The Guardian’s Philly-based Steven Wells has penned a scathing, if not right-on-the-money column or several dozen that’ve been quoted at length in this space, and his October 1 review of Sal Paolantonio’s “How Football Explains America” (“there are many contenders for the title of worst sports book ever…I reckon this has to be a serious contender”) is certain to be a crowd pleaser with his Yankee readers.
The actual chapters of How Football Explains America are all but unreadable. Paolantonio rehashes a game or a heartwarming football-related anecdote with the gusto of the true bore. Then he explains why this explains how football explains the battle of Midway. Or Davy Crockett. Or manifest destiny. Each chapter more tedious than the last.
The prologue is a masterpiece of bombastic ignorance in which Paolantonio inadvertently reveals that he has apparently never actually watched any other sport. Or indeed read about them.
In the introduction we learn from Paolantonio that soccer is so boring that fans have to start fights and embrace fascism just to stay awake and that a founding principle of American football is “relinquishing the ball quickly to the other team”. This will puzzle anybody who’s sat through the drawn-out rigmarole of both sides quitting the field and the sending on of two entirely different teams (while the crowd are distracted by clowns and dancing girls, Frisbee-catching dogs and mascots firing T-shirts out of bazookas).
We also learn that American football is replete with the “underlining mythical structures” of “our Judeo Christian heritage”, “our immigrant experience”, “masculinity and violence” and “the romanticized storyline that Americans demand from their television sets every night”.
Which makes perfect sense ” especially when you realise that America is the only country in the world with Jews, Christians, immigrants, men and television sets.
This reminds me of the Sokal Affair.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sokal_affair
Also, I just learned that if you add roughly 30 minutes to the time of GC’s last post, there’s a good chance you’re about to see him out and about.
Science.
Hey David Williams,
I want you to know something about GC. He’s about as big of a fucking fraud as you can get. Have you ever heard of Michael Stipe? Well Michael Stipe is a paragon of virtue compared to this cunt. Seriously, if I won the Powerball tomorrow, I’d pay $25 million for this idiot to suck my balls and I bet he’d do it for $10. Look for me to be banned from hissuck-ass site soon.
P&B,
I hope this qualifies as soon enough. It’s always a blast to be called a fraud by someone who can’t sign their own name to such bold statements.
GC
p.s. – I’d have done it for $5
I’ll give you 10 cents.
My name is Aaron Ranna, and I live in Tigard, Oregon. I’m an inside sales rep for a company called Hampton Business Products. Now you know all about me.
I still say that you are a pussy who talks a lot of shit, but in the end is responsible for causing “the Liz Phair problem.”
So now that I’ve signed my own name, please, by all means show me what you’ve got, Ger Ger.
fuck you, you banned me already?
Well?????
Let’s go you miserable toad.
By all means, please tell my why you’re so much cooler than me.
Fucking tool.
Right, that’s what I thought Ger Ger.
You know what? Fuck you GC…
Aaron Ranna
11430 SW Bull Mtn Rd
Tigard, OR 97224
What’s your address, GC?
when you go thru airport security, does your tinfoil hat make the alarm go off every time?
Was there a specific day you decided you were cured and no longer needed to take your medication?
I’m sure Sal’s “insights” are a welcome addition to my alma mater’s “Master of Writing Studies” program. I can only imagine the poor souls who sign up for his class thinking that he’s their ticket to ESPN.
Torky? Torky Koennings??
I’ve never heard of this Michael Stipe. Is he in Air Supply, by any chance?
Who knew the Wilpons also had problem with Liz Phair? This place is so damned informative?
Wait. What’s going on? Why are you all shouting at each other?
Doesn’t Malkmus live in Oregon? I challenge you to a NY Times crossword-solving match, the prize: GC’s “soul.”
I also realized what the “Liz Phair Problem” is: the ‘problem’ I have whenever I gaze lovingly upon the record cover. Or that one particular Polaroid shot of her in the insert.
Yeah. That problem.
Please note that according to google sat view, this gentleman lives in a field, near a tree. Or has to take Beef Bend Rd. to get home.
Mr. Wells, what can I tell you? Some folks have a tendency to go off topic a bit when there’s an axe to grind.
Seriously though, had I known I was tangling with THE Aaron Ranna (of the Tigrad, OR Rannas), I would’ve shut this entire operation down several days ago and found a new outlet for my spare time (Liz Phair Phan Club Prez, perhaps?).
Much as I appreciate Mr. Ranna supplying his home addresss, I’m not sure what the point is — it’s not like you can exhange blowjobs via the US Postal Service, Aaron. But pardon me if I’m reluctant to follow suit. If persons (ie. kooks) wanna contact me, it’s pretty easy to do so. Not supplying them with Google maps directions to my abode is neither cowardly nor inconsistent. It’s just common sense.
I’m no sales rep for Hampton Business Products, granted, but I’ve also never claimed to be cooler than anyone else. Not even a character whom during his very brief tenure posting comments to CSTB has revealed himself to be a) a size queen, b) a tad hung up on the notion that cock sucking = weakness.
Either way, it’s good to know that among my myriad of aesthetic crimes, being responsible for “The Liz Phair Problem” ranks high on one crazed loner’s list (that’s right, Steven, he forgot Belle & Sebastian.)
none of this explains why you hate teenage fanclub however.
So this guy who lives in a field wants to beat you up because you’ve got shit taste in music?
That would be barbaric. He wants me to fellate his baloney pony because my musical taste sucks.
Hate TFC? I think not. Just because of one “contractual obligation” album? The GC that I know is bigger than that. And yet, somehow life-sized.
Why are we picking on mr. stipe? Why can’t we all just got back to how it used to be and pick on moby?
Either that or make fun of bright eyes. You choose.
Today, I choose bright eyes.
In the end, you challenged me for my anonymous criticism of you. I gave you my ACTUAL NAME AND HOME ADDRESS…..You don’t have the sac to do the same? Are you afraid of me?
You are clearly a spineless cunt.
Anyway, just like I said earlier, you are a complete intellectual fraud.
The majority of your readers would blow you if you had herpes (and you probably do) because you’ve been involved with such “cool” groups. But in the end, you are a complete fucking tool who lives alone in Austin, TX, of all places with a bunch of cats. Holy shit, I thought I wanted to commit suicide, I guess my life ain’t so bad!
Guess what? I met you one time Gerry. Years ago. You were easily one of the top ten assholes I’ve ever had the misfortune of being around.
Thanks for bringing up the cock sucking. I was already sure that you were a racist, but now I know about your homophobia.
Wow, I was having a tough day because of the stock market, but you provided some much needed comedy. Never forget Ger Ger, you are even more inconsequential than me, and that’s saying something you fucking clown.
I want you to know that I forgive you for failing to have the balls to give up you’re home address when I’ve challenged you, I mean, you’ve got a shitty record company to run and a phony image to upkeep.
Fucking Tool.
Seriously though,
could there be a bigger fraud than Gerry?
I mean, is it possible?
Even Mets fans think he’s a fucking tool (I know a few of them).
I have no problem with you censoring me, I’d just like you to finally admit that you’re a racist and a homophobe. I’m sorry that several people have told me this about you, but I feel it is important to let everyone know your true colors. Sorry 🙁
Dear Sir or Madam,
seems to me that someone called “Aaron” (if that is your actual name — you’ve supplied a moniker only after a few weeks of pseudononymous posting) has little room to be making fun of someone’s else name. But at least we know where the complex is coming from.
I fail to understand what purpose supplying my home address would serve — unlike you, I reside somewhere near civilization and I kinda like the idea of living without uninvited parties turning up. My comment about your anonymous posts was easy enough for most halfway sane persons to figure out. I didn’t ask for your home address, but I do appreciate that you felt it important to let the public know you live in what appears to be a Pacific N.W. version of Kirk Van Houten’s Bachelors Arms. I found it curious that I was being called a fraud by someone who couldn’t be bothered to sign his or her own name. Now that you’ve done so, not for a minute have I wondered, “who the fuck is this guy?” ’cause frankly, I don’t care. If this week’s King Of The Internet Trolls has a low opinion of me, I think I can live with that.
“in the end, you are a complete fucking tool who lives alone in Austin, TX, of all places with a bunch of cats”
correction. You forgot the dogs and the ferrets. Admittedly, Austin’s not nearly as cosmopolitan as Tigard, OR, but we’re making progress by the day. Two cats is hardly “a bunch”, and though I like to dress one of ’em like Pete Rose and the other as Buddy Harrelson, said hobbies are no more or less desperately loserish than your interweb trash talking in the middle of the night.
Your accusations of racism and homophobia (keep in mind, this is coming from someone who seems utterly fixated on paying me to suck his balls — and keeps lowering the price!) are based on what, exactly? “several people have told me this about you”. Do they work at “Hampton Business Products”, too? Seriously, man, I’m sorry you’re having a rough time in the stock market, but I think your imaginary friends have given you some bad information or perhaps have me mixed up with someone else.
I realize this has been internet gold for a few of you, but I’m gonna close this particularly thread in the interests of needing time to do something beside monitor the alleged Mr. Ranna’s ramblings. For one thing, I’ve got that shitty record company to attend to (not to mention the phony image to maintain), and for another, it seems a crying shame a correspondent with soooo very much to say would limit his commentary to this space. Surely the public — his employer, family and friends included — are dying for him to start a blog of his very own.