Drive: Review

By Brian Long

In Drive, director Nicholas Winding Refn (Bronson, The Pusher Trilogy) has created a film of visuals: a bullet and a hammer, an elevator attack, and a golden scorpion stitched onto the back of our hero’s jacket, making it clear that he will strike, quickly and violently, when provoked. It is a film of images almost by necessity in addition to a stylistic choice as our hero, simply known as Driver (Ryan Gosling) speaks very little throughout the course of the movie. He makes Clint Eastwood in the Dollars Trilogy look like a hyperactive 8-year-old.

It is to Gosling’s credit as an actor that his stoic face and expressive eyes reveal so much more than any lines of dialogue could. We see both seething rage and a desire to fit into the domestic life of his next door neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) and her son Benicio (Kaden Leos). Drive is a fascinating film because it is very difficult to classify. Not understated enough to be considered a full-on art house character study, but not flashy enough to be considered a summer blockbuster of the caliber of the Fast and Furious films. It obeys certain tropes of the pulp crime genre of the “heist gone bad” but subverts just as many: the relationship between Irene and Driver doesn’t go further than innocent hand holding and when Irene’s husband Standard (Oscar Issac) is released from prison, we expect abuse and domestic unrest, but he is a genuinely good person who is trying to make the best of his second chance.

All of the performances are top notch, but special recognition must go to Albert Brooks (Finding Nemo, Broadcast News) who makes a startling face-heel-turn, using his typically warm comedic persona to portray a truly chilling and unstable mob boss. I want to do my best to keep the details of this film vague, because many details and surprises were spoiled for me (if you can, avoid the trailer) before my butt hit the theater seats. Know this, Drive is a unique film, and it is the type of film that comes around all too rarely because it can provide something for everyone. Do you enjoy introspective character studies? Do you enjoy pulpy crime dramas? Do you enjoy Ryan Gosling’s pretty boy face? (Editor Spence Blazak sure as heck fire loves all three!.....all…..three…..) Then refund your ticket Dolphin Tail and check this film out.

3 and a ½ stars out of 4

Chemistry Is Change: Why Breaking Bad Is One of the Few Shows Doing Television Right

(Possible minor spoilers for the entirety of the series Breaking Bad. And seriously? You haven’t watched it yet? It’s on Netflix! Go! Go now!)

By Brian Long

Last night saw the end of Breaking Bad’s penultimate season leaving me and other fans waiting with bated breath to find out what will happen to our “hero” Walter White (Bryan Cranston) and his sometimes loyal partner, sometimes enemy Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul). No doubt if you are a TV fan in any way, shape, or form you’ve heard of AMC’s series Breaking Bad and you’ve also no doubt heard the extreme hyperbolic statements thrown around like “best show on television” and “if Jesus owned a TV he’d only watch this and Little People, Big World.” And frankly, these statements are true. But this article isn’t another tongue bath for the series; this is me asking the question why has this show been so effective and why has the critical praise been so heavy? To me the answer is simple: change.

This should come as no surprise to anyone who is a fan of the series. In the very first episode of the series, Walter White more or less lays out what will become the trajectory of the series to his chemistry class by saying “chemistry is change” and that it is “sudden and violent.” The progression from “Mr. Chips to Scarface” as series creator Vince Gilligan has often referred to it has been a fascinating one. After the revealing and shocking final shot of last night’s episode, it is clear that this is no longer the Walter White who would cook meth in his tighty whiteys. He has grown into the villain we all knew, but secretly hoped he would not become. Part of what makes the series so fascinating is watching that change, and it makes it so refreshing from the average television program where formula is not only the norm, but a necessity. I find this change so refreshing that Breaking Bad has ruined me for other TV shows. As a wise man once said, once you go Break, you can never go back.

Let’s face it. Television is very much a viewer based medium. Accessibility is a key factor in a show’s survival because it makes it easier for the average Joe Channel Surf to stumble across the series and begin watching. Continuity becomes a kiss of death. It is the same issue the comic book industry has been dealing with for years. With nearly HALF A CENTURY of back story for some its characters, how can anyone be expected to hunt down a copy of Action Comics #1 to catch up on Superman stories? So, histories are rebooted, continuity is updated to make it more accessible, and the cycle continues for another twenty years before the status quo is wiped clean again. This same method is applied to television on an almost weekly basis. But from a storytelling perspective, it seems wrong. People grow and change, and so does any good fictional character. Viewers sometimes get tantalizing hints that maybe the show will get a drastic shake-up (House is in prison this season, guys! This’ll probably be totally different than that one time he was in a mental hospital in the season opener and then they never mentioned it again once he was released at the end of the EPISODE) but the status quo will inevitably return in a few weeks and the long time viewers will be patted on the head as if to say, “There, you got your little taste of a new story, now sit back and enjoy the same thing you’ve been watching for seven seasons.” cough cough Everything that has been run on CBS since 1997.

Why should I let this bother me? Am I just being a raging nerd? I don’t think so. I think ultimately it comes down to storytelling suffering if the experiences the characters go through don’t change. Why should I care about any kind of action that a character undergoes if it ends up having no effect on them? Obviously the main character will never die on a TV show, so stakes are already low, but when you remove the idea that the character will experience something and then probably never speak of it again, you essentially wrote a story that could never have happened and wasted everyone’s time. Throughout the course of Breaking Bad, we’ve watched the complete moral decay of Walter and Jesse. The two men have essentially damned themselves and had two very different reactions to their equal and opposite actions. Formula is not necessarily a terrible thing; in fact, a series can easily maintain a formula and still have characters that grow from their experiences. Take what is for my money the other best show on TV, Doctor Who. Doctor Who’s formula is always the Doctor finds out about a problem, the Doctor fixes the problem. But the past two seasons have revolved around two of the Doctor’s fellow time travelers growing and maturing from their insane encounters with aliens and totalitarian robots. In the most outlandish of shows, we find realistic growth and that is truly a spectacular thing.

Breaking Bad’s final season will begin sometime next year and perhaps I’ll end up being wrong. Maybe Walt’s wife Skylar will have contracted amnesia in the off season and forget her husband is a drug dealer and various other components will be reset to their first season status quo, but until that day let’s never forget that change is good, and damn good to watch.

Softknocks: Wookiee Football Week 2, Part 2

By Spence Blazak

After our first blowout, the Wookiees decide to come back with a vengeance in typical Wookiee fashion: not having practice until the night before the game, only half the team shows up, and someone is under some kind of influence.

I grab my trusty notebook, my polar fleece, and my Baltimore Orioles pen before heading out to the bench to see who I've mustered up. I see Rips, and he looks on the verge of tears.

Me: "What happened?"

Rips: "AHHHHHHHHHH"

Me: "So……"

Rips: "I saw…..it"

Right as I'm about to respond "you saw what?" it hits me…..

Rips: "I went to go knock on TEAMMATE X's window to get them for practice. No response. I looked inside…..and he was as naked as the day he was born, sleeping on his bed."

Right on cue TEAMMATE X walks out and says "Hey-hey guys! Whats up!"

I can't look at him without imagining nakedness. There is no doubt in my mind that this will come between our friendship.

We start practice by throwing the ball around. Evan shows up with an oddly shaped bag from the Amersterdam Smoke Shop. That can only mean one thing…..

Evan: "A gas mask!"

GAME DAY

We gain two new players: Ryan and Joe. Since Goodhand has lab, I tell him I need a human sacrifice to take his place. So he provides me with his roommate Joe. He is a man of few words who has ice water in his veins. As for Ryan, he is the quarterback from another team on the Busch Campus League. Thats right, I've taken an even bigger card from Billy Beane's Moneyball playbook: I now steal players from other, better teams.

I put in Ryan at quarterback and tell him to throw me a lob that will make me dive. He does what I ask. I take five steps, slant in, then stumble as I jump for the ball….then I run into a Christmas tree. Everyone finds this hilarious. Now I can't walk.

As for the The Princess Leia Squad, Ali is nowhere to be found and we think Kelly is mad at us for something (girls, right?!?!?!) so we find two new recruits: Robin and Elise.

In the midst of our practicing, the tension has heated between Dalton and I. He is a Rays fan, while I'm a Red Sox fan. If one team loses tonight and the other wins, the winner makes the playoffs. I'm terrified. There is nothing more "Socky" than driving what started the season as a Championship team on paper into the ground on the last day of the season. I digress. Bottom line, if the Sox blow it, I'm being carried back to my dorm in a bucket.

With the addition of Reggie and Rommel (who just might be the best thing that ever happened to the blog), I tally up our players and we have a full roster AND SUBS! No one can believe their eyes. Before they get too excited, I bring them back to reality by telling them the name of our opponent: Domestic Violence. I feel like the theme song for Psycho is playing every time I say the name. No. I feel like THE GATES OF HELL ARE OPENING every time I say the name. Doomed. We are doomed.

We start seeing people we know on the way to the game bus, and we start marketing the game as the "Rosh Hoshanna Classic." Since Rips is our only Jewish individual on the team, we ask him what the holiday actually is. His response: "…….." Michael chimes in and says that he wished the Israeli girls on his floor a happy one, and they said it wasn't a happy day. He also knew a little about it from Entourage. Thats right. A show in syndication on the channel that used to be the KidsWB has taught Michael more about Judaism than Rips has learned as a lifetime Jew.

This is followed up by a bus wide debate on whether Evan is Jewish or not. While one might think that the debate would be ended once Evan said he "was not," that person clearly doesn't know the Wookiees.

Rips suggests expanding the team beyond just flag football. We debate having a frisbee, dodgeball, basketball, and quidditch team for our next endeavor. We then wonder if we should keep the name "The Wookiees" or rename ourselves another Star Wars joke. Our possible names: "The X-Wings", "The Tantans", "The Jawas", "Not the Droids You're Looking for", "The Sarlac Pit", "Jar Jar and the Binks." All we know is that whatever name we pick, the bar has been set with the team name from Cook/Douglass Co-Ed Leage: Its Not Easy Being White.

Note for basketball season: NEED. SNAP PANTS.

Boston is up by two runs and the Rays are down by seven. There is a God.

We roll up to the field and Rommel and Reggie greet us. Wait……..

Me: "WHERE'S BAYO!?!?"

Rommel: "He forgot to wear shoes that he liked, so he went back change."

I blame our impending loss on these shoes.

We look at our competition. They are all white boys, wearing backward hats that advertise for shirt companies, dressed in make shift sleeveless shirts, wearing stud earrings, as well as cleats. I try to be as nonjudgemental as possible.

Dom. Violence Goon #1: "Oh maaaaaan, I'm soooooo glad we wore cleats, wearing shoes is reaaaaaaally stupid." As he looks at our shoes and high fives his inbred teammate.

Me under my breath: "Oh! Wow! Looks like the Insane Clown Posse forgot to put their make up on today!"

First play of the game, we are on offense. Our quarterback is not only sacked via flag, but sacked via body. He goes to the ground. The Domestic Violence lineman straight up tackles him. The refs don't seem to care. I take matters into my own hands.

After going four and out, the other team gets the ball. They score immediately. They chest bump, high five, and yell "THATS WASSSUPPPP." At this point, I've turned into the Hulk. Me to Evan: "Aw, isn't that cute, they have the ability to form SENTENCES now! Maybe basic human decency will be next!"

We are on offense. I go to the Right Tackle position. Just like Big Mike in The Blind Side. A cleats kid gets around me. Whatever. Then he looks at me and raises his eyebrows. An invitation for confrontation. I block him and he goes down. I do it again. He didn't know that he was entering PAIN CITY when he stepped on this field!!!! Then we throw an interception….

I dive to pull off the kid's flag, miss, and wind up with a face full of mud. I yell to the heavens in discontent. Then take myself out for the next couple plays.

The opposing quarterback does a QB sneak and gets a first down. This results in….

Rommel:"WE CAN HAVE OUR Q RUSH?!?!?! We need to be running some Michael Vick up in this bitch!"

The Domestic Violence boys do something particularly absurd after their next play works, resulting in me leaning to the Princess Leia Squad and ask them, "Wow! I didn't know that you could major in Pre-Jail!"

HALF TIME

28-0. I can live with that. Doing better than last time. Always looking for improvement. I decide to sit out the open of the second half. First play, THE OTHER TEAM THROWS AN INTERCEPTION RIGHT TO REGGIE!!!!!!!! He takes it to the 20 yard line!!!! We grab a few yards on the first three downs, then on fourth down, when all looks lost…..MICHAEL DOES A QB SCRAMBLE AND GETS US OUR FIRST TOUCHDOWN!!!!! I FEEL LIKE THE KING OF THE WORLD. What? Something is wrong…..Michael…..isn't…..doing….a…..touchdown…..dance…..

Me: "DO THE PARTY ROCK SHUFFLE!"

No response.

I repeat myself.

Again, no response.

So I burst into a rigid version of the Party Rock Shuffle myself. All is right in the world.

The substitutes for Domestic Violence are on the sideline dropkicking each other….all while wearing cleats. I mutter: "2011 Darwin Awards are being given out early this year."

With two minutes left in the game, Bayo shows up. He has his shoes, but doesn't have his Student ID, making him ineligible to play.

Domestic Violence gets cocky and tries to run an option play. The quarterback is tackled just after he laterals back to the running back. The whistle blows. Regardless, the running back takes the ball down for a score. He wasn't down, but I immediately make a scene to win some time.

Me: "I HEARD A WHISTLE! I HEARD A WHISTLE! AND I DON'T THINK I'M DEAF! MICHAEL, DID YOU HEAR ANYTHING????"

Michael: "Spence, just stop…….yes I heard it."

Me: "YES!!!!!! HE HEARD IT, HE SAYS!"

We get the play called dead at that first tackle. They then throw a touchdown on the next play……

FINAL SCORE: DOMESTIC VIOLENCE-56 WOOKIEES-7

POST GAME

We walk back to the bus.

Dalton: "Hey! The Rays came back! The game is tied at 7-7!"

I contemplate taking off my clothes, lying in the field, and waiting until the greenskeepers find my frozen body in the spring.

Evan: "DId I ever tell you about Fuck the Pig? My ex had a pig, and she named him Fuck. I loved that pig….."

We miss the bus, but its no worry. There are worse things than waiting a little while for a bus…..then I realize the next bus doesn't come for another forty-five minutes. God is testing me.

We finally get back to the dorm, and as Bayo and I are walking in, he tells me about what going to the gym with Rommel is like…..

Bayo: "Rommel spends the entire time yelling at me for not having the dedication I need to get 'photoshopped' like he is. Yes. He actually said that. Then he said, 'I'm working hard to get that Goku body. I'm almost there. Right now, you are at Krillen level. Step up, Son.'" So many Dragonball Z references in such a short amount of time.

Rommel is incredible.

We get into the room, Bayo takes off his shoes, then I decide to go shower. When I come back, people are screaming about the smell. I already know it is probably coming from my room. I go to check it out and the smell is unbearable. I'm convinced a mold has started to grow in one of the desks. After an hour of cleaning, we realize the culprit……Bayo's favorite shoes are infected with mildew. He throws them away in a heartbreakingly tender moment.

Then I find out the Red Sox blew it and are missing the play offs.

We both hug.

Before I go to sleep, I text the team that I want to have a practice the next day. Rommel (who is obsessed with Jay-Z's song "N***** in Paris" so much that he has begun to call black people NIPs) is in a class called "African American Scientific Researchers." He texts back, "Sorry, man, I can't come. I have to study for my N***** in Science Exam."

Rommel wins the day.

Moneyball: Review

By Spence Blazak

Mr. Long, the father of Wookiee Wednesday contributors Brian and Peter, has seen three movies in the last fifteen years: Titanic, Frost/Nixon, and now Moneyball. He hates going to the movies almost as much as he hates dogs (he once said that his memoir will be called Dogs: I Just Don’t Get It…with emphasis on the colon). Yet, he gave his most recently seen film a review of “very good!” My viewing companions and I were dumb founded.

I think that little anecdote sums up Moneyball’s brilliance, but I love to make all of my articles five pages long, so bear with me.

Moneyball begins the night the Oakland Athletics were swept by the Yankees in the 2001 ALDS. Since the Yankees have the power of Lucifer and sacrificed babies in their bats, it’s no surprise to anyone that this has happened. But how did the A’s get that far in the first place? They have everything working against them: the lowest payroll in baseball, they don’t have many fans, and the players (stay with me) have to pay for their own Pepsi products! OH THE HUMANITY!

This is where Brad Pitt comes in, playing Billy Beane, General Manager of Cokeland’s finest. He had been playing moneyball, getting cheap players that seemed crappy when in reality they are excellent hitters disguised by unorthodox styles.

For all of you following my “Softknocks” blog posts, Billy Beane has been my role model as a GM since I read the book Moneyball over the summer. Sadly, my translation of his ideas to hire unathletic players for my team hasn’t worked out yet… He is a beacon of hope for any man’s man, and Brad Pitt plays him exactly the way he should: constantly walking on the line between foolishly cocky and brilliantly confident. The key to any great underdog story is admiring the canine himself, and Brad Pitt wins you over within his first three minutes on screen.

The supporting cast is stellar as well. Chris Pratt makes Scott Hatteberg the perfect embodiment of the team itself (a washed up former star who can’t throw the ball due to nerve damage), and plays up his humble, soft spoken persona with the expertise of a seasoned actor. Philip Seymour Hoffman’s performance as Manager Art Howe is hilariously deadpan as the face of the A’s who takes heat from the media for having players who seem so crappy, when in reality it was all Billy. Jonah Hill reaffirms the point he made in last year’s Cyrus that he has the acting chops to keep up with the best around. His timing and delivery is John Candy-esque.

The movie is filmed beautifully and every shot looks semi sepia-toned. Bennett Miller hasn’t directed a movie since Capote, and it has been well worth the wait. The sports scenes are authentic, and he integrates archival footage in one of the best ways I’ve seen in recent memory. He also milks the humor out of awkwardness in a way that brings to mind the old, great episodes of The Office.

Aaron Sorkin, the patron saint of the modern screenplay, writes the script, and the snappy dialogue brings to mind his most recent great work The Social Network. It’s the closest thing to a sequel I’ll ever get….I liked that movie way too much. While the script has a few bland spots that suffer from pacing problems, Sorkin’s refreshing lack of clichés easily makes up for it and then some.

Moneyball is one of my favorite books, and my philosophy on adaptations is that the book should have no factor into the movie’s merit. Regardless, Sorkin picks and chooses the most essential parts of the book, and doesn’t lose any of the intended “feel”. Sure, I would have liked to see the riveting back story of Chad Bradford, but does that really matter in the long run? Some readers thought the book suffered for its extensive breakdowns of the sabremetric method that Billy used to pick the right players, and the choice was well made to merely mention it a few times rather than give a lecture on it.

Sadly, the movie falls short of perfection in a few ways. Along with the somewhat buzz killing pacing problems, Moneyball features the worst “Cheer Up Charlie” moment since its namesake. In 2007, Peter Long coined the phrase in reference to the song in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory where Charlie’s mom sings the 35-minute ballad to him to cheer him up. It is the worst part of an otherwise great movie.

There is a scene where Billy’s daughter sings for him. Everything just stops, and she sings for 3 and a half minutes. It is one of those lame, breathy acoustic songs that is usually found in an Apple commercial. Yuck. And the metaphor of the song is so heavy handed that I had to have Mr. Long hold me back from pouring my Sprite all over my pants.

Over all, Moneyball will be the best thing that hybrid movie/baseball fans have seen since Major League, and baseball haters might even find a respect for the game because of it. If a 1 star inspiring sports movie is Rocky V, and a 4 star one is Rudy, then I will proudly give Moneyball a 3-and-a-half star review.

Softknocks: Wookiee Football Week 2, Part 1

By Spence Blazak

PREGAME

We keep putting off practice. Rips is in New York City at the Shins concert, Bayo took a nap at 7 o'clock, and my nervous twitch has returned after a ten year absence. After almost crying tears of joy from watching the Giants beat the Eagles for the first time in almost 4 years and laughing my ass off because the Bills won a game, I am convinced all of the stars have been aligned by the football gods.

After the team is almost torn apart during pre game synergy because I said I hated Finding Nemo and Ali (head cheerleader of the Leahs) took it personally, we finally decide to meet in the middle and agree that the Japanese talking fish movie Ponyo is an acceptable movie to watch. So we turn it on. Bayo wakes up to say: "what in the hell is a Ponyo….?"

Its time to reveal to the team the name of our opponent….."House 27". I didn't think it could get much scarier than the New Gibbons Housing Project, but it just did. The ambiguity sends shivers down my spine. After I mop up the newly formed puddle of urine at the base of my feet, we get ready to get ready.

I put on pants. Bayo moves up slightly. I get my victory cigar primed. Kelly steals James's phone and makes James's Facebook status "I love Kelly and Ali." We spend the next five minutes making fun of how stupidly unoriginal that was.

-GOALS FOR THE GAME:

-Get a first down

-Make our touchdown dance the Party Rock Shuffle/Cat Daddy

-Not check the Red Sox score, so I don't throw up my entire organs on the field

We move outside. We realize we don't really know how to organize a defense. James's idea is to hire New Orleans safety Darren Sharper, considering he is the "hardest hitting safety in the league." I then proceed to yell that Evan put the "team on his back" for the next twenty minutes.

To make sure we have enough people, I try to recruit James's roommate Joe. He declines. So I offer him the coveted position of performing the half time show at our game. He, yet again, declines. I respond by giving him the ball and telling him to throw it to me. It almost goes in a tree. I throw it to him. He misses it. I offer him a starting spot at wide receiver. He goes inside. I feel dejected.

Most of the troops show up, except for Goodhand. I call him several times. He doesn't pick up. I'm nervous. Very nervous. House 27 sounds waaaaay scarier than someone we have any chance of winning against.

A new player approaches from the distance. He introduces himself as Dalton. He is a veteran of the RIFFL, having a year under his belt and a few games played this year on the Busch League for another team. He wears not one, but two articles of Under Armour apparel. He also seems to know how to actually play. This immediately qualifies him more than any of us. I tell him to take three steps and do a slant inward. He does it, I throw him the ball, he catches it. We've hit the jackpot.

I call Goodhand again. No response. We miss the bus. I look like this guy. Now we will be cutting it very close. We pass a little more time by trying to figure out whether Ali is wearing a fanny pack or a satchel. I make note of this in my notebook, and it appears that at some point she stole the book and wrote "purse." Hmmmm I guess some things will always remain a mystery. Then after a few minutes spent making fun of Kelly for having never seen Indiana Jones, I call Goodhand again who says he is coming eventually. I have the team start walking to the bus stop, ready for defeat. What? Whats that in the distance running toward us like a savior from the sky? GOODHAND!

Now we have a full roster (Me, Evan, Bayo, Michael, James, Dalton, and Goodhand), and we arrive at the bus stop.

Michael: "How are we going to avoid having our flags taken?"

Me: "Playing dirty. We will run with our arms flailing all over so no one will be able to take our flags down. And yell. A lot. Loudly."

Dalton: "Yeah…..you can't actually do that"

Me: "No problem, how about we start warming up to 'Twist and Shout' and dance to it. Then our skills will translate over to the game! A wax on wax off type deal!"

Michael: "We are turning into the real life version of The Replacements".

He's right. The second a sumo wrestler signs up for our team, I'm done.

I go to fill up my absurdly large jug with water and I return to find that Evan has drawn a massive phallus in my notebook. Then Kelly tries to steal my notebook and gets water all over it. Michael pulls me to the side….

Michael: "Spence…..I think Kelly is a spy."

I look from side to side making sure she can't hear us. Me: "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so"

Michael: "She has failed the first test, by trying to destroy the notebook."

Kelly hears our dialogue and kicks Michael in the ACL.

Me: "AN ATTACK! SHE HAS FAILED TEST TWO!"

Evan points out that there is a man with a football and cleats sitting a few paces away from us.

Evan: "I think that man is on House 27"

Bayo: "Fuck, we better hope not, if he has cleats and we are playing him, we are fucked."

Me: "Cleats? Good grief, who cares. And yeah, he very well could be on the team we are playing."

Kelly: "Thats ridiculous."

Michael: "That seals it, he is on the team."

Kelly fails test three.

Goodhand: "Does anyone else find it ironic that Rips lives in Marlboro, and yet he smokes Camels?"

Text from Rips: "No matter what happens out there tonight, boys, we will be Wookiees forever! Go out there and smoke 'em!"

Then the blog post goes where its never been before……metaphysics. With everyone looking at my notebook and becoming self aware and already leaving the present to find themselves sitting on their laptops reading the post that you are now reading. As they try to manipulate themselves into a character they want to see a stench of existential humanity permeates the proverbial nostrils of our fair team. I need a better way to take notes.

Dalton tells me that he loved the movie version of Moneyball. Good omen.

The bus decides to show up a little late, so I decide to make the executive decision to call Commissioner Voldemort and stretch the truth by saying the bus is very very very very very very very very late. We call him. He yells at us for calling him. He gives us the number of the right person to talk to. Stupid Voldemort. Its a conspiracy theory, man, he gives us the 10 PM game almost every week and now he won't talk to us. Darth Vader plus Hannibal Lector

The bus arrives. We climb aboard. Bayo doesn't sit with us. Note to self: HE'S NOT GETTING AWAY THIS TIME.

Evan: "Have I ever told you about Gick?"

James: "GIIIIIIIIIIIICK"

Me: "….?"

Evan: "Gick Niffin."

James: "GIIIIIIIIIIIIICK"

Me: "Go on"

Nick Griffin. Resides in Kansas. Obsessed with Tom Hanks. Expelled from high school for ordering 200 photocopies of vegetables to the main office. An original Dubstep DJ (DJ FUNKLESS). Favorite hobby: friending people on Facebook also named Nick Griffin. His Facebook name is "Gick Badgurl Niffin." He might be reading this now. There was too much awesomeness in Evan's description of him to not give him a mention.

Bayo looks like he has just seen the Cloverfield monster. I turn to where he is looking to see a burly looking rugby type. He is also wearing a white balance bracelet.

Bayo:"No.No.Nononononononononononononononononononononono!!!!!!!!"

Me:"I know, I know, he has balance on his side, but we have-"

Bayo:"CLEATS!"

Me:"What?"

Bayo:"CLEATS! HE HAS CLEATS!"

Me: *face palm*

I text my friend Dave: "pray for us"

Bayo has not blinked while looking at this guy's cleats.

Bayo: "Hey…..are you playing flag football?"

Guy: "Yeah. House 27."

What a fucking clown. I don't like him. Goodhand says that he is on the rugby team with him and dislocated his shoulder the other day. I'll make sure to play to his destroyed shoulder....

Text from Dave: "May God guide you in your quest."

James: "Hey Bayo, is your friend Jamil coming to play for us tonight?"

Me: "…………………….you mean "Rommel"?"

Bayo: "Oh. Cool. Did you just say the first black guy name that came into your head? SMH."

Yes. He actually said "SMH."

Bayo is, yet again, staring at the rugby man's cleats. Now he is focused on the size.

Bayo: "Fuck, those things are massive. He'll kill us."

Me: "Its okay, I've got a size 15 blue Reebok sneaker on. My foot could eat his."

Creepy guy next to Bayo who looks like an axe murderer/ the villain from The Lovely Bones chimes in with a quick: "Well I'm an 11…….which is PREEEEEEEEEETTY big!"

My reaction:

We arrive. The field is made of mud. After taking a pre game "wizzle" on the side of the athletic building, Bayo excitedly shows me that he his quest has paid off and he has found a mud covered cleat in the grass. Funny. I thought his search would end like this.

Dalton: "Great. One step closer to our goal……."

I like this kid.

Michael: "I'm scared we won't have enough separation from these kids with our receivers. We need to hire Rutgers WR Mohammed Sanu."

Me: "I've got it! We will seduce him...... using Kelly's body! I'll send him the picture of Scarlett and say he has that waiting for him if he comes to a Wookiee game!!!!"

I'm heralded as a hero.

Kelly: "What was that?"

All seven of us: "NOTHING!…..RUN!"

GAME TIME. WOOKS VS. HOUSE 27.

We go through pinnies looking for our favorite numbers to wear. I know what number I want….13. Taylor Swift's birthday and the number she writes on her hand before every show <3.

Goodhand: "Taylor Swift sucks."

Everything freezes.

Me: "DO YOU WANT TO BE ON THIS FUCKING TEAM, SON!?!?!?!??! DON'T YOU EVER LET ME HERE THAT SHIT AGAIN! YOU KEEP YOUR WHORE MOUTH SHUT-I'm sorry. I can't help it"

I recognize one of the refs from my Music class. We sit in the back and make fun of what a joke the class is. Wooks have another man on the inside. This could be prudent.

We win the toss. We select to receive. First down, sack. Second down, sack. Third down, dropped pass. Fourth down, false start on punt, turned over to House 27 on our one yard line. I blitz the quarterback, I slip in the mud and he runs in for a touchdown. The kid was slower than me, I had six inches and at least sixty pounds on him! What happened!!!!!! Oh no………………….cleats.

On their PAT they go for two points, and WE BLOCK IT!!!!! It was due to a miscommunication on their part BUT I DONT GIVE A SHIT BECAUSE WE BLOCKED IT!!!!!!! VICTORY IS OURS!!!!!! I high five everyone and the referees break down laughing at my absurdity.

The game then goes south very quickly for three reasons: we keep getting false starts, we throw five interceptions returned for touchdowns, and the opponents are fuck faces. Like every competitive game I've ever played in my life, I immediately start taking it way to seriously, become emotionally invested in the game, and turn into a wild man. A ball is thrown to me, the kid covering me puts his hands on my elbows and pushes. The ball falls down. No flag. I immediately throw a John McInroe tantrum. Then I come back to reality…..I'm just too damn tired for it today.

After the score is 28-0, we get off a few good plays with Bayo. The problem is that he can't juke on them because, you guessed it, no cleats. I'm on the O-Line now. I'm blocking #10. On offense, when he gets a touchdown, he usually says something along the lines of "Damn! I wish I could have stiff armed! I would have been able to score ten seconds earlier!" I hate this miserable weasel.

He keeps getting sacks, so I decide to have a turn with him. First play, he bum rushes me, I stand my ground, and draw a ten yard penalty! I've got him where I want him. Next few plays he jukes on me a few times, but I keep him from going through. Then on the last down, they have two men try to burn me, and he gets around me. No way he should be able to turn at that an-…….CLEATS!!!!!!!! I throw my arms out to the side like I'm trying to wrassle a hog to the ground. His left eye goes right into my forearm……I bet he didn't count on my bones being made of Adamantium! Down for the count. He is milking his injury. He looks like a slug covered in salt. The refs don't seem to have noticed. He sits the next few plays out. I've just won the Superbowl in my book.

HALFTIME

Me:"Where's my fucking water mug."

I guzzle half of hit and throw it on the ground.

Evan: "We need to use more Bayo. He ran once and now they are scared of him!"

Bayo: "I know! It pays to be black, yo!"

Second half goes the same as the first, but we have a lot more completions. Interceptions kill us. Then, we have three minutes left. We have a good drive, we draw a few penalties, get a first down, and then right as we are about to goal for gold in the red zone………the mercy rule comes into effect and ends the game.

FINAL SCORE 58-0

POST GAME

On the walk back to the bus, we realize that we are in a good place. Now we have a game under our belt, we realize how big of a mental threat Bayo is, and I have a few things up my sleeve.

James: "FUCK! Someone stepped on my last cigarette! Ah well…." He lights up

Evan: "FUCK! Someone stepped on my wallet's condom……yuck…….it exploded……"

I sit on the bus in silence. Kelly sits next to me. She looks at her arm and realizes I've sweated all over it. Oh Kelly. She forgot the first rule of Spence: looking is for free, but touching is gonna cost ya.

James: "Why are your shorts so long?"

Me:"Isn't this better than if they were too short?"

Bayo:"Don't get too down about the loss, man, its all because of the cleats. You ever see The Longest Yard? When Nelly got cleats, you've never even SEEEEN moves like that before! We'll all be Nelly soon."

THE NEXT DAY

I walk into my music class and sit down next to the ref from last night. I check my phone. Apparently the team we are scheduled to play next Sunday dropped out. AUTOMATIC W! But the team we are playing Wednesday is the best team in the RIFFL.

I feel the best way to end the article is a quote from my ref friend: "Those guys you played were such FUCKFACES! Seriously! Who goes for two points every PAT when they are up BY THIRTY POINTS! And I saw you hit that d-bag in the face and take him down. I happily kept my yellow flag in my pocket. I wish that I could have been the one to take him down!"

The Party is Over for R.E.M.

By Peter Long

“The One I Love”, “Radio Free Europe”, “Orange Crush”, “Losing My Religion”, “Nightswimming”, “Man on the Moon”, “Shiny Happy People”, “Everybody Hurts”, “Drive 8”, “Radio Song”, “So. Central Rain”, “What’s the Frequency Kenneth?”, “It’s the End of the World As We Know It”, to be honest, I could go on for days. R.E.M. has put out so much solid material since their inception in 1980 that their fellow musicians (or at least contemporary musicians) should merely quit in embarrassment.

The group called it quits yesterday via their website after almost 30 years of recording, and needless to say they left quite an impression on the musical landscape. They were the fathers of the Athens, Georgia underground-scene in the 1980’s and, perhaps above all else, the fathers of alternative rock; their sound defined by jangly guitars, whiny vocals and melodic punk. Nirvana may have brought punk to the masses, but R.E.M. brought alternative rock to the masses.

Their classic debut, 1983’s Murmur, and their 1995 release Monster bookended what was possibly the most dominant run of albums in rock history, with albums Life’s a Rich Pageant, Document, Out of Time, Green and Automatic for the People sandwiched in-between. Between those years they were considered college-rock darlings and arena-rock mega stars, the first indie-rock group that critics adored to simply the biggest band on the planet for a span of 13 years.

They were the first band to defy the un-spoken corporate rule that a frontman had to look like a super-model, or the bass and guitar players had to do banal choreography during live shows, or the members had to dress a certain way in order to sell records. They did things on their own terms, and ultimately, quit on their own terms.

R.E.M. made it cool to listen to whoever you wanted to listen, it became cool to listen to guys who sang about real problems and emotions, which at the time was a hard concept to understand due to the fact that just a few years before Poison was at the top of the charts singing about having nothing but a good time. R.E.M. opened the doors of perception to the children of suburbia by singing about depression, art, religion and politics all condensed into a three minute pop-song on vinyl or cassette.

In a time when many of their colleagues were constantly hounded by the tabloids, the guys in R.E.M. seemed to keep a low profile. Even as they ascended to become the biggest band in the world there was still a sort of mysterious aura to them. As bands like Pearl Jam and Nirvana were constantly being over explained and analyzed, R.E.M. was still being under explained because they seemed like regular guys. They sort of put this idea in your head that when lead singer Michael Stipe finished a show in which he performed in front of 20,000 people he went back to Athens, hung out at a bar and conversed with the fellow patrons.

If anything, R.E.M. should be remembered as a band who did things first. They were the vanguard of disenfranchised youth before any grunge album hit the charts. They did collaborations with artists such as the B-52’s and KRS-One in order to broaden the horizons of their listeners and simply because they could and wanted to. They gave the hope and opportunity to a generation of kids suppressed by their baby-boomer parents and Reaganism that they too can start band, be an activist, and be political. R.E.M. made great music during a time when people needed great music most; they will go down as a national treasure, and simply a great American rock n’ roll band.