On Plato, the Patriots, and Prime Ministers

I can't believe I'm getting lazy this early into my blogging adventure by skipping days, but that's what happens when you have midterms (this morning). Everything else gets bumped down a peg.

The only issue is that I couldn't really be bothered with these midterms. There are five sections: quote recognition, dates, Dante, Plato, and Thursday lecture. Quote recognition is a crapshoot no matter how much you study, dates are relatively simple (you only need to get the century), Dante I have on lockdown, Plato I'd been studying feverishly for about 45 minutes, and Thursday lectures are irreverent but easy. I seemed to be on track for a nice B on these midterms.

Plato in particular was the bane of my existence, but because these midterms are solely on surface facts, the consumption of Plato was fairly easy. Thanks to Jewish holidays, I missed 2/3 of the Plato lectures, so I was a little behind the 8-ball, but a healthy dose of Sparknotes combined with several new-age training methods (drawing out Plato's Line Diagram before going to bed, falling asleep with The Republic open on my forehead) did the trick. I'm reasonably certain that I got upwards of 80% on the Plato section.

As embarrassing as it is for a Jewish guy to admit, I really know my 14th century Christian theology. Something in the Divine Comedy just clicked for me. Even though our lecturer, Dr. Colin Starnes, was a cross between lecturer and Richard Simmons-esque workout guy, I still feel like every aspect of the work was amazingly clear to me. I highly doubt I'll ever reach this state of epiphany again. When I reached the midterm, I mowed through that section with Schwarzeneggerian authority.

In Alumni Hall, where our examinations were taking place, a coughing fit magically spread across the room. About 20 minutes into the exam, everybody just started coughing (no word on H1N1). Eventually, everybody got into the act, with some faking it just to fit it. It was fun to watch the examiners' bemused looks as all decorum broke down. It remains to be seen if the coughs were a form of morse code to transmit answers. If they were, all I got out of it was SOS.

In the end, another test is done. Now time to move on with my life... to a paper on Dante.

Bill Belichick: Too Damn Smart For His Own Good

I took great joy from feverishly cramming (okay, lackadaisically glancing) for my midterms this week. However, one thing that made me even happier was to see Bill Belichick having his cockiness shoved in his own face when Indianapolis came from 17 down in the fourth quarter to stun the New England Patriots.

It's easy to hate the Patriots for a multitude of reasons, the least of which is their latent arrogance. The Patriots have very little personality or humility. The team does everything it takes to win, which doesn't sound bad until you hear it includes fudging injury reports, video-taping opposing teams' signals, and running up the score on teams with their first-string offense.

Belichick is the architect of this smugness. He regularly thumbs his nose at other teams, and has as much soul as Voldemort. He truly believes that he, "Greatest Coach in the Universe", can outsmart other teams in order to win.

Last night, that mentality bit him in the ass. Big time.

I understand where people are coming from when they that if Belichick had converted the 4th and 2, he would have been hailed as a genius. I just think they're wrong. It would be a good call to make if his team was up by 10, or if the clock was wound back five minutes, or if the ball was at midfield. But, all of those things did not apply. New England was up by 6. There were 2 1/2 minutes on the clock. And the ball was at their own 28, with Peyton Manning licking his chops at the prospect of a sub-30 yard drive to win the game, as opposed to a 70 yards one. Plus, there was a seriously ticked off and resurgent Colts D on that had been shutting the Patriots down all quarter.

It's really easy to gloat after this. However, don't go as far as saying that this mistake will ruin Belichick's coaching career. It was simply a case of him getting hoisted on his own foil. To use a bridge analogy, he shot for the moon and missed by one. This is just an example of the odds being separated from reality. Which is delicious for any Pats hater.

Reaching the Top

Apparently, I was pretty good in my Reach for the Top episode last night. To hear my parents tell it, I magically became a hero for a bunch of 8-year-old girls after effectively sweeping the Prime Ministers category (I seriously hope that's not true... I couldn't stand signing Hannah Montana lunchboxes). Big props to Woburn for an amazing game, along with my teammates for helping me out big-time.

However, a big thumbs down needs to go to TVO. When we were filming, they promised that all aired episodes would go online. As a new Nova Scotian, I am dependent on this; we don't get TVO. Yet, not a single episode has been posted online. To this I give a loud BOO.

Nicole, Vlad, production team, you guys were all awesome. This isn't a reflection on you. Sidney, I hope this isn't your fault, and I doubt it is. But please, TVO, let me see my games! Because right now, I seem to be a victim of a designer's laziness.

On Roundball and Regrets

Seeing as Logan took the time to respond to my original post, today I'm going to talk a little bit about the Washington Wizards. However, contrary to what the reply may have included, I am not a Washington Wizards fan. I'm not a hater, but not a fan. They're one of the myriad of "neutral teams" for me. Most of the time, I couldn't care less about the Wizards.

The one thing I do care about in relation to the team is the fact that they used to have some of the sickest jerseys in the NBA, but squandered them due to a serious bout of PC. The Washington Bullets were just marvelous, but not nearly as marvelous as their jerseys. Many may not be huge fans of the stripes, but I think they add serious character to the team. Just compare these to each other:

It's not even close in terms of awesomeness.

Aesthetics aside, another reason the Wizards are neutral to me is because they don't possess any sort of like-a-bility or hate-a-bility. Sure, Gilbert Arenas is a thoughtful, entertaining guy, and Antawn Jamison is a former Tar Heel, but do they really have any sort of plucky, underdog character? Have they ever been truly relevant playoffs-wise (before my birth doesn't count)?

Maybe the drab blue is getting to me, but I don't see any reason to follow them.

See, this can be applied to the entire NBA. Heading into a season, you can correctly predict who the playoff teams are with about 95% confidence. There are very rarely decided underdog teams who sweep through the playoffs and win, or even make, the championship. There's a reason the Golden State Warriors are the only #8 seed to win a playoff series. You know heading in that the Lakers will be good and the Knicks will be bad.

In this NBA, it's difficult to love or hate non-hometown teams that aren't among the elite group. As a neutral observer up north, I can only come up with hate for the Spurs, Lakers, and Mavericks. These were all top teams when I became a basketball fan. Likewise, I can only truly love the Raptors (hometown), Suns (Steve Nash), and Cavaliers (default elite group favourite).

Where do the Wizards fall in? Nowhere. They're just among the dregs of my apathy. If I had really noticed Michael Jordan's comeback with them, or become a fan of Gilbert Arenas, then they might be somewhere else. But right now, I'm apathetic. Kinda like how I am with the NBA until the playoffs.

Missed Opportunity

Yesterday, as a member of Tar Heel faithful, I was following Harrison Barnes' announcement of his college choice with bated breath. When I saw that he chose North Carolina, I was ecstatic. Visions of the 6'8" swingman and Ed Davis combining for another Tar Heel National Championship filled my mind.

However, the whole process of making the announcement really fascinated me. Barnes set up a stand in his high school gym, and set up a table with the pictures of all the schools he was debating between, along with a video screen. He packed the gym with friends, family, and ESPN cameras. He then announced his choice in front of a national audience, to wild cheers and tears.

When I watched this, I thought back to my own college decision. I think it was done over my kitchen table, after my parents had just asked me where I wanted to go. The only camera in the room was plugged into the chargers. Afterwards, I announced my decision on Facebook, a few people gave me their congratulations, and I went back to playing Wii.

All in all, I wish I'd done it the Barnes way (or, rather, the "every college football or basketball prospect" way). Picture the Merivale High School gym lined with friends, family, and admirers. I'm sitting at a table with King's, McGill, Ryerson, and Carleton hats in front of me. I walk to the front dressed in my pinstriped suit, thank everyone for coming, pause for suspense, put on the King's hat, and say that I'm ready to join the King's family. CBC interviews my grandparents: "We thought he'd be a law student but we're so happy for him", the producers cut to shots of bitter Ryerson journalism professors, and everything is amazing.

Any way I could do that over?

On Papers, Passion, and Phil Keoghan

Today, I got my fourth paper back from the Foundation Year Program. This program, unique to King's, involves reading copious amounts of philosophical texts and writing a 1500 word essay every two weeks. The latter task means that many Sunday afternoons when I could be watching football are spent holed up on a big red comfy couch in my residence's common room, madly typing words that are supposed to have some sort of significance in relation to the Neo-Platonists or Enkidu's rise out of bestiality.



Anyways, I got a C. When I told my dad about it, he replied "C for consistent!", which shows me how far I've fallen since my high school days. The most jarring thing, however, is not that my marks are suddenly the epitome of mediocrity. It's not even the fact that I don't care that I'm consistently average; I gave up caring about my marks a long time ago. No, it's the fact that it's so thoroughly normal.



In this program, pretty much every letter grade is about one full letter below where it would be elsewhere. In other words, FYP Cs are like normal Bs, and FYP Bs are like normal As. Conversely, everyone is sucked into some kind of whirlpool where it is nearly impossible to fail. Ergo, the different amounts of effort required correspond to a very minute shift in one's grade. Not only that, but there's no guarantee your effort will correspond to a higher grade. The paper I tried the hardest on was the one I got the worst mark on.



Does this mean I'm proposing apathy? Saving yourself in order to further your own interests? Hardly. In fact, I've probably tried harder this year than any other year within my continuing education. But passion is a tricky thing to gauge. It just so happens that in my papers, it isn't quite showing up in the feedback. Passion just isn't always a universal good (contrary to what Plato might believe).



Take football, for instance. Whenever my Minnesota Vikings are on, I morph from a moderately agreeable person to a cussing, raving hooligan. Luckily for me, Brett Favre is in the shotgun this year, so I don't worry as much about bone-headed play. However, if the wholly unholy Tarvaris Jackson is dropping back in the pocket, I close my eyes. When he throws an interception, I begin to cuss and punch a pillow. I then go online and trash-talk Green Bay Packers fans for an hour before I cry myself to sleep. Is this passion? Undoubtedly. Is this good? Hardly. I might give myself a heart attack a few years too early.


Passion can ultimately manifest itself in a bunch of ways. A whole bunch of them are good. Some are definitely bad, though. Take my papers. I put a whole lot of heart in them. I try my best to talk up key points and shine them in a glorious light. At the same time, though, I can't help but ignore fundamental points of the work. In an Aligherian sense, I'm loving a good too much. I should probably be a bit more neutral. This passion is destroying my papers.

Oh well. At least I'm consistent.

Passion Defective

One thing I have lost my passion for, however, is The Amazing Race. The long-running reality show had been an integral part of my television viewing. However, this year, I just couldn't seem to muster up any form of passion for it. I mean, I didn't even know when this season was starting. Last night, I realized that there was a season going on right now. I flipped over to the website, and... no interest. This shocked me for many reasons. Not only was I not captivated by the show, but I wasn't captivated by the fact that one of the competing teams was made up of Harlem Globetrotters!

I started watching this show in Season 7. The next season, Season 8, is termed as the one where the show jumped the shark by involving families instead of pairs. Enh. I still kept watching, though, because I enjoy travel, intensity, and have a weakness for watching complete and spontaneous meltdowns on television. I was a true fanboy.

Now, though? It doesn't really hold much for me. If I want to see exotic locations, I can read the travel section of my newspaper. If I want intensity, I can just pile on more hockey. If I want meltdowns, all I need is to watch the news. Politicians do that quite regularly. Just look at Rep. Joe Wilson.

This year, The Amazing Race has become to me what it should have been long ago: a thoroughly scripted charade. Sorry, Phil, but even your raised eyebrows aren't enough to keep me watching. Nobler pursuits are the way to go.