Stuff...

I've scrapped plans for the Banion radio show...because instead I'm working on a Banion animated short. I got my hands on some animation software and decided to give it a go. Yeah, I know everyone is doing flash but I don't have the time to learn it properly to do what I want to do, so we're going to do it old school. I was inspired watching old "Dick Tracy" cartoons - remember those? "Dick Tracy calling Joe Jitzu!" Each episode will contain a little tag at the end, a visit with "The Banion Jr. Detective Gang." For those who need to catch up, it's based on the Banion character that appeared in the original Beevnicks. Actually, I haven't read through the Beevnicks archives since they originally came out. I have a horrible memory when it comes to stuff I've written, so when I go back to read it after a few years it's like it's all new new to me. And I really liked some of that old Beevnick stuff. Some of it was kind of out there - storylines that got silly and such, but I think they are some of the best characters I've written. Oh well, maybe...(Ah, the curse of the Gemini. Make up your mind, man!)

Anyway, updating four different comics while starting an animation project, plus some music stuff I've got going on, can lead to no sleep and some weird health fallouts. I'm trying to organize my time better but it's not easy. (And of course there's that big YDK thing over at Fox, like you know, no stress there.)

Speaking of YDK, there will be a Sunday color strip that you won't want to miss. Suppose Jesus wanted to get out of the crucifixion thing, but he didn't want it to appear like that was what he was doing? Would there have been a way? Look for some religious imagery that will burn your corneas. Of course, it's always nice that the Catholics are a titch more tolerant than certain other fanatics when it comes to my depictions of the Gang Upstairs, otherwise yours truly would surely be hanging from the nearest lamppost probably missing a limb or two and headless to boot. Ah, but what price art?

And just as I type that a roll of thunder in the middle of a snowstorm. Time to go.

You know, because most of us have lives to lead...

The Fun Of Spectacular Failure

http://www.jsonline.com/sports/prep/feb06/389601.asp

The story of a recent girls high school basketball game, in which the the scoring record was broken for most points in a game, 113, by the star of the winning team. Much hand wringing and discussion over whether it was bad sportsmanship to leave her in and let her break the record against such a hopelessly overmatched team. The link above for more details, and you're welcome to comment on it, but I mention it because it reminded me of something that happened to me.

A few years ago, my oldest son was really into roller hockey. For those who don't know, roller hockey is similar to regular ice hockey only they play on roller blades instead of skates. This was an over 30 league, and my son played because there was a shortage of goalies in that age group and most of the teams used a kid from the teen leagues to mind the nets. My son would play with his age group on weekends, then on Tuesday nights he'd suit it up with the oldsters. Now, this was a no-contact, fun league, but like most organized leagues there were a few teams that took it way too seriously and considered the league their last chance to redeem a squandered youth that possibly could have ended up in the NHL . (yeah, ooookay). Anyway, it's important to note that in my younger days I also played goalie, but many years had passed since then. While I wasn't out of shape, there's a certain level of fitness (or youth) required to play goalie in any kind of league. Although the regular players wear much less padding and equipment than a ice hockey player might, goalies wear pretty much the same type of equipment as their ice hockey counterparts.

It was a league where all of the teams made the playoffs, the opening round pitting the best team against the worst, and this particular year my son was unavailable for the first round so I said "Hey, I used to play, I'll do it!" Realizing the team had no chance of winning the coach agreed to let me play. (There were two women in the league, both post menopausal, and they played for our team. This is not a knock on the hockey skills of post menopausal women, just, you know. When you have the golden girls in front of you facing a team of 30 something guys who practice three nights a week and are undefeated, well, I just want you to know what I was up against.)

It was 83 degrees at game time, a particularly warm and humid July night. It was even worse inside the rink, with no air conditioning, and here I am with about 20 pounds of equipment on. The puck dropped and the rout was on. It was one breakaway after another, and after 10 minutes we were down 8 -1 and it was dawning on me that I was seriously fucked. I could barely stand, and I could start to feel my legs buckling. The combination of the equipment, my state of conditioning, the heat and the fact that I was seriously under-hydrated had me thinking I will die tonight. But I refused to quit. It's that sick guy thing where we think it's better to be taken away in an ambulance than say "Uh, I can't do this."

At the end of the first period, the score was 9-2. There was only a five minute intermission between periods, so I had little time to recuperate. I skated over to my daughter, who had come with me to witness the massacre. (Which, of course, was another reason I couldn't quit. My daughter was there! Someday she'll have kids and tell them about the day grandpa died playing roller hockey!)

She had Gatorade and a bucket of ice. I drank as much as I could, and in a desperate attempt to snap me back to life, took the ice and stuffed it down my pants.

I started the second period on one knee when the play was out of my zone, which wasn't often. The good news was the ice was helping a bit. The bad news was the ice was shooting out of my pants while I was squirting around trying to make saves. Ice is usually a good thing in hockey, but as we were playing on rollerblades in a roller rink ice was a bad thing. Players were slipping and complaining, and one even skated over to me and asked about it and I said I thought someone in the crowd had thrown it in the rink. (I wasn't going to admit it was me, was I?)

I spent the most of the second period on my knees and at the end the score was 14-4.

The captain of our team knew something was seriously wrong as the third period started and he kept asking if I was okay. (I'm fine, why?) About five minutes in I feel like throwing up. I am very close to becoming one of those people in a triathalon staggering across the finish line covered in my own urine, feces and vomit. The captain comes over. Let me call a timeout, he pleads. No.

16-5. 17-5. 18-5. 18-6. 19-6.

Just as I'm about to pass out, I hear the other team talking. "Let's get twenty and then we'll let up."

At that moment a fire was lit. It had stopped being about winning a long time ago, but now I had a chance at a moral victory. Stop them from scoring twenty! Suddenly I got a second wind, I stood up, whacked myself awake with a sharp stick blow to my goalie mask, and hunkered down. You will not score twenty.

Two minutes to go, they break out fast out of their zone. They fly past the defense and are bearing down on me. Two on none break-a-way. I glide out to cut down the angle. As they come in, there passing the puck back and forth like pros, and a third guy comes in from the side. I'm skating backwards to the net, and I'm seeing everything. I think I even see one of the guys look at the other as if to say, whoa, he's acting like a real goaltender.

Let them make the first move. Don't commit. Hold your ground. Then I see it...I know what's going to happen. That third guy coming down the side, he's going to get the shot. So I overplay the middle and left side, leaving the right side of the goal open, and sure enough, the guy on the left gets real big eyes and he gently places his stick down. The trick for me is to wait as long as I can, and no matter what I see, commit to my play. The guy with the puck dekes a shot to get me to go down but that's my cue to snap over to the guy on the right side. Sure enough, he passes the puck over just as I slide over, stack the pads and block the shot.

The crowd made the sound crowds make when something totally unexpected happens, kinda like a rolling "whoa!"

Problem was, I left the rebound loose, it's just laying there, and there's a fourth guy barreling down. It's only a foot away, but I was completely spent and couldn't move my arms quickly enough.
Player four scooped it up and flipped it in the back of the net.

Final score, 20 -7. Yeah, they got twenty, but I had my moment. I had a fun ride home with my daughter, because sometimes it's better to fail spectacularly than to fail just a little bit.

Anyway, I was thinking of this when I read about the poor girls who got slaughtered in that basketball game. Pick your spot, make your stand and then have a laugh afterward.

Pink Panther movie...um, why?

The title about says it all. Shouldn't there be some kind of unwritten rule about remakes? It seems utterly unnecessary, given the fact that Peter Sellers was, well Peter Sellers and I don't see how you could do it better, or come off as anything but a Peter Sellers imitation. Is the well that dry? Are there no ideas?

Now, I'm always criticizing people who rip movies before they come out, my philosophy being see the damn thing before you comment on it so perhaps I'm violating my own rules here. However, my criticism is not of the movie but the decision to do it.

Also note that in the ads for the film they mention it as being "from the director of Cheaper By The Dozen" as if that's going to make you stand up in your living room and proclaim, "oh, now I'm definitely going to see that!"