Sunday, May 23, 2010

Sergio's Shenanigans

Of course the game is better known as "the Buckner Game". Game 6, 1986. However, that date in October also marked an occasion of unprecedented daring and flawless execution. Say what you will about sloppy suburbanites running onto the field at a home opener, but you have to admire the skill and dedication required to parachute into Shea Stadium in the middle of a World Series game. You can read about Mike Sergio's exploits here or peep the footy, son.

Friday, May 21, 2010

The Rich Stuff

The fact that there are filmers sitting on stacks of footage from the mid-90's seems almost criminal. The unused gems from Socrates' vault in the World box set were stellar, the NY Revisited vids are orgasmic, and Brad Johnson assembled a whole vid's worth of mostly unused clips from SF's heyday. I certainly hope this sparks a trend for putting out old footage, cause 90's fetishists are frothing at the mouth to get at this shit.

What do you get in Brad Johnson's vid? Pier 7 lines up the wazoo, a full Lee Smith part that I can only guess was supposed to be used in the Menace video, Lennie Kirk droppin in on hella rails, Trilogy scraps, a young Welsh grinding a sizeable handrail, and lots of clips of all the Gs that you can't get enough of. I think Lavar got more lines in a day than most people got in a career.

Download the vid here, I really think you should:

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Shakin That Milk

This song is kinda dirty, yo.

That shit got some smarm to it.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Turgid Movies # 1

You won't catch me riding wholesome much these days. Most of Hollywood's bloat chokes out anything good in what's pumped out of the studio colons. Ah, but once upon a time, the studio landscape was peppered with gems. I don't need to tell you that TCM is the greatest television station in North America. So, let's take a trip down dusty old memory lane and delve into yesterday.

You are a 10 year old boy. The year is 1959. You walk across the town hall courtyard of a small Midwestern burgh hurriedly on a sunny summer afternoon. You keep looking over your shoulder half terrified at the thought of seeing your mother behind you. You'd pilfered some coins out of her change purse while she was talking on the phone in the kitchen. You could tell it was gonna be one of those conversations that seemed to last forever and you took advantage of the situation. You could always tell right away you were in for a doozy because her chat would start with a high-pitched cutting "HIIIIIIII, NAAAAAAAAANNNCCYYYYYYYY!!!"

You make a beeline for the movie theater. You'd hesitated at first to go through with it, you'd never stolen from her purse before. It seemed to break some moral code you held close to your prepubescent heart, but you went through with it anyways. You are so dedicated to the eternal celluloid battle between cowboys, indians, sheriffs, and villains, that you were driven to a life of crime to satiate your constant desire for western cinematic repose.

Like a junkie that can't escape the thought, your whole world is the wild west. Any chance you get you are right there in the theater, front and center, six rows back. And that's right where you ended up on this bright afternoon, in the dark cool of dim light flickering through cigarette smoke.

The curtains rise and the picture starts. Titles fall on a rocky landscape and your complete attention is absorbed into the movie.

The story has it's share of twists, but you readily gather that Randolph Scott's harsh good guy is bringing in this Billy John character to get hanged. Scott plays Ben Brigade, the hard nosed bounty hunter that tries to play it straight despite the fact he's put his fair share of men to the rope. James Coburn and Pernell Roberts are along for the ride to get amnesty for helping bring Billy John in, and the ever lech-eyed Lee Van Cleef plays Billy John's brother who is in hot pursuit. Karen Steele provides the blonde sass when her husband is killed by Mescalero Indians and her bod is thoroughly coveted by all males in attendance.

You notice the distinct otherness of the Indians. Always looming in the distance, always waiting in the wings, they are presented as a constant threat. When you hear that drum beating in the distance you grab your women and circle the wagons. Your 10 year old mind is used to such a portrayal of Indians. The only time you ever get to see em are in cowboy pictures and on your Bob Feller baseball card. You think to yourself that it's kind of funny you never get a cowboy picture from an Indian's side of the story.

Your grade 5 education has yet to present you with situational ethics, but being a student of western pictures you're waist deep in the stuff without even realizing it. You're well aware that one of the most delicious things a good western can present, even in a half hour of Gunsmoke, is a blur in the line between right and wrong that makes you question your own value system. Contrasting models of greed and the absence of greed clash delightfully as the plight of Billy John's bounty plays out before your eyes.

You walk out of the theater into the still bright day as your eyes struggle to adjust. You have gorged your brain on cowboys and the outside world looks better because of it. It feels as if you're walking on a cloud, floating above the dull realities of the modern world when less than a hundred years ago, cowboys could have been shooting it out right where you're standing. The mere thought of the past lights up your face like a bulb ... that is ... until you remember the grim spectre of your mother. At this very moment she could be waiting to paddle your bottom as soon as you step in the door.

Alas, it is not the year 1959. I don't have a cocktail party to go to and there aren't any tailfins in my driveway. It is the future, and in the spirit of the future and the internet, here are some links for Ride Lonesome should you care to partake:

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Braden's Bounty

Hot on the heels of eternal classless turd chewer A-Rod's mound crossing debacle, Dallas Braden pitches an emo perfect game on mother's day. His words to his grandma (who raised him) after a lengthy embrace: "Let's go eat". Karmic baseball gods are always lurking and you've got to get boners at the fact that A-Rod questioned Braden's caliber as a player after marching across his mound. Peaches, straight peaches and cream.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Power Blasterz

Alright now, I'm not going to make wild predictions. I'm not going to try and lay some heavy jive upon the palette of your frontal lobe. I'm not even going to try and convince you that the Blue Jays are the unexpected harbingers of unholy power in the American League in 2010...

Because really, both you and I know this whole shebang-ge-bang is not gonna last. Turds sag into gnarly slumps, and bummers crump the ends of those who look too much into tiny sample sizes.

BUT, with that disclaimer fully in place, lets take a look at some of the HEAVY HITTAZ of April and project what they would punch up if they kept on the same keel all the way until the end of September (not gonna happen, bud!).

Big Vern

He'd be on track for 48 home runs if he kept this tease of a blistering rate up till the end of the year. Wouldn't that be nice? Wouldn't that be wonderful? Wouldn't life be a land of milk and honey with a mattress full of cash?

A-Gon the Magnificent

This old crone would clock in at 42 dingers if he kept goin' at er like he's been. Someone told me that he resembles E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. I can't say I don't wholly agree with the comparison.

Bautista the Pirate, Plunderin' Yer Booty

This saucy fellow would be in line for 24 home runs this season. He'll give you some zow for your kermuppets, but don't expect that virile stamina inherent in so many latin lovers.

We all know these things won't happen, Vernon Wells will not hit 48 home runs this year, Jose Bautista probably won't come up with 24, this is just fantasy. However, such discombobulated numbers should give you an indication of what an enjoyable April this has been. It won't last, the Yankees haven't even been played, this is not realism ... but it is a fresh biscuit.