No, I'm not talking about money, although I could certainly use a whole bunch of that. Times are tough, the problems my wife and I are facing these days seem to be a microcosm of the tough times we are facing as a nation. I've been pretty down lately, the only relief coming when I play poker. It seems there's been a big, gaping hole in my life, and I just couldn't put my finger on it. And then it struck me. I need some Jack!! Big-time!! That is, I need my weekly fix of Jack Bauer.
If you don't know who I'm talking about, then read no more. This post is not for you, you won't get it, and you'll undoubtedly think I'm some kind of freak or loser. But if you know who Jack Bauer is, and if the mere mention of his name brought you any sort of anxiety or excitement or anticipation, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. I miss "24", I miss it badly. In fact, I've been "jonesing" for a new season of my favorite tv show ever since the last season ended.
Before I write anything more, understand that I'm no idiot. I'm a highly intelligent graduate of a major law school and have practiced law continuously for the last 22 years. I have a pretty high IQ, although I've done some pretty dumb things in the last few years. I know the difference between reality and fantasy, and I realize that "24" is no more real than the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. And to that I say, who cares. I love "24", and its disappearance the last year and a half has created a major void in my life.
For those who don't know, "24" was one of the victims of the recent writer's strike in Hollywood. It takes some pretty impressive writing to continue to come up with fascinating scenarios of Jack Bauer saving the nation from the latest terrorist plot to destroy/take over/poison/defoliate our country. And so, with the writers on strike, the new season of "24" which was scheduled to begin this past January was postponed to January, 2009. And that has left lunatic fans of Jack Bauer's (like yours truly) to find other ways to decompensate after we get home from our mundane jobs, like communicating with family, reading books, playing with the dogs, or working on projects around the house. Yuckkkk!!!!
I need to know what happened to Jack after the final fade-out from the previous season. I need to know what happened to Audrey, and why her dickhead father (who owes his life to Jack) is so dead set against them being together. I need to be amused by Chloe's latest antics. And I need to know what happened to President Palmer, not the great, recently assassinated President David Palmer, but his much less impressive brother, who also suffered an attempted assassination, Wayne Palmer. Yes, "24" gave us not one, but two black Presidents, brothers no less. The first was assassinated after he left office, and the second suffered a bomb explosion that left him near death at the end of the last season. Barack Obama better watch out.
I know that "24" can be silly, that it can be accused of exploiting stereotypes, that there is simply no way one guy can do so much, all in one day (which apparently never include meals or trips to the bathroom---where in the world does he get his stamina?). I know all that intellectually. Still, I find the show fascinating, exciting, breath-taking, suspenseful, amusing and endlessly entertaining. Isn't that what TV is all about?
Come back, Jack, I need you bad.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
My Favorite Time of Year
Ah, September. The birds are chirping, football has begun, the scent of fall is in the air. And here, in the metropolitan Phoenix area, the temperature dipped today to a positively frigid 108.
September means pennant race time in baseball, and both my teams, the Mets and the D'backs are in the thick of the pennant race in their respective divisions. In fact, as I write this post, both my teams sit atop their divisions, and will play their respective second-place rivals this weekend. Sweet.
The D'backs have been in first place all season long. After a positively torrid April, they have pretty much coasted with a losing record ever since. In any other division, they would have been left for dead long ago, but in the putrid NL West, they still rule the roost, at least for now. They've been carried by their starting pitching, Brandon Webb, who seemed to have a lock on the Cy Young award two weeks ago, Dan Haren, who was probably the top offseason pick up until about two weeks ago, and Randy Johnson, who was doing his best impression of the Randy Johnson who won four consecutive Cy Young awards with the D'backs in the early years of this decade. The offense has pretty much stunk, despite the temporary lift that Adam Dunn gave the team when he joined them, and the bullpen started the season great, but has been horrible the last six weeks or so. Still, the D'backs were holding their own, and had a golden opportunity to put some distance between themselves and the Dodgers as the Dodgers lost eight in a row last week. So, what happened? The big three of Webb, Haren, and Johnson have all been shelled in their last two starts, the offense has continued to struggle, and the team was swept by the lowly Padres. During the Dodgers' eight game losing streak, the D'backs picked up only a half game in the standings, and now sit merely two games up in the loss column. They may be in second place after this weekend if the vaunted starting pitching doesn't turn things around immediately. The Dodgers, meanwhile, have won five in a row coming into this weekend's showdown, and they seem to have momentum. I have a hard time believing the D'backs can hold them off and win the division. Of course, if the Big Three revert back to their dominant ways, anything can happen, but without strong performances from Webb, Haren and Johnson, the Snakes haven't got a chance.
In the NL East, the Mets are trying not to repeat last year's disastrous choke job. The difference is, of course, that this year's team was not supposed to be in first place this late in the season. With a makeshift bullpen and an inconsistent starting rotation (other than Johan Santana and Mike Pelfrey), the offense has come alive. David Wright has already driven in a hundred runs, Carlos Delgado is knocking on the door to that milestone, and Carlos Beltran has heated up. Jose Reyes is setting the table nicely and Ryan Church is back. If the Mets can hold off the Phillies this weekend, they will look pretty solid, much different from last year when they always seemed on the verge of caving in. No predictions yet, but I really think this weekend is pivotal.
In the Central, the Cubs, despite their present slump, still look like the best team in the NL. They should win the division somewhat handily, despite the loss of Carlos Zambrano. As for the wild card, it will be a surprise if the Brewers don't win. Ryan Braun is having an MVP type year, and C.C. Sabathia has been unbelieveable since he joined the team. It has to be disappointing for the Cardinals and Astros, both of whom would be leading the West if they were there, to see their playoff hopes slowly slipping away.
In the AL, the Angels seemingly had their division locked up at the All Star Break. I keep waiting for the Rays to fall apart, but they've made a believer out of me, and I expect them to either finish in first place in the east, or end up with the wild card. The Yankees are clearly toast, and for the first time in seemingly forever, they will stay home in October. The AL Central is too close to call between the White Sox and Minnesota, and it will probably go down to the wire. Can you imagine if the Cubs, White Sox, and Red Sox all end up playing in the postseason in the same year? I'll be that hasn't happened very often.
The NFL started play tonight, and the World Champion Giants (boy does that feel weird typing that!!!) started their defense of their championship with a win over the Redskins. There is great anticipation in New York about the new-look Jets and their new quarterback, Bret somebody-or-other. Wouldn't you know that in Favre's first game with the team, he'll be facing deposed Jet quarterback Chad Pennington and the Miami Dolphins. The Jets seem to be heavily favored, but I wouldn't be surprised if Pennington pulls off the upset. He's certainly capable of that. Of course, both teams happen to play in the same division as the Patriots, and that is never good news.
Here in the desert, the city seems pretty excited about the Cardinals. The team that should have won at least ten games last year and been in the playoffs, had a .500 record for only the third time in their entire history in Phoenix. Kurt Warner has been dubbed to be the starting quarterback, and he will be throwing to two all pro receivers, Anquan Bolding (who has said he wants out of Phoenix) and Larry Fitzgerald. We'll see what happens.
And in college football, the team I've followed for the last 25 years, the Arizona Wildcats, throttled their first opponent by a score of 70-0. Of course, their opponent was basically on a par with a high school team, nevertheless the last time they beat any team by that kind of score was, like, never. It's put up or shut up time for Coach Mike Stoops in Tucson. Stoops has yet to have a winning season and the Cats haven't been to a bowl game since 1998. Anything less than a bowl berth this season, and Stoops is history. A pretty easy non-conference schedule should help.
What a great time of year. And isn't there some sort of election or something going on right now? Sweet! Now if the temperature would dip below the century mark, we can finally come out of our air-conditioned hiding.
September means pennant race time in baseball, and both my teams, the Mets and the D'backs are in the thick of the pennant race in their respective divisions. In fact, as I write this post, both my teams sit atop their divisions, and will play their respective second-place rivals this weekend. Sweet.
The D'backs have been in first place all season long. After a positively torrid April, they have pretty much coasted with a losing record ever since. In any other division, they would have been left for dead long ago, but in the putrid NL West, they still rule the roost, at least for now. They've been carried by their starting pitching, Brandon Webb, who seemed to have a lock on the Cy Young award two weeks ago, Dan Haren, who was probably the top offseason pick up until about two weeks ago, and Randy Johnson, who was doing his best impression of the Randy Johnson who won four consecutive Cy Young awards with the D'backs in the early years of this decade. The offense has pretty much stunk, despite the temporary lift that Adam Dunn gave the team when he joined them, and the bullpen started the season great, but has been horrible the last six weeks or so. Still, the D'backs were holding their own, and had a golden opportunity to put some distance between themselves and the Dodgers as the Dodgers lost eight in a row last week. So, what happened? The big three of Webb, Haren, and Johnson have all been shelled in their last two starts, the offense has continued to struggle, and the team was swept by the lowly Padres. During the Dodgers' eight game losing streak, the D'backs picked up only a half game in the standings, and now sit merely two games up in the loss column. They may be in second place after this weekend if the vaunted starting pitching doesn't turn things around immediately. The Dodgers, meanwhile, have won five in a row coming into this weekend's showdown, and they seem to have momentum. I have a hard time believing the D'backs can hold them off and win the division. Of course, if the Big Three revert back to their dominant ways, anything can happen, but without strong performances from Webb, Haren and Johnson, the Snakes haven't got a chance.
In the NL East, the Mets are trying not to repeat last year's disastrous choke job. The difference is, of course, that this year's team was not supposed to be in first place this late in the season. With a makeshift bullpen and an inconsistent starting rotation (other than Johan Santana and Mike Pelfrey), the offense has come alive. David Wright has already driven in a hundred runs, Carlos Delgado is knocking on the door to that milestone, and Carlos Beltran has heated up. Jose Reyes is setting the table nicely and Ryan Church is back. If the Mets can hold off the Phillies this weekend, they will look pretty solid, much different from last year when they always seemed on the verge of caving in. No predictions yet, but I really think this weekend is pivotal.
In the Central, the Cubs, despite their present slump, still look like the best team in the NL. They should win the division somewhat handily, despite the loss of Carlos Zambrano. As for the wild card, it will be a surprise if the Brewers don't win. Ryan Braun is having an MVP type year, and C.C. Sabathia has been unbelieveable since he joined the team. It has to be disappointing for the Cardinals and Astros, both of whom would be leading the West if they were there, to see their playoff hopes slowly slipping away.
In the AL, the Angels seemingly had their division locked up at the All Star Break. I keep waiting for the Rays to fall apart, but they've made a believer out of me, and I expect them to either finish in first place in the east, or end up with the wild card. The Yankees are clearly toast, and for the first time in seemingly forever, they will stay home in October. The AL Central is too close to call between the White Sox and Minnesota, and it will probably go down to the wire. Can you imagine if the Cubs, White Sox, and Red Sox all end up playing in the postseason in the same year? I'll be that hasn't happened very often.
The NFL started play tonight, and the World Champion Giants (boy does that feel weird typing that!!!) started their defense of their championship with a win over the Redskins. There is great anticipation in New York about the new-look Jets and their new quarterback, Bret somebody-or-other. Wouldn't you know that in Favre's first game with the team, he'll be facing deposed Jet quarterback Chad Pennington and the Miami Dolphins. The Jets seem to be heavily favored, but I wouldn't be surprised if Pennington pulls off the upset. He's certainly capable of that. Of course, both teams happen to play in the same division as the Patriots, and that is never good news.
Here in the desert, the city seems pretty excited about the Cardinals. The team that should have won at least ten games last year and been in the playoffs, had a .500 record for only the third time in their entire history in Phoenix. Kurt Warner has been dubbed to be the starting quarterback, and he will be throwing to two all pro receivers, Anquan Bolding (who has said he wants out of Phoenix) and Larry Fitzgerald. We'll see what happens.
And in college football, the team I've followed for the last 25 years, the Arizona Wildcats, throttled their first opponent by a score of 70-0. Of course, their opponent was basically on a par with a high school team, nevertheless the last time they beat any team by that kind of score was, like, never. It's put up or shut up time for Coach Mike Stoops in Tucson. Stoops has yet to have a winning season and the Cats haven't been to a bowl game since 1998. Anything less than a bowl berth this season, and Stoops is history. A pretty easy non-conference schedule should help.
What a great time of year. And isn't there some sort of election or something going on right now? Sweet! Now if the temperature would dip below the century mark, we can finally come out of our air-conditioned hiding.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Heroes
Heroes have always been important to most Americans. When I was a kid, growing up in a Long Island suburb of New York City, my heroes were Tom Seaver, Joe Namath, and John Lennon. Idolizing Seaver was easy, he was Mr. Perfect, the golden boy from California with the All-American blonde wife, the first superstar the New York Mets ever had, and probably still the best pitcher in their history. He was the first Mets pitcher to win the Rookie of the Year award, and the Cy Young award, and his 25-7 season for the 1969 Miracle Mets is still probably the greatest season that any Mets pitcher ever enjoyed (although Dwight Gooden's second season in 1985 is a close second).
Namath was the brash, young quarterback of the New York Jets who made those ridiculous boasts about beating the mighty Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. Back then, the Jets were part of the American Football League, the fledgling, "second-rate" league that was being regularly dominated by its NFL counterparts. The Jets were something like a 20 point underdog in that game, and Namath's outlandish boasts were ridiculed. Yet, somehow, he and his teammates managed to pull off what is still one of the greatest Super Bowl upsets, and bring the Jets the only championship in their history. The fact that Namath was sort of a playboy, a wild, swinging bachelor on the prowl in Manhattan only made him seem cooler to a kid like me.
John Lennon, of course, was one of the Beatles, and half of the incredible songwriting team of Lennon and McCartney. Lennon had the best, pure rock/soul voice of the group, his vocals were always powerful, his wit was always on display. He was brash, cocky, and not afraid to poke fun at anyone and anything. He was totally cool. Needless to say, he was my favorite Beatle. To understand the impact of the Beatles on a kid from the Long Island suburbs, you really had to live through it. I had all the records, the plastic guitars, the wigs, the trading cards, and who knows what else. I remember watching the Ed Sullivan performances, and seeing "A Hard Day's Night" at the local drive in, with cars full of screaming girls on either side of my parents' car. It was unreal, and there really has been nothing like it since.
As I grew older, my heroes came from other places. Bobby Kennedy, Al Lowenstein, and Jacob Javits from politics; Bruce Springsteen and Harry Chapin from music; and Stanley Kubrick, Jack Nicholson and Peter O'Toole from the world of film. More and more, though, my heroes have been sports figures, and more often than not, they have come from the Olympics.
The 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team was a team worthy of hero worship. Comprised of unknown college hockey players, they went up against the mighty Soviet team of professionals. It was a different world back in 1980, the Cold War was still raging, the Soviets had invaded Afghanistan, and it always seemed like we were on the edge of nuclear armageddon. The Soviet team was supposed to destroy the Americans, and indeed had beaten them something like 10-3 in the last exhibition game before the Olympics began. But before a largely pro-American crowd in Lake Placid (in upstate New York, probably some 250 miles from my home), the Americans pulled off the upset of that Olympics (or perhaps any Olympics) and beat the Soviets, 4-3, in what is now referred to as "The Miracle on Ice." I don't think there was an American anywhere who watched that game without getting a tear in their eye. Two days later, the upstart Americans won the gold medal, and were the darlings, and heroes, of their country.
And then there was American ice skater Dan Janssen. Janssen will go down in Olympic infamy as the guy who was skating in honor of his just-deceased sister, and who kept falling during his races and being unable to finish. Yet, he still kept coming back, and four years later, with his wife and baby daughter (named after that sister) watching, he finally won the gold medal. For someone like me, who had tried and failed so many times to succeed at a personal goal (which I won't mention here), his persistence and courage and perserverance were inspiring. He became one of my all-time heroes for those reasons, and after he finally won the gold, he skated around the ice with his baby daughter in his arms, and I cried like a baby.
The reason I'm writing about this must be obvious. Another Olympics is upon us, and another American athlete has taken this nation by storm, Michael Phelps. Shy, unassuming, yet ridiculously talented, Phelps has won eight gold medals at this year's Summer Olympics, and has become an American hero and icon. His performance may be the best of any Olympian in history, and his success has thrust him into the limelight as a true American hero. A good thing? I certainly don't see why not. In this age of pampered, spoiled millionaire athletes in sports such as baseball, basketball, and football, Michael Phelps seems like a breath of fresh air.
I know a lot of people who despise the Olympics. These people tend to share the belief that heroes should be parents, and teachers, and heroic historical figures such as Martin Luther King, Gandhi, and Abraham Lincoln. I certainly can't disagree with that. But if you can't get wrapped up in what has happened in the last ten days in Beijing, and feel proud of this marvelous young athlete, and the flag that he so proudly represents, well, then, you just don't get it. Michael Phelps, a hero? Absolutely. He makes us feel good about himself, and about ourselves, and what in the world could be wrong about that.
Namath was the brash, young quarterback of the New York Jets who made those ridiculous boasts about beating the mighty Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. Back then, the Jets were part of the American Football League, the fledgling, "second-rate" league that was being regularly dominated by its NFL counterparts. The Jets were something like a 20 point underdog in that game, and Namath's outlandish boasts were ridiculed. Yet, somehow, he and his teammates managed to pull off what is still one of the greatest Super Bowl upsets, and bring the Jets the only championship in their history. The fact that Namath was sort of a playboy, a wild, swinging bachelor on the prowl in Manhattan only made him seem cooler to a kid like me.
John Lennon, of course, was one of the Beatles, and half of the incredible songwriting team of Lennon and McCartney. Lennon had the best, pure rock/soul voice of the group, his vocals were always powerful, his wit was always on display. He was brash, cocky, and not afraid to poke fun at anyone and anything. He was totally cool. Needless to say, he was my favorite Beatle. To understand the impact of the Beatles on a kid from the Long Island suburbs, you really had to live through it. I had all the records, the plastic guitars, the wigs, the trading cards, and who knows what else. I remember watching the Ed Sullivan performances, and seeing "A Hard Day's Night" at the local drive in, with cars full of screaming girls on either side of my parents' car. It was unreal, and there really has been nothing like it since.
As I grew older, my heroes came from other places. Bobby Kennedy, Al Lowenstein, and Jacob Javits from politics; Bruce Springsteen and Harry Chapin from music; and Stanley Kubrick, Jack Nicholson and Peter O'Toole from the world of film. More and more, though, my heroes have been sports figures, and more often than not, they have come from the Olympics.
The 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team was a team worthy of hero worship. Comprised of unknown college hockey players, they went up against the mighty Soviet team of professionals. It was a different world back in 1980, the Cold War was still raging, the Soviets had invaded Afghanistan, and it always seemed like we were on the edge of nuclear armageddon. The Soviet team was supposed to destroy the Americans, and indeed had beaten them something like 10-3 in the last exhibition game before the Olympics began. But before a largely pro-American crowd in Lake Placid (in upstate New York, probably some 250 miles from my home), the Americans pulled off the upset of that Olympics (or perhaps any Olympics) and beat the Soviets, 4-3, in what is now referred to as "The Miracle on Ice." I don't think there was an American anywhere who watched that game without getting a tear in their eye. Two days later, the upstart Americans won the gold medal, and were the darlings, and heroes, of their country.
And then there was American ice skater Dan Janssen. Janssen will go down in Olympic infamy as the guy who was skating in honor of his just-deceased sister, and who kept falling during his races and being unable to finish. Yet, he still kept coming back, and four years later, with his wife and baby daughter (named after that sister) watching, he finally won the gold medal. For someone like me, who had tried and failed so many times to succeed at a personal goal (which I won't mention here), his persistence and courage and perserverance were inspiring. He became one of my all-time heroes for those reasons, and after he finally won the gold, he skated around the ice with his baby daughter in his arms, and I cried like a baby.
The reason I'm writing about this must be obvious. Another Olympics is upon us, and another American athlete has taken this nation by storm, Michael Phelps. Shy, unassuming, yet ridiculously talented, Phelps has won eight gold medals at this year's Summer Olympics, and has become an American hero and icon. His performance may be the best of any Olympian in history, and his success has thrust him into the limelight as a true American hero. A good thing? I certainly don't see why not. In this age of pampered, spoiled millionaire athletes in sports such as baseball, basketball, and football, Michael Phelps seems like a breath of fresh air.
I know a lot of people who despise the Olympics. These people tend to share the belief that heroes should be parents, and teachers, and heroic historical figures such as Martin Luther King, Gandhi, and Abraham Lincoln. I certainly can't disagree with that. But if you can't get wrapped up in what has happened in the last ten days in Beijing, and feel proud of this marvelous young athlete, and the flag that he so proudly represents, well, then, you just don't get it. Michael Phelps, a hero? Absolutely. He makes us feel good about himself, and about ourselves, and what in the world could be wrong about that.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Is "The Dark Knight" as good as I think it is?
It's been a very long time since I've walked into a movie theater and come out thinking I'd seen a truly great movie. The truth is, I just don't go to very many movies in theaters anymore. The ticket prices are ridiculous, the concession prices are outrageous and one of the great rip-offs that American consumers allow of themselves. We actually pay the same price for a cup of soda that you pay to buy a twelve pack in Walmart. And what do I get for all that? Inconsiderate people who talk during the movie or fail to turn their cell phones off. Some kid who invariably sits behind me and kicks the back of my seat for the whole film. Coming attractions for eight movies that I have no interest in seeing, not to mention the commercials. Sheesh, I'd rather stay home and wait for the release of the DVD.
I suppose the last truly great movie I saw in a theater was "Lord of the Rings--The Return of the King", but really, that was only part three of one nine hour-long extravaganza that I had to wait several years to see in full. I don't think that film won the Academy Award for its own self, but really for the entire trilogy.
No, the last truly great movie I saw in a theater that wasn't part of a trilogy had to have been "American Beauty", which I believe is one of the best, if not the best, satire of American manners and morality that has ever been made. And, of course, I saw that movie way back in the year 2K. It's been a long time.
Now, I was looking forward to seeing "The Dark Knight", the sequel to "Batman Begins." I thought "Batman Begins" was excellent, and had totally re-invigorated the Batman franchise. Christopher Nolan, its director, had made one of the true classics of the last ten years, "Memento", which I have seen several times on DVD. Christian Bale was excellent in the roles of Batman/Bruce Wayne. And, of course, like everyone else, I had read a great deal about Heath Ledger, and his performance as The Joker.
I expected a good movie, perhaps even an excellent movie. I wasn't expecting a great movie, but that's what I got. The story is fascinating (I have no intention of telling it here, go see it for yourself), the cinematography, art design, and set design are all wonderful, creating a Gotham City that for once looks like a very real place. There is action, excitement, tension, mystery, and humor. The acting is superb, starting with Bale and ending with Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman, both excellent in small roles. Aaron Eckhardt is remarkably complex and fascinating as Harvey Dent, avoiding becoming a stereotype. Gary Oldman, one of the best actors in films today, was superb as Lieutenant-soon-to-become-Commissioner Gordon. Again, Oldman played a complex, interesting character, and not at all a stereotype.
Despite all that, this is Heath Ledger's film, pure and simple. I've never been all that impressed with Heath Ledger, including what was widely perceived as his break-out role in "Brokeback Mountain." And, considering the tragic circumstances of his recent death, it would be easy for his performance to be the subject of hype. But Ledger is simply amazing, one of the best performances ever in an American film, and the best performance of a villain since the very first time Anthony Hopkins played Hannibal Lector in "Silence of the Lambs." Ledger's Joker is not a cartoon clown, like Cesar Romero in the old Batman TV show (which I watched religiously as a kid), or a ludicrous freak, like Jack Nicholson in the Tim Burton film. This Joker is real, and complex, and totally evil. Every line, every mannerism, every tick by Ledger is absolutely perfect and just right. He completely nails the part, and he totally dominates the screen. You can't take your eyes off him. He is simply incredible, and he deserves every posthumous award he is sure to get.
I don't think I'm being a fanboy by saying "The Dark Knight" is the best comic book movie ever made. It is truly that great, and Heath Ledger's outstanding performance is one for the ages. But don't take my word for it, see it yourself. And see it in a theater, because for once, the outrageous cost more than makes up for itself with the dynamic sound and the big screen. The two and a half hours seemed to fly by, and I didn't even notice the little creep behind me kicking the back of my seat during the movie. I may even see it again---before it gets released on DVD. And that's truly saying something.
I suppose the last truly great movie I saw in a theater was "Lord of the Rings--The Return of the King", but really, that was only part three of one nine hour-long extravaganza that I had to wait several years to see in full. I don't think that film won the Academy Award for its own self, but really for the entire trilogy.
No, the last truly great movie I saw in a theater that wasn't part of a trilogy had to have been "American Beauty", which I believe is one of the best, if not the best, satire of American manners and morality that has ever been made. And, of course, I saw that movie way back in the year 2K. It's been a long time.
Now, I was looking forward to seeing "The Dark Knight", the sequel to "Batman Begins." I thought "Batman Begins" was excellent, and had totally re-invigorated the Batman franchise. Christopher Nolan, its director, had made one of the true classics of the last ten years, "Memento", which I have seen several times on DVD. Christian Bale was excellent in the roles of Batman/Bruce Wayne. And, of course, like everyone else, I had read a great deal about Heath Ledger, and his performance as The Joker.
I expected a good movie, perhaps even an excellent movie. I wasn't expecting a great movie, but that's what I got. The story is fascinating (I have no intention of telling it here, go see it for yourself), the cinematography, art design, and set design are all wonderful, creating a Gotham City that for once looks like a very real place. There is action, excitement, tension, mystery, and humor. The acting is superb, starting with Bale and ending with Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman, both excellent in small roles. Aaron Eckhardt is remarkably complex and fascinating as Harvey Dent, avoiding becoming a stereotype. Gary Oldman, one of the best actors in films today, was superb as Lieutenant-soon-to-become-Commissioner Gordon. Again, Oldman played a complex, interesting character, and not at all a stereotype.
Despite all that, this is Heath Ledger's film, pure and simple. I've never been all that impressed with Heath Ledger, including what was widely perceived as his break-out role in "Brokeback Mountain." And, considering the tragic circumstances of his recent death, it would be easy for his performance to be the subject of hype. But Ledger is simply amazing, one of the best performances ever in an American film, and the best performance of a villain since the very first time Anthony Hopkins played Hannibal Lector in "Silence of the Lambs." Ledger's Joker is not a cartoon clown, like Cesar Romero in the old Batman TV show (which I watched religiously as a kid), or a ludicrous freak, like Jack Nicholson in the Tim Burton film. This Joker is real, and complex, and totally evil. Every line, every mannerism, every tick by Ledger is absolutely perfect and just right. He completely nails the part, and he totally dominates the screen. You can't take your eyes off him. He is simply incredible, and he deserves every posthumous award he is sure to get.
I don't think I'm being a fanboy by saying "The Dark Knight" is the best comic book movie ever made. It is truly that great, and Heath Ledger's outstanding performance is one for the ages. But don't take my word for it, see it yourself. And see it in a theater, because for once, the outrageous cost more than makes up for itself with the dynamic sound and the big screen. The two and a half hours seemed to fly by, and I didn't even notice the little creep behind me kicking the back of my seat during the movie. I may even see it again---before it gets released on DVD. And that's truly saying something.
Monday, July 28, 2008
What a difference a couple of weeks make
ITEM ONE: POKER
As my last post documented, two weeks ago I was in Las Vegas and out of four poker tournaments played, I made the final table in none of them. This past week, I made it out to my favorite local Indian casino, and played in poker tournaments on Wednesday and Friday nights. Amazingly, I made the final table both times. Wednesday night I finished 7th, and Friday night I finished 6th. Wednesday night's tournament was fairly small (43 players), while Friday night's was considerably bigger (100 players). So, what in the world happened, did I suddenly become a better poker player in the span of approximately a week and a half?
Hardly. As I stated in my last post, success in no limit tournaments is very much dependent upon luck and good play. Skill will give you the ability to make the final table, but only the addition of luck can guarantee that you get there.
To illustrate, let me talk about Friday night's tournament, since my performance that night has to rank among my best of all time. Never once during the entire tournament did I get a high pocket pair, not even one time. No aces, kings, queens, or jacks, not even once. I got pocket tens three different times, Big Slick (AK) twice, and AQ once, which just happened to be the hand that I was eliminated with. I found myself bluffing confidently a couple of times, forcing my opponent(s) to fold, and I got lucky three times.
The first lucky hand was after the first break. Til then, I had been getting killed. A couple of brutal bad beats forced me to re-buy, and I also took the add-on at the first break. I was getting nowhere fast. I looked down at pocket tens in late position, and I went all-in. Only one person called, and he showed AK, the dreaded Big Slick. The flop contained a beautiful ten, giving me a set (three of a kind). Turns out I need all three of them, as the turn contained an Ace, and the river was a King. How's that for some good luck for a change? Later, I got AK for the first time, and I re-raised one person at the table. The flop was K-Q-4. The other guy went all in, I called. He turned over AQ. Oops, wrong time for that one, pal. My AK held up, and I knocked him out.
Much later, we were down to about two full tables and it wasn't looking good for yours truly. I was being blinded out and I only had enough for one last blind. I looked down at KQ, which is a trap hand and can lose very easily to AK or AQ. I normally try to avoid the trap hands, but there wasn't much choice left. I had to make a move, or risk being blinded out for good. I went all in, there was one caller. He turned over A5. And, glory be, there on that beautiful flop, was a nice fat King. The King held up, and I had knocked another guy out.
Then, I went on a rush. I had pocket tens the next hand. Four guys had limped in, and the last hand had suddenly given me a decent stack. I went all in, and they all folded. The next hand I had AK suited, and there were two limpers in front of me. I went all in again, and they both folded again. Suddenly, in the space of three pots, I was the chip leader at my table, and it looked very good indeed to make it to the final table.
Much later, at the final table, there were seven of us left. I was one of the two small stacks, although at that point in the tournament, 30,000 chips is a small stack, which is basically what I had. I was under the gun, which means I was first to act after the blinds. I was looking for the best opportunity to get my chips in. I looked down at J8, not a good hand, but it had possibilities, and I really didn't have many other options. I went all in. Only the big blind (the other small stack at the table) called. He had pocket deuces. And I sucked out. I ended up with a straight. I didn't last much longer. The other small stack was knocked out next, when his pocket aces got cracked. And I was the next to go, when my AQ suited never connected with anything and lost to pocket eights.
I finished in sixth place, out of a hundred people. Pretty darn good, in my opinion, especially considering the crap cards I got for most of the tournament. A nice tonic after the bitter disappointment of Vegas.
ITEM TWO: BASEBALL
Several posts ago, I was highly critical of the Mets after they had fired Willie Randolph and seemed to be floundering. Then, a funny thing happened. The atmosphere and mood of the team changed under Jerry Manuel. Carlos Delgado suddenly remembered how to hit, Jose Reyes started being a table-setter again, and the Mets went on a nine game winning streak right before the All Star Break. They are currently in first place, a game ahead of Philadelphia, and playing much better.
And the Diamondbacks? After a red-hot April, they sucked in May, June and the first part of July. They were still in first place at the All Star Break, but they had a sub-.500 record. As of this morning, they are still clinging to first place after sweeping the Giants on the road over the weekend. The Dodgers are holding fast, just a game behind, having also swept a weekend series (against Washington). The D'backs are playing much better, and they got some much-needed bullpen help, getting John Rauch in a trade with Washington. Still, the Dodgers are not going away, and it won't be easy holding them off.
Wow, both my teams in first place in their divisions in late July, both by only a single game. The pennant race in both divisions should be outstanding, and I'm looking forward to it. Let's go, Mets!! Let's go, D'backs!! I want to see you guys playing each other in the NLCS this year!!
As my last post documented, two weeks ago I was in Las Vegas and out of four poker tournaments played, I made the final table in none of them. This past week, I made it out to my favorite local Indian casino, and played in poker tournaments on Wednesday and Friday nights. Amazingly, I made the final table both times. Wednesday night I finished 7th, and Friday night I finished 6th. Wednesday night's tournament was fairly small (43 players), while Friday night's was considerably bigger (100 players). So, what in the world happened, did I suddenly become a better poker player in the span of approximately a week and a half?
Hardly. As I stated in my last post, success in no limit tournaments is very much dependent upon luck and good play. Skill will give you the ability to make the final table, but only the addition of luck can guarantee that you get there.
To illustrate, let me talk about Friday night's tournament, since my performance that night has to rank among my best of all time. Never once during the entire tournament did I get a high pocket pair, not even one time. No aces, kings, queens, or jacks, not even once. I got pocket tens three different times, Big Slick (AK) twice, and AQ once, which just happened to be the hand that I was eliminated with. I found myself bluffing confidently a couple of times, forcing my opponent(s) to fold, and I got lucky three times.
The first lucky hand was after the first break. Til then, I had been getting killed. A couple of brutal bad beats forced me to re-buy, and I also took the add-on at the first break. I was getting nowhere fast. I looked down at pocket tens in late position, and I went all-in. Only one person called, and he showed AK, the dreaded Big Slick. The flop contained a beautiful ten, giving me a set (three of a kind). Turns out I need all three of them, as the turn contained an Ace, and the river was a King. How's that for some good luck for a change? Later, I got AK for the first time, and I re-raised one person at the table. The flop was K-Q-4. The other guy went all in, I called. He turned over AQ. Oops, wrong time for that one, pal. My AK held up, and I knocked him out.
Much later, we were down to about two full tables and it wasn't looking good for yours truly. I was being blinded out and I only had enough for one last blind. I looked down at KQ, which is a trap hand and can lose very easily to AK or AQ. I normally try to avoid the trap hands, but there wasn't much choice left. I had to make a move, or risk being blinded out for good. I went all in, there was one caller. He turned over A5. And, glory be, there on that beautiful flop, was a nice fat King. The King held up, and I had knocked another guy out.
Then, I went on a rush. I had pocket tens the next hand. Four guys had limped in, and the last hand had suddenly given me a decent stack. I went all in, and they all folded. The next hand I had AK suited, and there were two limpers in front of me. I went all in again, and they both folded again. Suddenly, in the space of three pots, I was the chip leader at my table, and it looked very good indeed to make it to the final table.
Much later, at the final table, there were seven of us left. I was one of the two small stacks, although at that point in the tournament, 30,000 chips is a small stack, which is basically what I had. I was under the gun, which means I was first to act after the blinds. I was looking for the best opportunity to get my chips in. I looked down at J8, not a good hand, but it had possibilities, and I really didn't have many other options. I went all in. Only the big blind (the other small stack at the table) called. He had pocket deuces. And I sucked out. I ended up with a straight. I didn't last much longer. The other small stack was knocked out next, when his pocket aces got cracked. And I was the next to go, when my AQ suited never connected with anything and lost to pocket eights.
I finished in sixth place, out of a hundred people. Pretty darn good, in my opinion, especially considering the crap cards I got for most of the tournament. A nice tonic after the bitter disappointment of Vegas.
ITEM TWO: BASEBALL
Several posts ago, I was highly critical of the Mets after they had fired Willie Randolph and seemed to be floundering. Then, a funny thing happened. The atmosphere and mood of the team changed under Jerry Manuel. Carlos Delgado suddenly remembered how to hit, Jose Reyes started being a table-setter again, and the Mets went on a nine game winning streak right before the All Star Break. They are currently in first place, a game ahead of Philadelphia, and playing much better.
And the Diamondbacks? After a red-hot April, they sucked in May, June and the first part of July. They were still in first place at the All Star Break, but they had a sub-.500 record. As of this morning, they are still clinging to first place after sweeping the Giants on the road over the weekend. The Dodgers are holding fast, just a game behind, having also swept a weekend series (against Washington). The D'backs are playing much better, and they got some much-needed bullpen help, getting John Rauch in a trade with Washington. Still, the Dodgers are not going away, and it won't be easy holding them off.
Wow, both my teams in first place in their divisions in late July, both by only a single game. The pennant race in both divisions should be outstanding, and I'm looking forward to it. Let's go, Mets!! Let's go, D'backs!! I want to see you guys playing each other in the NLCS this year!!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The Perils of Tournament Poker
As I am writing this post, they are playing out the Main Event of the World Series of Poker at the Rio Hotel in Las Vegas. There are 37 players left, with nary a big name among them. All those guys like Hellmuth, Negreanu, Annie Duke, and all the rest are long gone. And, although I was in Vegas this weekend, my name is not there, either. I will have to wait at least one more year to get back to the WSOP.
I did manage to play in four tournaments this weekend, two each at the Sahara and the Stratosphere. It was not a good weekend for me, poker-wise, and it's all because of bad luck and bad beats. You see, you can have all the skills and poker knowledge in the world (not that I profess to have either), and it won't do a damn bit of good in a tournament if you don't have good luck and avoid bad beats.
Here's where the luck part comes in. Yesterday afternoon, I was playing in a tournament at the Stratosphere. 62 players started, and there were about 24 left. They were paying only the top six positions, and there was a way to go. So far, I had been holding my own with careful and strategic play, and a few calculated bluffs. But as far as cards, I had been getting squat. No big pairs, no top hands, and I was starting to get blinded out. Finally, I looked down at pocket kings, the best starting hand I had seen all day. One guy in front of me raised twice the big blind. I re-raised two thousand more. This particular guy had just recently gone all in with a stone cold bluff, 2-7 offsuit, and had made sure to show us and rub our noses in it. I thought he probably had a decent hand, but I still thought I had him beat. He re-raised me all in, and I called. I turned over my kings, and he turned over pocket aces. I couldn't believe it. The whole tournament I'm getting squah-doosh, I finally get a top pair like pocket kings, and this numbnuts has aces. Of course, the aces held up and I was knocked out, thoroughly and completely disgusted.
In fact, I was so thoroughly disgusted that I waited a whole three hours later to play in my next tournament, this time at the Sahara. Every time I'm in Vegas I like to play in the tournament at the Sahara. The buy in is cheap, they usually have about 15 tables for each tournament, and the competition is very good. It's an excellent test of my abilities, and I have probably played about ten tournaments there. I have gone deep in most of them, and the closest I got to the final table was finishing twelfth one time, but I have never made the final table. Last night was no exception.
For the first three hours I was doing well, and I got to the second break with the biggest chip stack at my table. And then I went card dead, which means I had terrible starting hands. I couldn't even bluff, since every pot was raised and the table was full of rocks, who usually had quality starting hands. My stack was going down, and I was in danger of being blinded out.
Finally, I was in middle position with pocket tens. I did a standard three times the big blind raise. Everyone folded except the big blind. He went all in, and I called. I had him covered by three thousand chips, and he turned over pocket eights. It looked I was going to double up my chip stack. Unfortunately, this is where the bad beat thing reared its ugly head. The flop was inconsequential, and the turn was a bust. And then came the river, a big fat eight, giving this jerk-head a set of eights, and pretty much putting me on the rail. A brutal, stinking bad beat, and I was just about gone. I went all in the next hand with AJ, and it looked pretty good when the flop showed jack high, but a queen on the river knocked me out, and I was done. Disgusting.
And that, my friends, pretty much sums up the perils of tournament poker. You have no control over the cards, and the best hand sometimes loses. Anyone who says luck doesn't play a part in tournament poker has never had pocket tens beaten by pocket eights. If you're going to win a tournament, you must play with skill, make the right decisions, have a bit of luck, and your good hands must hold up to win. If you don't have all of those, you're not going to win, whether your name is Phil Hellmuth or Brucefan is Back.
I did manage to play in four tournaments this weekend, two each at the Sahara and the Stratosphere. It was not a good weekend for me, poker-wise, and it's all because of bad luck and bad beats. You see, you can have all the skills and poker knowledge in the world (not that I profess to have either), and it won't do a damn bit of good in a tournament if you don't have good luck and avoid bad beats.
Here's where the luck part comes in. Yesterday afternoon, I was playing in a tournament at the Stratosphere. 62 players started, and there were about 24 left. They were paying only the top six positions, and there was a way to go. So far, I had been holding my own with careful and strategic play, and a few calculated bluffs. But as far as cards, I had been getting squat. No big pairs, no top hands, and I was starting to get blinded out. Finally, I looked down at pocket kings, the best starting hand I had seen all day. One guy in front of me raised twice the big blind. I re-raised two thousand more. This particular guy had just recently gone all in with a stone cold bluff, 2-7 offsuit, and had made sure to show us and rub our noses in it. I thought he probably had a decent hand, but I still thought I had him beat. He re-raised me all in, and I called. I turned over my kings, and he turned over pocket aces. I couldn't believe it. The whole tournament I'm getting squah-doosh, I finally get a top pair like pocket kings, and this numbnuts has aces. Of course, the aces held up and I was knocked out, thoroughly and completely disgusted.
In fact, I was so thoroughly disgusted that I waited a whole three hours later to play in my next tournament, this time at the Sahara. Every time I'm in Vegas I like to play in the tournament at the Sahara. The buy in is cheap, they usually have about 15 tables for each tournament, and the competition is very good. It's an excellent test of my abilities, and I have probably played about ten tournaments there. I have gone deep in most of them, and the closest I got to the final table was finishing twelfth one time, but I have never made the final table. Last night was no exception.
For the first three hours I was doing well, and I got to the second break with the biggest chip stack at my table. And then I went card dead, which means I had terrible starting hands. I couldn't even bluff, since every pot was raised and the table was full of rocks, who usually had quality starting hands. My stack was going down, and I was in danger of being blinded out.
Finally, I was in middle position with pocket tens. I did a standard three times the big blind raise. Everyone folded except the big blind. He went all in, and I called. I had him covered by three thousand chips, and he turned over pocket eights. It looked I was going to double up my chip stack. Unfortunately, this is where the bad beat thing reared its ugly head. The flop was inconsequential, and the turn was a bust. And then came the river, a big fat eight, giving this jerk-head a set of eights, and pretty much putting me on the rail. A brutal, stinking bad beat, and I was just about gone. I went all in the next hand with AJ, and it looked pretty good when the flop showed jack high, but a queen on the river knocked me out, and I was done. Disgusting.
And that, my friends, pretty much sums up the perils of tournament poker. You have no control over the cards, and the best hand sometimes loses. Anyone who says luck doesn't play a part in tournament poker has never had pocket tens beaten by pocket eights. If you're going to win a tournament, you must play with skill, make the right decisions, have a bit of luck, and your good hands must hold up to win. If you don't have all of those, you're not going to win, whether your name is Phil Hellmuth or Brucefan is Back.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
What's wrong with people?
Yesterday, I read online about the guy in suburban Rochester, NY who after playing a somewhat contentious softball game replete with alleged trash-talking, cold-cocked one of the opposing players in the back of the head as the two teams lined up to shake hands after the game. The report went on to say that the victim later died of those injuries. The suspect had fled the scene, but was eventually caught. It was later determined that the suspect had a felony criminal history and had served a four year prison term from 2003 to 2007.
I found the report disturbing for many reasons. First off, I'm no stranger to violent crime, as I have been a practicing attorney specializing in criminal defense for the last twenty-two years. Nevertheless, this particular crime, under these particular circumstances, seems to me to be just a little more reprehensible than most.
What could the victim possibly have said during the trash-talking that would warrant such an act of violence? Was it worth taking the man's life? I don't know if the victim had a wife or kids (the report I read made no mention of it), but I'm pretty sure he left behind some family that will be devestated by this for the rest of their lives. And the suspect undoubtedly has some family or relatives that love him who will now endure the pain of watching their loved one vilified, referred to by the media as some sort of monster, and prosecuted for this venal, horrific act. And for what? Some comment that the victim may have said that insulted the manhood of the other guy? Whatever happened to that old mantra, "sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me?"
And what a cowardly, ugly way to exact revenge. The guy waits until the teams are lined up to shake hands at the end of the game, an act of good sportsmanship that is as traditional and revered as the games themselves. It's a time to put all the intensity and conflict of the game itself aside, and participate in the good feeling of sportsmanship. To pick that particular time to hit the victim is horrific enough, but to cold-cock the guy from behind in the back of the head, when he has no idea what's coming and is unable to defend himself is simply reprehensible.
What in the world would push someone to do something so venal, cowardly, and senseless? Is this who we are as a society? Is it always so necessary to be right, to exact a measure of revenge if someone insults your manhood or trash talks you in some other way? Frankly, I find the whole episode disgusting. And if this is indicative of what we are as a society, then I fear for us.
I found the report disturbing for many reasons. First off, I'm no stranger to violent crime, as I have been a practicing attorney specializing in criminal defense for the last twenty-two years. Nevertheless, this particular crime, under these particular circumstances, seems to me to be just a little more reprehensible than most.
What could the victim possibly have said during the trash-talking that would warrant such an act of violence? Was it worth taking the man's life? I don't know if the victim had a wife or kids (the report I read made no mention of it), but I'm pretty sure he left behind some family that will be devestated by this for the rest of their lives. And the suspect undoubtedly has some family or relatives that love him who will now endure the pain of watching their loved one vilified, referred to by the media as some sort of monster, and prosecuted for this venal, horrific act. And for what? Some comment that the victim may have said that insulted the manhood of the other guy? Whatever happened to that old mantra, "sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me?"
And what a cowardly, ugly way to exact revenge. The guy waits until the teams are lined up to shake hands at the end of the game, an act of good sportsmanship that is as traditional and revered as the games themselves. It's a time to put all the intensity and conflict of the game itself aside, and participate in the good feeling of sportsmanship. To pick that particular time to hit the victim is horrific enough, but to cold-cock the guy from behind in the back of the head, when he has no idea what's coming and is unable to defend himself is simply reprehensible.
What in the world would push someone to do something so venal, cowardly, and senseless? Is this who we are as a society? Is it always so necessary to be right, to exact a measure of revenge if someone insults your manhood or trash talks you in some other way? Frankly, I find the whole episode disgusting. And if this is indicative of what we are as a society, then I fear for us.
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