A Gritty Movie Season

Well, The Academy Awards aka "The Oscars" returns to television primetime on Sunday for the benefit of all of us starstruck moviefreakers. In anticipation of the evening, for the last two weeks, I have been hell bent on seeing the major players for the gold-plated Oscar and deciding for myself who is worthy of winning the coveted prize. For me, the Oscars goes to:

For Best Picture. "The King's Speech." When an Englishman or an Englishwoman opens his or her mouth and speaks the English language in the manner in which it was designed, the Hollywood press swoons and wanders away in a dwam state of mind. Subliminally, we know Americans can't compete with the English when it comes to speaking the language in an erudite manner on the big screen. Masterpiece Theatre genre will always trump the southy streets of Lowell, Massachusetts. See "English Patient" 1996. Frankly, UK folks on film sound smarter than American people. Hollywood likes smart because they think they are like kind. And if the story line is compelling, like "The King's Speech", the other candidates have no chance. I kinda agree with them here. Sorry, Mark Zuckerberg.

For Best Actor. Colin Firth in "The King's Speech." Every time he was on screen, his performance of his devastating impairment was so convincing and nerve wracking that I ached for him with each uttered, stammered and non-uttered word. He had me at the fffffffiiirrrrssssstttttt sentence. It was a brilliantly sensitive performance by, see above, a true Englishman.

For Best Actress. Natalie Portman. Her performance as the self-tortured ballerina in "Black Swan" was spectacular. Not because of her mastery? of the psychotic nonsense, ie, the feathers popping out of her arms, but because of her mastery of the craft of ballet. Frankly, I hated this dark psychodrama except for the incredible filming of the balletic scenes. Overall, I thought the movie was comically absurd. Theatre goers were laughing during "serious" scenes because it was so chimerical. I needed a stiff drink after this movie to try to forget what I saw....but the haunting scenes kept returning in my tortured sleep. But, Portman's dazzling singular performance as a pas de deux ballerina transcended the absurdity of the rest of the movie.

Best Supporting Actor. Christian Bale, as ex-boxing champ Dickie Ward brother-son-trainer-junkie in "The Fighter." He completely stole the show from everybody else on the set, including actor, Mark Wahlberg, as Dickie's boxing brother, Micky Ward. His multi-role performance on film was the best of the year in any category. When I sit down in front of a screen for two hours I want two things: entertainment and believability. Bale's total character immersion as Dickie was 100% believable in every frame he was in. I didn't know any crackheads in my life until now...his name is, Dickie Ward. Bravo.

Best Supporting Actress. Melissa Leo as the crude foul-mouthed mother in "The Fighter." Totally believable and delivered her coarse lines with perfection in each scene. Her performance was authentically amazing. She won't win because of Hollywood's affection for discovering and christening the next Tatum O'Neal who is attractive, smart and confident in front of the lens. Hollywood found that new wonderkid winner in Hallee Steinfeld, the smartest 14 year old girl in the West, Maddie Ross in "True Grit". Her performance was superb against a story line that was really fatuous.

So there are my picks and Hollywood's preferences, what are yours?

Enjoy the gowns. I will.

The Irish Answer?

Can this man save Ireland? Maybe. His name is Enda Kenny. That's he above, the man who looks like he is swallowing a plateful of swollen fish and chips. He represents the Fine Gael Party in Ireland. On Friday, he is poised to become the next "taoiseach" or Prime Minister of Ireland. Some would say, has he lost it? Who would want THAT job? The banks collapsed. The Euro debt crisis exposed Ireland's profligate ways. Ireland is now facing its worst economic crisis in its history. Unemployment is at 14%. And, Ireland's greatest asset and export, its people, are leaving at a rate of 1,000 per week. Why hasn't he emigrated like so many before when he had the chance? Good question.

Ireland, a land of sorrows and joys, is more the former than the latter recently. The supercharged "Celtic Tiger" is now a feral cat in the alley way. The deserved collapse and humiliation of Bertie Ahern and the Brian Cowen's Fianna Fail Party is all but assured in Friday's election which is surely to signal the largest turnover in government seats and personnel since Ireland's independence in 1922. And where is Gerry Adams of Sinn Fein party, the bad penny of Irish politics, in all of this? He continues to furtively foment discord in the land which should no longer care about IRA issues. Ireland's problems are much more acutely basic, like, how does one feed his family? Forgetting prosperity for now, will Enda and his new government return to the basic goal of creating jobs for the Irish people? Wonder what the odds are on Grafton Street for Enda's new government succeeding?

Years ago, I read a interestingly lyrical yet rather self-indulgent book entitled, "How the Irish Saved Civilization, The Untold Story of Ireland's Heroic Role From the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe", (whew, long title I know, but that's the Irish for you, nothing's easy) by Irishman, Thomas Cahill. Cahill's thesis claims: in the fifth century during the fall of the Roman Empire, the Irish Catholic monks had the wisdom and time to copy by hand all the priceless Latin manuscripts that were being mindlessly destroyed by the invading Germanic Huns and Goths. Cahill's book highlights two heroes for helping preserve the past for the benefit of the future, namely, Patrick and Augustine, both saints. In present day Ireland, the task of saving is much more singular and personal. Who will save Ireland from itself? And if Enda is successful, will he become Ireland's new saint?

So as Ireland braces for a "new normal" let us hope for the best. Ireland is not too big to fail. The past Irish government saw to that. It failed its people miserably. But the Irish people will not fail. For they are a special indomitable breed.

In the end, whatever we are or claim to be and wherever we go, we all have a wee bit of Ireland within us. Don't believe me, check out the popularity of March 17 next month.

God bless the Irish.

Eirinn go brach.

The Faces of Evil

In Cormac McCarthy's brilliant book, No Country for Old Men, there are many chilling scenes of pure evil. One in particular is the scene in which Carson Wells, the bounty hunter and the pursuer, goes face to face with Anton Chigurh, the psychopathic murderer and the pursued. In a dimly lit hotel room, Chigurh with air cannon in hand, trains it at an imprisoned Carson while in captured conversation. The dialogue goes something like this:

Carson: Do you have any idea how goddamn crazy you are?
Chigurh: You mean the nature of this conversation?
Carson: I mean the nature of you.

Moments later Carson's blood is flowing across the hardwood.

I've thought of this scene many times in the recent weeks and in the context of the "crazies" of the world. You know those paranoid misanthropes who run corrupt governments and imprison and murder their own citizens for decades. In Hollywood, evil was impersonated by Chigurh. In the real world, the embodiment of evil straight out of central casting is pictured above, Colonel Moammar Gadhafi. The face of the Lucifer without the horns, tail and pitchfork. Or, maybe an old age Mick Jagger.

In power since 1969, Gadhafi has ruled Libya with an iron hand and a hot temper. For 41 years, Gadhafi has raped and pillaged not only the 6.5 million people of Libya but also the financial oil bounty of the country. Libya's oil reserves are the largest in Africa and the world's ninth largest. Gadhafi regards this asset as his own personal purse. Because of his personal exploitation of this oil largesse, he bathes in luxury daily while his people suffer with 30% unemployment in abject living conditions. Well the worm has finally turned on the Colonel. The people's revolt has started. It will not end without abundant terror and murder.

It's about time this monster got his comeuppance. Remember, not only is he a scourge to his own people but he has been a constant terrorist and killer outside of his own borders. He was directly responsible for sending his secret agent, al-Megrahi, to blow Pan Am 103 out of the sky killing 270 innocent civilians over Scotland. In 2009, Scotland released al-Megrahi from a Scottish prison, out of humanitarian reasons. Allegedly, al-Megrahi has terminal cancer. However, he's still alive and living in Libya. And who orchestrated this horrific killer's release from Scotland? Monster Gadhafi, that's who. It seems that Gordon Brown's government in the UK wanted in on the Libya's oil fields at any cost and they were willing to give Gadhafi what he wanted, his hero, al-Megrahi. Disgraceful. UK should be ashamed.

But Gadhafi is just one such monster ruling in the world today. Sadly, there are far too many examples of evil governing around the world. The usual suspects Kim Jong Il in N. Korea, Than Shwe in Burma, Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe, al-Bashir in Sudan, Castro in Cuba, Chavez in Venezuela and the loony militant theocrats in Iran are all monsters who need to go far far away.

So, when and where will all this insanity end? In Gadhafi's Libya, it appears that his rear end will be lit up very soon. Even our hated and hunted enemy al Qaeda, agrees with the United States for once that Gadhafi must go but motivated by totally different agendas. Deserved death will come to him quickly at some point by rebels, his own people or by his own hand. The clock is ticking...

But as Gadhafi's reign of terror nears the end and it will come soon, one disturbing and haunting question remains: is the devil you know better than the devil you don't know? In that troubled part of the world, that is a good question to ponder. We'll all find out in due time.

The Badger State

What is going on in the Badger State in February? You know Wisconsin. The home of the Cheeseheads, the orange hunting vest, no razors, bratwurst and Andy North. There hasn't been this much noise coming from the great northern frozen tundra since the little fella got jambed into the wood chipper and for what...a few extra bucks. (I know that's from Fargo but just roll with it.)

First the wild card Green Bay Packers win the Super Bowl over the big bad Pittsburgh Steelers. Aaron Rodgers, QB extraordinaire, finally made the Lambeau faithful forget about #4. Paul Ryan Congressman from Janesville, Wisconsin, Chairman of the House Budget Committee, is suddenly the reincarnation of economist, Milton Friedman. He has become the annoying gnat whining "don't kick the can down the street" in Obama's ear. Finally, Republican Governor Scott Walker is taking control of the People's Republic of Madison, saying of all things, "the state is broke and there is no more money. We can't pay these long term gross pay outs to public sector unions anymore." The people are mad as hell. And if they don't negotiate reasonably with the governor, their pensions will be bankrupt in a few years. Do I sense "on frozen pond" revolution a-comin'?

The Packers. How glorious was their victory? Face it. Chicago and Minnesota aside, deep down we're all Packer fans at some level. Poor San Francisco 49ers. To think six years ago, they could have chosen Aaron Rodgers from Cal as their #1 pick. Instead they chose Alex Smith from Utah. Packers win and Rodgers is the Super Bowl MVP. The sorry-ass 49ers and Alex Smith remain ever re-building.

Paul Ryan. If you don't know of this man then wake up and read up. He is the voice of reason and wisdom in the land of fiddle faddle in Washington DC. His drumbeat is simple: cut spending now and that includes the untouchable holy grail of Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security. There I wrote it and "I wasn't struck down by lightning", to borrow a line from Chris Christie, Governor of New Jersey. And he adds, "if we don't boldly act now, we and our children are doomed by debt." And I was worried about weapons of mass destruction!

Scott Walker. This story reads like fiction. What's he doing, standing up to those public sector unions and sychophantic legislators and saying "no mas" in Madison? This is akin to a 49er fan rooting for the Niners in the Oakland Raiders Black Hole. Crazy stuff. This guy, as my son curtly said, "has brass balls."

All this happening in Wisconsin in the dead of winter. Go figure. Must have run out of Pabst or something. I can't wait until it warms up up there. It will really get entertaining then.

A Businessman and a Gentleman

Bill DeWitt, Jr. Managing Partner and Chairman of the major league baseball team, the St. Louis Cardinals, pictured above with Manager, Tony LaRussa, is both a Businessman and a Gentleman. He is the "other side of the story" in the Albert Pujols melodrama.

In the recent media frenzy of the Pujols contract soap opera played out spectacularly over the airwaves last week, Bill Jr. displayed both roles expertly. At the end of the day, he showed Albert and everybody else who cared, who was in charge. The businessman. And he did it with great gentlemanly aplomb amidst the glare of the moment. This was not suprising. He was well trained for this moment.

As a businessman, Bill Jr., got his start "gophering" around for his entreprenurial father, Bill Sr., who owned both the old St. Louis Browns in the thirties and forties and the Cincinnati Reds in the '60s. In 1965, Bill's Dad as owner of the Reds, traded away "an old" Frank Robinson to the Baltimore Orioles. The next year Frank Robinson won the Triple Crown and MVP for the Orioles and went on to a Hall of Fame career. It is regarded as one of the worst baseball trades of all time. Bill Sr. was vilified in the media for this "mistake." Young Bill felt his Dad's pain. It weathered him for what may lay ahead for him in his own journey.

In the '60s a young ambitious and precocious Bill Jr, graduated from Yale with an undergraduate degree. A few years later, he graduated with a master's degree in business from Harvard. Leaving academia, Bill Jr. found himself adept in deal making in the business world. Over time, his risk-laden deals made him and his partners alot of money. Due to this success and access to money, Bill Jr. got the inside track on attractive deals in all types of businesses from around the country. One such deal involved one of his fellow Yale and Harvard alum and future President of the United States, #43, George W. Bush. Bill Jr. told George about the hushed and reluctant sale of the baseball team, the Texas Rangers. George Bush assembled a partnership bought the team for $86M and sold it 10 years later for $250M. George's windfall profit from this one deal paved his way to successful political campaigns in both Austin and Washington DC. Needless to say, Bill Jr. and George remain close friends today in spite of eight tumultuous years in the WH.

In 1996, Bill Jr., picked his own plum in the baseball world. His investment group bought the iconic St. Louis Cardinals from Anheuser Busch for $150M. Recently, Forbes Magazine has valued the Cardinals over $450M. Not a bad investment in 15 years.

So as the dust settled from last week's baseball theatre, two things emerged: Bill Dewitt Jr. is an astute businessman and leader who is strong and decisive while unyielding to sentimental public opinion; and, secondly, he performed this unenviable task in front of the world's stage with modesty, respect, great class, professionalism and gentlemanly conduct.

With Bill DeWitt, Jr.'s hands firmly on the tiller, the Cardinals will be OK with or without #5 next year. Just think, the Cardinals could have an owner like the dysfunctional McCourts in Los Angeles. Now that would be a disaster for the Redbirds.

Go Cards.

How do you solve a problem like Albert?

CAUTION: YOU'RE ENTERING THE NO SPIN BASEBALL ZONE.

To awkwardly borrow from that lively jingle sung by the nuns at the abbey about governess Maria in Sound of Music, how does the DeWitt family-owned St. Louis Cardinals solve a problem like Albert? Cuddly lovable Albert Pujols, "El Hombre", baseball player extraordinaire, a problem? You betcha. Read on.

Albert #5, in the last year of his contract with St. Louis, "locked and loaded" in the above picture, is zeroing in on the richest guaranteed contract in the history of professional sports. How rich? Rumor has it, Albert's camp wants $30million a year for 10 years all of it guaranteed. According to my math, gulp, that is $300 MILLION for a baseball player who will be 41 years old at the end of the new contract. Heck, according to Forbes magazine, the Cardinals as a franchise is worth $488 Million. Now, if those numbers and the divergent emotions involved aren't a problem for the business-minded DeWitts and rabid Cardinal fans everywhere, then I don't know nuttin'.

Allegedly, Albert has given a drop dead date to the Cardinal organization for a new contract extension to be signed, sealed and delivered by next Wednesday, the date Albert arrives at spring training camp in Jupiter, Florida. If the DeWitts don't complete an extension with Albert by then, supposedly, Albert will impose a moratorium on all contract talk until after the season at which time he becomes a free agent and is open to the highest bidder. Oh, by the way, Albert because of his ten years of service in the majors, can veto any trade offers which he said he would do. Talk about hard ball!

But is Albert worth it? In the real world of course not! According to the Post-Dispatch, Albert will make more than 1.3 million working men and women in the St. Louis area. His salary alone eclipses the payroll of many large St. Louis companies. But in the fantasy world of sports he MAYBE worth it. Here are some of Albert's gaudy numbers to consider for his first 10 years as a major leaguer: rookie of the year 2001, 2 time gold glover at 1B, 9 time All Star, NL MVP 3 times, World Series ring 2006, greatest player selected by ESPN in the last decade, career .331 batting average, career slugging .624 average, 408 HR, 1900 hits, 1,230 RBIs, 10th consecutive year of 100 RBIS and over 30 home runs (one of only three in MLB history), leading base stealer for his club and hardly ever strikes out. Whew! I was just getting started.

But does Albert put fannies in the seats, increase ad revenues on TV and sell redbird gear for the DeWitt's which fattens DeWallett's? Well, yes, yes and yes. St. Louis, as a population, is not ranked in top 50 cities in the United States. However, the Albert Pujols-led St. Louis Cardinals, are ranked fourth in MLB attendance at home and on the road behind New York, Philadelphia and Los Angeles. Fans want to see two things at a Cardinal game: a win and Albert...not necessarily in that order.

So what are the DeWitts supposed to do with this elephant in the room? Well first of all, they can curse the ghost of George Steinbrenner. Why? The Boss set the absurd salary ceiling with a $250MILLION contract to Alex Rodriguez that pays A-Rod $27.5M year to wear the Yankee pinstripes. Secondly, they can curse the media who loves Albert's baseball exploits more than the fans do and have deified him to the point that Albert is arguably the greatest player who ever lived. Albert hears all that continuous fawning and says to himself, hmmm... "if all that's true then I should be the highest paid player in the game." Bingo.

So after fighting the windmills of the past ala Don Quixote, the DeWitt's have a huge decision to make. Pay Albert what he wants and retire him as a Cardinal forever alongside Stan "The Man" Musial. By the way, Stan, soon to be feted with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, batted .330 at age 41. Why can't Albert? Or, let Albert walk to New York, Boston or Los Angeles or another divisional competitor (OMG the CUBS!!!). An unenviable ownership position to be in to say the least. What would you do to solve a problem like Albert?



Postscript: I'm typically not a conspiracy theorist but don't the DeWitts live in Cincinnati, a resurgent division rival in the NL Central? Just asking...

Pitchers and Catchers

Only two more days remain when the three most glorious words in the English language are realized. Pitchers and Catchers. For some, these words mean everything. Others it means nothing. So, what it means for people who care, this coming Sunday, Major League Baseball returns from its somnolent winter solstice to the front lobe of baseball brainiacs around the country with the arrival of pitchers and catchers to their spring training camps in Florida and Arizona. To those who don't care about baseball and this annual spring rite of passage, stop reading right now and switch on the Animal Planet and watch the march of the Emperor penguins in Antarctica.

Spring training for the baseball loving faithful represents everything....especially hope. As Andy Dufresne wrote to Red about hope in Shawshank Redemption, "Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies." With all due respect to Andy, I can't see much hope coming out of the perennial baseball wastelands of Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Miami, Baltimore, San Diego, Phoenix, Oakland or Seattle. Thank God I'm not a baseball fan of one of those cities. So much daily summer torture for those fans. God bless 'em. For the rest of us, notwithstanding, superb Giant pitching and a retooled Red Sox battery, there are many other teams out there, ie., St. Louis Cardinals, that have a chance to wear the crown in October. One thing's for certain, we all start fresh 0-0. How we finish at the end of a 162 game season is whole other kettle of fish.

This time of year I get the urge to migrate south to Roger Dean Stadium in Jupiter, Florida to see my beloved St. Louis Cardinals get in shape for the season. A couple of years, I surrendered to my passion flew cross country and visited RDS to see the Redbirds with my son, Jack. We wanted to see how the ballclub looked in person before the drama of the regular season. Crack of the bat. Pop of the glove. Spitting. Patting. Yanking crotch. Teaching. We experienced it all. We were this close to the players. Major and minor leaguers, relaxed playing the game we all loved and love. We were like little kids in a candy store. There's Albert...there's Yadi...there's Tony.

Don't know what it is about baseball but it makes you feel like you're back in third grade. A mystery of life, I guess. You remember, the first sign of spring, you sleep with your glove/ball under the mattress to get it broken in just right. Then oil it to soften the leather. Warm up the arm with your brother or friend. Now those ARE fond memories of one's past.

Enough nostalgia. If you love baseball, go to Spring Training. It's on my bucket list to do every year.

Play ball.

Moscow on the Lake

Guess where this is? In North America? Yes. A major city? Absolutely. A recent picture? Like today. Suspense over. This is Lakeshore Drive in Chicago, Illinois. Yes, that Lakeshore Drive. Believe it! Looks like Moscow in February...or maybe Cleveland.

Kudos to my buddy, Ricky, who smartly lives in balmy Florida for sending this picture to me. It seems his son and our son, Jack, have something in common. They both live in snowy Chicago and are enduring one of the worst winters in that city's history.

Speaking of worst winters, this has to rank right up there as one of the nastiest seasons ever east of the Rockies extending all the way to the Atlantic! The eastern seaboard resembles the North Pole. Snow at the Super Bowl...in Texas? Is there such a thing as global cooling? Go ask Al.

But there is light at the end of the next pounding storm...only 13 days to the arrival of "pitchers and catchers" in Florida and Arizona. Only 25 days for full squads to appear for spring training. And only 61 days to opening day.

It may seem like the ice age will never loosen its grip where you live but boys and girls this too shall pass and baseball will return. I can smell the newly cut grass already. Hotdogs. Beer. John Kruk. Heat. Cardinals win. The thrill of it all....