The Weight of One Trophy

By Austin T. Murphy

As I am wont to do, I found myself pondering during the recent "NBA Finals" drubbing that doesn't deserve to be recognized as such where Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant ought to be ranked All-Time in NBA history as individual players. With unprecedented abilities and talents at their disposal, each has shown in the past two years that they are rocketing up the charts despite what many expected to be a dilution of productivity once they teamed up (similar to LeBron James and Dwyane Wade in Miami).

Despite this expectation, the duo has emerged as possibly the most lethal offensive tandem we've ever seen. And unlike other star pairings that have fizzled due to personality clashes or inflated or damaged egos, Steph and KD complement each other so well that neither has taken a definitive step back from being an MVP-caliber player.

Sure, neither will likely win another regular season MVP playing together, but at the end of the sweep of the Cavaliers, there was an honestly difficult decision to be made regarding which of the two deserved to be named Finals MVP.

Now we all know that inevitably KD was selected as the Finals MVP for the second year in a row, largely due to his 43-point domination in game three that delivered yet another left-wing dagger three-pointer to follow last year's. Steph struggled mightily in that particular contest, but his brilliance in the three others (especially games two and four) supported the argument that perhaps Curry deserved to be named Finals MVP for the first time in three championship-winning series. 

Whether you believe KD was rightfully honored or that Steph was snubbed is not really the point here. The point is that for some strange reason, as I found myself contemplating their All-Time rankings, I somehow hinged each player's potential surging on which of the two would earn the award this year.

Consider this, Stephen Curry had a tremendous series even with the game three struggles. Before the series I had him ranked somewhere between #22 and #26 All-Time, and in accordance with my pre-series prediction I proposed that he would vault to #16 if he was named the 2018 NBA Finals MVP. 

Kevin Durant, on the other hand, I had already ranked somewhere between #18 and #22. As I expected (and hoped for) Curry to win Finals MVP, I didn't really give too much thought as to how Durant's ranking would change.

This morning I elected to lay out my full rankings for the top 50, and I now have Durant perched at #14 and Curry at #19.

The reason for my elaborating to this extent, if I can make it as understandable as possible, is that one has to wonder why an arbitrary honor (that has previously been bestowed upon guys like Cedric Maxwell, Tony Parker, and Andre Iguodala -- great players in their own rights but pretty far removed from top 50 All-Time status) holds that much weight? Does Curry's poor shooting night in game three really matter enough for his ranking to waver between #16 and #19? 

Albeit, the margin for error becomes infinitely smaller as we proceed higher up the rankings, but was that single game (in conjunction with three stellar performances) definitively tell us that he isn't better than Kevin Garnett, Dirk Nowitzki, and Elgin Baylor -- at least in my own rankings? 

Perhaps my initial prediction was a little overeager, and Steph really didn't have it in him to overtake those three current/future hall-of-famers. Maybe if that 43-point tsunami had been Steph's instead of KD's he would have vaulted even further. Or maybe he still has the potential to overtake those three, and it will just take another year or two or five. 

Either way, I have to imagine that all these evaluations that are made with dominating performances so fresh in our minds force overreactions and over/underestimations. And I'm not the only one making these determinations, but I surely have the wealth of NBA-related knowledge and of NBA history to state my case against other experts. 

If that isn't clear enough -- as I anticipated -- then I think my thesis here can be summed in the same way I have stated it before: we cannot fairly compare players across generations due to discrepancies in play-style, athleticism, or competition. As a corollary to this notion, we also should not try to rank players until their playing days are over. Incomplete evidence can be flawed and/or tainted. 

And with that, I consider this half-baked thought to be "complete." Happy Tuesday.

This Deserves No Title

By Austin T. Murphy

Here I am. I found my way back. It’s been awhile, this is true. But circumstances are being circumstances yet again, as they tend to do, and my fingers are doing something on these keys that -- for better for worse -- could result in something substantial being completed here. Or not. Who’s to say?

What am I to make of this? LeBron James is who he is.
Despite my earnest pleadings with a greater being, he has chosen to allow everything to play out,
and now the fabled Boston Celtics no longer can claim to be undefeated in series in which they
lead 2-0. As a Lakers fan I’m supposed to be thrilled by this -- and yes, a small part of me is
fingering my nose at the idea of New England weeping collectively -- but the basketball historian
in me is crying in the corner as Mr. James (because we live in a democracy devoid of monarchy)
has taken another historical anecdote/superlative/”rule” and torn it to pieces while taking a steaming
dump on any chance of the NBA rejuvenating long-past rivalries between the “Philadelphia” Warriors
and Boston Celtics or the Houston Rockets and Boston Celtics.

I mean come on. There was SO MUCH material there just waiting. What in the actual fuck is there
to build up GSW/CLE R4? Is anyone honestly excited to watch Beard vs. Beard (when Harden and
James are possibly the two most hated players in the league)?

Fortunately for myself, I still have tomorrow to hold on to. As was surmised months ago, and as I am
wont to believe, the true NBA Finals will come to a culminating game seven tomorrow night.
Chris Paul may or may not be involved. Yes, that’s a bit of a sobering letdown, but we as sports
fans have dealt with similar before (or at least we have pretended that a team playing without its
best leader still has a fighting chance against a historically dominant dynasty simply because the underdog is playing at home).

And I want to play the optimist and reference a World Series game that, among others, I’m not quite sure why I revisited earlier today; I was just feeling baseball-y: G7 2001. The Diamondbacks needed a 9th inning rally to dethrone the three-peating Yankees. But then I remember that Arizona was completely healthy, and that baseball really doesn’t apply here.

*I mean, shit: 2014 G7 (Giants win WS on the road), 2016 G7 (Cubs win WS on the road), 2017 G7
(Astros win WS on the road). If home court advantage means in any sport, that sport for sure isn’t
baseball (at least not anymore). And persons like LeBron James are proving that home court
advantage means even less in basketball.

I suppose this is just one of many, umm, traits(?) or perhaps “powers” that we can notch on his belt.
Aside from establishing himself as one of the most powerful and influential personalities in sports
history, LeBron has now proven that it truly does not matter where he plays the final, decisive game
of a series. HE. WILL. WIN. Every time.

And here I reflect on my own naivete, to think that I believed the Celtics actually had a chance
tonight (but remember, at least, that I’m the same person who clings to historical precedent to
make predictions and clarify my expectations). I knew all along after the Celtics went ahead 3-2
that they desperately needed to win in 6, if only to avoid the dreaded G7 Bron machine to which
we have grown accustomed. As soon as I saw the clock hit 5:30 earlier tonight (while I was prepping
a BBQ with absolutely no intention of watching Cavs/Celtics) that feeling in my stomach resurfaced.
Fuck! Turns out I don’t even need to be watching LeBron James for him to  cause me physical
discomfort. Somehow I knew it was over before it even began.

It would only be fitting, at this point, for my drunken, sad, pensive mind to wander for a moment and land on the notion and comparison between Jordan and James. Allow me my dalliance, if you will, because I submit myself to such inane posits on the dreaded Twitter so often that I believe I deserve the opportunity to right our sails.

Truly the most frequent argument that those in favor of LBJ make to support their claim is the fact that Michael Jordan “couldn’t make it out of the first round without Scottie Pippen.” This argument, of course, hinges on the beginning of MJ’s career, when his clearly overmatched Bulls fell in best-of-fives to the eventual Eastern Conference runner-up Milwaukee Bucks (‘85, a team that reached the ECF three times in the early-to-mid ‘80s), the eventual champion (‘86) and runner-up (‘87) Boston Celtics.

Let’s just pause for a moment and acknowledge that there are imbeciles out there who believe this is actually a reason for which to criticize a rookie, sophomore, or third-year pro. Like, I know Magic won Finals MVP as a rookie, but we can’t all be lucky enough to play alongside Cap.

So returning to Jordan/James, I submit now that the allure surrounding James as of now correlates primarily to his standing of being “unbeatable.” I will ignore the infallibility that this kind of title restricts itself solely to the Eastern Conference, but let’s not be so ignorant as to believe Jordan did not also achieve this standing. From 1991-1998, Jordan never lost an Eastern Conference series (or NBA playoffs overall, for that matter) before which he played a complete season. This “undefeatability” [in a specific conference] is not unprecedented -- I mean look back at other historical stars: Kareem finished his career in the Finals; Magic finished his “true” career in the Finals; Bird finished his last completely healthy season in the Finals; Russell finished his career in the Finals; Wilt finished his career in the Finals.

The greatest schism that we encounter here with the Jordan/James argument is due to the truth that Jordan finished his career so much sooner (and as a result, so much of the LBJ argument relies upon cumulative statistic feats). MJ retired, for the second time and what should have been the final time, at the age of 35 and after 13 seasons playing in the NBA (but really only 11 in which he played at least a third of the season). The argument in James’ favor relies entirely on the evidence we gain as witnesses to the present (in his, now, 15th year at 33 years old), especially with the assumption that Jordan could not have accomplished the same either by the same age or with the same longevity.

Here’s where I need to present some historical context. The 1998 Chicago Bulls, regardless of whether they won or lost the NBA Finals in their repeat matchup with the Utah Jazz, were toast. Done. Walking The Green Mile. And not because of fading talent, oh no no no. That team was going to be split up regardless of their ending circumstances by virtue of the fact that Jerry Krause was a petulant fuck and couldn’t accept the fact that his contribution to the Bulls ‘90s dynasty was slim-to-none. And if you don’t feel swayed by that truth, feel free to do your own research and eventually join the rest of 2018 in the commonly-accepted understanding that much of human history (especially fuck-ups) is a result of rich white guys not being able to check their egos.

Michael Jordan didn’t have the choice or opportunity to defend his 1998 title. Phil Jackson was
effectively gone and Krause knew MJ/PJ were a package deal, not to mention that Scottie was a  
complete ? after playing most of 1998 injured. He never had the chance (or need) to expand upon
his feat, but Jordan’s second three-peat was still by far and away the greatest accomplishment in
the NBA since the ‘60s Boston Celtics. I’m not even exaggerating. Jordan’s Bulls were the first team
to three-peat as champions -- and the first to do so since the phrase was coined by Pat Riley -- since
the 1965-66 Boston Celtics (knowing of course that the Celtics’ championship culminated their 8th
straight title...)

**MAJOR TANGENT: That was a VERY different era. The ‘60s for the NBA are what the ‘70s were to the NFL and the ‘30s-’50s were to MLB. The Pittsburgh Steelers (who have won the most Super Bowls in history) claimed three -- basically four -- of their titles in that decade. The New York Yankees captured 15 of their 27 World Series championships in that 30-year-stretch (an era that, let’s not forget, encompassed all of the Great Depression and Second World War). Teams don’t win titles in ridiculous bulk anymore, which is why Jordan not only three-peating once but TWICE is unexpected, unbelievable, and mythical.

***And don’t even get me started on the improbability of that title after the Jazz won G5 in Chicago. Jordan’s performance in G6 is among the greatest in sports history. I’ve seen that game no less than ten times in its entirety; be my guest and educate yourself if you’ve never seen it.

Having established the significance of the Bulls’ 1998 title, let’s jump back to the present. Since that title, only ONE franchise in the NBA has three-peated, and only TWO franchises have even repeated. Since the three-peating Yankees who won their first title that same year, ZERO franchises in MLB have so much as repeated. The Denver Broncos won repeat titles starting in that notorious year of 1998 and finishing in 1999, but only ONE franchise in the NFL has repeated as champions since: the 2004-2005 New England Patriots who we all know by now were coached/managed by Satan, himself.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The fact that LeBron James is one of the only players in the past twenty
years to achieve that fabled repeat is not to be overlooked. But we (and I cannot overemphasize
that it needs to be WE, not just individual, marginalized sports historians in their secluded retreats)
cannot mortgage that sacred past for the sake of the present. Yes, records are meant to be broken,
but it serves no good to act like yesterday’s feats are intrinsically watered down or in any way less
(or sometimes more) impressive than what is happening now.

There was nothing “easy” about Michael Jordan 1) overcoming that monkey on his back (the Detroit
Pistons) and beating a 5-time champion (Magic and the Los Angeles Lakers), 2) staving off a hungry,
new rival (the New York Knicks) and outlasting an individual rival (Clyde Drexler and the
Portland Trail Blazers), and 3) still denying the Knicks rival and dominating a prospective new
champion boasting the MVP (Charles Barkley and the Phoenix Suns). There was nothing “trivial”
about Michael Jordan 4) leading the best team in history to a title (over the Seattle SuperSonics), 5)
proving that he was the real MVP (instead of Karl Malone and the Utah Jazz), and 6) shunning a
would-be-replacement (in Reggie Miller on behalf of the Indiana Pacers) and becoming mythical
with his second win over those deserving Jazz.   

The man beat the teams/players placed in front of him, plain and simple. And while I will surely acknowledge now that LeBron James will forever continue to do so in the Eastern Conference, let’s not act like the NBA season ends with the culmination of the right-most 15-team playoff. In the same way that the east reigned supreme during Jordan’s career (1985-1998: Eastern teams won 9/14 titles), the west has reigned supreme during James’ career so far (2004-2017*: Western teams have won 8/14 titles [with two of those eastern titles requiring miracle G7 results]).

The west simply has been the better conference for the bulk of James’ career. While it would be an
insult to trivialize his achievements (just like Jordan’s), it would likewise be an insult to western
champions to “normalize” their achievements. Every championship is a result of one team (and
sometimes one player) standing up to an opponent and punching them square in the mouth.
Or maybe that team/player took a shot square in the mouth and countered with a stronger one,
a knockout blow. Either way, every NBA title in history is earned legitimately and fairly. And if we
are to remain a proud and ambitious people who seek to be the best that we can be, we must
continue to honor champions as the greatest among us. We must continue to cherish those who
refuse to be defeated on the greatest stage...and in this regard, 6 will always be greater than 3
(or god-willing, 4).

It’s safe to say this Jordan/James tangent surely ran its course. My feelings will evermore remain the same, but hopefully this digital iteration of me-vomiting-on-paper will serve to purge enough to allow me to actually watch the 2018 NBA Finals and enjoy it.

We’ll see. It’s really going to depend on tomorrow’s Warriors/Rockets G7. I don’t think I can enjoy a
fourth iteration of a rivalry that really isn’t a rivalry. An MVP showdown (which isn’t actually a
showdown given that Harden won the award weeks ago because the voting took place at the end
of the regular season when he was the runaway favorite) could be interesting, but maybe I’ll tune in
regardless of the WCF just to see LeBron lose his sixth Finals.

After all, it’s almost become a June ritual at this point. (By the way, how the fuck did this get to
four pages?!)

Courage and Love at "The Great Divide"

"Let's live in the moment. Come back Sunday morning."

By Austin T. Murphy

The first thing I saw when I woke up on Friday morning. Pure bliss.

One of the best analogies I've found to describe the impossibility of explaining sight to the blind and similar is Plato's "Allegory of the Cave." Unless you have seen the light you can never understand the beauty and warmth and value of embracing aspects of the world.

In the past I have returned from trips and adventures with inspiration and joy, and though this time I don't differ, I have arrived at what feels the most like a crossroads, a bridge, a choice, a parting of the ways. And fear not, this is not in regards to anyone in my life. I love all of my friends wholeheartedly (and I would even like to believe I've been able to repair some damage), but rather this is in regards to the world and strangers and those whose lives I impact on a regular basis.

It has been a long time since I first came to understand that social stratification is unavoidable. The world depends on classes in order to sustain modern economies. I don't want to sound aristocratic or Machiavellian; it's just reality. There are invisible barriers in place that will more than likely prevent me from ever becoming one of the 1% -- barring miracles and luck, movement along the ladder of social structure is heavily guarded.

And therein lies my conundrum. Do I continue to endorse capitalism, do we continue to push successful individuals to strive for greatness, to seek their just rewards, to reach beyond what were previously thought of as human limits? Or do we lower ourselves to the plight of the lesser individuals? Do I sacrifice innovation and achievement to try to help those who do not want help or cannot appreciate help?

This is where the "Allegory of the Cave" rings truer than ever, but in place of the Sun we have the idea of bettering oneself and station. How dare I intrude upon someone's right to live in squalor [and shame]? Is it not their human right to deny progression and set our species back millenia?

[In case you didn't catch it, that was sarcasm.]

It seems absolutely beyond logic that there can be so many people in the world living in ignorance of how fucking amazing experiences can be. Like there are actually millions of people who woke up this morning and are having a miserable day...and yet this past Sunday was arguably the greatest day of my life so far. And it only gets better....

Believe me, I don't take any of this for granted. I am beyond lucky and privileged; what I have experienced is not typical of the modern human. I -- we -- are the exception, not the rule.

So then knowing that we have been granted privileges typically reserved for the select few, is it not more noble to strive to push our own boundaries? How do we find that happy balance that allows us to help others without sacrificing our spirit and hope, to persevere in light of cancerous apathy and ignorance?

---

To be fair I don't expect to figure it all out any time soon. We have years...decades. I think maybe we just have to keep progressing, keep moving forwards with clear eyes and open hearts. Trust that the captain will deliver you safely to shore.

The daily struggle is to find that compassion necessary to tolerate slothfulness and glutinous mediocrity. Those with privileges have to find a way to guide our counterparts away from oblivion. Each day is different and not many are easy, but in the words of Samuel L. Jackson, "I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd."

At this point, I'd like to comment briefly on just the incredulity within me that such a positive experience like this past weekend is possible. My favorite songs would probably have to be "Live in the Moment" from Portugal. the Man, "Firestone" from Kygo, "Strangest Things" from The War on Drugs, "The Great Divide" by Magic Giant, and "Love the Way You Lie" by Eminem. By god Skylar Grey looked like an angel, Alison Wonderland proved to be batshit crazy in the best way, and ODESZA did what they usually do -- seize my heart and enact chaos.

In the meantime, I'm going to try to keep moving forward with my crystal eyes and earnest heart, and I'll try to approach every situation and person with the same compassion with which so many people -- friends and strangers alike -- showed me this weekend. That is likely the best advice I can offer anyone right now; believe in the best in people.

And for the love of everything sacred, get out of your own head space and hometown. The world is too big to hide from it.

Lastly, to my friends: I love all of you. I consider myself to be the luckiest man on earth because of you.

Courage and Love at Exposition Park

By Austin T. Murphy

Photo Credit: Aaron Phillips

Over two years ago I wrote the following words:

"For me, it's a reminder that it's okay to let go of some people and grudges, and it's okay to let new people into your life--people you can trust. And the memory can be brought forth just by looking into someone's eyes, wherein you'll find an implicit understanding of goodwill, benevolence, and love."

If you'll offer me the moment and forgive me for the vanity, I truly believe the ideas and words I wrote on that day, in a different city no less (and with the most important people in my life living less than fifteen minutes away), are some of the best I've ever logged.

We've come quite a ways in these past two years. Some of those people have circled the globe while I remained a sentry at post safeguarding the state of California -- though even the strongest could not save Santa Barbara from its fate. It's very possible that the fires, mudslides, and floods are a result of the Messiah returning to the Valley, and woe betide any who deny his coming.

My watch will come to an end soon, though, as the road calls for me to see that which I so earnestly desire. And I'd like to believe that I deserve it; I'd like to believe that I've earned it.

I have my good days and bad. This shouldn't come as a surprise. A moment is coming, though, and I don't know how I'll react. I want it, so so badly. I want that phone call to free me from a temporal purgatory, to give air to my sails and sustenance to my imagination. We weren't made to stay in one place forever. 

Still I feel, though, as if I need to earn it.

So I'll work each and every day, and I'll allow myself the liberating break from time to time. And I hope that when the time comes I can graciously accept an offer. It has become especially crucial because the have's chose recently that I have to go -- I cannot stay. It was my intention all along but now that it is out of my hands I can't help but feel a sense of apprehension alongside this uncertainty.

It's possible that this instability, lack of control on my behalf, could actually permit me to take flight. I'm reminded of a line from "Lose Yourself": 

"Success is my only motherf***** option; failure's not." -- Marshall Mathers

Full steam ahead, as we dive headfirst into the unknown.

The liberating break from this past weekend was everything I needed. And yes, that includes the 3am shots of tequila oh so generously offered me by Trav. 

Possibly the most appropriate interpretation of my two-years-old-quote is the part about letting new people into your life. We found a new one, a fresh young whippersnapper ready to take DP by storm. 

The amount of generosity on display and the timeless show of consideration from oh so many wonderful people sustains me and gives me the strength necessary to last another 15 days (and just 11 work days) until the next go around.

This is where you might be expecting me to bring some closure. I want to, but there is yet an opportunity, nay, a gap remaining that must be filled. That quote also mentions "letting go of some people and grudges." I can see that I've let go of some from my past given that I rarely think of them anymore. It doesn't pain me like it used to.

I hesitate because I am not one to write passive aggressively and assume another will read and feel an intended emotion. That ain't me. I write for myself and no one else. 

Suffice to say, momentum is difficult to fight. I can't live for anyone else but me, and I won't allow others' insecurities or grudges to dictate the way I feel about myself.

"What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does." -- Rubeus Hagrid

An Analysis of the Unheralded Wisdom and Literacy of Modern Rappers

By Austin T. Murphy

I do not own this picture

Several years ago I endeavored to write an essay on the cultural, musical, and racial undertones in the movie Alpha Dog and wound up referencing rappers like Eminem and Tupac Shakur.

I'm 26. I was probably still sucking my thumb when Shakur was murdered.

I'm also white as hell. The closest I've come to gangster life is the fact that I know a guy who was once shanked. I wasn't even there to witness it.

But I pride myself in my literary skill and my ability to glean further meaning from text. Earlier today a commercial played -- I cannot recall the product -- but it was playing a hip-hop song I'd heard many times over. The moment must have struck me just right because I discerned something of a contradiction in the opening two lines. I flashed back to my days as a music journalist, and sent the following text to my friend (who then responded in like and carried us into as interesting a back-and-forth as you'll ever read).

Enjoy.

---

AM: Rae Sremmurd's literary genius is on full display in "No Type," as they present themselves as respectable and wholesome, insisting on having no preference in regards to female companionship, though this true relatability is undercut in the next line when the rapper contradicts his lack of preference by asserting he only likes "bad bitches," an ironic dismissal of the initially noble characterization.

JB: Exactly. It's a classic modernization of the unreliable narrator. In this context, the entire song can be seen as a nuanced critique of what the genre of rap has become in today's society, and why children these days should not look to those who benefit from its calculated manipulation as role models, as they are contradictory and lack any trustworthiness that is necessary in any figure worthy of emulation.

AM: It echoes and contrasts starkly with Eminem's hit "The Way I Am." Where so many narrators and lyricists insist on perpetuating a false, upstanding persona, Mathers is straightforward and unabashed about his true, malevolent nature -- a refreshing reminder that a flawed hero is shameless in his imperfection.

JB: Ah, but Eminem's entire caricature is built around brutal honesty, his enlightening and layered song "Criminal" offers a direct refutation of any logic that bases itself on the assumption that Mathers' work is to be taken at face value.

AM: We would be remiss, however, to ignore the subtextual passage in his adaptation of Aerosmith's "Dream On": "If my music is literal and I'm a criminal how the f*** could I raise a little girl? I couldn't...." thereby reinforcing his message that art is meant to defy expectations and destroy the age-old reliance on superhuman characters.

JB: Exactly! Were he everything his songs boasted, he "wouldn't be fit to" raise [his daughter] Hailey; the fact that he is, of course, only underlines my point.

AM: His antihero aims are further evidenced when he names Reggie "Redman" to be the greatest rapper of all-time in "Till I Collapse," stalwart acclaim for a modest individual who also defies cultural and musical stereotypes.

---

The unintentional irony that arises out of this back-and-forth has to be the fact that even though we are extolling artists, I'm 99% sure Marshall would be absolutely livid if someone were to tell him that some 20-something white boys tried to find literary merit along the lines of Shakespeare in his lyrics. That man hates the media with a passion, so I should probably give it a rest before he puts me to rest ("Go To Sleep").

Some days I wonder what I would do without the English language. Other days I cut down trees in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

Why I’m Not Watching the 2018 Super Bowl

A Soliloquy to Denounce the Pig-Skin

By Austin T. Murphy

I have no idea who created this, but it isn't mine.

There are a few practices in the yearly life of an American that are assumed to be mandatory. We are all expected to celebrate some sort of religious holiday during the month of December. We are all expected to love Budweiser (despite the fact that it tastes like a Texan's piss). We are all expected to choose a career by the age of 22 and work 30-to-40 years in an effort to raise a family and conceive children who will continue striving for the "American Dream."

And we are all expected to watch the Super Bowl.

I will admit, for the umpteenth time, that I am not omniscient. I am not perfect. I am woefully uncultured. But in my (near) 26 years, I have formed bonds with folks from all over the United States AND from all over the world: Japan, Sweden, New Zealand, Australia, France, Austria, Ireland, Britain, Ohio, Maryland, New York, Colorado, Washington, Indiana, Tennessee, etc. These people have opened my eyes to the bigger picture, and they have helped me come to the conclusion that the United States is no longer guaranteed to be the country I want to spend the rest of my life inhabiting. There are very serious problems within this nation.

Above all the subordinate cultural identities that make one an American, it really isn't hard to see that there is a disease plaguing our (once) great nation. There is a man living in the White House right now who doesn't deserve to be there. There are people running this country that shouldn't be trusted to run a grocery store. And there are pathetic ideals being propagated from sea to festering sea that are ruining our people one gullible mind at a time.

Understand that I am not purporting any sort of nonsense along the lines of "We should derive our morality and forge our character in accordance or from professional athletes and sports leagues." But we've really reached a point where a semblance of correlation is undeniable. Our posterity is a generation of children who worship athletes and musicians and TV stars. How can we expect them to save the future if we won't show them the true America?

The National Football League is lost. Led by a spineless cretin in Roger Goodell, the league -- despite enduring for decades as a beacon of the American spirit -- is crumbling away as its integrity and ideals lay beaten and bloody in our rearview mirrors. This isn't anything new either, but rather a trend nearly two decades in the making.

One might say that the league peaked in the '80s and '90s. Joe Montana was the epitome of the modern American hero: a good-looking quarterback with a golden arm who won championships while playing for the NFL franchise named in honor of Manifest Destiny. It doesn't get any more American than Joe Cool.

 The '90s were a golden decade too (or rather, silver?), as the Dallas Cowboys won three more Super Bowls. Cowboys! Texas! The heart of America and the Wild West embodied, the league could do no wrong.

But then 9/11 happened.

I don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but do you really think it's just weird coincidence that the first NFL championship after the towers fell was won by a team named the Patriots? Is it just weird coincidence that the prevailing dynasty ever since has worn the colors red, white, and blue and is led by a pretty boy who shares a name with a certain Mark Twain character? I suppose it's a good thing we didn't see the Vikings or Redskins emerge as contenders or else our uniquely American identity might have been tainted entirely. 

The New England Patriots. New. Not England. New England. Not those sassy Tories on the other side of the Atlantic. We're here, American. We're rich, powerful, and by god are we good-looking. 

I've read the argument somewhere online that we should stop bleating about Spygate, that the Patriots weren't the only team cheating by videotaping their opponents illegally. That's a fair point, and you're totally welcome to believe that. Just know that if you feel like that's the right attitude to adopt any sort of criminal activity I'm going to have to echo your mother and 3rd grade teacher in that "Just because everyone is doing it, that doesn't make it right."

If we really pride ourselves as Americans as being the best of the best, and for sure better than them over there, then you'd think we'd have the mental capacity to understand that accepting criminality as being natural and a bedrock of our culture is fucking pathetic.

And you know the worst part of modern American culture? The Outrage Epidemic, especially with how prevalent it has become in the last 5-to-10 years. "Woah, so-and-so said something-or-other mean/rude/crass to so-and-so and it bothered you? Well mark my words we'll catch that fucker and make him pay! And then next week we'll find something else to be butthurt about! And the next week! And the week after that!"

There is no integrity. It's exposure through social media with no filter or verification, and instead of checking our facts before we click "Submit," we put every skewed take out in the open and sort out the facts after. That's about as logically sound as trying to climb into your jeans by pulling leg over your head.

But I'm supposed to just forget about Spygate because, "they did their time."

Ha. My fucking ass. Was their championship vacated? Did the repercussions prevent them from contending for a significant period of time? USC did their time. The Minnesota TimberWolves did their time. The Patriots cheated and laughed about it afterwards, fat and happy sitting pretty at the top of the league (and don't forget that Goodell's brilliant mind decided that destroying the evidence was a rational course of action. Nice).

Well we fans were given a modicum of relief in the way of the New York Giants. Two straight upset Super Bowl wins and you'd think everything was set right, and then 2015 happened. I'll admit, I have to hand it to the Patriots, because all five of their titles were a result of team success. Note the word "team." Terrific Tom's championship record would be rather spotty at .500 had Malcolm Butler not saved his ass. But in 2015 Pete Carroll had a stroke on the sideline and was still able to call a passing play, and Russell Wilson basically handed New England their first championship since 2005. The Big Bad Wolf was back.

And not only were they back, but they were still the epitome of cheating and corruption in the NFL. Deflategate was uncovered, and Terrific Tom was suspended for four games. Four. Whole. Games.

As the coming seasons would play out, Brady's suspension was vacated in federal court, and when he finally served his suspension in 2016 it was really just a formality before the franchise clinched yet another championship (in stomach-turning fashion) that would earn Tom the title of Greatest of All-Time.

*Jerry Rice begs to differ, but modern American culture requires us to forget history in favor of the present.*

Picture a young adult striving to make a name for himself in the early 21st century. This optimistic young man makes mistakes just like anyone else, and he pays the price for fucking up dearly in some situations. He faces setbacks, but that unquenchable spirit helps him to keep moving ceaselessly forward.

As he grows he learns that the world is a much colder place than originally envisioned. There are bright spots, no doubt, but it is far more difficult to maintain that optimism when you see people for who they really are, when you see your nation for what it really is. And he still churns forward.

But then he sees the hypocrisy inherent in the system. He sees a brave, martyred hero blacklisted by a league that butchered its handling of suspensions and bans in the last decade -- Adrian Peterson...Ray Rice...Josh Gordon -- and he finds it within himself to understand the hero's message. He finds it within himself to consider an alternative perspective to his own, and he chooses to support a nonviolent protest as American as Ford fucking Motor Company.

This martyr lost his profession, but elsewhere in the States you can find Tom Brady and Bill Belichick continuing to reach and win Super Bowls because they're white and rich and powerful. You can find Tim Tebow continuing his dream of making it last in a professional sports league despite lacking the proper talent. Note that I'm not condemning Tim, I'm just pointing out that he wouldn't be getting so many opportunities if he wasn't white, charismatic as hell, and a loyal servant of "Jesus Christ."

What are we if not slightly smarter monkeys wandering around this rock, wiping our butts and talking out of our asses. Jerry Jones is really that guy that we should all be dying to work for. Ungrateful "sons of bitches," am I right?

Well to be honest, nothing is going to come of this rant, it just pains me to watch the American spirit trampled through the mud and obliterated in favor of a regime that promotes xenophobia, arrogance, narrow-mindedness, corruption, and deceit. Sometimes I need a chance to vent and a place to remind the outside world that #45 has been supported by guys like Tom and Bill. But it should come as no surprise that individuals as morally flexible as those two would prefer having a fellow cheater in the White House than...shudder...a woman.

Regardless of whether you consider yourself to be a citizen of America or a citizen of the world, you should be cognizant of the declining standards to which our nation and its leaders hold themselves. I can only hope that the dawn is coming, because I'd hate to have to boycott the Super Bowl in perpetuity just to prove a point.

But Super Bowl LII is just two weeks away, and if I'm going to stand for anything it has to be morality, truth, and justice. I will not support or condone corruption; I will not be watching the 2018 Super Bowl. Should you? That's not for me to decide. What do you stand for?

Courage and Love in the Arizona Desert III (Return of the Gnaw)

For the record "The Last Jedi" sucked but I'm hard to please

Photo Credit: The Star Wars franchise

Imagine my chagrin when I came back here fully intent on writing a passage devoted to our third trip to Decadence, only to find that the one I wrote last year has a title completely unrelated to Star Wars or a trilogy. Therefore this summative passage will have to serve the purpose of a bookend and reinforcement of a trilogy ideology -- and know that if I had titled last year's write-up properly it would read "Courage and Love in the Arizona Desert II (The Ecstasy Strikes Back)."

*And the inaugural passage would include the parenthetical title (A New Fam).*

It feels like a fitting passage to write at this specific moment in time while I'm watching Scrubs re-runs and the current episode is about J.D. leaving Sacred Heart. Super emotional, much montage.

I must also confess myself guilty of not fulfilling my previous inclination when I said I would be setting up a SoundCloud for all my crappy recordings. This was a real ambition, but I just sat down to record an acoustic cover of Coheed & Cambria's "The Suffering" and found myself cringing as I listened to it after. Maybe I will get around to it eventually, but I'm a bit of a perfectionist so it will likely still take some time to find the courage to just upload some originals and let it be.

In the meantime you can peruse my friend Temme Scott's SoundCloud here: https://soundcloud.com/temmescott. She's gonna be famous someday, mark my words.

What is there to say about a third trip to the desert? What is there to glean from the experience?

I suppose the first thing that comes to mind is the truth that things do change. What seems to be irresponsible, naive debauchery at the start turns out to be a more premeditated, ambitious gesture at the end. What began in desperation as an earnest means to an end has evolved into a celebration of what we have learned and embraced in the past 24 months.

I did learn, also, that I appreciate the planning stage so much more the third time around. Kudos, again, to the same person I saluted in year one. Keep doing what you're doing, and thanks for the past 6 months -- I really needed it.

The other aspect of a change that I enjoyed is in regards to making these lofty plans. You have to be adaptable, and without being open-minded I never would have found myself delirious from lack of sleep coming up in the southwest wilderness singing "Circle of Life" while the sun rose. There aren't many people I could endure that nocturnal drive with, but I'm beyond ecstatic that I was with the Katman for that experience. Meow.

In this spot I feel like giving a shout-out to those excellent individuals (apart from myself) who made it to all three years: Earth Jesus Eddy, Nikita "The Master" Michelsen, Brando "The OG" Gillespie, and (No Longer Young) Fletch Krawczuk. You guys are basically Obi-Wan, Leia, C-3P0, and Luke (and I'm obviously Darth Vader because I'm evil af and look awesome with a bandana covering my face).

And another shout-out to those not yet mentioned: Jade, Danielle, Nate, Randi, ZP, Dog, Jon Snow, Daddy D, Mrs. Daddy D, and Justin(e). It takes dedication and courage to commit to flying or driving out into the middle of nowhere and finding something special. 

And know that this "something special" is undefinable. Some of you may feel differently about things than I do, but I'm supposed to be the writer. I'm supposed to find something to say about the indescribable. It's my job to attempt (even in a cliche, trite manner) to lend something concrete to the abstract and ethereal. 

Last but not least, a shout-out to those who came in the past or who will be joining us for irresponsible antics in the future. And if your name is Jason Brown, you need to stop reading and go do some push-ups.

Lend me courage, because I'm getting a tattoo this weekend,
ATM