What Jersey Shore taught me about UH Hoops

I watched my first episode of MTV's Jersey Shore on Monday.

Oh. My. Lord.

I'd often heard the show discussed. I had a vague familiarity with the various characters. I thought I knew what to expect.

I did not.

I was under the mistaken impression that Jersey Shore was a TV show when, in actuality, it is a human science experiment, like Bio Sphere sans the Sphere. It answers the question, "What happens when you take eight self-absorbed, image obsessed, testosterone fueled (that includes the women) alcoholics with liberal attitudes towards performance enhancing drugs, drop them in a house together in the epicenter of misogynist hedonism and provide them unlimited access to alcohol?"

The significance of the results is lost in translation. You have to actually sit down and experience Jersey Shore to understand the unbelievable amount of bizarre humanity packed into one sixty minute dumpster fire of hyper-reality.

Every episode delivers a staggering number of cultural insights that have to be seen to be believed.

...like the importance of the fist pump and how, when properly executed, it can take a party to new heights.

...or that you can buy hair gel by the pallet.

...that with a hot tub, charisma, nice abs and enough alcohol, you can achieve anything.

...that sausage and peppers is correctly pronounced "sah-sedge and peh-pas".

...that performance enhancing drugs aren't exclusively for men anymore.

...what a Snooki is and its incredible ability to create chaos in the midst of calm.

...that my clothes need approximately 247 percent more glitter

...and that the eventual downfall of civilization is less eventual than I thought.

If your level of pop culture naivety has sufficiently shielded you from this reality television show / cultural phenomenon, I cannot adequately describe the magnitude of exaggerated humanity on display in Jersey Shore. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you and you certainly wouldn't understand the subtle beauty of it. Which is the exact same thought I had at last Saturday's University of Hawaii men's basketball game.

The current collection of UH men's basketball player's aren't just a team, they're a phenomenon. You have to see them in person to understand how good they are and, more importantly, how good they will be. UH has had many better teams, but they haven't had a collection of young exciting talent like this since Bruce O'Neil and Rick Patino were paying players in the 70's.

They're still raw, figuring out how to play together. But in the harmonious moments - which are becoming more and more frequent - when everything clicks...

Oh. My. Lord.

They're not just good, they're scary. Despite their solid, if unspectacular 18-10 record, and current fourth place standing in the Western Athletic Conference, the Rainbows are the team no one wants a piece of in the WAC Tournament time. They have more upside than anyone outside of the 24-3 marvelous Mormons from Utah State whom, might I add, want nothing to do with a UH team that had them on the ropes in a double overtime thriller.

The UH team is more than the sum of their parts but, because of the youth of both players and coaching staff, much like Jersey Shore, the significance of the results is lost in translation. You have to actually sit down and experience this UH Hoops team to understand the unbelievable amount of talent packed into two twenty minute halves of salivating potential.

Every game delivers a staggering number of magnificent moments that have to be seen to be believed.

... Miah's blazing speed and his uncanny ability to walk the line between high intensity and out of control.

... Bill Amis's truly sneaky athleticism. He is the quickest, slow guy ever.

... Zane's ability to rain points from the sky (and his startling resemblance to the love child of my little brother and Gumby).

... the silky smoothness of Bo Barnes stroke. It's the Jiffy Peanut Butter of three point shots.

... Jostin Thomas's incredible ability to create chaos in the midst of calm. (He is, without a doubt, Snooki in this extended Jersey Shore metaphor.)

... that the eventual first NCAA tournament victory is closer than I thought.

Sadly, unless UH can secure another home game in one of the random post-season tournaments (The CBI? The CIT? Really? Are these real tournaments or is everyone just messing with me?) UH fans won't have another opportunity to watch the team in person until next season. And that's a shame. This team is a few pieces and a couple years away from making the leap from sports team to local cultural phenomenon. Colt Brennan in high tops.

Many have started to catch on. The Saturday Stan Sherrif crowd was rocking more than they have since Carl English laced up his shoes. When Zane Johnson hit a no-he-didn't NBA three from the top of the key in the second half, the decibal level in the gym was about as loud as the sum total of the noise from the Bob Nash era. The line for Dippin' Dots was over 50 people deep at half time. (Normally, I'm not a big Dippin' Dots guy. If Dippin' Dots really is the ice cream of the future I shudder to think about the dystopian hell hole we've let the world become. That said, when your two year-old daughter likes Dippin' Dots, you like Dippin' Dots. Luckily, I used my highly tuned Daddy-jedi skills to convince her Dora the Explorer prefers Hagen-Daaz to the Dots. If the line for ice cream bars is long at the next game I might be screwed.)

But it's not enough. It's not the 10,000+ sell out crowds that packed the Stan for AC and Alika. It's not the level of excitement deserved by the most exciting UH team in recent history, and maybe ever.

Make no mistake, much like MTV did with Jersey Shore, Gib Arnold is creating a phenomenon. So this Tuesday, when the Rainbows take the floor for what could be the last time this season, cancel all your plans and get down to the Stan Sheriff Center to watch, nay, experience Gib Arnold and the new UH hoops phenomenon. Because, unlike Jersey Shore, you can't watch old episodes on Hulu.

I am unable to hate Aaron Rodgers (and I hate that)

I had a hangover on Monday, physically and mentally. Strangely, neither stemmed from frustration about the Green Bay Packers Super Bowl victory.

The physical hangover resulted from an ill-conceived science experiment. A couple friends brought over a soda making kit - a gas injection device that carbonates anything - and we collectively decided that 9 p.m. was the best time to test a recipe for sparkling long island iced-teas, in the interest science, of course. Because you know what a 12 ounce cup of gin, vodka, tequila, and rum needs? Increased drinkability. The plan was either a rousing success or an epic failure depending on whether you asked us last Sunday night or Monday morning.

The mental hangover was harder to wrap my hands around.

A Packers Super Bowl victory is as close as you can come to a sports apocalypse for me. I hate Green Bay. I hate everything about them. I hate the Lambeau Leap. I hate the green and yellow uniforms. I'd hate the stupid cheese hats even more if they didn't help me so easily identify people with whom I will never be friends. Green Bay practically ruined my entire football watching childhood and, consequently, I enjoy watching the Packers lose almost as much as I enjoy watching the Bears win. (Hey, when you're a Chicago sports fan, sometimes schadenfreude is all you got.)

Yet, in the aftermath of the Packers victory and Aaron Roders coronation as Super Bowl MVP and the-next-great-quarterback I felt strangely ambivalent. I even tried to cry, but it turns out poking yourself in the palm with a dinner fork doesn't bring up tears, just searing pain in your hand. Try as I might, I could not get the faintest bit upset over what should have been one of the more vomit inducing championship celebrations of my life.

Because, frankly, I respect this team.

I feel like Vince Vaughn at the end of Anchorman, "I hate you Green Bay Packers. I hate you. But [gosh darn it], do I respect you."

I respect Aaron Rodgers. I respect Charles Woodsen. I respect the way BJ Raji is a dead ringer for the lady who played Precious. I respect Green Bay's cadre of wide receivers. I respect the way they can dominate on offense without any semblance of a running game. I respect the 2010 Green Bay Packers.

I never respected Brett Favre during his heyday. Not ever. Not even a little. I grew a grudging respect for him - a quasi-Stockholm syndrome - at the tail end of his career, but only after he started handing out interceptions to Bears defensive backs like glazed doughnuts at a Krispy Kreme. But during his prime? Pure, unadulterated hatred.

Brett Favre was the embodiment of pure evil. I hated the way announcers euphemized his interceptions as "gunslinging". I even hated the way he pronounces his name. THE R COMES AFTER THE V, BRETT. YOUR NAME IS FAHV-REH. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE ELSE REALIZE THIS? I FEEL LIKE I'M TAKING CRAZY PILLS.

Aaron Rodgers is different. He has played so well and displayed such dignity, grace, and leadership in the process, that I'm forced to admit not only a completely un-begrudged respect, but also a bit of admiration. Aaron Rodgers is everything you want in an NFL quarterback and, even though I tried as I hard as I could to get upset, I was happy to see him revel in the much deserved post-Super Bowl celebration.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to whip up an extra large batch of sparkling long island iced teas and throw my laptop through a window.

The Annual Super Bowl Prognostication Extravaganza 2011

I am the World's foremost authority on Yo Gabba Gabba. Over the past two and a half years, I've spent more time with Muno, Foofa, Brobee, Toodee, Plex, and DJ Lance than anyone outside of my daughter and the Editor-in-Chief. If the fate of the free world hinges on an extensive knowledge of brightly colored furries teaching kids life lessons through indie music, President Obama is calling me.

In the grand scheme of children's television programming, Yo Gabba Gabba is quite tolerable (which I suppose is like saying in the grand scheme of Taco Bell food, Mexican Pizza is the least likely to cause diarrhea). Still, there's only so many times you can hear the catchy and informative song "Don't Bite Your Friends" before it starts to have the reverse effect. At a certain point - somewhere around the 4,700 hours mark - you start dreaming up inventive ways to postpone the slow creep of insanity resulting from the almost unbearable repetition of chirpy educational fluff.

My favorite tactic is to create alternate story lines and ponder the background and relationships of the characters. Yo Gabba Gabba supposedly chronicles the educational interactions between DJ Lance Rock and his collection of magical toys. But, when I watch, I see a much more intricate and mature and storyline.

Muno, the giant one-eyed bumpy orange phallus, is coming to grips with his homosexuality; Foofa, the pink "flower" creature, never received proper attention from her parents and desperately seeks affirmation, which drives her blatant promiscuity. Toodee, the blue female arctic cat-dragon, is tormented by her unrequited love of Foofa. Brobee, the green striped square with arms, suffers from learning disabilities and anger management issues, a sad result of his parents drug abuse. And Plex, the magic androgynous robot, struggles with the paradox of assisting the development of his friends while lacking the capability to feel. These complex emotional and psychological undercurrents provide sufficient depth to help me stave off the desire to set myself on fire during the 379th rendition of the song "I Like Bugs".

This Sunday, I'm going to have to use similar tactics to help keep me from banging my head against the wall during five hours of Packers and Steelers bacchanalia.

There are few teams or players in sports that I actually hate, but the Packers are one of them. While Chicago trotted out a different hide-the-women-and-children embarrassment to the very idea of quarterback play every year, the Packers had Brett Favre. From 1992 to the present, Rex Grossman led Bears Quarterbacks with 20 wins. During that same period, Brett Favre had 22 wins against the Bears. Now that Favre is no long around to torture Bears fans, the Packers new quarterback, Aaron Rodgers, might be even better. Shoot. Me. Now.

While I lack a similar personal connection to fuel my distaste for the Steelers, it's hard to root for a team that has won six Super Bowls and is poised to win their third in that past six years. Compound that with a quarterback who should probably be in prison for sexual assault charges - and yet, strangely, is more beloved and accepted than a guy who got pulled out of an NFC title game with a knee injury. Stallworth drove drunk and killed a pedestrian, Roethelesburger sexually assaulted a girl, Michael Vick viciously slaughtered dogs, but we hate Jay Cutler. Go figure. - and you see why I have trouble getting excited for Steeler Nation.

Worse of all, the game will end with either the coronation of Aaron Rodgers as the best quarterback alive (which would likely result with me vomiting in my hands), or fuel the patently absurd notion that Ben Roethlesburger is the greatest quarterback of all time (In his seven year career he's had a Top 3 defense five times, the #1 defense three times and led a Top 10 offense only twice - #9 both times. People who suggest Big Ben is better than Peyton Manning deserve an elbow to the crotch).

I can't remember a year when I've been less invested in a Super Bowl, which is strange considering it should be a great game. The Packers and Steelers are two of the NFL's oldest and most storied franchises. They both have incredible defenses and explosive offenses. By all accounts they are evenly matched and Sunday's game should be one of the most competitive ever. But, no matter what I try, I can't get excited for this Super Bowl.

I've spent the entire week trying to think of alternate story lines, unrelated to the game, to help stomach a 300 minute tug job of the franchise that ruined my formative football years and the team that wins championships like I make Rex Grossman jokes. Maybe I'll just go watch Yo Gabba Gabba with Haley. At least the music won't be as bad as the Black Eyed Peas at halftime.

---

In 2006, it was The Ex-Girlfriends Bowl.
In 2007, it was The "It's about more then just the Quarterback" Bowl.
In 2008, it was The Destiny Bowl.
In 2009, it was The "And Pornography Will Save Us All" Bowl.
In 2010, it was The "It's actually just about the Quarterback" Bowl.

This year, I'm proud to present the One Too Many Injuries Bowl.

I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea of the Pittsburgh Steelers as underdogs in the Super Bowl. They've won more Lombardi Trophies than any team in history, two titles in the past six years, and always seem to come up big when it matters most (Roethlesburger to Santonio Holmes anyone?). But there's only so many injuries a team can sustain at key positions before you have to start wondering how they can patch the holes.

With Maurkice Pouncey officially out of Sunday's contest, the Steelers offensive line is playing without their starting center and both starting tackles. Ben Roethlesburger thrives at evading pressure in the pocket, extending the play, and making plays down field, but can a patch work offensive line reasonably contain a defense with BJ Raji, Clay Matthews, and Darren Woodsen that likes to disguise blitzes and bring pressure from all angles? How much smoke and how many mirrors do the Steelers have left? The battle at the line of scrimmage - on both sides of the ball - will define this contest, and I don't know if Pittsburgh has the man power to hold Green Bay at, well, bay.

When Pittsburgh has the ball, watch the middle of the line to see whether back up lineman Doug Legursky, making his first career start at center, can hold the point of attack against Green Bay's rotund nose tackle, Gabourey Sidibe look-alike BJ Raji. Between Roethlesburger's ability to escape pressure and Rashard Mendenhall's tough running, the Steelers are almost uniquely capable of overcoming offensive line deficiencies, but the line needs to, at least, give the playmakers a chance to get down field. Also, the Packers main weakness on defense is slowing down the tight end. Look for Pittsburgh TE Heath Miller to have a big day gashing Pittsburgh up the seam (For the gambling addicts out there, Miller has 25 to 1 odds to win Super Bowl MVP. I'm just saying.).

When Green Bay is on offense, keep a close eye on how close Pittsburgh lines up their defensive backs. Typically, they play one in tight press coverage and the other about 10 yards off the line of scrimmage. If Pittsburgh sticks with this alignment, Green Bay will rely heavily on quick slant patters - their bread and butter - and, as we saw on the Packers opening drive against the Bears in the NFC Title Game, are capable of getting down the field in a hurry. (For the gambling addicts out there, slant route runner extraordinaire also has 25 to 1 odds to win Super Bowl MVP. I'm just saying.) The battle between the Packers offense and Pittsburgh defense to make the other get out of their standard alignment could swing the outcome of the game.

At the end of the day, the Packers ability to spread out the Steelers defense on fast Dallas turf and apply pressure to an embattled Pittsburgh offensive line should result in a convincing, if not overwhelming Packers victory, except... Green Bay has this nagging tendency to let teams hang around and the Steelers thrive in ripping the heart out of opposing teams in close games and no one is better than Ben Roethlesburger at converting big third downs and leading game winning drives. If the Packers don't step on the Steelers' throat and keep them in the ball game, look for the Men of Steel to win their unprecedented seventh Lombardi Trophy.

But.... I don't think it will be close at end. I think the Packers jump out to a fast start and never look back. 31-21 Packers. Let the Aaron Rodgers coronation begin. I will now curl up in the fetal position, donning my Jay Cutler jersey.