Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

My response to the beginning, end, and inevitable tape-delayed middle of the Olympics is admittedly several days late. The reason being, however, is that I simply do not care for the Olympics. Rarely do sports events strike me with such a sense of indifference as the Olympics.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t jump at the chance to represent my country in world competition if I was good enough at my sport of choice (Bad joke telling, for example. QuarkXpress design. Knowledge of Pearl Jam and/or the entire Seattle-grunge scene. When these are events, please give me a call.)

It’s just the simple fact that every four years we all gather at this spectacle of events, and to me, to pay attention to particular sports (track, swimming, diving, equestrian, etc.) once every four years does the sport a disservice. If I were a true track and field fan, I would know who won the 400 meter in the 2002 World Championships. Of course I do not.

At any rate, keeping with my lengthy segue into this article, my chosen sport during the time of my glory days was basketball. I rooted for B.J. Armstrong to make the Olympic team in 1988, watching them fall in Seoul. I rooted for the first Dream Team, watching Michael Jordan and Clyde Drexler together in the same backcourt (Note: Remember this? yep, it happened. Stockton and Magic were both hurt, and these two manned the point for each game. Easily the two greatest shooting guards ever, and this could have been Portland’s backcourt for the 1980s. Needless to say, Portland was my favorite team). I halfheartedly watched the drubbings the 2000 and 1996 Dream Teams handed out.

But this year was different. And we all know why. Few expected the U.S. to waltz through the Olympics, and few even chose (choose) to root for a young, NBA-laden roster. The NBA is, of course, in a downturn. It’s suffering from an influx of youth, too many teams, and the shifting of the college recruiting landscape. Its desire to market itself globally – while a smart move – created other world basketball powers, such as Germany, Serbia, Croatia, Argentina, China and even Australia – featuring players who worked to attain the goal of the NBA.

And, so, here we find ourselves in a sticky situation. Several young players, never having been challenged (or expecting one) in their entire basketball careers – facing sharpshooting vets from foreign lands. A test to their young mettle. A different sort of game, built on defense, quickness, and cuts — not to mention outside shooting. Maybe we should have sent the Sacramento Kings. Or the Detroit Pistons. But that’s water under the bridge.

Much has been written about fixing USA basketball, not simply selecting an All-Star team, but rather focusing the team months in advance of world events, and this idea of course has merit. It’s also convenient to point out that Shaq, Kobe, T-Mac, KG are not playing – but it’s also fallacious to assume that Argentina and Lithuania could not also easily handle a big man by using a zone, or gang up on Kobe, depending on him to launch 60 shots a game.

So, I’m not going to waste anyone’s time picking my Olympic team (OK, I am … Michael Redd, Shane Battier, Trenton Hassell, Brent Barry, Kenyon Martin, TJ Ford, Elton Brand, Allen Iverson, Tim Duncan, Dwyane Wade, LeBron James, Lamar Odom) … rather, I’m simply going to say that I’ve enjoyed this team more than any … flawed and all. Why?

Because they’re not a giant. Because they are imperfect. Because if they do overcome their shooting and defensive woes, they’ll have written a story for the ages.

It’s quite easy to point out the youth of James, Anthony, Boozer and Wade. It’s quite easy to rip on Iverson for being loud, Duncan for being stoic, Jefferson and Marbury for being vastly overrated. And it’s certainly easy to long for the days of the first Dream Team, wistful for the glory days of the NBA.

But that’s all over. It’s far more difficult to stand by a team through the tough times. And though it may seem as though the NBA is in trouble with its young stars, too much money, lack of jump shooting, and ESPN-ified “Boo-yah”-ization of the league’s highlights, the guys that showed up to play, are more than worth the price of admission. Iverson? Odom? Duncan? James? Wade? Come on. All have their flaws, but as in all drama – aren’t flawed heroes the most interesting and satisfying ones? This is the same.

Join me tomorrow at 6:30 a.m., and root for AI, Marbury, Boozer, and Odom to overcome their demons. As stated, it’s easy to take potshots at 12 stars who may not have been as good as even they thought – but it’s much more satisfying to stand by them — Hmm. Should they defy the odds to win, would it be, dare I say it…. the American dream? We’ll see.

As one gets older, I suspect, one finds themself doing many things they never thought they would have. It’s a process of maturity, supposedly, in which character is built by (a) hard work, (b) persistence, and (c) willingness to try new and different things. In addition, the more maturity envelops you, supposedly sacrifices are easier to make, which may also be true.

Where am I going with this? I think you know. It’s no news flash that I consider myself relentlessly nonconformist, yet I am likely more sellout and similar than I so hope. At any rate, I don’t know what the larger surprise of this weekend was, the fact I found myself doing several things I previously would have expressed considerable disdain for (See, there’s another one! A dangling preposition! Augh!), or the fact that it didn’t seem the least out of the ordinary.

Now, I know, as you rest in your chairs, you’re most likely saying, “john, say it isn’t so! You’ve sold out, too?!?!!” And for that, I have no response.

I woke up early Sunday morning with no hangover, even feeling chipper, though it was well before 10 a.m. Soon after breakfast — which included cantaloupe — Ms. Faded Glory and I hopped in our gas-guzzling SUV and headed to our local Wal-Mart chain superstore. Before heading in, I actually waited for a car in front of me to back out from a front-door spot and I summarily pulled in. I know, I was shocked, too.

Going in, I was surprised at how cheerily I selected items I may or may not have needed. A water pitcher filter. A shower tension rod. A toothbrush holder. A lime-green ginseng soda. Fifteen whiffle golf balls. And so forth.

I tried samples of cereal. I tasted a hot pocket sample. I sifted through $5 DVDs. That’s right, I was there for the better part of an hour, among the slime of America, but I was cheery, breezy, and showered. When a three-year old in the checkout line threw a tantrum, replete with shrieks and destruction of cereal boxes, I airily batted an eye.

But my dance with pure evil wasn’t done, we decided to tempt Satan again at Sam’s Club, where we quickly selected 45 pork cutlets and a package of roughly 300 chicken breasts. This cost 20 bucks. What a deal!, I thought, rather than, Somebody kill me. On the way to the checkout aisle, I noticed a table full of dirt-cheap Calvin Klein jeans, which I happily thumbed through. And I would have bought if some had been my size. I’ll pause while this sinks in. I BROWSED THE CLOTHES AT SAM’S CLUB.

After nearly 90 minutes in the checkout line, we were on our way home. At home, I paused only to check the oil level in my car, with every intention of adding more. After that, I began the monumental task of cleaning our gas grill. Yep, we got one. Yep, I cleaned it. Top to bottom. Even using scrubbers, old rags, and a hose. And I didn’t even half-ass it.

There’s not much more to my story. Oh, sure, I built a shoe rack and rearranged my bookshelf. Threw some stuff out of the garage. Destroyed a spider’s nest in my backyard storage shed. Took a couple of swings with my (borrowed, whew!) golf clubs, in anticipation of playing this weekend. But much more would either bore, petrify, or scare you.

And, in the end, I watched SportsCenter and awoke Monday morning for my corporate job. Tainted? Dirty? A shell? Or just older? You can be the judge.

The top 20, for the week of August 20. Rest assured, I could file a 50,000 word opus on the bitter failure that is Kyle Farnsworth, but you’ll have to live with this. Notice that several old standbys in my arsenal (Crown, Hunger, YL, and Gypsy) battle upstart entries from Zwan, Avril, and A Perfect Circle. Also of note is the resurrection of songs by Counting Crows and Live, two bands who have clearly lost it as of now. More later.

1. Pearl Jam “Fatal”
2. Vendetta Red “Shatterday”
3. Jane’s Addiction “Strays”
4. A Perfect Circle “Blue”
5. Mother Love Bone “Chloe Dancer/Crowns of Thorns”
6. Cinderella “Fallin’ Apart at the Seams”
7. Avril Lavigne “Happy Ending”
8. The Jesus and Mary Chain “Just Like Honey”
9. Live “White, Discussion”
10. Big Audio Dynamite II “Rush”
11. Zwan “Come With Me”
12. Warrant “Down Boys”
13. Goo Goo Dolls “Lazy Eye”
14. Temple of the Dog “Hunger Strike”
15. Mad Season “River of Deceit”
16. Counting Crows “Omaha”
17. Guns N’ Roses “Dead Horse”
18. Pearl Jam “Yellow Ledbetter”
19. Porno for Pyros “Kimberly Austin”
20. Van Halen “Unchained”

Just completed a recent excursion to Denver to visit the newly-relocated younger sibling of Mr. Faded Glory, and his dog — the official dog of mister-faded-glory.com — at their palatial new apartment in suburban Denver.

It had been a long time since I had been to Denver – 17 years, to be exact, and the city was a pleasant surprise. The downtown is spacious yet compact, with lots of bohemian-to-upscale shopping and several fun bars – my recommendation is the Falling Rocks Tavern, a stone’s (rock’s?) throw from Coors Field. The stadium was cozy, intimate, and is worthy of discussion among Wrigley and SBC as the best ballpark in the U.S.

Resisting an urge to compile a top-5 and bottom-5 list of Denver itself (not there long enough), and also resisting an urge to title my return to blogging as “Things to Do In Denver When You’re Drunk,” (Clever, I know) I’ve compiled a list of top-5 and bottom-5 cities in the U.S. in which I have spent no less than a weekend and no more than a year frequenting. Realize, however, that this list is incomplete, if only because I have yet to visit the cultural mecca of early-1990s rock and roll perfection – Seattle.

TOP 5
1. New York F’in City. This is simply the most fun, diverse, greatest city in the U.S. and perhaps the world. A new adventure around every corner – and the uncertainty that it may also beat the will to live right out of you. It’s easy to romanticize New York, but also easy to despise it. It’s this love/hate relationship that makes the city go. I think. Anyway, I liked it, with a special shout out to the Peculier Pub and Bull McCabe’s, two of my favorite haunts.
I’m returning in October for my birthday, which promises to add to NYC’s legend. Points deducted for the freakin’ Yankees, but I’m not sure that I’m really counting the Bronx anyway.
2. Chicago. The windy city is less intense than New York, but has smatterings of the same qualities that make New York great. I’ve had some good times around Univ. of Illinois-Chicago, some great times in Wrigleyville, some other great times on Rush and Michigan, and some great times in Evanston. The city is great, even the interrogation rooms. (Hopeless inside joke) Don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Cubs play here, also.
3. San Francisco. A great city. Points deducted for the inability to walk or ride wherever you want without a cab, but the overall eclecticism of the city is generally unmatched.
4. Denver. Easy to navigate, fun to be had – it’s a mile high, so you get drunk more quickly (not sure if this is true), the city has a lot of charm for an almost-midwestern burg, and is eminently livable. Points added for Coors Field, Hoegaarden on tap, and Carmelo Anthony (leader of the 2003 National Champion Syracuse Orangemen.)
5. Atlanta. Having not been to the Gold Club, this review is somewhat incomplete, but Buck Head is a great time, the city was clean, Georgia Tech is actually pretty cool for an urban campus, and the downtown is cool (if you don’t go too far in the wrong direction.). Too many “y’alls” to inch up very high on this list.

BOTTOM 5
1. Boston. Pains me to list this city on the bottom 5. The nightlife is unbelievably fun, it has nearly as much, sit-on-your-ass, get pissed off, and drink-till-you-die bars as New York, but if you’ve ever attempted to drive a car in this monstrosity, you’ll understand why it’s down here. By the way, these are listed in order of better to worse.
2. Cleveland. And, I was actually pretty impressed with the revamping and cleanup of the city around both new stadiums and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I guess I’m still a little miffed that some friends and I attempted to ride an elevator to the top of the Key Tower. We were promptly thrown out, even though Friend B adamantly claimed to the rent-a-cops that his mom worked in the building. Which she, of course, did not.
3. Kansas City. Downtown is a virtual wasteland, and I speak from experience, having lived and worked there. I liked the people, I liked Westport, I even thought the Plaza was all right, but KCMO has deteriorated into the poster for urban sprawl, with so much spreading out toward JoCo and Missouri. It’s a tough job revitalizing the city, but a new downtown arena will help. KC also has Joe Posnanski going for it, the (hands-down) best newspaper columnist in the country, which is nice.
4. Hartford. Yuck. Boring, dumpy, and filled with insurance agents. It’s like Des Moines, if it were impossible to have a good time in DSM. Stay away, if you must stay in Connecticut, please try and visit Norwalk, Westport, or Mystic. Or simply cross the border into NY, because you cannot buy beer on Sundays in Connecticut.
5. Detroit. Atrocious. I got hit by a bus at the airport – and it was a highlight of my trip.

The ’tweeners: Minneapolis, Providence, Omaha, Wichita, Des Moines, Indianapolis, Oakland, Pittsburgh, Louisville.

The yet-to-visit (but plan on going): Seattle, Los Angeles, Portland (Ore.), Miami, New Orleans, Philly, Dallas, D.C., Charlotte, Phoenix, Baltimore.

Song of the week: Avril Lavigne, “Happy Ending.” I find myself singing along to every single song Avril releases, all of which are currently in heavy rotation on every station in the entire state in which I reside. However, in Happy Ending, she succeeds in finding a level of angst mixed with anger that makes the song sound somewhat passionate – even though I can’t help but wonder if it’s written by a 40-year-old man.
Still, it’s an enjoyable tune, and it does kind of rock, and it further separates her from the brat-pack of teen/20something songstresses. I’ll, of course, retract this the minute she has a Kabballah wedding.