downtimes in my day with the live feed from KCMP - The Current - from Minnesota Public Radio. This morning, a song stopped me cold because it featured a voice I hadn't heard in some time.

My friends, did you know that Barry Gibb (yes, that Barry Gibb) recently released a new record? And that the record in question, Greenfields, is a country and western joint? That features Brandi Carlile and Jason Isbell, among others?

I did not, until Gibb's duet with Carlile, entitled Run to Me, came across my airwaves. It's a cover of a 1972 Bee Gees tune, and it's pretty great.

Gibb and Isbell team up on Words of a Fool, which Gibb wrote and recorded in 1986 for a solo album that was never released. If you didn't know Gibb was new to country music, you'd be hard-pressed to guess it.

Barry Gibb, closet country star. Who knew?

Coming Soon to a Streaming Device Near You

More documentaries on the horizon for your viewing pleasure. Sport, music, literature. Something for just about everyone.

And, because some people didn't bring a trailer, as it were, there's just a pic and a summary.

 “Summer Of Soul (Or, When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised)”

In 1969, during the same summer as Woodstock, a different music festival took place 100 miles away. More than 300,000 people attended the summer concert series known as the Harlem Cultural Festival. It was filmed, but after that summer, the footage sat in a basement for 50 years. It has never been seen – until now. Summer Of Soul incorporates interviews with performances by B.B. King, Stevie Wonder, Mahalia Jackson and Mavis Staples, Hugh Masekela, Mongo Santamaria, Nina Simone, and Sly and the Family Stone, among many others.

Enjoy.  And review them here.

Referee for the Referendum

The College of William and Mary is a smart person's kind of school. Some millennials and Gen Z people would say it's Nerd U, but it's a place where the super-serious student can comfortably excel in a milieu dedicated almost exclusively to erudition unencumbered by social distraction. Of my peeps, the William and Mary people fit neatly among the subcategory of "my smartest friends." My 2.0 GPA and I sit in the back of this class, slightly embarrassed to be here and hoping no one calls on us.

But I love the higher-minded discussions among these smarties. Gheorghe: The Blog is the perfect amalgam cake of keen cleverness and intellectual point-making iced with a heavy coating of whimsical merry-making.  

The W and M student body now informs me that via a referendum open to all students, a majority agreed that Thomas Jefferson (and buildings or awards named after him) contributes to a hostile environment on campus. 

The fine print was that the question was worded:

The following quote is by an alumnus who is prominently represented on campus: “A black after hard labor through the day, will be induced by the slightest amusements to sit up till midnight, or later, though knowing he must be out with the first dawn of the morning…In general, their existence appears to participate more of sensation than reflection… I advance it therefore as a suspicion only, that the blacks, whether originally a distinct race, or made distinct by time and circumstances, are inferior to the whites in the endowments both of body and mind…This unfortunate difference of color, and perhaps of faculty, is a powerful obstacle to the emancipation of these people...When freed, he is to be removed beyond the reach of mixture.”
Do you think the person who wrote the above quote contributes to a hostile environment for Black, Indigenous, and People of Color on campus?

2,584 students responded, including me.  56% responded Yes, 15% Probably, 8% Undecided, 7% Probably Not, 14% No.

The Student Assembly President sent a letter to the Board of Visitors on the subject. It includes: 

The author of the anonymous quote was Thomas Jefferson. Though we hold respect for our Founders, the extremity of the quote highlights a clear disconnect between his glorification and his beliefs. Currently, many Founders are honored by being the names of the top awards that we give to our William and Mary community and distinguished guests. This indicates that they are the best students from William and Mary, which history demonstrates is untrue. While it is important that they are represented, it is also important to consider how BIPOC students may feel receiving an award named in honor of their oppressor.

Not sure how I feel about this methodology. I can't imagine anyone in their right mind responding "No" to this question in the context in which it was provided. Clearly that's the point; once you separate the quote from the man, you can look at it objectively. But separating a quote from a time period and laminating it in 21st century plastic carries some fallacy with it. 

I would never issue blind support for evil deeds with the blanket "They were different times." But acknowledging the limitations of eras gone by and the danger-fraught practice of scrutinizing the only tangible thing we are left with from a person of those times -- attributed quotes and written letters --  as something far more three-dimensional should warrant some serious asterisking.  They were indeed different times, ones in which women were 2nd class citizens in corsets, cockfighting and bull-baiting were de rigueur, electricity was a far-off invention, and philosophies were communicated via quill and ink on parchment delivered via horse-drawn carriage. Glad to be here now and not then.

These days we have the answer key to a lot of questions that have been posed through the ages. If the original Teej missed the mark (and of course he did) on this particular one -- one that, 225 years later now carries the gravity and the scars of innumerable acts of wretchedness that permanently stained our country's history -- but did so as a philosopher in search of answers and with a forestated caveat of "as a suspicion only" . . . well, it seems like something that the true intellectual would at least want to debate in an unemotional forum of bright-minded peers.

Using the results of a blind distaste test like this as evidence of the will of a student body . . . it feels like this College and the brilliant scholars who attend it should use a little more brainpower than that.  At least it does to me.  I'd invite you philosophers to weigh in. 

As for me, I'm still in the back of the class, cutting up and eagerly awaiting when we get back to your regularly scheduled dipshittery.

All The News That Stinks To Print

In today’s edition of the Dead Horse Beating Chronicles, we bring up the latest discouraging news about news: Tribune Publishing Co. of Chicago, whose properties include its namesake newspaper along with the New York Daily News, Orlando Sentinel, Baltimore Sun and Hartford Courant, will sell to a massive hedge fund with a history of strip-mining newspapers. 

Alden Global Capital is buying Trib properties for $431 million, according to reports. Included in the package is the Newport News (Va.) Daily Press, my old shop for 30 years, and the Virginian-Pilot, located in Whitneyville. My heart aches for former colleagues and friends at both papers, because I know what’s coming. More cuts, more pain, more misery, and further erosion of local reporting, all in the name of short-term profit. Alden already had its nose in the tent, owning 32 percent of Tribune stock. It’s now bought the entire tent. 

I’ve written about Alden previously in this space. The New York-based hedge fund owns some 200 newspapers around the country, among them the Denver Post, San Jose Mercury News and St. Paul Pioneer-Press. Its M.O. is bloodlessly simple: sell buildings and equipment, cut staff, eliminate expenses, boost the bottom line, funnel profits to investors. The glimmer in this otherwise dismal development is that, as part of the deal, the Tribune spun off the Sun and several affiliated Maryland papers and publications and sold them to a Maryland-based mega-businessman and former state legislator, who will run them through a non-profit. 

No telling how it will work out, but it gives the Sun and Annapolis-based Capital Gazette a chance to continue journalism without the constant threat of the Alden butcher’s knife. Looking at the two southeastern Virginia papers, part of me thinks they’ll be spared because there’s nothing left to cut.  Buildings were sold. There are no newsrooms, and everybody pretty much works from home. They’ve had multiple rounds of cuts in recent years, via Tribune largesse. The skeleton staffs are essentially merged. 

But another part of me thinks, it doesn’t matter. Further cuts are coming, regardless. 

NPR reporter David Folkenflik obtained audio of an address from Tribune editor Colin McMahon to the troops in which he said concerns about Alden ownership are valid. McMahon said that Trib papers are making profit margins in the 10-13 percent range, but that Alden aims for 20 percent profits. 

Newspapers are shrinking and disappearing at an alarming rate. Twenty-five percent of the country’s newspapers shuttered between 2005-2020, according to research by Northwestern University visiting professor Penny Abernathy, who has studied journalism for years. More than two-thirds of U.S. counties have no daily paper. In that same period, 36,000 journalism jobs were lost, Abernathy found, leaving many papers shredded and unable to adequately cover their territories. 

There’s still plenty of quality journalism in urban areas and in regional and national outlets, but the effects of cuts and closures are most acute in smaller towns and rural areas, where local reporting is starting to resemble handwriting experts or Pontiac salesmen. 

A former DP colleague who was a victim of the Tribune axe landed a job as a news editor in Greenville, S.C., where the paper is running stories about the loss of newspapers in the state, and diminished accountability for public officials and businesses. Tales are rampant of small-town clerks and officials siphoning off money for personal use, often because no one is watching. 

One particularly outrageous example: in the Los Angeles suburb of Bell, Calif., (pop. 37,000) the town manager increased his own salary from $73,000 per year to $787,000 over a 15-year span. The town police chief was making $457,000 per year, 50 percent more than the police chief of L.A. Residents griped for years about their lavish lifestyles, but the local newspaper had shut down in the 1990s, and Los Angeles newspapers had undergone their own staff cuts and were unable to cover many of the sprawling suburban areas. When Los Angeles County officials finally investigated, they charged eight town officials with embezzling $5.5 million. 

Studies have found that lack of a newspaper diminishes voter turnout and civic engagement, and suggest that local papers also affect municipal spending. Researchers at Notre Dame and Illinois-Chicago found that government officials spent between five and 11 basis points more per issue (about $650,000) in areas without a paper. Their findings indicate that local newspapers hold government accountable, contribute to lower municipal costs and save taxpayers money. 

Nag flogging alert: At a time when an informed citizenry is kind of important, the erosion of local news sources and disappearing newspapers is beyond troubling.

Yasss Kouign

Rafael Alves is a featherweight MMA fighter. When he weighed in this afternoon in advance of his scheduled bout tomorrow with Patrick Sabatini, he needed to come in at 146 pounds. To paraphrase the great Bob Uecker, he was juuuuust a bit overweight. 11.5 pounds overweight, to be precise. Alves weighed in at 157.5 pounds.

For the record, I would've made weight.

Alves blamed bad salmon for making him ill and compromising his pre-bout routine. I think that's a bunch of nonsense. 

The actual culprit, as it will be when I fail to make my next fight, is kouign amman.

In the town where I live, there's a bakery named Dolce & Ciabatta. Clever, no? My wife loves it. Most weekends, she gets up early and heads there to pick up pastries and a good cuppa. And most weekends, I don't partake.

But two weekends ago, she brought home one of these beauties.

That's a kouign-amman pastry. In the Breton language (local to Brittany, where the pastry was originated), it means "butter cake". It's made by layering impossibly thin layers of crossaint-like pastry and butter and topping the dough with enough sugar to create a shiny, crackling crust of caramel. 

The bites of the outside of the pastry are sweet and crunchy, with the caramelized sugar picking up just enough butter in a rich melange. The inside of the kouign amman is *almost* savory, reversing the sugar/butter mix in favor of the latter. 

The whole experience is enough to make a strong man exclaim with each bite. Me, too. Done well, it's an amazing culinary experience. 

And Dolce & Ciabatta does it well.

Like Rafael Alves, I'll be moving up a weight class soon.

Forget Oreos, Eat Cool J Cookies

Last week, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announced the latest batch of nominees. A slew of new picks, only one (1) holdover from the 2020 nominees, and only one selection that has been nominated more than twice.

That selection is LL Cool J. Ladies. Love. Cool. James.

It's time.  Hip-hop has slowly started to be embraced by the whitey whites in white town at the Hall. RandB is still working its way into prominence, and Afrobeat? Well... 

Could this be LL's year? As you know, I'm biased, as he was my vintage in rap music. He couldn't live without his radio, he was bad, he rocked the bells, he took down Moe Dee, and he knocked you out because Mama said to. And then he joined NCIS.

Vote for him on the Fan Vote here. Come on, man.

The 2021 nominees are:

• Carole King
• Chaka Khan
• Devo
• Dionne Warwick
• Fela Kuti
• Foo Fighters
• Iron Maiden
• JAY-Z
• Kate Bush
• LL Cool J
• Mary J. Blige
• New York Dolls
• Rage Against the Machine
• The Go-Go’s
• Tina Turner
• Todd Rundgren

And here's my annual take:

Check this out! 

Fela Kuti, Afrobeat pioneer, is currently leading the Fan Vote!!  That there is interesting.

My wish list has LL, Devo, The Go-Go's, Rage, Chaka Khan, Kate Bush, and maybe Iron Maiden just so (the real) Bruce Dickinson can tell the Hall to sod off. In a cooler way than Johnny Rotten did.

Oh, and for sleeper pick? Todd Rundgren.  You know who also thinks so?

Don't Want to Be An American Idiot, Though It Might Be Too Late

On the evening before Billie Joe Armstrong began his 50th year on this spinning planet, a bowtied grifter went on Fox News and claimed to his audience of willingly-led rubes hungry for the red meat of libtard failure that Joe and Jill Biden's marriage was a 44 year-long PR stunt. "It's no more real than climate change," bleated the floppy-haired prep school rich kid, neatly tying a classic wingnut conspiracy theory into this newest batshittery designed to separate idiots from their money and their sanity.

And I thought as I heard the news of the Green Day singer's birthday, how dead fuck on the band's 2004 hit American Idiot remains today. 

Don't wanna be an American idiot/Don't want a nation under the new media/And can you hear the sound of hysteria?/The subliminal mind fuck America.

Only thing they got wrong is that it ain't subliminal at all. The mind fuck is intentional and wide out in the open.

So what's left for a blog to do? Turn it up, man.

Apocalypse Now: Fat Tuesday Feeling So Thin

Sometimes something nice comes together out of nowhere.

Last Wednesday

My friend from all the way back Ned (who has lived in New Orleans for 25 years now): 

Just throwing a song idea your way. I remember every other Mardi Gras thinking to myself: everywhere else in America it's just another Tuesday. Well, this year Mardi Gras in New Orleans is pretty much like everywhere else because Mardi Gras is for the most part canceled. I was wondering if you had any inspiration for a song exploring that feeling. I have yet to sit down and write anything but wanted to share the idea with you.

Me:

Hey Ned! That's a terrific idea. I will give it some thought. Great one.

Thursday

Ned:

Awesome. I'll see if I have some music. There's actually a song I've been working on that might work for this. I've got a rough version of the music on Dropbox. It may be too mellow, a Mardi Gras song maybe needs more hopeful pep in it.

Me:

Listening now. Great stuff, dude. Really nice listen. And frankly the loss of Mardi Gras seems to conjure a slow and sad song. This could work... Giving it a few listens and I'll try to come up with some words.

Saturday

Me:

Sending you my take on the lyrics. See what you think. Went back and forth on the chorus. Settled on an allusion to it not being Fat Tuesday.

Ned:

Damn, dude. The right mix of clever and heartstring pulling. Thinking of trying to get this done and released by Tuesday. And also make a video of the song. May be too ambitious. 

Yesterday

Just Another Tuesday
(Ned Henry/Les Coole)

3 rocks there smack / in my Sazerac / is the only float today
4 beads of sweat / from the mignonette / are the only beads in play
Magazine is empty / And there ain’t a soul around
It’s just another Tuesday / And I’m uptown feelin’ down

CHORUS
Lord, it feels so thin
Please bring it back again

Fairly soon / this doubloon / will be back on the shelf
I’m the King / of not one thing / A krewe unto myself
I’m a one-man carnival / and it’s all neutral ground
It’s just another Tuesday / and I’m uptown feeling down

CHORUS

BRIDGE
Ain’t never seen this town this way / it feels so strange
What I took for granted / that’s all gonna change

No parades / no hand grenades / the Quarter’s one-eighth filled
The good times rolled / they’re all on hold / all broke up, my go cup spilled
The Ash comes in tomorrow / with the tolling of the bells
But today’s just another Tuesday / just like everywhere else

CHORUS

Apocalypse Update: Can't Keep Good (Weird) People Down

As Whitney noted last week, New Orleans mayor LaToya Cantrell closed bars for Mardi Gras, which followed the city's decision not to issue permits for the traditional parade. While those actions are particularly striking examples of the traditions the pandemic has altered, the actions of the locals in response have been downright uplifting.

Megan Boudreaux went through the stages of grief after the decisions, but she came out on the other side as a damn genius. Boudreaux announced on Twitter that she was going to decorate her house in lieu of a float, and the brilliant people of New Orleans jumped.

Boudreaux founded Krewe of House Floats to organize maps of houses across the city, and to raise money for the Greater New Orleans Foundation to assist restaurant and hotel workers impacted by the pandemic. Dozens, if not hundreds of residences in the greater metropolitan area are lit up in any number of whimsical themes. Like this one, which celebrates Prince:

Or Mystic Moai and the Escape from Kraken Coven:

How about, It's Mardi Gras Time and We Don't Give a Duck!?:

There are more in this WaPo article on the grassroots effort, which has raised more than $100,000 in the past several weeks. 

People, especially New Orleanians, are sometimes pretty awesome.

Happy Valentine's/Gheorghe's Day

It's Valentine's Day and Gheorghe's birthday and I can think of few things that better incorporate the spirit of both than Bobby Moynihan's R&B stylings as Panda on "We Bare Bears."

"I want you-oo-oo to be my boo-oo-oo" is the line TR used to pick up Tiara.

Girl be selling sunshine indeed.  I hope the object of your affection agrees to be your Valentine today.

The Apocalypse Is Nigh

The New Orleans mayor has banned alcohol sales and closed down all the bars there for Mardi Gras as of yesterday.  

I get it. But goddamn it, man. Twilight zone is right.

Turning Deez Nuts and Doz Balls Into Cash

Big news in the world of salty nuts! No, Zman did not run out of talc. Kraft Heinz, the poorly named consumer food conglomerate that is struggling to find ways to increase profit margins, is shuffling its portfolio of unhealthy, affordably-priced foods that will keep Americans in various stages of obesity. The company announced today it is selling its Planters (and others) nuts businesses to Hormel for a whopping $3.35 billion. The line had $1.1 billion in sales in 2020. Deez nuts are valuable, my friends. Hormel can pay up because interest rates are stupid low because Jerome Powell is fine with manipulating interest rates to overheat the economy.

In case you wanted to know, its nuts business includes the Mr. Peanut (RIP) Planters brand, as well as its corn nuts business. Corn nuts kinda suck, right? I mean, they can be salted or flavored to make them more palatable, but when you're eating them, you always know you made a suboptimal decision. It's like eating pretzels. 

So Mr. Peanuts now works for Hormel, best known for Spam. The sale also brings the Planters Cheez Balls line to Hormel. While my keto-living self no longer eats processed foods like these, I was ride or die for Cheez Balls for many years.  I ended more than one drunken night by pouring Cheez Balls into a cereal bowl and eating them with a large spoon. That kept my fingers clean. You know, because I'm classy. 

I am enough of a Cheez Balls fan that I want to buy this shirt, especially now that it is a collector's edition b/c the label says Heinz. I assume the Teej owns one of these. Or two.

This deal sets an attractive comp for Pete Schweddy's Schweddy Balls line. No word on them being bought by Ben and Jerry's, after their limited batch ice cream venture. Happy Friday, gents. 

Required Viewing, I'm Deeply Sorry to Say

So my folks both told me I needed to watch the video being shown at Trump's impeachment trial.  I told them I didn't really want to, that it would surely only serve to make my stomach hurt. 

I went to the NPR post, anyway. I watched it.

Please watch all of this at your own risk and away from children, or bosses, or anyone who might try to defend any bit of it whatsoever. But please, if you haven't already, soak in these 13 minutes.

I was in the camp that having Trump out of office and out of my day-to-day mind was good enough. That the impeachment at this point may be some Dems just beating a dead horse, or just overkill.

I'm not in that camp any more.

Kitten Filter For the Win

 I do not suggest doing this in a judicial proceeding.  Not even in Texas.

Super Bowl Memory Shuffle

My memory stinks. I was reminded of that by site curator and Randy Newman fan, who asked if I’d ever covered a Super Bowl. I covered one – Super Bowl 20 in New Orleans in Jan. 1986, when the Bears demolished the Patriots.

Rob responded that he still has vivid memories of that game and those teams. Alas, I do not. I recall several things from that week and that game. Mostly, I remember massive anxiety about trying not to mess it up and wondering how the hell to adequately convey what I witnessed.

The only reason I was assigned to go to the Super Bowl was that the boss’s wife was either about to give birth or had just done so (did I mention my memory?). He was the sports section’s primary columnist, and he wouldn’t leave his wife and new son for a week. I had been at the paper all of 16 months, had covered only one season’s worth of college games and exactly one NFL game. I was no more qualified to cover the Super Bowl than to perform dental surgery.

When the boss told me that he intended to send me to New Orleans, I reminded him that I’d covered one
NFL game in my life. His deadpan response: Yeah, but it was a good one. He assured me I’d do fine, and I’d have plenty of help since I was going with our assistant sports editor, who was also the Redskins’ beat writer and had covered the NFL for years. Lean on him, the boss said, and do what he says. Which I did. (Side note: One of the NFL’s great competitive transgressions was that D-lineman William “The Refrigerator” Perry scored a Super Bowl touchdown and Walter Payton did not, in a game in which the Bears could have named the final score.)

I was fortunate that my job was essentially a running draft of history. If I needed to know something, chances are that someone had written about it – perhaps even me – and I didn’t have to rely on memory. I covered lots of coaches and athletes who had darn near photographic recall of games and sequences from weeks and years prior, which was a benefit. Plenty of colleagues have terrific memories, as well, and can rattle off details from games and road trips and conversations that I only vaguely remember. 

I cannot attribute my shoddy memory to age, although that doesn’t help. I doubt I could have told you any more about that Super Bowl 15 years ago than today. I once forgot my mom’s birthday by an entire month. Had the right date; brain-locked on the month. Nowadays, I forget things so frequently that the dog thinks the path out of the house consists of: go to the door, turn around and go back to the kitchen or bedroom, pick up something and put it in my pocket, then leave.

Chuck Swenson is in this photo.
Learned from the best.

It may be that my memory is more disordered than hopeless. There’s plenty of stuff rattling around in my head, far too much of it useless or un-interesting. For example, I vividly remember a William and Mary basketball practice in which Chuck Swenson was so torqued off at his players’ effort and execution that he punted a ball into a corner of William and Mary Hall and stormed off the court, leaving his assistants to finish practice. However, my memories of Super Bowl 20 and Duke-Kentucky in the 1992 NCAA Tournament, a.k.a., The Laettner Game, are spotty, at best.

Anyway, I suggest that as memory fades and memories accumulate we keep tangible reminders of favored people and experiences. Write things down. Snap pictures. Download to safe spaces. Collect keepsakes, if you have room for such things. Years ago, friends had a big wicker bowl in their living room and gradually filled it with mementos: ticket stubs, matchbooks, shot glasses, knick-knacks, stickers, hats, travel brochures, menus, corks from wine bottles. The contents jogged the memory and sometimes made an interesting conversation starter for friends and visitors. My wife and I took two vacation trips to Europe. I kept a notebook each time in which I wrote at least once a day about the stuff we saw and did. They’re a treasure of wonderful times worth revisiting. 

If only I could remember where I stowed them. 

Live image of OBX Dave's brain, memory bank portion

I Think Many of You Already Know This, but Pappyland is Fantastic and You Need to Read It

One benefit of my 35 days of sobriety (which ended Saturday night) was the ability to read every night with a clear head, even if I am now a full-time "readers glasses" guy, a new enough phenomenon to disappoint me and remind me of my own mortality. I have been happy to get back into the reading routine that I followed for the first 40 years of my life, which became more sporadic and less productive after 2-3 scotches over the last 5+ years. 

Around 10 PM each night, I head upstairs, put the electronics down, put my Warby Parkers on, and dig into a book. While I'm not eating books like Dave does, I have been chugging through them in 2021. I recently finished Zucked, written by veteran venture capitalist (and former Facebook investor) Roger McNamee in 2019. It is as timely today as when it came out. It describes how Facebook amplifies negative news and disinformation, allowing it to bounce around echo chambers because negative news holds peoples' attention more than positive news. Zuck and Sheryl Sandberg surely don't like the book, but the message matters. Worth a library rental.

But I'm here to recommend Pappyland. If my scotch-impaired brain serves me correct, a few of you have already promoted Wright Thompson's book in prior comments (Mark? Rob? Both? More?). I ordered it through my town's library, it arrived and I promptly devoured it. It's a simple read. It was ironic to me to read a book about the history of Kentucky bourbon and Pappy Van Winkle while abstaining from alcohol. It made me think about the full bottle of Johnny Walker Blue sitting on my bar more than once. 

The book is about the history of Pappy, but also about the dynamic of kids and their fathers - how kids deal with their father's legacy, how they communicate with their parents and how they pass on their values and legacy on to their children. 

Thank you to you gents who gave the written nudge for me to dive into this fine prose. I learned a lot about bourbon and a little about myself. For you guys and gals that haven't dug into it yet, I highly recommend you do. Wright Thompson is our type of dude. 

Super Bowl Halftime Show Open Post

According to press reports, The Weeknd is spending millions of his own dollars on the production of his performance at halftime of today's Super Bowl. Color me skeptical, unless "his own" means "his record company or other corporate interest". This little feature from Forbes is a bit more credulous about the topic.

In any event, I don't care all that much. I like The Weeknd's stuff, but that opening paragraph was really only a device to get to the real point of this post, which is the best halftime performance in Super Bowl history. And it ain't really all that close.

By my count, we've mentioned Prince's Super Bowl XLI performance thrice here, but I can't find evidence that we've actually posted video of it. Consider that rectified.

You've probably seen that clip before. Doesn't mean you shouldn't watch it again. You might not, however, have seen video from the pregame press conference. Prince brought his whole band, and they tore the roof of that mutha in front of a bunch of dudes in ill-fitting khakis (sorry, OBX Dave). 

Kinda still can't believe that genius is gone.

My Boys are Filthy, Filthy Animals

As most of you know, I have two sons. They are boys, so they are gross. They are getting better in some ways (helping with chores), but also getting worse in other ways (puberty-related body odor). 

We did an extensive home renovation almost three years ago. One component was turning our downstairs half-bath into a full bathroom. We have one downstairs bedroom, so converting the bathroom makes sense for folks who want to have a nanny/parent sleep in that bedroom and have their own shower. Unfortunately, we were pressed for space. We were able to get it done, but it required a tight shower space. My wife decided on sliding glass doors into the shower, located right next to our toilet. And that's where the trouble started. Because the glass doors are where the urine splatters land. 

Our sliding glass doors look like Jackson Pollock paintings, if Jackson Pollock painted with pee pee. The pic above shows it. Thankfully for all, it doesn't show up that great in pics. Maybe it would show up better if I put more effort in, but nobody needs that sorta effort on this sorta project. 

Like most of us, I have done the occasional middle-of-the-night pee where you start letting it go, and then hear a sound that sounds totally incorrect because you're peeing against a wall, onto the tile floor, into the garbage can, or some combination thereof. So I'm not preaching from a place of elite urethral acuity. But this is something different. It's like my kids swing their dorks around like sprinklers when they are whizzing. 

This whole scene is bad and embarrassing. I think my boys make splatters every time they go. I bark at them. I make them clean it up with wipes. But I can't keep up with it. It's our only first-floor bathroom, so everybody in the family uses it multiple times a day. We have housecleaners that come every few weeks, and I can't just leave it that long and have them deal with it. In fact, I feel bad about leaving that for them at all, so I give a couple cursory wipes before they come. When I remember. Which is sometimes. 

I wanted to capture the injustice of this issue to make a point to my kids. I took photos, and I took out a tape measure to measure splatter distance. I felt like the forensic investigator from The Staircase. Thankfully for you all, the photos don't capture the grossness of what is an otherwise lovely washroom. But the tape measure provides scale. The pic above shows the closest possible splatter one can leave. It is 10" from the inside edge of the latrine. So that's the CLOSEST a splatter can be. But it gets worse. Much worse. Look at the picture below. I measured the FARTHEST splatter mark. It is a whopping 23.5" from the edge. And to make it worse, it is almost behind where you should stand. It's about 135 degrees off. How does that even happen? 

I don't know what to make of all of this. I'm afraid to check right now, even though the cleaning ladies were here y/day. I'm sure there's grossness there. Sigh.

Nobody Appreciates Unsolicited Mathsplaining

I am good at math. I am not good at calculus or trigonometry or any of that hard stuff, so don't ask me to explain why the cosecant is the reciprocal of the sine. I'm good at adding/subtracting/multiplying and the like. I'm the guy who will help with a tip or who will congratulate you on your 44th birthday b/c you are halfway between 18 and 70. 

I am also good at going to Dunkin' Donuts. They are ubiquitous in New Jersey. I like their coffee. I like their app. And I always need a PM coffee fix. We have two in my town, and at least three more in the two towns next to us. I go to one every day for that afternoon fix. Mornings are for home-brew. Afternoons are for DD. 

I go to one particular store most of the time. I know the folks there pretty well. I order via the app, pick up my stuff and thank them. Sometimes, I tip them in the tip jar by the To Go orders. Sometimes, I'll spontaneously buy some munchkins for my kids. I usually only ask for a few. They always give me more. Everybody wins. 

I went to my local DD the other day. DD is a franchise. Franchisees set their own prices. Usually, local prices are on top of each other. Sometimes there is an errant price. And I usually notice. Because math. I got in line to order munchkins. I looked at the menu before ordering and got confused. The munchkin pricing made no sense! An order of ten munchkins was $2.49 (a quarter each). An order of fifty was $10.99 ($0.22 each). But what threw me was the order for 25 munchkins. They were asking $6.99 for that size! That, my friends, is $0.28 each. Makes no sense. 

I stepped to the counter. And then I made the mistake. Instead of holding my tongue, I went and tried to mathsplain the pricing issue to the woman behind the counter. I did it w/ a smile and a tone of jovial banter, trying to minimize the annoyingness. But my mask hid my smile. And my tonal intentions may not have resonated with the Filipino woman working the counter. 

I see this woman 3-4 times a week. We were friendly. Emphasis on were. I prefaced my conversation with "I know you don't set the prices, but it doesn't make sense how..." I even broke it down to the "that order is 25 cents each, that one is 28 each and that one is 22 each" level. 

There's a 50% chance the woman understood the mathematical point I was trying to make. But there was a 100% chance she didn't appreciate it. She gave me a terse look and went about her munchkin business. I took my coffees and my bag of munchkins and headed home. When I got home, I counted my munchkins. There were exactly 20 in the bag. Stone cold move by her. That's what I get for mathsplaining.

Bite Me Randy Newman: The Return

Little dudes are having a moment, garnering headlines for their general superiority and swagger. So we're back, baby with our first BMRN since August 2020. This one's a triple-header.

Leading off because he won't be leading off any longer, one of my favorite ballplayers of all-time. Dustin Pedroia won a goddamn American League MVP at 5'9". (Editor's Note: If he's 5'9", then I'm at least 5'7".) He was a world-class shit talker and classic little dude scrapper, but his athleticism and coordination were otherworldly. Pedroia retired today after a precipitous injury-marred decline. All-timer, as he tells you below:

The world's most handsomely compensated athlete, also a diminutive fella. Spanish newspaper El Mundo (which is Spanish for "The Mundo") published a report this week detailing the fact that Lionel Messi, all 5'5" (yeah, okay) of him, signed a contract in 2017 with Barcelona worth a total of $674m over four years. The deal included certain performance bonuses that Messi didn't hit because of the pandemic, but he's still on track to earn a guaranteed $96m in salary, with a signing bonus and loyalty bonus that total over $200m. Not bad work if you're small enough to get it. 

The news of Messi's contract caused a massive kerfuffle in the global game, with both the player and the club threatening to sue over the disclosure, and a bunch of observers saying "holy shit, that's a lot of money, but if anyone's worth it...". In the midst of the maelstrom, Messi did this over the weekend (it's worth watching with your eyes closed the first time in order to get the full Ray Hudson Experience):

And finally, as TR pointed out yesterday, we're long overdue to fete one of the key contributors for the University of Maryland Baltimore County's men's hoops squad. According to no less an authority than Ken Pomeroy, Darnell Rogers is the shortest player in Division I men's basketball since at least 2007. The 5'2" Rogers comes from short-dude hoops royalty. His father Shawnta was the Atlantic 10 Player of the Year in 1999 before embarking on an 11-year pro career in France and Italy. 

The younger Rogers averaged 14 points per game last year before getting injured. He's dropping 8.7 per game this season, adding 1.8 boards and 2.2 assists. In December, he was the game's leading rebounder in the Retrievers' 76-61 win over Delaware, pulling down eight boards while scoring 16 points. And he's fun as hell to watch:

It's Not Alright

Pour some out for Dustin Diamond, dead today from lung cancer at the age of 44.