Ted Wins (a Blog)

The Kalamazoo Xplosion, many of whom were former teammates of mine on the Battle Creek Crunch, are playing this weekend for the CIFL title.  These teammates - L.J. Parker, Kyle Lacksheide, Eric Gardner, Brad Selent, and Brian Dolph - are classy guys, great athletes, and were the subject of much of my second book, Paper Tiger: One Athlete’s Journey to the Underbelly of Pro Football.  Enjoy the pics, and good luck fellas!  Pick up the book here:  http://www.amazon.com/Paper-Tiger-Athletes-Underbelly-Football/dp/1599210436

Read John’s rebuke here:  http://john.purplestateofmind.com/?p=221

John,

Thanks for these comments.  I feel humbled by your rebuke, and upon further reading, a little regretful not of the content (arguments) but of the tone of my post. 

The truth is that I wish Craig had contended more earnestly for his faith, and done a better job of articulating the reason for the hope that is in him in Christ. I wish he’d shared the gospel with you. I also wish he had answered your questions. 

Granted, I was viewing the whole thing from a Christian’s perspective, and hoping for something different.  But thanks for writing this.  In writing my post I’ve become guilty of doing someting I said I never wanted to do, which is slugging it out on the blogosphere.  Thanks for bringing that to my attention. 

Best,

Ted

I don’t, as a general rule, review anything, but I feel compelled to write about this documentary, which ostensibly had something to do with red and blue states but was really just a conversation between a really smart, winsome atheist named John Marks and his Christian filmmaker buddy Craig Detweiler who sadly came across as vapid and spineless, and who he shredded throughout most of the film. 

By about minute twenty of this 80-some minute doc, it was clear that Marks was completely bored with the whole thing and was smacking Detweiler around much like a cat might bat around a small toy.  Detweiler, meanwhile, was evasive about pretty much everything (more specifics below) and resorted to smiling coyly at the camera (hence the Michael Scott reference) while stroking his soul patch, which seemed to really fill out nicely throughout the film. 

A list of things Detweiler was evasive about, when asked about them very directly:

1. Whether his atheist friend John was going to hell or not.  (I think he is, even though I would much rather hang out with him than Craig.)
2. Whether he (Detweiler) is a Christian and/or an evangelical. 
3. What Christ’s work on the cross accomplished. 
4. Gay marriage.
5. Abortion. 

Marks puts it best when he characterizes his former college roommate as “slippery as hell.”  I’m struck by the idea that Marks really should have been able to debate with a believer who wouldn’t have been so easily shredded.  His friend was a Kleenex.  Soft.  To really do this right, we (evangelicals, Christians, I’m both for the record) really owe him a conversation with someone like Al Mohler, John Piper, Alistair Begg, or even Mark Driscoll. 

Other things I didn’t “get” about the film, probably because I’m closed minded or something:

1. The boner debate, though I think I know where John (Marks, not the apostle or the baptist) was going with it. 
2. All the shots of both guys and their kids, which seemed to suggest “hey, we’re more alike than we think” which, ironically, is true after hearing Detweiler explain (or not explain) his faith. 
3. The 9/11 stuff at the end. 

Reasons I feel a little sheepish about this post:

1. Craig and I are “friends” on facebook but probably won’t be after this runs, provided he Googles himself occasionally.
2. Craig is a brother in Christ, and while his movie probably doesn’t give me license to be snarky about him personally, I do wish he’d had more of a spine.
3. He has kids and nobody likes to read a bad review about their dad. 

The best material in the film came during the credits, when Marks told the story about the cheeseburger place in Louisville, and the audacity of their claim to have “invented the cheeseburger.”  He then explains that he agreed to do the film to investigate the “audacity” of Craig’s claims about the faith.  Sadly (and when I say sadly I really mean it because it’s hard to write these things about a brother in Christ, and someone who shares my passion for movies), I’m left feeling like there was little audacity for him to investigate. 

 For an upcoming, as-yet-untitled book on professional wrestling, to be published by Praeger Publishing.  Here’s an excerpt:

There’s something wholesome and innocent about Baron Von Raschke, age 68, and it may be the fact that his wife, Bonnie, answers when I call her home and promises to have her husband “awake and full of coffee” the next morning for our interview.  In many ways Raschke was fortunate to have heeled in an era before heels were expected to truly be deviant both in and out of the ring.  It was before the twin dark clouds of recreational drugs and steroids truly made their mark on sports entertainment as well as real sports.  And Raschke was that rare heel in that he made an almost organic face transition later in his career.  In his ’77 championship match with Bruno Sammartino he was a hated heel, but by 1985 in another AWA turn, fans would cheer when he goose-stepped into the ring.    

In fact, there’s something wholesome about the entire 1970’s and 80’s AWA scene.  For the most part the wrestlers seemed about as un-roided up and wholesome as possible.  Broadcasts featured a then very un-controversial Eric Bischoff, a less-roided Hulk Hogan, Bobby Heenan[1], and Mean Gene Okerlund who would all eventually make the jump to the WWF(E).  Shows happened in places like St. Paul, Kenosha, and Cheboygan, and generally wrestlers got over more because of superior ring psychology and less because of blood, ladders, tables, and seedy storylines.  The rings were small, bouncy, and blue.  For most of the AWA’s existence there were no valets.  Of course, all good things have to come to an end, and during the AWA’s death rattle it had a few ill-fated episodes on ESPN that were taped at the Tropicana in Las Vegas, and as is almost always the case in entertainment, nothing remains cool once it lands in Vegas.    

“The business today has gone to the lowest common denominator,” says Raschke.  “It’s all about shock value, and everything today is more blatant than it was back then.  Back then, when there was a love scene the oceans would roar and the rain would fall.  People used their minds and their imagination.  Now there are television shows that show the bullet going through the body, and then everyone standing there looking at the corpse.  And in wrestling, they’re showing their rears in the ring, and making love in the ring.  It’s low class.  And you can tell Vince McMahon I said that.”    

Of course, McMahon (Jr.) did much more than just introducing lowbrow shock value into wrestling.  He effectively killed the territory system in the early 1980’s by buying up all of the territories’ talent.  So instead of kids in Texas growing up watching the Von Erichs on Saturday morning, kids in Georgia watching Ric Flair, and kids in Wisconsin growing up watching Baron Von Raschke and Vern Gagne, we’re all left with whatever the WWE decides its demographic wants to see.  This, I think, is what people are longing for when they talk about the “good old days” in wrestling.  They want to identify with something germane to their region, rather than trying to choose which roided up WWE freak to like.    

It’s only when one looks at Raschke and the old AWA that today’s wrestling seems so, well, sad.  The fact that Cactus Jack (Mick Foley) had to make a name by falling through rings and having appendages ripped off, and the fact that wrestling has made the crotch shot a part of American adolescent culture, seems especially sad in light of what wrestlers like Raschke were able to accomplish without such theatrics.   

Check out the Baron here:  http://www.baronvonraschke.com/photo_gallery/photo_detail.php?id=1

[1] Even then Heenan was super talented and funny.  For my money, this is one of the most entertaining personalities in wrestling. 

I just watched The Savages (Laura Linney, Phil Seymour Hoffman) which is a depressing emotional beating in the vein of Running with Scissors, The Squid and the Whale and to a lesser extent, Little Miss Sunshine.  It’s the Laura Linney film, which is now, I’ve discovered, its own genre.  That’s not to say it’s bad, it’s just its own depressing, unresolved thing that’s more like watching a random neighbor’s slightly more stylized life than watching a movie. It’s a “thing” just like a Quentin Tarantino film is a thing.  Hoffman and Linney, though, were amazing. 

Also, why don’t I care about the NBA playoffs?  I feel like I’m supposed to care about the Lakers and the Celtics, many of whom weren’t Lakers or Celtics last year, and won’t be next year.  My favorite thing about the NBA Finals is the fact that Jimmy Kimmel comes on before the games on the East coast.  Also, it means that the NBA Draft and its purple suits and  unintentional comedy is around the corner, and NBA training camps will start in a couple of weeks.  Is not caring about this stuff a sign of old age, or wisdom?  Hopefully the latter. 

Now, on to the story.  Two years ago when my first book Facing Tyson came out, I was browsing a large, chain bookstore when I ran into a family friend.  This friend made much of the book, and made me sign a copy for her - right there - in the store.  She dragged me to the front, even, to get a pen.  Would you like me to sign it for anyone?  “No, just your name,” she replied, thrilled.  In true Midwestern fashion, I begged her not to buy the book and gave her several “outs” but she insisted.  I knew she wouldn’t like it, in part, because it’s about boxing and also because it has cuss words in it. 

Two nights later I had a friend over for dinner who had purchased the book from the selfsame store.  The book already had my signature in it.  “Somebody scribbled inside,” he said.  Sure enough, my name.  The woman had made much of the book, had me sign it, and then put it back on the shelf. 

We ran into her recently at a local grocery store and my wife, knowing the story, asked her if she enjoyed the book, to which she replied, “it was excellent.” 

I’m struck, now, that this is just the type of thing that would happen in a Laura Linney film because those films are always about writers who have this sort of thing happen to them. 

This is the transcript of a very random conversation I had with someone  regarding what various evangelical personalities might serve for dinner in their homes.  Don’t get mad, this is a joke. 

Name: John Eldredge

Menu:  Something made out of venison, or some other fresh, gamey recent Eldredge kill (grouse?).  Spring water collected by Eldredge on a hike. 

Movie:  Gladiator, Braveheart, The Smashing Machine (a doc about former MMA star Mark Kerr)

Name:  Leonard Sweet

Menu:  Starbucks(tm) tall skim vanilla latte, Starbucks(tm) lemon scone, Starbucks(tm) veggie wrap. 

Movie: Coffee and Cigarettes by Jim Jarmusch, minus the part about the cigarettes. 

Name:  Jim Wallis

Menu:  Seriously, there are starving children in Africa. 

Movie: Hotel Rwanda

Read the following sad story on ESPN.com this morning, regarding Evander Holyfield and his 109 room, $10 million estate in the Atlanta suburbs.  I sat in Holyfield’s office, in said estate, a couple of years ago and interviewed him for my first book, Facing Tyson.  http://sports.espn.go.com/sports/boxing/news/story?id=3428080

Excerpts from that interview are below:

In real life Holyfield actually looks a little taller than he does on tape.  I’m 6′2” and he actually felt a little taller, although it could have just been a combination of the vast, Ecclesiastical riches, the fame, and the fact that people call him “Mr.”  I feel about 5′3” by comparison. 

At any rate, Holyfield looks and sounds fit.  There has been much debate recently about his condition (word slurring, etc.) on Internet message boards and to my untrained medical eye he seems the picture of health.  It is this health, he says, that will allow him to win another world-championship, his fourth time – one more than Ali he is quick to point out.  He makes it clear that this, the positive – the idea of a next title, is what we will be discussing this evening.  (A note about Holyfield’s study, which is where we’re chatting.  It’s huge.  It looks like the office you imagine having, as a kid, when you imagine that you’re unbelievably rich and you have a giant office.  There are original paintings of Holyfield in here, gloves signed by Ali, a fireplace, lots of leather chairs, and a random collection of boxing books.  It’s a sweet room.)**I ask him about his mindset going into the two fights.  Holyfield was the rare Tyson opponent who didn’t seem visibly shaken by the idea of fighting him.  The Holyfield who entered that ring in the MGM Grand was a relative Cool Hand Luke.  Fearless.  Tyson, by comparison, was the one who was unable to make eye contact during the prefight instructions and stare down in their second fight.  “It was like this.  Today is the day where the two best fighters fight.  And you know what?  One person can only occupy the position.  And we’re trying to get to the same place at the same time.  This man (Tyson) had been in that place for a long time and now It was time for me to be in that place.  It’s like trying to be the president of a company.  Both of ya’all can’t be it.  That’s why they have a vice president.“I used Tyson as an inspiration and as a motivator because he was a small heavyweight who fought huge guys – guys 6′5 and 240 – but he never complained. He just beat the dog out of them.  He never said ‘my arms are too short. “The whole thing with a bully is to say ‘I know you hit hard I’m going to take your best shot and then I’m going to hit you back.’  He wasn’t accustomed to it.  With Mike I tried to hit him 2 or 3 shots for every shot of his that I took. Bap. Bap. Bap. I gotta get mad and move. It’s a thinking game.  I want to make a person feel like they’re sorry for ever getting in the ring with me.”

The Literary Wrestling Alliance is a group of wrestlers/writers/visionaries endeavoring to combine the pageantry and athleticism of pro wrestling with the excitement of live literary events.  The LWA will hold one show, Pride and Prejudice,  at an undisclosed date, in an undisclosed location later this summer, at which there will be live wrestling as well as live literary stuff like poetry readings and perhaps a book signing.  In the meantime, go here:  http://157119.spreadshirt.com/us/US/Shop/Article/Index/article/Official-LWA-T-Shirt-3056126  And buy this:  

Of course, any discussion of this nature begins and ends with the Zen Master himself, who was emergent before emergent was emergent.  I’ll add that this list was much more difficult, though, and as it is a blog that isn’t currently generating any income for me, I didn’t spend a lot of time on it.  That said, great responses on the “Athletes Who Aren’t Emergent” post.  The “I wish I’d thought of that one” award goes to DW Price, who suggested that Coach Norman Dale from Hoosiers definitely isn’t emergent.  I agree wholeheartedly.  I’ll add that player/coach Reggie Dunlop from Slapshot is also not emergent.  Ditto for the Hanson Brothers.  Ditto for “The Wild Thing” Rick Vaughn from Major League. 

But I digress.  Here they are.  You’ll notice that I didn’t focus on tattoos/weird hair solely as a requirement for making this list because many athletes have tattoos.  There had to be something else in the player’s ethos to put him here.  I also stayed away from sports like figure skating, so as to keep the discussion semi-serious. 

First, a category.  Athletes who are emergent because they share a name in common with published emergent-y authors:

• Jim Palmer
• Andruw Jones
• Frank Viola

And now, the general category:

• Lance Armstrong
• Roger Dorn and Pedro Cerrano from Major League
• The Kevin Costner character in Field of Dreams
• Barry Zito
• Steve Nash
• Bill Parcells circa a few years ago when he frosted his hair 
• Muhammad Ali
• Cherokee Parks
• Rick Fox
• Lebron’s mom (for breaking the athlete/fan barrier and making an NBA game “sensory”)
• Ron Artest (see above)
• Ric Flair (for his obvious environmental concern, evidenced by his nickname, “The Nature Boy”)

On a freezing cold night in Chicago, Why We’re Not Emergent co-author Kevin DeYoung and I watched the Chicago White Sox take care of business against Cleveland behind a strong outing from pitcher Mark Buerhle.  It was so cold that normally-fierce Sox manager Ozzie Guillen was wearing a sort of head-warmer thing under his hat that made him look strangely childlike.  Being in Guillen’s general vicinity touched off a discussion of other “Not Emergent” athletes.  This is an incomplete list…feel free to add to it in the comments.

• Ozzie Guillen
• Lou Pinella
• Ron Karkovice
• Any member of the 1985 Chicago Bears
• Ditka
• Dave Wannstedt
• Any athlete with a mustache like that of Ditka or Wannstedt
• Charles Barkley
• Tom Rathman
• Ron Kittle
• Man o’ War
• Triple H
• The Undertaker
• Chris Sabo
• Leon Durham
• Bobby Hebert
• Dalton Hilliard
• Eddie Kennison
• Lee Corso
• Stu Grimson
• Tie Domi
• Rick Majerus
• Barry Melrose