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Khabib Nurmagomedov Retires An Undefeated Champion

By Joey Ballgame on October 28, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

Blogger’s Note: It’s been an emotional few days in MMA land hence why this took until Wednesday to get up. Lots to process.

Khabib Nurmagomedov was as close to his father as anyone could be.

Abdulmanap Nurmagomedov did more than raise his son. He mentored him. He coached him. In how to live his life. In the sports of judo, wrestling, and sambo, the latter of which Khabib became a recognized International Master of Sport, in both its combat and non-combat forms.

To see his son become a champion in MMA was Abdulmanap’s dream. A dream shared by a young Khabib, not just for himself, but for his father who he revered immeasurably.

Khabib’s MMA journey took him from Dagestan, a mountainous area of Russia on the Caspian Sea, to Northern California, where he linked up with the American Kickboxing Academy, its head ocach Javier Mendez, and a slew of world class training partners. Khabib brought friends. His crew included fighters from Dagestan and Chechnya, including fellow Abdulmanap pupils such as Islam Makhachev. Over the years someone within the AKA camp could not be asked about the elder Nurmagomedov without espousing a rare reverence, a respect that was palpable in each syllable of the response.

There was a hiccup in Khabib’s jet setting journey. His normal schedule/process would be to live back home in Dagestan and come back to the west coast for training camps, which lasted for a few months before every fight. However, visa issues hounded Abdulmanap, “Father,” as Khabib always called him, and he was unable to coach his son under the AKA roof or attend his fights in Vegas or elsewhere in the United States. It had to of sucked for his son, to put it plainly.

But as we all know, that was pretty much the only thing going wrong for Khabib. He was wrecking shop in the 155 pound division of the Ultimate Fighting Championship. He was going through Lightweights like a great white in a koi pond. His style of dogged chain wrestling and impeccable ground technique led opponents to reflect that they felt like they were “drowning” under his pressure. They felt. Like they were actually drowning. Consider that for a moment.

It became hard indeed for “The Eagle” to even get a fight. Why would a top-10 fighter risk taking a fight against a seemingly emotionless Russian wrestler destined to grind him into dust on the ground, ending in a hail of Khabib’s patented vicious ground and pound or submission? Why would anyone want to risk their standing in the division against an opponent who was still unknown outside of MMA circles because he had just begun to grasp speaking English, an ugly necessity to finding superstardom in the West, and who would not just beat them, but expose them. Expose them as not as up to snuff in their chosen craft as a professional. Expose them as simply not as good as they had been considered before the 15 or less minutes spent in the cage with Khabib.

Eventually though, the UFC could deny him no more. Under his father’s tutelage back home and under the watchful eye of Mendez in California, he had simply become too good, no, too dominant to ignore. He had even developed a bit of a sense of humor on the mic he had developed a persona of sorts. It was subtle. He was still his surly, stoic, Eastern Bloc self. Yet in a, dare I say, Pedro Martinez-esque way, he seemed to grasp that people were enamored with the Russian-accented deadpans he answered questions with. He called topics he felt scorn for “#1 bullshit.” Khabib finding his self-awareness out of the cage will always be his second greatest accomplishment, professionally at least.

His coming out party came against long-time Lightweight contender Michael Johnson. Although 1-2 in his last three fights, “The Menace” had just knocked out young stud Dustin Poirier (remember that name) in his last fight and was known to have lightning fast hands, as well as a decent junior college wrestling background to boot, regardless of how little he used it. Khabib destroyed him. Despite taking what looked like a couple of good pops from Johnson early on he proceeded to do what he did to just about every other opponent he faced: he got a hold of Johnson, tore him to the ground, and mauled him. One of the top nightmare fuel moments in maybe all of sports is the video, and for some of us, the memory, of Khabib pounding on Johnson while on top of him, pleading with his foe to quit.

“You have to give up, I need to fight for the title. You know this, I deserve this. Out of everybody I deserve this. Hey! I need to fight for the title.”

He was beating the ever loving shit out of a man he wanted to show mercy to. A man who he himself was a vaunted, professional hand-to-hand combatant. But Khabib wasn’t going to let that soft spot in his heart get in the way of his and his father’s destiny.

After the Johnson fight, Khabib polished off another constant in the top ranks at 155lbs, Edson Barboza, to earn a shot at the belt in April of 2018 at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn, NY. The interim belt was held by Tony Ferguson, a man Khabib always seemed destined to fight and would be matched up with FIVE FUCKING TIMES. Ferguson got hurt either, depending on which story you believe, kicking a light pole or tripping over some wires and was pulled less than a week before the fight. And the regular, non-interim belt? Conor McGregor beat Eddie Alvarez for the regular belt in 2016 but was off somewhere doing blow or pouring whiskey off a hooker’s ass or both, all after trying to throw a dolly at his new chosen nemesis, Nurmagomedoc, threw a bus window. Fun stuff. Either way he wasn’t around, and after Ferguson dropped out, Khabib would be matched up on short notice with Max Holloway, who almost died from a short notice weight cut. Finally, local boy Al Iaquinta stepped in and took a five round beating. Khabib notably kept the fight standing for most of the 25 minutes to show off his hands a bit more and was now the champ. He and his father’s mission was complete, almost.

The Eagle was now 26-0 and the king of his hill. He had always been honest in the past about not wanting to fight forever. He wanted not for money, possessions, or fame. He wanted to be a champion, to be the best at what he did, solidify that position, and walk away. A lot of athletes, particularly in combat sports, have taken this posture over the years. But Khabib meant it, and we knew it. But when would he leave? When he was 30 years old seemed like a good time and was mentioned a few times over the years. However, as of winning the belt he was only six months shy of that mark so it was unlikely if not no longer feasible – he had a little more work to do. Eventually, Abdulmanap and Khabib settled on 30-0. A nice round number to walk away at. So who would the last four victims be?

First there was McGregor, who by this time had become both an international superstar and an international menace to the public. There were rumors of coke and hooker sprees in Dublin. There was the attack on the bus at the Barclays. It was a shitshow. As a matter of fact, at that point the only thing it seemed Conor could concentrate on was his disdain for Khabib, his way of life, his religion, and his general existence. By the time the cage door shut behind them in October 2018, I was surprised they could be kept apart for the introductions. Khabib throttled McGregor. Sure, he lost the third round, only one of two he’s ever conceded in his career. But it’s been confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt since that the champ took the third off to get ready for the fourth, when he forced McGregor to tap to a neck crank and then leaped over the cage to attack the rest of the Irishman’s disrespectful posse. He and members of his team would be suspended for that ugly incident, one of the only times we’d see his emotions get the best of him. 27-0.

Next was Dustin Poirier, an all around good story and good guy. He had taken losses at 145 and 155 lbs, including the aforementioned to Michael Johnson and kept climbing, kept fighting. He was now back, a black belt in BJJ with quick, hard hands, ready to earn what he had worked so hard for. Khabib, a lifelong devout Muslim like most in Dagestan, was given the opportunity to defend his belt in Abu Dhabi, a city that built an arena just for their brother in Islam. Even better, Abdulmanap could attend, and even corner, his son for the first time since he entered the UFC. It was a special moment. In “behind the scenes” videos, you could see the love, respect, and admiration Khabib had for his father. You could even see the latter feelings coming from Javier Mendez, himself considered one of the best coaches in the game. Other than a brief, tight, guillotine attempt Poirier didn’t have much to offer Khabib, and wound up stuck on his knees against the fence in the third round, one less than McGregor when he found himself in the same position. The Eagle locked in a rear naked choke and made it to 28-0 by September of 2019.

He wanted to take some time off after the Poirier fight, and he had earned it. 2020 rolled around and Khabib was booked, for what would be the last time, against Ferguson. Then Covid hit. All hell broke loose. Sports of any kind shut down, including the UFC. Khabib, who had been at AKA for the Ferguson fight, went home, expecting to defend his belt at some point back in Abu Dhabi where the UFC was thought to be able to make friendly deals to put fights on, Covid be damned. Dana White, ever the expert scrambler, was able to get fights scheduled in Florida mere weeks after the pandemic hit, promising and delivering extra testing precautions and fighter isolation policies. He then secured the same set up for the UFC Apex, basically a training and exhibition facility, in Las Vegas. The Khabib-Ferguson fight date was drawing near. But Khabib was far, far away in Russia and couldn’t get back into the country. Left with no alternative and roster chock full of exciting talent that needed to fight and advance division, White and co. matched Ferguson up against Justin Gaethje, the most entertaining and by leaps and bound most violent man in the sport. Gaethje decided to become a chess master as well and outclassed Ferguson for almost the whole fight, beating the bag out of the outlandishly durable Ferguson before earning a standing TKO in the 5th. Khabib-Ferguson was not to be.

So Khabib-Gaethje was the fight to make. As a matter of fact, there was already talk of what would be Khabib’s 30th fight after he made Gaethje victim 29. McGregor again? Book a Ferguson fight anyway, as a swan song? Was this all irrelevant and this new, cerebral version of Justin Gaethje was finally the antidote to the scourge Khabib brought to the division? All these questions were asked and then withdrawn just as quick as tragedy struck. Abdulmanap, Khabib’s father, coach, and catalyst behind all his aspirations contracted Covid-19. There were rumors, off and on, about him recovering or doing better; He was brought to Moscow, where he presumably could receive better care, that befitting a man who was now a revered national sports hero. It just wasn’t enough. He died on July 3, 2020 at 57 years old. I remember the texts and social media posts on 4th of July weekend and feeling mournful, not just for a man I never met, but his son, a man my age who had lost a Dad he loved so dearly.

People wondered if Khabib would even fight again. They didn’t have to wonder long as the fight with Gaethje was booked for October 24th, this past Saturday, in Dubai. The UFC had turned a piece of the elaborately wealthy city into “Fight Island,” ostensibly for both another “bubble” to hold fights and for international fighters to have a place to ply their trade while travel restrictions remain in place. A grieving Khabib, meanwhile, held his whole camp in Dagestan and Dubai, never coming stateside. I believe Mendez and some team members arrived in Dubai maybe a month ago to aid in final preparations.

There was a heaviness to Khabib during fight week. While he has always been fairly stoic, he was clearly worn down. One could probably fairly infer he was grieving. What more could conjur memories of his father than fighting? Of talks of titles and glory and accomplishments? This was supposed to be his second to last walk. His second to last trip to the cage before he walked away at a perfect 30-0, just as he and “Father” had planned.

Leading up to the fights, pundits had their opinions. Gaethje’s power and accuracy would be an issue, but his lower leg kicks would be the huge problem. How would Khabib close distance and drive off his legs, a necessary physical part of wrestling, to get his opponent to the mat if those very legs were compromised? It was for sure a fair question. As the 24th neared however, it became clearer that Khabib was the favorite. He would do what was needed, no, what must be done, to beat Gaethje.

A different Khabib walked into that cage. His movement was a little different, he was not bouncing and moving his head in his patented, sort of controlled twitch as much as he normally did (partner and future reality show co-star Daniel Cormier does a fantastic impression of this) (Seriously those two need their own show). Instead he walked Gaethje down. He stalked the ultimate stalker. He threw straight punches, avoided or took Gaethje’s own hands, and ate those vaunted leg kicks. I can’t say for sure but the most violent man in the sport looked shook. Khabib ended the first round in mount and found the position again in the second. He proceeded to pull off a rare mounted triangle, which he later said he did so he did not have to use an arm bar and potentially hurt Gaethje in front of his parents, and won by technical submission in the second round. The ref never saw the tap and Gaethje went to sleep.

You need to hear the reason @TeamKhabib switched from the armbar to a triangle against Justin Gaethje at #UFC254 🤯 (via @dc_mma) pic.twitter.com/jjCXgm3r3e
— ESPN MMA (@espnmma) October 26, 2020

We’d seen anger from Khabib. We’d seen the aura of sadness in press conferences and interviews after his father died. We’d never seen the outpouring of emotion we saw next. He waved his teammates and corner away and, all alone, as alone as he probably felt without his father there, in the center of the octagon dropped to his knees, head in his hands, tears no longer held back behind his own iron curtain.

He eventually got up. And not to brag or seem any wiser than I am, I noticed, I saw what he was doing with his hands. And as he exhaled, loudly and hard, and began speaking to John Anik about the fight and how he was feeling, he finished taking off his gloves and confirmed mine and many other’s suspicions. That this was it. That he would could not fight without his father here. That his mother had asked him to not even take this one. But he got it done one last time anyway. No more though. The 30 was for his father, and his father was gone. The journey would end and The Eagle would fly away at 29-0.

Khabib Nurmagomedov announces his retirement after winning #UFC254

He'll retire at 29-0.pic.twitter.com/bLeRaif1kg
— Sporting News (@sportingnews) October 24, 2020

Immediately, it was speculated if the retirement would stick. I think it does. I think the only way he comes back is if he fully grieves and one of two things happens. First is if something materializes with Georges St. Pierre, a kindred spirit stylistically, mentally, philosophically, and competitively. GSP has long said he’d only come back for Khabib. They intrigue each other. The GSP fight, should Abdulmanap not have passed away, probably would have been Khabib’s last fight. It would have cemented his legacy, which has always been his goal beyond anything else. The odds of this happening are slim. St Pierre will be 40 in May. Who knows what weight he’d want to cut to another year added to that (which I’m guessing Khabib would need). There’s too many pieces to put together. Add that to the fact that I don’t think either would ever call the other out, and the stand off alone makes this idea far fetched. The other possibility, one which I don’t think Khabib would admit to, is if Tony Ferguson becomes champion somehow, the decimation at the hands of Gaethje be damned, and Khabib finds the motivation to fight him. If Ferguson were to somehow reclimb the mountain and grab the belt, he’d undoubtedly call out Khabib. The Ferguson fight is one Khabib wanted for a long time. One he felt he needed to win to certify himself as the King of the 155 pound division. Would Ferguson holding the strap he laid down be enough for Nurmagomedov to come back? Maybe. But Ferguson is already 36 and faces an uphill battle in an absolute shark tank of a division. Either way, I just don’t see either scenario playing out.

Khabib wanted to be known as the greatest. In his weight class, pound for pound, overall, in all of MMA. Although he became rich in those pursuits, the material world never mattered to him. He wanted for himself what his father wanted. And now he’s fought and won 29 times against the greatest the world had to throw at him and his father is gone and he is done fighting. He doesn’t feel the need to compete to prove a point anymore. I really think he’s done.

So, is he the GOAT? That’s the question that has plagued twitter and MMA media for the past few days. He asked to be named the pound-for-pound #1 is his conversation with Anik post-fight. He needed that, I think, for closure, for peace of mind. To make up for the 30. The UFC granted his wish. He now, on their board, ranks above anyone else in the world regardless of weight-class. The highest level of mixed martial arts considers Khabib the best. Of all time? That gets tricky. GSP is usually the name I drop here. However he coasted to many a decision and took a couple of Ls, one each to Matt Serra and Matt Hughes, along the way. Anderson Silva is another fine candidate. However I think a PED pop should count you out and unfortunately Silva had one, albeit late in his career. Then there’s that other guy. One man who is often mentioned in that spot, Jon Jones, took to twitter and lambasted that concept. He still feels he is owed the GOAT title. He certainly has the accolades. However, I personally think how those wins are earned matters. Khabib dominated, plain and simple. There was never a moment, in any fight, where you wondered who the better fighter was (this is where someone mentions the Gleison Tibau fight and I roll my eyes. Khabib did what he had to against a roided up beast and still won. Get over it). Jones on the other hand has won his last two by contentious decision, one of which was of the split variety. He also had his legendary duel with Alexander Gustafsson in 2013 that really could have gone either way. Jones blamed it on the partying, but that can’t matter. There have been moments where we could have wondered if we were seeing the end of Jon Jones. We’ve never wondered with Khabib.

Khabib Nurmagomedov, son, student, and best friend of Abdulmanap Nurmagomedov. Is the greatest of all time.

-Joey B.

Ranking the Possible Ingredients of a Burrito

By Joey Ballgame on October 15, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

To begin this vignetted list of possible Tex Mex culinary additives, please note that the title ends in, “Of A BURRITO.” Not a burrito or burrito bowl. Since I am not so afraid of gluten that I fear turning to stone like a Sanderson Sister should I ingest a single milligram of it, I stick with the classics (WE GOT SEASONAL JOKES UP IN THIS MOTHERFUCKER). To extend this brief prologue, I’ll also say I’m leaving the wrap itself off the rankings because that is what defines the food. It is also really hard to fuck up.

Believe it or not, for the lists and rankings blogs I have published to The 300s dot com (check the merch store), I have done whatever I can to put bias aside. As an example, the last such blog of this nature I believe outlined what the best Boston movie was. To do so I’m pretty sure I spent about 1,000 words defining the criteria for such a film in order to weigh all in the category equal. So ya, I try to be fair. However, it is usually an impossible task to completely put your preferences aside when ranking/listing things. It just is. In the back of your mind will always be your own tastes, what you feel should be ranked highest vs. what you know for, almost a fact, should be. Heart vs. head.

All of that is to say I have removed 99.9% of bias from this one. This was possible because I am not necessarily ranking the best ingredients, to a certain extent, but the most important ones. For instance, some people would say they like pickles on their burger, some would not. However I don’t think one of the issues amongst those at war on the Gaza Strip relates to pickles on a burger, it just does not matter, enough at least, either way. On the flip side, I am guessing the vast majority of folks want a bun. That argument could indeed incite violence. So what really matters to a Burrito? What defines it?

Let’s find out, least to most important.

13.) “Veggies”

“Veggies” here refers to the “veggies” in a “veggie burrito”. I keep using “” quotes because I have no idea which veggies are actually used in the ambiguously labeled “veggie burrito.” Could be a whole raw carrot for all I know. Veggies also come in last here because I assume no rabbits read our blog

12.) Corn

Fuck you.

11.) Lettuce/Tomato

I feel like these varmints began as an idea at Taco Bell and sort of just stuck around when more “authentic” places like Chipotle began moving in. We put them on subs so why not put them on something that is totally not a sub? That’s basic American math right there. Actual burrito/taquerias don’t generally even offer them as ingredients. Therefore I can’t say they are all that important to the formula. Nothing against them. They just don’t matter.

10.) Guacamole

This is where Professor Red pulls out his red pen and begins editor-ing all over this blog claiming I’m flip flopping on my claims of not bringing my own biases to the table. And it is true I don’t like “guac.” With that said, I continue to stick to my claim that no one, at least of my generation, ate it until we were around college-aged. And we definitely ate burritos before that. In conclusion, it matters not much.

9.) Hot Sauce

This one hurts because I used to not add hot sauce, but now I do and I love it. Honesty must prevail though and depending on what else you add to your burrito and how those ingredients are prepared it just isn’t an important enough of a factor to go any higher. My favorite podcast, History Hyenas, refers to such things as hot sauce in burritos as a “Clyde Drexler,” or a “Drexler” for short. Basically, if Clyde Drexler had played in era without the greatest basketball player ever in Michel Jordan, he’d be in the conversation. Just wrong place at the wrong time. Same with our pal hot sauce here.

8.) Beans

This is a tricky one. Personally, I can do without beans but I understand that that is just me and that a lot of people love them. But compared to what is above and below them on this list I can’t honestly rank the magical fruit anywhere else. It also doesn’t help that there are a large variety of beans, both within each restaurant and across the cuisine itself, which doesn’t help their case in terms of how staunchly they’re supported in any particular form.

7.) Sour Cream/Crema

This is probably my boldest ranking, but I stand by it. Especially when considering there may not be hot sauce (which the establishment may skimp on anyway) present, you need something in that burrito to wet the whistle a bit. A dry as hell burrito stinks to high heaven. It’s like an overcooked burger. It’s a worst-case scenario that many a road can bring you to: the aforementioned small portion of hot sauce (if any), old/dry rice, old/dry meat, etc. The sour cream and/or crema not only brings a little extra flavor, but an extra, very necessary texture augmentation.

6.) Pico de gallo/Salsa

The importance of the next two ingredients are hard to articulate but cannot be understated. Pico brings a flavor and texture boost to any burrito that simply cannot be replaced. It’s the 6^th man of a burrito. When you need a clutch bite or some extra oomph, there it is.

5.) Rice

The other hard to understate ingredient, rice. You simply have to have rice in a burrito. Rice also curiously has an inverse relationship with beans. There are a few varieties of rice. And while the varying nature of beans makes me think of them as disposable, the very same quality of rice makes me think of it as flexible and triumphant. Regardless, rice quite frankly is part of the palate in every bite of a burrito and brings a consistent presence that no other ingredient brings.

4.) Carnitas

And now we get into the main courses. Carnitas (pork for the uninitiated) comes in last due to pure statistics. I don’t really know anyone who orders it. I have no qualms with carnitas, they just trail their peers.

3.) Ground Beef

It’s gotta be tough on ground beef having never been assigned a cool Spanish name. It’s also sort of….I don’t know basic? This is what I got in my hard- shell tacos with a side of fries on “taco” night in my Irish Catholic household growing up (fuckin LOVED taco night). GB is also a lightly ordered main course so it’s going to look back at only carnitas.

2.) Chicken

This was tough. It just was. Who doesn’t love chicken? Who doesn’t, whether in a burrito or not, order chicken in some capacity all the damn time? But we’re talking burritos, and there is something about falling back on old faithful that sort of betrays the point of springing for a burrito over a sub, pizza, etc. I love you chicken. Always will.

1.) Carne Asada

I don’t make the rules. Sure, there are places that mail their carne asada the fuck in. I get it. But when done right and portioned correctly (there is such a thing as too much and such a thing as too little), carne asada burritos kick fucking ass. They are the cat’s pajamas. You simply cannot beat red meat, season right, cooked to perfection, rolled up snug with a variety of the ingredients mentioned above. Therefore, carne asada ranks #1.

-Joey B

There’s Something About Losing a Winnable Game That Stings Something Fierce

By Joey Ballgame on October 6, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

All aboard the Joey B Express because this train is leaving the station and to be honest with you I am not sure where it’s heading.

What started out as an aberation in this era (the past 15 years or so) of Boston sports, an anomaly, has turned overnight into what economists, stylists, and actually, human fucking beings in general call a “trend”.

One could say this startling reminder of athletic mortality began last December, well before we knew Corona was anything other than a Mexican beer brewed in Kentucky, when the Patriots decided to simply not show up against the Tennessee Titans in the wild-card game, allowing Derrick Henry to run roughshod without even considering stacking the box and, I don’t know, asking Ryan fucking Tannehill to beat us . We all sat there rather calmly all game, thinking “any second now”. Any second now McDaniels would wake up, figure things out, and the offense would cook a quick 21 point cake to get us the dub. Any second now the Mayo/S.Belichick brain trust on defense would unleash the Boogeymen and, fucking I don’t know, spy the aging QB who was running all over us, all the whole being known to throw more picks than a blinded Nathan Peterman. None of that happened though and we lost. To the Titans. In the playoffs.

Things seemed to get back to normal after that befuddling end to 2019. The Bruins played just about up to expectations this season, especially when considering they had to stop their season then restart inside a bubble. The Bs also had to deal with their starting goalie going out to fetch some milk, or in his case probably wings, and never coming back. The Sox sucked this year but at this point I’m pretty sure we’re all just about rooting for that given how hateable their ownership is.

Then our sports world got weird again in the form of the Bubble Celtics. King Marcus Smart, First of His Name, The J’s, and company started a little sluggish but really hit their stride at the end of the bubble season. They proceeded to thrash the 6ers in four. But then they had to go to fucking war with the Raptors, a war which they won. It was entertaining as hell, absolutely captivating, but at the same time, a bit discouraging. On paper, with Toronto having lost Kawhi, our squad should have beaten Toronto a little more handily. no offense to the other 6. Fred van Fleet just shouldn’t be able to lead a team to a seventh game against the young guns from Boston, in my opinion. So I was a little wary heading into our series with Miami.

Now, I don’t hold Jimmy Butler in as high regard as say, the prostitutes in Rio de Janeiro or, more relevantly, other basketball fans. I’ve just never seen “it”. But all the same going up against him and a good supporting cast did not excite me all that much. So I was pretty shocked watching the series play out. Not in the final score of the games themselves or watching the basketball actually go in the hoop or not, just everything else. We simply looked better. We played better. We were more athletic. We were a more cohesive team. But we just didn’t win. We didn’t execute. We didn’t actually score. We didn’t….beat a not as good team. It made zero sense. It must have been how the USSR felt watching the 1980 Olympics. I don’t know how to say. “How the fuck is this happening?” in Russian but I gained some empathy for Sergei and Pavel out in Moscow that series.

I carried that series in my gut with me. I figured it’d be there for awhile. It turns out I was wrong as I carried it around with me until just last night. With Cam Newton having tested positive for the big C19, the Pats trotted out journeyman not-extrordinaire Brian Hoyer against the defending champion Kansas City Chiefs. And by the 5:00 minute mark (or thereabouts) of the 3rd Quarter, guess what? We should have been winning. But we weren’t. How? Down a respectable 6-3 with the clocking ticking away at the half, Hoyer decided to take a sack rather than throw the ball away, costing us a field goal attempt that not even Nick Folk would have (probably) missed. then, with the score still 6-3, Patrick Mahomes laid an egg on his first drive on the second half. HUGE stop for the D. Hoyer then led an excellent, strategic, balanced drive down the field to get us to the 13. When Josh Mc could advance us no further on the ground, Hoyer dropped back to pass, held on to the ball too long AGAIN, and got stripped. Kansas City ball. Now instead of being 9-3 New England AT A MINIMUM it was Chiefs ball going the other way. Momentum had swung way to far the other way to ever come back to us. We lost 26-10 on a day where our receivers were showing up a little, our D was playing out of their minds, and weird-voice-having Patrick Mahomes was playing like shit.

That leaves us with THREE (3) instances of us just not winning games our eyes have told us we should since last December. In the time it takes to conceive and have a child (I’ve been told) that child would have born to a family that was absolutely bewildered by its sports franchises inability to win games against opponents they should have beaten, sometimes soundly. Instead their birth certificates would have beared names like “FUCKING FRANK CLARK” and “Tyler Herro Looks Like The Third Fucking Chainsmoker.” What a world.

And this, sadly, ladies and gents, is what sports fandom really feels like. I remember it. I’m not so young that I don’t remember asking no one in particular, with tears almost in my eyes, “Why can’t we just win?” I hope this isn’t just it, for the record. I hope I haven’t seen my last championship until I’m too old to care. I hope Cam Newton comes back, Brian Hoyer is locked in the abandoned Showcase Cinema at Patriots Place, and we catch fire with the rest of what looks like an excellent team. I hope the Bruins and Celtics come back next year refreshed, energized by having some (hopefully) semblance of consistency in their lives. I hope, and I can’t stress this enough, John Henry and the rest of the Sox ownership gets Epsteined and are forced to sell.

I hope we become winners again.

-JoeyB.

I Did Not Wake Up Today Expecting to Have to Debate the “Ultimate Boston Movie”

By Joey Ballgame on September 18, 2020 • ( 1 Comment )

I didn't get to ask Ben Affleck about his Dunkin' Donuts order, but he went deep with me on the making of THE TOWN. With input from Jon Hamm, Rebecca Hall, Chris Cooper, Titus Welliver, and more. https://t.co/PynjK5Z4N6
— Alan Siegel (@AlanSiegelDC) September 16, 2020

This is what has since ruined my day.

There are two sides to the coin of being from the Boston area. On one side you have the small city, one-for-all, all-for-one camaraderie, the fact that we win sports a ton, and I don’t know, leaves changing? Sure. On the other side, for almost the same reasons as previously stated as a positive, you are naturally inclined to become almost violently territorial and also protective of your city, it’s culture, and, in this case, it’s many, many portrayals.

So needless to say when I signed onto the bird app today and not only stumbled upon some disagreement with “The Town” being the “ultimate Boston movie” based solely on a few extremely questionable alternatives, but actually found people hating on the movie, I was ripshit. No clever wordplay. No exposition. I was pissed. Work is really busy. We can’t find a tee time within 100 miles of our general area without waking up to make it 5am Monday morning. The Celtics can’t close out a game even with adorable Deuce Tatum practically BEGGING them to from the sidelines. I don’t. Need. This. Shit. Right. Now. But this is my job. I take this seriously. I’ve sacrificed too much to be at this keyboard to let this asinine debate rage on without me yelling at clouds about it.

First of all lets get some bias out of the way: To summarize things a bit I would not be here if it was not for “The Town.” As stated before Red and I met working the door at a bar in town and spent many an early morning/late night after our shift getting hammered watching “The Town.” It arguably could be called one of the catalysts to this very blog. We like “The Town,” ok?

But let’s start there in earnest. After all there are two parts to this debate:
1.) Is “The Town” good?
2.) What is The Ultimate “Boston Movie”?

Addressing number one, with my bias dragging me down like Randy Marsh’s engorged ballsack, it’s honestly hard to find a ton of flaws in the Chahlestown-based caper. The easiest thing to point out would be the bad Boston accents, particularly in the case of Blake Lively and Jon Hamm’s number two – you could also add Hamm simply leaving his out to that list. However that is the risk of any “Boston” movie so I don’t think you can really even judge such a movie based on the accents anymore. It’s not quantifiable enough. Everyone is going to have different opinions. Plot-wise, to oversimplify things, “The Town” took a classically conflicted character (Ben Affleck, a bank robber), who is waking up to the possibility of better things in life, including a love interest (who happens to be one of his latest robbery victims) but is trapped by his past (literally the guy running his robbery gang threatens to kill the girl if he leaves). Add in some time and location-sensitive details (the opioid epidemic) and you really do have a great story. There is a fantastic car chase scene, a couple of “The Italian Job”-esque misdirections, and some great acting. What the fuck is the issue? I’ll tell you what the issue is.

::Clears throat::

People who are either FROM (as in born/raised inside the area codes of) this city or think they know it best find some sort of validation in hating on its portrayals. Its like when people come out of the woodwork defending celebrity, athlete, or just random defendant XYZ when they are charged with a crime. “I knew them in high school they wouldn’t do that.” O you mean your buddy saw him at 7/11 once? Fuck off. No one is impressed. But that’s the thing. Every time a new Boston movie comes out you get eye rolls, not always without reason, from its citizens because that is not the EXACT Boston they have experienced, which would be an IMPOSSIBLE thing to portray. Sheesh.

Now onto our second topic.

What IS the ultimate Boston movie? What, as Sean McGuire would put it, encapsulates the city that invented America? What are even the criterion? I guess I could name a few, not to pass myself off as the expert, but just to set some sort of parameters when evaluating our options. These don’t make or break a movie’s chances mind you, as shitty movies can contain all of the below. But it can help us to validate our choices.

-Some amount of smug, dry, and/or dark humor. Have to have it. We are a miserable people and we are proud of it.
-Fisticuffs. Whoever said fighting solves nothing never left Oregon.
-A difficult friendship. Whether it involves growing apart or the inability to do so, there are people we’d throw down for that we wish we wouldn’t.
-Coffee/beer. This one seems dumb but if I don’t see someone getting their morning Joe or after work beverage on in a Boston movie it’s weird.
-An implication of local pride. There are a couple of good movies based here that don’t really mention it and quite frankly, could be set anywhere. “Boston” movies have to have characters that bleed boycotted tea.
-At least one reference to different classes. Nothing says 617, from when the Orange Line was elevated through now, when Seaport apartments cost more than two Brockton houses, than people from different income brackets being at odds.

So there we are. Cool? Cool.

One movie I am going to address riiiight the fuck away because I saw it nominated for the top spot was “Spotlight.” “Spotlight” was a well made movie featuring a terrific cast that told the story of the Boston Globes’ uncovering of the catholic church sex abuse scandal, arguably the most important local story of our time this side of the marathon bombing. With that said, it’s, well, predictable. And I’m sorry but true stories just don’t do it for me because, ya know, you know what happens? “Spotlight” also is INCREDIBLY boring. And again, I hate to say that about such a well made movie, but it’s literally two hours of people doing research and conducting interviews. Nope, not for me. So if you think “Spotlight” is the ultimate Boston movie you simply lack enough excitement in your life.

“The Town” indeed should be again mentioned as a contender. It’s up there. It has all the criteria as listed above. It really doesn’t have a ton of holes. I guess being such a “genre” movie (bank robbery/heist) sort of pigeon holes it and does not allow it to explore other elements (addiction, etc.) but that’s just fine.

“Fever Pitch” was god awful. Shut up. Next.

“Good Will Hunting” is an obvious choice for the top spot. Looking back at our categories, there are fisticuffs aplenty, including a notably avoided scrap with some rich kid Hahvid students that checks another box. There’s a probably unhealthy loyalty to South Boston. Will has a complicated friendship/relationship with just about everyone. There’s a pervasive dark humor about never rising above the status quo, except maybe to be a shepherd of all things. Almost every scene features one of the guys handing another either a coffee or more commonly, a beer. Including a lunch break on a demolition job which I always found odd.

Beyond that, well, I refer to “Good Will Hunting” as God’s movie. I watch it every other month. It brings you all the way down and build you back up to a peak of optimism on the back of an incredible performance by Robin Williams.

“The Departed” is another movie to give serious thought to. Which is to say, you have to give serious thought to a Boston movie centered around organized crime, moreso one that includes a loose portrayal of Whitey Bulger. For as much as we don’t talk or think about it much organized crime, be it Irish, Italian or a mix of the two, has been woven into the fabric of our fair city for probably forever. That is however, as we agreed, bonus points. In “The Departed” we know Billy (Leo) skews booze in favor of cranberry juice but we saw other characters imbibe. Billy Costigan also drank a fateful cup of coffee before finally sleeping with his shrink. Fisticuffs? Of course. Local pride? Well the dark, self-deprecating humor we’ve alluded to allows the characters to hate where they are from while also loving it. Also featured are possibly the two most complicated friendships of all, where Billy and Colin both love and loathe Frank Costello, the Whitey Bulger stand-in played by Jack (no last name needed).

It’s become en vogue to hate on The Departed’s flaws (HOW DID THEY NOT KNOW THE NEW GUY WAS THE RAT?!). And I can get that, to a point (hey fuckos he was supposed to be undercover for like, years.) But overall it holds up as a solid mob movie and a riveting tale of betrayal, deceit, and loyalty.

“My Best Friend’s Girl” is an underrated comedy but could have literally been set in any city that hosts a marathon and allows Dane Cook within its city limits.

“Mystic River” is another entry, albeit another that has been criticized in hindsight. I for one long considered Clint Eastwood’s saga of love, loss, and revenge as my favorite movie. It checks the boxes of all our categories, including a quintuple check in the “complicated friendship” box. There maybe not be a more fucked up group of friends than Dave, Sean, and Jimmy, as much as it was none of their fault.

“Gone Baby, Gone” is a personal favorite but one I can’t consider because a lot of people hate it. It again checks all the boxes but I guess was considered forced when it came to the actual “Boston movie” category.

“Boondock Saints” is a fun shoot-em-up that one would think was made by aliens after a brief explanation of the Irish/Irish-American experience in Boston. There is literally nothing complicated about it. Sorry.

“Southie” is a solid, old Donnie Wahlberg outing that never quite delivers on its promise. Same goes for “Bluehill Avenue”.

Finally, “Black Irish” is a truly great movie I again can’t push for the top spot because not enough people have seen it, which does matter. That and a couple of details that don’t make sense time-period wise (a girl getting sent away to have an abortion and a guy shining shoes for a living in modern South Boston) make this a non-factor. You should still ABSOLUTELY see this one.

The Verdict: “Good Will Hunting”

Penned by then-up and comers Affleck and Damon and directed by Gus Van Sant, the emotional tale of aimless, brawling, but genius Will finding some purpose in life with the help of a shrink (Williams) that shares some of the same pain is about as Boston as it gets.

Hope this fucking helps.

-Joey B.

What Will the Patriots Roster Look Like?

By Joey Ballgame on August 26, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

We are now five days away from the deadline for NFL teams to cut down to 53 man rosters. Came at us fast huh? Yikes. With a shorter training camp and no preseason, evaluating players had to of been a lot harder this year, not to mention the fact that the beginning of the season should be a gigantic shitshow.

As websites of our ilk are want to do, I figured I’d take a crack at breaking down what the Patriots’ 53 man roster might look like, based on rumblings and grumblings I’ve heard from the the various media actually allowed to attend camp. The Patriots in particular are kind of a bitch to predict given they play so positionlessly in some areas. But here goes nothing.

OFFENSE
Quarterbacks (3)
Keep: Cam Newton (QB1), Jarrett Stidham, Brian Hoyer
Cut: Brian Lewerke

No shockers here. If reports are accurate Cam is really starting to run away with the QB1 job. Not just because of his passing either. He has obvious superiority when it comes to athleticism and the energy he brings to the offense, I’m told, is palpable. Stidham gets another year to learn and Hoyer can stand in as old reliable.

Running Backs (4)
Keep: Damien Harris, Rex Burkhead, James White, Sony Michel
Cut: J.J Taylor

Word out of camp is we could see Harris picking up a lot more carries this year. I’ll be fine with that as it takes the load off Blanco and allows him to be the de facto 2nd or 3rd option in the receiving game. Sony Michel, whichever version, will start the season splitting carries with Harris while Burkhead can fill in wherever needed

Fullback (1)
Keep: Jakob Johnson

I have half a mind to doubt myself in keeping a Fullback. That said the Pats run game statistically fell off a cliff without a FB last year and Johnson by all reports has played really well this camp.

Tight Ends (2)
Keep: Devin Asiasi, Dalton Keene
Cut: Ryan Izzo, Jake Burt, Paul Quessenberry, Rashad Berry, Paul Butler

This seems strange for me to even write but I think Belichick may go full “fuck it” and roll the rookies out there. Camp is so hard to judge on its own merits, but Asiasi has looked like the receiving threat we didn’t know existed when we drafted him and both youngbloods have looked good blocking. Thus we reach the end of the line for Izzo.

Wide Receivers (6)
Keep: Julian Edelman, N’Keal Harry, Mohammed Sanu, Jakobi Meyers, Gunnar, Olszewski, Damiere Byrd
Cut: Isaiah Zuber, Devin Ross, Jeff Thomas

Probably not a ton of surprise here. Harry has apparently looked great this camp, adapting his college game of just snatching shit out of the air with zero separation to the pros. Gunnar, they say, now looks more like a WR than an interesting project. Sanu gets a chance to prove he doesn’t suck. Meyers gets to prove he wasn’t a one year preseason wonder.

Offensive Lineman (9)
Keep: David Andrews, Yodny Cajuste, Jermaine Eluemunor, Shaq Mason, Joe Thuney, Isaiah Wynn,Michael Onwenu, Tyler Gauthier, Korey Cunningham
Cut: Ben Braden, Hijalte Froholdt, Justin Herron,

A lot of this is guess work. My first six, whether they start or not, I think are shoe ins. After that I’m not too sure. An example of this is whether they’ll keep Cunningham, a veteran backup Tackle from last year’s squad, or 6th round pick Herron. I went with Cunningham.

Defense

Defensive Tackles (4)
Keep: Adam Butler, Lawrence Guy, Byron Cowart, Beau Allen
Cut: Bill Murray, Xavier Williams, Nick Thurman, Michael Barnett

Guy and Butler are locks and things get interesting after that. The Pats kept Cowart around so that should count for something. They have an old nemesis in Allen that they have a history of keeping around.

Edge Players (6)
Keep: Chase Winovich, John Simon, Afernee Jennings, Derek Rivers, Shalique Calhoun, Deatrich Wise Jr.
Cut: Tashawn Bowers, Brandon Copeland

This is sooooo goddam tricky. Tne Patriots front seven should be considered its own state of matter. Wise and Calhoun stay for now as reports are that Josh Uche is getting a lot of looks as a MLB of all things. Jennings is listed off the edge here even though I think he’ll play a swiss army, elephant backer role akin to Hightower- If not now than in the future. One could argue Wise Jr. is also now a DT but whatttever.

Linebacker (3)
Keep: Ja’Whaun Bentley, Josh Uche, Cassh Maluia
Cut: Terez Hall, De’Jon Harris

Again, some are listing Uche as a rusher but he’s getting a lot of looks inside. Maluia should see a lot of snaps this year as well. Bentley gets to prove he’s the next Boogeyman.

Cornerbacks (6)
Keep: J.McCourty, Stephon Gilmore, J.C Jackson, Jonathan Jones, Joejuan Williams, Justin Bethel
Cut: Michael Jackson, Myles Bryant, D’Angelo Ross

I actually wouldn’t be surprised if Williams was cut, although he should get another year. Jackson looked good on the field last year but has been torched a bit this camp. Jonathan Jones was a pleasant surprise in coverage last year. JMac and Gilmore are the 1-2. Bethel gets stashed for his S/T expertise.

Safeties (5)
Keep: D.McCourty, Kyle Dugger, Adrian Phillips, Terrance Brooks, Cody Davis
Cut: N/A

The Pats have a group of one Pro Bowler, a few solid players, and two unknowns at Safety this year. Dugger was the surprise second rounder out of the DII rankings. He has received positive reviews this camp though. My onion with him has been this: We play a ton of man. Tight Ends are all the rage so teams are drafting big ass safeties (basically small LBers, called “moneybacks”) to cover them. If all a first year guy has to do is “go cover that big ass tight end” it should be easy enough to see what we have.

Specialists (4)
Kicker: Justin Rohrwasser,
Punter: Ryan Allen
Special Teams Ace/WR: Matthew Slater
Long Snapper: Joe Cardona
Cut: Nick Folk

I just cannot see Bill Belichick quitting on a 5th round pick with a big leg. Everything else is obvious.

Offense: 25
Defense: 24
Specialists: 4
Total: 53

Opinion: It’s Been Hard to Embrace Another Batman

By Joey Ballgame on August 26, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

I’ll be the first to admit this, and it will come as zero surprise to my colleagues here: I’m not the biggest fan of the comic book movie craze. To put it as simply as possible, there just isn’t enough there for me. All I see are a bunch of explosions, some cringe-inducing attempts at witty dialogue, and these “universes” featuring beings with “superpowers” that I can’t seem to care about. I also acknowledge as a Harry Potter fanatic that this comes off as highly contradictory. I get that. I guess that a.) I started my life as a “Potterhead” via the books a longgggggg time ago and b.) That world puts an emphasis on consisting of normal people with normal feelings who happen to have extraordinary abilities, as opposed to extraordinary beings…and a couple rich guys I guess? I don’t know, but you get it.

The line in the sand for my abstention from comic book movies ends at Batman, or should I say for the purposes of this blog, Batman-focused movies. Like most blue-blooded males, I’ve always been a big fan of Gotham’s brooding hero. There was just enough real world villainy mixed with a sort of pseudo-science-con-steam punk evil that in my formative years I couldn’t help but love the ::Cillian Murphy voice:: Bat Man.

It started with the cartoon obviously. To this day I’ll say the old Batman and Batman Beyond cartoon that aired on the WB andddd Cartoon Network(?) were always fire. Episode after episode they delivered just enough kid-appropriate action to have me wanting more.

Then came the late 80’s to mid-90’s run of Batman movies. Everyone has a different opinion of which were great, which were good, which sucked, etc. But unless you have a giant dump in your pants, they were all entertaining. Keaton, Kilmer, and Clooney all did a great job in their own, odd way. Schumacher and Burton created a strange noir-dream land mix of a Gotham that fit the mood of all four films. They were jussst kid friendly enough so that my Dad could show them to me in full and either it wasn’t anything i hadn’t seen before or what I shouldn’t have seen went right over my head. They were great

Then 2005 came along. And it changed everything. I wouldn’t call Christian Bale “relatively unknown at the time”. They wouldn’t be true or fair. I think “often forgotten about” would be more accurate. It probably didn’t help his case that the highlights of his resume so far were playing a suave serial killer in “American Psycho” and starving himself almost to death to play an insomniac in “The Machinist”. So ya, while he had been insanely impressive to that point his performances weren’t widely talked about in unhushed tones. Think the quiet book clubs of soccer moms when 50 Shades came out. That type of thing.

But Bale was the perfect Batman. From beginning to end of “Batman Begins” we see every side of Bruce Wayne: conflicted, vengeful, lustful, brooding, violent, and sometimes a bit snarky. Bale looked the part, talked the part, and quite frankly acted the shit out of the part. He could have done a scene with a sink and we would have lauded the sink’s performance. It was that good.

We know the story after that. The legend that is “The Dark Knight”, which served as both Heath Leger’s coming out party as well as his tragic “what if?” swan song. But Bale was back as well, as a Bruce Wayne torn between the life he wanted and the life he knew he needed to live. How he could play the role so well that people could see themselves in a billionaire-playboy-recluse-super hero I don’t know. But he did.

“The Dark Knight Rises” ended the Bale trilogy in 2012 (I’m old). Like Leger before him Tom Hardy announced himself as a real one, playing the physically and intellectually dominant villain Bane. But it was still the Christian Bale show. At every turn in both his “professional” and personal life there was a trapdoor for Bruce Wayne to fall in. And he either did or almost did fall in it every time. But as Alfred Pennyworth once said, we only fall to get back up again. Christian Bale got back up again for three movies over seven years that grossed about $2.5b and resulted in numerous Academy Awards nominations (mahalo, Heath). It was an almost unparalleled three film run aside from the YA-based movie series that we’d seen/were seeing in that time. The super hero movies of course came later, but they are almost more of a genre unto themselves than a couple of different “series”.

Then 2016 came. As I said and you know, the comic book movies were tearing up box offices. DC and Marvel were printing money. ADHD medication companies profits were probably at an all-time high. I guess it was decided it was time. Time to dust off the Dark Knight. Time to bring back one of the world’s most beloved characters. Time for that inner conflict, turmoil, and pain to bring some sort of catharsis the the masses all over again. They even brought in my guy Affleck, who was in the midst of a late-career resurgence with “The Town”, “Argo”, and “Gone Girl”. I couldn’t bear to go see it. It didn’t feel right. It was going to be a letdown (I’ve been told it kind of was). There just wasn’t enough there.

Now it’s Late Q3 of 2020 (and as I’ve discussed, Q2 of quarantine) and we have a new Batman trailer. A SUPER DARK Batman trailer. Think of “The Crow” but Batman. And this time we have Robert Pattinson dawning the cape. Now, it’d be easy to hate him for being in Twilight. I’d kind of respect you if you did. But he was also briefly in the HP movies (we stan) and has churned out some spectacular mature performances such as the lead role in “Good Times”, a Saffdie Brothers creation(watch it). Reading the name and watching the trailer I was…intrigued. There’s some other parts there too. Andy Serkis, a little weird British guy who played Smeagol, as Alfred. Paul Dano, who has had a 15+ year career of being excellent playing kind of a weird fuck, as the Riddler, who indeed is a weird fuck. Colin Farrell, one of my “if he’s in it I’ll see it” guys, will play the Penguin under a shit ton of prosthesis. I’ve already mentioned to Red I’m not hyped on seeing Zoe Kravitz as Catwoman. It’s not that I’m not a Kravitz fan. I almost wrote a whole blog pissed about the fact that they cancelled High Fidelity. But this seems like the studio trying to sell a few more tickets by casting the current hotness. Overall however, a very solid supporting cast.

It all comes down to Pattinson though. And for the life of me I can’t find a reason to hate on this choice or to throw any of my usual pessimistic predictions for his portrayal out there. He can obviously brood with the best of them. Ask any Twilight memer, let alone fan. “Good Times” showed he can evoke desperation and frustration with the best of them. The action scenes or any scene he has to do anything physical will be interesting. So far the Triwizard Tournament is all I have to go on there. He did well I guess? So here I am, without a reason to hate on the Pattinson choice.

So I guess, for just 2.5 hours (probably something like that) maybe it’s time to let go. Maybe it’s time to move on from Christian Bale and the impossibly high bar he set. He played Batman perfectly. But maybe that doesn’t mean someone else can’t play him differently? Maybe the greatness of Bale’s Batman will allow us to see the subtleties in Pattinson’s. Maybe the bleak, eroded Gotham the trailer seems to imply is going to suit the new Dark Knight perfectly and allow him to thrive like a basketball player in a perfect offense. I think I can actually say “I hope so”.

-Joey B.

Quarantine Q2 TV Recommendations

By Joey Ballgame on August 17, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

The obvious question here and one that Red immediately brought up IS the fact that we are not remotely close to being in Q2. And that is true, we are not in Q2….of the year. We are however in our second set of three months of quarantine. Our second quarter-year stuck mostly inside lest we infect ourselves and those around us with the virus named after Dom Toretto’s favorite beverage.

The problem with where a lot of us are at in life and in quarantine is that the obvious choices and nominations for our binging pleasure have indeed been binged. There are fears out there that we may even run out of T.V. That is why, spoiler alert, streaming services are already resorting to throwing the metaphorical spaghetti against the wall in the form of uploading shows from other English speaking areas of the world such as the UK and Australia. They are also banking, with some success, that we’ve expanded our horizons enough to have the patience to deal with either dubs or subtitles and have pushed foreign shows to our monolingual asses.

These and a few others make up my second hack at aggregating what’s out there for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy.

Marcella (UK) – Netflix
(This may have been in the last binge blog but deserves another mention)

I may have noted in the past that FOTB Patty Blackouts has television tastes that run between police procedurals and the shittiest of reality T.V (Below Deck is his Sopranos). So needless to say I myself was shocked when I was able to hook him into this one. In Marcella, the titular character is drawn back onto the police force to hunt down a serial killer who has returned, despite the fact that her personal life is falling apart and she herself is in the throes of a perpetual psychotic break. If you like “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” you’ll like the familiar Nordic noir feel of this one, set in England and the UK aboard.

Dark (Germany) – Netflix

Grenga: Dark is a highly binge-able Sci-FI show, assuming you can get past the dubbing. It’s a mysterious ride through time that centers on 4 families in a small German town that is also home to a nuclear power plant. The first season is definitely confusing, but once you start to connect a few dots you can’t help but watch more. I haven’t finished the third season yet, but so far the show has lived up to it’s 95% Rotten Tomatoes rating.

Ladhood (UK) – Hulu

Hulu decided to just blatantly stage a British invasion of their platform, almost admitting they were running out of shit to promote. Ladhood might be the best of the bunch. In this interesting take of a coming of age tale, emotionally stunted, early-30’s Londoner Liam is probably a little more broken than he cares to admit (sound familiar). He tries to determine how this came to be by visiting scenes from his teenage years in Northern England, taking part as an audience member unseen by his younger self or friends as well as breaking the fourth wall to try and provide context. While it didn’t quite live up to what I wanted it to be it was a cool idea and definitely worth a watch. Here’s hoping for more seasons post-rona.

Hightown – Starz

We come back to Massachusetts for this round of attempted Boston accents and a fresh take on the opioid epidemic. Based on the Cape with a specific interest in Provincetown, Hightown centers on Jackie, a “fish cop” (National Marine Fishery Services Agent) who wants to have her cake and eat (snort) it too, enjoying all the carnal pleasures of living in PTown, New England’s gay capital, while investigating a murder off the books. Her moonlighting intersects with and gets in the way of an annoyed Statie Detective, Ray, whose not totally legit investigation into a drug trafficking ring is related to Jackie’s own search.

Stateless (Australia) – Netflix

Fuck. A. Duck. Not only did I not see this one coming but when it arrived I did not expect to care. But here we are. This emotional, perfectly acted, gripping miniseries follows four separate but intertwined characters at an Australian detention center for refugees – an Aussie who thanks to a cult causing a psychotic break thinks she’s German; a guard who took the well-paying, government funded job with the center’s contractor to give his family a better life; a bureaucrat who is trying to keep the center’s as well as the refugee detention policy’s reputation above water, and an Afghan refugee desperate to give himself and his missing family the life he dreams for them. You can only imagine.

The Umbrella Academy – Netflix

Red: I’ll have a full blog about this later as I just finished season 1, but The Umbrella Academy is a quarantine must watch for anyone who’s into sci-fi, graphic novels, time travel, and just generally weird shows. You definitely have to kind of go with it in this show since it really leans into the weirdness, but hey that’s to be expected when you base a show off a comic written by the lead singer from My Chemical Romance.

Gomorrah – HBO Max

First things first from what I understand if you have HBO you probably have HBO Max for free although the Home Box Office has done a terrible fuckin job rolling this thing out. Anyway, I won’t try and lie, I’ve never watched Gomorrah. But I’ve been told it’s actually one of the best shows out there and I saw recently it was ranked the #5 foreign show of the decade. By the New York Times maybe? Anyway here’s the wikipedia rundown:

“Set in the suburbs of Naples, Italy, the crime drama goes inside the Camorra, a fierce Neapolitan crime organization led by Pietro Savastano. The story is told through the eyes of Don Pietro’s right-hand man, Ciro Di Marzio, whose faith in the family is tested when he realizes how far Don Pietro is willing to go to keep his power.“

“F” Is For Family – Netflix

This serves as more of a reminder that a new season of Bill Burr’s hilarious cartoon dropped during quarantine. The lightly-autobiographical tale of a working class family in the 70’s remains absolutely hysterical, something we all need right now.

The Sopranos – HBO

WATCH THE FUCKING SOPRANOS YOU UNAMERICAN FUCKS.

Young Rapscallions (Rapscallionettes?) Are Posing As Grannies To Buy Booze During Quarantine

By Joey Ballgame on July 17, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

Metro – Teenagers have been illegally buying booze by using countrywide mask guidelines to help disguise themselves as old women…….She is then seen wearing a baggy sweater, glasses and a headscarf while using a walker in a parking lot while carrying a bottle of pink liquor.

Two things hit me as hard as a haymaker right off the bat with this story. Both are related to, thanks to something as simple as evolution (apologies to our hardcore Christian readers), how much smarter and generally better at being teenagers today’s teenagers are than we were.

First off is the ingenuity. Quick aside: we had none. Moving on, as an example, some people see a lump of clay and they just see clay. Some people see a one-stringed guitar and they see an unplayable instrument. Other people see those things and see art. They see what could be. They see something great and profound and maybe uplifting or melancholy. To that end, these girls knew they had to wear a mask because of the rona. They knew they had 17,000 pounds of make up, for whatever reason, or in some cases left over Halloween masks.With that they knew that they had an opportunity – to be inventive, to transcend their age-related limitations, to avoid having to try and acquire booze via the creepy 21 year old town layabout in exchange for the implication of an underaged hand job. They saw means and opportunity. Lord knows they had motive.

The second thing that came to my mind was the BALLS on these girls. I had a shitty fake in high school that I tried three times and went one-for-three with. Each time I was shaking out of my boots that this random dude from another town (who uses a fake in their own town?) would like, shoot me on site or something. I guess he could have called the cops but my friends were waiting with the engine running. These girls? Ya they did not give 1/9 of a fuck. Part of that could be the fact that teenage girls who are thought of as attractive (see how I skirted around that?) have this odd sense of being literally bulletproof. I mean they think they can actually take a bullet and get away with it. Fair enough. I think that also these kids are just that, kids, and have been stuck in their houses. So now their typical teenage boredom grows over four longggg months and finally matastasizes into a full-blown adrenaline craving that they somehow find a way to feed. This is some sort of “Italian Job” mixed with the Joker in “The Dark Knight” mixed with idk what else shit.

Of course, as with anything, especially teenagers, the pride comes before the fall. And these chuckleheads decided to get away with an absolute Caper with a capital “C” and then promptly post it on Tim Berners-Lee’s internet for all to see. Not only are they bbbbbusted by whomever wants to bust them but they’ve ruined this idea for all the other chicks out there trying to get ripped off a bottle of chocolate ice cream Pinnacle vodka (probs a flavor idk). But hey, they had a good run. I have to say that even with such an astonishingly dumb conclusion to their plan, they gave me a little hope for that generation when I previously had exactly zero. So there’s that.

There’s always that.

-Joey B.

I’d Like To Talk About My Friend Mike

By Joey Ballgame on May 28, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

This isn’t the normal sports or pop culture “innings eater” blog you’re used to reading here. So ya, feel free to move it along.

It is the end of National Mental Health Month for 2020 and for obvious reasons I think less was made of it this year. That’s not meant to be a critical statement, it’d be almost calloused to not allow the train wreck ensuing around us to not supersede a slow-burn topic such as mental health. But nonetheless, I felt it was important for someone here at The 300s to say something. To #breakthestigma a little bit if you want to be cliched, bordering on antiquated at this point.

Like most (all?) of my compatriots at this fine little blog I’m actually a college graduate. Unlike (I think?) the rest of the staff I took a road a little less travelled: I was a transfer student. For my freshman year, I went to an out-of-state private school with a great program for my anticipated field. I had a lot of fun and met some awesome people. The problem was I was four hours away from home and it was a huge “suitcase school” which meant everyone was from the area and went home on the weekends. So I rolled the dice and transferred to one of the many state schools here in MA.

When I was notified I was accepted, I was also told in the same letter that I had the good fortune of being placed in a “forced triple” (more on that later). Yippee. I was given the names and contact info for the two guys I was paired up with so we could get in touch and say our “hello”’s. One guy was immediately kind of standoffish, if not a little aggressive. I should mention here he later told us it was more of a defense mechanism for living on his own for the first time and we later became friends and have kept in touch. But ya, that first conversation he really sort of tried to assert himself as the alpha male. Considering this was the first time we had exchanged words it was a very “oooooo-k” moment. The other guy was Mike. What was he like? Well all I really remember is he was a lot of energy, friendly as hell, and used the phrase “that’s a good look” a lot. I had no clue what to make of him. Or what I had gotten myself into.

I arrived in at school late August 2008. Remember that forced triple I mentioned? Well if that was at all a mysterious term to you it’s basically a double room they stick an extra bed in (or on top of another bed, to be specific). To recap: A CRAMPED forced triple, late August, Massachusetts. It was fucking hot. Like, brutally hot to the point we hated being in the room when the sun was up. Still, we made do. To our luck, on that end, we were actually placed in a section of the building with a lot of transfers (including a forced QUAD) so we made friends that were having the same experience. But to be brutally honest the whole thing would have been totally fucked without Mike. Within a couple of weeks it was like we were best friends. Not only did we just get along in general, but we both liked the same shit: crushing beers, dropping absurd lines on the girls we’d just met, crushing more beers, and wing-maning each other. God did we love that. We almost liked seeing who could get the assist more than who could get laid. He also, to his credit, made it a point to hype me up. One thing we shared was we both had gone through really rough breakups the year before. He seemed to be able to sort of just ignore his but I was literally a shell of a person. He was basically a DJ Khaled-esque presence literally in my ear, telling me how awesome I was (which clearly wasn’t totally true). I don’t know if he ever understood how much that kept me going.

Anyway, within a month he dbrought me back to his hometown to meet his family and friends. That one trip became a handful. Those people were his rock, his support system. You see, beyond the breakup Mike confided in me he had had problems with things like “depression” and “anxiety” since he was about 12. But being around these people who truly loved him, and fuck did they ever, helped him get through the bad times. It was a wonderful thing to witness just a tightknit group of like, 30 people.

That semester, my first as a transfer, was really something. We partied, we spit game to anything that walked, when it got too hot in the room we’d take beers and a tin to one removed shower stalls (“leav one empty for the holy spirit”) and pack a lip, crack a beer, and talk about that night or whatever. It was so dumb but so much fun. Towards the end of the semester, as it cooled down and eventually we started talking about the holidays, Mike, surprisingly, revealed he was probably going to transfer to another school a town over from his. He went home a lot as it was but it wasn’t enough to keep himself steady, and/or happy. I was sad, but I understood. So we went home for Thanksgiving, and then in a few weeks Christmas. I headed up to see him and his buddies and rip it up a few times. The next semester was kind of a blur. As I reflect on it now I realize I kind of had to reset my social life. The same friends we had hung out with were still there but my main man wasn’t. I probably saw him twice, including a hilarious story where in June he abandoned me at his house, where his mom and sister were sleeping, to go hook up with some chick he had met upon going to a bar legally for the first time. Thanks a lot.

Summer through fall of 09’ moved fast because I worked a ton and in general was just busy. I think the end of that summer was also when a buddy from high school moved into a house off campus at BC so you might say we had some nights. But I kept in touch with Mike and made it out to hang a couple times. He was by that point, only a year after we met, one of my closest confidantes, one of my best friends.

That semester at school, junior year, I moved into an on-campus apartment which was a huge upgrade and the best living situation you can have other than an off-campus house. It was a great year both in terms of everything we did socially (including a lot of us turning 21), sports-wise (we got the rugby team fully up and running, you name it. I visited Mike and he got me into a bar in Worcester underage and I ended up making out with a girl I wasn’t supposed too which he found hilarious. We just never fell out of step, I’m sure we’ve all had friends like that.

Later in 2010 is when I think it happened. Although now, as fucking sad as it makes me, I can’t remember the last real time we really spoke or saw each other. It had to of been that spring-ish because I know we went out at least once together legally and my birthday is in early spring. Something changed though. For really no reason. Suddenly my texts stopped getting returned as much. He had one lame excuse or another. I knew he had school, and a job now, which he didn’t always. He had a new girlfriend too who he seemed really into. To tell you the truth? I remember being more happy for him than anything else. I could have been normal me which is bitter and annoyed but I was happy my friend who had been through a lot of shit was seeing the sun for once. Who was I to be pissed off at that?

By the time senior year began, however, we had basically lost contact. I can honestly tell you I committed to never stop trying, but I could never get him to really send me anything back. I think I got a succinct message in mid-2011 maybe? Which was after I graduated? And by this time I was hurt. I remember being hurt. What the fuck had I done? And I remember being worried. After all he had told me about all the struggles he had had was this a bad sign? Should I tell someone. I think I did? We had mutual friend who I knew still so him and who I reached out to and asked how he was. I told him my concerns. He just said Mike had been busy, he had the girlfriend and school and such. He’d mention it to him to not be a dick and hit Joey back. We’d all hang out soon. It gave me some hope. I still didn’t really hear a peep out of him. I got one really odd message sometime in mid-late 2011 where he told me he had blocked a bunch of numbers or something to that effect because of something to do with a family members job (I know I’m being very vague but that is for privacy reasons, obviously. And no, this wasn’t totally a paranoid delusion more like a possibly convenient excuse). Needless to say, by the time 2011 became 2012 I was truly worried. Social media told me the girlfriend might be gone and I didn’t see anything about the job either. And I was still sad. What the fuck happened with me and one of my best friends? I moved to New Jersey for awhile and came back. I got my first “big boy” job. I had a life and friends and a lot to look forward to. I was, as a lot of people I think are when they’re 23, scared shitless. But I was overall happy. Still, there was that nagging at the back of my mind: how do I get my friend back? Or at least find out what happened?

By late 2012 I was living on my own for the first time in a non-college setting, i.e paying my own way. I had enough for rent, nutritionally-questionable food, and beer on the weekend. To ease some of this burden I got a weekend job working the door at a bar in Boston. That’s where I met Red and some of the rest of the crew here. Although it was a sacrifice to waste a weekend night dealing with people having too much of the good time you wished you were having, we had a blast with it. It was a great crew of guys and at the end of the night we’d revel in the preposterousness of our clientele’s behavior. Catching up at the end of the night having a beer after closing time was the best because we actually wouldn’t see each other during the shift itself. We all had different stations. Red and a few other guys worked at various spots inside for the most part. I worked (outside) the door checking the IDs with another (quite large) guy and so on and so forth.

One night however, I was asked to work the back door, which was just a terrible assignment. My guess is I was just a pretty steady door guy (I had done it before) and in general had decent instincts in terms of when to dive into a fracas and when to stay out. I knew when someone was too fucked up and when they weren’t. You know, normal life skills. Thinking back I believe what I was told was we worked with a bunch of, although well-intentioned, dipshits. To mitigate this issue, one of them would be paired with the other guy at the front and I would go to the back door where your sole duty was to make sure no one came in that way, which wasn’t allowed for headcount-keeping purposes. Red and someone else with a functioning brain would take the other 2/3 remaining corners of the room and we could all have a line of sight to each other and thus form an effective team. Delta Force: Faneuil Hall.

It was about 11:30. I remember that. So let’s say three and a half hours into a six hour shift. I took a quick peak at my phone as I was both not allowed and wont to do. I had a text. I flipped my phone open (you read that right) and saw the sender was Mike’s sister. And I knew. I knew it immediately. I opened the message.

“Hey Joe it’s _____. I just wanted to make sure you knew about Michael.”

So that’s how I found out. Everything went silent around me. It kind of stopped mattering in the way things do when you find out your life has been altered completely, even as tangential as the alteration was at that point. I texted a couple of his friends and confirmed how he’d died, which I’ll allow you to infer. I think I was just in shock. Standing there, surrounded by dense revelry, only at that stage considering mourning one of my best friends. I finished my shift at two and had my after work beer and listened to a couple stories and caught a cab home. I walked in sat down on the couch and it all came out. All at once.

I don’t remember much of the next few days except going to the wake, not very stoically. I remember going to my parents immediately after and losing it again. I remember the next couple of weeks just being fuzzy. Because of so many “what-ifs?”, because of an inability to focus on anything, because of the booze I repelled both with. Everything man. And through all of this I couldn’t help but, selfishly, keep asking the same question over and over again: did this kid die hating me?

I guess that’s my point in all this. I’m not going to end with some stupid, holier-than-thou fucking speech about how wrong and selfish suicide is. Because it probably isn’t, right? Mike suffered for over ten years with an excruciating illness, no matter how invisible. If someone suffered that long with something more tangible you wouldn’t blame them, would you? No, I guess my point is, if I even have one, is that we all have the potential to make the as big of an impact on someone or something as Mike did on me. Even if someone doesn’t think they’re leaving anyone behind, I’d challenge them to wonder if it’s just that they’re not leaving them behind yet? And I’d ask if maybe that’s worth sticking around a little while longer, no matter how much longer, for. I guess when it’s your time it’s you time. But maybe someone does need it not to be yet.

To end this, I’d just like to add that in spring 2015 I was invited to a cookout in Mike’s memory. I messaged his sister (having since gotten a smartphone and losing her number) (she actually never liked me much) since I hadn’t spoken to her or his family in awhile. I asked if it was cool if I came. I also asked her to just tell me: Had he, at the end, hated me? He hadn’t.

-Joey B.

Apparently an American-led Crew of MERCENARIES Were Unsuccessful in Overthrowing the Government of Venezuela Today

By Joey Ballgame on May 5, 2020 • ( Leave a comment )

Aljazeera – Venezuelan security forces arrested dozens of people, including two Americans, after a beach invasion allegedly aimed at overthrowing President Nicolas Maduro – a plot said to involve US-backed opposition leader Juan Guaido.

If you guessed that I’ve rewritten the beginning of this blog about 8 times now because there is just so much here than you guessed right. You know me and you get me.

We have MERCENARIES. Legit sellswords (probs guns but whatever) making a huge push to come back as the new hotness in international coup d’etats. We have rogue American veterans acting as the QB1s of the whole operation. We have, let’s just say, not the most excellent turn out when considering Venezuela is in fact an entire nation and 60 is not all that many soldiers. Lastly, we have the price tag of $212m, a ludicrously specific sum especially when factoring in the fact that that boils down to about $3.5m each. To OVERTHROW A GOVERNMENT. NOT a nice one either.

O, what’s that you say? You’d like a “TL:DR”, as the kids say? My pleasure:

Two American ex-super soldiers very misguidedly tried to overthrow the ruling regime of an entire South American country with about 60 heavily armed guys and all for what a late-first round pick would earn in the NFL.

I mean, is the job market THAT BAD? Especially for guys with the tactical and leadership training of veterans? Was it the thrill of combat and the allure of being involved in “an operation” that drew them in? Or were they just all, “if I’m going to die via Mexican beer viruses or murder hornets it’s going to be while doing what I love, which is firing assault rifles at tyrants.”

Fucking wild story man, one I’m sure we’ll get more details on down the line. But for now I raise a glass to you you crazy kids. At a time when basically everyone lacks ambition you chose to have too much

-Joey B.

(P.S – Lol it was totally the CIA.)

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Apparently an American-led Crew of MERCENARIES Were Unsuccessful in Overthrowing the Government of Venezuela Today

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