On this Easter Sunday, an era has ended. In case you haven't heard, Donovan McNabb has been traded to the Redskins. My initial thoughts on the trade are as follows. I'm fine with trading McNabb. I doubt the Eagles would resign him after this season, and it would be better to get something from his value while you can. I do not, however, like that they traded him to the Redskins. Why trade him to a team that you play twice a year? For an organization that does a lot of arrogant things, this is just downright stupid.
This of course follows on the heels of trading Sheldon Brown and Chris Gocung for a 4th and 5th rounder, and a linebacker who has started 2 games in 2 years for the Browns. Not to mention the release of several others, including Shawn Andrews, Kevin Curtis, and Brian Westbrook, one of my favorite Eagles who I already touched on. Can you say rebuilding?
One thing that scares me in this trade is the relation between Donovan McNabb and John Elway. Up to this point in their careers, they are eerily similar. Both were said to have not been able to win the big game early in their careers, with a combined 4 Super Bowl losses between the two of them through each of their first 11 seasons. And through the same amount of games, they have similar yards per game and yards per attempt averages as well. In terms of touchdowns to interceptions, McNabb trumps Elway easily in both categories. This is what scares me. John Elway finally won the Super Bowl late in his career, when he was 38 years old in his 15th NFL season. McNabb is through 11 NFL seasons and is 33 years old. Who was Elway's coach in Denver when he finally won, you ask? It was Mike Shanahan. Interestingly enough, the Washington Redskins just got rid of the futile Jim Zorn in favor of an accomplished NFL coach, one with a track record of winning Super Bowls. Who would that be? The aforementioned Mike Shanahan. Look, I know the Redskins are a mess. If it were to ever happen it would take a lot of time. And yeah, I know. It is the Redskins. They tried the dumbest play in the history of the NFL last year. But the connections are there. I really don't want it to happen, but stranger things have happened before. Like Adam Sandler in a serious movie. So never say never.
In final, the McNabb trade is sort of like divorcing your wife, and giving your weird half-brother permission to marry her. You get rid of her, but you still have to see them both twice a year at Christmas and Easter. Talk about awkward.
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While we are on the topic of Easter (What a transition. They should call me Segway Soup) I should tell you about my Easter Sunday with the Sobel's. The plan was to head over to my grandparent's house, and hear some more stories about the man, the myth, the legend himself from Grandpop, and maybe watch Grandmom dunk a little (If you're wondering, Grandpop had to take ESPN off their cable package for this month, just so Grandmom wouldn't get mad at the attention Britney Griner is getting for her achievements this tournament. Grandmom would posterize her, and we all know it). Unfortunately for Grandpop, Jeffrey J. caught wind of the latest blog post and let him have it for giving me all the information that I used. He and Uncle Kevin told me Grandpop's daily itinerary, which goes like this:
Wake up
Check the Soup Kitchen
Nap
Wake up
Read the Inquirer
Nap
Wake up
Check the Soup Kitchen
Eat
Shower
Sleep
Repeat
I'm going to be blunt here. That's probably the bossiest schedule I have ever heard of in my life. Granted he doesn't get out of the house much, except when he goes to Flyers games, but at least he is as loyal a fan as they come (to my blog and to the Flyers).
In other news, Uncle Kevin won the annual "Hit your Egg on the Other Person's Egg and Whoever's Cracks Loses" contest. If that doesn't sound like drama-filled family fun, I don't know what does.
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With Opening Day tomorrow for the Fightin's, I thought it appropriate to relive some of last year's triumphs. While I couldn't find a solid video of J-Roll's walk-off in Game 4 of the NLCS (I was there. Greatest moment of my life? Yes) I could find the Postgame Live Crew's reaction to it. I just wanted to point out that while Barkann and Ricky Bo were, as you can see in the below video, legitimately freaking out, Dutch Daulton barely reacted. It's pretty obvious why. If you aren't familiar with Darren Daulton, he has been said to be a little crazy. In short, he claims to have visited the future. While on postgame live, he said the Phillies would win the National League pennant (interestingly enough, he never said the Phillies would win the World Series, which they obviously didn't). The reason he didn't react? Simple. He already saw it happen.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Jeffrey J.- Big Boss
It's been a pretty lousy couple of weeks for the Sobel Soup. If you haven't noticed, my Villanova Wildcats were knocked out of the NCAA tournament by a Sandman, a miracle shot, and something that slightly resembles a human being. Making matters worse, Duke just advanced to the Final Four this weekend. Even though I have been harassed by a few fake Duke fans (it's only been one, actually: Clay Packel), but I have yet to hear from any of the main antagonists, such as J.D. Sparks XIV, Ibo DeGrouchy, or Fat Dub. No word on whether or not Jon Scheyer performed a Scheyer Face as he was cutting down the nets. You can bet it happened though, because Scheyer Faces are about as prevalent as Kyle Singler's zombie faces, which occur almost nightly.
In other tournament news, Ali Farokhmanesh shot his way into America's hearts, while simultaneously shooting down the Kansas Jayhawks, and the vast majority of this year's NCAA brackets, including mine. Even though the puns here are truly endless (not to mention inappropriate and very politically incorrect) I'm going to lay off.
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I missed a lot while I wasn't blogging. I even neglected to cover Christmas, and believe me, it was a doozy. Grandpop, Jeffrey J.'s dad, was over, along with the rest of the family, and he had some stories to tell about your friend and my favorite. Apparently Jeff used to be a free spirit back in his college days, and Grandpop told everyone about this. At first, he brought up Jeff's affinity for changing majors. Jeffrey J. claimed to only have changed "a few times," which I guess means six or seven to him. Grandpop really dropped the dagger when he informed us of the "Jeff Sobel Memorial Library." Apparently, Jeff was very fond of using the University of Delaware school library (read: he never stepped foot in the place). Grandpop called him foolish and Jeff was ashamed, but I had a Ron Burgundy-Baxter moment. It really just showed me how much of a boss Jeffrey J. truly was, and still is.
All this talk about Jeff's college days made Uncle Kevin bring up some new information too. Turns out Jeff used to be a Private Investigator. He was so good, he almost had his own show, but they gave it to Magnum instead. A little disappointing, but how can Jeff be expected to compete with a mustache like that? It would be like watching ESPN's college football coverage without Lou Holtz's lisp and humongous glasses, or watching Greg Oden play without his beard. Something's missing, so history is better off with Magnum anyway. Besides, Jeff's job wasn't really as glorious as it sounds. Even though he was always on stake-outs, he supposedly just sat there for hours. He didn't even get donuts. If it doesn't sound boring to you, just trust me when I say it was.
Also, I would be remiss if I didn't tell all of you about one of my favorite Jeff stories of all time. Late one night, I was walking downstairs. I heard a large ruckus, and assumed it was a television show. Once I turned the corner, I realized Jeffrey J. was watching something on his computer. It wasn't just any thing, though, because I kid you not, Jeff was red in the face and tears were just about ready to come from his eyes. I had no idea what the video was about, but I assumed it was some sentimental home video. My world was full of complete shock when I looked at the screen, and saw Susan Boyle's Britain's Got Talent tryout. I legitimately fell on the ground laughing, and could not stop until maybe 10 minutes later. Jeff was pretty embarrassed, and he couldn't look at me in the face for about 3 days afterwards. It's probably because everytime I saw him I asked how Susan was. But he totally deserved it.
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This post's video was sent in one of the blog's most faithful followers, Saumon Oboudiyat. Apparently he is a big Rush Hour fan, and this one makes him go "all aboard the ROFLCOPTER!!!" (Just so you all know, ROFLCOPTER actually means Rolling On the Floor Laughing Can't Operate Properly Til Eyes Refocus, but all the ballers use it as a laugh-mobile, like a helicopter of ROFL's) I do appreciate Chris Tucker's Michael Jackson impression, and he's got some nice dance moves to go along with it.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
In other tournament news, Ali Farokhmanesh shot his way into America's hearts, while simultaneously shooting down the Kansas Jayhawks, and the vast majority of this year's NCAA brackets, including mine. Even though the puns here are truly endless (not to mention inappropriate and very politically incorrect) I'm going to lay off.
___________________________________________________
I missed a lot while I wasn't blogging. I even neglected to cover Christmas, and believe me, it was a doozy. Grandpop, Jeffrey J.'s dad, was over, along with the rest of the family, and he had some stories to tell about your friend and my favorite. Apparently Jeff used to be a free spirit back in his college days, and Grandpop told everyone about this. At first, he brought up Jeff's affinity for changing majors. Jeffrey J. claimed to only have changed "a few times," which I guess means six or seven to him. Grandpop really dropped the dagger when he informed us of the "Jeff Sobel Memorial Library." Apparently, Jeff was very fond of using the University of Delaware school library (read: he never stepped foot in the place). Grandpop called him foolish and Jeff was ashamed, but I had a Ron Burgundy-Baxter moment. It really just showed me how much of a boss Jeffrey J. truly was, and still is.
All this talk about Jeff's college days made Uncle Kevin bring up some new information too. Turns out Jeff used to be a Private Investigator. He was so good, he almost had his own show, but they gave it to Magnum instead. A little disappointing, but how can Jeff be expected to compete with a mustache like that? It would be like watching ESPN's college football coverage without Lou Holtz's lisp and humongous glasses, or watching Greg Oden play without his beard. Something's missing, so history is better off with Magnum anyway. Besides, Jeff's job wasn't really as glorious as it sounds. Even though he was always on stake-outs, he supposedly just sat there for hours. He didn't even get donuts. If it doesn't sound boring to you, just trust me when I say it was.
Also, I would be remiss if I didn't tell all of you about one of my favorite Jeff stories of all time. Late one night, I was walking downstairs. I heard a large ruckus, and assumed it was a television show. Once I turned the corner, I realized Jeffrey J. was watching something on his computer. It wasn't just any thing, though, because I kid you not, Jeff was red in the face and tears were just about ready to come from his eyes. I had no idea what the video was about, but I assumed it was some sentimental home video. My world was full of complete shock when I looked at the screen, and saw Susan Boyle's Britain's Got Talent tryout. I legitimately fell on the ground laughing, and could not stop until maybe 10 minutes later. Jeff was pretty embarrassed, and he couldn't look at me in the face for about 3 days afterwards. It's probably because everytime I saw him I asked how Susan was. But he totally deserved it.
___________________________________________________
This post's video was sent in one of the blog's most faithful followers, Saumon Oboudiyat. Apparently he is a big Rush Hour fan, and this one makes him go "all aboard the ROFLCOPTER!!!" (Just so you all know, ROFLCOPTER actually means Rolling On the Floor Laughing Can't Operate Properly Til Eyes Refocus, but all the ballers use it as a laugh-mobile, like a helicopter of ROFL's) I do appreciate Chris Tucker's Michael Jackson impression, and he's got some nice dance moves to go along with it.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Beating Around the Bush
Late last Friday night, Jake Enterlin and I were bored. We did the thing that any two young, 16 year old males with driver's licenses and money to blow would do on a Friday evening. Of course I am talking about hitting up the Target that just got put into the Springfield mall. For those of you who don't know, the Target has pretty much anything anyone anywhere has ever wanted. Except for real wiffleballs. But that's a different story. Moving on. Young T and I were scouring the aisles at Target, looking for that perfect something that would complete our night. We eventually made it down to the men's clothing department, which if you haven't visited at Target, is pretty baller. It's got some nice Elmo hats, which Nah B. Eric, better known as Noah Frick, bought and frequently rocks, not to mention some nice jumpsuits that would put even T.J. Adams's best collection to shame. Do not be mistaken, however. Me and TBD didn't waste our time toiling in these inferior garments. If you are not aware by now, which, quite frankly, you really should be, we are two pretty huge ballers. That's why we went straight for the undergarments section.
Now I know what you are thinking. "Woah, woah. Two guys in an undergarments section? That's the coolest thing ever! They probably bought underwear together and everything!" While that would be pretty neat, that's not what we did. Undershirts, along with underpants, fall in the category of undergarments. That is what TBD and I were shopping for. While he got some high quality undershirts that are silky smooth (and tagless!! Gotta love Hanes), I was the one who came out as the big winner. Also in the undergarments section happen to be wife beaters. Once I laid my eyes on these, I knew they had to be mine. Why a beater? There are a couple of reasons actually. I'm not sure this even has to be said, but I'll say it anyway: You can never have enough beaters. In my personal case, I had none. I guess you could say I was really in need of some beaters. Even if they do make me look like Kevin Federline (the skinny version). The second reason was my checkered past littered with experiences of bad beaters. Looking at them in the Target, I couldn't help but reminisce about the I Love Mammals video.
Unfortunately, the beater wasn't a great accessory of mine in that video. According to my good friend Kara Nac, it looked as if it was a woman's tank top. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I really got short-changed (props to Sloth Campbell for the word choice). It was Jack Eiel who lost one of the good wife beaters in school, leaving our crew with three good beaters, and one meant for a 5 year old. Of course the shortest member of the group who also happened to lose the beater that caused the problem got the bad one right? Wrong. The Sobel Soup had to get the bad one. No respect.
Anyway, TBD bought the undershirts, and I bought the beaters, and just so you know, we got them on sale. I'd be damned if two of the most eligible bachelors in the county couldn't find a decent price on a few hot commoditites. I've worn the beaters almost everyday since then, and they really are satisfying. The beater fits comfortably, yet it feels as if I'm not wearing anything at all.
We left the Target and then smashed a few mailboxes. I'm just kidding, we actually got some Longboys and some high quality dining from Wendy's drive-thru menu. What is a Longboy, you ask? They are kind of hard to describe, and I'm feeling really lazy right about now. So just look at this picture. There is no cap to them, but that is just an advantage. You see, most people who buy drinks from convenience stores don't have the ability to drive without spilling something with no cap. But when you've got skills like I do, there is nothing to worry about. To go along with that, they are cheaper and there is about 8 more fluid ounces of drink inside. Sound like the greatest deal ever? Yeah, I think so, too. There is really no point in asking what kind we got; of course we got Arnie Palmer's, the greatest Longboy/drink of all time. Everything you need to know is pretty much embodied in my favorite Sportscenter commercial. You saw correct. 50% Iced Tea. 50% Lemonade. 100% Delicious bliss.
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The NCAA Tournament is right around the corner. And by right around the corner, I mean in about 12 hours. If you remember correctly, one of the best days of my young life was spent down at the Wachovia Center watching a day of basketball splendor. Also, Fat Dub managed to stay home from school that day to watch the games. I will do the same. I really hope it will be a great day, and of course, my Villanova Wildcats have to win for it to be a decent one at that. I'm thinking about tracking my day, similar to what I did last year on the blog. If I do anything interesting that you will want to read about, I'll be sure to do so.
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Another reason I'm not going to school tomorrow is because I am simply worn out. I need a mental health day (which is better: that, or a rental health day?). Why do I need such a thing? It is probably because I have been organizing the pinnie order for the Strath Haven Student Section, better known as the Sons of Ben. You probably lost out on your chance to get a pinnie if you are finding out about this for the first time, but considering I got over 100 people to buy them, I consider it a major success. My job was simply to unify the student section, and to make opposing teams and fans tremble in our presence, and I'm fairly certain I did that. Not only that, but I have a feeling the pinnies are going to be BO$$. More on the Sons of Ben in a later post. Honestly, I'm a little tired, and could use some shut-eye.
The video I'm including this week is of Triumph, Conan's dog friend that he frequently sent out to do a little reporting. This was probably a while ago, but I find it downright hysterical nonetheless. Just as a favor, I'll link you to part two of the video here.
"Burger King: Where all dragon masters eat!"
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Now I know what you are thinking. "Woah, woah. Two guys in an undergarments section? That's the coolest thing ever! They probably bought underwear together and everything!" While that would be pretty neat, that's not what we did. Undershirts, along with underpants, fall in the category of undergarments. That is what TBD and I were shopping for. While he got some high quality undershirts that are silky smooth (and tagless!! Gotta love Hanes), I was the one who came out as the big winner. Also in the undergarments section happen to be wife beaters. Once I laid my eyes on these, I knew they had to be mine. Why a beater? There are a couple of reasons actually. I'm not sure this even has to be said, but I'll say it anyway: You can never have enough beaters. In my personal case, I had none. I guess you could say I was really in need of some beaters. Even if they do make me look like Kevin Federline (the skinny version). The second reason was my checkered past littered with experiences of bad beaters. Looking at them in the Target, I couldn't help but reminisce about the I Love Mammals video.
Unfortunately, the beater wasn't a great accessory of mine in that video. According to my good friend Kara Nac, it looked as if it was a woman's tank top. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I really got short-changed (props to Sloth Campbell for the word choice). It was Jack Eiel who lost one of the good wife beaters in school, leaving our crew with three good beaters, and one meant for a 5 year old. Of course the shortest member of the group who also happened to lose the beater that caused the problem got the bad one right? Wrong. The Sobel Soup had to get the bad one. No respect.
Anyway, TBD bought the undershirts, and I bought the beaters, and just so you know, we got them on sale. I'd be damned if two of the most eligible bachelors in the county couldn't find a decent price on a few hot commoditites. I've worn the beaters almost everyday since then, and they really are satisfying. The beater fits comfortably, yet it feels as if I'm not wearing anything at all.
We left the Target and then smashed a few mailboxes. I'm just kidding, we actually got some Longboys and some high quality dining from Wendy's drive-thru menu. What is a Longboy, you ask? They are kind of hard to describe, and I'm feeling really lazy right about now. So just look at this picture. There is no cap to them, but that is just an advantage. You see, most people who buy drinks from convenience stores don't have the ability to drive without spilling something with no cap. But when you've got skills like I do, there is nothing to worry about. To go along with that, they are cheaper and there is about 8 more fluid ounces of drink inside. Sound like the greatest deal ever? Yeah, I think so, too. There is really no point in asking what kind we got; of course we got Arnie Palmer's, the greatest Longboy/drink of all time. Everything you need to know is pretty much embodied in my favorite Sportscenter commercial. You saw correct. 50% Iced Tea. 50% Lemonade. 100% Delicious bliss.
___________________________________________________
The NCAA Tournament is right around the corner. And by right around the corner, I mean in about 12 hours. If you remember correctly, one of the best days of my young life was spent down at the Wachovia Center watching a day of basketball splendor. Also, Fat Dub managed to stay home from school that day to watch the games. I will do the same. I really hope it will be a great day, and of course, my Villanova Wildcats have to win for it to be a decent one at that. I'm thinking about tracking my day, similar to what I did last year on the blog. If I do anything interesting that you will want to read about, I'll be sure to do so.
___________________________________________________
Another reason I'm not going to school tomorrow is because I am simply worn out. I need a mental health day (which is better: that, or a rental health day?). Why do I need such a thing? It is probably because I have been organizing the pinnie order for the Strath Haven Student Section, better known as the Sons of Ben. You probably lost out on your chance to get a pinnie if you are finding out about this for the first time, but considering I got over 100 people to buy them, I consider it a major success. My job was simply to unify the student section, and to make opposing teams and fans tremble in our presence, and I'm fairly certain I did that. Not only that, but I have a feeling the pinnies are going to be BO$$. More on the Sons of Ben in a later post. Honestly, I'm a little tired, and could use some shut-eye.
The video I'm including this week is of Triumph, Conan's dog friend that he frequently sent out to do a little reporting. This was probably a while ago, but I find it downright hysterical nonetheless. Just as a favor, I'll link you to part two of the video here.
"Burger King: Where all dragon masters eat!"
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Respectfully Yours
I know, it's been a while, but you are lucky you are even reading this right now. I've decided to take a break from my normal Sunday afternoon activities (which typically involve several hours spent napping, making historically-accurate raps, or playing Minesweeper) to blog on all of your faces for a little bit. I would be lying to you if I said I was just doing this out of the goodness of my heart; I have a legitimate reason for posting.
In Friday's issue of the Philadelphia Inquirer, Bob Ford wrote an article explaining why fighting is hockey's problem. On first glance, some of you may agree, while others may say that hockey is the only thing drawing people to the NHL. I don't officially fall in either of those groups, so I decided to just make my own category. It goes something along the lines of "This article is the most ridiculous thing I've ever read so I'm going to email you and tell you how bad it was, and dish out several low blows while doing it." If you are doubting me right now, you really shouldn't. I'm not one to worry about wasting time, after all I did make a track-athlete profile that no one could see, and there was that inspirational dodgeball speech for the tournament that never happened. So yes, I did email Bob Ford and tell him how much of a moron he was for writing something like that. Of course I'm not satisfied just telling you about this, that's why I'm copying the email below.
Mr. Ford,
I have read your article on fighting in hockey, and I find it utterly preposterous that you would claim that it is the reason the NHL is only the "4th sport," as you put it. First of all, I neither find something wrong with fights, nor do I support them. For the record, I would not be totally opposed to taking fights out of the game, at least to the extent that the Olympics does. But to claim that fighting keeps fans from watching is ludicrous, not to mention a complete fallacy.
Your entire argument is based on the premise that people watched the Olympics, yet they do not watch the NHL and that the difference between Olympic hockey and the NHL is the prevalence of fighting. Because of those two factors, you claim fighting is the problem. The ratings variance is not related to fighting; it so clearly hinges upon the disparity of players' abilities that it makes me question whether you were thinking sanely when writing up this article or if you simply had nothing to write about and decided upon this. Can you name an NHL team that has a player as good as Mike Richards or Jonathan Toews on its fourth line? How about Bobby Ryan? Drawing blanks? Me too. The fact is, the level of play for international hockey so far surpasses that of the NHL, that it is irrational to think the same people would tune in to watch a full, 82 game hockey season if fighting were banned. If the Olympics had the same rules for fights as the NHL did, the viewership Sunday may have dipped ever-so-slightly, but it would not be as low as NHL playoff games currently are. To claim otherwise insults not only your intelligence, but the intelligence of your readers as well.
Thank you for hearing me out.
Respectfully yours,
Bennett J. Sobel
I read the email off to Jeff, and needless to say, he was loving it. His favorite parts were "it makes me question whether you were thinking sanely when writing up this article" and "Drawing blanks? Me too." He claimed I was "dogging" Ford, but I think he deserved it. I offset that by calling him Mr. Ford and ending the letter with a respectfully yours. I can criticize him all I want, but at the end of the day, his article probably got slightly more hits than my blog. Plus he writes for the Inquirer, so he is technically my superior, which is why I addressed him as Mr.
He probably has no idea that I am a 16 year old blogger with nothing better to do, which may explain why he hasn't answered me yet. Or it could be that he hasn't recovered from being schooled several times by a random emailer. Either way, if he ever does respond I'll be sure to put it on the blog.
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During my two and a half month leave of absence, the NCAA basketball season has been going on. It doesn't really need to be said, but I've been following my Villanova Wildcats as faithfully as ever. It was smooth sailing in the beginning of the season, they were 20-1 and had a No. 2 national ranking. Unfortunately, the Wildcats have limped into the Big East tournament, going 4-5 in their last 9 games, including 2-4 in their last 6, making for an overall record of 24-6. I'm disappointed to say the least, and not feeling very confident of success in the NCAA tournament for my Wildcats. But with a good showing in the Big East tournament, all of that can easily change, and I really hope it will. At the end of the day, we still have the Big East player of the year (at least he should be) Scottie Reynolds, a solid starting lineup with accomplished guards, and great depth. I'm not backing out of my prediction of NCAA champions that I made way back in the summer, I would just like to see them play well in the Big East tournament so I can feel good again.
In more exciting news, two people I know have seen/met a Villanova basketball player in recent weeks. The first was O-Star Superstar, who was getting a shape-up while Reggie Redding walked into the same barbershop as him. Of course he didn't say anything, because O-Star would obviously make a fool out of himself, and he knows it. So wisely he kept his mouth shut. The second person to meet Villanova basketball players was my sister, Lizzie (better known as Sizzie) who met and had a conversation with Antonio Pena and Reggie Redding in a Lids store. She happened to be buying me a Villanova hat at the same time they were getting other hats customized, and Antonio sparked up conversation. Only knowing that would have made my day, but she hunted down a Sharpie and got the two guys to sign it for me. I'll probably make a shrine in my room for the hat, not to mention the receipt they also signed.
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I should also add that the Soup Kitchen will be home to a new poster, Fat Dub. Because my posts are few and far between, and because he is a far superior writer than I am, I invited him to be a co-poster. This will suffice all of your Soup Kitchen fixes and add some variety to the blog. This isn't to say there will be posts everyday, but there will certainly be more than there had been before. I look forward to sharing this domain with my boy, Fat Dub. I just hope he doesn't blog about Duke.
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I would be remiss if I didn't mention the release of Brian Westbrook. I can't help but think about when the Eagles released B-Dawk last year, which is one of the main reasons I started the Soup Kitchen in the first place. He was the greatest Eagles running back of all time, and I will root for him to have success anywhere he goes. As a tribute to B-West, I am including a some highlights of him for the awesome video of this post. My personal favorite moment is the punt return touchdown he had in the waning moments vs. the Giants.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
In Friday's issue of the Philadelphia Inquirer, Bob Ford wrote an article explaining why fighting is hockey's problem. On first glance, some of you may agree, while others may say that hockey is the only thing drawing people to the NHL. I don't officially fall in either of those groups, so I decided to just make my own category. It goes something along the lines of "This article is the most ridiculous thing I've ever read so I'm going to email you and tell you how bad it was, and dish out several low blows while doing it." If you are doubting me right now, you really shouldn't. I'm not one to worry about wasting time, after all I did make a track-athlete profile that no one could see, and there was that inspirational dodgeball speech for the tournament that never happened. So yes, I did email Bob Ford and tell him how much of a moron he was for writing something like that. Of course I'm not satisfied just telling you about this, that's why I'm copying the email below.
Mr. Ford,
I have read your article on fighting in hockey, and I find it utterly preposterous that you would claim that it is the reason the NHL is only the "4th sport," as you put it. First of all, I neither find something wrong with fights, nor do I support them. For the record, I would not be totally opposed to taking fights out of the game, at least to the extent that the Olympics does. But to claim that fighting keeps fans from watching is ludicrous, not to mention a complete fallacy.
Your entire argument is based on the premise that people watched the Olympics, yet they do not watch the NHL and that the difference between Olympic hockey and the NHL is the prevalence of fighting. Because of those two factors, you claim fighting is the problem. The ratings variance is not related to fighting; it so clearly hinges upon the disparity of players' abilities that it makes me question whether you were thinking sanely when writing up this article or if you simply had nothing to write about and decided upon this. Can you name an NHL team that has a player as good as Mike Richards or Jonathan Toews on its fourth line? How about Bobby Ryan? Drawing blanks? Me too. The fact is, the level of play for international hockey so far surpasses that of the NHL, that it is irrational to think the same people would tune in to watch a full, 82 game hockey season if fighting were banned. If the Olympics had the same rules for fights as the NHL did, the viewership Sunday may have dipped ever-so-slightly, but it would not be as low as NHL playoff games currently are. To claim otherwise insults not only your intelligence, but the intelligence of your readers as well.
Thank you for hearing me out.
Respectfully yours,
Bennett J. Sobel
I read the email off to Jeff, and needless to say, he was loving it. His favorite parts were "it makes me question whether you were thinking sanely when writing up this article" and "Drawing blanks? Me too." He claimed I was "dogging" Ford, but I think he deserved it. I offset that by calling him Mr. Ford and ending the letter with a respectfully yours. I can criticize him all I want, but at the end of the day, his article probably got slightly more hits than my blog. Plus he writes for the Inquirer, so he is technically my superior, which is why I addressed him as Mr.
He probably has no idea that I am a 16 year old blogger with nothing better to do, which may explain why he hasn't answered me yet. Or it could be that he hasn't recovered from being schooled several times by a random emailer. Either way, if he ever does respond I'll be sure to put it on the blog.
___________________________________________________
During my two and a half month leave of absence, the NCAA basketball season has been going on. It doesn't really need to be said, but I've been following my Villanova Wildcats as faithfully as ever. It was smooth sailing in the beginning of the season, they were 20-1 and had a No. 2 national ranking. Unfortunately, the Wildcats have limped into the Big East tournament, going 4-5 in their last 9 games, including 2-4 in their last 6, making for an overall record of 24-6. I'm disappointed to say the least, and not feeling very confident of success in the NCAA tournament for my Wildcats. But with a good showing in the Big East tournament, all of that can easily change, and I really hope it will. At the end of the day, we still have the Big East player of the year (at least he should be) Scottie Reynolds, a solid starting lineup with accomplished guards, and great depth. I'm not backing out of my prediction of NCAA champions that I made way back in the summer, I would just like to see them play well in the Big East tournament so I can feel good again.
In more exciting news, two people I know have seen/met a Villanova basketball player in recent weeks. The first was O-Star Superstar, who was getting a shape-up while Reggie Redding walked into the same barbershop as him. Of course he didn't say anything, because O-Star would obviously make a fool out of himself, and he knows it. So wisely he kept his mouth shut. The second person to meet Villanova basketball players was my sister, Lizzie (better known as Sizzie) who met and had a conversation with Antonio Pena and Reggie Redding in a Lids store. She happened to be buying me a Villanova hat at the same time they were getting other hats customized, and Antonio sparked up conversation. Only knowing that would have made my day, but she hunted down a Sharpie and got the two guys to sign it for me. I'll probably make a shrine in my room for the hat, not to mention the receipt they also signed.
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I should also add that the Soup Kitchen will be home to a new poster, Fat Dub. Because my posts are few and far between, and because he is a far superior writer than I am, I invited him to be a co-poster. This will suffice all of your Soup Kitchen fixes and add some variety to the blog. This isn't to say there will be posts everyday, but there will certainly be more than there had been before. I look forward to sharing this domain with my boy, Fat Dub. I just hope he doesn't blog about Duke.
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I would be remiss if I didn't mention the release of Brian Westbrook. I can't help but think about when the Eagles released B-Dawk last year, which is one of the main reasons I started the Soup Kitchen in the first place. He was the greatest Eagles running back of all time, and I will root for him to have success anywhere he goes. As a tribute to B-West, I am including a some highlights of him for the awesome video of this post. My personal favorite moment is the punt return touchdown he had in the waning moments vs. the Giants.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The Art of Failure
I don't fail at many things. Generally, I'm at least decent at everything I have ever done. This includes things ranging from rapping songs to wrapping gifts (God, I love puns). Even though I have been exposed to failures, I never really experienced it before.
There are plenty of examples of failure around us. Fail blog made a website about it. There is a movie made called The Failures. There are even examples in the NFL, in the form of the Washington Redskins. They are an awful team to start with, but their disastrous trick play they tried to pull last night on the Giants brought their atrocity of a season to a whole new level of bad. I actually saw this live last night, and started laughing before the play began. After seeing a few replays, I decided it was one of the funniest attempts and subsequent failures I had ever seen. Maybe that exposure to failure helped cause what happened to me today.
Today, I failed my driver's test. (This would be a perfect FML) Quite frankly, I am a fine driver. I'm probably the only person in the history of Pennsylvania to actually complete the required 50 hours of driving, yet I still failed. How, may you ask? I could tell from the start that it wasn't going to end well.
Jeffrey J. and I rolled up at the DMV looking fresh to death in our brand-spankin' new (read: several month old) Subaru. We both had on suits, since he went to work earlier, and I had to dress up for school, since I'm a basketball manager and all. We were just chilling there, jamming to some Christmas carols to get into the spirit. My test administrator came walking out of the building, and it was then that I had a bad feeling about what would happen next. This guy was really, really old. In fact, he had so many wrinkles, it looked like his face could be a topographic map of San Francisco. Once he stepped in the car, one thing was clear to both of us. He was intimidated by me, since I was obviously the better dressed of the two of us, and he was the one working. The elephant in the room, or car, just wouldn't leave. Fortunately for him, it didn't last long. We were driving to go take the parking portion of the test when we reached a stop sign. I stopped; naturally I didn't want to fail. Then I continued on to go park.
If any of you have ever parallel parked, it really is not that difficult. I am pretty good at it, or so I thought. I started out too far away, and went a little too fast. The old guy riding with me claims that I hit the barrel in the back. It was pretty obvious to me that I didn't come close to hitting it. He was probably just imagining things. I cut the guy a break; he was old after all. He told me pull out and pull down the driveway. I looked at him kind of funny, because I clearly had not parallel parked yet. I followed his instructions and pulled into a parking space. He told me I failed because I hit the barrel. Then he added on that I "rolled" the stop sign. Of course I was shocked, appalled, and very angry since neither of these things happened. It would have been impossible for him to determine whether or not I hit the barrel. Again, he was very old, so for him to hear or see something in the present conditions would have been very unlikely. Come to think of it, he definitely was imagining things. As for the stop sign, the Sobel Soup is a busy man. I have places to go and people to see, ladies and gentlemen, and if he can't accept that I guess I'll just have to ask for a new instructor next time.
He gave me some advice for next time: Stop at the sign, say S-T-O-P out loud, and then proceed. I wanted to ask him what the odds are that anyone has ever done that while actually driving a car, ever. I restrained, because I didn't want to get kicked out of the DMV, and not be able to retake my test. If anything, a person should be rewarded for not saying S-T-O-P out loud. Let's say someone did that out on the actual roads. Can you imagine what the guy behind him would do? I, for one, would lay down the horn. Plus, by concentrating so hard on saying S-T-O-P, a person would lose focus on the roads and might even get into a crash. It annoys the hell out of me already, and I'm just typing it.
Basking in my defeat, I had nothing else to do but to try and make a pun. Unfortunately, the only thing I came up with was Penn-Don't, a play off PennDot which is another failure in itself. I'm just going to stop while I'm ahead.
___________________________________________________
One thing that didn't fail recently was Nota, who won the Sing Off title, and the 100 G's that go with it, last night. If you may recall, I predicted this almost a week ago. Sure enough it came true. What else do you expect?
___________________________________________________
No one sent in a video for this post (a further example of my failure), so I decided to put in a video I have recently discovered. I used to not like Jared Allen very much, mainly because he has the dumbest sack dance known to man. But since I saw this video, he is instantly my favorite NFL player who is not on the Eagles. I would just like to say before you all watch this, that I have since followed Jared's advice about a few topics. If anyone ever asks me if I want extra mayonnaise, I will indeed say yes. And I will try to shape my chest hair in a heart, to see if it is as tight as he claims it to be.
"Damn, he likes to party. With two r's"
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
There are plenty of examples of failure around us. Fail blog made a website about it. There is a movie made called The Failures. There are even examples in the NFL, in the form of the Washington Redskins. They are an awful team to start with, but their disastrous trick play they tried to pull last night on the Giants brought their atrocity of a season to a whole new level of bad. I actually saw this live last night, and started laughing before the play began. After seeing a few replays, I decided it was one of the funniest attempts and subsequent failures I had ever seen. Maybe that exposure to failure helped cause what happened to me today.
Today, I failed my driver's test. (This would be a perfect FML) Quite frankly, I am a fine driver. I'm probably the only person in the history of Pennsylvania to actually complete the required 50 hours of driving, yet I still failed. How, may you ask? I could tell from the start that it wasn't going to end well.
Jeffrey J. and I rolled up at the DMV looking fresh to death in our brand-spankin' new (read: several month old) Subaru. We both had on suits, since he went to work earlier, and I had to dress up for school, since I'm a basketball manager and all. We were just chilling there, jamming to some Christmas carols to get into the spirit. My test administrator came walking out of the building, and it was then that I had a bad feeling about what would happen next. This guy was really, really old. In fact, he had so many wrinkles, it looked like his face could be a topographic map of San Francisco. Once he stepped in the car, one thing was clear to both of us. He was intimidated by me, since I was obviously the better dressed of the two of us, and he was the one working. The elephant in the room, or car, just wouldn't leave. Fortunately for him, it didn't last long. We were driving to go take the parking portion of the test when we reached a stop sign. I stopped; naturally I didn't want to fail. Then I continued on to go park.
If any of you have ever parallel parked, it really is not that difficult. I am pretty good at it, or so I thought. I started out too far away, and went a little too fast. The old guy riding with me claims that I hit the barrel in the back. It was pretty obvious to me that I didn't come close to hitting it. He was probably just imagining things. I cut the guy a break; he was old after all. He told me pull out and pull down the driveway. I looked at him kind of funny, because I clearly had not parallel parked yet. I followed his instructions and pulled into a parking space. He told me I failed because I hit the barrel. Then he added on that I "rolled" the stop sign. Of course I was shocked, appalled, and very angry since neither of these things happened. It would have been impossible for him to determine whether or not I hit the barrel. Again, he was very old, so for him to hear or see something in the present conditions would have been very unlikely. Come to think of it, he definitely was imagining things. As for the stop sign, the Sobel Soup is a busy man. I have places to go and people to see, ladies and gentlemen, and if he can't accept that I guess I'll just have to ask for a new instructor next time.
He gave me some advice for next time: Stop at the sign, say S-T-O-P out loud, and then proceed. I wanted to ask him what the odds are that anyone has ever done that while actually driving a car, ever. I restrained, because I didn't want to get kicked out of the DMV, and not be able to retake my test. If anything, a person should be rewarded for not saying S-T-O-P out loud. Let's say someone did that out on the actual roads. Can you imagine what the guy behind him would do? I, for one, would lay down the horn. Plus, by concentrating so hard on saying S-T-O-P, a person would lose focus on the roads and might even get into a crash. It annoys the hell out of me already, and I'm just typing it.
Basking in my defeat, I had nothing else to do but to try and make a pun. Unfortunately, the only thing I came up with was Penn-Don't, a play off PennDot which is another failure in itself. I'm just going to stop while I'm ahead.
___________________________________________________
One thing that didn't fail recently was Nota, who won the Sing Off title, and the 100 G's that go with it, last night. If you may recall, I predicted this almost a week ago. Sure enough it came true. What else do you expect?
___________________________________________________
No one sent in a video for this post (a further example of my failure), so I decided to put in a video I have recently discovered. I used to not like Jared Allen very much, mainly because he has the dumbest sack dance known to man. But since I saw this video, he is instantly my favorite NFL player who is not on the Eagles. I would just like to say before you all watch this, that I have since followed Jared's advice about a few topics. If anyone ever asks me if I want extra mayonnaise, I will indeed say yes. And I will try to shape my chest hair in a heart, to see if it is as tight as he claims it to be.
"Damn, he likes to party. With two r's"
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Return of the Sobel Soup
I know you can't believe your eyes right now. Neither can I. It had been way too long, and like Dan Quayle once said: "What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is." I thought I would take DQ's advice to heart and not waste my talents not writing on this blog. Then again, this was the same man who once said "We all lived in this century. I didn't live in this century," so taking advice from him might not be the smartest idea. It wouldn't shock me if you were doubtful of the fact that Dan Quayle actually said those things, but trust me, he did. I found it on one of those quote pages. Speaking of which, I stumbled across one of those for me during English class this year with Squeaky Eiel. Even though he says it is pathetic to Google yourself, everybody and their mother does it from time to time. Some extremely kind reader submitted my quote to this website. Thanks to the person who submitted it, and to those of you who only rated it 3 stars, shame on you.
___________________________________________________
As far as sports goes, I have missed a lot. This includes the Phillies unfortunate loss to the Yankees in the World Series. I did happen to be at Game 4 of the NLCS, yes that game. Needless to say, me and Jeffrey J. were jumping for joy at the end of the game. Oh yeah, we also happened to be on TV. I received a few texts saying that Jeff and I had been on the tube. Yes, it was probably the greatest night of my life. And yes, when I got home I did text everyone in my phonebook telling them that I was on television.
The Phillies have made big news today, as well. Of course I am talking about trading Cliff Lee and prospects to the Mariners and Blue Jays for Roy Halladay. My jury is still out on how much I like the deal. Also, I'm fairly disappointed in the fact that we traded away Michael Taylor, one of those prospects. Fat Dub went to see a Reading Phillies game once and saw Taylor play. What Fat Dub witnessed that night was legendary. Michael Taylor went 5-5, hit for the cycle, his second home run being the game winner. He was impressed, and I trust Fat Dub's scouting abilities.
The Eagles are looking fantastic, even without the baller of that defense, Stewart Bradley, who looks like Fletch with that haircut (props to Uncle Kevin on the Fletch information). The Flyers really aren't looking too good, and the Sixers are just downright pathetic.
___________________________________________________
One reason for my neglect of the blog has been my constant school activities. I have started writing for the Panther Press, and in the latest issue I interviewed Gino 'Gig' Miraglia. Just as a preview, I'm looking to interview Wisconsin hero, and blog-hater, T.J. Adams next. I made a promise to TBD that I would interview him, but I'm saving that for baiseball season. I also played soccer for the school. Before the season started, after a long day of playing, the team decided to go out to get some food. Bradley Pratzner, a good friend of mine, discovered an all-you-can-eat chicken wings offer for that night. It was a great plan. The offer also happened to be at Hooters. That made it an even greater plan.
It was my first time eating at Hooters, and the food wasn't all that. I honestly have no idea how the place stays in business. Anyway, several guys were there, including my boy XR, Xander Rizzello, who said he would rather kill a human being than a dog, in defense of Donte Stallworth over Michael Vick. I'm going to stay away from those two specific cases, but I'm just going to say that what Xander said that day rivals Dan Quayle's quotes for the dumbest things I have ever heard. It's alright though, because X does a killer impersonation of Pete Luzak. Kelsey and Nick were also there, and you know from my past blog posts that they have an affinity for claiming it to be my birthday, when it really isn't. Of course, they told the waitresses there that it was my birthday. Now, this was one of the most humiliating moments of my life (so far). To put it simply, I was flustered. At first when they invited me up, I cowered in the corner for the whole restaurant to see. Then, when I finally gathered up the courage to walk to where they wanted me to, they asked me my age. This totally caught me off guard. At first I said 17, but then I quickly changed my answer to 16. I'm sure it made it sound as if it wasn't my birthday. That probably had something to do with what the Hooters girls made me do next. I was forced to stand up on a chair, holding a plastic cup with my mouth and holding two take-out trays under each arm. They were my beak and my wings, of course. Then the entire restaurant preceded to sing Happy Birthday to me, while I flapped my wings in shame. When I sat down, one of the Hooters girls pretty much pulled an Annalise Penikis and ate a Big Mac on me. (Shout-out! Even though she will probably kill me!!) Still basking in my embarrassment, I just wasn't having any of it. She got the message pretty quickly when I told her "I have no idea where I got my shirt, and I don't find it relevant at all." In retrospect, I totally spat in her Big Mac. So this is my formal apology: I'm sorry, Hooters girl.
Most of you know how I like following in the footsteps of my inspiration, Mark Titus. It's odd to say this, but I may have out-Titused Titus this year. First, I sat on the end of the bench all soccer season (I did happen to score one goal. It was glorious). It was a lot of fun, even though I wasn't high enough on the totem pole to be Strath Haven's version of the Human Victory Cigar. I'm not cool enough to be one, seeing as Omari was the first (and best) for Swarthmore last season. Besides sitting on the bench for soccer, I have also become the manager for the basketball team.
One of the reasons I have decided to start the blog up again is that I was specifically asked by K-Vale, Kevin Valentino, when the next post would be. He asked me this on the basketball bus, so I thought it was appropriate to include that in this section. Anyway, Mark Titus was the manager for the Ohio State basketball team too, before he started playing as a walk-on. The only difference between us is that he has a wet jumper, while I (only sometimes) have wet pants, thanks to the lady who spilled her water all over me during the Marple Newtown game.
Not only am I managing the basketball team, but I also run winter track. Yeah, I know what you are thinking. Winter track, basketball manager, soccer team, Panther Press, the Soup Kitchen, various other small-sided tasks. How do I do it? The truth is I'm not really sure. Even though I have more on my plate than Tiger Woods does, I'd say I'm handling it pretty well.
I joined winter track for a few reasons. One of them was that I thought it was called "Indoor track." I learned the hard way that distance runners don't run inside (By the way, have you ever noticed that distance runners is an extremely unspecific term. Everyone that does track runs at least some distance, so, technically, everybody is a distance runner). Another reason I saw fit to join was the fact that Coach Ed coaches winter track as well. This, believe it or not, has fallen to pieces too. The other day at intervals, Coach Ed started yelling at me. In hindsight, he didn't really yell at me, and I actually did deserve it. I sort of went on a full sprint in the outside lane (It only let me pass about half of the runners. Take that statistic as you will) and finished with a Desmond Howard Heisman pose. The last part probably would have been fine, if I wasn't supposed to be running while I was doing it. We had our first meet on Saturday, and I hate it already. Besides the fact that we have to wear really, really short shorts (repetition at its finest), I faced other kids who are more athletically-gifted and who have better work ethic than I do. Oh yeah, and we have to wake up at 6 in the morning. Track is seeming more and more like a great decision to me every day.
___________________________________________________
In the past few days, I have taken a likening to the show The Sing Off. If you haven't been watching, you need to. And I'm saying this now so no one takes my idea: Nota is the best, and they are going to win the entire thing. Their rendition of Down last night was probably the best thing I have ever seen.
___________________________________________________
Over Thanksgiving, I was lucky enough to spend time with my family. We happened to go to Midnight Madness at the Limerick Outlets, and it was truly Madness. We snuck in a backway to beat the traffic, and it was really a sight to behold, even though we didn't end up buying anything. We actually ended up going to the Ruby Tuesdays. Yes, it was 2 in the morning, but, just like Lucky Charms, their brunch menu was magically delicious. The person who was loving it the most was my cousin, David (For the record, the person who was loving it the least was my cousin Evan. He got left at home). He said he had the most fun he ever had in his life. The scary, and somewhat pathetic part (sorry Dave) is that he is being truthful. David also recommended a video for me to use for my next blog entry. He had been bugging me about it, so there was no way I wasn't going to use it. Also, it was a great selection. I had never seen this video of Carlton, and it is better than any Fresh Prince link I have ever put on here. Without further ado, the World Famous Carlton Dance.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
___________________________________________________
As far as sports goes, I have missed a lot. This includes the Phillies unfortunate loss to the Yankees in the World Series. I did happen to be at Game 4 of the NLCS, yes that game. Needless to say, me and Jeffrey J. were jumping for joy at the end of the game. Oh yeah, we also happened to be on TV. I received a few texts saying that Jeff and I had been on the tube. Yes, it was probably the greatest night of my life. And yes, when I got home I did text everyone in my phonebook telling them that I was on television.
The Phillies have made big news today, as well. Of course I am talking about trading Cliff Lee and prospects to the Mariners and Blue Jays for Roy Halladay. My jury is still out on how much I like the deal. Also, I'm fairly disappointed in the fact that we traded away Michael Taylor, one of those prospects. Fat Dub went to see a Reading Phillies game once and saw Taylor play. What Fat Dub witnessed that night was legendary. Michael Taylor went 5-5, hit for the cycle, his second home run being the game winner. He was impressed, and I trust Fat Dub's scouting abilities.
The Eagles are looking fantastic, even without the baller of that defense, Stewart Bradley, who looks like Fletch with that haircut (props to Uncle Kevin on the Fletch information). The Flyers really aren't looking too good, and the Sixers are just downright pathetic.
___________________________________________________
One reason for my neglect of the blog has been my constant school activities. I have started writing for the Panther Press, and in the latest issue I interviewed Gino 'Gig' Miraglia. Just as a preview, I'm looking to interview Wisconsin hero, and blog-hater, T.J. Adams next. I made a promise to TBD that I would interview him, but I'm saving that for baiseball season. I also played soccer for the school. Before the season started, after a long day of playing, the team decided to go out to get some food. Bradley Pratzner, a good friend of mine, discovered an all-you-can-eat chicken wings offer for that night. It was a great plan. The offer also happened to be at Hooters. That made it an even greater plan.
It was my first time eating at Hooters, and the food wasn't all that. I honestly have no idea how the place stays in business. Anyway, several guys were there, including my boy XR, Xander Rizzello, who said he would rather kill a human being than a dog, in defense of Donte Stallworth over Michael Vick. I'm going to stay away from those two specific cases, but I'm just going to say that what Xander said that day rivals Dan Quayle's quotes for the dumbest things I have ever heard. It's alright though, because X does a killer impersonation of Pete Luzak. Kelsey and Nick were also there, and you know from my past blog posts that they have an affinity for claiming it to be my birthday, when it really isn't. Of course, they told the waitresses there that it was my birthday. Now, this was one of the most humiliating moments of my life (so far). To put it simply, I was flustered. At first when they invited me up, I cowered in the corner for the whole restaurant to see. Then, when I finally gathered up the courage to walk to where they wanted me to, they asked me my age. This totally caught me off guard. At first I said 17, but then I quickly changed my answer to 16. I'm sure it made it sound as if it wasn't my birthday. That probably had something to do with what the Hooters girls made me do next. I was forced to stand up on a chair, holding a plastic cup with my mouth and holding two take-out trays under each arm. They were my beak and my wings, of course. Then the entire restaurant preceded to sing Happy Birthday to me, while I flapped my wings in shame. When I sat down, one of the Hooters girls pretty much pulled an Annalise Penikis and ate a Big Mac on me. (Shout-out! Even though she will probably kill me!!) Still basking in my embarrassment, I just wasn't having any of it. She got the message pretty quickly when I told her "I have no idea where I got my shirt, and I don't find it relevant at all." In retrospect, I totally spat in her Big Mac. So this is my formal apology: I'm sorry, Hooters girl.
Most of you know how I like following in the footsteps of my inspiration, Mark Titus. It's odd to say this, but I may have out-Titused Titus this year. First, I sat on the end of the bench all soccer season (I did happen to score one goal. It was glorious). It was a lot of fun, even though I wasn't high enough on the totem pole to be Strath Haven's version of the Human Victory Cigar. I'm not cool enough to be one, seeing as Omari was the first (and best) for Swarthmore last season. Besides sitting on the bench for soccer, I have also become the manager for the basketball team.
One of the reasons I have decided to start the blog up again is that I was specifically asked by K-Vale, Kevin Valentino, when the next post would be. He asked me this on the basketball bus, so I thought it was appropriate to include that in this section. Anyway, Mark Titus was the manager for the Ohio State basketball team too, before he started playing as a walk-on. The only difference between us is that he has a wet jumper, while I (only sometimes) have wet pants, thanks to the lady who spilled her water all over me during the Marple Newtown game.
Not only am I managing the basketball team, but I also run winter track. Yeah, I know what you are thinking. Winter track, basketball manager, soccer team, Panther Press, the Soup Kitchen, various other small-sided tasks. How do I do it? The truth is I'm not really sure. Even though I have more on my plate than Tiger Woods does, I'd say I'm handling it pretty well.
I joined winter track for a few reasons. One of them was that I thought it was called "Indoor track." I learned the hard way that distance runners don't run inside (By the way, have you ever noticed that distance runners is an extremely unspecific term. Everyone that does track runs at least some distance, so, technically, everybody is a distance runner). Another reason I saw fit to join was the fact that Coach Ed coaches winter track as well. This, believe it or not, has fallen to pieces too. The other day at intervals, Coach Ed started yelling at me. In hindsight, he didn't really yell at me, and I actually did deserve it. I sort of went on a full sprint in the outside lane (It only let me pass about half of the runners. Take that statistic as you will) and finished with a Desmond Howard Heisman pose. The last part probably would have been fine, if I wasn't supposed to be running while I was doing it. We had our first meet on Saturday, and I hate it already. Besides the fact that we have to wear really, really short shorts (repetition at its finest), I faced other kids who are more athletically-gifted and who have better work ethic than I do. Oh yeah, and we have to wake up at 6 in the morning. Track is seeming more and more like a great decision to me every day.
___________________________________________________
In the past few days, I have taken a likening to the show The Sing Off. If you haven't been watching, you need to. And I'm saying this now so no one takes my idea: Nota is the best, and they are going to win the entire thing. Their rendition of Down last night was probably the best thing I have ever seen.
___________________________________________________
Over Thanksgiving, I was lucky enough to spend time with my family. We happened to go to Midnight Madness at the Limerick Outlets, and it was truly Madness. We snuck in a backway to beat the traffic, and it was really a sight to behold, even though we didn't end up buying anything. We actually ended up going to the Ruby Tuesdays. Yes, it was 2 in the morning, but, just like Lucky Charms, their brunch menu was magically delicious. The person who was loving it the most was my cousin, David (For the record, the person who was loving it the least was my cousin Evan. He got left at home). He said he had the most fun he ever had in his life. The scary, and somewhat pathetic part (sorry Dave) is that he is being truthful. David also recommended a video for me to use for my next blog entry. He had been bugging me about it, so there was no way I wasn't going to use it. Also, it was a great selection. I had never seen this video of Carlton, and it is better than any Fresh Prince link I have ever put on here. Without further ado, the World Famous Carlton Dance.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Best Beards in Baseball: The 2009 Philadelphia Phillies
It certainly has been a while since my last post. In fact, it has been five weeks by this Monday. I'm sure most, if not all, of you thought this blog was dead, but I'm here to quell those rumors. This post is probably going to be very rusty, but the potential of this comeback is limitless. Come to think of it, I feel eerily similar to Michael Vick. Except instead of being away for almost two years, it's only been a month. And instead of spending my time in federal prison, I spent it in the comfort of my own home and unfortunately, school.
That brings up another thing that has happened since I last posted. Summer has ceased to exist and the dreaded school year has started up again. I, for one, find it ironic how everyone painfully awaits the end of school to get here, only to do mostly nothing once it actually comes. All that talk is moot now, though, since summer is over.
One reason I like baseball is because the season goes from the end of one school year, through the summer months, and through the start of the new school year. Another reason why I like baseball is the facial hair stylings of my hometown Philadelphia Phillies.
It is no secret to anyone that I love beards. Whether it be Greg Oden's beard, in all its mystical glory, or Kurt Warner's buzz beard, I have repeatedly been mesmerized by beards, and my lack of ability to grow them, in the blog. It may be a coincidence that I am subject to viewing the team with the greatest collection of facial hair in the league. For example, if someone asks me Phillies or Yankees, you all know what I will answer (TBD has been notorious for asking this question, with the answer being a little different than mine. Think almonds). It will of course be the Phillies, just because of their beard-growing ability. The Yankees aren't even allowed to have facial hair. In fact, they robbed the world of viewing a real-life Geico caveman from playing in baseball. Even if Johnny Damon didn't shave, the Phillies could do them one better, leading us to the first Fightin' on our list: The Wolfman.
1. Jayson Werth. Although he isn't as close to being "Big Sexy with the Glasses" as he was with the Orioles (if you didn't click on that link, trust me, you want to), he still makes looks damn good with his skinny goatee. That along with his beard (when he wants to have it) make for a look anyone would be jealous of.
"I love em', I don't leave em'. I got a vasectomy, now I can't breed em'"
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
That brings up another thing that has happened since I last posted. Summer has ceased to exist and the dreaded school year has started up again. I, for one, find it ironic how everyone painfully awaits the end of school to get here, only to do mostly nothing once it actually comes. All that talk is moot now, though, since summer is over.
One reason I like baseball is because the season goes from the end of one school year, through the summer months, and through the start of the new school year. Another reason why I like baseball is the facial hair stylings of my hometown Philadelphia Phillies.
It is no secret to anyone that I love beards. Whether it be Greg Oden's beard, in all its mystical glory, or Kurt Warner's buzz beard, I have repeatedly been mesmerized by beards, and my lack of ability to grow them, in the blog. It may be a coincidence that I am subject to viewing the team with the greatest collection of facial hair in the league. For example, if someone asks me Phillies or Yankees, you all know what I will answer (TBD has been notorious for asking this question, with the answer being a little different than mine. Think almonds). It will of course be the Phillies, just because of their beard-growing ability. The Yankees aren't even allowed to have facial hair. In fact, they robbed the world of viewing a real-life Geico caveman from playing in baseball. Even if Johnny Damon didn't shave, the Phillies could do them one better, leading us to the first Fightin' on our list: The Wolfman.
1. Jayson Werth. Although he isn't as close to being "Big Sexy with the Glasses" as he was with the Orioles (if you didn't click on that link, trust me, you want to), he still makes looks damn good with his skinny goatee. That along with his beard (when he wants to have it) make for a look anyone would be jealous of.
2. Eric Bruntlett. This is truly a beard that Greg Oden would be jealous of. The fact that it covers his whole face makes for a wonderful piece of facial hair, not to mention that the consistent thickness of the beard makes it fit for a lumberjack. Call me crazy, but Bruntlett being blonde makes for a unique, yet much appreciated change-up from dark beards everywhere. (Honorable mention for this type of beard: Pedro Feliz. Pete Happy's beard is neither as full nor is it as recognizable, but I applaud his effort.)
3. Raúl Ibáñez. Rauuuuuuuuul (which originated with Raul G. Ordoñez, the greatest player in Swarthmore basketball history) is more of a classy guy, so he doesn't have any absurd looking goatees or full beards like his counterparts. Instead, he goes all class, with a simple soul patch. It says "I'm a gentleman, but I know how to show a lady a good time." In particular, I imagine said good time going down at some type of 70's disco.
4/5. Brad Lidge and Scott Eyre. The reason I am grouping these two relievers together is because they are both Greg Oden beard wanna-be's. There is a downside to this pursuit, seeing as Eyre is on the disabled list and Brad Lidge is having a worse season than, well, I can't really think of anyone who has had a worse season than Brad Lidge right now.
6. Brett Myers. I'm not showing this beard on the blog because honestly, it is atrocious. I do not want to make the readers of this blog simultaneously vomit and laugh hysterically, even though I would like to see what something like that would look like. Anyway, it's almost as bad as Ryan Franklin's beard, which I'm not even going to link here. It's half out of laziness, and half out of the policy that I'm not allowed to link something that I can't even look at myself on the blog.
Honorable Mentions: Chad Durbin (just as much neck as it is chin), Chase Utley (rugged), and Ryan Howard (all chin).
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With the start of school also comes the start of football season. Don't be mistaken by my lack of talk about the Eagles, they are my team. By "my team," I mean my favorite team. Come to think of it, they aren't as beloved as the Swarthmore Garnet Men's Soccer team, but besides that, there is no team that rivals them. Not even the Villanova Wildcats.
Also coming with football is fantasy football. This was previously my territory, probably even more so than blogging. I figured out that I had literally won 40 straight games on Yahoo. That is before last week, when I was taken down by O-Star Superstar. It was only because of Drew Brees, who faced the Detroit Lions, and their pathetic secondary. I was thinking of having me, Fat Dub, Jeffrey J. and my Grandmom (the one that can dunk) guest start for the Lions' secondary just to stop Drew Brees in Week 1. I probably should have, since he threw for 6 touchdowns and all. Anyway, what's done is done, and the loss is overwith. I'll recover somehow. When I realized I had lost on Tuesday morning, I listened to my favorite post-loss song at least 1,341 times. Something tells me my three-headed running back tandem of Michael Turner, Steven Jackson, and LaToeInjury Tomlinson were listening to it as well.
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It has been a while since I've posted, so I'm bypassing the video requests this post in favor of one of my favorite videos. Ever. Shaq got a raw deal for this rap, because in my opinion (and in TBD's), it is one of the illest freestyles ever.
"I love em', I don't leave em'. I got a vasectomy, now I can't breed em'"
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
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