Snap Judgment: Carlos Boozer

Somebody is lying to us. Carlos Boozer is telling anyone, outside of Utah, who will listen that the Jazz say he no longer fits in their plans and they have “mutually agreed” to part ways via a trade. Kevin O’Connor says that no such conversation took place and they expect Boozer to live up to his contract. So who is telling the truth? My money is on Carlos as the liar. Ask Cleveland. Even if his wink, wink deal with the Cavs was technically illegal he still stabbed a benevolent blind guy in the back. I suppose the Jazz should have known that if you’re going to play with a snake you might get bit or, as they say in the Lower 48, if you’re going to play with an Alaskan, he might quit on you to pursue a bigger job while still in your employ.

What do the Jazz do from here? All indications are that they are actively pursuing a trade. Boozer’s expiring contract is valuable to teams looking to pick up cap room for the huge free agent class of next year. I propose that the Jazz hold on to that expiring contract. Remind him that HE CHOSE TO OPT-IN. He had every opportunity to leave. He can even see Chicago and Miami from his house. Punish him for his quasi adulterous flirtations with Chicago and Miami. Now, for the punishment: make him inactive for every single game next year. Destroy his value on the open market. Teams want to see what kind of season he can have if he’s healthy. Don’t give him that opportunity. Show them what they’d really be getting if they sign him: a tall, bald guy in an expensive suit to sit behind the bench for every game. That’s exactly what he’s given the Jazz.

5 Steps to Living Out Your Childhood Fantasies through Non-competitive Slowpitch Softball

Whether it be dreams of jumping through the Mushroom Kingdom, breaking bricks and taking names to save the princess, or crane-kicking in the face of a schoolyard bully, or hitting a game-winning grand slam in the bottom of the ninth of the seventh game of the World Series with two outs and a full count, childhood fantasies find a way to fall by the wayside of the road to responsibility. However, by forgetting those dreams, we also forget the hope of our heroic potential. Well, that is until non-competitive slowpitch softball enters the picture. Through slowpitch softball we can all live out our unfulfilled fantasies. Here's how:

Step 1: Take your juvenile dreams for what they are: serious goals.
The biggest mistake you can make in preparation for your heroic triumph is treating your bottom-of-the-ninth reverie as child's play. You had those daydreams for a reason, to provide a well thought out map of your life. People will say that you are taking your rec league softball team, Hell's Balls, too seriously. Those people are wrong. In fact, a lot of people are wrong about you. Don't listen to those people.
Stop going to anger management ("court-mandated" is nothing more than a lilly-white liberal buzzword). Flush the anti-psychotics. Psychotic is just another word for competitive. Reduce your work hours. Eliminate anything that stands between you and your childhood dreams, uh, sorry...goals.

(Sorry, wrong kind of train.)

Step 2: Train.
Remember the number one rule of slowpitch softball training: it's not how much you can bench, it's how much you say you can bench. You can bench 315. Adding muscle mass is nearly equivalent to adding what I call "simple mass." Simple mass differs from muscle mass only in that it requires little to no actual physical exertion and in that it comes with as many buffalo wings as you can eat (a lot).
Also, the best training facilities are the ones that not only house batting cages but also water slides and a corn dog vendor.

Step 3: Pay to win.
If you are unwilling to invest in your youthful fantasies/goals, step away now. If you expect the best, you will have to pay for the best. If that means $500 on an Easton Ballcrusher bat with the lastest Tritium 3 Ultraflex hitting technology or $300 on matching custom uniforms then so be it. Just like you have to spend money to make money, in slowpitch you have to spend money to win a $7 t-shirt and a dime store trophy.

Step 4: Pinstripes.
Pinstripes are the straightest path to goal fulfillment. And this is about simple solutions, not hard-earned life affirming moments. Haven't all the greatest teams worn pinstripes? The Yankees, the Phillies, the Cubs (forget that one actually), all wear pinstripes. Then so does Hell's Balls.

Step 5: Team manager's are like softball life coaches.
Do you know where you're going in life? Do you have any idea how you can achieve true happiness and fulfillment? No, that's why you have a life coach. You like how your life coach has the same level of education as you. That's why they're qualified to coach your life, because they are like you. The same goes in slowpitch softball.
You don't really know what comes after first base, or how many outs are in the first inning. You need a manager, call him a "game coach," the fat guy who works in your plant who blew out his knee so he can't play is always available. Who else besides a manager will be able to provide such in-game inspirational gems as "Way to watch it," or "Make him pitch to you," or "Be a hitter?" He will guide you through thrice weekly practices on how to achieve supreme softball sublimity. Listen to him. Oh, and maybe get a hitting coach too.

You are now ready to live out what your five-year-old self always dreamed you could do. After years of hating yourself for lack of focus and a growing paunch, you can now see yourself for what you are: a portly, mean fighting machine.
Now go show Scared Hitless that the only mercy in slowpitch is the mercy rule.

Beg the Differ: The Jazz Pick Eric Maynor

(Beg the Differ is a semi-regular column where we the editors debate what's what and stuff.)

me:So, what do you think about the Jazz pick?

Corban: Eh

me: (I'm not including the 2nd rounder.)

Corban: What can you do with the 20th pick?

me: I kind of liked the pick. Although, I think the fans at the draft party showed their ignorance by booing O'Connor.

5 minutes

Corban: What are you trying to say?

me: Did you boo?

Corban: I fully expected the Jazz to be able to trade up by sending Jarron Collins to the Clippers packaged with a second rounder for Blake Griffin.

me: Yeah, but I'm glad they drafted someone who seems like he will be a competent backup PG . . . and, of course, the second coming of John Stockton.

I may have overstated my approval a little too much.

Corban: Jazz fans booed John Stockton too.

me: I know

Corban: Sloan made comments last night that made it sound like Maynor would be the #3 PG.

Assuming they re-sign Price.

me: Yeah well, although Deron Williams was drafted to play the starter role, he played from the bench for a good part of his rookie season.

Maynor will be the same, except one position down.

Corban: We'll see if the Jazz even sign Price.

If not, they'll have to play Maynor, right?

me: Right, since Carlton won't be back.

Corban: I think Collins is gone too.

me: What? Not Jason! Nooooooo!!!!

Of course I mean Jaden.

Corban: No the short one.

me: Oh, Judah.

No, Jermaine?

Jojo?

Ah, screw it. He's kind of like Carlton too. He just doesn't look like him.

I bet he dances like him though.

Corban: You're not trying to say that all black people look alike are you?

me: No, but white people? I can't tell you people apart.

Corban: What do you mean, you people?

me: I mean, you people make me sick.

So is it time to wish complete and utter failure from the Knicks?

Corban: Yes.

me: (Not that I wasn't wishing it before.)

Corban: I hope they go into complete rebuilding mode this year.

Just clearing cap space and taking bad expiring contracts so they can make a run at Lebron next summer.

me: Who's their best player? Nate Robinson? David Lee? Charles Oakley?

I'm really not sure.

Corban: Me either.

me: Is Bernard King still on the team?

If not, someone should tell the Beastie Boys...

Corban: And David Lee is a restricted free agent so if he gets a big contract somewhere else they probably won't match.

me: He's white and he hustles, right?

Corban: yep

me: And Boozer will probably be playing in Detroit next season, right?

Corban: Chad Ford doesn't think that the Pistons will make Boozer an offer now.

He thinks that Boozer is probably not opting out.

me: Oh well, I guess I shouldn't be disappointed that our All-Star-ish power forward is staying.

Corban: Unless he misses 60 games again while keeping us on the brink of the luxury tax.

And I like Boozer as a player.

me: Why am I mildly excited about drafting a good backup point guard in the first round?

What's wrong with me?

Maybe I have a brain tumor.

Corban: For some reason, as Jazz fans, we have this fascination with the guy playing immediately behind our iconic PG.

It goes back as far as I can remember.

Which is Delaney Rudd.

me: Delaney Rudd is your first memory?

Corban: Of a Jazz backup point guard.

I remember that Ricky Green existed but I can't remember him playing.

me: Ricky Green can't even remember if he existed, so...

Oh, supposedly the Knicks traded Q. Richardson straight up for Darko.

I'm somewhat giddy about that.

(Josh's note: ESPN guys Chad Ford and Bill Simmons both liked the Maynor pick, so maybe my excitement is justified.)

Snap Judgment: R.I.P. Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson died today after a cardiac arrest. No matter what you think of the man, his music was legendary. Although I was a little late to the party, Dangerous provided the soundtrack to my pre-teen adolescence.
R.I.P. Mike.

Snap Judgment: AK-47 and the Bahamanian Beach Pig

What is wrong with this picture? Is it the Jazz forward on a jet ski (and he's not smiling)? Is it that Bill Simmons may be right and Kirilenko looks more and more like he really did kill Apollo Creed? Is it that he looks like he's trying to lure the animal onto his waverunner? Is it that Bahamanian Beach Pig sounds like a Bond villain's henchman?
No.
It's that I now know that a Bahamanian beach pig has it better than I do.

(via KUTV)

For your listening pleasure while you contemplate Bahamanian beach bacon:

Snap Judgment: The Zack Attack is Back!

Commitment. That's Mark Paul-Gosselaar's middle name. (And you thought he had too many names is it was. Ah, to be so innocent.) Last night he came back as Zack Morris on Jimmy Fallon's show. And Zack doesn't look like he has aged a bit, sure he's more orangey, but he looks about the same. Weird. Watch the segment below to get an update on what the gang's up to.

You're Doing It Wrong: 7 Rules for Avoiding Being a Slow Pitch Softball Tool

Dear Diary,
I'm not sure if the "No Crying in Baseball" rule transfers to slow pitch softball, but if it does I just broke it. 21-0, the scoreboard was laughing at me. I felt used. I felt hurt. And I can't feel my knees from playing catcher. . .

. . . Of course I'm kidding about the crying thing, but I am sick of playing softball teams full of too serious players more concerned about reliving (or living) past athletic glory than having fun in city-run, non-competive slow pitch league. I'm not talking about the competitive leagues out there because the style of play is right there in the description; I'm just talking about the low-key, beer league type games.

Just to establish my authority here: I'm an overweight, underathletic bookworm whose on-field impotence makes little girls giggle. Therefore, I'm the perfect observer. Just like in almost every other sport, the best coaches, the X's and O's guys, are rarely the best players. So, I assume that because I'm not one of the best players (read: my only hit in my first year of little league in first grade was called off because I threw the bat) my qualifications speak for themselves.

Now that my credentials are well established, on to the rules:

Rule #1: Full uniforms (by that I mean matching jerseys and pants) make you look douchey.
Slow pitch exists to give the workaday guys a night off. We just want to unwind with some casual play and snarky comments on everyone's casual play. If you show up looking like the Yankees from The Bad News Bears you lose. You may score 21 runs more than the other team, but you lose.

Addendum to Rule #1: The only acceptable matching attire are t-shirt style jerseys (short or three-quarter sleeves). Button up jerseys mean you're trying way too hard. Baseball pants say the same thing. Under no circumstances is it okay to cut off the sleeves of your jersey or wear a sleeveless jersey. Jeans are not acceptable. Take out your hoop and/or horseshoe earrings. If you have gauged ears, leave your disks in. No one wants to see you nasty, droopy lobes. And last but not least, the following numbers must never be worn (they are not cool, funny, or clever): 69, any fraction, triple digit numbers, and pi.

Rule #2: Walks are for girls.
The only time its okay to walk in slow pitch is if your only two options are to strike out or take a walk. It's okay to take a ball, at the beginning of the count (you do want to hit it after all), but if a ball's hittable later in the at bat, swing. No excuses. Now, if you are up by double digits and are still walking on close pitches, you should hold your head high because you just hit the high point in your petty life by getting to first for free.

Addendum to Rule #2: It is inappropriate for the third base coach to tell a batter to "wait for your pitch." In slow pitch softball "your pitch" is any pitch that you can reach without lunging.

Rule #3: If you can't laugh at your or your teammate's ineptitude, get a psychiatrist.

Do not base any of your self-esteem on softball performance, good or bad. Being an excellent softball player is equivalent to being great at Monopoly or Trivial pursuit: it's a small temporary boost to your ego, but as soon as the game is back in the box that pride has passed (or should have). Conversely, who cares if you're no good at board games?

Addendum to Rule #3: Always acknowledge an opposing player's hustle. And if you opponent acknowledge's your hustle you should not stare him down like Ivan Drago. Thank him for the recognition of your obvious effort (because you probably look like you can't breathe).

Rule #4: Do not argue in any way with the umpire.
Umpires in most leagues get paid crap. His job is to make things as fair as possible, nothing more. If he's inconsistent with strike calls, or plays in the infield, what does it matter? It's okay to speak civilly with the man to clarify one of his calls, but you should never argue with him. Generally, if you're nice to the ump, he will be nice (and relatively consistent) with you and your team.
There is one exception to this rule: if the umpire's ineptitude risks the safety of your team members. A few seasons ago my co-editor was advancing to third on a ball hit into shallow left when just before he reached the bag he was struck in the back of the head by the ball just thrown by the rover. He then crawled to the base before being tagged. He should have been called safe, given a bag of ice for the lump and forgotten about it, right? No, because the ump called him out. He later explained that he was out for interfering with the play. Because of his obvious misinterpretation of the interference rule risked the safety of my teammates, we complained to him, then when we realized our arguments fell on dumb ears, we complained to the league's administrators. (They said that he was already going to be fired after his contract expired because of similar stupidity.)

Addendum to Rule #4: Do not make comments to the umpire in the fifth inning about a call made in the second. For example, last night we actually made a decent play in the field where we were able to force a runner out at second after a single to right. The runner thought that he was safe and made a comment to that effect. Later in the game he was involved in another somewhat close play at third. His headfirst slide into third beat the throw and he was correctly called safe. He then made a comment to the umpire to the effect of "was I safe this time?" It sounded even more obnoxious in person than it does now.

Addendum to the addendum to Rule #4: Do not slide. It's slow pitch softball. The winner gets a t-shirt. This cannot be stressed enough: Never, ever slide headfirst. It's not the World Series, it's not even a little league game. If the throw beats you, resign yourself to being out. That's just how it works.

Rule #5: It's as much about the way you win as it is the way you lose.
With any time under your belt of sports fandom, you know exactly what a sore loser is. (Think of the followers of Latin American soccer teams.) Sore winners are equally hard to deal with. Do not stand, laughing, to cheer every run when you are up by more than ten. Do not stop with the smart alecky comments just because you're down by ten. Shake hands afterwards, no matter the outcome (sure, it's a little little-leaguey, but so what?). The way you win or lose will determine the type of relationship you have with the other teams-the better the relationship, the more fun we all have.

Addendum to Rule #5: If you are up by 15 or more runs, do not say "let's get some runs here" or "we need this one." Once you have reached the level where the mercy rule will come into effect the only acceptable things to say to an offensive player are "good job" and "nice hustle."

Rule #6: Friendly banter is required, but if it is not returned say nothing to the opposing team.
The problem with this rule is that if the other team doesn't respond to your playful cues (I am looking at you, team with full matching uniforms), you're all alone. However, even if that's the case, banter among teammates is just as important. The best thing about inter-team banter is that you can be much more bitingly and insultingly witty, because you should already be friends with those guys.

Addendum to Rule #6: Avoid the profanity. Usually these types of leagues are played at a park with families around. Nothing says uneducated like the f-bomb.

Rule #7: Don't rub it in. This rule is open to interpretation as to what constitutes rubbing it in. Here is my interpretation: If the team that you are beating by 15+ runs hits a routine fly to the outfield and the infielders then throw the ball around the horn before returning it to the pitcher, you are rubbing it in.

I've suffered many demoralizing defeats like last night's game, and I've given a few, but if your team can leave the game, heads tossed back in laughter, you are playing it right. We played it right last night.

Really Posted by: Josh and Corban

Jazz Now and Forever

Unlike my co-editor, my passion for the Jazz has not waned. It has grown.
Like my counterpart, I lived (Stockton sends the Jazz to the NBA Finals, The Pass) and died (Dick Bavetta waives off Howard Eisley's three and allows Ron Harper's three, Jordan's push off (sorry, no link, too painful)) through every game as if I actually was a member of the team. (A side note: How is Dick Bavetta still allowed to call games? I don't think he's corrupt, just incompetent.When you pull a stunt like racing Chuck during halftime you've become an act. Dick, retire. Enjoy your golden years. Take your wife to Greece, spend time with the grand kids. Stop pretending like you belong on the court.)

Some of the fondest memories of my adolescence are of the Jazz. Whether it is Stockton's three-quarter's court drive to beat Jordan in overtime at the old Salt Palace or watching the aforementioned Pass or listening to one of Hot Rod's catchphrases (with a gentle push and a mild arc...). They are all moments that hold great nostalgia for me.


My teenage years gave way to college and family. I've matured as a person and a fan. I no longer scream and yell and jump up and down during the games. Now I just yell. But the passion is still there. I try to watch all the games that I can. Those that I don't see live I watch on DVR.
I really watch because of my kids. I love that my 5 year-old has chosen a favorite player. She likes Mehmet Okur because he has a beard and once they showed his wife and daughter in the stands. My 3 year-old runs around during games and throws his little basketball at me and against the wall. He likes to wear his Jazz shirt to match his dad's during games. He even is starting to understand the game. He knows that it's good when the Jazz score and knows to boo anyone wearing yellow and purple. My wife even has a favorite Jazzman. She thinks that Matt Harpring is a very attractive man. Hey, whatever gets her watching the game, right?

The Jazz give me something to link my past to my present. That is why I still watch and care will continue to watch and care.

Goodbye Jazz

(The following post may upset my co-editor, but that hasn't stopped me before for posting. Just a warning.)

I can't say when it happened exactly, but I don't love the Jazz anymore. I really mean the NBA as a whole, but the Jazz are the only team I really ever cared about. This is not a break-up, it's more like a therapeutic come-to-Jesus session.
The Jazz are like Dave Matthews Band for me. (Hold on, this will make sense.) During junior high and high school Dave Matthews could do no wrong. From Under the Table and Dreaming to Before These Crowded Streets, DMB consumed my musical life. I would never go more than a few days without listening to one of their CDs. Yet, somewhere along the road I lost interest. Their music simply did not resonate. It wasn't bad, it just didn't stick. I'm not just talking about their new stuff, I'm talking about everything. Their only value in my life became exclusively nostalgic.
During my formative years (not that I'm completely formed or anything) the Jazz held most of my time, my passion and my brain power. The day after every game I'd pour over newspaper box scores and articles, always wanting more. My happiest moments, and my saddest moments during that time can be traced to the Jazz. The most sublime moment of my life, before graduation, was easily Stockton's shot (if you don't know what I'm talking about, here it is). My saddest moment was Jordan's superhuman performance to seal the Jazz's title hopes in 1998.
If I were to lose any of that obsession, Stockton retiring and Malone defecting would've been the most logical time to do it. Yet it didn't happen.
About this time, I got married. My wife, although warned, did not expect the frightening display of me watching a Jazz game. She couldn't understand the need to yell at the screen (there was a lot of this during these Carlos Arroyo days), let alone clap and scream at it. I'm pretty sure she thought she had married a sociopath.
Three years of lottery appearances, baffling personnel moves and sub-.500 ball would have also been an understandable time to lose interest. Yet, it didn't happen. My obsession thrived, in fact.
Then Deron Williams came. And Mehmet Okur, Carlos Boozer (occasionally), Ronnie Brewer, Paul Millsap, among others, filled the lineup. During this time of thriving optimism for the team, my passion should have been overflowing. It wasn't. It began to fade. In spite of every game being televised, I missed about every other one. Game nights just didn't hold the same anticipatory excitement. So began the decline until this year.
Not only were the Jazz not a priority for me this season, they were barely on my radar. I still kept up with the ups and downs, of which there were plenty of both; but, overall I just didn't care. I watched only three full regular season games this year and one and a half playoff games.
You may say that this is simply a response to their disappointing regular season and unceremonious exit from the playoffs. You may call me fair weather. You would be wrong on both accounts. I can't say why the passion is gone, it just is. I've stuck through much worse situations with this team before, without losing any of the passion. This has nothing to do with the performance of the team, or the likability of its players. It just is.
Now, I haven't written the Jazz out of my life. Just like I haven't written the Dave Matthews Band off. A brilliant album could easily bring me back into the fold. Anything's possible. A brilliant team or player (along with Deron Williams, of course) could relight my interest and passion. But now it's burning pretty low.

Snap Judgment: Happy Gilmore was a Revolutionary

So, Happy Gilmore wasn't just a fantasy. Happy really would've been good, or at least a long driver. So, he probably would've been a snarkier version of John Daly. I just think Padraig Harrington should just man up and do it already. Wuss.
Oh, watch this so you know what I'm talking about:







I'm sorry for making this a link repository of late, but with a finals-melted brain I have been less than creative. We'll have some more original stuff for you soon (as if anyone was clamoring for it).

Snap Judgment: Holy Crap, This Guy Stole My Moves

Of course I'm kidding, but wow. That is all I can say. Wow.

Snap Judgment: Sit Down, Shut Up We'll Hardly Know Ye

The new animated show from the Arrested Development creator Mitch Hurwitz, Sit Down, Shut Up, is funny. The show follows a group of oddball high school teachers voiced by Jason Bateman, Will Arnett, Henry Winkler, a couple of current and former SNLers, a few other people that have been in some other perplexing things, and Kristin Chenoweth.

With only the Pilot to judge, the writing shows glimmers of the sharp, sometimes-subtle-sometimes-blatant wit of Arrested. While suffering from the same it's-the-pilot-so-let's-introduce-ourselves-and-make-a-mad-bid-to-be-picked-up-at-the-same-time crutch that every other pilot has suffered (Arrested and 30 Rock even had the same problem on episode zero), Sit Down, Shut Up provided ample laugh-out loud moments. This may prove to be the first Josh-anticipated new show that isn't a let down.

That can only mean one thing: cancellation. If I like a show on Fox, which hasn't happened since well . . . nevermind. Let's just say that Fox isn't afraid to cancel a good show. Also, it seems that the initial public reaction is mixed at best. So, at least I'll have the five scheduled episodes.

Watch the full pilot below and tell us what you think (as long as it jives with what I just said):

There's another tidbit at the tail end of the episode (after the credits) which Arrested fans should appreciate, which I feel compelled to spoil now:

Snap Judgment: Stockton, Sloan and some other people selected for the Hall

Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame officials announced this weekend that John Stockton and Jerry Sloan (along with three other minor basketball figures, I forget who) will be inducted into the Hall of Fame later this year. Of course in typical Stockton fashion, John deflected all questions associated with this honor and pretended not to care.
Seriously though, it's a shame that Sir Michael is once again overshadowing the undeniably-great Stockton (and to a lesser extent, world-class role model David Robinson) . Although I'm sure Stockton and Sloan are elated that the spotlight is not being shined on them.
For those who need a refresher course (I'm talking to all of you who think Deron Williams is close to surpassing El Stockterino) here's Stockton single-handedly winning game six of the '97 Western Conference Finals. Watch the full video; it's worth it.
Oh and here are the career defining moments for the other two guys (no disrespect to C. Vivian Stringer, but I didn't really know who you were until a few weeks ago):

Snap Judgment: Where the Wild Things Are Trailer

This is just an update on yesterday's post: the first Where the Wild Things Are trailer has been unleashed. Let's just say the unbridled enthusiasm for the movie I had yesterday is even less bridled today. Arcade Fire's presence just puts it over the top. Enjoy.

The Differ: Where the Wild Things Are

We (mostly I) at The Differ have schizophrenic interests. I distract myself with music, movies, reading/writing and sports, in that order. In the interest of addressing more of our distractions, we will occasionally post something non-sports related. While sports occasionally rises to greater heights, it is rarely more than that, a distraction, to us. Music, movies and literature can speak much more profoundly to me than a game. To avoid worsening heavy-handedness, here is the introductory non-sports related post:

Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are occupies a simple, nostalgic place in many of our hearts. Which is why thousands cringed upon hearing of the book's impending adaptation to a live-action feature film. Few (yours truly excluded) found relief in the news of Spike Jonze taking the reins. It was still likely to be sullied by Hollywood's dumpster-diving hands. Things looked to be headed this way as reshoots and rumors began to pile up. Then images began to leak from production. Doubts began to disappear, or at least lessen. (Unless I dreamt that. It's likely I did.)

In spite of my love for Spike Jonze, I have held cautious optimism for this project, even with the stunning leaks. That was until last week when I saw the teaser poster (pictured above). Then today's USA Today photo slideshow put it into the so-dangerously-optimistic-that-nothing-save-the-Rapture-could-possibly-live-up-to-these-expectations mode. This movie will be impressive. These stills capture the essential atmosphere and feeling of the book.
Many (maybe most) die-hard fans of the book will be up in arms over the changes that Jonze and screenwriter Dave Eggers have made. But having notoriously-guarded Sendak's blessing for Jonze to "make [it his] own thing" is reason enough to put unrealistically high expectations on it.
They say this will come out in October.

Progress Report: Experimental March Insanity

Due to a cease and desist letter sent to us by the attorneys for this organization and this network we have changed the name of this feature to Experimental March Insanity. Here's a brief recap of the project for those of you who are too lazy to scroll down half a page and read the previous post: we are using methods other than the traditional "gut feeling" to pick our basketball tournament brackets.

The results so far: picking by higher seeds has been highly effective in this year of no Cinderellas, picking 14 of 16 Sweet Sixteen teams correctly. Sorry Arizona, you don't count. Cinderella can't be a team that has won a championship in the last 15 years.

Choosing based on RPI has been unsuprisingly effective as well, correctly selecting 12 of 16 Sweet Sixteen teams. Coming in at third place thus far is selections based on the corresponding women's teams RPI ranking, with 9 of 16 correct selections.

Bringing up the rear is the method selecting the universities with the most recent founding dates, with only 1 of 16 teams correct and 0 possible points remaining.

The Great March Madness Experiment 2009

Winning a March Madness pool is not a science. We know this because sports ignorance, senility, dementia and cranial airiness are not hindrances to winning. They may in fact be advantages. Extensive viewing, analyzing and talking-head listening does not give you an advantage over Doris from accounting or Randy the guy who sleeps under the table and eats his own nail clippings.
So we at The Differ (click on that to see what magical world lies behind) decided to perform an experiment. We have selected 12 methods for filling out a bracket to see which one will fare the best. While we understand that none of these hold any scientific merit, we just wanted to see what might work.
We set up an ESPN group and filled out a bracket for each of the twelve methods we selected. You can follow this link to watch our group's progress after the tourney starts tomorrow. Here are the methods:

• Alternating Seeds (The I'm Bored Method)- In the first round all of the higher seeds win, second round all the lower seeds win, third round higher seeds, and so forth. Since the Final Four features the same seeds, from there we alternated based on their RPI ranking.
• Higher Seeds (The I'm Lazy Method)- Higher seeds win straight through. In the Final Four we used RPI rankings again.
• Offense (The I Like Allen Iverson Method)- The team with the higher average points scored moves on.
• Defense (The There's No "I" in Team Method)- The team with the lower average points allowed moves on. (Does defense win championships?)
• Women's RPI (The Realization That There's Women's Basketball Method)- This is based on the RPI of the team's women's counterparts. The higher RPI moves on.
• Mascots (The I Like T-Shirt Cannons Method)- Whoever I think has the better mascot wins. While mostly arbitrary, I did set up a few ground rules on this one. If your team's nickname is shared by another team in the tourney, you are eliminated. However, if both teams in a matchup are eliminated, then I pick the better one.
• Coin Flip (The I've Got to Find a Use for This Penny Method)- This one is self-explanatory. (I'm being told to not be so presumptuous, so here.)
• Alphabetical (The English Teacher Method)- The team whose is alphabetically first moves on.
• Reverse Alphabetical (The Really Bad English Teacher Method)- The reverse of that.
• Founding Year (The History-Buff Method)- Which ever school in a matchup was founded first moves on.
• Reverse Founding Year (The I Only Go Back So Far With My Dates Method)- The newer school gets to pass.
• RPI (The I Can't Trust My Own Instincts Method)- The higher RPI ranked team moves on.
  

So those be the methods. We will not reveal the brackets yet, we want there to be some suspense. But we'll see who gets what. I would ask for you good luck wishes, but we don't need it now. We all win like this.

Snap Judgment: Karl Malone is not a Facetious

Apparently, Karl wants to slap some senators for saying something inflammatory that Dr. Sean says they said (got that?). Maybe he should first slap the definition of inflammatory that is an arm's length away to his left.

Snap Judgment: Chief Kickingstallionsims, Greatest Name Ever?

Yes. Combining the inherent awesomeness of a certain four-letter surname with the ferocity of equine Kung Fu is a surefire path to greatness. The 7'1" Alabama St. senior center, while otherwise statistically irrelevant, set this NCAA season's mark for most blocked shots in a game with 11 in February. Even though this man of Navajo heritage will likely go the way of other awesomely-monikered players such as God Shammgod, I am firmly on the Grlenntys Chief Kickingstallionsims, Jr. bandwagon. That's all.

Beg the Differ: Sergei and Trevor's Crazy Adventure Time

Do you want this guy taking over for your twelve-year-old?

Corban: How's it going?'

7 minutes

me: Fine.

16 minutes

me: That was it?

Corban: For now.

me: Okay, just checking.

Corban: I'm just bored.

me: Aha.

Corban: So, anything new going on?

me: Nopers.

Do you want to hear the worst sports movie idea ever?

Corban: yes

me: Ashton Kutcher will star in a comedy about "a superstar NFL quarterback and a 12-year-old geek who magically trade bodies, then learn valuable lessons about humility and courage."

Corban: Are they actually making that movie?

me: Apparently.

Corban: Hasn't that movie been made a couple of times?

Once with Lindsay Lohan and another time with Dudley Moore and the religious guy from Growing Pains?

me: It was originally called "Freaky Friday." I think they may be on to something. Combine a crappy Disney movie with a sports-lite theme, add a crappy name actor and you've got an audience full of 12 year old girls and their cougar moms.

Two professional basketball stars, one an Eastern European long-distance center and one American lumbering big man play against each other one night, oblivious to the fact they look exactly the same. Suddenly, down in the low block they turn and look at each other. Wham! They realize they're twins!

Corban: Starring Carrillo Fesko?

Sorry I recently heard Hot Rod attempt to say his name.

me: Yes and starring Sharon Stone as the American mother who raised the lumberjack and Yakov Smirnoff as the Eastern European father.

Corban: And Brian Dennehy as the tough coach with a heart of gold.

Featuring the Olsen twins as the conflicted love interests of our heroes.

Conflicted only in the sense that they don't know whether or not to eat a sandwich.

me: My favorite scenes are when Trevor teaches Sergei how to "make it rain" and when Sergei teaches Trevor how to wear flip flops in the shower.

Corban: Wait, I thought you said he was Eastern European.

Why would he be in the shower?

me: Because he's in the U.S. In Svenalonia, he had to wear flip flops to avoid the goat droppings while washing off under a bucket.

23 minutes

Corban: Does this movie have a title?

me: It's called Sergei and Trevor's Crazy Adventure Time

Corban: Oh, so it's a foreign film.

me: A little foreign, a little Country

Corban: Wait, it's a little foreign country?

me: Let's just say it's part foreign film, part Western.

Snap Judgments: Shaq's Feuds

It's getting hard to find someone in this league with whom Shaq hasn't had a feud. The latest Hatfield to his McCoy, the Harvard to his Yale, the Krispy Kreme to his Dunkin Donuts is Stan Van Gundy.
Wait, Stan Van Gundy? I heard what SVG said about Shaq and his flopping. It was obviously said in jest. It was said with a smile and in a pleasing tone. And then Shaq brings SVG's brother (JVG) and Patrick Ewing into it.
Wait, Patrick Ewing? Didn't he retire in 1978? Shaq must have noticed that his star has slipped on SportsCenter. He hasn't been getting the airtime that he used to. Apparently he's smart enough to realize that he only makes news when he says or does something to criticize another player and/or coach (see his rap performance about the flavor of a certain player's posterior and who should sample that particular flavor).
I propose that SportsCenter be required to show a certain quota of Shaq highlights per week so they don't feel compelled to air 4 minutes worth of his rants every time he gets offended. If SVG's words are enough to get you this riled up maybe your manhood isn't what you thought, Shaq.

Snap Judgement:Return of the Dread-i

Manny Ramirez finally re-signed with the Dodgers after four months of haggling over a price that never changed. Essentially, Scott Boras bought his client a couple of extra weeks of vacation but nothing else. He didn't get him anymore money. He didn't get him extra years. He didn't get him incentive clauses. In fact, as a pre-requisite to the contract the Dodgers are forcing Manny to make a $1 million donation to their charitable organization. He also has to show up for the groundbreaking on some youth league fields. I have full confidence that Manny would have done that anyway, seeing as he's essentially 12 years old, but still. I hope he at least got a haircut waiver from Joe Torre.

All that being said, if I was a player, I would hire Scott Boras in an instant.

Snap Judgment: T.O. Tossed in the Dumpster

So, Terrell Owens is no longer Cowboy. I'm not sure how to feel about this. I mean, they seemed to deserve each other. I get all too much pleasure seeing Jerry Jones sign delinquents. But, T.O.'s obvious bipolar disorder (or Dissociative Identity Disorder) gives him a little sympathy on my part. I know, that was a dumb thing for me to say. After all I'm supposed to deride the obvious basket case as being a "locker room cancer" (whatever that means) and a selfish player. Yet, no matter how hard I try I cannot help but see the caring man beneath the facade of pomposity and exhibitionism. I'm not being at all facetious. I think T.O. is a good guy when out of the spotlight. He just needs help to re-align his personalities. Which would pave his way to Soldier Field. Our locker room did just get less interesting with the departure of Sexy Rexy.

On a slightly related note, is it TARE-ul or is it tur-ELL? Or is it both depending on whether it's public TO or private TO?

Snap Judgment: Dwayne Wade's Band-Aid Ban

("Snap Judgments" will be a regular feature that provides unneeded analysis on recent news items (sports, movies, tv, etc.). We understand that this will make The Differ a little more digestible.)

The NBA league office has banned Dwayne Wade's use of personalized bandages under his left eye. What seems odd to me about this is not so much the ban, but the way they sent it out. This would have been a matter easily taken care of behind closed doors. No one would have really noticed. But they chose to make a public statement on the matter. "A player can wear a Band-Aid for healthcare purposes, but it shouldn't have any name or identifications on it," said NBA spokesman Tim Frank.
After all, The integrity of the NBA cannot be compromised by immature individuals advertising themselves with tacky pronouncements.

2009- A Year in Review

The Allied forces had no idea what they were in for.

(Ed. Note: Having missed the year-end bandwagon for 2008, we at The Differ decided to do 2009 year-end special to beat the inevitable rush. Here's the first installment:)


Jan- Feb.


The Steelers’ emboweling (that’s right emboweling-a little know torture technique used by the Bavarians in WWII where they would stuff their captures with Marzipan Joy-Joys for allied positions) of the Arizona Cardinals was marked by the mass unloading of the Buzzsaw bandwagon. In the chaos, Matt Leinart somehow pulled his groin in two places. The newly-injured quarterback drowned his sorrows in a fifth of vodka and a kiddie-pool of coeds. The corpse of Kurt Warner rejoices.


Craig Bolerjack’s frustrated producer challenges the play-by-play man to not say “double double” more than once per Jazz broadcast. After mention of Paul Millsap in the pre-game show, Bolerjack is never heard from again (literally). Bumbling Ron Boone welcomes a “slightly-buzzed” Hot Rod Hundley back from radio purgatory in the third quarter. (This bit would be more effective if someone would post sometime.)


After the NFL combines, former-BYU receiver Austin Collie thanks “[his] Heavenly Father” for his 4.6 forty and Wonderlic score of 12.

(Part 2 to come sometime in the next 36 months or so.)