Concertgoing For Dummies: The Indie Scene

Hey, have you been to a music show lately? If you're a follower of this blog, there's no doubt that you've read about many o' indie bands. Christ, Chip Wesley gives you enough to listen to for the next five years in his Albums of the Year posts. Perhaps your interest has been piqued and you want to see some of these groups live. It's a tough world out there, folks. It's not like the good ol' days when you could just wear Levi's and a t-shirt to a Slowhand show while you danced at will. Nope. Sorry. Things have changed. Luckily for you, I learned my lesson last night about what the rules are for watching an indie band. My shame is now for your benefit. You're welcome.

The most important thing to remember is that the music is not paramount; you're actions and appearance are what matter most.

Appearance:

Goddamnit, this is important, so listen up. Floppy hair is best, and don't be afraid to use some light product, though take care to make it look a bit disheveled. Any and all hair should be combed in a consistent direction, with best results being the sideways style. If you must wear something on your head, a fedora or a 70's era tuque is acceptable, as is a hoodie (only worn with the hood up while inside).

Facial hair is acceptable and often encouraged. NEVER wear a goatee, but feel free to sport a beard, the more length, the better. If you must, an ironic moustache is passable, but never for back-to-back concerts. If you're unable to grow a beard, at least have the decency to have some sideburns, preferably flared at the bottom. There's a reason Dylan from 90210 is epic. Also acceptable: mutton chops.

If you wear glasses, you have one choice and one choice only: Rivers Cuomo

T-shirts are OK as long as they are promoting an obscure band, an indie record label, or a solid and uncommon color. However, this time of year calls for something long sleeved, even with the show being indoors. Tweed sportcoats and cardigans are the go-to getup. Bonus points if either have some sort of elbow patch.

If your pants aren't an indigo color, you might as well stay home. Levi's or Old Navy jeans are for Foo Fighters fans. It's enough to have you tried for war crimes, so don't even think about it. Sizing is just as important as color. Find out your "mainstream" size and then go with at least two sizes smaller.

Footwear lends you two non-negotiable choices. The first is the timeless indie classic, the low-cut Converse All-Stars. Your only other option is a lip-on dress shoe. Again, this is non-negotiable. Tennis shoes are for Pearl Jam fans.

Conduct:

Now that you're fit to go outside and be seen by other indie fans, you better learn how to act. Yeah, the music may be great, but knowing how to act is the key to avoid discriminating looks.

If the show is in an intimate setting, there is no standing. You shall stay seated and view the band with a discriminating eye. Feel free to eat some food, maybe even pack that in your napsack. By all means indulge in a beverage as long as it's a microbrew from at least two states away from your location, or an obscure European brew.

If your location demands that you stand, for the love of God, please DON'T DANCE. Try and find a wall that you can lean on. Once you're good and posted up, you can tap your foot to the bass beat of the drum and/or gently nod your head. Don't forget to give a simple and conservative applause after each song. Any more than that and you might as well get tickets to a Rolling Stones concert.

Indie events are a family friendly affair. Bring your kids and be sure to bring a large bag of toys. Even newborns are perfectly acceptable to bring along. Just be sure to bring ear protection for little ones under the age of 1. Don't worry if your rugrats wander during the show, your fellow indies will keep them entertained, all the while viewing you as "the cool parent they never had".

When it's all over, buy a sticker from one of the opening bands (not the headliner) and converse with others. Be positive, but keep it in check. You know that sound guy had the rhythm guitar WAY too loud.

It Might Get Loud

Put three influential axemen in a room and see what happens. Perhaps that is the seed that first entered Davis Guggenheim and the production team's minds when they decided to make It Might Get Loud. Guggenheim, who is perhaps best known for directing An Inconvenient Truth, makes an interesting choice in the three guitarists he chooses to profile. In the days of Guitar Hero video games, the term 'rock God' gets thrown around quite a bit, and in this movie it takes an interesting direction. More than anything, the movie profiles Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White.

Does Jimmy Page even need any introduction? The soft spoken and reserved guitarist and song writer for Led Zeppelin, Page has penned some of hard rock's most recognizable guitar riffs and has long been known to be as equally immersed in creepy black magic as he is at guitar. The Edge comes to us by way of Ireland, being the guitar man for U2. He's a curious choice, as you'd guess that a documentary about guitar playing wouldn't feature a rhythm guitar player. Perhaps Page put it's best when he describes The Edge as a "sound architect", using multiple guitar effects pedals to get U2's signature sound. Jack White, known to most for his work in The White Stripes and The Raconteurs, is the up-and-comer that's already been able to forge a signature sound. Much more so than any of the others, White has more of an outward and aggressive demeanor.

Much of the movie goes into character study. We get the whole background of Jimmy Page growing up in England and how he's introduced to the guitar: his family moved into a new house when he was a boy, and the previous homeowners left an acoustic guitar there. From there we see a teenage Page playing in a kind of English rockabilly band and from there moving on to become an accomplished session player before moving on to The Yardbirds and ultimately Led Zeppelin. Page boasts a friggin' huge record collection, and he plays many of his favorite cuts, most notably an old 45 of "Rumble", where Page says he really got the itch to play with a more thick, heavy sound. The filmmakers even follow him to a countryside mansion where Zeppelin recorded IV, and he shows us where Bonham laid down the drum tracks in the front foyer.

The Edge comes from a working class section of Dublin during a time of economic hardship. We find that U2 is the only band he's ever been in, and it all started by way of a post-it note on his school's bulletin board. He freely admits that for the longest time he was not technically adept at playing the guitar, but he had a sound in mind that he wanted to achieve. The Edge even shows us how he plays typical guitar chords in a different fashion which gives it more of the U2 ringing sound. The biggest nugget we get, though, is how he uses guitar effects. If you've ever listened to U2 from The Joshua Tree and on, you know much of U2's sound is driven by echo effects on the guitars. We get to see that he has an entire board of guitar effects that all run through a giant computer. The Edge even plays the main hook to "Elevation" both with and without the effects. Without the effects, it's simply two chords.

Jack White definitely likes to give off the throw-back vibe. We see him driving an old car in Tennessee, making a one string guitar on his porch with a coke bottle and some wire, and he's always seen in his signature porkpie hat. Oddly, much of the film has Jack White being followed by a "young Jack" White, a 9 year old boy dressed like White, presumably supposed to be him in his formative years. We also travel to Detroit, where White grew up and worked as an upholster and found a musical partner in his boss (they even formed a band called The Upholsters). White talks at length of how he likes things stripped down and pure, frequently mentioning his favorite record, an old Son House piece from way back. White even tells us that he likes to struggle with his guitars, and that his White Stripes "number one" is a red plastic guitar from a department store.

The entire movie, naturally, has great music playing in the background. Mostly interspersed over old footage, we see all three of the musicians in past and present day footage. Page almost seems apprehensive to let people into his mind or his technique, though we do get some boner-inducing shots of his playing some Zeppelin classics for the other two. The Edge opens up a but more, even pulling out some old demo cassette tapes where we got to hear some Joshua Tree Era stuff. White leaves nothing left to the imagination. As I said, he was bay far the most open of three, even recording some stuff on an old reel-to-reel. And he seemed hungry to impress the others ("I want to trick these guys into showing me their tricks), showing how he came up with an idea to incorporate a vocal mic into a guitar, allowing him to get that distorted vocal sound that's evident to those familiar with White's work.

The whole movie builds towards the end, where all three will be in the same room, culminating in an epic jam. This is where the movie falls short. There is little to no chemistry between the three with only White seeming to want something big to happen. After a few awkward jams where The Edge clearly was uncomfortable trying to play some lead lines, we were treated to the movie's gem - a jam on The Band's big hit, "The Weight". The Edge and White handle the vocals when Page makes it clear that he doesn't/can't sing.

This is a movie that will appeal to fans of the musicians involved and those who are big into guitar playing. It's a wholly enjoyable movie, but one that could have been much more. Instead of an in-depth look at the guitar, it's more of an overview of the men themselves, almost a Greatest Hits look instead of what really makes them tick. We do get some interesting back stories, but they're ones that could easily be read on the artist's Wikipedia pages. That being said, the music and the cinematography make it an overall positive experience. Unfortunately, I can't stop from wondering what might have been.

Thunder Matt Review: 7 stars out of 10

What Did Slowhand Ever Do To You?

"I'll say it: the wrong Clapton fell out of that apartment window." - TMS Email Thread Archives

Sure, many times we make bold and shocking statements on the email thread, so I'll forgive this crazy statement from a fellow bartender who shall remain anonymous. But the seed is there. For whatever reason, people don't like Eric Clapton. I don’t get it. Did he kick your dog? Did he cost Chicago the Olympic Games? Did he take your mom out for a seafood dinner and then never call her again?

Seriously, what is it?

It’s clearly not his musicianship. Aside from his solo career, just look at the bands he’s been in: The Yardbirds, John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers, Cream, Blind Faith, Delaney and Bonnie, Derek & The Dominos. That’s a friggin’ Murderer’s Row, brah. And yes, all of those bands had other talented musicians, but Clapton was the centerpiece and what drove the bands. Yes, the whole “Clapton is God” graffiti was a bit much, but that’s no fault of Clapton’s.

Clapton has always said that he is first and will always be a blues guitarist. Like many others of his time, he developed his style by studying and then adapting his style after black American bluesmen. Guys like Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy, BB, Freddie, and Albert King, Robert Johnson, Elmore James have all unquestionably been brought to a greater audience by way of Clapton. Some of these heroes even ended up touring with Clapton.

Clapton is also no one-trick pony. Not only does he have the blues sound, he’s also dabbled in country (Lay Down Sally, Hello Old Friend), reggae (I Shot The Sherriff, Swing Low Sweet Chariot), where he helped introduce the world to a little-known artist named Bob Marley, early hard rock (Sunshine of Your Love, White Room), acoustic (The Unplugged Album), pop (My Father’s Eyes, Change The World), and love songs (Layla, Wonderful Tonight). As easy as it would be for him to rest on his laurels and keep churning out the same album over and over, he takes the risk and the challenge of trying something new. You have to give the guy credit.

Much has been made of his drug use. Find me a music star that doesn’t have that problem. Clapton chose to focus his efforts and struggles at sobriety into helping others by way of his treatment center, Crossroads. Through Crossroads Centre, he’s helped many people cope and overcome addiction since the centre’s inception in 1998. Clapton has also organized and performed at many benefit concerts for causes like political unrest in Bangladesh, Tsunami victims and survivors, Special Olympics, Amnesty International, and others.

So there you have it. Yeah, the guy is way overrated and a dick. If you’re gonna hate because you think he’s over-saturated the industry, maybe head over to Bitchfork Media and find yourself a nice, pretentious spoken word album, because who wants to like music that anyone else enjoys?

I'm Not Sayin', I'm Just Sayin'

Big ups to loyal TMS reader, David St. Hubbins for this one. After the Bradley Debacle, I received a text message that simply stated: Murton > Bradley

And you know what? There's some real truth to that.
Forget that Murton made about $9.5 million less than Bradley, forget that you never heard Murton crying shitwolf to reporters, forget that Murton never mistakenly threw a ball into the stands after two outs, forget that Lou Piniella never told Murton, "you're not a ballplayer, you're a piece of shit."

Enough with the slander, let's look at the stats. Bradley played 124 games this year, so that's what the basis for a "season" was set at. I'm the first to admit that I'm not sabermetrician, but all of the stats with the exception of Murton's OPS should be accurate, and even that should be accurate within a few points.
Ventaja: Señor Murton

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Wrigleyville Bar Project: Wrigleyville North

With the name Saloon included in our moniker, one could surmise that we here at TMS like to drinky drinky. One that would make such an assumption would be correct, thereby throwing out the whole, 'when you you assume you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me' bullshit. We're here to profile some of the local watering holes around Wrigley, so that you aren't the poor sap who gets dragged into going to the Cubby Bear before the game, wherein you are soon left wondering how your life spiraled out of control so quickly. Tommy Buzanis has pledged to help out with this column, as he is no stranger to the bottle, but you can rest assured that those promises are as empty as his shot glass. So here it is, another sporadically timed, mildly entertaining column that you can only find here at the TMS. Actually you can probably find lots of info on Wrigley bars in a much more concise and helpful format, but that's neither here nor there.

Today's Bar: Wrigleyville North (3900 N. Sheridan Rd.)

Douchebag Factor (1-10, with 10 being this guy): 3

Who You'll See Here: "regulars", creepy old guys, young people, sensible Cub fans, country music fans, people who don't act like Jersey Shore trash/meatheads.

What to order: They had $8 pitchers when I was there, and it was the big, old glass pitchers. That's tough to beat given the neighborhood. Look for $1.50 bottles of Old Style on game days. Ordering a mixed drink here is no joke. If you get a whiskey and coke, you can expect the drink to be at least half full of whiskey.

If you're looking for food then you're barking up the wrong tree. You can get a small bag of Combos to tide you over, but don't expect any pub food. If you want that, there's plenty of places to grub within a stones throw.

If you were to see a celebrity here, it would be: Sam Elliott, Roy Oswalt, Chip Wesley

Website: now do you really think the place I just described would have a website? Look it up in the White Pages.

Summary: If you're looking for a spot to pick up some gash, do tons of Jagerbombs, listen to American Pie on the jukebox, and try to "be seen", this is not the place for you. The sign on the front of the bar outside says it all. Well, actually, it doesn't say anything at all. It's just an old-timey Old Style beer sign. If you look closely, you can see where the sign used to say "Wrigleyville North", but has been removed.

Don't let this description scare you, this is no pretentious bar. It's not some place trying to be chic by being hard to find or full of trucker hat wearing hipsters dripping in irony. It's an old style neighborhood bar that just happens to be damn close to Wrigley Field (corner of Sheridan and Byron). The time to really enjoy yourself here is a Friday or Saturday night, when the house band "Just Us" play this small, corner bar. I'm not even a fan of country music, but these old boys are an absolute blast to listen to. Much like the bar itself, these guys aren't playing to impress anyone, they're just up for a good time, a few tips, and a few beers.

Since the smoking ban, Wrigleyville North is a much greater place to hang out. Back in the day the place looked like a Cheech and Chong video when you walked in. The bathrooms were decent - nice and big and fairly clean - what more can you ask for? If the band isn't playing, the bar has a quality juke box and you'll surely hear a diverse selection of music selected by the other bar patrons.

I know I've kind of described this place as an old man's American Legion style bar (actually, that's not far off), but it is a pretty diverse crowd. Sure, you've got some suspect looking regulars there, but there's also a good mix of all ages and genders. If you're looking for a no-frills place and you want to get away from the John Barleycorn Wrigleyville experience, give this place a shot.

Thunder Matt Rating: 8 Old Style fan bottles out of a twelve pack.

Cubs of Yore: Mickey Morandini

Nicknames: The Crippler, Dandy Little Glove Man

Played for The Cub: '98 and '99

Random Write-up: Moran-fuckin-dini was pretty much money during his short stint with the Cubs. He came over in '98 in a trade with Philly for Doug Glanville. He was the type of player that the current Cubs are in such dire need of - a guy who does all the little things. He got on base, bunted, fielded well (hence the nickname brandished by Stoney), had a mini-mullet, wore a WT goatee, always looked pissed. A few memorable moments come to mind when I think back to The Crippler's tenure. The first thing was that he always carried the legacy of turning an unassisted triple play back in his Phillie years. It was inevitable during a nationally televised game that the announcer would mention it. Before you joke, this was 1998, playoff team, Sosa doing 'roids and "saving" baseball. Secondly, the guy had a remarkable resemblance to Chris Benoit of the WWE. For the record, my brother gave him the nickname of The Crippler since it's the same as Benoit's, no one else has ever called him The Crippler to my recollection. Lastly, and most importantly, I vividly remember a game in '99 when DLGM got hit on the back of the arm by a pitch. He took a deep breath, scowled, yelled "FUCK" at the top of his lungs, and then ran to first. All of this was done while the camera was zoomed in on him. God that was funny.

What the hell?: Even though he wasn't an All-Star for The Cubs (he was a '95 All-Star for Philly), he inexplicably received an MVP vote in 1998. What? Somebody clearly hated Sammy Sosa.

Also of Note: He's tied with Ryno for the highest fielding percentage ever by a second baseman. Mickey opted out of the 1987 MLB Draft so he could play baseball for the USA in the 1988 Olympics in Seoul, Korea where he and his teammates took home the gold medal. The DLGM now lends his baseball wisdom to Valparaiso High School in Indiana, where he is the head baseball coach. And perhaps just to prove that baseball isn't the only thing that defines Mickey Morandini, he and his wife run their own stationary store. Aww!

You May Remember Him From: that time that TMS visited The Cubs Media Social

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Sleeping With The Enemy, from A to Z

For purely innocent reasons (which was not the case with Chip Wesley), I was fortunate enough to see two free baseball games at the parks of our (arguably) two biggest rivals - the Cardinals and the White Sox - this past week. While neither have the charm or buzz of Wrigley Stadium, each place had their own beauty marks and genitals warts. I shall now attempt to hit the highlights, from A to Z.

A is for accommodations. At the Cardinal's game I was lucky enough to sit in The Champion's Club, which meant I got all I could eat and drink, all while sitting in a sky box. C'mon, that'd even be fun at a cricket match.

B is for Busch Stadium. The $365,000,000 stadium has to be one of the nicest stadiums in MLB. It's easily accessible, plenty of bathrooms and concessions, and there isn't a bad seat in the house.

C is for concourses. Both stadiums featured main concourses that allowed you to walk all the way around the stadium, allowing for unobstructed views of the field.

D is for dollar dogs, which The Cell had for the entire game, both from the concession stands and the vendors. Well done.

E is for empty seats. 2/3 full for a Friday night game against Boston? Ouch. And who said losing Timo Perez would have no effect on the fans?

F is for fireworks. The Blackhawks sponsored a post-game fireworks show, and I have no problem saying that it was by far the best fireworks display I've ever seen. A solid 15 minutes. Bravo.

G is for gestapo, which is how the ballpark personnel are at Busch Stadium. While walking the concourse and checking out the different views, we were continually to move on unless we had tickets to that specific area. Boo.

H is for hype. Don't believe this crap about St. Louis being "a city of real baseball fans". A "baseball" city should have more than 75% of the stadium filled in a pennant race against a division rival. For shame, St. Louis.

I is for innovative. I found three different places at Busch Stadium where it was all-you-can-eat and drink. Each place provided spectacular views with a great selection of food as well as spirits. Maybe they do this elsewhere, but I've never seen it. (If I went again, I'd sit in the all-inclusive section in center field)

J is for joke. A mini-ballpark that teaches kids the fundamentals of baseball? Yeah, I'd love to shell out $40 for a ticket to an MLB game and then play whiffle ball instead of watching the game. (The Cell)

K is for strikeouts (K's), which the lowly Brewers did often, and often without even swinging the bat, probably gifting the Cy Young Award to Chris Carpenter in the process.

L is for lawn mowing. While The Cell featured the classic checkered pattern, while Busch Stadium had The Arch displayed in the outfield.

M is for monuments. Both teams have recently tasted World Series success, but the Sox monument out front is definitely an eye catcher, and definitely something that makes me wish the Cubs had one.

N is for nightlife. While it might not be the best place in the world, St Louis has many bars, restaurants, and even a few casinos within walking distance of the park.

O is for Ozzie Smith. You are overwhelmed with his images everywhere in St Louis. Sure, he was a lively personality, but I'd still love to hear an unbiased case for him being in the HOF (and let's not even mention a first ballot HOF'er)

P is for Pujols. Even if he does look like a neanderthal on steroids, you drop whatever you're doing when he's up to bat.

Q is for quality, which is the type of team St. Louis is right now.

R is for rock bands, which US Cellular had playing outside the stadium. As a music junkie, it was a nice touch. Because who doesn't like to go from "Message in a Bottle" to "Fell on Black Days"?

S is for Sox Complex. Even at a game that featured the White Sox v the Red Sox, fans taunted opposing fans with anti-Cub and anti-Wrigley insults. For as much as Cub fans take heat for not being there for the game, I saw far more near-fights in the outfield bleachers at The Cell than I've ever seen at Wrigley.

T is for trains, which I took to US Cellular Field. The Red Line stop at "Sox / 35th" conveniently drops you off a block from the stadium, which is nice, because The Cell isn't necessarily a neighborhood to be walking in after dark.

U is for uninspired. Yeah, they've done some renovations, but as far as the "modern" ballparks of MLB (New Comiskey opened in 1991), The Cell is little more than a Riverfront-esque stadium with a few bells and whistles.

V is for views. Big edge to St. Louis, where you get a nice view of The Arch and the downtown area. At The Cell you only see meth dealers and despair.

W is for WTF? As in: What the fuck? Why are there NO bars within a two mile radius of US Cellular Field?

X is for X-scape. After the Sox game was over, the remaining half of the stadium's patrons were able to leave the ballpark and get to the train pretty quickly.

Y is for y'all, which people say in St Louis far too often. It's not like it's Alabama or South Carolina here folks.

Z is for um, I dunno, z's...as in sleep? It's two-fold. After two games in three days and over 16 hours of driving in a cramped van, I was pretty damn tired, like you must be now of reading this long post.

You Know How I Know You're Old?

I'm somewhere in my 30's. That makes me younger than Brett Favre, so that's somewhat of a feather in the cap. On the flip side, I see many professional athletes that were born in the late 80's and even early 90's, and that makes me feel like Wilford Brimley. Like Eddie Vedder says, "I know I was born and I know that I'll die, the in between is mine."

So the question becomes, what do I do for fun? It's a different ballgame now. You get a job, you get married, you start a home. That means no more spontaneous weekend road trips. No more hitting the bars three nights a week with White Chili while we'd plant forget-me-now pills into unsuspecting girl's drinks. No more sleeping in on weekends until 10 or 11am. Shit starts to get real, man. And it leaves you one choice: couples bowling league.

Yeah, I said Couples Bowling League. It's teams of four - two dudes and two dames, rolling three games every Monday night for 33 weeks. This isn't The Big Lebowski or Kingpin, this is serious business. You're bowling against some beasts. It's husbands and wives that have been together so long that they only communicate in body language, aside from the occasional remarks like "strong throw" or "you missed your board". It's unmarried guys in their 50's wearing those bowling wrist things, rolling nasty hooks that are only rivaled by their combovers and overusage of Brut cologne.

You see them warming up, rolling the balls so slow. Compared to them, you're a regular whippersnapper, drinking all the while, joking, high fiving, and genuinely showing emotion. Then you start to notice that while they don't throw hard, they throw damn accurate, and soon you start to realize that you're going down at the arthritic, yet consistent hands of a 60-something lady.

By the third game, the 16-pound ball that your own dad loaned you starts to feel like trying to roll a boulder. The shoes he also loaned you are starting to make your feet ache. You start to wonder if maybe you shouldn't be drinking as much if you want to compete. You start to wonder if they're secretly smirking when you consistently miss your spares. In short, you start to question yourself. And the you start to rationalize. Maybe you should get your own personalized ball. Maybe you should get some comfortable bowling shoes. Maybe the matching couples' personalized bowling jerseys aren't so lame, they're almost cool.

So now you're outfitted in new gear and rolling in and with new equipment. Goddammit all, you know it's true - if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Release The Meatheads!

The NFL season is nearly upon us. It's impossible not to realize, even if you're not a fan of the game. It gets thrust down our throat like a plot in a Linda Lovelace film. I'm not here to argue about whether football is better than baseball (it's not). Obviously it's a huge enterprise. Fantasy football has to be the unquestioned king in the Fantasy Sports World, Parlay cards are done all over in shady fashion, NFL Ticket on DirecTV is far and away their biggest PPV package, and local bars around the country line their pockets on otherwise slow Sunday afternoons.

The problem with football is the meathead contingency. It goes hand-in-hand with the NFL, and why wouldn't it? More than any other mainstream sport, the NFL is built around and dominated by the Alpha Male. Bigger, faster, and stronger is the name of the game. For as much as the NFL tries to make the game safer with advancement in equipment technology or rules to protect the QBs, many of the TV highlights are dominated by supreme tackles or punishment doled out by O-linemen or running backs (see ESPN's "JACK'D UP!" segment).

But really, why not? That's what we all want to see. We all want to be entertained. That's not the problem for me. For me it's all about the Meathead Mentality. As much as the players can be supreme, Alpha Meatheads (Ray Lewis, anyone? Gilbert Brown's grave digger dance? Brian Urlacher whenever he grunts out a monosyllabic interview?), that doesn't even matter. That's part of the charm. Like I said, we're at The Coliseum to see the gladiators. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? No, it's the other aspects that sully the experience.

Don't believe me? Then I guess you've never watched an NFL broadcast, specifically on Fox. As bad as Terry "The Bumpkin" Bradshaw is on the pregame, it's the actual game broadcasts that it becomes laughable. Brian Baldinger, (formerly) Mike Golic, Tony Siragusa, Michael Strahan, Bill Maas, jeepers creepers. Talking is not an option, it's all about yelling whenever you want and jabbering about food. What do these mutants do when they're not on TV? I'm guessing it involves dragging their wife around the house by their hair, cavemanning them, yelling, getting tattoos, grunting, asking for weight bench spots at the gym, and possessing the inability to read.

Maybe even worse yet is going to a bar to watch a game. Good Lord, it's like every bar is hosting a national fraternity reunion or casting for a new season of VH1's "Tool Academy". There's no problem with cheering, the camaraderie almost makes it worth the money you waste by watching it there instead of at home. But how many times have you seen a guy, usually donning a Steelers or Cowboys jersey, yelling at the referee on TV over a pass interference call? And I mean YELLING like someone just shot his mom. Two minutes later you'll see this same ape doing the loud clap when his team covers a punt well or gets a first down after a close measurement. God forbid that Apey's team loses. Even his already embarrassed ladyfriend can't console him in his great depression. (Also see: Raiders fans, Da Bearsss Super Fans, Cleveland Dawgs, Minnesota fan in full 12th century Norseman Viking gear)

Thanks for ruining my NFL experience. Like I said, this isn't a baseball vs football argument...ah, fuck it. I'll take a World Series over a Super Bowl any day.

Cubs of Yore: Double Dipping to the Finals

Hi-ya, sportsfans! You haven't forgotten about the Cubs of Yore Battle Royale, have you? We're down to two finalists: Glenallen Hill and Keith Moreland. Oh the suspense is terrible, I hope it will last! It's Friday, so if you're even at work, now would be a good time to crack open a slightly chilled bottle of Grain Belt beer and switch your office phone to "away". Read through this a few times and then wonder why they call them roofies and not "floories" or "rape-ees". If your boss questions you, simply tell him or her, "Um, I'm kind of busy here."

I'm sure Chip Wesley will put up one of his bright and shiny web polls so you can cast your vote. THIS TIME IT COUNTS.

GLENALLEN HILL

Nickname: The Angry Black Man, G-Hill

Played for The Cub: '93-'94, '98-'00

Random Write-up: Let's face it, The Angry Black Man was fun to watch. He never smiled. He'd only swing a bat with his arms. He said he never lifted weights because he would get too big -- he only did situps and jumped rope with a weighted rope. Rumors that his "jump ropes" were actually tugboat cables have never been proven. (It also has never been disproven). The guy wasn't exactly known for his defense out in left. It was once said by Mariner pitching coach Bryan Price that seeing him play the field was “akin to watching a gaffed haddock surface for air." Mysteriously, Bryan Price was never heard from again, and along with the Lindbergh Baby, his disappearance remains one of the great unsolved mysteries. The Angry Black Man giveth, and he taketh away.

Drafted by the Blue Jays in the 9th round of the 1983 Draft, G-Hill was always known for his prodigious home runs. In 1999, he was reluctantly wearing blue shoes after MLB told him that he could not continue wearing his favorite red shoes. Angrier than normal, he took his typical arms-only swing, and became the first ever person to put a shot on the rooftops across the street from Wrigley. In typical fashion, his expression never changed, and he circled the bases with his head down and his arthritic knees hobbling along. Truly a shot that has made grown men weep. Yeah, you know you want to see it again.

What the hell?: Once missed a game for a mess of cuts and bruises suffered during a nightmare. The Big G is reportedly TERRIFIED of spiders (arachnophobia). Consequently, he had a nightmare about spiders, freaked out, and ran around like only The Angry Black Man can. While most people's careers or lives would have ended, Angry took a trip on the 15-day DL. No one had the guts to make fun of him, natch. Reportedly broke his bat on a check swing despite no contact of the ball. He was also arguing balls and strikes with an ump one time (he choose not to rip his spinal column out) and the ump told the pitcher to throw anyway. G stepped back in at the last second and inside-outted a double to right.

Also of Note: Career (estimated) earnings of $11,245,000 -- he is currently a coach for the Colorado Rockies. Was originally traded to The Cub for Candy "Ass" Maldonado.

KEITH MORELAND

Nickname: Zonk

Played for The Cub: 1982 - 1987

Random Write-up: Keith patrolling the outfield or third base wasn't exactly poetry in motion. In fact, his awkwardness and unusually slow speed lead me to believe he was actually fat. After looking back at some pictures, I realized I was wrong. I guess that's one of those things you just associate when you're but a little kid, seeing Moreland bumbling around the field or the basepaths. You can't knock him for effort, though. The guy played when and where he was asked, whether it be catcher, third, or left field. Probably the lasting impression many have of him is his love for Texas. He went to The University of Texas and always saluted the Bleacher Bums with the hook-'em-horns gesture. I also vaguely remember him hitting a homerun and trying to do a cartwheel after he crossed home. It looked like someone threw a sack of potatoes off the back of a work truck. Real graceful.

What the Hell?: He won a World Series ring with his original team, the Phillies. He was one of the many that Dallas Green brought over during the rebuilding phase of the early 80's which was actually somewhat successful. He was traded to the Cub for Mike Krukow and cash. In 1985, he hit .307 and had 106 RBI.

Also of Note: Career (estimated) earnings of $5.4 million. Not bad for a klutz, eh? Currently is involved in UT baseball, announcing games from the booth. Rumored to be doing some work for ESPNU. Also played football at UT, which probably explains the lumbering. I'm guessing fullback or blocking tight end. As many of you know, this year Keith has been filling in for Santo on radio broadcasts, and has proven to be a great color man. He actually gives the listeners game analysis instead of the "Oh yes!" and "Dang it!" and "Jeez!" that we've been accustomed to.

Summer Games: Yogging

Now that summer is here, it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

Oh, it's jogging. I thought it was a soft J. Anchorman jokes! WOCKA WOCKA WOCKA!

I know this Summer Games installment piece was meant to feature activities that even armchair QBs could do. And like the intro says, something to dull the pain of constant frustrating play from the Cubs. Let's be honest, there isn't always time for that, right? What about the time when you can't be around a group of guys to play horseshoes? What if your significant other isn't around to take to Makeout Point? You need a sport that you can play by yourself. Because when pocket pool has lost it's fun, you're fucking lazy.

How about jogging?

I may not be the best guy to promote the sport of jogging. (OK Mr. Fit, you want me to call it running, right? Well too bad. Jogging is what you want to do because you feel like it. Running is stuff you do when you're trying to escape a fire or if you're trying to get away from a bank robbery. Deal with it.) I am by no means a dedicated jogger. Some weeks I may jog a few miles three times a week. Other times I'll go a few weeks with nothing. I typically do a few triathlons each summer, but I almost pridefully tell people that I hate jogging. But deep down I can't deny that it always makes me feel better.

It's more of a question of motivation. Take tonight for example. I hadn't gone for a jog since late July, where our local community hosts a well known national road race that usually attracts about 20,000 racers. I don't have the patience or the stamina to train for the full 7 mile race, but luckily they offer a two mile race called The Quick Bix, that caters to dudes like me. And no one cares if it takes you 32 minutes to do a two mile run. Yeah, you stopped to meet up with some friends at Mile 1 to have a can of beer, no big deal.

Flash forward to tonight, when I was flipping channels and came across the World Track & Field Championships on the Versus channel. Watching the replays of Usain Bolt breaking his own world record in the 100 meter race, it got the desire going. So maybe I don't run at his pace, and I slog along at a 10:30 mile pace. So what if I'm about 15 pounds overweight and I jog without a shirt, scaring and amusing people with my loose flab (note: tanned fat looks better than pasty, white fat)? The point is, it's good that I got out there.

You can get your magazines or books where some male model with six pack abs wearing $150 of running gear will tell you how much weight you'll lose and how your quality of life will increase tenfold. That may or may not be true. But what is true is the following:

-You're energy will increase. Sure you'll be tired as hell if you're out of shape to start. Jogging just one mile might feel like a marathon and you'll probably be sore for a few days, but you'll be amazed how much more alert you are and how you're not so lethargic during the day.

- You'll get better sleep. Duh. Kind of a no-brainer, but you almost forget how great it is to get a good night's sleep.

- You'll cope with stress much better. Work sucks, that's a universal truth. Try heading out for a jog after a tough day at work, even if it's just a mile or so. You have that time to yourself - no boss, coworker, wife, boyfriend, online gamer can bother you. Think of the expression "blowing off steam".

- You'll be healthier. You might not lose a ton of weight and it doesn't mean you can eat whatever you want, but if you're exercising, you're undoubtedly better off from a health standpoint.

There you go. It's a cheap sport - all you need is a pair of shorts and some shoes. You don't have to spend $150 on some crazy, fancy pair. Are those REALLY any better than a $50 pair from Famous Footware? I'm saying no. You can jog pretty much anywhere and for a good part of the year, you can go sans shirt. Need more motivation? Listen to your iPod. Music always helps. I've also found it's cool to listen to a book on tape (iPod). Maybe sign up for a race. Nothing motivates me more than the fear of making an ass of myself. Whatever trips your trigger. Happy trails.

Did You Know?

The last time the Cubs have won a series against a team that currently has a winning record occurred against the Florida Marlins. Oh, and the series started on April 30th. Chew on that for awhile and then wonder why we're a mediocre team.

Of course, this isn't all bad considering the bulk of our remaining games are against sub-.500 teams, but still. Even if we take the division, do you really feel confident about a playoff run? How many playoff teams are under .500? I'm not sure I can emotionally handle another exit from the postseason by way of a broom. Should that happen, the hell with it, I'll follow Bon Iver on tour and pick up a cutting habit.

Cubs of Yore: Doug Dascenzo

Nickname: Lil' Doug

Played for The Cub: '88 through '92

Random Write-up: What can you really say about Lil' Doug? He was a fan favorite and definitely a favorite of Harry. The guy was usually utilized as a defensive replacement in late innings or to provide some speed on the bases. Doug played for mostly underachieving Cub teams with the exception of the miracle year of '89. I'll be realistic, I had to do a bit of research to get things to say about Doug. The one thing I remember distinctly was The Dibble Game. Lil' Doug dropped down a bunt and Dibbs was so pissed that he took the ball and soaked ol' Doug right in the back on purpose. The Nasty Boy received a suspension for that chicanery.

A funny story I uncovered on Doug came courtesy of The Bullpen Wiki: Once, a Chicago newspaper at the season's all-star break asked the players on both local teams to give themselves a grade based on how they played so far on the year. Dascenzo gave himself an A+. He may have been the only player on either team to do so. He said he was doing exactly what the team wanted him to do.

It's that kind of moxie that kept him in the bigs!

What the hell?: Some of you Cub diehards may remember when Doug would come in and pitch in blowout losses. I know what you're thinking...Jose Canseco and all the other non-pitchers who came in and got shelled. Don't assume it happened to Lil' Doug. Career pitching numbers: 4 appearances, 5 innings pitched, 3 hits given up, 2 walks, 2 K's, NO EARNED RUNS. Maybe Zimmer should have pitched him more?

Also of Note: Career (estimated) earnings of $955,000.00 -- not bad for a utility guy, eh? Back in November of aught six, Doug was named coach of the Ft. Wayne Wizards, replacing Randy Ready. And that meant lucky Quad Citians like myself could go down and watch an ex-Cub manage against our team, joining the likes of Ryne Sandberg, Jody Davis, and Mike Harkey - all who've been A-ball managers. And really, isn't it the little reasons like that that you go to watch an A-ball game?

Summer Games: Makeout Point

Now that summer is here, it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

If it really is summer, then bring on the ladies. You can search the world over for a real Spanish Fly, and you'll eventually find that when you find El Dorado. The only proven aphrodisiacs in this world are warm weather, a scenic view, and an automobile. (Although Chaim Witz will ferociously argue that "a healthy dousing of Brut cologne" works as well. We shall leave this to the reader.) Women are helpless against this veteran move. It's a timeless classic, and for good reason.

If I need to explain to you what this is, you might be in some serious trouble and I might suggest brushing up on some other epic articles on how to play your cards. It's simply getting a girl in your car (preferably while on a date), driving to the local Lookout Point, and parking the car. If you still need to know what to do, go watch Porkies or something.

A real gentleman will first try to get her (or him) in the mood. Shirt removal, alcoholic beverages, reading poetry, listening to music, some light muscle flexing (even if it is light flexing, you should always have some baby oil on hand for maximum definition), or fables of athletic prowess are all acceptable means of achieving this mood. Play to your strengths.

What type of Point-er are you?

The Old-Schooler: has some type of sports car or a collectible type. Even in this day and age, he wears copious amounts of hair treatment and is commonly seen wearing a leather jacket. Will find a spot not next to someone, park, talk for a bit, then raise the top on the convertible if applicable so ass to announce to others that he's doing what he do, yet respects his prey enough to allow for some privacy.

The Daredevil: sometimes seen in a convertible that has no top, but is most often seen on a motorcycle, the crotch-rocket variety. Daredevil wears no helmet, yet has one for his prey to wear during the ride. Mr. Devil will pull up right next to you when you are the only ones there, and goes to work right on top of the bike, in plain view, for all to see and admire. Normally named "Charlie".

The Milquetoast: has no car of his own and is too scared to use his parents rig for fear of getting it dirty. Normally seen rolling in a friend's car after his girl practically begged him to take hers. Won't park unless he can have a minimum of a 50' buffer from opposing cars. Commonly suffers from "stage fright" due to extreme nervousness. Regardless, Toast will usually put on the prophylactic before leaving his home - just in case.

Mr. Ambiguity: has no problem parking, but must take extreme caution as he is scared of being caught or seen. Make no mistake, Amby is a real charmer, but his fear of being caught causes him to take extreme measures like only parking when he's driving a cargo van. The van gives him maximum privacy, but also makes him seem like a child molester when he's creepin' around town.

Happy hunting.

Guest Blogger: Mike Fontenot

Hey guys! How are y'all? I sure am tired with that late game last night. Whew! I've got a few questions for all of y'all: Were y'all saying "boo" or "Boo-urns" last night when I fouled up that hootenanny in the bottom of the ninth and missed that there ball? How is Des Moines this time of year? Do theys eat crawfish in Iowa?

Well, I'm not so experienced with this blogging thing. I've got to get some sleep, and that ain't goan be easy since my old pal Theriot says I got to sleep in the hall tonight.

Paul Sullivan tells me y'all got a feature on this site that goes by You Make The Call and that it's a real humdinger. Well, here's my attempt. I wanted to make it real educational, cuz sometimes I get confused meself.

Bonsoir!

You Make the Call

Bunting...or bunting...or bunting?

Summer Games: Cornhole

Now that summer is here, it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

Yeah, the name should scare you. Cornhole, or Baggo, or Bags, or the bastard step-child of horseshoes. Different names, all the same game. It seems the gaming industry has tried to distance itself from the original name of Cornhole. Jeez, why would they ever want to do that? Cornhole is a game that was once described by Stephen Colbert as a cross between horseshoes and sodomy. And as resident bartender Dave Thomas will tell you, cornhole was something entirely different on the fierce streets of Purdue University, and in retrospect, maybe it's not so prestigious to brag about winning a (Purdue) cornhole contest.

Regardless of what you call it, the basics of the game are virtually the same. The bags are supposed to be made of duck material, which is the fabric Carhart jackets are made from, not feathers and bills. The bags should be 6" x 6" and filled with dried feed corn (traditionally) and should end up weighing one pound. Obviously corn is not a must, plastic pellets could be substituted, which will help if the bags ever get wet. (Please don't tell me about "tradition" with corn. Do you use sheepskin condoms in lieu of latex?)

All bags are thrown at the boards, typically measuring 2' wide and 4' tall. Dimensions may vary depending on material, but I'd strongly suggest throwing on wooden structures and NOT the crappy plastic ones they sell at Walmart or the local Piggly Wiggly. The boards have a 6" hole in them placed 9" on center from the back of the board. The boards are set on an angle with the rear of the board being 12" off the ground. Ah, the heck with this, if you want to build your own, you can find tons of plans online. A good one here. The boards are set apart so that from hole to hole there is 33'.

Scoring is perhaps one of the few attractive parts of cornhole, it's fast and furious. If you throw your bag in the hole, you got a cornhole (glory hole!) and are awarded three points. If your bag lands on the board you get one point. Bags are tossed alternately between contestants and after each cornholer has thrown four bags, you calculate the scoring. Points cancel out points, cornholes cancel out cornholes. So, if Cornholer A throws two cornholes and two points, and Cornholer B throws one cornhole and three points, then Cornholer A gets 2 points. Cornholer A would throw first in the next round, scoring goes to 21.

Like it or not, cornhole has really gained popularity year by year. It lends itself greatly, I'll admit, to tailgaiting. In a crowded parking lot it's not exactly feasible to pitch horseshoes or bowl bocce balls. One pound bags of corn are pretty much harmless. Obviously drinking plays a part as in most, if not all, outdoor summer games. If you've played enough, you've probably come across one of the many drinking games associated with cornhole. Rumor has it that weed can also play a role as well.

The boards, themselves, have become a way for the owners to express their personal flair or allegiances to sports teams. The aforementioned plastic boards that you get from the grocery store will typically come adorned with your local college or pro team. Please stay away from these. They're smaller boards, they bounce like no other, and last you maybe a few years at most. The wood boards are easy to build, and you can paint or decorate them as you see fit. Are you torn by who you like more - Pink Floyd or The Cubs? An Iowa fan (Jeez, nice effort)? Even goths play cornhole!

Chad Cordero could not be reached for comment. It's ALLEGED that he blamed his pitching injuries and subsequent regression on cornholing.

But really, nothing is truly a legitimate game until it has officially jumped the shark, right? Or, as we say around The Saloon, "nuked the fridge". You can even play

Summer Games: Disc Golf

Now that summer is here, it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

Ay ay ay! Is summer EVER here! JC, the Midwest is getting it with a vengeance - 105 degree heat index with humidity levels higher than a hippie at Bonnaroo. That means we really DO need to get the shirts off and stay hydrated (The Hundley drinks Old Style Light, the official beer of Fun). And when it's this hot, maybe we should look to outdoor activities that are pretty mellow, like...say...Frisbee Golf! Oops, Chip Wesley has informed me that the proper terminology is disc golf. The last person to say Frisbee golf was tied to a stake at a Widespread Panic concert and continuously doused with patchouli oil.

That being said, DISC GOLF is a fun game. I poke fun at the stereotypical bohemian stronghold on the sport, but make no mistake, disc golf is for everyone. Surely you've seen a disc golf course where you live. Hell, in this part of Iowa I live in, there are 5 courses within a 30 minute drive, so if we have them, then you certainly do too.

If you know how to play regular golf, then you'll know how to at least score disc golf. Each hole has a specified "tee box" from where you make your initial throw (or "drive") and you simply count the number of throws it takes for you to get your disc in the basket. Much like regular golf, each hole is different, with varying degrees of difficulty and different assigned par rankings. As far as the discs themselves, you could go hogwild. There are specific disks for "driving" long distances, there are mid-range discs "irons" and, of course, short range discs or "putters". You should be able to pick up these discs for $10 a piece for basic stuff, though through eBay or local sports used sports dealers, it can be much less. And don't forget your disc bag to carry all of your (weed) discs around.

For those of you who are a bit too extreme for the normally mellow-paced disc golf, don't panic. If you've done enough disc golf, you'll notice that there's a hybrid disc golfer out there, one who's always asking you if he or she can play through. You watch them sweatily approach the tee box, hurl their disc, and then sprint after it. The round of golf is treated as a foot race. Not my cup of tea, but if EXTREME disc golf is your thing, more power to you. Maybe you could even get tatted up...

Probably one of the best parts of the sport is the ease of play. Sure, it may take you a few tries at figuring out how to throw a disc for distance and control (it's not like your backyard Frisbee), but after that the game is quite enjoyable. By and large, most of the courses are set up in and around city parks, lakes, and creeks so it's also a nice view. Much like Thoreau and Walden, you are one with nature, you are in a place where you are free from the demands of society, you're in a free place where no shampooing or deodorant is required, and no one will get up in arms if you puff some chiba. It's mellow, man. Chad Cordero could not be reached for comment. He was ALLEGEDLY ding-dong-ditching various houses own by senior citizens.

Summer Games: Horseshoes

Now that summer is here (almost), it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

Horseshoes. You have no idea how hard it's been to have written two previous Summer Games articles (bocce ball and washers) that weren't horseshoes. Perhaps I didn't want to blow my load (or in Chad Cordero's case, a late inning lead). During frequent in-Saloon banter, I have made no secret about my affection for horseshoes. Summer means many things go many people. A large contingency of people associate the warm, sunny weather with a swimming pool or a boat. Your chunkier, more jovial brethren will pine about how it is official grill season. Music lovers bust out the patchouli and get super heady about outdoor music festivals and their accompanying hackey sack tournaments. To the everyman like myself, it means horseshoe season. Technically baseball is America's game, but deep inside my cold landlordian heart, horseshoes is truly America's game.

Following the Revolutionary War, it was said by England's Duke of Wellington that "the War was won by pitchers of horse hardware." That's goddamn right, you English fairy. Not only are horseshoe throwers super cool people who exude sexual prowess, they're also patriots and winners of war. Who wouldn't want to be lumped in with that group? The taliban, that's who. And go ahead and throw in these two assholes.

Some quick research tells me that the game of horseshoes may well date back to the times of the Grecian army, way back when the years only had three digits. (Strange, I always thought my grandpa created the game, as well as being the greatest show thrower in the world.) Because no one kept diligent records back then, the first real data takes place around the Civil War time, when the popularity of this great game gained steam, particularly with the Union side. (And you thought that pitching shoes was only for hillbillies. For shame!)

The greatness of the game lies in it's simplicity. Basically anyone can pitch a horseshoe, and the cost of 4 shoes and two stakes is relatively cheap and easy to set up. The two stakes are placed 40 feet apart, and each team throws two shoes in their respective turn. The type of courts are open to speculation, but it's a known fact that in the Midwest, real men throw into grass/dirt pits. Sand pits are generally for old geezers that can't perfect the craft. Being caught throwing into sand pits is cause for public shaming and occasionally verbal and, in extreme cases, physical abuse. Also frowned upon are pits that are surrounded by any sort of structure.

The game itself is simple. You can click here for the official rules from the NHPA, but know that most people play by amateur rules. The amateur rules consist of getting three points for a ringer (the shoe wraps around the stake), two points for a leaner (shoes leans against the stake), and one point for a shoe that lands within a horseshoe's width of the stake. The closest shoe cancels out the others, unless the same person throws the two closets shoes. Easy peasy, Japaneasy. If you can't figure this game out, you're a retard.

There are many different ways to throw a horseshoe. The way the oldschooler and pros do it is to throw the shoe flat, and have it rotate one time so that the shoe (ideally) lands with the open end facing the stake. Better chance for ringers, and more often than not, it's not a wild shoe that goes bouncing wildly out of control. Sounds simple, but it's easier said than done. The other popular way is to pitch the shoe flipping end-over-end, hoping that it lands open side at the stake. Many people have perfected this throw, having it flip only one time. On dry, flat courts, a low trajectory shoe can be thrown in this matter and slid up to the stake. Many variations of these are common, with the "Missourian" style, with the shoe flipping many time. Also seen is the "hillbilly" style, throwing the spinning shoe that rotates like a Tasmanian devil. The knuckle shoe is less common, and is a shoe that does not rotate or flip at all. Knuckle throwers are rarely successful and commonly confused. Again, addressing the Cordero contingent, the shoes are not pitched while still attached to the horse.

As you can imagine, beer plays a vital role in the game, and sometimes to a greater extent, gambling is king. It's usually a given that each player puts up a buck per game, and the winners hold court. Alcohol increases the camaraderie and, when overindulged in, can swing the pace and effectiveness of the game. Shirtlessness? C'mon, it goes hand-in-hand with the game. Much like the other Summer Games, when the temperature is over 55, you might look a bit silly if you're still wearing a shirt.

All in all, it's a real American game. One of the best horseshoe stories I can tell takes me back to college days. I took a set of stakes and four shoes up to college when we rented a house. The large mass of Chicago kids in Iowa City liked to label the game as a "farmer game" and only suited for rednecks. When they finally tried their hand at the Game of the Gods, they were bitten by the 'shoe bug, and suddenly we found numerous requests for additional tournaments. Yes, it's a great game, and one that certainly can lay challenge to soccer as The World's Game.

Summer Games: Washers

Now that summer is here (almost), it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

Who said all you get in Wisconsin is cheese, beer, sausages, and herpes? Not true. While I can't verify the origin of this game (some signs point to Texas), I learned it from some Wisconsin gentry, so that's what we're sticking with. Washers is another back yard beauty in the realm of Summer Games. It's especially nice for those of y'all in the big cities, where yards and greenspace in general are hard to come by.

Perhaps washers' greatest assest is it's ease of play. You have two wooden, square boxes that measure 16" x 16" and have a 4" PVC pipe in the center. The washers should be 2-1/2" and have a 1" hole in the center. There are plenty of plans online to build your own set that clasp together, making transportation of the game easy as well. The bottom of the box should be lined with a small nap carpeting, or preferably, AstroTurf. This allows some cushioning and will prevent the washers from constantly bouncing out of the box.

Gameplay is easy. The boxes should be set 25' apart from center of cup to center of cup. Each team throws four washers. Starting at or behind the box, you toss the washer. If a washer lands in the box, you get a point, if a washer goes into the cup (in colloquial parlance, "Glory Hole"), you get three points. Rally scoring makes for a quicker game, though "best point" scoring is more apropos for master washer players. Example, if Team A throws two in the box and one in the Glory Hole, and Team B throws one in the box and one in the Glory Hole, Team A is awarded one point.

Quick Hits:

• As shown in the picture, shirtless play is easy and should be encouraged in favorable conditions (over 55 degrees Farenheit).
• 2-1/2" washers don't weigh much at all, so it's a game tailor-made to be played while holding a beverage.
• Easy to play and easy to get the materials to play. Even the smallest towns in Real America have hardware stores.
• Outside of alcohol, wind is really the only factor that can affect gameplay.
• Chad Cordero could not be reached for comment on washers. He was allegedly too busy burning ants with a magnifying glass.

As you can see, washers brings out the competitor and dance machine in people. Still interested? Build your own, dude.

*Please note: man pictured wearing the headband and shirt may or may not be Saloon bartender Dave Thomas.

Summer Games: Bocce Ball

Now that summer is here (almost), it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistance of your favorite summer beverage.

Sometimes the "old man" games are the best. And really, why shouldn't they be? If the games have been around for more than 100 years, obviously something is working. This certainly applies to Bocce Ball. The game itself is easy. It can be one on one or you can play two-man teams. Initially, a small ball is thrown out onto the surface. This is called the jack (or the pallino, mark, or the pea). Each team has two or four balls to throw, the goal being to get your bocce balls closest to the jack. You can roll them, bowl them, or lob them. If the other team has a ball close or on the jack, you can bowl your ball and knock it away. The closest ball gets a point, and the team with the closest ball gets the opportunity to throw the jack to start the next round. Games can be set by time or by score. You can look at a more formal explanation of the rules here. The Hundley always plays to eleven - that's why God gave you 10 fingers and a penis.*

The surface on which you play is up for argument. Purists will claim that it must be played on crushed oyster shells on a court that measures a certain area, measured in meters. We here at Thunder Matt are much more forgiving. Mark the court out with anything handy (empty bottles or cans work great). As a guess, I'd say roughly 15' x 40'. After you throw a few balls, you'll get a feel for if the distance is too much or not enough. You can play it on grass, the beach, even a dirt lot (though this will be much harder).

Quick facts:

• Shirtless play is easily accessible, and should in fact be encouraged. It's a well known fact that you look sexy playing shirtless Bocce Ball, and there is no better way to perfect your summer tan.
• Athletic ability is not a must. Let's not kid ourselves, you're tossing, rolling, and bowling balls that weigh a few pounds. Hand eye coordination obviously helps, but as it becomes inebriated, a new level of fun/skill is added to the game.
• A beverage is easily accessible. Christ, you could even have one in your hand the entire game.
• It's a relatively cheap game. You can pick up a Bocce Ball set for about thirty bones. That's two trips to the plasma center and that baby's yours, AND you get drunk quicker and cheaper.
• Ease of play errs to the simple end. So easy, even Chad Cordero could play.

Boom! There you go. Get a cooler and bocce ball set and you're good to go; you've got a mobile party. Watch Chaim Witz bowl with the grace of a swan.

* This obviously does not apply to Antonio Alfonseca and Koyie Hill