Last week, the addictive Schott's Vocab blog on the New York Times website touted one of my favorite foreign words--"dietrologia." Sometimes translated as "behindology" or "behind-the-scenes-ology," dietrologia is eloquently explained by John Foot in his Winning at All Costs: A Scandalous History of Italian Football as "a science of all-encompassing conspiracy theories, where every event is explained with reference to the machinations of powerful, unseen forces." The reason why I've always like this term is that I've never come across a phrase that so succinctly captures the way many Massachusetts voters perceive their workings of their supposedly hack-infested state government. Indeed, the idea of dietrologia is the bedrock on which the idea of "Hacksachusetts" is built. Essentially, in Massachusetts, dietrologia can function as a kind of political Theory of Everything that is capable of explaining virtually every political appointment, nomination, policy, appropriation or hire. The beauty of this kind of thinking, as Foot noted, is that its "explanations are rarely proved right or wrong and here lies the source of its power." Of course, the instances when dietrologia is proved right--like Italian soccer's quasi-match-fixing calciopoli scandal and the patronage fiasco at Massachusetts's Probate Department--only redouble the strength of its grip on the popular imagination.
And, as the local Massachusetts' media recognized long ago, dietrologia isn't just a mindset, it's a moneymaker. The Boston Herald's Howie Carr, The Boston Globe's Spotlight Team and FOX25, all scramble for scoops that expose the tangled web of public corruption that supposedly underlies even the most mundane details of everyday life. In the Bay State, dietrologia endures because while it may not always be right, it's usually pretty entertaining and, compared to other noxious conspiracy theories (e.g., the 9/11 Truth Movement), it's relatively innocuous. It's just more interesting to believe that the real reason a judicial appointee got the nod was because he is the nephew of the Governor's former driver, not because he was a highly qualified candidate. And, who knows, it might also be true. Ultimately, dietrologia is a guilty pleasure that can be spun by its purveyors as hard, investigative journalism. That's why dietrologia is going to be with us for a long time. It's a word every Massachusetts resident should know.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Post-Balotelli, Will Clubs Learn that Mad Genius Often Fails?
The latest Mario Balotelli implosion during Manchester City's ultimately futile Europa League victory over Dynamo Kyiv begs the question of when European soccer clubs will come to a realization that dawned on American sports franchises long ago--the benefit of phenomenal but volatile talent is often not worth the considerable cost. Granted, given that Balotelli couldn't quite make out how to put on his training bib during the pre-match warm-up of the fateful match, "genius" seems an inapt description. Not to infer that Balotelli is the only Premier League player who isn't a Mensa member; indeed, perhaps the most damning indictment of the intelligence of the modern footballer is that they often make boorish "pundits" like ESPN's Robbie Savage look positively clever in comparison. However, Balotelli stands out because while his physical gifts and natural skills are undeniably world class, his mental make-up falls somewhere between the schoolboy and Sunday pub league level.
Balotelli's Priors
And obviously, this isn't the first time the red mist has descended on the wilful Mario, as this epic display of petulance that occurred after his Inter Milan recorded a famous 3-1 victory over Barcelona at the San Siro last year can attest. His gesticulations both during and after the match were a response to a chorus of whistles that greeted an ambitious, wayward volley. To be fair, the tempestuous relationship between Balotelli, who was born in Italy to Ghanaian parents, and some of Inter's fan base has been complicated by rampant allegations of racism directed at him by Inter's ultras. Sadly, there's likely an element of truth to the claims that Balotelli was unfairly vilified by a bigoted segment of the club's support; on the other hand, he didn't exactly ingratiate himself to the rest of Inter's fans when he was duped into pulling on an AC Milan shirt on Italian television. There's absolutely no excuse for racism of any stripe, but when you play for Inter and you admit that AC Milan is your favorite club--another Balotelli faux pas--all bets are off. This obsession with loyalty isn't confined to soccer hooligans, either. For example, if New York Yankee phenom Jesus Montero admitted that the Boston Red Sox were actually his favorite baseball team, the reception he would receive at Yankee Stadium would likely be so obscene that the game's telecast would have to be rated NC-17. Ultimately, Balotelli's actions both on and off the pitch, suggest that Super Mario, while immensely talented, is a naïve, narcissistic and emotionally immature kid.
A Bad Bit of Business
Given the copious evidence of Balotelli's personality issues, it boggled the mind when City bid against themselves and splashed £24 million to rescue him for Inter last year, especially during a transfer season that saw Rafael van der Vaart and Javier Hernandez sold for fees reportedly under £10 million. Sure Balotelli's former and current manager, Roberto Mancini, has been able to coax 10 goals from the mercurial striker this season, but those have come against decidedly mediocre (at best) opposition (4 v Aston Villa; 1 v Fulham; 2 v West Brom; 2 v Salzburg and 1 v Timisoara). And with one of the biggest matches of the campaign approaching, Mancini will likely drop the wunderkind for cooler heads against Chelsea, tacitly admitting that the occasion is, at the moment, just too big for the player. If this happens, City fans are well within their rights to ask if a slew of goals against Villa and West Brom is the optimal return for £24 million. Couldn't Daniel Sturridge have provided that kind of production for a transfer fee of zero? In three years, the papers might be rife with stories about Balotelli finally fulfilling his vast potential, but he won't do so with City, who will likely have to sell him at a steep loss, most likely to AC Milan. My advice for the Rossoneri is simple--buyer beware.
Red Flags Mean Red Cards
American sports franchises--especially those in leagues, like the NFL, with salary caps--have been burnt by the seductive allure of mad genius before and have tried to develop mechanisms to minimize the risk of wedding themselves to a potential basket case. Specifically, the NFL administers the Wonderlic Cognitive Ability Test to and allows teams to conduct interviews with potential draftees at its scouting combine, all designed to allow franchises to understand the mental capacity of their future employees. Naturally, it doesn't always work (see Leaf, Ryan). Sometimes, you miss the red flags and end up with a lemon even after kick the tires. Nevertheless, in the NFL, there's at least the recognition of the possibility that a player's attitude or character could be so detrimental to a team that the harm he can do could actually supersede the value he can add on the field. Some players are literally more trouble than they're worth. Right now, Balotelli is one of those players. He should also serve as yet another admonition to transfer market buyers that a slew of impressive goals on YouTube and a din of hype does not a £24 million player make. Once the FIFA Fair Play rules actually start to bite, clubs that disregard this kind of fiscal prudence will do so at their own peril. So, in preparation for those regulations, you have to wonder if European clubs will ask to do a due diligence mental check on transfer targets to make sure they don't get saddled with the next Balotelli. After seeing his most recent meltdown, who can blame them.
Balotelli's Priors
And obviously, this isn't the first time the red mist has descended on the wilful Mario, as this epic display of petulance that occurred after his Inter Milan recorded a famous 3-1 victory over Barcelona at the San Siro last year can attest. His gesticulations both during and after the match were a response to a chorus of whistles that greeted an ambitious, wayward volley. To be fair, the tempestuous relationship between Balotelli, who was born in Italy to Ghanaian parents, and some of Inter's fan base has been complicated by rampant allegations of racism directed at him by Inter's ultras. Sadly, there's likely an element of truth to the claims that Balotelli was unfairly vilified by a bigoted segment of the club's support; on the other hand, he didn't exactly ingratiate himself to the rest of Inter's fans when he was duped into pulling on an AC Milan shirt on Italian television. There's absolutely no excuse for racism of any stripe, but when you play for Inter and you admit that AC Milan is your favorite club--another Balotelli faux pas--all bets are off. This obsession with loyalty isn't confined to soccer hooligans, either. For example, if New York Yankee phenom Jesus Montero admitted that the Boston Red Sox were actually his favorite baseball team, the reception he would receive at Yankee Stadium would likely be so obscene that the game's telecast would have to be rated NC-17. Ultimately, Balotelli's actions both on and off the pitch, suggest that Super Mario, while immensely talented, is a naïve, narcissistic and emotionally immature kid.
A Bad Bit of Business
Given the copious evidence of Balotelli's personality issues, it boggled the mind when City bid against themselves and splashed £24 million to rescue him for Inter last year, especially during a transfer season that saw Rafael van der Vaart and Javier Hernandez sold for fees reportedly under £10 million. Sure Balotelli's former and current manager, Roberto Mancini, has been able to coax 10 goals from the mercurial striker this season, but those have come against decidedly mediocre (at best) opposition (4 v Aston Villa; 1 v Fulham; 2 v West Brom; 2 v Salzburg and 1 v Timisoara). And with one of the biggest matches of the campaign approaching, Mancini will likely drop the wunderkind for cooler heads against Chelsea, tacitly admitting that the occasion is, at the moment, just too big for the player. If this happens, City fans are well within their rights to ask if a slew of goals against Villa and West Brom is the optimal return for £24 million. Couldn't Daniel Sturridge have provided that kind of production for a transfer fee of zero? In three years, the papers might be rife with stories about Balotelli finally fulfilling his vast potential, but he won't do so with City, who will likely have to sell him at a steep loss, most likely to AC Milan. My advice for the Rossoneri is simple--buyer beware.
Red Flags Mean Red Cards
American sports franchises--especially those in leagues, like the NFL, with salary caps--have been burnt by the seductive allure of mad genius before and have tried to develop mechanisms to minimize the risk of wedding themselves to a potential basket case. Specifically, the NFL administers the Wonderlic Cognitive Ability Test to and allows teams to conduct interviews with potential draftees at its scouting combine, all designed to allow franchises to understand the mental capacity of their future employees. Naturally, it doesn't always work (see Leaf, Ryan). Sometimes, you miss the red flags and end up with a lemon even after kick the tires. Nevertheless, in the NFL, there's at least the recognition of the possibility that a player's attitude or character could be so detrimental to a team that the harm he can do could actually supersede the value he can add on the field. Some players are literally more trouble than they're worth. Right now, Balotelli is one of those players. He should also serve as yet another admonition to transfer market buyers that a slew of impressive goals on YouTube and a din of hype does not a £24 million player make. Once the FIFA Fair Play rules actually start to bite, clubs that disregard this kind of fiscal prudence will do so at their own peril. So, in preparation for those regulations, you have to wonder if European clubs will ask to do a due diligence mental check on transfer targets to make sure they don't get saddled with the next Balotelli. After seeing his most recent meltdown, who can blame them.
Monday, March 14, 2011
If There's No NFL This Fall, You Could Always Watch . . . Football
It strains credulity to think that on the day after the Tohoku earthquake put Japan on the precipice of an actual nuclear meltdown, Peter King thought it appropriate to use the term "nuclear winter" to describe the NFL lockout, but it's symptomatic of the kind of journalistic hyperbole that will accompany the labor stoppage. Indeed, what on earth will the American people do if there's no NFL season this year? Will the yawning maw of hell not open and swallow us all? Well, in the event that it doesn't, we can consider watching that Other Football--the one we call "soccer." Before you go all Jim Duggan on me, please note that I like the NFL as much (and probably more than) the next American guy. Then, at least consider these five reasons why soccer might not be a bad surrogate for the NFL this fall.
1. Fewer commercials--No, actually MUCH fewer commercials. Considering there are only commercials at halftime (and not, say, after every goal or kickoff or corner kick), watching a soccer match on television doesn't make one feel as if they are enduring a brainwashing experiment bankrolled by a Coors, Subway, the fast food industry and various Big Pharma conglomerates. You will not see a Silver Bullet train materialize out of thin air to the theme of the O'Jay's "Love Train" eight times in an afternoon and feel your will to live slowly slip away. You'll also miss the same company's attempts to try to convince you that you need a specially designed label to tell you that their product is, in fact, cold. Honestly, this might be reason enough to watch a soccer match.
2. Many of the players on opposing clubs still really don't like each other--In the post-lockout NFL, the profound sense of unity and camaraderie that already binds the players will only be strengthened by a protracted struggle against ownership. And while this is great for union solidarity, when it comes to competition, I tend to prefer what the state of Georgia calls "clean, old fashioned hate." Soccer offers plenty of that, along with a fair bit of hate that is not clean at all, but just plain bigoted and sad. Nevertheless, the passion and atmosphere that is generated by the cocktail of historical tensions (whether they be sectarian, regional, political, socioeconomic or a witches brew of all of these) that simmer just below the surface of soccer's greatest derbies and rivalries is often channeled through the crowd to the actual players with spectacular results (for recent examples, see Celtic v Rangers or Roma v Lazio). There is rarely any professional courtesy on derby day. And for someone who, like me, prefers a post-game bust-up to a prayer group, there's nothing wrong with that.
3. The tabloidish off-the-pitch hijinks of a typical large club's players and their WAGS (wives and girlfriends) can make the cast of the Jersey Shore look like the BYU Ping Pong Club--Whoever says the NFL is the best reality show on television isn't familiar with the English National Team--a media-fueled cavalcade of cupidity and crassness whose recent ability to disappoint, infuriate and fascinate an entire nation is beyond compare. The hedonistic exploits of that lot are literally too numerous to recount here, so, instead, I'll only mention the curious case of then 25-year-old Romanian striker named Adrian Mutu. While playing for the English Premier League's Chelsea F.C., Mutu, sometimes known as the Prince of the Carpathians, tested positive for cocaine. It then became clear, thanks to the inimitable Sun, that blow may have been the least interesting thing he was doing. As it turned out, Mutu, who was alleged to have often consulted gypsies, had supposedly participated in orgies with Transylvanian porn stars during which he drank their blood. Now that's a brand of "#winning" that could make Charlie Sheen blush. Suddenly, those tweets from Chad Ochocinco don't seem all that interesting after all.
4. The matches are relatively short--Due in large part to the absence of commercials about erectile dysfunction and five dollar foot-longs, matches are over in a little under 2 hours (i.e., the amount of time it usually takes Phil Simms to say something even remotely interesting).
5. The footballs are not mutually exclusive--If you end up sampling the Beautiful Game and enjoying it, you need not quit cold turkey once the NFL returns. Conveniently, Sunday's matches will wrap up right before 1 PM EST, allowing you time to consult your beer's label to make sure it's as cold as the Rockies right before the early games kickoff.
1. Fewer commercials--No, actually MUCH fewer commercials. Considering there are only commercials at halftime (and not, say, after every goal or kickoff or corner kick), watching a soccer match on television doesn't make one feel as if they are enduring a brainwashing experiment bankrolled by a Coors, Subway, the fast food industry and various Big Pharma conglomerates. You will not see a Silver Bullet train materialize out of thin air to the theme of the O'Jay's "Love Train" eight times in an afternoon and feel your will to live slowly slip away. You'll also miss the same company's attempts to try to convince you that you need a specially designed label to tell you that their product is, in fact, cold. Honestly, this might be reason enough to watch a soccer match.
2. Many of the players on opposing clubs still really don't like each other--In the post-lockout NFL, the profound sense of unity and camaraderie that already binds the players will only be strengthened by a protracted struggle against ownership. And while this is great for union solidarity, when it comes to competition, I tend to prefer what the state of Georgia calls "clean, old fashioned hate." Soccer offers plenty of that, along with a fair bit of hate that is not clean at all, but just plain bigoted and sad. Nevertheless, the passion and atmosphere that is generated by the cocktail of historical tensions (whether they be sectarian, regional, political, socioeconomic or a witches brew of all of these) that simmer just below the surface of soccer's greatest derbies and rivalries is often channeled through the crowd to the actual players with spectacular results (for recent examples, see Celtic v Rangers or Roma v Lazio). There is rarely any professional courtesy on derby day. And for someone who, like me, prefers a post-game bust-up to a prayer group, there's nothing wrong with that.
3. The tabloidish off-the-pitch hijinks of a typical large club's players and their WAGS (wives and girlfriends) can make the cast of the Jersey Shore look like the BYU Ping Pong Club--Whoever says the NFL is the best reality show on television isn't familiar with the English National Team--a media-fueled cavalcade of cupidity and crassness whose recent ability to disappoint, infuriate and fascinate an entire nation is beyond compare. The hedonistic exploits of that lot are literally too numerous to recount here, so, instead, I'll only mention the curious case of then 25-year-old Romanian striker named Adrian Mutu. While playing for the English Premier League's Chelsea F.C., Mutu, sometimes known as the Prince of the Carpathians, tested positive for cocaine. It then became clear, thanks to the inimitable Sun, that blow may have been the least interesting thing he was doing. As it turned out, Mutu, who was alleged to have often consulted gypsies, had supposedly participated in orgies with Transylvanian porn stars during which he drank their blood. Now that's a brand of "#winning" that could make Charlie Sheen blush. Suddenly, those tweets from Chad Ochocinco don't seem all that interesting after all.
4. The matches are relatively short--Due in large part to the absence of commercials about erectile dysfunction and five dollar foot-longs, matches are over in a little under 2 hours (i.e., the amount of time it usually takes Phil Simms to say something even remotely interesting).
5. The footballs are not mutually exclusive--If you end up sampling the Beautiful Game and enjoying it, you need not quit cold turkey once the NFL returns. Conveniently, Sunday's matches will wrap up right before 1 PM EST, allowing you time to consult your beer's label to make sure it's as cold as the Rockies right before the early games kickoff.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Charlie Sheen is Gone--Let's Get James Spader Up in the Bullpen
Every time I see a story about a recent performance of Charlie Sheen's One Man Traveling Circus, I can't help but think of the scene in Ghostbusters when Dan Ackroyd's character, Ray Stantz, is rambling on after invoking the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man. Hearing his partner go to pieces, Bill Murray's Peter Venkman dryly notes, "Ray has gone bye-bye . . . ." Charlie, too, has gone bye-bye. And while I'm by no means a fan of Two and a Half Men, I can't help but find this situation interesting simply because it leaves the show's creators with one of the most perplexing of all Hollywood riddles. How does one replace the true star of the show? Here's a clue--the answer is not "John Stamos."
No, Jesse from Full House is never going to be the answer, but, to be fair to Stamos, there probably isn't a viable long-term replacement for Sheen. And that's why I hope that the producers just take the cynical approach and try to find someone who could just help carry the show for a season or two (see Jon Lovits replacing Phil Hartman on News Radio under, obviously, much different circumstances).
Calling James Spader
Ok, I understand the reasons why this cannot possibly work, with the primary reason being that Spader is not really a comic actor. However, in terms of chemistry, I don't think Jon Cryer and Sheen, in all their seasons on Two and a Half Men, have produced anything even approaching this scene from Pretty in Pink. There are just so many things to like in that clip. That feathered hair. That bitchin' (and blousy) white suit. That slouched, I-don't-give-a-f--k shuffle. I don't think you can beat that. As badass as Charlie Sheen thinks he is right now, he's not even in the same league as Spader's Steff.
But it's not just the Steff-Duckie dynamic that would make this such a fun watch. As his turns as the obnoxious Steff and truly evil Rip from Less Than Zero demonstrate, Spader was a master at channeling the dark side of the spoiled, Gen-X rich kid. I'm pretty sure he would be similarly adept at portraying those same douche bags as they enter middle age. Wouldn't it be great to see how Steff is making out today? Probably much better than he deserves. I could just see him as a twice-divorced, Silicon Valley-based venture capitalist who summers on Nantucket, has his pilot's license, wears a scarf in the summer and rocks Façonnable shirts. Can't someone make this work for a least a couple of episodes? As great as this could be, I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm sure the chances of this happening are, well, nah-dah.
No, Jesse from Full House is never going to be the answer, but, to be fair to Stamos, there probably isn't a viable long-term replacement for Sheen. And that's why I hope that the producers just take the cynical approach and try to find someone who could just help carry the show for a season or two (see Jon Lovits replacing Phil Hartman on News Radio under, obviously, much different circumstances).
Calling James Spader
Ok, I understand the reasons why this cannot possibly work, with the primary reason being that Spader is not really a comic actor. However, in terms of chemistry, I don't think Jon Cryer and Sheen, in all their seasons on Two and a Half Men, have produced anything even approaching this scene from Pretty in Pink. There are just so many things to like in that clip. That feathered hair. That bitchin' (and blousy) white suit. That slouched, I-don't-give-a-f--k shuffle. I don't think you can beat that. As badass as Charlie Sheen thinks he is right now, he's not even in the same league as Spader's Steff.
But it's not just the Steff-Duckie dynamic that would make this such a fun watch. As his turns as the obnoxious Steff and truly evil Rip from Less Than Zero demonstrate, Spader was a master at channeling the dark side of the spoiled, Gen-X rich kid. I'm pretty sure he would be similarly adept at portraying those same douche bags as they enter middle age. Wouldn't it be great to see how Steff is making out today? Probably much better than he deserves. I could just see him as a twice-divorced, Silicon Valley-based venture capitalist who summers on Nantucket, has his pilot's license, wears a scarf in the summer and rocks Façonnable shirts. Can't someone make this work for a least a couple of episodes? As great as this could be, I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm sure the chances of this happening are, well, nah-dah.
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