The baseball gods are, as we know, cruel. And petty. And though their brains are composed largely of syphilis clusters, they are not like to forget slights. Anything from banishing a goat from a stadium, to taking a simple bribe, to trading away the greatest player of his generation. It's always a seemingly simple affair, but one tug on that string can render future decades of toil futile. None of this is new information.
Why, then, did the hubristic souls who run the Washington Nationals' fourth inning Presidents Race decide, on the cusp of their first ever division title, to overturn years of carefully planned sideshows when everything had been going perfectly well? That's when the gods strike you down: when you think yourself as a shaper of the baseball narrative rather than a passive spectator. And then, with the evidence whipped out for all to see, dangling in their faces, they continued the farce for a further two years. And just recently, with a second division title under their belt, with Teddy having topped the leaderboard for the first time, they chose to have him win during the first game of the NLDS (Nats lost), and then not once but twice during the eighteen-inning marathon that was Game 2 (Nats lost... again). And something tells me if they hadn't been finished off in San Francisco, the organizers would have displayed a similarly suicidal lack of pattern recognition upon their return home.
The Nats let Teddy win again this game in the 2nd presidents race. They foolishly mock the #teddycurse
— Chris Moody (@moody) October 5, 2014
Maybe it's not entirely fair to blame the PT Barnums of the world for giving the mob what they want. It was the fans, after all, who fast lined up behind Teddy, the underdog with the infectious smile. It was a natural fit: a franchise trying to forge an identity in a new city, with a new(ish) name, struggling to win--just as they had been in Montreal. People like saying that they like underdogs and with the President's Race--in the form of Teddy--Nationals fans had one. A guy you never expected much of and who never won, even though he really wanted to. Maybe not the best representative of one of the wealthiest, most insulated metro regions in the country, but well-suited to the look that a fledgling team and fledgling-er fanbase likes to imagine itself wearing. "Let Teddy Win," they demanded. "Teddy 2012!," they cried. Indeed.
It is at this point that I pause and wonder again just why Teddy was the loser-president for all those years. Theodore Roosevelt is, with no real exception, our most magnificent president. Not best, per se, but certainly the one that the others would be most terrified of being compared to. He could take every other president in a fight... and I don't mean one at a time. You've probably heard the story about the time Roosevelt was shot in the chest by a would-be assassin on his way to deliver a speech--and then went to deliver that speech before bothering to seek medical attention. If Theodore Roosevelt were a Batman villain, he'd be Bane, whose physicality makes you forget his nimble brain--he's almost too perfect. And yet, there Teddy was, for years on end--the butt of the jokes of the other three presidents (now four, for some reason). It's almost as though no serious thought was put into this mascot race whatsoever.
No longer. Teddy has been unleashed upon the Nationals' fortunes, carving their playoff stints into Panama Canals on two separate occasions (trust-busting was the better analogy there, wasn't it? Oh well, next time). And if his double-header win in Game 2 is any indication, the operators of the Presidents Race have stubbornly refused to acknowledge the gods' painfully clear signals.
So. Has it been worth it, Washington? Have the victories of your hydrocephalic god-king been worth this turn in fortunes for an emergent franchise? Will you continue to sacrifice promising young talent on this grotesque altar that you've built? Or do you now comprehend the needless horror that you've inflicted upon yourselves? Let him win no more. Wipe the record books clean. Only then may the gods see fit to smile upon Navy Yard.
Or maybe the Nationals just clinched the division too soon and went up against a still-loose Giants squad. I don't know. But it's definitely one of those.
It's helpful to remember that beer experimentation (or beerimentation, as no one calls it) predates the craft movement. If not for some German monks tossing hops into their beer 1,100 years ago, beer might've continued to look very different from what we know today (yes, the majority of beer's existence has been hop-less). Likewise, Belgian brewers, deviating from proud tradition, began toying around with their own pale ale style around World War II--recent enough to be new, but still several decades ahead of craft brew's love affair with the style. Chicago's Goose Island, perhaps as a result of their relationship with their ownership, tends to keep their experiments down the middle: nothing too unexpected but usually pleasantly palatable (all due respect to their exceptional Bourbon County line, which predates the new ownership). And they take an unsurprisingly low risk-high reward tack with their Belgian Pale Ale, Matilda: a beer that should, ideally, be a happy union of wheat and hops.
Matilda pours pale orange, with a decent head for a Belgian.
She smells mostly of wine, perhaps a chardonnay (that's a kind of wine, right?), with a slight plummy aroma.
The plums return on the tongue, in concert with a wheaty, malty aftertaste. The tartness is accompanied by an unexpected fizziness--not quite hopiness (we're getting to that), but close enough that I mistook one for the other at first.
For all its flavor, Matilda retains a light body that's complimented by a medium-to-heavy hop profile that lends a bit of effervescence, ensuring some memorability, though at this point that's not totally necessary.
A happy, if not ecstatic, marriage of styles gives Matilda an even, balanced profile that's pleasant throughout, offering a welcome invitation to continue drinking, all the way through its 765 milliliters.
I'll probably never understand civilization's madness for pumpkin-flavored things. It's an aggressive, leathery taste, trying to be sweet and savory at the same time and failing at both. And yet it ends up in everything this time of year: pies, coffees, cupcakes, and, bleakest of all, beers. I agree that the closing of the sweat box that is August and September and the approach of October's humane crispness is worthy of celebration. But we've got to find a better flavor to mark that passage. Luckily, the Germans (yes, the Germans have beaten us in the flavor department... let that sink in) have found the perfect alternative, at least for beer (there may be no similar aid for pie) with the usually-welcome Märzen style. And it, represented here by Harpoon Octoberfest, is here to rescue us from the hegemony of the pumpkin.
Harpoon Octoberfest pours heady and darker than one usually sees in the style--promising some deeper flavor than we're likely to get.
Light caramel peppers the nose--sweet and dark--with strong hints of the malt that's to come.
Indeed, malt dominates the taste, along with some light hops. But it's the malt that's most present, perhaps at the expense of some of the other potential flavors, such as the aforementioned caramel.
Thin-to-medium bodied, Harpoon leans on a dry feel that forces your mouth to ask for more, whether or not you particularly want it.
A thin, though ultimately pleasant, beer, Harpoon hits the usual Märzen notes, but with little further exploration of the style's possibilities. And though Märzen typical has more to offer, Harpoon Octoberfest isn't entirely a disappointment and worth a glass or two before it disappears in the winter. And at least it's not bloody pumpkin.
So this independence thing may actually happen. I mean, good for Scotland, I guess. And good on them for the way they're doing it. But... it's complicated.
The only idea more romantic than an independent Scotland is the 300-year-old union to which it's bound. It's a relatively new creation, really, and probably not one that could've been expected to last forever. But it's been longer lived and more prosperous than any such union could ever fairly expect. For all their differences, England, Scotland, and Wales (and Ulster) have all made out exceedingly well over the last three centuries.
I get irritated when people refer to the UK as "England" because it's not all England. Not even kind of (okay, Wales kind of). One small part of Britain's charm for me is that England and Scotland are funny partners to be stuck together in the way they are, mostly out of ancientconvenience. Even ancient-er than that convenience is a long history of not liking each other and not being too terribly similar despite sharing a border. And just because they get on now doesn't mean they've grown into one another culturally or politically. There are similarities, but they're no more stark than the similarities between Americans and Canadians (Mother Britain screwed us all up pretty good--but at least we're not Australia). So why stick together? Well, even Burnsians aren't immune to the allure of Empire. And nationally-unifying events like WWII tend to dampen feelings of alienation for a generation or two. And, in a very real way, it's the differences that make them work so well together. But now that common bonds have rusted, it's required some effort to find new ones and so Better Together has not had a lot to work with, I'm truly sorry to say.
To start with the up in the air logistics, there are some mildly compelling national security issues to consider. However, it's hard to hear the Brits asking "what about our place at the table?" without reflexively thinking, "oh, you still want that?" Moreover, if the Scots still cared for that sort of status (which, admittedly, disproportionately benefited Scots during the Empire years), they probably wouldn't be going through with this vote in the first place.
But you don't have to be a paranoid hyper-nationalist to feel the thumb in the eye of a Yes vote. The financial impact, at least in the short-term, will likely be what economists refer to as "not good." Sharing a currency with another nation invites comparison to the less than stable euro. And I've had enough personal experience with frustrated cashiers on both sides of the border to know that irritation with same-but-not-quite currencies is strong enough as is. That's probably why the unionists have placed their bets on the economic fallout, arguing that a splitting of the purse would create a shambles for both sides, perhaps especially for Scotland, which would no longer enjoy Westminster's relatively favorable largesse. And they might be right. Unfortunately, the Scots aren't looking at this as a business transaction. Not because they're overly emotional--as some have insultingly intimated--but because that's not how human beings conduct all of their affairs. Economies crest and dip, but identity is a trickier concept and a little short term pain for long term dignity and pride doesn't seem so bad a trade. If, in fact, that arrangement can be guaranteed. And it can't.
To be fair, Better Together's case is a difficult one to make without looking stodgy and out of touch. "You know you'd miss us" isn't terribly convincing as a plea, hence the fallback to dodgy economic forecasts (from both campaigns). But cash alone does not drive a movement. That tension you feel blowing from across the Atlantic? England's last ditch scrambling? Scotland's palpable anxiety? The apprehension from the EU and the US? The nervous hand-wringing in this very blog post? It's built on fear, excitement, uncertainty, and a particular viewpoint--of the UK and the wider world. In other words, things that are very difficult to quantify. There are more more logical ways to interpret independence, but to see things in those terms alone betrays a misunderstanding of the situation.
Losing Scotland would probably not be catastrophic. No, Scotland won't disappear and Lagavulin won't be cast into the phantom zone. Scotland would only cease to be a part of the union. I adore every corner of the British Isles, and those corners don't cease to exist just because there's a line down the center of the room. Ireland is no less fun that it would be as part of the UK. It just means passing through customs to get there, and even that might not be an issue. But all that doesn't mean it wouldn't also be sad.
The truth is, whatever happens, some constitutional re-considerations wouldn't be out of line are called for. Just because the union works better together doesn't mean this shouldn't be a wake up call. Some kind of federal system might be exciting, if ultimately a non-starter for those who want independence because now--and only now--is
London taking a serious look at how to maintain an always-strange
relationship. It's not as if England can't be accused of
being less than enamored
with their upstairs neighbors, so why not address the root of those feelings? For example, if No prevails, perhaps an English Parliament and a
subsequent end to the West Lothian problem and its attendant incongruities just might clear some of the
tension, allowing each nation some autonomy and dignity in its local matters, saving some energy for the bigger issues. The jurisdictional quirkiness might be "oh-so-British" but they also create logistical nightmares that benefit no one.
As is usually the case, Charlie Brooker
is the most reasonable commenter working: as an outsider, you'd prefer Scotland to vote No (for admittedly selfish reasons), but totally understand the itch
for a divorce. If I were faced with looking at David Cameron for five
more years, I'd be looking for the fire escape, too. It's almost too bad
England doesn't have its own built-in exit. There's an argument Better Together hasn't tried: "Please, Scotland, don't leave us with them." And, honestly, if this split must happen, there's some humor to be taken in the fact that it came on Cameron's watch.
Cultural identity, history, geography etc, those are all wrapped up in the referendum. Nationality's got some to do with it, though less than anyone who wants to view this as a rebirth of old Celtic-Anglo battle-lines will admit. Nationality is much more slippery than that in the UK these days--one of modern Britain's better qualities. The union's cosmopolitanism is an enormous benefit to both nations--something young Scottish voters appreciate, even if they've long seemed more likely to side with independence. But politically, England and Scotland have been drifting apart since the end of the war and weren't much on solid ground before that. Westminster can make all the promises it wants now--and it is--but where were these gestures ten, fifteen, twenty years ago? Now they care. When it's a referendum on them. And much as I hate to diminish a movement that's been anywhere from ten to three-hundred years in the making, it's hard to imagine a better time for Scots to take a long look at the state of things. And that only makes this more difficult because, as much as I want Scotland to stay, it would be hard to blame them if they don't.
This is an unsatisfying position (even to me, and I'm the one assuming it): whatever they decide is for the best. If it's Yes, there's a lot of credit in doing it this way: bloodlessly, democratically--all those fun, fluffy adjectives that are easy to take for granted. But I'd prefer Scotland to vote No. In light of the evidence that probably qualifies me as a romantic. On the other hand, I also believe there's a difference between 'could' and 'should.' It's why I tend to believe the referendum will--narrowly--swing No. Scots are as good as anybody at soberly sizing up a situation (yes, soberly, lol). And if the decision is a firm and convincing Yes, it won't be because they spent the night bent over a whisky barrel with Braveheart on in the background (for the same reason that a No vote wouldn't be the result of a night spent counting their GDP and watching old newsreels of the Blitz). It's because all of us occasionally feel the need for a fresh start and the prospects of an independent Scotland are only slightly less certain than the prospects of a renewed United Kingdom (or the prospects of the US, or any one, really--it's been a rough summer).
Both options are rooted in a sludgy kind of sentiment and history and tradition and on and on. These are not meager things. Promises are made on the harder prospects: finance, government, etc, and yet remain at least as hard to quantify as all the other stuff. Some of those promises may hold up (however pretty the songs, they're all being sung by politicians, remember). The difference is that Yes offers a sure bet of losing something--Britain, for all its flaws--and only a hope that something will be gained--a thriving, independent Scotland.
For all the mawkishness of the idea--and the campaign trying desperately to preserve that idea--they really are better together.
We now have Ray Rice and his subsequent milquetoast punishment. Though apparently the next time this happens, we'll see a more "severe" penalty because the NFL could not have foreseen that people would be upset by their terrible decision had to maintain a low bar when they punished Jim Irsay. And it's not even as though Rice is the only player with a history of spousal abuse; it's tempting to make some kind of connection between these guys' day jobs and how more than a few of them handle their personal lives. But we wouldn't want to be irresponsible. Meanwhile, Josh Gordon is done for the year for testing positive for pot (granted, he's now a repeat offender, but his first suspension was for the same length as Rice's, so yeah). Roger Goodell is the world's worst tyrant, in that he is terrible at being a tyrant. Except that the empire he runs is extraordinarily good at winning--and keeping--the hearts and minds of the country. Occupying powers the world over drool at what the NFL has managed so seemingly effortlessly. We continue to consume their tainted (but oh so delicious) product in spite of ourselves. It's easy to shove in our faces and vastly more difficult to digest, but humans are, at heart, short-term thinkers.
If you're not a football fan, the current state of affairs looks horrific. If you are, it's horrific and deeply depressing, with a tendency toward heartburn-inducing (the Bears have a great offense, parts of a decent defense, and a difficult schedule, ensuring that I won't be sleeping much between now and when they're officially knocked out of playoff contention. So, thanks in advance, guys). We can't keep this up forever, NFL. How about this: I'll watch one more season, then I'll quit cold turkey. No backsies.
So, as I said in my baseball post this year, I could afford to have a lot more fun with these picks. Because it really does not matter. At all. Even a little. And there's no penalty for being wrong. But it's too easy to make them all joke picks. I'm going to have to find some kind of balance as I do these going forward, but for now here are my kind-of-serious-but-who-cares-go-fuck-yourself picks for 2014:
NFC North: Green BayDetroitMinnes... fine, Green Bay
NFC East: Philadelphia
NFC South: Carolina
NFC West: Richard Sherman
NFC Wild Cards: New Orleans, Chicago (who will not be allowed a starting defense in the playoffs, but will be allowed two starting offenses in an effort to finally exorcise Mike Ditka)
AFC North: Cincinnati
AFC East: Division is vacated because no one cares
AFC South: Houston
AFC West: Denver
AFC Wild Cards: FC Bayern Munich, Indianapolis
NFC Championship: Richard Sherman over Philadelphia
AFC Championship: Denver over Indianapolis
Super Bowl XLIX: Denver over Richard Sherman initially, but Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy beats them both in the long run
