Friday Fun Link: Weezer Hut Presents Meta-Lover's Special

The following clip is Weezer's new video for their single "Pork and Beans," in which the band not only references heavily from the most popular of YouTube submissions, but actually gets the real subjects to appear in the video. I wonder how they all managed to clear their busy schedules to do that?

It now looks as if Andy Warhol's quote about everyone in the future being famous for fifteen minutes has been super-sized to twenty. Enjoy:



Videogum also lists ten well-known YouTube memes that didn't make the cut. What, no RickRoll?

Have a safe and fun Memorial Day weekend (the weather here in Philly should be freakin' beautiful, by the way)!

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New Hotness

Fellow Travelers of the Blogosphere:

It is with great pleasure (and mild chafing) that I announce the debut of a brand-new Phillies blog, officially known as The Fightins:


This little beauty was conceived and designed by the great Michael Milici, aka "Meech" from Bugs & Cranks. Yours Truly will be a fellow contributor to the site, which we hope will both entertain and inform all five members of our future reading audience.

The Fightins celebrates its grand opening this weekend and will reach full-steam by the conclusion of Memorial Day, just in time to give you something to browse as you recover from your hangover and sunburn.

The Fortress will remain open for bidness as always, so don't hesitate to stop by any time. Mi blog es su blog.

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A Couple of Things...

1. As encouraging as it was to see the Flyers rise from the furthest depths of the NHL standings to seven victories from the Stanley Cup, it was equally discouraging to see them get thrashed 6-0 by Pittsburgh in yesterday's Game Five of the Eastern Conference Finals, a loss which eliminated Philly from the playoffs.

(Naturally, this was the first game I could actually watch in my home, since it was broadcast on NBC instead of Versus, which I don't get as part of my satellite package. Smart move, Comcast.)

I'm sure there are Pittsburgh fans with nothing better to do this morning who will no doubt remind us which team was better equipped from the start to battle for the Cup. Of course, the Penguins were expected to do so this year.

The Flyers, on the other hand, were supposed to be in Year One of a painful rebuilding process and nowhere within sniffing distance of the conference finals. As Year Ones go, not too shabby.

But even that degree of progress does little to change a painful truth: that 100 major-league seasons* have passed since a Philly team has won the whole thing.

Ah well, the sun is shining, my family is beautiful and my job awaits. Life goes on.

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2. Kidd Chris was fired on Friday for a racist song that aired two months ago. As with the Imus incident, there will always be a tug-of-war between those advocating total free speech and those who push for "responsible" free speech (still awaiting definition).

Personally speaking I preferred listening to Kidd Chris as a drive-time diversion. I never thought he had a chance in a morning slot; there is too much to compete against. That is not to say he couldn't have carved out a niche demographic of listeners.

However, spending even a small part of your show ranting about the competition -- including playing bits of their own show -- isn't going to convince anyone beyond the converted that you're worth listening to as an alternative.

Hasta la vista, Kidd Chris. Perhaps it's for the best. Howard Stern and Sirius await.

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(*Yes, there have been shortened and canceled seasons here and there, but why not round up? Such is the level of reluctant pessimism that comes with being a Philly fan.)

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Friday Not-So-Fun Link: Athlete's Taint

In a world filled with sexy diseases like cancer and rabies, it's easy to overlook numerous other afflictions... like the silent killer known as Athlete's Taint, a painful inflammation of the perineal region that claims up to one life each year.


Oh sure, they may not have a large bankroll or celebrities to champion their cause (although Rip Taylor's agent said he'd think about it), but Reverend T-Bagg and the good folks over at the First Church of Monsterology are determined not to let this lurking menace slip through the cracks. So to speak.

Pay a visit. Read. Learn. And if the spirit moves you, give. Together, we can make a difference. Together we can save our taints!

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Quote of The Day

From the latest story on the Cedric Benson drunken-boating incident, we have this account from none other than Benson's fellow Texas alumnus and self-medicated running back Ricky Williams, who had declined an offer from Benson to join his party on the boat the night of May 3.

Spake the Dude...

"I think if I had come down, things might have worked out a little bit differently," Williams, who is entering the final year of his contract with the Dolphins, told the newspaper. "I find I have a calming influence on people I'm around.

"As a high-level athlete, it's just something that's ingrained in me. I always think that if I'm there, things would be different. I can't say how."

Suddenly Ricky Williams is in danger of becoming the Tobias Fünke of professional athletes. Someone needs to buy this dude a tape recorder so he can listen to the words that come out of his mouth.

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Thoughts from A (Genuine) Flyers Fan

When it comes to hockey I am a casual follower at best, content simply to root on the home team without really getting too close to the action.

My friend Jay, on the other hand, is a true-blue hockey and Flyers fan. Not only does he follow the team on a regular basis, he even plays the game as well.

Those two qualities alone make Jay far more qualified than I am to deliver a proper fan reaction to this Flyers season which, sadly, may be over as soon as Thursday night. His words appear below...

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The Flyers had a good run, but ran into a(nother) superior team and got hit with some bad luck. I do not think that it is time for the broomsticks, although we will need them this weekend after the playoff beards get shaved off. I have watched more hockey this year than I have in a long time, and I need to think about the future instead of dwelling on another season without a title. (I am a crybaby Philadelphian).


Smith is gone next year. Richards is the new captain. Richards is a hero, and I love him at the helm. I hope they sign Umberger and Carter. They can let Prospal go. His "bonding" with Briere didn't last. I wouldn't shy away from dealing Briere either. His size lets him get pushed around too easily, even in the new NHL, especially in the playoffs when things get more physical. He takes too many penalties for slashing guys on the hands after he loses the puck to them while getting out-muscled on the boards. In the regular season he broke down due to little guy fatigue.

I should also mention that the Flyers' offensive philosophy late in the playoffs of cycling down low makes no sense to me. In the regular season they seemed more creative than that. Putting three men deep in the offensive zone is not a good strategy against an opposing offense that scores a lot of its goals in transition. Hartnell looks OK in this structure, but Briere and Prospal look lost and weak.

I think we are stuck with Hatcher for another year. One big, clumsy defenseman is enough though, so we need to move Modry, hopefully into a retirement home.


Last but not least, Claude Giroux will be up next year; if you haven't heard of him, you're not alone, but his stats are unbelievable in one of those minor leagues with a "Q" in their name (could be QJMHL for all I know). I've heard that half a year with the Phantoms is the longest it will take.

Finally, these idiots complaining about the refs need to be banned from the sport. Just let them watch bowling or golf or something that doesn't involve the judgment of officials. These are the same guys who yelled "P.I." after every play in the school yard during football games and are wondering out loud, "Why is that not a travel?" during every NBA player's drive to the basket.


Face it, Bozo -- there are a lot of people who know and understand sports better than you. Some of them are paid by the professional leagues to demonstrate that understanding. These guys are also the ones who yell, "Shoot!" every time a Flyers player has the puck in the offensive zone during a power play.

I had hoped this would make me feel better, but now I only feel worse.

I am a crybaby Philadelphian.

--J

(Thanks, Jay! Better luck next year.)

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Just in Time for The Merciless Onslaught of Crap That Is Presidential Campaign Season

Liberal, tree-hugging hippie whining about "Big Oil?"

Bible-thumping, fascist right-winger still insisting the War in Iraq was a good idea?

Free-market fetishist Libertarian jerking off with his Invisible Hand again?

Give 'em all one of these!


What a perfect way to tell the ones you love that you just don't give a shit what they think about anything. Now on sale at the FoP Shop!

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Could We See An All-Florida World Series This Year?

OK, perhaps I'm getting slightly ahead of myself here, but... has anyone taken a look at the MLB standings today?


Pardon my French, but holy shit: the Devil Rays and Marlins are both 23-16. That's a combined 14 games over .500 as of mid-May. Only Arizona has a better winning percentage in either league. And no, in case you were wondering it is not raining frogs outside.

Tampa Bay's pitching rotation, never hailed for its... well, excellence, is rocking a 3.73 collective ERA, fifth-best in the majors. They also are riding the hottest win streak, currently at six games following last night's victory over the Yankees. Late in April they beat the Toronto Blue Jays and the defending World Champion Red Sox in back-to-back home sweeps, which must have made both of their fans absolutely ecstatic.

Meanwhile, Florida has been flirting with first place since the beginning of the season, losing it temporarily to Philadelphia. Their success is not due so much to their pitching, which maintains a less-than-superb 4.25 team ERA (ranked 19th overall), but their seventh-ranked offense certainly has been able to help them overcome any such mound-related deficiencies.

None of this means to imply that either team will be playoff-bound come October, but to be a baseball fan in Florida right now has to be an exciting time.

[Of course Deadspin beat me to this story. Damn you, Rick Chandler! Damn you straight to Hell!]

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This never came up in class

by DMtShooter, Five Tool Tool

I thought I'd lighten the grim Philly Fan mood with some True Life Poon. (And no, the picture doesn't really do them justice, but it's the best I could find.)

So now, story time.

In my college and post-college days, I tried to have a career as a sportswriter. It was a fun job, and I was good at it; deadlines are fun for me, I can type pretty quickly, and interviews, assuming you can step outside of a rank locker room, can actually be a good time.

I eventually gave it up because of the recession-era hiring freeze in my field when I graduated, and the fact that I couldn't work in the field and (1) pay my college loans, (2) have the vehicle I needed to do the job, (3) eat and (4) sleep indoors. Actually, given the starting pay in the field, I couldn't do more than two of those things, let alone all four.

But in the time I was in the hunt, I did have Some Experiences. The most notable of which was covering the Big East Track and Field Championships.

Now, a word about track and field, and athletes and people in general. The ones who have never been interviewed before are *way* too into it. They either freeze up like deer in the headlights, or go off with more verbal diarrhea than you could easily imagine. Either way, they aren't giving you much you can use.

And the stars, who have been interviewed before? Well, if you are lucky, some sportswriter hasn't ruined them before you got there. Or that they haven't spent their entire life in training, to the point where the only thing that can do in the face of your questioning is to mouth cliches they've seen on television.

And this, in a nutshell, is why the coverage of high school and college athletics focuses so much on the coach. They are the only ones who talk in front of a reporter without wasting everyone's time.

So when you've been in the thick of this for a while as the journo, you get used to being in charge, and how to steer the subject into something useful. You're the grown-up, and they aren't, even if you're the same age. You are holding the pen, and they've spent their whole life waiting for this Big Fame moment. Sportswriters get off on this. (Oh, and free food. They'd stab their mother for free food.)

There is, however, one thing that can tip the balance of power wildly away from the media jackals. That thing is Titty.

In my defense, it's not like you are going to run into a lot of prime snatch. Or that I'm a complete horndog. After sportswriting fizzled out, I fronted a rock and roll band. I saw some things on those days, and had Some Experiences. But nothing let me so in the thrall of my little Elvis (if it's a good enough name for Elvis, it's good enough for you) as the Villanova middle distance running team.

They were blonde. Many were from Ireland. They were lightly perspiring. They spoke with accents. They toweled each other off. They were fit, but not masculine. Athletic, but with curves. And there were a half dozen of them, all huddled together to discuss their strategy for the next race, or their post-race plans of taking the sportswriter with the clipboard over his crotch back to the hotel and playing a game of Naughty Girl Road Rules.

Un. Speak. A. Belle. Hamada hamada hamada. My interview pretty much consisted of trying not to drool. They said cliches in accents, making enough eye contact to keep me sub-literate. I limped over to go talk to the cold shower shot putters, and filed a piece that didn't dwell on my raging medical condition. And until this post, no one was the wiser.

So, if you ever find yourself hanging out at a track and field meet? Run, do not walk, to watch the middle distance women.

Just don't expect to be running after you've gotten there.

Moribund Meteorological Metaphor Manifests, Mirroring Mummer Maniacs' Metaphysical Malaise

The following scene, which one can see just outside their window on this windy, chilly, allegedly mid-May morning, summarizes the mood of your average Philly sports fan today:


It was quite a brutal weekend, in retrospect: The Flyers lose their first two games of the conference finals (not to mention another defenseman), and the Phillies drop 2 of 3 against the erstwhile slumping Giants to conclude a 3-4 West Coast road trip. Combined with victories by the Marlins and Mets, the Phillies are now three games out of first place in their division.

OK, so not every weekend can be a good one. God knows that we as Philly fans can accept that. But disappointment and despair begin to reemerge and fester in our souls with each setback. What passes as pessimism in most other sports towns registers as realism 'round these parts.

The real fact of the matter is, quite simply, this: The Flyers must win the next two games at home, or this series is over. A split is unacceptable, since the Penguins are nigh invincible on home ice.

As much a disappointment as falling short yet again would be, this post-season run is impressive when you consider the depths from which the Orange and Black had to rise over the last year. This is a team on the rebound, from all indications.

The #6 seed has acquitted itself nicely, triumphing over Washington in seven games and (overrated?) Montreal in five. But in the end, not every underdog wins it all. Not every team can be the 2005 Pittsburgh Steelers. (Ugh, Pittsburgh again -- get out of my head, vexatious city!)

Perhaps it was too much to ask of this team, to bring an end to the thousand natural shocks that our delicate and maligned psyche is heir to. What else could prompt such eloquent navel-gazing and purplish prose from Yours Truly, who normally is content to make cheap jokes about the prominent bosoms of world leaders and such?

If it is the destiny of these local teams to fall just short time and time again, it would seem a cruel gift to a base of fans renowned for their ferocity and devotion. Yes, Philly fans are well known for being rowdy, impatient and less-than-accommodating to visiting teams and their followers. The national media has seen to that.

But are we alone in this regard? Surely there are assholes in St. Louis (probably a few), Chicago (some to be sure), Boston (I'd bet on a majority) and New York (practically all of them, for God's sake). Yet each and every one of these cities enjoyed recent success.

I for one do not believe in "destiny" or "karma." I do believe, however, in competent ownership, dedication, talent, and a bit of beneficial circumstance also known as "luck." It is a combination of these factors that have not yet meshed properly to produce a major-league championship for the City of Brotherly Love.

Do I believe that one of the Big Four will eventually return to the Promised Land? Yes. In my lifetime? Well, that depends on how long I live, which would render this question unanswerable. The law of (desperately hopeful) averages dictates that sooner or later somebody around here is going to have to win something, even if only by accident, which is fine with me.

There has been minor-league success over the years, to be sure, but these "Phantoms" and "Kixx" and various other second-stage diversions do nothing to sate our hunger for the prizes on the top shelf. Our reaction to their accomplishments is almost, well, condescending: "Oh, how nice, you've won a title! Why don't you run along now and play with your trophy? Daddy has a few words for the older boys, and he might use some grown-up language that certain ears shouldn't hear."

The important lesson for us now while waiting for deliverance from this stagnation is to learn how to withstand the taunts and jeers of fans who do not understand what it is like to suffer. They don't understand and they never will. To be honest, they probably couldn't handle disappointment on this epic a scale. Their souls have been weakened by success, not tempered by failure.

We remain united and defiant in our love for these underachieving bums. (They are, after all, our bums.) So if it is our lot in life to suffer, to forget what a parade on Broad Street looks like without drunken Mummers strutting in formation, then it can only mean that someday soon our reward should be that much sweeter. But the sooner the better, God damn it.

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