Blackouts in the parking lot, black spots on the field: Football’s symbiotic relationship between fans and players

Took the picture in the north lot.  The guy was looking for the set of Leatherheads.

Paradox: A person, situation, or action exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects.

Football is a paradox.  The game bonds fans and players, but also damages them.  The fans bond by watching the violence.  The players bond by surviving the violence.  Before the game, fans fire up the Margaritaville blender and players dress themselves in metal and plastic.  Fans think they can handle the binge drinking, but many cannot.  Players think they can handle the hits, but many cannot. 

The fan is lucky if he passes out before kickoff.  Otherwise, he could find himself wasted and disoriented.

Chugging vodka with an orange juice chaser was my friend Travis’ pre-game ritual.  Once after a long night, he started early the next morning to get ready for an afternoon kickoff.  At Husky Stadium, he passed out in his seat, got up and swan dived down the stairs.  Later, the story goes, he drunkenly wandered along a highway shoulder until the state patrol picked him up.  He ended up with a gash on his face. 

The player is lucky if he rides the bench after kickoff.   Otherwise, he could find himself dazed and confused. 

This is my friend Chad's description of a stinger, “One whole side of my body went numb and they [the University of Idaho coaching staff] took me out of the game for a thirty second breather.”  A stinger is an injury to the nerves that travel from the neck and down the arm.  It happens when the head and neck are forcibly moved or hit to one side - it’s pedestrian to football. 

The up side:

In 2009, my friend Cod hugged his dad for the first time in years when Jake Locker drove the Dawgs down field to beat USC.  Locker’s actions were equivalent to the Pope giving communion.  Cod and I started calling Locker, The Pope, in 2007, after he ran over Syracuse.  Like the Pope, Locker became a symbol.  Even after UW went winless in 2008, it wasn’t his fault.  Seattle’s football czar, Hugh Millen, was critical of his alma mater, but never of Locker.  He admitted (I am paraphrasing), people in chat rooms think I would walk through hell with gasoline shorts on before I would criticize Jake Locker.  When Locker said he was staying for his senior year, Cod texted me, “The Pope is coming back.” 

The down side:

Football culture teaches players to disregard serious symptoms like vision problems, headaches and vomiting.  Malcolm Gladwell compares football to dog fighting.  His argument is convincing.  Players put on pads and dogs don’t cower, even amidst their demise.  After a concussion, a player was game sick, zooking for days, but still suited up.  He saw three opposing players when there was really one, and hit the one in the middle.  The data, Gladwell referenced, alleged that many smaller smacks to the skull caused more damage than the less frequent more violent spine snappers.  A higher percentage of brain injuries were linked to linemen, who get thunder punched almost every play. 

Here are my notes from the Apple Cup: 

In the north lot, Husky fans gather around a pig, roasting in a rusty cage.  Coug fans in cammo hunting jackets watch flat-screen TV’s mounted to a Jamboree.  There is man with a purple Mohawk shot gunning a beer.  “Jake Locker for Heisman” is written on some guy’s back.  Pickup truck beds overflow with cans of Natural Ice.  It’s like Slumdog Millionaire – not enough plastic bathrooms.  People piss everywhere, even the girls.  Old men fight, one with a scraped face sits on the curb and talks to cops.  Three kids’ wheelbarrow a keg past stadium workers and drink a couple red cups in the foyer before they’re thrown out.  No alcohol is served in Husky stadium.  What happens in the parking lot stays in the parking lot. 

The next day the tailgater has a head like a hole.  He recalls swigging off a fifth of Crown and spitting out long chunks of pig fat, but the rest is a blur.  The parking lot has become as sacred as the playing field.  Many fans come for tailgating – and if they make it to game time – it’s a bonus.

Even the Harry Potter of college football, Tim Tebow, was devalued after being knocked out cold for an entire TV timeout.  The only debate was when he could play again, not if he should play again.  Tebow had trouble reading weeks after the concussion.  Sight problems, sensitivity to light, seeing black and white spots, are a few more symptoms that plague the player.  In this game there is a desperate symbiotic relationship between fans and players.  The fan roots for his team to destroy the other.  Glory is all he wants to see.  For the player, the game is fleeting.  Players have a savage window.  The fan knows that.  He knows deep down what the players’ risk. 

The fan needs to peer over the edge in the parking lot.  The player does so on the field.    

What you're worth

Took this @ the Gas Works Park benches (facing the water).

Not bad for a cell phone pic

Location: the billboard on the UW side of University Bridge.
Camera: my old Verizon Chocolate.

Who I voted for

Just put my ballot in the mailbox. Voted for Mike McGinn for mayor. Hopefully he will make it through the primary. I like his stickers. He is against the waterfront tunnel. The Stranger said he was silk screening shirts featuring a hybrid Guinness McGinn for Mayor logo. One more black pint for the road. Wait. Make it two more black pints for the road. Another blank ballot was in my mailbox today. Maybe I should send it in and vote for him twice.

The "Mike Bikes" sticker is on the back of a no parking sign in old Ballard.

Just another Wednesday night at the Comet

Seattle, Capitol Hill, 1981: Ed is a regular at the Comet. It's Wednesday night. He plays the jukebox, drinks beer and talks to whoever sits next to him. A couple of film buffs, a white guy and a petite Asian girl, sit next to Ed. The film buffs are going back and forth about the movie they just saw at the Egyptian. Two girls and a guy walk in.  They are wasted.  The guy can barely stand.  One of the girls bops around and the other puts quarters in the jukebox. “Start Me Up” from the Stones comes on. The girl that bops around, jumps up on a table and starts dancing.  She rip's her shirt off and the bar is alive.  Regulars hoot and holler. The girl that bops around, whips out two matches and places the cardboard tips in her mouth. She nibbles on the tips, num, num, num. They are soggy. They are similar to the consistency of wheat paste. She sticks them on her pencil eraser nipples and lights them on fire.  The petite Asian girl looks at Ed and says, just another Wednesday night at the Comet. 

I worked with Ed at a glass artist's studio. He told me that story one day while we grouted hundreds of glass mosaic pods and listened to 91.3 KBCS. He said it was just another night at the Comet.

I took the picture of the Comet, not too long ago from my car window, as I drove by during the Seattle heat wave of 2009. The RZA concert poster caught my eye.

NBA Draft 2009

I am painting the back deck of a good friend's house at the moment. Coincidentally this friend grew up with Jamaal Crawford. And Crawford may have even lived at this house for a time in his grade school days. Jamal Crawford texted his high school coach: Coach we are in Atlanta now. I think he will be perfect in ATL with Joe Johnson. Crawford was on KJR with Gas for the Andrew Moritz benefit, which was an amazing hour of radio with all the Seattle basketball royalty and overall community support. My girlfriend's best friend does the site for her brother Andrew. It is: year of the comeback dot blogspot dot com. Moritz won a state championship with Jason The Jet Terry and then came back and won another one without Terry. And actually I am painting another good friends' house who coached Moritz when he was playing Green Lake hoops. The circle continues.

Anyhow, back to Crawford. He mentioned on the radio how excited he was to go to Atlanta. He hasn't felt this good about a team since he got to the lig. Jamal is well spoken, I don't have a clue why he got on Nelly's (Don Nelson) bad side. Nelly is a weird dude. He has been doing that run up the score type of offense for 800 years and it has never born fruit. Some call him an offensive genius. I don't know about that. If it ain't working. Try something else. But you know he may just be a bit wacked like George Karl. Karl decided he didn't like Kendel Gil back in the day. Karl has a history of playing mind games with players for no reason. That is what he did to Gil. Gary and Kendel with Nate was a great group of guards. That was a Supe's team to root for. Ricky Pierce, Eddie Johnson, Derrick McKey, a young Shawn Kemp and don't forget Dana Barros and Benoit Benjamin.

Back to Crawford. He mentioned that he grew up playing with Doug Wrenn and Grant Leep before this became the breeding ground/hotbed of NBA talent. I played against/with Wrenn in my middle school days. He was a nice guy and a hell of a player. My friend Chad was real good friends with Wrenn and they had a killer AAU team. Wrenn was just in some kind of altercation -- a road rage thing in Bellingham where he supposedly flashed a gun at a car. I don't know the details, but it made me a little sad. Wrenn was one of the great talents from the Central District here in Seattle and he played with an even better talent back in the day. A player by the name of Ronald and I remember Doug was kinda like Ronald's sidekick. Its weird Ronald was way better than Doug back in the day, but got into trouble and didn't even play much High School ball. And then the same sorta thing happened with Doug. You would probably bet on Wrenn going to the lig over Brandon Roy back in the day, but Roy is the one that made it to the lig and then some.

The seventh pick. Stephen Curry will be perfect for Oakland/Sanfran.

The third pick. I am pissed that Harden went to the Thunder because he was my favorite player in the draft, but went to my arch nemesis. Now I am worried that things will start to really come together for this young team. Kevin Durant is about to be in the Kobe/Lebron conversation, Westbrook is half Chris Paul half Drunken Master (John Krolik coined that) and then Kyle Weaver is from Washington State and that sucks. So what I am trying to say is that they could be a nice little high flying team next year. James Harden is the guy I have been asking people about leading up to the draft. Some people seem to be uneasy about him, but can never articulate why. They say there is just something about him that won't fit into the NBA game. I completely disagree. He gamed the Huskies twice this year. He is the type of guy who can take over a game. He is tough and long. Not soft and short. Which is I think important to be a guard in the lig. Elise Woodward said he tried, but never really took over any games against the Huskies. Francis Williams said he may actually be way better in the lig because he will be supported by 3 or 4 peers instead being the only guy with maybe help from 1 and a half dudes. I seem to remember the second game toward the end of the season before the PAC 10 tourney where Harden balled the Dawgs -- playing a sort of one on one a la LeBron/Nail Offense from the last two games against the Magic this year's Eastern Conference Finals. The Cavs called it the Nail: LeBron at the top of the key and everyone else spread around the perimeter. Shaq went to Cleveland today. Like a modern day Magic and Kareem or Stockton and Malone. I wonder if LeBron will wear Stockton shorts.

The fifth and the sixth. Ricky Rubio and Jonny Flynn should be a dynamic duo in the Twin Cities.

I see everything through Sonics colored glasses. Obviously I am going to hate that my favorite player besides John Brockman (Harden) went to the team that used to be my team.

North By Northwest

Dave and I were discussing the Sonics move last night and we wondered,when the Sonics do eventually move to OK City, will they take all the retired jersey's and Championship banners with them and raise them to the rafters in the Ford Center? We also wondered if Clay Bennett would be nice enough to offer true Sonic "diehards" a weekend discounted package to be able to fly to Oklahoma City and get some great seats for the night they retire Gary Payton's jersey and celebrate his great career as a Sonic...

American professional sports are a complete joke. I could care less about the NBA or the Sonics and I consider the NBA, as a whole, to be comparable to that of the Barnum and Bailey Circus. The people of this city should focus their energy on boycotting Starbucks and running Howard Schultz out of town than wasting their time and resources on Clay Bennett and a situation that is hopeless. It's not as depressing if you've already accepted the fact that it's over, like I have, but how about the Storm signing Sheryl Swoopes? I smell another WNBA Championship on the horizon!!! Go STORM Baby!!!

PS- Shouldn't Seattle's greatest fan (that guy who holds up the Sea-Fence" sign at Seahawk games), shouldn't he be doing something like handcuffing himself to the bumper of the team bus or to the landing gear of the team plane? I mean, you are Seattle's biggest fan so go out there and do something about this. The city is relying on you and your passion...I haven't heard a peep from that guy. What a joke...
- Cod the Fish on the fate of the Seattle SuperSonics.

My phone keeps ringing but I will not answer anytime soon. I have bigger fish to fry. I sit here in Seattle with a keyboard in my lap perched on a pearl white yoga ball. Here in the Northwest we are under a dark cloud. This may not be much of a big deal for the rest of the country. Sadly Seattle is relegated to weird looks from much of America. We are thought of as almost Alaska to so many. It is a deeply disturbing and hurtful thing for us natives. We are a proud people and know we are right and true. We have supported Obama like no other territory in the Empire and done the same for Ron Paul. Recently 40% of registered Republicans in these parts have been projected to support Paul in November even though his name will not be on the ballot. But never mind that. This is not a political story.

This is about basketball and 41 years of support for the Seattle Supersonics and now they are on the way to Oklahoma City. A foreigner bought the team from the king of a coffee empire named Howard Schulz who sold the team because the city would not give him a new arena. It was a childish and spiteful move by Schulz and he has paid for his stupid decision. These days his beloved coffee brand Starbucks is slipping down the Dow Jones and I know many people who routinely slap Starbucks cups from a person’s hand if seen on the street with it. It is no longer fashionable to drink the stuff.

Schulz is suing Bennet to get the rights to the team back. He is trying to save face because he knows his image is suffering and will forever be blamed for the reason we lost the team. In Seattle we have a shoddy history with sports. The Mariners have always sucked. And now in 2008 the Year of the Rat, the Mariners have the worst record in Major League Baseball. As a kid growing up the Seahawks were awful and now they are finally good, but for me it has been a hard thing to get used to. They are not a proud franchise in my mind and most people I know are more excited for the first year of Major League Soccer with the Sounders FC. Owner Drew Carey has done everything right following in the tradition of European teams with a board of members that can vote in or vote out the manager of the team and voting on the name for the team. All very classy and elegant decisions.

It was a sad day when Commissioner David Stern decided it was a better to make Seattle the premier WNBA city with the Storm Juggernaut and get rid of the Sonics the most hallowed franchise in Seattle sports history. The Sonics have always been good except for a few recent years where they have been treated like the Cleveland Indians in the movie Major League where they purposely built the worst possible team they could so it was easier to move them. And in real life the Cleveland Browns situation may be the closest resemblance to what we face. Same thing in Seattle. So now our fate is the WNBA hall of fame which will be built here soon. We can all look forward to that as the WNBA hall of fame takes over Paul Allen’s Experience Music Project.

I took the picture of the GP poster inside the Key @ the last Sonics game I ever went to.

Man with the master plan to rebuild Afghanistan

“That was just a dream, that's me in the corner...” - R.E.M. “Losing My Religion”

Indeed. And Mitt Romney must feel that way tonight Tuesday February 5, 2008. He just dropped out of the race to lead the GOP. The Man from Michigan is not used to losing and you could see it in his face for his concession speech this morning. He said, “I don’t like losing...” with kind of a sheepish smile. I can imagine a man like Mitt gets his way most of the time. What does he do now? He made boatloads of money bringing companies back from the brink making the tough cuts for the bottom line. It may not be just a cynical view but also partially accurate to always think that money buys power and power corrupts and corruption is tough on the soul. When the soul is in danger, judgment and integrity slip away in a mountain of tweaked decisions and the water becomes murky.

That is what Mitt was known for. The Ultimate Flip Flopper, his convictions blew away with the wind for so much of his life, that he probably didn’t know what to do when put into a corner by a guy like McCain, with temper, sort of blunt by nature and always able to have the whole Vietnam POW card in his back pocket at all times. After Bush destroyed McCain in the SC primary of 2000, I thought McCain was a goner; never to seek the presidency again, but he is an interesting man of ideology and conviction and no matter what those types always do better in the game of life. A rich man is only as rich as his belief in self. Who he his. Who he was. And who he will become. Mitt was the worst thing you could be in his world: a Massachusetts Liberal. The Governor of the gayest state in the Union and he tried to run to the right. War, Guns, and Religion. When you reach too far, usually the outcome is a bit messy.

Like a painter on a high ladder reaching too far to one side in order get the end of a peak. Sometimes you get it. Other times you get that feeling that it is not worth dying for and go back down and figure out the better way. Then again the greed can overpower your better judgment and you go for it and end up in a full body cast.

Two summers ago I was working for a general contractor, a friggin drunk who never tied the ladders off, nor used gas masks while mixing cement, or painting with lacquer in a basement with no ventilation. He never used a harness while roofing and general safety was completely out the window. He was just waiting for the first drink at noon everyday, which to me was not bad it was actually a fun crew to work on and I still have a soft spot both Andy the General Contractor and Angelo the Journeyman, even though they were both dumb and bloated blowing through life. Angelo introduced cocaine to me. And the first time I ever did the drug was in the bathroom at the legendary Seattle bar: Blue Moon. Which is interesting in itself because it was right around the corner from Layne Staley’s apartment where he was found dead in 2001. Late Layne, obviously the lead singer of Alice in Chains. One coincidental fact of my life as a Seattle native is that I was working selling tickets in the ticket booth across the street from Layne’s apartment at Metro Theaters when the news broke of his death. I sat one Saturday morning reading The Seattle P-I front page news of his death, taking sips of my coffee and gazing across the street at the nothing-special green building behind a Kinko’s Copy Center, Marines Recruitment Center and a Money Tree Money Lender...The body had been lifeless for two weeks and the only reason anyone checked up on him is because his bank noticed no transactions for two weeks, which is not normal for anyone who is frequently ingesting speedballs. AIC was always my favorite band from the Seattle dominated 1990’s.

Two years before Kurt Cobain died the same day and I was driving in front of his house on Lake Washington Blvd. When the news broke that morning on my way to school my junior year of high school. I asked my dad questions about why Cobain would do that the rest of the ride. Those two moments will always be landmarks in my life. And I have always felt a sort of kinship with them both because I was there...sort of like Staind’s Aaron Lewis, who no doubt was most influenced by Staley and who’s child Zoe Jane was born the day Staley died. There is no such thing as coincidence or happenstance. And yes, I got a little off track here for a moment with a quick flash from my past. But I think I had a point somewhere in this gibberish.

Ah, yes Angelo and I were standing on some rickety-ass makeshift scaffolding and we couldn’t quite reach the top of the roof where we needed to install a vent and some more siding, but it just wasn’t working and the rain was coming down. Angelo was yelling at me cause he thought he was going to get electrocuted because we were using a Sawzal: electric saw that looks like a rifle. And conditions were getting worse. He was frustrated and couldn’t quite reach what he needed to. I said, “Fuck it come down we will do it when it stops raining.” He was pissed and kept saying he was gonna die. He wanted to stay and get the job done no matter what.

I said “$15 an hour was not worth dying for.” We did not finish that day.

I took this picture along Lake Washington Blvd. in the Arboretum.

He used to live in Kurt Cobain's old castle

It is about to be 5 in the morning. The sun will come up in about two hours and then the worker bees will be on their way. There is no better feeling in the world than going to bed with all windows wide open at 8 in the morning listening to the rain and sounds of the city and starting of the day time world. The warm rich vibration of going to bed for a long rest amidst the chaos of the rat race getting to work on time. The crispness of the air on your nose. The cars are louder in the rain and wet...Val pointed that out earlier today. I am getting a bit off track here reminiscing about a time that is far off at this point. And that my friend is all that matters. Be true to yourself young Buck, never back down, never apologize and always hit them where it hurts. Stand back you savage brutes...This one is not to be touched.

Moments later: Right now it is quiet all I can hear is the faint sound of Val breathing from the bedroom and...fuck wham! The Elephant Neighbors just slammed the goddamn door on their way in. Or was it out? Yes it was out because I didn’t hear them stomp up the stairs, but I didn’t hear them stomp down the stairs either...hmmm. Whatever, never mind. Kurt Cobain said that. He named the album Nevermind as well. I heard on the radio earlier today this DJ (that used to run the board for the live feed of the Howard Stern Show out of the east coast and then re-play it later at 6 in the morning west coast time after I got done with the Late Night shift) was saying that Kurt Cobain’s catch phrase when he would go to a house party was: “Here we are now, entertain us.” Val said she used to think he was saying: “Here we are now entertainers.”

When I was doing late night radio @ KISW, I would say, "He used to live in Kurt Cobain's old castle" every time I played a Nirvana song. Once at 4 am when I was done with my show and getting some food at QFC, the cashier told me that he hates this guy on the the radio that says, "He used to live in Kurt Cobain's old castle" every time Nirvana comes on. The clerk felt the radio guy was laying it on too thick. I nodded my head, kinda chuckled and walked out.

A recent study found that overnight third shift workers have a higher occurrence of cancer and are generally less healthy. My mom used to say I had a green look to my skin when I was doing the overnight thing. I lasted almost five years and loved the magical feeling of being up and creating when the rest of the city slept...especially a city like Seattle. People stay up here, but not out. A legendary rock DJ named Steve Slaton was talking about the report on the health risks of overnight workers and he remarked about how when he started out he did an overnight radio show and that schedule almost made him go insane certifiably crazy. I can’t argue with his findings, but I do firmly believe a person must create as late as possible or early as possible to soak in some of the creatively crazy juices that may otherwise never be tapped into if you only work the nine to five hour routine. Truth is never told during those hours and that is a rule of thumb I firmly believe in. Ahh, the truth hours.

No, I am not talking about the Limbaugh station here in Seattle AM 770 KTTH “The Truth.” There will be no truth telling on that frequency except by accident...Look to Mike Malloy after 10pm and way farther down the dial at AM 1090. Mike Malloy is a National Treasure and he should be treated as such... he broadcasts until 1 in the morning, so yes he is in the truth hours, and all his Truth Seekers are up with him. Those are his listeners and they are faithful...Somewhere in the blue mountains of rural Georgia Mr. Malloy is pounding on the bastards and giving them Hell and no one can do it better. Mike Malloy will fill you up with hope. There have been many a night when he filled me up like a hot air balloon and I hovered around the ceiling feeling giddy for three hours. I am a stronger and wiser man for it. Never let anyone tell you what is good information and who you should listen to. Listen for yourself, see for yourself and do it yourself. C’est la verite.

Reed Wacker: Took this in front of Kurt Cobain's house. Obama yard sign in front of Kurt Cobain's Old Castle.