Football fever! The greatest tournament in the world has returned and my eyes are glued to the TV. I have been watching excessive hockey and basketball playoffs, as well as plenty of baseball recently, but these games seem insignificant compared to the global stage of the quadrennial soccer tournament. The simplicity of the sport makes for great viewing, placing the athleticism of the competitors in focus and the game structure, two uninterrupted halves, limits our exposure to the dreaded corporate advertising that dominates American sports; how glorious to feel like a fan instead of a consumer!

The games are being played in South Africa and are dominated by the swarming buzz of the deafening vuvuzelas, a plastic horn played constantly by the fans. The effect is exciting and unnerving, building tension through the matches, which thus far have been characterized by good play, good commentary and good officiating. Over the next four weeks, euphoria and heartbreak will crash like waves over nations. A goal is a miraculous spring of pride for some and a devastating abyss of bleakness for others.

I was encouraged by the US team’s 1-1 draw against the British Empire yesterday; they played well and came very close to winning the contest a few times, but one point will suffice for now. If this team puts together a run deep into the tournament, perhaps the sport will gain a domestic audience and MLS will build its reputation as a world-class league. It remains the most popular recreational youth sport in America, but is overshadowed as a spectator sport by everything else, including NASCAR. I hope that one day, professional soccer will receive the respect it deserves here. I have dreams for a premier rugby league too, but that may be more of a stretch…

USA! USA!

I was an Economics major in college and anytime I tell people that they find it funny–probably because my job is playing music with kids instead of making money with money. I never had any interest in joining the corporate workforce but still found Econ the most interesting department at Middlebury. It incorporated so much about humanity, from history to psychology to our core values. The focus was usually money, but the how and why made the topic endlessly engaging. Stephen Levitt is an economist who brings the study into new realms; he sees the discipline as general tools to study human behavior rather than simply the flow of money. In his book Freakonomics, he tackles a wide variety of subjects, from the somewhat misaligned incentives between real-estate agents and the sellers they represent, to the corporate structure of a crack gang, to the sad realities of the American school system and the relative lack of influence that parents actually exert on their childrens’ lives. He writes in a refreshingly politically incorrect way, demonstrating that statistics often counter conventional wisdom and shedding light on subjects we only think we understand.
I then picked up Moneyball, a book I’ve been meaning to read for years, which looks in-depth at the subject of baseball and the shifting status quo in our evaluation of players and potential. Again, statistics are the epicenter of this change, moving from a talent scout’s subjective interpretaion of skills to a numbers-based approach that has proven successful in this expensive market.
Both books use the tools created by economists to describe the world we live in and enlighten our perceptions of the untruths of conventional wisdom.

They play at least 162 games in a season, which makes the value of each one so small, but last night was the very first and after months surviving on other sports I allowed myself to watch it as if it were game 7 of the World Series. Plus it was against the Yankees. Beginning of Baseball season also means beginning of patio season, which is where I write this now and where we grilled last night, opening BBQ season with spicy kebabs v. spicy chicken (Daliente!); a great night of hanging out with friends watching The Sox deliver a crushing defeat to their defending champion rivals.

But wait there’s more! This weekend also included a visit from the Taylor Family, Antony Gormley and Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, making it an extra sweet spring kickoff!

Maybe life doesn’t suck…

The Backwardest Mountain is The Best. It is some of the most challenging skiing on the East Coast, with steep gnarly pitches over rocks and through trees covered in the best moguls (thanks to their no-snowboard policy) all serviced by a double and a single chair. While every mountain around it is owned by a ski resort mega-corporation, Mad River is cooperatively owned. It is an amazing ski experience. Eastern skiing definitely means contending with ice and trees and other natural objects impeding your progress, which makes it a very technical exercise, but also makes it more exciting and MRG’s terrain, ungroomed and covered strictly with natural snow, is the perfect showcase for this type of challenge. The ultimate throwback, it makes me nostalgic for a period before I was born…

That was Saturday. Sunday was spent at Mad River’s “younger sister”, Sugarbush, which exemplifies state-of-the-art resort technology. Of course, the lodge is amazing and chairs whisk you up the hill rapidly, maximizing downhill time, but something is lost in that evolution. Regardless, I managed to have one of my best Sugarbush days ever, discovering some great woods that I had never found before. This is one recent development in skiing that I have been very impressed with: resorts’ willingness to open up their woods and allow skiers to take their own risks. Terrain parks have also been an example of increasing risk of bodily harm at skier’s discretion. It is a dangerous sport (which is why I just purchased my first helmet) and people are injured and even DIE recreating this way but, and perhaps it is for precisely that reason, it is my absolute favorite day-long activity and I enjoy doing it on any mountain.

I love this. They have had some issues to be sure with uncooperative weather and malfuctioning zambonis and torch hydraulics and DEATH! But when it happens, it is some of the most beautiful expressions and extreme limits of the human body imaginable. In competition, emotions run the gamut from highest highs to lowest lows and in the Olympics, they are telescoped to planetary proportions. Two of my favorite events are the Downhill and the Halfpipe and yesterday had both, with Americans Lindsey Vonn and Julia Mancuso – both stunningly beautiful ladies! – winning gold and silver and Shaun White proving once again that he is light-years higher and better than his competition while inventing and mastering new tricks at warp speed. Incredible. But wait, there’s more… Speed Skating, where Shani Davis, who four years ago became the first African-American to win a medal in the Winter Olympics (Think about that!), defended his title in the 1000. When watching Short Track Speed-Skating, I find myself constantly leaning to the left as they make their turns; it is one of the most intense 4-way races on razor edges at ripping speed. Most of the games involve speed and danger. Not so much for curling, which is a hilariously slow, yet still highly engrossing, game of precision sweeping.
My other favorite competition, moguls, was held earlier in the week and produced an American winner in Norwich, Vermonter Hannah Kearney. Men’s moguls won Canada it’s first gold on home soil when Alex Bilodeau beat ex-Canadian Internet spam king Dale Begg-Smith with blazing speed and perfectly executed flips and revolutions and a heartwarming tale about a brother with Cerebral Palsy.
I am getting very itchy to strap on some skis, for which I will fortunately have to wait only until Saturday morning when we will be in the Green Mountains of Vermont. The last time I attempted an aerial maneuver – a simple helicopter – I broke a rib, so I’m probably done with doing it myself, but I love to watch these competitors make everything look so smooth and easy on the precipice of disaster.

But who am I kidding?

While my interest in professional football has been temporarily radically diminished, I know it will return eventually and my psychotic obsession with consuming everything Patriots will burn once more, but for now i just feel burnt… At Gillette Stadium with Dad and Bro, we witnessed what I feel can absolutely be considered the worst quarter of football ever played. Has there ever been another 15 minute period that included a first play 83 yard draw play TD, a third play strip sack followed by TD, 2 interceptions and 10 more points for a 24-0 slaughter? This from a team that went 8-0 at home this year. It was amazingly horrible and borderline scary, but I actually felt much better this game than than I did about last week’s game in which Mr. Welker tore his ACL and MCL. That was as bad a result from a game as you could ever have and I think it really blew the team apart. I’m not blaming Wes at all and his absence was more than covered by Julian Edelman, who actually stood out as the only guy who looked like he was there to play, but the grimness and fear that play produced at that stage of the season was too much to overcome.

But while football may be dead to me until August, The Celtics and Bruins still have a shot and pitchers and catchers report in one month… on and on and on.

Sometimes sports are so disgusting they make me physically ill just from watching it. I remember watching Joe Theismann’s leg shatter under Lawrence Taylor and feeling sick and scared at the violence of it. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain that he must have felt and I seriously hope I am never injured that badly. I have now seen enough destroyed knees in football (and I hope it is never worse than Willis McGahee) that I have become somewhat desensitized to the awkward leg angles that can occur when caught in the path of a powerful force. But Wes wasn’t even hit. He was just making a cut like he has probably done a million times in his lifetime and his knee just snapped! I have not been able to get it out of my mind since it happened two days ago and have actually been having nightmares about it. Of course, part of my dread comes simply from losing my favorite player on my favorite team on the eve of the playoffs but it is so much sadder than that. He looked devastated on the bench, screaming and crying into a towel; I don’t think it was from the physical pain but a deeper frustration knowing that he had played his last down for the season. His whole life has been devoted to competitive football and the pursuit of a championship; he has been an outstanding receiver but his help now will be as supportive fan. I hope he never forgets what he contributed this season and also never feels guilty in any way should the Patriots (somehow) not win the Superbowl…

Last season when Tom Brady’s knee was destroyed, it was Bernard Pollard making the hit. It was barely even a hit because Pollard was already on the ground, but it was still enough. On Sunday, Welker was making a cut to avoid the lunging Bernard Pollard. Pollard missed him completely, but it was still enough… This is the nature of football and I don’t believe Pollard should in any way feel responsible, but I never want to see him across the ball again.

Here is yet another example of a prominent public figure destroying himself with illicit sex. Usually it is a politician doing the nasty with someone inappropriate and they are outed, publicly shamed and forced into exile. Tiger is not a politician, but if golf were a government, he would be king and his self-imposed exile is deeply troubling. His actions are sad, pathetic and infuriating and while I believe he has a right to a private life, he has no right to cheat on his wife. As fans, we are also involved in a relationship with him and while we could never possibly be hurt in the same way as his wife, he has definitely done us wrong. Interestingly, although he would be sentenced to death in some cultures, he didn’t actually commit a crime in the U.S.A.; he just acted like a big jerk. It was stupid and selfish and he deserves to feel miserable about it but I also believe that if he accepts his mistakes and uses them as motivation to become a better person, he deserves a second chance and that our society will once again rally around his awesome athleticism. I hope to be inspired by Tiger once again…

I subject myself to sports because I like winning, but I have to accept that sometimes I lose. Some victories are sweeter than others and some losses are more bitter. Sunday’s Patriots game was among those all-time terrible losses that will live with me forever. Playing the undefeated Colts, The Pats took an early lead and held it until :20 seconds remained in the game… I could not sleep on Sunday night and since then the pain has lingered but subsided. True, it will never be as bad (I hope hope hope) as losing the 2007 Superbowl with :34 seconds left, but it was excruciating to watch them blow it in the final quarter. And then there was Bill. In one of the most unconventional play-calls ever, Belichick kept his offense on the field for 4th and 2 at their own 29 yard line, nursing a 6 point lead with 2 minutes remaining. Conventional wisdom has the team punting every time and bringing on their defense to stop the Colts, but Peyton and co. were on a roll, having scored touchdowns on 2 consecutive 80 yard drives in 2 minutes. So Coach went for the win right then and there, counting on his offense to gain 2 yards in one play rather than grant the Horseshoes 2 minutes to go 70+ yards. It was a stunning call and unfortunately did not work out as hoped, a completed pass tackled a foot shy of the finish line.
BB got HAMMERED in the media for that play, but I believe he made the right call. Not only that, but I love that he went for it and defied everyone’s expectations. I don’t know if there’s another coach who would do that (and to be fair, not many have an offense like the Pats) but Bill stands alone, making calculations completely independent of the textbook. He lost the gamble, but it was a risk either way and he chose what he believed to be the safer bet. If I were a football coach, I would like to be able to play like that, but the truth is I probably wouldn’t because people lose their jobs for taking football wisdom into their own heads. He will be eternally mocked, but also respected, for his unorthodox approach, not unlike my favorite character in literature, Howard Roark. I wish that events had transpired differently on that play and that I had slept well that night, but what happened happened, the team suffered a crucial loss and stirred up a controversy, yet I can’t help but love my team for playing to win, rather than just playing not to lose.

The past 3 days have been jam packed with goodness. There was a flood of Taylors into the city for the action, which began with The Brooklyn Museum show (see below) on Thursday night. Friday was my show at Monkeytown, which was a great experiment in the unique venue and hopefully the first of more evenings there. Saturday was Halloween, which has to be my favorite holiday for the fun and zaniness that defines the night. While I used to love it because of the booty stash I collected and hoarded for months, I now just love a good reason to dress wacky and I am always inspired by the creativity on display throughout the city.
Sunday was the 40th running of the New York City Marathon and I was inspired by all of the 40,000 people who ran the 26.2 miles through the five boroughs, but I was especially inspired by my sister, who ran her first marathon and looked great doing it. Mom, Dad and I saw her at three points, at mile 7 in Brooklyn, mile 16 just over the Queensboro bridge and mile 26 in Central Park. I was amazed at the spring in her step and smile on her face every time she passed us, and while running has never been an activity I enjoy, I could understand the excitement and satisfaction she must have felt in completing the course. It is always an extraordinary day in the city and I love cheering on strangers in their personal quests, but this race was extra special; I am extremely proud of my sister and her strides of glory!