Vintage Handball and Ping Pong Books

Further proof of the Mza's all-time axiom, things weren't better back in the day, except for back in our day. Peep these champs. Remember the brouhaha over Tom Brady's supposed effeminate hair? These men brushed their hair, conditioned their hair, oiled their hair, teased their hair, permed their hair, fucking luxuriated in their hair, then went out, played some handball, slapped each other's butts, slammed 12-14 Budweisers then dipped their balls in gruyere fondue before driving home. Drunk.

I feel like I was the G in blue in a past life. Such form. You know he just hit a killer.

Dr. Who pinging that pong. Such supreme concentration.

Good Gawd! Did anybody ever do these drills?

I'm A Poet, Like Langston Hughes: Word is Bond Book Club

Plowing through a Langston Hughes collection, here are two choice gems:
Request:
Gimme 425.00
and the change.
I'm going
where the morning
and the evening
won't bother me.

Motto:
I play it cool
And dig all jive. That's the reason
I stay alive.

My motto,
As I live and learn,
is:
Dig and Be Dug
In Return.

Did Matt Groening Take the Name 'Homer Simpson' From Nathanael West's novel "Day of the Locusts?"

Considering the many high-falutin' references in "The Simpsons" over the years, it can't be mere coincidence that bumbling oaf Homer Simpson shares the name of the naive Midwestern Homer Simpson in Nathanael West's 1939 novel "Day of the Locusts." It's a good one too, as is his other major work, "Miss Lonelyhearts."
In 1975, a movie was made of "Day of the Locusts," and Donald Sutherland played Homer, it's a ridiculous trailer. 

Elegantly Wasted; Photos of Famous Alcoholic Writers

Life Magazine soldiers on in internet form, and remains incredibly valuable for its archives. They began, somewhat recently, to organize some of their photos into interesting sets. One such set is this collection of photos of famous writers who drank famous amounts of booze and tossed off delicious quotes such as "[toss your] balls to the sea.....if you have any balls left," and "[t]o smoke opium is to get off the train while it is still moving." Enjoy.

What do the Lakers have to do to be loved in L.A.? And, Chris Erskine of the LA Times Fancies Beyonce and Enos Slaughters' Speed

Shocking results of an LA Times poll asking its readers, "Which is your favorite sports team?" At last check, with more than 13,000 votes in, USC came in at #1. Which is frankly lame because a college team should not be the fave of the second biggest city in the country. A city should not pin its sporting hopes and dreams on the shoulders of a bunch of unpaid kids. The Angels came in at #2, which I guess is kind of cool. The Lakers, coming off an NBA title and fully reloaded to win again, came in at #3, barely fending off the Galaxy #4, and UCLA, #5. The oddly unpopular Dodgers come in next, in a virtual tie with the Kings.

What gives with the lack of Laker love? Certainly it's not Clipper-Crazies, they came in with a strong 1% of the vote, groveling in the gutter alongside Chivas USA and the LA Sparks. Do glamorous Laker fans find Lamar's betrothal to the ugly Kardass sister unseemly? Do Randy Newman-crazed Laker loyalists hate rap music? Did the Rally Monkey fuck with the results? Do the Lakers need to grow Beckham beards?
I almost didn't see the poll, as I was wallowing in yet another chumpy column from a writer, Chris Erskine, who wrote the kind of observational drivel Andy Rooney would wipe his ass with.
Erskine writes of his love/hate relationship with baseball. "Baseball can be too much of a good thing sometimes. As if Beyonce were born twins." Can you fathom....two Beyonces!?!? Would Taylor Swift ever win an award in such a sexy world?
Baseball is too long for the man, "Hey, here's an idea: 100 games, seven innings each. I never said it was a good idea. Just an idea." You just know he thinks its a brilliant idea, but he cuts off the reader's initial negative reaction through Sophist self-effacement. Savvy.

The column should have ended there, on a high note, but with a clear lack of an editor's guidance, the musings meander on.

"I'm missing baseball already, this awful, splendid game--more fickle than life itself." Oh, I didn't realize that RANDOM DEATH was a daily part of baseball. But you know what? You just never know if a hard-hit ball will find the gap or a glove. Fickle-pickle.

"Baseball isn't a sport, it's a fetish." Like wanting to tickle Beyonce's inner thighs with your sandy mustache as your glasses fog up.

"New York is where the wild things really are. Fans there ought to have rabies shots." I didn't thinkc sheep with cell phones ould transmit rabies.

"Yep, 30 teams started the season and one (or two) are still alive. What other activity suffers casualties like this?" Oh, I don't know, hmmmm......MAYBE EVERY OTHER SPORT ON THE FACE OF THE FUCKING EARTH.

"If baseball were a song, Willie Nelson would sing it. If baseball were a country, it'd be invaded by Lichtenstein." If baseball were cereal, it'd be Grape Nuts. If baseball were tits, it'd be Marcy D'arcy's.
"Sure, baseball can be pure poetry: ivy on brick; mustard in your fingernails; Enos Slaughter sprinting back to the dugout just because." Enos Slaughter played his last game in 1959.

He rambles on to his insane childhood. "Suburbs were tougher then. The things we did with firecrackers would make a modern mother retch." And Beyonce cream. What a rebel. And Ersky, kids today are into sexting, sniffing glue and skateboards, oh, and not reading the paper.

Is there an end in sight? "So fret not, Dodger fans. Life goes on. These days, there dusts mites in my mustache and hints of winter in my knees...Pitchers and catchers report in about 100 days." Which is how long the season should be! What a great/awful idea!

Remember, the LA Times costs 75 cents a day and is shedding readers faster than Enos Slaughter sprinting back to the dugout. It's so easy for newspapers to blame their problems on the internet instead of ignoring the timeless rule; "content is king." People read sites like Deadspin partly because its free, true, but also because its content is funny and entertaining. Which is what a sports section should be.

Lessons

You're never too old- or too washed-up- to stop learning. I'm gonna pass on his book, thanks, I'll stick to the wisdom of the Wu-Tang Manual.

Wait, he has another book?!?!

*pic credit to upnorthtrips, a fantastic site best experienced via rss feed.

Words is Bond

I was strolling the aisles of the 'brar yesterday and came across "Ernie," everlasting Ernest Borgnine's autobiography. Look at that mirthful mug! So I picked it up but then had second thoughts. Sure, he's been in some greats, but could I get through his entire boo? I decided to flip to a random page, if it was good, I would take it out.

Well, this is the first sentence I read:

"The last thing Sam Peckinpah had said to me was that I should go fuck myself.
So did I want to work with him again? You bet your life!"

SOLD!

Amongst the many classic tales he tells is of the time he was a struggling actor in New York. Walking despondently along 10th Avenue in midwinter, he comes across a roasted chestnut cart with a sign that read:

"I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to keep my nuts warm."

Borgnine took the creed to heart, working on almost any project that came his way, always reaching for the stars with feet planted firmly on the ground.

So, next time you're in your local 'brar, check it out! Get it? Check....out...ahh forget it.