Blogger On Blogger Violence

Over at my other site, a semi-anonymous commenter made a last-ditch plea for Ben and me to stop jawing at one another before we end up mortgaging our friendship for a few cheap shots: 

you guys are going to hate each other on a very, very personal level if you keep this blog going.

A close friend also recently told me our blog posts don’t read as if we’re having any fun, which was--and is-- the point of the entire enterprise. The two criticisms, if you could even call them that, go hand in hand. I’ve come to realize tone is tricky, and our particular type of humor, while admittedly caustic, loses some of its nuance in print. In trying to write authoritatively, we’ve inadvertently come off as more combative than he or I ever intended, splashing the waters a bit too forcefully for others who might be inclined to dip their toes.

Suffice it to say, Ben and I are not in any danger of one day taking a hatchet to each another. At least I’m not. I shouldn’t speak for him. It’s always the quiet ones, isn't it? 

When Smart People Say Dumb Sh*t

I've said my share over at my other site. There's just something about the Patriots--and their fans--that gets under my skin. Maybe it's the organization's arrogance, or the head coach's smugness. Either way, both traits seem to have rubbed off on their fan base, like an incurable contagion. I'm a Jets fan, which means I'm infected with hostility and delusion, and a virulent strain of self-defeating perversity. Ours, then, is a symbiotic relationship, entirely dysfunctional and borderline hostile. The sickly Ying and gangrenous Yang of sports. At least it makes for good copy.    

San Francisco, Chronicled

I spent last week in San Francisco. I’ve visited the city a number of times, but never experienced it through the eyes of a native. The experience is vastly different and much more rewarding. For four days, I knocked around the Richmond District, which runs along Golden Gate Park until the Pacific, and is home to one of the best sushi places in the Western world. I also ate my weight in Mexican food at a tacqueria in the Mission and stopped by City Lights, where I picked up a copy of William Carlos William's In the American Grain and Ron Hansen's Desperadoes. Two solid purchases. 

Speaking of literature, while cutting across Haight Street, I came up with a short story about a gang of affluent kids who go around beating up hippies. If I ever get around to writing it, I'm going to call it "Nixon's Holiday." 

Later, my mind once again clear, I took in this stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge at Baker Beach, which I captured on my cell phone, before reluctantly heading back to New York Saturday evening. 

This was my fourth trip to San Francisco, and it really is an amazing, beautiful city. It's such a calm, inviting place. A fact that was further illuminated almost immediately after I landed, when I was scrunched in the back of a smelly New York City cab, while the driver, screaming into his headset, raced on adrenaline, instinct and blind luck across the Belt Parkway through Queens. 

I can't say I missed New York, at least not entirely. Although I would have liked to have been in town during the World Series. I did manage to catch Game 6 in San Francisco. I have to say, having a World Series game wrapped up before 9 p.m. is an odd feeling. I honestly didn’t know what to do after the final out. I felt a little bit cheated when I couldn’t turn to the YES’s postgame show to see the locker room celebration. I got over it, though, and spent the rest of the evening enjoying my new favorite city. The next morning, still on East Coast time, I fired a final salvo at my co-conspirator. My post elicited the desired response. 

Afterward, enshrouded in fog and heavily caffeinated, I started to feel like blogging, particularly blogging about sports, is undignified, and a total waste of time and energy. It probably is, and silly, too. I’ve come to terms with this. I expect to get back into a regular schedule this week.

King Rex

I know it's still early in the season, but I like what I've seen from the New York Jets. New coach Rex Ryan has them playing an aggressive, balls-to-the-wall defense. In two games thus far, the Jets' D has yet to give up a single touchdown. In fact, they've held the Texans and the Patriots, two superior offenses, to a total of nine points. They have a long way to go before anyone confuses them with the '86 Bears, but the defense is quickly making a name for itself. The offense, led by rookie quarterback Mark Sanchez, is doing its part, too. Yesterday, Sanchez put up better numbers than Tom Brady, delivering an impressive 16-play, 68-yard scoring drive to start the second half. Turns out, that would be enough, because the defense suffocated Brady and the Patriots for the game's final 30 minutes. No small feat. 

Like all good coaches, Ryan has lit a fire under his team--and its fan base--and it seems both would run through a wall for him, which is really half the battle. If he can keep this up--and that's a pretty big if-- Ryan could very well replace Bill Parcells as New York's favorite head coach. 

For more thoughts on the yesterday's game, please take a look at my other site, You're Wrong About Everything.