The spanking new trailer for G.I Joe 2 was released today. Excited, I watched it. Well, some of it. Up to the part around the White House, then I stopped. It runs just shy of three minutes and I guess the last 3rd of so is an action montage. It's an action movie, you gotta show some action. SOME action. Not ALL the action.
A week or so ago my girlfriend and I went to see The Muppets. In the trailers beforehand they previewed the new Tin Tin movie, which I am also excited about (more so than G.I Joe 2) I closed my eyes because I didn't want to see any of it, at all. I had my eyes shut for so long I started to wonder if I had fallen into a coma. It went on. And on.
I love trailers, I do. Get some nice teasing images in there, a funny or dramatic line, some cool music. The best trailers can leave you really pumped and wanting more...which is the key, I think. When you see a trailer, the purpose of watching it is to leave you wanting more. But if you're showing me a clip from every scene in the film, what's left to wonder about?
It's not going to change, I accept that. This is the way things are, it's just a shame. Who asked for longer trailers? Maybe they need to be longer to hold the modern mind's attention and commit things to memory;
"The more we throw in their faces, the more likely they are to remember part of it!".
Not me, I'm closing my eyes. And next time I'm taking ear plugs.
Monday 12 December 2011
Monday 5 December 2011
The More Things Stay The Same (pt.3)
This is the conclusion to a new, three part series called The More Things Stay The Same.
Kids these days. You've seen them, the way they dress, the crap they listen to, and don't even talk to me about how disobedient they are. Back in my day music was proper, movies had class and we bloody well knew what funny was. And by golly children respected their elders. These days nothing makes any sense, "Black Eyed Peas", what kind of name for a band is that? And I don't particularly know, or care to know, what a "Jersey Shore" is but it can't be anything good.
Who would of guessed today's generation of youngsters would be the worst thing to come along in the last several eons. Before 1990 every child knew their place, spoke when spoken to and did all their chores. Ate their greens too, or so I've heard. If the modern youth are what the future holds for the world then I fear for civilization and civility. Thank goodness the generations that preceded the little punks managed to keep the world in a stable and pleasant state for as long as they did.
My mother recalled to me once, how my grandfather had made a similar observation regarding the shape of things, in particular the entertainment during what was then the early 1970's. What are now considered indisputable classics were utter nonsense in his eyes. For the likes of Monty Python, now the epitome of comedy, perhaps we can sympathize to a certain degree, of course my grandfather also made a point to criticize the horrendous music of the day, a lively troupe of hip young gentlemen who called themselves The Beatles.
Surely my grandfather was an anomaly of the time, a rare individual indeed. After all, who in their right mind would be bold enough, dare I say tasteless enough, to not enjoy the hilarious comedy stylings of John Cleese and company, or dance excitedly to Can't Buy Me Love? However, perhaps his brand of old school perspective wasn't so uncommon, it was less than a decade earlier when the rise of a long haired groovy bunch of people called The Hippie caused a rather righteous stir. Not an exception then, my grandfather, but surely the first of his kind, the 1960's erupting in a cultural revolution, parents being confused and revolted by the tastes and actions of their children. Certainly, before the time of the Hippie, there had never been any of these rebels. Without cause, at least.
Despite my sarcasm, there is some level of truth to the words above. Before the 1950's most of the Western world's youth were preoccupied with World War Two and before that it was common place to work and marry young. It would be exaggeration to say teenagers of those bygone days were working full time and dealing with their twelve children immediately after growing out of their diapers, but not much by today's standards. As best we can tell from history and the completely unbiased words of our grandparents, kids pre-World War Two enjoyed the music of their parents and spent what little free time they had (the time between walking twenty miles to school in the snow with no shoes and getting paid tuppence for the seventeen hour shift in the coal mine) working hard and being polite.
Not that dressing in bright colours and watching TV shows with swear words is the only way to upset one's parents, it's simply a less traditional way, or it was fifty years ago. Questioning religious beliefs, bold new career choice, or even marrying for love instead of any tangible benefit have all been effective techniques for inducing loud and irritable variations of "kids these days!" for thousands of years. Kids these days may walk and talk differently, they may laugh at what would once have been considered wildly offensive or thrash their heads to noise that gets labeled music in name only. Kids these days are louder and more stark with their differences, more common due only to the continuing rise in population, and more obvious thanks to the medias ability to coat the world instantly, but I doubt their intent is any different to the youth of generations previous.
The more things change...
Kids these days. You've seen them, the way they dress, the crap they listen to, and don't even talk to me about how disobedient they are. Back in my day music was proper, movies had class and we bloody well knew what funny was. And by golly children respected their elders. These days nothing makes any sense, "Black Eyed Peas", what kind of name for a band is that? And I don't particularly know, or care to know, what a "Jersey Shore" is but it can't be anything good.
Who would of guessed today's generation of youngsters would be the worst thing to come along in the last several eons. Before 1990 every child knew their place, spoke when spoken to and did all their chores. Ate their greens too, or so I've heard. If the modern youth are what the future holds for the world then I fear for civilization and civility. Thank goodness the generations that preceded the little punks managed to keep the world in a stable and pleasant state for as long as they did.
My mother recalled to me once, how my grandfather had made a similar observation regarding the shape of things, in particular the entertainment during what was then the early 1970's. What are now considered indisputable classics were utter nonsense in his eyes. For the likes of Monty Python, now the epitome of comedy, perhaps we can sympathize to a certain degree, of course my grandfather also made a point to criticize the horrendous music of the day, a lively troupe of hip young gentlemen who called themselves The Beatles.
Surely my grandfather was an anomaly of the time, a rare individual indeed. After all, who in their right mind would be bold enough, dare I say tasteless enough, to not enjoy the hilarious comedy stylings of John Cleese and company, or dance excitedly to Can't Buy Me Love? However, perhaps his brand of old school perspective wasn't so uncommon, it was less than a decade earlier when the rise of a long haired groovy bunch of people called The Hippie caused a rather righteous stir. Not an exception then, my grandfather, but surely the first of his kind, the 1960's erupting in a cultural revolution, parents being confused and revolted by the tastes and actions of their children. Certainly, before the time of the Hippie, there had never been any of these rebels. Without cause, at least.
Despite my sarcasm, there is some level of truth to the words above. Before the 1950's most of the Western world's youth were preoccupied with World War Two and before that it was common place to work and marry young. It would be exaggeration to say teenagers of those bygone days were working full time and dealing with their twelve children immediately after growing out of their diapers, but not much by today's standards. As best we can tell from history and the completely unbiased words of our grandparents, kids pre-World War Two enjoyed the music of their parents and spent what little free time they had (the time between walking twenty miles to school in the snow with no shoes and getting paid tuppence for the seventeen hour shift in the coal mine) working hard and being polite.
Not that dressing in bright colours and watching TV shows with swear words is the only way to upset one's parents, it's simply a less traditional way, or it was fifty years ago. Questioning religious beliefs, bold new career choice, or even marrying for love instead of any tangible benefit have all been effective techniques for inducing loud and irritable variations of "kids these days!" for thousands of years. Kids these days may walk and talk differently, they may laugh at what would once have been considered wildly offensive or thrash their heads to noise that gets labeled music in name only. Kids these days are louder and more stark with their differences, more common due only to the continuing rise in population, and more obvious thanks to the medias ability to coat the world instantly, but I doubt their intent is any different to the youth of generations previous.
"The world is passing through troublous times. The young people of today think of nothing but themselves. They have no reverence for parents or old age. They are impatient of all restraint. They talk as if they knew everything, and what passes for wisdom with us is foolishness with them. As for the girls, they are forward, immodest and unladylike in speech, behavior and dress." -Peter the Hermit, 1274 A.D (source)
The more things change...
Friday 2 December 2011
The More Things Stay The Same (pt.2)
This is part two of a new, three part series called The More Things Stay The Same.
Not knowing any other language, I'm going to stick to discussing English. I will however make the wild and completely baseless assumption that what follows applies to a great many other languages, if not all of them. The English language (See: All languages) is being butchered. People today, MTV and that rap nonsense have ruined the way we converse. And don't even get me started on that internet. Lol.
Maybe 'butchered' and 'ruined' lack the necessary impact to truly convey how bad the situation is. It's probably due to my modern day vocabulary that I fail in this instance, honestly I'm surprised I didn't just tell you how much it totally sucks. No doubt any one of my ancestors would employ a word far more impressive to describe the current decimation the English language has been suffering the past twenty odd years.
The above complaint isn't restricted to a disgruntled few born before the early eighties. Ironically, a great many people my own age, and younger, believe the direction English is heading in is not only detrimental to the advancement of future generations but a sure sign that the bulk of today's youth grow increasingly stupid, much more so than our far more eloquent forebearers. Ignoring the fact that world illiteracy rates consistently decrease every year the core issue is less about who can actually read and write, but what it is they're reading and writing. Wtf.
A kid who grew up in the nineties, speaks like a kid who grew up in the nineties. This is a hard pill to swallow for some of those who grew up in the sixties. Like myself, you've probably sat as children of previous eras, then grownups in your eyes, have adamantly stated with absolute certainty and conviction that their children speak in a confusing and idiotic fashion. It seems likely then, that every generation before theirs also spoke in the exact same manner, of course this is a ludicrous statement. A kid who grew up in the sixties speaks like a kid who grew up in the sixties, not like a kid who grew up in the 40's.
Naturally, a good portion of those nineties kids will grow up and complain about the way these crazy kids of the 00's are ruining English for everyone. Language evolves. I don't speak the way my grandparents did, and I doubt they speak the way theirs did. Attempt to read something from the Middle Ages some time, to modern minds it's barely comprehensible. Readable, certainly, you might know all the words, but no one outside of a Renfaire has spoken that way in hundreds of years. If language didn't change, if each generation didn't find it's own way of communicating, we would all still be grunting at one another, a series of oogs and gahs. Bogo the caveman probably wasn't too impressed when he overheard his kids saying 'Hello' to the neighbors.
Peace out, yo.
Not knowing any other language, I'm going to stick to discussing English. I will however make the wild and completely baseless assumption that what follows applies to a great many other languages, if not all of them. The English language (See: All languages) is being butchered. People today, MTV and that rap nonsense have ruined the way we converse. And don't even get me started on that internet. Lol.
Maybe 'butchered' and 'ruined' lack the necessary impact to truly convey how bad the situation is. It's probably due to my modern day vocabulary that I fail in this instance, honestly I'm surprised I didn't just tell you how much it totally sucks. No doubt any one of my ancestors would employ a word far more impressive to describe the current decimation the English language has been suffering the past twenty odd years.
The above complaint isn't restricted to a disgruntled few born before the early eighties. Ironically, a great many people my own age, and younger, believe the direction English is heading in is not only detrimental to the advancement of future generations but a sure sign that the bulk of today's youth grow increasingly stupid, much more so than our far more eloquent forebearers. Ignoring the fact that world illiteracy rates consistently decrease every year the core issue is less about who can actually read and write, but what it is they're reading and writing. Wtf.
A kid who grew up in the nineties, speaks like a kid who grew up in the nineties. This is a hard pill to swallow for some of those who grew up in the sixties. Like myself, you've probably sat as children of previous eras, then grownups in your eyes, have adamantly stated with absolute certainty and conviction that their children speak in a confusing and idiotic fashion. It seems likely then, that every generation before theirs also spoke in the exact same manner, of course this is a ludicrous statement. A kid who grew up in the sixties speaks like a kid who grew up in the sixties, not like a kid who grew up in the 40's.
Naturally, a good portion of those nineties kids will grow up and complain about the way these crazy kids of the 00's are ruining English for everyone. Language evolves. I don't speak the way my grandparents did, and I doubt they speak the way theirs did. Attempt to read something from the Middle Ages some time, to modern minds it's barely comprehensible. Readable, certainly, you might know all the words, but no one outside of a Renfaire has spoken that way in hundreds of years. If language didn't change, if each generation didn't find it's own way of communicating, we would all still be grunting at one another, a series of oogs and gahs. Bogo the caveman probably wasn't too impressed when he overheard his kids saying 'Hello' to the neighbors.
Peace out, yo.
Tuesday 29 November 2011
The More Things Stay The Same (pt.1)
This is part one of a new, three part series called The More Things Stay The Same.
I'll tell you right now, I have no idea what the deal is with the Mayan calender, and I didn't see the movie 2012 starring John Cusak, although based purely off watching the trailer, I doubt the film explained anything about it. Or mentioned the calender at all. I *could* look it up, but the Aztec calender is just one example of a long, long line of things that continue to drive people up the wall with predictions of the ever pending apocalypse.
In the late nineties it was Y2K, in the fifties it was nuclear annihilation, in 1910, or there abouts, it was Haley's Comet, and before that it was mostly some fashion of religious disaster. These days it's either global warming, some new animalistic strain of flu or that uppity calender. We're an amazingly paranoid species. Excluding a large comet, or perhaps God throwing a tantrum, none of the above mentioned dooms day scenarios would be enough to completely end the world. A raging super virus or everyone simultaneously loosing access to Justin Bieber's Twitter feed would certainly cause no small amount of chaos, but it would scarcely manage to bring the ultimate finality to life on Earth.
Consider a contagious plague ripping its merry way through humanity. Regardless of where it began, be it a small island or a continent, it would be very nearly impossible for the virus to attack every single human being. Even if we were slow to act, failing to shut down international travel quickly, or not properly quarantining the first effected area(s), there are still remote communities the world over that have very little contact with the outside world, or at the very least take more than a single plane trip to get to. That's not just the few remaining tribes in places like the Amazon and Papa New Guinea that throw spears at helicopters we're talking about here, there are thousands of small townships and settlements the world over, Africa, Eastern Europe, The Middle East, and even remote towns in rural areas that could either easily protect themselves or simply wouldn't get visitors. Then there's oil rigs, ships, islands. In the Philippines alone there are over 7000 separate islands. Whether it be a naturally developed flu type virus or some kind of super terrorist plague you might not do so great, but you can at least take some consolation that not everyone is doomed.
Perhaps our fear of Armageddon is down to a simple case of everyday exaggeration. I'm not hungry I'm starving, it's world war three in there, Avatar is the best movie ever, etc. Even if every nuclear weapon on the planet went off at the same time there'd still be plenty of places humans could live comfortably. Since the late 1940's the United States have tested hundreds of warheads in their own backyard, it certainly left parts of the western deserts a little worse for wear but there are millions of people living just around the corner.
A skeptical person may suggest that the idea of a world ending event was created by authorities, be they government, religious or both, to keep the plebs in line. Ceasing spraying too much Raid on that pesky fly, lest it bring forth the four horsemen, is certainly a more efficient way of getting your warning across than having to explain the ozone layer in great, confusing detail.
As to why we continue to seemingly leap into hysterics and claim the end of the world is upon us at every opportunity, that probably has less to do with any grand manipulative conspiracy and more to do with immediate danger. Most of the terrible ever looming predictions of apocalypse do have plenty of potential to wipe out a good chunk of the population, but not all of it. Maybe it's not the end of the world we fear so much, as the end of our little slice of it.
The end is nigh, and it has been for a really, really long time.
I'll tell you right now, I have no idea what the deal is with the Mayan calender, and I didn't see the movie 2012 starring John Cusak, although based purely off watching the trailer, I doubt the film explained anything about it. Or mentioned the calender at all. I *could* look it up, but the Aztec calender is just one example of a long, long line of things that continue to drive people up the wall with predictions of the ever pending apocalypse.
In the late nineties it was Y2K, in the fifties it was nuclear annihilation, in 1910, or there abouts, it was Haley's Comet, and before that it was mostly some fashion of religious disaster. These days it's either global warming, some new animalistic strain of flu or that uppity calender. We're an amazingly paranoid species. Excluding a large comet, or perhaps God throwing a tantrum, none of the above mentioned dooms day scenarios would be enough to completely end the world. A raging super virus or everyone simultaneously loosing access to Justin Bieber's Twitter feed would certainly cause no small amount of chaos, but it would scarcely manage to bring the ultimate finality to life on Earth.
Consider a contagious plague ripping its merry way through humanity. Regardless of where it began, be it a small island or a continent, it would be very nearly impossible for the virus to attack every single human being. Even if we were slow to act, failing to shut down international travel quickly, or not properly quarantining the first effected area(s), there are still remote communities the world over that have very little contact with the outside world, or at the very least take more than a single plane trip to get to. That's not just the few remaining tribes in places like the Amazon and Papa New Guinea that throw spears at helicopters we're talking about here, there are thousands of small townships and settlements the world over, Africa, Eastern Europe, The Middle East, and even remote towns in rural areas that could either easily protect themselves or simply wouldn't get visitors. Then there's oil rigs, ships, islands. In the Philippines alone there are over 7000 separate islands. Whether it be a naturally developed flu type virus or some kind of super terrorist plague you might not do so great, but you can at least take some consolation that not everyone is doomed.
Perhaps our fear of Armageddon is down to a simple case of everyday exaggeration. I'm not hungry I'm starving, it's world war three in there, Avatar is the best movie ever, etc. Even if every nuclear weapon on the planet went off at the same time there'd still be plenty of places humans could live comfortably. Since the late 1940's the United States have tested hundreds of warheads in their own backyard, it certainly left parts of the western deserts a little worse for wear but there are millions of people living just around the corner.
A skeptical person may suggest that the idea of a world ending event was created by authorities, be they government, religious or both, to keep the plebs in line. Ceasing spraying too much Raid on that pesky fly, lest it bring forth the four horsemen, is certainly a more efficient way of getting your warning across than having to explain the ozone layer in great, confusing detail.
As to why we continue to seemingly leap into hysterics and claim the end of the world is upon us at every opportunity, that probably has less to do with any grand manipulative conspiracy and more to do with immediate danger. Most of the terrible ever looming predictions of apocalypse do have plenty of potential to wipe out a good chunk of the population, but not all of it. Maybe it's not the end of the world we fear so much, as the end of our little slice of it.
The end is nigh, and it has been for a really, really long time.
Sunday 27 November 2011
Future All Black
I've never been much for sport, playing or watching. Especially playing. Somewhere in my parents house, in one of several suitcases filled with photos from the last few decades, there is a picture of yours truly at the tender age of 4-5, wearing a t-shirt declaring that I am a "Future All Black." Looking at me now, some 20+ years later, that particular Kodak moment serves a comical irony. No, being on New Zealand's number one rugby team was never to be. Don't get me wrong, I played outside and climbed trees, but eventually it was video games, movies and comic books that piqued my interest.
In fact, growing up in such a sports mad country, it was easy to not only lack any interest, but also resent sports as a whole. I resented being forced to play at school, I resented the evening news spending equal amounts of time on sport as it did world events, and I really resented that any time a cricket game was on they'd interrupt my afternoon cartoons for it. My widely advertised dislike even made it to TV by way of text message, where on an episode of 'Flipside' (a long since cancelled news/entertainment show aimed at kids and teenagers) every message that scrolled along the bottom of the screen hailed the All Blacks as heroes. In my anti-sport bitterness I made the point that a hero is someone who saves a life, does something courageous, not trollies about with a ball.
Bad enough then, there was no getting away from it on my beloved TV, or that every other kid seemed intent on running with a ball too, but they wanted me to play. Good lord, I could scarcely have thought of a worse way to spend my time. It wasn't so much the physical exertion that bothered me, although that certainly didn't help sell it, but the rules, competition and inherent seriousness that came with it all. Running around at home, climbing trees, playing catch with my Dad, those will forever be some of my fondest memories, but that loathsome sense of order and competitiveness that went hand in hand with any organized sport irked me. Why take it so damn seriously, I wondered, "it's just a game".
If you read the blog regularly, you'll know that in late 2010 I moved from my home in New Zealand to be with my girl Strawberry, all the way to Canada. The move had a lot of benefits big and small, one of the smaller benefits being I had narrowly avoided the Rugby World Cup by a few short months. The 2011 Rugby World Cup would be hosted right in the heart of my home town and I couldn't imagine a worse time to be an anti-fan. Yes, Canada, my wonderful sportless paradise at the top of the world...except for all the hockey.
For Strawberry's benefit, I'd give hockey a shot. It took some time, but hockey slowly became less than not completely uninteresting. It's fast paced, which instantly made it better than a lot of other sports, the players fight a lot and people often fall down, brownie points in my book. As I began to learn the rules it became more interesting to watch, if only because I could tell what was going on (in both the game and the conversations at work). After a good few games I even found myself clapping enthusiastically when the team scored. Still, I couldn't quite forget the things I didn't like.
I wanted to be excited, to cheer and leap off my seat, but the closer I got to it, the more I knew, the more things I found to dislike. The hypocrisy, the anger, the conditional loyalty, none of which are unique to just hockey. With so much negativity surrounding sport, at least in an admittedly (perhaps overly) cynical view I couldn't see the point of investing myself. I couldn't see why anyone would give so much emotion, so much money, so much time, so much of their life, to something so pointless.
With somewhere in the range of twenty years worth of contempt for sport, an epiphany was short coming. Then I remembered those days throwing a tennis ball back and forth with my Dad. There were no rules, no trophies, no fans, why bother? Heck, you couldn't even win at playing catch, and if it's not about winning, what the heck could sport be about? Oddly enough, I already learned this lesson back when I was sporting the Future All Black t-shirt. It's about a common goal...so to speak.
Human beings are social creatures, and we love a good cause to rally behind. As much as we hate our enemies, we love to love the person standing next to us and cheering with just as much gusto to see our enemies defeated. Knowing one person shares your hope strengthens your own, and seeing several thousand others makes you part of something bigger. Like anything, sport is not without it's problems, and on it's surface the people running around hitting each other are still doing nothing more than playing a game. Or just doing exactly what it is they're paid to do. Sport is also about strangers high-fiving each other in the street, about families roaring excitedly at the TV, about heated and enthusiastic discussion, about gathering with friends. About playing catch with your Dad.
I'm not sure if I'll ever go so far as to be a full blown fan, or ever lose all my cynicism, but I think I've figured out what sports fans already knew. At the heart of it, the point isn't to get the ball in the net or see who can scream louder at the TV, or even about ruining my afternoon cartoons. The point is bringing people together. And that's pretty darn special.
In fact, growing up in such a sports mad country, it was easy to not only lack any interest, but also resent sports as a whole. I resented being forced to play at school, I resented the evening news spending equal amounts of time on sport as it did world events, and I really resented that any time a cricket game was on they'd interrupt my afternoon cartoons for it. My widely advertised dislike even made it to TV by way of text message, where on an episode of 'Flipside' (a long since cancelled news/entertainment show aimed at kids and teenagers) every message that scrolled along the bottom of the screen hailed the All Blacks as heroes. In my anti-sport bitterness I made the point that a hero is someone who saves a life, does something courageous, not trollies about with a ball.
Bad enough then, there was no getting away from it on my beloved TV, or that every other kid seemed intent on running with a ball too, but they wanted me to play. Good lord, I could scarcely have thought of a worse way to spend my time. It wasn't so much the physical exertion that bothered me, although that certainly didn't help sell it, but the rules, competition and inherent seriousness that came with it all. Running around at home, climbing trees, playing catch with my Dad, those will forever be some of my fondest memories, but that loathsome sense of order and competitiveness that went hand in hand with any organized sport irked me. Why take it so damn seriously, I wondered, "it's just a game".
If you read the blog regularly, you'll know that in late 2010 I moved from my home in New Zealand to be with my girl Strawberry, all the way to Canada. The move had a lot of benefits big and small, one of the smaller benefits being I had narrowly avoided the Rugby World Cup by a few short months. The 2011 Rugby World Cup would be hosted right in the heart of my home town and I couldn't imagine a worse time to be an anti-fan. Yes, Canada, my wonderful sportless paradise at the top of the world...except for all the hockey.
For Strawberry's benefit, I'd give hockey a shot. It took some time, but hockey slowly became less than not completely uninteresting. It's fast paced, which instantly made it better than a lot of other sports, the players fight a lot and people often fall down, brownie points in my book. As I began to learn the rules it became more interesting to watch, if only because I could tell what was going on (in both the game and the conversations at work). After a good few games I even found myself clapping enthusiastically when the team scored. Still, I couldn't quite forget the things I didn't like.
I wanted to be excited, to cheer and leap off my seat, but the closer I got to it, the more I knew, the more things I found to dislike. The hypocrisy, the anger, the conditional loyalty, none of which are unique to just hockey. With so much negativity surrounding sport, at least in an admittedly (perhaps overly) cynical view I couldn't see the point of investing myself. I couldn't see why anyone would give so much emotion, so much money, so much time, so much of their life, to something so pointless.
With somewhere in the range of twenty years worth of contempt for sport, an epiphany was short coming. Then I remembered those days throwing a tennis ball back and forth with my Dad. There were no rules, no trophies, no fans, why bother? Heck, you couldn't even win at playing catch, and if it's not about winning, what the heck could sport be about? Oddly enough, I already learned this lesson back when I was sporting the Future All Black t-shirt. It's about a common goal...so to speak.
Human beings are social creatures, and we love a good cause to rally behind. As much as we hate our enemies, we love to love the person standing next to us and cheering with just as much gusto to see our enemies defeated. Knowing one person shares your hope strengthens your own, and seeing several thousand others makes you part of something bigger. Like anything, sport is not without it's problems, and on it's surface the people running around hitting each other are still doing nothing more than playing a game. Or just doing exactly what it is they're paid to do. Sport is also about strangers high-fiving each other in the street, about families roaring excitedly at the TV, about heated and enthusiastic discussion, about gathering with friends. About playing catch with your Dad.
I'm not sure if I'll ever go so far as to be a full blown fan, or ever lose all my cynicism, but I think I've figured out what sports fans already knew. At the heart of it, the point isn't to get the ball in the net or see who can scream louder at the TV, or even about ruining my afternoon cartoons. The point is bringing people together. And that's pretty darn special.
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