Manny Ramirez was born to hit a baseball. It's a skill many proclaim the toughest in all of sports. I can't argue since a .300 average is considered a mark of excellence. Manny has been remarkably consistent and productive, reaching a level in which 40 home runs and 100 RBIs is considered an off year for the right-handed slugger. I remember one regular season at-bat at Fenway in particular. I was sitting behind home plate as Manny walked to the batter's box. On his first pitch he hammered a line drive foul to shallow right field, nearly decapitating a fan. Strike 1. He hit the second pitch even harder, this time to deep right, landing just inches to the right of the Pesky Pole. Strike 2. It all seemed to transpire in slow motion, like watching a film director inching closer and closer to finding the perfect shot, making tiny adjustments each time. I turned to my Dad and said confidently, "This one's gone." The third pitch left his bat in the blink of an eye, landing 400 plus feet away in dead center. We stood with the 35,000 in attendance and applauded like maniacs, not only because he delivered yet again, but because we knew he was no ordinary hitter. Manny was the new millenium's answer to Teddy Ballgame, Yaz, Fisk, Rice, and Boggs. This guy was special.
Unfortunately, as we'd come to find over the next several years, Manny had as much in common with Albert Belle, Ron Artest, Terrell Owens, Barry Bonds, Derrick Coleman (insert your favorite malcontent) as with the greats of Red Sox past. He was a team cancer. You would think twenty million annually, not to mention endless praise from fans and writers, always quick to forgive his shortcomings, would be enough to keep Manny happy. No dice. How about being part of a team that contends every year and has won two World Series in the past four years? Nope. Hell, an asinine phrase was even created in Manny's honor, sort of a local in-joke proclaiming that while he's an idiot, he's our idiot. Ultimately, the Sox had enough of "Manny being Manny." It's hard to blame them.
One senses Ramirez's teammates were sick of him as well. Manny has been uncommonly vocal the last few weeks, speaking to the press about moving on, being sick of the management, almost challenging the Red Sox to win without him. Rumors spread that he was making injury excuses beyond the norm, even for him. His output has been below par, leading many to question his desire and willingness to compete, something a professional athlete should never lose. I suspect the Lowells, Youks, and Variteks finally put their collective foot down. How else to explain the deal Boston ultimately agreed to? Sure, they got a solid player back in new left fielder Jason Bay. But they agreed to pay the remaining seven million of Manny's 2008 contract to the Dodgers, a team not exactly hurting for cash. They also gave up youngsters Craig Hansen and Brandon Moss in the deal. I know they weren't going to get fair value for Ramirez, but just Manny for Bay straight up would've been one-sided. The added conditions indicate Sox management made up their minds that Manny was going no matter what opposing teams demanded in return. At least they didn't pull a Green Bay and offer him an extra twenty million to retire.
Are the Sox a better team without Manny? On paper, of course not. You don't replace his offensive production unless you get an A-Rod, or Pujols, or Ryan Howard back in return. But in terms of chemistry, (the most underrated element in any successful ball club), maybe they are better. Don't forget, the Sox won the 2004 World Series only after trading fan favorite Nomar Garciaparra, an unpopular move that landed them Orlando Cabrera and Doug Mientkiewicz. The former two-time batting champion had at the time been pouting over his contract until he wore out his welcome in Boston. After that first champagne-soaked celebration, I don't think anyone was complaining.
Give the Sox some credit. They seem to know when it's time to say goodbye. When they refused to give an aging Pedro Martinez the kind of deal he was looking for, Pedro bolted to New York. They correctly assessed that Johnny Damon wasn't the player he once was either when refusing to break the bank for the former center fielder. Anyone want to challenge those decisions now? Manny's play has been in slow decline the last couple years, but by all accounts, money didn't decide this one. Neither did talent. Yes, he's overpaid. True, the Sox lineup isn't anywhere near as imposing without the 3-4 punch of Ortiz and Ramirez. But sometimes in sports, you add by subtracting.
Manny had fought with his teammates. He'd tripped over his own two feet in left. He'd consistently trotted to first when he should've been sprinting. He'd openly remarked about how nice it'd be to play for the Yankees! He'd criticized the front office and anyone who makes decisions, which angers me since I can't imagine any manager being more patient with him than Terry Francona has been. He even put his hands on the traveling secretary for failing to comply with a ridiculous ticket request. In any other field, Ramirez would've been fired on the spot for the last offense. Manny took dozens of questionable days off, even in big series over the years. He'd retreated to the green monster between innings of several games to take a leak, call his homeys, order pizza, check his email, smoke some dope, read the National Inquirer, take a nap, have sex, get a haircut, chug a beer, visit Avalon, change his screensaver, phone WEEI's Weiner Whiner Line, and practice his chest pump and point to the sky routine.
Maybe Henry, Werner, Lucchino, and Theo woke up this morning with a clearer collective conscience. Maybe the players finally felt loose again, knowing it will once again be a pleasure to go to work. Maybe JBay (any chance that nickname catches on?) will be the spark we are looking for, a hard worker who will run out ground balls and help plug the large gap in the middle of the batting order. If the Sox fall further in the standings and fail to make the playoffs, everyone will attack the decision to trade Ramirez. But if they get hot, leapfrog Tampa, and find themselves with homefield advantage in a third World Series appearance, will anyone complain?
Manny is gone, but the Sox are still here. Whose side are you on?
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Friday, August 1, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Committment Isn't Always a Bad Thing
Last night was the 5 year anniversary of our 1st date. That’s half-a-decade or a whopping 1,825 days together. Have I committed to anything else in my life for that long? Sure, there’s my family, my love for movies and basketball, great friendships; but in a way those all come with the territory. You are born into your family, you choose hobbies at a very young age, and you make friends with those who live near or attend the same school. Hell, often you become friends with whomever your mom sticks you with on a play-date. A long-term, adult relationship is different, because you are making an independent, personal choice. You pick a girl you like to look at, you smile like an idiot at her, and you go out on a date. Booze doesn’t even have to be a factor if you’re really interested in someone.
Our 1st date was on July 2nd, 2003. Admittedly, my initial excitement that day had a lot more to do with the release of Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, the third film in the classic Arnold Schwarzenegger series. My girlfriend and I were working at a summer camp in Maine and that night several of my friends were going to see T3 at Chunky’s, a cheap near-by movie theater distinguished for its leather seats, tables, and full menu, including drinks. Prior to that evening, she and I had done a little flirting here and there, but nothing serious had developed. I invited her to join us that night, news that quickly spread like a wild-fire (hey, it’s summer camp), mostly through my chatty younger brother, who saw a golden opportunity in the making. I had thought we’d all be driving as a group in a couple of cars. Instead, my brother made sure they were all long gone by the time my girlfriend’s shift ended, forcing us to drive separately to meet them all at the movies. Moments like this embarrass me, and he knew it when he saw my half-smiling, flushed cheeks enter the theater.
Needless to say the movie sucked, a huge disappointment since T2 was one of the best action movies ever made. She ended up falling asleep in her cozy chair around the one hour mark, teaching me the invaluable lesson that it’s better to pick an activity both of us might enjoy rather than just me. I also learned that she’s an “early-to-bed, early-to-rise” person, or the exact opposite of me. Still, I’ve managed to forget this on at least 25 occasions since, always wondering why she can’t finish watching something we start after 9pm. When the movie ended I woke her up and she had a cute, sheepish smile once she realized she’d been snoozing for an hour. We hung out at camp late that night, just talking and getting to know one another. She’s an only child from Louisiana, and I’m the oldest of three from Boston. But despite many background differences, I knew one thing for sure by July 3rd . . . I liked her, a lot. She was pretty and smart, cool and fun, with an immature sense of humor that has nearly proved my equal. We had a great summer, one destined to end like most others. Unsure whether she would truly hear from me again, she was surprised to hear her phone ring a few hours later at the airport. I had called just to say hi and see how she was doing. To this day, that’s probably the best phone call I ever made in my life.
We did long distance for a while, visiting one another every couple months, and sharing late night phone calls until 3 or 4 am. The following June she moved to Boston, and the rest as they say, is history. We’ve lived all over the place, from Arlington to Newton to Brighton to The South End. But in August, we will make our biggest move, to Akron, Ohio. She got into graduate school there for Audiology (She’s going to be a doctor. How smart am I?) Honestly, it was not an overnight decision to move with her. I’d be leaving my family, my friends, and my job contacts for a town most people only know Lebron James’ home. But in the end, leaving all of that wouldn’t be as hard as leaving her.
When you get to be my age (27), life forces you to start thinking about the big picture, never my forte. I generally try to avoid all big decisions; they scare me and I’m more comfortable living day to day. They also force you to grow up faster, and anyone who knows me well understands that under this hair covered face, I’m really 15. I still love Dumb and Dumber and Happy Gilmore and I don’t give a rat’s ass about politics. I would choose a double-cheeseburger over a salad almost any day, despite knowing the calorie count. I’d rather hang out at a mall or visit Six flags then go to a park or a museum. Many of the situations that make me laugh the hardest are so inappropriate I dare not print them here. Still, I’m old enough to know I love someone. Those feelings come without doubt and have only grown stronger over the last several years, to the point that I’m comfortable writing about them in a forum read by friends (and brothers) who will undoubtedly make fun of me. But I don’t care.
Last night to celebrate we had dinner at Top of the Hub, a fancy restaurant located on the 52nd floor atop the Prudential. If there’s a better view in the city, I haven’t found it. We ate and we drank and we talked, which amazingly never grows tiresome after 45 million conversations. It was undoubtedly one of the best nights of my life, and a significant step up from $5.00 tickets to see Arnold take on a female terminator. I think it’s safe to say that if our next five years together are anything like our last five, life will have been pretty damn good to me.
Happy Anniversary Mush
Our 1st date was on July 2nd, 2003. Admittedly, my initial excitement that day had a lot more to do with the release of Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, the third film in the classic Arnold Schwarzenegger series. My girlfriend and I were working at a summer camp in Maine and that night several of my friends were going to see T3 at Chunky’s, a cheap near-by movie theater distinguished for its leather seats, tables, and full menu, including drinks. Prior to that evening, she and I had done a little flirting here and there, but nothing serious had developed. I invited her to join us that night, news that quickly spread like a wild-fire (hey, it’s summer camp), mostly through my chatty younger brother, who saw a golden opportunity in the making. I had thought we’d all be driving as a group in a couple of cars. Instead, my brother made sure they were all long gone by the time my girlfriend’s shift ended, forcing us to drive separately to meet them all at the movies. Moments like this embarrass me, and he knew it when he saw my half-smiling, flushed cheeks enter the theater.
Needless to say the movie sucked, a huge disappointment since T2 was one of the best action movies ever made. She ended up falling asleep in her cozy chair around the one hour mark, teaching me the invaluable lesson that it’s better to pick an activity both of us might enjoy rather than just me. I also learned that she’s an “early-to-bed, early-to-rise” person, or the exact opposite of me. Still, I’ve managed to forget this on at least 25 occasions since, always wondering why she can’t finish watching something we start after 9pm. When the movie ended I woke her up and she had a cute, sheepish smile once she realized she’d been snoozing for an hour. We hung out at camp late that night, just talking and getting to know one another. She’s an only child from Louisiana, and I’m the oldest of three from Boston. But despite many background differences, I knew one thing for sure by July 3rd . . . I liked her, a lot. She was pretty and smart, cool and fun, with an immature sense of humor that has nearly proved my equal. We had a great summer, one destined to end like most others. Unsure whether she would truly hear from me again, she was surprised to hear her phone ring a few hours later at the airport. I had called just to say hi and see how she was doing. To this day, that’s probably the best phone call I ever made in my life.
We did long distance for a while, visiting one another every couple months, and sharing late night phone calls until 3 or 4 am. The following June she moved to Boston, and the rest as they say, is history. We’ve lived all over the place, from Arlington to Newton to Brighton to The South End. But in August, we will make our biggest move, to Akron, Ohio. She got into graduate school there for Audiology (She’s going to be a doctor. How smart am I?) Honestly, it was not an overnight decision to move with her. I’d be leaving my family, my friends, and my job contacts for a town most people only know Lebron James’ home. But in the end, leaving all of that wouldn’t be as hard as leaving her.
When you get to be my age (27), life forces you to start thinking about the big picture, never my forte. I generally try to avoid all big decisions; they scare me and I’m more comfortable living day to day. They also force you to grow up faster, and anyone who knows me well understands that under this hair covered face, I’m really 15. I still love Dumb and Dumber and Happy Gilmore and I don’t give a rat’s ass about politics. I would choose a double-cheeseburger over a salad almost any day, despite knowing the calorie count. I’d rather hang out at a mall or visit Six flags then go to a park or a museum. Many of the situations that make me laugh the hardest are so inappropriate I dare not print them here. Still, I’m old enough to know I love someone. Those feelings come without doubt and have only grown stronger over the last several years, to the point that I’m comfortable writing about them in a forum read by friends (and brothers) who will undoubtedly make fun of me. But I don’t care.
Last night to celebrate we had dinner at Top of the Hub, a fancy restaurant located on the 52nd floor atop the Prudential. If there’s a better view in the city, I haven’t found it. We ate and we drank and we talked, which amazingly never grows tiresome after 45 million conversations. It was undoubtedly one of the best nights of my life, and a significant step up from $5.00 tickets to see Arnold take on a female terminator. I think it’s safe to say that if our next five years together are anything like our last five, life will have been pretty damn good to me.
Happy Anniversary Mush
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
And Then There Was One
As Johnny Drama, arms raised triumphantly, would declare, “VICTORY!” The Boston Celtics are your 2007-2008 NBA champions. Until I have my first child, I can’t imagine another event topping this evening. Tonight's clinching game six was by all accounts a massacre, one I finally started enjoying midway through the third quarter, when I realized there was no way the Lakers were coming back. Not coincidentally, that was also the moment I stopped drinking. I didn't want this moment clouded in a blurry fog. Surrounded by good friends, all long-suffering Celtics fans, we jumped and screamed after each Ray Allen trey, every Kevin Garnett turnaround, and every Kobe Bryant turnover.
We cheered Rajon Rondo’s best all-around game of the postseason. We applauded P.J. Brown, Leon Powe and Big Baby Davis hitting the glass, James Posey and Eddie House knocking down 23 footers, and Kendrick Perkins deflecting Laker shots into the stands. I even let out a non hostile cry for coach Doc Rivers, who finally earned my trust. But most of all we cheered Paul Pierce, the captain. When he was handed the finals MVP trophy, I pulled my #34 t-shirt like the cool kids do and saluted "The Truth." Having endured a decade of false promises, botched trades, and hundreds of losses, I felt an unspoken kingship had formed between us. Nobody wanted this more.
With less than a minute left in regulation, my friends and I lit our victory cigars in a classy tribute to the late Red Auerbach, an act that was encouraged by Celtic ownership. When an usher approached to yell at our row for smoking, it was to no avail. Tonight belonged to the fans, as we puffed away in unison. Speaking of Red, it was fitting that the Celtics were the team standing in Phil Jackson's way of winning a record-setting tenth title. That smug, psycho-babble spewing moron can go to his grave knowing that the triangle offense couldn't touch us. We counted down the final seconds like Al Michaels in 1980 ("Do you believe in miracles? Yes!") This time last year the C’s were watching the finals from home after compiling the second worst record in the league. On June 17th, 2008, the green captured number 17 (how nice is that symmetry?) at home. It marks one of the greatest single-season turnarounds in the history of sports. Triggered by a selfless offense and the most suffocating D since the mid-90s Bulls, the C’s pounced on the overmatched Lakers.
I couldn’t help feeling for Kobe a little. He obviously bought into the hype, convinced he was going to get his own vindication by leading his team to the title. But his supporting cast was exposed against Boston. The Lakers second and third best players, Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom, didn’t show up in game six. Credit the opposing defense, but great players are supposed to overcome that. They didn’t, leaving Kobe to fend for himself against a team prepared to counter his every move. The old NBA adage is that the best players win. Only problem was, Kobe wasn’t the best player in this series. Both Pierce and Garnett were each at a minimum, his equals. Seeing KG lose control of his emotions during post-game interviews, I was reminded that character and leadership often mark the difference between a supreme talent and a champion. That same selflessness Garnett was criticized for during much of the playoff run rubbed off on his teammates at the perfect time. His performance, combined with Allen’s lights out shooting from beyond the arc, propelled the Celtics in a night that seemed positively euphoric.
When Queen’s celebratory anthem “We are the Champions” roared from the Garden sound system and confetti flew from the rafters, my eyes came close to watering. Game six was emblematic of the Celtic dominance throughout the finals. In truth, the only game the Lakers were truly the better team was game three in L.A. I can now state confidently that the Lakers peaked against the Spurs in the Western Conference finals. Contrastingly, the Celtics saved their best for last and actually seemed to improve with each passing round. The regular season had been their warm-up act, a precursor to a 26 game second season in which they’d rediscover themselves in each subsequent round. Credit Rivers and the players for overcoming adversity and staying focused in their quest for the real prize. With an opportunity to put their final stamp on the campaign, Boston went out and destroyed the visitors by an unfathomable 39 points, or one more than the total scored by the four Laker starters not named Kobe. It was a performance nobody in New England will soon forget.
About 25 minutes after the final buzzer had sounded, we made our way down to the roomy court side seats that only the Jack Nicholsons of the world can afford. On Causeway Street, high fives were exchanged, while only the most cynical police officers refused to smile. Some of them even posed for pictures with the rowdy, enthusiastic crowd. Eventually due to safety concerns, they formed a line and directed us around every street corner in downtown Boston. It took forever to get a cab, as we were rerouted at least a half-dozen times. But I didn’t care. Everywhere I looked there were smiling strangers in green. Some were white, some were black, some were thin, several were fat, many were smashed, and others held kids high on their shoulders. However, any differences proved irrelevant, because on this night we all became one. I think Pierce would agree.
We cheered Rajon Rondo’s best all-around game of the postseason. We applauded P.J. Brown, Leon Powe and Big Baby Davis hitting the glass, James Posey and Eddie House knocking down 23 footers, and Kendrick Perkins deflecting Laker shots into the stands. I even let out a non hostile cry for coach Doc Rivers, who finally earned my trust. But most of all we cheered Paul Pierce, the captain. When he was handed the finals MVP trophy, I pulled my #34 t-shirt like the cool kids do and saluted "The Truth." Having endured a decade of false promises, botched trades, and hundreds of losses, I felt an unspoken kingship had formed between us. Nobody wanted this more.
With less than a minute left in regulation, my friends and I lit our victory cigars in a classy tribute to the late Red Auerbach, an act that was encouraged by Celtic ownership. When an usher approached to yell at our row for smoking, it was to no avail. Tonight belonged to the fans, as we puffed away in unison. Speaking of Red, it was fitting that the Celtics were the team standing in Phil Jackson's way of winning a record-setting tenth title. That smug, psycho-babble spewing moron can go to his grave knowing that the triangle offense couldn't touch us. We counted down the final seconds like Al Michaels in 1980 ("Do you believe in miracles? Yes!") This time last year the C’s were watching the finals from home after compiling the second worst record in the league. On June 17th, 2008, the green captured number 17 (how nice is that symmetry?) at home. It marks one of the greatest single-season turnarounds in the history of sports. Triggered by a selfless offense and the most suffocating D since the mid-90s Bulls, the C’s pounced on the overmatched Lakers.
I couldn’t help feeling for Kobe a little. He obviously bought into the hype, convinced he was going to get his own vindication by leading his team to the title. But his supporting cast was exposed against Boston. The Lakers second and third best players, Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom, didn’t show up in game six. Credit the opposing defense, but great players are supposed to overcome that. They didn’t, leaving Kobe to fend for himself against a team prepared to counter his every move. The old NBA adage is that the best players win. Only problem was, Kobe wasn’t the best player in this series. Both Pierce and Garnett were each at a minimum, his equals. Seeing KG lose control of his emotions during post-game interviews, I was reminded that character and leadership often mark the difference between a supreme talent and a champion. That same selflessness Garnett was criticized for during much of the playoff run rubbed off on his teammates at the perfect time. His performance, combined with Allen’s lights out shooting from beyond the arc, propelled the Celtics in a night that seemed positively euphoric.
When Queen’s celebratory anthem “We are the Champions” roared from the Garden sound system and confetti flew from the rafters, my eyes came close to watering. Game six was emblematic of the Celtic dominance throughout the finals. In truth, the only game the Lakers were truly the better team was game three in L.A. I can now state confidently that the Lakers peaked against the Spurs in the Western Conference finals. Contrastingly, the Celtics saved their best for last and actually seemed to improve with each passing round. The regular season had been their warm-up act, a precursor to a 26 game second season in which they’d rediscover themselves in each subsequent round. Credit Rivers and the players for overcoming adversity and staying focused in their quest for the real prize. With an opportunity to put their final stamp on the campaign, Boston went out and destroyed the visitors by an unfathomable 39 points, or one more than the total scored by the four Laker starters not named Kobe. It was a performance nobody in New England will soon forget.
About 25 minutes after the final buzzer had sounded, we made our way down to the roomy court side seats that only the Jack Nicholsons of the world can afford. On Causeway Street, high fives were exchanged, while only the most cynical police officers refused to smile. Some of them even posed for pictures with the rowdy, enthusiastic crowd. Eventually due to safety concerns, they formed a line and directed us around every street corner in downtown Boston. It took forever to get a cab, as we were rerouted at least a half-dozen times. But I didn’t care. Everywhere I looked there were smiling strangers in green. Some were white, some were black, some were thin, several were fat, many were smashed, and others held kids high on their shoulders. However, any differences proved irrelevant, because on this night we all became one. I think Pierce would agree.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
17 Reasons the Celtics will beat the Lakers
It's too close to game time. I was prepared to write an endless article covering every conceivable aspect of an unlikely Celtics/Lakers finals matchup that could make my head explode at any second. But things have been busy and it's now four hours until tip-off. Besides, there's not a whole lot to say that hasn't already been covered ad nauseam by Gorman & Heinson, Gary & Greg, Wilbon and Kornheiser, Ryan & Shaunessey, Dennis & Callahan, Woodie, Jay, Tim, & J.A., Jackie Mac, the Big O, Dale & Holley, the Sport's guy, Stephen A., Tim Legler, Mike Adams, Jon Barry, Stuart "googley-eyes" Scott, Phil Jackson, Doc Rivers, and the endlessly quotable Bill Walton. Still, an event this meaningful demands my two-sense. I am one of the fortunate 18,000 or so who will be attending tonights game 1 at the Garden. And if the series is as close as I suspect it might be, tonight's opener could very well replace Boston/Cleveland game 7 as the top live basketball experience of my lifetime. Here then are seventeen reasons why the Celtics will ultimately capture (you guessed it) number 17.
1. They are long overdue. The Lakers last title was the end of their Shaq/Kobe three-peat in 2002. That one should've belonged to Sacramento, so they've already gotten their breaks. It just feels like the Celtic's year, doesn't it?
2. If Boston doesn't win, the Jesus freak who always stands outside the garden with flyers and vest pins may stop believing. Sure he's crazy and I roll my eyes every time I see him, but he allows normal folks to feel better about themselves. And a happy fan is a cheering fan.
3. Their stars deserve it more. The Celtics' star trio of Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, & Ray Allen have put their egos aside all season and worked toward a single common goal. These longtime stars have earned their trip to the big one and a championship will help validate their careers in the eyes of detractors.
4. In terms of being a dominant player, Pierce is MUCH closer to Kobe than he is to Lamar Odom. That's more important than you'd think. L.A. writers would have you believe the Lakers have the edge because of the 'single' guy in the series who can take over at will. Well, there are actually 2 of these guys, and Boston has the one who's hungrier. Pierce has the potential to play Kobe to a stand-still as he did Lebron James in the eastern semi-finals.
5. The best big-game shooters in this series play for Boston. Sure Kobe is fearless, and Derek Fisher has proven a clutch shooter over the years. But if I'm Phil Jackson, I wouldn't want a 4th quarter buzzer beater in the hands of Odom, Luke Walton, Jordan Farmar, Sasha Vujacic, or Vladimir Radmanovic. Contrastingly, Pierce, Ray Allen, James Posey, Eddie House, and even Sam Cassell all possess the unflappable confidence needed to win a game in the closing seconds.
6. Boston's team defense is far superior. This point will not be argued by anybody on either side. History has shown time and time again that a strong defense will usually defeat a high-powered offense. See the San Antonio Spurs, Detroit Pistons (both eras), Chicago Bulls . . . hell, even the Baltimore Ravens, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, & New England Patriots. Flash is more fun, but physicality gets it done.
7. Kevin Garnett feels he has something to prove. He's long had a reputation for going soft in the big games. It is the only blemish on an otherwise superlative resume. Look for the Big Ticket to silence the skeptics with crucial leadership, multiple big shots, and the strongest help defense in the league. More than anyone, KG has put in his time on crappy teams. He's not letting this one get away.
8. James Posey is the best bench player in the series. He's capable of starting on most playoff teams and typically ends games on the floor. He's a lock-down perimiter defender with an uncanny knack for hitting the big 3s. He's also an exemplary teammate. Imagine Walter McCarty if he didn't suck and you get Posey, who's jersey will undoutedly become the "cool" one to purchase at the Celtics giftshop.
9. The Celtics have homecourt advantage. This is HUGE! Boston have one of the loudest buildings in the league and dominated at home all season long and through the playoffs. L.A. gets 3 of the first 5 in their building due to an idiotic format geared more around travel plans than fairness to the team with the better record. Still, playing in Los Angeles is a breeze compared to grittier towns, as many fans would rather take snap shots of Jack Nicolson than scream like maniacs for quarters at a time.
10. Pau Gasol is soft as pudding. He's a talented guy, but few get taken out of their game more easily by a few bumps in the post. With the exception of maybe Vince Carter, no top 25 player shows a larger disparity between their offensive and defensive ability. In terms of his skill set and physique, he's like a poor man's Garnett. Only thing is, we have Garnett, who should dominate this matchup with his strength, agility, lock-down D, and ability to shoot over him. On switches, Kendrick Perkins is capable of knocking Gasol to the floor and making him cry.
11. Boston has the coaching edge. Doc Rivers' brilliance as 4th quarter strategist . . . (just seeing if you were paying attention).
11. Ray Allen is primed to bounce back. Throughout most of the playoffs, the former Jesus Shuttlesworth looked nothing like the guy who averaged 25 pts a game as recently as 15 months ago. But he turned it on during games 5 and 6 wins against the Pistons in the eastern finals and seems ready to return to form. Ultimately, Allen is the x-factor in the finals. If he's the shooting threat I know he can be, the C's could run away with this. If he doesn't, Lakers could find a major edge. My money's on the former.
12. The media has drooled all over the Lakers. ESPN's team of "experts" all picked L.A. (these are the same brain surgeons who picked Detroit to wipe out Boston). Ultimately though, both teams won series they should have (against Atlanta & Cleveland, Denver & Utah, respectively) and played their best against their toughest opponents when it mattered most (Pistons & Spurs). The national love affair with Los Angeles should provide the Boston vets with an added motivation I'm not sure they need in the first place.
13. Green is a better team color than yellow. It's darker and far more manly. When the Garden is filled with rows upon rows of matching green tee-shirts, it's intimidating. Green is symbolic of the jungle, the incredible Hulk, and the rowdy drunks on St. Patrick's Day. The Staples Center contains sporadic shades of yellow filtered amongst workplace suits and ties. Yellow is symbolic of sunshine, Big Bird, and single guys who shop at J.Crew. Which team would you rather support?
14. If the Celtics don't win, they allow the Lakers to call into question which franchise is truly the N.B.A.'s most dominant. Boston is stuck on 16 championship banners, while L.A. has narrowed the gap to 2. If we lose the Lakers steal number 15 and I'll be subjected to insufferable reporters attempting to minimize Boston's historical success. Bill Plaschke will jump at the chance to note how the majority of Celtic titles came through one dominant team in the 60s, while L.A.'s titles have been spread out more evenly amongst different era's. I'll have to walk around all summer wearing earmuffs, which is neither an appealing nor comfortable look in July.
15. I'm not gonna say the Boston sports fans deserve it more, the Super bowl collapse aside. We've been blessed with success during the past 7 years as the Patriots & Red Sox have helped turn Boston into the most hated sports town in America (the price of winning). But long-suffering Celtics fans DO deserve this. Count me amongst the few proud fans who've helped comprise the pathetic 1.0 television ratings point Celtics games typically garnered during the past decade. I've put in my time. I've committed four nights a week to screaming at the TV and suffered through idiotic trades, poor free-agent signings, and incomprehensible coaching decisions. So I'm due, and I'll prove it . . .
16. I've outlasted some of the most useless talent ever seen in the N.B.A; Greg Minor, Alaa Abdelnaby, Todd Day, Zan Tabak, Acie Earl, Marty Conlon, Sebastian Telfair, Thomas Hamilton, Frank Brickowski, Chris Corchiani, Vitaly Potapenko, Marcus Banks, Bruno Sundov, Jimmy Oliver, Dwayne Schintzius, Steve Hamer, Andrew Declercq, Brett Szabo, and Alton Lister. Management duped me into getting excited about acquisitions like Dana Barros, 'Out of Service' Pervis, a way past his prime Dominque Wilkins, Xavier McDaniel, Raef Lafrentz, the alcoholic Vin Baker, the corpse of Gary Payton, Popeye 'Shrek' Jones, Wally Szerbiak, Chris Mihm, Tom Gugliotta, and Ricky Davis (who apparantly has a great brain; how flawed is that system?). They've hyped draft picks like Eric Montross, Dee Brown & Gerald Green (a dunk contest does not a superstar make), Junior Burrough, Kedrick Brown, Jerome Moiso, Wayne Turner, and Joseph Forte, and somehow lost out on both the Tim Duncan and Greg Oden/Kevin Durant lotteries. They've inexplicably made multi-millionaires out of Mark Blount, Travis Knight, and Brian Scalabrine. They traded both Chauncey Billips and Joe Johnson, and drafted Ron Mercer ahead of Tracy McGrady. They employed M.L. Carr and Rick Pitino as head coaches. Carr lead the worst Celtics team in history, while Pitino ranted about Bird, McHale, and Parish when he couldn't take the media pressue. I watched Reggie Lewis collapse on the parquet floor. I reluctantly applauded Dino Radja's post moves, Sherman Douglas' floater, Antoine Walker's shimmy, and Milt Palacio's insane three pointer. I've dealt with Paul Gaston's petty pockets and the headache inducing Crunch-n-Munch guy. I've pulled my hair out through an 18 game losing streak and playoff losses to the Nets (losing games 4, 5, & 6 of the eastern finals) and Pacers (in the most poorly played game 7 of all-time). I've seen the Celtics' home base change from the good (Boston Garden) to the bad (Fleetcenter) to the ugly (TD BankNorth Garden).
I've seen it all, and I'm primed for a reversal.
17. One word: GINO
See you at the parade . . .
1. They are long overdue. The Lakers last title was the end of their Shaq/Kobe three-peat in 2002. That one should've belonged to Sacramento, so they've already gotten their breaks. It just feels like the Celtic's year, doesn't it?
2. If Boston doesn't win, the Jesus freak who always stands outside the garden with flyers and vest pins may stop believing. Sure he's crazy and I roll my eyes every time I see him, but he allows normal folks to feel better about themselves. And a happy fan is a cheering fan.
3. Their stars deserve it more. The Celtics' star trio of Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, & Ray Allen have put their egos aside all season and worked toward a single common goal. These longtime stars have earned their trip to the big one and a championship will help validate their careers in the eyes of detractors.
4. In terms of being a dominant player, Pierce is MUCH closer to Kobe than he is to Lamar Odom. That's more important than you'd think. L.A. writers would have you believe the Lakers have the edge because of the 'single' guy in the series who can take over at will. Well, there are actually 2 of these guys, and Boston has the one who's hungrier. Pierce has the potential to play Kobe to a stand-still as he did Lebron James in the eastern semi-finals.
5. The best big-game shooters in this series play for Boston. Sure Kobe is fearless, and Derek Fisher has proven a clutch shooter over the years. But if I'm Phil Jackson, I wouldn't want a 4th quarter buzzer beater in the hands of Odom, Luke Walton, Jordan Farmar, Sasha Vujacic, or Vladimir Radmanovic. Contrastingly, Pierce, Ray Allen, James Posey, Eddie House, and even Sam Cassell all possess the unflappable confidence needed to win a game in the closing seconds.
6. Boston's team defense is far superior. This point will not be argued by anybody on either side. History has shown time and time again that a strong defense will usually defeat a high-powered offense. See the San Antonio Spurs, Detroit Pistons (both eras), Chicago Bulls . . . hell, even the Baltimore Ravens, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, & New England Patriots. Flash is more fun, but physicality gets it done.
7. Kevin Garnett feels he has something to prove. He's long had a reputation for going soft in the big games. It is the only blemish on an otherwise superlative resume. Look for the Big Ticket to silence the skeptics with crucial leadership, multiple big shots, and the strongest help defense in the league. More than anyone, KG has put in his time on crappy teams. He's not letting this one get away.
8. James Posey is the best bench player in the series. He's capable of starting on most playoff teams and typically ends games on the floor. He's a lock-down perimiter defender with an uncanny knack for hitting the big 3s. He's also an exemplary teammate. Imagine Walter McCarty if he didn't suck and you get Posey, who's jersey will undoutedly become the "cool" one to purchase at the Celtics giftshop.
9. The Celtics have homecourt advantage. This is HUGE! Boston have one of the loudest buildings in the league and dominated at home all season long and through the playoffs. L.A. gets 3 of the first 5 in their building due to an idiotic format geared more around travel plans than fairness to the team with the better record. Still, playing in Los Angeles is a breeze compared to grittier towns, as many fans would rather take snap shots of Jack Nicolson than scream like maniacs for quarters at a time.
10. Pau Gasol is soft as pudding. He's a talented guy, but few get taken out of their game more easily by a few bumps in the post. With the exception of maybe Vince Carter, no top 25 player shows a larger disparity between their offensive and defensive ability. In terms of his skill set and physique, he's like a poor man's Garnett. Only thing is, we have Garnett, who should dominate this matchup with his strength, agility, lock-down D, and ability to shoot over him. On switches, Kendrick Perkins is capable of knocking Gasol to the floor and making him cry.
11. Boston has the coaching edge. Doc Rivers' brilliance as 4th quarter strategist . . . (just seeing if you were paying attention).
11. Ray Allen is primed to bounce back. Throughout most of the playoffs, the former Jesus Shuttlesworth looked nothing like the guy who averaged 25 pts a game as recently as 15 months ago. But he turned it on during games 5 and 6 wins against the Pistons in the eastern finals and seems ready to return to form. Ultimately, Allen is the x-factor in the finals. If he's the shooting threat I know he can be, the C's could run away with this. If he doesn't, Lakers could find a major edge. My money's on the former.
12. The media has drooled all over the Lakers. ESPN's team of "experts" all picked L.A. (these are the same brain surgeons who picked Detroit to wipe out Boston). Ultimately though, both teams won series they should have (against Atlanta & Cleveland, Denver & Utah, respectively) and played their best against their toughest opponents when it mattered most (Pistons & Spurs). The national love affair with Los Angeles should provide the Boston vets with an added motivation I'm not sure they need in the first place.
13. Green is a better team color than yellow. It's darker and far more manly. When the Garden is filled with rows upon rows of matching green tee-shirts, it's intimidating. Green is symbolic of the jungle, the incredible Hulk, and the rowdy drunks on St. Patrick's Day. The Staples Center contains sporadic shades of yellow filtered amongst workplace suits and ties. Yellow is symbolic of sunshine, Big Bird, and single guys who shop at J.Crew. Which team would you rather support?
14. If the Celtics don't win, they allow the Lakers to call into question which franchise is truly the N.B.A.'s most dominant. Boston is stuck on 16 championship banners, while L.A. has narrowed the gap to 2. If we lose the Lakers steal number 15 and I'll be subjected to insufferable reporters attempting to minimize Boston's historical success. Bill Plaschke will jump at the chance to note how the majority of Celtic titles came through one dominant team in the 60s, while L.A.'s titles have been spread out more evenly amongst different era's. I'll have to walk around all summer wearing earmuffs, which is neither an appealing nor comfortable look in July.
15. I'm not gonna say the Boston sports fans deserve it more, the Super bowl collapse aside. We've been blessed with success during the past 7 years as the Patriots & Red Sox have helped turn Boston into the most hated sports town in America (the price of winning). But long-suffering Celtics fans DO deserve this. Count me amongst the few proud fans who've helped comprise the pathetic 1.0 television ratings point Celtics games typically garnered during the past decade. I've put in my time. I've committed four nights a week to screaming at the TV and suffered through idiotic trades, poor free-agent signings, and incomprehensible coaching decisions. So I'm due, and I'll prove it . . .
16. I've outlasted some of the most useless talent ever seen in the N.B.A; Greg Minor, Alaa Abdelnaby, Todd Day, Zan Tabak, Acie Earl, Marty Conlon, Sebastian Telfair, Thomas Hamilton, Frank Brickowski, Chris Corchiani, Vitaly Potapenko, Marcus Banks, Bruno Sundov, Jimmy Oliver, Dwayne Schintzius, Steve Hamer, Andrew Declercq, Brett Szabo, and Alton Lister. Management duped me into getting excited about acquisitions like Dana Barros, 'Out of Service' Pervis, a way past his prime Dominque Wilkins, Xavier McDaniel, Raef Lafrentz, the alcoholic Vin Baker, the corpse of Gary Payton, Popeye 'Shrek' Jones, Wally Szerbiak, Chris Mihm, Tom Gugliotta, and Ricky Davis (who apparantly has a great brain; how flawed is that system?). They've hyped draft picks like Eric Montross, Dee Brown & Gerald Green (a dunk contest does not a superstar make), Junior Burrough, Kedrick Brown, Jerome Moiso, Wayne Turner, and Joseph Forte, and somehow lost out on both the Tim Duncan and Greg Oden/Kevin Durant lotteries. They've inexplicably made multi-millionaires out of Mark Blount, Travis Knight, and Brian Scalabrine. They traded both Chauncey Billips and Joe Johnson, and drafted Ron Mercer ahead of Tracy McGrady. They employed M.L. Carr and Rick Pitino as head coaches. Carr lead the worst Celtics team in history, while Pitino ranted about Bird, McHale, and Parish when he couldn't take the media pressue. I watched Reggie Lewis collapse on the parquet floor. I reluctantly applauded Dino Radja's post moves, Sherman Douglas' floater, Antoine Walker's shimmy, and Milt Palacio's insane three pointer. I've dealt with Paul Gaston's petty pockets and the headache inducing Crunch-n-Munch guy. I've pulled my hair out through an 18 game losing streak and playoff losses to the Nets (losing games 4, 5, & 6 of the eastern finals) and Pacers (in the most poorly played game 7 of all-time). I've seen the Celtics' home base change from the good (Boston Garden) to the bad (Fleetcenter) to the ugly (TD BankNorth Garden).
I've seen it all, and I'm primed for a reversal.
17. One word: GINO
See you at the parade . . .
Thursday, May 22, 2008
The Return of Indiana Jones: Part II
Satisfied. If I could only review Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull with one word, that would be my choice. It didn't thrill me like the original, gross me out like the 1st sequel, or humor me like the 2nd sequel. But it successfully integrated familiar elements from all three previous films. All in all, Indy IV was probably as good as a third sequel could possibly be.
The film takes place about 20 years after The Last Crusade. The villains this time around are the Russians, not the Nazis. Cate Blanchett plays their menacing, if underdeveloped leader. They are after the mysterious crystal skull, which legend says will bring power, knowledge, and a gold fortune to . . . . . nevermind. Like the ark of the covenant, the sankara stones, and the holy grail, the supernatural skull is really an excuse to provide the viewer with a series of close-calls, killer creatures, and thrilling chases. Because the enemies are again not quite as competent as our hero, they force Indiana Jones to discover the secrets they cannot. Along the way, Indy is joined by his longtime partner Mac (Ray Winstone), a young hot-head named Mutt (Shia LeBeouf), old flame Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), and a wise though senile professor who'll prove essential to helping Indy reach his goal.
Dr. Jones is once again played by Harrison Ford, who's as reliable as ever. He doesn't run like a man in his 60s, though the script never fails to take a shot at his age. Still, Ford acts like he's never left and successfully convinces the viewer that even an older Jones is more charasmatic and exciting than 95% of the action hero's out there. Bringing back Allen was a nice touch, and she and Ford recapture a little of the spark that began in Raiders of the Lost Ark all those years ago. LeBeouf adds a fresh face to the proceedings and establishes a strong chemistry with Ford. His character easily could've been annoying, but he keeps Mutt grounded, while giving the film it's attitude. Still, the film does miss Sean Connery as Dr. Jones Sr. His relationship with Indy was the glue that held The Last Crusade together and there is no actor in Crystal Skull to match the presence he brought to that film. We are told he and old pal Marcus Brody have passed on in a scene that made me laugh aloud as a result of the silly picture of Brody on Indiana's work desk. Even better is the scene when a statue of Brody (who put that thing up?) loses it's head, in a chase that doesn't quite make as much as sense as it probably should.
Far better executed is the film's action centerpiece, a multi-vehicle chase through the jungle featuring sword play, monkeys, guns, giant red ants, and a monstrous waterfall. This extended chase is easily the most thrilling action sequence since last summer's Bourne Ultimatum. There's still a few mysteries to solve afterward, and though the solution is a little preposterous, it generally falls in line with the mythic mumbo-jumbo conclusions to the other films. Unfortunately, we don't really hate the Russian baddies in Crystal Skull. They're portrayed as more of a collective nuisance than truly despicable beings like the Nazis were, which hinders the effectiveness of the ending. Although there's a nice touch at the end when Indy takes the hat that's rightfully his out of Mutt's eager hands.
So what are we left with in the end? A winner, if not an overwhelming one. The script contains enough genuinely funny moments and exciting action to please fans of the series, and the pacing is stellar, which should be expected of any Steven Spielberg directed action film (War of the Worlds aside). The opening scenes in the Nevada desert probably go on too long, but once Mutt introduces the real storyline to both Indy and the audience, the film accelerates. John Williams' score is terrific, while Ford shows he can still provide a stable presence to balance the world of chaos around him. The film has flaws and at times gets a little too cute, but overall it does far more things right than wrong. When all is said in done, I don't imagine too many summer films being more fun than this one.
Unlike George Lucas' embarassing Episode I - The Phantom Menace, Kingdom of the Crystal Skull deserves mention in the same breath as the three adventures that preceeded it. It's about as good at Temple of Doom, which for me is more of a compliment than a criticism. When you keep your expectations in check, amazing things can happen.
B+
The film takes place about 20 years after The Last Crusade. The villains this time around are the Russians, not the Nazis. Cate Blanchett plays their menacing, if underdeveloped leader. They are after the mysterious crystal skull, which legend says will bring power, knowledge, and a gold fortune to . . . . . nevermind. Like the ark of the covenant, the sankara stones, and the holy grail, the supernatural skull is really an excuse to provide the viewer with a series of close-calls, killer creatures, and thrilling chases. Because the enemies are again not quite as competent as our hero, they force Indiana Jones to discover the secrets they cannot. Along the way, Indy is joined by his longtime partner Mac (Ray Winstone), a young hot-head named Mutt (Shia LeBeouf), old flame Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), and a wise though senile professor who'll prove essential to helping Indy reach his goal.
Dr. Jones is once again played by Harrison Ford, who's as reliable as ever. He doesn't run like a man in his 60s, though the script never fails to take a shot at his age. Still, Ford acts like he's never left and successfully convinces the viewer that even an older Jones is more charasmatic and exciting than 95% of the action hero's out there. Bringing back Allen was a nice touch, and she and Ford recapture a little of the spark that began in Raiders of the Lost Ark all those years ago. LeBeouf adds a fresh face to the proceedings and establishes a strong chemistry with Ford. His character easily could've been annoying, but he keeps Mutt grounded, while giving the film it's attitude. Still, the film does miss Sean Connery as Dr. Jones Sr. His relationship with Indy was the glue that held The Last Crusade together and there is no actor in Crystal Skull to match the presence he brought to that film. We are told he and old pal Marcus Brody have passed on in a scene that made me laugh aloud as a result of the silly picture of Brody on Indiana's work desk. Even better is the scene when a statue of Brody (who put that thing up?) loses it's head, in a chase that doesn't quite make as much as sense as it probably should.
Far better executed is the film's action centerpiece, a multi-vehicle chase through the jungle featuring sword play, monkeys, guns, giant red ants, and a monstrous waterfall. This extended chase is easily the most thrilling action sequence since last summer's Bourne Ultimatum. There's still a few mysteries to solve afterward, and though the solution is a little preposterous, it generally falls in line with the mythic mumbo-jumbo conclusions to the other films. Unfortunately, we don't really hate the Russian baddies in Crystal Skull. They're portrayed as more of a collective nuisance than truly despicable beings like the Nazis were, which hinders the effectiveness of the ending. Although there's a nice touch at the end when Indy takes the hat that's rightfully his out of Mutt's eager hands.
So what are we left with in the end? A winner, if not an overwhelming one. The script contains enough genuinely funny moments and exciting action to please fans of the series, and the pacing is stellar, which should be expected of any Steven Spielberg directed action film (War of the Worlds aside). The opening scenes in the Nevada desert probably go on too long, but once Mutt introduces the real storyline to both Indy and the audience, the film accelerates. John Williams' score is terrific, while Ford shows he can still provide a stable presence to balance the world of chaos around him. The film has flaws and at times gets a little too cute, but overall it does far more things right than wrong. When all is said in done, I don't imagine too many summer films being more fun than this one.
Unlike George Lucas' embarassing Episode I - The Phantom Menace, Kingdom of the Crystal Skull deserves mention in the same breath as the three adventures that preceeded it. It's about as good at Temple of Doom, which for me is more of a compliment than a criticism. When you keep your expectations in check, amazing things can happen.
B+
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Return of Indiana Jones: Part I
How do I approach Indy IV, with my head or my heart? The 15 year old boy inside me has begun counting down the hours until the greatest cinematic hero of my lifetime returns to the big screen. This Thursday marks the opening of (for many) the year's most anticipated film, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I consider it an early birthday gift. The original trilogy represents probably the most fun adventure series Hollywood has ever produced. Raiders of the Lost Ark premiered in May, 1981, the same year I was born. It drew critical raves and huge box-office. Almost 30 years later, it has remained the benchmark against which most action/adventure films are measured. By the end of the 80s, two Indy sequels had been released. Temple of Doom was a hit, but while it contained some great action scenes, it was later deemed too dark by many fans. The Last Crusade (ironic title huh?) was lighter and funnier, not to mention a bigger smash, introducing Sean Connery as Indiana's father.
Collectively, the trilogy has done wonders for the talent involved. They are the best films on creator George Lucas' resume (Star Wars was a larger phenomenon, but Indy represents his most accomplished storytelling). Raiders of the Lost Ark, with Jaws, is arguably the most effective mainstream entertainment director Steven Spielberg has ever delivered. Harrison Ford's daring archaeologist is among a handful of the most well-known characters in cinema and easily represents Ford's most iconic role. John Williams score is instantly recognizable to even the most passive moviegoers. The trilogy has inspired popular attractions at both Walt Disney World (Orl.) and Disney Land (L.A.). May 22nd is circled on my calendar. I've watched the trailer on u-tube about 350 times. I've even decided to play hooky on Thursday, as I won't possibly be able to stay focused at work knowing I didn't attend one of the first showings (I immediately regret sharing that with you).
But will Kingdom of the Crystal Skull deliver or disappointment? I hate to admit that the latter is even a possibility, but I'm gonna let my brain interject. With a few exceptions, I've generally been let down by summer blockbusters. When I was a young teen, a movie would have to be really bad to dim my spirits. But with the media and Hollywood playing such a major role in creating pre-release hype for these "can't miss hits", it becomes almost impossible to feel completely satisfied afterward. Generally the films that fuel the public's collective energy are sequels or films based on popular stories. It makes sense. Audiences want to re-visit characters they are familiar with. That's why you don't see the same kind of initial marketing push for films like Sling Blade, L.A. Confidential, 25th Hour, Swingers, Million Dollar Baby, Little Miss Sunshine, or The Sixth Sense, all far stronger films than your average studio fare. Interestingly enough, when The Sixth Sense became a word-of-mouth phenomenon, all future M. Night Shamalan films became pegged as event movies. Ironically, not one has come close to the success of the original, creatively or financially. And yet that won't stop me from shelling out $10.00 to see his new film, The Happening, opening next month. The preview looks awesome and well, I just can't help myself.
Dr. Jones faces an additional obstacle many big sequels manage to avoid; the significant passage of time. These days studios are bludgeoning audiences over the head with rapid sequels. Each of the following trilogies were introduced and completed within spans of 6 years or less: Spiderman, X-Men, Pirates of the Carribean, Shrek, and The Matrix. The studios spent more time advertising on magazine covers and slapping logos on happy meal boxes than making sure they actually had decent stories (Anyone wanna bet the inevitable Iron Man sequel in 2 years won't be as good as the first?). But there's a method to this madness; they remained fresh in the public eye. It's harder to stir excitment for older franchises, because the audience changes if you wait too long. Moviegoers waited 6 years for Alien 3 & Lethal Weapon 4, 10 years for Hannibal, 12 years for Terminator 3 & Die Hard 4, and an incomprehensible 16 years for Rocky Balboa & Episode I: The Phantom Menace. The lattermost of those films was probably the most hyped film of all-time and suffered because of it, at least in terms of major audience disapproval. But Indiana Jones has topped them all. It's been nearly 2 full decades (19 years) since Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was released. I was 8 years old and too young to see it in theaters.
Creatively, there's no reason for a 4th Indy film. Harrison Ford has said publicly that he'd play Indiana Jones again in "a New York minute." While it seems his heart's in the right place, we're not naive. The only reason for this film's existence is money, as in shit-loads of money. You can currently see Indiana at Burger King, on Dr. Pepper boxes, and on Snicker and M&M rappers. But I can't imagine my anticipation being higher for the return of any other franchise, despite the fact that Ford is now 142 years old. Reportedly, Sean Connery wasn't interested in returning for the new sequel but it's just as well, since by any logical reasoning his character should be dead.
So what do I ultimately expect? Entertainment, no more, no less. It will probably fall somewhere in-between the quality levels of Temple of Doom and Last Crusade. With the overall quality of major summer releases at an all-time low, that would be more than acceptable to me.
A review of the film will be forthcoming.
Collectively, the trilogy has done wonders for the talent involved. They are the best films on creator George Lucas' resume (Star Wars was a larger phenomenon, but Indy represents his most accomplished storytelling). Raiders of the Lost Ark, with Jaws, is arguably the most effective mainstream entertainment director Steven Spielberg has ever delivered. Harrison Ford's daring archaeologist is among a handful of the most well-known characters in cinema and easily represents Ford's most iconic role. John Williams score is instantly recognizable to even the most passive moviegoers. The trilogy has inspired popular attractions at both Walt Disney World (Orl.) and Disney Land (L.A.). May 22nd is circled on my calendar. I've watched the trailer on u-tube about 350 times. I've even decided to play hooky on Thursday, as I won't possibly be able to stay focused at work knowing I didn't attend one of the first showings (I immediately regret sharing that with you).
But will Kingdom of the Crystal Skull deliver or disappointment? I hate to admit that the latter is even a possibility, but I'm gonna let my brain interject. With a few exceptions, I've generally been let down by summer blockbusters. When I was a young teen, a movie would have to be really bad to dim my spirits. But with the media and Hollywood playing such a major role in creating pre-release hype for these "can't miss hits", it becomes almost impossible to feel completely satisfied afterward. Generally the films that fuel the public's collective energy are sequels or films based on popular stories. It makes sense. Audiences want to re-visit characters they are familiar with. That's why you don't see the same kind of initial marketing push for films like Sling Blade, L.A. Confidential, 25th Hour, Swingers, Million Dollar Baby, Little Miss Sunshine, or The Sixth Sense, all far stronger films than your average studio fare. Interestingly enough, when The Sixth Sense became a word-of-mouth phenomenon, all future M. Night Shamalan films became pegged as event movies. Ironically, not one has come close to the success of the original, creatively or financially. And yet that won't stop me from shelling out $10.00 to see his new film, The Happening, opening next month. The preview looks awesome and well, I just can't help myself.
Dr. Jones faces an additional obstacle many big sequels manage to avoid; the significant passage of time. These days studios are bludgeoning audiences over the head with rapid sequels. Each of the following trilogies were introduced and completed within spans of 6 years or less: Spiderman, X-Men, Pirates of the Carribean, Shrek, and The Matrix. The studios spent more time advertising on magazine covers and slapping logos on happy meal boxes than making sure they actually had decent stories (Anyone wanna bet the inevitable Iron Man sequel in 2 years won't be as good as the first?). But there's a method to this madness; they remained fresh in the public eye. It's harder to stir excitment for older franchises, because the audience changes if you wait too long. Moviegoers waited 6 years for Alien 3 & Lethal Weapon 4, 10 years for Hannibal, 12 years for Terminator 3 & Die Hard 4, and an incomprehensible 16 years for Rocky Balboa & Episode I: The Phantom Menace. The lattermost of those films was probably the most hyped film of all-time and suffered because of it, at least in terms of major audience disapproval. But Indiana Jones has topped them all. It's been nearly 2 full decades (19 years) since Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was released. I was 8 years old and too young to see it in theaters.
Creatively, there's no reason for a 4th Indy film. Harrison Ford has said publicly that he'd play Indiana Jones again in "a New York minute." While it seems his heart's in the right place, we're not naive. The only reason for this film's existence is money, as in shit-loads of money. You can currently see Indiana at Burger King, on Dr. Pepper boxes, and on Snicker and M&M rappers. But I can't imagine my anticipation being higher for the return of any other franchise, despite the fact that Ford is now 142 years old. Reportedly, Sean Connery wasn't interested in returning for the new sequel but it's just as well, since by any logical reasoning his character should be dead.
So what do I ultimately expect? Entertainment, no more, no less. It will probably fall somewhere in-between the quality levels of Temple of Doom and Last Crusade. With the overall quality of major summer releases at an all-time low, that would be more than acceptable to me.
A review of the film will be forthcoming.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Vindicated! A Game 7 for the Ages
The Jekyl & Hyde act continued. The road women once again transformed into superheros at home. But today, that was good enough for me. Because I was honored to represent a small part of the loudest crowd I'd ever heard at a Boston basketball game. From the opening introductions, the fans were enthusiastic and involved 100%. This tends to happen when your home team, not to mention the opposition, plays each's best game of the playoffs. Make no mistake about, Cleveland would've beat most teams today. This was a war, one the Celtics were able to win with unselfish play, tenacious defense, smart substitutions (what?), and a very cohesive offense (what?, what?).
I've made no secret recently of my distaste for the stale Boston offense. Players had looked afraid of the ball down the stretch of games. There were units playing together for the first time all season! But tonight, Doc Rivers thankfully got it right. And it was a good thing, because so many bad calls went against the Celtics that we could easily be sitting home now watching ESPN preview a conference final between Detroit and Cleveland. There was the phantom foul on Kevin Garnett in the 4th. Delonte West kicking the ball out of bounce, but getting it right back. Lebron James holding Paul Pierce's jersey from behind while the ball bobbled out of Pierce's hands out of bounce. I could go on for hours, but I don't particularly want or need to. Because the C's overcame all of that, and advanced to the eastern conference finals after one of the best game 7s in NBA history.
The game was epic and should be sent to ESPN classic's archives immediately. They might as well label it the Lebron/Pierce showdown, because that's how it will be remembered. I've showered Lebron with praise throughout the entire season and he deserves it. Today he poured in 45 points despite hounding defense from Pierce and the unheralded James Posey. He also delivered what could've been the biggest play of the game, when he stripped the ball from Pierce, took it coast-to-coast, and slammed it home with authority, cutting the Boston lead to 1 with only about a minute left in regulation. It was the only moment the Garden was quiet all afternoon. Fortunately, Pierce came through.
Pierce has often been a forgotten superstar over the years, playing on bad teams, sulking, shooting too much, getting stabbed (sorry, low blow) . . . All past criticisms were drowned out by thunderous applause today, as Pierce played his best game in years! Sure, he's had games with better numbers, but never in a playoff game that mattered as much as this one. He dropped 41 on Cleveland, most of them against King James himself, who had no answer for Pierce's pattented fall-aways from just inside the arc. There's maybe a half-dozen players in the entire league who are truly unguardable once they get hot offensively, and 2 of them were on the same court today. It was an amazing site to behold. But Pierce would get the last laugh.
The 10 year vet was in the zone, creating open shots for his teammates as the Cavs defense was forced to collapse on him. He was unselfish, finding KG, Rajon Rondo, Kendrick Perkins, and P.J. Brown around the basket. He rebounded, he got to the line (where he was lights out), he even got hurt on what should've been a flagrant foul. Though he didn't leave the court, it was reminiscent of Larry Bird's injury and return against Indiana all those years ago. I admit I was nervous at the time and the next series of plays marked a battle of wits (or lack-thereof) between head coaches Rivers and Cleveland's Mike Brown. Not only did Rivers leave Pierce in the game guarding Lebron, but Brown failed to realize that everyone on his team should be attacking Pierce near the basket and settled for long jumpers. My fears were soon put to rest though. As soon as Pierce hit his next jumber, the crowd knew he'd continue to deliver, and he did until the final buzzer sounded.
Though Pierce deserved the most credit, his teammates brought their A-games as well. Most notable was Brown, a late season pick-up who in big minutes today proved more valuable than Sam Cassell in his entire stay in Boston. Brown rebounded, he hit shots, he intimidated, and he lead by example. Every time he fouled an opposing player, they knew it. He was not gonna allow 3-point plays, and his teammates followed the veteran's lead. Eddie House played crucial minutes and allowed the Boston faithful to breather easier. Perkins played strong, efficient defense on the glacial Lithuanian Zydrunas Ilgauskas, disallowing him from getting anything going inside the paint. One of my favorite moments of the afternoon was when, after watching Z nearly start a brawl near mid-court, the crowd erupted into chants of "USA, USA." KG scored big-time buckets and controlled the paint, leading all players in rebounds. And though Ray Allen has yet to come through with a big offensive game in the playoffs, when he was fouled with a chance to ice the game in the closing seconds, I knew it was over.
Sitting just 11 rows back, near center court, was a remarkable experience. My brother and I were within spitting distance of Jo Jo White, M.L.Carr, and "Satch" Sanders. I'm ashamed to admit it almost didn't happen. I wasn't quite sure I was ready to spend over $200 on a ticket (face value), even for a game as crucial as this one. Fortunately, my brother convinced me I was nuts, and we shared what was probably the best sporting event either of us have ever been to (and this from someone who had premium seats for game 1 of the historic 2004 World Series, which the Red Sox won 11-2). But this game was different. It was a must-win, a game 7, in a closed stadium filled wall-to-wall with green shirts and screaming maniacs. By the end my voice was shot. I was sweating profusely for at least the last 90 minutes. It was nearly non-stop action for 3 plus hours, which separates basketball from it's more popular competitors like football and baseball. The pace was electric, as both offenses woke up from their slumber. In my previous column I had stated that I wasn't worried about the Celtic defense, but rather their offense, which was producing nowhere near the level it was capable of. They actually scored 50 by half-time today, rather than by the end 3rd quarter. Imagine my relief of not having to take Doc out with a sniper rifle and risk being hauled off to prison.
The crowd was an interesing mix of young and old, black and white, men and women, although I'd guess there more suburban Jews in attendance than any other group. Still, it was rowdy. Plenty of famous athletes, including Patriots heros Randy Moss, Laurence Maroney, Richard Seymour, and of course Tom Brady, who seemed to think a San Francisco Giants cap would make him invisible to the other 18,000 plus in attendance. He was sitting next to one of the sexiest girls I've ever seen, but it wasn't Giselle, Bridget, or anyone else I recognized. That guy's a fucking pimp! I'd cut off my foot just to be him for a day. The P.A. guy knew just how to pump-up the crowd, not that he needed to with the effort we got from our players. Still, we were treated to "Eye of the Tiger", "Rock Me Like A Hurricane", "Baba O'Riley", new local anthem "I'm Shipping Up to Boston," and a film clip featuring "Welcome to the Jungle" that brought the house down. It was the classic Predator clip, with Arnold preparing for battle against an unstoppable killing machine in the jungle. We got a clip of Coach Devine in Rudy, affirming that "No one comes into our house, and pushes us around." We got some great crowd shots, most notably the two child dancers (one white, one black), who seemed to be on their feet for the entire 48 minutes. No points awarded for guessing who was the better dancer. And though the game was far too close to ever feel certain about the outcome, once the final whistle blew, it was Gino time. He clapped and shook like the fruitcake he is, and we all followed suit. We just couldn't help ourselves.
It was a special day, not only for me, but for my family, my friends, for the players (especially Pierce and James), for Boston, and for all basketball fans. Watching the Celtics gel in the biggest game of the year was enough to kill my inner grinch and convince me that they can win it all. But this game was bigger than the final score. It was a game I'll be telling my grandkids about one day.
Bring on the Pistons.
I've made no secret recently of my distaste for the stale Boston offense. Players had looked afraid of the ball down the stretch of games. There were units playing together for the first time all season! But tonight, Doc Rivers thankfully got it right. And it was a good thing, because so many bad calls went against the Celtics that we could easily be sitting home now watching ESPN preview a conference final between Detroit and Cleveland. There was the phantom foul on Kevin Garnett in the 4th. Delonte West kicking the ball out of bounce, but getting it right back. Lebron James holding Paul Pierce's jersey from behind while the ball bobbled out of Pierce's hands out of bounce. I could go on for hours, but I don't particularly want or need to. Because the C's overcame all of that, and advanced to the eastern conference finals after one of the best game 7s in NBA history.
The game was epic and should be sent to ESPN classic's archives immediately. They might as well label it the Lebron/Pierce showdown, because that's how it will be remembered. I've showered Lebron with praise throughout the entire season and he deserves it. Today he poured in 45 points despite hounding defense from Pierce and the unheralded James Posey. He also delivered what could've been the biggest play of the game, when he stripped the ball from Pierce, took it coast-to-coast, and slammed it home with authority, cutting the Boston lead to 1 with only about a minute left in regulation. It was the only moment the Garden was quiet all afternoon. Fortunately, Pierce came through.
Pierce has often been a forgotten superstar over the years, playing on bad teams, sulking, shooting too much, getting stabbed (sorry, low blow) . . . All past criticisms were drowned out by thunderous applause today, as Pierce played his best game in years! Sure, he's had games with better numbers, but never in a playoff game that mattered as much as this one. He dropped 41 on Cleveland, most of them against King James himself, who had no answer for Pierce's pattented fall-aways from just inside the arc. There's maybe a half-dozen players in the entire league who are truly unguardable once they get hot offensively, and 2 of them were on the same court today. It was an amazing site to behold. But Pierce would get the last laugh.
The 10 year vet was in the zone, creating open shots for his teammates as the Cavs defense was forced to collapse on him. He was unselfish, finding KG, Rajon Rondo, Kendrick Perkins, and P.J. Brown around the basket. He rebounded, he got to the line (where he was lights out), he even got hurt on what should've been a flagrant foul. Though he didn't leave the court, it was reminiscent of Larry Bird's injury and return against Indiana all those years ago. I admit I was nervous at the time and the next series of plays marked a battle of wits (or lack-thereof) between head coaches Rivers and Cleveland's Mike Brown. Not only did Rivers leave Pierce in the game guarding Lebron, but Brown failed to realize that everyone on his team should be attacking Pierce near the basket and settled for long jumpers. My fears were soon put to rest though. As soon as Pierce hit his next jumber, the crowd knew he'd continue to deliver, and he did until the final buzzer sounded.
Though Pierce deserved the most credit, his teammates brought their A-games as well. Most notable was Brown, a late season pick-up who in big minutes today proved more valuable than Sam Cassell in his entire stay in Boston. Brown rebounded, he hit shots, he intimidated, and he lead by example. Every time he fouled an opposing player, they knew it. He was not gonna allow 3-point plays, and his teammates followed the veteran's lead. Eddie House played crucial minutes and allowed the Boston faithful to breather easier. Perkins played strong, efficient defense on the glacial Lithuanian Zydrunas Ilgauskas, disallowing him from getting anything going inside the paint. One of my favorite moments of the afternoon was when, after watching Z nearly start a brawl near mid-court, the crowd erupted into chants of "USA, USA." KG scored big-time buckets and controlled the paint, leading all players in rebounds. And though Ray Allen has yet to come through with a big offensive game in the playoffs, when he was fouled with a chance to ice the game in the closing seconds, I knew it was over.
Sitting just 11 rows back, near center court, was a remarkable experience. My brother and I were within spitting distance of Jo Jo White, M.L.Carr, and "Satch" Sanders. I'm ashamed to admit it almost didn't happen. I wasn't quite sure I was ready to spend over $200 on a ticket (face value), even for a game as crucial as this one. Fortunately, my brother convinced me I was nuts, and we shared what was probably the best sporting event either of us have ever been to (and this from someone who had premium seats for game 1 of the historic 2004 World Series, which the Red Sox won 11-2). But this game was different. It was a must-win, a game 7, in a closed stadium filled wall-to-wall with green shirts and screaming maniacs. By the end my voice was shot. I was sweating profusely for at least the last 90 minutes. It was nearly non-stop action for 3 plus hours, which separates basketball from it's more popular competitors like football and baseball. The pace was electric, as both offenses woke up from their slumber. In my previous column I had stated that I wasn't worried about the Celtic defense, but rather their offense, which was producing nowhere near the level it was capable of. They actually scored 50 by half-time today, rather than by the end 3rd quarter. Imagine my relief of not having to take Doc out with a sniper rifle and risk being hauled off to prison.
The crowd was an interesing mix of young and old, black and white, men and women, although I'd guess there more suburban Jews in attendance than any other group. Still, it was rowdy. Plenty of famous athletes, including Patriots heros Randy Moss, Laurence Maroney, Richard Seymour, and of course Tom Brady, who seemed to think a San Francisco Giants cap would make him invisible to the other 18,000 plus in attendance. He was sitting next to one of the sexiest girls I've ever seen, but it wasn't Giselle, Bridget, or anyone else I recognized. That guy's a fucking pimp! I'd cut off my foot just to be him for a day. The P.A. guy knew just how to pump-up the crowd, not that he needed to with the effort we got from our players. Still, we were treated to "Eye of the Tiger", "Rock Me Like A Hurricane", "Baba O'Riley", new local anthem "I'm Shipping Up to Boston," and a film clip featuring "Welcome to the Jungle" that brought the house down. It was the classic Predator clip, with Arnold preparing for battle against an unstoppable killing machine in the jungle. We got a clip of Coach Devine in Rudy, affirming that "No one comes into our house, and pushes us around." We got some great crowd shots, most notably the two child dancers (one white, one black), who seemed to be on their feet for the entire 48 minutes. No points awarded for guessing who was the better dancer. And though the game was far too close to ever feel certain about the outcome, once the final whistle blew, it was Gino time. He clapped and shook like the fruitcake he is, and we all followed suit. We just couldn't help ourselves.
It was a special day, not only for me, but for my family, my friends, for the players (especially Pierce and James), for Boston, and for all basketball fans. Watching the Celtics gel in the biggest game of the year was enough to kill my inner grinch and convince me that they can win it all. But this game was bigger than the final score. It was a game I'll be telling my grandkids about one day.
Bring on the Pistons.
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