You Can't Fix Stupid

I've been having a little fun with the New York Jets' Facebook page recently. You see, I'm sort of a stickler for grammar. (I hold myself to the same standard here on DKL and kick myself when I catch a mistake in a published post.) The reason why I've been having fun with the social media team of my favorite football team is for none other than pure amusement. Few people dislike their favorite sports teams more than I do. When it comes to the Jets, after years of frustration and disappointment with their losing, or coming this close and still losing, or not coming remotely near the neighborhood of close and losing badly while doing so, I've revolted. And the way I do it is by calling them out for grammatical and punctuation errors on their Facebook page. Very passive aggressive, I know.

Last week they posted this image with a misplaced apostrophe on it and I pounced:

Seriously with this? I really hate them.
Or, I hate to LOVE them.

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Holding Out For a Hero

"Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?" -Bonnie Tyler

Now that Super Bowl XLVII is over, we are finished with the Ray Lewis farewell tour as well. Lewis is the linebacker for the Baltimore Ravens, arguably the best at his position ever to play the game. He has received a lot of fanfare since announcing that this season would be his last. There has been no shortage of bouquets thrown his way, including a victory lap around the stadium at his final home game last month. A victory lap that was replayed ad nauseam the next day. Lost in the celebration of a football career in our sports-crazed society, many forget or choose to forget that Lewis was accused of murder not too long ago.

Lewis pleaded guilty to a lesser charge and avoided jail time. He paid an undisclosed settlement to the victims' families, but the murder for which he was charged was never solved. His "image" has undergone such a meteoric rehabilitation that he now endorses several products and will serve as a football analyst on ESPN upon retirement. Lewis even cited that it's, "time to be a daddy" to his children - six of them with four different women - as his reason for retiring. Excuse me for not being overjoyed with his newfound commitment to fatherhood. No one is arguing that Lewis is an outstanding football player. As a football fan, a dad, and a human being I just have a hard time with the celebrating and hero worship.

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The Boys of Summer

The Yankees were playing the Mets earlier this season. Unlike most fans of either team, I do not enjoy the annual "Subway Series." Why? Because it's a no-win situation for the Yankees. What I mean is, when they do win, it's no big deal because that's what's expected. When they don't, it IS a big deal because they're expected to win. (Cry me a river, I know. I'm currently accepting donations to my new charity, Spoiled Yankees Fans Non-Anonymous.)

The third game of the Yankee Stadium half of the series entered the bottom of the ninth inning tied. The Yankees had already won the first two games. I rarely if ever watch an entire Yankees game. (Who has the time or the patience?) But I made an exception for this one.

Peanut, her love of the game or lack thereof already well documented, was getting antsy. She kept asking to watch - what else - Doc McStuffins. I told her she could after the game. My Director deemed this an equitable solution. Soon thereafter, Russell Martin hit a home run to win the game for the Yankees, sending the Stadium into euphoria and Peanut into McStuffinsville:

Touch 'em all, Russell. (photo from here.)

In my excitement, I proclaimed to Peanut:

"That's why we root for the Yankees. Because they're the best."

I admit, that was arrogant. But don't worry, My Director quickly cut me down to size:

"Then why do we root for the Jets?"

I had no answer. This is why, despite what you might infer from how I acted in the brief story I told above, I am not your typical arrogant Yankees fan. Since I am also a hard-luck, broken-hearted, never-say-die Jets fan, I know I am blessed with my baseball allegiance. This is also probably why I have shared so many Yankees stories over the years. (That and their connection with my dad.)

Please take some time to catch up on some DKL you may have missed. I have been doing this on summer Mondays, telling a new story and then following it with a list of links to previous posts about that topic. This week's subject, you may have guessed, is baseball. Enjoy:

As I mentioned above, we thought Peanut's newfound baseball ability would translate into a love of the game. It didn't, as I recently explained in The Peanut Gallery: Play Ball"

When Mariano Rivera went down with a season-ending injury earlier this year, I was very upset. I thought it meant his career was over and I'd lost one more connection to my dad. But then I learned that Legends Never Die.

My dad's favorite player was Mickey Mantle. And for that reason, his name and number are a part of Baseball Immortality in my house.

One of my favorite Yankee Stadium memories is of one non-Yankee's performance. It's Why I Root For Josh Hamilton.

While my dad loved Mantle, he HATED Bernie Williams. It was so irrational it was funny. I made sure it didn't come up when I had a Brush with a Legend

I made sure Peanut was witness to history when Derek Jeter reached 3,000 career hits. She was not impressed or amused with his Puttin' on the Hits

I crossed off an item from my bucket list when I got to watch the Yankees win the World Series in person. My Director helped make this Once in a Lifetime experience happen.

One of my favorite memories of baby Peanut is taking her to her first and only game in the old Yankee Stadium, before they tore it down. It was very hot that day so I called it "I'll Stop the World and Melt with You."

Previous subjects of my summer retrospective series: My Director, Christmas, our trip to Disney, the swagger wagon, and favorite songs.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Green with Empty

Every week brings a new letter for Peanut to study at school. Each week, she needs to bring in a picture of something that starts with that letter. She likes to draw her pictures instead of taking them out of a magazine. When it came time to talk about "J," she drew this:

Notice how much hair she gave me

That's me - Justin - with the Peanut. 

Gotta work on those J's and S's

You may notice, Peanut drew me wearing my Jets sweatshirt. I had to model for her:

Jets fans rarely smile

Every now and then, Peanut will humor me and pretend to "look like daddy:"

She can make anything look good

As you might have figured out, this year's Super Bowl is a nightmare matchup for me as a Jets fan. The Patriots are the Jets' hated rivals. Their head coach deserted the same job on the Jets to join the Patriots, and the rest is history. They play each other twice a year. (The Jets were 0-2 against them this year. Ugh.)

The Giants are the big brother that the little brother Jets never seem to be able to live up to. They beat the Jets on Christmas Eve, ruining my holiday and changing the direction of both teams' seasons. The last time the Giants and Patriots met in the Super Bowl, it was a no-brainer: I rooted for the Giants. The Patriots were going for a perfect season. 19-0. Immortality. No way was I going to support that.

This time around, I just can't pull for the Giants again. I can't possibly cheer for a year's worth of yapping from their whiney, obnoxious fan base. Since I live with, work with, and am related to so many of these blowhards, I refuse to support their team again (But I still love all of these people.) And I certainly can't bring myself to root for a team from New England.

So I've to decided to vote for a third party candidate:

from the classic movie "Brewster's Millions"

Even though her dad is a long-suffering Jets fan, the Peanut has decided she is most certainly NOT. In fact, she roots for one of the two teams playing today. I wrote about that here.

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Same Old Story

"Say... you're a lot smaller than my last master." - The Genie from Aladdin

It's a vicious cycle. Little did I know that the simple act of recording a movie that I once enjoyed as a child so that my daughter could also enjoy it, or that giving her a DVD of one of her favorite movies, would be so detrimental - with the emphasis on 'mental.' Little did I know that when Penelope unwrapped "Toy Story 3" on Christmas morning she was also peeling off the final layers of my sanity.

Now, don't get me wrong. All of the Toy Story movies are very good. As far as animated films go, their powerful themes and dramatic messages are unmatched. They have star-studded casts. The humor is appropriate for both adults and children. But I've overheard these movies as they've played in the background so much, I'm incapable of remembering anything else. Except Toy Story quotes. It came to the point that I would hear a character utter a familiar line, repeat it to myself, laugh to myself, and actually say, "That's genius." Genius. Toy Story. Genius. I used the word "genius."



This image haunts every facet of our lives

 "Toy Story 3" is now nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars. It's a great film. An emotional roller coaster. I think it should win. That probably has something to do with the fact that I've seen it four dozen times in the past five weeks. Comparatively, I've seen the other nine Best Picture nominees a combined five times. My wife and I now quote "Toy Story 3" in our everyday conversation. We use movie lines as jokes to each other. It is ingrained into our thoughts, our speech, our lives.

I get it. Children like to watch the same things over and over and over again. Tell me if you've heard that one before. They love the repitition, the familiarity, the security in knowing what's going on and what's going to happen. Fine.

But no one ever talks about what this does to the parents. The parents who are slowly going insane, losing their short-term memory because the dialogue from these movies is replacing the day-to-day details that you need to remember.

It doesn't stop at Toy Story. In the first week after we recorded it on the DVR, we watched The Grinch no less than 11 times. That was just the cartoon version. We got up to three on the movie before I put a halt to it. You know how I did it? I bought her the book. Now that's genius.



The Genie is indeed a larger than life presence.

There was also a point where we were watching "Aladdin" every day. Every day. Now, I love the Genie probably more than most people. What's not to love? He does puns, impressions. He's over the top and out of control. But every day? That's a lot of Robin Williams. That's too much Robin Williams. I was singing the songs from that movie in the shower. Insanity. "Prince Ali" and "A Whole New World" and "Friend Like Me." Pure insanity.

But it's my fault. I chose to record it. I introduced her to it. I am the enabler. That's why it's a vicious cycle.

How do you make it stop?

You can't.

And I'm being honest here: we don't even let Penelope watch a lot of television. She just watches the same television over and over and over again when we do let her watch.

Regardless, my daughter controls the television. One Sunday afternoon the Jets were playing the Steelers (not the playoff game) and she asked if she could watch Sesame Street and I agreed. Why? Because she hadn't watched any television that day, she was actually asking for Sesame Street and not the Grinch or Toy Story or Aladdin. And the Jets are aggravating, even when they win. So fine. I'm a pushover. And a bad fan.


When it rains, it pours.



Still, I will continue to try and alter my daughter's viewing habits. But as soon as we introduce her to something else, then she'll be watching it every day for 3 months. It's already begun with something called "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs."

It's the same old story - and there is no end in sight.

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