Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

Yes, I’m also annoyed the Colts pulled their starters. I’m not going to pontificate or scream or whine or moan, but I am disappointed, even though now we don’t have to read post after post from Aaron Schatz whining and claiming the Colts are “the worst undefeated team ever.” David Tyree, Aaron. Still not showing up in DVOA.

But here’s why we’re disappointed.

1) The Colts had Super Bowl-caliber teams in 2005 and 2006, and rested down the stretch. This did not work well. I’m OK with thinking “we didn’t lose b/c we rested the starters” because both losses were close, to a point. But if it’s become a trend, you need to change behavior in some fashion. With two underwhelming opponents remaining, this would have been it.

2) I don’t care about not caring about an undefeated season. (smacks head.) But if you’ve got to play them, you might as well win. With the Colts set to play the Jags and the Jets in weeks 15 and 16, two playoff hopefuls, you might as well destroy their playoff hopes, and beat them now, so you don’t have to beat ‘em later. I feel the same way about baseball. (See also, Cubs blowing off a 3-game Brewers series at end of year.)

3) Most importantly, I’m a fickle fan. I’m a pessimist. I’m different than most Colts fans (Blue Legion counts lots of annoying homers with massive chips-on-shoulders. Lots of them are fat Midwesterners.) I certainly don’t expect a Super Bowl title. For me, an undefeated season is a way out, and also accomplishes an important bit of schadenfreude.

If the Colts went 16-0, which they most assuredly would have done, they now have everything New England has. They own the longest unbeaten streak in regular season history, they would also have a perfect season, and would they have lost a Super Bowl, or even a playoff game, they would still be equal to NE’s 2007 team.

I suppose it’s lame and decidedly less-than-manly to rationalize a possibility of a loss amid an undefeated season and Super Bowl contention. But there you have it. The Colts are good enough to win the Super Bowl. They’re always ready to play. They’re good enough to win close games. You want to label them “the Atlanta Braves of the NFL?” Go ahead. It’s a badge of honor. I’m a proud fan. Most importantly, I trust them explicitly.

Still, they’re also good enough to lose in round 2 to a No. 6-seeded Pitt, or in the AFC championship game to San Diego. Or – heaven forbid – even New England in the divisionals. Sixteen and zero would have eased my worries. It was right there. Win or lose, it would have been cool.

So I’m not bothered by the loss that much. It just doesn’t quite make sense.(Gulps.)

Mister Faded Glory is back. Just in time for decades in retrospective and other such fodder plaguing our broadband, newsprint, and airwaves.

Before we join the fray (Yes, of course we join the fray. My opinions matter! Read me at facebook and Twitter! Trust me, I’m much more unique than everyone!) – a quick update about the Mister Faded Glory situation.

Alluded to on Twitter, (apropos, I know) and never explained, I’ve now migrated east to Lawrence, Kansas, which is supposedly pretty cool, and supposedly better than the western outpost of Salina.

(I’m not sure, however, because I was informed by my neighbor that the city of Lawrence fines you if your walks aren’t cleared 48 hours after a blizzard. I’m all for city pride, but not when it encroaches on my own private sloth.)

Mister Faded Glory is now neatly located only blocks from the University of Kansas campus and much closer to friends in Des Moines, New York City, North Dakota, Kansas City, Suburban Connecticut, Denver by airport, and Clear Lake, Iowa. (Congrats to me, I’ve named all my readers.)

Anyway, a move closer has become much more important in the last two years than previously, and we’re no longer the undaunted kid who wants to carve out some niche as far away from his roots as possible. Instead, we’re an angst-ridden adult who insists on touting writing and thoughts as though original, and also mixes up blog-writing-tenses haphazardly. Thanks a lot, Deadspin.

Anyway, we’ve got a new home. New office. And new world, but we still occasionally miss the one we left behind.

My old digs.

Salina, Kansas, was home for me for more than six years – besides Clear Lake as a kid, I’ve never lived anywhere else that long. Despite its blue-collar tendencies and lack of restaurants unconnected to the Applebee’s empire, I’ll miss it. Believe it or not.

This is me growing older, growing up, and more sentimental. In fact, I’m keeping the photo of my old yard as the banner atop the page. You see, I really will miss toiling for days in March in an unkempt back garden.

Consider it progress, until I besiege you with my own personal decade retrospective nonsense. First up, we’ll tackle movies, primarily because I can never remember what I read, and I’m trying to put together a Top-10 album list that doesn’t include all three Pearl Jam releases. (Regardless hint: Expect Tool’s Lateralus and Ellis’ Lunar Park to figure prominently.)

Anyway. We’re back, we’re home, and we’re writing again. Thought you were rid of us, but you’re not. Like a bad penny, we always turn up. Here’s to 2010.

We spend a lot of time fretting about legacies.

Instantly a president takes office, and we wonder if his eyes are on the future, and his history book chapters.

We’re predisposed to bemoaning sports icons’ legacies – most of us think it would have been all too perfect for Michael Jordan to walk away from basketball after cashing the jumper over Bryon Russell; and most scarcely want to remember his tenure with the Wizards. John Elway – now there’s an athlete who went out on top. The Chargers’ John Unitas, the Raptors’ Hakeem Olajuwon – those guys just barely hung on. We even worried that Mario Lemieux would be a shell of himself when he descended from the owners’ suite.

We also obsess about closure over TV shows and our beloved characters. We wanted Seinfeld to end as note-perfect as its heyday. (Note: Fail.) Sam couldn’t possibly end up with Diane, could he? Or Kevin Arnold with Winnie? We cringe watching late years of The Cosby Show or Night Court or Newsradio or Wings or you name it – the surfing episode of The Simpsons (cleverly titled “Worst Episode Ever”) comes to mind. Comedies take themselves way too seriously if they hang around too long. Dramas, conversely, become laughable. ER, anyone?

This is all hogwash, of course. Brett Favre deserves to play as long as he can string them up, no matter how annoying he is. Jordan and Olajuwon and Unitas and Jerry Rice earned enough leeway to lace ‘em up and play as long as they wanted. We all would, were we ever that good. At anything. Talent and success and moments and fame are all fleeting – and it’s better to continue your passion and your craft as long as you can. Beats tiptoeing toward a graceful exit, just because some onlooker muses so.

In fact, we feel the opposite about bands. We line up for Springsteen shows, decades after his, uh, glory days. We rush to download Pearl Jam albums, even though we know they won’t top Ten through No Code. We mourn Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and anyone else who had only a burst of greatness. We even lionize Bob Dylan‘s latest, no matter what, though his influence was set in stone with Highway 61. And we eagerly bought Alice In Chains‘ new record. We’re just glad they’re here.

Tonight, of course, Scrubs Version 2.0 premiered. I’m about to watch it on DVR. And I’m excited. I’ve been guilty of tweeting and whining that the show can’t possibly hold a candle to its fastball years of seasons 1 through 4. I’ve snickered at Zach Braff, predictably reprising J.D. even as he swore Season Nine was the last. I’ve fretted that the picture-perfect whimsical character comedy I knew and loved would become a shell of itself.

But who am I to judge? Besides, Scrubs‘ descent already happened. The narratives and authenticity and humor slipped somewhere in the fifth season, and the last few seasons were nowhere near the caliber of the early years. But you know what? I watched it. I liked it. It’s one of my favorite comedies ever, and I don’t hold a stupid musical episode against it.

In fact, I still revere Newsradio - even though that show was awful after Phil Hartman’s passing. I still forgive The Office, and maintain the first 36 episodes of that show are as good as its UK counterpart. Moreover, I still tune in even as The Office’s quality plummeted down a well a couple years ago. The Simpsons‘ writers and actors know that show’s prime was more than 10 years ago – but a couple of laugh-out-loud jokes per episode, and the enjoyment of doing it, and their shared pride at the show’s prime justify pressing on. Who are we to point fingers, and say they’re wrong? Shouldn’t we respect, instead? At least a little?

Anyway, creator Bill Lawrence launches Scrubs V. 2.0. And I suspect Lawrence, as well as Braff, Donald Faison, John C. McGinley, and Ken Jenkins know the show isn’t close to its early-decade peak. But I’m just as sure they’re all fine with it. For Lawrence, the creator of Spin City and Cougar Town, he knows this show is the best thing he has done – his magnum opus – and probably the best thing he’ll ever do. To have a chance to continue … well, there’s just no way he should turn it down. Who would?

So tonight, I’m queuing up Scrubs, with JD and Turk and Cox at some university or something woefully contrived. Still, I’ll enjoy it. I’ll laugh a few times, and I’ll howl at callbacks and inside jokes planted almost a decade ago. I’ll respect Lawrence, the actors, and the writers, and I’ll enjoy the characters a little more. After all, I’m just glad they’re here.