As abducted from Atcho's notes... Here are the first 25 songs that played when I shuffled on iTunes. Nothing skipped, nothing restricted!
1. American Pie - Vic Flick
2. Fairground - Simply Red
3. Missing You - John Waite
4. Doctor Jones - Aqua
5. Working in a Coal Mine - Lee Dorsey
6. Heaven is a Place on Earth - Belinda Carlisle
7. P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing) - Michael Jackson
8. All My Life - K-Ci & JoJo
9. True - Spandau Ballet
10. Greatest American Hero (Believe it or Not) - Joey Scarbury
11. Pictures - Sneaky Sound System
12. Blue Savannah - Erasure
13. Peer Gynt Suite No. 1 - In the Hall of the Mountain King - The London Promenade Orchestra and Eric Hammerstein
14. To melodier op. 53 - Eros - Edvard Grieg
15. A Woman's Needs - Tammy Wynette & Elton John
16. Old Friend - Elton John & Nik Kershaw
17. The Shoop, Shoop Song - Betty Everett
18. Kingston Town - UB40
19. The Life of the Party - Michael Jackson & The Jackson 5
20. Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? - Fall Out Boy
21. Kiss from a Rose - Seal
22. Pinch Me - Barenaked Ladies
23. Romantiske ettertanker - En drøm - Edvard Grieg
24. Wild World - Maxi Priest
25. Too Much of Heaven - Eiffel 65
I question the efficiency of the shuffle setting on my iTunes. This is the sample selection from 2,464 items. Happy listening!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Havoc in Heaven
After discarding my WCW toys yesterday, something odd happened. Though a bit of bleary-eyed nostalgia was to be expected, I actually ended up thinking a whole lot about pro wrestling again.
Not that I want to start watching it again, because in my surly opinion, the product is no longer up to snuff. What it's made me decide, however, is that I never properly ended my obsession with a great send-off.
Here and there across the web, you'll find people's dream card. In other words, their ideal schedule of matches. The way one person phrased it however, is the card they'd get to watch in heaven, and I like that image a whole lot better. Probably because in my mind it makes the wrestling ring planted on a mass of clouds. I'm odd like that.
So, with no rules on ages or eras, let's see what I come up with. A brief warning: most of the card is made up with WWE alumni, because it's the program I watched for the longest period of time. Also, because of my fairly short-lived viewership, you'll not see many classic wrestlers present here. Sorry, y'all. In this vein, your commentators for tonight are Jerry 'the King' Lawler and good ol' JR, Jim Ross. BAH GAWD!
The venue: Madison Square Garden
The most exciting event in the world has to take place in one of the most exciting cities in the world. It has the name, the fame, and the luster necessary for a night this grand. Failing this, an arena that looks like heaven, with clouds and angels and shit like that will suffice.
The dark match: René Duprée vs. Finlay (c) for US title
Singles match
You may think it odd for me to schedule a dark match in heaven, when I can make the broadcast to last as long as I like, but I like to do things by the numbers.To warm the crowd up (the crowd of clouds and angels and shit), I'm pitting a talented yet unpolished performer against a dependable, technically sound veteran.
They typically like to have multi-man battle royales for the dark match, to really get the blood pumping, but I figured that would just be a cheap way for me to slot in all of the other wrestlers I couldn't otherwise fit on the program.
The night begins, as per usual, with the American national anthem, which Duprée cuts short with an obnoxious promo. Boom, you've got the crowd riled up.
Midway, Duprée's mic cuts out, and Finlay appears from the stands, slamming Duprée for his disrespect. Crowd now behind Finlay. However, Finlay commences singing the national anthem, horribly and off-key. He flubs the words, and then stops altogether, stating that it's a horrible anthem. Crowd now jeering both wrestlers.
Why do this, when it would be so easy to back Finlay as a defender of America for a cheap pop? Because we all know Finlay would never do that. A heel vs. heel opener is a unique way to rev up the crowd, and because it isn't televised, you don't have to worry about looking bad if a 'this match sucks' chant starts up. Not that it would suck, but even in heaven, wrestling fans are pretty freaking stupid.
Finally, authorizing an anthem cut-off in a house show was the ludicrous reason Finlay was dropped by the WWE in the first place. In my heaven show, he can get away with it, because it's a funny angle.
The title defense is just there to add intrigue to the bout. Duprée had the charisma, the look and the ability to have been given a Randy Orton-like push as the young buck taking wrestling by storm, but he was held back with the French gimmick. Not a bad gimmick per se, but it wasn't going to see him through to top billing. Finlay roughs him up for him for most of the match, and retains the title. No appearance by Hornswoggle, because that shit was overdone to high hell already.
Singles
First televised match on the card is a carbon copy of the opener to ECW One Night Stand in 2005. Because, in my opinion, the first match is the second most important one, behind only the main event. You want it to be fast-paced, well-executed and exciting.
That's exactly what you got from Storm/Jericho in '05, and that's what you get here. The choreography and timing is simply amazing, from two veteran guys whose very first match of their career was against one another.One of the things I love about Lance Storm is that, during his later years, you forgot how athletic he was. Predominantly a heel, he mostly stuck to technical wrestling, to prevent the crowd from cheering for the wrong guy. However, he moved more beautifully, fluently and catlike than nearly any other wrestler his size.
He could flip, spin and leap atop the turnbuckle with hardly any effort, seemingly just as easily in his older age as when he was in his prime. Just look at the gore he took from Rhyno prior to his retirement. He even made that look fantastic.
Anyway, I'm trying to make this match unique from One Night Stand, but I'm struggling to, because I enjoyed that match so much. Throw in some spots from Storm vs. Jerry Lynn in Anarchy Rulz '99, and you've got an audience absolutely gobsmacked. The finish starts with Jericho about to lock on the Walls of Jericho. Storm slips under and boots Jericho into the ropes. As he rebounds, Storm rolls him through to finish him off with the Canadian Maple Leaf, but Jericho manages to roll one more time to gain the leverage and apply the Walls, causing Storm to tap.
Also... since I've plugged the One Night Stand match so much, I figure you'll go and watch it now, if you haven't already. As such, allow me to stray from the course a bit and share another Storm/Jericho match, ten years prior...
2. William Regal, Chavo Guerrero & Jerry Lynn vs. Booker T, Goldust & Rob Van Dam
6-man tag team
This was originally slated as a second dark match, but it became too exciting in my mind and had to be shifted to part of the billing.
I loved the chemistry in the Booker T/Goldust promos, so you'd best believe I'll fit in the opportunity to have a spot with the two of them doing something funny. Something like, Booker does the spin-a-roonie, then Goldust does one that fails miserably. Splendid.
Throw in some fast-paced spots between Chavo and RVD, interchanging the former with Lynn in a throwback to ECW glory days, and you've got yourself a nice match here. Finisher is a Booker T scissor kick followed by RVD landing the five-star frog splash. Afterwards, Booker and Goldust celebrate by attempting the spin-a-roonie again. Then RVD does one that looks even better than Booker's. He shrugs, because he's cool like that.
3. Trish Stratus vs. Lita (c) for women's championship
Singles
To make things clear, there is no T&A in this one. This is a proper match, without the stripping, the mud wrestling or the spanking. Because that stuff might be okay (and quite welcome) for filler, but this is a title match. And it was because of the efforts of Stratus and Lita that the women's division was able to sustain credible matches in the mid '00s.One of the things I like best about Lita is that she's fearless. I was never a big fan of her's, but when I saw her do a suicide dive through the ropes following neck surgery, I knew that she would give it all for a good spot.
No deadly spots in this one. Lita does land a moonsault for a near-fall, though.
Pretty back and forth fight here, with Lita becoming the aggressor towards the end. However, Stratus gets the win with a surprise schoolgirl (dammit, even the pin sounds dirty), becoming the new women's champion.
4. Rey Mysterio, Jr. vs. Shelton Benjamin
Best of 3 falls
If my card was running a little too predictably so far, hopefully this will shake things up a bit. Traditionally, a best of 3 falls match is reserved for solid technical wrestlers, who can slow things down a bit to stop either competitor from getting gassed. That'll be Benjamin's role, but it'll be interspersed with some wacky high-flying spots.
Strictly speaking, my card lacks a cruiserweight bout, which is a fundamental flaw that made me consider shifting Chavo Guerrero in this spot, but I think the juxtaposition of the flea-like Mysterio against the burly yet agile Benjamin would be sufficient. To maintain heel status, Benjamin won't be shooting around with a lot of regularity, but some simple stuff that looks great (flipping as a counter to a hold and the like) will be present. The first fall is quickly taken by Mysterio, as Benjamin tries in vain to simply pummel the smaller opponent, whose speed is enough to keep distance. In the second, Benjamin puts the brakes on and grounds Mysterio with various submissions, targeting the legs in particular. Mysterio taps to put them at one apiece.
Now hobbling, Mysterio struggles through the third, focusing on avoiding Benjamin's lethal holds. Benjamin takes this chance to begin showing off, now starting to break out the athleticism. It backfires, with Mysterio catching him in the drop toehold (of doom!), followed by the 619. Mysterio takes to the apron, ready to land the west coast pop. The groggy Benjamin gets to his feet and Mysterio launches off the ropes, but Benjamin catches him in the air. BOOM. Powerbomb. Benjamin gets the three count for the win.
5. Hollywood Hulk Hogan & Mr. Perfect vs. 'Macho Man' Randy Savage & mystery partner
Tag
My marquee WCW match features a whole slew of veterans. In case you're wondering, yes, this match is preceded by a batshit crazy Randy Savage promo (conducted by Mean Gene Okerlund), and it is utterly fantastic. It has all the frills necessary, including a suspenseful beginning with Savage entering the ring without any partner to be found.
Hogan and Hennig mock Savage on the mic (they're in their nWo iterations for this imaginary scenario, but Hennig will still be billed as 'Mr. Perfect' for purity's sake. It goes without saying, but Savage is not in nWo form, because that would be awkward), and make their way towards the ring. Suddenly, the lights go off. The arena is in darkness (if this event is indeed set in the heavenly clouds, I have no idea how this works logistically). Then, the lights begin flashing. Savage has disappeared.
Then, from the ceiling, he descends. IT'S STING. HELLZ YEAH. Savage reappears from under the ring, allowing him and Sting to get a quick jump on the opponents.
Anyhow, this match runs smooth as silk, because it's basically four veterans who all know what they're doing. Things really pick up a clip when it's Mr. Perfect and Savage in the ring, because good lord, Randy Savage was ahead of his time. He was a big man who moved lightning quick, and he is most certainly missed.The match descends into chaos when the referee is knocked out, leading to Hogan and Hennig handcuffing Savage to the ropes, pummelling him brutally. Sting evens the odds by letting loose on the nWo members with his famous baseball bat. The referee comes to and sees Sting using the illegal weapon, though seems completely oblivious to the fact that his partner is handcuffed to the ropes. Sting and Savage are disqualified, leading to a bevy of angry boos from the crowd. In response, Sting cracks the referee with the bat. The crowd is pleased.
Halftime performance: Michael Jackson, Freddie Mercury & Stevie Wonder
What? A halftime show in a wrestling event? You're damn right, because putting together a Super Bowl schedule is much less in-depth, and I would go nuts over a concert of this magnitude. I don't know whose songs they perform, and I don't care. It'll sound absolutely brilliant.
To keep confused wrestling fans appeased, René Duprée comes out and tries to bully the singers around. Stevie Wonder responds by getting up and socking Duprée in the face. It is the biggest pop of the night, and the moment people discuss for years to come.
6. The Dudley Boyz w/Spike Dudley (c) vs. The Hardy Boyz vs. Edge & Christian for the tag team championship
TLC
Figuring out where to put this one was absolute hell. Originally I had it at the bottom of the undercard, right before the main event. However, I took a brief look through PPV history, and it occurred to me that there is a significant gap between the TLC matches and the main event. My guess is that this is because the TLC matches always run for so long, and with so much excitement, that they need to give the crowd a chance to catch their breath. Maybe I should have slotted this one before my halftime show? I hesitate to do so, because there would be way too much debris in the ring for my taste.
Anyhow, TLC matches are always something special to watch, and these are the teams that made it famous. Whether it was Edge hitting the spear on a suspended Jeff Hardy, dangling from the belt, or that same Jeff Hardy leaping from atop the ladder onto a prone enemy below (in many different matches, with many variations of jump, in many different landing positions), it was just a great big spectacle of men brutalising themselves in ways that really should not happen.
I could feel guilty for subjecting them to yet another one of these matches, but this is my event, dammit, and if I want guys hurtling 20 feet off a ladder onto a guy on a table who has a chair propped atop him, then I am going to get it!
The signature bump will consist of Jeff Hardy (because when you want a really big bump, you go to Jeff) copping a 3D off the top of the ladder through four tables next to the ring. Logistically, I don't know how exactly you'd get all three guys up there, or how you'd get guys as big as Bubba and D-Von to make enough distance to clear the ring, but we'll leave that one up to God (who's enjoying the action from a box seat). In the end, Christian is the last surviving competitor fit enough to nab the belts for himself and Edge.
Singles
This is a bit of shaky territory right here. I still have not forgiven Chris Benoit for his actions of that horrible day in June, and frankly, I don't know if I ever will. I know, years of abuse led to brain damage so severe it supposedly resembled that of an 85-year-old Alzheimer patient's, but for a man to take the lives of anyone innocent, let alone his wife and young child... It's just not something I will readily forgive. I don't know all of the details. I probably never will.
However, this is my heaven scenario, and, immature as it may be... in this imaginary event, the deaths of Chris Benoit and his family did not occur. I will always respect Chris Benoit as a wrestler, in much the same way that people still respect the playing ability of O.J. Simpson. As I said however, I am yet to forgive him as a human being.
As for Guerrero, he was one of those guys who seemed to get better with age. Years of cheating, cowering and lying made him sound like the prototypical heel, but when he was finally pushed to the top of the federation as champion, it wasn't with a change in gimmick, but with a newfound appreciation. He did those same things as before... but we loved him for it.
Benoit launches off the turnbuckle for another headbutt, Guerrero counters, and pins Benoit with his feet on the ropes for leverage. Guerrero celebrates his IC championship defence with Chavo. Christ, we should have had so many more moments like this. R.I.P. Eddie.
Filler: Starring Rowdy Rodder Piper and possibly some divas
I don't know what to put here, but my card needed more fluff. Also, I felt bad that I couldn't find a place to fit Piper, so I inserted him here. You can fill in the blanks as to what goes on during this quick break from the action, but my suggestion is Piper judging a bikini contest, where the final entrant turns out to be Goldust. In horror and disgust, Piper socks Goldy in the face, then shrugs and still awards him as the winner of the contest. I don't know, I'm not good with this stuff.
8. The Rock vs. 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin vs. Cactus Jack vs. Kane for heavyweight title shot at next PPV
Fatal 4-way
This match is on the card based solely on star power. All of the competitors are solid wrestlers, but it was the energy they created, the electricity and excitement, that makes their inclusion necessary.
The Rock and Austin are automatic, and Kane (masked, of course!) fills a void left by the absence of big men in this event. Because, generally speaking, they don't move well, and the matches can be boring as a result.
The match begins early, when Cactus Jack first appears, only to be assaulted by Austin (whom Cactus had jumped weeks prior to this) on the stage below the TitanTron. I am doing this for one reason and one reason only: SO THAT FOLEY CAN TAKE A BUMP.
I mean, ideally, Cactus would be having a hardcore match of some sort, but I've already had that sort of thing with the TLC bout. So instead, I've simplified it to Austin throwing Cactus through a sheet of glass or onto the floor below. It's unfair to make him suffer a bump that early that could affect his in-ring performance, but hey, this is heaven, he can take it.
Eventually, the match reaches the ring, where the four men constantly double-team and backstab one another to claim the victory. Such a frenetic atmosphere would be havoc to run smoothly, but once again, I've got veteran guys who know how to make a match flow. In case you were wondering, there's an abundance of countered finishers happening here, for another particular reason: if you land the finishers too much without being able to win, it makes them look weaker as a result.
Most failed pins after finishers are the results of intervention by one of the other two guys. Also, there's no count out, so that there can be some more antics out on the floor around the ring. Poor Foley, he's getting knocked around in my fictional world.
I'm really struggling to decide the victor in this one. I think I'll go with Austin nailing three straight stunners on all of his opponents to be the last man standing. I just figure it would be an awesome pop, and if it doesn't flow very well, you could slow it down by adding in something cool, like after he hits the first two stunners on Kane and Cactus, The Rock knocks him down in the middle of the ring. Time for the people's elbow, which hadn't been seen up to this point. The Rock bounces from one end to the other, and then... woosh, Austin gets to his feet, stunner #3. Pinfall. The crowd goes freaking ballistic.I don't know about you, but this event sounds pretty damn exciting to me.
9. Bret Hart (c) vs. Kurt Angle for the heavyweight championship of the world
Singles
Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. Yes yes. This right here is a dream match, quite unlike most of the other ones on this card. Because, as you might have realised, nearly all of the other matches have happened at some point. I wasn't trying to assemble the 'best that never was' with this, rather I was trying to put together the best show ever.
With this fight, however, I pit two of the greatest wrestlers of all time against one another, a pair of men whose careers just barely went past one another, preventing this bout from ever occurring. Bret Hart is the pride of Calgary, Alberta, Canada (let's say he's the red of the flag to Lance Storm's white!), a celebrated champion whose matches are the stuff of legend. On the other side, Kurt Angle is the golden boy from Pittsburgh, the legitimate Olympic medalist whose quick transition from amateur wrestling to pro rasslin' was simply amazing. For a guy who won gold in a sport that scarcely resembles the exploits of WWE, he made it seem as though it came naturally to him.
The two were everything you wanted in a wrestler: smart, fundamentally sound and supremely talented. They knew how to make a match flow and how to play an audience, and that feeling when they locked in their signature submissions... you knew shit was about to get real.
I don't know which era I'm plucking each from, so no, don't ask me whether or not Angle is bald, because I simply don't know. Rest assured, it won't be during his brief wig phase.
I've even got an angle leading up to this one, and it is based of course on their place in their countries' mythos. It's Canada vs. USA, the ultimate struggle between neighbouring nations constantly trying to outdo one another. And, uniquely, this would allow the two to swap their roles as face and heel depending on where each show took place. A night in Denver? Kurt Angle covers the Americans from coast to coast. A day in Toronto? The crowd would simply go nuts for Bret Hart.
It's like the Boston Bruins' win that left Canada gobsmacked, in response to Sidney Crosby's golden goal that shellshocked America. It's back and forth, good vs. evil interchangeable according to your side of the border, and brought to you by two of the best wrestlers of all time.
This match will be up there with Storm/Jericho and Benoit/Guerrero for being a sheer wrestling clinic, complete of course with near falls and all the other frills. As this is being held in New York (or heaven), remember that Bret Hart and Canada play the villain here. So when Lance Storm comes running down towards the ring, you know that something bad is about to happen. In response, Steve Austin makes his way into the arena to prevent Storm's interference.
The stars come tearing out in their numbers; Jericho, Benoit, Edge and Christian among the Canadian battlers, pitted against The Rock, Hogan, Sting, etc.
The match looks more like a lumberjack brawl with the multitude of wrestlers fighting each other on the outside, with the crowd going nuts as to what they're seeing, all the while, Hart and Angle being the focal point on the inside. Finally, Angle Slam, 1, 2, 3.
America has won the title back from the villains in Canada. Their forces begin to overwhelm the canucks outside, and the American wrestlers all enter the ring, where Angle leads them and the crowd in singing the Star-Spangled Banner.
...Because don't forget, this show began with the national anthem being interrupted, and you'd best believe that they wouldn't let it end that way.
Wow. There you go, huh? That turned out a lot more thorough than I had ever intended, and I fear I may have lapsed from descriptive to ranting and raving as the ideas came spilling out of my head.
I guess I should thank pro wrestling for the years of memories it has given me, as well as a generation after me, and many generations before. Lord knows how I'll be able to top this in next year's PPV. Though, maybe I could ask him? Let me see if I can find that box seat...
Monday, October 24, 2011
Comfort in Familiarity
Typically speaking, sports fans are creatures of habit. They hail the praises of their team during periods of success and they lambaste the team when things go awry; most often singling out one particularly undesirable player as the source of their decline.
They gather in numbers, at stadiums or in front of television screens of various sizes, ready for the ritualistic highs and lows that come intertwined with sport.
So much time, money and emotion is invested in what is, basically, a group of people you'll never meet, playing a game. I personally am a guilty culprit of this fascination; the deflation I feel after a particularly bad loss is apparent in my day to day actions: I'm extremely unpleasant. It was as though I were out there, stumbling about on the field as my hapless team was dismantled.
It is true to this nature, then, that we as sports fans clamour for familiarity. We seek the things in our team that hearken to better days; more competitive teams, players we enjoyed watching, or maybe even something as simple as fond memories of a bygone era reminding us of our youth.
For this reason, Toronto Blue Jays backers were ecstatic when Cito Gaston returned as team manager in 2008 after an eleven year departure. Gaston had famously guided the franchise to back-to-back World Series titles during his first tenure, and all of the key elements were apparent. In Gaston, we were reminded of the Blue Jays of the early 90s, of Joe Carter and Roberto Alomar, of the baseball powerhouse that came out on top not once but twice.
In the three seasons of his return, Gaston led the Jays to 211 wins, 201 losses, and no playoff appearances. Any other manager who accumulated numbers this mediocre would have been berated, but not Cito. To the people of Toronto, Gaston would remain a hero, a man simply put up against insurmountable odds without enough talent on the diamond to create a winner.
We love our familiarity. And right now, following a 41-7 loss in what could be the most important game of the year, Tennessee Titans fans wish they could see something they recognise from their past.
Over the last three generations of Titans football, there was a common element among the type of players who led the team at the quarterback and running back position.
This tradition was typified by a duo who only played together for one season. In their careers, Warren Moon and Earl Campbell were like ships passing in the night. As Moon arrived with the Houston Oilers (the franchise that would later become the Titans) from the CFL's Edmonton Eskimos in 1984, Campbell was only two seasons away from his retirement.
However, the two often go hand in hand as torch-bearers for the success of the Oilers of the 80s. They were superior athletes; nimble and athletic in the case of Moon, while Campbell famously demolished opponents by simply ploughing through them with herculean might.
Perhaps then, it was through no coincidence that the faces of the franchise would then become a pair of players who mirrored the abilities of Moon and Campbell to a tee.
Steven LaTreal McNair was drafted in the first round of the 1995 draft, and his counterpart Edward Nathan George would arrive one year later. What followed were eight seasons of physical football, battling through injuries, and steely resolve. In short, Titans fans were spoilt by the kind of people they had leading their team. The only words that would come out of their mouths were words of encouragement during a game, or acceptance of blame following a loss. They preferred to let their actions speak louder than their words, and, put simply, their actions spoke volumes for close to a decade.
After that period, we enter an era that looks unfamiliar, and frankly, it does not bode well for this team.
To fill the gaping holes left by the departures of McNair and George, the Titans made Vince Young and LenDale White the heirs apparent. And though their physical traits again fit the formula we had grown accustomed to, there was something new in the air. It wasn't so much confidence, because the prior generations of leaders had this in abundance. Now, we met leaders with arrogance.
The Young/White era was incredibly short-lived. LenDale White entered the NFL with a sense of entitlement and nagging weight issues that limited his effectiveness. He would leave for Seattle after four years, and was out of the league one year later.
The Vince Young saga was much more chaotic than that. A supreme athlete with question marks surrounding his accuracy and work ethic, Young was meant to revolutionise the quarterback position. And, sure enough, in his first season, he seemed to be on track to do this. Defenders had to gameplan against his unique skill set, and he tore the league apart with his quick feet.
However, Young once famously uttered the phrase "Can't nobody tell me nothing". At the time, the populous assumed that surely he meant the words of his detractors would not discourage him, and he would continue to mature and flourish.
Unfortunately, it would later seem as though the true meaning behind this statement was that Young thought himself invincible, and his natural ability would be enough to succeed. After five roller coaster-like seasons that led to the dismantling of the roster and the departure of Jeff Fisher, the coach for sixteen years, Young was gone.
The Tennessee Titans have washed their hands of the mistakes they made in 2006. What seems to be becoming apparent, however, is that the new generation may be providing them with the same headaches right over again.
I am speaking, primarily, of the words and actions of Chris Johnson, supposedly the Titans' best player, and a man so illiterate it is downright painful.
Now entering his fourth season, he has become one of the league's most prolific running backs, an elusive speedster who, in 2009, became only the sixth player in league history to amass more than 2,000 rushing yards in a single season.
He has also been known to enjoy excessive celebration, banging drums on the sideline on one occasion, and at times even holding the ball out in front of opponents' faces in the middle of play, as if to say, "here it is, try and take it".
After missing this year's preseason over a contractual holdout, Johnson became the richest running back in the league, netting himself a four-year contract worth $53.5 million, with $30 million of that guaranteed.
How has he rewarded the Titans for their generosity? Through the first six games, he has had the worst season of his career: 93 runs for 268 yards, an average of 2.9 yards per run. To put this in perspective, his career average prior to this year had been 5 yards.
And for all of this, the lacking performance isn't the most frustrating part of this debacle. What is worse, quite clearly, is his reaction to claims of diminished ability.
After this latest lashing at the hands of the Houston Texans, a game that held important connotations to winning the division and assuring a playoff spot, Johnson was unapologetic, despite managing a meagre 18 yards on 10 rushing attempts.
He was quoted in his post-game press conference as claiming, "If you are watching the game and you can't tell what's going on with the run game, then I'd say you really don’t know football. I am just getting the ball and running hard and doing what I have been doing since I got here, reading my reads. I wouldn’t say I am the issue. I'm very confident I've been doing the things... I do. I can’t do nothing but keep working hard."
Johnson says he "can't do nothing but keep working hard", but it would seem as though there is a great deal more he could do to solidify himself as a face of this franchise.
This is a far cry from the leaders of yesteryear, who, as established, would never have thrown teammates to the wolves of the media. For all of his ignorance, Johnson was always dazzling on the field, to the point where we forgave his incomprehensible boasting.
Now, we see a man without the lofty numbers, pointing the finger at everyone but himself. And now, we can see that the things we admired most about the players of old wasn't their athleticism or their talent. It was their humility, their moral values and their ability to rally their men.
Losing isn't necessarily unfamiliar to the Titans, but floundering without any sense of direction, with their best and brightest bemoaning his teammates, is unsavoury, tenuous ground. And if they hope to right this tattered ship, they'd best find some players with leadership qualities. They'd best find some familiarity.
They gather in numbers, at stadiums or in front of television screens of various sizes, ready for the ritualistic highs and lows that come intertwined with sport.
So much time, money and emotion is invested in what is, basically, a group of people you'll never meet, playing a game. I personally am a guilty culprit of this fascination; the deflation I feel after a particularly bad loss is apparent in my day to day actions: I'm extremely unpleasant. It was as though I were out there, stumbling about on the field as my hapless team was dismantled.
It is true to this nature, then, that we as sports fans clamour for familiarity. We seek the things in our team that hearken to better days; more competitive teams, players we enjoyed watching, or maybe even something as simple as fond memories of a bygone era reminding us of our youth.
For this reason, Toronto Blue Jays backers were ecstatic when Cito Gaston returned as team manager in 2008 after an eleven year departure. Gaston had famously guided the franchise to back-to-back World Series titles during his first tenure, and all of the key elements were apparent. In Gaston, we were reminded of the Blue Jays of the early 90s, of Joe Carter and Roberto Alomar, of the baseball powerhouse that came out on top not once but twice.
In the three seasons of his return, Gaston led the Jays to 211 wins, 201 losses, and no playoff appearances. Any other manager who accumulated numbers this mediocre would have been berated, but not Cito. To the people of Toronto, Gaston would remain a hero, a man simply put up against insurmountable odds without enough talent on the diamond to create a winner.We love our familiarity. And right now, following a 41-7 loss in what could be the most important game of the year, Tennessee Titans fans wish they could see something they recognise from their past.
Over the last three generations of Titans football, there was a common element among the type of players who led the team at the quarterback and running back position.
This tradition was typified by a duo who only played together for one season. In their careers, Warren Moon and Earl Campbell were like ships passing in the night. As Moon arrived with the Houston Oilers (the franchise that would later become the Titans) from the CFL's Edmonton Eskimos in 1984, Campbell was only two seasons away from his retirement.However, the two often go hand in hand as torch-bearers for the success of the Oilers of the 80s. They were superior athletes; nimble and athletic in the case of Moon, while Campbell famously demolished opponents by simply ploughing through them with herculean might.
Perhaps then, it was through no coincidence that the faces of the franchise would then become a pair of players who mirrored the abilities of Moon and Campbell to a tee.
Steven LaTreal McNair was drafted in the first round of the 1995 draft, and his counterpart Edward Nathan George would arrive one year later. What followed were eight seasons of physical football, battling through injuries, and steely resolve. In short, Titans fans were spoilt by the kind of people they had leading their team. The only words that would come out of their mouths were words of encouragement during a game, or acceptance of blame following a loss. They preferred to let their actions speak louder than their words, and, put simply, their actions spoke volumes for close to a decade.
After that period, we enter an era that looks unfamiliar, and frankly, it does not bode well for this team.
To fill the gaping holes left by the departures of McNair and George, the Titans made Vince Young and LenDale White the heirs apparent. And though their physical traits again fit the formula we had grown accustomed to, there was something new in the air. It wasn't so much confidence, because the prior generations of leaders had this in abundance. Now, we met leaders with arrogance.
The Young/White era was incredibly short-lived. LenDale White entered the NFL with a sense of entitlement and nagging weight issues that limited his effectiveness. He would leave for Seattle after four years, and was out of the league one year later.The Vince Young saga was much more chaotic than that. A supreme athlete with question marks surrounding his accuracy and work ethic, Young was meant to revolutionise the quarterback position. And, sure enough, in his first season, he seemed to be on track to do this. Defenders had to gameplan against his unique skill set, and he tore the league apart with his quick feet.
However, Young once famously uttered the phrase "Can't nobody tell me nothing". At the time, the populous assumed that surely he meant the words of his detractors would not discourage him, and he would continue to mature and flourish.
Unfortunately, it would later seem as though the true meaning behind this statement was that Young thought himself invincible, and his natural ability would be enough to succeed. After five roller coaster-like seasons that led to the dismantling of the roster and the departure of Jeff Fisher, the coach for sixteen years, Young was gone.
The Tennessee Titans have washed their hands of the mistakes they made in 2006. What seems to be becoming apparent, however, is that the new generation may be providing them with the same headaches right over again.
I am speaking, primarily, of the words and actions of Chris Johnson, supposedly the Titans' best player, and a man so illiterate it is downright painful.
Now entering his fourth season, he has become one of the league's most prolific running backs, an elusive speedster who, in 2009, became only the sixth player in league history to amass more than 2,000 rushing yards in a single season.
He has also been known to enjoy excessive celebration, banging drums on the sideline on one occasion, and at times even holding the ball out in front of opponents' faces in the middle of play, as if to say, "here it is, try and take it".
After missing this year's preseason over a contractual holdout, Johnson became the richest running back in the league, netting himself a four-year contract worth $53.5 million, with $30 million of that guaranteed.
How has he rewarded the Titans for their generosity? Through the first six games, he has had the worst season of his career: 93 runs for 268 yards, an average of 2.9 yards per run. To put this in perspective, his career average prior to this year had been 5 yards.
And for all of this, the lacking performance isn't the most frustrating part of this debacle. What is worse, quite clearly, is his reaction to claims of diminished ability.
After this latest lashing at the hands of the Houston Texans, a game that held important connotations to winning the division and assuring a playoff spot, Johnson was unapologetic, despite managing a meagre 18 yards on 10 rushing attempts.
He was quoted in his post-game press conference as claiming, "If you are watching the game and you can't tell what's going on with the run game, then I'd say you really don’t know football. I am just getting the ball and running hard and doing what I have been doing since I got here, reading my reads. I wouldn’t say I am the issue. I'm very confident I've been doing the things... I do. I can’t do nothing but keep working hard."Johnson says he "can't do nothing but keep working hard", but it would seem as though there is a great deal more he could do to solidify himself as a face of this franchise.
This is a far cry from the leaders of yesteryear, who, as established, would never have thrown teammates to the wolves of the media. For all of his ignorance, Johnson was always dazzling on the field, to the point where we forgave his incomprehensible boasting.
Now, we see a man without the lofty numbers, pointing the finger at everyone but himself. And now, we can see that the things we admired most about the players of old wasn't their athleticism or their talent. It was their humility, their moral values and their ability to rally their men.
Losing isn't necessarily unfamiliar to the Titans, but floundering without any sense of direction, with their best and brightest bemoaning his teammates, is unsavoury, tenuous ground. And if they hope to right this tattered ship, they'd best find some players with leadership qualities. They'd best find some familiarity.
Monday, October 17, 2011
#16: Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars
Platform: Super NintendoPublisher: Nintendo
Developer: Square
Release: 01/06/1996
Though I played a lot of games as a kid, my exposure to the thorough catalogue of gaming genres was initially quite limited. Platforming games were my forte, and represented the biggest chunk of the library, whereas sports were a non factor for me back then, and until Looney Tunes B-Ball, I never owned a single sporting game.
Similarly, it took the presence of Mario for me to ever take interest in an RPG game, a foreign concept to me at the time. Upon first renting it, my sister and I watched the opening animation; our minds shifting from wonderment at the graphics to confusion over the flow of battles. Mario leapt forward from a formation, made an attacking animation in the direction of a stationary enemy, who proceeded to explode. But wait! He didn't even touch it! What sorcery is this?
And so, we began our first RPG. Alright, our first turn-based RPG, because in some minds, games in the Zelda series are entries in the RPG genre, though I myself disagree.
Anyhow, Mario RPG follows the same premise as a great number of Mario games; Princess Toadstool has been kidnapped by Bowser, and Mario sets out to rescue her once again. Of course, genre aside, this game is not the same as other Mario games, and this is clear from the moment you see the first level set within the walls of Bowser's castle. For this traditional series of events is merely a skein to the greater adventure, truly one of Mario's most epic, colourful and unique quests.
One of the marvelous things about Mario RPG is that it's a wonderful clash of two worlds: the familiar characters and platforming aspects of Mario, with the story elements and combat style of RPGs like Final Fantasy. Of course, this is because the game was made by the very creators of Final Fantasy, Square, who were churning out quality titles en route to their peak of the late 90s.
This was certainly a cerebral entry in the Mario series. Though more RPGs would follow, the battles were more difficult and tactical in this one, borderline brutal on occasion, and as such, Mario RPG still stands in many people's minds as the finest example of the genre for a Mario title.
It still remains fresh in my mind, all these years later, despite how apathetic Nintendo appear to be towards it. Geno's 'blink and you'll miss it' cameo in Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga caused quite a stir among the fan community, and this is indicative of how much love the game still holds.
The game does have a subtitle, after all, and we still wonder if maybe, someday, we'll see another one.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
#17: Pikmin
Platform: Nintendo GameCubePublisher: Nintendo
Developer: Nintendo EAD
Release: 03/12/2001
When the GameCube was first getting off the ground in the early years of the new millennium, one of the key things we were promised was a world of imagination. To my mind, certainly, the console delivered. From the quirky Animal Crossing to the charming Wind Waker, the GameCube tried to define itself as being unique, rather than simply assimilate into the new world of high definition graphics and mature storylines. Put simply, with the GameCube, Nintendo tried to give gaming a soul.
Unfortunately, on a sales standpoint, the system failed. In my eyes however, it was a glorious little piece of magic, and it wasn't Nintendo's fault that gaming has become saturated with first person shooters and moronic gamers. I'm glad that the GameCube happened. Perhaps most of all, because the GameCube introduced us to the Pikmin.
The first thing I wondered when I heard about Pikmin was... why does the title sound like Pokemon? Is it an offshoot? I still may not have quite deciphered that eerie similarity, but Pikmin is a unique world all of its own. Your hero, one Captain Olimar, has crash landed on an alien planet (Earth), and must collect all of the pieces of his spaceship to escape.
Unfortunately, the gaffer is pretty useless on his own, and he's about the size of a nickel. So he enlists the services of the titular Pikmin, and the fun begins. Though they each have one of three unique sets of abilities based on their colour, and you must use them correctly in order to solve your goals, one of the fun things about Pikmin is that you have the freedom to control your troops as you see fit.
Will you hover over all 100 out on the field at all times, to oversee their actions? Or will you delegate them to tasks before moving on elsewhere, returning later to find your Pikmin had fallen victim to a hungry monster? Will you utilise an even mix of all three? Or will you load up on your favourite colour? Will you very carefully and tactfully battle ravenous enemies? Or will you simply fling Pikmin haphazardly into the fray? It's up to you.
Shigeru Miyamoto once made the iconic character of Link based on his own adventurous childhood. He decided the lead animal in Star Fox while visiting Fushimi Inari-taisha, the head shrine of Inari. And he envisaged the Pikmin world while watching the actions of ants in his garden. The way the man takes in the world around him is truly special, and Pikmin feels vibrant and alive as a result.
The number of levels is limited, but each feels completely different, and you won't know what to expect next. Each new discovery... each new challenge... The scope of the world feels grand and daunting, and you'd have to be a pretty bland person not to at least appreciate the game's ambitious nature.
The second Pikmin game introduced two new species of Pikmin, a second playable character, and 'dungeons', multi-leveled subworlds full of treasure for you to explore. And though it is indeed a fine game; fuller and more robust than the original, with an increase in difficulty that is simply enormous, the first title still holds my heart.
Primarily, it's because I prefer the level design in Pikmin 1. But also, it's because we got the chance to try out this new experience for the first time. From when we first yanked Pikmin #1 from the dirt, and got that little red sucker to do our bidding, we were ushered into a fresh universe.
I've been waiting far too long for Pikmin 3 to come out. What new imaginative experiences will it offer?
Sunday, July 3, 2011
#18: WWE SmackDown! Shut Your Mouth
Platform: Sony PlayStation 2Publisher: THQ
Developer: Yuke's Media Creations
Release: 13/11/2002
As you might have fathomed from the first two entries, I've been a Nintendo fanboy for about twenty years now. So when I started to get into pro wrestling in the late 90s, my first exposure was through the WCW vs. nWo and WWF No Mercy games on the Nintendo 64.
When the next generation of consoles came out, something went sour with Nintendo and rasslin'. Wrestlemania X8 was a disappointing premiere, and furthermore, it was released half a year after the PS2 had already got its own inaugural WWF title; the third edition in the SmackDown! series.
On that note, Just Bring It was a disappointment in its own right: as soon as it hit shelves, it was dated. It lacked any presence of the WCW/ECW 'Invaders', an angle that had begun roughly nine months before the game's release.
Couple that with ugly graphics and dreadful commentary, and JBI was a gruesome beast. But hey, I enjoyed it at the time (the omission of the Invasion angle being my biggest disappointment), and when the next title, Shut Your Mouth, surfaced, it was, in my mind, the biggest advance in the series, and a complete wrestling experience.
The WWE games generally don't seem to offer a whole lot of advances from title to title (a streamlined story mode and retooling of the counter system the highlights of the next title, Here comes the Pain), so in all likelihood, the fact that SYM was just so much better than JBI might glorify it in my mind.
The story mode was given a complete rehaul, and it remains the only prolonged wrestling story mode that I've played all the way through. The graphics were, for their time, magnificent. This was especially evident in the character model for one of the game's most significant inclusions; one Hollywood Hulk Hogan.
On that note, this was the game's major selling point for me: its roster. It was released during the ill-fated nWo angle, which meant that long-absent classics like Hogan, Shawn Michaels and Kevin Nash made an appearance, plus all of the WCW/ECW guys missing from the last game; primarily, my boy Lance Storm. Oh hell yeah.
The formula may have been done a little bit better with each title that came, but the pinnacle for me was easily SYM. The intense multiplayer skirmishes friends and I engaged in remain fresh in my mind, our once-laughable created wrestlers now looked respectable, and we didn't face the same disappointment after sifting through the available characters.
Furthermore, the real superstars were given the highest stat total. Guys like The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin. They were the best of the best, just like they should be, and not the later whelps like Brock Lesnar, John Cena or the horribly disappointing Goldberg.
SYM was WWE done right. And as it was released during what was possibly the height of my passion for wrestling, it maintains a glorious sheen no wrestling game will likely ever recapture in my eyes.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
We Are Tony's World
And what a strange world it is...
Pardon me for interrupting my top 20 video games, but I thought I'd express my recent obsession for the song We Are the World. That's right, the 1985 mega-charity effort by some of the biggest stars of the USA.
It only recently occurred to me how many of my favourite artists recorded the track, and that's beyond just the ones that immediately spring to mind. We all know Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder were involved... But did you know Harry Belafonte was a member of the chorus? How about Bette Midler? Did you notice the Pointer Sisters in there?
Indeed, it was a veritable melting pot for musical superstardom. But of course, there were many, many names missing. I have taken it upon myself to tweak the roster a little, how I best see fit. I'll try to minimize the amount of original performers as best I can, because that would be awfully boring and most of them would still make the cut.
So of course, this is no disrespect towards anyone from the original I omitted. I just wanted to be creative. Also, as a challenge to myself, I've set this fictional re-recording in the year 1991. As a result, Louis Armstrong and Jake Shears will not appear. As much as I'd like for them to.
1991 was pretty much the mark that I had set to include as many of my favourite artists as I could, a number that could have been adjusted if Freddie Mercury hadn't been taken from us prematurely.
Anyhow, let us rejoice! Let us regale! Let us be mighty confuzzled...
We open with Lionel Richie reprising his original opening role, just as he should. He was heavily involved in both versions of the recording (the other being the 2010 version, which is not at all my cup of tea), and he shall appropriately remain entrenched in the '91 iteration.
He then gives way, still, to Stevie Wonder, who in my opinion has the greatest voice of all time. If I were having too much trouble securing my multitude of names for this project, my backup plan is to simply have Stevie Wonder sing every single part in a plethora of disguises.
The last in a streak of original reprisals is Paul Simon, who I was otherwise going to tuck away into the chorus. But upon watching the '85 recording, he looks so damned nervous. I fear that if he were demoted, it would just destroy him.
Next, playing the role of Kenny Rogers, is Peter Gabriel. He will twitch around eerily and produce various props made of clay, like he does in the music video for Sledgehammer. It will look terrifying, but it will sound awesome, trust me.
Following this eccentric display, Barry White will surface, singing lines once belonging to James Ingram. Just listen to that bit in the song, and picture it being done by Barry White, it's freaking sexcellent. Barry White got people laid for thirty years with his voice, and hopefully he can work his magic here, too. Assuming the chick involved is particularly easy and can be won over in six seconds.
We now return to the familiar sight of Tina Turner and Billy Joel. Their duet remains untouched, as long as Billy Joel keeps his beard, and has the same cheeky look on his face as he had in 1985. That's one of my favourite bits to look at. I'm sure you'll agree.
Michael Jackson sings the chorus from his mysterious studio in an unknown part of the world (or space). If anyone dares try to ever make a version of this song without Michael Jackson, I will hunt them down and scold them.
This next bit supposedly requires a 'diva', as it was sung by Diana Ross and, later, Barbra Streisand. Instead, I present you with Angela Lansbury. She will be a delight to work with, and she will solve any crime that occurs during the recording process.
Now, and I know that Angela Lansbury bit got you pumped, we bring in Shirley Bassey in place of Dionne Warwick. She is dressed in gold, and for that matter, she might just end up singing Goldfinger instead. I haven't entirely decided yet.
She gives way (perhaps) to Michael Bolton, in a segment once sung by Willie Nelson. I liked Michael Bolton before all you kippers jumped on the bandwagon this year, for the record.
Al Jarreau has now morphed into Phil Collins. You might cry foul, stating that the original group was called 'USA For Africa', and that Collins was found instead among the names in Band Aid, but I defiantly note that Dan Aykroyd and Bob Geldof aren't Americans, either. So I keep my goddamn Phil Collins, thank you very much.
I quite enjoy Bruce Springsteen's work, but I'm not a fan of his contributions in the 1985 edition of We Are the World. He looks and sounds like he's passing a kidney stone, and that's no fun at all. To remove the tension of lines that were once snarled out maliciously, I have handed the role to Grayson Hugh, whose silky tones will put you at ease. That is, if The Boss doesn't get to him first.
Following this, I assumed upon listening that the next part was sung by a woman. I then discovered it was actually Kenny Loggins. I likes me some Loggins, but his androgynous vocals kind of freak me out a little. Instead in 1991 we feature Ali Campbell. He's one of my favourite reggae artists, and he doesn't look at all Jamaican, which is silly fun.
In what is one of my most shocking decisions, I omit Steve Perry, who is routinely excellent, and replace him with Meat Loaf. Giving Steve Perry the chop makes me feel dirty, and as such, I had to inject a heavyweight like Meat Loaf. I hope the decision will serve me well.
Calton Coffie then makes a random appearance in place of Daryl Hall. He is wearing sunglasses and waving his dreadlocks in the breeze. There isn't a breeze to be spoken of as we're indoors, but don't tell him that, he's having way too much fun.
Huey Lewis is the last of the original participants, reprising his unenviable role as the man who precedes the vocal gymnastics of the next verse. He doesn't mind, though, because Calton Coffie is having such a jolly good time nearby.
You have to be careful with this next bit, because it requires a powerful and versatile voice, like Cindy Lauper's or Celine Dion's. As such, I go with the big guns and pull out some Whitney Houston. What years of abuse have done to her voice is a crime of nature, but this is 1991, and she nails every note with panache.
Kim Carnes almost returns, simply because Bette Davis Eyes is such an excellent song, but for now, Kylie Minogue fills in. I'm not proud of my obsession for early Kylie Minogue, but I sure as hell have it. Perhaps after this, you shall, too?
We hit the chorus now, a point where you are introduced to a field of anonymous superstars who I'll list later, but among them, Kate Bush, George Michael, Sting, Patti LaBelle and Eric Clapton get their own miniature solos, just as was done in the 2010 edition. Consider it sneaky to insert concepts from the Haiti rendition, but I had a few big names I had to get rid of somehow and I was running out of opportunities.
The Bob Dylan bit is my least favourite. It just doesn't work, in my opinion, so instead, I'm ramping up the stakes and using Elton John. He is sitting on a Mexican chair person. How glorious!
Ray Charles respectfully gives way to Ben E. King for the next part. Sacrilege, I know, but Ben E. King doesn't get the props I feel like he should. Did you know he's still around and kicking to this day? That's awesome, innit?
In the original edition, we would now be brought back to Stevie Wonder. This is Stevie's best bit, as it allows him to show off his impossibly magnificent voice. For me to forgo Stevie Wonder is a massive thing, and that's why I'm not pulling any punches here. Stevie Wonder's chorus solo shall be done by Freddie Mercury. It might not be Mercury's finest work, as his health is fading rapidly, but Mercury at 10% is better than nearly every other artist at their greatest.
Joining Mercury in what was initially more Springsteen, is Rick Astley. The man deserved a more fruitful career than he had, and he is rewarded for his talents by getting a fictional duet with Freddie Mercury. ...Somehow, that sounded like a better prize in my head.
If you thought I was going to forget David Bowie, you were incorrect. James Ingram got himself another bit of airtime here, but I'm a generous man and spread out my love evenly, giving only Michael Jackson multiple segments. Bowie brings us along towards the end of the powerful magnificence that is the imaginary 1991 We Are the World, and then, it happens...
Enya. That's right, Enya. She is entirely out of place, she's frightened and she's lost, and she's filling in for Ray Charles to lead us out. Can Enya hit those notes? I have no idea, but I love her so and have entire faith in her musical abilities, so I reckon she'll do dandy. As the music fades out, people all across the world are absolutely puzzled. Enya, baby, ENYA!
But before we go, let's take a look at who else I had in the chorus? I've basically just plonked in all of my other favourite artists of the time, but I'm sure that if these musicians came together in actuality, it would sound so magnificent, you would go deaf once it finished, because nothing could ever sound that good ever again. Unless Stevie Wonder started singing again, but that's a moot point.
Say hello to Peter Cox, Rod Stewart, Danny Elfman, Ed Robertson, Lonnie Gordon, Maurice White, Mike Love, Neil Tennant, Billy Ocean, Ralph Tresvant, Roland Gift, Steve Winwood, Andy Bell, Tom Cochrane, Marie Fredriksson, Andy McCluskey, SWV, Holly Johnson, Levi Stubbs, Peabo Bryson, Roger Whittaker, Robert Goulet, Jack Hues, Desmond Dekker, Maxi Priest, Seal, Tracy Chapman, Nathan Lane, Alanis Morrisette, Paula Abdul, Reney Pena, David Ogden Stiers, Thom Yorke, the Everly Brothers, Sydney Youngblood, Warren Zevon, HYDE, Jenny Berggren, Tim Curry, Chynna Phillips, Tina Arena, Shirley Manson, Dion DiMucci, Ty Taylor, Rob Paulsen, Tony Hadley, Will Smith, Lindsey Buckingham, Douglas Hodge, Tom Hulce and Colm Wilkinson.
But that's not all! Keen observers will also note the presence of TLC. In case we were feeling game, we could get Lisa Lopes to give us a rap verse, but that doesn't belong in We Are the World, now does it? (Not so subtle jab at 2010, btw)
Nobody knows who Jack Black is in the distant year of 1991, but he's all sorts of fun and a welcome presence. Similarly, Raine Maida won't go on to form Our Lady Peace for another year, but it's close enough. Perhaps his appearance in We Are the World propelled him to stardom first?
I have no idea whether Adrian Legg and Kenny G can actually sing, but they're such brilliant musicians I chucked them in there, anyway. If all else fails, they can just sing the chorus through instrument, or some such.
Lene Nystrøm shan't be part of Aqua for another three years yet, but there she is, too! I have a knack for discovering talent.
Prince appears via live telecast, just like he perhaps might have in the original. He leers at others like they were Chris Tucker. Delicious, Prince thinks to himself.
I don't know under what circumstances Prabhu Deva qualifies, but he's dancing himself up a storm. Indeed, he's knocking others over on the limited space of the podium. People are up in arms, but fortunately, Calton Coffie is keeping spirits up, so nobody comes to blows.
For those of you who think I show too much bias against 25 for Haiti, you might note that I have included the singing talents of 3T, my only holdovers from 2010. I don't know how old they were in 1991, but Waiting For Love is aces, and they needed something to build them up to that, methinks.
Oh look! I've seen fit to include Lucille Ball of television fame and- oh no wait, my mistake. That's Mick Hucknall.
Filling the great big shoes of Dan Aykroyd and/or Vince Vaughn in the 'what the hell are they doing there' category is my surprise addition, Donovan McNabb. This made a lot more sense before I added the '91 stipulation to the mix, seeing how McNabb is only a sophomore in high school at the moment, but I love listening to anything the man says. I'm sure it was the same when he was in high school. Belt out a tune, little Donny!
And oh yeah, participant #100, Paul McCartney is there, too. Blink and you'll miss him. I just thought it'd be amusing to give lead vocals to Angela Lansbury instead. Tee hee.
Pardon me for interrupting my top 20 video games, but I thought I'd express my recent obsession for the song We Are the World. That's right, the 1985 mega-charity effort by some of the biggest stars of the USA.
It only recently occurred to me how many of my favourite artists recorded the track, and that's beyond just the ones that immediately spring to mind. We all know Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder were involved... But did you know Harry Belafonte was a member of the chorus? How about Bette Midler? Did you notice the Pointer Sisters in there?
Indeed, it was a veritable melting pot for musical superstardom. But of course, there were many, many names missing. I have taken it upon myself to tweak the roster a little, how I best see fit. I'll try to minimize the amount of original performers as best I can, because that would be awfully boring and most of them would still make the cut.
So of course, this is no disrespect towards anyone from the original I omitted. I just wanted to be creative. Also, as a challenge to myself, I've set this fictional re-recording in the year 1991. As a result, Louis Armstrong and Jake Shears will not appear. As much as I'd like for them to.
1991 was pretty much the mark that I had set to include as many of my favourite artists as I could, a number that could have been adjusted if Freddie Mercury hadn't been taken from us prematurely.
Anyhow, let us rejoice! Let us regale! Let us be mighty confuzzled...
We open with Lionel Richie reprising his original opening role, just as he should. He was heavily involved in both versions of the recording (the other being the 2010 version, which is not at all my cup of tea), and he shall appropriately remain entrenched in the '91 iteration.
He then gives way, still, to Stevie Wonder, who in my opinion has the greatest voice of all time. If I were having too much trouble securing my multitude of names for this project, my backup plan is to simply have Stevie Wonder sing every single part in a plethora of disguises.
The last in a streak of original reprisals is Paul Simon, who I was otherwise going to tuck away into the chorus. But upon watching the '85 recording, he looks so damned nervous. I fear that if he were demoted, it would just destroy him.
Next, playing the role of Kenny Rogers, is Peter Gabriel. He will twitch around eerily and produce various props made of clay, like he does in the music video for Sledgehammer. It will look terrifying, but it will sound awesome, trust me.
Following this eccentric display, Barry White will surface, singing lines once belonging to James Ingram. Just listen to that bit in the song, and picture it being done by Barry White, it's freaking sexcellent. Barry White got people laid for thirty years with his voice, and hopefully he can work his magic here, too. Assuming the chick involved is particularly easy and can be won over in six seconds.
We now return to the familiar sight of Tina Turner and Billy Joel. Their duet remains untouched, as long as Billy Joel keeps his beard, and has the same cheeky look on his face as he had in 1985. That's one of my favourite bits to look at. I'm sure you'll agree.
Michael Jackson sings the chorus from his mysterious studio in an unknown part of the world (or space). If anyone dares try to ever make a version of this song without Michael Jackson, I will hunt them down and scold them.
This next bit supposedly requires a 'diva', as it was sung by Diana Ross and, later, Barbra Streisand. Instead, I present you with Angela Lansbury. She will be a delight to work with, and she will solve any crime that occurs during the recording process.
Now, and I know that Angela Lansbury bit got you pumped, we bring in Shirley Bassey in place of Dionne Warwick. She is dressed in gold, and for that matter, she might just end up singing Goldfinger instead. I haven't entirely decided yet.
She gives way (perhaps) to Michael Bolton, in a segment once sung by Willie Nelson. I liked Michael Bolton before all you kippers jumped on the bandwagon this year, for the record.
Al Jarreau has now morphed into Phil Collins. You might cry foul, stating that the original group was called 'USA For Africa', and that Collins was found instead among the names in Band Aid, but I defiantly note that Dan Aykroyd and Bob Geldof aren't Americans, either. So I keep my goddamn Phil Collins, thank you very much.
I quite enjoy Bruce Springsteen's work, but I'm not a fan of his contributions in the 1985 edition of We Are the World. He looks and sounds like he's passing a kidney stone, and that's no fun at all. To remove the tension of lines that were once snarled out maliciously, I have handed the role to Grayson Hugh, whose silky tones will put you at ease. That is, if The Boss doesn't get to him first.
Following this, I assumed upon listening that the next part was sung by a woman. I then discovered it was actually Kenny Loggins. I likes me some Loggins, but his androgynous vocals kind of freak me out a little. Instead in 1991 we feature Ali Campbell. He's one of my favourite reggae artists, and he doesn't look at all Jamaican, which is silly fun.
In what is one of my most shocking decisions, I omit Steve Perry, who is routinely excellent, and replace him with Meat Loaf. Giving Steve Perry the chop makes me feel dirty, and as such, I had to inject a heavyweight like Meat Loaf. I hope the decision will serve me well.
Calton Coffie then makes a random appearance in place of Daryl Hall. He is wearing sunglasses and waving his dreadlocks in the breeze. There isn't a breeze to be spoken of as we're indoors, but don't tell him that, he's having way too much fun.
Huey Lewis is the last of the original participants, reprising his unenviable role as the man who precedes the vocal gymnastics of the next verse. He doesn't mind, though, because Calton Coffie is having such a jolly good time nearby.
You have to be careful with this next bit, because it requires a powerful and versatile voice, like Cindy Lauper's or Celine Dion's. As such, I go with the big guns and pull out some Whitney Houston. What years of abuse have done to her voice is a crime of nature, but this is 1991, and she nails every note with panache.
Kim Carnes almost returns, simply because Bette Davis Eyes is such an excellent song, but for now, Kylie Minogue fills in. I'm not proud of my obsession for early Kylie Minogue, but I sure as hell have it. Perhaps after this, you shall, too?
We hit the chorus now, a point where you are introduced to a field of anonymous superstars who I'll list later, but among them, Kate Bush, George Michael, Sting, Patti LaBelle and Eric Clapton get their own miniature solos, just as was done in the 2010 edition. Consider it sneaky to insert concepts from the Haiti rendition, but I had a few big names I had to get rid of somehow and I was running out of opportunities.
The Bob Dylan bit is my least favourite. It just doesn't work, in my opinion, so instead, I'm ramping up the stakes and using Elton John. He is sitting on a Mexican chair person. How glorious!
Ray Charles respectfully gives way to Ben E. King for the next part. Sacrilege, I know, but Ben E. King doesn't get the props I feel like he should. Did you know he's still around and kicking to this day? That's awesome, innit?
In the original edition, we would now be brought back to Stevie Wonder. This is Stevie's best bit, as it allows him to show off his impossibly magnificent voice. For me to forgo Stevie Wonder is a massive thing, and that's why I'm not pulling any punches here. Stevie Wonder's chorus solo shall be done by Freddie Mercury. It might not be Mercury's finest work, as his health is fading rapidly, but Mercury at 10% is better than nearly every other artist at their greatest.
Joining Mercury in what was initially more Springsteen, is Rick Astley. The man deserved a more fruitful career than he had, and he is rewarded for his talents by getting a fictional duet with Freddie Mercury. ...Somehow, that sounded like a better prize in my head.
If you thought I was going to forget David Bowie, you were incorrect. James Ingram got himself another bit of airtime here, but I'm a generous man and spread out my love evenly, giving only Michael Jackson multiple segments. Bowie brings us along towards the end of the powerful magnificence that is the imaginary 1991 We Are the World, and then, it happens...
Enya. That's right, Enya. She is entirely out of place, she's frightened and she's lost, and she's filling in for Ray Charles to lead us out. Can Enya hit those notes? I have no idea, but I love her so and have entire faith in her musical abilities, so I reckon she'll do dandy. As the music fades out, people all across the world are absolutely puzzled. Enya, baby, ENYA!
But before we go, let's take a look at who else I had in the chorus? I've basically just plonked in all of my other favourite artists of the time, but I'm sure that if these musicians came together in actuality, it would sound so magnificent, you would go deaf once it finished, because nothing could ever sound that good ever again. Unless Stevie Wonder started singing again, but that's a moot point.
Say hello to Peter Cox, Rod Stewart, Danny Elfman, Ed Robertson, Lonnie Gordon, Maurice White, Mike Love, Neil Tennant, Billy Ocean, Ralph Tresvant, Roland Gift, Steve Winwood, Andy Bell, Tom Cochrane, Marie Fredriksson, Andy McCluskey, SWV, Holly Johnson, Levi Stubbs, Peabo Bryson, Roger Whittaker, Robert Goulet, Jack Hues, Desmond Dekker, Maxi Priest, Seal, Tracy Chapman, Nathan Lane, Alanis Morrisette, Paula Abdul, Reney Pena, David Ogden Stiers, Thom Yorke, the Everly Brothers, Sydney Youngblood, Warren Zevon, HYDE, Jenny Berggren, Tim Curry, Chynna Phillips, Tina Arena, Shirley Manson, Dion DiMucci, Ty Taylor, Rob Paulsen, Tony Hadley, Will Smith, Lindsey Buckingham, Douglas Hodge, Tom Hulce and Colm Wilkinson.
But that's not all! Keen observers will also note the presence of TLC. In case we were feeling game, we could get Lisa Lopes to give us a rap verse, but that doesn't belong in We Are the World, now does it? (Not so subtle jab at 2010, btw)
Nobody knows who Jack Black is in the distant year of 1991, but he's all sorts of fun and a welcome presence. Similarly, Raine Maida won't go on to form Our Lady Peace for another year, but it's close enough. Perhaps his appearance in We Are the World propelled him to stardom first?
I have no idea whether Adrian Legg and Kenny G can actually sing, but they're such brilliant musicians I chucked them in there, anyway. If all else fails, they can just sing the chorus through instrument, or some such.
Lene Nystrøm shan't be part of Aqua for another three years yet, but there she is, too! I have a knack for discovering talent.
Prince appears via live telecast, just like he perhaps might have in the original. He leers at others like they were Chris Tucker. Delicious, Prince thinks to himself.
I don't know under what circumstances Prabhu Deva qualifies, but he's dancing himself up a storm. Indeed, he's knocking others over on the limited space of the podium. People are up in arms, but fortunately, Calton Coffie is keeping spirits up, so nobody comes to blows.
For those of you who think I show too much bias against 25 for Haiti, you might note that I have included the singing talents of 3T, my only holdovers from 2010. I don't know how old they were in 1991, but Waiting For Love is aces, and they needed something to build them up to that, methinks.
Oh look! I've seen fit to include Lucille Ball of television fame and- oh no wait, my mistake. That's Mick Hucknall.
Filling the great big shoes of Dan Aykroyd and/or Vince Vaughn in the 'what the hell are they doing there' category is my surprise addition, Donovan McNabb. This made a lot more sense before I added the '91 stipulation to the mix, seeing how McNabb is only a sophomore in high school at the moment, but I love listening to anything the man says. I'm sure it was the same when he was in high school. Belt out a tune, little Donny!
And oh yeah, participant #100, Paul McCartney is there, too. Blink and you'll miss him. I just thought it'd be amusing to give lead vocals to Angela Lansbury instead. Tee hee.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
#19: Super Mario World
Platform: Super NintendoPublisher: Nintendo
Developer: Nintendo EAD
Release: 01/01/1990
It might seem campy to state that the first game you ever owned, and if memory serves, ever played, remains one of your all-time favourites. But in my case, it's absolutely true. Super Mario World remains one of the most endearing and treasured games I've ever played. The concept of it seeming dated at all isn't just unlikely, it's downright false. I had just as much fun playing it on the GBA when it was re-released in 2002, and I look forward to the day when my children experience this game for the first time. By their standards, it'll be ancient. But if I know SMW the way I believe I do, it'll prove a classic.
Picking the best Mario game is like picking your favourite child; you love them all for their own merits. To many, the series' peak (or plateau?) was with this game's predecessor, Super Mario Bros 3. To me, however, what World did was take everything that made that game great, and increase it tenfold.
Obviously, World won't be looked back on as being the most revolutionary in the series. However, it remains one of the most refined. The exploratory nature of this game trumps other attempts half its age, and I still remember the excitement I felt exiting a level in a new way, and watching a fresh path appear on the overworld map. Where was I going? How far ahead have I jumped? And will I be able to handle these new challenges? Exploring the map felt like a game unto itself; going down pipes, leaping from warp stars and entering exotic little locales... Fantastic.
Add in fun new mechanics, like the multicoloured Yoshis and the spin jump, and near-unrivaled level design, and World simply remains one of the most polished, timeless classics on the SNES. Frankly, you can't have a SNES without Super Mario World, in the same way you can't have a N64 without Super Mario 64. Mario owns Nintendo consoles in a way only Link can challenge.
I mean, come on. What's there not to like about Super Mario World? The only possible fault you could hold against it is that it didn't push new borders like SMB3, but in my mind, a bigger, better and more robust edition of one of the greatest games of all time is a champion in its own right.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
#20: Animal Crossing
Platform: Nintendo GameCubePublisher: Nintendo
Developer: Nintendo EAD
Release: 15/09/2002
We open with a game that captured my imagination, got me hooked, and made me feel responsible for the fortunes of a small village and its people. Back when I heard about the game being developed for the N64, I thought it seemed kind of odd.
After being in the works for what felt like a decade, it hit the GameCube, complete with underwhelming N64-style visuals. Despite this, I was encouraged by reviews, and when it finally came to Australia in 2004, I was happy to have it in my possession.
What delighted me about Animal Crossing was the game's unique personality. You don't have that many goals to accomplish, and you can do them whenever you like. Or not. Tom Nook may hassle you about paying off the loan, but if you never ever do, you won't suffer much more than a cramped living space.
Me personally, I wanted to go fishing instead, and hang out with a bitchy mouse named Limberg. It's definitely a pop in and play game; talk to the townspeople, do a favour here and there, then pop out. Dedicate as much or as little time as you want.
When I first slacked off in my playing duties, I felt dismayed that my house was infested with cockroaches, the town had been overrun with weeds, and all of my animal friends had been wondering where I was. I had to work hard to fix all this!!
So I spent hours fixing the decrepit condition of Überg. After I had cleared my conscience, it occurred to me: none of these creatures exist. Why in the hell should I care that they were unhappy with me?
That's the kind of thing Animal Crossing can do to you. Even though there are only six different personalities the animals can feature, you begin imagining extra quirks that make them feel different, even though they're just random occurrences. The sporty frog, Costeau, was often out and about and hard to locate. Goldie the dog lived next door and was always my first visit in the morning. And my boy, Alfonso the crocodile, he had an appetite like no other. The characters are limited, but nevertheless charming.
My friends and I would often try to outdo each other by furnishing our houses with the best gear, making the animals like us best with letters and gifts, and race to pay off the loan first. These small aspects of an actual community made the game even more fun.
The sequels, Wild World on the DS and Let's Go to the City on Wii, really didn't wow me much. They were minor improvements on the original without ever feeling much different. I had already invested my time and emotion on Überg, how could I forge that much interest in Calicove and Kamooka? I didn't. I simply stuck with my GameCube, and played my NES games, next to my completed skeleton of a tyrannosaurus rex. And that suited me just fine.
Tony's top 20 video games ATM
Since the last countdown of Titans players went so well (in my mind), I've been inspired to keep on chugging along with my favourites.
This time, in the much more volatile and ever-evolving medium of video games. I added the tag ATM (at the moment), because this list changes on a nearly daily basis. Rarely do games dip in or out of the top 20, but they often change position. I doubt I'll ever be entirely convinced of how they truly rank, but this list is, for now, solid.
The only rule I've enforced is that if a series has multiple similar entries, I'll only include my favourite. So whilst I could have Super Mario World and Super Mario Galaxy from the same series, I can't have Mario Galaxy 1 and 2, being similar entries. Righteo.
Also, unlike the Titans countdown, I won't be preceding each entry with these cumbersome rules and statutes. Thank goodness!
Jump to any entry right here...
#20 Animal Crossing
#19 Super Mario World
#18 WWE SmackDown! Shut Your Mouth
#17 Pikmin
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Tony's Titans: Special Teams
After what has surely been a roller coaster of an undertaking, today we reach the final installment of my favourite Titans from 2002-today. As such, you won't have to hear that phrase anymore. I'm tempted to repeat it multiple times to stretch its shelf life, but I'll refrain.
Now we look at the only men in football who actually use their feet on the ball. They bring the sport that much closer to authentic 'football'. And no, I don't mean soccer. Though sometimes their theatrical flops to gain a penalty is akin to the pathetic tumbling of that lesser sport...
But I digress. First, we take a look at the kicker. Careful, he kicks!
#1 Rob Bironas
2005-present
All-Time Career
160 of 187 FG (85.6%), long of 60, 205 of 207 XP (99.0%)
458 kickoffs for 29,962 yards, avg 65.4, 83 TB
Come on. It's a gimme. The only other kickers I've known for this franchise were Joe Nedney, who was on his way out by the time I'd arrived, and Gary Anderson.
Gary Anderson was indeed one of the greatest kickers of all time, but nowhere near as prolific for the Titans. He does however nab the unlisted second place position for one okay year with us, plus his Randy Moss-like mystique.
I've been a Bironas backer for a while now. I'm pleased as punch with him as our kicker, and the only time I wasn't pulling for him was when he was fighting for a roster spot. My money was on Ola Kimrin, the Swede who technically owns the record for longest ever field goal, a 65-yard bomb in a preseason game.
Bironas beat Kimrin out in camp, and though I felt sad to see the possibly record-setting kicking of Kimrin depart, what I got in return was one of the league's very best, who has himself made the record books.
Though statistics often don't show the whole story, Bironas' almost certainly do. Nearly 86% success rate, a game-winning long of 60 (against the Colts!!), and the most field goals in a single game. Eight. I mean, come on!
That last one might be one of the most futile records to hold (along with most punts, or most turnovers against), but it's ours dammit, and we have Rob to thank, along with our anemic offense.
Speaking of anemic offense, we featured one fairly often. As such, I became well-acquainted with my all-time favourite punter...
#1 Craig Hentrich
1998-2009
Titans Career
861 punts for 36,926 yards (32,084 net), 42.9 avg, 78 long, 295 in 20, 95 TB
412 kickoffs for 25,035, avg 60.8, 42 TB
All-Time Career
1,150 punts for 49,281 yards (42,456 net), 42.9 avg, 78 long, 399 in 20, 142 TB
559 kickoffs for 34,367, avg 61.5, 57 TB
In the turmoil that has been my fandom over the last nine years, there was always one constant. And really, I can't think of a more appropriate way to cap off my list of favourite Titans than with Craig Hentrich, who up until last season, went into each season locked in as our punter.
As the faces around him changed, Hentrich just kept coming into work and doing his job. And he did his job well, hence sticking around with the Titans for a very long time. Meanwhile, Green Bay have struggled to replace him ever since they cut him all those years ago.
It's unfortunate how being a punter basically encapsulates the failure of your team. He's like a bright pink inflatable life jacket. You're embarrassed that you have to rely on him, but he's there to save your life when you would have otherwise drowned. So unless your name is Brian Moorman, people aren't usually happy to see you take the field.
I've already expressed my discontent for the apathy directed towards punters, but I love 'em. I would have been happy to wear a Craig Hentrich jersey, if it didn't suggest feelings of futility about the rest of the roster.
I'm immensely happy that Hentrich was able to take home a Super Bowl ring (back with the Pack), and I was sad to see him go, but Brett Kern has picked up the slack, and I look forward to a decade of service with him. And possibly some fake plays by A.J. Trapasso in the preseason. Seriously, that was awesome.
Now we look at the only men in football who actually use their feet on the ball. They bring the sport that much closer to authentic 'football'. And no, I don't mean soccer. Though sometimes their theatrical flops to gain a penalty is akin to the pathetic tumbling of that lesser sport...
But I digress. First, we take a look at the kicker. Careful, he kicks!
#1 Rob Bironas
2005-present
All-Time Career
160 of 187 FG (85.6%), long of 60, 205 of 207 XP (99.0%)
458 kickoffs for 29,962 yards, avg 65.4, 83 TB
Come on. It's a gimme. The only other kickers I've known for this franchise were Joe Nedney, who was on his way out by the time I'd arrived, and Gary Anderson.
Gary Anderson was indeed one of the greatest kickers of all time, but nowhere near as prolific for the Titans. He does however nab the unlisted second place position for one okay year with us, plus his Randy Moss-like mystique.
I've been a Bironas backer for a while now. I'm pleased as punch with him as our kicker, and the only time I wasn't pulling for him was when he was fighting for a roster spot. My money was on Ola Kimrin, the Swede who technically owns the record for longest ever field goal, a 65-yard bomb in a preseason game.
Bironas beat Kimrin out in camp, and though I felt sad to see the possibly record-setting kicking of Kimrin depart, what I got in return was one of the league's very best, who has himself made the record books.
Though statistics often don't show the whole story, Bironas' almost certainly do. Nearly 86% success rate, a game-winning long of 60 (against the Colts!!), and the most field goals in a single game. Eight. I mean, come on!
That last one might be one of the most futile records to hold (along with most punts, or most turnovers against), but it's ours dammit, and we have Rob to thank, along with our anemic offense.
Speaking of anemic offense, we featured one fairly often. As such, I became well-acquainted with my all-time favourite punter...
#1 Craig Hentrich
1998-2009
Titans Career
861 punts for 36,926 yards (32,084 net), 42.9 avg, 78 long, 295 in 20, 95 TB
412 kickoffs for 25,035, avg 60.8, 42 TB
All-Time Career
1,150 punts for 49,281 yards (42,456 net), 42.9 avg, 78 long, 399 in 20, 142 TB
559 kickoffs for 34,367, avg 61.5, 57 TB
In the turmoil that has been my fandom over the last nine years, there was always one constant. And really, I can't think of a more appropriate way to cap off my list of favourite Titans than with Craig Hentrich, who up until last season, went into each season locked in as our punter.
As the faces around him changed, Hentrich just kept coming into work and doing his job. And he did his job well, hence sticking around with the Titans for a very long time. Meanwhile, Green Bay have struggled to replace him ever since they cut him all those years ago.
It's unfortunate how being a punter basically encapsulates the failure of your team. He's like a bright pink inflatable life jacket. You're embarrassed that you have to rely on him, but he's there to save your life when you would have otherwise drowned. So unless your name is Brian Moorman, people aren't usually happy to see you take the field.
I've already expressed my discontent for the apathy directed towards punters, but I love 'em. I would have been happy to wear a Craig Hentrich jersey, if it didn't suggest feelings of futility about the rest of the roster.
I'm immensely happy that Hentrich was able to take home a Super Bowl ring (back with the Pack), and I was sad to see him go, but Brett Kern has picked up the slack, and I look forward to a decade of service with him. And possibly some fake plays by A.J. Trapasso in the preseason. Seriously, that was awesome.
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