As all geeks (looking at you, anyone who realizes the phrase "Neon Genesis Evangelion" isn't just a random assortment of nonsense words) know, every Wednesday (or, in this case, Thursday because I'm still in Central America and my computer actually died on me for like six hours before staging a comeback worthy of Lazarus himself) is that most hallowed of days, new comic book day. In the spirit of that most beautiful of days, I present a feature spotlighting the potentially awesome confluence of sports and comics.
For a whole bunch of reasons (at least two of which were mentioned in the standard intro), this week's post will be a bit abbreviated. To be honest, I'm not sure whether I can guarantee three weekly posts in my present state, but I'll do my very best. Whatever happens, I'll keep you posted.
We're going to take a break from the psychotic fun that is Centaur Comics (we've got at least one absolute doozy in reserve, so it'll definitely be worth the wait) and instead take a look at one of the most obscure corners of the DC universe. And when I say "obscure", I am not even remotely kidding.
A couple years back, DC had a weekly series called 52. It was a series featuring on lesser-known characters told in a real-time during a year without, for various reasons, most of the big guns of the DC universe. It was, all things considered, fucking awesome (although the less said about its technical follow-up Countdown, the better), and it also later served as the namesake for my other weekly feature, which most scholars agree is still its most lasting contribution.
As part of the construction of this larger universe, DC created a tie-in website that was supposedly the online Daily Planet (Clark and Lois's newspaper, for the uninitiated), complete with articles that, to varying degrees, directly described events that could be found in the comics themselves. I say "to varying degrees" because among the vast majority of articles that clearly describe events in the 52 comic there were, for some unfathomable reason, a couple of utterly horrendous fake sports articles. This is one of them.
Bring on The Thunder!
by Ajax McGilicutty, Daily Planet Contributing Sports Reporter
Before we begin, I'd just like to acknowledge that some might consider this week's entry something of a cop-out, an unacceptable deviation from the established format. Well, at the risk of being overly defensive, I would like to defend myself. The most obvious way to do that is to point out someone was, in all probability, paid to write a fake sports article to tie in with a weekly comic book series that had absolutely nothing to do with sports, especially not the story in question. And, as the ultimate "fuck you" to struggling bloggers everywhere, this probably-monetarily-compensated fellow named his fictional sportswriter "Ajax McGilicutty." The inanity of that is almost beyond comprehension. Needless to say, I fucking love it, but I feel my point has been made. I did originally intend to make a point, right?
Fawcett City, May 3 — As a former semi-pro ball player and full-time sports commentator for both the Daily Planet and WHIZ Syndicated Sports Radio I think it's safe to say that I know good basketball when I see it.
Might as well prove my geek stripes and walk you through the comic references as we see them...
1. Fawcett City is the hometown of Captain Marvel; you know, the one who's really a 10-year-old (or thereabouts) boy who turns into Captain Marvel by shouting "Shazam!" It's worth pointing out that "Shazam!" is perhaps the single most hilarious thing somebody could yell during a moment of *AHEM* ultimate passion (although certain Klingon proverbs run a close second). Of course, anybody amused by that is unlikely to find themselves engaged in coitus anytime soon.
2. The Daily Planet is, as previously mentioned, the employer of Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, and Perry White. I'm fairly sure it's currently owned by Bruce Wayne, although this doesn't come up particularly often. I think it's more of an all-purpose excuse trotted out to explain why Lex Luthor (or, much worse, Rupert Murdoch) never bought the damn thing. Incidentally, while we're on the subject of the Planet, it might be worth wondering why the article's "author" isn't just its resident sportswriter in the comics, seventies meathead Steve Lombard, which would make a hell of a lot more sense that the unbelievably silly moniker that is "Ajax McGilicutty." Maybe they didn't have the rights to use Steve Lombard? Of course, if a random, little-read part of DC's website couldn't use one of its own company's ultra-obscure, little-used bit characters for something as passing as a damn byline...well, I might just weep a little. Also, this article references the Grizzlies later on, which would put them just below Steve fucking Lombard in terms of ease of legal use. Actually, that might make sense.
3. WHIZ Radio is the employer of Billy Batson in a number of incarnations of the character, going right back to his 1940's appearances in Fawcett Comics. Speaking of which, I probably should have mentioned Fawcett City takes its names from the original publisher of Captain Marvel, before the forerunner of DC drove them out of business on the (somewhat dubious) grounds Captain Marvel was a ripoff of Superman.
Anyway, back to sports. What incredibly point does Ajax McGilicutty have to make about basketball?
It's with those qualifiers, not that I'm a long time Fawcett City native, that I say that the Fawcett City Thunder are bringing the noise and look tough to beat in this year's basketball finals.
Holy shit. This is perhaps the most perfect distillation of bad sportswriting I've ever seen. Everything is in place...
1. The utterly spurious, unsubstantiated support ("I know good basketball when I see it")
2. The unbelievably blatant homerism ("not that I'm a long time Fawcett City native...")
3. The lame slang that may - may - have been vaguely cool in the early nineties ("bringing the noise")
4. The vague, Joe-Morgan-esque description of their qualities ("look tough to beat")
The best part is I can't even be sure what this article wants to be. Is it knowing parody written by some bored FJM fan? Is it a sincere imitation written by some bored intern who desperately wants to pitch his Vigilante revival to Geoff Johns but hasn't yet worked out how to approach Johns during lunch in a way that shows him he's cool? I have no idea, and that's what makes this so precious. It's like finding an original copy of the Declaration of Independence at a garage sale, but then discovering a DVD of National Treasure is taped to the back, complete with possibly stoned Nicolas Cage commentary.
With that all said, let's press on.
Solomon Williams' seemingly unstoppable defense has been solid all season and looks to be just as impenetrable in the post-season, with a whopping ten steals in last week's game alone.
Is defense really "unstoppable"? Sure, it's definitely impenetrable, no doubt about that, but unstoppable? I mean, if we're talking immovable object and irresistible force here, defense is obviously the immovable object. C'mon, Ajax McGilicutty, get your head in the game!
Oh, and ten steals would tie this Solomon Williams with eleven other people for second-most all-time, behind only Kendall Gill's eleven back in 1999. So "whopping" might almost be underplaying it.
Coupled with the aptly named Johnny Hooper's offensive leadership and the Thunder look flawless.
Not a sentence. That was so self-referential my mind now actually hurts a little bit. Oh, and who wants to bet the article's ghostwriter decided he had "nailed it" when he called the team's best scorer "Johnny Hooper"? That thought is simultaneously hilarious and strangely moving, like an Onion article that makes you slowly realize most people's lives really are that tragically mundane.
It's no surprise that they've already clinched their position in the next round with a 4-0 sweep over the Memphis Grizzlies.
It's nice to know that, even in the fictional DC Universe where they're the only real NBA team name-checked, the Grizzlies are still a perfectly acceptable punching bag. Some things really should be constant in all universes.
Sure you could argue that it's early in the post and you can't rule out the traditional powerhouses like the Gotham Guardsmen, or the rising newcomers like the Opal City Gems, but if you ask this reporter's opinion, something magical is happening in Fawcett City this year. Go Thunder!
And that's the end of the fake article. Weird use of "post" instead of "postseason", a couple vague allusions to two other teams that makes a mockery of the very definition of "analysis", and then a moment of total cheerleading in an article that claimed the author's opinions were based on rational analysis. Like I said, this is the perfect imitation of bad sportswriting I've ever seen.
And I still like it better than a Plaschke article. But then, you knew that joke was coming.
Showing posts with label comics and sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comics and sports. Show all posts
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Comics & Sports #3: Mighty Man and the College Football Squad of Doom
As all geeks (looking at you, Futurama writing staff) know, every Wednesday (or, in this case, Thursday because of July 4th and my own damn laziness) is that most hallowed of days, new comic book day. In the spirit of that most beautiful of days, I present a feature spotlighting the potentially awesome confluence of sports and comics.
The last couple of weeks have been pretty much completely and utterly the Dash Dartwell show. Which is all well and good, but the creative minds at Centaur Comics had more than just Dash Dartwell up their sleeve. For today we will prove once again they knew far more about satirizing future sports issues than giving 1940s comics readers what they want; after all, if they'd understood the latter, Robert Downey Jr. would be gearing up for Dash Dartwell 2: Dash Boogaloo as we speak. But ah well. A few fuzzy black & white comic panels are way more fun than some Robert Downey Jr. improv any day of the week. I'll just keep telling myself that, shall I?
Today's featured hero is Mighty Man, and once again the comics themselves will do a way more coherent job explaining the character than I could...
The Mighty Man is a twelve foot super-giant who was found in a hidden valley in California. He leaves the valley to wage a war on criminals. To date very few people have heard of the Mighty Man - for reasons of his own he needs to be kept in the background.
Good to know he's not just a giant - it's really super-giants that get the job done, crimefighting-wise. So he's our hero. But behind every superhero is a creator, a writer of unmatched genius with the verve and the wit necessary to make such outrageous characters truly come to life. Or, in this particular case, a journeyman halfback/quarterback named Frank Filchock who was notable for roughly five things:
1. He was Sammy Baugh's partner in a thunder and lightning package with the early forties Redskins; seriously, he was the Flingin' Frank to Baugh's Slingin' Sammy. He even managed to beat out Baugh for most touchdown passes once. So no offensive slouch was old Filchock.
2. He was the first person to throw a 99-yard touchdown pass, which means everyone else is living in his Filchockian shadow when it comes to long passes. Well, until the Germans offhandedly mention they'd really like to see a soccer-size field and Goddell expands the field to 130 yards.
3. He was embroiled in a massive gambling scandal that got him banned from the NFL for four years and ultimately exiled him to Canada. Wikipedia has the scoop, but basically someone tried to offer him a bribe to fix a game, the NFL got wind of it before the game was played, he denied he'd ever been offered one, played his absolute hardest in the game, got acquitted of any wrongdoing, and then got banned. He may have been a victim of circumstance or he may just have realized the best way to look innocent after getting caught redhanded was to play lights out. Hard to say really. Probably would make a good movie though. And yes, Hollywood executives, I'm very much available to write and direct.
4. He was the proud owner of a deeply silly name. Seriously, Frank Filchock. I still can't spell his name correctly without looking it up first. I just so desperately want his name to be all the way dirty instead of maddeningly close. Honestly, drop that "h" and we're on a one-way train trip to hilarity junction. I'm just saying.
5. Finally, and most importantly for our purposes, he had a brother by the name of Martin Filchock. Martin was a comic book artist with Centaur Comics, and, while I know nothing of the circumstances of the following story's creation, almost certainly asked his famous football playing brother whether he could think of a superhero story that involved playing football. At the very least, Martin illustrated his brother's idea, and in the absence of a credited writer, probably wrote most of it.
But still, let us never forget - the following comic was the brainchild of a real NFL player. For the Redskins, no less, proving Washington really has always had the most interesting athletes. I'm sure 40s-era D.C. blogger Silas Mottram would readily agree.
And now, to the comic itself...
Sports media has really come a long way in sixty years, hasn't it? Seriously, that looks like nothing more than the information necessary to understand what is going on. Where's the snarky rejoinder, the contrarian undercutting, the random if totally justified Hitler reference? Truly, it was a living hell of nothing more than bare bones information.
Interesting that Filchock's villains would be a bunch of men too evil to need substitutes. Sounds like somebody's advocating one-way players. Pfft. Wuss.
Look, a twelve foot giant - sorry, super-giant - is one thing, but now I know this is utter fantasy. The blue-chip recruit of the century (I can only imagine what ESPN analysts would make of his wingspan) and they're worried about him passing tests and enrolling? Not in my universe, pal.
Who does Mighty Man think he is, leading one team on by playing its fears of a rival snatching him up while all the while plotting his betrayal...Terrelle Pryor?
Sorry, sorry, the homerism alarm has just gone off. Won't happen again. Wasn't even a fair comparison anyway. Well, mostly.
Anyway, Mighty Man presents himself to the coach of the Western College team and the team's Doctor, a man with the unbelievably appropriate name of Doc Bigger. His tryout goes rather well, all things considered...
What I really love about these panels is the Coach's exclamation, "What an end he'll make!" As though that's specifically the position where a super-strong twelve foot man would be effective. I mean, I know the trend these days is towards specialization, but seriously...
Again, this isn't like any kinda college football I've ever heard of. For all the fact that these two are obviously supervillains - I mean, they're in a comic book, and one of them has got a monocle - they seem to have better recruiting scruples than any school in the SEC. Or the Pac-10. Or the Big 10. Or...well, you get the idea.
As the final part of the tryout, for some reason the coach makes the rest of the team try to tackle Mighty Man. Afterwards, our hero has some questions...
Hey, Mighty Man, maybe the quarterback was confused because you tackled him during practice. Forties or not, I'm sure that's a no-no. Of course, it could be because he's a zombie controlled by the team's doctor. On second thought, that's probably it.
Oh, forties sensibilities, you so crazy!!! I'd say more, but I just sorta start to weep inside.
Anyway, a steel vault and some knockout gas later, Doc Bigger and the coach have captured Mighty Man, which of course means it's time for the good doctor to prattle on about his evil scheme...
He certainly is mad, Mighty Man. Anyone who thinks a tall dude like Erick Dampier is naturally more valuable than some little'un like Steve Nash is out of their mind. Or possibly Mark Cuban. That last part may have been redundant.
Sorry to go all circa-2004 on you nice people, but that seemed like the best joke available. Also, it gave me an excuse to unleash the phrase "go all circa-2004 on you nice people", which I predict will be the catchphrase of happening hipsters come 2009.
Anyway, because he's a superhero in a forties comic, Mighty Man easily breaks free and then kills Doc Bigger in the most darkly appropriate manner imaginable...
If Tom Brady ever rebels againt Bill Belicheck, I pray that this is how he does it.
Seriously, Mighty Man? "Some football coaches don't care how they get a winning team"? I dare any of you to name one coach who wouldn't do this. Seriously, give it your best shot.
That's what I thought.
Join us next Wednesday (no, seriously, I'll have it done by Wednesday) for our next Comics & Sports extravaganza!
The last couple of weeks have been pretty much completely and utterly the Dash Dartwell show. Which is all well and good, but the creative minds at Centaur Comics had more than just Dash Dartwell up their sleeve. For today we will prove once again they knew far more about satirizing future sports issues than giving 1940s comics readers what they want; after all, if they'd understood the latter, Robert Downey Jr. would be gearing up for Dash Dartwell 2: Dash Boogaloo as we speak. But ah well. A few fuzzy black & white comic panels are way more fun than some Robert Downey Jr. improv any day of the week. I'll just keep telling myself that, shall I?
Today's featured hero is Mighty Man, and once again the comics themselves will do a way more coherent job explaining the character than I could...
The Mighty Man is a twelve foot super-giant who was found in a hidden valley in California. He leaves the valley to wage a war on criminals. To date very few people have heard of the Mighty Man - for reasons of his own he needs to be kept in the background.
Good to know he's not just a giant - it's really super-giants that get the job done, crimefighting-wise. So he's our hero. But behind every superhero is a creator, a writer of unmatched genius with the verve and the wit necessary to make such outrageous characters truly come to life. Or, in this particular case, a journeyman halfback/quarterback named Frank Filchock who was notable for roughly five things:
1. He was Sammy Baugh's partner in a thunder and lightning package with the early forties Redskins; seriously, he was the Flingin' Frank to Baugh's Slingin' Sammy. He even managed to beat out Baugh for most touchdown passes once. So no offensive slouch was old Filchock.
2. He was the first person to throw a 99-yard touchdown pass, which means everyone else is living in his Filchockian shadow when it comes to long passes. Well, until the Germans offhandedly mention they'd really like to see a soccer-size field and Goddell expands the field to 130 yards.
3. He was embroiled in a massive gambling scandal that got him banned from the NFL for four years and ultimately exiled him to Canada. Wikipedia has the scoop, but basically someone tried to offer him a bribe to fix a game, the NFL got wind of it before the game was played, he denied he'd ever been offered one, played his absolute hardest in the game, got acquitted of any wrongdoing, and then got banned. He may have been a victim of circumstance or he may just have realized the best way to look innocent after getting caught redhanded was to play lights out. Hard to say really. Probably would make a good movie though. And yes, Hollywood executives, I'm very much available to write and direct.
4. He was the proud owner of a deeply silly name. Seriously, Frank Filchock. I still can't spell his name correctly without looking it up first. I just so desperately want his name to be all the way dirty instead of maddeningly close. Honestly, drop that "h" and we're on a one-way train trip to hilarity junction. I'm just saying.
5. Finally, and most importantly for our purposes, he had a brother by the name of Martin Filchock. Martin was a comic book artist with Centaur Comics, and, while I know nothing of the circumstances of the following story's creation, almost certainly asked his famous football playing brother whether he could think of a superhero story that involved playing football. At the very least, Martin illustrated his brother's idea, and in the absence of a credited writer, probably wrote most of it.
But still, let us never forget - the following comic was the brainchild of a real NFL player. For the Redskins, no less, proving Washington really has always had the most interesting athletes. I'm sure 40s-era D.C. blogger Silas Mottram would readily agree.
And now, to the comic itself...
Sports media has really come a long way in sixty years, hasn't it? Seriously, that looks like nothing more than the information necessary to understand what is going on. Where's the snarky rejoinder, the contrarian undercutting, the random if totally justified Hitler reference? Truly, it was a living hell of nothing more than bare bones information.
Interesting that Filchock's villains would be a bunch of men too evil to need substitutes. Sounds like somebody's advocating one-way players. Pfft. Wuss.
Look, a twelve foot giant - sorry, super-giant - is one thing, but now I know this is utter fantasy. The blue-chip recruit of the century (I can only imagine what ESPN analysts would make of his wingspan) and they're worried about him passing tests and enrolling? Not in my universe, pal.
Who does Mighty Man think he is, leading one team on by playing its fears of a rival snatching him up while all the while plotting his betrayal...Terrelle Pryor?
Sorry, sorry, the homerism alarm has just gone off. Won't happen again. Wasn't even a fair comparison anyway. Well, mostly.
Anyway, Mighty Man presents himself to the coach of the Western College team and the team's Doctor, a man with the unbelievably appropriate name of Doc Bigger. His tryout goes rather well, all things considered...
What I really love about these panels is the Coach's exclamation, "What an end he'll make!" As though that's specifically the position where a super-strong twelve foot man would be effective. I mean, I know the trend these days is towards specialization, but seriously...
Again, this isn't like any kinda college football I've ever heard of. For all the fact that these two are obviously supervillains - I mean, they're in a comic book, and one of them has got a monocle - they seem to have better recruiting scruples than any school in the SEC. Or the Pac-10. Or the Big 10. Or...well, you get the idea.
As the final part of the tryout, for some reason the coach makes the rest of the team try to tackle Mighty Man. Afterwards, our hero has some questions...
Hey, Mighty Man, maybe the quarterback was confused because you tackled him during practice. Forties or not, I'm sure that's a no-no. Of course, it could be because he's a zombie controlled by the team's doctor. On second thought, that's probably it.
Oh, forties sensibilities, you so crazy!!! I'd say more, but I just sorta start to weep inside.
Anyway, a steel vault and some knockout gas later, Doc Bigger and the coach have captured Mighty Man, which of course means it's time for the good doctor to prattle on about his evil scheme...
He certainly is mad, Mighty Man. Anyone who thinks a tall dude like Erick Dampier is naturally more valuable than some little'un like Steve Nash is out of their mind. Or possibly Mark Cuban. That last part may have been redundant.
Sorry to go all circa-2004 on you nice people, but that seemed like the best joke available. Also, it gave me an excuse to unleash the phrase "go all circa-2004 on you nice people", which I predict will be the catchphrase of happening hipsters come 2009.
Anyway, because he's a superhero in a forties comic, Mighty Man easily breaks free and then kills Doc Bigger in the most darkly appropriate manner imaginable...
If Tom Brady ever rebels againt Bill Belicheck, I pray that this is how he does it.
Seriously, Mighty Man? "Some football coaches don't care how they get a winning team"? I dare any of you to name one coach who wouldn't do this. Seriously, give it your best shot.
That's what I thought.
Join us next Wednesday (no, seriously, I'll have it done by Wednesday) for our next Comics & Sports extravaganza!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Comics & Sports #2: Dash Dartwell Redux
As all geeks (looking at you, Chuck from the NBC series, which is also called Chuck) know, every Wednesday (and Thursdays when Monday was a holiday or something) is that most hallowed of days, new comic book day. In the spirit of that most beautiful of days, I present a feature spotlighting the potentially awesome confluence of sports and comics.
Last week, I promised the following...
Join us next Wednesday for another Comics & Sports entry where our friend Dash will use his tablets to hit more home runs. No, seriously. I swear that's actually going to happen.
Now, I might as well make a confession: I hadn't exactly read that particular comic yet. I was pretty sure that would happen, but I wasn't sure. What if he only threw a no-hitter and didn't hit any home runs? That wouldn't nearly be unbelievably ironic enough. But don't touch that blog dial, comics and/or sports fans, because I should have known Dash Dartwell always delivers. And how!
But first, let's remember just who young Dashford is. From today's comic:
Dash Dartwell is now the miracle man of the athletic world because of his new and astonishing records set with the help of Professor Moss’s metabo-accelerator pills, which speed up all the life processes and give their user unbelievable speed. Dash can dodge bullets and outdistance speeding cars – until the pill’s effect is over.
So yeah, he's everybody's favorite juicer. Last week he used his abilities to rewrite track and field records. And now...baseball. It's the big game between Dash's Dravrah College and its archrival Elay (if you're confused, read those names backwards), and just like with the track meet, a bunch of mobsters have nothing better to do than fix the game in the least subtle way imaginable...
Seriously, "brainy" is the best adjective to describe a guy who guarantees a loss by kidnapping the best five guys on the team? This makes Mr. Burns's team of ringers look downright inconspicuous. Except for Mattingly's sideburns, of course. Those things are fucking visible from space.
Sorry about the quality on some of these; this is what seven decades of obscurity will do to you (just ask the Hawley-Smoot Tariff, which at one point was actually a tariff instead of the reference for things that are boring). In case you can't read that, the coach asks, "What do we do?"
In this situation, and I must admit I'm not a trained kidnapping expert, I would probably, you know, call the police. I mean, it's not like the note makes any demands or anything. All it says is that they've been kidnapped so they can't play. You'd sort of think, under the circumstances, that might be grounds to postpone the game. Of course, the availability of the world's fastest man might well skew the standard operating procedure when it comes to kidnapping. I mean, it could.
"Do whatever you do to build up this speed of yours." I believe you can find that on Tony LaRussa's family crest. It's like this comic was written before they invented the concept of accountability. So, what, before 2005? Yeah, I'm going to go with 2005.
Just in case you thought there was the slightest chance Dash didn't know exactly what he's doing. Again, this was apparently in no way considered cheating in the 1940's. I dunno, maybe the war had something to do with it. And you know what? If one last invasion of France will stop all the anti-steroid sanctimony, I think I'm OK with that. More than OK, actually.
Anyway, proving once again that there's no problem you can't solve with kidnapping, the gangsters try to capture Dash as well. But they somehow didn't count on the world's fastest man running away...
Wow, Dash easily outran a car driving at 115 miles per hour? Let me do a little math here (and by "let me", I of course mean Google will do it all for me)...
Call Dash's speed 130 miles per hour. That's the equivalent of 58.1152 meters per second. That means he could complete a 100-meter dash in 1.72 seconds. Makes his last recorded speed of 3.5 seconds look positively slow. Of course, he might be getting a little wind assistance. Maybe. Or would running at that sort of speed pretty much by definition create a tailwind? You'd really think two years of high school physics would have taught me more than this. Oh well, that's the failure of the American public school system for you. Nobody's worked out how to outsource sports blogging yet, right?
In any event, Dash finally gets to the game...
Again, how the hell is this not bad sportsmanship? Or are you allowed to have one juicer if your three best sluggers and two best pitchers get kidnapped? Is that the ethical equation here? I just hope somebody was thinking about the children. Never mind the obvious homosexuality of Batman and Robin corrupting the nation's youth, this comic is clearly responsible for warping the judgment of a bunch of kids who were born about twenty years after this was published. Prove me wrong, people!
Incidentally, why do you need to kidnap two pitchers for one game? I mean, even if they're both aces, the guys in the first panel acted as though both of them would be huge factors in the upcoming game. And considering we're still a decade away from Hoyt Wilhelm, I'm not sure it makes sense for one of them to be a reliever. You know, I'm pretty much completely certain the fondest wish of this comic's writer was to have some asshole nitpick the story's internal logic sixty-seven years after it was written. I know that's what I'm hoping for. Get to it, sentient death blogs of 2075!
Wait, did I just come up with the title and premise of Japan's next big anime? I'm going to say...yes. Yes I did.
And so, with the pills working again, Dash turns into what Jose Canseco so desperately wanted to be: an all-pitching, all-slugging drugged-up super-athlete. To think he didn't even need to blow out his elbow to do it! Truly, he is science's greatest miracle. Or he's just a slimmer version of early career Babe Ruth. Whichever you prefer.
But let's not forget those wacky gangsters! With Dash coming up to bat, even these guys have to admit kidnapping isn't really an option. So they go for the only option more blatantly illegal: shooting Dash in a crowded stadium. With a machine gun.
Shouldn't somebody...anybody...be reacting to one of the baseball players throwing a bat at a guy in the stands who was just brandishing a machine gun? Is Dravrah winning really so incredibly exciting that it makes everyone forget that just happened? Or does that sort of thing just not faze any of them?
I'm starting to see what Tom Brokaw was talking about. Maybe these forties fuckers really were the greatest generation.
Oh that Rojas...truly the weasely Brian McNamee to the gangster's assholish Roger Clemens. I guess that makes Dash the George Mitchell in this analogy. And why not?
With the baseball game out the way, it's time for a little skull-busting. Predictably, Dash works fast.
Damn right! Forget ending human misery when there are so many more sports of which Dash hasn't yet made a complete mockery! How about 2,000 yards...in a game? Or 100 points...in a quarter? Or the hockey equivalent of those things!?
And, lest we forget, Dash hasn't even begun to explore the perverted applications of super-speed. Sure, it's no invisibility, but where there's a perverted will, there is always a way.
And let that be today's lesson.
That's all for now with our pal Dash, but join us next Wednesday when we look at another superhero in a story actually devised by a member of the Washington Redskins. And no, to our eternal regret, not Chris Cooley.
Last week, I promised the following...
Join us next Wednesday for another Comics & Sports entry where our friend Dash will use his tablets to hit more home runs. No, seriously. I swear that's actually going to happen.
Now, I might as well make a confession: I hadn't exactly read that particular comic yet. I was pretty sure that would happen, but I wasn't sure. What if he only threw a no-hitter and didn't hit any home runs? That wouldn't nearly be unbelievably ironic enough. But don't touch that blog dial, comics and/or sports fans, because I should have known Dash Dartwell always delivers. And how!
But first, let's remember just who young Dashford is. From today's comic:
Dash Dartwell is now the miracle man of the athletic world because of his new and astonishing records set with the help of Professor Moss’s metabo-accelerator pills, which speed up all the life processes and give their user unbelievable speed. Dash can dodge bullets and outdistance speeding cars – until the pill’s effect is over.
So yeah, he's everybody's favorite juicer. Last week he used his abilities to rewrite track and field records. And now...baseball. It's the big game between Dash's Dravrah College and its archrival Elay (if you're confused, read those names backwards), and just like with the track meet, a bunch of mobsters have nothing better to do than fix the game in the least subtle way imaginable...
Seriously, "brainy" is the best adjective to describe a guy who guarantees a loss by kidnapping the best five guys on the team? This makes Mr. Burns's team of ringers look downright inconspicuous. Except for Mattingly's sideburns, of course. Those things are fucking visible from space.
Sorry about the quality on some of these; this is what seven decades of obscurity will do to you (just ask the Hawley-Smoot Tariff, which at one point was actually a tariff instead of the reference for things that are boring). In case you can't read that, the coach asks, "What do we do?"
In this situation, and I must admit I'm not a trained kidnapping expert, I would probably, you know, call the police. I mean, it's not like the note makes any demands or anything. All it says is that they've been kidnapped so they can't play. You'd sort of think, under the circumstances, that might be grounds to postpone the game. Of course, the availability of the world's fastest man might well skew the standard operating procedure when it comes to kidnapping. I mean, it could.
"Do whatever you do to build up this speed of yours." I believe you can find that on Tony LaRussa's family crest. It's like this comic was written before they invented the concept of accountability. So, what, before 2005? Yeah, I'm going to go with 2005.
Just in case you thought there was the slightest chance Dash didn't know exactly what he's doing. Again, this was apparently in no way considered cheating in the 1940's. I dunno, maybe the war had something to do with it. And you know what? If one last invasion of France will stop all the anti-steroid sanctimony, I think I'm OK with that. More than OK, actually.
Anyway, proving once again that there's no problem you can't solve with kidnapping, the gangsters try to capture Dash as well. But they somehow didn't count on the world's fastest man running away...
Wow, Dash easily outran a car driving at 115 miles per hour? Let me do a little math here (and by "let me", I of course mean Google will do it all for me)...
Call Dash's speed 130 miles per hour. That's the equivalent of 58.1152 meters per second. That means he could complete a 100-meter dash in 1.72 seconds. Makes his last recorded speed of 3.5 seconds look positively slow. Of course, he might be getting a little wind assistance. Maybe. Or would running at that sort of speed pretty much by definition create a tailwind? You'd really think two years of high school physics would have taught me more than this. Oh well, that's the failure of the American public school system for you. Nobody's worked out how to outsource sports blogging yet, right?
In any event, Dash finally gets to the game...
Again, how the hell is this not bad sportsmanship? Or are you allowed to have one juicer if your three best sluggers and two best pitchers get kidnapped? Is that the ethical equation here? I just hope somebody was thinking about the children. Never mind the obvious homosexuality of Batman and Robin corrupting the nation's youth, this comic is clearly responsible for warping the judgment of a bunch of kids who were born about twenty years after this was published. Prove me wrong, people!
Incidentally, why do you need to kidnap two pitchers for one game? I mean, even if they're both aces, the guys in the first panel acted as though both of them would be huge factors in the upcoming game. And considering we're still a decade away from Hoyt Wilhelm, I'm not sure it makes sense for one of them to be a reliever. You know, I'm pretty much completely certain the fondest wish of this comic's writer was to have some asshole nitpick the story's internal logic sixty-seven years after it was written. I know that's what I'm hoping for. Get to it, sentient death blogs of 2075!
Wait, did I just come up with the title and premise of Japan's next big anime? I'm going to say...yes. Yes I did.
And so, with the pills working again, Dash turns into what Jose Canseco so desperately wanted to be: an all-pitching, all-slugging drugged-up super-athlete. To think he didn't even need to blow out his elbow to do it! Truly, he is science's greatest miracle. Or he's just a slimmer version of early career Babe Ruth. Whichever you prefer.
But let's not forget those wacky gangsters! With Dash coming up to bat, even these guys have to admit kidnapping isn't really an option. So they go for the only option more blatantly illegal: shooting Dash in a crowded stadium. With a machine gun.
Shouldn't somebody...anybody...be reacting to one of the baseball players throwing a bat at a guy in the stands who was just brandishing a machine gun? Is Dravrah winning really so incredibly exciting that it makes everyone forget that just happened? Or does that sort of thing just not faze any of them?
I'm starting to see what Tom Brokaw was talking about. Maybe these forties fuckers really were the greatest generation.
Oh that Rojas...truly the weasely Brian McNamee to the gangster's assholish Roger Clemens. I guess that makes Dash the George Mitchell in this analogy. And why not?
With the baseball game out the way, it's time for a little skull-busting. Predictably, Dash works fast.
Damn right! Forget ending human misery when there are so many more sports of which Dash hasn't yet made a complete mockery! How about 2,000 yards...in a game? Or 100 points...in a quarter? Or the hockey equivalent of those things!?
And, lest we forget, Dash hasn't even begun to explore the perverted applications of super-speed. Sure, it's no invisibility, but where there's a perverted will, there is always a way.
And let that be today's lesson.
That's all for now with our pal Dash, but join us next Wednesday when we look at another superhero in a story actually devised by a member of the Washington Redskins. And no, to our eternal regret, not Chris Cooley.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Comics & Sports #1: Dash Dartwell
As all geeks (looking at you, Djmmm) know, every Wednesday (and Thursdays when Monday was a holiday or something) is that most hallowed of days, new comic book day. In the spirit of that most beautiful of days, I present a new feature spotlighting the potentially awesome confluence of sports and comics.
I recently spent two weeks in scenic (no, really, it sort of is) East Lansing, Michigan, having somehow scammed my college of choice into funding my research into a little something called Centaur Comics. Ultra-quickly, they were a fifth-rate (much like this blog) comic book publisher back in the late thirties and early forties, during the so-called Golden Age of comics. They trotted out a variety of oddball heroes, including an honest-to-goodness centaur, a ventriloquist-turned-detective, and a giant flying eyeball that may or may not be God. So yeah, no lack of creativity over at Centaur. Sanity is a whole 'nother issue.
They also did a bunch of stories that mixed elements of the emerging superhero genre with the world of sports, producing predictably bizarre results. Today we spotlight a steroid parable written six decades before anyone even realized that was an issue. Of course, the whole thing is about the virtues of performance-enhancing substances and how people who use them are heroes. Start taking notes right now, disgraced major leaguers. The key to your redemption may well lie within these pages.
First of all, the set-up. From the comic:
Dashford (Dash) Dartwell is a student at Dravrah University and a member of the "scrub" track team. However, his interest in track is secondary to his new interest in the research of Dr. Drew Moss, Professor of Bio-Chemistry at Dravrah. An added attraction is Bettie Moss, Dr. Moss's lovely daughter.
Three things...
1. Dashford? I think I know what I'm calling my children. Yes, all of them.
2. Dravrah? I would make a crappy joke here about how I bet its rival is "Elay", but, um...that's actually the name of its rival. Oh, that crazy forties-style wordplay!
3. Bettie Moss? If I didn't know better, I'd call that a cheap knock-off of Hulk love interest Betty Ross. Just because it was made twenty years earlier doesn't prove anything!
OK, with that out of the way, let's take a look at the story itself. Professor Moss has just created "metabo-tablets", and he's the first to admit he doesn't have the faintest idea what they'll do...
Leaving the really questionable medical ethics aside for a moment (I mean, shouldn't he first force-feed a bunch of rats ten times the recommended dosage before he even thinks about human tests?), I'm pretty sure the "But I'm not even going to play anyway, so it's OK!" line later became the core of Alex Sanchez's defense.
Meanwhile, a bunch of mobsters with apparently nothing better to do than fix an Ivy League (sorry...Yvi Eugael) track meet kidnap all the top runners, forcing the coach to use the now-medicated Dash...
Frankly, I don't know what Dash was ever doing on the second team in the first place. I mean, his name is Dash Dartwell. For crying out loud, hasn't the coach ever heard of nominative determinism? Anyway, now that the performance-enhancers have kicked in, Dash does the only reasonable thing - demand to be in every single race. Of course, I'm sure he'll take things easy, using his amazing new powers to only just win. Right? Right!?
Because I've very legitimately got nothing better to do, here's a comparison of the modern records in those various events with Dash's marks...
100 Yard Dash: 9.72 seconds vs. 3.5 seconds (Dash)
High Jump: 8 feet vs. 19 feet
Broad Jump: 29.4 feet vs. 70+ feet
And that's without sixty years worth of improved conditioning. So, um, yeah, holy shit. Way to be inconspicuous, Dash. The best part, of course, is where there are no repercussions whatsoever. Hell, no one even vaguely questions whether these completely impossible results are on the level. His coach only gets concerned when the tablets start to wear off and he almost loses. OK, that last part is pretty believable, but still.
Well, OK, there is one repercussion. Those violent mobsters are going to try to kill him. But in terms of oversight from the governing athletic body? None. None whatsoever. And what's the press's reaction?
That's right, they're total suckers for the great story. Huh. Maybe this isn't that ridiculous after all.
Also, Dr. Moss? You're giving the credit for three world records to "you, with the help of my metabo-tablets"? With the help? Yes, in much the same way the Apollo astronauts reached escape velocity with the help of the Saturn V. Or, if you'd prefer sports-related, in much the same way Jud Buechler won three NBA championships with the help of Michael Jordan.
Well, anyway, Dash fights the angry mobsters and defeats them because he's, well, really fast. He also wears a suit the whole time while fighting crime, which is strangely badass. All of which leads to...
And so, because he uses his incredible drug-fueled powers to not only rewrite the record books but also to beat the crap out of some local gangsters, Dash Dartwell is a superhero. All I know is, if Barry Bonds starts busting skulls in the Bay Area, I think we'll know which comic book he started reading. Well, assuming those skulls belong to criminals. I could also see him as a super-villain. Either way, it really seems like his only logical career move. Other than Taiwan of course. You can't be extradited if the US doesn't recognize the country!
In any event, remember the timeless lesson of Dash Dartwell - drugs makes sports better! Yay for performance-enhancing substances!
Join us next Wednesday for another Comics & Sports entry where our friend Dash will use his tablets to hit more home runs. No, seriously. I swear that's actually going to happen.
I recently spent two weeks in scenic (no, really, it sort of is) East Lansing, Michigan, having somehow scammed my college of choice into funding my research into a little something called Centaur Comics. Ultra-quickly, they were a fifth-rate (much like this blog) comic book publisher back in the late thirties and early forties, during the so-called Golden Age of comics. They trotted out a variety of oddball heroes, including an honest-to-goodness centaur, a ventriloquist-turned-detective, and a giant flying eyeball that may or may not be God. So yeah, no lack of creativity over at Centaur. Sanity is a whole 'nother issue.
They also did a bunch of stories that mixed elements of the emerging superhero genre with the world of sports, producing predictably bizarre results. Today we spotlight a steroid parable written six decades before anyone even realized that was an issue. Of course, the whole thing is about the virtues of performance-enhancing substances and how people who use them are heroes. Start taking notes right now, disgraced major leaguers. The key to your redemption may well lie within these pages.
First of all, the set-up. From the comic:
Dashford (Dash) Dartwell is a student at Dravrah University and a member of the "scrub" track team. However, his interest in track is secondary to his new interest in the research of Dr. Drew Moss, Professor of Bio-Chemistry at Dravrah. An added attraction is Bettie Moss, Dr. Moss's lovely daughter.
Three things...
1. Dashford? I think I know what I'm calling my children. Yes, all of them.
2. Dravrah? I would make a crappy joke here about how I bet its rival is "Elay", but, um...that's actually the name of its rival. Oh, that crazy forties-style wordplay!
3. Bettie Moss? If I didn't know better, I'd call that a cheap knock-off of Hulk love interest Betty Ross. Just because it was made twenty years earlier doesn't prove anything!
OK, with that out of the way, let's take a look at the story itself. Professor Moss has just created "metabo-tablets", and he's the first to admit he doesn't have the faintest idea what they'll do...
Leaving the really questionable medical ethics aside for a moment (I mean, shouldn't he first force-feed a bunch of rats ten times the recommended dosage before he even thinks about human tests?), I'm pretty sure the "But I'm not even going to play anyway, so it's OK!" line later became the core of Alex Sanchez's defense.
Meanwhile, a bunch of mobsters with apparently nothing better to do than fix an Ivy League (sorry...Yvi Eugael) track meet kidnap all the top runners, forcing the coach to use the now-medicated Dash...
Frankly, I don't know what Dash was ever doing on the second team in the first place. I mean, his name is Dash Dartwell. For crying out loud, hasn't the coach ever heard of nominative determinism? Anyway, now that the performance-enhancers have kicked in, Dash does the only reasonable thing - demand to be in every single race. Of course, I'm sure he'll take things easy, using his amazing new powers to only just win. Right? Right!?
Because I've very legitimately got nothing better to do, here's a comparison of the modern records in those various events with Dash's marks...
100 Yard Dash: 9.72 seconds vs. 3.5 seconds (Dash)
High Jump: 8 feet vs. 19 feet
Broad Jump: 29.4 feet vs. 70+ feet
And that's without sixty years worth of improved conditioning. So, um, yeah, holy shit. Way to be inconspicuous, Dash. The best part, of course, is where there are no repercussions whatsoever. Hell, no one even vaguely questions whether these completely impossible results are on the level. His coach only gets concerned when the tablets start to wear off and he almost loses. OK, that last part is pretty believable, but still.
Well, OK, there is one repercussion. Those violent mobsters are going to try to kill him. But in terms of oversight from the governing athletic body? None. None whatsoever. And what's the press's reaction?
That's right, they're total suckers for the great story. Huh. Maybe this isn't that ridiculous after all.
Also, Dr. Moss? You're giving the credit for three world records to "you, with the help of my metabo-tablets"? With the help? Yes, in much the same way the Apollo astronauts reached escape velocity with the help of the Saturn V. Or, if you'd prefer sports-related, in much the same way Jud Buechler won three NBA championships with the help of Michael Jordan.
Well, anyway, Dash fights the angry mobsters and defeats them because he's, well, really fast. He also wears a suit the whole time while fighting crime, which is strangely badass. All of which leads to...
And so, because he uses his incredible drug-fueled powers to not only rewrite the record books but also to beat the crap out of some local gangsters, Dash Dartwell is a superhero. All I know is, if Barry Bonds starts busting skulls in the Bay Area, I think we'll know which comic book he started reading. Well, assuming those skulls belong to criminals. I could also see him as a super-villain. Either way, it really seems like his only logical career move. Other than Taiwan of course. You can't be extradited if the US doesn't recognize the country!
In any event, remember the timeless lesson of Dash Dartwell - drugs makes sports better! Yay for performance-enhancing substances!
Join us next Wednesday for another Comics & Sports entry where our friend Dash will use his tablets to hit more home runs. No, seriously. I swear that's actually going to happen.
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