I don’t drink coffee. And for good reason. My brain is on constant whirl. It starts from the moment my eyes are half open. 
My dream? What was that? What did I do? I was a lawyer? I was that. And a murderer? No, that was him. And he got off. 
I was all right. My health was good, even if I always had the pain deep in my back and ribs. What was the point of any of this? I was alive. Yes. I had to get to work. I had to get back to the book. How were the Leafs? Oh right. Shit.
Sometimes I want to hide from my head, get into the corner of it and let it spin on itself. It never stops, whirling from the banal to the introspective back to the banal. Lots of doubt. Lots of darkness. Lots of sex. 
Sports too. That helps tone everything else down – the nothingness and all that. 
And then I do what I have to do. I eat and walk, teach and talk, email and grade, write and plan, blog and argue, reason and mount the elliptical, try to make some sense of what’s to come. 
And then I have a drink and think and have another and try to ride the round slow arc, going up, my arms almost out, warm and clear, and chase that well, and slump, giving in to my urge to play Texas Hold ‘Em. 
Watch something and something else, sleep and do it all again.
Tag Archives: sports headlines
The Existential Play of the Toronto Maple Leafs
The heathen fanbase of teams across the continent – be they in Montreal, Boston, Detroit, Los Angeles or Chicago – simply do not understand. 
They think it is about winning, hugging and celebrating in a crass display, that this is the point of the game. And I feel sorry for them.
They don’t understand that it isn’t this at all, but, as Camus wrote in The Plague, instead is a reminder of our “never-ending defeat.”
The Toronto Maple Leafs are only for those who can take it, not the world as we dream, but as it truly is: empty and unrelenting.
Leaf goaltender Drew McIntyre
Yes, the Leafs are only for pure existentialists. Their recent travails – an eight-game losing streak – has even brought The New York Times on the Being and Nothingness train, citing the “disturbing situation”, “devastating slump”, and Leaf coach Carlyle’s catch phrase, “Just breathe. Take it easy. Breathe.” 
But they don’t understand. They use these words devastating and disturbing like they’re a bad thing, like they aren’t needed, like they can be avoided. 
They don’t see the wall behind us, the epidemic that’s surrounds. No. All they see is putting the puck in the net. 
And it’s just so sad.
Shock to Sell
Lars von Trier’s cinematic mission to shock audiences continues with the release of Nymphomaniac.
Lars von Trier’s “Nymphomaniac”
Using scandalous images to sell isn’t a unique plan.
Henry Miller’s early work
Sarah Lucas’s “Nud Nob” in New York
Fat White Family perform at Pianos in New York
But instead of shocking, this tack becomes more a source of amusement, the kind of thing that sells t-shirts. 
Which seems to be all they’re trying to do.
Outed Sportscaster Feller Found Dead
“Yeah, I’m as gay as they get.” Nationally syndicated sports journalist Thorton Feller’s recent announcement stunned the sports community. 
Unsure if his word was genuine, many decried his declaration as a publicity stunt for wider readership of his idiosyncratic column Feller’s Beef. 
Whatever the angle, it soon became the only topic on tap, forcing Mr. Feller to protest vehemently. “I’m not a gay sports journalist. I’m just a sports journalist. That’s it.” 
Mr. Feller’s ire became particularly inflamed by the most square-jawed of the scrum, Rock Misogyny, shrieking, “But you came out!”
Feller lost his composure, striking with a sharp slap. “We’re all fucking gay!” 
A melee ensued; bats were raised, sticks waved, and Feller was dead.
The scrum laid full blame on a member of the custodial staff, an illegal immigrant it turns out, who hated sports journalists.
The Russian Revolution after this Commercial Break
Americans have hyped the Sochi Olympics with anti-glee, reveling in every problem with tweets and drivel. 
While they have perhaps begun to tone down their ritualistic vitriol for the opening ceremonies, they can’t let go of old prejudices.
Promised NBC commentators Lauer, Viera and Remnick,during the opening ceremonies, “The Russian revolution coming up after this commercial break…”
“The revolution is probably the touchiest period in Russian history,” they continued. “The turmoil in Soviet society, without ever mentioning the word Lenin.”
“They are proud of Ladas here,” they moved on. “Unfortunately they became a punchline for the rest of the world.”
“This is Vladimir Putin’s Russia,” they concluded. “And he is insisting that we look at the political power of Russia tonight.”
Look out. Here come the ballet dancers.
NHL Winter Classic – Cold and Colder
I was at the NHL’s Winter Classic with 105,000 others. It was a thrill to be there and see Toronto defeat Detroit in a shootout. 
But I must admit to struggling with my focus, especially as the game approached four hours. The seven layers of clothes were no longer working. Neither was the Bloody Mary. I needed warmth. I needed to get out of there. And once I did, it was all about getting as warm as I could. 
We drove the six hours back to Toronto, through the snow and traffic, the car getting warmer until I was finally over-heated.
I refused to take off any of my seven layers. I only took off my hat. That was it. I was happy to be warm again. And then I slept and dreamed and it was all about being cold again.
The Marquis de Sade’s Wickedly Accurate Condemnation
The Marquis de Sade isn’t much of a writer; his descriptions are tedious, his dialogue static, his narrative almost non-existent and his prose little more than a mask for his sadistic tendencies. 
His perverse point of view however can be surprisingly accurate, in spite of his delight in the suffering of others, and is relentlessly damning.
Justine, the eponymous character of his novel, never gives up on her fight for virtue, this despite being subjected to the starling perversions of libertines across France – systematic rape, torture, blood-letting and auto-strangulation – and their passionate arguments. 
States the Compte de Gernande: The happiness that the two sexes may find in each other can be found by one through blind obedience and by the other through the greatest possible domination. If it were not Nature’s intention that one of the sexes should tyrannize the other, would she not have created them of equal strength? (176) 
Says Monsieur Roland: The poor are part of Nature’s plan. In creating men of unequal strength, she has convinced us of her wish that this inequality should be preserved despite the changes our civilization would bring her laws. It would be going against Nature’s wishes to disturb the equilibrium that is the basis of her sublime organization, to work towards an equality that would be dangerous for society, to encourage indolence and sloth, to teach the poor to steal from the rich when the rich refuse to help. (216) 
Says Baroness Dubois: Our laws wish in vain to restore order and bring men back to virtue. Too unjust to achieve this, too inadequate to succeed, they will take people off the beaten track for a moment, but they will never get them to leave it. When it is in the general interest for men to be corrupt, anyone who is unwilling to become so with the rest will therefore be pushing against the general interest. (220)
Monsieur Saint-Florent concludes: The weak must give in to the desires of the strongest or else fall victim to their wickedness. (248)
Cheryl Strayed’s “Wild”
Cheryl Strayed’s auto-biography Wild is a painfully honest account of how she processed the death of her mother and confronted her own shattered sense of self. 
Using her remarkable solo hike on the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT) as the central image, she confronts her fears, loss and short-comings with a relentlessly detailed and direct manner. I dreamed of my mother incessantly. In the dreams I was always with her when she died…I tied her to a tree in our front yard and poured gasoline over her head, then lit her on fire.
Strayed’s honesty is striking, tearing herself apart, not only reflecting on her loss but also her isolation and her sexuality. My hands running slowly up into his curly hair and down to his brawny back, holding his gorgeous male body against mine. There hasn’t been a time that I’ve done that that I haven’t remembered all over again how much I love men. 
Because of the consistently self-reflective approach, Strayed’s book does read long, conveying the relentless aspect of the trail she hiked and the problems she faced with perhaps excessive detail.
For a glimpse into the unforgiving style – and soul – of Ms. Strayed, her autobiographical essay, The Love of My Life is a stunning piece.
Also of note, Reese Witherspoon has optioned Wild, aiming to use it as a vehicle for herself one day. We’ll see.
The Secret
Play hard in the corners. 
Your chances will come.
Transformation of Toronto Maple Leafs angst
I must admit to feeling pain and distress in regards to my Toronto Maple Leafs. They didn’t just lose; they had a collapse. 
Ahead by two goals with 90 seconds left, the Leafs surrendered twice and another in overtime…all of this after I had received congratulatory texts with minutes to go – why was I receiving congratulatory texts? – after the Leafs were on the verge of their own great comeback. I watched the customary end-of-game handshakes with bitterness and resentment. 
I had to counter the vitriol from hyper-active friends, impaired supporters of the Canucks, Canadiens and Bruins. I had nightmares. I couldn’t sleep.
A dreadful malaise descended. I couldn’t write anything. The only idea I had was a lengthy story on the ennui of a Leafs fan. I was lost in those final minutes, reviewing each mistake, thinking how it might have – should have – been. I knew I had to focus on the things that mattered, the real problems of the world. 
And yet it persisted. After being out of the playoffs for nine years – not winning the cup since 1967 – the Leafs should have won. It was as simple as that. It hung like a cloud, threatening and oppressive. The sports headlines milked the angst. 
The players were interviewed as they cleaned out their lockers. The reporters poked and prodded: “How does it feel to fail?” The players stared back and gave their answers. 
They acknowledged the pain, the despair. They said that they had learned and wanted to make it right. I watched a few highlights after that. 
And Canadian superstar-astronaut Chris Hadfield. 
Then I reflected on an answer from James van Reimsdyk: “We were picked to finish 14th (at the) start of the season. We made the playoffs and pushed a really good team right to the brink. Obviously it’s a step in the right direction.” 
“But now we got to come back and do it all again next year.”
I was good with that. I thought about writing a treatment for a documentary on the upcoming season, from every point of view, minute to minute, cinema verite of the magnificent climb back. Yes, that was something. I even had a title Go Leafs. That really could work.