Bryan Joiner

It’s a discussion I’m in on Twitter, and here’s the answer:

In the 15 or so Ice Hockey seasons that were played, we were restricted to the following lineup: skinny, medium, medium, fat. All the mediums had to have pair-names, like “Hammer and Sickle” on USSR, but when players retired and such we had to come up with new ones so that left fewer of them, and eventually we went esoteric with “Boggs and More Boggs” or hyperregional like “Tomassian & Tomassian” (a law firm in our town). But I wouldn’t consider that an ideal lineup. I think the only really responsible lineup is skinny-fat-fat-fat. The fat guys are just so much better.

Two months ago, I knew what fiction was. I’ve spent a good amount of my life trying to understand how it is that people ever write novels, and two months ago, I was on it. I took a fiction writing class and everything popped into place. There was no big secret: you wrote about your own life, about the things you did every day, and worked it into a bigger story. All the “references” people make—and here I think of Joyce and Ulysses—aren’t clever beyond comprehension, they’re just a record of what Joyce saw in Zurich-Dublin-Trieste-wherever.

Two months later, that feeling is completely gone. I have a new job, one where the floor is shifting beneath me at the same time as I’m trying to find a solid place to stand. This takes up an incredible amount of energy. The office I work in is sparsely populated compared to its capacity—I’ve been sitting at the same unaccompanied desk for two weeks—and I can still see more people when I bob my head up as I could see at my old office of nine people. Hardly anyone talks to each other, either. Talking to each other is reserved for events. Something happens in the computer machines, and the reward is human contact.

My job was supposed to be work-from-home, but it hasn’t worked out that way. Logistically, I need to be in a place where I can access my new company’s internal server. A special microchip-enabled card I have is supposed to make that happen. It doesn’t work, but it does get me into the company’s office, where I can access the system. What I do nowadays is look at a trend meter, hit refresh, find a few funny things to write about, and write them. You won’t find them anywhere on the web, because they website isn’t live yet.

Until it is—actually, long past that point—I’m going to feel like I’m floating. I wish I had some sort of better conclusion. It’s just so weird after having been stuck at a tiny company for so long. For as much as I wanted not to be there, I didn’t try to escape. I waited for escape to come to me, in the form of a job offer, effectively. What I’ve learned is that everything takes effort, even getting a good job. Which sounds silly, but what I mean is that I’ve quickly adjusted to the fact my new job has serious ups and downs. If I had looked a little harder, maybe it would have fewer downs. Maybe there’d be more people talking. The good part is there’s always tomorrow.

Sports Illustrated says, via vote, that Eric LeGrand, paralyzed in a football game for Rutgers last year, “leading” his team back onto the field in a mouth-operated wheelchair, is the “sports moment of the year.” It’s not. It’s an incredible human interest story, and it’s incredible for LeGrand, but it’s a human moment, not a “sports moment.” It is, sadly, something we will see again. The sports moment of the year should belong to something we won’t.

Nor is the photo of two people kissing during the Vancouver riots, as suggested by Quickish, the sports moment of the year. It wasn’t on the field of play and is tangentially related to anything really memorable. Serendipitous sport-related photo of the year? Bam.

This is the sports moment of the year, with apologies to my cousin:

I was on the train this morning and two dudes who obviously didn’t know each other were talking about the NBA. They talked for the entire 20 minute ride I was on. They really enjoyed it. They weren’t trying to get away from each other. They were sifting through topics like a kid sifting through sand. The Lakers, Clippers, early-aughts Knicks… they covered it all.

Now the Clippers are relevant! How awesome is that? It would be considerably more awesome if their owner wasn’t such an odious human being, even by the advanced standards of sports owners. He’s an old, racist kook. It makes it hard to root for them. But we haven’t had to deal with that particular problem for a long time. Now we do.

It’s quite different from what’s going on with the Cleveland Browns, where a proud city and franchise crumble under the weight of their own insecurities. The Browns are the NFL’s worst franchise, if you’re grading on a curve. At least the Bengals have nothing to shoot for. They’re just the Bengals, and always will be.

And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past, with only sports to talk about.

Why am I doing this?

And why am I broadcasting it?

Oh blog, I’ve missed you. It’s fun. I write stuff here and then I hit “publish” and I’ve published something!

I’ve been long-form writing recently, so this is sort of a novelty.

While I’ve watched quite a few NFL games this year, probably more than I’ve watched in years, I don’t find anything that’s happening in the league particularly interesting. The Packers are a great team, but their games reek of formality. The Patriots are standing tall, waiting to be toppled. The Steelers are doing their thing, as are the Ravens. The Tebow thing is not as interesting as the Von Miller thing. The Cowboys and Giants are doing their Cowboys and Giants things. The Jets are the Jets again. The Titans apparently still exist. The Eagles dropped the ball, lost it, pouted about it, and repeated it.

I’ve been a fronter on hockey. I’ve watched a few games but not that many. The Bruins are apparently awesome. I’ll check back in in April.

Now the NBA is back. I am failing to resist the urge to care. The NBA is really, really fun to talk about. Not contract stuff like Bill Simmons likes, but just random team stuff, like where Tyson Chandler is going, because it seems so consequential and inconsequential all at once—the essence of sports. When a big player is moving teams, it often seems legitimately newsworthy, and you’ll forget you’re talking about sports. Not so with the Nene. Nene plays basketball, that’s his job, and we talk about where he’s going to end up the way we talk about what news organization would be best for a blogger. It’s great.

I’m digging the Jalen Rose podcasts more than the Simmons ones these days, but the Simmons intro is still better.

Speaking of Simmons, I’ve noticed that he still likes to get worked up at stat things when he’s against them, but doesn’t refrain from whipping out statistical comparisons between players when they serve his case. As if Garbageland didn’t make it clear, I think the site is throwing Simmons’s flaws into sharp relief. It’s hard for me to hate on a site that has Charlie Pierce writing for it, but Simmons’s personal history with him is still offputting. Nonetheless, a W for Grantland. Still not a great percentage there.

What else? Oh yes, the Christmas music. I don’t know. I just finished season 1 of Sons of Anarchy in about three days and that stuff is heavy. It’s also quite good. The Jacks/Tara stuff brings up stuff from my own (biker) past. I need dulcet tones to come down. That’s a thing, right? Dulcet tones? (/looks it up) It is! And I used it right!

I’m so proud of myself that I’m logging off.

This segment should make The Daily Show ashamed of itself. Not politically, but intellectually. The Occupy Wall Street protesters are/were no more divided/coherent than the attendants of the Rally to Restore Sanity, and are no more or less immune to criticism: The problem is, Triumph did it first, and better. It’s the difference between being a comedian and an asshole, and Stewart is on the wrong side of it.

… if your name is Emilia, email me at my first initial and last name at gmail. Call it a promotion.