This is a depressing week to be a New York Jets fan, as I deal with the aftermath of the team trading away its best player of my lifetime, and as I prepare for a dismal multi-year rebuilding process — likely without my beloved Rex Ryan.
So thank God for you, Rick Reilly, PCHA Sportswriting Hall of Shamer, for this gem from your column dated April 18.
Welcome to the new TV roundtable discussion show, “One Take.”
Except it’s not on TV, the table isn’t round and there isn’t any discussion. It’s just me and my One Take. A lot less arguing that way. Shall we begin?
TOPIC: The Tampa Bay Buccaneers apparently won’t give up more than a first-round draft pick for Jets superstar cornerback Darrelle Revis.
ONE TAKE: This trade isn’t going to happen. Revis is worth at least a first- and a second-rounder. Revis will be a Jet this season. Tim Tebow, on the other hand, will be a Hamilton Tiger-Cat.
I bet ESPN’s so glad they renewed his contract!
Game of Thrones is a series driven by story — a giant tapestry of a story encompassing hundreds of characters, a long time span, multiple wars and a huge geographic reach. It’s epic in scope — so huge, in fact, that there’s little time for such trivia as character development, theme, or figuring out where episodes should begin and end.
The vast majority of GoT episodes cut briskly from one character to another, and from one locale to another, sometimes never returning after we spend a few minutes with Jon Snow or Arya Stark. The result is a feeling of constant momentum, but that momentum is an illusion because the plot actually advances glacially. And when a show is so dependent on plot — when that’s all there is — a lack of forward motion is a big issue.
Compounding the problem is that GoT has shown itself capable of greatness in individual episodes, notably with season one’s “Baelor” and season two’s “Blackwater,” the latter of which set a high mark thanks to a narrowed focus and consistent tone (and big budget). Those episodes transcended George R.R. Martin’s source material, while the majority of episodes merely try to keep pace.
Once a show has proven it can be great, it’s hard to accept mediocrity. It would be like if after “The Suitcase,” Mad Men spent most its episodes following Harry Crane and Ken Cosgrove diligently working on ad campaigns, with Don Draper providing the occasional supervisory note of encouragement.
So with season three of GoT premiering last night, let’s check in and see what actually happened in this episode, and whether we saw any notable movement.
Spoilers from S3E01, obviously, coming right up.
*because I have to get a post up quick before David Simon Cowell turns this into a Mommy Blog*
Joe Posnanski, esteemed maybe of the Kansas City Sabermetric Mafia, is widely acclaimed as one of the best sportswriters in the business. I understand why. He’s accepting of analytics and new statistics while still paying heed to the more romantic aspects of sports fandom.
Lately, though, Ol’ Pos seems to be taking that romantic stuff a little too much to heart. It’s as if he’s trying to reinvent purple prose with more economical verbiage, but the most flowery, crocodile-tear-soaked emotions known to sport. As Posnanski has wandered from SI to Sports on Earth to NBC in recent months, he’s left behind a trail of heartwarming metaphors that would make Rick Reilly proud.
See if you can pick out the real quotes from Posnanski and which ones we made up.
Did you guys hear that there’s going to be a Veronica Mars movie? Because fans funded it on Kickstarter?
You did? Not news?
OK, well did you hear that two aging blog proprietors got all worked up about it and had an e-mail debate?
I THOUGHT NOT.
What happens when David Simon Cowell and I emerged from our recent hibernation to discuss the lazy abomination that is Grantland’s obituary for the very much alive David Bowie?
One person who adores David Bowie and one person who doesn’t really have a dog in that race!
We use the word “inarguable” a surprisingly high number of times, given that we are in the midst of an argument!
And David Simon Cowell writes more words for this blog than he has in the last year combined! Who can fucking resist that?
Did you know that for a mere $99, you can chat with legendary Phillies and Cubs second baseman (and proud owner of a lifetime .359 slugging percentage) Mickey Morandini?
And that’s not all. For just $300, you can “surprise your baseball buddies by inviting Mickey to a live fantasy draft!” Cough up a cool $750 and Mickey “The Dandy Little Glove Man” Morandini himself will come to your birthday party or bar mitzvah.
But wait! There’s more!
You can also talk to New York Giants offensive coordinator Kevin Gilbride (or have him join your pick-up game)! Or enjoy a round of golf with NBA legend Cedric Ceballos! The world is your oyster!
And luckily, this amazing opportunity isn’t limited to the greats of our sporting times. You can speak with Dennis Haskins — Mr. Belding himself — for less than 20 bucks. Or have a phone hang with original Bachelor Alex Michel, Silver Spoons vixen Erin Gray, or My Two Dads standout Greg Evigan. It’s all happening.
Sometimes, a generation lucks out and the blockbuster film franchise that dominates its time is the original Star Wars trilogy: ground-breaking, pulpy, fun, and all-encompassing. Sometimes, a generation reveals it has made some sort of pact with the devil that’s gone awry, and it gets a depressing, muddled catastrophe as its signature franchise — like, say, the Phantom Menace trilogy.
The current generation, however you want to define that, doesn’t have to quite plumb the depths of Jar Jar Binks and tiny pod-racking Anakin Skywalker, but it/we have it worse in some ways. The Avengers is clearly the film franchise that is going to define this era. Transformers may be more of its time, but also seems destined to fizzle out under Michael Bay’s incompetent watch. Harry Potter and Twilight are huge, but cater to niche (if insanely devoted) audiences. The 2010s are all about superheroes, and The Avengers are here to see that we grow more weary of them than we ever could have of light sabers or muscle-bound dudes with machine guns.