Highly Recommended

The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World (Hardcover)
by A. J. Jacobs (Author)
www.amazon.com

I don't know if it was the A-Z format, the often hilarious asides, or the low-key self-deprecating manner of the author, but you begin to like this Jacobs guy for admitting that he's really not all that intelligent when it comes to ... knowing things, and to test out how much he doesn't know, he begins reading the Encyclopædia Britannica from beginning to end--all 32 volumes and 33,000 pages. One of the few books where the blurbs on the back assure the reader that "you'll be laughing out loud" and you really do laugh out loud. Plus, you know how some reviewers tell you that you won't be able to put the book down? Well, trust me, you won't be able to put the book down. It's a book that reads much, much better than the title's premise would suggest.

Like Rooting For Microsoft

The More Things Change...
Way back in the early 1950s, it was famously said that rooting for the New York Yankees in baseball was like rooting for U.S. Steel, like rooting for Goliath to beat the hell out of David. Now more than a half-century later, I guess being a Yankees fan is like rooting for Microsoft to crush more small companies, for Wal-Mart to push out a few more small-town mom&pop stores, or for Halliburton to get just a few more no-bid contracts.

The point is, the Yankees fan is in a no-win situation. If his team wins, it's because they have the highest annual payroll in the sport by a wide margin; if they don't win the World Series, then they're a bunch of choke artists, underachievers and losers. Making the playoffs is never enough. Winning the pennant is small consolation. There's no joy in the Bronx, hasn't been since 1996, when winning was still a new thing. Even if they win the whole ball of wax, the emotion the players and fans feel is more like relief than any true joy.











And really, it's not easy to root for a ballclub whose owner (George Steinbrenner) is and always has been a mentalcase--a truly paranoid bully of a boss. He's a twice-convicted felon and, what's worse, a truly Nixonian Republican. One of the best lines in baseball history came courtesy of the late Billy Martin, who said of Steinbrenner and the insufferable Reggie Jackson, "One's a born liar, the other's convicted." Priceless. It's also hard for me to root for something with which another paranoid freak, Rudy Giuliani, is so closely associated. And let's face it, many of their fans feel they're entitled to winning every year, and they tend to treat the rest of the league as their very own farm system. You hear these lunatics calling up sports radio stations and saying things like, "Hey, is Miguel Cabrera a free agent next year? He'd look good in pinstripes." I wanna scream at my radio when this happens. Develop your own fucking players, pal. Isn't that what made those late 1990s teams so enjoyable to watch--seeing young'uns like Derek Jeter & Bernie Williams & Jorge Posada rising up through the ranks to take their place alongside a select smattering of role-playing vets?

Instead, it's become a yearly carousel of superstar free agents parading through Yankee Stadium: Roger Clemens, Randy Johnson, Jason Giambi, Mike Mussina, etc., not to mention trading for A-Rod and giving up one of their few exciting players, Alfonso Soriano, in the process. Now GM Brian Cashman may finally be getting it, as Steinbrenner finally takes a back seat in personnel decisions.

Which brings us to the hot topics burning up the sports-talk airwaves and playing themselves out through the back pages of New York's hideous tabloids, which are three in number as far as I can tell: Bernie, Mariano & A-Rod.

First Mariano Rivera. He's complaining about being underpaid, not getting respect, etc. Last time I checked he signed a contract that pays him $10 million a year. Now, sports was a lot more enjoyable, and baseball especially, when the fans didn't even know how much their favorite players earned in a season. And even if they did, the salary was not likely to be obscene, more like a reasonable multiple of 3-4 times what they earned in their own jobs. Now it's become ridiculous, and you best believe all those inflated, bloated salaries are passed on to the fan via higher ticket prices, parking charges, and those $4 hot dogs and $6 beers you're stuffing yourself with every inning.

Now, I think I read somewhere that Mariano grew up dirt-poor in the dangerous slums of Panama City, Panama. Legend has it that when the neighborhood kids got together for a game of baseball, they improvised by using a large plantain as a bat, fashioning a baseball out of whatever round fruit was in season at the time, while small farm animals and younger siblings served as first, second and third base. All of which is commendable and to be admired. But it makes his latest demands for an immediate new contract all the more vexing.

I'm not saying that because The Great Mariano overcame such harsh circumstances he should play for less or take less money. But you'd think a guy who made millions of dollars playing a kids game would be a little more grateful, a little more happy just to be here, a little less greedy. I expect his counterparts who grew up middle class in Florida or Southern California to act like spoiled brats whenever they discover someone else is making a few lousy bucks more per year. That's what makes it all the more out of character for Rivera. Plus, for someone who seems to be so pious, you'd think money wouldn't be such an ongoing obsession.

I think Cashman is playing it the right way, calling his bluff to an extent. After all, the guy is gonna be 38 years old--ancient for a pitcher, never mind a closer; history shows he already should be finished as a closer, no pun intended. And he's hardly been dominating in recent years. The true test is that as a fan you never feel it's over when he comes into a game anymore, the way you did earlier in his stellar career, the way you felt when the great Goose Gossage was stalking the mound for those great late '70s Yankees teams and intimidating the hell out of batters with his walrus mustache and cold, mean eyes looking down on you.

So I say let him walk if he wants to. Better to get rid of him a year too early than a year too late. Others can close games, and we can not win the World Series without him.

Same with Bernie Williams. He also wants a guaranteed roster spot on this year's club. Guess what? It ain't gonna happen. Every Yankee fan has a soft spot in his heart for Bernie. After all, he was there roaming centerfield well before the glory years started in the Bronx, so how can you not appreciate him. By the same token, wasn't he on his way to the Red Sox about 10 years ago before Steinbrenner himself intervened and threw some more cash at him? Where was the loyalty then? As Jerry Seinfeld so rightly pointed out, these days fans are rooting more for the uniform than the players contained therein, as modern day ballplayers resemble mercenaries more than the humble aw-shucks guys our dads and granddads rooted for back in the day.

Williams had a decent year last year filling in for injured outfielders Gary Sheffield and Hidecki Matsui, hitting .281 with decent pop. But his arm is more like a chicken wing now, and nobody will mistake him for Roberto Clemente as he gingerly patrols the outfield, even more reluctant to chase down a long fly lest he go anywhere near the outfield wall. As much as I've always respected Bernie, it would make me cringe whenever he stopped short of the wall; god forbid he gave up his body for the good of the team. We wouldn't want him to damage his guitar-playing fingers for all the money the Yankees are paying him.

In short, I don't want Bernie taking at bats away from young, up & coming Melky Cabrera. Would it have been fair to Bernie if a 40-year-old Dave Winfield was taking playing time away from a young Bernie Williams? Nope. So it's time, Bernie. You couldn't break a pane of glass with that arm of yours these days, you're still a clueless baserunner after all those years in the league, and I think the passion for the game isn't where it should be. I think Yankees fans would forgive him if he were to ply his trade elsewhere in the league. He'd still be remembered as a true New York Yankee. After all, players like Joe Namath, Joe Montana, Tom Seaver all finished their careers for other teams but we still associate them with the Jets, 49ers, Mets, respectively. That's the way sports is nowadays. Deal with it.

As far as A-Rod goes, he too has no fun playing the game, and it's his own fault for taking the money and being the highest paid player. I know technically someone has to be, but he could've chosen to remain in Seattle, the team that he came up with, because as far as I know nobody held a gun to his head and told him to go to Texas for $250 million. Now he's detested not only league-wide but is booed in his own stadium on a regular basis. Then he put his foot in his mouth and took a few nasty cheap shots at Derek Jeter, basically calling him overrated and a media creation, instead of the winner he has proven to be. I don't blame Jeter for not forgiving him. The same competitive drive that makes him a once-in-a-lifetime player is fueling the animosity between him and A-Rod. Apologies are so overrated, in my opinion; people think they can do the worst things to other people, say the meanest things, act abominably (inside sports as well as in real life), and all will be forgiven if they go through the motions of mouthing some tired, insincere mea culpa. You said it, you did it, now pay the fucking piper for a while.

We never should have traded Alfonso Soriano for this guy. He detracts from the overall team focus, and I'm sick of it. He wants everyone to like him, instead of just being himself. Give me a scumbag like Barry Bonds. At least he's honest in a sense and doesn't really care if you like him or even respect him.

Remember Kirby Puckett? I don't want to talk bad about the deceased, but what the hell: I'll make an exception. Everyone thought he was a genuinely nice guy, always had a twinkle in his eye. It turns out the guy was a habitual sexual abuser, repeatedly forcing himself on women in public. So you have to take someone's image with a large granule of salt.

My point, if there is one, is that baseball is no longer the innocent pastime it used to be, if it indeed ever was. That's what I want to say here. All that other stuff I wrote? Just window dressing. This is my real point, that rooting for the Yankees has become an ordeal, markedly less rewarding and enjoyable than even 10 short years ago, when we didn't know how good we had it. I'll never forget being at that first Yankees victory parade following the 1996 World Series, waiting with The Vin and millions of fans for our hometown boys to cascade through the Canyon of Heroes. Now, I'll still get a kick out of beating the hated Mets in Interleague play or, even better, another Subway Series. I'll still delight in besting the detested Boston Red Sox for the division, sending their pompously martyrized/self-important fans spiraling into paroxysms of despair. But don't expect me to get all teary-eyed if the Yankees fail to capture their 27th all-time championship flag this year. Real life has intruded all too much into what, after all, should still be a game.

Pigs & Other Swine

"Somehow it seemed as though the farm had grown richer without making the animals themselves any richer—except, of course, for the pigs and the dogs." Animal Farm

Future historians and biographers will look back and realize that this last week was noteworthy for me because it marked the acquisition of my fifth and sixth major freelance clients. In this business, like most, it's a simple case of more equals better.

The first new client came through A., my stalwart freelance agency. It was a massive, in-depth project for CL involving their pending reunion, and I went over the class notes and bios for their alumni. Altogether I did seven different books, representing seven different graduating classes, which described what these lawyers have accomplished so far in their careers, as well as personal lives. So obviously the further back you go in time, the more there is to brag on; thus the 1967 and '62 classes had more to talk about than the relatively recent '87 or '92 people did. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you it was fascinating, but each life is almost like a small short story if you read between the lines, even though 90 percent of them were unbelievably pretentious, right down to the atrocious names they bestow on their oh-so-gifted/special offspring, including some of my (non)favorites: Skyler, Hortencia, Pilar, Atticus, Quintin, Hunter, Fabian, Brynn, Mona & Lisa (get it?), Lomax and Fabian. Great. Your pretentiousness just bought these poor kids a lifetime of schoolyard taunts and gym class beat-downs, not to mention years of ultimately fruitless clinical therapy. Anyway, about halfway through the project the client offered me more work (another book).

Now, all my clients have used me repeatedly, but honestly, the woman who I dealt with at CL was a total bitch and I may turn down the next job from her. I rushed to meet her ridiculous deadline, with not even a cursory fucking "thank you" when I called to ask if she received the last of the books I sent. She's the type who probably kisses the asses of all the lawyers and such she deals with, but feels free to treat other people like peons. The more I think about it, she can kiss my white ass the next time. I put in 10 hours on her precious project on Wednesday; then, in addition to working my usual shift at LT last Thursday, I went home and put another five hours in Thursday night, almost five more on Friday morning to meet her 1:00 pm deadline--then another almost four hours between Friday night and early Sunday morning on the last book!

Incidentally, I discovered that freelance clients actually pay double whatever I get for my services; in other words, if I'm getting 25 bucks an hour from Client A, they're paying A. 50 bucks an hour. I realize that's a lot of pesos, and a client has a right to expect a high degree of competence, expertise and hard work in return. But perfection? That's just a standard that's impossible to meet. I would challenge anyone, even a Mensa member, to have done any better under the circumstances.

(I realize I'm a little tightly wound lately, and maybe I just need a vacation...)

Now, I don't wanna cut off my rather bulbous nose to spite my ruggedly weathered facade, but I do have my pride and I do have my limits. You don't wanna get on my bad side. I mean, going over almost 200 pages of copy, much of it absolute gibberish with no consistency in terms of format, you're just not gonna catch everything, and she picked out one minor thing and beat me over the head with it. Actually, I was the one who discovered an inconsistency in the way I was punctuating a college degree and informed her about it midway through the project. Then she totally overreacted and sent me a nasty e-mail telling me I was "sloppy"!

In the beginning when I took on the assignment she was so grateful, telling me how difficult it was and how she had tried doing it but gave up, saying, "That's why I called you!" Then as it went on she became colder and colder. To the point where now she can go to hell and take all her lawyers and attorneys with her. There. I got it out and boy do I feel better. Call me unprofessional if you like. But you can ask any of my present clients if they're happy with me and they will all say yes. In fact, I can't wait for her to come calling again just so I can make up and excuse and turn them down. As long as they pay me for what I already did, I'm done with them. Just another good reason to hate lawyers and hate Ivy Leaguers, I guess.

I've been at LT since June, that's where I sit today, arriving a half-hour or so early for my 9:30 shift. S., the ad agency, used me as recently as a week ago, and they were the first to call for my services. CB was also an early client, and I was there for a one-day project as recently as late January. That's a favorite of mine because I like the Upper West Side--the neighborhood brings back a lot of memories for me because I went to high school right around there, my favorite punk club Hurrah's was right down the block, and my high school sweetheart Debbie Ellen Epstein (now a lawyer like her dad Milton, who had no use for me because I wasn't Jewish--true dat!) lived in the vicinity; also, CB almost always has a decent spread of free food that I can partake in, not a little thing for us struggling artist types. And V, while only using me for that one day back in November, did ask for my services as recently as a week ago. You'll recall that I was a little disappointed that I wasn't able to fit them in because of prior commitments, but that worked out well because a few days later the CL deal arrived at my doorstep. And of course LT has been the base upon which all the other things revolve; the network that bills itself Television for Women (among many other things) has been nothing but good for this old dude.

My sixth client came out of the blue. As I mentioned last week, my friend Kate just got a new position at Mc-E, the giant ad agency. She works out of Pennsylvania, but has contacts at the Manhattan branch as well, and she's gonna try to get me work there in the future. But for now I'm helping her on a campaign for a new drug launch. She sent me a package that I received last Friday, about 60 pages copied from PowerPoint representing the slide presentation they're gonna roll out, and I went over it and sent it back to her on Saturday. And while it was only three hours of work, the per-hour rate is the most money I have ever made per hour--almost twice my usual freelance rate if you can believe that. I think I was a help to them because I did catch a few major things. Kate promised me a lot of work in the next few weeks as their project gets closer to liftoff.

So I spent a lot of time this past week and weekend at my local Internet cafe. I had to lay out a lot of money for the time spent online there and printing stuff out to take home and read. Luckily it's a pretty cool place and the people who run it, all young Greek kids, are really nice and gave me a discount most of the time. For instance, one day I spent 2 1/2 straight hours there, then printed out 30 pages, and had two cups of tea and the guy only charged me 8 dollars. Not bad, because I was expecting like 15 bucks, since the going rate is a buck for 15 minutes. As Kate said, I really need to start saving up for a computer, specifically a laptop, so that I can take on large-scale projects for Kate and other clients, as well as blog more frequently and spontaneously.

The upshot is that this will be my most lucrative check ever not only from A., but now I can expect a check almost weekly from the good folks at McC. Ironically, I almost had McC in the fold last summer as they needed someone for the July 4th weekend and A. sent them my resume, but it turns out they were able to somehow make do without my expertise. Hey, it happens.

(Spoke Too Soon Dept. Just when I thought it was safe to trumpet my good fortune, it turns out I may not be paid for the CL project this week as my contact at A. for that specific job, has been out sick since late last week, and she's apparently the one who has to bill the client; at least for now it looks like Murphy and his cursed Law have conspired against me once again, because it turns out I was counting on that check in its entirety (as Ralph Kramden once said) to catch up on a flotilla of outstanding bills arrayed against me.)

So it looks like I made the correct decision last June--a major life turning point--when after two days I chose to opt out of a new job as a night clerk (11pm-7am) at the posh Hotel W. on the Upper East Side, paying 15 an hour but with good benefits. At that point I had nothing concrete except a notion that it wasn't gonna work out. Now I had already worked at LT for a week or two, but there was no guarantee that they would end up using me as much as they did. Also, the catering was set to shut down for the summer months, so I didn't even have that irregular income to count on. No, I was out there on a smile & a shoeshine following my aborted attempts at being a market researcher (7-something an hour! working 5-11pm on Union Square), shipping clerk for a friend's company (10 bucks an hour), gold coin salesman (no income to speak of), temping (one day's work at Cornell Medical Center, 13 an hour), and catering (20 an hour), working my ass off serving food to the privileged denizens of the ruling class, after witnessing my unemployment benefits run out (405 per week) in early 2006. The accompanying stress and frustration was building up like a volcano with no end in sight; the job interviews were few and far between and always fruitless--the interviewers perhaps sensing my desperation and sending me packing, including Penthouse magazine, Capital Group and Bloomberg Books. The publishing agencies were likewise all but useless, notably Lynne Palmer, who got me just the one interview with Capital over months and months. I wish them only the worst.

Anyway, enough negative rehashing for now. I expect the Year of the Pig to hold nothing but positives for me going forward. Here's hoping I am awash in a sea of filthy lucre. Because after all, in the end it's nothing but a swindle. A ROTTEN SWINDLE!

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One last thing to note on this day, February 20: today makes exactly three years since my mom passed away, on a Friday night, all by herself, in a hospital room, a horrible way for anyone to go, following a series of long, debilitating illnesses, including two strokes and other heart & lung problems. People say time heals all wounds, she's in a better place, or other such platitudes, but in truth it never gets any easier. Miss you, Mom. You were always there for us in big and little ways that I can never do justice to. Your heart was as big as the biggest ocean.

Meet Beth Orton

The music of Beth Orton should be much more well known, but then again maybe not. Why does everyone have to aspire to something like pop stardom? Maybe it's a case of good things having to be sought after or stumbled on. Norah Jones, who seems like a nice enough singer, sells a ridiculous amount of merch, but somehow you're met with quizzical blank stares whenever you bring up Beth Orton's name.

The song Stolen Car, from her second album Central Reservation, is tense and haunting like the best of vintage Pink Floyd; think Wish You Were Here, think Dark Side of the Moon. It's my belief that Stolen Car, like Celluloid Heroes (Kinks), Santa Monica (Everclear) or Live Forever (Oasis), is an inter-generational, once in a lifetime song ... deeply moving, stirring, unforgettable.

Orton, whose plaintive, introspective persona makes similarly wistful, pensive artists like Lucinda Williams seem like the good-time antics of C&C Music Factory in comparison, is an acquired taste; her music is not gonna hit you over the head or grab you by the collar, but rather will subtly grow on you if you allow it to.

I will warn y'all, without getting all hyperbolic, that listening to her music opens up a Pandora's Box of emotional vulnerability. Comparisons to Neil Young are therefore apt, particularly on Young's lesser-known works like Tonight's The Night, Comes A Time or even Harvest and Everyone Knows This is Nowhere. It's folk rock that is sonically and texturally interesting, that moves you in gentle waves of sound.

And like Natalie Merchant, Orton's albums usually have two or three stunning tunes spread out on what otherwise tend to be somewhat monochromatic affairs. Upon request, I will burn anyone a great compilation CD of the best of her four studio albums to date; that's how important her stuff is to me. Like all good music, it means nothing if we keep it to ourselves.

When Orton puts it all together, the results are heartbreakingly gorgeous; her music will tug on the soft spot of the human condition, in the somber space that all sad songs inhabit.

Lancing Never Free

Interesting couple weeks in the freelancing biz. Slowly but surely things seem to be headed in the right direction, despite the usual setbacks and roadblocks to suckcess. Not that I'm bitter or anything...

Middle of last week it was looking like Friday was gonna be an off day. LT said they didn't "need" me to come in, that I should come back Monday and to plan on working Tuesday & Thursday as per usual. But Thursday morning I received a welcome call from K., one of my main contacts at A., the world-famous freelance agency I "belong" to, asking about my availability for Friday. It seems S.Comm, the ad agency over on Varick Street, was requesting my earthly presence for a choice assignment. It turns out they've been renovating their offices and needed someone to work off-premise. I fairly shouted into the phone, Yea, verily!

It turns out they needed someone to go over one of their in-house style guides, something I was quite familiar with as I've worked on similar projects for them four or five times at least over the past year. The guide outlines the rules the ad- and copy-writing people are to use when dealing with a high-end crystal/jewelry (actually jewellery in this case) operation. The beauty of the assignment was that I could stay in Astoria; as I still have no functioning home PC, I based my operation out of the Internet Cafe that I so frequently frequent. All I had to do was print out the 50 or 60 pages and then went home and worked on it by the light of my kitchen window.

The folks at S. were under an enormous deadline, and so I turned it around for them in short order. I caught a myriad of stuff, from misspellings of words like typeface and article to larger problems with page numbers, etc. Basically the guides set rules regarding which typefaces to use, where the Swan logo should reside in the ad, etc. The bottom line is that S. was extremely grateful for my input and expertise, as they should be, because I take a back seat to no one in my field. That's just a stone cold fact. So instead of an off day, I was able to bill them for almost 5 hours of work at $25 per hour. Sweet. (LT gets me for "only" 22 an hour.)

Yesterday morning as I headed to LT from the train station, I got another call from K. informing me that the folks at V magazine were specifically requesting me for a choice two-day assignment. I had worked for V just once before, a one-day dealio back in November, but apparently I made such a big impression that they asked for me, by name! Of course it would be difficult to ask for someone other than by name, but I'm sticking to my verbiage as this post is supposed to resemble a stream of consciousness outpouring of my deepest, barest emotions. How'm I doin' so far?

Well, that really jacked me up as you can guess. Just to work on the premises is reward enough, and they also pay 25 per if I remember correctly. But V needed someone to work either Wednesday & Thursday or Thursday & Friday. But being the loyal sumbitch I am, I was already committed to LT for Thursday, and before I got a chance to see how flexible they were willing to be this week, A. pulled the rug out from underneath me and K. called back with the news that V decided to use someone else. I was a little put off, but that's life as a freelancer: easy come, here today, gone fishing tomorrow ... I chose to focus on the positive, on the fact that the V folks specifically requested me. K. did say she'd try to make it up to me, although not in those exact words.

The reason I'm able to remain so positive is because a good friend of mine, Kate, just got a new job at a huge ad agency and has decided to use me as a freelancer for them starting this very week! Kate is a real take-charge, alpha type (she basically planned our entire November reunion along with the Gatt and got all the details together to make that shindig such a memorable event), and apparently has moved up the ranks at her new company with such alacrity that she's able to use me for such an important project. It's a huge assignment for their pharmaceutical division which involves going over a PowerPoint presentation for a new diabetes drug. She's even got me into the system as of yesterday, when I filled out a bunch of forms including a W-9 statement, so I'll be paid weekly according to Kate. This could be the killer break I've been needing for some time.

Yesterday at LT, I was going over some ads for a new show of theirs that will be running in publications like TV Guide, People, etc. That's par for the course. What was unusual was that in the ad, the character's name, whose love interests are a vampire and detective, was spelled wrong. I know, I know, it's silly, but this is what women are going for these days. Usually I will Google any actor names that I'm not familiar with, but the poster itself didn't have any, but something told me to check the spelling of the character, and it turns out that according to the information on LT's very own Website, it's spelled wrong. I live for catching stuff like that. Now I'm smelling like a rose because I caught that little gaffe before the ads left our department en route to wherever it is these things go after I look at them. And last week I caught another few major things, including another actress's last name spelled incorrectly. Damn I'm good.

Not only has it been an interesting few weeks, but indeed as I started getting my tax stuff together, I realized that it's been a unique year for me in terms of all the stuff I went through as I tried to get back on my feet following my unceremonious departure from TWST, followed by six months of unemployment checks, which ended just about exactly a year to the day. To be precise, my 2006 tax statement includes the following (legal) sources of income: the last four or five weeks of unemployment in early 2006; a strange one-day job at Cornell Medical Center; a brief interlude as a telemarketer/market researcher; an even briefer period working as a shipping clerk for a friend's office supply/novelty company; a futile, fruitless turn as a gold coin salesman for another friend; a somewhat more successful stint (still technically ongoing) as a caterer for yet another friend's company; as well as all the different freelancing jobs I've had. All these escapades and more are chronicled in-depth and with appropriate levels of irony and self-deprecating humor on this very blog for those interested in more detail. And who wouldn't be fascinated by the continuing misadventures of a modern-day Ignatius J. Reilly rampaging headlong through the work force. Show of hands please...
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Postscript Wow! Talk about your serendipity. It's now 10 minutes after I completed the above communique and I just seconds ago got a call from C, another of my contacts at A, informing me of an assignment for CL that has my name written all over it. I have never worked for them before, but it involves going over some alumni stuff, and get this: I can work off premise. Again, there's a deadline, but it looks like I can get started ASAP and work at home after I've printed all the stuff out. As it was, I knew I was back at LT Thursday but we hadn't discussed tomorrow or Friday yet. So now that I have all those blanks filled in and then some, I just hope K doesn't need me to get started for her project until Friday night. But it's a nice dilemma to have for a change: too much work! C's gonna get back to me to confirm with all the details any minute now I guess, but I am jacked up like a meth addict who just got a new script filled. Very.

Must-Read Head

For those of you whose image of David Byrne still revolves around a really big suit, quirky songs about psycho killers and life during wartime from his previous incarnation as the lead Talking Head, or even his latest semi-precious dalliances with world-beat or avante-garde music (an opera about Imelda Marcos!), you may be surprised to learn that his online journal contains such well-written, biting commentary on the sorry state of our politics and in particular the barren madness of the beyond-hideous Bush regime. That's one of the reasons I provide a link to his blog. But I was completely blown away by his latest post. Simply put, it encapsulates a lot of the concerns I'm having about the responsibility all American citizens share in this obscene Iraqi bloodbath––not only the ones actually pulling the triggers or dropping the bombs. It also touches on the odd disconnect that comes with living in these Krazy Nukular Tymes where things seem to truly be falling apart. Judge for yourself, but prepare to be amazed.

New Ball Coach

After a comprehensive, leave-no-stone-unturned search for the 7th head coach in Cowboys history, owner Jerry Jones selected San Diego Chargers' defensive coordinator and former Bills & Broncos head man Wade Phillips (45-35 record as head coach). An expert in the 3-4 defensive alignment, Phillips was ultimately deemed a better fit than Norv Turner, considered by many to be a front-runner for the job. With Jason Garrett pegged to run the offense and mentor Tony Romo along with last year's play-caller, Tony Sporano, that leaves Phillips free rein to install his more aggressive version of the 3-4, which after all his daddy Bum invented in Houston over 30 years ago when he lined up defensive tackle Curly Culp over the center and a new defensive system was born. Wade was on his father's staff back in 1976 when this strange new front seven formation was born.

Of course, knowledge-challenged Gary Myers of the New York Daily News wrote a Friday column blasting the hire and taking his typical cheap shots at Jones, the Cowboys and Phillips, saying that the choice was uninspiring and lacked imagination and was right out of the "recycled bin" of NFL coaches and that Phillips should fit right in with the Cowboys given his playoff record as a head coach is 0-3 and the Cowboys haven't won a post-season contest in over a decade. Who would Myers have picked? We don't know, because he offered no alternative choice to Phillips. That's not surprising, because Myers has no mind of his own and instead plays to the anti-Cowboy bias in New York. When the Patriots hired Bill Belichick many writers said he was a failure following his mediocre stint in Cleveland. Everyone loved the Redskins hiring Steve Spurrier out of the college ranks, everyone praised the Dolphins when they plucked Lou Saban out of LSU. Seemed like great moves at the time but later proved to be disastrous. The fact is that no one knows how it will turn out; it's all a big crap shoot. But to blast the move beforehand is unfair to Phillips––a Texas-born football lifer who has reached the pinnacle of his profession after paying his dues for 30 years. Only a piece of human crapola like sorry-ass Myers would think to rain on the guy's parade. Myers doesn't even have the pulse of a team in his own city, the Giants, and is said to be detested in their locker room.

Myers was dead wrong four years ago on the Bill Parcells hire like most of his brethren; all the sheep in the media were sure the Jones-Parcells marriage wouldn't last a year when of course it lasted four full years––four years of drafts and free agent signings that greatly bolstered the Cowboys talent level to the point where they will be perennial contenders for years to come.

If the Giants had fired Tom Coughlin as they were on the verge of doing following their disappointing season and hired Phillips, you can bet that Myers wouldn't have had the cojones to write anything negative. Sure you can disagree with the move, but for a team that's poised to win now, hiring a coach with 30 years experience in the NFL––one who's loved by former players like Luis Castillo and was the leading candidate to replace Marty Schottenheimer following the 2007 season––is the right move. After all, no less an expert than Peter King of Sports Illustrated put his seal of approval on the move, as did most NFL insiders. Like most rational people, I'll take King's opinion over Myers' any day of the week, as well as a host of other NFL writers, hardly Cowboy lovers, who managed to objectively see the move for what it was: a smart, solid hire ... Here's another positive take on the move by another SI scribe, Mike McAllister.

It's my opinion that at this stage of his career, Parcells was a better evaluator of talent than actual in-game manager––meaning he's better at shopping for the groceries than doing the actual cooking ... There's no shame in that. The same can be said of some of the best coaches in NFL history. Ex-Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson also falls into that category. That means Jerry Jones, in his role as team GM, will now take less of a back seat when it comes to future personnel matters.

Of course the Dallas media has their share of Cowboys haters who trot out the same old tired arguments against Jerry Jones whenever possible. Gil LeBreton is one such hack but is hardly alone. Negativity always sells more papers. Those of you in New York probably wouldn't believe the avalanche of anti-Bill Parcells commentary following his departure, or maybe it was obvious given the love-hate relationship Parcells has always fostered with sportswriters; it seems nobody is neutral when it comes to The Tuna. ****************************************************************
Football On Hiatus Till August
To some it's just a bunch of grown men in funny get-ups running into each other. To me and lots of others it's become a way of life and stands as one of the greatest things ever invented or concocted. Nothing brings out the best and consequently worst in people like the gut-check spectacle of modern pro football––excepting maybe politics, warfare & 8th grade dodgeball games. You always hear baseball weenies counting down days till pitchers & catchers report to spring training, but all I know is that it's less than 6 months until chinstraps are buckled and footballs start spiraling through the hot summer air again and the preseason begins in earnest. But of course there is really no offseason in football.

Cowboys fans are eagerly awaiting the completion of the coaching staff. Holdover Todd Bowles, the well-respected secondary coach under Mike Zimmer for the last two years and a players' favorite, is a leading candidate to be named defensive coordinator later this week. That will give us two bright young coordinators and, looking down the road, possible future head coaching candidates. The free agency period begins in earnest on March 1. Of course the draft is in late April. Mini-camps in May. And then NFL training camps begin in late July.
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The Pro Bowl, won by the AFC 31-28, was actually a pretty good game. While some look at it as a paid vacation to Hawaii, others take it a lot more seriously. Put Redskins' safety Sean Taylor in the latter category. One of the hardest hitters of the last decade, no one told him it's only an exhibition game, as his bone-jarring hit on Buffalo P Brian Moorman could be heard all the way back to the mainland! Who would even call for a fake punt in a Pro Bowl? That would be mad genius Bill Belichick, coach of the AFC. That's probably be the last fake punt Moorman tries for a good, long while ... Dallas's own Tony Romo, one of seven Cowboys players in uniform for the game, came thisclose to being named MOP (Most Outstanding Player), leading the NFC squad from 14 points down to tie the game late in regulation before a cheap pass interference call gave the AFC the win and Bengals' QB Carson Palmer the award ... The positive is that Romo got a chance to wash away the bad vibes from the playoff loss to Seattle and have fun again on the football field, as well as hold flawlessly on FGs and PATs ... By the way, not only did NFC Coach Sean Payton lose his starting QB Drew Brees to injury following a borderline dirty hit by the Ravens' Terrell Suggs, but stupidly called for a 2-point conversion following the Romo to Anquan Boldin TD that made it 28-20. I know it's not a "real" game, but give your team a chance to win the game. The NFC did convert the 2-pointer following their next TD to tie it, but still...












Romo finished 11-19 for 156 yards, one TD and one INT; Palmer was 8-17 for 190 and 2 TDs ... If you missed the game you missed one incredible 63-yard punt return by, who else, the Bears' Devin Hester ... Joining Romo on the NFC squad were six other Cowboys: DE DeMarcus Ware, TE Jason Witten, C Andre Gurode, P Mat McBriar, T Flozell Adams & S Roy Williams; not all were voted in, of course, but were next in line after the usual injury no-shows ... Romo did win the QB skills challenge, which entailed trying to hit a fixed target about 20 yards away and then one about 40 yards away ... Most importantly for Cowboys fans, Romo was seen enjoying himself. For anyone who saw the kid with head in hand following the botched snap in the Seahawks game, that was a welcome sight. ***********************************************************************
Can't Blame This One On T.O. Dept. It appears Eagles' coach Andy Reid is taking a temporary leave of absence from his duties following the sordid legal problems of two of his sons. It seems one, 23-year-old Garrett, was busted for heroin possession after a traffic accident, while 21-year-old Britt was arrested on weapons charges following an incident of road rage. Maybe Cowboys fans should be as classless as Eagles fans usually are and prepare to greet Reid with a barrage of homemade signs chronicling his personal misfortune next time the Eagles visit Texas Stadium, as they did when T.O. returned to Philly last year. Just a thought ... Remember, for all his on-field histrionics, in his whole career T.O. has never fun afoul of the law off the field.

New York Nightmare

"Wintertime in New York town,
The wind blowin' snow around.
Walk around with nowhere to go,
Somebody could freeze right to the bone.
I froze right to the bone.
New York Times said it was the coldest winter in seventeen years.
I didn't feel so cold then."

Talking New York Bob Dylan 1962










Thursday, 9:45am. Just made it into work after a hellish commute, one that usually takes a half-hour but today took almost two.

When I got to the Ditmars Blvd. train station this morning a little before 8:00, I knew something was wrong because there were like a gazillion people milling about on the platform, with no train in sight, and then another couple of hundred people down by the token booth bitching about no train service. Great. Turns out there's a busted rail at the 59th/Lex. station, so no N or W trains going past Queensboro Plaza. Instead they provided a shuttle train from Ditmars Blvd., totally packed, where we could get the 7 train. That doesn't really help me, as I need to get to 50th Street and 8th, but after sneaking in behind someone thru the gate--I wasn't gonna pay for a ride that may be going nowhere--I managed to squeeze into a packed subway car and after a miserable ride, caught another packed 7-train at Queensboro Plaza, then got out at Times Square, or to be exact 41st & Broadway, leading to a hellish walk in cold that cannot be overstated. In fact, let me check Yahoo Weather for today; we're in the middle of a week of frigid temps that's setting a record for coldest stretch here in two or three years. (I have no idea what it's doing in the rest of the country and frankly don't care.) Well, apparently it's 19 degrees outside but with the cursed wind chill factored in, it's closer to 11 degrees. It feels a lot fucking colder when you're walking in it and an arctic gust of wind hits you. In fact, when it's this cold you can't help but personify the weather and use anthropomorphic descriptions like bitter, brutal, nasty, heartless and cruel to describe it. The good news of course is that the dew point remains at 1 degree.

In fact, this morning I felt like absolute crap and seriously contemplated calling in sick for the first time since I started freelancing. I woke up with a horrible hangover not so much from the 2 or 3 Heinekens I had last night with a friend, but from the 3 or 4 harsh Marlboro Reds I inhaled last night. After not having a butt for weeks, it just ripped my throat to shreds and I had trouble falling asleep at all; I was having these horrible hot smoke filled hiccups, is the best way I can put it ... I can't believe I got much more than 2 hours real sleep all-told.

But that's not the half of it, as they say in geometry. As I said, I went out for a drink with a bud who was coming in from Long Island. Names, if not identities, will be protected, because it turns out we hit a topless joint in Jackson Heights on Astoria Blvd., a real dive where the young, full-figured South American ladies actually pranced around a small stage in their flimsy bikinis. They were hygienic and clean but not at all attractive to me. I don't think I had a woody the entire night, even when a girl would come offstage and sit by me and ... my friend. We hit them with a few singles and got the chance to slip the bills between their tits, and they seemed appropriately grateful. We played a few games of pool, and then around 10, 10:30, knowing I had to work this morning, I decided to hit the bricks, but my pal wanted to stay for the duration. Problem is, he drove me there and it was a good 3 miles from my house. So I split. I left the topless dive and started looking for a cab as I walked.

Now, I should have had the common sense to call a car service, but I figured I'd get a yellow cab. Being so close to LaGuardia, I figured it wouldn't be a problem. But after walking about 3 or 4 blocks constantly turning my head around to look back for a cab, I was now too far gone to go back to the bar and still far, far away from my ultimate destination. So I made up my mind to stop looking back and just forge ahead. The human body is amazing, because even in such conditions you will generate enough warmth. As long as you keep moving, because if you stopped moving in these conditions you'd probably last about 10 minutes tops.

Of course I had no hat and no gloves, only a thin sweater under my totally inappropriate-for-the-winter leather jacket, even with the wool or faux-fur lining zipped in, as I chose fashion over warmth for the night, naively thinking I could depend on my friend for a ride home. So I froze my ass off last night, got home about 11:30, and then this morning's horrible commute. For some reason, my MP3 player joined in the fun and decided to torture me this morning by somehow increasing the volume to an ear-shattering 40 on the old 1-40 scale and just stubbornly remained there, which it had only done once before in its 3-year history; there was nothing I could do to make the volume go down, so even that small diversion was not available as I walked the long, cold blocks from the subway to the office here. And I was really looking forward to listening to the new Arctic Monkeys album (arctic, how appropriate!) I had just downloaded onto my iRiver yesterday. Not to be.

Finally I arrived at my coffee guy's stand, surprised that he had braved the cold to man his post on this icy day. But then again, if you don't like the elements then you're in the wrong business as a street vendor. Just ask my Uncle George, professional vendor, hot dogs a specialty, if you should see him plying his trade on the corner of John and William Streets. I will say that I can never remember anticipating the creature comfort of a hot, caffeinated beverage more than this morning. What a stressful couple days. If I'm not deathly sick by this weekend then my immune system is kicking it a higher level than I thought.

So I sit here manning my own post waiting for some work, trying to de-stress like the rest of the City. According to the Yahoo forecast, we will not get a high temperature above freezing until next Monday at the earliest. That's just savage. Life's just gotta get a little easier from here on out. Now excuuuuuuuuse me while I read up on Wade Phillips, reported to be the new coach of the Dallas Cowboys by ESPN radio this morning.

See also:

Living Inner City

Caper From Hell

Schadenfreund Friday

Demented Fan of the Year

Supe's Done

Some not-so-Super impressions on The Bowl while it's still relatively fresh in my frozen mind on this frigid NYC morning. BTW, when it's this cold––and according to Yahoo Weather it's 9 degrees out there with a wind chill that makes it feel every bit of -5 below zero––you should only be allowed to refer to it as bitter or brutal cold.

The game was played in a steady, driving downpour with no letup from start to finish, yet there seemed to be no mud on the natural grass surface or on the players' uniforms. 'Splain that one to me ... Also explain how Devin Hester was a total non-factor in the return game after his brilliant opening-kickoff runback for a TD. In about an inch of space, the guy made two brilliant jukes in about a millisecond; he has moves on moves ... But that was it; Hester was invisible after that ... The 8 turnovers by both teams reminded me of Super Bowl V, the first Super Bowl I remember watching, where the Colts, then of Baltimore, combined with Dallas to commit 9 giveaways; it became known as the Blooper Bowl after some clever sportswriter came up with that catchy phrase. Watched that one at Chrys Nicholas' house with Robert Martinelli, whose behavior at that 1971 game was disturbing to say the least and a portent of things to come. Alas, that story will have to wait for another post, another time.

I thought it was a good game, not a great game, unless you're a Colts fan; then winning ugly was a beautiful thing ... But then the Super Bowl is rarely the best game of the postseason ... This year the best playoff game was probably New England 24, San Diego 21 ... Best thing about the game being over is the Cowboys are now a few days closer to naming a candidate––assuming the interview process ever gets wrapped up. Jerry Jones is meeting with two more candidates early this week and by Wednesday will name a head coach and defensive coordinator ... Looks like I gave the official kiss of death to Cedric Benson! My pick for Super Bowl MVP fumbled and then never returned after a vicious first quarter hit ... I got the score just about right but the teams backward. That happens sometimes when you're channeling numbers from the beyond; I had it 27-16 Bears, instead it turned out 29-17 Colts ... The Bears had their chances, despite being outplayed on both sides of the ball, down only 5 with the ball early in the fourth quarter, but Grossman killed any opportunity they had to win the thing with some ill-advised heaves ... Grossman picked a bad time to revert to bad form, costing his team dearly with his two fumbles and two picks.

The revealing stat line of the game is total number of plays run. At one point it was a staggering 63-23 in favor of the Colts; after three quarters it was 66-28, for the game 81-48. That's a lot of plays for an offense to run ... You blame the offense, sure, for not doing enough to keep the Colts off the field, but the defense takes its share of the blame for not getting the Colts off the field. You have to take away something if you're a good defense, and the Bears didn't stop the run (191 yards) or the pass (239 yards). That's how you lose.

The Colts offensive line dominated, keeping Manning clean and upright in the pocket. When that happens, and Manning gets into a rhythm, you're just not beating the Colts on that day ... Cowboys can say they beat the Super Bowl champs, handing them their first loss after a 9-0 start, but of course the Jaguars, Titans and even the lowly Texans can say the same thing this morning ... which goes to show it's all about peaking at the right time ... I was wrong on the Colts defense after being right about them earlier ... I called them underrated and quick after the Colts lost to Dallas in Week 10 when everyone else was saying they sucked, and then after their turnaround in the three playoff games, I went against my instincts and said there's no way they put up a fourth strong game ... But they did, holding the Bears to 10 points and 265 total yards after Hester's 92-yard kickoff return to start things off ... Their MLB #58 Gary Brackett was all over the field last night; the one-time Rutgers walk-on––smallish by today's standards at 5-11 and 235––was stout against the run, finishing with 8 tackles ... Bears' LB Lance Briggs, a free agent, finished with 13 tackles, and now becomes perhaps the key name going into the March signing period. Giants are reportedly very interested.

Even die-hard Bears fans probably would have trouble begrudging QB Peyton Manning his moment this morning. He played like a machine despite the rain, going 25-38 for 247 yards to win the MVP. Manning and head coach Tony Dungy exemplify that you can be classy and dignified and still win big in today's world of sports ... Manning is only 30 years old, despite being in the league for nine years. He may still have a few good years left, no! ... As long as Eli never hoists a Lombardi trophy, I'll be fine with the other Manning doing so once or twice more ... Look for even more Peyton Manning commercials, if that's even possible ... Did see a fumbled snap on an extra point attempt by the Colts, but whether it was due to the bad weather or a slippery K-Ball was tough to tell; turned out to a meaningless first quarter mistake; football, like life, is all about timing when it comes to screwing up ... One of life's mysteries that may interest only me.

Nice to see Mike Irvin take his rightful place in Canton. Yes, he can be a jerk, but he left a lot of himself on the field and played the game the right way every time out ––all out. Irvin, who grew up one of 17 children in Fort Lauderdale, is the second Dallas Triplet to get in, with QB Troy Aikman enshrined last year and RB Emmitt Smith eligible to join him in 2010 ... How good was Irvin in his prime? Let's put it this way: no doubt Marvin Harrison has had a stellar career; he's a Hall of Fame lock. But would anyone in his right mind choose Harrison over Irvin for one big game? No, and it's not only perception. The numbers don't lie either ... I'll always remember Irvin's brilliant performance in the 38-28 playoff loss to the 49ers at muddy Candlestick in 1995. Let's not forget who was covering him that whole day when he set an NFC championship game record with 192 yards receiving. None other than Deion Sanders.

Still No Smoke

After diligently interviewing eight candidates over the last eight days for the vacant head coaching position, Cowboys owner Jerry Jones announced that no decision will be made or announced publicly until after the Super Bowl. That gives Dallas time to perhaps interview one or more coaches currently getting their teams ready for the big game –– Chicago's defensive coordinator Ron Rivera and Indy QB coach Jim Caldwell. But right now it looks like the front-runner remains 49er offensive coordinator Norv Turner, with Chargers' defensive coordinator Wade Phillips a close second. According to Grizz over at bloggingtheboys.com, one major Norv Turner sticking point is his insistence on having something close to total control over coaching and personnel matters. I doubt Jerry will play that, not after four years of relinquishing power to control freak Bill Parcells.

If we do choose Turner, that would give Jason Garrett a few years to learn the ropes while he mans the OC post. I would select Mike Singletary as the D coordinator, which would give us two well-respected young minds to groom for the head slot when Turner rides off into the sunset in three or four years, hopefully with a couple Lombardi trophies in tow.
Garrett, a former backup QB for Dallas during the '90s, is only 40 years old, while Singletary––a Hall of Famer, two-time NFL defensive player of the year ('85 & '88), and 8-time Pro Bowler––is 48. Both are presently too green and untested to run an entire team, so the Turner pick would give them time to grow into their new positions.

Here's how one Dallas beat writer ranks each candidates' chances:

The candidates: Positives; Negatives
1. Norv Turner: Excellent offensive coach; Has a bad overall record
2. Wade Phillips: Strong defensive coach; Lacks a strong presence
3. Mike Singletary: Players would respect him; Uncertainty if he could do it
4. Jason Garrett: Bright offensive mind; Never been a coordinator
5. Gary Gibbs: A good defensive coach; Players might not respect him
6. Todd Bowles: Players like him; Never been a coordinator or head coach
7. Tony Sparano: Has called plays before; Considered an offensive line coach
8. Todd Haley: Knows the offense; Bill Parcells wannabe

Personally I think the 3-4/4-3 conundrum is overrated. Plus, it's much easier to change from a 3-4 base defense, which we played most of the last two years, than to scrap the 4-3 and then try to fit your personnel into a 3-4 look. If we pick Phillips, then we'll go with the 3-4, which San Diego ran so effectively last year. Singletary is also familiar with the 3-4, which the 49ers ran last year. And Ron Turner's Bears run a traditional 4-3. But if we did revert to the 4-3, we could move our best/only pass rusher, DeMarcus Ware, back to DE, joining Greg Ellis if he comes back from injury; we also have Marcus Spears, Chris Canty, Jason Hatcher and Kenyon Coleman. As far as DT, Jason Ferguson would move from NT to play one, while I think we pick the best DT in this year's draft for the other. Then our starting LBs in a 4-3 would be Bradie James in the middle, with Bobby Carpenter and Akin Ayodele outside. The secondary is pretty much unaffected by what the front seven does, but it looks like the team is set to move starting CB Anthony Henry to the safety spot opposite Roy Williams. The LB depth is a little thin, but that can be rectified in free agency and/or the draft.

That said, there's really no urgent hurry to name a coach. The Senior Bowl is over, and there's still a month or so before the start of free agency. Jerry's doing the right thing: taking his time to make sure he gets it right. According to Jones, "The work we're doing, the time that I'm spending with these candidates is as it should be. We got a good football team and I've got to get this right. We've got to make a good decision when we select the next coach." Couldn't agree more.
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I'm still going with the Bears to upset the heavily favored Colts in Super Bowl XLI. The Bears are a much more physical team and that will show up in the running game. I see the Bears mustering a decent pass rush without having to resort to heavy blitzing, freeing Brian Urlacher & Co. to drop back into effective middle zones and forcing Peyton Manning to take chances over the top. Don't forget special teams, where except for a very slight edge (if any) in kicking, Adam Vinatieri over Robbie Gould (an amazing 32-36 in FGs this year), the Bears have a chance to make one or two game-breaking plays. Also, the Colts defense has played way over its collective head in this year's playoffs; I may be wrong, but even with SS Bob Sanders in the lineup, their very average D is not gonna hold a fourth straight team from rushing for over 100 yards. Don't see that happening. The wild card in this case is the Bears' underrated running attack.

Thomas Jones continues to run like an angry man on Sunday, while Cedric Benson slashes & slices his way to the surprise MVP award; people forget what a terrific back Benson was in college at Texas. I see a very good game developing after a slow start, with the Bears pulling away late third, early fourth quarter and denying Manning a career-defining championship, at least for another year. 27-16 Bears. Keep an eye on Bears' rookie DE Mark Anderson, #97; he's got a non-stop motor that reminds me a lot of former Niners/Cowboys' great Charles Haley.

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NFL writers have another chance this weekend to do the right thing and elect one of the greatest wide receivers in the history of the sport, and without doubt one of its all-time gamers, Michael "Playmaker" Irvin, to the Hall of Fame. Off the field problems should have nothing to do with it (indeed writers are instructed NOT to consider any factors that are not related to a candidate's playing career), nor should his over-the-top personality or annoying turn as an ESPN talking head. Just check the numbers.

Irvin's 750 career receptions rank 10th all-time in NFL history; his 11,904 yards rank 9th. His career 47 100-yard receiving games is good for 3rd all-time, including an NFL record 11 straight. His 87 playoff receptions rank 2nd all-time, behind some guy named Jerry Rice. Amazingly, he was hampered by injuries his first two years, 1988/89, and was forced by a severe neck injury to retire early in 1999 at age 33. In between, despite playing in an offense that was anything but pass-happy, he amassed some eye-opening numbers as the prototype big receiver with breakaway speed.

In many important respects, Irvin was the heart and soul of three Super Bowl winning teams. The other two Triplets, QB Troy Aikman and RB Emmitt Smith, were laid-back, lead by example types; it was Irvin who got in players' faces when they needed a kick in the ass. And Irvin himself played with a fire and an intensity that was almost life & death in its urgency.

The 2007 candidates do not make up one of the stronger classes in recent memory, with no stone-cold-lock QBs getting in the way of players like Irvin and Thurman Thomas. Look at the big games Irvin played, and how he always rose to the challenge. That has to count for something.