The Hope for a Better Tomorrow

Some of you may have noticed (and some of you have even pointed it out) that when I write about something, I'm very often writing about something else as well. I tend to find a (somewhat) larger meaning behind whatever it is I happen to be writing about. This is not accidental. If I'm writing about something, I care about and feel it's interesting enough write about. If I care about, there is probably a deeper reasoning, even if I don't immediately understand what it is. Whether it's the state of television, John Lackey's histrionics (to be fair, I'm completely on his side about the recent events involving text messages and his personal life, but I wrote about him before all of that), or the coming technological revolution, writing helps (and forces) me to figure out those undiscovered connections. It's one of the reasons I enjoy writing as much as I do. I bring this up because this is not going to be one of those posts.

I love football. Sundays from September through early February are some of the best days of the year. I play in a flag football league that has given me the knees of someone significantly older, but I can't actually imagine the day when I'll decide I don't want to do it anymore. I'll watch almost any NFL game, and despite the fact that I will always talk about how inferior it is in any conversation, I tend to catch myself watching a handful of NCAA games each season as well.

As much as I love football, I love the Patriots more. I know there is a general criticism about people who love their team/s more than the given sport itself, and how that typically means those people don't really like whatever sport is in question, but I feel I've adequately explained myself here. It can ruin my whole day when they lose. I realize this is ridiculous. I understand that the outcome of one football game (or one football season, or all football seasons, etc...) has almost no actual impact on anything. That's fine. I'm still going to love football. And the Patriots.

Right now, the Patriots are making it difficult.

This past Sunday, Tom Brady completed 66.7 percent of his pass attempts, threw for 387 yards and 4 touchdowns. All fantastic numbers, except that with it he threw 4 interceptions. These were far from the only mistakes made by New England, and the defense has to take some of the blame for the 17 points they allowed after those interceptions. (Buffalo actually scored 24 points off the turnovers, but one of the interceptions was returned for a touchdown. Hard to pin that on the defense.) It was a bad day for the whole team, which happens from time to time. It was a bad day for Brady, which almost never happens.

Let's get one thing straight right now. Tom Brady is the best quarterback New England fans will ever see in their lifetime. There has been a seemingly endless debate about where Brady ranks among QBs all time, or even among his generation. (For the record, I still consider him to be the best of his generation. When given the weapons, he put up record-setting numbers that Manning only came close to, while also having the ability to come through when it mattered most. Say what you want about the Patriots recent playoff struggles, but Brady still has a 3-1 edge in Super Bowl rings. Brees is a great quarterback, but I don't think he's in the same class as Manning or Brady, and Aaron Rodgers needs to keep it up for a bit longer before I'm ready to really put him in this conversation. But that's just me.) Wherever you stand on Brady among the other greats, there has never been another New England quarterback who has been even close to this level, and the odds of seeing another player of his talent come along are astronomical. I've loved the Tom Brady era, knowing how special it is to watch one of the best ever lead your team.

Which is why Sunday's loss to the Bills is so upsetting. In terms of this season, it's not exactly the worst thing that could happen. It is a loss to a divisional opponent, and it puts New England a game behind Buffalo for first place in the division (and, technically, the conference and league). But it's only the third game of the season, and the teams play each other again. The discouraging thing is how they lost. They lost because Brady didn't have his best day, and this team wasn't good enough to pick him up. The offense still moved the ball well, when it was able to maintain possession, and scored points, but the defense couldn't come up with a stop when it needed one. If 31 points isn't enough to win a game, your defense isn't good enough. Again, it's one game, so maybe this is all a little bit of an over-reaction, but I'm afraid that it's not.

I was talking about this current Patriots team with a friend of mine before the game against Buffalo, and I told her that I felt like the offense looked to be good enough that it will cover for the defense most games, hopefully while the defense develops and comes together. Her response was, "sounds like a typical Patriots team to me." I was depressed by how accurate this statement was. When the Patriots were winning Super Bowls, they did it with a controlled offense and a defense that was always in the top-10 of points allowed. There are some who think the offense has become too much of the priority in recent seasons. That a high-octane offense can't win in the playoffs. Maybe, but I don't agree with that. Teams can win with that kind of offense, but they need the defense to go with it. Teams need to ability to stop their opponent, and at the very least, have the kind of second-gear or play-making ability to come up with a big stop when the game is on the line. The Patriots haven't had that for a while, with some pretty clear examples. (If you don't remember the '06 AFC Championship or the '07 Super Bowl, too bad, I'm not going to torture myself and anyone reading this more than I already have to.)

The NFL has become a passing league. This seems to be common knowledge. In 1991, teams threw for 199.1 yards per game (ypg). In 2010, that number has increased to 221.6 ypg. Through the first three weeks of this season, the league is on pace for an average of 245.5 ypg. In the past 4 full seasons, 2008 had the lowest average, with quarterbacks throwing for 211.3 ypg. In the 16 seasons prior to that stretch, only 3 of them had a higher average.

Going back a few years ago, many teams would try to establish a running game to open up their passing game. In response to this, a defense would try to stop the run, forcing a team to throw out of necessity, not by choice. With many teams choosing to pass regardless of their ability to run the ball (Indianapolis, New England, teams that want to be Indianapolis and New England), defenses now have to focus on stopping the pass first, and most defensive coaches (and analysts, talking-heads, and casual sports fans) seem to agree that the best way to slow down a passing offense is to pressure the quarterback. The numbers back it up. Going back to 2003, only 2 teams have ranked lower than 11^th in the NFL in sack percentage (how often a defense sacks the opposing QB on a passing play): Indianapolis in 2006 (22^nd) and New Orleans in 2009 (27^th). In '06, Indianapolis had been questioned all season long about their defense, and whether it was good enough to win a Super Bowl. They made a few moves, tightened things up, and were a different team by the time the playoffs rolled around. The new defense shut teams down and they were unstoppable (well, the new defense along with pumped in crowd noise and the hottest stadium in the NFL, but whatever). New Orleans was a little different. They didn’t get much pressure the quarterback during their Super Bowl season, but they had a secondary that was effective (ranked 3^rd in opposing QB rating) and pulled off big plays when they needed them (Tracy Porter had late interceptions in the NFC Championship game and the Super Bowl, both of which effectively sealed wins for New Orleans).

New England right now rates 28^th in sack percentage and 22^nd in opposing passer rating. Yes, we’re only three games in. Yes, there is plenty of time for them to change it. I’m just worried (and somewhat certain) that they won’t. And I feel that way because Belichick hasn’t called an aggressive blitz in what feels like years. This team doesn’t attack the quarterback. It chooses to instead drop men into coverage in the hopes of confusing opposing quarterbacks. I’m not trying to question Belichick. He is, without argument, the greatest coach in my lifetime. I trust that he has a better reason for crafting the defense that he does than I would have for questioning it. Maybe it’s as simple as he doesn’t feel he has the players for it (a criticism which would seem valid, but would also point out his recent track record with draft choices and free agent signings, at least among certain positions). It’s entirely possible that the sack rate stays the same, but McCourty and Bodden recover from their early season struggles, the younger guys/first-year starters develop, and the pass defense gets better that way.

But it might not. And if it doesn’t, the likely outcome is that another year of Tom Brady’s career will be lost. And that would be a shame. Because as rare as it is to see Brady have a game like he did against the Bills, it’s nothing compared to how rare it is to see Tom Brady.

(Forgot to include this. All stats in this post came from teamrankings.com and pro-football-reference.com)

Untitled

Depending on who you ask, autumn has already started in New England. Officially, seasons are based on the length of the day, which means it won't really be fall until September 23 and the autumnal equinox, but for many people, summer ended with their Labor Day cookouts and beach trips, filled with grilled meats and beer, that suntan lotion smell of coconut and medicine left to be washed off in their morning shower.

By it's nature, autumn is somewhat of a second-class season. Summer and winter get top billing. People wait all year so they can do things that can only be done in those seasons (This isn't entirely accurate, as things like skiing/snowboarding and going to the beach start and end outside of their respective seasons, but people associate these activities with these seasons, and that's sort of all that matters.). By human nature, we tend to focus on the extremes of any particular group (see also: celebrity train wrecks, reality television {some overlap between these two}, weather patterns, the tea party). Spring and fall are basically just there to get us from one to the other.

Between the two backup seasons, fall gets the bum deal. Despite being little more than constant rain and pollen, spring gets everyone thinking about summer and how exciting that will be. By the time fall rolls around, summer is over, the beaches are closing, before you know it winter will be here, and no one likes winter (This is also an inaccurate statement, except no one is excited about winter until it's right on top of us. Ask someone in August how they feel about winter and they hate it, because at that moment, all winter means is that we will be cold and covered in snow.). Autumn has long been used as a metaphor for aging and sadness. The prime of the year is behind us, and all we have to do is look around to see reminders that we are all withering towards a barren and cold conclusion, an inevitable end on the horizon. All the new life and rebirth of spring has run it's course, and fall is just our small chance to brace for the coming winter.

This seems like a good time to mention that autumn is, without question, my favorite season. And not because I get some perverse kick out of all the crap I just mentioned. There are reasons on top of reasons that I love fall. As soon as the heat and humidity of summer breaks, I feel like a different person. It's almost as if I spend most of the summer thinking only of ways to keep myself from turning into a puddle, and fall allows me to start thinking about everything else again. Last night was the best night of sleep I've had in months, and that is due almost entirely to the cool breeze coming through my window. It was flat-out cold in my bedroom this morning, and I loved it.

Fall also brings with it the start of football. I love football, love my New England Patriots, and love watching Belichick and Brady be the best at what they do. More than that, though, I love the Sundays I spend at my grandfather's house watching the games with him and his son, three generations of Belair men together, watching their team, eating and drinking and bs'ing about whatever it is we decide to bs about. If you've kept up with these posts at all, you'll know that I have a certain relationship with sports and my father. Adding my grandfather to the mix is about the only thing that could make it better.

In the autumn of 2003, I was going through basic training for the U.S. Air Force, which takes place in San Antonio, Texas. Autumn in San Antonio is a lot like summer in New England, only hotter. I tried to explain what I was missing out on back home, and most of my fellow trainees had no idea what I was talking about. There were a few guys from New England, though, and they all knew what I knew: there is nothing like fall in New England. Forget what you've heard about the leaves and any sort of festival based around candy apples or pumpkins. All fun things in their own right, but their is a smell to autumn here that cannot be described. It's crisp and refreshing and cool. I know that all sounds like a terrible add for a Sprite knockoff, but I don't know how else to describe it, and I know that those words don't do it justice.

While I was in basic, my significant other at the time wrote to me regularly. Mail is absolutely the best part of basic training. The days when the mail gets backed up (you are the lowest priority mail recipients on base) are awful, but are made up for on the days when you go back to your bunk with a stack of letters. One of the letters she sent me was about how the leaves were changing and how nice everything looked. She knew how much I loved autumn, and sent a second envelope along containing a few leaves she had found and thought I would like. A small piece of home while I was away. It was sweet and touching and I loved it and loved her for doing it. The rest of our flight (the name for a group of trainees when you're in basic) finally began to understand how much we loved fall in New England when my "letter" became the most popular thing in the room, at least among the guys from the area. Everyone took their time with it, each of them examining the leaves and breathing in the scent inside the envelope. If you know the scent I've been talking about, this won't seem weird to you at all.

I'm sure there will be moments this autumn when the cool air turns to cold and I'll miss the summer sun. Or a night that seems to come too early, and the realization that it will only continue to get earlier for the coming months. It's then that I'll try to think about Sunday afternoons, and of the changing leaves, and of New England air floating through Texas. Autumn is my season. An in-between season defined by what it isn't, but knows what it has to offer.

Things We Said

There are a lot of things that people don't like to admit. There are a decent number of things that people take for granted. Television is something that a lot of people take for granted, and few people want to admit it. I recently read a statistic that the number of homes with at least one television set had declined over the past year. This is interesting for a few reasons. For starters, this is the first time that percentage has dropped in 20 years. The two main reasons for this drop appear to be a struggling economy and availability of online content. Secondly, the drop was from 99 percent to 97 percent. That's such a small drop from such a large number that it barely counts.

These numbers, and the ability to watch tv shows without an actual television, mean it's safe to assume almost everyone you know is watching tv (in some capacity). If you're reading this (a small group of people), or are even someone who could conceivably read this (a larger group), you are aware of a wide range of shows, and probably watch at least some of them. So, if (almost) all of us are watching, and even the ones who aren't watching are getting it somewhere else, why are we so afraid of admitting it?

Casually ask a few people you know if, or how much, tv they watch, and the most common response you'll get is "I don't really watch much television", or something along those lines. There are two reasons for this, and the first answer is pretty simple. We've all been conditioned to believe that television somehow makes you less intelligent, and that admitting to watching it is equivalent to admitting that you're a fool with nothing better to do with your time. The second reason is a bit more complicated. We're all afraid of who we are. Not to come off as a pretentious a-hole (little chance of that, I'm guessing), but I'm not terribly satisfied with either explanation, but for different reasons.

Everyone seems to agree that film, at its highest levels, is an art form. I don't want to get into a discussion about how it stacks up against music or literature or the visual arts, so let's just call them all equal (since that conversation is mostly dominated by personal tastes anyway). So why is it that sitting in a theater for 2 hours is fine, but spending 60 minutes watching a television show is something to be embarrassed about? I realize that there are certainly shows out there that do nothing for the human mind, and I would have a hard time calling any reality tv show "art", but even that might be overly critical.

(Extended side-discussion no.1 of 2. When discussing reality tv, the first show to come to mind is "Jersey Shore". Everyone seems to be in complete agreement that this show is a train wreck, no one wants to admit to watching it, yet everyone knows by Friday morning what The Situation was doing Thursday night. In the interest of full disclosure, I watched the last season. Every week, my friends and I would get together and watch it while drinking and having side conversations and insulting the behavior of various characters. This season, we haven't gotten together as a group to watch it, I watched the first episode alone, was bored to tears within the first 20 minutes and haven't been back. I've heard it wasn't the best episode, so maybe I'll catch up eventually, but who knows. Anyway, no one, even hardcore fans of the show, would praise it for being a particularly good show or classy or smart, but does that mean it has no value? An apologist could make the case that the show is an interesting insight into the mind set of a certain section of American society, and how we--or at least that section of society--view, define, and value fame, success, and friendship. And I'm not sure those apologists would be wrong.)

If there is even some value to be found in reality tv, what does that mean for television operating in the upper tiers? Shows that are compelling, thoughtful, and intelligent? All art can change the way we look at the world or our lives. If I can watch a character develop in a film, and become completely engulfed in his or her story, and feel differently about myself (or at least part of myself) than I did before I watched the movie. Doesn't it stand to reason then, that a television series that can keep me coming back week after week and season after season is just as much of an accomplishment, if not more so?

We live in an interesting time for television. We have never had more options in terms of programming. Neither of these ideas are particularly new, and neither is what I'm about to say, but it's worth saying. This range of choices has been both positive and negative for the 97 percent of us still watching. Having so many options has led to lower ratings for tv shows, We'll never have another M*A*S*H moment (the finale drew the largest absolute audience, a record held until the 2010 Super Bowl, and it still holds the highest share of all time). There are too many other things to watch. And as the internet begins to pull away more viewers (or, more accurately, more tracked viewers), ratings will continue to drop. This makes it harder for networks to generate advertising revenue, which makes it harder to justify the expense of high quality programming.

The other side, however. is that these options have given us just that, options. Shows exist today that probably wouldn't have had a place in American homes even 20 years ago. My favorite show currently airing is Breaking Bad (discussion 2 coming), a show about a high school chemistry teacher who becomes a meth cook. It's violent and edgy, wouldn't been on tv a decade ago (or at least not before the advent of the TV Parental Guidelines, which have allowed shows to get away with far more than they used to), and it airs on AMC (it wouldn't be noteworthy if it aired on HBO, where the rules have always been different). Most cursing is allowed (in moderation) on basic cable, violence is becoming more graphic, almost any subject matter is acceptable, and even nudity was beginning to become somewhat tolerated until Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson ruined everything for everyone (if everyone else wants to exaggerate how bad it was, so can I). Modern television gives us access to at least the possibility of almost anything we could want from a television show.

(Extended side-discussion no.2 of 2. I've been trying to avoid writing anything about Breaking Bad simply because I've seen and read so much about it already that I don't want to copy something that has already been said, inadvertently or otherwise. That being said, given the topic of this post, I have to at least mention it. This show is amazing. It's easily my favorite show on tv right now, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a show that I would consider better. Creator Vince Gilligan has developed incredibly interesting and complex characters who are acted out superbly by the entire cast. It's hard to imagine anyone else performing better in any of the main roles, and even some of the not so main roles. Gilligan has stated many times in interviews that he wanted to create a show where the "fundamental drive was towards change" and one that took the protagonist and made him the antagonist. He's done this by constantly putting his characters in situations where they need to make moral choices. These situations never feel forced or contrived, but it gives the audience a chance to watch these characters change right before us, sometimes gradually, sometimes in the course of a single scene. This also points to the pacing of the show, something that gets commented on quite frequently, and sometimes very critically by fans. Whether or not this is the best show I've ever watched, I have no problem saying that it has the best pacing of any show I've ever seen. I think one of the reasons behind this {and why so many people get upset about it} is because it doesn't operate like any show I've seen before. There will be multiple episode stretches where the tension of a given situation builds, far longer than a typical drama and past what many would consider to be the breaking point, before resolution is given. And yet there are other times when actions and reactions happen immediately, before you're even given a chance to consider what is about to transpire and what it all means. I could go on for a while, but point is, if you're a fan of television and you're not watching this show, you're missing out.)

This era of television and all of it's options have given us some incredible shows, moments, and characters to let into our lives. I would rank Arrested Development among the best all-time comedies to air. Perhaps four of the best shows ever made have aired with the past 10 years (depending on who you ask, and I ask Chuck Klosterman, in a manner of speaking), The Wire, The Sopranos, Breaking Bad, and Mad Men. Aaron Sorkin gets criticized for being more style over substance and for bordering on pretentious and preachy(to put it kindly) but I think he makes some of the best dialogue to be found on television. (I also tend to love the characters on his shows, but this seems to be point of contention for his detractors).

Maybe everyone doesn't agree with me (?!), or maybe you don't think film is all that special as a medium for art. You might be right, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. If all of this is true, and tv is as diverse, smart, and compelling as it has ever been, then the belief that watching television is somehow bad for you mentally is a poor assumption. I'm not advocating spending hours in front of the device everyday, but enjoying it is nothing to be ashamed of. And that's where we get to the second reason people don't like to admit to watching tv.

People lie constantly. We tell little lies for almost any reason. Because it's easier than explaining the truth, because we think we have something to gain, and, more often than not, because we want to be seen as whatever it is we think we should be seen as. This may seem reductionist and cynical, but most people act in a way that is based on who they think they should be instead of who they actually are and what kind of person they want to be. This doesn't make anyone a bad person in itself, it just seems like a dangerous way to live your life and a good way to do things you don't actually want to do. I have spent a lot of time considering what kind of person I am, what kind of person I want to be, and why I do what I do. This doesn't make me better than anyone else, it just makes me (somewhat) self-aware. I do this mostly because I think about things too much. I may have mentioned this before, and if I did, it's because I think about things too much, and I think about that, too.

I was watching Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Aaron Sorkin's short lived show that takes place behind the scenes of a late-night sketch comedy show. There is a scene where Matthew Perry's character (Matt) asks his on-and-off girlfriend (Harriet) one thing she likes about the guy she is currently seeing. She replies that he is "easy". The obvious sexual joke is made, and then she explains that he is easy to be around, that his personality is easy, with the implication being that Matt is not. This is mostly because Matt can't understand Harriet's religious beliefs and questions them constantly, along with the motivations behind the actions of just about everyone he interacts with. (This is something a lot of Sorkin characters do, which might be one of the reasons I like his shows so much.)

When watching this, I came to realize that I'm not easy, either, and that I've actually pushed some people away from me by not being easy. I can't stand when someone assumes they know why I'm doing whatever it is I'm doing (usually because they don't have any idea why I'm doing what I'm doing) and will think nothing of questioning why someone says or does anything. Being someone who knows me isn't easy. I will question things you probably haven't questioned yourself. If you can't handle someone doing that to you, you probably wouldn't like me after a while. I suspect that all this actually does is make me incredibly annoying to be around for most people, but at this point, I kind of don't care. The reason I don't care is that, if I'm doing this to you, it's most likely because I value your thoughts and opinions in some way, and want to know more about whatever is we're/you're talking about or doing.

I know it seems ridiculous to admit and revel in doing something annoying and sometimes troubling to people I like and care about. But I like who I am (at least this part of who I am), and I want to know who you are, and I want you to know who you are. And if that's troubling to you and you need time to think about it, that's fine. I'll be watching tv.

The Downward Spiral

I have heard my favorite album. Contrary to what you might be thinking based on the title of this post, that album is not by Nine Inch Nails. I could tell you what album it is, and perhaps someone reading this might know me well enough to guess, but that would lead to a discussion about that album. Certainly, I could make my case for why I think this is the best album ever made (although I'm not even sure I feel that way; favorite and best are not the same thing), but "best" is really just a measure of "good", and what the hell does that mean, anyway? No, my point is that, at 28, music (in all likelihood) has peaked for me. And while I'm not sure exactly what that means yet, I know it means something.

For starters, let me clarify a few details about why this album (which will be referred to as "Album X" henceforth) is my favorite album. Album X came out in my lifetime, which is an important distinction. The Beatles made some great albums, and some of those I might consider to be the "best" album ever made, but my (and probably most peoples') favorite album is about more than just being the best. It's about how an album strikes you when you first hear it, which itself is dependent on a number of factors. When Album X came out, I was living with someone at the time. We had been together for a few years and were living in my parents house. We had recently moved out of the house we had been living in but hadn't found a new place to live yet. I listened to Album X the first time, shortly before we went to bed. I played it on her computer while she was already lying down. I'll never forget how much she seemed to enjoy watching me enjoy it. These are the sorts of little things that can't be recreated on further listens or another album.

Album X's genre is somewhat unimportant as well (my favorite style of music vs. your favorite style of music is irrelevant in this scenario), but even within a given form, there are still times when music can surprise you. Album X was (and still is in someways) the only music I had ever heard that sounded the way it did. This may seem like an absurd or nonsensical statement, but think about the first time you discovered a particular band or type of music. That feeling of having a door opened that you didn't even know was there. That door can never be closed, which is a good thing, but that also means you can never open it again.

This isn't to say that I will never be surprised by a new album, but I have serious doubts that I will ever be surprised in that way ever again. While the internet age has made it easier to find more and better music than we used to have access to, it also means that there is a smaller chance of finding some new thing that completely shifts your understanding of music. Sure, there are new bands posting videos of themselves right now that I will never hear but would possibly love. But with such a large pool of styles available to us, what are the chances that band would sound unlike anything we have ever heard before?

I don't want to sound like someone's dad. As I mentioned, I still find new music that I like. I think there is potential for great music in the future, and even think that maybe (a big maybe, but maybe) their might be good music on popular radio again one day. But I don't think I'll ever have a better album experience than the one I had listening to Album X. And that is a strange realization.

It's not necessarily a bad thing. Realizing how much something means to you is a good thing. It's possible that this doesn't actually change anything for me at all. If I still seek new music and enjoy music (in general) as much as I used to, what's different? This is the sort of understanding that can make me feel old, but it doesn't actually change anything about my physical age. So if I don't act any differently, and nothing has actually, physically changed as a result of this, then it would seem to reason out that I shouldn't feel any differently at all. But I do.

Maybe it's because, like all milestones in life, it represents a sort of end. An end of possibility. As soon as we are old enough to be aware of the future, we consider the assorted events and experiences life has in store for us. Even though we are always moving towards fewer and fewer of these possibilities, we aren't always aware of it. And even if we stop and think about it, we don't often feel it. This makes me feel it. Which isn't to say that I feel like I'm closer to "the end", or that feel I have fewer possibilities now than I did when I first heard Album X (even though that is true). It simply means that I'm aware of this event within my own life. And as strange as that is, I think I like it. At least now I know what I'm looking for, and not just in an album.

Standing Room Only

(Note to the reader: this post deals with sports, but is not about sports. If you aren't a sports fan, tough it out, it gets better.)

John Lackey is not a terrible person. Actually, he might be. I have no idea what kind of person John Lackey is, but I'm assuming he's not a terrible person. He's most likely no worse than the worst person you've ever met, and a strong case could be made that there are many athletes more deserving of the adjective "terrible". To the best of my knowledge, he's never been arrested, never been accused of any sort of domestic disturbance. He's never even sat in the back of his SUV while a friend drove it and led police on a low-speed chase through Orange County. However, as a teammate and employee (which, despite being accurate, seems like a ridiculous title to give anyone making as much as he does), he's among some of the worst, and it's this aspect of his career that I think about the most.

Lackey is scheduled to start tonight's game against the Seattle Mariners. Assuming that happens, it's a very safe bet that he won't finish the game. Maybe he has a rough outing and gets pulled early, or maybe he throws well and becomes a victim of Boston's pitch-counting. Either way, at some point, Terry Francona will walk out to the mound and take the ball out of Lackey's hand, and Lackey will be pissed off about it. How do I know this? Because it is what he has done with almost perfect regularity since arriving in Boston before last season. There is almost no situation in which he feels that the decision to take him out off the mound is justified. After his most recent episode, glaring back at Francona while heading to the dugout after 5 and 2/3 innings, giving up 10 hits, 4 runs, and 3 earned, many in the media agreed with Tim McCarver (a statement which may never have been made before), who said that Lackey was showing up his manager. While this may be true, what Lackey was really doing was exposing his sense of entitlement. Certainly, he's not the only professional athlete with this flaw, but he displays it in a way that represents one of the biggest problems in American society.

We live in a culture where everyone has the ability to express themselves. This, fundamentally, is a good thing (even if it weren't, there is no way someone writing a personal blog for free could claim otherwise). The internet allows the average person to share their thoughts and ideas with people they would most likely never speak to otherwise. Even if you oppose it for being trite (it's hard to imagine deep thoughts coming 140 characters at a time), Twitter, along with Facebook and other social networking sites, Youtube, as well as countless blogs (Hi!!), provide an ability for the masses to exchange ideas, and there is something to be said for that. The problem with this is that the vast majority of the people taking part in said exchange are raised in an era where we are told we are all special and important. And maybe we are. I, personally, like the romanticized idea that everyone brings there own special ability to the global party. But with all of these people having the ability to put their ideas out in the world, the growing sense among the average person is becoming that every thought they have, no matter how ill-conceived or underdeveloped, is loaded with with inherent value.

Twenty-five years ago, if you wanted to voice an idea, you had fewer options to do so than provided today. You needed some sort of credential to get your words (in whatever form you put them in) to the public. There was no internet, at least not in the way we know it today. You couldn't just write something and have it be out there. The closest you could get to that, perhaps, was writing to your local paper, and even then, that would have to be approved by an editor before it would be published. In 1986, if you were giving away every thought that came into your head, you were probably insane and shouting on a street corner. We've essentially replaced that corner with the internet. Now everyone is crowding the sidewalk, cramming to find a place to express ourselves.

Okay, I know I mentioned this earlier, but it's worth repeating. I don't think this is a bad thing. I think more people trading more ideas is a good thing. It's part of why I do this. But I know that no one is obligated to pay any attention to these posts at all. I suspect some people understand this and feel the same way about their blogs/twitter/facebook/etc.., but I am also pretty sure that a lot of people don't. I think many (possibly most) people not only think that what they post is important, but that it deserves to be viewed by everyone. And if you don't believe me, check out your facebook sometime and see how many people "like" their own status.

This constant ability to express ourselves has given many people the sense that it is their right to express themselves about anything, at anytime, and that these expressions shouldn't be suppressed by anyone, for any reason. Well, maybe. I'm not exactly suggesting that we should have free reign to shut people up whenever we want (even though it may sound like that). I just think that the world and, in particular, our corner of it would be a lot better off if we suppressed ourselves a little more often, even if just long enough to consider the impact of what we might have to say.

Forgive the (cliched) sentiment, but we're all in this together. There are just under 7 billion people in the world, slightly over 300 million in the U.S., and about 1 million here in Rhode Island. There isn't enough room for us to force our thoughts out everywhere we go. Get them out there, by all means, just leave space for the everyone else.

I'll be watching John Lackey tonight. I hope he pitches well. I hope the Red Sox win. But most of all, when the time comes, I hope he leaves the game quietly, without incident. For all of us.

Good....meaning what?

Think about your favorite band/musician. Not your favorite one today, or who you've been listening to the most recently, or your "new favorite". Chances are, his/her/their music is something you've been listening to for years and, though there may be periods you don't listen to it much, if at all, you always end up coming back to it. My assumption is that you would qualify this music as being good. (I suppose there is a chance you don't feel this way, but if so, you're probably just a contrarian and I'm not that interested in your opinion. Sorry.) My question is this; what makes you consider this music good?

I'm not asking you to defend your choice. Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time with me has probably had to deal with me doing that anyway. (I spend a lot of time thinking about why people do things, and occasionally actually get people to question these things themselves. This may come across as criticism, especially if I disagree with whatever the topic in question is, but it's just sort of what I do.) What I'm asking you, more specifically, is what is your definition of good? What is it about that music that makes you consider it "more good" (a phrase that makes sense in terms of this piece of writing) than other music?

Surely, this is not the only band or artist that you would consider good, but there is a reason I asked you to think of your favorite. Most people, myself included, like some music (other mediums apply to this line of questioning, but more on that in a minute) outside of our normal range of taste, and like it for reasons that are probably quite different from why we like our favorite musicians. A song that reminds you of someone or a certain time in your life (many of the largely forgotten singles from the early and mid-90's). A band so catchy that you can't stop yourself from listening to them (Phoenix and, in particular, their single "Lisztomania", a song that sounds like what would happen if Franz Ferdinand wrote songs exclusively to be used in commercials for hybrid cars). A few of us might be willing to admit that, somewhere, lost in our iPods and CD collections, is music that we acknowledge as bad. We might even like it because it is bad (which is how I feel about almost anything I listen to from the 80's). Your favorite band isn't subject to these kinds of whims. You may have memories associated with them, but they either came after you had already liked them, or whatever memory you have is just what introduced you to them.

Labeling something as "good" is subjective, but we rarely mean it that way (if you don't believe that last sentence is true, the next time someone tells you that a certain band is good, reply with "no they aren't" and see what happens). When we say something is good, we don't mean the same thing as when we say we love or like something. When we say something is good, we are giving it a value that we feel others should be able to recognize. Even the more exclusionary of us out there, those who don't want others to like what they like, take pride in feeling that they see this value that others have missed. We may not think about it, but calling something good says more than simply stating that we like something.

So, where does the value associated with "good" come from? The easiest conclusion to make would be that how good something is comes directly from how much talent it took to create it. This makes sense on the surface, but doesn't hold up for long. Yngwie Malmsteen is widely viewed to be among the most technically skilled guitarists to ever live, yet his music has never really experienced widespread recognition. If Malmsteen is the heads of this proverbial coin, The Ramones would be tails. The Ramones knew 4 chords, wrote 3 songs, and are one of the most influential and well known bands of the past 40 years. You could make an argument (and probably a pretty accurate one) that their music, and the music they inspired (punk) was as much about the message and aesthetic as it was about the music, but does that make it somehow less good than the music of Malmsteen? What of the bands that took the philosophy put forth by The Ramones and punk? Bands like Guided By Voices and Pavement that seemed to actively try to hide their music in lo-fi recordings, largely ignored for large stretches of their careers, but have shown a heavy influence on later bands and found a place in the hearts of critics. Surely, there are people who enjoy Malmsteen simply for his talent, just as there are those like The Ramones for not having any (or, more likely, not flaunting it). So does technical skill even apply to the conversation of what is "good"?

Let's shift gears for a second. Start this whole process again with your favorite movie or television series. Again, I would assume you would describe whatever show or movie you came up with as being good. But what makes them good? You could make the case for talent again, but that rationale makes even less sense when applied to acting. Follow me for a moment: All of us, as fans of music (assuming you are), can recognize a technically skilled musician, even if we don't like the music they make. There might be some discrepancy in opinions on who is the most technically skilled, but we all see the ability that is there. How does that recognition of talent apply to acting, when opinions tend to be much more varied? Don't believe me? Ask a few people about Jack Nicholson's performance in The Departed. Chances are you'll get at least one person who thought he was incredible and a perfect choice for the role, and you'll get at least one person who thought he was embarrassing and should have taken it as a sign to spend less time in movies and more time watching basketball at The Staples Center.

You could make the argument that measuring a piece of film or television by the talent of its performers doesn't take into account the talent of the writers and directors who created the work (unlike music, where the performers and the creators are often the same person/s). Perhaps, but how do we measure that talent? Awards? Even if you put any stock in Emmys and Oscars (and it seems like fewer and fewer people do), that doesn't necessarily translate into success (another semi-meaningless measurement of value). No Country For Old Men won the Academy Award for Best Picture, and I can count on one hand the people I know who even think it is slightly above okay. Arrested Development won 6 Emmy Awards and was nominated for 22, but lasted only three seasons before being cancelled.

When we say something is "good", we are really saying that we think something should be important, understanding that if we said "this should be important", we would sound pretentious or ridiculous, and often both. So if we accept this use of good, but acknowledge that there isn't a clear, universal way to measure it, does the word have any meaning at all?

Maybe, maybe not. Maybe we can figure it out the next time we talk about why my music is better than yours.

Of Sport and Art

I like lots of things. I have yet to find anyone who likes exactly the same things that I like. I haven't found anyone who likes all of things that I like within a certain area of likeable things (that sentence makes sense). I haven't even found anyone who likes all of the things that I like, simply because they like everything. Even those people don't like something that I like. And that's fine. I don't like everything that other people like. I suspect that I'm not alone in this, and probably far from it. Besides, meeting someone with the exact same interests would probably be boring, and at the very least, would never lead to finding new things to like.

As you may have already guessed, sports are among the things that I like. They have been at least partially involved in my life for as long as I can remember. I've been supporting the local teams before I even knew how to say their names. The Patriots, Bruins. Red Sox, and Celtics. I have memories for all of them. And while much has been made lately about how "spoiled" New England sports fans have been, I've seen the other end of it too. Don't get me wrong, I know that at 28, I've seen more from my sports teams than most other sports fans will see in their lives. I don't say that to brag or rub it in to the less fortunate sports cities, I say it because I know how special it is (as a sports fan) to see what has happened over the last decade. And I know I would love my sports teams just as much if none of it had happened.

Now, I have a lot of friends who share my love of sports. Many of them even love the same teams I do. There are some people, however, who don't like sports. More than that, they actively dislike sports, and they think my love of sports is foolish and a waste of time. They think my time would be better spent doing almost anything else. The interesting part is that I share many other common interests with these people. Music, literature, film, television. We have more in common then we don't, and yet these people still can't get past my love of sports, and often take a moment or two to tell me about it. And the more I think about that, the less I understand it.

When it comes to art, there is no accounting for taste. Most people seem to know this, even if they don't understand it. No one expects everyone else to like their personal favorite song or movie or book. They don't always understand why someone won't like it, and may even get mad when someone else claims to dislike it, but everyone seems to know, that's just the way things work. But even though we all like different things in the art we choose to take in (depending on the form), how different are the things we take away from art?

Whether we listen to an album (and I mean really listen, not just throwing it on as background music), or watch a movie, or read a book, aren't we all doing the same things? We allow these artists to take control of our lives, even if just a for a few minutes. We let them put ideas in our minds, making us think about things that never occurred to us or look at topics from a different perspective. We let them make us laugh, cry, smile, or get upset. We surrender ourselves to them, temporarily. We hope to get a glimpse into their lives, and hope to be able to take something away that will make some sense of our own. Sports may not give us the same insights into our lives, but it does allow us to escape from our own for a little while. Getting ourselves worked up over a game gives us a chance to not be worked up over our own problems.

There are those who will try to argue that athletes are nothing but mindless jocks, overpaid men who are simply products of superior genetics. Listen, I know that there are more than a few stories about athletes that would illustrate that very point. I'm sure almost every Division 1 college has, at some point, looked the other way while one of their "student-athletes" forgot the full meaning of that designation. At this very moment, there is no possible joke I could make about Plaxico Burress that hasn't already been made. But does that mean they are all bad? The truth of it is, most professional athletes are probably decent people. Let's be honest, most of the time, news is just barely disguised entertainment, and that's especially true of sports. There is no room for stories about a baseball (or any other sport) player who comes in, works hard, and goes home to his wife and kids everyday. And make no mistake, every one of them, even the spotlight seeking "divas", works hard. To say that any professional athlete got where they are because they were born that way isn't giving them enough credit. Yes, many of us were born with bodies that never would have made it as a quarterback or power forward, no matter how much work we put it. But being born with a body that could make it doesn't guarantee that you will. Many of these men and women have worked their entire lives to be in the shape that they are in, to do the things that they do. Which is just another way sports can be like art.

We, as people, tend to believe that the artists (again, choose your medium) we love are among the best in their field. There is nothing wrong with this belief (provided you understand that it's a subjective one). We want to see the best do what they are good at. Of the four major sporting leagues in America, all of them are the premier leagues for their respective sports. Whenever you watch a broadcast from the NFL, MLB, NHL, or NBA, you are watching some of the best in the world at what they do. We tend to forget this, because we compare professional athletes to other professional athletes, and we do it all the time, even though it isn't always fair. Player A is matched up against Player B. Player A is an average athlete, while Player B is a perennial all-star. On most nights, even is Player A is performing up to his usual standards, he is going to look bad. Fans of Player A's team are going to call local radio shows to criticize him. And that's okay, that's the way sports work. But does that actually make Player A bad? He's still better than you at whatever sport he plays, and he's more than likely better than anyone you've ever known (A common phrase in sports, that the worst player of X is still better than anyone you've ever known at X. Most of the people reading this probably know someone who knows Rocco Baldelli, so I felt the need to alter it slightly. Rocco Baldelli wasn't exactly Babe Ruth, but he was never the worst player in baseball).

Not everyone gets exactly the same things out of the art they choose to open themselves to. There may be someone out there right now reading this who never thinks new things when they read a book, or doesn't think there is (or is unaware of) anything remarkable about the musicians they listen to. While that may be the case, I'm willing to bet that everyone has talked about the music/movies/books that they love with someone else. Think about your close friends. Think about the conversations you have with them. How much time is spent talking about these things? Probably a pretty big chunk. I would even be willing to bet that it's the second most common thing people talk about, with "other people" being the most common (everybody is a gossip). This is because art brings people together. And sports are no different.

My dad is not a very vocal person. He's opened up a bit more as we've both gotten older, but no one would ever call him effusive. I'm not sure my father has ever experienced an uncomfortable silence. Silence of any sort works well for him. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, but as a young kid, I didn't always understand it. Except when we were watching sports. When a game was on, we didn't need to say anything. We both knew what the other was thinking, because we were both thinking the same things. We loved our teams, and we loved each other.

I took some time out of work recently to make sure I was able to watch the Stanley Cup. Of course I wanted to be able to pay more attention to it than I would have been while at work, but more than that, I wanted to watch it with my dad. There were a lot of great moments from those seven games, but all of them were made better by the fact that he was watching it with me. For 2 weeks now we've been randomly shouting "Stanley Cup Champions!" to each other, but the reason it has meaning beyond the words themselves is because we were able to shout them the first time with each other. It's possible you have no idea what I'm talking about right now, but if you got your love of sports from your father, like I and so many others have, you don't even need to read this to know what I mean.

Sports and art aren't the same thing, I know that. I know that as happy as it made my father and I, the Bruins winning the Stanley Cup didn't really change anything about the world. Neither did the Mavericks beating the Heat in the NBA finals, a point a petulant Lebron James was quick to make. When an athlete is competing, he or she is almost never trying to "reach" the fans or get a larger message to them, where as every artist almost always is. Even when art is supposed to mean nothing, it was actively constructed that way. Sports aren't actively constructed to convey anything, other than the sport itself. But just because there is no meaning behind sports, that isn't to say they don't have meaning.