Halloweening

The Common Man wishes you, one and all, a happy and safe Halloween. The Common Man has certainly had one. Trick or treaters have come and gone, wiping The Common Man's stash out and leaving him with a serious sugar craving and hard up for that sweet, sweet candy.

But there is a tempting option. The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife took The Boy out for his first trick-or-treating experience this year, going to the various houses around the neighborhood where he has friends. Even at 2 years old, The Boy was very carefull to say "tick-a-teet," "tank yoooo," and "Happaween" at each door as he collected his goodies. When they were finished, The Common Man and his brood returned home with a half-filled bag of chocolate-covered, sugary goodness. If The Common Man were so inclined, he could sneak up to the bag, lift out a Snickers or Twix (oh, God, the Twix!) and no one (especially not The Boy, who is sweetly tucked into bed with his froggy, baby, bear in a baseball uniform, and robotic talking bear and who will remember nothing from this night as he grows older) will be the wiser.

But, as a matter of principle, The Common Man cannot bring himself to stoop that low. After all, Halloween is a kids' holiday, and those houses gave up the goods in the expectation that it would go to an adorable two-year old in an Elmo costume, not his 30-year old, sugar-jonesing dad. The only candy in there acceptable for The Common Man to get at at this point is his package of Hot Tamales (which he won't like), but The Uncommon Wife has already claimed them. So, here he is. The Common Man. Curled on the couch in the Mancave (Mantuary), in the dark, typing away the shakes. Oh, God, if only he had a Twix!

Anyway, this craving will pass, either because The Common Man generates some freaking will power out of thin air or he passes out entirely from low blood-sugar. He's hoping for the former but will settle for the latter. And in the meantime, he'll think about his adorable son knocking on the doors of neighbors, trying hard to keep the head of the Elmo suit out of his eyes, and being ever so polite. Sure, holidays are fun for the kids. But when they're young enough, it's even more fun for the parents. Even a shallow kid-centric one like Halloween.

Anyway, Happaween everybody!

Phinally Phinished

The Common Man is man enough to admit when he's wrong (though not man enough to admit when he's lost driving through rural northern Wisconsin at 10:30 at night). So he would like to heartily congratulate the Philadelphia Phillies and their fans in the wake of their stunningly decisive World Series Championship over the Tampa Bay Rays. The Phillies were calm and commanding throughout the series, while the Rays looked young, panicky, and over-eager. Like The Common Man's cat, the Phillies played with their mouse, letting it stay in each game, convincing it they could escape, only to make them whiff on another changeupon the outside corner.

For the record, The Common Man's predictions, other than the onewhere he chose the winner, look pretty good. The running game was about equal, with both teams stealing 7 bases, getting caught once, and picked off once. Jamie Moyer pitched a solid ball game. Hamels won both his starts. And Ryan Howard hit .286/.375/.762 with 3 homers and 6 RBI.

Sadly, the Series was not a rousing success. It was sloppy, seemed one-sided despite 4 close games out of 5, sported terrible umpiring, and had a debacle of a game 5, which was first played in a monsoon and then suspended for 48 hours. Pundits have gone over the top, however, in their condemnation of it. Dean of baseball reporters, Peter Gammons posited that, "There are a lot of questions that will be weighed after this, the worst World Series in memory" and ESPN touted it as the "worst ever."

Frankly, that's ridiculous. Maybe it was a little sloppy and one-sided (11 errors in 5 games, 2 pick offs, baserunning mistakes). In 2007, the Red Sox swept the Rockies and outscored them 29-10; there was virtually no drama in that series. In 2006, the 82-80 Cardinals beat the Tigers in five games, in a series featured 12 errors. The Red Sox swept the Cardinals in 2004 despite committing 8 errors in the first 2 games. In fact, the losing team hasn't won 2 games in a World Series since 2003. We've been seeing one-sided series for half a decade now, many of them sloppy. And other World Series have been halted in the middle. Famously, the 1989 Series was postponed for a week following the San Francisco earthquake. And several other games have either been rained out or suspended.

Frankly, the only criteria that should matter for a World Series are the drama it produces and the quality of the baseball played. In that regard, the 2008 World Series did ok. Not great, but ok. Though he's sure everyone in Philly enjoyed it immensely.


And one programming note: The Common Man realizes that things have been very sports-heavy around here lately. He's looking forward to once again branching out a little starting tomorrow.

Does Anyone Care Anymore?

Last night, Game 5 of the World Series was postponed again, so The Common Man did some channel surfing. On TNT, he was surprised to discover that the NBA season kicked off. Who knew?

Frankly, The Common Man couldn't care less. The Common Man has only so much room in his head for sports, and that space is disproportionately dominated by baseball and to a lesser extent football. The rest of his brain (roughly 3%) is dedicated to The Simpsons and his family. So he's chosen to only take passing interest in the game, just enough to notice who wins the title, whether LeBron or D-Wade are Michael Jordan reincarnate, and whether the Wolves win more than 20 games.

But since they're going to the trouble of playing the games, The Common Man may as well make a few half-assed predictions for the coming season.

1) Everybody will make the playoffs.

Recognizing the frustration that comes from following a team for 82 games, even though they were eliminated from contention in game 6 and tanked the rest of the way to have a better shot at the #1 pick, is turning off potential fans in an economically troubled time, David Stern has made a move to address the matter, and has announced that this year, everyone makes the playoffs. For example, Stern is hoping that the enthusiasm of the (16) Charlotte Bobcats fans at getting to face the defending champion Spurs in round 1 will be enough to keep the franchise afloat until the economy recovers, since playoff tickets are more expensive and sought after.

2) You will laugh at baller-on-baller violence.

Basketball players, as a rule, think they're hard. That they're tough. And when they feel slighted by a chippy European small forward, they get their mad faces on and start swinging. But, because today's NBAers are so freakishly tall, they could not function normally in American society anywhere but on the basketball court. And when they try to do anything non-basketball related (drive a car, answer the phone, hit a dude) they look like a gangly, awkward mess. What's more, because they were catered to by their adoring fans all their lives, they never learned how to properly deck a guy. So they swing wildly, barely connecting, their punches landing beyond their opponents head, and they look like sissies. Someone's jersey gets pulled off. And eventually, Jeff van Gundy always ends up around somebody's leg. It's embarrassing for the players, but comedy gold for you. Enjoy.

3) White, unathletic (read: bad) players will continue to be called "sparkplugs" and "energy guys," and announcers will praise them for "out-hustling their black opponents.

This happens in virtually every sport. White athletes are given some kind of extra credit for being able to hang with African-American competitors. Guys like Mark Madsen and Brian Scalabrine are given ridiculous contracts to play 8 minutes a game, track down one loose ball, miss two shots, grab a couple of rebounds, and make three fouls. And for this, they are called "gamers" for "succeeding" despite their physical limitations. Meanwhile, Craig Smith of the T-Wolves averages 9 and 5 despite getting just 20 minutes a night and being only 6'7" and a power forward, and no one pays any attention. The Common Man isn't saying these announcers are racist per se, but the latent racism behind how players are judged is prevelent throughout sports.

4) The words "NBA player," "incident," and "strip club" will all be included in at least one article on ESPN.com this season.

There are few certainties in life. But one of them is this: athletes in general, and especially basketball players, love the strip club when they're on the road. And when they are there at 3:30 in the morning, as one or more of them undoubtedly will be, nothing good is going to come of it. Just remember this paragraph when it happens. And always remember that nothing good has ever happened between the hours of 3 and 6 AM. That's a good time to be asleep and out of harm's way.

5) Instead of watching the NBA Finals, you will go outside, sit on your deck, enjoy a drink and the sunshine.

Typically, the NBA season ends in mid-April, but its finals don't get done until the end of June. Why? Because it takes a long freaking time to whittle 16 (note: that's more than half the league) teams down that far. Indeed, by the time the playoffs end and the champion is crowned, the regular season is a distant memory. One could argue it barely matters at all. And by the time the league finishes up, the weather is nice and the sun sets late. Who in their right mind would be inside watching basketball when you could drink a pitcher of margaritas in the warm evening air?

Rainy Days and Mondays...

Once again, the World Series is delayed by rain. This time around, they got the game going but were forced to suspend it in the 6th because, for some reason, the umpires didn't want to use scuba gear to keep going. And the home plate ump left his prescription goggles at home (ohhh, snap!). So the game has been suspended. This gives the Tampa Bay Rays a one-day reprieve, and The Common Man something to watch tomorrow afternoon when he should really be working.

What struck The Common Man the most, as he watched the Philadelphia's infield turn into a Slip and Slide track, was how dirty B.J. Upton's uniform got in the top of the 6th. Indeed, when water hits the clay and dirt of the infield, the result is a cement-ish, paint-like goop that clings to any surface. And when Upton skidded into second-base like he was waterskiing, his pants ended up caked with bright brown ick.

It's not every baseball fan that's going to notice these things, but The Common Man was fortunate to spend two summers as a clubhouse manager for a minor league team. All The Common Man could think when he saw Upton's pants was "that's gonna be damn near impossible to get out." It's a strange perspective to have as a sports fan, The Common Man thinks, to allow laundry analysis to shape one's thoughts and impressions of historic action on the field of play.

Yet, this is what being a clubhouse manager hath wrought. The Common Man watches Upton slide and flashes back to early mornings on the day after a road trip and finding bags and bags of muddy, damp, smelly uniforms, taken off the team bus and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Wondering just how many times he'd have to run them through the inadequate washing-machine to get them the gleaming white or stark gray that The Common Man's bosses expected. Often, he'd be at it for 4-5 hours before all the laundry was done on those days, taking a brush to the stains and scrubbing with all his might.


It was terribly frustrating, difficult work. But frankly, The Common Man enjoyed it. The job (even the laundry aspect) deepened his love, appreciation, and knowledge of the game and made him even more eager to stay up until 1 AM, watching a game end. And it helped him understand the amazingly complex and substantial network of people who support ballplayers and who never get noticed. So tonight, The Common Man salutes those real men who don't mind washing a bunch of jocks jocks, who make and lay out a banquet both before and after each game, who clean and shine every damn shoe. Here's to you boys, though tonight The Common Man is glad that, he won't be the one up until 1 AM making sure Upton's pants are ready to go tomorrow.

Beacon of Manhood: Jamie Moyer

Well, The Common Man's successful viewing experience last night, brought about by Penn State's first win at Ohio State in 15 years and plenty of time to watch Game 3 of the World Series, was improved tremendously by watching 45 year old (he'll be 46 next month) Jamie Moyer baffle Tampa Bay Rays hitters for 6.1 innings. Moyer, despite coming up ridiculously short in his previous start, bounced back against the young and hungry Rays, taming hitters less than half his age. Moyer limited the Rays to just 5 hits and 3 runs, and striking out five (including 23 year old BJ Upton once, and 22 year old uber-rookie Evan Longoria twice). He wasn't perfect, but like the cagey and wily old man that he is he kept his team in the game and far exceeded expectations.

Baseball is a funny game. As in life, the race doesn't always go to the swift or the fight to the strong. Sometimes, indeed often in baseball, gutty and smart performers can outstrip even the most skilled and gifted opponents. And when that happens, baseball is infinitely more fun to watch. Being privileged enough to watch Nolan Ryan reel off no-hitters long into his forties, or see Rickey Henderson in his 5th comeback coax out his eleventy billionth walk off a 20 year old phenom, or Jamie Moyer, throwing changeup after changeup in his first World Series in a 22 year career.

For his impressive work and his impressive age (and because no one else seemed particularly inspiring this week), The Common Man awards Moyer this week's Beacon of Manhood. The Common Man hopes to be just as successful, grizzled, and impressive when he's 46. The Common Man doesn't much mind being wrong in his predictions his prescience is thwarted by an awesome story and an ideal example of masculine manliness.

Saturday Beer Review: Point Einbock

Mother Nature has kindly resolved The Common Man's conflict this week, postponing Game 3 of the World Series, and allowing The Common Man to college football without guilt or the fear that he'll miss something switching back and forth. Indeed, the conflictingly scheduled game is the bane of the sports fan's existence, leading to self-doubt (which game should you be watching?), disappointment (you missed the double-reverse, flea-flicker TD pass), and, worst of all, bad karma (as the game you decide is most important to you will ultimately end poorly).

To celebrate his reprieve, The Common Man cracked open a Point Einbock, a local brew out of Stephen's Point, WI, that The Common Man had sampled a few weeks back. Indeed, hoping to improve his karma and his manly rooting talents, The Common Man knew he needed to drink a big beer, one with full body and flavor. Indeed, to have the testosterone to root properly, The Common Man strongly believes that only good, strong beer will prime your manly pump. Indeed, any beer drunk solely on the basis of its "drinkability" will leave your rooter on empty by the start of the third quarter.

Point's website brags that its Einbock "is hand-crafted utilizing the finest Munich and Vienna styles of specialty malts with a blend of Bavarian Hallertauer hops." It starts relatively smooth and flavorful, but has a strong bite on the back end. Still, the bite is not overbearing nor does it discourage further consumption. Rather, its a reminder to slow down and enjoy the beer's ample caramel and fruit flavors. It is a manly bite, sure to put hair on your chest and drop your voice by at least an octave. Perfect for gameday.

Film at 11

Since The Common Man's virus seems to have run its course (thank God), he's happy to share virally goodness with all y'all.

-- First off, The Common Man doesn't care who you are and what your political, social, or philosophical beliefs are. If everyone in the nation can't come together and call this literal take on A-ha's classic '80s hit "Take On Me" comedy genius, he doesn't know what everyone is fighting for.



But, and here's where The Common Man realizes that he's lame (but lame in a totally awesome kind of way), when he comics guy breaks through into our world, how is he going to survive? He'll have no social security number, no references, and, frankly, he's awfully sweaty and gross looking. He can't actually expect the chick he just met to let him move in and freeload off her, can he?

-- Since time immemorial, man has struggled with the ultimate question: What would happen if Superman and Batman were real, and they met? Thankfully, the question has finally been answered, thanks to College Humor. Also, it turns out that Superman is kind of a douche.

-- The Common Man is, of course, stallwart and true, and unfazed by things that would frighten most men to their cores. But he is having nightmares. And the nightmares look like this:



Real or no, that is one scary kid. Even though he's as tall and well-proportioned as a two-year old can be, The Common Man thinks he's going to put The Boy on a diet.

--Finally, because he hasn't shown one in a while...EXPLOSION!!!



Bonus: It's narrated by Adam West. What more could you want?