Rest in peace, gentlemen.
"The music ends, that is to say, it disappears forever to journey in the cosmos."
Showing posts with label age restrictions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label age restrictions. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sadly, the beast needs more torque
Well, on a sad note, Maury Chaykin has passed away. It was his 61st birthday today -- which, strangely, makes him exactly the same age as my mother. (She, thankfully, is in the pink of health, and yes, I did call her with birthday wishes long before I contemplated this blog post.) It also means that he is the second instrumental cog of the Whale Music movie to have shuffled off this mortal coil this year, as Paul Quarrington died in January. They both seem way too young to go, and all I can say is that I hope Dave Bidini is taking his vitamins.
Rest in peace, gentlemen.
Rest in peace, gentlemen.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Do not go gentle
This one has been knocking around in my head since before Christmas, but I hadn't figured out how to write it down. I still haven't, so this may be a bit more slipshod than I'd like it to be, but I've started now, so what the heck.
Around Christmas and New Year's time, I was feeling old, and it was really pissing me off. I'd like to chock it up to holiday depression, but there are a couple of things that have stuck with me. First -- my Mom's huge extended family is too big for normal Christmas Dinner at somebody's house, so every Boxing Day we rent a hall. This hall is conveniently located above an ice rink, which we also rent for a couple of hours of spirited over-30 versus under-30 shinny. We've been doing this for 20 years or so, and in that time you get pretty well acquainted with what people can do on the ice. That uncle doesn't know how to pass, that cousin doesn't know how to skate, that sort of thing. I have one cousin who's probably about 25 who has always had better skills than me (although he only passes to the open man if it's his brother or his father, so he's usually pretty easy to neutralize), but even if he was able to dipsy-doodle around me, I never had any problem keeping up on the speed side of things. This year, however -- there were problems. He was just that little bit faster and I was just that little bit slower, and I found myself starting to play like it was a real game, like just kinda bumping him or trying to wrap him up a little as he went by. In short, I was using all the old guy tricks that my Dad uses, except that I'm 34 and he's 61 and he's been dragging the middle-aged gut of success around for at least a decade and a half by now. (Side note -- I use all those old guy tricks at lacrosse all the time, but because I hadn't grown up playing against these guys, it feels more like a general lack of talent as opposed to any erosion of my skills, which is somehow easier to take.) It pissed me off that I could neither keep up, nor accept the aging process with equanimity. Damn.
Episode two -- which actually happened first chronologically, but I like the flow of the story better if I talk about this second -- was at a White Cowbell Oklahoma concert. I've seen these guys a buncha times, and they have a well-earned reputation as a no-holds-barred live show. In the shows I've been to, I've seen a man dressed as Santa Claus pull a watergun disguised as a two-foot penis out of his pants and baptise as much of the front row as he could manage. I've seen a Christmas show where two, uh, exotic dancers dressed up as presents appeared on stage, and proceeded to unwrap each other down to outfits more suited for birthdays, if you catch my drift. I've also seen a show where the lead guitarist dropped trou, placed a shot glass over his lead singer, and played a solo on a slide guitar held just south of waist level by four lovely volunteers from the audience; and then later on watched as the band shelled out hundreds of dollars to convince young ladies in the audience to part with articles of clothing. They go out of their way to be a capital R Rock'N'Roll Band, with all the sex, drugs and cocoa puffs you can cram into an evening's entertainment.
That said -- this pre-Christmas show was kinda disappointing. It was their 10th anniversary show, and they pulled out some of the stops, in that they gave away near-ancient merch and managed to ressurect a long-rumored dead drummer, but there was still a sense of toned-down-ness about it all. I think they may have had some legality issues with their shows, because even though they still have the exotic dancers, there's no threat of 'unclad' anymore, it remains firmly in the domain of 'scantily clad'. They've downsized a couple of band members, too, including the lead singer, and while they were a large enough number to begin with that it wasn't overly noticeable, it still speaks to the fact that maybe not everybody's built to spend 10 years acting like the drinkin'-est mofo on the planet. The whole show, while rockin' enough on a musical level, just seemed tamer than it used to be, and it felt like maybe people were gonna outgrow it. I actually wouldn't be surprised if the band breaks up before they play Toronto again, and yes, that makes me feel old.
So -- I don't like being pissed off, so I've been attempting to do something about it. I could just accept it and try to be graceful about losing some abilities while gaining in experience and insight -- you know, turn turn turn and all that -- but screw that. To counteract my sporting decline, I am going against pretty much all of my instincts and trying to get into better shape. Exercising is one thing, but god help me, I've actually been reading food labels and checking the fat content. I figure I have maybe two or three more years where I can at least maintain what limited proficiency I have, and declining at 37 seems way less traumatic than declining at 34. I don't know how it'll go -- I have an embarrasing tendency towards tantrums when I think I should be better at a sport than I actually am -- but I'm giving it a shot.
And as for the other thing -- well, like I say, I don't know if WCO will ever do another Toronto show, but if they do, I will do my part to restore some of their former glory. Based on the twin pillars of audience participation and gratuitous nudity, I will steal a page from the band's playbook and offer cold hard cash to anybody who joins the band on stage and shows off an asset or two. I'm not exactly expecting a rush of people looking to take me up on the offer, but dammit, to make up for my wasted youth of responsible action and sober decisions I have to make it anyway. I'm not currently publishing rates because there's bound to be a sliding scale -- while I am duty-bound to support a Rock Out With Your Cock Out policy, it is likely to be less lucrative than a Rock Out With Your Boobs Out Policy, rhyme scheme be damned -- and in case of a Bizarro-world plethora of applicants there would be a first-come-first-served kinda limit, but suffice to say I will be open to negotiation. I am not known for being a hard-line negotiator and I could probably be convinced to reimburse the ticket price of any girl who wears a sufficiently cleavage-y shirt, so feel free to extrapolate from there.
Around Christmas and New Year's time, I was feeling old, and it was really pissing me off. I'd like to chock it up to holiday depression, but there are a couple of things that have stuck with me. First -- my Mom's huge extended family is too big for normal Christmas Dinner at somebody's house, so every Boxing Day we rent a hall. This hall is conveniently located above an ice rink, which we also rent for a couple of hours of spirited over-30 versus under-30 shinny. We've been doing this for 20 years or so, and in that time you get pretty well acquainted with what people can do on the ice. That uncle doesn't know how to pass, that cousin doesn't know how to skate, that sort of thing. I have one cousin who's probably about 25 who has always had better skills than me (although he only passes to the open man if it's his brother or his father, so he's usually pretty easy to neutralize), but even if he was able to dipsy-doodle around me, I never had any problem keeping up on the speed side of things. This year, however -- there were problems. He was just that little bit faster and I was just that little bit slower, and I found myself starting to play like it was a real game, like just kinda bumping him or trying to wrap him up a little as he went by. In short, I was using all the old guy tricks that my Dad uses, except that I'm 34 and he's 61 and he's been dragging the middle-aged gut of success around for at least a decade and a half by now. (Side note -- I use all those old guy tricks at lacrosse all the time, but because I hadn't grown up playing against these guys, it feels more like a general lack of talent as opposed to any erosion of my skills, which is somehow easier to take.) It pissed me off that I could neither keep up, nor accept the aging process with equanimity. Damn.
Episode two -- which actually happened first chronologically, but I like the flow of the story better if I talk about this second -- was at a White Cowbell Oklahoma concert. I've seen these guys a buncha times, and they have a well-earned reputation as a no-holds-barred live show. In the shows I've been to, I've seen a man dressed as Santa Claus pull a watergun disguised as a two-foot penis out of his pants and baptise as much of the front row as he could manage. I've seen a Christmas show where two, uh, exotic dancers dressed up as presents appeared on stage, and proceeded to unwrap each other down to outfits more suited for birthdays, if you catch my drift. I've also seen a show where the lead guitarist dropped trou, placed a shot glass over his lead singer, and played a solo on a slide guitar held just south of waist level by four lovely volunteers from the audience; and then later on watched as the band shelled out hundreds of dollars to convince young ladies in the audience to part with articles of clothing. They go out of their way to be a capital R Rock'N'Roll Band, with all the sex, drugs and cocoa puffs you can cram into an evening's entertainment.
That said -- this pre-Christmas show was kinda disappointing. It was their 10th anniversary show, and they pulled out some of the stops, in that they gave away near-ancient merch and managed to ressurect a long-rumored dead drummer, but there was still a sense of toned-down-ness about it all. I think they may have had some legality issues with their shows, because even though they still have the exotic dancers, there's no threat of 'unclad' anymore, it remains firmly in the domain of 'scantily clad'. They've downsized a couple of band members, too, including the lead singer, and while they were a large enough number to begin with that it wasn't overly noticeable, it still speaks to the fact that maybe not everybody's built to spend 10 years acting like the drinkin'-est mofo on the planet. The whole show, while rockin' enough on a musical level, just seemed tamer than it used to be, and it felt like maybe people were gonna outgrow it. I actually wouldn't be surprised if the band breaks up before they play Toronto again, and yes, that makes me feel old.
So -- I don't like being pissed off, so I've been attempting to do something about it. I could just accept it and try to be graceful about losing some abilities while gaining in experience and insight -- you know, turn turn turn and all that -- but screw that. To counteract my sporting decline, I am going against pretty much all of my instincts and trying to get into better shape. Exercising is one thing, but god help me, I've actually been reading food labels and checking the fat content. I figure I have maybe two or three more years where I can at least maintain what limited proficiency I have, and declining at 37 seems way less traumatic than declining at 34. I don't know how it'll go -- I have an embarrasing tendency towards tantrums when I think I should be better at a sport than I actually am -- but I'm giving it a shot.
And as for the other thing -- well, like I say, I don't know if WCO will ever do another Toronto show, but if they do, I will do my part to restore some of their former glory. Based on the twin pillars of audience participation and gratuitous nudity, I will steal a page from the band's playbook and offer cold hard cash to anybody who joins the band on stage and shows off an asset or two. I'm not exactly expecting a rush of people looking to take me up on the offer, but dammit, to make up for my wasted youth of responsible action and sober decisions I have to make it anyway. I'm not currently publishing rates because there's bound to be a sliding scale -- while I am duty-bound to support a Rock Out With Your Cock Out policy, it is likely to be less lucrative than a Rock Out With Your Boobs Out Policy, rhyme scheme be damned -- and in case of a Bizarro-world plethora of applicants there would be a first-come-first-served kinda limit, but suffice to say I will be open to negotiation. I am not known for being a hard-line negotiator and I could probably be convinced to reimburse the ticket price of any girl who wears a sufficiently cleavage-y shirt, so feel free to extrapolate from there.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Old enough for the D-League
I saw this article on TrueHoop a little while ago – a guy name Latavious Williams made history by being the first high school player to skip college in favour of going straight to the D-League. It’s a pretty good article, and it makes a pretty solid argument that this development – high school kids being eligible for the D-League draft – is in the best interests of the NBA, the NBA D-League, college basketball and the players themselves.
I got no problem with all of that, but I have to admit that it seems a touch hypocritical of the NBA. They are the de facto employer of both NBA players and NBA D-League players, but they have decided on different employment rules for those players. If you want to play in the NBA, you are not allowed to enter the draft until one year after your high school class graduates. So far, what that means is any 18-year-old who thinks he can play in the NBA straight out of high school still has to figure out a way to spend that spare year, usually by being Big Man on Campus. (One kid decided to spend that year in Europe, mainly because he didn't meet academic eligibility requirements, and the early returns on that seem to be pretty positive.) Again, I’m a supporter of higher education, and I could probably be convinced that it’s generally bad for a player’s social development, if not his basketball development, to try to go straight to the big leagues out of high school. However, just to play devil’s advocate – an 18-year-old could apply to work in the NBA front office. An 18-year-old could play in the D-League, to compete against grown men. It just looks bad that the NBA is deciding that every single 18-year-old in the country is eligible for all the responsibilities of NBA adulthood, without being eligible for the top-end paycheck that a 19-year-old can earn.
This has been hashed and re-hashed already – I just had a thought that I haven’t seen out in the world, so I figured I’d try it out. It’s still kinda rough, so here are the highlights:
I think that last bit is kind of instructive. So far, every article that I’ve come across that deals with the age-restriction rule just assumes that it’s a cynical way for the NBA to assure that high school students play some sort of college ball. However – if you’re David Stern the businessman, and it’s 2005 and you have an eye on the future – wouldn’t you rather envision a day when you have both the best professional men’s basketball league on the planet and the best place for players to develop their skills before they enter that best league? Sure, the NBA has no issue with colleges supplying them players for now – but imagine, 20 years from now, an Iverson-like talent can’t meet the academic standards for U.S. colleges. If the D-League has progressed into a “true minor league farm system”, there’s probably no question of him playing in Europe. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if by that point, the rules have changed again so that when the Clippers win the lottery, they’re allowed to draft a high school kid, as long as they stash him in the D-League for at least a portion of his first season, and then they can call him up when he’s proven himself ready. The D-League gets a transcendent talent, which can only help at the box office. Granted, that’s probably not enough to make viewers abandon their college affiliation in favour of watching the D-League – but what if by that time, the D-League had also fiddled with its playoff format in order to institute a one-and-done bracket? That would have to be at least as exciting to the casual viewer (cough, gambler) as ye olde March Madness. I imagine any businessman would enjoy having a slice of that pie. Or the whole pie, if he could.
Yeah, it’s a conspiracy theory and a long shot – but I’m just sayin’, is all.
I got no problem with all of that, but I have to admit that it seems a touch hypocritical of the NBA. They are the de facto employer of both NBA players and NBA D-League players, but they have decided on different employment rules for those players. If you want to play in the NBA, you are not allowed to enter the draft until one year after your high school class graduates. So far, what that means is any 18-year-old who thinks he can play in the NBA straight out of high school still has to figure out a way to spend that spare year, usually by being Big Man on Campus. (One kid decided to spend that year in Europe, mainly because he didn't meet academic eligibility requirements, and the early returns on that seem to be pretty positive.) Again, I’m a supporter of higher education, and I could probably be convinced that it’s generally bad for a player’s social development, if not his basketball development, to try to go straight to the big leagues out of high school. However, just to play devil’s advocate – an 18-year-old could apply to work in the NBA front office. An 18-year-old could play in the D-League, to compete against grown men. It just looks bad that the NBA is deciding that every single 18-year-old in the country is eligible for all the responsibilities of NBA adulthood, without being eligible for the top-end paycheck that a 19-year-old can earn.
This has been hashed and re-hashed already – I just had a thought that I haven’t seen out in the world, so I figured I’d try it out. It’s still kinda rough, so here are the highlights:
- We can all pretty much agree that David Stern is a business genius.
- The no-18-year-olds rule came into effect in the NBA in June 2005.
- In exactly the same Collective Bargaining agreement, the minimum age for the D-League was lowered from 20 to 18.
- If you trust Wikipedia, it was in March of 2005 that Stern announced a plan to expand the NBA D-League to fifteen teams and develop it into a true minor league farm system, with each NBA D-League team affiliated with one or more NBA teams.
- In the 2005 ESPN article where I’m getting pretty much all the rest of my info, Mr. Stern was quoted as saying, "This will encourage our scouts to spend time in D-league gyms rather than high school gyms."
I think that last bit is kind of instructive. So far, every article that I’ve come across that deals with the age-restriction rule just assumes that it’s a cynical way for the NBA to assure that high school students play some sort of college ball. However – if you’re David Stern the businessman, and it’s 2005 and you have an eye on the future – wouldn’t you rather envision a day when you have both the best professional men’s basketball league on the planet and the best place for players to develop their skills before they enter that best league? Sure, the NBA has no issue with colleges supplying them players for now – but imagine, 20 years from now, an Iverson-like talent can’t meet the academic standards for U.S. colleges. If the D-League has progressed into a “true minor league farm system”, there’s probably no question of him playing in Europe. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if by that point, the rules have changed again so that when the Clippers win the lottery, they’re allowed to draft a high school kid, as long as they stash him in the D-League for at least a portion of his first season, and then they can call him up when he’s proven himself ready. The D-League gets a transcendent talent, which can only help at the box office. Granted, that’s probably not enough to make viewers abandon their college affiliation in favour of watching the D-League – but what if by that time, the D-League had also fiddled with its playoff format in order to institute a one-and-done bracket? That would have to be at least as exciting to the casual viewer (cough, gambler) as ye olde March Madness. I imagine any businessman would enjoy having a slice of that pie. Or the whole pie, if he could.
Yeah, it’s a conspiracy theory and a long shot – but I’m just sayin’, is all.
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