Why a Sports League Commissioner Should Run the DNC

Please indulge me in a little sports analogy.

Two sports teams -- let's call them Team O and Team C -- agree to play a couple of exhibition games against each other before the regular season. Team C wins both games, which isn't a big surprise because C is expected by many to win its conference and play for the championship. In fact, Team C wins the first game by forfeit when Team O doesn't even show up.

The regular season starts, and as is so often the case in sports something unexpected happens. Team O gradually builds a slight lead over Team C in the standings.

The end of the season eventually draws near and Team O continues to hold its thin advantage. Team C is running out of time to catch Team O and make the championship round. Suddenly an unprecedented suggestion comes from the hosts of the two exhibition games -- they want to make those two preseason contests count.

Team C loves the idea. Team O not so much. It wouldn't make up all the ground between the two teams, but it would narrow the gap and give C at least a slim chance of ending up on top.

Sounds crazy, right? Well, as far as I can tell that's pretty much exactly the scenario we have with the Democratic primaries in Florida and Michigan.

The voters in both primaries knew going in that THEIR VOTES WOULDN'T COUNT. The political equivalent of exhibition games. Obama's name wasn't even on the ballot in Michigan, because he and four other Democratic candidates decided to take them off to show support for the DNC's ruling.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to Denver. The race for the Democratic presidential nomination got really, really tight and it became clear that literally every delegate was probably going to matter. In March the respective governors of Michigan and Florida asked the Democratic National Committee to seat theirs. And after a couple of months of wrangling and rhetoric the DNC decided today to do just that, but only give each delegate a half-vote.

I suppose this sort of compromise was inevitable and necessary. If the DNC had stuck to its guns, the Republicans would undoubtedly have used that in November to imply that the Democrats don't care about the fine people of those fine states. I'll be shocked if they still don't try to use this in some fashion.

But seriously, can you imagine David Stern handling this in a similar fashion in the NBA? He would have moved Florida's state convention to Oklahoma City after they pulled their little stunt. How about Roger Goodell in the NFL? Michigan governor Jennifer Granholm would still be on indefinite suspension. Bud Selig may be the only one who thinks this makes sense, given the ludicrous decision to bestow home-field advantage in the World Series to the league that wins the All-Star Game.

So don't feel bad if you prefer following sports to politics. At least in sports, everybody understands the rules (with the possible exception of Bill Belichick) and nobody expects them to change while the contest is still going on.

I'll bet Team M is enjoying its rest while this drags out, too.

But Could It Make "We Built This City" Sound Good?

The Internet can be quite a double-edged sword sometimes. Anyone who thinks of something clever or interesting can share it with the rest of the world as long as they have a computer and an internet connection. Blogs are the trendiest manifestation of that. On the other hand, once you have that clever/interesting thought a quick online search will often reveal that the thought is far from original. Other people have already had it, researched it more thoroughly, articulated it better and turned it into a t-shirt.

Such was the case with the topic I wanted to blog about tonight -- my belief that nearly every ska cover version of a song sounds better than the original. I've still got a CD I burned with a bunch of such tunes that I got off of Napster back before Metallica decided we couldn't do that sort of thing. But before I started my post I did a quick Google search and had all the air taken out of my balloon -- some other guy named Timothy Sexton had done a post on the EXACT same topic on Associated Content almost a year and a half ago.

Here's where it becomes good not to jump to conclusions. I read his piece and found that while his reasoning why ska covers are typically so good is similar enough to mine that I'm just going to link to it for you to read what he had to say and not re-invent that wheel, his list only had two songs that I intended to put on my own list.

So, we'll just take this as an example of what academic types might call the internet's power to facilitate non-real-time collaboration that mutually benefits all contributors in a symbiotic fashion, and move on to MY list in no particular order:

Tears of a Clown - The English Beat
My vote for the best ska cover ever, the song exemplifies ska's remarkable ability to make ANY subject matter sound happy. Dave Wakeling still puts on a good show, even if he's put on a few pounds over the years and he's the only original member still touring.

99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger
Ska purists (if such a thing exists) might argue this inclusion since Goldfinger is considered more of a punk band by many. They've never had a horn section to my knowledge, but since a lot of their songs emphasive the offbeat rather than the downbeat I've always considered them ska-ish. Whatever you call it, this cover has the sort of naked aggression you'd expect from a song about nuclear armageddon.

Hold Back the Rain - Buck-O-Nine
I never understood why these guys weren't as popular as some of their third wave counterparts. This is a pretty straightforward effort on a fairly obscure Duran Duran song. Well, straightforward until you get to the call-and-response section reminiscent of Cab Calloway. Those rascals even cuss in the middle! Ska bands can get away with anything...

I Think I Love You - Less Than Jake
One of my agreements with Sexton's list. Less Than Jake loves them some covers -- I've heard them do White Lion's Wait live and they have THREE on their 1995 Losers, Kings, and Things We Don't Understand CD (Tommy Tutone's 867-5309 and the theme songs from Dukes of Hazzard and Laverne and Shirley). This Partridge Family remake shows off the versatility of the band's horn section from the ominous opening to the Vaudeville-esque bridge.

The Freshman - Mustard Plug
The Verve Pipe original sounds like something the kids who smoked cloves and read Kafka in college would listen to. Mustard Plug's version starts similarly, but in typical ska fashion soon builds in volume and tempo to the sort of tune the rest of us who drank cheap beer and read the Sunday comics could better relate to.

Brown Eyed Girl - Reel Big Fish
Sexton had Reel Big Fish on his list, but chose to go with their version of The Cure's Boys Don't Cry. I prefer their take on the Van Morrison classic. Another bait-and-switch slow opening followed by two minutes of upbeat skanking goodness. They also do a great rendition of A-Ha's Take on Me.

Come On Eileen - Save Ferris
Almost TOO perfect -- the prominent horns, the jangly guitar, the wacky video. The other song Sexton and I agree on, though I really considered going with their edgier version of Build Me Up Buttercup instead. In the end, Come On Eileen was just too darn fun to leave off.

Charlie Brown - Voodoo Glow Skulls
This great cover takes the opposite approach of some of the others on the list, with a manic first minute that then slows down with a rocksteady interlude in the middle. I saw these guys open up for the Mighty Mighty Bosstones back in the mid-'90s and what I remember most about them is that they had a big bald dude for a lead singer who was completely nuts.

It's Not Unusual - Five Iron Frenzy
A gem from a little-known Christian ska band from right here in Denver, and quite possibly the only band in that particular musical niche ever. I saw these guys back in 1998 on the Ska Against Racism tour with The Toasters and the aforementioned Less Than Jake and Mustard Plug, and I thought they were tremendous. This tune is on their live 1999 Proof That The Youth Are Revolting CD. It's fairly true to the original, retaining the requisite campiness while really emphasizing the horns.

Even if you're not a ska fan, I encourage you to check these out. Guaranteed to get your toes tapping, or I'll refund your full subscription price to this blog!

It's Not Like It's a Planet Any More Anyway

Taryn and Zak didn't really bond with each other until about a year ago. When they played together before then, they didn't really play "together." They just kind of played in the same area. Even when they were playing with the same stuff, they were more like two planets circling the same sun but whose orbits never actually crossed.

But eventually they did start to do things that involved actual communication and cooperation. Still, it's funny how different their respective frames of reference can be sometimes.

For instance, they went through a phase where they would both head straight for the swings when we went to the little playground in our neighborhood. They'd get on swings right next to each other, and once they got to swinging high enough they'd take turns kicking off their shoes to see how far they'd go.

One day Zak kicked one of his off first, and as it sailed through the air he hollered, "I can kick my shoe past the moon!"

He then kicked off his other shoe, which traveled past where the first had landed. He yelled gleefully, "I can go past PLUTO!"

Taryn thought this new addition to the game was great fun. Not to be outdone, she sent one of her little shoes flying and shouted, "I can go past DONALD!"

I guess the Disney people are just doing a better job branding to four-year-old girls than the astronomy folks.

What's Up With the Shirt?

As a kid in upstate New York in the late '70s, you were pretty much a free agent when it came to forming your sports allegiances. A three-hour drive from Boston, three hours from New York City and 4 1/2 from Buffalo. There was no real "home team" so my pro sports affiliations were mostly influenced by my parents, but in inconsistent ways.

For example, my mom was a Bruins fan and a Red Sox fan, so I was, too. But something weird happened with football and basketball. My dad liked the Steelers, my mom liked the Giants, so I chose to cheer for...the Cowboys. It probably didn't hurt that they were always on TV, and that their cheerleaders were on The Love Boat.

My mom didn't care much about basketball, but my dad rooted for the Celtics. So I became a 76ers fan. I'm sure a therapist could have a field day with all of this stuff, but for now let's just accept that it is what it is.

The Celtics got the best of the Sixers more often than not, but that was all right by me. They had their one shining moment in 1983. I even won a dollar betting Sheila Kleinmann that Philly would beat the Lakers in the NBA Finals that year. The little snot paid me with a Ziploc bag filled with 100 pennies, but I still got mine.

I really hated those '80s Celtics teams. That little punk Danny Ainge. Kevin McHale, some weird mix of Alan Alda and Frankenstein. Dennis Johnson and his freckles (God rest his soul). Robert Parish, even scrubs like Scott Wedman and Greg Kite. And of course, Larry Bird. Man, he bugged me -- the mullet, the total disdain for anything remotely athletic, and the fact that he was really, really, really good. I rooted for the Lakers to beat them when they met in the Finals, and the Pistons to beat the last remnants of that team when they met in the playoffs in the latter part of the decade.

I've held on to some of my old sports animosities. Even though I live in Denver, I don't like the Avalanche in part because they used to be the Bruins' old rival, the Quebec Nordiques. And because Patrick Roy was their goalie when we moved here and they acquired him from the Bruins' other rival, the Montreal Canadiens. And I think I'll always have a special place of loathing in my heart for the Yankees. But over the years I've softened on the Celtics.

Maybe it's because they became pretty bad and irrelevant for a while, and it's not as much fun to root against a team when they stink. Maybe Jerry Seinfeld was right that with free agency resulting in so much player movement, at the end of the day you're just rooting for laundry. Maybe it's because since my dad passed away back in 1998 I haven't had a Celtics fan to debate with and keep a degree of personal competition afloat. But once again, it is what it is.

Here's the real twist in this story -- I'm absolutely rooting for the Celtics to not only beat the Pistons tonight, but to win the NBA Championship. And I think the single biggest reason for that is the addition of Kevin Garnett.

Garnett's always been an appealing personality to me since he did his ESPN The Magazine and Nike commercials in his early years in the league. I like his nickname, "The Big Ticket." I like his intensity on the court -- ESPN writer Bill Simmons actually refers to him (affectionately, I believe) as TCIKG for "The Completely Insane Kevin Garnett." And I think for most casual fans, he's put himself into the category of "athletes you'd like to see win a championship before they retire." The sports media tend to like those types of stories -- see Jerome Bettis with the Steelers a few years ago.

Now, I'll admit I'm starting to get a little oversaturated by all the hype around "The Big Three" of Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen. Overexposure could result in a backlash (David Beckham, anyone?). And don't get me started on how the NBA completely ripped off their "There can only be one" playoff ad campaign from Highlander. But for now I'll keep pulling for the C's.

Well, for Kevin Garnett anyway. Danny Ainge is now the Celtics general manager, and he's still a little punk.

Maybe sports hostility never completely dies after all...

UPDATE: Garnett scored 33 points -- his most in this year's playoffs -- and hit a pair of free throws in the closing seconds to put the game out of reach in Boston's 106-102 win last night. I'm officially declaring being featured in this blog the anti-SI Cover Jinx.

Memorable Concert Experiences: Newport Jazz Festival 1989

I really enjoy going to concerts. Big venues or small venues, indoors or outdoors, alone or with others it doesn't much matter.

I've had some pretty neat experiences at shows, so from time to time I'll share some of those stories (read: when I can't think of anything else to write about). Here's the first:

I went to the Newport Jazz Festival (now known as the JVC Jazz Festival) at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center back in the summer of 1989 with my friend Bill Bichteman. We were pretty much only friends for that one summer. He and I were both performing in a community theater production of 42nd Street. Bill played the lead, Julian Marsh, and I played Andy the choreographer. But my musical theater "career" is a subject for another time.

Back to the jazz festival -- the lineup that year for the two-day event was tremendous. Ray Charles, David Sanborn, Wynton Marsalis, Illinois Jacquet and the Yellowjackets highlighted the first day. Grover Washington Jr., Spyro Gyra, Diane Schuur, Dave Brubeck and Branford Marsalis were some of the big names on day two. But the act Bill was most interested in was B.B. King. Not what you might expect from a skinny, pale musical theater kid, but Bill was a HUGE B.B. King fan. So even though we had lawn seats, when King's set began we had somehow clawed our way right up to the front of the stage.

I enjoyed the set, but Bill REALLY enjoyed the set. The guy knew the words to every song and sang right along. King must have noticed this, because when his set was done he came right over and handed Bill his guitar pick.

Needless to say, Bill was ecstatic. And if the story ended there it would be cool enough. But there's more.

King came back on for an encore. And when it was over Bill was waving something in the air trying to get his attention. King looked over with a puzzled expression on his face. Then he broke into a smile almost as big as Bill's, came over and took what Bill was waving and left the stage again.

You see, Bill was also a guitar player himself. And either thanks to dumb luck or because it's just something guitar players do, he had one of his own picks in his wallet. So he didn't just get B.B. King's guitar pick, he TRADED picks with him.

I don't remember much else about the show, and I doubt Bill does either. But I'll never forget the smile on Bill's face, or the moment he shared with a legend.

Stuff and Nonsense

I saw a commercial today for something called Space Bag. It's intended to store fabric items like clothes, towels, and so on. You've probably seen it or something like it before -- basically a plastic bag with a special place to attach a vacuum and suck out all the air. The end result is that the bag and everything in it are much smaller than they would be otherwise.

Sounds great, right? I suppose so...unless you actually need to get to something in the bag. Then you have to first figure out which bag your item is in -- potentially no easy feat if you have several of them since most of the items inside may be tricky to identify when they're flat as a pancake. Assuming you find the right bag you still have to rummage through it to find the specific item, pulling out other nicely deflated things in the process. And of course, now that the bag and items have been re-infected with nasty, bulky air you've got to get the vacuum back out and re-deflate the bag again.

So maybe you don't necessarily use it for things you need to get to regularly. Stuff like seasonal clothing, for instance, might be more appropriate. And once it's all been nicely Space-Bagged you'll have all kinds of extra space for...well, for what, exactly? More stuff that's 75% air that you don't need to get to very frequently?

I'm not going to go on some sort of major anti-consumerism rant here. After all, I've still got plenty of my old baseball cards, comic books and other junk. I've owned a storage unit in the past. And I'm currently playing landlord to several boxes that have literally not budged from where we put them in our garage when we moved into this house four years ago. But good grief, even I have my limits.

One thing I DO know. The Space Bag people should have hired George Carlin as a spokesperson by now.

Who Writes This Kid's Material?

I'm planning to take the kids on a short hike tomorrow morning so Danelle can sleep in. I've been taking Zak for a couple of years and Taryn's been bugging me to come along sometime. So even though she's younger now (4 1/2 -- she's very insistent on including the "half" part) than Zak was when I first took him (5), I'm going to give her a shot tomorrow. Nowhere too strenuous -- probably something like Bear Creek Lake, Deer Creek Canyon or Roxborough.

One of the first places I took Zak was Matthews/Winters Park in Morrison. It's where Red Rocks Amphitheatre is. You get some really spectacular views to the east once you get high enough to see over the hogback.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I must have been feeling especially spiritual. As I looked out over the vista I said, "Do you see all this, Zak? God made all this!"

There was a pause, and then a little voice behind me muttered, "He sure made it hard to climb."

I've left most of the religious commentary to his Sunday School teachers since then.