Telling Fortunes

I always have a good laugh when I hear people talk about the present, then play fortune teller about how things will be seen in the future.

Tonight, Larry "Shoulders" King had Bob Woodward on his show. Woodward's written another book saying Bush is a bozo who didn't lead, screwed up the Iraq war, so forth. Hardly a new idea for a book, but I guess they sell pretty well, which is why they get written in the first place.

Larry's interview ended like so many others regarding Bush: "How do you think history will see Bush?"

Woodward stunned the world by saying history will see Bush as a waste of space who screwed everything up, and that his legacy will suck.

Nonsense.

I have a voracious appetite for presidential biographies and, with the slight exception of Carter, almost no president is remembered very poorly. Over time, they all get their due, and time heals even historical wounds. A president's mistakes are pointed out (or hailed as virtues), and their missed opportunities are trumpeted (or not called "missed"), and in the end you are always left with this feeling: being the president is hard. And, on the whole, they all did the best they could. Sometimes they came up aces, other times not. So whether you dislike Bush or any other sitting president, it is complete hogwash to think that you know what "history" will say about them. No one knows. Not yet.

Nixon, the only president to resign from office, has managed to come back into the fold as the good president who did a good job, but made a bonehead move covering for his friends. Johnson, whose Vietnam war was a hurricane compared to Bush's Iraq rain shower, barely ever receives bad press today (come to think of it, he hardly receives any press at all). Kennedy, the philandering playboy and war lover, is remembered as a hero with a human touch. Truman, called "The Senator from Pendergast" in the '40s because of his political machine roots, is now hailed a tough, no-nonsense, hell of a guy. The US is still technically at war with North Korea because Truman didn't bring the conflict to a decisive conclusion, but hey, he fired MacArthur and had some good one liners, so let's give him a nice write-up.

I titter with laughter when I hear journalists or historians attempt to tell the future about a president's legacy. Lately, a good many of these fortune tellers have been lionizing Lincoln. Lincoln comes and goes as a topic of presidential history every ten years or so, and it looks like his number's up again in 2008.

When you hear Lincoln's name mentioned today, you could be forgiven for thinking that the Illinois country boy was born with a halo. So let us harken back to an episode in the life of Lincoln.

Lincoln. The man. The myth. The legend. The Leader.

The scene: Lincoln on a stage in Pennsylvania. He has just finished a speech. Historian Shelby Foote writes:

He finished before the crowd, a good part of whose attention had been fixed on the photographer anyhow, realized that he was fairly launched on what he had to say. In reaction to what a later observer described as the "almost shocking brevity" of the speech, especially by the one that went before, the applause was delayed, then scattered and barely polite. Moreover, the photographer missed his picture. Before he had time to adjust his tripod and uncap the lens, Lincoln had said "of the people, by the people, for the people" and sat down, leaving the artist with the feeling that he had been robbed. Apparently many of those present felt the same way, agreeing in advance with what the Chicago Times would say tomorrow about the President's performance here today: "The cheek of every American must tingle with shame as he reads the silly, flat, and dishwatery utterances of the man who has to be pointed out to intelligent foreigners as the President of the United States." In fact, as he resumed his seat alongside his friend Lamon and heard the perfunctory spatter of applause whose brevity matched his own, the speaker was taken with a feeling of regret that he had not measured up to what had been expected of him. Recalling a word used on the prairie in reference to a plow that would not clean itself while shearing through wet soil, he said gloomily: "Lamon, that speech won't scour. It is a flat failure and the people are disappointed."

That speech was the Gettysburg Address. It's the one that starts with, "Fourscore and seven years ago..." Schoolchildren memorize it, and it is one of the two speeches whose words are carved into the walls of the Lincoln Memorial.

History's a funny thing.

Football Back

The first Sunday of the new football season kicks off today. Here's what I had to say about the great game of 22-men-trying-to-knock-each-other-over a couple of years back:

One thing about football is that it helps you mark the time. From kickoff on Sunday afternoon, to the last whistle on Monday night, all you think about is football. You eat it in the form of chilli and cheese. You drink it in the form of Budweiser beer (unless you had a particularly hard Saturday night, in which case you drink football in the form of orange juice and aspirin). You sleep it in the fitful rest of a man who took a lousy quarterback in the fantasy draft. More...

The End Is Nigh

Who says environmentalism isn't a religion? It even comes with its own Book of Revelation. Here's the end of the world, according to two writers at the Vancouver Sun. The headline: What Climate Change Will Do To Our Province. These two troubadours don't give a specific timeframe for the beginning of the end. Rather, the following takes place in the - quiet drumroll - near future...

A warmer climate makes B.C. more accommodating for once-exotic diseases, pushing health authorities to extraordinary measures to protect the public.

There are more frequent civil emergencies brought on by extreme weather events such as wind, snow and rainstorms, power outages and flooding. Warmer year-round average temperatures accommodate mosquitoes and ticks that spread diseases such as malaria, dengue fever, and Lyme disease.

Funny. That sounds like East Hastings as it is right now. No global warming required.

The article goes on to warn that rats will infest the cities, and by 2050 it will be too hot to grow apples in the Okanagan Valley.

Nothing like scaring the hell out of readers by running a fairy tale in the news section. The end is nigh! Drive a hybrid! Turn off the AC! Repent! Global Warming will kill your kids! Oh, and can you spare some tickets to the Winter Olympics in 2010?

As I Was Saying (IV)

I got an email from a buddy of mine, who's telling me lay off the political stuff for a while and get back to talking about important things like baseball and sex. He says politics is boring and that he doesn't want to read political screeds every day.

He has a point. But after a long summer hiatus of more or less keeping my mouth shut, I've got to weigh in on the most interesting presidential race I've ever seen (I wrote a few months back that I wouldn't be talking about the race until I saw how things shook out; consider them shook).

Here's another update from my As I Was Saying series. This is from Froma Harrop. See what you think of this little piece of high-brow journalism:

"I had dinner last night with a Republican-leaning independent who was despondent over John McCain's choice of Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as his running mate. She had been looking forward to supporting McCain as a fiscal conservative with a deep understanding of foreign relations. But all she could now see was that picture of Palin's pregnant 17-year-old looking defiant and stupid as she held mom's fifth baby."

Nice. A great cheapshot. Nothing like beating up on a teenager to make a professional journalist feel mighty and brave. As for me, I didn't see Palin's kid as "defiant and stupid." She just looked like a teenager watching a speech, one of the hundreds we've seen over the years in those "cut away to the family while the candidate speaks" shots. However, I've never seen a journalist actually comment on those shots in order to indict the candidate.

Harrop ends off her sharp political analysis this way: "Palin supporters insist that her out-of-control home life will resonate with many American families. Yes, if they're from Mars or perhaps on welfare."

I don't get it. Only Martians on welfare have problems at home? But that's the way it is now. All it took to make kids eligible receivers for the mud journalists sling is a woman on the Republican ticket.

I am screaming with laughter at how quickly and violently these journalists' views have come to the fore.

Remember, I have no problem with people picking on a politician for the issues and some parts of their own personal life (Kids? No. Hooked on heroin? Yes). It's when they go after the kids that I think it's gone too far. Journalist Nick Clooney (George Clooney's pop) said that he wouldn't have gone there in the past, and he wouldn't do it now. An editor from Time magazine was asked about Palin's kid, and he asked for another question, refusing to talk about it. That pissed me off, because it meant I might actually have to subscribe to Time.

So yes, this election might really be about change.

The Week That Was

If you know me at all, then you know my love of political cartoonists, whether they're left or right. I knew this week would provide some great ones. Here's my favorites. Click to enlarge.

Joe Heller:


Nate Beeler:


Pat Bagley:


John Cole:


Randy Bish:


And a good one from Cardow, at the Ottawa Citizen:

As I Was Saying (III)...

The grand dame of all things Venus has weighed in on the Palin pick. Gloria Steinem:

"To vote in protest for McCain/Palin would be like saying, "Somebody stole my shoes, so I'll amputate my legs."

This is not to beat up on Palin. I defend her right to be wrong, even on issues that matter most to me. I regret that people say she can't do the job because she has children in need of care, especially if they wouldn't say the same about a father. I get no pleasure from imagining her in the spotlight on national and foreign policy issues about which she has zero background, with one month to learn to compete with Sen. Joe Biden's 37 years' experience."

Yup, poor Sarah Palin, baby factory extraordinaire, is going to have a hell of a tough time against wise Father Joe. No paternalism there.

Thanks, Ms. Steinem. I couldn't have asked for anyone better than you to back up my claim that the harshest critics of Palin are going to be the women who stand up for women...as long as they're cut from the proper political cloth.

Palin got barefoot, pregnant, and successful. What a disgrace.

According to Queen Gloria, the only thing Palin has in common with Hillary Clinton is one chromosome. Sighs of relief all around. Gloria goes on, "[Palin] opposes just about every issue that women support by a majority or plurality. She believes that creationism should be taught in public schools but disbelieves global warming."

Is this the best that Steinem's got? Global warming? Creationism? If believing in man-made global warming is at the top of the list that a plurality of women should be worrying about, then we're in deep trouble.

"Feminist" Gloria Steinem
As for creationism, big deal. When I was in a Catholic school, I had to learn about Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, on and on. And I'm glad I did. English Lit made a lot more sense once I knew what the hell Shakespeare and Hemingway were using as symbolic reference. Try reading any number of poets without a rudimentary knowledge of world religions, and you're out of luck. Besides, if we're all supposed to be one happy, inclusive family, isn't it a good idea to teach our kids what other people think of the world and life itself? (Sorry, forgot. You're only supposed to learn creationism in documentaries about dead civilizations like ancient Egypt and Rome).

I do like how the Big G put creationism and global warming together, since both are matters of faith. Message for Gloria: Al Gore may be your god, and environmentalism your religion. But it isn't everybody's. And Gloria, just for the record, there might be a reason Palin doesn't buy the global warming routine: she lives in Alaska.

Cartoon: Daryl Cagle
Photo: New York Magazine

Palin's Speech

Palin gave a good speech tonight. Not an excellent one, but a good one. Unfortunately for her, the media are raving about it. This can only mean that she's going to get hammered by the press over the next 60 days. "Hey, she was wonderful! (Psst. Sharpen the axe)."

A few thoughts after watching the first female Republican nominee for VP.

1) The Republican delegates in the hall still love Bush, but that doesn't mean the McCain camp thinks it's a good idea to mention him during the convention. Bush gave his address the other night, and that was all you're going to hear from or about the President. Tonight, Bush's name was not mentioned once. There were over half-a-dozen speakers, capped off by Palin, and not one of them said Bush's name even in passing. In a funny way, this election is almost like watching the Republican McCain and the Democrat Obama running to succeed the Other Party Bush.

2) It has been a weird, weird, weird week. McCain has thrown the election on its head. A week ago today, no one outside of politics had heard of Palin. Two days later, she's accused of covering up the true identity of her son. The next day, it's announced that her daughter is pregnant, so the slander about her son is false. Two days after that, Palin is giving a speech to accept her nomination.

3) During her speech, Palin gave as good as she got. She knocked the media, took a run at Obama, and didn't twirl her hair even once. Lefty bloggers are shocked. "My God. She can string a sentence together."

4) The speech wasn't excellent, because it should have ended off with another story of her small town roots. Instead, it ended with more stuff about McCain. They should have bookended the speech with another story from Alaska, maybe how she managed her and her husband's business while juggling family life, found the American dream, so forth. That kind of stuff will play in the heartland. Ending on the McCain deal seemed anti-climactic.

5) Speaking of anti-climactic, if McCain doesn't give a good speech, people might think Palin's the presidential nominee. Then again, maybe McCain doesn't mind that.

6) The foreign policy stuff in the speech sounded a little too pat, as if to prove she can pronounce words like "Caucasus," as in the Caucasus Mountains. These statements were no doubt used to get people off her back about a lack of foreign policy experience, but it sounded tin-eared next to the life story stuff. More life story, less Caucasus would have been the way to go.

7) Her duty now is to head out and start talking to blue collar workers, single moms, rural Americans, and family coalitions (especially any that involve kids with special needs; this was probably the most poignant part of her speech, and it came early on).

8) If anything, this is the most interesting presidential race in my lifetime. Nothing even comes close. This also had to be the first time in history that people were excited to hear a VP nominee accept the nomination.

And Now, The Weather

When I was a kid, I used to wonder why the weatherman always had to stand outside when he did the weather. Being Toronto, it usually meant he was standing in a snow squall or a hail storm, but no matter. There he'd be, the Fearless Weathermen, neck deep in snow, parka flapping in the breeze, breath whisked away on a -10 breeze (-50 with the windchill).

Over time, the Fearless Weatherman became the Hearty Weathergirl. Blonde hair whipping in the wind as her cap flew off, or yelping in surprise when some smartass chucked a snowball at her head.

Weather guys always have to stand outside in bad weather. I never get that. If the weather's nice, they stand inside and provide comedy relief for the morning show. But if the weather turns ugly, they race into the path of destruction to do exactly what they could have done from the safety of the studio: tell you that it's raining, as if we wouldn't believe it unless we saw the weather guy get flattened.

Tuning in to the Gustav coverage a couple of days ago reminded me why I love Weather People so much. Just when I need someone to show me how dense media types are, in comes the "meteorologist." Their title leads us to believe that these are very smart people, making complex decisions about the forces of nataure. In fact, they are idiots that don't know enough to come in from the rain.

A few years back, during the media's love affair with Katrina, I remember one moron standing in the street, struggling to remain on his feet. He yelled that it was very windy. He yelled that it was raining very hard. Then he picked up a piece of wood, let it go, and watched it roll away down the street. He repeated that it was windy. Finally he said he was going to find some cover, ran back to the cameraman, huddled against the wall, said his own dumbass name, and was promptly hit by another gust of wind and face planted the cement. He then got up and said he'd find more cover.

The anchorwoman said, "Good idea, Brian," chuckle, chuckle.

Weather guys always require laughter. They're the clowns of the media, entertaining us when things get bad. Though their colleagues always say, "Be careful out there," at the end of every clip, secretly the anchors want the weather guys to get their heads cut off by flying sheet metal. Makes for great video, and allows the anchor to raise an eyebrow in the Face Of Great Concern.

Another favourite of mine is the weather girl from the Weather Channel. I think it was during Hurricane Dolly. She was being pelted by rain and could barely stand on her feet. She yelled that the back window of the crew's SUV had already been blown out--and then she was cut off, as a gust of wind threw her face first into another SUV. Let's go to the video:



You be careful out there.

As I Was Saying (II)...

Flipping through the papers today, I found a pretty decent hatchet job from Maureen Dowd. She's the lady at the New York Times who goes on strange rants against all things Bush. Sometimes she's entertaining, other times just plain whacko. And to judge from her photo, she doesn't mind throwing rocks in a glass house over the sultry, let-your-hair-down look.

Dowd
Dowd has weighed in on the Palin Pick, and she lines up nicely with my theory that it is women who will tear down another woman because of their image. Gender takes a back seat when politics is involved, even for the most die hard feminist. Here's Dowd:

"This chick flick, naturally, features a wild stroke of fate, when the two-year governor of an oversized igloo becomes commander in chief after the president-elect chokes on a pretzel on day one.

The movie ends with the former beauty queen shaking out her pinned-up hair, taking off her glasses, slipping on ruby red peep-toe platform heels that reveal a pink French-style pedicure, and facing down Vladimir Putin in an island in the Bering Strait. Putting away her breast pump, she points her rifle and informs him frostily that she has some expertise in Russia because it’s close to Alaska. “Back off, Commie dude,” she says. “I’m a much better shot than Cheney.”

Reading this stuff gets me a little more in touch with my feminine side. So far, lefty bloggers and writers are hammering Palin not on the issues, but the fact that she's a woman. The Huffington Post (run by noted feminist Arianna Huffinton) and Daily Kos, two of the more demented websites, are examining pictures of Palin's 17-year-old daughter and claiming that Palin's newborn actually belongs to her. Mainstream papers have also picked up the story. The little boy's been alive for only a few months, and already he's accused of being a bastard.

As it turns out, Palin's daughter is 5 months pregnant right now, so it's impossible that she gave birth in May. Today, the Palin camp released news of the 17-year-old's pregnancy, because they were shocked at the brother/mother rumours and thought they should be put down before the 17-year-old's life was smeared beyond repair.

And you know what's coming now, don't you? The first rumour will disappear in the blink of an eye, to be replaced by a slaughtering of Palin's judgement. I can see it already: "She can't even keep her kid from getting knocked up. How will she be a good VP?"

This is nasty territory, and shows the new age of politics we're living in. Before now, a politician's kids were virtually off-limits unless it came to legal matters. Even then, news stories on a candidate's kids were scant. But that was before a woman was on the Republican ticket in the era of 24-hour news.

Ask yourself if a man would face such scrutiny of his infant son, or his choice of suit and tie? Here's a look at how Andrew Sullivan, over at The Atlantic, thinks you should treat a rumour of this sort. It comes under the headline She Looks Pregnant Here:

"Here's a photo that looks like it confirms Palin's pregnancy, uploaded today, on what was the last day of the Alaska Legislature's Session, on April 13, 2008, five days before Trig Palin was born. More here. This seems to put the kibbosh on this, although it would still be good to have official confirmation from the McCain campaign, which should be easy enough to do. Just a simple confirmation from the doctor who was present at the birth."

It will get worse.

Photo: New York Times

Laughing In The Face Of Death

I've been hitting the keys a lot lately regarding the presidential race down in the States. That's not good for me, because I like to switch it up now and then in case I get pigeonholed. Plus, most of my friends are hippy dippy left wingers, so I get a lot of angry emails, usually referring to me as conservative. I still take issue with that, but I'll leave it for another day.

In any case, this Youtube clip is worth highlighting. If a Republican came even close to yucking it up over the potential death and destruction caused by a hurricane, he'd be absolutely lambasted in the press.

So, to follow on the heels of Michael Moore saying that Hurricane Gustav shows there's a God in Heaven because it might hit during the Republican Convention, here's former Democratic Committee Chairman Don Fowler and current Democratic Congressman John Spratt. They were recorded while sitting beside each other on an airplane. Like Michael Moore, Fowler thinks the hurricane shows God is on "their side," because it's due to strike New Orleans on Monday, the same day the RNC begins.

Disgusting.

Here's more commentary from the guy who recording it.

Political Murmur

Watching Barack Obama's acceptance speech was a bit like watching an Obama speech from last week...or last month...or three months before that.

I've been waiting for Obama to lay down specifics about what he would do as president to effect the "change we can believe in." Tonight I thought I might get my wish, as he finally said he'd spell it out in no uncertain terms.

So he said he would cut taxes, and he said he would look into clean coal fuel, and he said he would solve global warming. Oh, and end dependence on foreign oil within 10 years, as if anyone seriously thinks a president can cause such things to happen.

And that was about it, though he did make one passing reference to Russia's invasion of Georgia. One would think that the threat of a new Cold War might be worth expanding upon when running for president, but who's got time? Besides, Democrats are used to holidays from history, as they enjoyed during Clinton's eight year run.

For Obama tonight, it was back to saying that 4 more years of Bush was too much, apparently forgetting that he isn't running against Dubya. Obama even said, "Eight is enough," and the crowd took up the call, chanting "Eight is enough," over and over again, making the Mile High stadium sound like it was full of old sit-com lovers.

John McCain's old, there's no doubt about that. But Obama's message is getting even older. It's all sunshine and roses, and no specifics. Even when he is specific, he makes me wonder which books he's reading. No more dependence on foreign oil? That might be a nice way of saying "Islamic terror" without saying it, but it won't do much to endear him to Canadians. Canada exports most of its oil across the border to the United States, and gives the US more oil than anyone in the Middle East ever has (Canada comes first, Saudi Arabia second, Mexico third; so should the Mexicans be nervous, too?). When a presidential candidate starts talking about ending dependency on foreign oil, Albertans would do well to take an interest.

When McCain and Obama meet in the debates, perhaps I will learn more about Obama's plan, but I doubt it. It's the same old message of ending the Bush era. Beyond that, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Kids in college, free health care, lots of jobs, and everyone with great pension plans. Tonight he unveiled a new timetable for pulling troops out of Iraq: 16 months. And as I watched him say it, I thought, "Where'd he get that number?" Why not two? Why not twenty? He didn't bother to say.

As for where he'll get the money to pay for his health-care-mucho-jobs-et-cetera platform, Obama said that he would go through the Federal budget line by line and scratch out the money wasting items. He didn't say this as an exaggeration. He actually seemed to mean it. Which tells me that he thinks he'll have a hell of a lot of time on his hands in the Oval Office, seeing as the Federal budget is over 50, 000 pages long.

One thing you don't hear much about these days is the good job Bush has done. I know that sounds in bad taste these days, but I was amused to read an article by a Democratic university professor. He said he hated Bush but...no terror attacks in the US since 9/11, and an economy that has only begun to go soft in the past 8 months. As the professor said, "Am I missing something?" He thought Bush had done exactly what he'd set out to do, and had done it fairly well. Though the professor hated the bumbling Bush, he had to admit that things had been going pretty well since Bush got elected and re-elected. With Iraq calming down to the point where you don't see it in the news anymore, and the price of jeans at Wal-Mart still sitting at 12 dollars, you have to wonder if the professor might be right (though let's face it, in the end it was the gas prices, and not war, that turned Bush into a whipping boy; if it had been war, he'd have been out of a job back in 2004).

I wonder if Obama's message is good enough: "No more Bush." Okay...but then what? And can you do better? If so, you'd better be quick about it, or you'll find yourself a very lonely man. Wouldn't that be a change?

A Few Thoughts From On The Road

I've been busy lately...all right, that's a lie. Not the busy part, but the rest of the lie I was going to tell. Which was, "I've been busy lately, which is why I haven't written in a while..."

I've used that one already this summer, and though it was mostly true before, it's mostly BS now. Fact is, though busy, I have discovered that writing is becoming more and more of a September-through-May sport. Summer just seems to drive the writing bug away.

In any event, I've been on the road in the States for a couple of weeks. A lot's been going on. Olympics. Democratic Conventions. Florida floods. Tampa Bay Rays still leading the AL East.

A few thoughts:

I was watching Fox News, and Wyclef, a guy from the Fugees, told Greta that the Obama ticket shows we're living in "historic times." Obviously it sounded like a big deal to Greta, as she bobbed her head in agreement. My question: when are any times not historic? If a girl's pet gerbil dies, it's a historic time. If an old man farts on a lawn chair, it's a historic time. If an ex-lawyer interviews a rapper and asks for political insight, it's a historic time. All time is historic time.

Why is there no outrage about the Florida floods? And why was there no outrage about the Mississippi floods earlier this year? Thousands of homes destroyed, tens of thousands of people homeless. I thought storms and floods were all the President's fault, but it turns out it only matters if a state has a city named New Orleans.

I was at a minor league baseball game tonight and I was struck by two things. 1) the difference between a minor leaguer and a major leaguer is about .10 seconds, or a little shorter than the time it takes to say the word "seconds." It takes that much longer for a minor league third baseman to get a grounder over to first base. A tenth of a second is all that separates him from the major leagues, but he will probably never cut down that microsecond. That must be frustrating as hell. 2) When a minor league batter hits a ball into the outfield, you still hold your breath thinking the outfielder might drop it, no matter how easy the flyball. When watching the majors, a pop fly means it's time to go to the john. You don't even bother watching the fielder make the catch, because he almost always does. In a funny way, this makes minor league ball the better game to watch.

Everyone wants to know if Vancouver's Opening Ceremonies will be just as good as China's. Meanwhile, the Chinese political prisoner just wants to know if he can go home.

I saw that another kid went missing, and the news shows are having a field day. I think her name is Caylee, but I can't be bothered looking it up. With all of the kids that go missing every month, how do the media pick that one kid? I'm sure more than a few kids wind up dead or missing while people are on vacation, but why was that missing-in-Portugal kid the only one in the news? I feel bad for the parents of a missing kid that call the news stations and say their kid is gone, only to hear a news producer say, "Sorry. We've got our overseas-dead-kid story for the year. Try back in January."

Lying Scores Another Perfect 10

And the beat of the lying drum goes on. The AP reports that they've found evidence that at least one member of the Chinese gymnastics team isn't yet 16 years old.

16 is the age of eligibility for a gymnast to compete in the Olympic games. But as with all things Olympic, we are asked to avert our eyes at anything that might taint our view of this sham of international harmony.

Says the AP:

In its report Nov. 3, Xinhua identified He as one of "10 big new stars" who made a splash at China's Cities Games. It gave her age as 13 and reported that she beat Yang Yilin on the uneven bars at those games. In the final, "this little girl" pulled off a difficult release move on the bars known as the Li Na, named for another Chinese gymnast, Xinhua said in the report, which appeared on one of its Web sites, http://www.hb.xinhuanet.com.

The Associated Press found the Xinhua report on the site Thursday morning and saved a copy of the page. Later that afternoon, the Web site was still working but the page was no longer accessible. Sports editors at the state-run news agency would not comment for publication.

Sent backstage
So that makes at least three lies to come out of the Beijing Olympics so far. First was the phony fireworks during the Opening Ceremonies. Then there was the poor child that was pushed backstage in favour of a pretty face, at the request of a Chinese Politburo member. The politician thought the little girl was bucktoothed, and told the event organizers to bring out the hook. The bucktoothed child sang the Olympic anthem, all right, but the pretty face lip-synched the tune. And now you have a gymnast who has aged three years in nine months.

A miracle? No, just another expected car crash in this insipid display of media hypocrisy colliding with a totalitarian regime.

You've gotta hand it to the Chinese for chutzpah. When they submitted He's passport to the corrupt IOC, they listed her birthdate as January 1, 1992. As is done in horse racing, they made sure her birthdate fell on the first day of the year, to ensure the IOC could do some easy math and give her a free ride. Which, of course, they dutifully did, though past records had He's age listed as January 1, 1994.

Lying about a gymnast's age is nothing new to China. At the 2000 games in Sydney, the Chinese entered a 14-year-old into the mix. She won a bronze medal, and later admitted that she and her coaches lied about her age. The fact that the IOC knew this, and did not investigate He's age for this year's games in Beijing, only proves how complicit they are in the host country's lies. The IOC's mantra is, "Shhh. Don't ruin it. The Olympics are perfect, and always will be."

Nothing will be allowed to disturb this Chinese Moment. No Chinese athlete will be found guilty of doping, and no Chinese gymnast will be stripped of a medal for any infraction. This is the Olympics, get it? Lie after lie will rain down upon you, and you will do your duty: like it, and ignore it. And by the way, how are you enjoying all of that 'mist' you're seeing in China right now? The only gold medal awarded in this Olympic farce should go to the longest lasting fog bank in history.

We're all a great big happy family. While a Chinese political prisoner sits in jail for surfing the internet, the little Chinese girl receives a gold medal for doing handstands on a piece of playground equipment. While the Russian athlete hugs the Georgian athlete for swimming in a pool, the Russian president invades the Georgian countryside and bombs people to death. But hey, don't rock the boat. Michael Phelps might win another medal, wouldn't that be fantastic?

The only good thing to come out of these Olympic Games will be the closing ceremonies.

Some Change You Can Believe In

I wrote a few days ago that sometimes it's good to be the President. There was Bush, chatting up the ladies from the women's beach volleyball team. And there was Putin, getting ready to invade Georgia and make all of the John Edwards news look like the meaningless garbage that it is.

So much for "good to be the President." I can't think of too many worse photo opportunities than standing beside bikini-clad babes while the "good friend" leader of Russia decides to rip Georgia in half.

In a flash, Putin put paid to how irrelevant are so many things that the so-called international community takes as sacred: the United Nations, the Security Council, the Olympics, the European Union.

Once again we find ourselves with Europe in trouble, and all eyes looking to the US for answers. It's only natural. When confronted by a tyrant, soft power fetishists go looking to men that fight to solve their problems.

Europe is the source of most of history's troubles, and they gave us the majority of the 20th century's tyrants and basket cases. Franco, Hitler, Mussolini, Milosevic, Lenin, Stalin, Putin.

I include the Russkies in that list because for all intent and purpose, they might as well have been born "European." Lenin ran around Europe quite often while formulating his plans to liquidate undesirable people back home, and Stalin had his ass kissed so many times by Europeans that he probably thought he had an eclair stuck to his ass.

Putin, too, has been let off the hook time and again by the leaders of all Western countries, including those from Europe. He looked Western leaders in the eye, and he saw just what Hitler did so many years ago: appeasement.

Putin had to know they wouldn't do a thing when he invaded Georgia. He also had to know that it was going to take a while for the US to heat up and rise to the moment...if they ever would.

Putin's gambit is nothing new. According to him, there are people in Georgia sympathetic to Russia, and the Georgians are persecuting them. In order to protect these "friends of Russia," then Russia must hurry to their rescue.

If that sounds familiar, it is. Hitler pulled the same stunt regarding the Sudenten Germans in Czechoslovakia, and his plan worked. Hitler knew he could cut out a chunk of Czech simply by implying that he would invade in order to "liberate" the "Germans" living there. He didn't need to send in the tanks. Europe caved, and the Sudentenland was folded into the Reich. This was another example of European diplomacy, as they breathed a sigh of relief, feeling they'd averted a war. Of course, Poland and World War II were right around the corner.

There's a very real possibility of this scenario happening in Georgia. Now that the Russian tanks are there, how long do you think it will be before Europe caves yet again, and asks Georgia to grant Russia some concessions, including territory? If that happens, there's going to be interesting times ahead. If the US continues to back Georgia, they may send them cash and weapons, and pretty soon you have Afghanistan/Russia II. Europe, of course, will sit on the sidelines, content to criticize every move the United States makes while not getting their own hands dirty.

The UN is helpless to change any of this, of course. Even if the Security Council gets together and condemns Russia every day for the rest of the year, it won't matter in the least. Russia has veto power on the Security Council, so any resolutions passed would be quashed. Besides, to paraphrase Stalin, how many battalions does the UN have? Exactly zero.

It's up to Bush and the US to decide how much pressure they want to exert on the Russkies, and to see if the Russians will fold. That's an interesting problem. Putin is surely going to say that he can't negotiate with the current Georgian president, in which case Europeans will say that the Georgian president must step down for the good of peace.

That would be a grave mistake. Even if Russia were to leave Georgia, they would only do so after a puppet president was put into power there. Victory Russia. This would embolden them to take a look at the Ukraine, and decide if that democracy is also worth bullying into submission.

Look at it from Putin's point of view: what's to stop him? Only the Americans, who are busy fighting all over the world, and are caught up in a ridiculous presidential campaign that hinges on what the candidates voted for years ago.

The past is the past. The present has now arrived to give us some change you can really believe in.

So, is it sometimes good to be the president of the USA? Sure. As long as you like grey hair and long nights.

Sometimes, It's Good To Be The President

Bush with the US Olympic beach volleyball team.

AP Photo/Gerald Herbert

Dipping Your Pen In Political Ink

From ABC News:

"The Edwards family indicated that they probably wouldn't be attending the convention," Obama said, "I understand that," he said, "look this is a difficult and painful time for them and I think they need to work through that process of healing."

And:

"I am profoundly disappointed and devastated," said Chris Kofinis, who was Edwards' communications director during his 2008 campaign. "We believed in him, and it's heartbreaking, and I send my thoughts and prayers to Elizabeth, the senator and his family as they deal with this personal tragedy."

Wow. John Edwards struck down by disease? Big car accident? Bad news from the kids?

Nope, just another politician caught banging somebody. In this case, the politician is John Edwards, and there's rumours swirling that his mistress gave birth to a love child. Edwards admits to the affair, but denies being the child's pop. Now the woman's family is asking him to take a DNA test to prove it. Oh, and Edwards' former finance chairman admits to paying the mistress some hush money to shut her up.

In politics, that's what you call a pretty bad news week.

So the charade has begun. Edwards apologizing on TV for his mistakes. Edwards' wife standing by her man, saying the family needs time to get over this tragedy. Politicians and supporters declaring how shocked they are at these tragic events.

It's an old line but a true one: strangers are criminals, our friends make mistakes. It works with affairs, too: if your sister's husband cheats on her, you think he's a scumbag that deserves to lose all of his money. But if your sister cheats on him, well, she just made a terrible mistake. Tragic.

I'm not one way or the other when it comes to affair stories. Guy cheats, gets caught, gets thrown out, fine by me. Guy cheats, gets caught, works it out with his wife, fine by me, too.

But tragedy? Please. Tragedy is when a church roof caves in and kills a bunch of kids. Tragedy is not a politician taking off his suit to bang a babysitter.

In any event, it looks like Edwards' political career is done, at least in the near term. Obama, like any politician, is a very good liar. When he says that Edwards needs time to go through the "healing process," what he means is that Edwards has a snowball's chance in hell of speaking at the Democratic convention or being part of an Obama cabinet. "Sit at home and heal up, John. These trying times will make it too hard for you to be anywhere near me."

Of all the things to come out of this mess, the most entertaining has got to be the press quoting the National Enquirer. The Enquirer broke the story first and did all of the legwork on it, forcing Big Media to pay them lip service.

It's been a bummer week for the Beltway press bigshots. A liberal senator's career goes up in smoke, and they have to mention the Enquirer's name? Tragic.

Cartoon: John Cole

That's The Spirit

The Olympics bore me to tears. The only event I can even come close to caring about is the hundred metre dash, but they don't show the thing until the second last night of the Olympics (proving that millions of other people only care about the hundred metre dash, too). So I have a choice: I can sit through two weeks of boring sports people you only see every 4 years, or I can skip the whole thing altogether.

My disinterest in the Olympics isn't about cynicism, though I have plenty of that. Do I believe that the Olympic Games are a fraud, with doped up athletes and a front office run by crooks? Absolutely. Do I believe that the Olympic "spirit" is a laugh when the Games can be sent to China, a country whose citizens are not allowed to get on a plane and go anywhere they choose? Sure.

But really, the reason I don't like the Olympics is that it's boring. It's right up there with the vegetarian chick at the end of the table, the one that won't shut up about how right she is. There may be some people that enjoy watching an athlete's "my dog died" stories before being treated to a 3-hour session of pole vault. I'm just not one of them.

Someone on the Olympics committee must have recognized this, because they gave us women's beach volleyball. Finally, an event for the regular guy. I enjoy watching talented people work hard to realize their dreams of glory. I especially like that they can only realize their dreams in the skimpiest bikinis they can get their hands on.

I was flipping through the papers this morning and saw that the US Olympic cycling team showed up in Beijing wearing masks to protect themselves from air pollution. The media was appalled by their lack of sensitivity.

I laughed. First at the cyclists. Those masks aren't going to do squat. Then I laughed at the media, who haven't a clue. When I was in China, I saw all kinds of local people wearing masks...they're just not allowed to wear them during the Games.

Beautiful China
The pollution in China is unbelievable. I once took a bus ride from Tianjian to the Great Wall, four hours away. There was a stiff wind blowing the whole time, but the smog didn't budge an inch. I mean an inch. It just sat there like a big, fat blanket. The visibility was maybe two hundred yards in any direction, and it wasn't until we made the steep climb to the wall that it began to let up. Even at the Great Wall the pollution was so bad that I had to run all of my photos and videos through a color correction filter to get rid of it.

You've probably seen beautiful nighttime photos of Hong Kong and Shanghai. The reason they're beautiful is because of the pollution. The heavy smog makes the streetlights and neon sign glow like the gates of Heaven. During the day it's a different story. That's when the cities look like they're sitting in a nuclear winter, lifeless, ugly, and grey.

But they're a "developing country," bless them. No Kyoto for them.

The Olympics has always been a joke, and this year's installment merely ups the ante. Rich kids and spoiled brats will be running around in circles, jumping over sand pits, rolling around on floors, diving into pools, sailing expensive yachts, and bouncing up and down on trampolines. Meanwhile, down the road, there will be hundreds of political prisoners, waiting for the brats to get lost so the prisoners can return to their families. If the government lets them.

I don't want to ruin your fun Olympic experience. Watch it all you want. Just remember that the sooner these Games are over, the sooner some poor guy can stop eating gruel and maybe, just maybe, find some happiness at home.

Photos: Delaware Online & Sean Berry

For Everyone's Safety

Can someone tell me exactly what the RCMP are for?

I don't mean the guys in their pretty red jackets. We know what they're for: parades, handing out sports trophies, and posing for pictures.

I'm talking about the guys that show up brandishing weapons and acting like the best thing to hit law enforcement since Walker Texas Ranger. They're loud, they're proud. They carry big guns and wear black SWAT outfits that make the ladies swoon and macho men cream in their pants. They are...drum roll...the Mounties. Protectors of the innocent and smiters of evil.

What hogwash.

Last week, a 22-year-old man was sitting on a Greyhound bus travelling through Manitoba. He was apparently minding his own business when his seatmate stood up and stabbed him to death. According to witnesses, the murderer was very calm. No rage, no screaming lunacy. He stabbed the victim anywhere from 40 to fifty times. One witness described the murderer as "robotic."

The bus driver pulled over to the side of the highway, and he and the other passengers exited the vehicle. Witnesses tell us that the murderer stayed aboard the bus, cut off the man's head, and held it aloft for all to see. The witnesses know this, because three of them went back aboard the bus to check on the victim. That is when they saw the murderer cutting up the young man. At that point, the murderer ran towards them, knife in hand. The witnesses, bus driver included, ran back off the bus and slammed the door shut, locking the murderer inside.

They kept a vigil at the door, making sure the killer couldn't get out. It was then that the killer showed them the man's severed head and dropped it to the floor in front of them. Yet they kept their vigil, not running off to the nearest farmhouse and hiding behind the barn.

The cops eventually showed up and a standoff ensued. You know the type: brave cops surround a vehicle or building, and wait for the killer to do whatever it is he's going to do, until he gets tired and quits. All the while, a "crisis negotiator" is there, talking to the man in soothing tones, promising he won't come to any harm.

Cops, you see, don't like confronting people carrying weapons. It's safer outside. Safer, they tell us, for "everyone involved, including the suspect." Sure. We honestly believe you when you say you're worried about the suspect's safety.

Only in the surreal world of today's police will you find a crisis negotiator attempting to negotiate with a man that has just decapitated someone.

Oh, but the story from Manitoba gets worse. During the several hour standoff, the murderer kept himself busy. Here's an RCMP transmission, recorded and posted on YouTube: ""Badger is armed with a knife and a pair of scissors and he is defiling the body at the front of the bus as we speak."

"Badger" was the codeword for the murderer. Macho types always come up with such great nicknames, don't they? Makes them feel like they're doing something cool.

Another transmission: "Okay, Badger's at the back of the bus, hacking off pieces and eating it."

After the standoff, the RCMP immediately told the press that the transmissions needed to be removed from the internet because they were not for "public consumption." Setting aside the unfortunate choice of words in that statement, it's no surprise the Mounties didn't want this stuff on the airwaves. The Mounties wouldn't want people to know that these brave men in uniform had ringside seats for the evening's cannibalism show, and did absolutely nothing to bring it to an end except sit on their macho asses and play sportscaster (neverminding the fact that, as Canadians, no one on that bus thought to do anything about the guy while he was stabbing the victim 50 times; we'll save that argument for another day).

The scene eventually ended the way it usually does: on the murderer's terms. He tried to jump from a window and the police arrested him. But not before the bastard had done such awful things to the victim that his parents will be having nightmares for the rest of their lives, and the chances of an open casket funeral are remote.

Speaking of the parents, the RCMP weren't done with their latest laughfest. Too busy playing CSI Miami, the cops forgot to tell the victim's family about the whole thing. The victim's father didn't find out about his son's demise for 24 hours, and it wasn't anyone official that broke the news. Rather, it was a news reporter at his front door, seeking a reaction piece.

The good old days
Those brave Mounties. Last year, a man from Europe was sitting in the Vancouver airport, waiting in the baggage room. He couldn't speak English, had never been on an airplane, and couldn't understand why his mother wasn't coming to pick him up. He was a big, simple, innocent guy. He sat there for almost a complete day, and nobody helped him. Finally he wigged out and started throwing things around in frustration. The RCMP showed up, Tasered him, sat on his back with his face to the floor, and within twenty seconds the man was dead. No negotiator for him. Just high voltage, and brave cops pinning him to the ground.

Or how about this one: earlier this year, the Mounties showed up in the hospital room of a man suffering from pneumonia. He was lying in bed. The man was delirious, and he had a knife in his hand. Time to call the negotiator? Nah. They zapped the man with the good ol' Taser. The man, by the way, was 82 years old. In their defence, a Mountie spokesman said, "Whether the person is 80 or 20, we are dealing with a person who had a deadly weapon in their hand." Like, say, a man in a bus carving someone into little pieces?

Yeah, they're brave all right. Some guy without a weapon goes into airport rage, or an old timer goes nutty in bed, and the Mounties have no problem - what's the phrase? - "taking them down." But a murderer with a knife carves up a mother's son for hours on end, and they do nothing except give a play-by-play on their cute walkie-talkies. Guess they forgot to charge their Tasers back at the office.

The lack of bravery among cops in nothing new, nor is it only lacking in Canada. In the US, when a gun nut goes whacko, it's usually a gunpacking witness that solves the problem, or the murderer just gets bored of the whole thing and shoots himself in the head. The police, you see, are outside "securing the area" for "everyone's safety."

Keep up the mantra, guys, I'm sure it will help you sleep better at night. Too bad the victims won't be.

Photos: BC Rugby News & Yarns

Hollywood A to C

I was watching the news today and saw that actress Keira Knightley is putting her foot down over her boobs.

That makes for a weird headline even by Hollywood's standards, but there you have it. Apparently the production house that is turning out her latest film, The Duchess, wants to increase Knightley's bust size for the promo posters. Knightley is said to be fighting back, declaring that she's proud of what she's got, and her chest doesn't need to be enhanced. No C cup for her, thank you, the A cup is just fine (though an A cup is really more of an "A saucer" when you get down to it).

Good for Knightley. Nice to see her taking a stand on something important, like phoniness in the movies. Now if only she'd wipe off the make-up, fire her hairdresser, send Mr. Gucci and his red carpet dress packing, and tell the lighting guy to cool it with the halo effect. When she's done that she can have the director of photography remove the filter from the lens, tell the editor not to cut out her mistakes, and inform the producer that she no longer needs to fly first class because coach is where the real peoples be.

Knightley's breasts have been news before. Back when she was only so-so famous, her breast size was enlarged on the posters for King Arthur. She didn't mind then, but ah, she's a star now. When an actress becomes a star, they get a boatload of ethics to go with their trailer.

Still, it's an interesting issue for her to hang her t-shirt on. Why breast size? Why not fake lashes, dyed hair, ten pounds of Max Factor, or body doubles during the sex scenes?

I was watching an ABC bit about Knightley's beating of breast, and in it they intimated that this will empower women to stand up for themselves. One "expert" said that young women will now feel free to proclaim that the real them is the real deal. No more phoniness, no more caving to the materialistic, misogynistic culture.

Sure. It's men that tie 300, 000 women down and cart them into the operating room for breast augmentation each year (2006 numbers). Seeing as the FDA doesn't allow anyone under the age of 18 to receive breast augmentation surgery without parental consent, there aren't that many "young women" doing it. The women going in for the surgery are just that: women. They can vote, they can fight in wars, they can fly an airplane, they can get their breasts augmented. The only thing they can't do is drink, which is a shame, because the bar is where augmented breasts are always a sure hit.

Breasts are an interesting piece of anatomy. Without them, there would be no wet t-shirt contests (well, maybe there would, but they'd be boring ones), nor would there be a reason to find yourself in court for sexual harassment after a case of the morning stares. Breasts make office parties and late night TV more fun, and they do wonders for a football game when a woman playfully responds to a drunk's request of "Show us your tits!"

Alas, poor Keira probably never heard those words when growing up in jolly England, where the footballing yobs are not shy about asking for such favours. Maybe her protest isn't so much about the phoniness of the movie business, but her way of battling past teenage angst.

Whatever the case, I wish her luck on her quest for truth in pictures, though you can bet if it was zit removal, she'd be giving the Photoshop lab two perky thumbs up.

Photo: Telegraph

Those Crazy Days of Base-Ball

I was watching a game the other night, and Jays' reliever Brandon League whipped a ball at a batter. The pitch struck him in the leg, the batter took his base, and the ump tossed League from the game.

Usually an ump gives a pitcher a warning before tossing him, but these days the umps are quick on the trigger to toss someone if they think the pitcher intentionally drilled the guy.

Personally, I think throwing at a batter is part of the game, as long as the pitch comes in below the shoulders. The "inside pitch" has got to remain a part of baseball, and pitchers have to be given the right to throw it. Batters already have a massive advantage through a small stirke zone, a short pitcher's mound, and a meaningless batter's box. These days they can even elect to wear padding on their elbow, which should be banned outright: this is not cricket, and elbow padding only begs a hitter to lean over the plate.

If umpires begin tossing pitchers at the first sign of trouble, then you can kiss pitching strategy good-bye. A pitcher won't want to throw inside to brush a batter back, because if he misses by only two or three inches, he might plunk the batter and end up with a trip to the showers. This threat forces the pitcher to pitch carefully over the plate, and when you pitch carefully over the plate, you're throwing grapefruits ripe for homeruns.

The history of hitting someone with a baseball is as old as baseball itself, but the rules have gone through unbelievable changes. In fact, batters used to receive the short end of the stick when it came to inside pitching.

Picture this. The year is 1876. You're playing "base-ball." You're up to bat, as the "striker," wearing your little cloth cap and baggy pants. The pitcher winds up from 45 feet away. He's not allowed to pitch "over his shoulder," but he can still whistle the thing in there pretty good using an underhand or sidearm.

So you get ready. The pitch comes in. Ker-plunk. It hits you in the ribs. The ump says nothing, and the pitcher gets ready to throw another. In the rules of the day, the first ball, whether "unfair" (today's "ball") or "fair" (today's "strike"), is not called regardless of where it ends up. It's a freebie.

Pitch 2: the pitcher winds up. Ker-Plunk, he nails you in the shin. The ump calls the pitch "unfair," but he doesn't tell you to take your base. You see, three "unfair" pitches make up one "ball." But a pitch that hits the batter is also a ball. So there's a chance you'll face 8 more unfair pitches before you can walk, or two more, if both of them nail you. Of course, there's always a chance you'll hit the ball, in which case you hope the ump sees it clearly, because if the ump needs help with the call, he's allowed to ask for help from a spectator.

Image that today, say in Yankee Stadium. A Red Sox player hits the ball and it looks foul, but the ump isn't sure, so he turns to the crowd and asks for their opinion.

In the old days, being hit by a pitch was almost guaranteed. Pitchers used it to great advantage, intimidating players and moving them around the 6 x 6 foot batter's box. But then, batters used it too, leaning into pitches in order to get on base. Getting hit by numerous pitches sounds like a lot of pain to take for one lousy base, but it makes more sense when you consider the baserunning rules of the day: men on base, regardless if forced or not, all advanced one base if the batter walked. In other words, a man on third would come home even if the bases weren't loaded. Walks were winners.

Hitting a batter became a little more costly in 1878, when the rules declared that an umpire could fine a pitcher on the spot for beaning a man. The hitter couldn't take his base after being hit, but he could be satisfied to hear the ump tell the pitcher that he was fined anywhere between $10 and $25. A year later, the fine increased to a maximum of $50, showing that ball clubs thought beaning a hitter was cheap at half the price. The imposed fines had to be paid at the end of the day, or the offending team forfeited the game.

Baseball's history is a confusion of rule changes, a lot of them centering around the hit batsman. There were a number of leagues in the country, professional and amateur, and none of them agreed on anything at the same time. In less than a decade, the National League changed the number of balls needed for a walk from 9, to six, to seven.

Over in the American Association, they decided to simplify the whole thing. In 1884 they became the first league to immediately give a batter first base if he was hit by a pitch, as long as the ump thought the beanball was intentional. They declared that an intentionally beaned man could not be put out on his way to first, as long as he took first base "on the run." So after being drilled by a pitch, a man had to hustle to first. If he took his time, the big baby could be thrown out.

Ventura Takes Exception
Everything was fine for five minutes, but those damned hitters screwed everything up again by trying to get hit by pitches, forcing baseball to remove the hit-by-pitch rule if the ball struck you on the forearm or hand. It was called the Welch amendment, named after one particular hitter that had a knack for leaning into pitches, then putting up his hands to "defend himself." (Hughie Jennings may have been another good actor, being hit by 287 pitches between 1891 and 1903).

Baseball began to wimp out in the 20th Century, and now a hit-by-pitch is a big deal. Benches clear, managers get ejected, pitchers get fined thousands of dollars, soccer moms cry. Today's beanball, however, is nothing compared to the old days, where you literally expected to get drilled at least once per at-bat, and maybe three times for good measure.

Ah, the good old days.

Photos: Nationals Review & Google Images

The Dark Knight - Review

Director: Christopher Nolan
Writer: C. Nolan and J. Nolan
Starring: Christian Bale/Heath Ledger
Runtime: 152 minutes

Ticket line ups and sell out crowds don't mean much to me in terms of how good a movie is. All line ups mean is that people are willing to line up to see the movie. That's it. Box office records, and revenue, don't have a thing to do with a movie's quality, at least in the first or second weekend.

So what makes people line up to see a flick?

Good question. If you knew the answer to that, you would be sitting in the biggest office Hollywood has to offer. There'd be starlets rubbing your back and lowly interns shining your shoes, as actors and agents take turns kissing your ring.

Nobody knows how to make people line up for a movie. Producers pour money into flicks in all kinds of ways: top notch screenwriter, award winning director, great cast, bestselling book to base the movie upon, and advertising out the ying yang. They put up billboards in Times Square and send their stars on the late night talk show tour. They plaster the internet, bus terminals, and subway stations with posters, and they beam commercials straight into your living room. And at the end of all their hard work, producers can do only one thing: pray.

They know better than anyone that there is no guarantee a film will do well. None whatsoever. Sometimes they get Star Wars returns. Others, Bonfire of the Vanities.

Why is that?

There's a lot of theories, but I like William Goldman's. He's a screenwriter that's had some big hits. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, All the President's Men, The Princess Bride, Marathon Man, Misery. Though he wrote some duds, he wrote a lot of movies that people lined up to see. How did he do it?

Search him. Goldman's theory says there is one reason a movie succeeds: people want to see it. There is one reason a movie doesn't succeed: people don't want to see it. End of discussion.

There's no other explanation. Audiences are incredibly fickle, and there is no way to read their minds. That's why you see so many sequels. Producers have given up trying to shape the art and business of film, so they cash in when they can. If people line up to see Spider-Man, you'd better get ready for another decade of web slinging. James Bond? Same thing. Batman? Ditto. These are called "franchise movies," and producers will squeeze the life out of them before moving on to the next - hopeful - hit. And, speaking of James Bond, they will only move on once the franchise has crashed. Bond, to his credit, has yet to flop badly enough for the studios to call Her Majesty and tell the Queen that they will no longer need her Service.

Which brings us to Batman. See if this would make sense outside of the movie business:

Batman. 1989. A movie about how Bruce Wayne grows up, becomes Batman, and faces the Joker. The Joker dies.

Batman Returns. 1992. Batman comes back, fights two bad guys, plus a semi-bad Catwoman.

Batman Forever (apparently so, but not with Michael Keaton - he's replaced by Val Kilmer). 1995. Batman fights another two bad guys, and is joined by the Boy Wonder.

Batman and Robin. 1997. Kilmer is replaced by Clooney. Batman must again fight two villains, but he's now joined by Robin, and Batgirl.

And...thud. The franchise hits the dust until three years ago with Batman 5, which is miraculously called Batman Begins. In this movie, we learn how Bruce Wayne grows up to become Batman, and -- hey, wait a minute. Didn't we already see all of this?

Sure we did. But this is an extra-special re-telling. This one's darker, or more powerful, or more true to the Batman story. The story you saw before was okay, but all the hype was misplaced. This, the producers tell us, is the real Batman. Besides, it's not like the Joker's in it or anything...

So tonight I go to see The Dark Knight, the 2nd of the second Batman movies, where we meet...ta-da! The Joker.

Look, I'm all in favour of a good time. I liked The Dark Knight, and I thought Batman Begins was the best Batman movie of them all. But while we're cooing over these flicks, let's be real about Hollywood and our expectations of it.

We constantly tell Hollywood to give us fresh ideas and better movies. We yell "derivative" at the top of our voices, and feel cheated when we see the same old, same old. But who are we to complain when we sell out North American theatres for a chance to see a retread of a movie from 19 years ago? The message to Hollywood is clear: we want to see these movies, and we're only lying when we tell them to give us something new.

How can it be otherwise? Tonight's film shows that the same pattern is being repeated. The second movie needs two bad guys, one primary (the Joker), one secondary (which I won't give away). There's a damn good chance that Robin will show up in the next film (but not Christian Bale, if he follows Keaton's lead), plus two or more bad guys to keep the sub-plots rolling. Then we'll get another movie with a couple of bad guys that are only interesting if you've read the comic books. Finally, and mercifully, there will be one more film until the franchise goes cold. Then, once today's audience has procreated and raised their children to movie-going age, we'll be fed another dose of Batman Redux.

But, you're saying, what was The Dark Knight like? How was Heath Ledger? What's your deal and why don't you shut up?

Okay, fine. Tonight's film was good. Not bad, not great, but good. Like most sequels, Knight takes it for granted that you've seen the first one and know the lead character very well. Why is Wayne living in an apartment instead of a mansion? Why is the Batcave in the cellar of a building? Sorry. You should have re-run Batman Begins before coming into the theatre.

There's no real story to The Dark Knight. The Joker shows up, causes havoc, and Batman tries to save the day. That's pretty much it.

Heath Ledger does well as the Joker. Ledger was a damn fine actor, and it's a shame he died so young, but his Joker role is not worthy of an Oscar nod, as some have said. He does a good job with the character, but it is nothing that leaves a memorable impression.

The rest of the cast is fine. Aaron Eckhart is good as Harvey Dent. The three old timers, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine, and Gary Oldman, are as steady as ever. Freeman and Caine aren't used much, but Oldman has a lot of screentime. Maggie Gyllenhaal's character is pretty much there for kidnap-bait. I did take issue with one 30 minute sequence of the film, where the characters go against type so badly that I was wondering what the hell the movie was doing. See if you can figure it out, because I can't.

The lack of story scared me. Batman Begins was so good in this regard, that I thought the second would follow up. Not to be. Comic book characters get short shrift in sequels, as if the first movie said all there was to say about them. That's why you need two or more bad guys, a bunch of new gadgets (like Knight's Batcycle), and a couple of sidekicks in later films: they prop up the lack of depth by throwing new tricks and characters into the mix. Spider-Man, to its credit, has avoided this cliche. As in the first series of Batman films, I think these cliches will eventually ruin this franchise, too.

But if what I am saying is true, why are people lining up around the corner to get into the theatre?

Search me. I guess people just want to see it.

Photos: Yahoo Movies

I'm A Sports "Journalist," Get Me A Tissue

"Though spared the indignity of another tie, Selig had to suffer through the 4-hour, 50-minute Yankee Stadium special wondering, like everyone else, which position players Francona and NL manager Clint Hurdle would designate their pitchers and whether this would officially wreck the sham that says an All-Star game should mean something."

That's Jeff Passan, from Yahoo Sports. Someone get him a hanky. Though not quite as much of an insipid hack as Toronto sports writers, Jeff always comes close.

Poor guy. Another sycophant who believes that sports are for one thing: to give him a job worshipping his heroes.

In 2002, Major League Baseball made the All-Star game mean something (homefield advantage for the World Series) because a tie game angered the fans. Back in the 2002 game, the managers worried that their poor pitchers' arms were going to get tired, so they asked for the game to be called a draw. Bud Selig agreed, and the game ended, to a chorus of boos from the stands.

I never used to watch the All-Star game. I don't believe any game should be televised unless it means something. This is not Europe, where you play "friendlies" against some team from down the road or across a continent. The only exception to this is the pre-season, where the games actually mean quite a lot: they tell you whom you want to hire and fire.

This is North America. We play to win. Winning is all the matters (unless you work for the Jays, whose losing record has forced them to run commercials that say "it's about more than winning." Sure it is, when you're losing). If a game isn't worth winning, why is it worth watching?

I only started to watch the All-Star game when it was decided that the winning team would receive homefield advantage in the World Series. Good enough for me. Now that there was something on the line, I was ready to tune in.

Sports writers hated the idea. You see, they make their living worshipping and protecting sports stars. They thought that baseball players might get hurt playing in a game that mattered (they do it 162 times during the regular season, but boo-hoo, be careful on one night July, little darlings). Sportscasters wanted the game to stay the way it always was: a nice four-day press trip to a baseball stadium, where they could hang out with their heroes and pat them on the back.

Tough luck. Sports "journalists" covered up the steroid scandal in baseball for over a decade while they kissed millionaire butt. Their opinion is absolutely irrelevant to me when it comes to how the game should be played, or if any changes should be made to it.

Major Leage Baseball heard the jeers six years ago, and the league responded to what the fans wanted. The fans! Who could believe it? Not the sports writers, who suddenly found themselves with the task of not drinking too much from the press box so they could actually report on a real game during the All-Star break.

If managers are afraid of long innings and tired arms, they should manage teams better during the game. If this means a player doesn't get a chance to play, too bad. The game means something. Sit on the bench and wait your turn if we need you. This isn't Little League. They're grown men, playing for a very important prize in the post-season. Being picked last doesn't mean they'll miss a date with Mary Jane, it means their team might win. They can deal with it.

As, in fact, they are. I haven't heard much griping from players today about a long, 15-inning game. The fans, too, don't seem to care that they were treated to a close one. It's the sports "journalists" that are having a hard time with it. A long game meant delayed flights, late deadlines, and perhaps a missed opportunity to hit the bar for last call on their newspaper's dime.

So tonight I will tune in and listen to these hacks berate last night's game. And I will laugh, knowing that the fans caused the change in the game, and ticked off these self-righteous buffoons. It's going to be a great night.

Favre

It's going to get ugly in Green Bay.

After Brett Favre's tearful farewell to the game in March, everybody thought that they'd seen the last of Brett Favre on the football field. It seemed this time he actually meant it when he said he was through.

Not so fast. Favre has said he wants to come out of retirement. A couple of months ago, the Packers would have been keen to hear the news, but now they're saying they've moved on. Trouble is, they still have control of Favre, which means they have to decide what to do with him now that he's said he wants to play.

In the past couple of weeks, the tension has been rising and the fans have been getting restless. The team's management has said that a) Aaron Rogers is going to be their starting QB, and b) Favre can come back as a back-up if he wants to.

That isn't exactly what a Hall of Famer wants to hear, so Favre has asked to be released from the team. This will allow him to play for any team in the league. And guess what? Just today the Pack said that they will not release Favre, so if he wants to play football, he'll have to be happy with a back-up roll on the Packers squad, or forget about playing altogether.

That doesn't have to be the final answer. There's a chance the Packers can trade Favre to a team outside their division, which will guarantee that he won't embarrass them on their own turf in at least 2 games next year. But as it stands now, there's a very real possibility that this could blow up to the point where Favre will want to play for another team just so he can go into the Hall of Fame in any jersey other than Packer green.

Weird how life goes. Six months ago, Favre was a Packer legend. Now he's a headache for management, and a martyr for the fans.

Sanctimony Murmur

I'm back from a break, and while I was gone...nothing happened.

Life's funny that way. One minute you're working hard on a ton of ultra-important jobs, reading reams of frightening news reports, answering life-or-death phone calls about family dinners and gig prospects. The next, you're sitting around for a week or two, drinking a few beers, watching baseball, listening to the grass grow, and it hits you. Life doesn't change much, and it doesn't need you, anyway.

I spent my 20's travelling around the world, and I'll bet that I watched the news maybe 3 times a month that whole decade. This was back when the internet was in its infancy, so the only news I got was from the TV hanging over a bar in Mexico or somewhere. If you've been in enough bars, then you know that the TV is always on super-low volume and drowned out by ABBA's greatest hits, so your chances of hearing anything important are pretty much nil. If you're a news junkie, you'd have to read the little scroller on the bottom of the screen to stay tuned to the big stories, like how the pandas came out of their cave and screwed for the first time in years.

So I spent a decade not really knowing what was going on. I don't mean I was a complete moron. I knew that Clinton got re-elected, and George Bush, and I saw 9/11 happen. Big stuff. But as for the little stuff in between, well, I just couldn't be bothered. When there's a beach bunny sitting under the TV set asking you to buy her another Bahama Mama, suddenly politics and Mississippi floods don't seem like that big a deal.

Not watching is more fun than watching, and certainly less stressful. I suppose I could hang on a politician's every word, or check on how many times an Israeli market's been blown up in a given week, or whether Katie Couric's numbers have gone up in the ratings. But taking a break from listening to those stories reminds you that life is pretty fleeting, and most things don't matter one way or the other.

Sure, I guess it matters to "life," whatever that is, but does it really matter to me?

That's a tough question. On the one hand, you could say that everything that happens in the world has a direct impact upon your life, no man is an island, so forth. When an Israeli market blows up, and someone mentions that Israel might nuke Iran, the gas prices spike. That bugs me, but it doesn't make me sit down and cry. So yes, that news story impacts my life, but not so much that it takes control of me.

So what do I care about? I worry about big stuff like Islamofacism, and what I see as a new wave of communism disguised as human rights (we are all one, up with the collective, everyone's a migrant, the Declaration of Human Rights is the gospel, Western society is the problem, the world belongs to all of us...and we need someone in charge to tell us exactly what to do with it). But I don't worry about it as much as I do the damn dresser drawer that won't work properly. Every time I watch the news I get pissed off, but whenever I open the dresser drawer and it almost amputates my foot, I get even more pissed off.

Caring is about proximity. Dresser drawer? Care. Weirdo terrorist in Baghdad? Care a little. Weirdo terrorist in my living room? Care a lot.

This is why I'm amused when I watch the news reports on TV. A month back, everyone and their mother seemed to be protesting about Myanmar. Remember that place? Former peaceniks were saying that war would be a good idea, to feed the people hit by the hurricane. No one liked Myanmar's regime, governments said they'd boycott them until doomsday, and feminists were going to send shipments of underwear to the junta in order to embarrass them or turn them on, I can't remember which. Anyway, Myanmar was a very big, bad problem, and the whole wide world was up in arms about it.

We all cared. Then a month goes by, and damned if I can find anything in the news about it. Oh, sure, there's lots of websites that still have a stake because they blew their money on the domain address, but when is the last time it led the evening news? It's been ages. I haven't heard the word "Myanmar" come out of a politician's mouth in a hell of a long time, and I doubt I will again until the place gets knocked over by another hurricane. The protests have dried up, and everyone's gone on to other protests, other problems, other picnics with potato salad.

So really: did we care?

If caring is about proximity, it's also about longevity. You can usually judge how bad a problem is for you by how much time you spend worrying about it. I'm sure you know that Myanmar is still a craphole and that people are suffering unbelievably. But you don't care anymore because you never really did. It was just the latest craze, the latest hep thing to be upset about. Then Obama got nominated, or your raise came in, or your boyfriend proposed marriage, or your dad died. And Myanmar? Poof.

Still, you can console yourself with the oldest line in the book: what can I do about it? Given a choice between a dresser drawer and Myanmar, you're probably going to reach for a screwdriver before you put your underwear in the mail.

Caring is about proximity and longevity, but for the really big news stories, you need one more thing: the news. The old "global village" adage is very true, but only when a megaphone is blasting the message into your rec room. For a few weeks, the news can have you thinking that Myanmar is the next city over. But when the megaphone changes to A-Rod screwing Madonna, Myanmar miraculously ends up on the other side of the earth. Proximity? Nada. Longevity? Forget it. Burmese people? Never heard of them.

The next time you're watching the news, be honest and ask yourself if you really care. If you do, let me swing by and ask you again in six months.