What Kind of Asshole Drives a Lotus?

The first time I tried to listen to the Strokes’ fifth album, Comedown Machine, I couldn’t get past the first song.

That is not compliment. This was not a “I just heard Seven Nation Army for the first time and must listen to it 37 more times immediately” situation. I didn’t know what I was listening to. This is the Strokes? This is my favorite band?

The Strokes have dealt with a perception problem that we’d probably all like to enjoy. Their debut album was almost universally regarded as the best album of the first decade of the 21st century – lauded by music critics for breaking down the teen pop era of the late 90’s and spawning a legion of followers and imitators.

Their follow up album, Room on Fire, picked up right where Is This It left off, but still threw people for a loop. Everyone just wanted the first album again.

I always got the sense the Strokes, as a band, reviled the success that came from Is This It. Not necessarily the accolades the album received, but the whole “Voice of a Generation” bullshit that came along with it. It didn’t help that the Strokes, a New York City band, landed square in the mainstream after 9/11. It seemed like they actually were the voice of a generation.

The backlash to that sort of thing – even in a pre-Facebook world – can be vicious and liking the Strokes quickly fell out of vogue. Even for the Strokes themselves; they didn’t seem to enjoy it. The energy and desire that pumped through speakers in the first two albums were all too distant in their last two efforts. While they made a few good songs, their last two albums featured too many songs that didn’t belong. Too many songs where the main emotion is apathy – the Strokes, especially on much of Angles, seemed like they didn’t want to be there.

So as Comedown Machine starts with a sound unlike you’ve heard before from the Strokes, it initially elicited a groan. They were changing their sound again, I thought. They’re trying to distance themselves further from Is This It, I thought. They still don’t care.

I let the playlist sit unplayed on my Spotify for a week. I couldn’t deal with what I thought was another subpar Strokes album. Even if I didn’t want to hear Is This It or Room on Fire rehashed, I wanted them to try.

I gave the album another listen after cleansing my music palette with a collection of guilty pleasures that would have me locked up for 10 to 20 if another living soul knew about it. I was ready to give it a try.

I wish I had that week back. I was missing out.

Comedown Machine excels in almost every possible way because what made the Strokes great was more than musicianship or lyrics or skill – it was the indefinable something that latches onto you and doesn’t let go. It forces you to pay attention. It forces you to listen. It forces you to enjoy. It forces you to hit repeat.

While the actual sound of Comedown Machine is a stark departure from the Strokes, it is really another Room on Fire in sheep’s clothing. The entire album captures a mood. The mood may be different to you than it is to me, but from song 1 through the end, it feels a certain way. I’m not describing it because I don’t want to ruin it for you.

One of the common criticisms I’ve read about the album is that it feels like it should have been the second Julian Casablancas’ solo album. Having listened to – and been disappointed by – said first solo album, those people are missing the forest for the trees.

The reason Comedown Machine sounds so different – and why I initially couldn’t get on board – is that the band has evolved, yet it is nowhere more striking than with Julian’s voice. On Is This It, Julian doesn’t play tricks, he doesn’t push his range and he doesn’t leave his sweet spot. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this, by the way. On his first studio album, Julian went with his best stuff, like Nolan Ryan throwing fastball after fastball. It worked for Nolan, it worked for Julian.

On Comedown Machine, Julian’s voice is less of another instrument, and more of a weapon. On One-Way Trigger, he seamlessly vacillates between the singing voice he is known for and a wicked falsetto. On 80s Comedown Machine, he sings slowly and calculated – it meanders through the verses of the record before dipping into his signature style of dragging out words and bringing unknown life to the them.

The lyrics, from beginning to end, are classic Strokes. Great music, like great art, poetry prose, should engage people differently. When he sings on Chances about waiting but moving on his own, you can picture Julian walking away from the band or a girl. While on their last two albums, the Strokes tried to become too spot-on with lyrics, they returned to more familiar terrain with significant results.

My favorite Strokes song, then, now and forever, is Trying Your Luck. I have listened to that song thousands of times in my life. I still could not tell you what the song is actually about. But I’ve latched on to some of the lyrics – most notably, “I lost my page again, I know this is so rare, but I’ll try my luck with you” – and superimposed them on my life. Isn’t that how music is supposed to work?

Comedown Machine gives us a taste of what made the Strokes so “cool” in the beginning. It always felt like they were in on a joke that the rest of the world wasn’t privy to. They were the kids in the jean jackets, smoking cigarettes in the parking lot and cracking jokes that only the others would laugh at. The snark, the wry smile, the wink that their last two albums lacked has returned.

Welcome to Japan is actually a beautiful song but completely overshadowed by two of the funniest Strokes lyrics. During the bridge, you can literally hear Julian smirking as he sings, “Scuba-Dancing….Touchdown.” Yet that pales in comparison to the “What kind of an asshole drives a Lotus?” lyric that I had to steal to entitle this rant/love letter.

To be honest, I still don’t know why that’s funny – who the hell even drives a Lotus? Maybe that’s the point.

For the first 10 songs, Comedown Machine is a very, very good album that I would recommend anyone listen to. But the reason I’ve written over a thousand words on a lazy Sunday night is due in large part to the last one. I buried the lede because the Strokes buried their best song.

Call It Fate, Call It Karma is not a Strokes song. It’s not a song from this decade. It’s a song that should be played on a record player and viewed through a fuzzy, black and white screen. It is a timeless, thought-provoking, endearing love song.

The beauty of the Strokes, and why they have remained my favorite band over the past 12 years, is that they always seem to have a trick up their sleeve. On Is This It, the last song was a lyrical middle finger to the world – and one of the best live David Letterman performances I’ve ever seen. On Room on Fire, they ended with the upbeat, hilariously titled I Can’t Win – as if they knew no one was going to like their album.

For Comedown Machine, they went against the script. A slow, jazzy song that should be listened to sitting down? How is that the end to a Strokes album?

But it works, and does so perfectly. The lyrics that kick off the chorus strike like an arrow through your heart:

“Can I waste all your time here on the sidewalk? / Can I stand in your light just for a while?”

Who hasn’t been there? We can all remember a time in our life, standing on a sidewalk, talking to a guy or girl we liked and hoping they would never leave.

With age comes perspective. Whether you’re 16, 30 or 52, you know that feeling. The entire album speaks to a maturity, both lyrically and musically, that the Strokes had been searching for since Room on Fire but couldn’t find it.

They finally did.

The only thing I don’t like about the album is the finality of it all. They searched for nearly a decade to replicate their success. They needed to grow and evolve to do so. They are far from the mainstream again – MTV ain’t inviting them to play the VMAs – and that’s the way they like it.

I’ve always wanted another Strokes album. But every time Call It Fate, Call It Karma concludes, and my mind is a million miles away – I’m okay with the end. If that’s the last Strokes I ever hear, I’ll be okay.

You shouldn’t write 1500 words about Comedown Machine – but you should listen to it. 

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How Tim Tebow Created The Modern SEC

“You will never see any player in the entire country play as hard as I will play the rest of the season.”
Tim Tebow, “Promise” speech, 2008

Play hard. Two words. One cliché.

Play hard as almost become an insult. The undersized middle linebacker, the point guard with no ups, the utility second baseman – they may not be great talents, but they “play hard,” says the announcer.

But what happens when you combine with an overwhelming sense of pride – the desire to play hard – with sublime talent?

You get Tim Tebow. You get Alabama over Notre Dame. You get domination. You get the Southeastern Conference in football. You get “S-E-C!” chants until your ears hurt.

Is it any coincidence the SEC’s dominance coincided with the arrival of Tim Tebow to Gainesville?

The SEC trumpets itself as the leader of college football, which is should. It wasn’t always that way though. While the SEC had great players and great teams, it never dominated the entire landscape of the sport until recently. The 1980s were dominated by the Big 8 – Nebraska, Oklahoma and Colorado – and the independents – Notre Dame, Penn State, Florida State and Miami.

The 1990’s and the early 2000’s gave rise to powerhouses in the Big 12, Big 10 and Pac-10, but the SEC was usually sparred from the spotlight unless Florida or Tennessee made noise.

It seems almost comical to travel back in time to 2006 and realize there was a significant portion of college football fans that wanted two Big Ten teams – 2 Big Ten teams!! – to play in the BCS title game. For many, the 2006 version of Florida was unworthy.

Instead, the team changed college football forever.

Motivated by the slight, Florida took their frustrations out on Ohio State and introduced the world to a new brand of college football. It was mean. It was tough. It was determined. It was destructive.

By the time Tim Tebow made his famous speech after his team’s lone 2008 loss against Ole Miss, the tide was already turning. The SEC was bubbling up and prepared to pounce. The SEC’s rise to prominence was a confluence of events – a nation migrating South, coaches flocking to the conference and CBS giving the conference a weekly, national platform.

But every moment needs its flashpoint. The SEC got Tim Tebow.

Tebow’s 30 seconds at the podium immediately changed the perception of college football in the South for a nation of fans, myself included, who didn’t truly get it. We knew they cared about college football. We didn’t know how much. Tebow crystallized it.

It came to fruition at the 2008 SEC Championship Game between Alabama and Florida, a de facto semifinal game that changed the way college football felt. It felt more important. It felt bigger. It felt like an NFC Championship game.

With the tension jumping off the screen, Florida and Alabama played a classic – punctuated by a determined, jubilant and violently motivating Tim Tebow running up and down the sidelines like a maniac.

It was at that moment the modern SEC was born.

Great athletes live for competition. They want to be the best, which means they must play and defeat the best. To go elsewhere is an admission that you’re not good enough.

Following the 2008 season and its third-straight national title, the SEC had stamped its claim to the best. Since then, the great talents have followed. Auburn, Alabama, LSU, Georgia, Tennessee, heck even Ole Miss – you name the SEC school, and you’ll see the stars pile up.

They had to sell their school. They did not have to sell the conference. The best players want to play in the best conference. Half the battle was already won.

But while programs can suffer from complacency – think of Oregon smashing opponent after opponent or Oklahoma running over Kansas – the SEC conference does not allow that to happen. It is not Michigan, Ohio State and 10 other programs. It’s 12, now 14, football programs that are all good enough to beat you on any given Saturday.

When you play in the SEC, you must play hard or you don’t play.

When Alabama opened up its season against Michigan, it looked like the teams were playing at different speeds. That’s because they were. Michigan was unprepared for the onslaught, much like Notre Dame would be four months later. The real national championship game for 2012 came in Atlanta at the SEC Championship, which has seemingly evolved from de facto semifinal game to de facto title game.

It wasn’t always like this and, for that, the SEC can thank Tim Tebow.

They say at all levels of sports that players respond to their leader – how he acts, is how they act. Tim Tebow set the template for the SEC. He was the #1 QB coming out of high school. He was a Heisman Trophy winner. He would be set for life regardless of how his 2008 team finished. Yet, he cared deeply.

It sent a message to the conference – if you want to win, you need to care that much.

You will rarely see an SEC team come out flat and unprepared. You never see a top SEC team dominated by a non-conference foe. You see, week in and week out, year in and year out, the SEC winning games and championships.

Is there any end in sight? As long as the players continue to echo Tim Tebow’s statement – no.

Play hard. Two words. One defining characteristic. 

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A Conversation Between Two People About That America 12 Conference Rumor

“So do you still think UConn should say no to the ACC?”

“Shutup.”

“You’re the one who told me about it. That some blogger was the voice of a generation or something.”

“No, that was when he wrote about the ESPN killing the Big East. Which I still stand by.”

“But UConn and the ACC?”

“Yeah, UConn should be on its hands and knees every night praying to whatever God that state universities believe in that the ACC expands and takes them. Or that the Big Ten raids the ACC. Or any possible scenario that ends up with UConn not playing in the Metro Conference or whatever they end up naming it.”

“Ah yes, funny you bring that up. That’s why I called.”

“Dammit, they actually went with the Metro Conference, didn’t they? Nothing says ‘Dead Conference Walking’ more than naming it after a conference that is actually dead. Great work Mike Aresco, the state of Connecticut thanks you again for your stellar work.”

“Are you done?”

“I feel like Rory McIlroy done in by the pressure of being too rich and famous. I just want to walk away.”

“You know Rory is pulling a Chappelle right now.”

“Oh definitely, it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You know that blonde tennis chick he’s dating will dump her. Tiger is becoming his friend and that can’t be a good thing. I don’t think he’s ready for the mental anguish that comes with ESPN talking heads debating your mental health. He’s too into Twitter and the such.”

“And the such? When did you start talking like that?”

“It’s what all the cool kids say.”

“Yeah, so, whatever. It’s not called the Metro Conference.”

“Thank God! Finally some good news.”

“Well, that’s debatable.”

“Oh shit, the name is worse?”

“Well…”

“Oh God, what did they do? Did they really take the Jersey Guy’s suggestion and name it the Big Metro American Conference? Good lord, he even suggested they call it the Big MAC and do a deal with McDonald’s. Oh geez, I’m freaking out, please tell me that’s not…”

“Calm down, it’s not the Big Mac conference. That would be better. Or at least tastier.”

“Better?”

“The new conference is going to be called the America 12.”

“The America 12 what?”

“I think just the America 12”

“What the fuck does America 12 mean? Aren’t there only 10 teams?”

“I don’t know, and yes.”

“Why did you call and ruin my day?”

“Because I knew you were in meetings all day and not religiously checking Twitter. So surprise, everything sucks again.”

“I’m so angry.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“I’m the Hulk pre-turning green. I’m the guy in Me, Myself and Irene before he goes nuts. I’m Jack Donaghy just crushing the anger into a ball.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy at all. Besides, it’s more fun when you get made, like when you were all ticked off about that Jack Swagger video.”

“Okay, seriously, I can’t take double anger right now. Let’s focus on doing whatever we can do as UConn fans to rid UConn of the America 12 Conference. The A-12? That’s the best they could come up it.”

“You have a better suggestion?”

“Literally, any other name. I mean, damn, the Metro Conference revival sounds heavenly compared to that. Can you imagine selling that to recruits? Yeah, sure you could play in the Big Ten or SEC, but wouldn’t you rather play in the America 12?”

“Adding a number is just opening yourself up for jokes.”

“Yeah, because the Big East West jokes with San Diego State and Boise weren’t enough. I bet they still have visions of expanding further west and creating a true national conference.”

“Could they?”

“Shutup. I don’t like when you call just to get me riled up. I have better things to do right now.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something!”

“Don’t be so angry, it’s Thursday.”

“So?”

“Archer’s on tonight.”

“Finally, some good news.”

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Everyone, Let's Not Panic, UConn Will Be Fine

Connecticut can be forgiven if it thinks the sky is falling – it’s been falling for 25 years.

Since the Insurance Capital of the World heyday of the mid-1980’s, the state and its cities have been in a constant state of decline. With two of the world’s greatest cities within a 2-hour drive, it can be very easy to get lost in the mix. Our inferiority complex is ingrained in who we are.

Our state government has conspired, at times in a corrupt manner, to whittle away at what made our state great. Bridgeport is now one of the saddest cities in America. New Haven is not a place you want to walk alone in past sunset. Hartford is now a relic – a sad, empty reminder of what was and what could have been. The former Hartford Civic Center stands renamed as the XL Center and as arguably the worst arena in any major city in this country.

The University of Connecticut and its sports programs have provided a stark contrast. Over the past two decades, our basketball teams have combined to win 10 national championships, our football team has risen to play in a Fiesta Bowl from I-AA and our non-revenue sports, including baseball and soccer, are some of the top programs in the country.

Yet even UConn hasn’t been immune to poor decision-making and a lack of foresight. The very publicly feud with Boston College, along with the resulting litigation from the ACC raid in 2003, likely kept UConn from joining the conference in 2011.

Former athletic director Jeff Hathaway inherited a robust, firing on all cylinders athletic program and managed to push Randy Edsall out the door by failing to pay market rate for him or his assistant coaches. While Edsall’s inexcusable manner of departure shaped public opinion, he built up a middle of the road Yankee Conference team into one that played Oklahoma on New Year’s Night.

In a twist that could only happen in Connecticut, Hathaway’s best move was undercut by our state government. A 10-game series with Notre Dame, with UConn “home” games being played in NYC and Boston was shot down by a government convinced Notre Dame should visit the Rent, our 40,000-seat stadium. The taxpayers, they said, deserved it. Notre Dame laughed and moved on. UConn’s football program would now kill for that type of exposure.

On Thursday night, it was announced the Catholic 7 of the Big East is moving on by next fall. In the wake of this news, the story took a UConn slant. The biggest losers in conference realignment? UConn. The athletic program most likely to fall off the face of the map? UConn. The end of the world? UConn.

So with that prologue out of the way, let’s get to the heart of the matter – UConn athletics will be absolutely fine.

The Hartford/New Haven television market is one of the biggest in the United States, standing above other “major” metros such as Kansas City, Memphis, Cincinnati and Salt Lake City.

The UConn women continue to be the gold standard in women’s basketball, routinely drawing five-figure crowds and proving to be a cash cow. Did you know SNY pays UConn more than $1 million annually to televise the UConn women in the world’s largest media market?

The retirement of Jim Calhoun was feared for years as many thought it could end the historic run for the men’s team. Instead, Kevin Ollie took over, reinvigorated a fan base and has led a short-handed team through an exciting season that would make them a lock for the NCAA Tournament if not for a one-year academic ban. When it comes to producing NBA talent, UConn shares the same altitude as Kentucky, UNC and Duke.

The football team has admittedly been in a rut thanks to the George DeLeone reign of terror and Coach Gramps’ inability to win football games. Despite that, UConn was one of the stories during last week’s NFL Scouting Combine with 4 defensive players making waves and all will likely be drafted. UConn football is not Alabama football – but we’re not Memphis football either.

It always comes down to money and perception in college sports and right now, UConn is lacking both. The new television deal for whatever its conference will be called is sad and pathetic – the UConn women’s team makes almost as much by itself. The rivalries with Syracuse, Georgetown, Louisville and Rutgers are about to go the way of the dodo bird.

It can be tough for anyone with ties to Connecticut to see the positives. But they are there. The UConn brand is strong. The UConn brand is renowned. The UConn brand will survive.

Whether UConn remains in its new conference for a year or a decade, it all comes back to winning. As long as UConn’s programs continue to win, they will be fine. No other women’s program can boast 7 national titles. No other men’s program can boast 3 title since 1999. No other program has had a former basketball star play the leading role in a Spike Lee movie – okay, less important, but still significant.

I know UConn will remain strong because I’ve felt what it could be at its height.

Every time Notre Dame hosts an opponent, the visiting fans try to infiltrate the stands to see a game in college football’s most historic and mythic venue. In 2000, Nebraska and its famous “Sea of Red” took over the stadium, much to the disgust of Domers.

But nothing compares to what happened in 2009. After 3 straight heart-breaking losses by a total of 10 points in the wake of Jasper Howard’s murder, UConn finally broke through in double overtime on a glorious, sun-splashed afternoon into unseasonably warm November night. As Randy Edsall gave his emotional post-game interview to NBC, Notre Dame Stadium was engulfed by UConn fans, myself included, letting the world know how we felt.

Watch. Learn. Love.

UConn will be fine. Panic is not necessary at this time.

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Why Manti Te'o Will Be The Steal of the 2013 NFL Draft

Every February, the NFL Scouting Combine appears and reminds us why it’s the dumbest, stupidest, most overhyped sporting event of the year.

The combine reveals to us, well, nothing. We know who is fast. We know who is the most athletic. While it has value for teams to get measurable, it shouldn’t be a driving factor for anyone’s draft pick. Every single player drafted in this year’s NFL Draft will have a wealth game film available.

If you were to choose your next starting linebacker, would you look at 40+ films of game tape or base it on a 40-yard dash time? Unless you’re the Raiders, that’s a stupid question.

Yet every February, we are treated to a cause célèbre that every analyst are forced to debate, dissect and devour for hours upon hours – it’s February, the sports calendar isn’t exactly littered with big events unless you like watching Danica Patrick try to win a race.

This year, the all-encompassing, all-consuming Manti Te’o took center stage again as the combine veered from its usual position as mere annoyance to full-blown circus sideshow. His first press conference attracted more reporters than the usual Presidential press conference, and there’s no attempt at a joke there. His sexual preference didn’t just become a headline; the fact of whether or not teams would ask about his sexual preference became a headline.

Then, as if to complete the fall from grace, he ran an average-to-slow 40-yard dash.

Leading up to the Alabama game, Manti Te’o was a Heisman finalist, a likely Top 10 pick and the leader who brought Notre Dame back to its place as college football royalty.

I don’t need to rehash the fake girlfriend scandal. I would guess about a billion words, including these, have been typed and tweeted about it. From the beginning, starting with the infamous “80%” declaration from a Deadspin “source” that Te’o was in on the scam, the haters have been ready to pounce.

There is no doubt Te’o shoulders some of the blame for how this played out publicly. He lied to his father about seeing his “girlfriend.” He foolishly embellished the story for reporters, who were lapping up this 21st century revival of the Notre Dame myth with joy. He found out before the Alabama game but waited too long to reveal and, instead, let Deadspin control its early path. He lied.

In the end, I believe that Te’o was young, naïve and duped. Is it a good look? No. But it doesn’t make him any worse of a football player.

However, so much of Te’o’s story was built around this myth – forgetting that his grandmother did die during the season – and he did so playing for a University that most of America can’t stand. My father went to Notre Dame and I have a family full of Domers. I am well-aware of the “We’re Notre Dame, and you’re not” attitude. For 20 years, no one really cared. Then Te’o, his story and his team stole headlines all fall and the Notre Dame hate returned.

None of this explains why Te’o has suddenly plummeted down draft boards, at least in the eyes of analysts, in the past few months.

He is still an All-American linebacker. He still started for 4 years at Notre Dame. He still led his team to an undefeated regular season. He still led the Notre Dame revival. He still made big plays at big moments. He is still about to be a very, very good NFL player.

The Alabama game was not Te’o’s finest moment but it seems a little harsh to place the entire blame for that debacle on him. The game plan and coaching was atrocious. The overall skill level wasn’t the same. There were too many off-field issues, from Brian Kelly’s short-sighted decision to interview for the Eagles job right after to the fact that Te’o knew about the scam and it’s impossible to think that didn’t have an impact.

The slow 40 time was the inevitable crescendo to this Te’o hate as talking heads like Mel Kiper and Todd McShay can point to something and explain why he’s not the prospect we thought he was.

Here’s the deal, as someone who has watched far too much Notre Dame football over the past four years – Manti Te’o is the real deal.

He hits hard.

He plays fast.

He has good instincts.

He is always in the right place at the right time.

He leads by example.

He is an excellent linebacker and the best defensive player to come through Notre Dame since the Lou Holtz era.

He will likely scoot down NFL draft boards, like a parade of superstars before him who came into the league carrying baggage, whether real or imagined. Warren Sapp. Aaron Rodgers. Randy Moss. Dan Marino. Those are just a few of the stars who slid down far past where they should’ve been drafted.

This April, it will happen again. Some team is going to take the risk, assume the media onslaught and draft Manti Te’o.

That team will be very glad it did. I’m going to keep my fingers crossed it’s the Jets, haters be damned.

Besides, the New York Post will likely need to fill its Tebow void on the back page this fall.

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