The state of professional sports aka how the NBA is poised to be the most popular league in the US.

The NFL is king and has been king for probably a solid decade if not two.  Like every king before and every king to come, their reign will come to an end.  The key factors in bringing down the NFL’s dominance are: concussions, domestic abuse, drug abuse and hypocrisy.

I’ll start with concussions because they are they are the longest lasting and will have the longest effect on the league.  From the current and former players the effects are devastating.  The long term health effects from dementia to crippling nervous system aliments are only starting to pile up.  Think back to your childhood and the size and speed of the game and the players.  Lawrence Taylor looked big but not big enough to look like his uniform was going to burst at the seams.  You look at the line men and line backers today and they all look massive.  The game has also gotten faster and with offenses taking a page out of Chip Kelly and the Packers’ playbooks and trying to run more plays and running them faster.  Coupling these two things you get a perfect storm of more opportunities of contact and that contact is being perpetrated by larger and faster men.  Newton’s Second Law of Physics tells us that mass times acceleration equals force.  This increased force will only pile on even more injuries and likely head injuries. 

The domestic abuses cases  and violence towards children have been all over the news this week and very justifiably so.  Football is a violent sport.  Like anything that you do over and over and over again, your body and mind get used to it.  It becomes second nature to and almost instinctual to behave that way.  I’m not a reporter and I don’t have any sources but from what I’ve seen and read, it seems to make sense that players are using performance-enhancing drugs.  It seems obvious when you look at the recovery times from the injuries and how in other sports it’s months and in the NFL it’s weeks.  My point here is that these drugs have to have some effect on your emotions and your reactions.  Connecting the dots, hitting people over and over again professionally, taking HGH which effects your neurological state, will lead to hitting people off the field. 

I’m going to lump the drug abuse with the hypocrisy together because I will never understand how you can get a suspension for the entire season for marijuana when it’s legal in various forms throughout the country, while punching your fiancé will get you two games.  HGH which caused baseball’s black eye a decade ago, has just been added to NFL’s drug policy.  Just now.  Let me repeat, JUST NOW!  How does this happen?  Actually it’s easy how it happens.  The league is more concerned about making money than it’s players.  Bigger, stronger, faster players make the games more interesting and sell more jerseys, sell more advertising and keeps the owners happy.  Concussions have to be been under reported because of the pride of putting yourself second to the good of the team. Players have repeatedly played through concussions and had been encouraged to do so.  I’m all about giving maximum effort, the importance of team and something bigger than yourself, that’s what sports are all about, but at the same time you have to protect yourself for the rest of your life.  The average career length of an NFL player is 3 years.  I think about how debilitating it must be to only get three years professionally.  You’ve worked your entire life to get only 3 years of earning power and then to have health problems for the rest of your life. 

You can see that the NFL has problems.  The biggest one is the future.  I wouldn’t let my imaginary kids play football at this point.  Maybe pee wee leagues but that’s mainly because the contact is minimal and more adorable than violent.  If parents agree with me and don’t let their kids play it’s going to be a thinner talent pool to draw from.  Thinner pools mean lower quality in the product. Thinking further ahead if kids aren’t playing the sport and the sport a lower quality, it means that the popularity should diminish.  As much as people like to saying they are doing nothing, there’s no such thing.  Time is a zero sum game.  If you aren’t watching football you’ll be doing something else, if you are a sports fan than more likely than not you’ll watch another sport, which leads me to the NBA.

 The biggest story of the NBA off season was LeBron James returning to the Cavaliers.  Arguably the league’s biggest villain redeems himself in a magnanimous fashion, flipping the story and reclaiming public opinion (on a side note that adds to LeBron’s popularity and good will is going back to the 23 and not making people buy new jerseys). He’s back to being the most liked athlete and playing his best basketball, which is important because there’s something to being the best that resonates with America.  As much as we root for an underdog, we like being the favorite.   We like rooting for the big names, the marketable faces.  Think about those names.  The guys you instantly recognize by only their first or their last name.  LeBron, KD, Kobe, Melo, Blake, Curry, Kyrie, Rose, Dwight, the list goes on.  I can’t think of that many players in any other sport.  Speaking of faces, not having to wear helmets make the NBA and MLB players more recognizable. 

Thinking about long term health, you see players in the NBA playing into their late 30’s.  Outside of baseball I think basketball has the longest  average career length.  On top of long careers, the quality of life after playing is more normal. 

Technology has permeated into every aspect of our lives and we are able to share whatever is interesting or important to us instantaneously with that highlights are key to the future.  Getting vineable, youtubeable highlights will lock in fans.  It’s all about immediate gratification and getting likes for sharing.  With so much scoring in the NBA versus the other sports the likelihood of highlights increase.  We are offensively focused when it comes to highlights. 

The NFL has come under fire this week for how badly they handled the controversies of the past few months.  On the flip side the NBA was lauded for the lifetime ban of Donald Sterling after horribly racist comments came to light.  Similarly some questionable comments that have come out of the Atlanta Hawks front office this week and the culture of league is to report any missteps and deal with them.  The NFL policy seems to be cover things up and hope no one finds out. 

I have barely touched on baseball as the contender to the NFL’s crown and the reason for that is we have evolved or devolved to a state of shorter attention spans.  Baseball is too long, too stodgy, too boring to regain it’s position as America’s pastime. 

You can see that the NFL has short term and long term problems.  The NBA with it’s stars, fast pace, highlights and friendliness towards technology is in prime position to succeed the NFL as the most popular league in the US. 

Pappou

There are a lot of reasons why I admired my grandfather but most of them are summed up in this one anecdote.  The way I heard the story was that my mom and grandparents had made their way to the United States via Greece then Germany and ended up in New York City.  My grandfather had scraped together enough money to open a fruit cart by working odd jobs.  He set up shop in Central Park skirting the permitting laws that apply to street vendors.  Mind you this was the late 60’s early 70’s and Central Park was far sketchier than it is today.  Thinking about it now this might have been before the police department had an internal affairs department but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

The days were long and there wasn’t such a thing as an off day when you’re bringing in most of the money for a family of four.  The best way to describe his command of the English language is basic.  He, like me with Greek, was far more adept at understanding people than he was at speaking; which is helpful but still incredibly difficult when you think of his daily interactions with his English only speaking customers.  Doing what you have to do to survive and take care of those who you love is a big thing, no matter the insecurities that you feel and insults that you are subjected to because of a language barrier.  I am purely speculating how the customers treated him but what I’m not speculating on is the cops. 

Since he was operating without a permit the cops would come around and harass him.  Before anyone jumps down my throat, I understand that it’s a police officer’s responsibility to enforce the laws and make sure everyone follows them.  I get that and I agree that this lets society operate in the best manner for everyone.  What isn’t part of the cops’ job description is soliciting and taking bribes along with threatening deportation.  They would come around and ask for weekly bribes so they could overlook his lack of a proper street vendor permit.  He did what any reasonable person would do when you have mouths to feed, you pay the bribe and keep your head down.  Now we’re getting to crux of what really stands out to me.  So they wouldn’t look incompetent or biased, I guess, the cops on top of asking for bribes would also issue violations with regularity.  Keep in mind the margins on fruit is very slim.

My grandfather would collect all the tickets that he received and put them in the suitcase that he used to emigrate here.  He’d bind the bundles of unpaid tickets with rubber bands because there would be so many of them that they’d become unmanageable. He stored them under his bed as a nightly reminder and a challenge. 

The routine went on, weekly bribes and violations.  It got to the point that the suitcase was full.  I often think about him collecting all those tickets and how much they must have weighed on him.  The unfairness of it all.  Working brutal hours, struggling to communicate with uppity Manhattanites, paying off corrupt cops, eeking by to have a mountain of debt hanging over your head while trying to do what’s right for your family.  Comparison to today’s record keeping, it would have been easier to throw the violations away and completely ignore them until one fateful day that you might have to deal with the authorities.  Since everything was done by hand there would have been a chance that records might have gotten lost or overlooked, and that day might have never come.   But he wasn’t willing to take that chance especially when it might mean having to forcefully leave the States. 

He vowed to pay off every single one of the tickets no matter how long it took.  Slowly the cart did better and better and it turned into a store.  After years of running the store, the suitcase was once again as empty as it was when it was first slipped under the bed.  

Pixar

Last year I flew in to play SF Sketchfest and I was going to stay with some friends in Berkeley.  The night before I flew out I looked at the Bart map to figure out how I was going to get from the airport out to Berkeley when I saw that Emeryville was smack dab in the middle of the two.  I called Pixar and they told me that they don't offer open tours.  I sighed and reluctantly accepted my fate.

After I told them about my disappointment my friends took me to a diner (owned by Mike Dirnt of Green Day) which was right across the street from the Pixar HQ.  Seeing the gate was pretty cool and you could see the ball and the lamp but the coolest thing was the giant seagulls perched around the building.  Seeing those seagulls made me change my plans and wake up early the next day because if nothing else I'd get a sweet shot of them.

I had heard about the store that was only open to employees and had shirts that weren't available for sale anywhere else.  On the Bart I formulated a plan to go to the security gate and ask the guard if he knew of any employees who might be cool enough to do me the favor of buying any shirt from the store for me.  I sprung my plan into action and the security guard very nicely told me that since it was a little after 10 am, most of the cool people had already come in and anyone coming in now would most likely be an executive who may or may not have security on autodial.  I stood by the gate peeking into the next few cars that came up and I felt like an infamous NYC street window washer waiting to pounce on someone who didn't want to be bothered.  So I quickly gave up and convinced myself that the trip was still worth it since I'd get better pictures of all the cool stuff in the daylight.

I was a little disappointed as I walked around the campus since I was expecting more cool, easter eggs around the building but the seagulls seemed to be it.  I got a little past half way around the campus when I passed two guys smoking.  After about 10 steps past them something clicked.  People don't stand and smoke outside of buildings unless they work there.  I stopped on a dime and pulled a 180.  I started the conversation by saying, "Hey guys can I ask you a weird question?" They said, "sure."  "If I give you money will go into the company store and buy me a shirt?"  They started asking me where I was from and why I was in the Bay area.  It turned out that one of the guys had taught right by where I live and lived not too far from where I grew up and went to high school.  They very politely said that they'd do it but they'd like to finish their cigarettes.  I said absolutely, please take your time and handed them a $20 and a business card, hoping that the card would humanize me a bit more, and continued to walk the rest of the campus.

After an excruciating 10 minutes of walking and waiting I doubled back to the smoking spot feeling a little disappointed by the lack of more easter eggs.  My heart sank as I saw the two guys who looked like they hadn't budged an inch since I left.  Not wanting to feel like I was hurrying them along since they were doing me a massive favor I slowed down my pace until I made out something in one of the guy's hands.  I picked up the pace and was greeted with the sentence, "Oh hey man, bad news, the company store doesn't open until 11."  It was about 10:30.  "But you can have my shirt that they gave everyone who worked on the sets for Brave, there are only 12 or 13 in the world."  There are a handful of times at best that I've been speechless in my life.  "Oh and here's your money too."  I ineffectively tried to convince them to keep the $20 and to use it for lunch but they insisted.   "it took Bravery (the capital B is an editor's choice) for you to go up to strangers and ask for something." That day even further cemented my unbridled love of Pixar.

Here are some pictures, http://i.imgur.com/36UsA63

47

Hey,

I know we are basically strangers right now but in the brief interactions we’ve had over the last few years mixed with our history, I feel like I have to tell you something that’s been bothering me.  I think you are fucking up.  If not, then at the minimum you are shooting yourself in the foot.  Take all of this with a grain of salt if you’d like.  I’m telling you this because I used to do the exact same thing.  You have a superior complex but mixed with a tremendous amount of self-doubt and because of that doubt you are pushing the people around you away, even your close friends.  Like I said we are basically strangers but that outside perspective lets people see things that you can’t when you are in it. 

Here’s where it’s going to sound pretentious mixed with at least a dash of pompous, it’s a matter of growing up and figuring things out, for instance none of this matters, but more importantly how to put other people before you.  When you talk to people, you are listening but only as a means as a jumping off point to talk about yourself.  Take the time to really listen, engage and ask the other person questions that makes them think their position through thoroughly.  It’s not a duplicitous but it’s a way to get people to like you instead of wanting to get out of the conversation by opening the car door and rolling on the gravel road just to not have to hear another word. 

It takes time and practice but you are smart enough to be able to do it without breaking a sweat.  I understand that it’s all a defense mechanism and a way to feel comfortable in uncomfortable situations but most people don’t give it a lot of thought and knee jerk to thinking you are being arrogant and pompous. 

I think you are also wrapped up in the expectations that you had for yourself and when those things didn’t happen your disappointment manifested itself into a mild depression which kicks us back to the overcompensating when dealing with people, which begins the cycle all over again. 

Maybe you’re better than this, maybe you’re not.  I don’t know.  Like I said we are basically strangers but I do know that the only way to find out is by trying. 

I wish you well and I do think you’ll come out of this rut and be happier for it.  I’d say you deserve it but that’s not true.  The mindset of “deserving” is what is getting you into trouble.  Once you accept that everyone is a person and no one is better but rather different, you can hopefully see everyone on equal footing and from there respecting their voice and what they say.

Let’s go with “Best Regards,”

Jon 

Hotel Astoria- The Bathroom

Shortly after college I moved into a three bedroom apartment with one of my closest friends.  We had been in bands together for years and having done some touring and having friends who toured in their bands, it was really important to me to have the space for friends to crash with us.  Early on with decked out the spare bedroom with a futon and made it into a bedroom/recording studio covered in music and movie posters. 

Besides our mutual love of music we had bonded in our formative years over Star Wars.  Over the years we each individually amassed a bunch of Star Wars merchandise from figures to posters to magazines to plates.  It still pains me that I didn’t come up with the idea first but the conversation went something like this”

“Yo, we should theme one of the rooms.  A Star Wars theme.” He said.

“Umm.” I said.

“Let’s make the bathroom the Star Wars Bathroom. Think about it, after this apartment we’ll either be living on our own or with girlfriends and at that point your not going to have a Star Wars themed room.  This is probably our only chance to do it, and wouldn’t life feel less complete without a Star Wars themed room?” he said.

I couldn’t argue with the logic.  It was flawless and rock solid.  Another thing about the bathroom was that all the tile, the tub and the toilet where this worn out 1960’s pink, so covering it up as much as possible would be a happy byproduct of this stupid endeavor.  We began dressing up the bathroom by putting some figures around the sink and some movie posters.  I scoured ebay for some towels and a shower curtain, both Episode 1 related but what could you do, beggars and choosers.  After a few hours of two people working in a cramped 30 square foot space we considered the job completed for now.  There were still stacks of magazines and other things we could do but our energy level was spent.

Over the next year we had quite a few people stay with us, most for a day or two and others for months.  Towards the beginning of 2005 or the end of 2004 a friend of ours who had become quite popular because of a Star Wars themed song had moved back to New York and needed a place to stay for a bit.  We happily obliged.  Because of his rising fame, open love of Star Wars and the impending release of Star Wars Episode III in May, oh and his even more famous friends, he was to be their guest at a special advance screening of Episode III at Skywalker Ranch.  I don’t think I’ve ever been as jealous of anything quite as much as I was of that.  Both my roommate and I secretly & desperately hoped that by some divine intervention they would call him and say that he could bring a friend or two.  Heartbreakingly, that didn’t happen. 

Our temporary roommate left early Friday morning and gave us a call around 11pm our time after he had a private tour of the grounds and had been checked into his bungalow.  He regaled us with the greatness/ unbelievableness of it all and we took our jealous energy and put it to work.  We worked for the next four hours throwing the Star Wars Bathroom into hyperdrive.  We plastered the walls with pictures and posters.  We taped figures to walls in elaborate space battles using the vertical walls as their horizontal floors so they would fill the space.  The Pièce de résistance came when I noticed that the bathroom had two light switches.  The one operated the lights and the second operated the fan and the electrical outlet above the medicine chest.   The box we had on the floor of the stuff to be added to the bathroom I noticed a tape copy of the Empire Strikes Back soundtrack.  In the recording studio I had a pair of junky computer speakers and I knew I had seen an old Walkman somewhere in the apartment.  After tracking down the Walkman and making sure it worked, I got to wiring and taping.  By plugging in the speakers into the outlet and hiding them in the medicine chest along with the Walkman, which was set to constantly loop, the moment you flipped both light switches you would be bombarded by light and the sound of the soundtrack.  Hiding the speakers and the Walkman really took the bathroom to the next level.  I’d bet the Skywalker Ranch didn’t have such high-tech bathrooms.

The unexpected upside of having the soundtrack playing in the bathroom was that it made mundane tasks feel monumental.  Showering to the Imperial March woke you up more so than any cup of coffee ever could.  The uncertainty of what song would be on next when you entered could determine your day, would it be something uplifting or since Empire is the darkest of the original three, would it bring you down. 

Our temporary roommate came back having stolen tampons from Skywalker Ranch to add a feminine needs section to the bathroom.  Shortly after he returned he was interviewed by Time Out New York who came to our place and naturally because of his association with his Star Wars song, they did their photo shoot in the bathroom.  We mounted the picture over where he was sitting (the toilet obviously) to create a super meta visual of you looking at the space you were currently peeing, at least for the gentlemen who frequented the bathroom. 

I moved out of that apartment in the summer of 2009 and the new roommates insisted that the run of the bathroom come to an end, mainly because it was filthy.  It most certainly was filthy.  Taking down or moving board games, action figures, playsets and whatever else to clean was a daunting and time consuming task that no one volunteered for.  So the memorabilia came down revealing the faded pink tiles once again. 

Cars and Driving

I guess by New York City standards I got my driver’s license on the early side at 19 but by the rest of the country’s standards I’d bet that’s on the late side. At the time I was living on Long Island and dealing with public transportation was eating up too much of my time.  I was lucky enough to get a deal on a 1990 Toyota Corolla from my mom’s friend.  The problem was that I got the car before I had my license and the car sat in the driveway for a while. 

The first time I took the car out by myself ended up being a harrowing experience.  A friend’s parents were going on vacation so in an effort to make my life easier and cut out traveling from Long Island to Manhattan and back every night, I decided to crash at his place for the week.  I packed my bags and loaded up the car.

Growing up in the city we didn’t really have access to cars and most of our going out was limited to walking or taking the subway.  Adding a car to the mix meant the world had become our oyster. 

I started down Glen Cove Road, a normal two lane road with stop lights.  Every second knowing that I was getting closer to my first real fear, the Long Island Expressway.  The LIE features tractor trailers flying by three lanes at 60 and 70 miles an hour at all points in time.  Poorly operating a sedan that feels like a tinker toy, leads to panic attacks in better men.  After fifteen minutes I found myself in the belly of the beast.  I hugged the right lane like a stuffed animal.  That day I was the most consciousness driver in the history of mankind, you need to merge, merge away, you need to pass, I’m slowing down to a crawl.   I make it to Astoria and to the safety of familiarity and luxury items like stop signs and traffic lights. 

I dropped off my stuff and we discussed what we should do with our new found freedom.   In past summers we would house sit for this friend’s sister and brother in law, in Forest Hills.  We fell in love with a few spots in the neighborhood but none more than UJay’s dinner right off of Austin Street.  Fast fact, the Triple Bypass cover for “Memories We Never Had” was shot at UJay’s.  So it became painstakingly apparent where our first local roadtrip would take us.  We piled into the car and headed towards the boulevard of death, Queens Boulevard.  Actually at that point I don’t think Queens Boulevard, the yet to be shot Vinnie Chase movie, had been deemed the boulevard of death.  That probably came a few summers later when two or three pedestrians were killed within a month of each other.

The drive up Queens Boulevard was scary but manageable.  Stop lights can be your friend when you have 12 lanes of traffic and concrete dividers.  What I learned more than anything that day is that the hardest part of driving isn’t controlling the car, it’s paying attention to all the signs.  We made it to Austin Street without incident but we couldn’t find a parking spot.  We circled Queens Boulevard and Austin Street, each time extending the circle and making our way down side streets.  Most of the residential areas in Queens don’t have parking restrictions outside of street cleaning which usually happens in the mornings.  We ended up on a very nice, quiet street about three blocks from Austin.  We bounced out of the car with a spring in our step.  Everything was working out for us.  We headed to UJay’s and a couple of bacon cheeseburgers deluxes later we walked Austin Street stopping at the Disney Store and Gamestop to waste some time and do some shopping.  All in all it was a pretty perfect evening.  Friends, food, and freedom. 

We walked back to the car and with just my luck, I see a car double parked next to the Corolla.  What are the chances that of all the cars on the street, this guy decides to box me in.  Just great.  As I walk up to the driver’s side door I see a note glued to the window.  It says: “You have illegally parked on a private street.  There is a Boot on your car.  Call this number to get it removed.”  The panic I felt on the LIE seemed trivial to this, to this world shattering fear.  I pulled out my gray Motorola flip phone, which was the pinnacle of technology in 1999, and dialed the number.  The door on the double parked car next to mine opens up and a large man slides out. 

“Oh good, I was hoping it would be you guys. You are my last boot of the night.” He said.

“Umm okay, cool man.  How do we get this thing off?” I asked sounding like a frightened 4 year old when in actuality I was a terrified 19 year old. 

“Oh, easy, I have the key.” He said. “But you have to pay me $250.”

“What? How much?” I ask as I see my checking account now settling comfortably in the red. 

“Is there anything you can do?”  I asked hoping that through my trembling voice the guy understood that I meant, hey would you take a bribe for less than $250?  That didn’t come through as he replied.

“I can wait here until you go to an ATM and get the $250.” 

I considered driving off with the boot on the car but the Simpsons taught me that it would be a bad idea. 

We returned and paid the man.  Eight seconds later the boot was off and we got into the car, me visibly shaken. 

Back down Queens Boulevard we went.  I don’t think I breathed the entire way.  I couldn’t find the turn for Steinway Street to get across Astoria.  We turned down 39^th and 37^th, going down one way streets the wrong way in an effort to make this living nightmare come to end.  Finally I decided, fuck it, I’ll go underneath the L and take 31^st street.

As we drove down heading towards 31^st street, I realized that I was in big trouble.  There was a concrete divider that wouldn’t let me make the right. What it would let me do is go straight over the 59^th street bridge and into Manhattan.  The two things that most drivers around here fear are driving on highways and driving in Manhattan.  My heart sounded like a death metal kick drum.  I was in a full fledged panic.  Deep breathes, I thought, deep breathes.  We pulled into the isle of Manhattan and I made three lefts and one right as quickly as humanly possible.  It was the world’s shortest foray into Manhattan. 

We got over the bridge and were able to make the turn on 31^st and cross over to Astoria.  I’ve never been more excited to park a car than I was on that day.  We parked outside of his house and I went inside and openly wept.