Handicapping the Wild Card Round, Or Prop Bets FTW

Fifteen Charisma is back with some more football analysis! And by analysis I mean "odds for irrelevant prop bets" and "blatant Patriots hackery." Without further ado, let's satisfy the primal urges of every warm-blooded armchair quarterback out there.

2:1 - Odds that Mark Sanchez throws more picks than every other quarterback in the first round combined.

10:1 - Odds that Darelle Revis switches teams to pad his interception stats halfway through the third quarter.

5:1 - Odds that Chad Ochocinco returns to his old moniker after getting shut down for the second game in a row.

85:1 - Odds that he takes elementary Spanish at a community college to figure out what "eighty-five" actually translates as.

200:1 - Odds that he changes his last name to Russian (восемьдесят пять?).

1,000,000:1 - Odds that Dan Dierdorf will be able to pronounce the result before giving it up and just calling him "Chad", but compensates by referring to the absent Steelers quarterback as "Mr. Roethlisberger." Listeners are stunned.

4:1 - Odds that, in the unlikely event The Ocho scores, his no-doubt long-planned celebration lands him on the sexual offender registry in Cincy.

25:1 - Odds the Jets put up 37 points again. (Ever.) Approximately the same odds that Mark Sanchez ever turns into a 'gunslinger.'

35:1 - Odds that the unfortunate nickname "Gang Green" crystallizes in the form of at least one grisly on-field amputation. Jets fans are horrified; Bengals backers, remembering the on-field botched abortion that was their team from the last two decades, are unfazed.

The Fifteen Charisma Pick: Bengals 20, Jets 10.

3:1 - Odds that the Cowboys-Eagles game ends in a case of clock mismanagement.

4:1 - Odds that it occurs because Wade Phillips and Andy Reid are blankly staring across the field at each other for the entire fourth quarter. Both steal the others' signals; neither finds time to report the results.

100:1 - Odds that Donovan McNabb gives a long-absent career-defining performance.

12:1 - Odds that Tony Romo does give a career-defining performance, but it involves throwing three picks and dating a celebrity for approximately the length of halftime.

Presdestined - Michael Vick subs for an injured McNabb in the fourth quarter with the Eagles down two possessions and somehow violates probation on the way to the huddle. A surprised Kevin Kolb warms up and does his best, recording a remarkable QB rating of dead zero. On returning to Philly, he is never seen again.

The Fifteen Charisma Pick: Cowboys 27, Eagles 16

Part Two (tomorrow's games) coming soon.

--kd

Xmas Movies, Things to do, more Imperatives (!), Part One

Alright, with no term papers and finals to worry about, grades in, presents bought and opened, families reunited, and the true Meaning-O'-Christmas realized, I can finally get back to writing. Liberation never tasted so sweet. Lots of stuff to discuss (more on that later - part of my blog is considering secession).

Here are the movies I've seen in the last seven days or so, in no particular order:

Sherlock Holmes. This movie exactly (almost eerily) lived up to my expectations. You (and by you, I pretentiously mean "I") came in looking for Robert Downey Jr. to make some clever deductions, verbally spar with Watson, and smack a few bad guys upside the head. The film delivers with class, and even throws in a couple brilliant exchanges between Holmes and Watson worth the price of admission on their own ("You're aware that what you're drinking is used for eye surgery?"). RDJ is perfectly cast - throw this man a Golden Globe - and while Russell Crowe might have lent Watson's role a bit more star power, Jude Law gives a suitably sharp performance.

Poor Rachel McAdams has been taking a fair amount of criticism for her performance as Irene Adler. IMHO, most of it is a bit unfounded - with such limited source material (remember, Adler was only featured in "A Scandal in Bohemia"), most of her character is left for definition, and the American femme fatale seems like the ideal niche. The only complaint I've taken seriously is that she seems a bit out of place in Victorian England - but it's steampunk, already intentionally anachronistic for effect, so I'll cut her some due slack and recognize the immense difficulty of sticking to a handful of character traits (while also avoiding getting overshadowed by RDJ and Law).

My one major complaint is that the film series (and I say series because Moriarty's absence is screamed at us in the final frame, no spoiler) has blown its load a bit early in terms of scale. An underground secret society (again, no spoiler here) is an integral part of the first film, leaving little room for expansion. Where does Ritchie go from here, the Cthulu mythos?

If you came in looking for Hound of the Baskervilles or A Study in Scarlet, you were disappointed, and I'm not terribly sorry for you. Take your snuff-box, pince-nez, and pocketwatch and go back to the 20th century!

(Yes, folks, we're a decade in by now, we can say that stuff).

Rating: Three and a Half Seven-Per-Cent-Solutions out of four.

Something, Something, Something Dark Side: As far as his profession goes, I trust Seth McFarlane to the ends of the earth (not unlike my trust in Bill Belichick or Quentin Tarantino). If something (something, something) is up in the air, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt - he's earned it. So when Fox decided to fork over Sunday evening, I wasn't opposed (and the Cleveland Show turned out to be less shitty than predicted, so hey, credit's due).

But his ventures into Robot Chicken/Mel Brooks territory have been...well, I can't call them failures, but when everything you do is genre-defining, mortal adequacy rings a bit hollow. There's no doubt SSSDS suffers from occasional delusions of grandeur, though (poking fun at Seth Green near the end of the show only makes the unfavorable comparison more painfully stark).

That said...I enjoyed it tremendously. McFarlane goes to absurd lengths to connect with fellow supergeeks (and those with photographic memories), shot-by-shot renderings exactly matching with the parodied film. It almost hinders his work when you start wondering about his priorities. Spaceballs gets credit for its irreverance, Robot Chicken for its transgressiveness (also Admiral Ackbar Cereal); SSSDS lacks both and worships its subject a bit much, but makes up for it with mixes of Family Guy-tinged character humor. Plus, Star Wars deserves some occasional fucking reverence to remind this generation that a world before Jar Jar Binks existed...and it was beautiful.

Rating: Three Giggitywatts out of four.

In Bruges. Not quite a recent film, so I'll cut down on this one. Colin Farrel gives an astoundingly-not-horrible effort as a troubled Irish hitman. Brandon Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes tear it up as, respectively, his partner and boss. Top-notch dialogue, intriguing twist (don't want to give this one away, it's worth a watch), and a central cast turning in some of their best performances ever. The script nearly took Best Original Screenplay away from Milk.

Rating: Three and a half "YOU'RE an inanimate fucking object!"s out of four.

---

Coming up on Fifteen Charisma...
-Recent book purchases
-D&D R&D with B&B

--kd

On the Suspension of Disbelief: Van Helsing and the Gravity-Defying Rope Swing

Now, let's get something straight - it doesn't take much to win my rapt ttention for a movie. I usually don't like excessive prying or pedantry when it comes to my entertainment, either. But sometimes, hilarious abuses of the laws of physics without any plot justification or explanation deserve to be pointed out.

Let's get a second question out of the way - I loved Van Helsing. Like the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, it gets categorized as a Shitty Movie, a failed experiment into an intriguing genre. Like the League, I think it gets a bad rap, even if it's easily mocked; give it the benefit of the doubt, and it's a genuinely fun two-hour romp that gets bonus points for creative application of otherwise stale cliches. And like the League, it finds itself in Victorian Europe, albeit around the forgotten, alienated eastern half of the Continent rather than London and Paris.

Okay, onto the subject matter. There are somewhere between six and a million rope swings in the titular flick; Van Helsing's priorities, in order, seem to be:
(1) Kill vampires
(2) Fly through the air at ambiguous angles to equally ambiguous distances
(3) Kill werewolves
..... (1,309) Bang hot Transylvanian chicks. (Seriously, he didn't take advantage of the aerosol chloroform...alright, gonna stop talking now)

Anyway, there are more than a couple moments in the movie where the esteemed fiend executioner bends the laws of physics over and...well, let's just say he followed up on the chloroform spray tactic. Let's replay a few moments in detail:

Scene 1: Leaving Castle Frankenstein (about sixty-five minutes into the movie)
Scenario: Van Helsing and Anna, fleeing the latter's werewolf brother, need to find a way over the ridiculous moat that clearly wasn't there a year ago (remember the flashback? The castle surrounded by rolling hills and a windmill?). Van Helsing pulls out his trusty rappel/grapping hook, fires a perfect shot hundreds of yards away, and prepares to zip down the secured tightrope, damsel in hand. Unfortunately, the werewolf snaps the rope behind them.
What should happen: They hold on for dear life and hit the gigantic cliff under the forest.
What does happen: They land safely in a clearing under the tree Van Helsing shot.
Why it should happen that way: let's say Van Helsing shoots about a quarter-mile away at slightly under a parallel angle. If his tightrope suddenly gets severed when he's halfway there, he's going to end up perpendicular, not parallel, to where he needs to be and about an eighth of a mile below. Unless the tree is over six hundred feet high (almost twice so as any in the world and not easily climbed down from), he isn't going to end up at its base, he'll end up splattered across the aforementioned rock face.
A Terrible But Nevertheless Necessary Explanation: Doctor Frankenstein, conducting possibly illegal mutant tree-growing operations, planted a specimen with a trunk only six inches in diameter, but, say, an eighth of a mile tall. Infuriated not at Frankenstein's scientific blasphemy but at losing the annual Eastern European Gardening Competition, the creepy coroner leads the village revolt.

Scene 2: Outside Dracula's Lair (about an hour and fifty minutes into the movie)
Scenario: This is split into two parts. First, Frankenstein gets 'swung loose' by Karl the Friar (with a K because he's badass) into the Werewolf Cure room right on top of Dracula's remaining wife. Then, after leaving the two of them to battle it out, Anna leaves the room by swinging back to the bridge to rescue Van Helsing.
Problem: Frankenstein swings down, on a rope below the bridge, to reach the room and certainly doesn't have enough speed to reach a point above the bridge before he hits the castle. Anna also swings down (so far down she needs to use a second rope) to reach the same bridge. Picture this in your mind (but don't end up like this guy).
What should happen: Well, either Frankenstein hits the castle smack on the side and plummets to his death, or Anna ends up on a bridge way below Carl. Either way, Van Helsing becomes a werewolf, Anna gets fucked up by Aleera (who gets immolated in turn by her sugar daddy's imminent doom), and Frankenstein is screwed. Carl (the only damn character left alive at the place) uses the suddenly vacant ice castle to corner the European sno-cone market for decades, and feels occasional twinges of remorse at his friends' demise.
What does happen: As described above, Anna arrives in time to save the day and everything works out for the heroes! Well, except the love interest inexplicably gets killed off after the villain.
A Terrible But Nevertheless Necessary Explanation: This is all structurally possible, Dracula just got a copy of The Fountainhead for Christmas and decided to seize his rational self-interest by become the most amazing (albeit surreal) architect in the universe. Fearing accusations of insanity, Carl never speaks a whisper about the Reappearing Bridge to anybody.
Another Terrible And Equally Implausible Explanation: Carl is actually Jesus Christ, the Right Hand of God, and can change the spatial location of bridges or ropes any time he damn well pleases. Unfortunately, he arrived too late to help Van Helsing, The Left Hand of God, squish Dracula in the most epic high-five ever.

Alright, I'll stop there. You get the point; sometimes fantasy takes liberties with physics and bends a few rules under the justification of artistic license. And I'm okay with that, for the most part - I think you can enjoy a movie despite some reality-bending without adequate explanation, and it'd be too difficult to write a damn script around every inconvenience without the whole thing sounding like a series of expositionary footnotes.

But sometimes it's egregious and fun to point out. There's probably a healthy balance somewhere in between.

Other notes about the movie:
1 - When running/walking, some people lead with their head, some with their shoulders, but Kate Beckinsale (sorry, Anna) leads with her quite prominent boobs. Not complaining at all. It's just kind of hilarious, and probably slows her down a bit (which, of course, means we get a longer look).
2 - The Machine Gun Crossbow is fucking awesome, but gets curiously underused later on in the film. Too bad; it's pretty sleek to see in action.
3 - The final confrontation/battle scenes run a bit long (something like thirty minutes passes between the heroes walking through the ice-wall and Van Helsing ending Dracula's shit). By the way, not a fan of Dracula's death; we get a bad angle on the fight scene and he just sorta bleeds out (although the dark skeleton was a sweet touch).
4 - Given the pre-Facebook era of the film's release, I'm not sure whether it sparked or took advantage of the Werewolf Versus Vampire debate. Either way, fuck that shit and every stupid facebook application to which I get endlessly invited - but go, pointless internet debates, go!

Alright, I had a bunch of complaints about the movie, but I liked pretty much everything not listed here. Cool style, interesting subject-matter, adventurous genre experiment; it deserves a degree of credit. Van Helsing himself isn't quite top-ten in my list of badass protagonists, but he's up there somewhere (top-twenty five?).

Fifteen Charisma will update more frequently now that term papers and most finals are behind me. Future subject-matter includes:
-Sherlock Holmes
-something about debate, only because I haven't talked about it much
-the blog's namesake, a D&D character creation rant (I know, you're excited already!)

--kd

The Most Devastating Plays in Football

Reading TMQ unseasonably late in the week, I ran into Easterbrook’s oft-made argument that the krumble (fumble on a kickoff return recovered by the kicking team) is the most crushing single play in football, giving the opposing offense a free shot at the end zone with tremendous field position while definitively shifting nearly all the psychological momentum (or finishing off the unfortunate victims). The Patriots-Bills opener certainly demonstrated the dramatic game- (and in some cases, season-) changing potential of the krumble. But is it the most debilitating stomach punch in the game? In the spirit of Dan Quisenberry [1], Fifteen Charisma surmises:

Nope, these are worse.

5. The Pick-Six

Pick-Six (n, pik-siks); (1) an interception returned for a touchdown

Thoughts From A Fan: “Alright, third-and-two, let’s get this done…pass along the sidelines, good call – oh, shit, where’d fucking Charles Woodson come from…oh fuck, somebody catch him…goddammit, Randy Moss, try hustling once in a while…sweet, Brady just got leveled by a block from a 320-pound nose guard…ugh…I need a beer.”

Why it’s Devastating: You lose whatever field position you had, the ball is turned over – and your defense doesn’t get the chance to redeem you and force a three-and-out back. Any momentum you had from driving is dead and the opposing defense is fired up. Shit is bad.

Textbook example: Ty Law returning Kurt Warner’s dead duck 47 yards in Super Bowl XXXVI. Took the Rams offense out of the game for the next three quarters and sparked the idea that the Patriots could actually win the game. Also, any time Tedy Bruschi touched the damn ball between 2002 and 2005.

Another Textbook Example: Matt Schaub throwing a bullet to a surprised Clint Sessions literally as I was writing the last paragraph. Game over.

Comeback chances? Not impossible – it’s just one touchdown. After all, Warner and the Rams clawed back once the Pats tired down later in the game – but you can’t deny that the pick-six shuts down one side of the field for a few drives unless the situation is truly desperate. In fact, part of the reason it isn’t higher on the list is because it tends to occur late in the game with the offense down by more than one possession (see: Thanksgiving’s Packers-Lions blowout).

4. The Shank

The one that got away.

Thoughts from a Fan: “Alright, we missed the fourth down, but it’s just a 35-yarder, excellent conditions, flawless snap…wait, it’s tailing…no way…FUCK YOU, KRIS BROWN. FUCKING SERIOUSLY? I could have made that! On one leg! With a stubbed toe! Hammered! I need another beer.... “

Why it’s Devastating: Your kicker exposes himself as spectacularly incompetent, you lose essentially free points, you give your opponents field position and the confidence of knowing they only need to keep you out of the end zone to win…it’s a confluence of problems and doesn’t lend itself well to immediate recovery, especially because your deflated defense has to put out the fire and your kicker will be damaged goods for the rest of the game.

Textbook Examples: I don’t remember any because Vinatieri and Gostowski have nailed every big kick in the playoffs. Ha!

Comeback chances: Probably fine, but not if you let the game slip away in the shadow of the uprights. As long as you have a veteran specialist, you can hope he’ll shrug it off by the next time you need to call on him. Then again, you might also be left with a blithering shell of a man. Flip a coin.

3. The Hero’s Funeral March

Hellllooo, Injured Reserve List.

Thoughts from a Fan: “Ooof, tough hit, better rub some dirt on that one…Alright, seriously, get up…this is gonna take a timeout…wait, is that his fibula along the thirty-yard line? I need another drink.”

Why It’s Devastating: Just when the game is looking up, there’s nothing like the chilling sobriety of a brutal, season-ending injury to bring you back to earth. Forget about any pre-existing morale – it’ll get drowned between the anxiousness of hearing back from the team doctors about your star player and the mind-numbing possibility that the game is meaningless and the season is essentially over.

Textbook examples: Brady. MCL. 2008. Twenty minutes into a thereafter lost campaign. The tragically destroyed potential is kinda like Ted Williams’ lost years, minus the patriotism and plus a Victoria’s Secret model.

Comeback chances: Sometimes you never recover. Sometimes you win with a backup for a while (like with the example above). But it’s all a charade; eventually reality catches up and provides the rare double-whammy of despair. Alright, I’m done.

2. The Zebra Stampede

Zebra Stampede: (1) a rampaging herd of distinctly striped African mammals (2) the stupendously destructive yellow flag that cancels out a showstopping play from the good guys.

Thoughts from a Fan: “Good kick return…wait, he’s still going…and going…he’s down the sidelines…holy shit, there’s no way…he could do it! TOUCHDOWN! HA! WE DID IT! Hey, wait a minute..oh, you’re kidding me… EVERY FUCKING TIME! …What do you mean, we’re out of beer?”

Why It’s Devastating: Just when you think you’re in the clear and start celebrating, that tiny yellow BB-weighted sonofabitch ruins your evening. Hurts twice as much because it erases a brief, nascent heroism and replaces it with ignominy for one special individual, drawing the team down into a resentful spiral. At the very least, you lose a touchdown in the most painful manner possible.

Textbook Example: Willie McGinest getting called for defensive holding on Tebucky Jones’ 100-yard fumble recovery that would have finished off the Rams in the third quarter (same Super Bowl). A suddenly ragged Pats defense returns to the goal line, lets in the touchdown, and proceeds to blow the 14-point fourth-quarter lead.

Comeback Chances: Tough one. This can leave a pumped special times exhausted and a fan base shellshocked. Don’t count on help from the crowd (or your own players) for that something extra; everybody is too disappointed to care until something else (often worse) happens.

1. Judgment from Above

The much-maligned Booth Review.

Thoughts from a Fan: “HA! He fumbled it! It’s over! This nightmare is finally over! They don’t have any challenges le – wait…no, no way….not the review from above…” (3 tense minutes pass.) (muffled gunshot, spatter.)

Why It’s Devastating: This combines the momentous consequences of a pick-six or a shank with the debilitating tension of the Funeral March and the injustice of the Zebra Stampede. The forces that control the football world are conspiring against you, and there is absolutely no way to escape your fate.

Textbook example: The Snow Game. Charles Woodson’s hit on Tom Brady nearly ended a dynasty before it started, but the Football Gods saw fit to punish the Raiders for the sins of Jack “The Assassin” Tatum some two decades after the fact. That’s basically the best I can console despondent Raiders fans with, because the Tuck Rule and the associated ruling was horrendous. The Bills’ loss to the Titans in the Music City Miracle was also an unjustifiably painful way to lose (although my sympathy is somewhat limited by the fact that the kickoff return was fucking brilliant).

Comeback Chances: Pack it in. There’s always another game.

--kd

[1] From Daniel Okrent and Steve Wulf’s fantastic Baseball Anecdotes: “The Quiz liked to confound reporters when they questioned him. After he gave up a game-winning hit to Angels rookie Daryl Sconiers, someone asked if that was the worst possible way to lose a game. He proceeded to rattle off 20 worse ways, including balking a runner all the way from first and an earthquake causing the center fielder to miss the last out.”

Vault Review: League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is widely categorized as a Shitty Movie. In spite of my better instincts, I found it in the abandoned used DVD section of Newbury Comics for a pittance (read: four hard-earned dollars) and decided to liberate it from the sixth circle of Video Hell.

I haven’t seen it in something like half a decade; I figured the poor bastard deserved another chance (and I remembered half-liking it the first time through). But, I don’t want to take two hours to write a full review, so I’ll just sort of give annoying running commentary instead. In fact, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, Al Michaels and John Madden will be doing some guest work for this column (turkey drumsticks not included with Madden; some assembly required).

AL: Welcome, moviegoers, to the 2:15 AM showing of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen!

MADDEN: Strong start with the prologue. Only four lines long, vague beyond imagination, and BOOM! Shitty movie alert right there.

AL: But, it’s 1899 and apparently interesting times in pre-WWI Europe, so we'll give them the benefit of the doubt for gambling on a specific timeline. Also, you’re only allowed to use that BOOM gag five more times.

MADDEN: Deal.

AL: Jesus, while we were talking Europe is already on the brink of war. Not actually an inefficient use of time for exposition, even if they had to use hackneyed newspaper cliches to cut corners.

MADDEN: Oldest trick in the book… Ignoring, of course, the complex, decades-long escalation of imperial competition and assemblage of alliances that actually led to a European conflict.

AL: Fuck it, we can start a world war with a bank robbery and the Hindenberg going down in the docking bay.

MADDEN: Nice humanitarian effort by the as yet unnamed bad guy stopping such a dangerous form of travel before it gets off the ground.

AL: But like with the rest of this movie, an action scene will start while you’re discussing reality.

MADDEN: Looks like Sean Connery’s still got it. I swear, the man’s like Brett Favre…

AL: And looks like Stormtroopers still can’t shoot. For chrissakes, they have machine guns...

MADDEN: Brett Favre… [etc]

AL : Another clever Victorian literature reference as Quartermain fights off the Germans (?) and finds himself in London.

MADDEN: Brett Favre…

AL: What the fuck happened to Captain Nemo?

MADDEN: *coughracistcough*

AL: Glad to see you’re back in the game.

MADDEN: Just in time. Clutch play by the directors here to slam together exposition with zero character development. I guess Skinner is a jackass and Nemo is…still Caspian-ish. (?) . And doesn’t like being called a pirate.

AL: Somewhat ham-handed dialogue by M, who’s suffering a bad case of Gandalf Syndrome, but he’ll recover if the story does.

MADDEN: Mmmm…ham.

AL: Oof, Sean Connery shuts down the romance potential on the ride over to Dorian Gray’s place and kills any interesting-if-awkward love triangle with Mina. That’s going to sting later in the flick when the viewer loses interest over lack of compelling subplots.

MADDEN: Now, I gotta say I like this scene with Dorian Gray. Stuart Townsend turns in a quality performance every time, and the chronological reference is subtle enough to elicit a chuckle without slobbering all over itself.

AL: Oops, more Germans (?). And the Phantom is on the scene! And Tom Sawyer!

MADDEN: This movie suffers just a bit from cramming something like seventeen (!) character introductions into almost as few minutes. There’s no time for development! Sacrifice everything for the (admittedly absurd) plot! Full steam ahead! Throw the women and children off board!

AL: Okay, Tom Sawyer gets credit for an amusing opening line (“They told me European women had strange ways”). Everything from this point is downhill.

MADDEN: Literally every line Skinner has said so far has been fucking annoying, too.

AL: Okay, the team is assembled, Mina is a vampire, Tom Sawyer is a hick, Dorian Gray is “complicated” (a line that seriously ruined an entire fight scene and wiped out whatever cleverness creds he had built up), Alan Quartermain is old, Skinner is amoral and Cockney (probably contributes to the Irritation Index), and Nemo…is on a boat. And has no character.

MADDEN: His notable lines so far? “Millions will die” (special Awkward Points for making M double back in the conversation while contributing nothing useful to the discussion) and “I walk a different path” (referring, of course, to the fact that he’s the only character using a melee weapon in a world of machine guns…except for Gray with his cane, Skinner with a book, and Quartermain with his fists. Or Mina with her teeth. Or Hyde with any part of his body. Come to think of it, the only Gentleman who does use a gun is Tom Sawyer, and he can’t hit the broad side of a Phantom with an early ending on the line.)

AL: Blink and you’ll miss it – another team member gets dragged (in this case, literally) into the mission. Hyde spouts off some improved poetry about England, Jekyll tries nobly to hold up his Hulk-sized pants, and we’re actually ready for Venice this time!

MADDEN: Seriously, Nemo keeps the ‘defining trait per line’ ratio at a solid zero through two more scenes. Exposition, exposition, talking about the Nautilus without bragging…he’s a perfect symbol for how bland this movie becomes (Quartermain sums it up best in conversing: “Thanks for your, eh, contributions so far…”) between the occasional flashes of self-referential humor.

AL: Much like the scene between Sawyer, Mina, and Dorian. Let’s break it down in instant replay.

MADDEN: Alright (maps out the characters on deck and somehow finagles his way into drawing a phallus). Here’s Dorian over here, and he’s got Mina covered. Coach Quartermain decides for a safe play, but Sawyer calls an audible and BOOM! He gets knocked flat. Dorian pursues and gives one of the more well-timed nonverbals of the movie. That’s high-quality players playing high-quality play right there.

AL: And this next scene with Sawyer and Quartermain…

MADDEN: This one just screams “FATHER-SON RELATIONSHIP! TRAUMATIC PAST! NAÏVE YOUTH! WISE MENTOR FIGURE! ONE IS GOING TO DIE!” Okay, done screaming now.

AL: Ooooh, Nemo is Indian. Gotcha. Mina is an essentialist uncultured vampire bitch. Also gotcha.

MADDEN: Hellllo, Dorian and Mina…and Jekyll watching creepily from the doorway. Makes you wonder what Hyde would be doing in this situation…*shudder*.

AL: How does nobody freak out when seeing the Nautilus? It’s not like it can just sneak through a gigantic city in Europe. And how does it stay balanced?

MADDEN: Lots of explosions going on all around it all the time do the job pretty well. Hey, we’re in Venice already! Let’s blow some shit up and reveal all the secrets with an hour left to go!

AL: We urge viewers who haven’t seen the movie before to stop here. This is basically spoiler material from this line forward. Please go. Stop reading. See the movie and come back (you, too, can make fun of ambiguous ethnicities and vacuous characterizations).

MADDEN: So if M is really James Moriarty (which explains the “run, James!” from the one-lined martial artist German (?) earlier in the movie). Dorian is evil (the guy with the portrait that reflects his sins? No!).

AL: The villain is stupid, the minion is fatally flawed, and the heroes narrowly escape death…somehow. All is as it should be.

MADDEN: Although the scene where Hyde saves the crew makes no sense. Where the fuck does the water go? Why doesn’t more come in? This goes somewhere beyond suspension of disbelief into the realm of redefining physics.

AL: But at least Nemo said something substantive. “They have to die…for the greater good!” He’s a rational Western utilitarian! And a devout Hindu, I guess.

AL: And we’re in Antarctica for the Big Battle!

MADDEN: Actually, Mongolia.

AL: Whatever, Skinner’s back, so the next few scenes are fucked anyway. Morale scene, plotting scene, bad guys talk and threaten each other, Dorian Gray is evil. Do we believe in miracles? Not at this stage.

MADDEN: Yawn. Get to the good stuff.

AL: Highlights of the next thirty minutes of action: (1) The Hyde versus Mega-Hyde battle, committing possibly the two ugliest characters in the history of celluloid against each other; (2)Mina and Dorian’s sexually charged confrontation, ringing with occasionally chuckle-worthy punnery but mostly caught up in its own ridiculousness (btw, bring a fucking wooden stake, Dorian). (3) Jekyll not really resolving his internal conflict at all and winning by running away (4) Quartermain not killing the villain for no apparent reason despite virtually unlimited time to do so (5) Tom Sawyer heroically shooting the Phantom in the back as he flees. All worthy of more discussion if they weren’t independently hilarious and if it weren’t four in the morning.

MADDEN: All right, let’s sum it up. Good for Victorian literature fans? As long as you’re not too crazy about details. Good for comic junkies? As long as you aren’t looking for Alan Moore’s untouched masterpieces on screen. Good for casual moviegoers who miss the references and just want a straightforward shooter without the frills? Probably not – there’s so many frills the substance gets lost in the mix. That said, there are some laughs, an interesting plot, a cool setting…worth a watch, on the whole. How many BOOMs do I have left?

AL: Three.

MADDEN: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Okay, fuck it, I’m done, good night.

AL: From Mongolia, this is Al Michaels and John Madden, wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving.

FINAL REVIEW: Two and a half Extraordinary Gentlemen out of four.

--kd

The Historian’s Fallacy, or, Why Bill Belichick Made a Good Call

Before I address the actual focus of this article: The Patriots-Colts matchup was the best game of the year. Better than the Favre Hail Mary against the Niners. Better than that Saints comeback against the Dolphins. Everybody who’s ‘sick of the hype’ should shut the hell up, grab a beer, and enjoy what consistently turns into the most exciting sixty minutes of the regular season (and repeat every year until Peyton Manning is making a living off commercials and bad color commentary).

Onto subjects more pressing: By now, everybody in the country has heard about Bill Belichick’s choice to go for it on 4^th down. Generations to follow will remember it as, ostensibly, the worst choice of his long and distinguished career (well, maybe). But, over the cacophony of emotional reactions from Pats fans everywhere - Irish sports bars erupting in derisive obscenities, agonized elitists throwing their champagne glasses and pocket watches at the television, sunshine patriots waking from their premature slumber to hear their radio’s ill tidings – history and perhaps Gregg Easterbrook will vindicate me in saying:

He made a good call.

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The Historian’s Fallacy (also explained eloquently and somewhat hilariously by the folks over at Cracked), in short, amounts to retrospective decision-making, or more appropriately, Monday morning quarterbacking. The pundits arbitrarily criticizing him for going for it, the same ones that criticize other coaches for not having gone for it when it mattered, are guilty of the Historian’s Fallacy par excellence.

Of course Belichick shouldn’t have gone for it if he knew Faulk would bobble the ball or if he knew they’d be six inches short. Of course he’d punt it away if he somehow accessed a parallel dimension and knew it would have made the definitive difference. But he didn’t; he made the call based on assessing the probability of success against the consequences of failure, and as I’ll show below, he made the rationally sound (even if ultimately ‘incorrect’) decision.

So let’s look at the comparative benefits of the decision, and the drawbacks, doing our best only to use what was theoretically accessible to him at the time.

-If it works, the game is over. Short, sweet, and to the point. If the Pats complete a two-yard slant to a dependable veteran playing the best game of his life, they can roll through the two minute warning, take a knee, and go home with an untouchable lead in the East and a bead on the Colts’ home field advantage. Seriously, two yards. As ESPN’s front-page NFL blogs note, the Patriots have converted on over 63 percent of fourth-and-short opportunities since Brady took over. That’s a phenomenal rate; combined with the fact that Brady and the offense have been rolling all game long, you have to estimate that the rate is, if anything, higher.

-It’s the gutsiest call of the decade. This isn’t an emotional impetus to choose the more ‘heroic’ option – it has some pragmatic benefits. First, let’s assume the play fails. Belichick takes all the heat, while Brady and the defense catch a breather away from the spotlight. As the week unfolds, we’ll see his ‘genius’ label questioned (probably alright for his humility, I guess); ultimately everybody decides he’s somewhere between an inscrutable mastermind and just another human being, and most fans still trust him with the headset. In other words, nothing new happens, and no old questions get answered. Meanwhile, the defense avoids a humiliating barrage of criticism and crushing media pressure, but still get the benefits of Belichick thoroughly working them over to prepare for Drew Brees and the Saints. Second, let’s assume the play succeeds: Belichick earns his reputation for incredibly ballsy and intelligent coaching, adds another footnote to his legend, and nobody in New England second-guesses him again (ever). The defense doesn't get blamed but still needs retooling, so Bill gets to figure out adjustments without harrying questions at every turn. Worth the call on its own? Perhaps not. But certainly tempting when combined with a mathematically favorable choice.

-We were screwed on defense regardless of field position. Peyton Manning just completed an 80-yard drive in six plays and less than two minutes without using a timeout (maybe you remember it – it landed the Patriots in this situation in the first place). He ended up scoring, taking his damn time about it, almost without effort. There’s no feasible way a group of tired, hopelessly cowed defensive backs stops Manning, even if you add 40 yards to the field. Is there really greater than a two-out-of-three chance that the Patriots catch a break in the form of a loose fumble, a dead-duck interception or (exceptionally) bad clock management by Manning? I don’t think so.

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There are, of course, potential drawbacks to the decision, which I’ll address point-by-point. I like to think of them being read by Jay Mariotti or Phil Simms (especially Simms – fuck Phil Simms), but you’re free to visualize whoever you want.

“The decision was wrong because it showed a lack of trust in his defense” –ESPN/basically everybody, including Tedi "Still My Favorite Player Even if He's a Fucking Sellout for the Moment" Bruschi, 12:00 onward

The assertion that Belichick showed he had ‘no faith in his defense’ seems to be the most common argument. First – and most obviously – if we assume that that the degree of faith he shows in his squad makes a significant difference, there’s no reason his fourth-down call shouldn’t have fired up his offense enough (or, at the very least, there’s no reason he shouldn’t have believed it would). Every ounce of ‘trust’ he invests in one side trades off with the other. If ‘faith’ is worth forty yards of defense, it’s worth six inches of offense. Second, as mentioned above, we have to assume they deserved that trust before it becomes a sound decision to bet the game on them.

“This breaks every rule of coaching” – ESPN, 2:25 AM

This remark upsets me a bit. Breaking the rules of coaching is not inherently good or bad – yes, those rules (guidelines, if you prefer) are there for a reason, but coaches are alternately praised or jeered for ignoring them only according to their success in doing so, rather than their method or their justification. Plus, convention does not mean success (otherwise, coaches would be rewarded for having no distinguishing features); Belichick is Belichick, he breaks the rules (as Jets fans remind us, sometimes even the actual ones), and he’ll be in the Hall of Fame for it.

“It was a knee-jerk emotional decision that cost them the game.” –ESPN, 2:30 AM

While it would be somewhat cool to imagine Bill Belichick replaced by Harrison Ford, shouting at Offensive Coordinator C-3PO to ‘never tell me the odds’, I view the idea that a seasoned, indubitably successful coach with a history of coldly rational decisions (most of which leave him at odds with fans, and the media, but never his players) suddenly suffered a complete panic attack and gave in to sentimentality with a degree of healthy skepticism. Are we really investing credibility in the idea that Belichick, a man so distant that we collectively question the existence of his soul, decided he wanted a Hollywood ending for the kids? The only reason he even got to that point was clock management – namely, that he mixed up the game clock with his personal countdown timer for the cyborg invasion. Okay, I’ll stop. But this point is ridiculous.

By the way, the idea that Belichick entirely ‘cost them the game’ is out of whack for other reasons. A Lawrence Maroney fumble and a Brady interception, both third-quarter turnovers in the end zone, also killed their chance to put the game out of reach. Peyton Manning playing at the level of Bo Jackson starring in his own video game for most of the fourth quarter probably contributed. Above all, a defense that gave up 35 points to a predictable team with no rushing game is inexcusable.

I don’t want to be accused of denying the opposition their strongest arguments (I’m anything but even-handed, but purely from a self-interested perspective, I don’t like seeing my argumentative credibility compromised). Plus, I’m wicked tired, so I’ll stop here. If you’ve got anything I didn’t address, anything you think I should have looked at, or if you just think I’m wrong and want to re-word Phil Simms’ objections, feel free to post or e-mail me (I’ve always wanted to do a mailbag).

--kd

(ps – Peyton Manning gets my ballot for MVP. Granted, it won’t help him in the postseason when he throws three picks and gets booed at home in the inevitable AFC showdown in January…but that was an incredible performance when it mattered most. Ugh. )

Winter Term Schedule

Well, there's a few weeks left until actual course selection time, but I threw together a schedule based on random whim from the LSA course catalog [1]. Here's my draft:

Polisci 314 - American Political Parties and Electoral Problems
History 322 - The Origins of Nazism
Polisci 389 - Persuasive Politics: Voter, Campaign, and Communication Strategies
French 232 - Fourth Semester French

I'm eager to take everything on here except for French (dreading that one to an extreme, almost desperate degree). I hated French in high school. I still hate it now (admittedly less than taking four semesters of a new language...but it's close).

If any of my readers are also U of M undergrads, comment and let me know your schedule ideas. New and original classes are welcome suggestions.

[1] Fuck it, I can take all liberal arts and not starve - I'll probably end up in law school anyway]

--kd