...randomness surrounding Guided by Voices, Robert Pollard, and other great indie rock bands; a quasi objective look at "my" sporting teams; the random horror film; plus other crap as we see fit...all with a Pittsburgh based feel.
HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO (pause) HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO
become...
HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO Woo, Woo (barking type sound) HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO
If your answer is, "it's always been like that", then you're obviously too young. And you probably don't have an appreciation for Delton Hall. I think I prefer the older version...but I'm old skool like that.
(thanks to fellow Beloved fan Rebecca for the image)
For all the JB lovers out there, here's the reason I loathe him, and a simple example of how he is self-centered:
Talking to Paul Alexander in Tampa, Bettis was asked about what he thinks is motivating this year's Steeler team to win a Superbowl. He goes on about certain players, blah, blah, blah, and when talking about Willie Parker....
"Willie doesn't have to worry about playing in my shadow this year."
The only thing Bettis did in '05-'06 was almost COST us a Superbowl when he fumbled at the GL against Indianapolis, and Big Ben had to save his ass. The Steelers won Superbowl XL in spite of Bettis, not because of Bettis. Sorry. Fact.
This misnomer about Bettis exemplifying Steeler football just because he danced like an idiot after every 5 yard carry is ridiculous. Without Willie Parker, Bettis STILL doesn't have a Superbowl ring. F*#k him. And f#*k his restaurant, too. The food blows.
Sorry...I can't take that as an EC original. Dave Grohl is the originator of such Bruce dissing. I can't say I disagree, though. Let's face it...Bruce sucks. Ditto on that lame ass "Born in the USA" song. Sorry. Don't go all Ron Kovic "Love It or Leave It" on me, now. I'm simply saying Springsteen and that song in particular both blow ass. The Sopranos dude with the stupid thing on his head has to go, too. You don't rock, dude...let it go. Let. it. go.
"The Boss" will definitely NOT be heard at halftime for our little Superbowl Festivus, though. Much better tuneage will be in place as we can continue to consume pop and bury hoagies at halftime.
Actually...here's my entire schedule for Sunday (and whoever else will be partying with me and the EC clan):
The first Bloody Mary will be consumed bright and early...
9:00am - Inter Milan vs. Torino - live on FSC 11:00am - Liverpool vs. Chelsea - live on FSC 1:00pm - Barcelona vs. Racing - delayed from 11:00am on the DVR
(during these 6 hours, there will be 4.5 hours of "action")
3:00 - 6:00 - Superbowl Preview Crap. Once I get bored with hearing the same bullshit for the 20th time in 2 weeks, which may only take 15 minutes, the iPod will be rawking.
6:00 - The Beloved wins their NFL record 6th Superbowl. Some Cardinals will get lit up in the process. We'll "Oooo." We'll "Aaaa." We'll drink. We'll eat. We'll celebrate. We'll watch a whole bunch of commercials.
Did I actually hear the Cardinals and dork Kurt Warner play the "no respect" card??? If you really need extra motivation to win a Superbowl, your lame ass bird is already cooked. I lost respect for Kurt Warner the minute he had his wife call in a radio talk show to stick up for him. Get ready to fumble, Kurt...a lot.
My boys are now firmly in second and now only two points shy of leading the table. If Liverpool can only draw a tie in a fixture versus ...someone forgettable, just wait till Stevie Hunt and the rest of the clan make their way up to the EPL next season. I'll write the good guys up for six points for those two Liverpool fixtures.
These are the good times...
Also, readers of EC are going to fall into a healthy sum of cash, as I show you how to make bank on all those Super Bowl prop bets. (In the industry, that's called a "tease.")
Yeah, I know my Reds are once again behind those wanker Mancs. Yeah, I know of at least one fellow blogger and one household member who will rub that in. But this is when the cream rises to the top...or something like that. I'm standing behind my squad, dammit! It all starts with 3 points tomorrow against Wigan. Then it's back to Anfield on Sunday where we'll take down Chelsea. From there on...it's no looking back. Man U will falter once more. And #8 will put us on his back and take us to the top of the table once again, mates. You heard it heard it here first...THIS IS OUR YEAR!!!!
Jess seriously thinks I want his babies. I say...only if they grow up like dad and play midfield for Liverpool.
If you are a school that graduates 20, and carries a roster of eight kids with "learning difficulties," signing up for a high school league where kids are playing to earn college scholarships and coaches are attempting to make a living (traditionally, one would think job security would more easily achieved by winning a contest 100-0) seems a bit short-sighted.
For their part, Dallas Academy did nothing to welcome this media attention, but they certainly aren't backing away from it. They seem perfectly content to grab every interview they can, instead of... I don't know, maybe practice.
So yeah, by all means, please teach these kids the valuable lesson that it's not if you win or lose. It's how much you can whore yourself out, when it's time to grab every chunk of your 15 minutes.
You know that seat back that's staring you in your stupid ass face as you sit on a plane? Well...on the other side of that seat back is another human being, who most likely has their back firmly resting against it.
So every time you kick, or punch, or whatever it is you feel like doing to that seat back...remember this: There is someone in front of you who feels it EVERY time, and is really holding back their temptation to grab you by your STUPID FUCKING FACE and shove you in an overhead compartment.
I, too, was young once. Although I never really played with it myself, I can see how one could get a kick out of playing with the fold-up tray. I always enjoyed the functionality of the indentation in the tray that would firmly hold your plastic cup as I buried my peanuts. But that's just me. I guess I'm a lame ass for not seeing the enjoyment I could've had by constantly folding the tray up and down so it banged against the back of the chair. Or maybe I realized that would anger the person in front of me, and I didn't want anyone to grab my face?
To the parents of said dumb ass kids, realize this: teach them some common sense manners, or risk having a tired, pissed off, fellow traveler do it for you....the unpleasant way.
HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU:
Dumb ass kid sitting in 8A on US Airways Flight 632 from Phoenix to Pittsburgh on Saturday 1/24/2009.
So, while Gary is on "the island", I'm in Erie, Pa. What that means to you, the faithful readers of EC is this; Gary ponders and blogs about music and tropical drinks, while I sit in a hotel room and wonder aloud which insurance spokesperson I'd rather do. Erin Esurance or Flo from the Progressive commercials.
VS.
I expect a heated discussion of this topic in the comments section.
Also, Erie has these frog statues sitting all throughout the downtown district.
Nothing really to say about it, just justifying my decision to bring the camera with me on the trip.
Been awhile since we've rawked some tuneage on EC. So here's some of the stuff that the natives have been playing all over the Big Island this week:
I guess The Muslims are now under a new name...The Soft Pack, so if you like these guys, try searching both names. Here's a live performance at The Echo doing their tune "Parasites." Rawks...
This one here has been in heavy rotation during our little vacation:
Like Swell, also a San Francisco band (The Muslims are from San Diego, so maybe there is a rhyme and reason to this montage). Kind of a goofy band name, but they seem like pretty cool kids. Nodzzz MySpace HERE.
And I will be. After I steal Tirpak's. He'll never see it coming. We bury the Cardinal. Tirpak gets his ring. We drink together. I get him all boozed up. I'll throw on Shockwaves, which will surely put him to sleep. KABLAMMY! Superbowl ring I snag, right underneath his nose. He'll never see it coming.
**Note for the EC archives: I believe that's the first "KABLAMMY" written on these pages. Search it.
The initial reason for this post was to keep with the NY resolution of "a post a day." See, technically, while all you wanker mainlanders are already on Wednesday, we tan island folk are still sipping $3 Mai Tai's, rawkin the iPod (np: Beat Happening on shuffle), and enjoying paradise. The Hawaiian people have a name for all of you...it's "Wanker Mainlanders."
But my new partner picked me up! That crazy bastard! No worries, as the resolution lives on! But to the point of this post (To the Path!!!):
Now that Willis McGahee is out of the hospital, and appears to be OK, can we all let it out now and laugh hysterically like we all wanted to when he got his face planted? SURE! Laugh people!!!!!!!! The Baltimore Dopes who talk about placing bounties on people got their collective tits punched in. The little boy who likes to run his mouth got his face slapped. Ray Ray was almost in tears. THAT, was funny. Watch it...
Bounty Collected: Ryan Clark. Willis gets a nice new pair of sausage tits.
Don't let the score fool you. This game was never as close as it appeared. The "Gain 100 Yds. a Game and Pray for Miracles" game plan will obviously not be the new copycat strategy of the NFL next year. It won't become the next "West Coast Offense" or "Zone Blitz." The Ravens got their dicks punched into the dirt, for the 3rd time this year. Go ahead, laugh. It's easy to dislike these clowns...
Bounty Collected: Limas Sweed. Cory Ivy...how does your new pair of liver boobs feel?
The hay-day of Mike Tyson was slightly before my time, so I can't say I remember first-hand how he was, without question, the baddest man on planet Earth. However, plenty of other people were around, and their combined consensus was that between meeting Mike Tyson or Satan in a dark dead-end alley, most people would rather stare down Lucifer than accidentally glare into the eyes of Tyson.
Then, something happened...
maybe it was when Tyson was crawling around the mat looking for his mouthpiece with Buster Douglas looming above
maybe it was the divorce to Robin Givens
maybe it was raping Miss Black Rhode Island
It was clearly in full effect when Tyson, who was behind in the fight, decided Evander Holyfield's ear made for a perfect in-fight energy boost...
However it happened, Iron Mike became the larger than life cautionary tale for boxing, and in return for the education dispensed in untold scores of young pugilist, Tyson lost everything.
In short, he went from this:
To This:
I rehash this old story in order to give the adequate background, to the new "Tyson approved" biopic "Tyson" (catchy, eh?). The James Toback film premiered at Cannes and is being screened at Sundance. Tyson, in support of the film has gone to both festivals, where he's become quite the unexpected celebrity.
But, this is EC, not some feel-good Oprah tear-jerk episode. So, here's Mike giving a toast to Toback, and explaining some of the unexpected problems with the attention the movie has gotten, at some restaurant party for Sundance.
Updated With Working Video
Thank you Mike! It takes a special person to be sober, stand in front of a crowd in a tux, grab a mic and tell us the perils of too much pussy and money.
Even on vacation, EC rolls on with the daily "promise." Here's another promise...
The Beloved kicks Baltimore's tits in today, despite the size of Ray's arms. Six points ain't nearly enough. All the forced mic'd up diatribes in the world can't help the Raven here. This one's outta hand by the 4thQtr. Ray Ray and the rest of the dopes will have their tails tight and snug between their legs when it's over. And they'll still talk stupid.
I watch Riley Cote, aka "Punching Bag", get the snot beat out of him. I know he's a Flyer, but God bless this guy. He gets his face kicked in every time he drops the gloves, he seems to like it, and he always comes back for more. Good times...
An NHL without Riley Cote, or fun at his face's expense, is not an NHL I want to know.
