Russell Will-run

Back with another batch of thoughts about the Washington 'skins.  This week's defeat brought to you by the Seattle Seahawks (generally) and Russell Wilson (specifically).

- First off, Russell Wilson just carved the 'skins to pieces in the first half.  It was as dominant a performance as any I've ever seen from a legitimate combo QB.  But what is less obvious about Wilson's success tonight (and elsewhere) is how unrelentingly cerebral it is.  I'm a longtime rider of the Wilson bandwagon (grew up pulling for N.C. State and have continued to do so unfailingly despite some pretty thin years--sound familiar?), but what's becoming increasingly clear is that his level of preparation should draw comparisons to another QB (the one whose preparation often seems cybernetically enhanced).

That's right, I'm talking about Peyton Manning.  Wilson's game is very, very different, but his painstakingly-earned knowledge has given him an eerily similar comfort level.  Only developing a vast familiarity with the playbook and opposing scouting reports(enough so to make the act of playing football entirely second-nature) can lead to plays like the 3rd-down conversion around the 3-minute mark that ultimately doomed the 'skins.  To sum up, watching Wilson play makes me imagine watching Steph Curry play football.  And yes, I went ahead and bulked up Curry to a sufficiently un-injurable level for that trip through the alterverse.

Anyway, here's to Russell "Oh-look-you-think-you've-got-me-caught-10-yards-behind-the-line-of-scrimmage-haha-that's-funny-here-you-go-Marshawn" Wilson, folks.

-As for the 'skins, a loss is a loss.  No, it wasn't devastating, but now they're 1-4.  They'll need 9-2 to sniff the playoffs.  Sorry to drop the hammer, but I have better odds of waking up tomorrow with a 4-book publishing deal.  And I haven't even sent letters out yet.

-My first inclination was to feel pretty good about the game, because the 'skins were competitive, they had a chance late, and the Seahawks are good.  But then I got pissed, because that just reminded me of how easily I accept moral victories as a 'skins fan.  No more.  It was a home loss, and those are always buckets of shit.  But I'll start with some positives anyway:

The good:
     -Cousins showed pluck, especially with the last TD drive.
     -The DJax throws were superstar-caliber.
     -DJax did what he was brought in to do, and did it against the Seahawks.
     -The D tightened up nicely after the 'hawks went up 17-0.
     -Kerrigan, NFL sack leader. (And generally, there were some nice hits on RW)
     -Saw Bob Griffin walking around pretty smoothly.

The bad:
     -D on the first Seahawks drive.  Positively abominable.
     -Orakpo's contain.
     -Riley's injury. (But at least it's just an MCL sprain)
     -Offensive inconsistency: great big plays, but way too many punts.
     -The Field Goal.  When you're down 10 to last year's champs and you're 1-3, don't kick on 4th and 1 in the red zone, you schmucks.  That being said...
     -The run game.  Sorry Mr. A. Mo. Bentley, because I love you.  But it wasn't a good night.  Which leads to...

The ugly:
     -Niles Paul's run blocking.
     -Niles Paul's blocking.
     -Niles Paul's run blocking.
     -Niles Paul's effort while blocking.

Sorry Niles.  It was what it was.

All right.  Enough wallowing.  Let's go to Arizona and pound a Cardinals team still reeling from the relentless assault of a certain 6'5" 230 lb. quarterback's laser-rocket arm.

Until next week, sports fans.
      

Thursday Night Freefall

A few rambling thoughts about last night's disastrous Giants v. Deadskins tilt:

- That's as sharp as I've seen Eli Manning play in a while, and that 1 INT aberration was about a nanosecond from being a 6th TD (1 rushing). I don't even want to discuss Larry Donnell's coverage-shredding. But if this version of the Giants shows up for the rest of the season (and then in the playoffs), we might be seeing another one of those infuriatingly inexplicable Super Bowl victories.

- Poor Captain Kirk. Somewhere between this and his relative brilliance versus the Jaguars and Eagles is where we'll find the real Kirk Cousins, but now we're left wondering if this last performance will leave scars. I haven't witnessed an erosion of confidence that rapid since my last bumbling attempts to pick up women in a bar more than a decade ago. The first INT was arguably as much the receiver's fault as his. But as the 'skins fell deeper and deeper into point-debt, Cousins' comfort level vanished, and stared-down receivers and long, forced passes became the norm. A rattled QB is easy to spot, and KC8 became one in that debacle of a 3rd quarter. That being said, I thought he'd played a fine game up until that point, more or less comparable with his efforts the past 2 weeks. His response to this game will be telling. Unfortunately it's against the Seahawks.

- Riding shotgun with that last point, the team's response to this game will define their season. Injuries have mounted, and the depth is being sorely tested on both sides of the ball. They need this 10-day break. But make no mistake: just as so many 'skins teams before them, they've now begun that familiar, invidious slide toward a precipitous downward spiral. And it barely took 4 weeks.

-They're lucky to be looking ahead to a Monday Night game, but few (if any) opponents would be worse. The only silver lining is that the game is at FedEx against the East Coast, Away Seahawks--likely their most beatable form. Regardless, the game presents a potential bottoming-out moment, where they'll either let themselves be buried or resolve to crawl out of the darkness. And at this point, even another respectable loss has to be considered a step toward Option B.

- On the brighter side, Kerrigan got another sack and currently leads the NFL with 5. Too bad the other 4 came against J'ville. As much as I hate to say it, the 'skins pass rush just isn't getting home fast enough. The talent between Orakpo, Kerrigan, and Hatcher is undeniable, but you'd be hard-pressed to call any one of them elite. The pass rush is the part of the game I loved most when I played, and it's hardly ever as much about sack numbers as it is about disruption. To the front four: good effort so far. But more chaos, please. And hell, get the ball a time or two while you're at it.

-My good friend and former roommate--we'll call him Mr. 9/23--has spent the last 5 years building a tradition of going to the 'skins home game nearest his birthday. Washington is 1-4 in these. I will do my best to convince him to stop this nonsense immediately.

-I'll be masticating on this game well into next week, but I'm done doing it here.

Until next time, sports fans. If there is a next time.



P.S. - If you like reading fiction that's almost as dark and bloody as that football game, check out lastcausatum.blogspot.com.

The Cabin in the Woods - a Brief Review

Just watched The Cabin in the Woods last night.  I meant to see it when it came out, but circumstances conspired against me, so I'm just now getting around to it.  For better or worse, I had some preconceived notions going in, but I wish I could have had a clean viewing.  I do think my expectations affected the experience somewhat.

That being said, the movie is a lot of fun.  Right from the opener with Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford, we get a slightly different tone than usual.  How many horror movies lead off with amusing banter amid the tedium of a (somewhat scientific-looking) corporate day-job?  And really, for me, this tonal idiosyncrasy is what defined the movie.

Unfortunately, it also limits the film somewhat, but not tremendously so.  Without spoiling anything (because I wouldn't want to pass on those preconceived notions I mentioned) the movie is excellently written, the cast performs gamely, and the dialogue is sharp and enjoyable throughout.  Classic horror tropes are toyed with, turned about, and molded anew.  This is all great fun, but it's also relatively standard for horror satire.

Where the film almost succeeds masterfully is with genuine horror--actually generating scares.  As with Shaun of the Dead, weaving real fear into the absurdity often proves a struggle, though both films give a noble effort.  I'll also point out that this is where that initial tone and my preconceived notions may have colluded with the movie's mounting silliness to hold me back as a viewer (I can't stop thinking of one particularly drawn out scene where a large number of people are enjoying drinks while another person is horribly beaten in the background--it's hilarious, but not remotely frightening).

In any event, it's an entertaining romp with a few smart twists that serves as an incisive commentary on the genre at large, particularly the more recent convention of introducing a cast full of unlikable characters as fodder for the primary antagonist(s).

It also strikes me as the kind of movie that improves under the microscope of repeat viewings, as you catch more jokes and collect additional Easter Eggs.

This one's a solid twelve pack.

Scale:
1 = A shot.  Get it over with quickly and chase it with something more palatable.
2 = A beer. Standard, everyday movie.  Not unenjoyable, but not enough.
3 = A cocktail.  A taste of the good stuff, but watered down and not quite satisfying.
4 = Six pack.  A good time.  Could have been better, but no complaints.
5 = Bottle of Wine.  Slightly more refined fun.
6 = Bottle of Champagne.  To be savored, but leaves you wanting more.
7 = Twelve pack.  Enough to get you excited.
8 = High-Gravity Six Pack.  Like a Twelve Pack, but more tightly edited.
9 = Case.  Amazing, but often taxing.  Pace yourself and try not to break the seal.
10= Bottle of Liquor.  This one will knock you out.

The Coup d'eBron?

Due to a startling lack of substantive sporting news outside of the domestic violence debacle with Ray Rice* (apologies to baseball, golf, tennis, and others, but my ESPN.com pageviews are down about 400,000% since the NBA playoffs ended), I'm paying far more attention to the NBA trade talks, specifically regarding Kevin Love.  This may or may not have something to do with to a certain former Davidson player being somewhat of a focal point on one of the teams involved.  But I digress.

*Two games?  For shame, NFL.

I'll try to keep this fairly brief, but I couldn't help but write it down after a discussion with one of my co-workers inspired the title of this post.  In a nutshell: what if LeBron is gaming the entire NBA on an entirely different level than we even thought possible?

What are the odds that he's pulling all the strings--that he's already convinced Love to stay in Minnesota next year so he can leave as a free agent without the Cavs giving up anything?  It's a little conspiracy-theorist of me, I admit, but it's terribly amusing.  And I can totally see the author of "The Decision" and Miami's erstwhile Big Three coming up with the seeds for this diabolical plan.

But it doesn't stop there.  You remember that letter Gilbert wrote?  Of course you do.  So what makes you think LeBron forgot about it?

Short answer, he didn't, and it's roiling in his guts like a gallon of spoiled milk (not now, I'm rolling).  So, not only is he going to swindle Minnesota by convincing Love to stay a year and walk, he's also going to swindle Gilbert out of a team.

The potential ouster of Donald Sterling (and/or the potential boycott by Clippers players and coaches) sets exactly the precedent LeBron (fictional, devious LeBron in full Che Guevara regalia) was hoping for.  Now all the pieces are in place for him to plant tape recorders and goad Gilbert into mouthing off in just the wrong way at just the wrong time.

The Warriors are now an afterthought in the Love sweepstakes, despite Klay Thompson being the talking-head-consensus-best trade chip, because Love has already been convinced to play in Cleveland.  And LeBron has Cleveland dangling Wiggins (with no intent to actually give him up) to stall the Twolves out whenever they get close to making another move.  What about the Cavs front office, you ask?  Don't be daft.  This is ALL LeBron.  Right?  Right?!

Just you wait.  The pieces are all in place.  When everything goes down, and LeBron somehow rises as the new majority owner of the Cavaliers (and the first in a long line of super-powerful player-owners), don't say I didn't warn you.

The Coup d'eBron is coming.

Taking a Moment to Set the Scene

Sometimes I stumble across something I've written and wonder, just what in the most honored name of Bob Saget made you think that would work, you blithering putz?

Ok, perhaps I'm not quite that harsh, but when a piece or segment seems slapped together, well, I know I was just in too much of a hurry to get from point A to point B.

I couldn't be bothered to set the scene. And perhaps, in a POV piece, the character isn't taking much notice of the scene. Or he's fiddling around in some sort of reverie that we the reader are about to partake of as well. But even so. Even if this character is dismissive of everything around him, disdainful, or outright oblivious... it pays to spend a few words on the scene.

Here's a bit I stumbled across in my revisions, and how I changed it.


-------------------Version The First-------------------

It had been years since he’d set foot in the Capital. And he hadn’t wanted to come back this soon.

Devlan scowled with the visible half of his face. It was true what they said.

All roads did run through Dezaran.

Now, let's be blunt. This is thin. really thin. We learn Devlan's setting foot in Dezaran for the first time in awhile, and he's none too happy about it. Great. The words serve a function. That's about it. But who thinks about what part of their face is visible, even if the purported "invisible" half is a badly scarred ruin?

I won't even touch the dreadful cliche that somehow worked its way in there.

Facing facts, this is a very small part of a very large piece of work that can really do some damage to the whole. If I'm reading this, I totally fall out of the story, and the author (yes, I call myself that when I'm having "me" time) has to do some serious work to make up that ground. Even worse, it's at the start of a chapter, so that makes this flub at least triply inexcusable. But no worries! That's why we do the rewriting, folks. So the fancy hardcover doesn't end up on the bookshelf with poo smeared all through the pages.

-----------Version The First Point Zero Five-----------

People swarmed around Devlan, wayfarers drifting into the gates with packs slung over shoulders, caravaners driving out. All of them jabbering on about mindless things in their mindless tongue.

It had been years since he’d set foot in Dezaran. Just not enough of them.

Devlan scowled with what was left of his face. What was it these Imperials said? Some business about absence, and warming the heart…

It was a load of scat, far as he could tell.

So what did I do? Well, I had to add a few words (37, as it happens), loathe though I am to do it, and I had to change a few others. In those words I needed to establish a specific image and reinforce a few choice traits about our boy Devlan here (because like I said above, it's the beginning of a chapter, and we haven't seen Devlan for a while).

Here you learn Devlan is standing at a rather busy gate into Dezaran city. He doesn't refer to it as the Capital. It's no capital to him. You can see from this that Devlan has a marked distaste for all things Imperial, all the way down to their language, and you get the idea he's something of a cynic. And he is. Without giving anything away, believe me, he has every possible reason to be. Woe to me if he were to come across me in a dark alley after all the things I've put him through.

A different cliche is there, but it's hinted at rather than slammed over the head, and the result is Devlan gets to sound a little more sarcastic, a little more hardened.

Of course the redux is far from perfect as well, anyone can see that, but few would argue that it isn't better. And better is the name of the rewriting game. At least when I play it.

That's why I get to go through it again and again until I finally get it to Version The Second.

Then maybe it will be ready for some editor to stab it to death with his bloody pen.

I can only hope.

Until then, sports fans.

On Editing

Ah, editing. Or perhaps we should call it rewriting. Either way, the process is about shaping. Working a piece, getting in between the lines, smoothing out the wrinkles to make it that much closer to perfect, even if it can never get there.

And, as all of you writers out there surely know, nothing ever can.

But still. We have to try.

See the two versions of the same passage below. Neither are perfect, of course, but one hits a hell of a lot harder. Yet they are practically the same; a written-word version of those goofy find-the-difference-between-these-pictures games you sometimes find on the gambling machines in bars.

Just goes to show you. The changes don't have to be huge to make a huge difference.

--------------------Version A--------------------

Devlan drew his sword with the metal hand and joined the fighting. They weren’t even paying attention to him.

He came down on one with his back turned and ran him through, the blade horizontal, straight through the spine like Claive had taught him.

It got their attention, but only enough so that Claive could take advantage of a few new openings. Devlan pulled his sword from the man he’d just killed, and for just a brief moment, he caught sight of Claive’s eyes.

He froze for a moment, unable to help it. They were bloodshot, almost pulsing with crimson. Claive’s mouth was open, teeth bared. His breaths snarled out through flared nostrils. The expression didn’t look like it should ever belong on a human face. It was the most horrifying thing Devlan had ever seen.


--------------------Version B--------------------

Devlan drew his sword with the metal hand and crashed into the fight. The Keepers hardly seemed to notice.

He came down on one with his back turned and ran him through, the blade horizontal, straight through the spine like Claive had taught.

It got the guards' attention, but only enough that Claive found a few new openings. One turned at Devlan, only to have a blade explode through his head before Devlan could even pull his sword free. Devlan blinked as the blood hit his face. Then he caught a flash of Claive’s eyes.

Devlan froze and stared, trapped. The eyes were wide and bulging, dark as blood around those pale pricks of grey. Claive’s lips stretched back, his teeth bared in a monstrous smile. Hot breath snarled out through flared nostrils, the vapors clouding like smoke around a burning head.

It was the most horrifying thing Devlan had ever seen. A face that didn’t look like it could ever belong to a man.



Excerpts taken from drafts of The Seed of Desolation.

A Little Freewriting

Perhaps this mostly dead blog will see some revival as I delve further into writing and get the gears turning on either a) an exciting adventure for next year or b) an exciting foray into publishing with the 600-page fictional adventure farting around on my hard drive.

Until then... here's a taste of something completely different.

---------------------Looking Back---------------------

When you look back, what’s there to see? Is it a chance lost? An opportunity wasted? A whole mess of them? What is it you feel, when you look in the mirror and see that sagging face with its lightless eyes, that shadow framed in a wreath of steely hair that looks nothing like the person you thought you were? What is there?

Life is not full of time, even though that’s really all it is. Maybe you wanted to do something, or be something. Maybe there was hope in you. But you sat. You didn’t do. You never did.

Or maybe you were something, once. Maybe you found it, but you lost it. Like the athlete who lets go. That warrior. That fighter who wakes up at 3 am sweating liquor and needing a piss, all popping knees and aching back. He leans over the toilet, an arm braced against the wall, and he has to crane his head around his gut to catch a glimpse of his dick. What do you think he’s thinking?

How did I get here? How did this happen? How could it?

But that’s the trick. No one took you to this place, this state. It’s not like you got all dressed up and got into his limo to go to the dance. No one brought you. You brought yourself.

Even if you just sat there and watched life happening around you, even if you decided it felt safest to stay in one place and spin your wheels, you decided. You made a choice. Choices. And every time you look in that mirror, the reflection of those choices will be etched in whatever image stares back through the glass.

I sure wish I’d known that before. When everything was wonderful. When everything was ahead. When I ran my fingers through her hair, and didn’t think I could ever love anyone that much. When my parents called to say they loved me, and I’d say I love you, too, and hang up the phone so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore.

You always seem to realize too late the things that really matter. It’s usually once they’re gone.

The last time I spoke to my parents, I couldn’t wait to get them off the phone. Big date planned, really big. Always thought of that night as a pre-engagement-engagement. Or something. My phone rang during dinner. Once, twice. I turned it off. This girl, nothing was more important than her right then. Still nothing more important than her, if I’m honest.

But after the date I get the messages. All of them. About my parents.

A drunk driver took them from me. I took myself from everyone else.

When I look in the mirror, the face scares me. The eyes mostly. There’s something in the eyes that changes when a man kills.

They died twelve years ago.

I made choices.