The Douchebags Under the Stairs

In the same vein as my posts about recliners, football and wood paneling, comes the culmination of all that shit- the mancave. Not your uncle's basement in the 80's, not the downstairs family room, (certainly least of all my basement- where I am currently writing this) but the sports paraphernalia bukkake/ homoerotic steamless Turkish bath house known as the modern mancave. In fact, having a male oriented basement was always cool throughout time. In the 50's and 60's,  you had the newest stereophonic equipment(and in the 70's quadraphonic). In the 80's you had a pool table, air hockey table or dartboard(for those of you who are easily entertained by basically nothing). In the 90's you had Super Nintendo or Playstation with the requisite giant projection tv. This led to the early 2000's home theater replete with leather recliners and a popcorn machine. These were all semi civilized. But the last eight or so years have unleashed the equivalent of a giant slumbering penis wearing a football jersey, the most alpha of all environments(even more than a sports bar)- the subterranean circle jerk your sister's boyfriend has ensconced in college sports colors and Stella Artois beer tap handles.

Of course I love sports. Of course this topic has probably been blogged about ad nauseam(where do you think all the pics come from?). Of course I am an anti alpha sissy boy who also happens to know people with a mancave and somehow pass myself off as a normal red blooded American asshole while getting drunk in them. Why the vitriol? The fact that some people have made a living out of creating these abominations of testosterone fueled home decorating. HGTV, Ty Pennington and NFL marketers, I'm looking at you. Seriously, Green Bay Packers slip covers and toilet paper cozy, tv's so big you need a crane to lift them, and wet bars with Red Bull dispensers? This has gone too far. I'll admit, venturing into various mancaves provides me with limitless inner laughs(and secret melancholy). They reaffirm my love for my artist space/ record room/ potential suicide crime scene. Their basements are Field of Dreams, mine is Heathers. I just can't believe that on top of sports bars(on practically every street corner), nine ESPN channels, half of talk radio, half of all tattoos, and half of all bumper stickers--men still need this much sports crap to fulfill them!

I've been in the "Ohio room", a screened in back porch littered with Ohio State Buckeye stuff. I've been in a Steelers' fan's garage equipped with beer tap, multiple tv's, and girly beer ads from the early 80's. I've been in a basement that featured a framed picture of every baseball park in America(puking as I type). And I'll tell you something...despite the faux camaraderie, flowing suds, and trash talking about women's body parts-- I was counting the minutes until I got back to my refuge of psychedelic rock lp's and vinyl figurines. I consider these places to be where I pregame off cheap beer and uninformed political discourse, until I can make it home to where I really enjoy drunkenness. The fact that women would spend three seconds in these sausage smokehouses baffles me. At least at a sports bar you don't have to awkwardly nod "hello" to the host's grandma on your way to the pisser to lay down an epic 2 point conversion. That's the point of all of this. Trying to have a sports bar in your house is like your wife having a sex toy selling party or a stripper pole in your living room. Oh wait, that's been done, too(note to self- next blog topic).

Final thought- this shit will all be out on the curb in four years when you get divorced. Your mom doesn't have room for that shit when you move back in with her. I've seen a Steelers cornhole table out on the curb just down the street. As well as other sports stuff all over town. The one thing one never sees is that pool table(which I would totally garbage pick, bed bugs be damned). I guess those go to the new bachelor pad or to a resale shop. Keep in mind, man moved out of caves and into civilization. Regressing back into caves puts you in the company of some unsavory characters.

25,000 Dollar Pyramid

Let's get this right out. The world trade center and pentagon tragedies were horrible and despicable. I am in no way making light of the gravity of those events. It just dawned on me, on this tenth anniversary, that a weird thing happened to me that week. I had ordered a psychedelic middle eastern record from a vinyl lp purveyor days before the whole shit went down. After said abomination transpired, I draped my apartment windows with American flags, vowed death to every foreigner and blasted Hendrix's Star Spangled Banner at maximum volume. But days later, that record showed up in the mail. It was The Devil's Anvil, a 1967 mashup of acid rock and middle eastern themes on Columbia records.

It is a great record by the way. Produced by Greek Felix Pappalardi(Cream, Mountain, Youngbloods). He often collaborated with New York Jewish fellow, Leslie West of Mountain(lest any New Yorkers take offense). After playing that record and realizing George Bush was about to destroy our precious way of life through paranoia and jingoistic ignorant flag waving, I came to my senses. I blasted that album for years to come. Each time I hear it, I reflect on what really went down in the post 911 era. I never drove my car into a mosque(as some in my town chose to do). Nor did I give up all my liberal ideals and turn republican(Dennis Miller, I'm looking at you). You can find the music quite easily on Youtube if you are so inclined(I won't bother with a link). Just remember on this day, that thousands upon thousands of innocent middle eastern folks died for a petty revenge mission that ultimately accomplished very little. Thank a veteran? Yeah, sure. But maybe also be kind to a foreigner too. And jam the fuck out most importantly.

Pig's Kin

Football season is upon us once more. This morning I drove downtown to take in some tailgating. This is always a carnival of bad taste. Gigantic grills covered in every kind of meat stuffed into another meat....into a tortilla into another kind of meat. Girls wearing Mardi Gras beads(the default accessory for partying) and cut off football jerseys. Old school buses converted into taverns on wheels. Good stuff. But the truly tasteless aspects of football are often overlooked. For those, we need to consult NFL FIlms or even the lowly ESPN Classic to dredge up the awful memories of football past.

My favorite moment ever is when quarterback, Joe Theisman(ironic name) snapped his leg in half during a game. It is hands down THE most awesome sports injury ever! Except for maybe those snopes videos where weightlifters blowout their rectums trying to dead lift a Hummer. Now we have to deal with his visage and nonsensical commentary on tv. Truly, the real sufferers are the viewers.

Next is one of the only things to ever surpass the smartphone in terms of technological brilliance. I speak of course about the Sports Illustrated football phone. It could only be attained by getting a subscription to said shit rag. Is it a football? Is it a phone? Umm, it's just a phone. But chick magnet? Definitely. I never had one, because I was too busy subscribing to Nintendo Power and Marvel Comics. Boy, those entities surely went out of style. Wait. They didn't. Speaking of SI, what's the deal with the Swimsuit Issue? It's like porn for guys who are too embarrassed to buy Maxim. I've been more titillated by baseball cards with Marge Schott on them. Don't get the reference? Sorry, twenty year olds.

Lastly, the most offensive thing about football is the level of criminal activity pervasive in the sport. Drug use, domestic violence, tax evasion, domestic violence, steroids and domestic violence. From Rapelesberger to Lawrence Taylor to the all time superbowl champ of wife beating, OJ Simpson. Sometimes you just can't leave all that aggression on the field. Why not treat your significant other as a tackling dummy? Glad to have you back millionaire babies, entertain me. Just try to not run over anyone(Cleveland's own Donte Stallworth) or throw a bitch out a window(Cleveland's own Jim Brown, allegedly). That kind of behavior is reserved for politicians these days.