*What Time is It?
We arrive at the field 15 minutes before kick-off. It looks like all of the engineers are already here. The rest of our team is either stretching out or tossing the football around. Our football team is basically “6 Degrees of Shawn.” A couple of Anth’s high school classmates- Tyler and Garrett- play defense with Paul and I. Tyler’s roommate is on the O-Line with Scott, and a couple of Shawn’s frat buddies make up the rest of the team. It’s 7-on-7, so we’ve got a loose roster of about 15. A couple of the other guys didn’t have the dedication to schedule their classes around intramural sports. I guess they take their studies seriously or something. You can only hope they figure it out before it’s not too late.
I take my bag off my shoulders and pull out my cigarettes. I’m antsy. I need a little peace. Then I hear Slash’s incendiary guitar work and Axl Rose’s screeching vocals. “You Could Be Mine.” It’s Abby. What. The. Fuck. I pick up the phone.
“Abby…” I say.
“Kev!” she says.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Cheryl wanted to pick up a shift so she took mine. Whatcha doin’?” she says.
Shawn tells me it’s time for the team huddle. I tell him to wait. He smirks. He knows.
“I, uh, we have a football game,” I say.
“I’ll swing by,” she says.
“Oh,” I say.
“You always talk about how hardcore you guys are,” she says.
“No, yeah, we are,” I say.
“Cool. I’ll see you in a bit,” she says.
“Cool,” I say.
Jesus Christ. I cannot have a crisis right now. My figurative plate is full with defensive assignments. The ash on my cigarette is two inches long. I don’t even want it right now.
I join the huddle with the rest of Tommy’s Magic Flute. Shawn is doing his usual Ray Lewis impersonation. Something about not taking the engineering dorks lightly. I don’t even know what he’s saying. Abby’s coming. I do talk about this team a lot. I never thought she’d actually ever see me play. I’ve made myself out to be some kind of hybrid cross between Deion Sanders and Champ Bailey. She thinks it’s patently ridiculous for a grown woman to name her son “Champ.” She’s wrong. The Champ is what makes him great. Fuck me.
“Four and Oh, baby,” Shawn says.
“Four and Oh!” the team shouts in unison.
All I can think of is Abby.
We get the ball first at the 20. We only have a handful of set plays. Usually, the receivers will just tell Anth what they’re going to run. We basically try to score early with a bunch of set plays and variations of them. Shawn thinks they demoralize the other team. He says it makes us seem serious. He’s probably right. But then the serious part probably flies out the window when Anth starts calling out plays like “Kelly. Kelly Clarkson. Kelly Clarkson Yellow Thirteen.” That’s an out to the inside receiver.
We generally run 3-receiver sets so Anth only has to look in one direction. It makes things easier. We run this play 5 times over the course of the game, then later in the game, we’ll run it, but the inside receiver will take off up the field. 90% of the time, it works every time.
The offense is a well-oiled machine. Defense is a little different. We play man-to-man every single play. Two years ago, we tried playing zone for exactly 4 plays. We got toasted and we’ve never considered it since. It’s flag football. Somebody always gets open. We have one really fast guy (Garrett) on the team, and he always covers the other team’s fastest receiver. I got the other one. Most of the time, Paul will cover the running back or third receiver. Paul’s not really fast, and he’s not all that coordinated, but he’s a fucking animal out there. In high school, his nickname was “Beaver Trap.” It applied both on the field and also- well, let’s just say it’s pretty damned accurate.
Anth is marching the offense down the field. Garrett is one of the only guys who plays both ways. His speed is too much of a weapon to waste. He’ll jump in occasionally at running back. We only have two actual running plays. One is a simple toss left or right. The other play with the running back in the set is a pass to Garrett that’s pretty much unstoppable.
We’re all about mismatches. Once the receivers clear out the DBs, the linebacker is left to cover Garrett. In this league, you hide the guys without speed at linebacker (just like Paul). They can’t cover him, especially when he pulls the stop and go. We’d run it on every single play, but it gets kind of boring.
“Tsunami. Typhoon Season. Jedi Mind Trick,” Anth shouts.
Our sideline laughs. It’s coming. The pass to Garrett out of the backfield. Anytime Anth starts yelling about forces of nature, it’s on.
Touchdown. No goal posts mean extra points and two-point conversions are plays from the 3 and 5-yard line respectively. We hit the one point. 7-0 Tommy’s Magic Flute.
The engineers start their drive at the 22. I look around for Abby. She’s not here. Yet. I line up on the single receiver on the left. He’s not too quick. It’ll be a pretty easy day. They run a little out to the Garrett’s side, but the QB overthrows the receiver.
I don’t think this team runs set plays. It doesn’t look like it, anyway, the way the quarterback is making hand motions at his receiver. I don’t know how they’re 2-1. They try a little half back toss to my side. I see it coming. I shed my man’s block and charge. Capture the flag. 1-yard gain. Werp, werp, werp.
Third and long, and they’re going to pass. They pull the running back out to receiver. Three wide on the right. Garrett, Paul and I are lined up together and the only person missing is Pestilence. I mean, Garrett is obviously Time, I’m Famine, and Paul is death. The snap goes off and the three receivers try crossing us up by running a braid- nonsense crossing routes. It doesn’t work because we don’t cross, we only stay in our positions, backpedaling. This is the closest thing to a zone that we run. No one is open. Tyler sacks the QB. Fourth down.
We jog off the field shouting. The return team (Garrett) is back on. Garrett makes it back out to the 28.
Anth hits Shawn for 10 yards. Rolling.
“Hey, Kev.”
I turn. It’s Abby.
“Hey, Ab,” I say.
“How are you guys doing?” she asks.
“We’re up 7-0,” I say.
“Good!” she says.
“Yeah,” I say.
I turn my head from her to the field and back. I think this is the exact situation Mister Webster was thinking of when he wrote the entry “dilemma.”
“How are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m good. I’m good,” I say.
Anth overthrows Carter, Shawn’s frat brother.
“Fuck,” I say.
“What?” Abby says.
“No, nothing. Carter was wide open and Anth missed him,” I say.
“Oh,” she says.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Is now not a good time?” she asks.
I turn back to face Abby.
“No, it’s cool,” I say. It’s not, though. You shouldn’t divide your army or your attention.
“Is it alright if I sit here?” she asks.
“Yeah, but if you want, you can move out that way so you can see better,” I say.
This is the one time in my entire life I don’t want Abby anywhere near me. Fuck.
“Well, good luck, then!” she says. She give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute all dressed up in your football stuff.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I turn back to the field.
“Blue. Blue balls. Blue balls Twenty Four Seven,” Anth shouts.
That’s not a fucking play.
The entire offensive unit is laughing. Fucking assholes. They run a slant for a first down. Nice. But still- assholes.
They’re about 25 yards out. Anth drops back and looks for Carter on an out. Carter slips. The ball sails right into the hands of the corner. Shit, he’s gone. Pick-6. The engineers lose their collective shit. Fuck. That’s the only way we’ll lose today. Their offense can’t move the ball. We just can’t make anymore mistakes. The offense jogs off the field.
“Fuck!” Anth shouts.
“My bad,” Carter says.
“Nah, fuck it, shit like that happens,” Shawn says.
“Yeah,” Anth says. He takes a sip of Gatorade. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Their offense can’t score,” I say. I light a cigarette since the O will be back on the field. “Just keep scoring.”
The offense jogs back onto the field.
“Anth looks pissed,” Paul says. He lights up next to me.
“Yeah,” I say. I take a drag. “He’ll go deep on the first two plays.”
“At least,” Paul says.
Sure enough, Shawn runs a post on the first play and Anth launches the football down the field. Shawn lays out and the ball caroms off his finger tips. Damn it. 5 inches the other way and that’s a touchdown.
“Fuck!” Anth yells. Mostly at himself.
The referee calls a 10-yard penalty for vulgarity. We deserve it, but Shawn still argues the point.
“He wasn’t swearing at anyone, he was mad at himself,” Shawn says.
“Doesn’t matter,” the ref says. He starts marching off the 10 yards. “Everyone here heard it.”
And this is the one thing that could completely undermine our season. It’s true, if we win it all, we’ll win it on the strength of Anth’s arm. But if we don’t, it’ll probably be because he has something of a temper. He’s got a short fuse. It’s the worst when he’s not doing well. It’s like he’s in a trash compactor, he feels the walls closing in, and he’s screaming for someone to shut it off. He’s young. Years of playing actual football prevent him from taking these games as anything but life or death. He’s dying right now.
Shawn calls a time out. It’s our last of the half. It doesn’t matter. There’s only a minute left before halftime.
“Calm the fuck down,” Shawn says.
“That’s bullshit,” Anth says. He isn’t even looking at Shawn, he’s still glaring at the ref.
“Hey!” Shawn yells. He shoves Anth in the chest to get his attention. “One minute. Let’s score. Let’s go into the half with the lead. We’ll run the QB read three times in a row, then light it up. Okay?”
“Alright, alright. Fine,” Anth says.
The whistle beckons the offense back to the field. I don’t know about this. Shawn’s the captain. It’s his team. No one really argues with him. I don’t know if they’ll have enough time to get down the field with 3 running plays. Even if that running play is a thing of beauty.
We’ll usually hold this play out until later in the game, but the stakes are pretty high right now. Also, I’m guessing Shawn doesn’t want Anth to make stupid throws while he’s on tilt. So, since the sexy thing in the NFL right now is the “Wildcat,” we run it, too. By now, the other team knows Garrett is a blazer. So in any play that resembles a run, they’ll key in on him. That’s an easy 5 or 10 yards for Anth the other way. We ran this play against the team from the freshman dorm. One of the players on that team was like: “A pulling lineman? In an intramural flag football game? Really?” Yeah, really. They couldn’t stop it. Here’s hoping lightning strikes twice.
Anth hands off to Garrett and he picks up only 4 yards. A lucky pull by one of the DBs. It’s 3rd and long. We run it again, this time Anth keeps it and gets the first down and the bonus of getting out-of-bounds to stop the clock. That’s heads-up football.
Shawn said they’d run the Read 3 times, but they’re out of the formation. They’re back in the 3-wide set.
“Chris Daughtry. Adam Lambert. Fantasia…. uh, Fantasia,” Anth calls. What was Fantasia’s last name? They’re going to run the inside-out again, but they’ll probably go deep, this time. Anth drops back, and it is the inside out. The linebacker bites on the route. Curtis (Shawn’s other frat bro) takes off. He has 3 steps on his man. The safety’s too far away to matter. In stride, Curtis cradles the ball against his bosom like a newborn. Touchdown. 22 seconds left in the half.
The offense hits the extra point and we’re ahead 14-7. The engineers return the ball out to the 23. I’m on.
They run a 3-receiver set. My man runs an out for 6 yards and gets out-of-bounds. Shit.
They line it up again and run the same play, but I jump the route. It’s a little long so all I can do is knock it down. That had “back to the house” written all over it. 12 seconds.
“Woo-hoo!” Abby says. She’s clapping. This is surreal.
I make eye contact with her and smile. I make eye contact with Shawn and his eyes are rolling. He snickers. He’s right. She has no idea what the hell just happened. She’s probably thrilled because I touched the ball.
The engineers try a Hail Mary down field that Garrett swats away. They line it up again with 4 seconds left. They try the Hail Mary again. No one is open, another sack for Tyler.
Halftime.
The team meets on the sidelines.
“I told you,” I say. They can’t move the ball.
“Yeah,” Paul says. He lights up a cigarette. “They don’t run set plays. The QB has no idea where the hell his guys are.”
I light up a cigarette. It is good. I take a drag and peer past the huddle towards Abby. She’s wearing jeans and a hoodie. She’s on her cell, but catches my eyes and give me a little wave. What the fuck is she doing? She avoids me all night and all morning, and now she’s my biggest fan? She’s bi-polar, but only regarding relationships. I’m Googling meds for that as soon as I get back to the dorm. By the time this game is over, she won’t want to talk to me again. She’ll get all cryptic and dramatic and tell me to save it for tonight. And then I’ll have even more questions to fake-write on Scott’s fucking fake list.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Shawn says. He punches my arm. Ow. “You hear me?”
“What, now?” I say. My eyes squint and I take a drag.
“Jesus Christ,” Shawn says. “Just keep them in front of you. Give them the underneath stuff if they want it. Make them make 15 plays if they want to score. Don’t give up anything deep.”
“Yeah,” I say. I exhale. “They’re not fast enough, anyway.”
“We can run it up on these guys,” Anth says.
“Don’t get greedy,” Scott says.
“No, he’s right,” Shawn says. He looks over the faces of the other receivers. “One more TD and it’ll be over. They’ll be done.”
Everyone nods.
“Just shut them down on the opening drive,” Anth says.
“Thou shall not pass!” Paul yells. He mimics Gandolf the Gray. He nails it except for the cigarette bouncing up and down on his lip. There is laughter. “Thou shall not pass!”
There are a few minutes left before play starts again, so I walk over to Abby.
“What do you think?” I ask. I hand her my cigarette so she can light hers.
“You guys are awesome!” she says. She lights her cigarette and returns mine.
“What do you think of our offense? Pretty crazy, right?” I ask.
“Shawn’s brother can throw the ball really far, huh?” she replies.
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t know what kind of analysis I was hoping for, but that wasn’t it. Ahh…
“You guys are starting,” she says. She points to the rest of my team, all of whom are staring at me.
“Luck!” she says.
“Thanks,” I say. I’m going to try to play this cool. I walk back to the huddle.
“I think you forgot your balls over there, man,” Paul says.
Scoffing and laughter. And you know what? I deserve it. If Vince Lombardi were alive, even he wouldn’t have a speech for me. Christ.
The engineers return the kick to the 25. We’re on again. They’ve made a few substitutions. They’ve got their safety and corner in at receiver now. Are they any faster? Doesn’t matter. The QB sucks.
The first play they run is a slant to my man. I’m right all over him and reach for his flag. He slaps my hand away and continues on for 10 more yards.
“Flag-guarding!” I yell.
The ref shakes his head with the whistle between his lips. He doesn’t even look at me.
“He slapped my hand!” I say. I slap my own hand. No idea why. Heat of the moment, I guess. “You can’t use your hands to prevent your flags from being pulled! We all went to the meeting! Make the call!”
“It happened right in front of you,” Paul says. He gets between the ref and I. “That’s brutal.”
The ref continues shaking his head.
“That’s fucking bullshit!” I scream.
A yellow flag ascends, then crashes into the earth.
“Ten yards, on the defense,” the ref announces.
I walk away. I am seething. I want to punch that stupid fucking ref in the fucking face. I am whispering the kind of curse words that would make your mother blush and Quintin Tarantino have multiple orgasms.
“Hey, we need you right here,” Paul says. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let it go. Make the next play.”
I’m still pissed, but he’s right. The best revenge is to fucking blow them out.
“It’s okay, Kev,” Abby says. She’s standing on the sideline directly across from me. She has her hands clasped together in front of her chest. I nod in her direction. No, Abby, it’s not fucking okay. These fucking games are hard enough to play straight up, then this asshole decides he’s going to up the goddamn degree of difficulty. Shit. Fuck.
I walk back line up against my receiver. It’s the safety, subbing in.
“Your girl’s cute,” he says.
“What?” I say.
“She’s cute,” he says.
I look over at Abby and the ball is snapped and my guy takes off. He’s got half a step on me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone yells “ball” and I know it’s coming. I look back and see the ball on its way down. He’s still got a step when the ball gets there, but it’s slightly overthrown. He reaches out for it and it glances off his hands and falls to the ground.
“Nice hands, buddy,” I say.
He does not reply.
I’m fucking pissed. And I’m fucking lucky. There’s no way that should have happened- either way. Fucking A. Fucking Abby.
The next play is uneventful and they’re forced to punt. I jog off the field and pass Shawn as he jogs on.
“Get your fucking head out of your ass, Kev,” Shawn says.
“I know, I know,” I say.
The offense takes the ball at the 17. They run a wide receiver screen. It goes nowhere. That’s okay, though. We only use the screen to set up the fake screen. It’s coming.
The next pass is good for 6 yards. We design plays so that whoever catches the ball has one man to beat. Gotta make him miss. Carter doesn’t. On 3rd down, Anth tries to hit Shawn on a fly, but overthrows him. We punt the ball away.
The engineers’ offense takes the field. The starting receivers are still on the sidelines. They must be pissed. The DBs are playing both ways. They’ll be tired soon and it’ll show on one end or the other. They run a slant on first down and it goes for 12 yards or so. Garrett slipped trying to make the pull. Our safety made the stop, though. Another first down, another short route. This time they run a hitch right at me for 5 yards. Easy pull. Second down and it’s another slant. First down. This is weak.
The have the ball 35 yards out. The noise increases on the engineers’ sideline. For the first time all game, they’re actually moving. Shawn’s yelling all kinds of shit at us from our sideline. We do this to other teams all the time, though. They’re trying to set us up. They bring one of the original receivers in on the next play and he lines up on the inside against Paul.
“Fresh man,” Paul says. His eyes move in the direction of the new receiver. “It’s all G.”
“All G,” Garrett says.
“All G,” Billy, our safety, says.
Paul and Garrett are going switch, Garrett will take the fresh player. Our safety will cheat to the line so the QB thinks the deep pass is open. If they try to go deep, they’re in for a big surprise.
The ball is snapped and the fresh receiver takes off. Garrett leaves his man, Paul shifts to take him. It’s a footrace now. The receiver has a step, but Garrett is gaining. The quarter back never even looks at another receiver. He takes a 5-step drop, leans back and launches the ball down field. Everyone on the field but Garrett and the receiver come to a standstill. All heads are tiled back at a 39 (roughly) degree angle, eyes locked on the flight of the ball. Garrett’s already made up the ground and they’re running in tandem now. It isn’t a perfect spiral, but it’s got a lot on it. Not enough, though. The pass is under-thrown and Garrett intercepts it as both he and the receiver fall into the end zone. We go ape shit as Garrett stands and drops the ball at the receivers feet. A nice, subtle touch. Our ball at the 20. That’s what happens when you get greedy.
“Oops!” Garrett yells as he backpedals toward our sideline.
The whole team gathers on the field. Each of us high-fives and/or ass-pats Garrett when he finally arrives. He can take the next few plays off if he likes. He’s earned a little breather.
14-7 still. About 8 minutes left in the game. I gotta admit, there’s no way the game should be this close.
As I walk back to the sidelines, I see Abby bouncing toward me.
“That was crazy!” she says.
“I know, right?” I say. I fish through my bag for my cigarettes. I pull one out and light it.
Anth and the offense take over at the 20.
“You guys are so serious about everything!” she says. She has a huge smile on her face. God, she’s beautiful.
“Do you even know what’s happening?” I ask. I take a drag and turn to the check out the field. It’s second down and 6.
“Well, that guy’s on your team, and whenever you guys catch the ball that’s good,” she says.
I laugh. I place my hand on her right shoulder and rub it a little.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
“No prob,” she says.
First down. Shawn on a slant. Clockwork.
“So what? You just want me to leave with you right after the game?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t- don’t you guys have some kind of team meeting after game where you guys go over the game and stuff?” she asks.
“You mean dinner?” I say.
She laughs. She scrunches her nose. God, she’s beautiful.
“Well, I-” she says.
“Kevin!” Paul says.
I look at the field to see Anth chase a DB out-of-bounds.
“What the fuck?” I ask.
“Anth threw a pass behind Carter. He tipped it and the safety got there,” Paul says.
I turn towards Abby and she motions me to go ahead. Paul and I jog onto the field. We pass Anth. He doesn’t make eye contact and he’s silent. He’s a half-step away from Chernobyl.
The engineers have the ball on their 30 or so. less than 3 on the clock. We’ve outplayed them all fucking game. I have no idea how it’s still 14-7. If this game were on TV and you just flipped to it, you’d see the score and think it was a really close, contested game. Then you’d watch for 15 minutes and realize that both teams are actively trying to give the game away. Then you’d change the station and hope you catch The Shawshank Redemption on TBS. It’s ugly.
The first play is a quick out to my man. They’re trying that short shit, then trying to get out-of-bounds. They accomplish the first. 4 yards. Who gives a shit? Second down and 6.Timeout Our Future Bosses.
Does not having to go to work make Abby the happiest person in the world? She’s done a complete one-eighty since this morning. Quarterback drops back and hit the running back in the flats. Paul gets there and pulls the flag after two yards. The burn their final time out. Third down. I mean, really, it literally feels like we’ve been going out forever with the whole camaraderie and cheering and clapping and shit. It’s all out there in the open. Did she just assume I’d tell my roommates anyway? She isn’t trying to hide it at all. It’s obvious she here to see me. The ball is snapped and my man runs an out again. He makes the catch, but out-of-bounds. The clock stops. It’s fourth down and 4 yards, otherwise the game is over. Tonight. I haven’t really thought about it. What the fuck is going to happen tonight? You can never tell with Abby, apparently, because her mood swings like Hollywood in the 70’s. You know what is predictable, though? These fuckers are running an out. If not my guy, then one these guys is. I’m going to fucking end this shit. The ball is snapped and my receiver runs straight at me, then breaks hard for the sideline. I told you. I break and jump the route. He turns up the sideline. Oh, no. I dive and try to grab his shirt, his arm, his anything, but it’s too late. He’s gone. I lie on my chest and watch the quarterback let it go. Billy won’t get there in time. Fuck. Please drop it.
Touchdown.
Fuck. My head sinks and my chin rests on the cold grass. What the fuck am I doing? I’m fucking daydreaming out here. God damn it. Fuck me.
I pull myself of the ground and jog to the goal line. 14-13.
“They still gotta get in there!” Shawn yells from the sideline.
We stand on the goal line waiting for the fucking math dorks to call a play.
The quarterback walks over to the ref. Now what?
“They’re going for two,” says the ref.
Holy shit. They’ve got some fucking balls. There’s about 20 seconds left in the game and they’re going for the jugular. You have to respect that.
They line up with two receivers on the left and one on the right. I have the inside man on the right. This is the game right here. The ball is snapped and the QB takes a 3-step drop. My man takes one hard step and turns on the spot. I peek in at the QB and he’s winding up. I take two hard steps at my man and he immediately spins out of the spot. Fuck. I stop running and turn my head just in time to watch the ball leave the quarterback’s hand. I turn around completely and see my man standing in the end zone holding the ball. Fuck. The engineers are in orgy-mode. Fuck!
I walk back to the sideline and no one says a word. They keep their eyes on the field and pray that Garrett can break a big return. He makes it out to the 33. I turn to find Abby with a consoling look on her face. I should never have told her to come here. This is the book of Job. Maybe Revelations. Christ, this is a disaster. She never should have come.
Anth takes two shots at the end zone and both are incomplete. This is how it ends. 15-14, Your Future Bosses.
The teams shake hands and we drag ass back to our sideline in silence. I light a cigarette. So does Paul. Anth tanks his Gatorade and Shawn plops down and starts taking his shoes off. No one says a word.
You’ll note the tagline: “Heroes aren’t made, they’re… Airborne.” 1993, remember? Anyway, since I was only 13 or so the first time I saw it, I hadn’t developed my pessimistic view of movies aimed directly at teenagers. I was in the target market before I knew what the hell a target market was. So I’ve seen this movie more times than I’d care to admit, and I’d like to admit even less the fact that if it were on TBS this afternoon, I’d probably watch it. I’d make some excuse like “it’s my childhood!” but you know that I’d be lying. Anyways, it was filled with all the typical teenage nonsense- the new boy in town, no one likes him (until he “took to the sky”), he falls in love with a girl (who happens to be both the ex-girlfriend of Shane’s worst enemy and the sister of Shane’s frienemy at school, the jock alpha male), there’s competition in the form of hockey, then rollerblading, and it paints parents as unwitting authority figures who have no idea what is going on in the lives of their children. It’s got it all.
Is an alien invasion the only possible event that would unite all of mankind under a single purpose? 9) If this movie were made in 2010, would the “victory cigars” even be a part of the story, since smoking has been placed right up there with murder, ritual suicide, and the mistreatment of animals? 10) Of the following movie Presidents, who would you have voted into office: Bill Pullman (Independence Day), Morgan Freeman (Deep Impact), or Michael Douglas (The American President)? 11) One of the subtle sub-plots of sci-fi movies of this ilk is how when modern technology breaks down, humans have to resort to old school methods (morse code in Independence Day, the old radio system in Transformers, and reading books at the end of The Cable Guy) that always seem to do the trick. With this in mind, should a few of us start learning these archaic skills so that we are more valuable in a post-apocalyptic world? 12) Is the image of the White House getting lasered more or less impressive than the capital building being blasted in Live Free or Die Hard? 13) Does the mere casting of Randy Quaid in a movie where he plays Randy Quaid (i.e. Major League II, Not Another Teen Movie, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, National Lampoon’s Vegas Vacation, and Caddyshack II) immediately make the film more or less tolerable? 14) Is the reason the aliens attacked in the first place is that they abducted Randy Quaid and felt Earth was imminently conquerable because they mistakenly came to the conclusion that he was representative of the entire species? 14A) Would the aliens have even bothered attacking if they abducted Mike Tyson instead? 15) Speaking of Species, would have been too hard to ask for a topless Natasha Henstridge to appear in this alien movie, too? 16) Has there ever been a more blatant rip-off of the Star Wars X-Wing/Tie-Fighter/Death Star scene than the final battle of this movie? 17) Is there a bigger gaffe in the film than the completely hideous diamond ring that Will Smith gives to Vivica A. Fox?
Dishwalla’s claim to fame is the one-hit wonder of a single titled “Counting Blue Cars” (off the album Pet Your Friends) which was released on February 27, 1996. It caught heavy play on MTV and alternative rock stations- even here in Hawaii. While all the cool kids went out and bought the “Crossroads” single by Bone Thugs N’ Harmony, I was playing “Counting Blue Cars” on a loop. Two years later Dishwalla released And You Think You Know What Life’s About on August 11, 1998. It is not my favorite record, I don’t even own it (though I’ve purchased it twice), but it is the most moving album I have ever owned. Whenever I’d hear a song off of that album, I’d get this weird feeling of nostalgia. I bought the album before I left for college in the fall of 1998 and listened to it regularly during the first few months at LMU.
