Thus saith the Uruguayan Lion ...

The Hanceys, 2011

2012-01-07T12:44:00.003-07:00

The New Year has arrived which can mean only one thing - it's time for the annual awarding of America's most beloved year-end hardware, The Hanceys! And this year your chances of walking home with a prestigious Hancey award which you can show off to your neighbors, classmates, co-workers, religious leaders, exes, personal trainers, parents and other critics are through the roof thanks to the fact that I'm married now and have less friends than ever!

Also going in your favor this year is a change in award presentation format. In order to pay homage to NBC's Chuck, aka the great guiding show of my life, this year's awards will be based off of memorable quotes from the series (there are many a memorable line, meaning a lot of awards to be dispersed). The process will proceed like so: we'll read the quote and award it to the person, place or Pearson that resonates with it most. Here we go.

-To see 2009 Award Winners
-To see 2010 Award Winners

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(Lester, perturbed at the arrival of muscular men to Morgan's party)
Lester: "These studs are going to ruin our chances with the medium-to-not-so-hot chicks from Underwear Unlimited."

The Envied One, awarded to: Coombsy -- Height. Long Locks. One singular name. Wasn't in his ward's musical. He's got it all. Thanks for ruining things for the rest of us.

(Captain Awesome to an intruder who was caught breaking into Chuck's house and is about to flee the scene)
Awesome: "You're in neighborhood watch territory now. Go ahead and try to run. I will be faster, because I have superior form."

The Overactive Jogger, awarded to: Erica Nelson -- Not really a friend I hang out with per se, but the only person I know who ran in the Boston Marathon. That's cool. Now give me back my "Born to Run" book and we can be real friends again.

(Lester, in anticipation of a bachelor party to Las Vegas)
Lester: May I ask the best man what casino we’re going to be hitting first? I got a fat stack burning a hole in my crotch.

The Precocious Gambler, awarded to: Eric Hansen -- He’s no Bill Simmons, but when it comes to gambling he’s the most prolific associate I know.

(John Casey, talking to Chuck)
Casey: "Looking at pictures of people you killed? I do that myself from time to time."

The Eliminator, awarded to: Dallin Webb -- I like to think that you sit back from time to time, pull out photos of the girls whose hearts you've broken, and remember the good times. Plus, you participated in a war.

(Chuck, arguing with Casey)
Chuck: "Listen, I'm an integral member of this team and my voice needs to be heard."
Casey: "Don't worry, your pre-pubescent girl screams will be duly noted."

The High-pitched Annoyance, awarded to: Spencer-and-Nathan's-not-quite-officially-named-Podcast -- In its debut year the podcast experienced its ups (Spring Heart Break) and its downs (No Unity, No Victory) and both pleased and bothered many with its tones.

(Jeff and Lester wondering why they wouldn't be called upon for a spy mission)
Jeff: "Do they have any idea how much stalking experience I have?"
Lester: "If only they did Jeffrey. You're very prolific. You're the Picasso of creepiness."
Jeff: "It's true, and this is my Blue Period."

The Master of Creepiness, awarded to: Mysterious Korean visitor of the Seoul-t'ukpyolsi region, IP address 124.56.155. Thanks for the hit.

(Morgan, attempting to invent a code name to go along with Chuck's)
Morgan: "We need aliases. Let's see, you've got Charles Carmichael ... and if I'm supposed to be your brother I guess that would make me Michael Carmichael."
Chuck: "Who would ever name their kid Michael Carmichael?"
Morgan: "Our parents, that's who."

The Title-ists, awarded to: Landon and Rebecca Squire -- Despite being faced with the pressure to name your child something bizarre, unique and horrendous, you persevered and went with a good name. I and the baby thank you.

(Lester, in reference to Jeff's overall disgustingness)
Lester: "There is literally no way of knowing where this guy's mouth has been. Fire hydrants? Diseased animals? Puppets?"

The Questionable Consumer, awarded to: Ryan Pearson -- Who else?

(Big Mike, announcing the prizes to be handed out to the winners of the sales competition)
Big Mike: "First prize, iPod. Second prize, large pizza - two toppings. Third prize - "
Morgan: "Don't even say small pizza alright, cause that's not a prize, that's a punishment. I eat a small pizza and not only am I still hungry, I'm angry."

The Trustworthy Consumer, awarded to: Nathan Ballard -- While I'd take great pleasure in awarding this to myself, I confess there is none who loves pizza more than the man Nathan Ballard. Cut his arm and don't be surprised when you see tomato sauce flow from the wound.

(Emmitt Milbarge, after an unpleasant trip to the bathroom revealed theft among the Buy More)
Emmit: "Alright who stole the urinal cakes?!? I just splashed myself silly."

The Inconsiderates, awarded to -- My employer, the Utah State Tax Commission. No urinal cakes. And you shortchanged us on stall length as well. Just know that none of us will ever believe it again when we hear that state jobs are full of ripe benefits.

(Casey, in an attempt to staunch one of Chuck's emotional spills)
Casey: "I don't even care about my own feelings, why would I care about yours?"

The I Have Something Better to Do, awarded to: Everyone not reading this blog -- Congratulations to you for not being interested.

(Morgan, referring to Chuck's hacker preparations)
Morgan: "We used to call this particular routine, 'The Routine'."

The Mr. Cal Ripken Jr, awarded to: Ricky Andrus -- No custom is more anticipated than the weekly receipt of the horoscopes via this Intrepid Duke of Laziness.

(Awesome, responding to an opportunity to sell his body)

Awesome: "Sure, I did some modeling for Abercrombie and Fitch back in college, but I hung up those cargo pants a long time ago."

The Jerry Sloan Retiree, awarded to: Jackie Johnson -- Consider those drill team pants hung. And the girls as well, if you'd like.

(Jeff and Lester, complaining to Big Mike about Casey's violent ways)
Jeff: "The man's a monster.
Lester: "Like Jeff, only undulled by drink or drug, and he's more dangerous for it."

The Athletic Foot, awarded to: Devon Smith -- the only man whose sporting talent could once be described as "monstrous".

Runner up: Bunna Veth -- Equivalent talent, but not quite as undulled.

(Big Mike, presenting his Earth, Wind, Fire and Rain costume to up-and-coming singer Lester)
Big Mike: "I can't wear this anymore, but you have the hips of a six-year old girl. Use them."

The Swivel Hipster, awarded to: Nathan Ballard -- Now I know some of you will dispute this choice, but the selection committee ran a thorough examination of the man and can say with authority that the Nathan-is-becoming-fat-in-Idaho rumors are false.

Runner up: Jared, from the Podcast.

(Morgan, yelling in fear as he's about to be pounded by Awesome)
Morgan: "Just remember that if you hit me it only teaches me to hit!"

The Brute Force, awarded to: Al Jefferson's girlfriend.

(Big Mike, teaching Morgan about management)
Big Mike: "Son, in my twelve and a half weeks at the El Segundo School of Finance, I learned one very important word. Delegate. That word is key to being a successful manager. There's even a catchy phrase for when you've got too much to do. 'Get it off your plate. Give it to other people'."
Morgan: "I think what you mean to say is: 'Get it off your plate - Delegate'."
Big Mike: "No I do not. You are not a rhyming monkey. You are a manager."

The Leader of Men, awarded to: Bryan Farnsworth -- No one could fire an employee, attend to the needs of a Wal-Mart customer service caller and answer painful questions about the death of their pet while recording a podcast. Especially if that all happens in a two-minute span. No one besides Bryan Farnsworth, greatest manager on earth, that is.

(Big Mike, relishing in Black Friday profits)
Big Mike: "There's nothing quite as nice as selling overpriced goods to those fine few who have yet to discover Amazon."

The Technological Rebel, awarded to: Doug Hansen -- I'd worry about him being offended about this if he knew what 1) a blog was and 2) how to find mine.

(Jeff, in reference to Chuck's hesitance to make a move on a girl)
Jeff: "You snooze, you lose boobs."

The Advantageous Advancer, awarded to: Nobody in particular. I just like that quote and figured if the envelope of this blog is pushing towards an adult audience, I might as well go all in.

(Morgan, talking about Buy More Manager Big Mike)
Morgan: "Gentlemen. I think that I speak for all of us when I say that the only reason that I took this job at the Buy More was to do as little work as humanly possible. The big man, he made that dream a reality."
Lester: "That man is an inspiration to slackers everywhere."

The Advantageous Relaxers, awarded to: All state employees, Idaho, Utah or otherwise. Go ahead, take a bow. It'll be good for you to do something. Oh, me too? Ok. Hmm, feels quite nice to utilize one's faculties once in a while.

(Awesome and Morgan arguing over who should give Chuck girl advice)
Awesome: "Morgan, why don't you let me handle it? No offense, but I've had my fair share of ladies."
Morgan: "It's cause you live in a bubble. Take a look at yourself. Go ahead. It's a freakish bubble of handsomeness. Now look at me, no bubble. I have to be completely verbal."

The Bubble Man, awarded to: Matt Bury -- The most attractive roommate I ever did have (Sorry Kyle Martinos) and the only person I can comfortably classify as living in a bubble of handsomeness.

(Morgan, bragging about his new clothes and hair)
Morgan: "Morgan Grimes, not just for the ladies anymore."

The Switchitter, awarded to: Me, as a result of the previous comment about Matt. Wish there were a backspace on Mac's.

(Big Mike, teaching Casey about the effect of clothes on one's psyche)
Big Mike: "To get your head right, you got to get your threads right."

The Clothed One, awarded to: Hayley Dearden -- The winner of this award for two years running.

(Jeff and Lester, trying to convince Chuck that they should be allowed to attend Awesome's Bachelor party)
Lester: "Jeff and I ... we've never been to a bachelor party."
Jeff: "Never known anyone qualified enough to land a woman for life."

The Disappointed Partier, awarded to: Bunna Veth -- Thanks to his attendance at many a LDS bachelor party, he'll be the first to tell you he has attended few (if any) real bachelor parties.

(Awesome's father, angry at Jeff and Lester's musical number during his son's wedding)
Mr. Awesome: "Why are you letting Sam Kinnison and an Indian lesbian ruin your wedding?"

The Entertainer, awarded to: Nathan's unnamed uncle -- While he neither looked like Sam Kinnison or an indian lesbian, nor did he ruin Nathan and Nicole's actual wedding, he did perform a remarkable musical number which merits recognition.

(Lester and Jeff, responding to Anna Wu's inquiry of Morgan's recent life experiences)
Lester: "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this -- I don't really -- but Morgan is in a, um ... (sighs) ... very bad place."
Anna Wu: "What? Is he okay?"
Jeff: "No. He's focused, responsible, driven. Pains me to see a man wind up like that."

The Professional, awarded to: Zac Roner -- You used to be such a happy man, Zac, unemployed, living the high life on a daily basis. You should know that we looked up to you. We all wished we could be like you. But now that you have a job ... it's just sad.

(Chuck commenting on his and Sarah's relationship)
Chuck: "Well it may not be the steamiest, but we probably have the strangest relationship in Los Angeles."
Sarah: "Doubt that. Morgan's still dating, right?"
Chuck: "Good point."

The Oddly Coupled, awarded to: Caitlyn Ellis -- Only because when I think of your relationship history I think of you sharing a bed with Erica. Strange. Or hot. Take your pick.

(Lester to Jeff during a Buy More party)

Lester: "Jeffery, if you double dip we all may die."

The Unsanitary Saliva, awarded to: (posthumously) Climps - A fine and courageous cat he was. A cat of sterile mouth? He was not.

(Jeff, upon seeing -- and being attracted to -- the pregnant belly of Chuck's sister Ellie)
Jeff: "Is there room for two in that womb?"

The One with Space, awarded to: KC Naegle -- I refer of course to your luxurious office work environment. All I have is a gray cubicle. Jealousy runs deep in me.

(Morgan commenting on Casey's faux funeral)
Morgan: "The only people who came to your funeral wanted to see you dead."

The Mourner, awarded to: Nicole Ballard -- Seems like the only time I've seen you this whole year is at mine and your's funerals, er, weddings. Plus, no one mourns mornings more than your husband. At least he used to before work killed him.

(Morgan, after a night with Sarah's uber-hot friend Karina)
Morgan: So … how was it.
Karina: I’ve had better.
Morgan: (Pause)
Karina: But not many.
Morgan: (Gulp)

The I've Had Better, awarded to: Spencer' blog. You've read better. But hopefully not many.

Reversing the Trend

2011-12-24T13:00:00.000-07:00

A somber fact - the thought of marriage has never been that appealing to me. It started with the obvious life style drawbacks that I noticed in my wedded associates: the surrender of one's independence, the loss of bed space, the decrease in friends. My opinion worsened when my golf course boss Mr. Jonathan Brubaker invited me and Nathan into his office one memorable day for both a pay and a reality check. "When a man gets married," he sermoned, "he gets what we wants for a little while. And then he dies." Not exactly inspiring words, unless you happen to be suicidal.

Then there were my mentors. Jerry Seinfeld spent nine seasons going after girls ranging in caliber from gymnasts to possible prostitutes. He never got married. This despite the fact that Jerry was famous, funny and not bald; surely someone that prolific could have found a wife with ease, lending credence to the belief that he must have chosen against it. Perhaps it was Kramer's lecture, comparing wedded life to prison, that did him in.

My second mentor, Indiana Jones, went three movies and 24 years as a proud bachelor. Unlike Jerry, Indiana eventually did end up married, but that was in the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and how are we expected to take anything that happened in that movie seriously? In fact I know a kid who considers anyone who cites that movie, be it for social or educational purposes, to be a human not worth knowing (the name of that person is Spencer Hansen, in case you were wondering).

I wouldn't go as far to say the entire institution of marriage is without benefit. Marriage brings the luxury of enjoying two incomes and living away from my sister, not to mention that sparkling married-filing-jointly tax status. And it's not like there isn't precedent for people being happy in marriage. Why that Corey couldn't have been more chipper in his final season with Topanga.

Still, the discouraging parts of marriage have always outweighed the good parts in my mind. And speaking of weight, well that's another fear factor altogether. Married couples -- having nothing left to prove once married -- historically become not only less attractive with the pass of time, they tend to deteriorate at speeds unparalleled in nature. Consider a wedding reception the private sector's version of cash for clunkers - a wedding stash for chunkers. Weight gain isn't the only downgrade in appearance. Beautiful hair is exchanged for short "styles" ( this happens to both genders), sweat pants become the norm, inactivity becomes the couples principle activity.

Four paragraphs written and the greatest fear hasn't even been mentioned yet - divorce. The statistics don't inspire confidence. Commonly cited percentages suggest 35 to 45 percent of marriages go down in flames, meaning out of your six man college apartment over two of your comrades are destined to be the next Ross Gellar. I already have a history of, er, turning girls against the grain (read here), I'd rather not fulfill part two of Ross's dating resume as well.

With the list of marriage cons ever increasing, my mind reasons that a veritable goddess would be the only person whose constant company could make the thought of wedded life palatable. It would require a jack-of-all trades, one capable of doing anything, everything, and nothing. This girl would love sports and books, which by means of the transitive property would make her love me. Petty challenges like not being able to stretch in bed would be the smallest of prices to pay for her company. She'd be so enjoyable to follow that the idea of divorce would be transformed from fear to comedy. As a mix between Buffy, Sarah and Rachel (the only good thing about Ross), this dream girl would strike the ideal balance between athleticism, professionality, attractiveness and the ability to kill vampires.

She'd be perfect I guess. She'd have to be in order to drive away all the worries that marriage brings. So what, I wonder, are the chances of finding such a girl? The odds of obtaining perfection?

Well, not that bad apparently.

Pod 23 - Fat Man Walking

2011-12-20T11:00:00.000-07:00

Episode 23: Wherein Spencer and Nathan tackle the hefty issue of obesity. Special guest "Jared" weighs in to discuss his experience as a revolting 195-pounder, as well as his pathway to redemption as a 150-pound normalite. Spencer's claustraphoia and love of short skirts is also discussed. Meanwhile Nathan betrays himself.

Guest starring: Jared

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The Petriarch

2011-12-05T10:20:00.001-07:00

The incident remains my most disgusting betrayal to this day, a permanent stain on an otherwise unsullied history of loyalty. An accounting professional had come to deliver a sermon of boredom to a class of deeply disinterested tax men. The only part I recall being awake for came at the only moment the speaker engaged the audience. He asked a question: what is your email address? The inquiry was fielded by a few souls hoping to shake their arms and vocal chords from a coma.

"Bigwheeler_steeler@yahoo!"
"Skaterkid_6@gmail!"

The exact responses from the sitting dead I forget, but the accountant's response I remember. "Too unprofessional. Those email addresses are simply too unprofessional. When you include emails on resumes, when you correspond with clients you want your address to reflect a professionals tone." I considered my internet handle at that time, cpt.climps@gmail, and sized it up as being just that, too unprofessional. An email named after a cat was no title for a briefcase-carrying, button-shirt wearing, client-shmoozing, serious to the core businessman. I wanted money and success, and if I had to leave behind cpt.climps in the process, so be it. Sdv.hansen@gmail thus was born, becoming my principal hub for all things adult. Meanwhile cpt.climps@gmail was demoted to friends and spam only.

The cat which inspired that address is dead now. On Thanksgiving he was as spry as MJ on the dance floor. Six days later a shot to the leg finished off the body that had quit on Climps' soul. I may cry that Climps is gone, but am proud of his legend, which at this point exceeds even my own and reads like the history of a traveling lifeguard: saved two lives, pooped in the sand, renowned in multiple continents.

While Climps performed many memorable works and wonders, his absence sparks a gratitude for the small tasks he completed as well. Besides being a chick magnet, conversation piece, and general cat-about-town, Climps was most importantly an inspirer. His swagger gave me confidence, and his untamed whiskers showed me I too could go without shaving, even if it did make me look Mexican. In his ten year history he never took a single bath, a feat Nathan Ballard drew strength from when he went one week without showering in order to woo his wife. In his last days he lost over 20% of his body weight, leaving a testimony that despite being aged, obesity can be reversed, fatness defeated. And for years every time I submitted a resume, communicated via email, named a Fantasy Football team, or registered to become an online member of a website, the username of climps rode with me.

Until I became embarrassed. Until I valued job prospects, money and professionalism more than the loyal pet who used two of his lives to twice save my own.

By eliminating cpt.climps as my principal username and email I didn't just betray Climps the cat, but another of my inspirers as well, the great Henry Jones Jr. The man who touched the Holy Grail and rid Peru of aliens also had a pet of consequence in his life, a dog named Indiana. Somewhere in Jones' early years that dog won his heart, or vice versa, and a critical moment of decision arose - to carry on with his own name, or pay honor by taking on the name of his beloved dog.

We know what happened that day. Indiana eventually became so loyal to his adopted name that instances in which his father referred to him as Junior were followed by Indy's rage-filled obliteration of Nazis.

A man who was unashamed of his pet

I've always wished I were Indiana Jones. Wanted to be a professor. Wanted a fedora. Wanted Sean Connerey for a dad. But when faced with the one chance to be like Indy, I muffed it.

I apologize to the great archeologist, for not following in his footsteps. I apologize to my employers, for tricking them into thinking I'm a professional. And I apologize to Climps, for valuing his name less than my own. Since his death I've attempted tributes in all the normal fashions: I dug the grave, I recited a poem, I wrote this blog. But the final nod to Climps came only when I restored my email to its true order earlier this very afternoon. And so if you wish to express your condolences, expound on your favorite memory of Climps or simply leave a few words to be read at his weekly commemoration (every Thursday night from 7 to 7:30), drop me a line. I'm confident you'll know where to send it to.

Pod 22 - The Podcast Lockout

2011-11-18T14:40:00.002-07:00

Episode 22: wherein Podcast Commissioner Mr. Spencer calls upon Guests' Union Representative Mr. Nathan to end the Poddery Barn lockout by agreeing to a 50/50 split of PRI (Podcast Related Revenue). Unfortunatlely Mr. Nathan remains unwilling to budge due to lack of benefits and threatens to leave the league for a podding job overseas.

Feelings get hurt, negotiations go nowhere and a professional accountant joins the show to detail exactly how the numbers fall out.

Guest Starring: Megan Low, CPA

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Stocks, Bets, and the LDS

2011-11-10T10:15:00.002-07:00

Would you be willing to forfeit 12 million dollars for a chance at earning 13 million? If you answered yes, congratulations, you are one-third of the way to becoming a professional basketball player (If you happen to be tall and black, email me, I'll be your agent.)! In addition, you deserve praise because if you're willing to gamble on a paycheck of that size, you officially have more balls than the vast majority of humans.

Thoughts of gambling have been raffling through my mind a lot lately. Perhaps it started with the news of the man who bet on the Cardinals to win the World Series when they were 10 and a half games out of playoff position. The Vegas odds at the time were 999 to 1 against St. Louis winning the Series, making the mystery gambler's bet of $250 turn into a filthy $375,000 payout. Or perhaps accounting has bored me to the point that I crave risk. Or maybe it really has been the fortitude of the "former" NBA players who, despite being part of a struggling economy, despite playing for a system that is financially unstable, despite having virtually no leverage as a union, continue to risk losing their paychecks in the hopes of retaining their no longer viable contract terms.

One man celebrated even more than this when the Cards won the series (AP/Jeff Roberson)

For better or worse, their example is starting to rub off on me. I want to gamble. I'm surprised too, considering the theory of loss aversion has historically impacted me more than most. Loss aversion suggests that the average man will work harder to protect what he already has compared to the effort he will exert in trying to gain something new. This is the reason that golfers putt better when facing the prospect of a bogey versus that of a birdie - gaining a stroke hurts more than losing one feels good. One would think the combination of this inherent precaution mixed with my cheapness would render me unable to gamble my precious funds, but there are other factors present as well. Namely ...

A. My love of money (Superimpose my first initial over my second and you get the money symbol. Coincidence? I don't think so.)

B. My hate of work (My first job? Coldstone. Lasted two days. I'm still blacklisted there.)

These two pillars form not only the mantra of my life but a paradox that changes my earlier statement from wanting to gamble to needing to gamble.

The decision to do so is laden with moral implications, however. We start off with my church which frowns upon gambling, based on the dual misdeeds of 1) earning something from nothing and 2) developing an addiction. I have to disagree with both of these points. Remember the man with the $250 bet on the Cardinals? How stressful do you think it was for him watching the Cardinals' post-season run? Twice they were one strike away from elimination! How hard must it have been to watch knowing that one pitch could be the difference between $375,000 and nothing? So don't tell me that man did nothing to earn his money. He paid for it in sweaty mental anguish. And as far as developing an addiction goes, well, who ever got addicted to gambling? Please.

I think the real reason my church discourages gambling is because they'd rather the members risk their money in the stock market. After all, gambling and investing are brothers of the most intimate relationship. Their practitioners both rely on tips from complex equations, historic trends and the wisdom of your in-the-know-neighbor, and at times the two even overlap. Surely you've heard of the idea that the Super Bowl winner will dictate bear or bull markets?

So why would a religious group prohibit one and allow the other? My theory is that the LDS church wants its members to punish the government in any covert way possible (and you thought Romney was running to fix the economy. Oh the naivete.). By way of refresher course for the non-doctrined, the early church was abandoned and driven out of the states by the very government that had established the idea of religious freedom only 70 years earlier. How to pay that government back? By encouraging investing rather than gambling. You see, an investor who loses money can deduct such losses and lower the amount of taxes he has to pay. Meanwhile a gambler who loses money has no such chance to screw the government. In addition, the greater the number of gamblers, the greater the revenue of casinos, and the greater the casino tax payout to the government. By prohibiting millions from gambling the church ensures that that tax revenue is just a little bit smaller. Think I'm joking? There has to be some explanation why Nevada has the fourth highest percentage of LDS members nation-wide.

Church disobedience isn't the only moral issue at stake with gambling. What happens when the odds encourage you to bet on your rival? Or even worse, what if your favorite team tends to underperform (ahem, BYU) and you feel the wise thing financially is to bet against them? Is free money worth the price of surrendering one's soul? I can't think of any financial reward that would be worth betting against my Cougars. And if I'm going to get in trouble with the church if I gamble, how much trouble will I get in for betting against their team? Ugh, this idea is looking worse and worse.

I've considered channeling my gambling desires into investing, yet the stock market isn't a world free of ethical dilemmas either. What if my investing research suggests that instead of playing the slots I buy stock in the company that relies on them? The Wynn Casino's stock is currently trading at a mere $125.45 a share. Decisions, decisions.

In the end, the Green Bay Packers saved the day. The squad from Wisconsin is the only American sports team I know of that is publicly owned, which means one can bet on the success of the Packers without actually gambling but by purchasing stock in their team. In this way I can satisfy my desire to risk money on sports while upholding the church's mission that one invest rather than gamble.

Of course, following that route returns us to the root problem that started me off on this whole gambling business - lack of funds. I suppose I could continue to mooch off my girlfriend and her three jobs, or I suppose I could bite the bullet and actually get one of my own. But knowing me ... well, I wouldn't bet on it.

Pod 21 - The Photage

2011-11-04T14:09:00.006-06:00

Episode 21: Every once and a while the entrepeneur hour yields a good idea. It's just a shame this idea didn't come from Spencer or Nathan. KC Naegle is the guest who stars in the latest half hour of innovative thinking. Also, welcome to November.

Guest Starring: KC Naegle

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Pod 20 - The Premiere

2011-10-28T12:50:00.001-06:00

Episode 20: Life was different in the B.C. years. Wasn't much happiness. Wasn't much beauty. Wasn't much to live in the time Before Chuck.

Josh Schwartz changed all that. As his creation approaches the premiere of its final season, we reflect on its greatness and interview the convert, the celebrity and the pioneer in a three guest blowout.

Where's the respect for Morgan?

Guest Starring: Jackie Johnson, Malorie Eyre and Eric Hansen

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Pod 19 - The Memorialists

2011-10-25T17:30:00.001-06:00

Episode 19: With threats being placed against Climps' life, Spencer ponders the ways in which fallen pets can be properly memorialized. Nathan tests to know if he is pet-ready, Bryan is bothered at work, and Tomagotchis are ripped off. A podcast record is set with three guest stars.

Guest Starring: Bryan Farnsworth, Nicole Ballard and Heather from Wal-Mart.

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Pod 18 - Comping a Feel

2011-10-18T11:41:00.003-06:00

Episode 18: Wherein a great debate arises. Which takes more of a toll financially? Which has the greater payoff? Which makes you look cooler?

It's fancy girls versus fancy computers on the latest episode of the pod. Time to decide if you would rather Mac or mack.

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Pod 17 - Flannel Never Looked So Good

2011-10-11T11:00:00.000-06:00

Episode 17: What are the coolest things about Superman?

1) Jerry Seinfeld likes him.
2) We pod about him.
3) A TV show about his high school years ran for a decade. We like that show. And we like to talk about that show.

Guest Starring: Landon Squire

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Decision Points

2011-10-06T16:12:00.001-06:00

I imagine it's been a long week for BYU coaches, reviewing film, interviewing players, dedicating hours of analysis toward answering a question that may determine their program's destiny. The unfortunate thing is that all that effort is being focused on the wrong question. While everyone in the greater Provo area wonders who should start at quarterback for the Cougars, the problem the team really needs to solve is what has happened to Jake Heaps? And more importantly, how can it be fixed?

As for the quarterback conundrum, make no mistake, Jake Heaps needs to start this week's game against San Jose State and every subsequent game throughout his career. Oh, there's a case to be made for Riley Nelson (and his abs and hair) no doubt. Leadership, guts, mobility -- the three particulars Jake is made out to lack -- seem to be the rallying point of his supporters. That and his game-winning miracle drive against Utah State of course, all of which provides for only a small sample size of success. Personally (and this stems from me having lived in Logan the last four years) I feel that BYU's fourth quarter rally over USU was less Riley Nelson that it was karma, that universal force which allowed Logan's most hated son to stick it to the hometown that turned its back on him. Call me crazy, but Red Sox fans who witnessed Roger Clemens win two World Series titles after betraying Boston for the Yankess know what I'm talking about. Karma doesn't look kindly on those who turn their backs on former heroes.

My intention is not to discredit Riley's skill or play-making ability. In fact during last year's fall camp battle I had hoped that Nelson would earn the starting nod for the 2010 and 11' seasons while Heaps developed on the sidelines for two years. After all, there's a precedent in Provo for scrambling, left-handed, beautifully-scalped quarterbacks. But now that BYU is two years deep into Heaps' eligibility, it doesn't make sense to bench the kid for the rest of this season.

If this is who you're going to become Riley, go ahead and start. Otherwise ...

Regardless of who starts for the Y at quarterback, the results of the remaining games are more or less certain: victories are all but guaranteed over the states ( Idaho, New Mexico, Oregon and San Jose) not to mention the actual Idaho University, while a fourth-straight loss is to be expected versus TCU. The only game in question appears to be a toss up against Hawaii which, with a victory, could effectively give BYU their 20th WAC championship (my apologies to Nevada). Thus by promoting Nelson and benching Heaps the Cougar coaches are taking their NFL-talent quarterback out of the game for an improved shot at winning maybe one or two more games than expected.

I'd prefer BYU take the risk and continue to play Heaps despite his abysmal start to the season. I have no idea what is afflicting the quarterback. Lack of confidence in the offensive line? Inability to learn a new offensive philosophy? A concealed injury? Dominant defenses? An absent running attack? Over-thinking the game? But if there's any chance that Heaps can turn it around and regain his lost confidence while facing weaker opponents why not take that risk? True, Heaps may never figure it out and end up an over-hyped bust, but if the former scenario plays out BYU will gain a competitive advantage that few college football teams enjoy: an elite quarterback capable of making any play.

Unfortunately, BYU as an institution and football team have never been known for taking risks. The conservative nature of its governors seems to trickle down to the football squad, where gambles such as blitzes and trick plays are used with moderation. Choosing Nelson would reflect a safe call. The fans want it, the players appear to want it, and we'd all take comfort in knowing what we are getting ourselves into: a gritty leader capable of leading a pretty good offense. With Heaps the results are not so predictable. Bench him now and his confidence may never return. Entrust the offense to him and maybe he'll continue to struggle, or maybe someday he'll reach that upside that made him the number one quarterback recruit in the nation. It's a gamble, but with continued experience Heaps could make one heck of a player come his junior and senior season.

Of course at this point in his career, most BYU fans would be alright if he just went back to playing like he did as a freshman.

Pod 16 - Nine Holes in My Heart

2011-10-04T10:10:00.000-06:00

Episode 16: wherein Westridge Academy is visited for the final time. It was at this hollowed sanctuary that greens were mowed with smiling faces and picturesque sunrises were as common as nostril gnats. Nathan pars, Spencer bogeys, but in this match everyone came out a winner. Everyone except Westridge, that is, which is to be destroyed in favor of freeway.

Guest Starring: Westridge Golf Course

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News that's Bruised

2011-09-28T12:00:00.002-06:00

It may be a bit hypocritical to broadcast my love for the newspaper on a blog, but I checked the prices for newspaper announcements and they are more than a bit outside my budget (15 cents per word! How rich do they think I am?). The other obvious roadblock that detours me from detailing my love of the newspaper in the actual newspaper is the fact that editors only allow announcements for weddings and obituaries which makes one wonder, why is the newspaper so obsessed with the death of man? You'd think they would welcome something as happy as a 1,500 word ode to their product.

Chances are that you love the newspaper too, or at the very least, news in general. That is of course assuming that at one point you've used Facebook, kept up to date on a Twitter account, read an article, watched a news report, received an e-mail, or once said, "Did you hear about so-and-so?"

I don't usually speak in sweeping generalities, but I think it's safe to say we all love news. Every person that has ever been birthed. We like to hear it more than make it, and more than anything we like to spread it. For nothing is more satisfying than being the initial bearer of news. The phrase, "you heard it here first" has died off as of late (despite mine and Nathan's best efforts), but the proud sentiments that accompany the breaking of a story remain. Even the physical act of delivering the newspaper to a porch is universally enjoyed. Why else would anyone wake up earlier than the sun to go toss papers, never having a day off, all for the Little Caesars' price of $5.00 an hour?

Recognizing our non-stop lust for tidings (good or bad), it should be no surprise that the original conveyor of news -- the newspaper -- is considered one of the greatest inventions of all time (other candidates up for greatest invention of all time, in case you were wondering: the toaster, the automobile, and Uncharted 3-Drake's Deception). However, the monopoly that was once the sole deliver of a day's comings and goings has been broken up by a wave of new news bearers. That fact, along with a host of other blows has led to the death of various presses. Some even speculate as to whether the mighty New York Times can continue to print every day. It's a thought that strikes fear in the hearts of many, and reverses the old adage into a more appropriate message: No news, is ~~good~~ bad news.

A newspaper disciple at study

As one who loves the paper more than the humans who create it, I find it my responsibility to ensure that the newspaper never dies. I've tossed around various ideas on how make the product more appealing. Maybe perforating the main sections for easy tearing and use as toilet paper, or perhaps including scratch-and-win prizes like the McDonald's cups of old might increase sales. Renovating the distribution format might be a means of increasing profitability, as would possibly the lowering of costs associated with placing obituaries, weddings, and -- ahem -- notes of praise.

For the purposes of this article we will not outline the entire process needed to complete one of these value-adding measures to the paper, but rather simply remind the reader of what they are missing out on when they turn to the digital form of the news.

The Christmas Present Effect: A subscriber to the newspaper enjoys a daily gift, hand-delivered to their home, which they can unwrap at a time of their choosing. The physical act of removing the rain protector or loosening the rubber band sparks memories in the mind of opening gifts on a revered holiday. Likewise the surprise of what awaits inside the paper mirrors the anticipation felt when unwrapping a conventional present. Who's going to be on the front cover? How hard will today's crossword be? Will Dr. Pepper be on sale this week? Such excitement is found only in the printed word.

Food Consumption Dilemma: My biggest problem with absorbing news from sources other than the paper, be it website, podcast, blog or tweet is that while consuming the info I can't consume food in the care-free manner I would like to. For example, can you eat a bowl of cereal while reading the morning news on your laptop? You can, so long as you don't mind Lucky Charms crumbs in your keyboard. Meanwhile the newspaper can sit flat on a surface, acting as a place mat for your fallen food while you consume chips and salsa in as Pearspanic a manner you please.

The Multi-Purpose Matrix: A newspaper is more than just a newspaper, even without being re-engineered to form a suitable toilet paper substitute. Fly swatter, fire starter, window cleaner, bird cage liner and science fair fodder all describe some of the many functions the paper can be used for. Gather enough of the material and you'll have means to make a Hall of Fame prank (I'm looking at you, Davis Wood), and let's not forget that the task of fetching the paper everyday is the only reason your dog has left to live. Don't take that from him.

Mr. Game and Watch: I have never seen a person do a crossword puzzle, or a Sudoku square, or any other newspaper sponsored game on their digital hardware. For that matter I have never read the comics online either. Additionally, receiving the paper every day allows you to play another game - How much can you recycle!?! You'll never out-recycle your Earth-day celebrating neighbors without a daily boost from the newspaper.

Commenting on Commentary: Perhaps the greatest of all newspaper-related benefits comes from the absence of inane reader comments. Read through any religious, political, or sports related article online and you're guaranteed to be greeted with bundles of insight from such renowned geniuses as BigRedBird and Whats4_dinner. As a brief reminder of what great info these contributors bring, here's a comment from one cpt.climps on the Deseret News following the BYU-Utah game: "My dead grandma has more balls than Jordan Wynn."

Whoops, that was something I posted. Please forget I mentioned this.

The Teacher Deception Benefit: You'll have to trust me and my five years of collegiate experience on this one. As a student who has taken many, many, many boring classes (I'm looking at you, Professor Sadler), I've turned to the paper as means of in-class entertainment many times over. Never once was I called out by a teacher for not paying attention. Why? Because teachers seem to think that the only students who are bored and not learning are those who are texting, Facebooking, or of course sleeping. For some reason educators believe that a student reading the paper in class is a scholar, a phenom capable of both analyzing box scores and financial statements at the same time.

Experts Only, Please: Here we come to the crux of the matter. Part of the assault on newspapers has come courtesy of a world in which everyone is an expert on the topic at hand. Personal websites, YouTube, Twitter and other electronic sources have made it so everyone thinks he or she can go and report news. It's absurd. CNN's iReporter allows anyone to go out and share "their story" with the world. I repeat, it's absurd. You want experts, you turn to the newspaper. I mean, really, who in their right mind would listen to the opinion of some inexperienced, journalist-wannabe whose blog has a mere 22 followers?

Count me out.

Pod 15 - Fatherly Figures: A Dad You Can Love

2011-09-22T15:30:00.000-06:00

Episode 15: wherein Nathan steps up to the Entrepreneur Hour plate for the first time. Result? A home run of the grandest variety. Spencer strives to save the Newspaper industry, Nathan vows to be a father that you can love, and Bunna's dark side is requested.

Guest Starring: Bunna Veth

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Questing for a Rival

2011-09-17T17:31:00.002-06:00

30 years from now, when Harry Potter finds that particularly comfy chair, grabs a pint of butterbeer and begins to pen his autobiography, who will be the first associate that he thanks for his success?

Hermione? The loyal friend who bailed Harry out on numerous occasions?
Albus "I got your back unless Snape's involved" Dumbledore?
Or maybe Professor McGonagall for fast-tracking Harry's path to stardom by making him the youngest house seeker in over 100 years?

Nope, I don't think so. The person who played the biggest role in making Harry into the world's most powerful and respected wizard, was of course Lord Voldemort. The rival. The enemy. Without Voldemort writing the syllabus for Harry's school years, The Boy Who Lived would've simply been the boy who played Quidditch (and frankly "Harry Potter and the Last Minute Comeback against Slytherin" isn't as catchy as some of the other titles we've come to adore).

The presence of a rival shaped Harry's entire life: Voldemort led Harry to the Chamber of Secrets, entered him into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, infiltrated his dreams, took over two of his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and killed his friends and parents of course ... But more importantly, Voldemort made Harry who he is. The Dark Lord stretched Harry, made him work harder, forced him to face greater trials, learn more challenging spells; he was the motivator behind the majority of Harry's progress. That's the forgotten benefit of having a rival.

It's the same story with this week's rivals, BYU and Utah. Both sides refer to the other as a measuring stick, but a pole vault would be a more illustrative comparison. Outperforming the enemy in any way possible is the only rule in the rivalry and it’s the most motivating factor on either side. BYU’s success in the 80’s led to Utah placing a clock in their weight room that counted down the hours and minutes until the annual BYU game. Thus the rival Cougars provided the fuel for Utah weightlifters year round. Likewise the Utes jump to the PAC-12 forced BYU to dump the lowly Mountain West for a shot at independence and (hopefully) something better. In a similar vein, the lack of a rival has held Utah State back for years.

Game on.

An enemy provides you with power, sometimes even directly giving it to you. In Voldemort’s case, his attack on Harry left the young wizard with the ability to speak Snake, as well as a mind-reading power that came in handy on more than one occasion. In the Blue and Red rivalry, it was BYU that provided Utah with half its coaching staff: Head Coach Whittingham, Aaron Roderick (receivers) and Kilani Sitake (defensive coordinator) all played their college ball in Provo. Of course, BYU defensive line coach Steve Kaufusi was a Utah graduate assistant himself. And then there’s Norm Chow -- played for Utah, coached BYU to Heisman and Championship levels, and now has returned to coach the U. His name may be Norm but his career path has been anything but.

Why bring this all up? Well, I love the rivalry for one and I love Harry Potter for two. So much in fact that I’ve merged both into an analogy that only Bill Simmons could enjoy (skip ahead one paragraph if you want to save on reading 141 nerd words).

Utah plays the role of Voldemort naturally, as they were the evil power that ruled the state for ages until a bevy of All-American quarterbacks arrived to BYU (comprising Harry Potter) and rid the world of evil for 13 or so years (from 1979 to 1992 BYU was 12-1 against their rival and outscored the Utes by 240 points). Once the string of Harry Potters ran dry, Albus Dumbledore/LaVell Edwards (the only one the Utes ever feared) kept the enemy at bay until he died/retired, paving the way for the Utes return to power. With the Utes now in possession of what was once Dumbledore’s greatest weapon (offensive coordinator Norm Chow), the only question is whether or not Harry Potter (the All-Americans) will ever return to BYU to finish the evil off for good. Sadly I've heard of no prophecies claiming such occurrences.

Alright, forget what you just read and let’s try this again. Why bring this all up? Because I want a rival. I need someone who hates me so much that I will be driven to outdo him in every which way. If I had a rival I wouldn’t waste time playing video games, watching ESPN, writing useless blogs … A rival would motivate, empower, give direction; I would know what I needed to do and how to go about doing it. It’s the only piece missing in my quest for glory.

So in ending let me remind you that you suck and are ugly and I hate you.

(And yes, don't worry, I'll be sure to mention you in the biography)

"I Can Hear You!"

2011-09-11T23:29:00.001-06:00

Wouldn't post it if I didn't like it a fair amount.

Pod 14 - No Victory, No Unity

2011-09-09T00:15:00.003-06:00

Episode 14: wherein a lack of unity derails the podders. You win some, you lose some, unless you're Nathan, in which case you lose them all. Hypnotics are performed, memories are rescued and unity is sought after.

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Pod 13 - Bryan Farnsworth, Man of Danger

2011-09-03T13:03:00.004-06:00

Episode 13: wherein the illustrious, industrious and combustuous Bryan Farnsworth makes his podding debut. Though employed by Wal-Mart, turns out Bryan lives a very, very exciting life. Death is discussed, hearts are broken and morals are learned.

Guest Starring: Bryan Farnsworth

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And Then There Were None

2011-09-02T09:05:00.000-06:00

Classes, I mean.

No tests, presentations, or homework either. I've only known two types of life: school and mission, and now the more lasting of the two has reached its end. The time has come to embark towards a new frontier, which reminds me, candidates applying for the "Sacagawea" position can e-mail me at cpt.climps@gmail.com. I already called "Lewis" and the girlfriend took "Clark".

After 17 years of near non-stop scholastics, a break of undetermined length brings a weird feeling. Makes sense really, because it's been a weird final year. Dividing my life into a pie chart reveals that the majority of my time was spent among four characters:

1) Nicole, my best friend's girlfriend
2) Maddie, my ex-girlfriend's best friend
3) Jackie, my other ex-girlfriends former mission comp and roommate
4) Brooke, the actual ex-girlfriend

All in all it would appear that if you combined my activities of the last year with the cast above you could make an awkward, if not entertaining TV show of sorts. Unfortunately I've never had the requisite appearance for TV (that or all my model tours have taken place in the wrong malls -- screw you, Valley Fair). Truth is my Iraqi-looks would disqualify me from the majority of available roles. Except for that one stellar circumstance involving the LDS church and the filming of updated New Testament videos. The casting call described the desired candidate as follows: "Preferred features include olive to brown skin tones, notable bone structure, dark hair (gray- and white-haired or balding appearances are fine) and men able to grow a beard."

Finally, my face had a place. Beard growing? Brown skin? Being bald? I don't know about bone structure, but completing the other three would require no extra effort on my part. I can only imagine how such a performance would've gone over during my next interview.

Interviewer: "Says here on your resume that you recently starred in a movie?"

Me: "Yup, I played the role of Peter alright. Walked on water, cut off an ear, wore a robe, all that good stuff."

Interviewer: "You do realize this is an accounting position, don't you? Personality isn't found on our priority list. In fact we frown upon it."

Speaking of interviews, is there anything worse than searching for a job? On one end you have the interviewee, who is doing his (or her - this is an equal opportunity blog, in case any of my potential bosses are reading) best to beg for something he doesn't actually want (the opportunity to forfeit his free time in order to do work he doesn't enjoy). It's similar to dating in that you have to showcase yourself and beg for benefits except in this bizzaro case you're fighting for an ugly girl to hook up with. Downright unpleasant either way.

And on hand number two you have the interviewer, who has to fake interest in learning about you and hearing your beforehand-googled-and-memorized-responses to a list of meaningless questions because the position is already guaranteed to be filled by the candidate who was the hirer's friend from elementary (Now you know why I haven't blogged for so long. I've been working on being bitter). And so it ends that despite you're intense preparation you are dumped and who ever knew that getting rejected by a girl you didn't really want to be with in the first place could be so discouraging?

I would not have been rejected in my quest to become Peter, however. Only problem is that I didn't try out. Impeding my dream of cinema celebrity and the chance to date Jennifer Anniston stood the ever present quest for a degree. Both tryouts and filming were scheduled to take place during the all too critical summer semester. And so instead of doing something that demanded courage and required responsibility, I fell back on my most trustworthy of all excuses: school.

Is this what you were looking for my film-making friends?

School has been my protection from doing adult-like things since ... well, when I became a legalized adult I suppose. Why don't you have a job? Cause I go to school. Why aren't you married? Cause I'm in school. Why do you play video games? Cause I'm still a student.

I guess the gig is up now. The answers to all the big questions remain simple but are suddenly a bit cutting: Why don't I have any prospects, you might ask? Because I'm a loser, I might respond.

Maybe I should reconsider going for that PhD afterall.

Pod 12 - Return of the King

2011-08-17T11:45:00.007-06:00

Episode 12: wherein Nathan "once was lost but now is found" Ballard returns to the show to take on his co-host mantle once again. The entrepreneur hour also makes a return visit, though Spencer's innovative "ideas" may not be his own. Pizza is adored, death is analyzed and advertisements are shamelessly given.

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A Duo, Redone

2011-07-28T15:10:00.004-06:00

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---

There's a reason the Mailman left the Jazz at the end of the 2003 season.

It wasn't because he wanted a ring.

It wasn't because he was sick of Utah.

It wasn't because he wanted to put a spin move on Kobe's wife, though I wish he would've.

It was because John Stockton left.

Hear this:

Lewis wasn't going to make it to the west coast without Clark. Penn wasn't going to disappear any lions without Teller. Wilbur wasn't flying anywhere without Orville. And the Mailman certainly wasn't going to carry on in Salt Lake once John Stockton retired.

It just wouldn't have been right.

"Arroyo to Malone, for the dunk!"

"Fast break and it's Mo Williams finding Malone for two."

Doesn't sound right. Wouldn't have been right.

I know this because I am living this. I made for a humble Mailman, but a Mailman I once was. My pasty passing counterpart went by the name of Nathan Ballard, and together during our Logan years we formed a synergistic duo that no man -- or woman -- could topple. Our college days may not have spanned the length of Stockton and Malone's court-ship, but they were Hall of Fame worthy nonetheless, a picture of teamwork framed in a Freschetta pizza box. We picked, we rolled, we dominated.

And then Nathan Ballard retired. That is, graduated, and I remained behind. What I should have done is gone to LA like Karl. Because I soon learned what life was like sans sidekick.

It wasn't the same. Sure, I still lived in Logan, sure I was still surrounded by a campus full of girls, sure I still ate pizza every day, but something was missing. The joy of our previous duo couldn't be replicated by any stand in food, lover or TV-show. I learned how difficult it is to operate as a mere half. I attended dances solo, botched punchlines all too frequently and was forced to store in the fridge pizza that otherwise would have been consumed.

If times were tough then, they've only worsened since. The separating force no longer is school, but state, yet even in this time of great distance I believed a reunion was possible. Marriage killed that chance. I am not complaining; one cannot argue against scripture: "Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother and his best friend, and cleave unto his wife." Slowly, but surely, I will grow to accept that my love is to be replaced by another, one better even than myself.

Not all is lost of course. We maintain the memories, the likes of which are unparalleled in modern day: the race through the Asians, the clogging of various toilets (via instant potatoes, not Pizza overdose), a legacy of costume excellence (witnessed above), hypnotic dance moves and most importantly, a syndicated radio show which, if all goes according to plan, represents not a memory but the future.

Likewise encouraging is the subject filling the replacement half in this equation of love: Miss Nicole Blietschau. Though my natural thought is to be repulsed by German success, I yield to her superior looks and aromas and congratulate her on a victory well earned. She can do for Nathan what I never could have done: which is to say, make spaghetti and cheesecake.

I jest of course. She is greatness, that Nicole. So much so that in my surrender I don't give up Nathan as much as I give to Nathan a superior second half; a Malone with whom he can once again pick and roll. Our duo-ship endured for quite a while. It was enjoyable, palpable, powerful. But the true love we personified has been bested by truer love.

I feel no shame in that. In fact, an opposite sentiment reigns. I rejoice, for Stockton and Malone are together again.

Pod 11 - Minorities Report

2011-07-20T09:50:00.002-06:00

Episode 11: Wherein Spencer and Bunna talk of their colorful past and the persecution that accompanied them growing up as foreigners. Devon Smith joins the pod for the second time to speak on how he overcame the color barrier and managed to befriend the dark-skinned duo. Hearts are opened, feelings are hurt, and the true pronunciation of the name "Bunna" is revealed.

Guest Starring: Devon Smith

One example of Bunna's life among the whites

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Pod 10 - Harry Potter Fantasy Draft

2011-07-14T14:00:00.001-06:00

Episode 10: Wherein two losers draft Harry Potter characters. For 25 or so minutes. You'be been warned. Romances are hoped, dream teams are assembled, and red-heads are united.

For further analysis, check out the accompanying post.

Guest Starring: Hayley Dearden-Weasley

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The Fantasy Draft, or Nerds on Parade

2011-07-14T13:55:00.004-06:00

Ignoring the fact that pursuing this path labeled me eternally as a nerd beyond help, I chose to hold a Harry Potter Fantasy Draft. Am I embarrassed? Yes. Am I proud? A smidge. Am I a Harry Potter disciple?Unapologetically.

The rules of the draft were simple. Teamed with Harry Potter connoisseur and literary expert Hayley Dearden-Weasley, we took turns picking seven characters from the Rowling canon to complete our desired Dream Team. Behold the results:

Excel. As classy as I can go.

While the direct mission of these teams was (and remains) unknown, we can guess which team would prevail in a sample of fantasy categories. Following is the analysis of which team would have the advantage if the teams were judged by…

Quidditch Success – Dearden boasts a host of Quidditch stalwarts, solidifying the keeper, seeker/chaser and bludger positions, not to mention the relationship among her four stars would create a team chemistry that would be second to none. That said, Hansen’s duo of Wood and Potter would outshine anyone, including the Weasley wonders, on the pitch.

Advantage: Team Hansen

Romance/Love – No argument exists here. Team Dearden marches all over Hansen with her army of love-driven characters: Ginny, Snape and of course, heart-breaker Hermione.

Advantage: Team Dearden

World Domination – This category is as lopsided as the comparison above. The Potter-Riddle-Dumbledore trio of Team Hansen would proceed unopposed in a quest for world domination. Hagrid and Neville, mere role players on Team Hansen, would give any of Team Dearden’s upper-echelon spell casters a run for their money.

Advantage: Team Hansen

Family Home Evening – It seems unlikely that the odd mix of Team Hansen would be willing to set apart Monday Nights as together time, while at Team Dearden it would be a weekly pleasure.

Huge Advantage: Team Dearden

Team you’d want to go to lunch with – This one is a bit tricky. Whether journalist or layman, anyone would want to sit down and chat with legends like Tom Riddle or Albus Dumbledore. But at the same time, one has to wonder what type of stories the Snape/Lupin/Black trio could tell. I guess at the end of the day, it all comes down to Fred and George. There’s no one I’d like to lunch with more.

Slight Advantage: Team Dearden

---

Different teams with varying strengths, to say the least. Which is better? I wish I could say time will tell, but it can’t. All that time tells us is that me and Hayley are nerds.

Pod 9 - A man. A series. In memorandum

2011-06-30T14:15:00.008-06:00

Episode 9: wherein Spencer turns to the mic solo. Until Bunna arrives, that is. Nathan is memorialized, the West Lake vs. Valley series is revered, and longing is felt.

Guest Starring: Bunna Veth

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Jimmer, the Austin Collie of the NBA

2011-06-23T17:22:00.007-06:00

Who is Jimmer Freddette? What NBA player will he turn into? The question on everyone's mind has a wide range of answers, depending on who you talk to.

The optimists say Jimmer will develop a style of play comparable to Steve Nash or Stephen Curry. The pessimists say Brevin Knight or Steve Blake. The people who don't think white-skinned humans belong in the NBA say Adam Morrison. But you want to know what I say, that's why you're on this particular site, right?

To get my answer requires traveling cross-sport from the Association to the NFL, because Jimmer's greatest comparable, in my mind, is former BYU receiver Austin Collie. The similarities go on and on with these two. Collie, like Jimmer, was at the top of his position in his final college season. He set BYU records and led the nation in receiving yards in 2008. Despite being the primary focus of opposing defenses, Collie remained unguardable, setting an NCAA record with 11-straight games of 100 or more receiving yards to end his career.

Of course, heading into the NFL draft Collie wasn't considered worthy of a first, second or even third round pick. The nation's leading receiver wasn't selected until the fourth round (the 19th wide receiver taken) because he was pale which automatically meant he suffered from Poor Athleticism and Lacked Explosiveness. Scouts reasoned that a non-athletic person like Collie could have led the NCAA in receiving only if he were in the proper system or pitted against inferior foes.

(Any of this sounding familiar yet?)

And so Collie dropped accordingly. Right into the hands of the best passer in the league (Peyton Manning), where he continued to excel, nearly mirroring the Rookie of the Year Award winner's numbers from that year:

Austin Collie, rookie year-
60 receptions, 676 yards, 7 touchdowns.

Percy Harvin, Rookie of the Year winner-
60 receptions, 790 yards, 6 touchdowns.

Jimmer has lived a parallel live to Collie thus far. Despite his college dominance, Jimmer's accomplishments are discredited as results of an odd-ball system and poor competition. Even though he consistently showed he could break double teams and beat opponents to the rim, he has been deemed nonathletic (P.A.L.E), and at 6' 2", too small to play point guard. The question is asked again: who will Jimmer become?

That will depend, much as it did with Austin Collie, on the team that selects him. Had Collie been picked earlier in the draft, by a team other than the Colts, he most likely would not have enjoyed the success he's had through his first two seasons. The Colts were the perfect team for him: a pass first squad with a hall of fame QB that often targets slot receivers. It was an ideal fit.

If Jimmer were to be drafted first overall by the Cavaliers, I expect his career would be negatively impacted in a severe way. The team would simply not be a good fit for his skill set. The natural question then becomes, which team is the perfect fit for Jimmer? His agent had him work with five teams that he believed matched his style of play: Utah, Phoenix, Sacramento, New York and Indiana. Of these five teams, one would be a match made in basketball heaven, comparable in perfection to Collie's fit with the Colts. The team I refer to, unfortunately, is not Utah.

It's Phoenix.

The Suns run and shoot. The fast attack is their mantra, and it matches Jimmer's abilities perfectly. Compared to Utah, where the three pointer remains frowned upon despite coach Sloan's departure, Phoenix would encourage the bomber to launch from deep at will. Not to mention in Phoenix resides the Canadian point guard sage, Steve Nash, whose tutelage could help Freddette in his point guard development exponentially.

Of course, it rips my heart to write this. I want to see Jimmer in the Jazz colors as much as the next man (man being short for: maniac, Cougar). The Jazz could use Freddette's range to say the least, not to mention his willingness to stay in Utah for the long term rather than flee for superior cities. Ticket sales, female viewers, and interest in Jazz basketball in general would increase as a result of his presence as well. And with tomorrow being my birthday, it makes sense that the Jazz should give me this great present.

But no, I will not spend my birthday wish on Jimmer to the Jazz. Phoenix would be his best spot, and it's there I will wish him to go. Of course, Jimmer's preferred spot landing spot is in New York. The draft starts in five.

Time to see whose wishes come true.

UPDATE --

Neither mine, nor Jimmer's, nor the maniacal BYU/Jazz fan's dreams have come true. Sacramento on the other hand ...

State of the States

2011-06-16T16:00:00.003-06:00

Thick in the wake of a Californian associates six day stay in Logan, I was reminded of the inferiority of the state I call home. Somehow my mind had managed to forget that people not from Utah enjoy mocking the state of beehives. Which is only natural. Since the establishment of the country there has always been a pecking order among the states; a nation wide food chain of sorts, or in this case, a rude chain.

Californians mock Utahns. Utahns mock Idahoes. Idahoes -- in a strange twist of cannibalism -- mock Prestonites. And everyone mocks North Dakota (Sorry Brooke, I'm not saying this because you broke up with me, but because a friend of mine awaiting a mission call specifically highlighted North Dakota as the one place in the world she would not want to be sent to. She singled it out as the only state without a distinguishing feature worthy of mention. I countered that a state whose capital city rhymes with the word "skidmark" is definitely recognizable but she didn't buy it.). With so many states claiming superiority over others, it's typical to find publications ranking the states from first to fiftieth.

Of course, how can one measure which state is best? Various factors would demand consideration: employment opportunities, crime rates, recreation sites, temperatures, attractiveness of females, etc. And to spend six hours forging those factors into a formula would be a waste of time I could otherwise be channeling into Survivor Australia watching. Instead this post will attempt to answer a specific question that has a more gossipy tabloid feel to it: which state is the trashiest?

To answer this question will require reliance on everyone's favorite website, peopleofwalmart.com. Because while some mock the people of Utah, and others mock the people of Idaho, everyone mocks the people of Walmart. Those who make the site are the embodiment of trashiness, the MVP's of the trailer park, as shown in the picture below. Wait, on second thought, scratch that bit about the photo. I can't violate my policy of exclusively posting pictures of attractive women or BYU players on this site. Sorry.

Ahh, that feels better

Anyway, during a recent bout of free time (not spent watching Survivor) I compiled a list of how many photos each state had submitted to the website. By mathematically mating the picture totals with a state's population, a listing of how many trashy pictures are submitted by state (per million residents) is developed. We'll assume that the higher the number of trashy pictures submitted, the higher the number of trashy persons who inhabit the state. Fair enough? Behold the rankings:

Pictures Submitted per Million Residents

-- Top Five, Most Trashy

Complete Rankings

1. Oklahoma, 19.5
2. Arkansas, 11.4
3. Nevada, 10.99
4. Utah, 10.97
5. Florida, 10.2

-- Bottom Five, Least Trashy
   46. Connecticut, 2.8
   47. New Jersey, 2.1
   48. New York, 1.7
   49. Massachusetts, 1.5
   50. Rhode Island, 0

For the record my money was on Alabama to take the top spot on this list, so to see Oklahoma as the number one trashy state (by nearly double) was a real shocker. Though not as shocking as seeing my own abode pop up as fourth trashiest nationwide (I suppose the polygamists have to shop somewhere). The northeastern section of the U.S dominated the rankings, adding evidence to the claim that east-coast living really is the way to go. And as far as the Idaho-Utah rivalry is concerned, Idaho ranked 37th overall at 3.8 pictures per million residents, effectively proving that their state is three times less trashy than the one below it. Ugh.

I'll save the critics some time and point out for them the many potential flaws with this simplistic ranking system. Population is a decent denominator for the rankings purpose, but picture submissions are affected by the number of stores per state as well which were not taken into account in this equation (for example, Texas has 259 Walmart locations while California only has 17; the two share similar populations but dissimilar store quantities). Likewise troubling is the fact that I had to rely on peopleofwalmart.com and statemaster.com for the contributing data, two sites which don't necessarily scream of statistical accuracy.

And of course this data doesn't necessarily mean that the states with the highest totals are trashy. Could be that these states just really like photography, or particularly enjoy mocking others, or just have nothing better to do than hang out at Walmart. Either way, I'm still disappointed in Utah. While we may never be able to abandon Walmart and its timely sales, my fellow mates and I would do well to modify and follow the words of the prophet:

"Be in the store, but not of the store".

Cutting Slack for the King

2011-06-15T12:33:00.007-06:00

LeBron James is getting massacred. Buried. Annihilated. Nuked.

Not only is he being shish kabobbed in the press for falling apart in the NBA finals, but the nation at large is delighting in his personal failure. I'll admit that I've participated in similar behavior (Utah vs TCU 2010 anyone?) but finding happiness in someone else's botch job is pathetic. The celebrator declares in essence, "my life and the things that bring me joy are in the crapper and all I have left is the hope that someone else will beat someone I don't like." The most embarrassing example of this comes from Ohio, where the state's governor named the Dallas Mavericks "Honorary Ohioans" for their victory over LeBron, which makes one wonder, Is Ohio's governor in elementary school? Really, the best your state can do is a victory over your spurned lover courtesy another team?

There's two things I think are nuts here. The first is why so many people hate LeBron. What did LeBron do to earn such rancor? Did he cheat on his wife with hundreds of mistresses? Did he use feminine drugs as a performance enhancer? Did he commit homicide driving under the influence? He did not. His sin was leaving a team that had made countless management errors (a workplace we all would want to leave) to go play with his friends (people we all would want to be around) in a city with beaches, girls and no income tax (a place we all would like to live). Would you have stayed in Cleveland, where your team's biggest moves were to trade for Vietnam veterans Shaq and Antawn Jamison and the splashy free agent signing is Jawad Williams?

Oh wait, I forgot, we're going to hate him because he announced his free agency destination on TV, right? We're all mad because we were forced to watch LeBron make his "decision", and we are furious that the show generated over $2 million dollars in charity for the Boys and Girl Club of America. The guy is a real jerk, isn't he? And of course we have to hate him because he joined forces with another superstar, just like we hated Shaq and Kobe, Jordan and Pippen, the Garnett/Pierce/Allen trio, and most recently the foursome of pitchers in Philadelphia (Oswalt, Hamels, Holladay, Lee).

There is only one real reason to dislike LeBron, and it comes from the pre-emptive celebration the Heat trio threw wherein LeBron declared Miami would win seven NBA titles. You can hate him for that: cockiness, arrogance, whatever. But that alone should not be creating the volume of venom he's received.

The second thing that kills me is how the media is killing LeBron for his play in the Finals. Granted, he played bad in the majority of the six championship games. Even horrendous at times. But isn't it possible the guy had one bad series? Afterall, didn't Lebron dominate the three rounds leading up to the Finals? He cleaned out Philadelphia and Boston, before effectively erasing league MVP Derrick Rose in the conference finals. He averaged 24/10/6 in round 1, 28/8/3 in round 2, and 25/7/6 in round 3 with a couple of steals and blocks to boot. Those numbers are huge. Yet the reaction to his poor Finals performance is out of control. Some suggest he should be traded. Some are comparing him to Karl Malone. Even the Miami Heat as a team are somehow analyzed as needing major roster overhaul.

Are you kidding me?

The team came within two games of winning the NBA Finals in their first year playing together. They came within two final second shots of being up three games to one in the series. And their team should be overhauled? How over-reactionary can we become as a society? Can you imagine if we addressed hic-cups in our body like we did shortcomings with our sports teams? "I just got a cut on my foot! I need to amputate!" "We've got a bloody nose here, to the hospital stat!" "We barely lost the Finals, trade LeBron, he has to go!" It's madness. A few breaks and Miami wins the series, and the decapitation of LeBron never happens. Such is the fickle nature of sports; a nature we all too often forget. If Dirk misses his game-sealing layups in game two or four, the NBA title belongs to Miami. That's the difference.

But I guess what the media is really mad about is the fact that LeBron James has not become Michael Jordan. Ever since number twenty three ascended to the holy rafters above, we the people have been searching for his heir. Lebron was dubbed early on as the chosen one, but the media has since discarded him as lacking the necessary traits (even though LeBron is still younger than Michael was when he won his first of six championships). The good news for the those making the news is that the other half of Mike, the ornery, disturbed, chip-shouldered version that called out his high school and college coaches during his Hall of Fame speech can still be cultivated in LeBron. All it would require is to carry on the doubting, mocking, and criticizing. Nobody can absorb a 24/7 internet, radio and TV bombardment without developing some serious mental disorders. So congratulations to the media I suppose, you're half way to making LeBron just like Mike.

The Utah Mavs

2011-06-07T18:59:00.008-06:00

Stop me if you've seen this before --

A disrespected Hall of Fame power forward. An aged, white point guard at his side. A dead-eye three point shooter at the two guard. All in the hunt for their first ever NBA championship. The obstacles in their path? Only an opponent that stopped their title run once before, some questionable officiating, and the greatest basketballer on the planet.

Sound familiar? It should, provided you are either a fan of the present Dallas Mavericks or the 1998 Utah Jazz. The current Mavs are the then-Jazz equivalent, a team stuck in a similar story, fighting the same enemy for the same prize. Though this year's Chicago Bulls boast three ex-Jazz man on their roster, it is the Mavericks that can't help but remind me of my favorite team of all-time. Consider:

Dirk Nowitzki is as dominant and desperate for a championship as Karl Malone ever was. Jason Kidd's age, style of play and appearance (were he with hair) remind me daily of John Stockton. Jason Terry is the athletic version of Jeff Hornacek, and standing on the other side of the ring is the man with a ring, Dwayne Wade, who forms a formidable Scottie Pippen. Completing the comparison and frowning on Dallas's championship hopes is LeBron James, a chip off the Michael Jordan block, spurred by the chip on his shoulder from absorbing a year's worth of criticism. The Heat are to the Mavs what the Bulls were to the Jazz.

The only real difference between the scenarios of the current Dallas Mavericks and the 98' Jazz is that the Mavs centers are black. That fact alone might be enough to swing things in a direction the Jazz never could with the florescent Greg brothers (Ostertag and Foster, the former of whose Fleer Tradition playing card is on eBay for a mere $1.00). While the colors of the players don't exactly match up, at least the colors of the teams do. Once again -- akin to Jazz vs. Bulls, the annual Holy War, and Pokemon Red and Blue -- it's a battle between, well, red and blue (or purple if you have normal eye sight).

It's not just the Mavericks current situation that has me reminiscing. Sheesh, prior to the Jazz's costume change of the past year the two team's jerseys were nearly identical. Even the names of the two teams sounds familiar to a degree -- Jazz, Mavs -- though using that logic one would be forced to match the Jazz and the Cavs as well, which unfortunately would be an accurate comparison this year (you know your team blew big time when they're drafting in the same neighborhood as the Cavaliers).

These similarities can be the only explanation for why I've been cheering for the Mavericks all playoffs long. At first I thought it was because the Mavs were playing Portland, a team I hate. Then I thought I was cheering for them because they were playing the Lakers, a team I hate. But when I realized that I had remained supportive of Dallas even when they were playing the Thunder -- a team I do not hate -- something clicked in my usually unaware mind.

I liked the Mavericks. Which is strange.

Strange because the Mavericks 2001 playoff victory over the Jazz signaled the death of the Stockton-to-Malone era. Strange because Dirk Nowitzki once injured Andrei Kirilenko on a cheap foul. Stranger still because I often mocked Dirk for looking more like a WNBA player than a German score machine.

But the Mavs' journey to win the title by beating the team that previously drilled them while facing this generations Michael Jordan is so familiar to me that I am forced to root for this group. And Dirk has been so good that his obnoxious hair and fouls have been quickly forgiven (but never forgotten, thanks to YouTube). In fact, I might be experiencing an American first which has nothing to do with banking. It's tough to admit, but I can't deny it: My favorite NBA player is from Germany.

Surprisingly, Dirk isn't the only product I love that has come out of Germany as of late. The 1995 Spiel des Jahres Board Game of the Year, Settlers of Cataan, is my number one game and the building block of my reborn love life. Likewise my favorite author, Marcus Zusack, was born of a mother who hails from the land of fathers.

It's a short list of favorites, but at least I can say I'm beginning to get over World War II.

Speaking of heartache and catastrophic loss, I hope the Mavs and their fans can avoid it. I don't want Nowitzki and Kidd to be questioned for the rest of their lives like John and Karl. I don't want them to have to blame Bennet Salvatore for a lost championship like I blame Dick Bavetta. And most of all I don't want them to be on the receiving end of this:

No one, not even one of Germany's finest, deserves torture like that.

Boston (Rob) Massacre

2011-05-26T14:10:00.004-06:00

241 years ago five civilians were mowed down by British bullets in an event today remembered as the catalyst for American revolution. While Boston Rob's victory in the latest season of Survivor involved far fewer casualties -- and no noticeable hatred for the English -- it nevertheless demands the title of a complete massacre. Rob managed to convince eight of nine jury members to vote him the winner of a one million dollar prize, despite having been the ringleader behind the elimination of each of those nine voters. Even more impressive is the fact that the four people that Rob specifically lied to and betrayed (Matt, Grant, Ashley, Andrea) all voted for him. The lone wolf who prevented Rob from sweeping the contest was Farmer Ralph who cast his ballot for Phil -- which he spelt "Phile" -- and that glimpse into Ralph's spelling skill should tell you all you need to know about the wisdom behind that vote.

Survivor fascinates me like no other television program thanks to the behaviors it provokes. Where else could you watch starving humans pitted against each other in uninhabitable locales (besides your neighborhood homeless shelter)? The barbaric conditions spark actions ranging from loyalty and respect to betrayal and revenge, mixed in of course with a constant dash of romance. As of last week's reunion special, 4 Survivor couples had become husband and wife.

Such hope of made-for-television-love is one of the principle drivers behind my current bloodlust to be on Survivor. If I remain unwed in five years I see no better spot to find the dream girl than on a barren island or in a rainforested South American country. At the very least I'll know she is skinny (two cups of rice a day), ambitious (questing for a million dollars) and possibly an owner of great hair (assuming she can muster half the hair excellence demonstrated by original Survivor Colleen Haskell, who despite the awful combination of short locks and jungle living managed to create the greatest do I have ever seen. Even my girlfriend is in love with this chick's hair).

Couldn't find a photo to do it justice. Season one was not filmed in HD, sadly.

Apart from having a shot at true love (a wife) and true happiness (a million dollars), being on Survivor would be great because it would provide a forum in which I would be forced to hone my social skills to their maximum ability. Being personable and capable of making people think you like them in order to gain trust is critical to lasting just a few days in the game. Even more skills are needed to later convince the friends you betrayed to award you the grand prize as Boston Rob did. To pull that off requires serious social power, and that's a power I must develop, if not for Survivor at least life in general.

Landing jobs, gaining promotions, receiving favors, winning Survivor - all these beneficial occurrences would require me to become a superior socializer than I currently am. And in order to become a superior socializer, I will be forced to become like my greatest of all enemies:

Dogs.

There's a reason that the dog is man's best friend. In fact there are a lot of reasons, all very well detailed by the social genius Dale Carnegie in his book, "How to Win Friends and Take Advantage of People", er I mean, "How to Win Friends and Influence People". Dogs are more interested in others than they are in themselves, says Dale. Dogs give love unconditionally. Dogs show excitement when seeing others. Unlike felines who are independent, self-preserving, and crafty, dogs are needy, emotional and desperate for friendship. According to Dale, humans who can develop these dog-like attributes will be better equipped to make an impact on the social world.

Unfortunately I hate dogs. Such feelings are partly due to my preference for pets that don't stink or bite. But mainly it's because I'm a cat man. The reclusive, independent lifestyle fits me well, and I guess that's the problem. To become a socialite on par with Boston Rob, I will have to give up the chew toy and accept the crusty bone. If I'm to benefit from the connector lifestyle celebrated by Malcolm Gladwell, I need to become as lovable as a canine, the type that all would want to meet. Then we can all rejoice in being able to adapt the familiar saying into a less gruesome, "It's a dog meet dog world".

Then again, is it wise to take social advice from a pair of fellows named Dale and Malcolm?

Man's best friend? Really?

Either way, before I pledge allegiance to the above rag, I would like to take one second to remind all readers that dogs are not perfect. They still poop without worry of location and bark without thought of reverence. And they remain the only mammal besides my nephew who have yet to conquer the drooling problem. Still, if I'm forced to surrender my cat roots to become a social behemoth, I will do so.

In my quest to win friends and influence people, I will not only cater and bow, I'll bow-wow as well.

Pod 8 - (Work)Man on a Mission

2011-05-19T08:19:00.005-06:00

Episode 8: wherein the podca-stars discuss the merits of various missions. Last words are spoken, sad news is borne, and a pod title is discovered.

Guest Starring: Elder Ben Workman

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Pod 7 - Social Seminar for Seniors

2011-05-11T08:30:00.003-06:00

Episode 7: wherein the duo begins in earnest the quest to shirk real work. Spencer develops a case of senioritis that has little to do with his upcoming graduation, while Nathan defends his counterpart's opinion of the elderly. Business ventures are discussed, Zac Roner is contacted and the entrepeneur hour is born.

Guest Starring: Zac Roner

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Pod 6 - Will You Wait for Me?

2011-05-04T11:48:00.000-06:00

Episode 6: wherein Nathan and Spencer's platonic relationship turns nuclear. With government clearance in hand, Nathan wonders about his future life in Idaho. The famous few of the potato state are remembered, various emotions are aired, and a request to wait is proffered.

Guest Starring: Landon Squire

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Download

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Pod 5 - Rest in Peace

2011-04-27T08:00:00.007-06:00

Episode 5: wherein Nathan and Spencer reunite in the early hours following a four week absence. A call to productivity is issued, an addiction is discussed, and a Seinfeld challenge is proposed and accepted.

Guest Starring: Ricky Andrus

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Paying the Blood Tax

2011-04-26T12:05:00.005-06:00

The one time I offered my body for personal gain occurred while I was a missionary, naturally. Me and my walking appendage were in need of someone to teach when we ran into an older man and his walking appendage. Though the couple had been happily married for 100 years, at the time they both wore faces of concern. We asked, they told. The duo's son was in the local hospital in need of a blood donor. They were scouring the land looking for some young bodies to suck dry. We were scouring the land looking for some religious bodies to soak in water. It was a match made in Arica, Chile, which hopefully is nothing like heaven or we're all in for some major disappointment. The terms of the deal were simple: we offered blood in exchange for one lesson.

Only one problem existed -- I had never donated blood. And I didn't want my first experience to take place in a Chilean hospital, the likes of which only satisfy the "pit" part of hospital. And miraculously, I didn't have to. Turns out I had left my wallet in the apartment and without my ID I was rejected at the doors. I couldn't have my blood stolen because I was afraid of having my wallet stolen. Sometimes being paranoid pays off. My companion was not so lucky.

The Chilean occasion wasn't the only time in which fate saved me from giving up my most precious resource. An intramural playoff game, a scheduling mishap and living with a diseased roommate (not Nathan) have all been saving graces from blood donation at one time or another.

All the breaks I've caught have been heaven thrown, because the fact is I fear the needle. It all started when I witnessed my dad embedding a needle in a ball he was trying to inflate. No doctor's visit ever passed without me imaging their shots likewise getting stuck in my arm, the nurse hurrying for pliers to pluck it free as my dad did the ball while my arm slowly deflated. My aversion only deepened when having one's blood sucked became a weekly worry on episodes of Buffy.

I was taught in my youth that having your blood sucked was bad.

Then there was the one time I actually laid my guts (and blood) on the line and went to the church to donate. As my life source dripped away, I became dizzy and nearly passed out. The fact that I was wearing a pink shirt for the occasion did little to repair my bruised manhood/arm. Giving blood was not for me.

Nor was receiving blood. This fact I learned while kissing a girl whose nose started bleeding during the festivities. I don't know if the cause was my overly vigorous snogging methods (read head-butting) or if the passion of the moment was simply so great that the girl's nasal passages lost control of the situation. What I do remember is that we weren't aware of the crimson cascade until it was too late. Red lips have never been the same to me.

Considering my previous blood experiences, it's no surprise that when the Red Cross sign up sheet was passed around some Sunday ago I began taking inventory of possible cop-outs. My first thought centered on Jerry Seinfeld (as my thoughts tend to do) and the angst he showed when he learned that Kramer had been the source of his latest blood transfusion. I can imagine a similar horror befalling the man who is told "you got three pints of Spencer in you buddy!". Surely it would be inhuman to inflict my hairy genes on an unaware soul. Then I remembered that the Red Cross probably doesn't believe in TV doctrine like I do and would find my reasoning an unacceptable means of justification.

Normally the specified slot (3 to 6) for giving would be excuse enough, as that time is usually occupied by my job. Unfortunately it just so happened that the elementary kids were on spring vacation for the week, meaning for once I caught the wrong type of break. I thought I was doomed to donate until I realized I hadn't started my taxes and if I wasn't going to do them from three to six that very Tuesday, when would I ever do them?

There's certainly no escaping taxes, I reasoned. Even animals have to pay them, according to this insightful New York Times article. I happily pondered the merits of the education credits, wondering if for once school would pay off, relishing in having both my finances and blood cells properly accounted for. I figured I would be receiving a reasonable return until a host of factors frowned upon my 1040. It then became apparent that in my attempts to avoid the Red Cross I hadn't really escaped anything. Sure, by doing my taxes I had dodged the needle, but upon filing there was no doubt that my blood had still been sucked.

Befriending a Ballhog

2011-04-14T12:00:00.001-06:00

The final game is finished, the last award handed out, and with that the collegiate career of Jimmer Fredette comes to an official close. His status on the Cougar team, reduced to Jimmeritus. He played in 139 games over four years, but sadly I saw only 10 of them. A mere 7 percent of the man's career is all I witnessed, and yet Jimmer moves on as the most exciting player I've ever cheered for.

That's saying something.

I've cheered for more powerful players (Karl Malone).

I've cheered for more consistent players (Austin Collie).

I've cheered for more athletic players (Usain Bolt).

But I'd never cheered for someone who provided more excitement than Jimmer.

Part of it was due to his long-balling, paint-centric, off balance shot making excellence.The halfcourt shot against Utah, the spin away three versus Colorado State, the knocked-to-the-ground-yet-still-scored layup against San Diego State.

Some of it came from the fact that Jimmer exceeded his racial expectations. It's always intriguing (to me at least) when black players succeed in positions usually dominated by white players and vice versa. For example: Michael Vick as a quarterback, Tiger Woods as a golfer and Arvydas Sabonis as a center. The point guard position has turned into a black one* in recent years. Even if you refuse to believe that, you have to admit it's enjoyable to see a white guy with a cross-over.

But mainly the excitement swells from me never having cheered for a ballhog before.

You see, I'v never had a ballhog on any team I've ever liked. As a result I've historically tended to mock the more notable members of the ballhogging clan. Events such as Kobe's 81 point fiasco or Iverson's bout with 60 stood in my mind as examples of selfishness, arrogance, and a refusal to play the game the right way. What I failed to realize is how much fun it is to root for a player who at times simply cannot be stopped. The feeling is akin to the tingling in the chest received once you near the end of a game of risk and you know your opponent is powerless against you. The difference is that when cheering for one of these scoring machines -- who are capable of putting up 40 plus on any given night -- you have the hope of that feeling from the beginning all the way to the end of the game.

I wish I was as nonathletic as Jimmer

Clearly ballhogs don't make a team invincible, but they make you feel like they are. With Jimmer in the lineup I could count BYU as a contender against any team, because on any given night the scorer could demoralize the enemy with a crippling barrage of baskets.Watching, wondering if this night was the night Jimmer would explode provided an excitement unlike any other I've had while viewing sports.

And with Jimmer, the explosions were frequent enough to merit a legitimate anticipation that resulted in pure entertainment. There was the 47 point outing at Utah, a Huntsman Center record for individual scoring. 43 against number four San Diego State in the biggest game in BYU's regular season history.39 points in a win over UNLV. 42 over Colorado State. 49 against Arizona. 98 points during three games in the NCAA tournament.

Then along came New Mexico. BYU had lost four straight to the Lobos, but the streak died as Jimmer scored an unstoppable 52 points in victory, a mere one of which came from the free throw line**.

Sadly, as noted above, I didn't become a convert until near the end of the legend's line, allowing me to see only two handfuls of Jimmer's games. But I wasn't the only person who became a late fan of the man taking all the Cougar's shots. In a true stunner I was witness to five anti-BYU associates converting into Jimmer supporters over the course of the season. For comparison sake, I never saw Dennis Pitta or Harvey Unga create such a change of heart in the innards of the antis.

Perhaps it's a sign that many of us had never rooted for a ballhog before. Doing so involves a feeling of imperviousness when you know your team's best player can't be denied despite the double teaming, despite the physicality, despite the expectation to dominate night in night out. Jimmer invited that sense of power into my sporting life for the first time and I loved every moment of it. As a result the college basketball season left me feeling a way I had never felt before. As March passed away I for once wasn't looking towards college football, but instead was left wanting more.

Jim-more, to be exact.

Relaxing with some Jazz

2011-04-08T11:50:00.004-06:00

Things in Jazz land are getting a little out of hand. One recent headline proclaimed that "These are the worst of times for (the) Jazz franchise." Another dreadfully declares that the "Jazz’s collapse (is) about to go from merely epic to historic." Most recently I read one article contemplating, "Who deserves the blame for Jazz failures?"

Foolish fans are panicking accordingly. Others might actually examine what has happened to the Jazz in the past year and ask themselves this simple question:

Are we really surprised by the Jazz's poor season?

Well, we shouldn't be.

The Jazz in their current living conditions are not a good team. They have the potential to become a good one, no doubt about that. But a few minutes of careful consideration reveal a quad of challenges the Jazz franchise is struggling to overcome.

Roster changes: Over the past pair of seasons, the Jazz have lost six players to free agency or trade, two of which were all-stars, four of which were regular starters (Deron Williams, Carlos Boozer, Wes Matthews, Kyle Korver, Ronnie Brewer, and Eric Maynor). That boring word 'consistency' used to be the pride and joy of the Jazz administration. Now the Jazz have made so many changes that I'm probably forgetting somebody important that left the team.

Oh right. Sorry, Othyus Jeffers.

Injuries: The bug has been brutal this year. During this ultimate stretch run of the season, the Jazz have missed at points the services of Andrei Kirilenko, Devon Harris, Mehmut Okur, and Raja Bell, the likes of which only constitute 80 percent of the starting lineup.They've lost over 150-player games to injury through the course of the season. Even the players exiled to other teams weren't safe, as Carlos Boozer missed the first chunk of Chicago's season and Deron Williams has been shut down for the remainder of the Nets'.

Inexperience: To start the fourth quarter against the Lakers last Friday, the Jazz settled on a lineup that included three rookies and a D-league graduate. This, against the two-time defending NBA champions. Not too surprising that the Lakers consequently went on a 30-5 run to close out what had been a close game. Oh yeah, the Jazz sport a rookie head coach and assistant as well.

Let it be known: I was there and I did not boo on draft day

No chemistry: The Jazz players have yet to get used to one another. Stockton and Malone played together for 18 seasons, nearly two decades. Boozer, Williams and Okur spent five years as a trio. Meanwhile Jefferson, Harris, Favors and Hayward have ... a few months? My church ball team has played together longer than this collection of Jazz pieces has.

---

Realistically a fan cannot expect a team to perform well under these circumstances. Not when you have a trio of former all-stars out with injury, not when you're best players on the court are 19 and 20-years old, not when you've lost four former starters in a two year span. Right now the prescription for Jazz fans is to relax, not attack. Lowering the expectations for a while never hurt anyone. Even for the impatient help is on the way in the form of the annual draft, though only the Jazz could manage to snag two lottery picks for the worst draft in 11 years.

Still, what the team truly stands is in need of is something that cannot be acquired via draft, trade or signing. The Jazz need time. Time to gain experience, time to recover from injury, and time to develop an actual team chemistry. Once those issues are resolved, Utah will return to its perch as an outside contender with a dominant home court. Or at least they should.

If not, then we can really begin to panic.

Wiffing on a Wife

2011-04-06T15:00:00.006-06:00

Editor's Note: No podcast today. My co-host is vacationing on the high seas.

If there is one thing that General Conference taught me this week, it's that I'm in desperate need of a wife. Surprisingly, I find myself agreeing with this specific advice from these general advisers. I could definitely use a wife.

Preferably one I really, really don't enjoy being around.

You know, someone who nags, has no personality, asks the same questions over and over (how was work? how was the commute? how was your day?).

My problem isn't that I hate happiness and desire misery. On the contrary. In an ideal world, I could even see myself having a wife that I enjoyed spending time with. It's just that in order to survive in the world I've created for myself, I will need to have a wife I truly despise.

You see, it's work that I hate. Jobs, careers, employment. There is no good that comes from this world. And believe me, once employed, work becomes a person's world. You are generally paid for forty hours of service rendered, but you're total time dedicated to work is much greater in reality. Adding an unpaid thirty minutes of lunch, an hour's worth of driving, and thirty minutes of work-related preparation (shaving, bathing, teeth brushing) to each day brings your total weekly work time commitment to 50 hours (or 10 hours a day). Match this with a supposed doctor prescribed eight hours of sleep daily and you are left with a mere 6 hours per day for the rest of your life, or in rhyming terms, time with your wife. That is assuming you spend no time away from your actual workplace dealing with your job.

With work requiring the majority of a person's time it is important that one enjoys what they do. Unfortunately, I chose accounting for a career, making that enjoyment factor an impossibility for me. Therefore the only way I see that work could be enjoyable (or at least tolerable), is by having my home life be even worse than my work life. Just as the Jazz's current season looks good in comparison to that of Cleveland or Minnesota (a combined 121 losses between the two), a miserable job could be a pleasure to go to when compared to an even more miserable home life.

Fortunately I figure it shouldn't be too difficult to get into an abominable marriage. How can married life not be tough and miserable? According to the gospel -- or at least hymn 27, Praise to the Man -- "sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven." I am often told that marriage is the number one blessing that can be received in life; shouldn't it also be the number one challenge? Certainly the greatest blessings available aren't just being handed out for free - they require a price. What the cost is for this particular blessing, I don't precisely know (I'll tell you once I'm married). But if you are prone to believe the words of my old golf course boss John Brubaker, the cost is one's life. "When a man gets married, he gets what he wants for a while," said John. "And then he dies."

Well that sounds very nice, at least as far as my work life is concerned.

Then again I'm reminded of the words of another of my wise associates - the irrefutable Bunna Veth. Said he of being employed, "Humans: we're just not meant to work 8 hours a day."

I definitely like where he is going with that statement. Perhaps if I could manage to reverse the time ratios such that home life occupied ten hours a day while work merely accounted for six, then I could pursue a wife that would make me happy, as the majority of my time would be spent around her rather than the office. I like this scenario because under this plan my retirement could actually be something I look forward to. Hmm. This all presents a very tricky dynamic.

I could see myself being happy in this scenario

Of course while considering all this happiness and unhappiness, I wonder, could a person have both an enjoyable job and home life?

Yeah right. No one gets that lucky.

Pod 4 - Spring (Heart) Break

2011-03-30T07:32:00.007-06:00

Episode 4: wherein Nathan attempts to provide Spencer comfort after being dumped by his long lost red-headed lover. The pros and cons of dating Spencer are listed, the benefits of being dumped are mentioned, and Caitlyn Ellis's reasons for never starting a relationship with the Uruguayan Lion are verbalized.

Guest Starring: Caitlyn Ellis

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Brandon Davies - A Case of (Im)Perfect Timing

2011-03-26T12:15:00.007-06:00

A combined 13 feet six inches, 470 pounds and ten fouls worth of big men were missing during BYU's season ending lost to Florida on Friday. BYU had survived sans Chris Collinsworth for the majority of the season, but the loss of Brandon Davies proved too much to overcome as the Cougars struggled to a 5-3 record in his absence. Whether or not Davies presence could have changed Friday's result is debatable. What can't be argued, however, is that Davie's suspension came at the worst time possible for the BYU basketball team.

But for BYU the institution -- and anyone who still believes in college athletics -- the timing couldn't have been any better. Whereas Harvey Unga's suspension of a year ago went more or less unnoticed nationally, the media spotlight was focused directly on BYU when they waived Davies from the team. And a chance to prove to the rest of the NCAA that winning isn't everything may be just what college athletics needs.

Consider:

Two days after BYU kicked Davies off the team for honor code violations, Sports Illustrated published a cover story on the high number of college football players with criminal records. Of the 2010 preseason top 25 teams, 24 had at least one player with a prior criminal record (the lone exception - Rose Bowl Champion TCU). Pittsburgh led the way with 22 players charged, while Stanford rounded out the bottom with only one player with a past record (locally Utah had five players charged, Boise State 16).

The overall message behind the findings? Universities are willing to do anything to increase their chances of winning, including ignoring the past offenses of potential recruits. One anonymous source suggested that coaches purposely avoid learning about players personal histories. "(Finding out about past arrests) could mean that you would lose some talented players," the source said. "Your (athletic director) or admissions people might say, 'No, we can't take that kid after what he did.'" While the nation wondered on the win-at-any-cost attitude of universities, BYU's message of upholding an honor code at the risk of weakening their team stood as a contrast to what most teams are willing to do.

BYU's message was again brought to light in the wake of NCAA violations at Ohio State. Five players on OSU's football had been suspended last winter for breaking NCAA policy. A few weeks after the Davies suspension, it was learned that OSU head coach Jim Tressel had known about the violations during the Buckeye's season and had done nothing about it. When asked why he didn't bring the violations to attention, Coach Tressel claimed that he was trying to protect his players from scandal and that it had nothing to do with maintaining the success of the Buckeye's season.

You know how many people believed that? Zero. Not even his own school paper bought the story, which published an article calling for his resignation. After all, Tressel had been the coach when his previous stars Maurice Clarett and Troy Smith were involved in NCAA infractions as well. The Colombus Dispatch pointed out that of 12 coaches cited for not being truthful about NCAA violations since 2006, 11 had been fired or quit. So naturally, when OSU president E. Gordon Gee was asked if Tressel would receive similar treatment he laughed, "Are you kidding?"

I guess standards probably are a joke to President Gee, compared to the importance of winning ball games. Tressel has led the Buckeye's to back-to-back BCS Championship appearances during his tenure, not to mention various BCS bowl games. Surely maintaining rules are not important compared to garnering those level of accomplishments. Such seemed to be the case at Tennessee, where coach Bruce Pearl remained employed despite having lied to NCAA investigators about a recruiting violation. He wasn't fired until his team lost by thirty in the first round last week. Maybe winning really is everything.

Perhaps that creed is the reason behind one journalist asking BYU coach Dave Rose why he didn't just let the Davies honor code violation slide under the rug. After all, prior to his suspension BYU had reached a number three ranking nationally, sported the likely player of the year winner, and was in contention for a number one seed in the NCAA tournament. Why, when so many others are prone to break any rule to ensure victory, was BYU willing to ruin their season by supporting a standard that they had made for themselves?

BYU as a program certainly isn't free from error. They've had their share of violations and criminals during their time. But on this occasion with the Davies suspension they did more than just limit the potential of their best basketball team in thirty years. They did more than just uphold what to many seems to be an archaic code of conduct. While most every other team has proven they'll do anything to win, BYU sent a different message altogether.

And they couldn't have picked a better time to do it.

The Time I Stripped for my Girlfriend's Mom ...

2011-03-23T11:30:00.006-06:00

... was, unfortunately, not nearly as exciting as that title makes it sound. And therein lies the point of this entire post. Headlines are written in such a way as to grab a potential reader's attention. The headline is the bait, we the readers are the fish. As such, a catchy headline may be the difference between an open-mouthed swallow and a casual nibble.

Naturally an individual's given name plays the role of their personal headline. Normally the more unique the name, the deeper the initial impression is made upon meeting someone. However some parents have gone a bit overboard in their quest to impress, having conjured some truly horrendous names as of late. McMoses, Brick and Scander are examples of how far some moms and dads will go to distinguish their offspring from the Pauls, Marks and Johns of the world. Even the beloved George of Seinfeld lore, who was saddled with a less than appealing name himself, was intent on providing a bizarre uniqueness to his child by calling him (or her) "Seven".

Some wise souls, realizing that one's destiny may derive from their name, changed their title long after their branding. Hence Calvin Cordozar Broadus Jr became a concise Snoop Dogg; the un-intimidating Lew Alcindor used religion to become Kareem Abdul-Jabbar; the overly-average James turned into the one and only Jimmer. Who knows how Lance Armstrong's legend could've grown had he changed his appendage to "Legstrong".

Would James Fredette have made back-to-back SI covers?

Indeed, a person's name may be more important than the actual character in question. This would explain why so many persons attempt to add titles to spice up their name. Doctor Bill is no doubt more pleasant sounding than Mister Bill. And Arnold sure would feel better about saying his name if he could introduce himself as Astronaut Arnold. Consider President Hansen versus Spencer Hansen. I know which pairing I would choose.

Those who fail to recognize the appeal of a superb name limit their chances of global fame. I speak of course of the Chilean people.

Chileans love bread. So much so that I'd wager one in thirty families in Chile run a bread selling business from their house. Saldy, not a single one of these businesses recognize the advertising power of a quality name. During a two year stay, I saw the same two words used over and over to advertise the fact that they were selling bread. The words? "Hay pan", which translates to "there is bread". Not once did I see a sign that boasted, "Chile's Best Bread", or "Cheapest Bread Around" or even something as mundane as "Our Bread Tastes Good". Nope. There is bread. And that's all we're going to tell you.

These trend-setters pushed the envelope by including an exclamation point

Someday Chile will reach first-world status. But it won't be until they realize the power of a name.

I bring all this name calling business to light because Nathan and I are in the midst of a major dilemma, as we attempt to find the appropriate label for our newborn podcast. Three weeks of discussion and debate have passed, culminating in today's recording in which we were forced to turn to others for suggestions. Despite our best efforts, the only thing we've managed to agree on is the answer to the long-asked question, "What's in a name?"

Only everything.

As for the strip show for my girlfriend's mom, well, like I said it's not that great of a story. In a moment consisting of poor eyesight and loose morals, I opted to do a sensual shirt removal in front of my second-story window for an approaching young women. As the gap between the girl and I closed, my eyes began to realize for whom I was actually stripping. If the Chileans were to describe this situation, they would simply say there is embarrassment. In this case I would agree.

Needless to say I and her daughter are no longer dating.

Pod 3 - Identity Crisis

2011-03-23T09:29:00.006-06:00

Episode 3: wherein the podcasting duo debate what the name of the unnamed pod should be. After failing to reach an accordance, special guests are invited to share their naming experience and wisdom.

Guest Starring: Devon Smith, Doug Peterson

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Pod 2 - State of the Jazz

2011-03-16T09:17:00.008-06:00

Episode 2: wherein Spencer and Nathan dump March Madness to discuss a more pressing matter, the state of the Utah Jazz. Bunna Veth is introduced for the first time, ancient rituals are debated, and bold predictions that are looking more foolish as the season continues are made.

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Pod 1 - A Discussion on "Chuck"

2011-03-09T08:00:00.014-07:00

Episode 1: wherein Nathan and Spencer begin a quest not to become podcasters, but podca-stars. Spencer's conversion story to NBC's Chuck is shared, Nathan's testimony of the show is born, and the keys to create quality TV are taught.

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The Restoration - Part II

2011-03-03T13:00:00.008-07:00

-- Note: For Part I of this two part series, click here --

When it comes to restoration, it's safe to say that Rogaine is no Joseph Smith. It's also safe to say the apostasy that strikes the top of my head isn't going to be ending anytime soon. The results tell a sad story (make that the lack of results): Despite fertilizing my head with Rogaine for over a year now, I still haven't managed to grow anything (and I even go to an agriculture school).

It was worth a shot. And about a hundred bucks, according to my latest credit card statement. It's hard to believe, though, that I would be a third of the way to a PS3 if I weren't so worried with how the top of my head looks (and you thought accountants didn't care about image -- well we have feelings too). Still, there's reason to be concerned.

Perhaps you've heard of Jerry Seinfeld? He had a friend named George Costanza. In their early days the two carried similar lives, growing up and attending school together. Despite being best friends, their paths diverged in their post-grad years. Following college, Jerry developed a succesful career filled with celebrity, money and women. Meanwhile George's formidable years were often spent unemployed, companion-less, at his parent's abode.

What was the difference between the two? One had hair, the other did not.

Simple. As. That.

Having great hair is critical to success in life. It's the source behind Bob Costas' strength, the pillar of David Hasslehoff's power, and the reason behind George's ruin.

No wonder he saved so may lives

I bring this up because I am on the verge of playing the George Costanza to Nathan Ballard's Jerry Seinfeld. The two of us pushed through high school and college as betrothed chaps living identical lifestyles. As Nathan and I completed our undergrads, however, it became apparent that our lives were heading in different directions.

Nathan had a girlfriend. And a job.

I had neither.

Such are the fruits of having (or not having) great hair. What else could be responsible for Nathan's success and my failure (beside skin color)?

But you know what the worst part of this story is?

I did this to myself.

According to Wikipedia --the 8th most trafficked site on the net, mind you -- balding comes from two sources: genetics or extreme stress. Childbirth is another contributor, but my mom says that my arrival was rather uneventful. You can cross genetics off the list as well, as my mom's dad is still sprouting hair at an advanced age. Stress, then, has to be the problem behind my, uh, problem. That said, the majority of my life is experienced in a calm fashion. I don't have a lot of bills (rent and pizza), I have no girlfriend, my colon has been regular ...

Then there's the sports world. My love is spent on the Cougars and the Jazz. And those two teams reward my heart the only way they know how -- by giving it stress. Boy, do they ever do a good job of it. Year after year, these teams have managed to provide me with anxiety, respiratory problems, everything but reliable hair growth. Thus my one true love -- sports -- has eliminated my other love -- hair.

I'm reminded of the words of one Professor Trelawney.

"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

Sure she was speaking of Voldemort and Harry Potter, but she may as well been speaking of my hair-sport relationship.

It's a shame because of all people, I know the worth of a well-done do. It is no surprise that Jimmer Fredette's career year has coincided with the best haircut of his BYU tenure. Likewise no one was stunned to hear that 934 Harry Potter fans committed suicide after Emma Watson chopped her Hermione's. Such is the power of hair.

And you thought Dumbledore's death was a tragedy

A person's most valuable asset, lusty locks can be the difference maker in the crusade for jobs, girl(s), and happiness. How curious, then, that the three things I'm trying to grasp require the one thing I can't hang onto.

I've been told at times to get over it, to embrace the falling follicles. Increased aerodynamacy and a distinguished appearance are frequently cited as compensation for having the look of an ancient. While those two traits are nice consolation prizes, I'd still rather keep my locks, because hair is simply too valuable, it's usefulness too apparent.

That's what makes this particular hair loss so hard to swallow (not that hair is easy to swallow under other circumstances). Ever since I was a little kid, people have been telling me to use my head. Maybe they were talking about the top of it, maybe not. Either way now that I need it most, it may be too late.

The Coach - Part II

2011-02-11T19:08:00.007-07:00

The Bulls. Always the Bulls.

In the end it was the team he played for, ruined his knee for, and twice represented as an all-star that defeated Jerry Sloan. He coached them too, is in fact one of four Bulls to have his number retired, and was nicknamed at one point "The Original Bull". Throw in the two losses in the NBA finals and it's fitting I suppose that Chicago would be the team that dealt him his final and decisive loss. Sports are predictable when it comes to these types of things, just like the later seasons of long-running TV shows. Karma, irony, whatever you chalk the weird coincidence up to, it just makes sense. Then once you consider that the Bulls are Jerry's home town team, and that Deron Williams -- who held a role in Sloan's resignation -- played his college ball for Illinois, the "coincidence" becomes even biblical. Christ said it first: "No prophet is accepted in his own country."

Sloan will be forever accepted in my country, however. The man with the platinum hair, golden vocals, and gray humor is the only coach I've ever known, and for that matter, the only one I've wanted to know. Phil Johnson, Sloan's right hand man, merits a mention here for standing by his coach and going down in tandem with his teammate. He joins the illustrious ranks of unheralded sidekicks such as George Hincapie, Lance Reynolds, and Neville Longbottom.

Click here to read why I feel Sloan was the NBA's best coach

The news of the duo's retirement hasn't gone over well. Not only is Utah in a state of mourning, but not surprisingly Stockton, California -- a town named after Sloan's greatest disciple -- has been dubbed America's most miserable city in the wake of the aftermath.

While Jazz fans will think fondly of Sloan's loyalty and consistency, the rest of the world will remember him for one thing - his lack of a championship. "The Lord of the Ring-less", they title him mockingly. "He coached how many years without winning?" they wonder. It is with regards to this matter that I must speak up for my coach.

The Bulls. Always the Bulls.

Sure, it was 12 and a half years ago, but pain such as the Jazz experienced is not easily forgotten. It was round two of Utah versus Chicago in the NBA Finals. The Bulls had won the year before, but the rematch seemed to favor Utah with playoff experience and home court advantage on the Jazz's side. It came down to the sixth game in which Michael Jordan made the famous game-winning jumper over Bryan Russell. But long before that shot fell, two other shots that were made by officials determined the game.

The first came courtesy of Jazz guard Howard Eisley, who made a three point shot as the 24-second clock expired. Referee Dick Bavetta (a fitting first name) waved off the basket, ruling it too late despite the fact that the ball was four feet out of Eisley's hands with a second remaining on the clock. Just like that, three points were vaporized from the Jazz scoreboard.

Later in the game an identical situation presented itself with Bulls guard Ron Harper, who tossed up a 15-footer as the clock was ticking down. Amazingly, Harper's shot was allowed to stand despite not being released before the clock expired. Just like that, two points were gifted to the Chicago scoreboard.

In a game that was decided by one point, a five point bonus was unfairly awarded to the defending champions. Keep in mind these were not judgment calls, like a blocking or charging foul. These were a pair of calls requiring only eyesight to be made correctly, and yet they were still called wrong. Perhaps no championship game has ever been so soiled by officiating error. True, Sloan never won a title. Not surprising considering he had to go up against the greatest player of all-time and a disabled officiating crew.

Jordan beat the Jazz the first time around, but in the second battle a different type of bull was the deciding factor.

You want video proof of my claim? Fast forward to the 7 minute mark of this clip to see Eisley's three, and watch from the beginning of this clip til at least the 1:50 mark for Harper's shot and announcer commentary.

You want printed proof? The calls were so egregious that following the game Bavetta apologized to Jerry Sloan. Yes, you read that correctly. They were so bad that the head ref apologized. "Sorry if I made some mistakes during the game, and good luck to you," is how Jerry recalls Bavetta's act of penance.

You want 3rd party proof? As the Bulls rushed the court to celebrate their victory over Utah, NBC announcer Bob Costas said, "When you lose by this narrow a margin there are so many things to look back on, but the Howard Eisley three that was taken away will eat at (the Jazz) all Summer long."

Costas was wrong about one part of that statement of course. That call has eaten away at me for much longer than one mere summer. But not so with Jerry, and it is in this that perhaps Sloan's greatest victory is seen.

When asked in retrospect about what could have happened with the officiating and the game in general, Sloan responded, "You could drive yourself crazy with stuff like that. So what do you do about it? You go on about your business ... That's part of life, I guess. You have to live with it and go on. You're not gonna change it."

When further asked about Bavetta's apology for the missed calls, Sloan said, "He felt like he made a mistake, and that's fine. I'll live with that, I've made mistakes myself. Plenty of them."

It's apparent to all that Sloan made no mistake in the way he handled this situation. A lesser man would have never overcome the fact that he was screwed out of his sport's most prestigious prize. In a league that has seen one coach complain about something as absurd as an opposing mascot affecting his players, Sloan accepted his cross like a class act. So in reality, Jerry accomplished the hardest thing in all of sports: no, not winning a championship, but losing one -- in the most heinous way possible -- and still being man enough to get over it.

No Ordinary Game

2011-02-06T08:30:00.001-07:00

For a small few the first Sunday in February remains a holy day of Deity worship. For the rest of the nation however, this Sunday is a holiday of sporting worship. Regardless of where your adoration lies -- whether it be at church on the front pew or at your house with a cold brew -- there is one thing about this Sunday that cannot be argued: everything about it is super.

It all starts with the sport itself, football, which will take a super bow this Sunday as the current king of all sports. Its popularity is witnessed by the fact that the league had total revenues of over nine billion dollars last year. The ratings for last year's championship game were superior to those of any other program in television history, surpassing even the season finale of MASH. That record is likely to be broken again this year, but don't mention that to Fox - they're a superstitious bunch. Some have wondered if the recent collective bargaining discussions will lead to a lockout of the U.S's favorite sport, but I consider that a bunch of super bull. Even though NFL players take a lot of drugs, no steroid can create the super balls needed to risk forfeiting nine billion dollars just to make a few extra bucks.

You had a good run, team

Additionally the commercials that air during the game are super, or at least they include the first few letters of the word. From Campbell's Soup (okay, so it's not spelled Campbell's 'Sup', but it sounds similar enough) to the Budweiser boozer's crying "Waaaa-suuuuuup", the first syllable of super makes a frequent appearance during game breaks.

Likewise the location of the big game is anything but ordinary. Three times the game has been played within binocular distance of Lake Superior, and guess in which stadium the game has been most played? That's right, Louisiana's Superdome. This year the game moves to Dallas, where the hype of the game and the size of the stadium will call for the highest amount of security of all-time. With $10 million dollars being alloted to stadium protection, the amount of authoritative supervision will be unmatched. Of course, those blessed viewers who will witness the game courtesy of their 60 inch HD/3D screens might say they are enjoying a different type of supervision altogether. Such fortunate fans won't be blamed for feeling that they are benefiting from Superman's advanced sight. Speaking of the man of steel -- not to be confused with the men of the Steelers -- that is one element of the word 'super' that this Sunday will be missing. The NFL has no Superman impersonator, while the NBA has two characters who claim to be Clark Kent's alter ego in Shaq and Dwight Howard. Michael Vick has come close to taking up the cape, but its doubtful America will ever accept him as such. No level of supernatural play will ever supersede the reputation of dog killer.

Speaking of regretable moments, did you hear about Tom Daugherty, the professional bowler who knocked down a mere 100 pins in a recent tournament? I only bring it up to point out that not every day can be a super bowl.

Perhaps the five letter adjective is most seen in the meals consumed during the holy day, a congregation of foods that is not as much a last supper as a last super. Pizza, ribs, booze, chips and dip, guacamole, booze (yes, twice) and of course steak -- all super-sized of course -- come together to make the Super Bowl more than just a championship bout. Just remember that in order to prevent the Big Game from becoming the Big Lame, you'll need one last above average item to compliment all that food:

Super bowels.

Ryan Pearson, The Man (Part II)

2011-02-01T21:12:00.011-07:00

Long before the term "blogging" made it into the words Hall of Fame -- aka the dictionary -- I knew that someday, somehow, in whatever medium available, I would have to tell the world the story of Ryan Pearson. The first opportunity came on November 3, 2008. But the portrayal I painted that day pails in comparison to Nathan Ballard's recently completed film, "Ryan Pearson - A Documentary". Just in time for Oscar season.

Converted to Jimmerism

2011-01-27T23:00:00.008-07:00

Perhaps playing in front of a 22,700 man crowd at an elevation of 4,500 feet was a bit of a baptism by fire for the no longer undefeated San Diego State Aztecs. If so, the beat down delivered courtesy of Jimmer Fredette can only be described as baptism by Jimmersion (though truth be told Fredette's christening came more in the form of a sprinkling of shots than a display of dunking - he is a white afterall). The All-American point guard did it again last night (again!), scoring 43 and carrying BYU to its biggest regular season win of all time (it was the third time in four games that Fredette has scored over 40 points). In the process Jimmer did more than just convert a bevy of shots from both inside and outside the arc. He also converted SDSU into a one-loss team, and even more impressive, he converted yours truly -- a college basketball atheist -- into a believer (for this season at least).

His game and his hair have continually improved

Considering my gospel-like love of sports, you may be surprised to hear I turn the other cheek when it comes to college basketball. The truth is I simply don't care about it (as evidenced by this being the first blog about college basketball I've ever written). I think its a fluke sport where home court advantage and three-pointers decide most outcomes. As for regular season games, they usually are of minimal importance - March seems to be the only time that anything matters. Then last night came along. In BYU's biggest home game ever, in the first game featuring an undefeated team versus a one-loss team in ten years, in a game with Player of the Year implications and a perfect season on the line, everything mattered. And all Jimmer did was lay 43 points on the alter in magnifying his calling from All-American to legitimate Player of the Year candidate. A new member of the Fredette faith was born.

My doubting brother was brought to the fold last night as well. He sent me this text after watching Fredette score 15 straight points late in the first half: "(Jimmer) gives me hope that I can watch basketball again*."

Of course the Hansen clan wasn't the only group converted to Jimmerism last night. ESPN personality Bill Simmons, NBA Rookie of the Year candidate John Wall, point guard Steve Nash, rapper Nelly and Player of the Year candidate Jared Sullinger all had shout outs for Fredette via Twitter.You see in the end it wasn't just SDSU that got Jimmered yesterday, but the entire nation as well. Perhaps no one more than NBA scoring champ Kevin Durant, who tweeted, "Jimmer Fredette is the best scorer in the world!!"

He was for one night at least.

Fredette scored a supernatural 1.1 points per minute in a game where SDSU grinded 30 seconds out of each of their possessions. This while shooting 58% from the floor, 62% from three, and 90% from the line. It may not have been as much a religious experience as an out-of-body one, but either way students still held up signs that proclaimed, "In Jimmer we trust." Whether or not the Jimmer-worship is encroaching on the first of the ten commandments is an issue for another day. That such a question exists due to a person whose name could be shortened to an incredibly average 'Jim Fred' is beyond surprising.

As for my brother, he had his own way of describing Jimmer which had little to do with removing name endings and even less to do with organized religion.

Said he in the simplest way possible, "Jimmer is a bad ass".

The Hanceys

2011-01-20T11:00:00.003-07:00

I've been waiting a long time for 2011 to come along. 15 years in fact, ever since the fateful day when I first learned that eleven was my lucky number. But before we get ahead of ourselves looking into what could happen in this long awaited year we must first hand out hardware to the spectacular performers of 2010. And lest you think these awards are unnecessary or trivial, keep in mind that the Eclipse Awards (no relation to Twilight) just bestowed a steed named Zenyatta the Horse of the Year award. With that thought in mind and with further ado out of mind...

(Disclaimer: If you're name isn't Zac Roner, Dallin Webb, Ian Wright, The Squire Family, Jackie or Anna Johnson, Caitlyn Ellis, Hayley Dearden, Ryan Pearspn, Nicole/Nathan/Bryan, or Bunna Veth this post may not be worth your time)

Winner of the Bob Ross award for most majestic hair follicles - Ryan Pearson (soon to be renamed the Ryan Pearson award)

Winner of the Jackie Chiles award for most enjoyable voice to listen to - Anna Johnson (I would marry those tones)

The Buzz Lightyear award for extreme number of gadgets - Jackie Johnson, owner of an iPod, a kindle, a smart phone, three computers, a DVD player and a sewing machine (I would marry those accessories)

The Paul Millsap award for most improved athlete - Zac Roner

The Yao Ming award for a promising career derailed by injury - Zac Roner (Dislocated knee cap, ligament sprain, broken back and was recently fired, to add insult to you-know-what)

The Alex Trebek award for knowing a lot of stuff and looking great with a mustache - Caitlyn Ellis (Books. Movies. Drinks. Boys. Girls. Cars. Road trips. Tennis. Shakespeare. Riverton. She knows it all)

You will do yourself a large favor if you click this link to see the uncut version of Trebek's picture

The Buffy the Vampire Slayer award for proficiency with weapons - Ian Wright

The Cosmo Kramer award for unemployed success story - Nathan Ballard (Living the high life since June 2009)

The Michael Jordan award for switching careers - Bunna Veth (In computer science we trust)

The Albus Dumbledore award for leading an army of children - Nicole Blietschau

The Morgan Grimes award for best facial hair and most loyal comrade - Climps the cat

The Christopher Columbus award for discovering foreign lands - The Squire Family (No matter how cold it gets in Idaho, do not accept any blankets from anyone)

The John Stockton award for most provocative clothing - Still belongs to John Stockton, unfortunately

The man knew how to show skin

The Ross and Rachel award for best couple - Bryan Farnsworth and WalMart

The Bryan Farnsworth award for most dapperly dressed individual - Hayley Dearden (She also has an uncanny memory for clothes people wore from years past as well ...)

The Tiger Woods award for greatest collapse -Tie: The BYU football team and Spencer's psyche after watching the collapse of the BYU football team.

The Mr. Miagi award for best hairless mentor - Dallin Webb (I will soon join you in baldness. If only I could join you in womanizing as well.)

The Lazarus award for returning from the dead - BYU football team (My love of Bronco has never been stronger)

The Lewis and Clark award for non-gay best friends - Spencer and Nathan (Take Bronco out of the picutre and that first part might change)

And finally the winner of the Idaho award for irrelevance - Spencer's blog

On Tour: Day 2

2011-01-15T11:56:00.005-07:00

Upstaged.

If you had to select one directive to describe today's blog signing you couldn't go wrong with that one. It just so happened that I wasn't the only celebrity roaming on campus this week. To the joy of bored-students/fake-Jazz-fans everywhere, Jeff Hornacek made an appearance at Utah State yesterday. By the numbers, Jeff had some one thousand students show up for his presentation. Meanwhile the turnout for day two on the tour was not so hot - one fan arrived. I can't help but feel that a number of people who were planning to come for autographs forgot the event due to the excitement of having an NBA legend within smelling distance. Once again my thoughts turn to my PR representative. Who schedules a signing the day after a folk hero comes to town? But I suppose if I'm going to be put to shame by someone it might as well be the beloved sharp-shooter of my youth. And if I'm going to be approached for an autograph by anyone, it might as well be Caitlyn and her bag of sweettart hearts, both of which left me feeling twitterpated (or at least thinking about Twitter).

At least one person left the tour signed and satisfied

I'll say one thing for Twitter: I love what it's done for sports stars. Athletes are interviewed everyday by various media types without ever letting on to what's really going on in their heads. Yet for whatever reason, these very same reserved-when-questioned athletes are willing to disclose anything if Twitter is involved. SI writer Richard Hoffer explained it best: "Twitter ... destroys such traditional filters as time and good sense."

My two favorite athelte-related tweets are the ones involving personal feelings and jabs at opponents. Take for example Paul Pierce's tweet mocking LeBron James after the Celctic's beat the Heat in Miami: "It's been a pleasure to bring my talents to south beach". Pierce would never have made such a remark to a reporter, but he was fine sending it to Tweet-accepting devices everywhere. Same goes for LeBron, who recently tweet-taunted Cleveland after the Caveliers endured a 55-point loss to the Lakers: "Crazy. Karma is a b----. Gets you every time. It's not good to wish bad on anybody. God sees everything!"

Deity shows up frequently in Tweets. When Steve Johnson of the Bufallo Bills dropped a wide-open touchdown pass that cost the Bills the game, he opened up in a personal way - by blaming God - that traditional media could never evoke: "I praise you 24/7!!!!!! And this how you do me!!!!! You expect me to learn from this??? How???!!!I'll never forget this!! Ever!!! Thx tho..." Again, no athlete would ever reveal such personal feelings in a typical post game interview or press conference (exception: John Beck and the infamous crying incident. I refuse to link to the YouTube clip). Isn't this what we've always wanted? To truly know what an athlete is feeling after a monumental play has occurred?

The truth is athletes can range from selfish and immature to wise and and eloquent and getting a glimpse into their true thoughts is remarkable. For this I thank Twitter. But for those athletes who are too old to use the internet -- paging Jeff Hornacek -- a Q and A session like Tuesday's provides a similar opportunity to learn things that were never revealed by the questionings of traditional media. For example, until Tuesday I had never heard that Hornacek ...

- Did not believe that Michael Jordan pushed off Bryan Russell

- Will coach full time once his youngest daughter is a little older

- While playing for Phoenix, once called a Jazz fan a fat (insert swear word here). Turns out that fan was Larry Miller ("I guess I'll never get traded to Utah," Hornacek remarked once he learned who the fan was.)

- Began training Fesenko in free throw shooting on Monday (why this didn't happen sooner, no one asked surprisingly)

- Believes the Jazz's ten day layoff between sweeping the Lakers and beginning the series with the Bulls was the key factor that led to losing the Finals (Jazz lost their momentum and mojo during the break)

- Retired from the Jazz not because of his knees but because he didn't think the team would have another chance at winning the championship (I thought I was the only one that pessimistic about the Jazz)

Surprisingly the greatest revelation of the night had little to do with basketball. Believe it or not, Jeff Hornacek, prior to becoming an NBA star was a mere accountant (pretty believable actually considering his hairstyle and lack of athleticism). He had even accepted a position with a top accounting firm and told them the only way he wouldn't work for them is if he was fortunate enough to be drafted into the NBA. Well,God truly loved Jeff for he spared him from the clutches of boredom and inserted him into a job where he played a game for a living (where he learned to deal with a different type of clutch).

I relate this story because it gives me hope that I too may be similarly saved from an accounting future devoid of personality, pleasure and prosperity. Perhaps I too can be gifted an escape by making it big elsewhere. If the tour results are any indication my big break probably won't come from blogging, but I could still become famous as a model, astronaut, or maybe even a politician.

Then we'll see how I often I get upstaged.

On Tour: Day 1

2011-01-08T19:25:00.002-07:00

Day one on the tour wasn't as great as I expected.

No one showed. Apparently I need a new PR chief. May Logan city treat me better.

To My Readers

2011-01-07T11:45:00.003-07:00

Good evening and welcome boys and girls, ladies and gentleman of all sizes and search engines. Although if my demographic trackers are accurate, I should be welcoming mainly girls of age 18-24, size undetermined, who primarily surf using Firefox. Whatever. I'm an equal opportunity blogger and all are welcomed here.

The reason I bring you to the computer screen this day is to thank you. Yes you, the blog reader. The person whose job is so boring you have nothing better to do than read about my deodorant application strategy. I don't know if you've heard the news, but this site is now the 20,951,584 most trafficked page in all of internet-dom! And I owe it all to you.

I am a very proud father. This blog used to be just a little fellow with few posts and even fewer followers. I didn't use pictures, references or wit. Oh how times have changed! Now, spencerhansen.blogspot is a veritable international sensation. According to the latest reports there are now some 202 million websites online, meaning this blog is among the top ten percent most viewed sites in the world! I couldn't be prouder.

This belief of course hinges on the accuracy of the website providing the ranking, one alexa.com. The site's ranking system appears trustworthy, considering it ranks Google, Facebook, and YouTube as the top three most visited domains, which seems right to me. But some of alexa's other features may not be so dependable. Consider some of the searches it generated related to spencerhansen.blogspot.com: pandora charms, baby furniture and 債務整理. But on the flip side it also suggested related searches including the Utah Jazz, cat products, and bike racks so I guess it works about fifty-fifty.

Another great tidbit I learned from alexa.com is that Wikipedia --eighth most visited site on the web, by the way -- is most popular in none other than Berlin, Germany. This might explain where Hitler found some of his more, uh, questionable beliefs. Of course I speak in jest. Everyone knows old Adolf was an askjeeves.com type of guy.

Of course he was always angry - in 1943 all they had was dial-up

Alexa.com also taught me that victoriasecret.com is most popular among college females but least popular among female graduate students (even less popular than girls with some or no college). I find this quite curious and suppose it could mean two things:

a) The further a girl goes in school, the less time she can dedicate to intimate relations; or

b) Girls obtaining just an undergrad degree aren't really interested in school at all;

What does all this have to do with my blog's extreme success? Nothing actually. This is just stuff I wanted to share with you that I found during my three weeks of boredom while away from school. Let's get back to the point at hand.

Today is a day of celebration and a day of expressing my appreciation. Numerous persons have contributed to the popularity of this blog. I thank my principal inspirer and brainstormer, Nathan Ballard; chief motivator, Caitlyn Ellis; blog editor, Hayley Dearden; advertisement head, John Warr; loyal commenters, Nicole Blietschau and Dallin Webb; Buffy supporters, Cassie Pickle and Niccole Franc; my parents, who never read the blog thereby making it possible for me to write about gays or peeing in sand traps without worry of censorship; Ryan Pearson, for being such a remarkable person to write about; and of course the man who invented blogging and is responsible for making me a writer of blogs, Bunna Veth. To you and the many behind the scenes readers, I give my heart filled thanks. I couldn't have become the 20.9 millionth most popular www without you.

To express my love I will be going on tour to sign any blog post you are willing to print (not to mention anything else you might want signed: body parts, posters, Facebook conversations). You can find me at The Pie Pizzeria on Saturday the 8th of January, signing from 1 to 3:00 and Wednesday January 12th in the Merrill-Cazier Library in Logan from 7 to 9:00. We request as a courtesy to the crowds that you take no more than 30 seconds to meet the author and have your paraphernalia signed (no pictures, please).

I look forward to hearing you say how great it is to meet me. See you soon.

The Price is Right

2010-12-23T15:35:00.000-07:00

Oh, Jennifer, if you only knew. I'm here you know. You don't have to keep struggling in search of your true love. I could've told you Brad Pitt was a waste. Benjamin Button? Are you kidding me? By the way my facial hair looks nothing like his, if that helps my cause at all (see photo). As for Angelina, I never liked her to begin with. She made a lousy Tomb-Raider. But enough about that. I heard you dated a Mormon once? Care to give another member of the LDS faithful a chance? Not so much?

Room for a fourth in this triangle?

Granted religion isn't our only obstacle- you also have no idea who I am. And that's only the first problem. Even if you knew who I was, you wouldn't consider me good enough for you. Don't worry, I'm not mad about it. Such a judgment would be accurate. I understand that me and you are, uh, on different levels.

You snog, I blog.
You attract mates, I repel dates.
Your body is stacked, my temple is cracked.

In fact about the only thing we have in common is we both think Ross Gellar is cool.

And this, more or less, is the real problem that mate-seekers encounter while in search of their dream boy or girl. It's that they are better than us. There's a reason that this person is deemed "dreamy" after all. A definition of the word 'dream' is presented for your convenience.

dream (dreem): 8. something of an unreal beauty, charm, or excellence.

It's no easy task for a male of normal nature to claim a woman of unreal excellence or beauty. Yet thanks to the teachings of the business world it can be done. We studied the fraud approach in an earlier post; this time we will look to the stock market as our guide.

The most basic idea of stock investing is that you want to buy a company that will bring you great returns over time. The Googles and Apples of the world are prime examples of such dream stocks. Problem is that everyone knows these companies are awesome, the desire to own them is fierce, and as a result the price to acquire them is astronomical. Such is the case with dream girls. The male population knows these girls are extraordinary, and as a result the cost to invest in one is rather steep. The price tag may call for a six-pack, Bob Costas' hair, the wit of Mr. Colbert or maybe just actual money (girls respect the large wallet).

Thus the dilemma. We all want to own great girls/companies, but often lack the resources needed to acquire them. But don't become celibate just yet. The stock market provides reason for hope. The key is to buy low when companies are being undervalued. There are two conditions under which a normally high priced stock can be found at a bargain level.

Bargain Option #1
Buy the company before it realizes its potential.

Investing in a piece of Google today requires $603. But if you had invested in Google on August 30, 2004 it would have cost you a mere $100 per share. Hence if you had hopped on Google before it became fully developed you may have actually had a shot at affording the company. With women, or in this case, young women, the same approach holds true. Move in before they make it big and even the poorest of blokes might have a shot at the girl. Of course this path involves a hoard of hurdles: your friends will think you're a creep, forecasting the future is hard (who'd have thought young Demi Moore would turn into a babe?), and of course the law frowns upon it. The author decries the youngling approach as well (by decry, I mean attempted and failed) so if you want further advice on the "locate minors" strategy you'll have to look to the guidance of my dating guru Dallin Webb.

Bargain Option #2
Buy the company when it is depressed

This option isn't just the more honorable of the two, it's the easier to take advantage of as well. Changes in management, poor economic conditions, the arrival of new competitors -- all of these factors can lead to a decrease in the cost of a stock. In November of 2008 Apple's stock price had dropped to $82. Was it because the company had a flaw? Were iPods suddenly not cool? Nope, the economy had just passed away and all companies were down. Had you pounced on Apple in its depressed state you could have owned a stock that trades today at $324 for one-third that price. The question then becomes a matter of identifying when beautiful women are depressed and thus more easily obtained. After much thought and discussion, these appear to be the four most depressing times for single women.

1) After being dumped
Following a break up is perhaps the best time to take advantage of a buy low opportunity. Normally confident girls are rendered swagger-less, emotion clouds their processors, leaving you the average man an actual chance at success.

2) During the holiday season
Loneliness seems to creep up during the holidays. Why this is, no one knows. I guess giving a Christmas or Valentine's gift to only yourself isn't very fun. Strange. I like giving myself presents.

3) When the best friend gets married
First off, weddings in general provide a great host of women who may be willing to lower their expectations of a mate due to overactive desires. When it's the best friend who is being wed, however, the expectation drop is magnified ten fold. Not only is the girl naturally desirous, she's afraid she'll be alone due to the loss of her best friend. Perfect time to make a move.

4) Following personal or family tragedy
This one isn't fun to talk about, but it's a viable option nonetheless. Deaths in the family, job losses, house burns down - these are the times when a girl is in need of comfort. The target's usual dream guy traits fail to apply at this point. Any man willing to listen and pat a shoulder will suffice.

---

Act wisely my fellow investors. If followed correctly these principles will lead to an attractive and profitable portfolio. Be patient, wait for the right moment and make your move. Buy low if the price is right and if the girl turns out to be overvalued, well, you know what to do: sell high.

As for you Jennifer, if you ever decide to look me up sometime, you can find me at the funeral home.

I'll be the one cruising for chicks.

Catching 22

2010-12-23T15:00:00.004-07:00

(Disclaimer - Yes, another blog about BYU football. I can't help myself. Unless you love the Cougs as much as I do, you might want to consider skipping this one)

By any account, it was an insane thing to do. Turn down a scholarship from Boise State and Cal in order to pay to walk on at BYU? The Boise State rejection I can kind of understand, because, well, not many people want to live in Idaho. But who would turn down a chance to play for free in sunny California, an hour away from Newport Beach? Who would dump that opportunity so they could pay their own way to walk on in Provo?

The man in question is named Andrew Rich, but you might know him better as the best safety to play for BYU in some 20 years. He doesn't graduate with the full compliment of records or awards to prove it, but if his coach's words mean anything, Rich goes down as one of the all-time great Cougar defenders.

"Until Andrew Rich, the best other safeties I ever coached were Brian Urlacher (6 time NFL pro-bowler) and Aaron Francisco (current Indianapolis Colt). Andrew Rich is in that same trio now. Each have unique characteristics, but no one is tougher than Andrew, there's no one that is more committed. He just is an amazing leader and he cares so much. He's exactly what we want from a BYU football player. How he plays, how he conducts himself, who he is; I'll use him as an example from this point forward as long as I'm here at BYU. I'll ask my coaches, ‘does he play like Andrew Rich?'"

For those who may not know...

Playing like Andrew Rich means making a game-winning interception against UNLV in your defensive debut. It includes causing a game-changing fumble against Oklahoma in BYU's biggest win in some 19 years. It requires playing in every game of your career, despite injuries requiring ankle and shoulder surgery, not to mention an ailment your trainer describes as a "full body contusion". It means leading the team in tackles, interceptions and highlight hits not only as a senior but as a junior as well. It means you will cry in your final home game, the emotion of ending your career will be so heavy.

The list of big plays contributed by Rich could continue of courses: a decapitation of Ute receiver Brandon Godfrey in 2008; a blocked field goal against New Mexico in 2009; a giant interception return against Utah in 2009; two picks against the Lobos in his final home game as a Cougar; two more intercepts against UTEP in his career finale.

Strangely, Rich's most impressive feat may have occurred this last year, during BYU's worst season in which Rich played. Five games into the season BYU's defense ranked 120th in run defense. In case you were wondering, yes 120th is last in the entire nation - the absolute worst. That's what makes the ensuing turn around so very unbelievable. Bronco Mendenhall took over the defensive coaching duties, and Andrew Rich took over the defensive dominating duties. As defensive captain he inspired the team to a new level of play, erasing the losses of fellow stars Jordan Pendleton and Romney Fuga who were out for the season to injury. The result? Over the last seven games BYU's run defense has been among the top three in the nation. From worst to first in seven games. Sounds like a book title, but it's just another example of the contributions of one Andrew Rich.

“He has a passion for Brigham Young and how we are running the program, and that makes him a step or two faster, makes him hit a little bit harder, makes him be more consistent,” Mendenhall said.

Why was Andrew Rich such a hard hitter? Because he liked ice cream of course.

Which is why it's so surprising that when Rich graduated high school, none of the BYU recruiters were able to see it.

"To show you how smart I am, I rejected him twice — once out of high school and once out of junior college because I didn't think he was fast enough or big enough," the coach said. "And sure enough, he ends up coming to BYU as a walk-on player, earns a scholarship, becomes an all-conference performer and is a team leader.”

It's alright coach, we all make mistakes. Heck, I ate grass once. At least things worked themselves out in the end, for both of us. And things worked out well for Rich too, of course.

"This experience has been everything to me," Rich said. "It's a dream come true to be out there. I couldn't be more happy to be a BYU Cougar. And I will continue to be until I die."

---

In his final game in Provo Rich intercepted a New Mexico pass and returned it to within one yard of the endzone, where he was finally caught and brought down by a Lobo player.

It was an ironic end to his last home game. You see, from here on out every BYU defensive player will be trying to match Rich and what he did in his three years as a Cougar. But it's unlikely that any of them will ever catch number twenty-two.

Disgracing the Name of Kramer

2010-12-15T09:40:00.006-07:00

What is the most common belief among males ages 8 to 88? Is it that girls are beautiful, that fast cars equal happiness, or that small pizza's are a punishment? Nope, the one thing men most readily agree on is that the BCS sucks.

Big time.

Yes, we all hate the BCS. We hate that it doesn't give a true national champion, that it keeps college football's revenue all in one place, that it protects the Goliath's from the David's. Yet beyond all that there are two relatively unknown reasons why you should hate the BCS even more.

Stunning Idiotic Move by the BCS #1

The year was 1999 and three teams were vying to make it to the national championship game. Two of the three teams were undefeated, while the other had lost one game. Yet due to the insane calculations of the BCS - relying on winning cycles as much as lunar cycles in evaluating teams - the squad with one loss was projected to end up in the title game, while one of the undefeated teams would be left out. BCS father Roy Kramer (no relation whatsoever to Cosmo), knowing that his creation would be criticized if a one-loss team made it to the championship game over an undefeated team, decided to tweak the way the BCS system ranked championship candidates. During the middle of the season he downgraded the strength of schedule element to ensure that the team with one loss wouldn't advance over either of the two undefeated teams to the title game.

Now, the way the season ended is irrelevant. The fact that needs water to be swallowed is Roy Kramer altered the process by which two teams are picked for the national championship, and most importantly, he did it during the middle of the season (Note: this is the first time I've underlined anything I've ever posted. Clearly I think this is a big deal).

To illustrate how corrupt a move this was, imagine you're playing a game of poker. You're dealt crap cards, but are desperate for a victory. What are your options? Well, if you're Roy Kramer, you simply change the rules mid-game. You inform your playing mates that the cards you were just dealt now constitute a royal flush. Why not? The BCS founder changed the rules to suit his purposes, why can't you?

Of course you know that you couldn't get away with this even if it was in your basement, with some old friends, with a measly 10 bucks on the line. So how did Kramer get away with it on a national stage, with over 13 million dollars on the line? Probably the same way the BCS managed to screw over BYU.

Stunning Idiotic Move by the BCS #2

In 2001, BYU's football squad was ranked sixth in the country, and was 12-0 with one game left to be played. An undefeated season looked likely, and with it a potential shot at a prestigious BCS bowl game. However, the Monday before their final game, BYU received an important letter from the BCS cartel.

Dear BYU Football Team:

Hey, we know you're only one of two teams that hasn't lost this year, but we still don't think you're good enough to play in one of our premier bowl games. Sorry, even if you win this week and end the season as the only undefeated team, we still know you aren't good enough for us. Better luck next year.

Actually, we take that back. Bad luck to you next year. We don't want to have to send this letter again.

Love,

The BCS

That was the message the BCS delivered BYU before they had even finished their season. To the BCS it didn't matter what happened in BYU's last game - win, lose, they were out either way. And that is precisely why the BCS deserves our very best hate. After all is said and done, the BCS doesn't even give teams a chance to lose, let alone win. This year it's TCU who is on the receiving end of a BCS-sponsored kick in the balls. Undefeated through twelve games and unacknowledged through the same number. Why doesn't TCU get a shot at the national title? Because some C++ algorithm tells us they aren't as good as the Ducks or the Tigers? Because TCU's undefeated season is somehow not as spotless as Oregon or Auburn's perfect record? The solution to this year and every year's problem is the same as it's always been: college football needs a playoff. Every other sport sponsored by the NCAA has one. The four major American sports have one. Even the presidential election progresses through a semi-finals to final match-up.

In order to get to the holy land of playoff football, where a champion can be decided on the field instead of on the hard drive, the BCS needs to be destroyed. Dashed into bits. Killed. Buried. And I hope I'm the one who gets to decorate its tombstone, because I'm not going to write "rest in peace".

But I would enjoy writing "rest in pieces".

In Jake We Trust

2010-11-29T13:25:00.005-07:00

In a game featuring seven turnovers, a few controversial calls (both officiating and play selection), pre- and post-game fisticuffs, a last second outcome, a dual Ute quarterback benching, a game winning Utah drive which included a punt and an interception - now that's the way to move the ball when you're struggling on offense!- the ever reliable foolish fan shenanigans, and of course the blocked kick, one play in particular has replayed itself in my mind over and over again.

After Utah took the lead for the first time with four minutes remaining, the BYU offense was levied with the task of making a final minute game winning drive. Impeding them in their quest was a fired up Utah defense, a rabid home crowd, and perhaps the biggest obstacle of all, BYU's inexperience. The Cougar offense would have to perform a miracle comeback with a 19-year old quarterback, not to mention freshman at the running back, wide receiver and tight end positions. If ever there were a time for the Cougar offense to lose their composure, this was it. The situation looked even worse following BYU's first two plays of the series: a pair of hand offs which removed one minute from the game clock and netted a total of one yard. Enter the play I cannot seem to forget.

Third and nine, ball on BYU's own 21 yard line. Three minutes to play. Rice-Eccles stadium erupting. Sixty yards away from field goal range. Sensing the desperation of BYU's situation, a Ute lineman stood up from his stance and pointed directly at freshman quarterback Jake Heaps. He held his arm out for one, two seconds, then ran his fist across his throat, pulling a Babe Ruth and predicting before the play began that Heaps, and BYU as a team, were dead.

From my couch at home I had to agree with the Ute lineman. How could I expect a freshman quarterback to overthrow the crowd noise, the momentum, the pressure, the adrenalin-filled defenders and complete the first down?

A side note: I hope these all white uniforms become abolished

Boy was I ever wrong. Heaps dropped back, looked off a pair of receivers, and bulleted a 22-yard pass to Devin Mahina. Chains moved. Crowd silenced. Babe Ruth denied. BYU alive.

Heaps wasn't done. He completed three more passes on the drive, looking eerily like John Beck did four years ago in a similar game winning march against Utah. "It's hard to throw the ball when everyone know you have to throw it," said Ute coach Kyle Whittingham, yet that was when Heaps was at his best, eventually moving the ball to the 28 yard line of Utah. From there, the team decided to settle for the ugly best friend (a field goal) instead of pursuing the beautiful cheerleader (a touchdown) and consequently lost the game. Ironically BYU may have been in better shape had Ute kicker Joe Phillips made a field goal he missed earlier in the game. Trailing by four rather than one would have forced BYU to go for the endzone, an option that seemed more attractive than attempting a long field goal in a game in which every conceivable break had gone against the Y.

Oh well.

The point I want to make is not what BYU could have or should have done. What I want to write about is the thing that has buoyed my spirits in the midst of this brutal loss - the play of Jake Heaps. Turns out that I - like the Ute lineman did that play, like the BYU coaching staff did all season - underestimated young Jake Heaps. The kid looked like a veteran in avoiding sacks, scrambling for quality yardage on one play and throwing accurate passes throughout the entire game. By any account he thoroughly outplayed the Utes two attempts at quarterback, and looked more calm and prepared than Max Hall had in his three cracks against the U (and keep in mind that line is written by a person who adores Max Hall).

Oh yeah, and did I mention he did it with a popped rib?

From Gordon Monson for the Salt Lake Tribune: "Jake Heaps winced as he slowly walked into the cold, dark night outside Rice-Eccles Stadium after the BYU-Utah game on Saturday, surrounded by family members and pained in every which way a quarterback can hurt. In the first quarter, he popped out a rib when a defender belly-flopped on him after a scramble. The rib was popped back in by trainers at halftime, and the freshman played on."

Oh yeah, and did I mention he did it without his best receiver?

Heaps in fact played the whole season without the receiver who was most accustomed to his velocity (injured freshman Ross Apo) and BYU paid a dear price for it all year long with numerous dropped passes (none perhpas bigger than Luke Ashworth's drop against the U which contributed to a Utah touchdown two plays later).

Oh yeah, and did I mention the guy is 19-years old?

Had BYU won this game the only thing being discussed in the sports mediums would be how great Jake Heaps played and how set for the future BYU's offense appears to be. Even with the loss, some people couldn't resist from praising Heaps' performance.

“You guys witnessed a great player play today. He’s young, but he’s a phenomenal, phenomenal player.” - BYU safety Andrew Rich

“It bears noting at this point that in his first rivalry game, Jake Heaps showed poise beyond his years. The kid is a star in the making, a future pro, and you can see it on every snap.” - BYU radio voice Greg Wrubell

“I hate to say it, but he's going to be a great one.” - Utah defensive coordinator Kalani Sitake.

“He looks to be the best I've seen in 10 years of covering the Mountain West Conference” - U of U radio voice Bill Riley.

Perhaps the quarterback's best play came after the game, when a Utah fan approached Heaps for his autograph. In a rivalry that has been filled with ugly behavior throughout the years, the humble approach of the fan and the willingness of a heartbroken player to sign his name marked a moment of class from both sides. It was another smart move by Heaps and an even smarter move by the Utah fan. Because if Heaps continues to progress at this rate, number nine is going to go down in history as BYU's number one quarterback of all time.

I'd want that autograph too.

Rivalry Ruined

2010-11-23T13:46:00.003-07:00

We are five days away from the best Saturday of 2010. Or the worst, depending on the final score of course. I don't need to tell you what's coming up, but I will anyway.

Poopsh-utes versus Zoobs.

Marmons versus state.

BYU versus Utah.

The day that makes or breaks the entire year.

---

With good reason has this match up been reserved as the last regular season game of the year for these two clubs. Not many rivalries (if any at all) can match the competitive closeness the Utes and Cougs have shared over the past two decades. Since 1990 each team has won ten of the twenty games played. Over the last decade the story's been the same, with BYU and Utah splitting the ten matches with five wins each. Eleven of the last thirteen games have been decided by a touchdown or less, with eight of the last ten being in doubt until the final minute of the fourth quarter. Closer still, three of the last five games have been decided on the final play of the game.

I rarely accept moments in sports that involve crying - the BYU-Utah game is one of them

There hasn't been anything to compare with it. Perhaps no other rivalry (at least over this 20-year span) has been so intense, so down-to-the-wire, kill-yourself if you lose, dance-in-the-streets-naked if you win suspenseful. The closeness of the games has reinforced what has long been claimed by fans, media, and players alike - that the BYU-Utah football rivalry is one of the best in all of sports.

Which is why it's so sad that it's about to die.

Oh, the game will continue to be played, no doubt about that. Regardless of conference differences, neither schools athletic director will ever let a year go by without scheduling the arch-rival. If one school chose not to schedule the other, they would be mocked eternally for being afraid to play their greatest enemy, and both of these programs are way too proud to let that happen.

No, the death I refer to is the end of this game being played in the final weeks of November, a tradition which has been in place since 1968. Due to changes in conference, the Cougs and Utes will now play in the middle of September every year instead of near Thanksgiving weekend. I find this situation to be, in the words of the incomparable Jackie Chiles, "... totally inappropriate. It's lewd, vesivius, salacious, outrageous!" The fourth Saturday in November was set apart in the councils of heaven as the date on which the Cougars and the Utes would wage war. The date in which families would be divided, friends would turn foes, and fans would become fanatics. We might as well change the date of Christmas while we're at it.

I guarantee the rivalry will decrease in quality if it is held in September. Here are the reasons why:

#1. Lower quality of play. Teams usually play their best football at the end of the season, after having had various weeks to identify playmakers, build chemistry, and master the team's system (the one exception to this rule - injuries). When BYU and Utah meet in September they won't be as fine-tuned as they would be playing in November. Just imagine if BYU would've played Utah in the third game of this season. BYU had yet to find the soul of their team and would have consequently been red-washed by the Utes. Ten weeks later? The Cougs have come together and stand an actual chance in the game.

#2. Less anticipation. Playing in the final weeks of November allows the anticipation and build-up to drag on for a longer period of time. Keep in mind this is one of the best elements of the rivalry. Being able to analyze results and standings throughout the season allows for comparison and trash talk. But play the game over Labor Day and you have a mere two weeks of measuring the teams. Plus, holding the game in September violates the principle of "saving the best for last". Our season finales next year? Utah versus Colorado and BYU vs New Mexico State! Does it get any more thrilling?

#3. Less hangover. Battling at the beginning of the season instead of the end removes the extended hangover/happiness that the winners and losers of finales normally experience. Being the last game of the year, the sadness/joy that accompanies victory or loss lasts longer than that of a game played at the start of the year. Losses in week one or two can be made up for by wins in subsequent weeks. But if you lose your final game ... you may not get a chance to remove that bitter feeling for a long time. Additionally, the opportunity to make up for a crappy season by at least beating your rival in the final game is lost by scheduling the game at the first of the year.

#4. Less on the line. Remember the year 2008? Utah met BYU in late November where a victory would be the difference between a BCS bowl and a trip to the lower-class Las Vegas bowl. Everything was on the line for the Utes that game. The pressure would've killed me were I a Utah fan (heaven forbid). It all came down to the final 60 minutes of the season, with the only thing standing between Utah and perfection being their eternal nemesis. That scenario is not happening in September.

#5. No Thanksgiving element. A holiday dedicated to food, family, and lounging around goes hand in hand with rivalry football games. They need one another. The losing team in particular benefits from having this game played near Thanksgiving because the holiday effects offer peace and consolation to those who may consider hurting themselves after being beaten. I know for me it was a lot easier to swallow the 2008 loss to Utah when I was able to wash it down with six turkey sandwiches and half a pumpkin pie. However if my Cougs lose to the Utes in September, there's no holiday cheer to prevent me from committing hara-kiri (International Literacy day just isn't gonna cut it).

---

Debate the reasons if you desire. But I will bet anyone anything that the rivalry will not be as superb in the coming years as it has been over the past twenty. Which is why this year must be relished as much as possible. This will be the last time the game is played on the hallowed fourth Saturday of November until BYU and Utah become conference brothers again. I will enjoy the day to its fullest. I will revel in it. I will give thanks for it. And when next Thanksgiving comes around?

Well, I think its obvious that I won't be nearly as thankful.

Post Script: If you've read this far you deserve a reward for your efforts. Click play for a movie documenting some of the greater moments of the rivalry.

Touched by an Angel

2010-11-10T14:45:00.006-07:00

We all seem to make mistakes, or so goes the saying anyway. Some of us make more than others. Of course by 'us', I mean me. There was the time I held hands wrong with my dream girl, Heather Wayman (things crashed after that). The time I told a kid in Chile he looked like Gollum - he cried (one of my poorer moments as a missionary). The day I laughed when my boss said her fiancé broke up with her (I thought she was joking - she wasn't).

And then there was blog post number 57.

In blog post 57 (The Depression Calculator) I made my case for why pro athletes deserve to be paid in millions while the rest of us normal humans get paid in crumbs. Among my words were the claims that professional jocks put their bodies on the line, perform under incredible pressure, and are simply irreplaceable due to being low in quantity. Wrote I of the final point, "Normal humans can be found anywhere, anytime. Superstar athletes - not so much."

Well, I was wrong about all that. Or at least most of that. Ok, I was half right, half wrong. I at least had the categories correct. People who sacrifice their body, perform under pressure, and are low in quantity (read 'rare or irreplaceable') do deserve to be paid huge amounts. Why wouldn't they? They do more, risk more, and are worth more than we the average people. But what I got wrong is the character in this story. It's not the pro athlete who best exemplifies those three attributes of money-makers.

It's the angels. Not the ones from Los Angeles, not the ones riding motorcycles, and definitely not the ones that guard people. I’m talking about the ones from Belarus, Florianopolis or any other exotic place you can think of (hint - they don't wear a lot of clothes).

Yup, you got it, the Victoria Secret kind.

When measured against the criteria applied to athletes, the Victoria Secret angels are found to be just as deserving of robust paychecks. They put their bodies on the line (vomiting daily can't be healthy for anyone), perform under immense pressure (imagine if you could be fired for gaining two pounds, or what it's like to negotiate a runway with 8 inch heels while being blinded by 1,000 lights), and they are definitely rare/irreplaceable.

It's with regards to that final point that the angels actually trump pro athletes. While I initially assumed that sport stars were the rarest type of uber-talented person on the planet, it turns out that Victoria Secret employees are even harder to find. I thank the New York Times' Guy Trebay for bringing this aspect to my attention. In an article detailing the difficulties of finding said models, he points out that "those destined to be cast in a role of a Victoria's Secret angel are not drawn from the general population." Or in less friendly terms, normal humans need not apply. Edward Razek, CMO of Victoria Secret, provides an even harsher glimpse of reality by providing us numbers to consider.

"What people don't realize is that (these girls) are rarer by far than superstar athletes. The number of people who can do this are probably under 100 in the world."

100 in the whole world!?! That might explain why I've never met one before.

Let's do some math.

6.88 billion people in the world. 100 qualified women. That means these girls make up .000000014% of the world’s population. If these 100 were to be formed into a basketball league (an idea the WNBA might want to consider, by the way) they could fill 7 to 8 teams. If they were to form a football league (not to be confused with the already existent Lingerie Football League) they could make up two teams. Meanwhile the NBA currently has enough talent to field 30 teams; the NFL, 32 teams (31 if you don't count the Browns).

So while both the athletes and the angles risk their bodies and deal with major pressure, it's becoming clear which of these classes of superhuman is scarcer, and therefor more worthy of enormous earnings.

In fact it becomes a landslide in favor of the angles once Razek mentions that only 30 to 33 of these 100 women actually make the final cut of joining the Victoria Secret team.

How rare is it to become a Victoria Secret angel? Not even a hottie like Buffy can crack their prestigious ranks

In order to do so, one of these females fed off of nothing but "spinach, chard and kale," which seems to me a fate worse than anything sports stars have to endure to make it to the top. I don't even know what chard or kale is. But if it's the only food you can eat to stay at 85 pounds, I imagine it's not that great. Most things associated with spinach aren't.

And so I apologize for my mistake. I said that sportsmen deserve to be paid in gold bars, but it's the angels who ought to be receiving bricks of cash. They are the humans that are truly unique, being so limited in number that they deserve colossal paychecks for doing what they do and being what they be.

And fortunately ... (drum-roll) ... these girls are very well compensated.

It takes LeBron James 5.1 minutes on the court to earn my annual salary. Wonder how long it takes Mrs. Bundchen?

The world's highest earning Victoria Secret model, Gisele Bundchen, beats Tiger, LeBron, Jeter, Manning and every other sports star for highest annual salary bringing in a sexy 25 million per year. The base salary of her NFL husband, Tom Brady? 7 million. Her sidekicks in seduction bring in markedly less, but still manage to massacre the average NFL, NBA, or MLB salary. Thus things are as they should be. Girls in underwear are earning more than sportsmen, not to mention less valuable persons like teachers, doctors, or those that defend our nation.

Thank goodness is all I can say. With the arrival of gay marriage, the death of the economy, and the disappearance of Bob Barker I was starting to get worried about this world.

At least one thing in it still makes sense.

The Change-Up Pitch

2010-10-28T12:39:00.002-06:00

I'd ask you to forgive the recent increase in sports-related blog posts (5 of the last 6) if it weren't for the following pair of facts:

Fact A: We are currently in the thick of the greatest two-week sporting period of the year (baseball world series, middle of college and national football, tip-off of the NBA season) and

Fact B: I like to write about sports. It's what I do.

When it comes to fact B I'm in prestigious company because our friend Albert Einstein liked to write about sports too. At least I assume he was referring to the sporting world when he mouthed this 14-word gem:

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results."

If Einstein wasn't alluding to the Utah Jazz's last five seasons - and specifically their failure to change - then I have no idea what he was talking about.

---

Side note: while perusing a very reliable web site, I found that it may not have been Einstein who first said this quote, but rather a character by the name of Rita Mae Brown. After further research I couldn't find anything that officially pinned the words down to the one or the other, so I'm giving the benefit of the doubt to Albert - partially because he had great hair, partially because he was a physicist (once one of my many dream jobs), but mainly because his name is Albert.

In the battle of first names, Albert will always conquer Rita. Consider the great Alberts of history:

Albert Pujols - Baseball Legend
Fat Albert - Comedy Legend
Albertsons - Grocery Legend

Meanwhile, a similar list of famous Rita's conjures only one name:

Rita Skeeter - Harry Potter villain

Therefore I suggest Albert be credited with this quote, at least until Wikipedia investigates the matter further.

---

Now where were we? Oh yes, the Jazz. And change. These two items desperately needed to meet each other. For the last half-decade the Jazz rolled out the same core members (Carlos Boozer, Andrei Kirilenko, Deron Williams, and Mehmut Okur) while expecting the results of the previous year (playoff failure) to change. Well, in case you've been gone for a while, hear now that the results remained the same. The Jazz were beat in the playoffs in each of the last four years, never once making it to the NBA finals.

Now don't get me wrong, usually it's good to keep your team together, but not when that unit happens to get trashed progressively worse by the same rival year after year after year. At that point keeping the same players is a nice way to guarantee an early playoff exit. In the Jazz's case Boozer was too short, Okur was too weak on defense, Kirilenko had peaked in 2004 ... to have expected a championship run from this unchanged group would have been, as Albert said, insanity. The Jazz needed an about-face if they wanted a new result. They needed to pull a Desperate Housewives.

An explanation:

Desperate Housewives as a TV show has killed off no less than 24 of its characters and once advanced the story five years into the future between seasons. Point is the show is willing to tamper with anything if they think it will boost their ratings (don't ask how I know about this show, I, uh, just do). The Jazz needed to follow a similar strategy if they wanted new opportunities for their squad.

Fortunately, over the course of a few summer weeks, the change finally happened: Carlos Boozer left for Chicago, the Jazz duped Minnesota in a trade for a longer, stronger, more Mailman-like replacement (Al Jefferson - sadly Al is not short for Albert), and in perhaps their best move the team finally dumped their unsightly uniforms in favor of a 1980's throwback.

Big Mike (of Chuck fame) said it right: "To get your head right, you got to get your threads right."

Will these changes (along with the additions of Raja Bell and soon-to-be-heartthrob Gordon Hayward) allow the team to make the jump from common crew to championship contender? Maybe and maybe not. The most likely bet is that the Jazz will end up failing in the playoffs just like they have in the past. At least this time we know it's not guaranteed from the beginning.

The Fraudulent Dater

2010-10-21T12:20:00.005-06:00

It could be you. Or your friend. Your sister. Maybe your roomate. I suppose your mom could be a possibility too, under the right circumstances. Only time will tell. That and the depth of my cunning, of course. Not to mention how easily you can be deceived. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Just know you've been warned. I'm out to date you. Or anyone you know. And this time, I'm playing for keeps.

---

As you can tell I'm getting worried, probably a smidge desperate, and certainly a bit moist around the armpits. I'm on a two-clock timer to find a wife. My enemies? Time and hair. Both are receding, and once one expires, it's game over for the Uruguayan Lion. Fortunatley, I've studied accounting for the last few years, which besides making me appear cool, has provided me with instruction on how to commit fraud. The essence of fraud is this: companies want money from investors. To get money, they have to be attractive. Obviously not all companies are good enough to merit these investments. As a result, a portion of these "ugly" businesses falsify their appearance to entice investors to pour funds into their plans. Simply stated, they project a false image of themselves to get what they want.

Finally I've learned something in school that I can apply to my life.

I feel no shame in admitting that I have falsified my appearance in an attempt to woo female investors. It's true, I've dabbled in dating fraud, and will continue to do so until a girl decides to invest in me. I started off with lower class fraud like lying about my age or year in school to appear younger (you'd think being old enough to have an IRA would attract girls, but you'd be wrong). I then vaulted into appearance fraud by waxing my chest so that future datees wouldn't realize I was half-bear.

Her: "Your arms and legs are so hairy. It's weird that your chest is pelt free."
Me: "Uh, yeah, bizzare huh ... so how bout the Jazz?"

Next was an attempt to develop a six pack to hide the fact that I have no other muscular features. To cover up my accounting personality I've employed a pair of gurus to tell me what girls want to hear, see, and feel from their male counterparts. Unfortunately, due to fear of dentists I failed to capitalize on one of the better tricks, that of the teeth-straightening braces. But I have done a good job of consistently shaving which keeps women from knowing I am Sharif Hakeem's cousin twice removed.

Someday this baby will brag that he was held by a terrorist

Of course, none of my actions have been as fraud-filled as the use of Rogaine. Yeah, you can marry me, but you should know the only thing keeping me from becoming George Costanza is a bottle of minoxidal topical solution.

You should also know that I'm fine with being a fraudulent dater. I don't see a problem with breaking one commandment (honesty) to bring about another (procreation). Adam and Eve did the same thing way back in the year zero. Disobedience led them to making babies; surely lying can do the same for me.

By the way, did I mention that I can bench 245 pounds?

Now a note to my female readers - Understand that I'm not the only fraudster roaming the country side. At some point in your single days you are likely to be targeted by an artificial male. But never fear, the US Postal Service is here, with eight easy tips on how to detect fraudulent practices.

There you have it. If your suitor is overly friendly, doesn't have the look of a real man, promises too high of returns, or something about him just doesn't feel right then know you are being duped. I think it's only fair that girls be aware of these signs. Unlike deer, they deserve a fair chance when being hunted.

Lucky for me, I can still fly under the radar as almost none of these signs can be linked to yours truly. Sure some smart girl might realize my hairless chest doesn't "feel right" when compared to my hairy elsewhere, but I certainly don't promise high returns, nor am I very friendly. And even when I'm at my Enron-ic dating best, I'm certain there isn't any girl, in any place, in any time zone, that is ever going to be suspicious that I'm too good to be true.

But who cares?

It worked for Enron, right?

The Pros of Losing

2010-10-04T09:07:00.003-06:00

Back-to-back blogs to commemorate back-to-back-to-back-to-back losses for BYU, a first in 17 years.

The Cougars are struggling. With identity issues. With inexperience. With stopping the run. Fact is there's not much the team is doing right at this point. Offensively the squad has failed to come together, a result of splitting practice time among key positions during fall camp. Toying with two players for one position has been as effective as dating two girls at the same time - it seemed like a good idea but now the Cougars have no play-maker at quarterback or tight end. On the defensive side, the team has lost five of their starters to injury, three of which were clear-cut team leaders (Rich, Fuga, Pendleton). Meanwhile, their one leader on offense is Luke Ashworth, and the only thing he's leading the Cougars in is dropped passes. He's not the only one who is having trouble satisfying the "receiving" part of wide receiver, however. Greg Wrubell wrote it best: "BYU QB Jake Heaps could sue his receiving corps for (the number of passes they've dropped)."

Most football manuals prefer the wide receiver use hands instead of elbows when completing a catch

As a whole, the team hasn't started off this poorly since 1973. Further losses may be on the horizon with powerhouses Wyoming and UNLV on the schedule, but the humiliation at Utah State may be the most painful moment of this season. If the temple is heaven on earth, last Friday Romney Stadium was hell's version of the same. Thankfully my family came to the game which prevented me from facing the full wrath of sitting in the student section. My family didn't prevent me from spending the weekend pondering the beating though. Perhaps it was the influence of General Conference, or some optimistic part of me that surfaced, but for whatever reason a few silver linings came to mind as comfort in the midst of these losses.

Thus I present the pros of losing.

The first pro that comes from supporting a losing team is the opportunity to prove your fanmanship. As a life-long BYU supporter I have often been called a "band wagon" fan, a term reserved for those who align themselves with winning teams only. By maintaining my support despite the Cougars horrific play, I can demonstrate my loyalty and prove my love for the team regardless of how good (or bad) they are. Following your team through the down times can become a badge of honor of sorts (see: Chicago Cub fans). This is a badge I will always wear with honor.

A second benefit of watching a horrible team is that it increases one's appreciation for the team's past players. This idea is of particular importance to me because I feel that BYU's most recent crop of dearly departed never got the appreciation they fully deserved. Max Hall and his many associates never received complete adoration because they failed to make it to the all-powerful BCS game. But now that Cougar fans have seen what their replacements can do, the feelings of gratitude should increase for these past players.

(Sidenote: I learned this lesson personally when the Red-headed lover departed for the lands of Argentina. Her replacements included untold hours of ESPN and Chuck. My appreciation certainly increased.)

The final benefit of failing miserably is that the bitterness of losing brings more meaning to future wins. Just as working makes vacations more meaningful, losses make future victories all the sweeter. That 83-year wait the Red Sox endured before winning the World Series? You think their championship meant a little more than the one the Yankees win every few years? And I haven't even mentioned the joy that comes from revenge victories. Together it all shows that losing enriches the value of later wins.

---

For BYU, these victories will come. Jake Heaps has looked great in reading his options and evading tacklers in the pocket. Through two starts he's shown better pocket presence and arm strength than John Beck or Max Hall did at similar points in their careers. Once he settles down his throws and his receivers learn to catch, Heaps will begin a lengthy crusade on the BYU record books. Such is my hope, my belief, my prediction.

Provo burns at present, but the fires will be extinguished.

To the BYU haters, enjoy it while it lasts.

Of fans, proxys, and Pearsons

2010-10-01T10:30:00.003-06:00

After being flipped off, yelled at, cursed at, hit with popcorn, and having my church ridiculed, I realized I had put myself in a slightly precarious situation.

The elements of a precarious situation:

I was attending the BYU-Utah State football game in Logan.
I was sitting on the third row in the USU student section.
I was cheering maniacally for the Cougars.

Thus the intense anger of the crowd wasn't unexpected.

The unexpected part was that there was a crowd.

You see, the one finger salute, the popcorn shower, and the assault of the four-letter words didn't come until 13 minutes were left in the fourth quarter, when USU scored its first points of the game. Prior to that moment, BYU was in the middle of a 34 to 0 shutout. The fans should have long retreated, assured of another embarrassing loss. Really, who sticks around to see their team get humiliated by their "rival"? The Aggies were down five scores with less than a quarter to play! But when Robert Turban scored those first points for the Aggies, the still-filled stadium erupted as though Merlin Olsen had descended from the heavens to take the field. I've never experienced anything like it. Throughout the whole fourth quarter the crowd was on their feet, delirious. This despite the fact that the team they were cheering for was getting their balls handed to them!

"There was a lot of energy in that crowd," said USU head coach Brent Guy. "I wish our stadium could be like that every week."

Good luck with that. The only way that wish will be granted is if BYU comes to town every Saturday. They're the only team that can inspire such hatred and crowd intensity, regardless the score.

Still, that particular group of USU fans/BYU haters displayed more bizarre pride in their team than perhaps any sports crowd ever has.

Keep in mind bizarre doesn't necessarily mean intelligent.

Down 34 to 7, the crowd began to scream, "over-rated, over-rated", in one of the more mystifying moments in fan history. Understand that:

1) BYU had scored 24 points in the first quarter before letting off the gas.
2) Utah State had gone 47 minutes of game time without scoring a point prior to Turban's touchdown.
3) Utah State was trailing by 27 points with 13 minutes left in the game.

And the crowd was proclaiming BYU's team overrated.

Mocking aside, the truth is that crowd deserves recognition for creating a remarkable atmosphere that night two years ago. It's an atmosphere that I'm excited to experience again this Friday. The Aggie football team will play like men bent on ruining conference weekend, and the crowd will back them up with as much ferocity and loyalty as they can muster.

May the proxy magic be with us again this year

Meanwhile I will do my part by running proxy plays in USU's stadium the day before the game. The last time BYU visited Logan Brian Henderson, Ryan the Pearson, Brooke Deem, and yours truly prepared the field by running plays in the Cougars name about 20 hours prior to kickoff. On the very turf that BYU would dominate the next day, Max Hall (Brian) completed touchdown passes to Austin Collie (me) while Harvey Unga (Brooke) rumbled into the end-zone for multiple scores. One of the proxy plays we ran was a lengthy fumble return for touchdown by cornerback Brandon Howard. In the actual game, Brandon Bradley (the other cornerback) returned a fumble for a 38-yard touchdown. Coincidence? I think not.

Hopefully the proxy efforts will be the forerunner to a resounding BYU performance, leaving the USU fans with nothing to cheer about.

Of course if being up 34-7 with 10 minutes left in the game can't shut a crowd up, I'm not sure what will.

Lowering the Sights

2010-09-25T13:30:00.009-06:00

This week I experienced a first - I got last.

I'd never been last before. Not last in a footrace, not last pick in kickball.
That was before I opened the e-mail informing me I'd got a 63% on my accounting test, that I ranked 14th of 14 test takers, that I'd finished dead last of the group.

My reaction? Naturally I rejoiced.

Truth is I had expected to score around 40 to 50, so ending up with a 63 was better than I had even dreamed. I'd exceeded the expectation. And that's all it takes to make a person happy.

My associates Caitlyn Ellis and Ryan Pearson are the two who were most instrumental in teaching me this truth. Set your bar low, and you'll always end up doing better than you hoped. Expecting too much will just lead to disappointment. For example, unreachable expectations may have been the cause of the dating demise between me and the red-headed lover. That or she wanted to date a man. It's a toss up. (Stay tuned. Answer to be revealed in six months!) Low expectations, on the other hand, have brought other couples happiness time and time again (see Nathan Ballard, Nicole Blietschau).

This week in particular would be a great week for me and about 65,000 of my BYU brethren to temper our expectations a bit. I refer of course to the debut of BYU's uber-hyped freshman quarterback, Jake Heaps. Ranked the number one high school quarterback by scout.com, the expectations surrounding Heaps are enormous. The news has told us that he has the perfect arm, that he has the mind of an NFL quarterback, that he's the next in the line of successful BYU passers. We believe the news and that's what we expect to see on Saturday. However, history teaches that such expectations aren't met so easily.

Will Heaps become Detmer II or Olsen II?

The last time BYU had the number one high school quarterback in the nation (2002, Ben Olsen) the following happened:

1) He transferred to UCLA and never played a game for BYU
2) Suffered injuries for 3 straight years and was widely regarded as a bust
3) Made one trip to Provo, in which he watched from the bench while BYU beat UCLA 59-0

When Olsen signed with the Cougars, the BYU faithful expected Olsen to become Ty Detmer II. What we got was ... nothing.

Now compare the expectations surrounding Olsen and Heaps to those surrounding the Cougars at the start of the 2007 season. The Cougs had said adieu to a host of talented players and minimal expectations fell on the newcomers, a group of unknowns including Max Hall, Harvey Unga, and Dennis Pitta. I was at the first game of this trio's career, and not a person in the stands expected Unga to become the best running back in Cougar history, or Dennis Pitta to become the greatest tight end in Cougar history, or Max Hall to become the winningest quarterback in Cougar history. The trio eventually reached those heights, but they were initially spared the pressure of such lofty expectations. I wish young Jake could be similarly spared.

Playing in front of 65,000 people is enough pressure. Trying to save a sinking season is enough pressure. Lowering our expectations of Heaps will benefit all of us in the long run.

Same goes for your expectations of this blog. Of course, after this piece of writing, you may not be able to lower them much further ...

The Depression Calculator

2010-09-13T15:45:00.010-06:00

If you've ever thought about jumping in front of a diesel, licking a power socket, watching the complete series of Gilmore Girls without interruption, or any other form of suicide, I advise you to read no further. Fiddling with the Salary Crunch is not for the faint of heart (or the faint of wallet). If you do end up harming yourself as a result of what comes next, all I ask is you don't blame me - blame ESPN. They're the ones who came up with the Salary Crunch (aka, the depression calculator).

What the Salary Crunch provides is a look at how long it takes a professional athlete to earn your yearly salary. You select an athlete, type in your annual earnings, hit the submit button, and learn that by the time LeBron James scores five points in his first game, he's earned what you make in a full year. Here's the link- give it a try. I did, and I found out that it takes NBA player Joe Johnson 5.09 minutes of one game to earn my entire years worth of paychecks. Conversely, I would need to work 566 years to earn what he makes in one season.

Want to hate your job even more? Try ESPN's Salary Cruncher today!

Now unless you are Joe Johnson himself (or a robot), this should be upsetting to you. You work hard. Fourty hours or more every week. And you do it with lame co-workers and poor benefits. Shouldn't you be the one getting the monster paydays? After all, most of these millionaire players left college early, never worked a real job, and have no marketable skills outside of their sporting talents. Why should they be making millions when all their doing is playing a game?

Well, as bizarre as it may sound, I actually think athletes do deserve what they make. Here's my reasoning:

Reason 1 - Athletes put their bodies on the line

Sounds too dramatic, I know, but players in the four major sports risk their lives in every game. NFL players are the most vulnerable, being subject to collisions of up to 10 G's on any given play. Additionaly, concussion research shows that NFL players are more at risk for brain damage than ever before. Athletes in the NBA run until their knees blow out and their ankles are made of screws. Baseball seems safe enough until you consider the countless arm injuries pitchers have to endure, not to mention the occasional line drive to the unsuspecting skull. Put it this way: if your job might leave you in a wheelchair or a mental institution, you deserve apt compensation (you'd think military types would've figured this out long ago).

Reason 2 - Athletes perform under immense pressure

What's the biggest crowd you've ever performed in front of? 400 people? 2,000 people? Imagine what it's like to do your job with 106 million people watching! That's how many viewers tuned in to the Super Bowl last year. Ever wonder what it would be like to botch a field goal or miss a free throw in front of a crowd like that? Consider that your screw up will be published in papers, on the internet, on TV, watched over and over on YouTube, discussed on radio stations ... that's pressure that few other professions face. The richest movie stars (who make considerably more than the richest sports stars, by the way) get to re-shoot their scenes if they mess up. An athlete's reputation and performance are being tested live every time they go to work.

Reason 3 - The greatest athletes are irreplaceable

What's the biggest difference between me and LeBron James? I'm expendable - LeBron isn't. If I died today another hairy accountant could fill in and do any of my jobs. If LeBron died the world would be robbed of one of the greatest human specimens of all-time. There simply isn't another LeBron-type player who could step in and take his place. How many 260 pound people exist that can jump forty inches, dribble like a point guard, nail outside jumpers like a shooting guard, and finish like a power forward? Maybe two or three in the whole world. How many golfers like Tiger have come along? One, maybe two. But balding accountants? School teachers? Engineers? We can be found anywhere, anytime. Normal humans can be replaced. Superstar athletes - not so much.

---

There are other reasons I think athletes deserve their millions (they spend half their season traveling, have no private life, are forced to shower with naked men every day), but time runs short. Maybe you agree with my feelings. Maybe you're depressed. Or maybe you've never even heard of Joe Johnson and the fact that you'd have to work 400 years to earn what he makes after playing 82 basketball games leaves you wanting to scalp a kitten. If that's the case you can keep the knife but I request that you hand over the kitten. Because if you're looking to kill something out of rage, it might as well be me you eliminate.

After all, I'm easily replaced.

Prose from the Past

2010-08-25T09:05:00.002-06:00

Due to either

1) extreme boredom

2) a twinge of sentimentality or

3) a desire to look at pictures of 18-year old girls

I decided to crack open the old school yearbooks. Though the photos of my afro were fairly comical, the most entertaining elements of the yearbook were the signings of my fellow alums.

The evolution of the 'Fro

Thus the following lists some of my classmates more memorable words (ranging from grades 7 to 12) along with some hindsight commentary.

(Spoiler alert: Unless you happen to be B/Ryan, Nathan, Bunna or a fan of the Miami Dolphins, these words probably aren't worth your time. Even then I'd call this a stretch.)

---

“Congrats on being the awards champion. I love it when Nathan loses.” – Bryan Farnsworth

Ten years of empirical evidence has shown that all of us love it when Nathan loses (see Settlers of Cattan).

“Join the swim team.” - Cody M

Sorry, I draw the line at waxing my chest. Plus if I wanted to shower with naked dudes everyday I’d go back to the MTC.

“Don’t break the girls hearts!” - Monica

Obviously Monica was blind.
That or she thought the girls at our high school had very low expectations. Speaking of poor expectations ...

“Aim so low you’ll always be impressed with yourself.” - Ryan Pearson

Sound advice, from an unsound man.

“Eres muy inteligente! Adios.” - Senor Erickson

Two issues here. First of all, what type of nerd gets his Spanish teacher to sign his yearbook? Could someone go back in time 11 years and punch the 1999 me in the face? Secondly, how could this be the only Spanish comment in my yearbook when 50% of my school spoke Spanish exclusively? I wonder if I was racist. That might explain what Jan wrote.

“You don’t know me. I’m black.” – Jan

You’re right, I don’t know you, nor do I remember you. But in this case I don’t think it was because you were black. I think its cause your name was Jan.

“You are a very misguided young teenager” – S. Sundberg
“Spencer - You’re an odd kid” - Beth McHale

Now I remember why I had avoided looking at these books for so long.

“Spencer – Thanks for a great time at Sadie Hawkins.” – Melinda Wayman

And thank you for not slapping me when I hugged my cat instead of you at the doorstep.

“Get Playstation 2.” - Ian

I did. That act consequently accounted for 92% of my High School experience.

“Hey Spencer, I owe you for the homework that I copied off you. Thanks hot stuff.” – Ray Feinga, West Lake grad and current Miami Dolphin

Yeah that’s right, one of BYU’s greatest offensive lineman and current NFL player Ray Feinga copied my homework. I like to think I played a part in him making it big. And he called me hot stuff. Of course, I would prefer if a girl had said that, but I'll take what I can get.

“See you when you see me.” – Dutch

Knowing my eyesight I’ll never see you, which means you’ll never see me, which means I’ll never have a friend with such a cool name ever again.

“Hope 9th grade was as fun as you expected!” - Sunny Kim

You mean as fun as an enema delivered by a 12-guage? Yeah, it was! Thanks Sunny!

“Official Head Champion of the World” – Bunna Veth

Not sure if this was meant to describe me or if Bunna was describing himself. The way I see it, either of us could fit that bill. Hmm ... let’s let Austin Higginson decide.

“Spencer – you’re the coolest kid I know. Next to Bunna.” - Austin Higginson

Well that settles that. Presenting Bunna Veth, Official Head Champion of the World.

“Good luck finding a cure for your colorblindness.” – Ryan Pearson
“I apologize for using orange markers a lot this year. Amazing that you learned “the Calculus” when you couldn’t see half the time.” – Mr. Clawson

So I couldn't see certain colors (orange included). Big deal. Bunna could. And I could see Bunna's paper. And Bunna wasn't just Head Champion of the World, he was Head Champion of Calculus too. You get the picture.

“You better train me in golf this year” – Nathan Ballard, May 2001
“I’m glad you don’t suck at Golf like Nathan.” - Devon Smith, May 2002

Apparently I’m not much of a golf instructor.

"Don't become a lesbian." - Park
"Don't turn into a lesbian." - Clint

Due to this request being cited more than once, I'm led to believe that the fear of turning into a girl and becoming attracted to girls was a major concern during the 7th grade. Glad I could be reminded of this.

“Spencer - Perhaps the only person in this school who hates the Utes as much as I do. Perhaps more.” – Ryan Pearson

The highest compliment I’ve ever been paid.

“Have a good life” - Chris Wright

Working on it.

“May your sports gambling winnings pay for your mission” – Brother Anguilano

A signature from the seminary teacher? Again. Please. Someone go back in time and beat the nerdiness out of me.

“I’d write something clever but Art History has taken my creativity.” – Bunna

I'd write something clever but I ran out of good blog ideas five months ago.
And I didn't even take Art History.

A Date with Hate

2010-08-14T17:45:00.011-06:00

Two years ago Utah State’s basketball team had a 24-1 record, a 19-game winning streak, was ranked number 17 in the nation, and was in the process of completing the school’s greatest basketball season of all time. The one loss, however, left a permanent poop stain on an otherwise beautiful season. Why? Because the lone loss came courtesy of BYU – the Hated BYU. At the end of the year I asked one of USU’s biggest fans, Scott Ficklin (who routinely goes to games seven hours early to ensure front row seats) if he would rather have had the current season’s results (best season ever, but with a loss to BYU) or a mediocre season with a win over BYU. His response: “I would be fine if we lost every game, every year, for the duration of time, so long as we at least beat BYU.”

And that is why I love BYU sports. Because everyone else hates them.

And when I say hate I’m not talking about mere dislike. I mean heart-consuming hatred. The type of hate that is reserved for long stoplights, slow internet and alarm clocks. Of course you don’t have to take my word alone as proof of the hatred. In 1992 Sports Illustrated published an article detailing BYU as the most hated College Football team in all of America. Not Notre Dame, not Ohio State, not Miami – BYU! Among the more comical quotes from the article:

- “There are other teams that generate annoyance ... But when it comes to contempt, BYU has retired the trophy."

- "I just hate them," says Pat Rabold, former Wyoming lineman. "Can't stand them. Nobody can."

- "If Brigham Young University wants to make a major contribution to our hateful society, I plead that it get out of (our football conference)."

Yeah, I can see how people could hate this

And don’t think for a second that the passage of time has dulled the anger. Just last year the Cougars were again ranked among the most hated college football teams, despite having had some pathetic seasons in the last decade.

Now why would I love a team that inspires ire everywhere it goes? It’s simple - I enjoy when my rival fans are possessed with feelings of hatred. I mean, why would I want my enemy fans to be happy? I want them to be upset, irritated, vengeful, stirring at night because of the jerky things my team said or did (thank you Max Hall). Think of it this way: if your main enemy is your mother-in-law, would you want her to be happy? The Bible might say yes, but you and I both know the answer is no. Thus the more bothered my rival fans are, the happier I am.

Max is gone, but a new magnet for hatred will take his place

Additionally, being hated is a sign of success. It means your team is relevant, respected and usually victorious. Consider for instance the most hated teams in pro sports. You have the Yankees, the Patriots and the Lakers, three teams who won ten championships in the last decade. Not too shabby a company to keep.

So with three weeks remaining until the college football season kicks off, let the Cougar hatred carry on.

It only makes me love them more.

Bitter? Of Course Not

2010-08-11T09:00:00.004-06:00

I almost took a tile-saw to my stomach once I heard the U of U was being picked to join the PAC-10 conference. Just like that my greatest enemy was chosen over my favorite team in the quest for more money, exposure, and prestige. I wanted to throw up. And then Greg Wrubell reminded me of a little something I like to call the "BYU has 83 more championships than you" statistic.

Glad to see that these numbers didn't influence anyone's choices when it came to conference expansion.

Total MWC Championships (Regular Season and Tournament Combined)

BYU: 130
Utah: 47
UNLV: 35
New Mexico: 32
San Diego State: 28
TCU*: 26
Colorado State: 26
Air Force: 2
Wyoming: 2
*member since 2005-06

MWC Regular Season Championships

BYU: 40
Utah: 31
San Diego State: 17
TCU: 14
Colorado State: 13
UNLV: 10
New Mexico: 9
Wyoming: 2
Air Force: 1
--
MWC Tournament Championships

BYU: 90
UNLV: 25
New Mexico: 23
Utah: 16
Colorado State: 13
TCU: 12
San Diego State: 11
Air Force: 1
Wyoming: 0

--

Suddenly I don't feel so bad about BYU being passed over for Utah's vastly "superior" athletic program.

Request Denied

2010-08-04T10:40:00.002-06:00

If you were running your college newspaper would you have printed this letter?

To the beautiful blond and brunette girls that stood behind us at the football game Friday:

We miss you.

True, we never actually met, but we were saddened nevertheless when you left for Café Rio at halftime. You were sitting on the edge of row 24 at the South 40-yard line, which you described on the phone to your friend as the East 40-yard line (yeah, we were listening, sorry). Perhaps you remember us. One of us was drinking chocolate milk from an elementary school carton. The other was standing next to the one drinking chocolate milk. The closest we came to formally meeting each other was when you, the blonde one, nearly fell on me, the milk drinker, as we celebrated Robert Turbin's touchdown.

At this point you've probably decided that we are creepers, but before you judge us too harshly consider the following: if we were truly creepy, we would have tried to hit on you at the game, right? Alas we had not the courage to speak. Now our only hope of meeting you is via this letter. With that in mind we propose the following: Tonight and tomorrow night (after 8:00) we will be in the library drinking chocolate milk from elementary school cartons. If you find us, we will take you out to Café Rio or a restaurant of your choice (except Hamilton’s, too expensive). Feel free to send a scout if you can’t remember us and are doubting the quality of our looks.

Impressed,

Spencer and Nathan

---

Yes, we really did write this and yes, we really did send it in to the school paper.

Surprisingly, the editors decided not to publish it.

(And by surprisingly, I mean thankfully, because I would have felt like a doofus drinking milk in the library waiting for some hotties who never would have arrived. Plus Nathan's girlfriend probably wouldn't have been too happy about the whole thing.)

Only minds touched by Einstein could come up with a plan like this

Thus me and Nathan learned that USU doesn't want its school paper turned into a dating service. Fair enough. So let's focus on the second question this letter poses. If you were those girls would the letter have charmed you into coming? Or would you have been repulsed into hiding?

Yeah, I agree, I probably would've been repulsed too.

Oh well. That doesn't mean I won't try again.

After all, in four weeks we'll have a new school year, new girls to creep out, and most importantly, new editors at the paper.

The Wax Museum

2010-07-21T13:57:00.007-06:00

Austin Powers has always been a bit of an inspiration to me.

The reasons:

1) He has crooked teeth and a hairy chest - just like I do.
2) He manages to end up with girls despite those repulsive traits - just like I would like to do.

You see, Austin Powers made me believe I could get a girl despite having teeth a gorilla would be ashamed of and chest hair it'd be jealous of. Mr. Powers brought hope to my lonely heart.

And then Nathan Ballard took it.

"That was in the 70's man. Girls were different back then."

Oh yeah. Crap.

Thus I came to a crossroad in my life. To win a girlfriend I had to remedy one of these problems via braces or a chest waxing. Helping me decide between the two options were the facts that a) I hate dentists (orthodontists, whatever), b) my younger sister needed someone to practice waxing on for her college class, and c) it would cost me nothing to have the wax job done. So I decided to follow Robert Frost down the road less traveled (you can monitor my facebook relationship status to see if it makes "all the difference").

For your convenience I kept a running diary (Bill Simmons style) of the waxing in its entirety, starting at 2:25 p.m, when I left work to go to my sister's class.

2:25
Me: "Hey boss, is it alright if I get off work a couple hours early today?"
Boss: "Yeah, that's fine. What are you heading off to?"
Me: "Well, nothing much, just stuff, you know, getting my chest waxed."
Boss: (Silence)

Note to future accountants: this is not the best way to build credibility among your pocket-protected peers.

3:00
Arrive at the classroom. The instructor remarks that my hair may need to be trimmed beforehand if it's too long. I remove my shirt. "Yup, someone bring me the scissors," she commands. Ugh. Off to a bad start.

3:08
Four college girls rub hot, sticky goo onto my stomach. Hmmm. Not such a bad start after all.

3:08
I realize one of these girls is my sister. Man, I really need to get Lasik.

3:11
One of the girls informs me that I will not be able complete my dream of having all my chest hair removed and treasured on one giant strip. Sorry mom, you won't be getting that rug I talked about for Christmas after all.

3:14
Attractive girl: "Here's a hand towel. You can bite it or mop your eyes with it once we start pulling."
Me: (Gulp)

3:17
After 24 years of peaceful living, the first six-inch strip of hair is ripped from my skin. Pain. Blood. Agony. Why would you do this to me attractive girl?!? Whyyyyy!?!

3:25
Tattoo Girl: "Getting a tattoo on your chest hurts a lot more you know."
More hairs extracted. More dots of blood.
Me: "I don't believe you."

3:33
On the bright side, my upper chest is completely hair free.
On the dark side, I may be missing a nipple.

3:33
Phew. Still attached.

3:42
Instructor: "Sweat is our enemy. Cool him down with the fan."
How bout that? Apparently having wax glued to my body and then yanked off makes me sweat. You learn something new every day.

3:55
50 strips, 55 minutes, 1 pint of sweat and 4 girls later, my stomach is almost done being weeded. Maybe if I'd thought of this a year ago there would no such thing as Sister Deem ...

4:02
Mission complete. My stomach is as smooth as a rock. Well, a soft, pudgy rock anyway. Regardless, Chester the molester is no more.

I would include a pre-wax picture here for comparison, but this is a family-friendly site.

---

The most frequent question I've been asked post-waxing is if I thought the procedure was worth it. I respond that it was painful. It was embarrassing. I now itch all the time. And true, my man-breasts are more prominent than ever, being no longer concealed by hair. But, yes, it was worth it in every sense.

Anything that gets you off work early always is.

Sheriff Doug

2010-07-11T22:39:00.007-06:00

“Well, time to go to my softball games.”

Once you're done reading this you'll understand why that's my favorite quote of all-time.

---

The summer of 2008 led my parents on a cross country trip to various church history sites. The one week voyage included stops in New York, Pennsylvania, Canada, and Ohio. The night they were to fly home, their flight was canceled. Passengers slept in the airport. My mom secured a spot on one of the rows of chairs, while my dad picked out a nice area on the floor. They eventually made it home, and 5 minutes after the 4,500-mile journey, the tile bed, and the 5-hour flight, my dad dropped his luggage in his room and uttered the now famous words:

“Well, time to go to my softball games.”

He changed, grabbed his mitt, and was gone. Off to a double-header.

If I were him I would’ve gone to sleep. You probably would’ve too. I don’t even think A-Rod would’ve been willing to play a game at that point. But my dad was.

The 7-day trip didn’t tire him. Neither did the jet lag. Or the lack of food. So I guess I should’ve figured that sleeping on the floor of the airport wouldn’t stop him either. And that is why I admire my dad so much. He works so hard in everything he does. Doesn’t matter if it’s preparing proposals at work, weeding the garden or playing second base. Somehow the person I know who works the hardest is the same person I know who gets tired the least.

I don’t know where all his energy comes from. I never see this guy take a nap. When we’re on vacation at Bear Lake, he doesn’t lay out and tan on the beach – he spends hours building sand castles.

When I go to shoot baskets at the church he comes along so he can mop the gym floor once we’re done. He’s one of the biggest BYU football fans I know yet he doesn’t go to their games. Why? Because if he went to the game he’d lose the “free” time he has Saturday to mow the lawn, fix the sprinklers, or do other fun tasks like preparing church lessons for 12-year old boys who don’t pay attention.

My dad must really understand what President Eyring once said:

“Your inheritance is time. It is capital far more precious than any lands or stocks or houses you will ever get. Spend it foolishly, and you will bankrupt yourself and cheapen the inheritance of those that follow you. Invest it wisely, and you will bless generations to come.”

This quote makes my dad the best investor I’ve ever met. Surprisingly, he doesn’t work on Wall Street.

This ability to invest time wisely and work like the energizer bunny is what has made my dad a success from every angle you could shoot from. Family-wise, every one of his kids turned out normal (with the exception of the writer of course). At church there were no cheers when he was released as Bishop (well, my mom was happy but I think she was the only one). He’s been so successful in his career that his reputation alone landed me my first accounting gig at his previous employer (5 months later I’m still meeting people who tell me how great a co-worker he was). At age 55, he’s still good enough to play second base for his softball team. And as seen above you can count on him to show up under even the most ridiculous of circumstances.

As Sheriff Doug celebrated his 55th birthday, I though a bit about the phrase, “like father like son.”

I only wish I could be like him.

A Pit-iful Post

2010-07-01T09:00:00.010-06:00

To avoid unwanted questions, judgments, or rumors one must use caution when applying deodorant in the workplace.

Especially if this happens to be your preferred stick:

And you are male.

In retrospect, I can't remember why I needed to smell well for my aged, male, tax hound co-workers anyway. Guess I just don't like going about my business while knowing I stink. Regardless, my experience in stealth application led me to a step-by-step process that you too can follow if you happen to be without protection in the workplace.

step 1 - Create a distraction by jamming the group printer.

step 2 - Recline in chair until shirt becomes naturally un-tucked.

step 3 - Conceal deodorant in hand using Hindu palming technique.
(First-timers may want to practice with travel size versions)

step 4 - Scatter loose change away from cubical as additional distraction.
(tax men love loose change)

step 5 - Scout area to ensure solitude.

step 6 - Nonchalantly position hand under shirt making sure not to smear deodorant on clothing.

step 7 - Perform rapid strokes. Max of two per pit. Withdraw.

step 8 - Tuck in shirt.

step 9 - Recover loose change if at all possible.

---

Hopefully these tips will be as effective for you as they were for me. If not, at least I now know what it would have been like to be earn a technical writing degree.

Additionally, similar steps of stealth are suggested when scratching one's crotch.

The Missionary Movement

2010-06-14T23:30:00.005-06:00

Unless I someday have two sets of octuplets within 18 to 24 months of each other, I'll never know as many people who are about to leave on missions (or recently left) as I do right now.

The list kicks off with the females ...

The girl I dated:
Brooke Deem (Mendoza, Argentina)

A girl I went on a few dates with:
Kalie Vickers (Independence, Missouri)

A girl I could have gone on a date with but was too slow in pursuing:
Elizabeth Cosper (Nashville, Tennessee)

A girl that lived with the girl I dated:
Jenny Adams (Philippines)

And a girl I worked with (alas, no dating ties here):
Megan Hanselman (LA, California - hopefully she has to teach a lot of sad Laker fans ...)

Then on the male side of things there's the fellows I lived with ...

DJ Stringham (Vina del Mar, Chile - that lucky jerk)
CJ Stringham, unrelated to DJ, and exact opposites size wise (Manchester, England)
Ben Workman (Destination to be determined)
Kye McLeary (Copenhagen, Denmark)
Jordan Stenquist (Mecaio, Brazil)
Johnny Harper (somehwere in Canada)
Collen Mortensen (Berlin, Germany - though I'm not sure that that is the correct mission or the correct name spelling; we played Halo more together than we actually talked to each other.)

... a beloved Peruvian who slept on our couch ...
Franco Arellano (Lima, Peru - fittingly)

... and a guy I drove out of our apartment due to my uncleanliness (I still haven't gotten over this, by the way):
Adam Peterson (Philippines)

---

As for this fab fourteen, they have two things in common:

A) They realized I was cool and chose to become my friends

B) They are all studs

I'll admit that point A is probably false; B on the other hand is most definitely true. Each of these fourteen are extraordinary. We're talking about successful (Brooke), intelligent (DJ), attractive (Franco) 19- to 21-year olds who have the means to pursue virtually anything they could want in the whole world, and what do they choose to do?

Teach the message of the Restored Gospel.

Dump the world and what it has to offer. This group opts to trade family, friends and comfort for blisters, sweaty pits and rejection - just for a shot at telling someone that they know God called Joseph Smith to be a prophet.

I've never been good at expressing my feelings, but you 14 have to know how impressed I am by you (a true feat, considering I usually am only impressed by BYU football and Stephen Colbert). Your willingness to sacrifice the immediate future for service to God inspires me. That's the one part of this exodus that benefits me - a shlum like myself needs all the inspiration he can get. Thus my thanks for your examples.

Still, being an overly-sappy fellow, I'll miss you all. None more than my four freshman roomies of course.

Really, who'd have thought that living with pure freshman as a senior in college would turn out to be one of the best decisions I've ever made?

I didn't.

But it was.

---

So how do you end a somewhat random, semi-mushy, 14-person tribute? I figured the best bet would be to just simply wish everyone luck, but I quickly realized that'd be unnecessary.

You're good enough already.

The Quest for Manhood

2010-06-04T17:35:00.004-06:00

I've never been in a fight before.

Could be that I'm a wuss.
Or could be that I'm a master of public relations.

Could be cause my grandma has bigger muscles than me.
Or could be due to growing up with a Ghandi disciple (Bunna Veth) as my best friend.

You can decide why I've never fought, cause I can't figure it out. All I know is that someday I will need to become a man, and in order to become a man I'm required to beat up another man (see Boy Scout Handbook, pg. 313).

So naturally I obtained a punching bag.

The bag serves two purposes:

Purpose 1 - (The obvious reason) To learn to fight.

I foresee four possibilities in which I might be forced to throw fists at someone.

Scenario a) Attending the BYU-Utah football game, I'm attacked by a drunk Ute fan.

Scenario b) Attending the BYU-USU football game, I'm attacked by a sober Aggie fan (they don't need booze to lose their minds in Logan)

Scenario c) Working at Hillcrest's After School Club, I'm attacked by a crazed parent because I high-fived their child (parents don't like their kids being touched by terrorist look-a-likes).

Scenario d) I meet Pau Gasol.

A fist to the face could only improve your appearance, Pau.

Purpose 2 - (The less obvious reason for the punching bag) To find my dream girl.

Allow for explanation. I recently realized that I'm attracted to girls that can knock people out (Buffy, Agent Walker for example; see Up Chuck for further detail). By having a punching bag, I can now bring dates to the house and get a taste of how good they'd be at clobbering someone. A try out of sorts to see if they can become the new girls of my dreams. Prince Charming knew Cinderella by the shoe that fit - I'll know my girl by the one who best hits.

Which reminds me, uh, Maddie Cloward, I was, uh, just wondering if you wanted to maybe come see the new house sometime, you know, just to check it out is all ...

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. The best thing about the punching bag is that it doesn't matter which of these two purposes actually gets fulfilled. I could beat up a guy or get a girl, it doesn't matter which - either way I'll end up a man.

The Admirable Harvey Unga

2010-06-01T16:25:00.007-06:00

Harvey Unga had the most prolific career of any running back in the history of BYU football. Sadly, he may end up being remembered most for his recent honor code violation and forfeited senior year. As for me, I hope that he will be remembered for something more.

The fact that he confessed.

The more I think about it, the more impressed I am by Harvey's admission of guilt. Here's my reasoning: I'm pretty certain that Harvey's screw up with his girlfriend wasn't known to the general public before his announcement. This was a private matter. A two person error. He could have easily concealed whatever rule he broke for a few more months to ensure that he kept playing. Who would've found him out? (True, I don't go to BYU, but a source close to the program informs me that there is not a CSI team that seeks out sin among the student body). He could've gone on as if nothing were wrong and finished his schooling and senior football season. So why confess? Why give himself up? In this era of entitlement, why was Harvey willing to step up (or step down, really) and admit he may not deserve the chance to fulfill his dreams?

Two possibilities:

A) Because he knew he would eventually be found out; or

B) Because he believes in the principle of integrity.

If you're a BYU fan-boy like I am, you're prone to believe he confessed because of reason B. If that is indeed the case, consider how much Harvey sacrificed by admitting to having broken the honor code:

1. Statistical Immortality. Had Harvey played his senior year and rushed for at least 1,000 yards (a virtual lock to have happened), he would have become only the ninth player in college football history to have rushed for 1,000 yards in four straight years. In the last 80 years over 28,000 athletes have suited up at the running back spot and not accomplished that. Harvey would've inscribed his names in the record books with the all-time greats had he returned.

Among the many reasons the red-headed lover loved Harvey so much was this: a Ute destroyer, Harvey ran for 373 yards and 4 TD's in his three games vs. the U.

2. Future Career. By losing his senior year at BYU, Harvey gave up an additional year of TV exposure which could have improved his chances of being selected in the NFL draft. Now Unga's football future depends on being selected in the league's supplemental draft (a draft so irrelevant, it's completed via email). Historically one player per year is picked up in the supplemental draft. What this means for Unga is he's a) less likely to make it to an NFL team; and b) guaranteed to get less money.

3. His reputation. I don't know about you, but the last time I confessed a sin USA Today didn't run an article about it. And it wasn't debated on sports radio for a week. And it didn't evoke hundreds of comments on the state newspapers. Just sayin'.

4. The dream. Harvey could have entered the real NFL draft last spring, but decided for some reason to come back to BYU for his final year. Yet whatever dreams he had in store for the year 2010 died when he admitted to breaking the honor code with his girlfriend.

Why not just lie? Why give it all up? Is honesty really worth the price of reputation, dreams, and hundreds of thousands of dollars?

For Harvey, apparently it was.

---

I will remember Harvey for his crushing hits. For his his dominance against Utah. For his romp through the record books. But his example of integrity may be what I remember most of all.

Up Chuck

2010-05-24T09:00:00.011-06:00

Considering that ...

BYU football doesn't start up for three more months...
The former red-headed lover has twice given me the heave-ho ...
My supply of sweet tart hearts is long expired ...
The Jazz are once again removed early from the playoffs ...
and I no longer work at the elementary school ...

it becomes apparent that I am in need of a new love.

Meet the new love. Charles Bartowski.

(ah, to have hair like that)

Mr. Bartowski is the lead actor in what should be NBC's (and all of TV's, for that matter) number one show, Chuck. Now, I know my TV-watching expertise isn't that expansive and as such my words can't be fully trusted. With that disclaimer offered, I submit that this show has it all. Action, drama, unmatched supporting cast, and most entertaining, the comedy factor. No series of the hour long nature has ever made me chuckle so much (Get it? Chuck? Chuckle?).

Now, there is one other element of excellence that all TV shows need in order to succeed, and in this area, Chuck is the unquestionable number one. I speak, of course, of the beautiful girl factor.

Thus meet the real new love. Charles Bartowski's girlfriend.

(ah, to have hair like that- assuming I were a girl, of course)

Agent Walker has done what I once considered impossible; she's supplanted Buffy as the TV girl I most dream of dating. She slaid the slayer.

(Updated rankings of TV girls I want to date, in case you were wondering:

1. Agent Walker, from Chuck
2. Buffy, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
3. Rachel, from Friends)

This is perhaps the most important element in any show that hopes for consistent male viewership. Chuck, like Friends and Buffy before it, employs beauty as the ultimate safety device to ensure ratings.

Having such a ratings-lifesaver is crucial because someday Chuck will likely catch the same disease that cripples all TV shows. The story will become overly predictable, the characters will grow old, and the plot will turn to mush.

Fortunately, there will still be at least one reason to watch.

Driven to Serve

2010-05-10T16:06:00.009-06:00

"Repulsion is our business. And business is good."

-Jeff and Lester, from NBC's Chuck

---

Statistics are an interesting thing. They can be manipulated. They can be used out of context. They can be telling. And in my case they are telling. Very, very, telling. Here's the stat:

Six of the last six girls I have dated or gone on dates with have all left to go on missions shortly after interacting with me.

What exactly does that mean? It means that after having had a date or two with me, these girls decided they no longer desired male companionship. I give such a bad impression of the male gender that they decide to give up men altogether and see only girls for 18 months.

"You know, Spence, I had a great time on our date and everything but I just think I'd rather have nothing to do with guys for the next year and a half. But it doesn't have anything to do with you so don't worry."

Oh, I'm not worried. I'm petrified. I'm driving girls away at an astonishing rate. Six of the last six? Has such a feat ever been previously accomplished? Surely no one else out there is killing girls hormones as well as I am.

"The name's Hansen. Spencer Hansen. I have a license to kill girl's sex drives."

I can't explain how this is happening, but I know these girls can.

Thus, under disguise, I interviewed one of these former male-likers. I cut out the majority of the interview and left just the good parts.

Disguised Me: So he tried to impress you with magic tricks?

Her: It was embarassing.

Me: His hair was receding, true?

Her: He looked like a mix between a bald Bin Laden and a wolfman.

Me: So you found him unattractive?
Her: Correct.
Me:To the point that the thought of being with any man made you want to vomit?
Her: Correct.

When it comes to girls, I leave them no other option.

---

Jeff and Lester my friends, if you ever need a third, you know who to call.

I Pity the Fool(s)

2010-04-20T19:22:00.017-06:00

It's always around this time of year that I begin to pity the gays of the world.

Granted, I always pity them to a small degree, considering the fact that they have confined themselves to a life of touching men. Now, I've touched girls, and it's been great. I've touched men (handshakes only) and it's the reason I avoid playing contact sports with guys. How a man (knowing firsthand what a man looks like, after all) can decide that a member of his own gender could be more attractive than even the ugliest of all girls is outrageous. Thus, how one man could find another man more attractive than a hot girl simply doesn't compute in my mind.

"You know Bob, a girl with a skinny body, beautiful hair, and nice breasts just doesn't appeal to me."

I'll never understand.

But I will have pity. Especially during the summer, because once summer rolls around it has to be really hard for gay guys to remain, well, gay. Summer -along with baseball, boredom, and barbecues - means heat. Unbearable heat. And there is only one way for girls to combat unbearable heat.

By stripping.

Summer means girls no longer hide behind scarves, boots, coats, beanies, and layers in general. Out of the closet come the tiny shorts, the halter tops, the flops, and the most seductive of all outfits - the short skirt. The group Cake sings it right: I want a girl with a short skirt (forget the long jacket).

I can't help but feel bad for these poor fools. Here they are, doing their best to pretend that a male could somehow be hotter than a female, and then girls decide to take off their clothes. Surely they must be tempted to leave the dark side and enjoy the presence of the better of the two genders.

More girls like this and gays wouldn't be an issue.

Ah, the summer months. Heaven for the straights. Hell for the crooked.

Surely these are the times that try gay men's souls.

Internet Heartbrake

2010-04-12T13:21:00.004-06:00

More addicting than porn, more profitable than Google, and more entertaining than YouTube, Fantasy Sports are the king of the internet. I, sadly, am not its queen. Not even the court jester. In fact, considering my fantasy record, I'm more like the lawns keeper of the kingdom. Six times I've tried to claim a fantasy sports championship. Six times I've failed. I'm sick of having my heart broken in the fantasy lands of the world wide web.

True, I've had a few second place finishes, but in the sports world finishing second is just as bad as finishing last. Just ask Stockton and Malone how they feel about coming in second to Jordan twice. Malone felt so bad he joined the Lakers. Master Seinfeld says it best: "If I was an Olympic athlete, I would rather come in last then win the silver ... If you win in the bronze, you think: "Well, at least I got something."But if you win that silver, it's like: "Congratulations! You... almost won. Of all the losers, you came in first of that group. You're the number one loser."

Despite the pain of multiple second place finishes (not to mention last place, second-to-last, and third/fourth place finishes depending on this upcoming week), I will continue to seek satisfaction in the fantasy sporting world. Me and about 15 million others, of course. Together we contribute to over 2.7 billion dollars in lost productivity to employers due to wasted time thinking fantasy while at work. That reminds me ...

Dear (insert employer here: Hillcrest Elementary, Westridge Golf Course, or USTC):

I'm sorry for the time I wasted thinking about Fantasy (insert sport here: football, basketball, or baseball) while I should have been (insert task here: teaching children, mowing lawns, or hounding non-compliant taxpayers). I owe you one. Or 2.7 billion.

With admiration,

Spencer Hansen

So now you know. I love fantasy sports. The analyzing, the picking, the guessing, the rubbing-it-in your opponents face. It's one of the best time wasters the net offers, and hey, there are worse things to be addicted to. Still, there is one problem with fantasy sports. Now that I'm a seasoned vet in the game, I can tell you with confidence that fantasy games don't bring true happiness.

Unless you win, of course.

Prove. Him. Wrong.

2010-03-31T12:19:00.015-06:00

Somewhere Max Hall is smiling.

A lot.

Max endured a lengthy media rape thanks to his post-game comments following last year's BYU-Utah game.

"I don't like Utah. In fact, I hate them. I hate everything about them. I hate their program, I hate their fans, I hate everything ... I think the whole university, their fans, and their organization is classless."

Calling an entire organization classless is tomfoolery (especially considering the word classless refers to a society in which there are no social distinctions, not to a person who lacks class), but the point I want to make is this: BYU and Utah have engaged in two sporting events since those comments, and in both games a member of the Utah team has vindicated Max's words with actions worthy of the word "classless" (incorrect usage notwithstanding).

Let's examine the occurrences:

Game 1: BYU vs Utah, Basketball, Jan. 30, 2010

BYU squelched a late run by the Utes and had the game in hand with under a couple of minutes to play. That's when Ute shooting guard Marshall Henderson decided to get his non-shooting hand involved in the game. Frustrated by the defense of Cougar counterpart Jackson Emery, Henderson swung. The punch was weak, and so was Emery's fall, but the fact is that Henderson lost his cool, blew a nut, and did the "classy" thing of swinging at an unsuspecting player.

Game 2: BYU vs Utah, Basketball, March 3, 2010

BYU dominated Utah on the latter's home court, evoking this post game conversation between Ute coach Jim Boylen and a local sportswriter.

Listen carefully starting at second 43 of the clip.
Did you notice the part where the reporter requests that Boylen, "Show some class?"
Could a more redeeming phrase been used?

Not surprisingly, there was little to no uproar following the actions of Boylen or Henderson. Whereas Max's comments inspired 10,000 Facebook status updates, a slew of t-shirts, and a most certain 80% increase in beer sales at next year's BYU-Utah football game, the punch and comment from the U made nay a ripple in the social or media pond. Where every non-sport watching girl at my work had heard Max's comments, not a one had seen Henderson's punch or heard Boylen's spastic remarks. Interesting, the scrutiny that standards invoke.

Back to the point at hand. Max Hall is the all-time winningest QB at a university known specifically for great QB play. He is the second all-time leader in passing yards at the Y. He is the owner of a conference championship, and two bowl game victories. And now his most mocked words have been vindicated. The Utes had two quick chances to prove Hall's claim that they were classless wrong, and they failed miserably.

So smile Max Hall. You deserve to.

One Third Through

2010-03-24T01:39:00.007-06:00

The first time we broke up, the red-headed lover didn't take it too well (neither did I, but this story isn't about me. Well, at least not directly). And girls, when heartbroken, tend to seek comfort in one (or more) of the following devices:

a) Eating ice cream
b) Burning pictures of their old fling
c) Reading Twilight

The red-headed lover, to her everlasting credit, pursued another route in search of comfort: she watched hours and hours of old-school BYU football clips on youtube and Byu-Tv.

If ever there were a sign that me and Brooke were supposed to be together, that was it.

And somehow I still blew it.

How I ever let go of a girl like that (possibly the only girl like that) is beyond my ability to comprehend.
Yes, yes,you don't have to tell me. I know. I'm an idiot.

So what if we'd rather kiss the cougar statue outside LaVell's stadium than each other?

I let go of a girl that a) is hot, and b) likes BYU football as much as I do. Those are just two of the many things I miss about her (see Brooke's Blog for further detail).

She's been gone six months, as of today. Incredibly, as her time away has increased, so too have my feelings for her. Sadly, and rightly, the same can't be said for her.

I suppose there is good news, though. At least I still have 365 days to figure out a way to win her back once she returns.

I'm open to suggestions. Appearance improvement, date ideas, charming jokes, the ability to enjoy chick flicks. I'll take advice on practically anything. Just don't suggest hair regrowth formula.

Already tried it.