Sports, Sports, Sports... and Billy Joel, too

Depicted: The 1913 Columbia Catamites in their home turtlenecks - Quite a bunch of rakes and roustabouts, I'll have you know!

"Now now, Barnaby... Quincy, here, meant now disrespect
about yer fancy sparrin' trunks!"

Sport n.
1.
a) Physical activity that is governed by a set of rules or customs and often engaged in competitively.
b) A particular form of this activity.

2. An activity involving physical exertion and skill that is governed by a set of rules or customs and often undertaken competitively.

3. An active pastime; recreation.


The above is the dictionary's explanation of the meaning of "sport." Recently the long-debated definition of what constitutes an activity being considered a sport has come up twice in as many weeks. First, at Hacienda Gutierrez, last weekend, and yesterday on the "JV and Elvis" show on 92.3 Free FM (God, I hate that name). In Tarrytown, Kat was debating whether figure skating was considered a sport. Many present agreed that it was, indeed, a sport. And on the radio, they had listeners calling in, arguing about whether golf was considered a sport.

In my personal estimation, I do not think that figure skating is truly a sport, and I'm somewhat skeptical about golf's sport status.

All right now, Cyrus. Keep the ball over the plate. Another bean ball like that, and we'll settle this over fisticuffs!

On www.Wikipedia.com, sport was described as such:

A sport consists of a physical and mentally competitive activity carried out with a recreational purpose for competition, for self-enjoyment, to attain excellence, for the development of a skill, or some combination of these. A sport has physical activity, side by side competition, self-motivation and a scoring system. The difference of purpose is what characterises sport, combined with the notion of individual (or team) skill or prowess.

One system for classifying sports is as follows, based more on the sport's aim than on the actual mechanics. The examples given are intended to be illustrative, rather than comprehensive.

Opponent
* Combat (wrestling, boxing, karate, etc...)
* Court (tennis, volleball, etc...)
* Team (cricket, baseball, soccer, rugby, hockey, football, lacrosse, basketball, etc...)

Achievement
* Target (archery, shooting, darts)
* Display (gymnastics, diving, bodybuilding, equestrianism)
* Strength (weight lifting, shot put, triple jump)

First off, I'm glad that the powers-that-be at Wikipedia decided to exclude Nascar, and other similar vehicular competitions. Despite requiring endangerment of one's safety and quick reflexes, racing a vehicle involves little (if any) athleticism, and thus, not a sport. Bicycling, though, in my estimation, is a sport, because it demands physical fitness and endurance, in addition to reflexes and personal endangerment.

While wikipedia's categories of opponent-based sport makes sense to me, I contest many of its "achievement-based" sports. I disagree with the on-line encyclopedia denotion of bodybuilding as a sport. While it requires excellent physical conditioning, it's scored based upon artistic and subjective review. I believe a true sport requires rules of competition which are judged as objectively as possible. That is why I feel that most gymnastics and diving performances are probably not a "sport," in the strictest sense. And furthermore, to disagree with the resolution in Hacienda Gutierrez, I feel that figure skating is really gymnastics on ice. Although they require physical fitness, athleticism, and endurance, these demonstrations are judged subjectively by judges examining "artistic expression." If figure skating were truly a sport, wouldn't dance disciplines like ballet also be considered a sport? If these contested gymnastics activites (floor exercise, balance beam, etc), diving, and figure skating were judged empirically, I would categorize them as sports. However, since both are scored with consideration for artistic expression, they forfeit their claim to "sporthood."

I'm also going to disagree with wikipedia on "target-based" sports. Archery, shooting, and darts rely on skill and practice, with some degree of strength. But is an archer truly an athlete? I think an archer is someone skilled at archery. Why be greedy?

However, discus; hammer throw; shot put; and javelin might come closer to being a sport, as it requires a great deal more athleticism than archery or shooting. Golf would come under this category, as it requires aim, physical coordination, and strength. It is also judged objectively. These activities are borderline sports, in my book. What do you guys think?

Best Christmas Gift. Period.

The Piano Man himself, Mr. Billy Joel rocked MSG this past Monday. And doesn't like to wear socks, apparently...

It all started rather innocently. Ally passed onto me what her older brother, Mike, cryptically told her: "Make sure you're free on January 23rd!" What could that possibly mean? Surprise engagement party? Kidnapping for ransom? Reality show coming to tape us? What?

Turns out, Mike bought us tickets to see the man, the myth, the Long Island Legend, Billy Joel start off his solo tour at Madison Square Garden. I've had the good fortune to see Billy with Ally before, when he was touring with Elton John. We saw them perform at Nassau Colliseum. It was fairly funny how one-sided the performances were. I mean, you have two incredibly talented musicians and performers there, and all the crowd really wanted to see was Billy Joel. I think Elton probably realized this, and took it with a grain of salt. I don't care how famous a person is, if they come performing with Billy Joel in New York (let alone Long Island!), you may as well be God, and you'll still be an afterthought. I can just picture it:

"Performing One Time Only:
God,
In His Cosmic Majesty and Omnipotent Power, the Alpha and the Omega,
the Loving Creator, He Who Rules over Heaven and Earth

...and Billy Joel"

And there's some guy from Hicksville going, "Cool! Billy Joel!" You gotta love Long Island.

Mike Herlihy, AKA "Santa Frickin' Claus," giver of the best damn gifts of 2005! Thanks, Mike!

And what can one truly say about Billy Joel's performance? The man is simply unequalled. I feel awfully sorry for future generations, because I really don't see anyone coming along down the pike who could ever come close to reaching the greatness of Mr. Billy Joel. He and Sir Elton John, being the premier singer rock n roll songwriter pianomen of the '70's and '80's, will never have proper counterparts from our generation. When we have utter garbage being presented as genuine artists, like Ashlee Simpson, getting all the attention these days, we should expect a dearth of timeless songs from our contemporaries.

I don't know if it's somehow written into your DNA by virtue of growing up on Long Island, but you can't deny that when Billy Joel's voice washes over you in an auditorium, the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end. If you aren't somehow moved by the exquisite harmonies from "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," well... are you sure you're really a New Yorker... or alive at all? Seriously, you may want to check that out.

Billy Joel performed to a spellbound, capacity crowd at MSG, for nearly three hours. Even though he certainly had enough hits in his distinguished career to fill the whole show, he chose to space them out with some lesser-known selections, and a classy tip-of-the-hat to the late Wilson Pickett, with a great cover of "In the Midnight Hour." And, naturally, the encore was Piano Man. When he and his excellent band went silent while the houselights went up and the entirety of MSG sang the final chorus together... it gave you goosebumps, man.

Ray Charles' "Georgia On My Mind," is his home state's official song. Can we petition the same thing for "New York State of Mind"? It's about time, I'd say!

Richie "Rico" Cannata absolutely slayed on Monday. His virtuoso sax skills blew away the crowd. And his flute stylings were pretty freakin' great, too!

We had a weird sort of experience at the concert, though. The featured saxophonist, Mr. Rich, "Rico" Cannata is an acquaintance of Ally and mine. Many of you may recall that my sister's first boyfriend was Eren Cannata. During the course of their relationship, Ally and I had the pleasure of visiting Eren's home, and meeting his dad - Rico. An accomplished musician, specializing in saxophone, Rico's toured with the Beach Boys, Springsteen, and Billy Joel. Also, he happens to have been part of some of Billy's most celebrated albums, between 1976 and 1981... "Turnstiles," "The Stranger," "52nd Street," and "Glass Houses." Yes, that's Rico's sax on "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," and yes, when the sax solo flares in during "It's Still Rock n Roll to Me," and Billy screams, "All Right, Rico!" You know who he's talking to?

That's right.

Rico.

Don't believe me? Check out the back of Billy's album, "The Stranger"...


It was pretty trippy to be walking around this guy's house, with gold and platinum records hung up in spots that'd normally be decorated with inspirational placques and family portaits in La Casa de Crimmins.

This concert was also a very public reunion for Billy and Rico. What with Mr. Joel's recent difficulties with addiction, Rico had decided to keep his distance from his longtime musical collaborator and Long Island neighbor. Could you imagine saying, "Yeah, sorry Billy Joel, but I can't bring my family and go out on your yacht with you for the 4th of July... we uh, already have plans." Not too many people would actually turn down invitations to hang out with Billy, but that was the situation.

Now that Billy seems to have overcome his problems, he and Rico have apparently mended fences. So it was awesome to see them playing together, again!

Although Katie and Eren have since gone their separate ways, I couldn't help but think, "Gee, if they were still going out, Ally and I would probably be going behind the scenes after the show and meeting Billy Joel." But sacrifices like that are worth a sister's happiness.

Feedback Question of the Day:
"What makes certain activities a sport, and what doesn't? Agree? Disagree? Plus, what's your favorite Billy Joel song?"

And Billy Joel haters can feel free to move to Jersey and follow Bon Jovi on tour, for all I care.

Matrimony Fit Club, Day 1

My wedding on August 5th, 2006 is little more than six months away.

Only half a year.

Crap!

I need to get my act together.

Yikes. I'm starting to resemble Santa Claus in more than just headwear choice.

I've mentioned my ongoing battle with the bulge in several blog entries from way back. Unfortunately, I've been on-the-wagon/off-the-wagon for fitness so many times, my metabolism has pretty much thrown up its little metaphysical hands and said, "Ah, screw it!"

But I can't give up. In fact, I need to get down to changing my ways immediately, because I really don't want to appear at my wedding as Blubber McManboobs. No thanks.

1998, in my fighting trim: 5-mile-a-day jogger and hovering somewhere in 180 lbs. land. Yeah, that sexy beast in the middle was me!

1999, Stud Muffin, or Creepy Hooters Regular? Who can know for sure?

1999, Apparently, I was also quite popular with the boys as well...

Ahh, 1999... when life was simpler... and my waist was narrower.
And I only had one chin...

So what happened? How did this virile, athletic man matamorphose into the butterball squeezed into an argyle sweater depicted above? In what can only be described as an E! True Hollywood Story-type downfall, Tom's hard-partying ways and having Domino's Pizza on speed dial nearly dashed his rock-hard abs-having dreams... FOREVER!

Tom single-handedly saved a Pizzeria Uno franchise from bankruptcy in Troy, New York, with his semi-heroic deep-dish rampage of 2001. There was tomato sauce and pizza crust everywhere...

Outside this Troy, New York restaurant a memorial was erected to commemorate that historic day. Two dish washers lost their lives that day. Often mistaken for a hubcap museum, it actually features every empty pizza pan Tom ate from.

Late nights drinking Sapporo and singing Karaoke with drunken Japanese businessmen packed on scores of empty calories... and left an indelible tie mark on my forehead. And yes, that's Al with a beer.

Ninja-like, the flab on my chin decided to expand and slowly annex part of my neck...

Descending into a destructive cycle, Tom's ten canoli-a-day diet soon proved disastrous... and the undershirt/hairy chest look wasn't too pretty, either...

To "throw down the gauntlet," is an expression, meaning, "to issue a challenge." Depicted above is an actual gauntlet, which armored knights wore on their hands during the Middle Ages. It's a visual gag.
And yes, it's not very funny.

So, upon reviewing the damaged state in which I've found myself, I decided that enough is enough. The guantlet has now been officially thrown... at myself. As of right now, I'm tipping the scales at a completely unacceptable 245 lbs. My waist is an unforgivable 43 inches. My chest is an unflattering 49.5 inches. And any other measurements I'll just keep to myself. But anyway, now that it's not a secret, you won't have to wonder why I'm not going for the 40 buffalo wing platter at Hooters anymore, or that I'm not inviting anyone over for weekly Crisco eating contests (boy, that was a bad idea! I guess hindsight is 20-20, right?)



So, now that the challenge has been presented, I've decided to swallow my pride (Heck, I've pretty much swallowed everything else these last six years...) and signed up for Weight Watchers. I'll be trying my hardest to stay on track for the next six months... and more importantly, to change my lifestyle permanently: to eat healthier, and to be more active.

Here are two links that might serve as a montage for my fitness regimen... Hans 'n' Franz.

I'll share my progress in one month!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"Wish me luck!"

It Can Only Get Better From Here... Right?

If My Bank Account Had a Face...

Wow. And here I thought I was going to write a slightly preachy article about Martin Luther King Day and the movie, Crash. Boy, I had some fun thoughts running through my head. About how I was going to riff, Jerry Seinfeld-esque, about how cumbersome Dr. Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr Day is to say. About how I'd discuss the themes and excellent performances of the movie, Crash, and how acts of kindness can propagate further acts of kindness, just as acts of hatred produce more hatred. Hell, I was finally all set to give my two cents about ultra-zealous born-again Christians and why they bug me so much.

"Many Happy Miles?!" You lie, Pam! You lie!

(and yes, that Ethiopian white kid was me... once upon a time...)

But then, I happened to bring my car to the garage. My sweet, wonderful Saturn SL-1. The one-and-only "Foxy Lady." The one-time jewel of our fleet, right after we graduated Chaminade, having since been surpassed by first Wayne's Mustang, then Jim's Firebird, and later Chris's Grand Am (or Grand Prix? I always confuse the two)... but basically, everyone I know pretty much has a newer car than me. My superlative mode of conveyance for nearly nine years, which has taken me, without fail, on road trips to Washington DC, Binghamton, Troy, Villanova, Woodstock '99, Boston, Providence, Maine, Canada, and not to mention that little cross-country trip to California and back. The little green car that could, that collided into the Union Turnpike Underpass and lived to tell the tale (along with a merry little comic strip, to boot), not to mention a couple of other dingers along the way... The car that had its left-hand rearview mirror torn off TWICE within six months... the car that was mysterious towed to College Point back in the Fall of '97 because of my PARENT'S unpaid parking tickets. That same car I've locked the keys in, with the engine running, at Nassau Colliseum, on a Friday Night...

That car.

Why does it sound like I'm writing its obituary?

Because I want to kill the damn thing.

If my car were a fruit...

Not since my car blew a gasket (apparently the gasket made of diamond-encrusted gold) back in '02, have I had such an expensive trip to the garage. Because my car inspection is coming up soon, and because I no longer had any brake fluid pressure (it's a fun experience, not having breaks... no, not really) my hand was forced, and had to suck it up at the cash register. $1,300 later, my financial outlook is a little grimmer. I'm most certainly going to have to take a part-time job by the end of March, if not sooner. Of course, this might be a blessing in disguise, (a very, very expensive disguise, but a disguise nonetheless). I've been determined to stop eating junk food. I want to lose some weight and get in great shape for the wedding. Now, eating out is pretty much not an option anymore! Yay! I guess.

There are some of you out there that might be shaking their heads while reading this. Those that say, "Get a new car, Tom! It's not worth it, anymore." Ah well, since I can't work a full-time job, let alone, a well-paying job, purchasing a good car at this time isn't exactly a workable scenario. Some day, yes. But as for now, the "Foxy Lady" is just going to have to limp along, at least for the next three years. If I can just make it through the rest of medical school without another prison rape re-enactment at a Midas Station, I'll be just fine.

...Putting Bob Midas's kids through college since 1997...

Ah well, for my next post, I'll certainly try to bring back the light and funny. Thanks for reading my venting and vexations...

I'll give Dr. King his proper due next time. And what's the deal with his name? It's pretty cumbersome, "Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr." You'd think he would've settled on a title. But no, he's both Doctor and Reverend. Crazy stuff, I tell you...

Feedback Question of the Day:
"Free form today, kiddos... tell me whatever..."

Big Blues and My Birthday, Too

Okay, so much for the Giants.

But before I get started, I figure I should make a confession: frustrated blog articles and throwback Bavaro jerseys aside, I'm not a big Giants fan.

In truth, I root for them, I wear their apparel (Back in the day, I wore a royal blue Giants starter jacket (remember how popular those things were, back in the early '90's? I actually had mine stolen out of my locker - ahh, public school - along with my asthma inhaler in the inside pocket. I walked the whole way home without a jacket, which pissed my Mom off - don't ever get on the bad side of an asthmatic kid's Momma, she will destroy all trangressors. Well, anyway, Mom was waiting to pick me up at the front of the school several days later when she sees some dipshit wearing two starter jackets at once (yeah, one on top of another - what an idiot) sure enough, one of them happened to be a royal blue Giants starter jacket. (Back then, most starter jackets were black, so a bright blue one was fairly uncommon) Well, my mom actually got out of the car and approached the little thug and asked innocently, "Say! That's a nice jacket! I'd like to get one of those for my son. Where did you get it?" To which the little bastard replied, "Uh, buh... guh... rap music, jolt cola" - did I mention this was public school? Anyway, Mom then asked if she could see the inside pocket, and not surprisingly, the tag that had my name written on it was ripped off. My Mom then pulled a Linda Blair, switched on what was probably the most satanic voice my sweet mother could ever conceivably muster, and snarled, "You know, I bet there was an asthma spray in that pocket, and I bet whichever kid you took that from had to walk all the way home in the cold without his jacket or medicine, you sword-swallowing assclown! Okay, she didn't actually get to say that last bit, because as my Mom was getting revved-up, the mouth-breathing dufus realized that this strange woman wasn't really asking him where to buy the jacket, but was in fact, quite accurately accusing him of stealing it. He blubbered, "Uh yeah, I'll give it back, okay, lady?" Sure enough, I was called out of science class the very next day to the assistant principal's office and given back my royal blue Giants starter jacket. This is probably one of my Mom's lesser-known triumphs, but I'll always give her props for it. Mom rocks.) Yikes, that sure was a long tangent... anyway, about them Giants...

"Ohhhhh! I was supposed to catch the ball?!"

Truly, I'm not a terribly big sports fan. My Dad is, though. My Dad loves the Yankees and the Giants. I love my Dad. Thus, I love the Yankees and the Giants. But does my Dad love me? (just kidding, of course he does) However, I will rarely actually sit and watch an entire game, especially a regular season game. I'm happy when they win, bummed when they lose, but for the most part, the fortunes of rich athletes representing New York does not emotionally impact my life for the most part (except when the Red Sox beat the Yanks... then my day is ruined.) I think I'm much more concerned whether they win or lose because I know it matters so much to my Dad. I'm disappointed the Giants lose because I know it bothers my Dad. If my Dad's bothered, then I'm bothered. Typically, Sundays during football season in la Casa de Crimmins are dark ones, indeed.

"Oh drat, lost again. Hmm, I wonder if I should take the yacht out tomorrow...."

My Dad is quite insane, though, when it comes to football. Because, from my perspective, he seems to derive absolutely no pleasure from the experience. He doesn't cheer. Once. Even when they're winning. He always has this resigned look on his face, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or in the Giants case, the other flag to be thrown on the play. The only emotions he exhibits, other than anxious dread, are flashes of frustrated anger, when the Giants do something stupid (which can be quite often). For a man who is so easy-going and mellow, it blows my mind that he puts himself through this torture, week after week, season after season. I guess I'll never understand.

But it still sucks that the Giants went out like a bunch of punks.

Sorry Mongo, No Pinatas This Year...

And so, I have reached the hallowed age of 27. Man, ten years ago I was a junior in high school, taking driver's ed... waiting to take the SAT's... and not yet gone on a first date or any of that jazz. And I still had a year to go to see Metallica in concert for the first time. '96 was the year of Trainspotting and Beavis & Butthead Do America. It was a very good year. Where will I be at 37?

Hopefully not still living at home waiting to finish med school... that's for sure!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"What's Your Favorite Birthday Memory? A gift? A party? Uncle Jed stayed sober?"

New Year, Same Antics

"Let auld acquaintance be forgot... something, something.... Something!"

And so, the house was still standing. This past Saturday, I attempted to throw my first-ever New Year's Eve Party. It had to be done. Ally was getting tired of celebrating New Year's without me for the last six years (somehow, I always ended up working) and I didn't want to have to decide between groups of friends for New Years. So, as they say, if you want something done right... or in this case, obnoxiously, noisily, and over-the-top... do it yourself.

Despite my absurdly early start-time (4:30PM) things eventually started taking shape around 7:30. Folks from near and far were trickling in between 7 and 9. And for a while, I had more west coast friends than east coasters in my house! Jimbo, Kate, Andy, and Manda all had hoofed it from the Washington state to join in the festivities (okay, they might've been in town for other Christmasy reasons or such... how would I know?

Congrats to Manda and Andy on their Wedding Engagement!

As Chris and Mad have been so generous with their photos, I had a veritable embarassment of riches to choose from. Of course, as the night went on, I my appearances grew stranger and stranger (read: "drunker and drunker")... so here on Effin' Sweet, there'll be a bit of self-censorship as it were. Plus, I'd like those who weren't there to think that the party involved more than just me running around, red faced and wild eyed, wearing a jaunty santa hat and double fisting champagne bottles. Uh... no. That hardly happened... at all.

I'm talkin' 'bout the Chronic! What? Culs of Narnia! Baker's Dozen, Muthaf*cka!

If you don't know what I'm talkin' 'bout... check out this great SNL Music Video, "Lazy Sunday!"

Oh, the Frothy Goodness!

Though I had earlier gotten the bright idea to suggest everyone make their own "pimp cup" to drink from, a quick visit to the local craft store (and yes, I'm embarrassed about how familiar I am with those) squelched to project, as fake diamonds and gem stones are only slightly cheaper than actual ones. Being the unemployed goon that I am, I settled for a series of beer cans for the night. But Mad, provided me with a surprise pimp cup, a gigantic wine glass, whose booze capacity has not yet been easily measured. Currently, it's been shipped to Stockholm so it can be accurately calibrated by the Nobel Committee for Absurdly Oversized Drinking Containers. Who knew they actually existed?!

Cigar Walk '05: Front Row: Andrew, Mark, Kevin; Back Row: Mike, Nim, Al, Jay, Matt, Jim, Esteban, Brian, Me, Kris, and Andy (Chris is taking the shot)

I finally put a dent in my infamous cigar box from July, as I happily shared my wares with my amigos for our annual tabacco'd trek around Floral Park. The tale of the infamous cigars is thus: despite your best intentions, don't bring an American-bought box of cigars to a Cuban family party. It's sorta akin to volunteering Ragu sauce at a traditional Italian Dinner. Everyone laughs it off with a sort of "who invited that guy?" kinda look.

And in the category of things I never thought I'd see again: Kris Liard on Long Island and Michelle drinking a beer!

Happy reunions abounded as our good buddy from back-in-the-day, Kris, triumphantly returned from weird, wacky world of Ohio. Yes... that's someplace west of Manhattan... I'm not exactly sure where, though. All kidding aside, it was great to see the lad again, even temporarily.

"She pulled out the DVD... then I pulled out my berretta!"

The White Elephant Gifts went off with nary a hitch this year, with several memorable contributions. Andy got a Zombie Survival Guide, Chris got Spider-Man web shooters... and Mad once again flexed her creative muscles and lent her skills to a five-part White Elephant Gift that culminated with a set of three "portable, hand-held urinals!" However, the true jewel of the evening was Erin's pick - "R. Kelly's Trapped in the Clost" the DVD! Put in by Kat, it turned out to be a fun way to finish out the evening... a 20 minute laugh-fest involving infidelity, midgets, Bridgets, gay pastors, and berrettas. Despite his child-molesting tendencies, R. Kelly is arguably the comic genius of our times. Touche' Dave Chappelle!

Thanks to one and all for joining us for ringing in 2006. If the party was any indication... this should be an awesome year indeed!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"If you could go back and change one thing you did last year, what would it be?"