If you know me, you know that I’m a slave to ritual. I wake up at the same time every day then go through the exact same routine every morning, down pretty much to theÂ minute.Â It’s the same at night.
Well, this week, I changed that routine. In an effort to be less fat (it won’t work) I decided to add some extra time to my morning workout. I began waking up 15 minutes earlier, and spent the extra time on theÂ elliptical machine. The good news? Perhaps the extra mile and half every morning will help me fend off the cold hand of death when I come to the end of my days.Â The bad news? It’s thrown my magazine schedule completely asunder.
It used to go like this:
Tuesday: Time Magazine
Wednesday: Time Magazine (cont)
Thursday: Sports Illustrated
Friday: Sports Illustrated (cont)
Whatever I didn’t finish, I would read on the weekend. But the extra 15 minutes of elliptical magazine time every morning has left me with no leftovers.
I am not a soothsayer. I do not own a crystal ball, nor do I possess any particular insight into the future. But, I’m almost positive that at some point this weekend, I will defecate. And I will be forced to do it sans reading material. This is obviously a horrible fate which will continue to repeat itself week after week unless something is done.
Ultimately, what I’m saying is I’m in the market for a new magazine to add to the rotation. Any suggestions?
But for now, we’ll focus on this magazine.
There is literally nothing of note in the entire first half of this magazine. A perfectly acceptable piece about John and Patrick McEnroe’s feuding visions for the future of USA Tennis, followed by brief write ups about Doug Collins, Jamie Moyer and Dennis Quaid. Then a run of the mill Inside Baseball, a so-so Inside the NFL and an Inside Soccer that I wouldn’t read if you threatened me with a puddle of elephant semen. Read it. Don’t read it. You’re life won’t change one way or another.
Big Trouble by Austin Murphy and Selena Roberts
An example of fantastic investigative reporting by two excellent reporters. One problem though.Â HOLY SHIT! I DON”T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANY OF THIS!Â A dick on a bike says he cheated, but so did another famously horrible piece of crap. Guess what. Anyone who rides a bicycle up mountains and shit, hundreds of miles at a time, is probably not doing it through sheer will of being. Of course they’re cheating. But more importantly, who cares?Â Cycling is a popular sport in Europe, which, from what I gather, is a ridiculous place full of weirdos. It barely registers a mention in the US.
Bottom line? In the war of Floyd vs. Lance, I side with Sheryl Crow.
Beware Boston’s Big 3 4 by Ian Thomsen
I grew up in New Jersey, but went to college in Boston. The night before I left for my freshman year at school, my dad sat me down to have a talk.
“You’re going to college. There’s going to be a lot of new experiences there. There’s going to be girls and beer and drugs. That’s all well and good. Just be careful and I won’t be mad at you. But know this. If you come home as either a Red Sox fan or a Celtics fan, you’re out of the family!”
Obviously, neither of those things happened, because I am guided through life by the forces of good.Â But, that being said, I must admit that I kind of like Rajon Rondo. He’s fun to watch. And this profile does nothing to disavow me of that view. He seems like a thoroughly nice kid who paid his dues and rose to prominence through hard work and smart play. Kudos.
The Education of Gordon Hayward by Kelli Anderson
Gordon Hayward is destined to become a solid contributor on a decent NBA roster, but he will not be a star. That’s pretty much the same way I feel about this profile. It’s perfectly ok. And nothing more. You learn a bit more about the Butler star, but not enough to really root for him any more than you already do.
Large and In Charge by Michael Farber
SI’s resident hockey maven (apologies to Stan Fischler) profiles the most interesting figure to emerge from this year’s NHL playoffs. You get the sense that Farber spends the majority of his year collecting strange similes and metaphors, then unleashes them on an unsuspecting public once the playoffs roll around. This week’s examples:
In Game 3 Byfuglien slipped into the high slot on little cat feet, took a Dave Bolland pass from behind the net and buried a Hammer of Thor shot to give the Blackhawks a 3–2 win in an overtime classic. If that goal was not quite identical to his third-period winner in the series opener five days earlierâ€”slot, slothful Sharks coverage, wicked blastâ€”the two at least were cousins.
Jesus, dude. Cat feet, Hammer of Thor, shots that are cousins. That’s a lot to jam into one sentence.Â But then, there’s this:
While scientists debate whether dust caused by the impact of a giant asteroid obscured the sun and wiped out the dinosaurs, there is no argument that a human eclipse made the Sharks disappear.
Hanley Being Hanley by L. Jon Wertheim
My god, there are a lot of articles in this magazine this week.
Last week I mentioned the strange timing between the players poll which placed Hanley Ramirez near the top of the list of players to build a franchise around and his maddening display of laziness in the field later that week. This week, SI responds and makes me like Ramirez all over again.
Here’s something else. Whenever I read about athletes who grew up middle class, I automatically like them a little more. Ramirez is one of those athletes. I don’t know if it’s that I can relate to the players more, or if it relieves me of some residual social guilt, or if I’m just happy to hear that someone in a 3rd world country didn’t grow up eating dirt and wearing old six pack rings as underpants. But for whatever reason, I tend to root more for players who had to overcome less.
Spikes On the Ground by David Epstein
Happy Memorial Day to anyone who served in the Military. It almost doesn’t matter whether or not this article is well written or even whether it’s particularly interesting. I will always give a thumbs up to a piece that sheds a positive light on someone willing to serve their country. I am a giant pussy, so I’m incredibly thankful that there are people out there who aren’t.
The World at His Feet by S.L. Price
Four years ago, I promised my brother I would buy him this jacket:
But it’s absolutely impossible to find. No one sells it. I go on EBay and I get confused because the internet scares me, but I’m pretty sure it’s either super expensive or no one has it.
Going into this article, this jacket is pretty much the sum total of my knowledge of Diego Maradona. I also knew he was fat and did coke. Turns out, he was a really good soccer player too. And now he’s coaching the Argentinian national team. They have a guy named Messi who is similar to Maradona.Â But Maradona is a headcase and they don’t really get along. There you go. You may now skip this incredibly long article at the end of an incredibly long magazine.
Selena Roberts opens with an article on a topic I don’t care about and closes the magazine with a column that I don’t care about.Â Nascar’s gotten too bourgeois for Ms. Roberts. Apparently the mobile homes are too fancy.Â I will ask again, WHERE IS CHRIS BALLARD???