ESPN Los Angeles reports that Chauncey Billups, Man of Troy, wounded Achilles, mightiest of all Greek warriors, in a battle during the Second Trojan War last night in Orlando, Florida…
Experts in Detroit, Denver, and New York wondered whether Billups had finally earned his nickname, Mr. Big Shot…
Oh.
I’m taking ALDland in a different direction here this evening, just stick with me…
You know that feeling when you go through a break up? You wake up the next morning. You feel tired despite hours of sleep. You check your phone hoping for a text that will make you realize that what happened the night before hadn’t really happened; it was just a bad dream. You drag yourself out of bed, and put on the clothes that make you feel the most comfortable and secure (sweat material, a big scarf, and a glamorous pair of sunglasses are always in the mix). You tell yourself it will be ok, and haltingly pull yourself together and get out the door. You go to your favorite coffeshop, in hopes that a cup of your favorite dark roast will wake you up and make you productive once more. But as you sit, trying to avoid songs that inspire memories, occasionally accidentally stumbling upon photos, you get flashes of sadness and hurt, maybe even an occasional tear. You rehash everything, and think to yourself, “If only we had done ____ differently, things would be so different.” You sigh deeply, and your friend walks in and says, “You look…..sad.” You drop your head on the table in a way that you think Carrie Bradshaw did once, and make some absurd sound and make the conjecture that you’re likely doomed to a lonely future of multiple cats and maybe some Golden Girl-esque roommates. The whole day passes by in a woosh of general malaise. Oh that doesn’t happen to you? Yeah, me neither…
This is how the day has passed. The low level nausea, the sadness, the strange groans. However, this time, it wasn’t attributable to a relationship gone south, but rather the demise of my beloved Patriots. Three plays. Had three plays turned out differently, I think it would have been the Pats to win; however, as it played out, the right team won and my heart is a little broken. For the next million years, I will shield my eyes from the butt slide seen round the world. I’m grieving this as I do any break up, with a few glasses of wine, some retail therapy, and bad reality television (seriously, y’all, that Alicia Keyes back up singer can SING, right?). Pretty soon, it will be onto Phase 2: my favorite outfit, hottest heels, and a little extra swagger with which to confront those who offer you a sympathy, “Oh, I’m so…sorry?” Yep, I will mourn and I will move on. I will always have love in my heart for the 2011 squad though.
The good news is: pitchers and catchers is so so soon. AND we got a Beckham commercial and TWO Tim Riggins sightings, so the night wasn’t a total wash. Oh, and I got a solid chuckle when my dad called in earnest at halftime to ask me if Vince Wilfork was on stage with Madonna (granted, this is the same man who asked me after last year’s Grammy’s who was on stage with “Christina Pullthrough”–yep, that’s right, Gwyneth Paltrow.) In the end, it’ll be ok, but I am secretly hoping that this break up with the 2011 season comes with a bit of a break-up diet too.
Winner: The New York Giants. They scored first, with a technical safety on the Patriots’ opening drive, when Tom Brady stood in his own end zone and intentionally grounded the ball, and they scored last, when Ahmad Bradshaw carried a little more momentum than he probably expected on a largely undefended running play, to beat New England 21-17.
Loser: The New England Patriots. Despite going down 9-0 early in the game, they took a lead into halftime, thanks for a field-traversing drive on which Tom Brady was 10-10 in passing. The Pats suddenly looked like their old, domineering, mechanistic, enemy-vaporizing selves. And they got the ball to start the second half! I sent a text message to Bdoyk at halftime: “Tide has turned.” Her response: “Don’t say that.” To the hyperstitious greater Massachusetts sports community, I’m sorry if that in-game prediction of victory caused your players to develop stone hands on the final drive. Keep reading…
Old news by this point, but the announcement came on Wednesday that Floyd Mayweather’s May 5 opponent would be Miguel Cotto, not Manny Pacquiao, as some had hoped and anticipated. Mayweather had been making public (twitter) and private (telephone) ovations to Pacquiao this year (a bit of a role reversal, at least as far as casual public perception was concerned), but the fight of the century will not come to pass, at least as far as 2012 is concerned. Reports have been sketchy as to why the top two fighters won’t be in the ring together in Las Vegas on 5/5/12, some briefly mentioning “an impasse in talks.” while others suggesting there was a lack of agreement over how to divide the pay-per-view money. Mayweather made his own view of the situation known:
My interpretation of the apparent lack of media probing into the breakdown in talks is that it is evidence of the changing perception of the two fighters toward a more positive view of Mayweather.
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Four rounds with Floyd Mayweather and Victor Ortiz
I am not much for cover bands, and tribute bands, I think, are even worse. The former are, at best, live-action human jukeboxes, and the latter present, to me, such an existential block that I can barely hear the music when I’ve found myself in their presence. I realize, though, that there is mounting evidence that I am a music snob, which is why I am happy to report the following:
Last week, a group of top young musicians from across the state came together to present a one-off tribute performance of Fleetwood Mac’s multi-platinum album, Rumours. In short, it was fantastic. The players were in full costume and persona, and they performed the album, as well as an encore of hits from the band’s other albums, extremely well. There really was a special feeling about the night, a fundraiser for the 100-year-old Wealthy Theatre, which served as the venue.
Because I’m planning to enjoy my vinyl copy over the weekend, I’m not going to feature a Rumours track in this space this week. Fleetwood Mac has a large catalogue and a long history, and many fans of their Stevie Nicks-era hits might not realize that the band went through a number of substantial changes in its history. The easiest way to think about it is as two different groups: first, a guitar-driven British blues group, and then second, as the vocal-driven pop act better known to FM stations today. The band’s founder, namesake, and drummer was Mick Fleetwood, and he and erstwhile bassist John McVie decamped from John Mayall’s legendary Bluesbreakers to form the steadfast rhythm section of Fleetwood Mac. They were fronted by what became a three-guitar attack of legendary players– Peter Green (writer of such songs as “Black Magic Woman”), Jeremy Spencer, and Danny Kirwan– all of whom eventually went mad, triggering the band’s first decline. Before that point, though, they were ripping the classics:
“I’m super bummed not to be going to Indianapolis this weekend.”
But seriously. I am. At the conclusion of highstepping through the middle of my local watering hole, celebrating the shank heard ’round the world, I high-5ed my New England brethren and we declared, “We’re going to Indy!” Our hopes were shattered, however, when a Kayak search yielded $500 rooms at the Days Inn. Therefore, you’ll find us at a local duplex, unbothered by non-Patriots fans. A modern day foxhole of gametime anxiety and unfettered love for TB12.
As the youngest of 8 kids, my dad instilled a love for Boston sports early and often. However, his one true love are the New England Patriots and I have to say that I think I agree. I spent many Sundays in my younger years watching the atrocious squad get devastated over and over and over again. Then, something awesome happened. They got great (and I got accused of being a new, bandwagon fan. I mean, my favorite player used to be Tom Tupa, so…there’s that.). It’s been a good ride, and I’m so so so so so excited to be heading to SB46. However, the last 10 days have been brutal. The Ravens victory locked up, I immediately turned my attention to how nervous I was for this game. I’m talking about literal nerves. Can’t sit still, can’t focus, feel a little grab in my chest every time I breathe, nerves. You see, I haven’t quite recovered from the last postseason match up of these two squads. I consider it to be the Voldemort of Superbowls. After the Balitimore game, I got the following email from my former (Boston loving) roommate, with whom I watched the disaster unfold (from our friend, Luke’s, apartment in NYC):
fyi – under no circumstance should you and I watch this Pats/Giants Super Bowl game together….and you should prob tell Luke not to have people over to his apt for a watching party…and none of us should spontaneously move back to NYC in the next two weeks.
I feel better getting that off my chest.
Go Pats.
I laughed. Seriously though…I will be sure that none of those things happen.
Every time I sit down at my computer and prepare to do work, , I think to myself, let me just check my Twitter feed one more time…it’s a time sucking cycle that’s led to infinite articles, Spotify playlists, image galleries, video clips, etc etc. I just cannot wait. I love this team. It’s hard not to (yeah, yeah, I know a ton of you disagree). Even the stars started as down on their luck guys with a chip on their shoulders and something to prove. I really, really hope that they prove it on Sunday. In the meantime…..eeeeeeeeks.
Upon changing my calendar this morning, I was greeted by the above image, which is the cover of the official football program for the 1947 meeting between Ole Miss and Vanderbilt. According to Rivals, Vandy won the game 10-6 and finished that season with a 6-4 record, going 3-3 in the SEC. Not a bad year for them, and, for us, not a bad Groundhog Day.
Early this afternoon, new Deadspin Editor Tommy Craggs posted an exclusive, leaked copy of the plans for a new football league, to be called the Spring Professional Football League, which would begin in 2013.
According to its own forecasts, the SPFL, whose management includes a number of former XFL and NFL Europe executives, will debut in 2013 with eight teams playing a 14- to 16-week season. The summary lists the cities under consideration as New York, Washington, Memphis, Orlando, Charlotte, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Denver, Dallas, Phoenix, Houston, Los Angeles, and Seattle. Teams would be centrally owned by the league, a la Major League Soccer.
The league is pitching itself as one that would not be a direct competitor to the NFL by declining to compete for time or players.
For anyone who loves postmodern establishment framework-busting, that premodern time when there were biologically different types of humans cruising around the Earth simultaneously, or who has admitted to playing fantasy XFL, this is thrilling news.
While Craggs’ Deadspin piece, linked above, includes some downers from “sports economists” like “this is XFL redux without the pizzazz and the McMahon baggage, but with all of the other flaws,” the fact that SPFL’s “director of cheerleading, Jay Howarth, was in charge of XFL cheerleading” should be news enough for any fence-sitters to jump on the SPFL train.
Last night was my first chance this season to watch a lot of college basketball, which was especially convenient because both Michigan State and Vanderbilt were playing in back-to-back nationally televised games. Both games were in-conference and on the road. In both cases, the visiting team was considered the better team, and in both cases, the visiting team lost in disappointing fashion. In Champaign, the Illini were barely able to take advantage of brutal shooting by the Spartans and extended absences by Draymond Green, stumbling into a 42-41 W. In Fayetteville, the Razorbacks out-rebounded the ‘Dores and largely played mistake-free basketball, which is a pretty solid formula for winning at home, which they did, 82-74. I also caught part of UT-UK and Clemson-Virginia. The message of the former was “youth,” and the message of the latter was “I did not watch enough to form any meaningful impression of either team.” 
If you think this post has been slim on analysis so far, consider the above graphic. (HT: Deadspin)
Herm Edwards, NFL analyst for ESPN, told ESPN Radio’s Hill & Schlereth last night that after he was a member of the Philadelphia Eagles team that lost Super Bowl XV in 1981, he didn’t watch another Super Bowl until ESPN hired him in 2009, just in time for Super Bowl XLIII.
ALDLAND 
