Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

Things have finally calmed down somewhat in Mr. Faded Glory-land; for a while it was rapid-fire with work projects, home projects, other projects and quick trips. Now, however, July’s almost here, and dare I say it – I’m almost caught up (Read: Finished burning through rapid-fire discs of The Wire like candy. Fantastic show. Deserving of all its hype, accolades and more.).

And so, it’s about time to begin our summer movie stretch (Note: I’m not counting Shrek 3, which I saw with the official nephew of Mr. Faded Glory in May. May is not summer, and Shrek 3 was barely a movie.) – with the fourth installment of the inimitable Die Hard franchise.

If you know me, you know that I disdain fully most action movies. However, Die Hard and its sequels are leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of the genre. The first Die Hard is absolutely the best action movie of all time – I will not argue the point. It’s filled with adrenaline rushes, suspense, and even (gasp!) character development. It’s a popcorn movie with a pulse, and even though Die Harder and With a Vengeance aren’t quite as good – they’re enjoyable as well.

I viewed this summer’s resurrection of John McClane with skepticism – after all, it’s eleven years since the last Die Hard, 19 since the first – but I’ve become pleasantly surprised with the reviews. The Post likes it. The Times likes it. Salon likes it. This is all good news – and we’ll happily take in the third sequel sometime within the week (Before our trips to the art center to see Waitress, and our opening-day rush to see The Simpsons). In fact, Die Hard 4 (I’m avoiding using its idiotic title) features an almost-astonishing 78 percent on Rottentomatoes.com. Even our friends at Slate enjoyed Die Hard 4, of course, with a tongue-in-cheek self-importance suggesting their consumption of Die Hard is on an entirely different level than ours.

You may be surprised that I even linked to our friends at Slate, following their Fletch debacle. However, it’s absolutely stunning to read Slate‘s tribute to action-movie quotes this week. Apparently, if you’re scoring at home, all those idiotic summer action movies in the 1980s with Schwarzenegger or Stallone are actually now camp-classics, their one-liners actually trendy, and actually essential pieces of film lore. Who knew! According to Slate, action movie quips (I’ll be back … Make my day … Get off my plane … You’re fired) are actually, totally, we-told-you-so cool – supremely superior, of course, to an entire 1980s movie full of quips that still stands as a cult comedy classic to this day. Makes perfect sense. Totally consistent and coherent revelations, again from our friends at the world’s coolest magazine. Again, if you’re a comedy – don’t bother filling yourself with bitingly-funny clips unless they reveal some sort of social commentary on the state of America; and if you’re an action movie, well, any ad-lib liner thrown in after an explosion is pure fucking genius. Yippee ki yay, Slate.

If an employee’s performance review is currently going on in the conference area immediately adjacent to your cubicle at 4:30 on a Friday – it’s probably not a good idea to shout “Hell yeah!” at the same time the employee’s supervisor describes why, in fact, the company doesn’t give raises during midseason.

Or maybe it is. Hell, yeah, indeed.

Our favorite exercise in futility is once again upon us – the NBA Draft!

The cream of the crop among ordered selections of young athletes, pundits and casual fans alike sweating profusely over “upside,” “length,” “potential,” and “acumen.” The most tangible of all the major sports’ drafts – the NBA Draft is neatly packaged into a three-hour Must-See TV time block, with cohesive sports analysts working together, recognizable players from college and high school stages, and rapid-fire selections. It’s an event even the Worldwide Leader can’t screw up.

And this year, the draft is bursting with promise. You’ve likely read similar reports and mock drafts from ESPN’s Chad Ford & Bill Simmons, SI’s Ian Ekstrand, The Big Lead, plus numerous others, including the draft daddy of them all – NBA Draft-dot-Net. It’s a fair consensus that this year’s class is potentially shapeshifting – along the lines of 2003, and practically the opposite of 2000. As you can imagine, Mister Faded Glory is anxious to publish his own mock draft, operating under two assumptions:

1. NBA General Managers are morons, slaves to conventional wisdom.
2. Mister Faded Glory is prescient and perfect in his talent analysis. Nope, he never trumpeted John Wallace and Gary Trent as future stars or dismissed Amare Stoudemire and Kobe Bryant out of hat.

Anyway, it is a good draft, one that should be fun to predict. As always, I advocate best-player-available selections, with little regard for “need picks.” And, of course, I’m leery of “upside” in brief, college-stopover players while celebrating it in high school seniors. In this particular draft, I’m struck by its weight at the top, steep dropoff after the first two tiers, and depth within the second round.

For instance, if I picked after the top-ten, I would endeavor to trade down. How am I supposed to be convinced that Javaris Crittendon is that much better than Taurean Green? How is Jeff Green really any better than Alando Tucker? Are we serious that Nick Young is a better pick than Derrick Byars? And can’t I find a nutty, perpetual-motion rebounder in the second round rather than forking over first-round dollars for Joakim Noah?

In my mind, there are four can’t-misses in this year’s draft: Kevin Durant, Greg Oden, Corey Brewer and Mike Conley. Alternately, there’s a second tier of talent that looks enticing: Al Horford, Acie Law, Byars. After that, there’s a lot of talent – but to me, none of it’s safe, and even less of it is worth the headache of a high pick. And closing, there’s but a few red flags – perhaps the lack of red-flags best describes the deep talent pool: Yi JianLian, Julian Wright, Spencer Hawes, Brandan Wright, and the two kids from Georgia Tech come to mind; anyone else could conceivably be a productive player with the right fit. With that said, we’ll attempt to walk through the first round – alternately celebrating or decrying conventional wisdom, nuttiness, resumes, and upside. Let’s begin, after the jump:
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The Cubs continued two storylines on Tuesday. One, of course, is their improved play — the entire lineup, defense and pitching staff appears to be on the same page, and the North Siders defeated the Rockies. Two, of course, is their purge of Dusty‘s guys – with perennial whipping boy Jacque (The Strap) Jones supposedly on his way out to Florida, until the deal was killed tonight.

Links, etc., courtesy of The Cub Reporter, above – they’ve been all over the rumor swirl throughout the day. Apparently the snag was money, as you would expect with a pure salary dump. According to the Tribune (and the Sun-Sentinel, who, interestingly, claims Sam Zell vetoed the deal), Florida expected the Cubs to pick up $7.2 million in salary and the Cubs balked at $6.6. Now, if you’re like me, you wonder why $600K was the sticking point when Chicago was already prepared to eat nearly $7 million anyway. But I digress.

Also noted, by Jim Hendry, no less, is the rumors’ effect on Jones. Jim’s concern is admirable, however, perhaps he should have had similar contrition, foresight or professionalism in winter 2005 – when he outbid Jones’ only other suitors (the Royals) by a full year and an extra $6 million. Not good times.

In fact, it was the worst signing throughout two offseasons of putrid deals – the feather in a convoluted two-season span akin to watching a train derailment. I’ll spare you the list, but it includes overpaying for replacement-level vet after replacement-level vet, and selling off pieces for nickels on the dollar. Jones, a past-his-prime (31), barely-upgrade over either previous outfielder (Corey Patterson or Jeromy Burnitz), was simply a stupid signing that nearly all of us saw coming. (Seriously, you couldn’t watch a Twins game in 2005 without hearing the announcers mention Cubs scouts in the crowd. Sigh.)

However, it’s not The Strap‘s fault – and we don’t bear him any ill will. He just signed the dotted line, wondering why some team would be so stupid as to fork over a truckload of cash for an outfielder who can’t hit lefties or throw. Besides a minor hiccough early in his Cub career, when he criticized several idiot fans, he’s been fairly professional, and even put up decent numbers, all while playing hard. However, he was another free-swinging role player cast as a major player for the Dusty Baker Cubs. Under Piniella, his mediocre offensive numbers wouldn’t fly with subpar defense and less-than-heady play. Sound familiar?

Anyway, Jones is caught in limbo, but he has been a pro all year, even playing a credible centerfield before Felix Pie‘s current call-up. Jones doesn’t fit the future regime, and inspires only a little bit of pity as he shirks out the door a circumstantial bad signing, and ultimately a footnote in Cubs history. Too bad for him, I suppose, but, well – with any new boss, in any sport, in any job, some casualties occur. Jones is one of them. Just a ridiculous signing and now a ridiculous situation. You wonder, sometimes, if it ever occurs (for the Cubs) any other way.

(And yes, I realize I’ve blown my supposed boycott of Cub-blogging out of the water. A win streak will do that. So don’t bother pointing that out.)

Wow!

Never too late for a mea culpa – I signed off a prospective post last night, denoting the Cubs meltdown against the Rockies in the ninth inning as not “make-or-break,” but horrendous nonetheless. And it was – just a total stomach punch featuring like 8 first-pitch hits and a 3-run jack by Troy Tulowitzki. A lesser fan would have turned off the computer (uh, well, I did…); or at least not come back and turned it on (Wait, I did that!) . In fact, here is my entry that I just-almost posted after the top of the ninth:

Here I was, all set to join my Cub blogging brethren with a glowing blog post, at least commenting how much fun it’s been to watch the Cubs play well this week, and supposing that, after all of the first half’s bad luck – just maybe things are turning around.

Well, then tonight’s game happened. Ye gods. And we learned some things:

• Scott Eyre should never be allowed to take the field for the Cubs again. Ever.
• Remember, PLEASE remember – you cannot bring Bob Howry in during the middle of an inning. He is a good relief pitcher when he starts the inning. NOT in the middle.

And the Cubs couldn’t hold a five-run lead to the Rockies. For what it’s worth, at least Eyre and Howry are further illustrating why you shouldn’t sign mid-30s relievers to multiyear deals. And, perhaps more painfully – think how good this team could be if the bullpen could be counted on, you know, ever. There’s still time, but a game like tonight’s really stings. I won’t say it’s a make-or-break game, you know, because there’s nearly 90 games left, and there’s a whole lot of bad NL teams, and we’re at least looking better for 2008, but you know, this just hurts. How much more can we take? The Reds game? The Mets game? This is the worst. Bleah.

Cripes, I feel like a chain-smoking AP writer. In fact, I just checked to see if I reeked of pastrami. That shows me. However, I’ll happily digest this humble pie. Anyway, in case you didn’t see it - Alfonso Soriano – fast becoming the Cub MVP, Most Beloved, bargain signing, and NL MVP – singled in two runs, after three late-inning base hits. Wow – just, wow. They’re fun to watch, playing better, and, well, I stick by my criticism of Eyre and revelation with Howry. Still, Lou is making over this team, and the close-knit Cubs had a great win last night. Like above, I won’t say it’s season-defining – but, boy, did the Cubs need a win like this. A stunning top of the ninth, and an even more stunning, 2-out rally in the bottom. What a win. See you tomorrow. If I can sleep!

I’ll be brief. I’m going to defend this trade. You know the trade, today’s recent shipment of erstwhile scapegoat Michael Barrett to the Padres for Rob Bowen and a mid-level prospect. You won’t read any Cubs fan conventional wisdom on this site. You know the usual message-board drill:

Monday, June 11. Barrett’s gotta go! We hate him! He’s worthless!

Wednesday, June 20, 9 a.m. Awright! We traded Barrett!

Wednesday, June 20, 10 a.m. Whaddaya mean we didn’t get Peavy for him?!

Anyway, it’s a good trade. Barrett was struggling in his walk year, and his defensive, fielding, and playcalling tendencies suffered – magnified by his slow start, especially unusual for a player who typically started strong and finished weakly.

Barrett‘s shortcomings as a catcher are discussed everywhere in Cub reportage and bloggage – usually, however, it’s thought that he mitigates his defense with a steady bat. In fact, through the last four years, that’s what the statheads have pointed to at the end of a season. Look at his stats! He’s an excellent hitter! Where else would we get that type of production in the catcher spot?

Well, stats are a part of the story – but, as usual, not all, and looking at Mike‘s situation – it’s a retroactive exercise. For all those who cite his supreme offensive skills, I defy you to remember any clutch hit. I further defy you to remember any walk. I defy you to remember even a 10-pitch at-bat. And, I defy you to forget numerous first-pitch flyouts, groundouts, and double plays. I know I can’t. He was an abysmal situational hitter, and it’s easy to elevate someone’s stats when they’re likable, hard-working, and genial. Mike was all three. And, in turn, he was also overrated.

At this stage in his career, however, Barrett really isn’t any worse than he ever was – he just was never that great to begin with. In 2004, Jim Hendry took a flyer on a catcher with early-season pop from Montreal, hoping his numbers would improve with a seasonlong stint in Wrigley. They did, but his baseball acumen sure didn’t.

Because, the fact is – Michael Barrett is a meathead. In fact, for a baseball player, he’s exceptionally dumb (And, if you think about it, that’s really saying something). His stat line never reflected his offensive inability to move over a runner, or loft a sacrifice fly. His defensive shortcomings, botched relay throws, poor pitchcalling, telegraphed strike zone, and general blockheaded overthinking didn’t always show up in the box score. In Lou Piniella’s regime, lack of fundamentals and general idiocy is apparently a problem. This is a good thing.

And Barrett’s time had come – encapsulated in a hideous fortnight of Cub futility – beginning with a May 28 brain cramp in which he gave away a game in L.A. after a runner on second deked him. On Friday, June 1, as you know, he got his ass stomped. The following Sunday against the Braves (The Ted Lilly Game) a struggling Ryan Dempster chunked a pitch into the dirt and it slid past Barrett, allowing the winning run to score. To top it off, an extra-inning relay throw eluded Michael on June 11, and it would have nailed the lead runner in the thirteenth. Michael dropped it, of course, as the winning run scored.

And with any of those games, those bad plays stung, but the losses weren’t solely Barrett’s fault. Of course they weren’t. Still, he did pass a crucial ball. He did drop a terrible relay. And the strange losses mounted, all occurring with Barrett in a principle role. And where there’s smoke …well…

So the nouveau-Cubs, in an effort to rid themselves of the fire, today purged the smoke. And it’s a decent move. Barrett is a multimillionaire bad catcher with precious little pop in his bat and even less brains in his head. The Padres lived with Mike Piazza last season and should have no problems with Barrett. The Cubs were paying Barrett to be scapegoat No. 1, and had been receiving about as much production as with Koyie Hill. Granted, small sample size, but we’re a third of the way through the year. Barrett’s 31, and his stats aren’t much better than Hill‘s, and certainly aren’t even better than new catcher Rob Bowen‘s. This wasn’t getting better for the Cubs without change.

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For some reason, the region in which MFG lurks is bereft of bookstores. Once home to Barnes & Noble and Hastings, our humble burg now contains only a smallish Waldenbooks, in a mall dying a slow death.

Anyway, that’s not to say you can’t unearth some gems in there. It was only a few short weeks ago that we discovered our favorite cartoonist, Berke Breathed, had sort of resuscitated Bloom County, or, more precisely, its preeminent character.

And now, for six whopping dollars, we’ve purchased this, from Waldenbooks.

Here’s your review: It’s fantastic.

Bloom County is not just a wistful memory from the childhood of MFG. Nope, it’s still relevant, biting, funny, and inspiring. Terrific. And Opus is not only back, he’s in color. Some days, life is good.

(See? The genius of Bloom County just saved you from a tooth-gnashing post on the infuriating politeness of Midwesterners – because I sat in my car for 10 minutes at Walgreen’s, needing to make a right turn across three lanes toward a jampacked stoplight, with idiot after idiot in SUVs waving me into the right lane. I would prefer they just sped up and flipped me off – at least then I don’t look the part of the honking jerkwheat.)

So, I know you’ve all been scouring the web, clicking back on MFG and snapping “Refresh” in hopes of seeing my reaction to The Sopranos series finale. Well, my first impression is:

• I didn’t see it. (Haven’t watched the show since season three, really.)
• My second impression is: I probably would have really liked the ending. I enjoy the occasional ambiguous ending, and I definitely think (granted, after each and every TV writer, news analyst, sports blogger, sports beat writer, sports talk show host, AM radio host, right-wing conservative commentator, and entertainment blogger has already offered their input on the episode) that I would have really, really enjoyed the penultimate ending. Somewhat shocking, somewhat ambivalent – but nicely, mysteriously juxtaposing the two major elements of The Sopranos - fear and family.

At its end and beginning, the principles’ devotion to their family doesn’t quite preclude their fear of their uncertainty or fear of what they created. And I think the final episode would have captured that nicely, for me. (Ms. Faded Glory, on the other hand, despises endings that aren’t clear-cut. Had she been a Sopranos fan, she likely would have chucked a shoe into the screen.) And so, I understand the frustration with a murky ending – but I guess I would also offer, remember the finale of Friends? They tied everything up with a bow. You would have preferred that?

Anyway, another series bows out, albeit with more fanfare than the freakin’ Super Bowl. Which brings to mind all series finales – not to say that we’re the first blog to revisit some of the landmarks and timebombs from years’ past, but well, it’s worth a look. We may not be original, but far be it from MFG to discard the wave nicely intersecting with conventional wisdom and trivial minutae.

The Sopranos‘ inspired contention and watercooler talk will certainly parallel the interest in the finales of Cheers (excellent), Seinfeld (abysmal), M*A*S*H (very good), the aforementioned Friends (Burn that tape) and Newhart (the absolute best series finale ever. But in honor of the excellent closing ep of Cheers - you can read about it, anywhere, it was classic – let’s offer Cheers and Jeers to some notable finales from TV’s past: Read more

Mister Faded Glory doesn’t consider itself a blog devoted to the critique or analysis of sports and mainstream media. Oh, sure, occasionally we’ll offer nuggets of catty criticism toward various media outlets (Example: No one ties the inexorable decline of NBA popularity to its marriage with ESPN and ABC, which are woeful in coverage when juxtaposed with the halcyon days of NBC and TNT.). But more often than not, we’re content to leave ESPN and sports media criticism in the capable hands of The Big Lead, Joe Sports Fan and Awful Announcing, among others.

And, if you read those sites even on occasion, you’re treated to just a sampling of an ESPN backlash which permeates not only the sports blogger landscape, but the intelligent sports fan landscape. The verdict: ESPN sucks. It’s too big. You’ve heard all this.

Still – we’ve refrained from celebrating this addition for a few months – it’s one thing to read potshots and craft them yourself, directed in cyberspace toward bloated personalities who have no interest in integrity having reached the stage of the Worldwide Leader. It’s quite another to read the same criticisms, concerns, admonishments and characterizations of ESPN from its new ombudsperson – former New York Times editor LeAnn Schreiber.

Schreiber is fantastic. We can’t say enough about her – it’s a cathartic read for sports fans, biting, succinct, prescient, and pleasing – satisfying because she must irk the corporate suits at DisnEySPN beyond belief. She’s precise and pragmatic in her analyses of ESPN – the reasoned voice of the backlash. Each of her analyses, arriving monthly, is more spot-on than the last. She’s outstanding.

Even if Schreiber ultimately accomplishes nothing – indeed a possibility at such a corporate behemoth – at the very least she encapsulates the problems, concerns and faults of such a conglomerate. She provides a blueprint for success and warning signs for failure. She’s harsh yet kind – and in her articles’ best moments it seems probable she’ll somehow curb abuse of power at ESPN. Evident even as she often explains and supports the suits’ rationale, she always conveying an impartial nobility and impeccable credibility. But I’m not just sucking up. Check out some of this month’s review’s best moments, after the jump:

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You know a hackneyed, speculative sports talking point has reached its mind-numbing, pound-yourself-in-the-head-with-a-shovel saturation point when Mike Greenberg and Mike Golic discuss the point ad nauseum during an entire segment of their morning show.

(Shudders.)

Anyway, we’re talking about the notion that Lou Piniella – a ‘fiery, fiesty’ manager – has lost the commitment of his team. The story’s legs developed during the past few days, not coincidentally in line with a flurry of idiotic activity surrounding Our Chicago Cubs.

The notion first appeared Friday in Buster Olney’s blog (Insider, sorry) and again surfaced in Chicago media after Piniella’s suspension on Sunday. In fact, you can read about it courtesy of Paul Sullivan and Gordon Wittenmyer. Our favorite instigator, Jay Mariotti, also described the signals of Lou-sing the team today – and cited a WSCR-Chicago “report.” According to message boards (I realize the folly of quoting, but it’s certainly in line with the other reports), the report Mariotti referenced stemmed from a Steve Stone conversation, in which:

The players-only meeting last week was called by Derrek Lee who tried to keep the focus on what players could do to turn things around. Meeting ended as a 2-hour bitch session about Lou. No matter how many times Lee tried to get it back on track, all the majority of the team wanted to do was complain about Lou (airing them out in the press, never taking any personal blame, etc.).

I’m paraphrasing, but that’s from The Cub Reporter, transcribed by a reader. Life surrounding the Chicago Cubs is just a little reactionary. But regardless of the groundswell of media-created discontent between the players and Lou, um, why should we really care? The stories above are all tinged with impending doom. But assuming Stone and WSCR’s report is true (not exactly a safe bet), well, we Cub fans should be thrilled at the discord among the staff!

For the last four years, Cubs players were held accountable for precisely nothing – their manager, Dusty Baker, refused to throw any player under the bus publicly, but also refused to address or improve any personal or personnel shortcoming. Lou is the opposite – he has no regard for players’ reputations, emotions, or perceptions – he’s interested in playing the best on the field. Baker‘s “the-world-is-against-us” mentality meant that players weren’t ultimately in control of their destiny. Lou‘s “the-world-is-against-us” mentality means you damn well better fix what’s wrong with you in order to take the world by storm.

Of course this wouldn’t sit well with Baker devotees Scott Eyre, Jock Jones, Cesar Izturis, Carlos Zambrano, Ryan Dempster and Mike Barrett. And of course it also wouldn’t sit well with Jim Hendry crony Cliff Floyd. Lou may not be a huge tactical step up over Baker – but he’s certainly already making inroads against excuse-filled, woe-is-me sniping, petty conduct. It has to be an improvement.

And if some of the natives are restless, well, that’s just too bad. We fans have grown impatient with them long enough – to the point of contempt and even burning hatred – and it’s about time someone in management is doing the same. If it means 2007 ultimately becomes a lost year, simply in order to rid the Cubs of dead weight (Again, everyone but Soriano, Lee, and Ramirez…), well, this Cub fan will take it. He won’t like it, but he’ll take it. We’ll be better off.