martedì, giugno 13, 2006

Sloppiness

So last night was the reason I just don’t watch sports. Whenever I get an actual emotional attachment to one of the participating teams, either for nationalist, sexual or drunken reasons, and they suck – like the Oilers sucked last night, sucked like I sucked when I played soccer as a nine year old – it really fucking annoys me. J*Fish looked actually physically upset at the end, though. And wow, it made me remember the last game of the 1994 World Cup, the tie-breaking shots at the end of the final when Roberto Baggio punked out and Italy lost to Brazil – my heart in my mouth and then my world in pieces for a few moments, having to watch and yell what was happening to my mum, who doesn’t like soccer at all but who was just too on edge to either watch or ignore the game, and my dad, my poor dad . . . but then I also remember watching Reggina qualify for the A Series in a bar in Aspromonte, where people were cuddling, kissing, and hugging complete strangers (well, me – I think they all knew each other), crying with happiness. And I cried with them.

And my question is, what the fuck? Why can’t we bring that level of passion and engagement to more parts of our lives? Is it the strange combination of possibilities, probabilities, emotions and idolatry that televised sport serves us up in a sterile and safe way? Is it because yelling “you’re fucking killing me!” or “I fucking love that motherfucker!” at a television causes fewer problems than yelling it at a spouse, even if they are or you do? Ah, who the fuck cares anyways. I just think it’s funny that a huge group of men who act like soulless goons 85% of the time can emotionally jizz all over themselves when it comes to sports, especially in Canada; I mean, Italian men get excited about at least five other things I can think of right off the cuff, besides soccer. I’m not saying Canadian men should be more like Italian men, hells hells hells no. I guess what I’m saying is that I understand sports is an important way to blow off steam and express emotions that might not be office-appropriate, but I don’t think we’re hitting a happy medium right now.

Not much else happening in my brain this morning. My proposal is clarifying like granulated honey in a warm bath. Otherwise, my head is full of annoyance. I think people are getting shittier at thinking. I had a conversation with a music critic yesterday at lunchtime that left me wanting to – beat him? Nah, not him specifically. It’s just that when I read critical articles, what I want to know is pretty simple – is this album good or bad, melodic or dissonant, et cetera . . . is this show quiet or loud, engaging or boring . . . in short, I don’t really want criticism, I want information from an educated source. I don’t want, say, a critique of a live show with King Khan & the Shrines reading “well, this is good, but I don’t think this energy would carry over into an album because of the reediness of the lead singer’s voice . . .”, which may be true but is a profoundly unhelpful statement when I’m making a decision about whether or not to see one of their shows. I guess I’m just afraid of the quality music scene getting rarefied and perverted by snots who think studio and stage skills are both pre-requisites to greatness, and who let their mood influence their judgement. The fine art industry has already been buggered; I don't want them buggering music.

Ah, onwards and upwards.

11 commenti:

Lady ha detto...

i would buy a king khan album if it was wrapped in shit. they rocked the party that rocks the party.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

And you know what? They *don't* wrap them in shit. So you're in luck.

Melbine ha detto...

As you know, I married a man whose only emotional outlet is through hockey. It's weird.

We watched Fever Pitch (the original British version with the amazing Colin Firth, not the shitty American remake with what's-his-face from SNL) not too long ago. Krazy felt that it was the closest to an explanation for the sports fan phenomenon. Have you seen it? It kinda made things make more sense to me. Kinda...

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

I read the book, and yes, it did make things make more sense . . . but still made it seem really insufficient, if you know what I mean.

calisaurus ha detto...

I wish I could yell at the TV but I just can't - I'm too quiet.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

That's a nice thing, I think, being quiet - I'm sure you can yell when you *need* to, right?

calisaurus ha detto...

Sure - when I'm *MAD MAD MAD*!!!

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

There are big advantages to that I should think - I can yell at a television but when I get mad mad mad in real life I often sputter and then do COMPLETELY inappropriate things - yelling is better.

Melbine ha detto...

You guys are cute! I'm the same as you Mistress La Spliffe. My biggest moments of yelling are while I'm driving. Like that helps anything.

I know what you mean about Hornby's book still being an insufficient explanation..

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

Not to knock the book, right? I mean, it's an insufficient explanation in that someone could, say, fully explain why he likes raisins better than chocolate but I'll still and always think he's an idiot.

Melbine ha detto...

Ha-ha - exactly!

Time for Tink's afternoon snack and then we need to go and buy a Father's Day gift..