Sisyphus

Germany 4 - 1 England

2010-06-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

"If only the bloody linesman would've seen that goal," an expatriate sighed as the Germany's fourth goal flew, "this game would've been totally different.

A couple of years after moving to Colorado, my dad and I were sitting in a small cafeteria at a railroad intersection that had largely been abandoned as the outlet mall a few miles down the road grew in popularity. Trains still used the tracks only thirty yards from where we sat, but they didn't stop and neither did the vast majority of cars along the old two-lane highway. We were chomping through sandwiches with another friend who was unfamiliar with soccer in general. But as my dad recounted England's failure in Euro 96, blaming officiating and penalty decisions, our friend made a very good point,

"That's the typical English mentality though, isn't it."

"What do you mean?" My dad asked.

"The whole, if only 'X' would've been different, you would've won. That's now how games work though do they? What if Germany would've scored some of their chances? Then England's out."

Despite his lack of previous experience with soccer, our friend had made a good point. "If only" is the mantra. If only England would have had that extra little bit of luck, the would have won the World Cup. If only England had more passion, they would have won the World Cup. If only Beckham wouldn't have got sent off, if only Batty wouldn't have taken that penalty, if only Lampard's goal would've counted, if only Green would've kept that shot out, if only Maradona's hand ball would've been called. You know who didn't bring up THAT goal in the 1966 World Cup? The Germans.

Even today, in a bar that was 75% pro-Germany, they knew it was a goal and they reacted with a shrug. "That's football," one said with a smile, "Sometimes it is for you, sometimes against."

"If only" is just a way to paper over the cracks that are in this team. If the game was 2-2 at half time, what would have changed? Capello came out with the same line up. The assumption among English fans is that letting in that second goal would have broken the German spirit, but the German team is not like the English, they do not go through dizzying highs and shocking lows that the English go through. The English may have spawned the term 'stiff upper lip,' but the Germans (among a lot of teams) epitomize it. Nothing England has done over the last year implies that they could beat the likes of Germany, Argentina, Spain, and Brazil. None of Germany's previous games showed weaknesses the English could exploit (unless getting a German sent off and your goalie saving a penalty counts). England's was a team that was worse than the sum of its parts.

To further distract from the real issues, another England fan was calling for Capello to be fired right after the game. Is that really the answer? As the managerial role has passed from the likes of Keegan to Erikson to McClaren to Capello, the only consistent element has been the majority of players. The majority of players are good and could start for almost any other country. The majority of players are not so good that they can go far in a tournament playing the way they did.

I stopped counting after the fourth time a player looked up-field with the ball near the halfway line, only to see three or four teammates just standing, waiting to see what he was going to do. Reacting is not how games are won, more passion is not how games are won; working as an organized unit is how games are won.

Germany did not win yesterday because they were more passionate and their coach can "light a fire" under them, they won because the team functions better. Critics will blame Capello for not getting the best out of the players, they will blame Rooney because he was not able to keep his scintillating form going for another month, and they will blame Green for a David James-esque goal allowed (yet shockingly, James is Mr. Safehands now), but the problem is much bigger than any one player.

All of those points only distract from the fact that England simply are not that good on the international stage. They are not a team in the same league as Germany, Brazil, and Italy, they are more equivalent to Uruguay. Whether a World Cup was won 44 or 80 years ago does not matter, they are both irrelevant.

So where does England go from here?
There is no single answer, but firing Capello is not it. Blaming Rooney is pointless because he was not the only stagnant player and he was largely left to forage on his own against four or five players.
The first, and possibly hardest, step is for England to lower its expectations. The quarterfinals should be considered an accomplishment. The next step is to work on patterns of play that create options for the player on the ball (instead of straight balls into the corner flag or speculative cross-field passes). The third is to pick the right players and not necessarily the best, i.e., Gerrard and Lampard should not both be playing in midfield. Fourth, play counter-attacking soccer because it seems to fit the style of the team better. We could see what happened when England had to attack Germany, Upson disappeared, Terry was twenty yards out of position and Rooney still had no support. England is not Brazil and should not try to play like them. Solidity at the back and then fly forward when possible.

Is Capello the man to do it?
Outside of this tournament, his track record says he is. Though a generalization, his Italian heritage would imply that he can enforce a catenaccio mentality. His time at Real Madrid and AC Milan shows that he can handle the big egos and in reality, who are they going to find that is better? Mourinho's busy and Hiddink would probably prefer to keep his fantastic reputation in tact and not wade into the lion's den of English soccer. Plus, if one were to look at England's chances one would be hard pressed to bet on them to get past the quarterfinals. Had things worked as they were supposed to in the group, they would have played Ghana, a team they would have been favored to beat. But beat Argentina? Even if Maradona was at his suicidal best, could he self-destruct that team to the point of allowing England to beat them? Not likely.

This is not a definitive list of what needs to change, they are only the most obvious. Yet England as a nation has chosen to ignore these issues for the last 44 years, preferring to rely on "if only" instead of being realistic that the game yesterday summed up what the rest of the world knew or should have known:
they are not that good.

Fighting the Beautiful Ballerinas

2010-06-22T06:59:00.000-07:00

I doubt this will ever gain traction because, well, I'm some random grain of sand on this gigantic beach of the internet, but I wrote this to FIFA anyway. If you agree with this idea on how to fight the virulent disease of diving, please pass it along.

To whom it may concern,

I am watching Chile v. Switzerland. Three players in this game will be missing the next for no reason. From the referee's admittedly limited view, infractions occurred and he is reprimanding the 'guilty' parties. The problem is, these three players (and Kaka against the Ivory Coast yesterday) have done nothing wrong.

I know that these players can appeal their cards, but that does not address the crux of the problem. The real issue is players 'simulating' fouls. My solution, in addition to keeping the appellate process, is to retroactively punish simulating players. It can happen after the game...if a replay shows a player diving, that player is retroactively yellow-carded. If that would be his second of the tournament or of the game, he receives the equivalent punishment.

Now, this setup is not ideal for the wronged team during the game, but it is not supposed to help them, it is supposed to help the game as a whole. Review of simulations focuses on the bigger picture: players feigning fouls. If players know that there are repercussions (outside of an occasional yellow card if the referee is able to see or the player is really poor at simulation) to their actions, they will be even less likely to over-dramatize the slightest, if any, contact.

The main reasons opposing more replay technology use in games are not an issue with this suggestion. There is no slowing down of games or taking control away from the referee because this happens after the game has been completed. In fact, this idea gives more control to the referee by allowing him the chance to see everything that takes place. The referee can look at the replay and decide ‘if I had seen this during the game, would I have given a yellow card?’ A FIFA representative watching the games on TV (or even a fifth official) can take note of the time periods in question and the referee can later watch 10, 20, or 30 second clips to decide. The whole process for the referee watching should not take more than 20 minutes, unless a game was particularly plagued with indiscretions. Surely, 20 minutes is not too much more work for a referee and FIFA to clean up the biggest pox in the game today. Further, there need not be an appellate process for simulation because the evidence is right there, on tape, recorded for everyone to see.

I love this game and I have enjoyed the changes that FIFA have made, but I do not think the current response to simulation is enough and it places an unfair burden on the referee to keep track of a game that is only growing faster and more technical. Retroactively punishing players that simulated fouls during a game is not the perfect solution, but it is an effective one for fighting the major issue of contention in the modern game. Players want to play and if they know that they can no longer trick the referee, they will not be as carelessly willing to simulate as they currently are.

Thank you.

Liverpool

2010-05-04T04:23:00.000-07:00

There's an English saying that you don't choose your football (or for us Colonists, soccer), your football club chooses you. For me, this is true because half of my family is from Liverpool, they all support Liverpool, Everton, or on the other side of the river for the more masochistic, Tranmere. At the time my club "chose" me, I had no ties to London, I had never been to a game, and I'd only taken one trip to England, which I didn't remember, but I fell in love with Arsenal.

In theory, I'm an early bandwagoner. This was before Wenger appeared as one of the first successful foreign managers and a revolutionary for the English game. Arsenal was still boring, brutal, and efficient. I have no idea what drew me to them, but Arsenal became my club. And yet, some constant quiet nagging compelled me to always check in on Liverpool. I assume that pull is hereditary given my lineage and the fact that my dad played for them way back when. So every time I used to read Soccer America or buy an issue of Four Four Two at Barnes and Noble, I would check Liverpool's recent games; after Arsenal's. Sadly, I spend very little time with those magazines, but I still keep track of Arsenal online...and Liverpool...eventually.

So I read Liverpool manager, Rafa Benitez's, concern as to "where the club is going" with a mixture of anger, frustration, and disappointment. Benitez has been flirting with Juventus with little subtlety and demanding assurances from the new owners of the club. There are far too many individuals and interest groups involved in the club to simply lay blame with any one person, whether it is with the Americans or Benitez or ghost-like investors from the East. The anger in this situation stems from an ill-focused vision of the future for the club combined with the lazy attitude that money solves everything. Though hardly an anomaly given Real Madrid, Chelsea, and Manchester City, Benitez's only solution seems to be buying more players even though the ones he has bought have rarely been used. Sell low if we have to, raise tickets prices, come out with new jerseys, more sponsors, let's get new owners! Whatever it takes to be able to "compete."

Though a little dated, this is is a great breakdown of Benitez's time at Liverpool money-wise: http://bleacherreport.com/articles/146121-media-myths-rafa-benitez-and-his-transfer-history-with-liverpool-football-club
From a purely debit-credit perspective, Benitez has seemingly made decent transfer decisions, but this is where frustration plays its role. As the author of the linked article, Jamie Ward, points out, a lot of Benitez's buys cannot be judged now because we are not entirely sure how the young players will evolve. Pure percentages say that the majority will simply disappear into the ether of lesser-leagues, a few will become adequate players to utilize, and maybe one will grow into a star. Ward makes a good point and trying to create players rather than just buy them is admirable, but that flies in the face of the reality that the decision-makers at Anfield are constantly focused on more players from the outside. That is frustrating.

For a world famous club, Liverpool's fan base is relatively patient. If there was a plan in place, the supporters would wait to see how it unfolded. But there doesn't seem to be one. The reality is that you learn more from a season than you do a tournament. Two or three fortunate decisions/events in a tournament and your team can be in a final. Over the the course of a season the fortunes have at least 38 opportunities to balance out. Here, the reality is that the club he left (Valencia) is in dire financial straits and the FA Cup and the Champions League trophy on that magical night against Milan are the positives of his reign. Granted, the Champions League trophy is a fantastic piece of silverware to have, but it came during his first season, ostensibly, when the team wasn't "his." I think that those triumphs, plus the close finish last year for the League title have disguised the fact that there is no real strategy for getting Liverpool to the summit of English and eventually, world, football (soccer) again. To place all of your faith in two players (Gerrard and Torres) who have never had outstanding fitness records is unreasonable and frankly, negligent. Liverpool were able to survive the games those two missed last season and the two were at their peaks throughout the majority of the campaign. That is the ideal scenario and betting your fortunes on everything turning out ideally is, well, dumb.

That is the most frustrating, aggravating, and disappointing issue that Liverpool have failed to address: whether the club will be a big-spender or a one built from within? Of the clubs Liverpool typically compete with in England, there is a big-spender (Chelsea), a creator (Arsenal), and one that's a combination of both. Over the last two decades, Manchester United has found the balance between creating and spending. This didn't happen over night as Sir Alex Ferguson focused on creating initially. With that focus, they had success, which allowed them the opportunity to spend. The rivalry between the two is fierce, but Liverpool can learn from their southern neighbors. For the fans' sake, I hope the club will eventually focus on building from within because throwing ludicrous amounts of money at players is extremely risky, as only Chelsea have a few trophies to show for that approach, and that course will likely cause irreparable damage to the club (see Leeds, Portsmouth, etc.). Eventually, this is what hurts the fans, the club's only steady source of income and those fans will still be there long after frugal and wasteful managers and owners have gone.

Benitez has proven himself to be a fantastic tactician who can out-think and out-prepare others for games. But as a manager of an entire club? I must admit, I'm much less confident.

Regret: Part 3

2010-03-12T12:37:00.000-08:00

"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt."

-Abraham Lincoln

This time will be different. I'm not going to be a lazy asshole slacker like my first sixteen years of education, I thought. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was following through with this thought and sitting in the same row as some genuinely smart and hard-working people.

The room was stadium seating style with three sections. I was in the middle section, first row, in the farthest seat to the right from the professor's perspective. To my right were four guys who sustain a ranking at or near the top ten percent of our class. Other than the girl I'd met the previous day, the only other person I knew was the lady in the financial aid office. She was not in the class, so I waited for my computer to fully load while the professor shuffled through some notes. The class was full and had the consistent buzz of people speaking to each other in semi-hushed tones, presumably so the professor couldn't hear what was being said.

The professor was a short, upside-down lightbulb shape with a perfectly groomed salt-and-pepper beard. As the semester crawled along, I realized that he wore grey pants and a white button-down shirt every day. The only variance was his tie, which was always striped.

Right at 9am, he stood to the right of his papers, directly in front of me, and introduced himself,

"Close your books, close your laptops, take out a pen and paper, we are having a quiz."

Ummm, okay...we only read one case. What're we gonna be quizzed on? Who wrote the opinion? That's easy. It was...ummm...what's his name, from a long time ago.
I closed my laptop, I hadn't even opened my book, and I grabbed a pen. Fuck, I thought, I don't have any paper. This is an "awesome" way to start law school.

"Dude, would it be okay if I borrowed a piece of paper," I asked the guy to my right.

"Uh, hold on, I have to get one from someone else," he said and turned to his right, "Can I have another piece."

The guy in the middle of our row ripped out a piece and handed it over.

"Thanks man, I didn't think we'd need any paper on our first day."

The professor spoke again, "The question to answer is, What is judicial review?"

The professor graded these quizzes on a 'Check-minus, Check, Check-plus' scale that were given at random intervals throughout the semester. We would have ten minutes to answer short, but not necessarily simple questions. In a rare instance of clarity or good luck on the day, I would get a check-plus. This was memorable for its unicorn-esque value (popular, but rare).

Taking a deep breath, I had finished in plenty of time, but couldn't do anything until time was up. The professor had mentioned earlier that no one could open anything until everyone was done. So I sat and stared at my answer, hoping that I'd covered the basics. I just want a check.

"Pass your papers to the left," the professor announced. The class responded with a giant sigh in unison, as if to say 'Golly gosh, I could've answered the question Really well if only I'd had some more goshdarn time.'

For some reason, papers were only being passed one at a time. The process kept us all busy, but it was about to fuck me up.

"Mr. __________," the professor called as he scanned the room. I hesitate for a second, unrealistically hoping that maybe there was another 'Mr. _____________' in the class. Seeing the professor's head still swiveling, I reluctantly raised my hand.

He looked down at me, "Please tell us about Marbury versus Madison."

Goddammit, I thought that's why I was HERE! Aren't YOU supposed to tell me what happened and what the point of this old ass case is? Now, I'd read that case at least three times over the weekend. Desperate to start law school on the right note, I'd used a dictionary for at least one reading because I couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on. After hours of frustration, I dropped the highlighters, closed the dictionary, and prayed the professor would explain it to us. I figured the professor just started with a dense case as a way of testing our work ethic and possibly scaring away those of us less committed to the paper circus.

Having a fifty-something year old man stare at me as though he had no eyelids sucked because I'd done my work and gone to class, yet here I was, hopelessly lost. Hell, I'd even tried to write a case brief. I didn't know what or how to do it because I figured we would read what was assigned, the professor would tell us what parts to focus on, and then we would all be on our merry way. During our orientation, I asked a fellow student who comes from a family of lawyers, what was supposed to be in the damn thing.

"Basically, a brief is where you put down the facts, the procedural history, the law, and the holding," he'd said.
This wasn't nearly as helpful as I'd hoped. I only knew what half of those words meant, in a normal sense, not 'lawyer speak.' So I wrote down the information I assumed would be useful, saved it, and shut the laptop down for the day.

I might as well not have brought the fucking thing.
As the professor continued to stare and I kept passing papers to my left, why the fuck is everyone passing them one at a time, I was moving my middle finger across the mouse sensor, hoping in vain that would speed up my laptop coming to life. After a few more agonizing seconds, it lurched to life. As the screen lit up, it showed me that I had failed to open the necessary Word document. Are you fucking kidding me?

The professor grew impatient, "Let's start with the facts, what happened in this case?"

Sidetracked by finding the proper document and still passing papers to my left, I stuttered,
"This is the case where, uh, Marbury, uh, he needed to..."
And so it goes.

After the professor was satisfied that he'd proven either I hadn't read or I read, but was retarded, he stopped staring at me. One of the more willing and able gunners' hands had been raised since we finished the quiz. The professor let me stammer my way through a couple of more facts before turning to the gunner.

"And then what happened?" The professor asked.

"Well you see, the..." and the gunner proceeded to both save me from further humiliation and clarify that I was woefully unprepared for law school. Yet at the same time, I'd put more effort into that one case than I had into a whole semester's worth of class in undergrad. What else does this goddamn school want from me? I wondered as I slid lower into my chair, passing the final paper to my left. THAT was a shitty start, but I can only go up from here. I just want to learn and be left alone. Is that too much to ask?

Yes. Yes it is.

Regret: Part 2

2010-03-03T17:55:00.000-08:00

“Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future.”

-Fulton Oursler

When it comes to making decisions I deem important, I will spend a lot of time thinking them through, weighing the pros and cons, and asking for unbiased opinions. Despite the relative complexity of trying to find classrooms during undergrad, some were in the basement of buildings, the location of my first law school class was not something I deemed important. I had no idea where to go or where the best place to park would be.

So that first day, I woke up extra early so that I could walk around the building to familiarize myself with the setup and figure out where my classes would be held. I wasn't looking for Jimmy Hoffa, so I didn't think it would take very long, but I also assumed that getting there fifteen minutes early would mean I could pick the best seat in the house. I was wrong. I was also one of the last people to arrive, despite the clock showing that it was 8:42, eighteen minutes before class was to start. This was only the first piece of evidence that maybe law school wasn't the right decision. Five minutes into that first class, I really started to worry that abandoning the life I'd had in the Rockies was actually foolhardy. But first, finding a place to sit.

As people walked in and out of the main door, I stood to the side scanning where to sit every other day for the next few months. I was also weighing the pros and cons of following my instinct, which was Anywhere In The Back Row, versus changing my attitude towards academia by trying in school. That meant sitting in the front row, the front row housing the relative powerhouses of the class; if not intellectually, than certainly vocally. Choices, choices...

Church was where I started putting actual thought into where I would sit. I've nothing against God, He's alright in my book. His followers are a much different and more aggressive animal. From what I've read and been told, God is mainly focused on loving us and having us love each other, but very few peers seem to follow that methodology. Judging and instructing is more fun. To me, any environment where fanaticism is more valuable than logic is one I'll do my best to avoid. You'd figure that with my attitude, I'd be a natural fit for law school. You'd be wrong.

But I started talking about church and yet law rears its ugly head back into my thoughts. Once I'd reached the age where I could sit where I want (but not yet old enough to avoid going to church), I'd sit near the exits, far away from the stage. Location wasn't as simple as, 'close to the hot girl.' Once shit got heated and arms went up and tears went down, I could sneak out for a good forty-five minutes before the excitement ebbed into that comfortably numb euphoria most non-Westboro Baptist churchgoers love so much.

My friends and I would never sneak out for anything scandalous. Usually we'd play some kind of hybrid sport with whatever materials we could put together (i.e. "Calvinball") or, I don't know, Pogs. Drugs and booze were surprisingly difficult to come by for preteens on a Sunday morning, so we passed the time how we could. And always with an exit plan.

Generally speaking, that same attitude followed me through undergrad. Unless there was a cute girl saving me a seat, those times can be counted on one finger, I would sit near the door in the last row. Easy exit strategy, if the class room caught fire, I'd be one of the first ones out, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone looking or breathing over my shoulder, and I'd never have to turn around to see who was speaking. The only downside was that I might be one of the first eaten during the zombie apocalypse. Zombies go the path of least resistance and usually that meant the front door. Pwned. Everyone else would die as well, so going first may not be a bad thing.

And now the zombie apocalypse, which is likely to come in 2012, has led me down an unnecessary rabbit hole again. The point? Ah yes, the point. I stood near the entrance of my Constitutional law classroom. Like I said, I was out of the way, so slackers like me who dared come in only eighteen minutes before class started could find a place to sit. As I flip-flopped between 'front and back,' someone said,

"Excuse me" as he passed, even though I wasn't in the way.

Well, I wasn't in the way of normal sized people, but the bearded, pear-shaped man had a waistline that could be measured in yards. There were a couple of older people in the class, but unlike everyone else in the room, he only had the textbook with him. Shit, the professor's already here, I better grab a seat.

To Be Continued...

Regret: Part 1

2010-02-17T18:34:00.000-08:00

Temptation usually leads to regret. Mix intrigue and ignorance equally and you've a strange cocktail. You may or may not enjoy the experience, but once it's over you'll be glad to move on.

So it goes with law school. It dangles there, taunting you, making you wonder how green the grass is on that side. The possibilities and scenarios you imagine in your head are endless: I could be a judge, all lawyers are loaded, wearing suits will get me chicks, being a lawyer is like being a doctor only with less of a mess, I could change the world.

Some visions are more far-fetched than others, but none of those address the reality of law school. For one, it's school. Learning is awesome. Being forced to learn arcane shit that is terribly impractical sucks more than your whore of a mom. Further frustration comes in the form of the dreaded Grading Curve. You can't just slack your way through a final because your score will be based on everyone else's and the professors have to have a class average. This means that you could end up with a C, even though you did B-level work because too many people in the class had B+ level work.

This is all in hindsight though, before I realized law is largely a pockmarked minefield of inflated egos, passive-aggressive nitpicking, and impractical demands. My guess is that the justification behind the way law school works is that the professors and administration want to make sure you really, really want "It." In reality, their law school experience was like this and the default position of the lazy is to go with what they know. Create a curriculum, cover what you need to, and do the same thing over and over until something groundbreaking happens in your subject (which is never).

With all of these elements working in unison against me, I started wondering about the starting salary for a McDonald's manager and how much I could get for my good kidney approximately forty-five seconds into my law school career. I didn't count the first couple of days of orientation. They were filled with the usual puff-pieces one would see in an obituary or during the Olympics.

"Lawyers are held to a higher standard. You are special. Everyone will love you."

Even with less than a clue as to what the practice of law entailed, I found the speeches not only pointless, but insulting to my cranium-stressing intelligence. Please bitch, no one looks up to lawyers, they just tolerate them, like your rich relative that smells like a donkey washed in goose turds. For most of society, this is a necessary evil we're becoming a part of.

After the cheer-leading was subsided and someone told us to be completely honest with the Board of Bar Examiners since they will find out all of your dirty little secrets, they let us out. The bagels and coffee had been replaced with small, toothpicked sandwiches and liters of soda. I picked a random table that had plenty of open seats to avoid the "umm...someone's sitting there" awkwardness. A decent looking, albeit tiny, Cuban girl sat in one of the chairs next to me. She'd gone to the same school for undergrad and seemed nice enough.

"You have any idea what kind of law you want to get into?" I asked while fiddling with my Styrofoam cup.

"Not really, but, you know the job market, and it's close to home," she said while seeming to debate whether to finish her soggy sandwich. She pushed her plate away and looked up, as if expecting someone familiar to walk through the door...maybe that would make this less awkward.

I assumed she was worried about giving me the wrong impression, i.e. 'I'm sitting next to you because I think you're cute.' I didn't think that was the reason she sat by me, but her body language suggested she disagreed. Over the last couple of years, I've realized that Why she may have responded that way. Down here, with a heavily Latin culture, nearly any action by a girl may be interpreted as "interest." Accidentally bumping into a guy, smiling, saying 'hi,' and even making eye contact all seem to light up a huge "GO" sign above girls' heads down here.

I wanted to put her at ease.
"This isn't really close to home for me. My wife and I moved down here from Colorado, so this is about as opposite as you could get," I leaned back in my chair and stretched.

Her body language adjusted to my 'I'm not going to ask you out and you won't have to turn me down' statement. She leaned forward and smiled.
"Wow, Colorado, that's far."

"Yeah and it's awesome, but neither of us are snow people, so we figured a warmer climate would be better."

"That makes sense. Me and my boyfriend want to travel, but we'll probably go to, like, New York or something instead."

The rest of the conversation proceeded in an equally boring and shallow fashion. After a few more minutes, a meek voice announced that it was time for one last...rally before the real work began the next day.
That meek voice was also the end of my enjoyment of law school. Everything went down hill from there.

To Be Continued...

To Thine Own Self Be True: Part Two

2010-02-17T15:10:00.000-08:00

There are people in this world who've withstood unimaginable tragedies, endured ridiculous treatment fueled by hate, and tests of will and character that would make the bravest among us wither. Yet they have survived and shockingly enough, thrived under circumstances that would probably push me to insanity or suicide.

Now I'm a spectacular person with an award-winning smile and all of my teeth, so I can count on one hand the number of times I've experienced discrimination. It's been more than once and though I've felt anger, vengeance, and fear during those times, I eventually resolve those feeling by thinking, Fuck them, they're the ones with the problem.I also see discrimination. Anyone who has worked with (sometimes) alleged criminals knows that discrimination based on race and/or income-levels is rampant. I know that I can drive the exact same car in the exact same areas at the exact same times for a year and a black friend will be pulled over at least three more times than me. That's the way world works and there's little that can be done. Unfortunately, pessimism makes you look psychic.

And there's the rub when it comes to academia and these worthless discussions, no one learns anything new, no one is fired up to go out and act, no gets a new perspective, and no changes who they are because no one has heard anything authentic. It's all hearsay, like someone who read a book on how to build a car telling eighth-graders what to do, it's second-hand knowledge we lazily impart on those too lazy (or fortunate, depending on your perspective) to find out for themselves. You go in, you sit, and afterward everyone leaves exactly as they came in, comfortable. There were no insights...well, there was one, which further dwindled this pessimist's hope that maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong to see the glass half-empty.

One of the panelists, sitting next to the business owner, said something that was an unfortunate microcosm of everything wrong with academia, enlightenment, politics, and religion. He's a squirrely man with squinty eyes who either has a shitty memory for familiar faces or is just an asshole. As he twisted the microphone to his mouth, he said, "Even though none of us here have really experienced discrimination, it's important to remember that there is still a small faction, the religious right, out there that's trying to make themselves out to be victims. They try and say their opinions count and I'm just like, no." I already have a predisposition to not like him because he seems like kind of a dick, but that's a stupid thing to say.

I know the types of people he was referring to, hell, I grew up around quite a few of them. The Wife's mom and stepdad could be the poster children for that exact close-minded and bitter faction. I disagree with them more than anyone I can think of. I shrug my shoulders when they try to debate politics with me. I am vanilla around them because we will never have a balanced discussion. There can be no balance when one side's argument is equivalent to "the sky is green." No, no it's not. I understand this flippant remark, but you know what? Fuck your desire to shut up those that disagree with you. Kettle meet pot, I believe you're both black.

With nothing normal to write on, I grabbed the pen from my jacket pocket (court has taught me to always have a pen, there's never one when you need it) and wrote my question on my Styrofoam coffee cup, which was basically Why the fuck can't they voice their own opinions? But with slightly more thought and/or editing. The rest of the discussion couldn't end soon enough, I wanted to ask my question.

I lean more left than right, I agree that certain opinions are ill-prepared and usually resort back to the vagaries of ancient religious texts, but in this country we have to take the good with the bad. The bad being that the ridiculous have the right to voice their side and removing one person's rights is just as bad as removing everyone's. I will defend the homophobe's right to express himself just like I will defend a gay guy's right to be left alone with his opinions because that is equality and that is tolerance.

Ready to call out the hypocrisy and perfectly positioned on my soapbox, I sat up in my chair and cleared my throat as the moderator said, "Just one more question." I reread what I'd written on the cup and prepared to ask my question succinctly and logically.

The moderator followed up the final panel member's answer with, "We're out of time, but thank you all for coming."

To Thine Own Self Be True: Part One

2010-02-15T17:12:00.000-08:00

"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

-Evelyn Beatrice Hall

In the spirit of trying new things and keeping an open mind about this occasionally wonderful world we live in, I went to an LGBT discussion today. In reality, going to the discussion was a clever use of whore logic to avoid the insufferable yet necessary monotony of administrative work. There are many reasons to like trial work, the feeding of a needy ego, the necessity of always being mentally sharp, and the battles between good (defense) and evil (prosecution). The words "Not Guilty" mean much more when you're standing next to someone whose life may be forever changed by the inclusion or omission of one simple word.

Despite my systematic whining, no one seems eager to volunteer to chop through the forest of paperwork that goes into nearly every criminal case. That shit sucks balls and requires you to sit in an office while foraging through copies of copies and motions that no one will ever read. After three years of sitting in an office or cubicle I vowed that spending forty hours a week working would not mean forty spent watching my ass grow wider and my skin paler. Fuck that noise, I'd rather work construction again than sit in an office staring at a computer screen fifty weeks a year, every year, for the next four decades. Shoot me in the face right now and I can go out in violently memorable, yet gloriously tragic fashion.

But where was I? Oh yes, the "discussion." Academic discussions are meeting where literally nothing is accomplished. They're kind of like church, where someone says some stuff and everyone listening agrees with what's being said, only there's no feel good factor at the end. You come you listen and you don't think about it till the next time. That may just be me though. I left thinking, what the fuck was the point of that?

Before I get ahead of myself, LGBT stands for "Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender." Since I like girls because they're irrefutably much prettier and smell nicer, I don't fit into any of those categories. At the discussion, the moderator began with introductions, there was one lesbian, no bisexuals or transgenders, and six or seven gay guys. They all sat at two tables facing the crowd and each table had to share a microphone. The crowd was mainly students who I'm guessing are gay, but I've never talked to any of them before, so who knows? Maybe they were bored/mildly interested like me. I sat near the exit in case there was a fire or felt brave enough to leave while someone was talking. The discussion was entitled "Discrimination in the Workplace" and there was to be a Q&A session at the end. I figured I've never had to deal with discrimination at work because I kick ass and am super charming, this'll be interesting to hear from those who have and how they dealt with it, I have a lot of respect for people who stand up for themselves in order to do what they think is right. I was way off.

Every single person said that not only had their sexuality not been an issue, but in some instances it helped them get a job. At different points in the discussion, every person mentioned that they were just being true to who they are. That's cool. I'm true to myself and prefer to hang out with people comfortable in their own skin rather than poser douchebags, but why are we here to discuss discrimination when no one's experienced it? The closest was a Latino sitting on the opposite end of the room (i.e., not in a prime location to escape a fire or boredom) who said that a news article outed him...but it didn't really effect his business, some older clients didn't come to his store as often, and he was only kind of angry for a little while. Way to put on a brave face, dude.

To be continued...

Hubris

2010-02-03T15:07:00.001-08:00

"Big commercial law is not a calling like the priesthood or rabbinical studies, or a lifelong goal, like being the next Dan Marino. It's always a lamentable also-ran among the possible careers you could have chosen. Big commercial law is the trash dump for the smart but risk aversive. It's a trash dump for the exceptionally organized and disciplined, but irrevocably uncreative (before you reply, remember, David E. Kelly and John Grisham left law).”

-Philalawyer

“What’s the LSAT?” I asked a friend of mine. We met in undergrad, but she had transferred to a cheaper school that actually offered classes she was interested in.

“It’s for law school,” she said. If I’d been speaking to her in person, I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen her eyes roll.

Law school…maybe I should look into law. Being an accountant sucks balls and it could be a nice change of pace, I thought. So without any real reason other than boredom, I googled “LSAT,” read the Wikipedia article on it, and then found a site that had free practice questions. I was getting pretty decent scores. Yale and Cornell weren’t going to have a knife-fight in a dingy alley to sign me up, but I also wouldn’t have to apply to one of those Puerto Rican or For Profit (http://stayviolation.typepad.com/chucknewton/2007/12/are-for-profit.html) law schools.

The next step was figuring out when and where to take the LSAT. I spoke with my friend who was already signed up.

“There’s one in November, but I don’t know if you’re too late,” it was already late September, my only preparation had been like ten questions online, and I had no idea how to study for the test because the questions seemed pretty straightforward and they didn’t require any kind of memorization. It was completely foreign compared to undergrad.

“Meh, I’ll sign up for November and hope for the best.” And I did.

Four to six weeks later, I received some old LSAT tests in the mail. My only preparation was taking timed tests and hoping that I could score above the average, which is a 150. Between work, playing video games, and having a relationship with the (now) Wife, I took a couple of practice runs. Then early on a random Saturday, I grabbed two pencils, my admission ticket, and went to stand in line with all the other future lawyers of…most likely, boring shit.

I shuffled into line, waiting to give my ticket to a miserly lady who seemed much older than she looked that was sitting at a table. I figured her for either a temp or someone so broken down by the repetitive, unchallenging duties of being an administrator that she’d grown completely numb to all events taking place around her, unless that event fucks up her administrative duties in even the tiniest of ways. Oh shit, I thought, did I sign my ticket already? Was I supposed to? What did the instructions say? Dammit, I left them at home even though they said I should bring them. Okay, I didn’t sign, hopefully that’s good. Wait, what if it’s bad? I don’t have a pen with me. Oh god, oh god, I folded it as well! I don’t want to get yelled at by a forty-eight year old woman at nine in the morning, especially if her breath stinks, that would suck. Should I ask anyone else if they brought the instructions? Crap, everyone has two pieces of paper. Maybe I’m not cut out for this stuff. If I can’t follow simple instructions for the test to get into law school, I’ll be fucked going into the real thing, I assume.

Before I could fully talk myself out of taking the test, I was at the front. The woman held out her hand without looking up, even though she wasn’t writing anything down. She looked at passport photo attached to the ticket, looked at my driver’s license, back at the photo, and then one more time to the license. She then made a mark on her list, pointed to my ticket and said, “Sign here.” Not once did she look at me. Administrators are bullshit, I thought as I walked through the auditorium’s doors and followed the hand-signals of the guy in charge of a making sure no one sat next to anyone else. He was nice enough, saying “please sit here” and nodding, instead of pointing and grunting like the woman outside. I would’ve figured that someone as easily replaceable as the woman outside wouldn’t suck so much, but life has shown that assholes are everywhere.

Sitting down where I was politely assigned, I noticed again that I was woefully unprepared, in comparison to the majority of potential lawyers seated at least one chair apart. People had handfuls of pencils, those rectangular separate erasers (even though all but one tiny part is multiple choice), snacks, bottled water (the only beverage allowed), and giant timers that save the owner a precious second of time by not forcing them to squint or move his head. Eh, I had my coffee and my pencils are sharp, let’s get this bitch started. And it went smoothly. No real shocks, I struggled on the parts I assumed I would struggle on and flew through the parts that came more naturally.

Still, little did I know that my lack of preparation would continue to throttle the academic portion of my legal “career.”

Rock. Meet Hill.

2010-01-31T14:52:00.000-08:00

I have one basic goal:

To live an interesting life.

Some decisions I've thought out for months, others were made on a whim, but my main concern is avoiding boredom. This has led to traveling, to working with children, to accounting, to law school, to the world of crime, to defending the indefensible, to increased use of stimulants and depressants, to love, hate, support, disdain, hard work, laziness, and above all, a desire to experience all this world has to offer.

This determination to be entertained puts me in humorous and embarrassing situations. I will share both with you. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.