Professional football is the most popular sport in this country, and tomorrow, April 26, is probably the second favorite day of the year (other than Super Bowl Sunday) for NFL fans. The annual NFL draft of college players begins at 7:00 p.m. Central Time on ESPN and the NFL Network. Each team will have ten minutes to make its pick. The NFL is structured so that all thirty-two teams have a very realistic chance to play .500 ball or better during at least one regular season within a floating three year time frame. It is the only national team sport, at any level, for which that can be said. How far above or below that .500 level (8 wins and 8 losses) any one team achieves is a product of (i) personnel decisions, such as whom to draft, whom to sign as a free agents, whom to cut, whom to trade, and individual player contract terms, (ii) the actual performance of the players and coaches on game days, and (iii) Lady Luck. ESPN radio talk show host Colin Cowherd pointed out a few months ago that, unlike college football where the rich get richer and the same few teams contend for the national title every year, the NFL starts out all of its teams on an equal basis. "After that it's all up to you, baby," he said.
There are four main features of the NFL structure which are intended to result in as much competitiveve fairness among the thirty-two teams as possible. In descending order of importance, they are:
1. Draft order. The team with the worst record gets to draft first in all seven rounds of the next draft. The team with the second worst record drafts second, etc. The Super Bowl champion drafts last.
2. Schedule. The teams with the worst records get the easiest schedules the following year. This impacts ten of each team's sixteen regular season games, i.e., all of a team's non-division games. (The eight NFL divisions each contain four teams, and each team plays its three division foes twice, regardless of its prior season's record.)
3. A "hard" salary cap. Each team has exactly the same maximum amount which it can spend on its roster payroll each season. There are stiff penalties for teams which go over the cap. Compare this to Major League Baseball, in which teams that go over the "soft" MLB cap merely pay a luxury tax. NFL teams cannot simply buy themselves a championship caliber roster, whereas an MLB team can. The New York Yankees are Exhibit A. The Yankees' team payroll for the current season is $198 million; the San Diego Padres' payroll is $55 million.
4. Revenue sharing. The NFL has a much more even plan for sharing the revenues from television, because the broadcasts and related contracts are tightly controlled by the league. (Heck, the NFL even controls how high the players' socks have to rise below the uniform pants!) In the other pro sports, there is no similar control, with the result being that large market teams have a lot more bountiful revenue stream coming into their coffers than do small market teams.
In college football, a team can have the best quarterback in the country, and still go out and recruit the best running back, the best wide receiver and the best middle linebacker. There is no salary cap, because (unless you're talking about Ohio State or Southern Cal) the players aren't being paid. The NCAA permits college teams to have up to eighty-five players on scholarship at any one time. The NFL's team roster limit is only fifty-three. In the NFL, if a team pays through the nose to have the best quarterback, it won't have enough room under the salary cap to pay the best running back, etc. A team's general manager has to figure out how to divvy up the pie. The wealth of player talent is therefore spread around the entire league.
When you mix in all these factors, the Green Bay (population 105,000) Packers and the Jacksonville (830,000) Jaguars theoretically have just as good a shot of winning a Super Bowl in any three year period as do the New York (8.2 million) Giants or the Chicago (2.7 million) Bears. Someone might ask, why do the New England Patriots, the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Packers always seem to have an excellent team, while the Cleveland Browns and the Oakland Raiders seldom do. The logical answer is that the franchises in the former group are better run (see the last sentence of the first paragraph). It's not because the cards are stacked against the latter group (see the four enumerated points in the second paragraph).
As has been said many times, the NFL offers hope to its teams' fans. There are thirty-one NFL teams that are not defending Super Bowl champions. The most important element of hope for each NFL team's fan base that this coming season will be better is the annual draft. That it why the first round will be nationally televised tomorrow night during prime time. Later rounds are scheduled for prime time this Friday night, plus Saturday afternoon. The expected viewing audience is predicted to be above 30 million people, which is very high when you consider that the draft is only carried on cable stations, and the season doesn't even start for over four months. That is also why there are at least eight magazines (at about eight dollars a pop) and dozens of websites dedicated to the draft.
We might be in playoff season in the NBA and NHL, and the baseball season is brand new. But this weekend belongs to football and the NFL draft.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Movie Review: "The Cabin In The Woods"
"The Cabin In The Woods": C. Is it an unwritten rule that in order for a modern moviegoer to enjoy a horror flick, she has to be an experienced horror flick aficionado? Is it common knowledge that in today's horror movies there are so many inside jokes and subtle nods to previous movies in that genre that the casual viewer who only rarely attends horror flicks will be left out in the cold? If that is the expectation then I plead nolo contendere; I would not be qualified to critique such a movie and should, accordingly, recuse myself. But until somebody advises me to the contrary, I am going to assume that the obligation of the filmmakers is to entertain the paying audience, even if not everyone in the theater is into zombies and werewolves.
In the interest of fairness and full disclosure, I will admit that I have not attended a horror movie since 2007, when I made my older daughter, Gina, come to the theater with me to hold my hand and keep me from embarrassing myself by hiding under my seat. The movie we saw then was "The Mist," and as I recall, we both thought the story was more lame than scary. Even though there have been horror movies that I've enjoyed (e.g., "The Exorcist" and "Carrie"), I have not really been tempted to give horror movies another try since 2007 - - that is until I read some of the hype surrounding the recent opening of "The Cabin In The Woods." The critics hailed it as a worthwhile film, several cuts above the average gore fest. Well, I thought to myself, I own a cabin, and it's in the woods. Maybe I'd better check out this movie so I'll know what to do (and not do) if a monster comes at me while I'm out for a walk. Gina offered to accompany me again to the theater, but our schedules didn't coincide. After making sure I had taken my hypertension medication that day, I ventured off alone.
In a nutshell, I was pretty disappointed with "The Cabin In The Woods," and can't understand why so many critics gave it a "thumbs up." The story is about five college kids who pile into a van and drive to a lake cabin owned by the uncle of one of the guys. The five characters are your stock stereotypes often seen in movies featuring young twenty-somethings: the jock, the good girl, the not-so-good girl, the serious guy and the pothead. Each character acts exactly like you'd expect her to act. The jock acts like a jock, etc. If I were casting the parts, I would not need to concern myself with finding actors who can stretch. The script does not call for that.
The part of the plot that makes this story different is that the words and actions of the cabin kids are being heard and seen in real time by a team of (government?) workers stationed in a remote control center. One of those workers is played by Bradley Whitford whom you may remember from TV's "The West Wing." Not only is the cabin rigged with the hidden cameras and microphones, but so are the surrounding woods. The government team has the ability to control some of the things which the kids encounter, and the team leaders are not above changing the rules on the fly. All of this seems like ideas stolen from "The Hunger Games." But make no mistake, the quality of "The Cabin In The Woods" does not approach that of "The Hunger Games." [Note: "The Cabin In The Woods" was filmed in 2008, the same year "The Hunger Games" was published, so I'm confident there was no plagiarism. The movie's release was delayed until 2012 by the bankruptcy filing of the film studio.]
The story of "The Cabin In The Woods" may not have been gripping, but at least the running time (ninety-five minutes) was short, so my attention did not waver. The final act of the movie was downright ludicrous and preposterous, even for a fright film. Maybe the joke was on me and I was the only one in the audience who didn't realize that the end was supposed to be silly. Be that as it may, if I wanted laughs I would have gone to see a comedy.
In the interest of fairness and full disclosure, I will admit that I have not attended a horror movie since 2007, when I made my older daughter, Gina, come to the theater with me to hold my hand and keep me from embarrassing myself by hiding under my seat. The movie we saw then was "The Mist," and as I recall, we both thought the story was more lame than scary. Even though there have been horror movies that I've enjoyed (e.g., "The Exorcist" and "Carrie"), I have not really been tempted to give horror movies another try since 2007 - - that is until I read some of the hype surrounding the recent opening of "The Cabin In The Woods." The critics hailed it as a worthwhile film, several cuts above the average gore fest. Well, I thought to myself, I own a cabin, and it's in the woods. Maybe I'd better check out this movie so I'll know what to do (and not do) if a monster comes at me while I'm out for a walk. Gina offered to accompany me again to the theater, but our schedules didn't coincide. After making sure I had taken my hypertension medication that day, I ventured off alone.
In a nutshell, I was pretty disappointed with "The Cabin In The Woods," and can't understand why so many critics gave it a "thumbs up." The story is about five college kids who pile into a van and drive to a lake cabin owned by the uncle of one of the guys. The five characters are your stock stereotypes often seen in movies featuring young twenty-somethings: the jock, the good girl, the not-so-good girl, the serious guy and the pothead. Each character acts exactly like you'd expect her to act. The jock acts like a jock, etc. If I were casting the parts, I would not need to concern myself with finding actors who can stretch. The script does not call for that.
The part of the plot that makes this story different is that the words and actions of the cabin kids are being heard and seen in real time by a team of (government?) workers stationed in a remote control center. One of those workers is played by Bradley Whitford whom you may remember from TV's "The West Wing." Not only is the cabin rigged with the hidden cameras and microphones, but so are the surrounding woods. The government team has the ability to control some of the things which the kids encounter, and the team leaders are not above changing the rules on the fly. All of this seems like ideas stolen from "The Hunger Games." But make no mistake, the quality of "The Cabin In The Woods" does not approach that of "The Hunger Games." [Note: "The Cabin In The Woods" was filmed in 2008, the same year "The Hunger Games" was published, so I'm confident there was no plagiarism. The movie's release was delayed until 2012 by the bankruptcy filing of the film studio.]
The story of "The Cabin In The Woods" may not have been gripping, but at least the running time (ninety-five minutes) was short, so my attention did not waver. The final act of the movie was downright ludicrous and preposterous, even for a fright film. Maybe the joke was on me and I was the only one in the audience who didn't realize that the end was supposed to be silly. Be that as it may, if I wanted laughs I would have gone to see a comedy.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Album Review: "Boys & Girls" - Alabama Shakes
"Boys & Girls": B. One of the hottest new bands on the music scene these days is Alabama Shakes, a foursome from the little northern Alabama town of Athens. Their lead singer and bassist, Brittany Howard and Zac Cockrell, went to high school together and were both into writing music, so they collaborated. Once they had the framework of a few new creations, they added Heath Fogg, a guitarist who played with an established band that helped Howard and Cockrell get their first gig, and drummer Steve Johnson, whose day job was working in a nuclear power plant. These four musicians had divergent musical tastes, but were open minded enough to try each other's favorite genres. The band got their start playing mostly covers in mid-South dive bars, but never stopped writing their own material. Their big break came when a friend of theirs who ran a music blog, Aquarium Drunkard, agreed to post one of their original songs. From there they received some radio air play, and Alabama Shakes was on its way to stardom. This spring they have appeared on Conan O'Brien and David Letterman's shows, and made a splash at Austin's South By Southwest music festival in March, playing their set on the big stage of Stubb's, the festival's most famous venue. Their first album, "Boys & Girls," came out this past Tuesday.
I can't remember the last time I bought a CD by a brand new, non-local artist without first hearing at least a song or two. But there's a soft spot in my heart for bands that got their start playing covers in dive bars - - a history to which I can personally relate (although not the part where there's ensuing fame) - - so I decided to give "Boys & Girls" a shot, sound unheard. (That's my coined phrase inspired by the better known "sight unseen.") Their style is billed as "blues based rock" and also as "60's style soul." After listening to the CD in its entirety four times, I can understand why Alabama Shakes' sound is hard to pigeonhole. They are a derivative group, and I mean that in a complimentary sense. Even on just the first listening alone, one can tell that the songwriters were influenced by a wide range of artists, undoubtedly a result of starting out as a cover band having to appeal to a wide range of bar patrons' tastes. (On an NPR interview, Brittany Howard stated that they liked, and played, everything from Black Sabbath to Otis Redding. Now that is quite a range!)
The eleven songs on "Boys And Girls" generally have a very clean and efficient sound. Only a highly effective organ and an occasional piano enhance the sound of the four core musicians. Few songs have back-up vocals. The lead guitar is loud and clear even while the lead vocalist is singing, not just on instrumental breaks; something like Los Lonely Boys do on much of their set list. I don't recall hearing a tom tom, except maybe a floor tom on a tune or two. If you like the Phil Spector production style, these sparse arrangements are not for you. I think the album would have been better with more of a mixture of tempos. The beat does not change often, and when it does it's usually simply from mid-tempo to slow. After listening to the first five or six songs, I kept waiting for a breakout rocker, maybe something along the lines of the Georgia Satellites' "Keep Your Hands To Yourself." That did not happen, but maybe they'll mix it up more on their sophomore album, assuming there'll be one.
What this band has that no other band can claim is Brittany Howard. She can go from plaintive to angry to growling to emoting to happy, and sell her believability each time. On the opening track, "Hold On," her smokey husky voice sounds like Angela McCluskey, whose 2004 release "The Things We Do" is one of my most underrated albums. On the title track, "Boys & Girls," Howard brings back thoughts of Adele. My favorite song, "You Ain't Alone" (the song that launched the band), contains shades of Aretha Franklin. Some fans claim similarities to Janis Joplin. I won't argue with them.
If you listen carefully, you can identify several of the Shakes' influences. "Rise To The Sun" could have been recorded by My Morning Jacket. The similarity to Jacket's "Wordless Chorus" is quite apparent. "I Ain't The Same" recalls early '80's Stones, or perhaps Prince. "Hang Loose" has a hook that sounds borrowed from the Breeders. "On Your Way" evokes Gaslight Anthem. As I wrote above, Alabama Shakes' sound is derivative.
I predict these guys are keepers, with bigger things to come. You can't deny they are off to a great start. They already have sold-out gigs coming up in Hamburg, Berlin, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam and Dublin. This summer they're playing both Bonnaroo (Tennessee in June) and Lollapalooza (Chicago in August). Before the year is out, they will have performed in Europe on three different tours. Not bad for a little band from Athens, Alabama.
I can't remember the last time I bought a CD by a brand new, non-local artist without first hearing at least a song or two. But there's a soft spot in my heart for bands that got their start playing covers in dive bars - - a history to which I can personally relate (although not the part where there's ensuing fame) - - so I decided to give "Boys & Girls" a shot, sound unheard. (That's my coined phrase inspired by the better known "sight unseen.") Their style is billed as "blues based rock" and also as "60's style soul." After listening to the CD in its entirety four times, I can understand why Alabama Shakes' sound is hard to pigeonhole. They are a derivative group, and I mean that in a complimentary sense. Even on just the first listening alone, one can tell that the songwriters were influenced by a wide range of artists, undoubtedly a result of starting out as a cover band having to appeal to a wide range of bar patrons' tastes. (On an NPR interview, Brittany Howard stated that they liked, and played, everything from Black Sabbath to Otis Redding. Now that is quite a range!)
The eleven songs on "Boys And Girls" generally have a very clean and efficient sound. Only a highly effective organ and an occasional piano enhance the sound of the four core musicians. Few songs have back-up vocals. The lead guitar is loud and clear even while the lead vocalist is singing, not just on instrumental breaks; something like Los Lonely Boys do on much of their set list. I don't recall hearing a tom tom, except maybe a floor tom on a tune or two. If you like the Phil Spector production style, these sparse arrangements are not for you. I think the album would have been better with more of a mixture of tempos. The beat does not change often, and when it does it's usually simply from mid-tempo to slow. After listening to the first five or six songs, I kept waiting for a breakout rocker, maybe something along the lines of the Georgia Satellites' "Keep Your Hands To Yourself." That did not happen, but maybe they'll mix it up more on their sophomore album, assuming there'll be one.
What this band has that no other band can claim is Brittany Howard. She can go from plaintive to angry to growling to emoting to happy, and sell her believability each time. On the opening track, "Hold On," her smokey husky voice sounds like Angela McCluskey, whose 2004 release "The Things We Do" is one of my most underrated albums. On the title track, "Boys & Girls," Howard brings back thoughts of Adele. My favorite song, "You Ain't Alone" (the song that launched the band), contains shades of Aretha Franklin. Some fans claim similarities to Janis Joplin. I won't argue with them.
If you listen carefully, you can identify several of the Shakes' influences. "Rise To The Sun" could have been recorded by My Morning Jacket. The similarity to Jacket's "Wordless Chorus" is quite apparent. "I Ain't The Same" recalls early '80's Stones, or perhaps Prince. "Hang Loose" has a hook that sounds borrowed from the Breeders. "On Your Way" evokes Gaslight Anthem. As I wrote above, Alabama Shakes' sound is derivative.
I predict these guys are keepers, with bigger things to come. You can't deny they are off to a great start. They already have sold-out gigs coming up in Hamburg, Berlin, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam and Dublin. This summer they're playing both Bonnaroo (Tennessee in June) and Lollapalooza (Chicago in August). Before the year is out, they will have performed in Europe on three different tours. Not bad for a little band from Athens, Alabama.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Movie Review: "The Vow"
"The Vow": B-. This movie made its Twin Cities' debut a few months ago, and I finally caught it at the Hopkins Theater last night before it disappeared from the big screen. Rachel McAdams and Channing Tatum play young Chicagoans, Paige and Leo, who make goo goo eyes at each other in a drivers' license application line. He catches up to her outside the building as she's getting into her car, and stutters and stammers his way into an offer to buy her a drink. She smiles her dimpled smile, and before we have shed a layer of clothing in the 85 degree theater, they are married. She is a former law student who dropped out to pursue her first love, art. He owns a small music recording studio. For four years life is good. They are deeply in love. Then tragedy strikes.
One winter's night their car gets rear-ended by a huge city truck. The impact sends Paige through the windshield. She wakes up in a hospital several days later, unable to recall anything from her short-term history, including her marriage to Leo, who she thinks is her doctor. Once she is released from the hospital, Leo patiently tries to get her into familiar surroundings, hoping that something will trigger her brain's ability to reconnect with him and their relationship. Meanwhile Paige's family, which had been absent from her life, reappears and intervenes by inviting her to return to their suburban home, disregarding their son-in-law's status as their daughter's husband. Another potential monkey wrench in the works is the reappearance of Jeremy, Paige's former fiancé and current Loop attorney. Paige remembers things from her distant past, like Jeremy and her high school chums. She just can't recognize Leo.
What follows in this one paragraph is something you might want to skip until after you've seen the movie, although it is not a typical plot spoiler. Sometimes while watching a newscast I'll notice something about the anchor, such as a constant blinking of the eyes, and for the remainder of the program I pay more attention to that idiosyncrasy than I do to the news content. A similar thing happened while watching "The Vow." It seemed to me, early on, that the characters frequently said "I'm sorry" to one another. Once I noticed this, I realized that they could barely utter three sentences in a row without that apology. It would make a great drinking game for the movie's viewers, but it is also distracting. The dialogue could have been a little better written.
There are a few other nits, including a very improbable surprise party which Leo throws for Paige on her first night home from her long hospital stay. Leo seems like a sharp guy, so it's hard to believe he could be so dumb as not to think that might be just a wee bit too much for an amnesia victim to process on her first day home. There is also a scene where he takes Paige to her art studio for the first time after she's returned home, and he cranks up a highly obnoxious metal song, thinking this will please her. All I can say is, "Please!" She does not seem like a metal head kind of girl, at least not at this point in her life.
"The Vow" is neither great nor bad, though not quite as good as what I had hoped. Tatum is highly credible in the role of a husband married to a girl who can't remember him. For much of the story, Leo's goal is to make Paige fall in love with him all over again. As for McAdams, I would pay to watch her reading her lines from cue cards. She is quite luddufly. When she comes into the kitchen wearing a Chicago Cubs sweater, it's almost enough to make me switch my National League allegiance from the Brewers to the Cubbies. The story picks up in the final act, especially when a secret is revealed about Paige's parents. The ending leaves a little bit to the viewers' imaginations, a story telling device which I support. Also in the plus column is the terrific soundtrack, including a super song for the final scene and closing credits called "Pictures Of You" by the Cure.
One winter's night their car gets rear-ended by a huge city truck. The impact sends Paige through the windshield. She wakes up in a hospital several days later, unable to recall anything from her short-term history, including her marriage to Leo, who she thinks is her doctor. Once she is released from the hospital, Leo patiently tries to get her into familiar surroundings, hoping that something will trigger her brain's ability to reconnect with him and their relationship. Meanwhile Paige's family, which had been absent from her life, reappears and intervenes by inviting her to return to their suburban home, disregarding their son-in-law's status as their daughter's husband. Another potential monkey wrench in the works is the reappearance of Jeremy, Paige's former fiancé and current Loop attorney. Paige remembers things from her distant past, like Jeremy and her high school chums. She just can't recognize Leo.
What follows in this one paragraph is something you might want to skip until after you've seen the movie, although it is not a typical plot spoiler. Sometimes while watching a newscast I'll notice something about the anchor, such as a constant blinking of the eyes, and for the remainder of the program I pay more attention to that idiosyncrasy than I do to the news content. A similar thing happened while watching "The Vow." It seemed to me, early on, that the characters frequently said "I'm sorry" to one another. Once I noticed this, I realized that they could barely utter three sentences in a row without that apology. It would make a great drinking game for the movie's viewers, but it is also distracting. The dialogue could have been a little better written.
There are a few other nits, including a very improbable surprise party which Leo throws for Paige on her first night home from her long hospital stay. Leo seems like a sharp guy, so it's hard to believe he could be so dumb as not to think that might be just a wee bit too much for an amnesia victim to process on her first day home. There is also a scene where he takes Paige to her art studio for the first time after she's returned home, and he cranks up a highly obnoxious metal song, thinking this will please her. All I can say is, "Please!" She does not seem like a metal head kind of girl, at least not at this point in her life.
"The Vow" is neither great nor bad, though not quite as good as what I had hoped. Tatum is highly credible in the role of a husband married to a girl who can't remember him. For much of the story, Leo's goal is to make Paige fall in love with him all over again. As for McAdams, I would pay to watch her reading her lines from cue cards. She is quite luddufly. When she comes into the kitchen wearing a Chicago Cubs sweater, it's almost enough to make me switch my National League allegiance from the Brewers to the Cubbies. The story picks up in the final act, especially when a secret is revealed about Paige's parents. The ending leaves a little bit to the viewers' imaginations, a story telling device which I support. Also in the plus column is the terrific soundtrack, including a super song for the final scene and closing credits called "Pictures Of You" by the Cure.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Dillon Hall Diaries: Emil T & The Pre-med Washout
Marriage and medicine weaved similar threads through the crystal ball of my youth. I could picture myself being married and therefore presumed that someday I would be married. Once in a while, like every blue moon or so, I even pictured myself being a dad. But I never, ever, pictured myself actually getting married. Too many variables would have to fall into place to lead up to my tying the knot. My thought was that if I could not wave a magic wand and - - ta dah! - - be a married man, it was unlikely to happen. But that was before I met Mary.
Similarly, I pictured myself being a doctor, most likely a pediatrician. When I was in high school I read "The Citadel" by A.J. Cronin, a novel about a young country doctor in Wales. That book greatly influenced me. If I could not become a pediatrician, maybe I'd become a general practitioner like Andrew Manson, the protagonist of "The Citadel," setting up a family practice out in some remote community. The obstacle to my dream was not being in possession of that magic wand. I could not imagine going through what it took to become a doctor, including achieving outstanding grades in college, then med school, followed by internships and residencies. Too tough, too long, too unlikely.
So maybe I wasn't thinking clearly in 1965 when I applied to Notre Dame and indicated an intention to major in pre-med. The Marquis thought it was a splendid idea and did his best to convince me to feel the same way. Being a salesman, he was adept at the art of persuasion. When ND accepted me, one of the priests at my high school told my parents that getting into the pre-med program (as opposed to most other courses of study) was truly a feather in my cap. The folks under the Golden Dome were not dummies, he said; they would not have taken me for pre-med if they didn't think I could do it. Once The Marquis heard that, there was no other path for me to even consider. Of course, my dad had never met Emil T.
Professor Emil T. Hofman was a legend in his own time. It's pretty safe to say that every single student at Notre Dame, not just those who had him for class, knew who he was. There were two pre-med programs at ND. One path initially took its students through the College Of Arts & Letters, the other through the College Of Science. Only those in the latter group, including me, had Dr. Hofman. He was "Emil T," and the road to medicine ran through Cushing Hall, where he taught freshman chemistry. It is difficult to reflect on my four years at Notre Dame without including Emil T in the playback.
Emil T arrived in South Bend as a student on the GI Bill in 1950. After serving as a teaching assistant for a couple of years while earning his masters degree, he began teaching chemistry at ND in 1953 and continued doing so for several decades thereafter. His class met three times a week (Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and the section I was in was comprised of almost four hundred students. To say that Professor Hofman had a commanding presence as he lectured from the Cushing Hall stage would be a vast understatement. He did not need a microphone, as his baritone voice with a slight German accent could probably be heard out on the South Quad. My strategy for his chem lectures was the same as that for almost every other class I took: write down in abbreviated note form everything that the prof said for as long as I could keep up, and then try to make sense of it all after class. Sometimes I would be so busy trying to catch up, hoping that he'd pause to catch his breath, that I did not notice that he had left the stage and was prowling the large auditorium as he lectured. Even though he rarely called on students, it was chilling to hear him coming up my aisle. I'm sure the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
The most famous - - "infamous" is more like it - - aspect of Professor Hofman's class was the seven question quiz, sometimes referred to as "Emils," each Friday morning. I recall Thursday nights at the Grotto down by St. Mary's Lake, following hours of studying at the library. The place was so packed with students praying to Our Lady for good luck on the next day's Emil that it resembled the Saturday morning throng praying before a home football game. "Deliver us from Emil" was a phrase heard murmured by the supplicants. The quizzes were so hard and tricky that no amount of praying seemed to do much good. Each quiz was entirely multiple choice, and each question would have four possible answers. Our challenge was to pick the best answer from among choices "A," "B" and "C." We were to mark choice "D" if either (i) more than one of the first three choices were correct, or (ii) none of the first three choices was correct. I remember the first day of class, when Emil T was explaining the ground rules regarding the quizzes. Someone in the middle of the room got up and asked, if a student were to mark "D" for a particular question, how the prof would know for which of the two reasons the student had done so. It seemed clear to me that this student thought it was a bargain, courtesy of Dr. Hofman, to have one response for two totally distinct possibilities. Emil T replied, "I won't know, but believe me, it won't be easy for you." Truer words were never spoken. The quizzes were anything but easy. There were no bargains.
One piece of sage advice an upperclassman gave me was never to participate in the weekly "post mortem" rituals which took place in the Cushing Hall lobby after the Friday class was dismissed. In the post mortems the students would gather informally in small groups, before leaving the building, to discuss what answers they had given to certain questions posed in that day's quiz. As I found out, that was a sure fire way to ruin not only my Friday afternoon, but the entire weekend as well. Still, I usually could not resist at least eavesdropping to hear what some of my brainy classmates had to say. (I did not want to wait until the following Monday when Emil T, with kind of a sadistic grin, would go over the quiz.) The worst would be when I'd hear several students say with bravado that they had given an answer different from mine on a question that I thought was an easy one. Too many times it turned out that they were right and I was wrong.
By the time May 1966 rolled around I was convinced I was not doctor material. The future doctors had not broken a sweat in chemistry, while I had a lump in my gut every Friday. On the day of the final exam, Emil T entrusted his three TAs to administer an essay test. They passed out the blue test booklets, and the four hundred of us put our heads down and feverishly began to write. About four or five minutes into the test, a student got out of his chair, ripped up the test booklet with his hands extended above his head, and loudly proclaimed, "I just can't take it any more! I quit!" He flung the torn pages into the air and stormed out of the room. The rest of us applauded while the TAs put on their grimmest faces. I never found out if the guy who "quit" was actually a student who had been in Emil T's class all year, or if it was maybe somebody's roommate (in other words, a plant) who threw a make-believe tantrum on a dare. In any case, you might say I followed in his footsteps. During the summer I switched out of pre-med and enrolled in the College Of Business.
According to an excellent article by Brendan O'Shaughnessy which appeared in the autumn 2011 edition of Notre Dame Magazine, Emil T is still going strong at age 91. His retirement from teaching in 1990 was covered by the South Bend media. Since then he has remained active, with his new focus on philanthropic work for the people of Haiti. He has also, from time to time, assumed different responsibilities on behalf of the university. Of all the faculty and staff at ND during the years I attended, no person other than Ted and Ned (Fathers Theodore Hesburgh and Edmund Joyce, the top two administrators at ND) was better known or more highly regarded than Professor Hofman, and no one has been of more service to the school.
Back in the old days, the Readers' Digest used to have a column, contributed by different authors, called "My Most Unforgettable Character." When it comes to the teachers I had at Notre Dame, there are three, including Emil T, to whom I'd give serious consideration for the title of "My Most Unforgettable Professor." My guess is that a majority of the alums who once sat in his class would feel the same way.
Similarly, I pictured myself being a doctor, most likely a pediatrician. When I was in high school I read "The Citadel" by A.J. Cronin, a novel about a young country doctor in Wales. That book greatly influenced me. If I could not become a pediatrician, maybe I'd become a general practitioner like Andrew Manson, the protagonist of "The Citadel," setting up a family practice out in some remote community. The obstacle to my dream was not being in possession of that magic wand. I could not imagine going through what it took to become a doctor, including achieving outstanding grades in college, then med school, followed by internships and residencies. Too tough, too long, too unlikely.
So maybe I wasn't thinking clearly in 1965 when I applied to Notre Dame and indicated an intention to major in pre-med. The Marquis thought it was a splendid idea and did his best to convince me to feel the same way. Being a salesman, he was adept at the art of persuasion. When ND accepted me, one of the priests at my high school told my parents that getting into the pre-med program (as opposed to most other courses of study) was truly a feather in my cap. The folks under the Golden Dome were not dummies, he said; they would not have taken me for pre-med if they didn't think I could do it. Once The Marquis heard that, there was no other path for me to even consider. Of course, my dad had never met Emil T.
Professor Emil T. Hofman was a legend in his own time. It's pretty safe to say that every single student at Notre Dame, not just those who had him for class, knew who he was. There were two pre-med programs at ND. One path initially took its students through the College Of Arts & Letters, the other through the College Of Science. Only those in the latter group, including me, had Dr. Hofman. He was "Emil T," and the road to medicine ran through Cushing Hall, where he taught freshman chemistry. It is difficult to reflect on my four years at Notre Dame without including Emil T in the playback.
Emil T arrived in South Bend as a student on the GI Bill in 1950. After serving as a teaching assistant for a couple of years while earning his masters degree, he began teaching chemistry at ND in 1953 and continued doing so for several decades thereafter. His class met three times a week (Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and the section I was in was comprised of almost four hundred students. To say that Professor Hofman had a commanding presence as he lectured from the Cushing Hall stage would be a vast understatement. He did not need a microphone, as his baritone voice with a slight German accent could probably be heard out on the South Quad. My strategy for his chem lectures was the same as that for almost every other class I took: write down in abbreviated note form everything that the prof said for as long as I could keep up, and then try to make sense of it all after class. Sometimes I would be so busy trying to catch up, hoping that he'd pause to catch his breath, that I did not notice that he had left the stage and was prowling the large auditorium as he lectured. Even though he rarely called on students, it was chilling to hear him coming up my aisle. I'm sure the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
The most famous - - "infamous" is more like it - - aspect of Professor Hofman's class was the seven question quiz, sometimes referred to as "Emils," each Friday morning. I recall Thursday nights at the Grotto down by St. Mary's Lake, following hours of studying at the library. The place was so packed with students praying to Our Lady for good luck on the next day's Emil that it resembled the Saturday morning throng praying before a home football game. "Deliver us from Emil" was a phrase heard murmured by the supplicants. The quizzes were so hard and tricky that no amount of praying seemed to do much good. Each quiz was entirely multiple choice, and each question would have four possible answers. Our challenge was to pick the best answer from among choices "A," "B" and "C." We were to mark choice "D" if either (i) more than one of the first three choices were correct, or (ii) none of the first three choices was correct. I remember the first day of class, when Emil T was explaining the ground rules regarding the quizzes. Someone in the middle of the room got up and asked, if a student were to mark "D" for a particular question, how the prof would know for which of the two reasons the student had done so. It seemed clear to me that this student thought it was a bargain, courtesy of Dr. Hofman, to have one response for two totally distinct possibilities. Emil T replied, "I won't know, but believe me, it won't be easy for you." Truer words were never spoken. The quizzes were anything but easy. There were no bargains.
One piece of sage advice an upperclassman gave me was never to participate in the weekly "post mortem" rituals which took place in the Cushing Hall lobby after the Friday class was dismissed. In the post mortems the students would gather informally in small groups, before leaving the building, to discuss what answers they had given to certain questions posed in that day's quiz. As I found out, that was a sure fire way to ruin not only my Friday afternoon, but the entire weekend as well. Still, I usually could not resist at least eavesdropping to hear what some of my brainy classmates had to say. (I did not want to wait until the following Monday when Emil T, with kind of a sadistic grin, would go over the quiz.) The worst would be when I'd hear several students say with bravado that they had given an answer different from mine on a question that I thought was an easy one. Too many times it turned out that they were right and I was wrong.
By the time May 1966 rolled around I was convinced I was not doctor material. The future doctors had not broken a sweat in chemistry, while I had a lump in my gut every Friday. On the day of the final exam, Emil T entrusted his three TAs to administer an essay test. They passed out the blue test booklets, and the four hundred of us put our heads down and feverishly began to write. About four or five minutes into the test, a student got out of his chair, ripped up the test booklet with his hands extended above his head, and loudly proclaimed, "I just can't take it any more! I quit!" He flung the torn pages into the air and stormed out of the room. The rest of us applauded while the TAs put on their grimmest faces. I never found out if the guy who "quit" was actually a student who had been in Emil T's class all year, or if it was maybe somebody's roommate (in other words, a plant) who threw a make-believe tantrum on a dare. In any case, you might say I followed in his footsteps. During the summer I switched out of pre-med and enrolled in the College Of Business.
According to an excellent article by Brendan O'Shaughnessy which appeared in the autumn 2011 edition of Notre Dame Magazine, Emil T is still going strong at age 91. His retirement from teaching in 1990 was covered by the South Bend media. Since then he has remained active, with his new focus on philanthropic work for the people of Haiti. He has also, from time to time, assumed different responsibilities on behalf of the university. Of all the faculty and staff at ND during the years I attended, no person other than Ted and Ned (Fathers Theodore Hesburgh and Edmund Joyce, the top two administrators at ND) was better known or more highly regarded than Professor Hofman, and no one has been of more service to the school.
Back in the old days, the Readers' Digest used to have a column, contributed by different authors, called "My Most Unforgettable Character." When it comes to the teachers I had at Notre Dame, there are three, including Emil T, to whom I'd give serious consideration for the title of "My Most Unforgettable Professor." My guess is that a majority of the alums who once sat in his class would feel the same way.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Movie Review: "The Hunger Games"
"The Hunger Games": B+. The premise of "The Hunger Games" is unthinkable. The central government, for the past seventy-four years, has required each of the country's twelve districts to submit a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to enter a mortal survival contest in the wilderness. Only one of the twenty-four combatants will come out of it alive, with the rest meeting their demise via infection, starvation, exposure to the elements, or most likely, the infliction of a fatal blow at the hands of their fellow contestants. The games are treated as somewhat of a combination Super Bowl and Academy Awards, where everyone is watching or at least is aware of what's going on, but the seriousness of the activities is mitigated by the nonchalant attitude of the audience, the parties and the generally frivolous atmosphere in the capital city. Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci) hosts a television spectacle over the course of four days, during which the unlucky twenty-four are paraded through the city, feted with sumptuous clothing and fine dining, coached in the art of attracting sponsors who will supply them with equipment, trained in hand-to-hand combat, and interviewed much like you would see on Entertainment Tonight. But once the young people are released into the wild, it's every man (or child) for himself.
Jennifer Lawrence plays Katniss, a pretty teenager who has been the leader of her impoverished District 12 family ever since her father died in an industrial accident. Her widowed mother has never mentally recovered from the shock, so it has been up to Katniss to raise her twelve year old sister, Primrose. When Primrose's name is chosen at random for the reaping, which determines the district's two entries in the games, Katniss volunteers to take her place, making Katniss the first person ever to volunteer in the history of the games. The boy who is chosen from her district is Peeta (Josh Hutcherson). He seems an unlikely candidate to emerge with his life. At least Katniss, an experienced hunter, knows her way around a bow and arrow.
The participants in the games run the gamut from a shy small girl to a bloodthirsty athletic boy named Cato. Allegiances develop, friendships are tested and crushes blossom into something more. But always in the back of the viewers' minds is the grim reality that there will be only one survivor. When the government wants more action it changes the rules. As I was watching I recalled the beginning of the Gulf War. It was dubbed the "Clean War" because we never saw the effects of the bombs we dropped, only the before and after satellite pictures of the targeted structures below. In "The Hunger Games," people in the capital city keep score, aided by the sound of a trumpet blast each time one of the kids dies, but they don't see the agony and the gore from the field of combat.
This is the second movie I have seen starring Jennifer Lawrence, the first being "Winter's Bone." In both movies she plays a teenager who comes from a troubled family but is comfortable in her own skin and wise beyond her years, especially when she's out in the woods. Lawrence is very convincing as Katniss, someone who would find it unbearable to kill someone, even if doing so would be her only ticket to saving her own life.
Whenever I read or watch science fiction, I still hold the author or the filmmakers responsible for making the plot, the characters and their decisions logical, within the context of the story. Getting past the grim background of the story of "The Hunger Games" was an effort, but you have to buy into it or else you might as well stay home. Once over that preliminary hump, I found the story to be fascinating. Even though the running time is around one hundred forty minutes (about a half hour longer than I usually prefer), the movie did not drag. Still, the movie does have its faults. Changing the rules of the game was a convenience which detracted from the film's logical integrity. (That aspect reminded me of the six year TV series "Lost," in which new characters kept arriving right up to the end. Lazy writing.) So was the decision by Cato to keep a certain character alive when the reason for doing so had expired. I also did not buy into the supposed chemistry between the two District 12 participants. I am nevertheless satisfied with giving this movie a B+, and have little doubt I'll be attending its sequel next year.
Jennifer Lawrence plays Katniss, a pretty teenager who has been the leader of her impoverished District 12 family ever since her father died in an industrial accident. Her widowed mother has never mentally recovered from the shock, so it has been up to Katniss to raise her twelve year old sister, Primrose. When Primrose's name is chosen at random for the reaping, which determines the district's two entries in the games, Katniss volunteers to take her place, making Katniss the first person ever to volunteer in the history of the games. The boy who is chosen from her district is Peeta (Josh Hutcherson). He seems an unlikely candidate to emerge with his life. At least Katniss, an experienced hunter, knows her way around a bow and arrow.
The participants in the games run the gamut from a shy small girl to a bloodthirsty athletic boy named Cato. Allegiances develop, friendships are tested and crushes blossom into something more. But always in the back of the viewers' minds is the grim reality that there will be only one survivor. When the government wants more action it changes the rules. As I was watching I recalled the beginning of the Gulf War. It was dubbed the "Clean War" because we never saw the effects of the bombs we dropped, only the before and after satellite pictures of the targeted structures below. In "The Hunger Games," people in the capital city keep score, aided by the sound of a trumpet blast each time one of the kids dies, but they don't see the agony and the gore from the field of combat.
This is the second movie I have seen starring Jennifer Lawrence, the first being "Winter's Bone." In both movies she plays a teenager who comes from a troubled family but is comfortable in her own skin and wise beyond her years, especially when she's out in the woods. Lawrence is very convincing as Katniss, someone who would find it unbearable to kill someone, even if doing so would be her only ticket to saving her own life.
Whenever I read or watch science fiction, I still hold the author or the filmmakers responsible for making the plot, the characters and their decisions logical, within the context of the story. Getting past the grim background of the story of "The Hunger Games" was an effort, but you have to buy into it or else you might as well stay home. Once over that preliminary hump, I found the story to be fascinating. Even though the running time is around one hundred forty minutes (about a half hour longer than I usually prefer), the movie did not drag. Still, the movie does have its faults. Changing the rules of the game was a convenience which detracted from the film's logical integrity. (That aspect reminded me of the six year TV series "Lost," in which new characters kept arriving right up to the end. Lazy writing.) So was the decision by Cato to keep a certain character alive when the reason for doing so had expired. I also did not buy into the supposed chemistry between the two District 12 participants. I am nevertheless satisfied with giving this movie a B+, and have little doubt I'll be attending its sequel next year.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Movie Review: "Goon"
"Goon": B. Well, I can't say I wasn't warned. Colin Covert, in his Star Tribune review of "Goon" when it opened last week, wrote, "This movie looks like athlete's feet smell." He gave it only one and a-half stars out of four. Still, I had to see it for myself, mostly because two weeks ago I found the trailer to be hilarious. My second warning occurred when the guy sitting in the row behind me walked out as soon as he'd finished his bag of popcorn, thereby diminishing the paid attendance at yesterday's matinee at the Lagoon to seven men. But by that time, it was too late. I was one of the seven!
I found myself laughing heartily at many points in the movie, and immediately feeling ashamed that my taste standards were so low. This movie is quite profane and crude, but then again, it is a movie about hockey - - minor league hockey at that! The plot involves the story of a bar bouncer named Doug (Seann William Scott) who catches the eye of the local semi-pro team's coach when he punches out the visiting team's main pugilist who has climbed into the stands to attack Doug's wise guy friend. The coach invites Doug to try out for the team. Doug barely knows how to skate, but he shows up for the tryout anyway, wearing white figure skates. He KOs four or five of his future teammates before his tryout has even begun, and presto, he makes the team!
It isn't long before Doug is promoted to the Halifax Highlanders, a low level minor league team coached by the brother of the first coach. The Highlanders need an enforcer to protect their top player, Xavier Laflamme, who is always picked on by the Highlanders' opponents. Doug The Thug attains instant celebrity.
There is a lot about this movie that is entertaining. His teammates are a blast, including the captain who can't give a pre-game pep talk without meandering into his plight as a newly divorced man, the goaltender who has glued pictures of his mother on his helmet, the player who is in pre-med and always studies in the locker room among all the commotion, the apparently gay Russians who strut around in speedos instead of jock straps, and the moody star Xavier whom Doug is there to safeguard. Doug's two coaches (played by Nicholas Campbell and Kim Coates) are perfectly cast, showing the right blend of coaching acumen while simultaneously displaying traits of being former players themselves, as is the veteran fighter Ross Rhea (Liev Schreiber) from the arch rival St. John's Shamrocks. I also enjoyed the few scenes where Doug's Jewish parents (played by Eugene Levy from the "American Pie" movies, and Ellen David) can't believe he has gone from being a bouncer to a hockey goon. Where did they go wrong? Why can't he be like their other son, the doctor?
This movie will unquestionably be compared to the 1977 hockey comedy classic, "Slap Shot." Both movies, I'm sure, give an accurate feel for what life in the low levels of minor league hockey is like: long cold bus rides to remote towns with half-filled areas, fans swearing at the visiting team, fights on almost every shift, over-the-hill players going up against young wannabees and nevergonnabees, and, of course, a girlfriend or two who love the big galloots even when there's no reason to.
"Goon" will probably be forgotten long before "Slap Shot" ever is; there was only one Paul Newman. You won't see anyone from "Goon" on the red carpet for the Oscars next year, but the fact remains that the seven of us at yesterday's matinee got a belly full of laughs, which is what we came for. There are also moments of seriousness. A coffee shop scene in which Doug and fellow brute Ross have a quiet conversation is surprisingly poignant, and just might be the highlight of the movie. This flick is definitely for guys only, and if you do go, I suggest wearing sunglasses, a fake mustache and a wide-brimmed hat to avoid recognition.
I found myself laughing heartily at many points in the movie, and immediately feeling ashamed that my taste standards were so low. This movie is quite profane and crude, but then again, it is a movie about hockey - - minor league hockey at that! The plot involves the story of a bar bouncer named Doug (Seann William Scott) who catches the eye of the local semi-pro team's coach when he punches out the visiting team's main pugilist who has climbed into the stands to attack Doug's wise guy friend. The coach invites Doug to try out for the team. Doug barely knows how to skate, but he shows up for the tryout anyway, wearing white figure skates. He KOs four or five of his future teammates before his tryout has even begun, and presto, he makes the team!
It isn't long before Doug is promoted to the Halifax Highlanders, a low level minor league team coached by the brother of the first coach. The Highlanders need an enforcer to protect their top player, Xavier Laflamme, who is always picked on by the Highlanders' opponents. Doug The Thug attains instant celebrity.
There is a lot about this movie that is entertaining. His teammates are a blast, including the captain who can't give a pre-game pep talk without meandering into his plight as a newly divorced man, the goaltender who has glued pictures of his mother on his helmet, the player who is in pre-med and always studies in the locker room among all the commotion, the apparently gay Russians who strut around in speedos instead of jock straps, and the moody star Xavier whom Doug is there to safeguard. Doug's two coaches (played by Nicholas Campbell and Kim Coates) are perfectly cast, showing the right blend of coaching acumen while simultaneously displaying traits of being former players themselves, as is the veteran fighter Ross Rhea (Liev Schreiber) from the arch rival St. John's Shamrocks. I also enjoyed the few scenes where Doug's Jewish parents (played by Eugene Levy from the "American Pie" movies, and Ellen David) can't believe he has gone from being a bouncer to a hockey goon. Where did they go wrong? Why can't he be like their other son, the doctor?
This movie will unquestionably be compared to the 1977 hockey comedy classic, "Slap Shot." Both movies, I'm sure, give an accurate feel for what life in the low levels of minor league hockey is like: long cold bus rides to remote towns with half-filled areas, fans swearing at the visiting team, fights on almost every shift, over-the-hill players going up against young wannabees and nevergonnabees, and, of course, a girlfriend or two who love the big galloots even when there's no reason to.
"Goon" will probably be forgotten long before "Slap Shot" ever is; there was only one Paul Newman. You won't see anyone from "Goon" on the red carpet for the Oscars next year, but the fact remains that the seven of us at yesterday's matinee got a belly full of laughs, which is what we came for. There are also moments of seriousness. A coffee shop scene in which Doug and fellow brute Ross have a quiet conversation is surprisingly poignant, and just might be the highlight of the movie. This flick is definitely for guys only, and if you do go, I suggest wearing sunglasses, a fake mustache and a wide-brimmed hat to avoid recognition.
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